#em slipping him a good couple hundred dollar tip

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[wistfulcynic]

relationship goals

Dipping the toe into fic again just for a second, to fire up some tired synapses and also because I saw this earlier and if it isn’t a CS prompt then I don’t know what is: 

Enjoy!

Words: 1.2k Rating: G Tags: couples goals, relationship goals, married CS, committed relationships can still be fun you guys

On AO3

-

relationship goals: 

It’s an offensively bright Monday morning and Ruby’s working her first shift of the summer at Granny’s new drive-thru when at just past eight a.m. a man pulls up to her window and blinds her with his smile. 

“Good morning,” he says, accepting the cup of coffee she hands him. “How are you today, lass?” 

“Um.” Ruby blinks. It’s far too early for her to be dealing with eyes that blue. And though she’s pretty much exclusively been into women these past few years, this guy’s face could probably convince her to give men another go. “Fine, I guess.” 

“Listen, Ruby.” She’s startled for a moment when he calls her by her name, then recalls she’s wearing a name tag. Duh. Seriously, it’s way too freaking early for this. “Could you do me a favour?” he asks, with a smile she’s pretty sure no one who’s into dudes even a little bit has ever said no to. 

“What kind of favour?” she asks warily.

He hands her a twenty. “I’d like to pay for the woman in the car behind me,” he says. “And tell her I think she’s hot.” 

“Sir, I’m not sure that’s—” 

“And keep the change.” 

He gives her a wink—a terrible excuse for a wink, actually—and drives off. 

Ruby hesitates. She’s not about to help some dude sexually harass another woman, no matter how blue his eyes, but he’s left her something like a twelve-dollar tip and he didn’t seem that creepy. She watches carefully as the next car pulls up. The woman behind the wheel is definitely hot—creepy-ish dude has good taste—with long, blonde hair curled in princess ringlets and an expression that looks just how Ruby feels—that it’s way too early in the morning for any species of bullshit. 

“Hey,” she greets the woman, handing over another coffee. “Um, it’s already paid for.” 

“What?” 

“The guy in the car in front of you, he paid for your coffee.” 

“Did he?” says the woman with a scowl. 

“Yeah. And he, uh, he said to tell you you’re hot.” 

Ruby figures this woman can take care of herself. She looks like she could flatten Mr Blue Eyes if she put her mind to it, and if he’s being a creep she deserves to know. 

The woman heaves an annoyed huff and rolls her eyes. “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll handle it.” 

Ruby gives her a nod and even manages a grin despite the early hour. She likes this woman. 

—

The next day at about the same time, the same man with the same blue eyes and a face that Ruby decides could actually be classified as an offensive weapon pulls up to her window, the twenty already held out between two fingers. 

Ruby glances at her list of orders. “She’s ordered a really expensive drink today,” she informs Blue Eyes. “Blended coffee with two shots of the specialty espresso and like four kinds of syrup, plus whipped cream and praline sprinkles.” 

Blue Eyes laughs. “Well played, love,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and pulls another ten from his wallet. “Tell her she’s devastatingly beautiful and her clever tricks only serve to further inflame my passions.” 

Ruby chokes. “I can’t tell her that!” 

Blue Eyes widens his blue eyes and lets his lip quiver slightly, like the fucking cat from Shrek, Ruby thinks grumpily. It’s still too damned early to be dealing with this. “Fine,” she huffs. She snatches the thirty bucks from his hand and exchanges it for his drink. 

He shoots her a lopsided grin that has her heart actually skipping a goddamn beat and another terrible wink, then drives away. A minute later Princess Curls pulls up, already looking resigned. 

“Apparently you are devastatingly beautiful and your clever tricks only serve to further inflame his passions,” Ruby informs her as she hands over the monstrous coffee drink. The woman’s eyes narrow. 

“So that’s how he wants to play it,” she says. “Thanks.” 

Ruby grins. “No problem, hot stuff,” she smirks, with a far better wink than Blue Eyes could manage. Princess Curls laughs. 

“Not you too,” she protests. 

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” says Ruby. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too,” Princess Curls replies, and drives off. 

—

The war of wills continues for the rest of the week, escalating to the point where Ruby begins to worry that the diner won’t have the wherewithal to handle the stakes of the warfare. On Wednesday, Princess Curls orders another massive coffee with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. On Thursday Blue Eyes gives Ruby a fifty and a slip of paper on which grilled cheese, onion rings, chocolate milkshake is written in such perfect handwriting Ruby is half convinced it’s a font. 

“She’ll call in this order at about twelve-thirty,” he tells her. “Make sure she doesn’t lay down a dime.” 

On Friday Princess Curls orders three coffees and enough breakfast food to feed an army. Granny chuckles to herself as she cracks eggs on the grill and Blue Eyes hands Ruby a crisp hundred-dollar bill with a flourish. “Tell her that her beauty puts the dawn to shame, and add a fruit salad to her order,” he says with a smirk. “Chocolate chip pancakes and extra-crispy bacon doth not a healthy breakfast make.” 

“No,” mutters Ruby, “I don’t suppose they doth.” 

—

On Saturday she’s off drive-thru duty and feeling a bit let down. She didn’t realise how much the romance of Blue Eyes and Princess Curls brightened her morning until she found herself facing a busy weekend without them. And she has Monday off. She gives herself a bracing pep-talk then swings through the doors from the kitchen with a pot of coffee in each hand, stopping short when she sees Blue Eyes grinning his weapons-grade grin as he leans against the counter. 

“Regular for me,” he tells her, just as the door jangles and opens to admit Princess Curls. “She, on the other hand, has become addicted to those sugary monstrosities.” His grin softens as Princess Curls approaches and he slips an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Hold up.” Ruby sets both pots down on the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “Hold the fuck up. Are you telling me that all that crap with the buying your coffee and the telling you you’re beautiful—that actually worked?” 

“It did,” laughs Princess Curls. “About ten years ago.” She holds out her hand to Ruby. “I’m Emma Jones and this is my husband, Killian.” 

“Husband,” repeats Ruby faintly, shaking the proffered hand. 

“Afraid so,” says Emma, and Killian gives a long-suffering sigh. 

“Can I help it if after ten years my wife is still the most beautiful woman in any room?” he asks. “No offence, Ruby.” 

Ruby holds up her hands. “Absolutely none taken.” 

