#he now knows what like half my family looks like

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tongue in Cheek - Yang Jeongin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: CEO jeongin x fem! reader

summary: your boss is up for a big promotion. There's just one problem, he told his boss that he's married. So he asks you to be his wife for just one night. But now this cold CEO is seeing you in a whole new light.

warnings: power dynamics, tooth-aching fluff, angst, kissing, did I mention fluff????

Jeongin slid a few papers around his desk. “Something you need?” He snapped, his tone exhausted and annoyed. His patience was wearing thin lately. You had noticed immediately, the way he moved around the office like every corner and seam of his heavy armor was starting to crack. He was stressed, he was nervous. You suppose that's why you agreed to this dinner in the first place. To help him out. That was the only reason you had agreed to be his “fake wife.”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. But Mr. Kwon’s assistant called again to confirm that you- um, that we would be attending the dinner tomorrow evening.” You kept your eyes downcast, studying every fiber of his office carpet. A deep, intimidating red color that filled the entire room like an inferno. It's as if he wanted everyone that walked into his office to know that they were walking into Hell.

“Tell her that we'll be there at eight sharp. I want you dressed nicely. Take my card and buy yourself something expensive.” Jeongin's hand stretched out to reveal a heavy platinum credit card weaved between his fingers. You took a step forward but hesitated, your mouth parting slightly. Jeongin's eyes flashed up to you, his head still hanging down. “No arguments, just do it.”

And that was that. Because if Yang Jeongin told you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

The night of the dinner was chiller than you had anticipated. The sun was going down sooner and sooner and cold air swept you up and pulled you inside of Jeongin's luxury car. It was warm inside with plush seats that hugged you better than your own mother. Was this what money could buy? You casually glanced at Jeongin's hand gripping the expensive leather of the steering wheel. He was wearing a shiny silver bracelet and a large, heavy looking ring on his middle finger. He had told you once that the ring was lucky and he would only wear it when he really, really needed it. Jeongin kept his eyes fixed on the road, focused and determined even in his driving. But soon his deep voice cut through the building tension. “Mr. Kwon is the man to impress, the man to be, the man to beat. But he is put off by the fact that I never settled down to start a family. He thinks it's abnormal for a man my age to not have someone.”

You kept your mouth closed tight. You agreed with Jeongin's boss, it was abnormal. Jeongin was young, attractive, and successful. So why hadn't he found someone? As if sensing your train of thought, he cocked his head towards you and raised an eyebrow. “It's not like I don't fuck, I just don't have time for a relationship.”

A relationship. He said that word like it was poison on his tongue. The two of you pulled into the long driveway of a sprawling manor you had only seen in magazines. The path was lined with lights and led you both to a towering front door that was painted the most intense red you had ever seen. You were starting to understand where Jeongin was getting his business inspiration. You stepped inside to see dinner already being set.

Five course meal. Five courses. There were nights when all you could afford was a cup of ramen and a few beers. This was how the other half lived. Mr. Kwon and his wife were both incredibly gorgeous. To look at them too long almost felt greedy. Mr. Kwon commented on Jeongin's cufflinks and his wife absolutely adored your dress. You found it easy to converse with her. A simple, sweet woman who meant well but was so detached from the real world that she was living in her own little fairytale. Jeongin and you had discussed a background story for how you met and what your wedding day was like in case anyone had asked. And to no one's surprise, Mrs. Kwon wanted to know every detail.

After a few glasses of champagne, you found yourself gushing about Jeongin. You spoke about his gentle demeanor when his mother or siblings call. You talked about his smell and the first time you knew you were in love with him.