Emma and Killian find seats in a booth and linger over their breakfast—more pancakes for her, toast and poached eggs for him—and when they come to the counter to pay, Ruby waves their money away. 

“You’ve tipped me so much this past week, it’s my treat,” she says. “Just—never change, you guys, okay?” 

Emma and Killian exchange a look, then wrap their arms around each other and turn back to Ruby. “We won’t,” Killian promises, with more solemnity than Ruby expected from him. Emma nods in agreement. 

And they never do. 

--

[friendlylocalwhumper]

content warning: referenced/implied child abuse, child homelessness

It’s hard finding food out here. Figuring out which shops are the least dangerous to steal from, finding people around who will slip him something to eat if he looks dirty and thin enough. It’s harder to find water, and impossible to find a decent place to sleep, unless he somehow hears about a nearby safehouse and they let him in.

Even warlocks look at their own kind and say you’re too desperate to not be a threat, a lot of the time.

It’s okay, though. Lux hasn’t been comfortable in a long time. He’s always had a bed and walls and doors, yes, and he was privileged for having that much - but he hasn’t felt safe for years. Being out in the cold in between shelters found and safehouses wheedled into is much, much better than being in a house with someone you fear. His nightmares have stopped, the flinching excusable as the instincts of a street urchin instead of the paranoia of a battered kid, so he’s feeling as confident and brave as he ever has. (Except for when his mom was around, and she’d pull this face after he had to face his dad, and she’d wrap him up in her arms and trace the bruise on his cheek gently and call him her brave little man.)

What he needs right now are shoes. He needs to find shoes. Or a couple pairs of socks to layer up - or even long strips of something, like bandages, that he can wrap around and around to protect the soles of his feet against glass and pebbles and things. He needs those, that’s number one; then water, then food, then maybe, maybe, a blanket to hide under and try to sleep.

Warlocks don’t knock, they sneak. Slip in or break in. He’s a sneaker, definitely not a big bully type, thirteen years old and hardly ninety pounds soaking wet. So Lux slips into this safehouse he heard about from a grabby, grimy homeless warlock a few blocks away.

“What are you doing here?” A witch asks, stalking right up to him when she spots a hunger-panged frame crouched over and hurrying from the briefly open back door.

“I - sorry, miss, I, I’m hungry -”

The crack of her palm striking his cheek, the slap ringing out loud and sharp, makes Lux gasp. The whole left side of his face stings hotly as he reels from the blow, finding with a tug on his arm that she’s got a secure grip on his wrist.

“And, I’m’a warlock,” He mutters, covering his cheek and blinking up at her, scared, before swallowing and widening his stance to be steadier on his feet. She can throw him out, but he’ll get back in somehow. He can’t find another place tonight, he just, he has to stay here no matter what it takes.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Stupid kid.” The grip doesn’t leave his wrist. Lux yelps as he gets yanked over to the nearest room, a stubby black fingernail pointing into the space that holds four passed out warlocks. “That’s where we sleep.” More yanking, and she points into a room with various mismatched appliances with exposed wires and worn-down handles. “Kitchen. You burn yourself on accident in there, you don’t holler, you keep quiet. You do anything that gets us found and you get thrown to the cops, understand?”

“Yes,” Lux breathes, and he’s dragged along to the next room, and the next, until finally he’s brought all the way back to the kitchen and shoved inside.

“Sit on the floor. I’m gonna make you something to eat. Look like you’re about to faint. After this, you make your own food. And you don’t stay more than a week, got it? Kids mean trouble.”

With an annoyed huff just to hide how uneasy her shoving and anger makes him, Lux lowers himself to the ugly linoleum floor and watches her work with the stove, moving pots and dishes with surprising caution. One wrong clatter and the neighbors get annoyed, call the cops, get people killed. Lux watches and learns.

~

If cops get ya, too bad. Your fault. Run, duck, twist free, but if they get ya, it’s over. Lux knows this, he’s been told it plenty of times. He used to watch his dad’s cop friends coming over to the house, he would cringe against the wall as he was shoved out of their line of sight and told in a hushed, icy calm tone you know, if you’re ever bad enough, I can make one call and you’ll be hauled off by these guys, gone forever. He used to get hauled up off the floor where he’d been crying curled up around a broken bone and told what, you wanna go to a hospital? You want them to do tests on you and find out what you are? Shut up or I’ll take you there, I will, and they’ll put poison in you, they’ll get rid of you for me.

Well, there’s no Dad to hold that danger off now. Sixteen and stupid, Lux tried to steal a car to get to someplace different, to just get away. He didn’t know it was an undercover cop’s car.

He doesn’t actually know what happens if you get caught by a cop. He’s seen bodies, and he’s heard stories, but it’s never happened to him. He guesses that it will now.

“You see this?” The cop snarls, gripping one of Lux’s arms that are cuffed behind his back and shoving the kid forward with a fist in his curly hair. Lux cringes as his face is held inches away from the broken glass lining what was once a driver’s side window on a car.

“Yeah?”

“This costs five hundred dollars to replace. You got that kind of money?”

“N-no, I-”

“No, because you’re just some dirty warlock kid. Can’t help but steal and break things, it’s in your nature. Bet your warlock parents taught you how to do that.” The officer shoves Lux up against the side of the car, bigger and stronger and in the eyes of anyone who might see, completely in the right.

“S-, officer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“You don’t break a car window on accident, warlock.”

“- to, cause any trouble, just wanted to -”

The grip on his hair tugs hard, and then his face, his skull, everything above his shoulders explodes into sudden pain. Lux cries out, wrists jerking in the handcuffs cinched too tight so he can’t slip free, skinny as he is. His head was slammed against the car, he realizes belatedly as the cop forces his head to turn so the damage can be inspected.

“Where are your little warlock friends? Your band of thieves? Did some older kids convince you to do this as some kind of initiation?”

“Inish…’nitia-, huh? I, I just - ‘m alone, just needed a car, I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re alone.” The cop leans closer, and Lux has no room to escape the threatening proximity. “I get it. You’re not a criminal warlock in training, you’re just a scared harmless kid, all on his own. How stupid do you think I am?”

He is alone. Lux has been alone for years. He runs, hides, steals. He’s not a criminal, not really, just - what do the older warlocks say, bitterly lounged on musty couches and chugging plastic bottles of liquor? We’re not criminals, we’re survivors. Lux is just a survivor. One who’s not yet very good at avoiding the law.

He’s pushed into the backseat of the cop car, and then the officer walks away. Doesn’t come back for an hour. Two hours. Lux’s eyelids droop, his breathing slowing then hitching as he finds himself tipping over.

He’s alone, and even this hard seat is better than the ground when he can’t find a safehouse to duck into, and it’s much warmer in here than outside. But, but do cops have cameras in their cars? Microphones? Will they watch him lower his guard, will they record his breathing and what he says in his sleep? If he does drift off, will the cop come back and put a bullet in his brain? Dump him out on the road when a car is coming? No, Lux can’t sleep. He’s alone, he’s handcuffed, he’s trapped in a space that belongs to someone paid to find and hurt warlocks. It’s just not safe, it’s not, he can’t sleep, he can’t… he can’t help dozing off with a low thrumming panic eating away at his nerves, sure to bring nightmares as soon as he’s at his most vulnerable, unconscious and unaware.

~

There are cinnamon rolls in the fridge, each one wrapped up carefully in cling wrap to keep it fresh and soft.

The plants on the windowsills are green and leafy, bouncing mildly in the breeze, scents sweetening the air in repayment for the water and sunlight and singing sometimes offered to help them grow.

Lux is on a couch. His head is lying on a rolled-up sweater, peach-colored and soft, that Emory was wearing earlier, curls and a cheek smushed up against the soft fabric.

He looks around, one knuckle just barely kissing the floor where his arm dangles off the side of the couch, socked feet propped up on a pillow. The speakers beside the TV are quietly playing a playlist that Emory put together for when Lux is bored lying around the house, each song especially picked for a Lux in a particular mood.

Twenty-two and safe. Twenty-two and calm, comfortable, sleepy and utterly relaxed. Lux, a warlock, the son of a veteran of the War on Magic, a criminal and a killer, lies sprawled out on something soft in a place he can call home. His boyfriend will come home soon with take-out, and kisses, and questions about how Lux’s day went. This place wouldn’t be so warm and safe if Emory didn’t live here, but Emory doesn’t lord over it, and the crazy man swears that it wouldn’t be a home without Lux here.

So here Lux waits, dozes, the only one in the house for the moment, but not alone. Not alone anymore. Never alone again, if you don’t wanna be, Emory promises, sometimes, when Lux asks to be held in the middle of the night so the anxieties that slide around his mind in the dark and quiet don’t grow and take root. I’m right here, Curls. You’re not alone.

It took a long time. Too long, he thinks, remembering when he was smaller and not yet used to all the ways the world could hurt him. But he’s finally here, in the home he was meant to have, and within the hour, he’ll see his Em, he’ll be in the arms of someone who loves him despite knowing him inside and out. Lux snuggles further into his boyfriend’s sweater and breathes deep, letting himself fall further into his early-evening nap. He’ll be woken by hands on his back, in his hair, lips at his cheek and shoulder, and Lux won’t flinch. He’ll stay sleepy and loose and hum a welcome home, and get a warm greeting in return. It’s just the kind of thing that happens when you’re home and in love, kisses and warm words and food. All his, whenever he needs them, forever. Because he’s not alone anymore.

[imagine-loki]

Runaways

TITLE: Runaways CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6 AUTHOR: SassyShoulderAngel319 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine around the turn of the twentieth century, Loki gets sick of being a Prince of Asgard for a while and runs away to New York City, where he falls in with a ragtag group of newsies, including you… RATING: PG/K+ NOTES/WARNINGS: This has been a LONG time coming. Back when I was submitting this consistently my laptop broke and then stuff like college happened and it fell through the cracks. But I’m back now and I’m going to try to finish this! No warnings I don’t think, not even name-calling. PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: P, Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch 5

^^^^^

APARTMENT FIRE EVACUATES HUNDREDS! The headline, at least, was more interesting to the crowds than the day before’s.

No-No sold her papers faster than Loki did again, but not by much. They were in Fitz’s spot, which was, indeed, a little slower. Still, her last paper was gone five minutes before Loki’s was. She gave him a smug smirk when she was done and then leaned against a building with her arms folded across her ribs until he was finished.

The sun was dipping low. “We should go grab the evening edition,” she advised, “but only like thirty each. No way we’re gonna sell fifty or even a hundred. Not gonna happen. Not here. Not even with you and me.”

“Excuse me?” a lady asked Loki, who turned around. “Where’s the little boy who usually sells the newspapers around this area?”

No-No skirted around Loki to stand in front. “He was havin’ a rough time sellin’ ‘round here so I—well, we—traded him places for a couple o’ days till he gets his confidence back. My spot tends to get more customers,” she explained. The lady was dressed nicely. A string of pearls around her neck, a lush violet skirt with a matching blazer, feathered hat, and white tights. Her skin was pale with some makeup on it, including pinkish-purple paint on her lips.

She contrasted so sharply with No-No that for a moment Loki was reminded how dirty and rough No-No was.

He blinked but didn’t say anything.

The lady, who was probably in her late thirties, nodded. “I see. I just usually buy a paper from him to give to my husband.”

“Well ma’am, evenin’ pape’ll be out soon but we’s outta the day pape. If ya wanna head over closer to The World’s gates, that’s where Fitz is. By the time ya get there he’ll have the evenin’ edition, I bet,” No-No said, as polite as she could with her rough manners.

The lady nodded her head. “Alright. Thank you.”

“If ya don’t know where The World is, we’re actually headin’ there right now to pick up the evenin’ pape.”

“I’m alright. Thank you. My husband won’t die if he doesn’t get the paper tonight.”

“Well if you sees some other newsie who’s already got the evenin’ edition or a copy of the mornin’ pape, you’d certainly make their day by pickin’ up a copy,” No-No commented, tipping her cap to the lady. “Have a nice evenin’ ma’am. Little Fitz’ll be back here in a couple days.”

“Have a nice evening,” the lady replied, sounding a bit eager to leave before edging around Loki and No-No and vanishing into the deepening afternoon.

Loki and No-No shrugged at each other before heading back to The New York World’s gates for the evening edition. Loki walked behind No-No since she was more familiar with the streets and didn’t seem to want to walk directly next to him. The bun in her hair made a goose-egg in her cap, wisps of hair that had escaped hanging against her neck.