Jeongin sat back in his chair and watched you. He watched you diverge from the previously discussed storyline that the two of you agreed on. He listened as you spoke honestly about your feelings and your ambitions and goals for the future. He felt a clench in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. You seemed to almost have a glow around you when you spoke. As if the roof opened up to let moonlight pour down over your entire body. And the dress you chose. Jeongin finally allowed himself a moment to admire and memorize every curve and dip of your waist and legs. He could feel his $300 slacks growing tighter by the second. Mr. Kwon stood from the table and announced that the men should adjourn to the other room for cigars and brandy. Jeongin let out a sigh of relief and quickly stood to follow the rest of the men but before he could leave you grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek. “Miss you already.” You said with a smile loud enough that the rest of the guests could hear. You gave him a quick wink before dropping his hand and returning to the dinner table.

“You got a good one there, Yang.” Mr. Kwon let out a large puff of smoke from his cigar. “Don't fuck this up. She's good for you.”

Jeongin fiddled with his own cigar, still unlit. He weaved it between his fingers. “Yes, Sir.” His mind was a million miles away. You have worked for him for three years now. He still remembers the day he hired you. The outfit you wore, the messy bun with frazzled strands of hair falling in front of your eyes. You were so nervous. But you were determined. He recognized that fire in your eyes. It was the same fire that burned inside him.

“Thank you for tonight. You were very convincing.” Jeongin had driven you back to your one bedroom apartment. You stood in the single step in front of your front door. You were actually eye-level with him now, your face just inches from his. “You're welcome. It was fun.” You confessed. You liked being a part of his world. Jeongin cleared his throat and smiled. An awkward, unsure smile that you weren't used to seeing. He gave you a polite bow and turned towards his car to leave. You felt a heaviness pull at your heart as he started to walk away. But before he got to the street he stopped. He turned on his heels to face you once again, his unsure smile now transforming into a devilish smirk. “The night isn't over. Technically, you're still my wife.” He took a few steps towards you. “Kiss me.”

The heaviness in your chest now felt like a balloon soaring high as you ran towards him without hesitation. You jumped into his arms and he held your leg with one hand and used his other arm to wrap around your waist, holding you close to him. Your lips crashed into his clumsily. Your mouths falling over each other until you slowly found a rhythm. It was the most romantic moment of your entire life and you never wanted it to stop. You kissed him over and over again. Some were slow and lingering while others were needy and impatient. You kissed him. Because if Yang Jeongin tells you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin

[corroded-hellfire]

I just need pre-relationship AYW!Eddie all pent up and feral for Reader. I need him whimpering when he touches himself after Reader leaves for the evening. I need him trying to picture anyone else besides his kids’ babysitter but he keeps picturing Reader.

Your wish is my command! 😘

Warnings: male masturbation, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), older!eddie, babysitter!reader, the longing is real

Words: 2.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Go to sleep now,” you grumble playfully, ruffling Luke’s curls as he smiles up at you from his bed.

“One more story?” Luke asks, though his voice betrays how sleepy he already is.

“Come on, buddy,” Eddie says from the doorway. “She’s been nice enough to stay for dinner and read you two bedtime stories already.”

A smile that steals Eddie’s breath grows on your lips as you turn to look at your boss.

“You make it sound like such a hardship,” you quip.

“I don’t think your union allows for overtime,” Eddie replies.

You let out a soft giggle and Eddie feels his insides begin to melt. It’s catastrophically unfair, the effect you have on him. Not in his whole life has Eddie met someone who so effortlessly turns him on and makes his heart race. As impossible as it is to ignore the feelings, Eddie tries not to linger on them for a few reasons. One, you’re a complete pipe dream. There is no way you, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and hilarious you would ever see a man over a decade older than you in the same light that he sees you. Two, and which he admits is arguably the bigger reason, is that he’s married. Sure, it hasn’t been a real marriage in…God knows how long. But it’s still a legally binding marriage that he hasn’t even attempted to separate from. Not for lack of want, though. It’s hard to see a point when it would cause the breakup of his boys’ family, and for what? So Eddie could be all alone in some smaller unfamiliar home that he struggles to afford on his own while caring for his sons, only getting to see them half the time he does now? No. He basically is doing it all alone right now, with the lack of input from Brittany, but at least Luke and Ryan are in the home they know and the two combined household incomes can give them a pretty good life.