The sunlight shone in Loki’s eyes as they rounded a corner—and he caught sight of two pinpricks of shadows, one in the center of each of No-No’s earlobes. Scar tissue built up around holes.

She had pierced ears.

Not something he would have pegged on her.

Then again, he remembered what she and Tony had mentioned about her past: she was from the west and her parents had died. Her parents were probably better-off than she was all by herself. She’d probably pierced her ears when she was younger and her parents were still alive.

Loki coughed as they walked past a haze of smog and blinked when they made it through. No-No scoffed at how gross the smoke was but didn’t make any comments about it. “So, uh,” Loki began. “You were being pretty nice, giving up some business to another newsie by recommending that lady pick up a paper somewhere else.”

No-No shrugged. “Well, gotta sell where we can, and I didn’t have nothin’ to sell, so might as well give another newsie a chance at gettin’ an extra penny,” she remarked over her shoulder. “‘Sides, we made some good money today. Better th’n Fitz woulda done ‘ere.”

When they made it to The World’s gates, the little curly-haired Fitz was just tucking a small stack of evening editions into his canvas bag.

“Heya Fitzie,” No-No greeted, ruffling his hair. “How’d ya do t’day?”

The kid lit up like a shooting star. “Great! I got a dollar from a man in a suit who was in too much of a hurry to wait for me to count his change so he just let me keep it! A whole extra dollar!”

Loki’s heart broke as No-No laughed and encouraged the kid, saying he was doing great. These kids had so little. No one except each other knew they existed. If one newsie vanished, no one in the rest of the city would even notice. They had nothing but each other and a couple coins each. He wished he could give them some of the excess wealth of Asgard. They might actually do something useful with it—like get warm clothes and a decent cleanup.

Loki and No-No picked up their evening editions—TROLLEY CRASH IN MANHATTAN, NO DEATHS—and headed back out to the city.

“So what happens if we don’t sell all of these anyway?” Loki asked.

No-No snorted. “Well nows the companies buy ‘em back full price, but had you come two months ago and didn’t sell everything ya woulda just ate the cost yourself,” she replied.

“What happened in between?”

“‘Bout a month ago there was a strike o’ newsies against The World and The Journal after a price dispute when the war ended. Newsies for da two refused to sell papes until it was settled. Then Pulitzer and Hearst agreed to eat our losses. So things ain’t great but they ain’t terrible neither.”

Loki clenched his jaw. Why did he talk to her when her grammar made him want to rip his cochleae out?

The rest of the evening was rather uneventful. Just selling more newspapers to people on their way home from work. The trolley crash news from earlier in the day got people interested, even if the “no deaths” was a little bland. No-No grunted that it wasn’t a bad headline but crazy ones sold a good deal better.

Once they were done, they got some dinner and went back to the boardinghouse. They were the first ones back.

No-No went to take her shoes off upstairs and didn’t return downstairs to the boys’ area for a good fifteen minutes. When she did, she was barefoot with her hair hanging loose. She didn’t say a single word to Loki, just crossed into the washroom and shut the door.

When she reemerged another fifteen minutes later, her hair was wringing wet but clean and brushed out. The twine she’d taken from her newspaper bundle the day before was wrapped around her right wrist. She sighed and plopped onto Loki’s bunk while he was drawing his view out the window. “I live for days I get back earlier than the others and actually get a chance to wash my hair out,” she said plainly, peering over his shoulder but trying not to.

“You can watch if you want,” Loki informed her, noticing. “My brother always did when we were younger so I’m used to it.”

No-No brushed her soaked hair behind her ear and watched him sketch the New York skyline outside the window. “Well, usually peoples don’ like no one spyin’ on them drawin’. Thought I was bein’ polite.”

“You were, don’t worry. But if you want to watch, I don’t mind.”

The peace only lasted a few more moments before three other newsies burst in at top speed, hooting and hollering, calling for No-No.

“What is it?” she asked, standing up, nearly bonking her head on the bunk over Loki’s.

“Rogers ‘n Barnes sent a kid over from Brooklyn. Says they wants to have a word with you,” Bruce explained, out of breath. No-No bit her lip, a worry line appearing between her eyebrows. She peeled a flake of dry skin off her lip with her teeth and licked at the blood it left behind.

“Did they’s say why?” she pressed.

“Nope,” Tony replied. “Kid’s outside if ya wanna go tonight. Said he’d come back in da mornin’ too if ya don’t.”

No-No rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I ain’t goin’ alone with no messenger. Who wants to go ta Brooklyn with me?”

Everyone in the room looked away except Loki, who didn’t understand why everyone balked.

No-No rolled her eyes. “Ah c’mon fellas. It’s Brooklyn. Rogers and Barnes’ turf. They ain’t gonna hurt us,” she complained. Still no one met her gaze except Loki, whose forehead was wrinkled in confusion. Tony had mentioned that Rogers and Barnes—whoever they were—taught No-No how to sell newspapers. Why did everyone seem scared?

“We knows they ain’t gonna hurt us,” Rhodey said. “They’s just… really scary. An’ big.”

No-No scoffed and set her hands on her hips. “Fine. I’ll head out for Brooklyn tomorrow mornin’ and if anyone’s brave enough to come with me then, well, ya gots tonight to whip yourself up for it,” she decided, turning on her heel and heading for the stairs to go talk to the messenger.

Loki looked back down at his drawing. He closed his sketchbook and slipped it back in his pocket. 

The drawing was nowhere near finished but the city wasn’t going anywhere. 

And he wasn’t either.

[spladoum]

There’s a Sim hanging out of your pocket ... Replies (GIF warning, Very Very VERY Long)

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “Derping around with this until I get bored (which is likely to be soon...”

Uh I wanna add you!

getmygameon replied to your photoset “Derping around with this until I get bored (which is likely to be soon...”

Oh I didn't realize we could add other players. I don't know what my code is yet, but once I fiddle around with a bit more ill be happy to add you ❤

GET OVER HERE, GROUP HUG INCOMING

hyperkaos replied to your photoset “Today I woke up to find a persistent announcement that it was Méline’s...”

so I just looked at this and it says "in app purchases $2.99 - $99.99 per item" are they out of their minds?

I was certain that no one would be foolish enough to pay for the $99.99 item. (Full disclosure: I have bought about $50 worth of premium cash, some with Paypal, but still ...) After being on the official EA Answers board, I quickly realized that I was quite wrong. Multiple people there are clearly spending hundreds of RL dollars playing this. Someone there was proposing that the developers implement a monthly subscription, even. It’s ... flabbergasting, to say the least. :O

hyperkaos replied to your photoset “Today I woke up to find a persistent announcement that it was Méline’s...”

I'll admit the cuteness of it, but good grief, I get enough of sims here lol

Haha, fair enough! :) One very big point in the game’s favor imo is that it can more or less play itself. In the immortal words of Ron Popeil, you can “set it and forget it.” So it’s fairly relaxing in that way. Of course, if you’re foolish enough to actually begin to care about your characters, you’re headed for Trauma City eventually!

rollo-rolls replied to your photoset “Today I woke up to find a persistent announcement that it was Méline’s...”

Off topic but... JESUS CHRIST, THIS IS HOW SIMS MOBILE LOOK LIKE? And we thought Sims 1 looked amazing...

Never off-topic! It is pretty amazing how far the tech comes in just fifteen years, isn’t it? :D On the other hand, had the developers actually managed to produce Sims 4 as a true mobile game in this style ... 

hyperkaos replied to your photo “It’s just not Sims without things like this happening.”

lol truth!

wannabecatwriter replied to your photo “It’s just not Sims without things like this happening.”

EA keeps it consistent :D

mochasims replied to your photo “It’s just not Sims without things like this happening.”

LOL

jenba replied to your photo “I’m not even going to ask. That poor chicken.”

lol :)

getmygameon replied to your photo “I’m not even going to ask. That poor chicken.”

What...on...earth.

There are a lot of times playing this game when you just wonder “How did this slip past QA?” And then you eventually realize that you are the QA, and suddenly the nonsense is understandable. :P In good news, I think they fixed the hot tub glitch! :P

hyperkaos replied to your photoset “Éme decided to really put some muscle behind learning the restaurant...”

you really need to step back lol

mysimsloveaffair replied to your photoset “Éme decided to really put some muscle behind learning the restaurant...”

Good tip...I didn't know you could do that!

Yesss! That was the only way I could stay alive for quite some time at the start of the game. (Of course, now I have cupcakes falling out of my ears!)

aikea-guinea replied to your photoset “Éme decided to really put some muscle behind learning the restaurant...”

Nice knife skills, Éme!

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “This has been a fun 24-36 hour period. Ever since learning to just let...”

There's a bar?! I need that haha

I wish! I mean, I know the bar is a community-only item for a reason (because there’s jack-all to do at the events), but that would be a good item to have for home usage, dontcha think? Or even as a party item? *ponders* 

treason-and-plot replied to your photoset “Someone leveled up! :O Éme is thinking about getting a job at the...”

I thought this was TS4 for a long minute :D

I don’t blame you in the least! The amount of stuff in game directly cribbed from Sims 3/4 is pretty unreal. And we’ll give you more of it ... for the low low price of $19.99! (Per item pack.)

goatkibble replied to your photoset “Someone leveled up! :O Éme is thinking about getting a job at the...”

LMAO

Well, you already know the alternative men planned if I couldn’t find an Adam for him to marry, haha! Stan may yet show up! XD

getmygameon replied to your photoset “Someone leveled up! :O Éme is thinking about getting a job at the...”

Pfft! Smack me XD when you said that 'pie' line my mind went to the gutter til I saw the ACTUAL pie XD I'm sorrrryyyyy! I'm the worst

I can’t begin to imagine why you would think such things of me ...

justanothersimsblog replied to your photo “Apparently someone was listening when I mentioned hot tubs earlier...”

Lol. Well this saved me from checking out what the male's swimsuit looked like! I'm currently waiting for the kitchen event to recharge since I did it too early and it didn't count for the quest *grumbles*

So frustrating! I know they’re learning as they go, but but there’s way too much that isn’t documented adequately so players end up making completely avoidable and/or costly errors.

wannabecatwriter replied to your photo “Apparently someone was listening when I mentioned hot tubs earlier...”

Those bottoms are totally something Eme would wear in cannon story.

He really would ...

getmygameon replied to your photoset “Yes, you’re pretty, asshole. Stop gloating. Geez. Still...”

I'm surprised that game is still going :o

simtonomy replied to your photoset “Yes, you’re pretty, asshole. Stop gloating. Geez. Still...”

Lol, I'm grateful Éme entertained the guests at Reyna's foodie party!

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “Yes, you’re pretty, asshole. Stop gloating. Geez. Still...”

Hahaha Ibis is always smile. I was happy to see Eme at the parties, he always looked like he was having a good time.

mysimsloveaffair replied to your photoset “Yes, you’re pretty, asshole. Stop gloating. Geez. Still...”

I love your updates! Éme has shown up at my family's party. He's beginning a friendship with a couple of them. I always enjoy seeing Éme in my game!

Certain of attention, that’s him for sure!

wannabecatwriter replied to your photoset “This is Éme. I’m not here, you know what to do.  “Hi, Éme? This is...”

A good excuse to skip work, though.

It’s amazing what you can do when you’re technically on the clock ...

mysimsloveaffair replied to your photoset “This is Éme. I’m not here, you know what to do.  “Hi, Éme? This is...”

Ha! Too funny =) Did you get your hot tub yet?

getmygameon replied to your photoset “This is Éme. I’m not here, you know what to do.  “Hi, Éme? This is...”

Lol! I started this game last night. I might restart it though bc my initial video didn't record XD

Video?! I can barely take photos and you’re getting videos!?

getmygameon replied to your photoset “And all you wanted was somebody to care …  I went over to the EA...”

Is it bad I started humming the song the second i saw that line? XD

At least it isn’t “More Than Words?” XD

mysimsloveaffair replied to your photoset “I now present to you … Éme Gaillard and Derek Solis … err, Adam...”

They need to include a gifting system because I ended up with two hot tubs and I'd gladly give you one. It took me a while to get the first, then I got a 2nd one right away. I'm hoping the next bag you open is a hot tub!!!

wannabecatwriter replied to your photoset “I now present to you … Éme Gaillard and Derek Solis … err, Adam...”

^^ seconding this. Gifting would be nice.