Unfortunately, all the logic in the world can’t cure Eddie’s addiction to you.

“Close your eyes, sleepyhead.” You stand up from the edge of the four-year-old’s bed and lean over to press a kiss to his forehead.

The way you bend down towards the boy gives Eddie a spectacular view of your ass. He’s forced to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to suppress the groan that so desperately wants to escape. As much as he internally chides himself, Eddie can’t tear his eyes away either. He gets so few chances to just look at you, that he can’t bring himself to cut this precious time short.

“Night night,” Luke says through a yawn.

“Night, pal,” Eddie says.

You boop your index finger against the little boy’s nose before standing up straight and heading in Eddie’s direction. The two of you exit into the hallway and Eddie closes the door almost all the way–leaving it open just a crack to allow some of the hallway light in.

The two of you are silent as you walk to the living room, both silently dreading that it’s time to part for the evening. You swipe your bag up from the couch and slip it onto your shoulder.

“I guess I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” you say, reluctantly taking steps toward the front door.

“Thanks for staying longer than you had to,” Eddie says, walking you to the door like always. He feels like he should add the words “for the boys” to the end of his sentence, but he can’t bring himself to. As much as the boys adore you, Eddie knows he is without a doubt the happiest one that you stayed for dinner and until bedtime.

“It was fun,” you tell him. “I always have fun here.”

“Always?” Eddie teases, raising his eyebrows. “Can I remind you that you said that the next time Luke has a meltdown?”

“Sure,” you reply with a chuckle.

The electricity in the air threatens to spark at any moment as Eddie reaches around you to open the front door.

“Drive careful, sweetheart,” he says.

“No,” you tease with a playful smirk. “I’m going to drive recklessly. Run all the red lights.”

“Don’t give me reason to worry,” Eddie mumbles, knocking his shoulder against yours.

“Aww,” you coo. “You worry about me?”

Heat rises to Eddie’s cheeks and he desperately wills it to move back down his body.

“Alright, smart ass.” Eddie wrinkles his nose up and pretends to shove you out the door.

With a laugh, you playfully stumble down the walkway a few steps, acting as if his push was that strong.

“Oh, fine!” you lament over-dramatically. “I’ll be a good girl! Bye, Eddie.”

A good girl. Suddenly, Eddie wishes that heat and blood would stay in his face instead of rushing to his groin like it currently is.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The moment you’re safely in your car and Eddie hears the engine start, he closes the front door and groans in time with the locking mechanism clicking into place.

“This just feels cruel,” he mumbles to himself as he rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He lets himself stand there until he hears your car rumble down the road and off into the night.

It takes a Herculean effort to push himself up and head deeper into the house. Out of habit, Eddie glances at the clock on the wall to see if Brittany will be home soon or not. It’s useless though—there’s never a set time she comes home. Who knows where she is or what she’s doing? Or who she’s doing. The pseudo-schedule the household used to follow has fallen by the wayside, so Eddie mentally tells himself to ignore it altogether. Easier said than done, of course.

When Eddie steps into the hallway it’s silent. No sounds of Luke sneaking out of bed to play with his toys or Ryan fumbling for his flashlight to read beneath his covers. Heaving a sigh, Eddie decides he might as well take care of the situation in his pants.

Despite Brittany not being home, Eddie locks the bedroom door behind him. Luke has also started the bad habit of opening any and every door without knocking first. So, better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay, think of someone else,” Eddie says to himself as he rids himself of his clothes. “Anyone else. Not her.”

It shouldn’t be hard to think of another woman to get himself off. Hell, for the entirety of Eddie’s teenage years, he could’ve jacked it to almost any woman and it would be great. Now he can’t seem to get this one specific, unattainable woman out of his mind.