Between the hell raised over the hot tub event and the constant question “but y cant we SELL things??????”, I think the developers/coders are pretty aware that some things need to change. The Easter Egg Event was a step in the right direction, as was the in-game feedback survey. Hopefully things improve in future! 

ice-creamforbreakfast replied to your photoset “I now present to you … Éme Gaillard and Derek Solis … err, Adam...”

Somewhere in the world, @goatkibble​ is having a nosebleed at the thought of Adam in not only TS4 style, but TS4 Mobile style XD

wannabecatwriter replied to your photoset “A few more photos from the past two days. The wedding party was a...”

But "More Than Words" is the jam !!!

goatkibble replied to your photoset “A few more photos from the past two days. The wedding party was a...”

They are so consistent with their canon selves bahahaha

They really are! Even as elders, when not engaged with other people they’re very likely to be chasing each other around the house and canoodling. Eternal luff *sigh*

goatkibble replied to your photoset “Gah … little Rohan Gaillard is super-precious. (And super-expensive!...”

Sounds about right bahahaha

It wouldn’t be so bad that the baby/toddler stuff costs so much, except ... the game has a mechanism in place that regularly breaks items. If your items are more expensive, they cost more to repair, naturally. Baby items are VERY expensive compared to the starter items, so should the toddler bed break more than a couple of times in a day, along with everything else breaking in the house, that could be your daily salary down the drain ...

caterpillarsims replied to your photoset “Another day, another $0.72 (after taxes). Éme and Adam are still crazy...”

Kristi's husband (Benjamin) also started a rivalry with Eme. I accidentally clicked the 'confrontational' introduction over the friendly once, and since then whenever he interacts with Eme (who is always hanging around my house) Eme is like 'Oh, it's you' in that tone. Cracks me up every time. Especially because Ben is kind of a health nut jock, I can see him and Eme not getting along at all.

Haha, I bet! I try to use the “rivalry” prompts sparingly, because as funny as I find it, part of me still feels very mean-spirited for it. I always wonder if the other person whose sim I’m arguing with is getting their feelings hurt :O

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “I’ve been down with a sinus infection for a few days, so I’ve been...”

Hahaha you went for the frenemies one.

justanothersimsblog replied to your photo “Yes, it’s SO nice to see you (:”

Lmao

They were SO close to being done, too! Maybe Shany can pick up the slack with Matteo. He seems the type to run around aggravating folks whenever possible :P

getmygameon replied to your photo “And here, we have a lovely specimen of the JacobTechrAugust.”

Lol ^^

mysimsloveaffair replied to your photoset “While papa Éme and daddy Adam were preoccupied with hosting their...”

My character just dropped by! Thanks for explaining the whole marriage to another player thing. I've just been making an extra person within my household for my sims to marry, because I wasn't sure how it all worked.

Just another thing that’s integral to the game’s mechanics that no one could be bothered to explain in advance -__-;;; It’s certainly not a thing you want to learn the hard way (like I did!).

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “While papa Éme and daddy Adam were preoccupied with hosting their...”

Everett is a cutie! He was at my sims' party talking up with people and Shany befriended him.

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “Yup, they’re still at it. After a solid two hours of insults, cursing,...”

Bahahaha. Meanwhile she started a BFF thing with Everett. It's going great! They wanted to make plans to hangs out or go to the movies or something like that.

D’awww, sounds just about right. Everett is terribly lovable. 

caterpillarsims replied to your photoset “While papa Éme and daddy Adam were preoccupied with hosting their...”

Sadly, Mayra got accidentally retired this morning =(. I am still heartbroken. But I did read somewhere about another player who married and moved in a friend's retired elder, which made them young again. So if Everett wants to give that a try with Mayra, you have my consent. Mayra has 3 star Good trait, and her hair is a level 34 unlock. Her dress is also a story unlock item, and she's still wearing her Izzy bracelet.

caterpillarsims replied to your photoset “While papa Éme and daddy Adam were preoccupied with hosting their...”

Also, just this morning, she bought a new eyeshadow and some shoes, so, lots of goodies with her if you can move her in.

I almost did :( Everett’s still sitting at a level 6 relationship with her, and if Kaydence hadn’t happened along, I would have taken the chance for sure. But it was just too heartbreaking to think that they might get all the way to a level 8 relationship and not be allowed to move forward, since the game is not actually coded to allow adults to continue their romantic relationships with elders. (I have heard that sims can divorce and re-marry at will though, so I may pursue that course momentarily if they reach level 8 and I see the “proposal” options.)

blythelyre replied to your photo “The infamous speedo shorts return! Looking sharp, Adam.”

How do I visit?!

getmygameon replied to your photo “The infamous speedo shorts return! Looking sharp, Adam.”

Lol!!!

getmygameon replied to your photo “The infamous speedo shorts return! Looking sharp, Adam.”

@blythelyre look for parties. I didnt realize it was her sims til I saw the name lolol!

Just a heads-up, the next time I can throw a party will be this coming Tuesday/Wednesday if you wanna pop by. Save the date! :D

goatkibble replied to your photo “The infamous speedo shorts return! Looking sharp, Adam.”

Ha! I just realised their son has Eme's face and Adam's eye shape! That is also canon! :D

Haha! Meant to be, even across mediums! :D

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “Differences in parenting styles: Adam: “You are bestest baby, you...”

Omg yes! The money is ridiculous! The most you can earn is 450 (+whatever you get from an add) but the furnitures can cost 6k! My new kitchen must've costed 9k between all the expensive counters...and I've unlocked more expensive stuff since.

I didn’t realize immediately that items cost more as you buy more of them (what a charming idea, EA -____- ) so my plans for redecorating the kitchen went to hell within 20 minutes of starting. I remembered thinking, “Didn’t I have more money than this?” as I bought the countertops and finally realizing that the Sage Counters had increased from 300 to 690. It was a very ugly surprise. They still don’t have any cabinets.  Once Adam and Éme die off (;__;) the kids will be free to work constantly and earn dough, so that they can buy those §2500 dresses and garbage hairstyles. At least those won’t break. -__-;;’

reverieinsimlish replied to your photoset “Everett, your father and I have been to the hospital to find out why...”

I have the opposite problem, in that I have had 4 girls and only 1 boy.

Alas! I’d still trade with you, though. The family is up to boy number 4, and from what I’ve read in the accounts from others, they’re likely to keep on having boys until they hit 7 or 8!

blythelyre replied to your photo “NO SIR NEVER YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED *starts kicking and screaming...”