He shucks the last of his clothes off and lays down on his bed, wracking his brain for someone who can get the job done. Julia Roberts? Nah. Jennifer Aniston? No. Cindy Crawford? Nope. Nicole Kidman? Maybe….no. Aunt Viv from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? The first, not the second one. Still no.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, letting his eyes fall closed as he wraps his hand around his semi-hard shaft. He licks over his lips and tries to let himself relax. The only way Eddie is going to be able to take care of this problem is to think about you and he knows it. He also knows he needs to hurry up if he wants to finish before Brittany comes home.

The mere thought of the woman who sleeps next to him at night has him softening slightly in his hand. A snort of laughter comes out, Eddie finding that humorous. Objectively, Brittany is beautiful, but knowing the rot and decay that lays just beneath the surface ruins any attractiveness Eddie could ever find in her anymore. Even though he already knows what will happen, Eddie immediately switches his thoughts over to you to see the effect. It’s instant. His cock comes to life at the very thought of your name.

No shit, Eddie thinks to himself as he opens his legs a little wider. Because she’s literally a fucking goddess. God, those eyes. Eddie’s hand grips himself a little tighter and moves down towards the base.

“Say you’re a good girl again, baby,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. Fuck, he can’t believe he was lucky enough to hear those words come from your lips. Jesus, he can hardly imagine being lucky enough to come home to you at the end of the day. Walking in the door after work and seeing you is already what he looks forward to all day, he can’t fathom how he would feel if you greeted him with a kiss and stayed there with him and the boys all night. And once the boys go to bed it’s time for some fun.

“Please.”

The word tumbles from Eddie’s lips but he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for. You to be there with him? You to be by his side always? You to be here, naked, with your hand around him instead of his own?

Okay, Eddie thinks, shifting to make himself more comfortable. There we go, think about coming home to her.

He begins to slowly stroke his cock up and down.

Eddie imagines walking through the front door and kicking his boots off. Your voice hums sweetly from the kitchen and it brings a smile to his face.

“What smells so good, huh?” he asks as he strolls into the room.

The sight he’s greeted by is almost enough to bring him to his knees. You stand at the counter, facing him, an apron on and a bowl full of cake batter held in your hands.

“Welcome home,” you say.

Dark brown eyes follow your every move as you slowly dip your forefinger into the batter and pop it into your mouth. Eddie finds himself holding his breath as you slide your finger out from between your plush pink lips at a torturous pace.

As if the first time wasn’t enough, you dip your finger back in, but instead of putting it in your mouth this time, you point your finger up and stick your tongue out to lick every speck of vanilla batter off of it.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie moans.

With a soft laugh, you set the bowl down and look up at Eddie through your thick eyelashes.

“Funny. I was going to say that to you.”

A rough growl reverberates from Eddie’s chest as he moves forward to grab you by the hips. It’s only once he has his hands on you that he realizes not only are you wearing the apron—you’re wearing only the apron.

“God damn, baby,” he mutters. Calloused hands slide back just slightly and come into contact with your bare ass. He drops his head forward to rest against yours with a helpless whine.

You giggle, tilting your head up to brush your nose against his.

“I like the sounds you make,” you tell him, voice thick with lust.

Before he responds, Eddie presses a few gentle kisses along your bare shoulder and up the side of your throat.

“I want to hear your noises, too.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “I don’t think that’ll be very hard to manage.” You reach up with your left hand and tug on the tied apron string resting on the nape of your neck. The front of the apron falls down, leaving your entire torso exposed to Eddie.

A guttural groan meets your ears as strong hands grab you by the waist and help you up onto the counter. Immediately, you spread your legs and Eddie stands between them, the two of you fighting with the apron to get it all the way off you.

Eddie tosses it over his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling the two of your bodies as close as possible.

“Eddie,” you whine, reaching up to bury your fingers in his unruly curls.

“What baby?” His breath brushes against your lips, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Need you.” Using your grip on his hair, you pull Eddie’s face down to crash against yours.

Mouths meet, lips dancing, tongues exploring, and teeth clashing. Strong yet gentle fingertips dig into your skin, yearning to hold you as tight as humanly possible. Nothing is close enough.

Eddie pulls back just enough to playfully nip at your bottom lip.

“Being such a good girl for me,” he rasps.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you run your nose along the edge of Eddie’s jawline.

“Wanna be so good for you. Wanna feel you, Eddie. Pretty please?”

A smug smirk grows on Eddie’s face as he reaches between your two bodies to unzip his navy blue coveralls. You shove the material down his hips as Eddie whips his white undershirt off over his head.

“Ready for me, princess?”

Eddie lines himself up with your entrance, glancing up at your face as he waits for your approval.

“God, yes!” You nod emphatically, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him inside of you faster.

Eddie grins at your eagerness, putting both of you out of your misery as he pushes inside.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Oh!” You whimper, clinging to Eddie’s shoulders.

The sweet little noises spilling from your lips only encourage Eddie. He pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back into your tight wet heat. It feels as close to euphoria as Eddie’s ever felt. He wants to spend forever between your legs, but it feels far too good to last long.

“Feels so good,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” Eddie asks. “Like when I…oh, fuck.”

Eddie doesn’t have time to imagine what he’d say next before hot cum starts to pour over his fist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles as his orgasm works its way through his body. His hand keeps going, milking his cock for everything that it’s worth.

Once he’s well and truly spent, Eddie lets his boneless body sink into the mattress. His arm flings over the side of the bed and his fingertips brush against his t-shirt laying on the floor. Blindly, he picks it up and wipes his coated hand off before wiping the cum off his abdomen, legs, and anywhere else it went.

“Holy shit,” Eddie sighs. His head falls to the side and his eyes slip closed. A goofy smile comes to his face as his mind returns to you. “Fuck, I’m so gone for her.”

[justkitkatthings]

OH MY GOD OR THIS https://www.tumblr.com/justkitkatthings/768357089618903040/i-know-this-isnt-possible-but-just-hear-me-out-a AND READER WHO BECOMES THE ONE WHO INCLUDES SIMON IN EVERYTHING OR IS NOT SNAPPY TOWARDS HIM???

YES ANON THAT'S WHERE I WAS THINKING OF TAKING IT!!! That or making them all in a poly relationship (because I did tag it as that) if I continue this but idk how to write for that, so just lmk what everyone wants because I fear I AM a people pleaser.

ANYWAYS, HERE’S PT 2

———

It was stupid, really. Sure, you had to relearn how to walk and run and drive and kneel down and do a push up, etc etc. But, like, after you did all that (with the help of some physical therapy and Just Dance) it was like nothing changed.

And it wasn't like it was your fault the bottom half of your leg got blown up. The least they could do was let you keep your job!

To make things worse, John, Kyle, and Johnny seemed extra busy nowadays. Or maybe it's just because of your replacement, which John is adamant about you meeting. It’s how you find yourself in the base you used to call home several years ago, with your old family practically smothering you in affection. It was less of you meeting this new guy and more of a reunion, which is how you wanted to keep it.

At least, at first.

You liked having the attention and affection of your three best friends, but you could only stand so many of the longing gazes from the brooding man before you cracked. He looked… kind of hurt, and definitely lonely.

He looked like you, almost.

As much as you tried, you can’t resist those big brown eyes and slumped broad shoulders. The night you finally cracked, everyone was drinking. Your stump was hurting and John, Kyle, and Johnny were too drunk to carry you, so you were stuck with Simon.

He picked you up with ease and you thought that it was done there, until he quietly spoke up.

“Why do you hate me?”

You’ve never heard his voice sound this small and vulnerable before. This wasn’t a big tank of a man asking you that, it was a scared and insecure child. Yep. Yep, definitely looks like you.

“I don’t hate you.” You huff and roll your eyes, but it’s not like you can do much while trapped in his arms.

“You act like it.” He countered with a petulant pout, or what you think is one, covered by the mask.