Noooo

blythelyre replied to your photo “NO SIR NEVER YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED *starts kicking and screaming...”

Emma and Gracie need mates!!!!

Make sure you come to the party, then! At the rate I’m going, Brooks Gaillard should be all grown up by then and one of your ladies can take him home! :D

curmudgeonness replied to your photo “NO SIR NEVER YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED *starts kicking and screaming...”

I don't know how people can get attached to their pixel people - says the one who has 36+ variations of simself in one neighborhood and won't let any of his legacy sims die... *hugs*

Put it like this ... you’ll never see a version of Rosalind Frio in this game ;)

wannabecatwriter replied to your photoset “*sighs* Well, I managed to screw myself royally today. I finally...”

That almost happened to me a bunch of times. I swear the developers did this on purpose.

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “*sighs* Well, I managed to screw myself royally today. I finally...”

I HAATE the retirement prompt

caterpillarsims replied to your photoset “*sighs* Well, I managed to screw myself royally today. I finally...”

I feel your pain. that retirement pop up is the worst.

I was able to avoid it for quite some time, because I was aware that it was coming for Éme. But I wasn’t expecting it for Adam, so I just reached for a button in the middle of an event and bloop! All progress lost. And yes, I also suspect it’s done that way intentionally. There’s no other explanation for why traits/retirement seem to be two of maybe four actions total in the entire game that there’s no way to cancel once initiated. *scowls*

[deansdirtylittlesecretsblog]

Show Me What You’ve Got

Title:  Show Me What You’ve Got

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Reader request: Dean x reader where they meet at a hunter bar and the reader helps Dean get out of a fight after he hustles some guys at pool? Just a lot of badassery on her part and he's impressed by her maybe? - anon

Characters:  Dean Winchester x female reader

Word Count:  2385

Warnings:  nsfw, explicit language (Dean has a potty mouth), explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), drinking, bar fight

Author’s Notes:  Written in Dean’s POV.

(gif courtesy of kendaspntwd)

Christ, she was hot. Really hot. Not in that “my shorts are really short and my cleavage is on display” way I had been attracted to when I was younger, but more in the “I’m kind of a badass and I know it” way. Made her kind of irresistible.

I’d noticed her as soon as she’d come through the door, dressed to the nines, heels, skirt, but with a blood stained army jacket thrown over her clothes, a gun tucked in the back of her skirt and a small knife strapped to her thigh beneath the skirt, a thigh I’d had the good fortune of glimpsing when she'd climbed on the barstool to sit down. She’d ordered a whiskey, ran a hand over her face, and swallowed it down. I had been impressed.

It hadn’t taken me long to make my way across the bar and onto the stool beside her. Ten minutes later she was turned my direction, her knee pressed to mine, an open, inviting smile on her face. We exchanged names, we talked, both of us flirting shamelessly, completely aware of where the night was taking us. Two lonely hunters in a bar, looking for companionship. It was a song and dance I’d gone through dozens of times.

It was early, not even ten, definitely not time to quit drinking for the evening, so we made our way to the pool tables. She tossed her jacket on a nearby chair, rolled up her sleeves, and took a seat, feet propped on another chair. She gestured to the table with the bottle of beer in her hand.

“Show me what you’ve got, handsome,” she purred.

I chalked up the pool stick, already cocky about the win I was sure to get. The guy I was playing was a tool, young, overly muscled, tank top, flip flops on his feet, a backwards baseball cap, and the need to flex his gym and steroid built barbwire tattoed bicep every few minutes. It was obvious he wasn’t a hunter, just a guy that had picked the wrong night to come into a hunter’s bar. He was an easy mark. I’d let him win the first one, maybe two, then I’d make him eat chalk and run the table. It would be almost too easy to take his money.

I was about take my first shot when she called my name. I leaned over her at the table, giving her my best smile.

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck, stretched up, and placed an utterly amazing kiss on my lips, biting the lower one just before she pulled away.

“Good luck,” she whispered, her right eye dropping in a seductive wink.

“Fuck,” I grumbled under my breath. Good thing I was throwing the first game, because all the blood in my brain had just rushed to my dick and I was not going to be able to concentrate.

The first game went exactly as I expected, exactly as I wanted. I slapped another fifty bucks on the table, intent on losing one more, hopefully this time worse than before. I was happy to let Y/N distract me, too, it helped with the illusion of inadequacy I was building. She’d moved to sitting on the edge of the table, her legs crossed at the ankle, her skirt hitched up high enough that I could see the tip of the knife’s sheath. I wanted to slide my hands under that skirt, feel her soft skin, twist my fingers in the underwear she was wearing and get them off of her.

Yeah, she was definitely distracting me.

Of course, she was distracting the tool I was playing, too. He kept checking her out, eyeing her up and down, looking down the front of the blouse she’d unbuttoned a little bit, inching closer and closer to her after every shot. He barely managed to pull it together long enough to win.

“Alright,” I said, pulling the asshole’s attention away from Y/N, “I’m probably making a mistake, but I want one more shot.” I reached in my pocket, pulled out my wallet and the cash stuffed in it, a couple hundred dollars. I dropped it to the table. “This, plus what we’ve already bet on one last game. Winner gets it all.”

The tool glanced over at Y/N, gave her a lecherous grin, and nodded agreeably. “Winner gets it all.” He winked at her, earning himself a dirty look.

“Rack ‘em,” I said, before stepping between Y/N’s legs, putting my hands on her hips, and catching her lips in a deep, long kiss. Her arms slipped around my waist, her fingers sliding under the edge of my shirt, cold on my warm skin. I was beginning to think maybe I didn’t need that money.

“Go kick his ass,” she whispered as she pulled away. “Wipe that smug look off of his face. The faster you do, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grinned. I spun the pool cue twice, stepped up to the table and took the shot.

It took me less than ten minutes to run the table. When I was finished, I dropped the cue to the table, scooped the money up, and shoved it in my pocket.

“What the fuck?” the tool growled.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” I shrugged.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, dropping his pool stick to the floor and lunging for me.

Y/N stepped between us, her hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she smiled. “Take it easy. There’s no reason to get upset.”

“He hustled me,” the guy snapped. “I’m gonna kick his fucking ass.”