It's not fair! He can’t do that to you. His stupid pout and his stupid, strong, steady arms were going to be the death of you. He pulled on your heartstrings so hard, he made you take him under your wing (which is ironic, because he’s larger and older than you).

You didn’t act like you hated him for too long after that. Someone finally gave him the comfort he never got from anyone else, you offered him kind words and gentle touches, and now he’s stuck to you like glue. Soon enough, you’re spending more time with him than with John, Kyle, and Johnny.

You can’t say you hate it. The two of you understand each other more than anyone else ever could. It’s not that the other three don’t understand you both, it's just that you understand each other more.

No one will ever take that away from you. No one will ever take him away from you.

[chelfaust]

Little bit of a vent :: Posting it here bc I don't want the discourse from the other sites if I'm being honest, and will probably delete it later idk.

I decided to wait to have a child. I decided to wait because I grew up initially extremely poor to an alcoholic single mother who chose her addiction over me every single chance she got. I lived in a trailer that I fell through the floor of - I sat awake every night in my bed til 4 am listening to god awful country music being blasted on the radio while she and her friends partied, but was still expected to get myself up in the morning and walk to school no matter the weather. I remember sneaking into the kitchen just to turn the music down slightly and every time less than 20 minutes later they would notice and turn it back up. To this day I can't stand country music and I have to sleep with some sort of background sound like an air purifier or fan. I missed nearly 30 days of school my 6th grade year and they wanted to fail me in the new state I moved to to be adopted by my aunt and uncle - thankfully my aunt fought for me to be put in 7th grade remedial classes so I was not held back a year. Needless to say, I had no real childhood. You see, I wanted very badly to have a stable life and be financially ok before I decided to have a child. And now, once I'm finally there - I'm faced with having a child in the most uncertain time of my millennial existence. Aside from all of the other rugs that have been pulled out from under me, and all the ladders that have been pulled up behind the boomers and gen x. I'm being bombarded with my healthcare being on the line via the recent events of women's health degradation. I'm having to seriously consider going to another country just to have my unborn child get the vaccinations they will need in order to live a fully healthy life unmarked by the fear of contracting an illness they would otherwise never have to worry about. Child tax deductions were cut in half the last time that orange nitwit was in office and now I'm facing him again as he surely looks for another way to financially cripple my family. I'm angry at myself for having waited to have a child now. If I had just tried earlier, I wouldn't be in this fearful mess. I would've already had her vaccinated and my rights would still be fully intact without the constant looming trepidation that some moron in my state's government will try to overthrow what the people have already codified. I'm tired and upset and I know I'm not at fault, but I feel so utterly fucking guilty.

[drcomttheo]

Draco Malfoy x YN

summary: You are the first person who's been in his room.

warnings: Fluff, soft smut

words: 642

a/n: Excerpt from my fic "Inordinate Love" or find it on my ML that's pinned.

Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML

Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

"You have a very lovely room, Malfoy."

I can't help but smile as I am walking around his room.

He has many pictures from his childhood. "You were also a very cute kid." I observe as I am picking up a small picture with a young Malfoy in it.

It seems like it was one of those photos that rich people get taken for their yearly family portrait. "Thank you." He says back with a soft chuckle and head shake.

I place the picture back in its spot, slowly making my way around his room until I find something familiar to me. "Why do you have a Venomous Tentacula in your room?" I question as I make sure just to pick up the pot holding the small version of a really big plant.

A Tentacula was spiky and red in color, and aside from the fact that I am deathly allergic to it, it is a toothsome plant with mobile vines that try to grab its prey.

It has many different purposes, as it also has many different properties.

"I think it's pretty, and I believe people tend to see all the bad in things and never really see the beauty in it." He smiled at his own comment as he was slowly walking towards me.

Now that I looked around, I noticed he had many plants around his room; they were not big or overwhelming. Just the right amount to suggest maybe he should have been a Hufflepuff.