If I’d been able to hold back the snort of laughter, the chaos of the next few minutes wouldn’t have happened. But I couldn’t. The next thing I knew, Y/N was hitting the floor, and the asshole was bouncing a glancing blow off of my chin, a blow I barely felt. Typical. No power behind the punch, though it was enough to knock me back a couple steps. I laughed again, planted my feet and gestured to him to bring it.

He jumped, his intent to tackle me, but I sidestepped him, turning on my heel, watching as he slammed into a table with his shoulder, knocking it and several chairs to the floor. He pushed himself to his feet and swung around, lunging for me again. Just before he got to me, I felt a hard punch to my kidneys, a punch that drove me to my knees, cursing under my breath. Knowing another punch was coming, I rolled to my back and scrambled backwards, before jumping to my feet. I reared back and landed a punch directly on the tool’s face, knocking him on his ass. His hands flew to his face, blood gushing from his nose, a wounded whimper coming from him.

I turned to see who had sucker punched me in the kidneys, ready to take whoever it was down, but instead I saw Y/N sidekick the tool’s friend in the head, sending him to his knees, before she landed a blow to his chin, knocking him out cold.

Christ, she was hot.

“Alright, Winchester, take off,” the bartender chuckled as he walked our way. “Before pretty boy here wakes up and wants to file charges.”

I chuckled and threw some cash, far more than necessary, on the table while Y/N grabbed her things, then I took her hand and we rushed out of the bar, both of us laughing. We hurried around the side of the building to where I’d parked the Impala. I leaned against her, my hands on Y/N’s hips, pulling her close.

Y/N pressed herself against me, her jacket falling to the ground as she wrapped her arms around me, rose up on her toes, and kissed me. She sighed as she pulled away, a small smile on her face.

“I like your car,” she whispered. “You should take me for a ride.”

By the time we got to my motel, I was hard enough to cut glass, achingly hard. Y/N had kept her hand on my leg the entire trip, slowly moving it up my thigh until her hand was resting on my cock, squeezing and caressing, her lips against my ear, whispering all of the things she wanted me to do to her once we were in my room.

I gnawed on my lower lip, holding back the groan I knew was coming, desperately trying to concentrate on my driving rather than the overwhelming need I had to get this woman out of her clothes and in my bed. Baby’s tires squealed as I rounded the corner too fast, parked her across two parking spots, and slammed her into park. I lunged for Y/N, crushing her against my chest, our lips crashing together, all tongues and teeth and desperation. I pushed my hand between her legs, beneath her skirt, my palm pressed against her, my fingers twisting in her already damp panties.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” I growled.

“Inside. Now,” she moaned, pushing her hips down on my hand, her hands tightening on my shoulders.

I nodded and shoved open the door, her hand in mine, pulling her after me. It took less than thirty seconds to get the motel room door open and closed again behind us, and thirty seconds after that her skirt and blouse were on the floor, my shirt on the chair and my jeans unbuttoned.

I took a step back, my eyes moving hungrily up and down her body, the crisp white bra and matching panties with just a little bit of lace, flesh colored stockings, her knife still in its sheath around her perfect thigh, her lips kiss swollen, her cheeks flushed pink. I toed off my boots and pushed off my jeans, and took a step toward her.

“Uhn uhn,” she shook her head. “Sit.” She pointed at the bed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. She made a show of removing the knife and sheath, and sliding her stockings down her legs, her fingers dragging across her skin. The thought of my lips on her skin instead of her fingers made my mouth water. She grinned, a wicked grin, because she knew what she was doing to me, knew that she was torturing me, knew what I was thinking. She fell to her hands and knees and crawled toward me, watching me, her tongue in the corner of her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine.

She came to a stop between my legs, put her hands on my thighs, and pushed them apart. She mouthed my cock, still trapped behind the thin cotton of my gray boxers.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re killing me,” I moaned.

She cupped my balls, caressing them carefully as she dipped a finger in the front of my boxers and pulled them down, her tongue flicking out and running down the length and back up, swirling around the head before she sucked it between her lips. I groaned, falling back on my forearms, watching her head bob up and down as she fucked me with her mouth. I couldn’t stop my hips from coming up off of the bed, pushing my cock deeper down her throat.

It seemed to spur her on, her hand tightening around the base of my dick, her head moving faster and faster, the sounds coming from her downright obscene, but Jesus Christ, they were fucking hot. I wasn’t sure I could hold on much longer.

“Y/N,” I growled. “Get your ass up here.”

She released me and crawled up my body. I couldn’t wait, pulling her into my arms and flipping her to her back, swallowing the sound of her laughter as I covered her mouth with mine. I used my knee to push open her legs, running my hand up her inner thigh, my lips sliding down her jaw. I grabbed a condom from the box on the bedside table and put it in her hand.

She wrapped a leg around my upper thighs, pulling me closer, her hand between our bodies, sliding the condom down my hard length. She guided me to her wet entrance, her hips rising to meet mine, her lips pressed to my ear, begging me to fuck her. I was happy to oblige.

I eased into her, taking my time, wanting to savor every second of the connection. She laced her fingers with mine, her hand on my ass, moving with me as I rocked into her. She was tight, amazingly, perfectly tight, and it felt fucking fantastic.

God, she was perfect; the way she moved, the way she smelled, the taste of her skin, all of it. I took my time, making it last, dragging it out. Y/N was writhing beneath me, gasping and moaning, her eyes squeezed shut, her head thrown back, gorgeous, obscene sounds falling from her lips.

She came with a loud cry of my name, her legs tightening around me, her nails scratching long welts in my back, her pussy clamping around on my cock, drawing a loud groan from me as I came.

“Fuck,” I grunted, burying my face in the crook of her shoulder.

She giggled again, wrapping both of her legs and her arms around me, her lips on mine, kissing me.

“You keep that up and we’re gonna have to go for round two,” I chuckled.

“Mmm, show me what you got, handsome,” she sighed, pulling me back to her lips.

I woke up to an empty bed, an empty room. I pushed myself up and sat on the edge, my bad knee aching, my lower back sore, a smile on my face. Clothes were strewn across the floor, empty beer bottles littered the table, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses - one with lipstick stains - were on the floor beside the bed, along with an empty box of condoms.

Across the room, her name and phone number were scrawled on the large mirror in bright red lipstick. On the bureau beneath it was a cup of coffee and a bag from the diner across the street.

Christ, she was hot.

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