I giggle to myself, hoping he can't read my mind because if he did, he would kill me for that comment.

I set the plant back down gently where I got it. "I am allergic to those, you know. In fifth-year herbology, when we were doing a research project on deadly plants, I just barely nicked my finger on a stinging nettle.

Professor Sprout found out very fast that maybe she shouldn't be teaching with them, as I had to be rushed to the hospital wing. I was out for days. Lucky to be alive, actually." I smile slightly.

"I am lucky you are alive too." He smiled at me sweetly, making his way over to me, putting both of his hands on my waist, and I met his brooding gray eyes.

"Are you done snooping now?" He asks in a joking manner. "Maybe, maybe not." I say, breaking out of his grip, walking away while running my fingers along his dresser to his desk.

He looked at me with an impatient look. "Okay. Fine! I am done snooping." I fired back at him, crossing my arms and kicking one foot out.

"You better be lucky. I like you, any other girl/boy." He paused. "Well, first, any other girl/boy would not have made it to my bedroom, and if they did, they wouldn't be here long enough to explore."

What was he saying? Was he saying I was special? Was he saying I was the first girl/boy in here?

I decided I would mess with him a little bit because I can tell how much it actually makes him happy. "Are you saying I am special, Malfoy?" I ask, lightly spinning in a half circle.

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Y/N." I was taken aback, mostly because I was expecting a sarcastic response. He was walking towards me again but with more lust in his eyes, and before I knew it, he had picked me up and placed me on the desk, pushing me against the wall and kissing me.

He delicately took hold of my face, his hands tenderly resting against my cheeks. Our lips met in a passionate yet tender embrace.

I held him close, my arms wrapped securely around his neck. His hands gently caressed the small of my back.

The kiss was intensifying, and our desire for one another was becoming more powerful.

One hand of Dracos traveled down my body as the other clenched over my breasts tightly.

[thewinter-eden]

Blink Twice if You Need Help

images are mine (except middle CB pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 3 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: stalker!Changbin has been following you for weeks. He’s looking for his next target, and he’s obsessed with you. While he’s watching you, however, he learns the secret you keep—you’re being routinely robbed by your addict brother. After watching this cycle of abuse end with you crying almost every night, Changbin takes pity.

warnings: Familial abuse, drug addict brother, satirical but definitive death of character, physical abuse, stalking, nonconsensual photographs, creepiness, fear, breakup, blood and injury, strangulation (brief, no death), automotive-related death, please for the love of god don’t take this seriously, Changbin’s kinda icky (I’m sorry babes I swear I love you), chai lattes

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

You’re radiant.

You always are, have been since the moment you first stepped foot in his café.

But today, you’re radiant in blue. It’s a sweater he’s seen a dozen times, but now as you tiptoe up to the counter, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows and baring half a dozen clinking bracelets of various metals and stones, he thinks he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He responds to your chirped good morning and waits for the next notes of your voice to tell him what you’re ordering, and he can’t help but trace the lines of your face with his eyes as you glance over the menu.

Startled out of his admiring trance by your sharp gaze pinning him with a smile, he forces his stare to stay above your lips as you give a half laugh and request, “A chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, please.”

You never try anything new.

Today it’s yellow.

The bell above the door rings an announcement of your arrival, and there you are; wearing a warm yellow dress with thick black tights that keep the chill off, your cheeks flushed from the cold.

He can’t say your smile lights up a room, because from his perspective, your smile blacks the room out. Everyone else disappears. No one and nothing exists except for you, right before his eyes, your windswept hair a halo around your brow.

He hands off the drink he’s just finished making for another regular customer, sending them out the door with a kind smile, and then turns to you just as your fingertips touch down on his counter top.

It’s almost procedural, the way he anticipates each move you make just before you make it. You slide your fingertips towards the register before laying your palms flat, cocking your hip against the counter as though you have to lean closer to see the menu.

Your eyes trace the words and pictures for a few long seconds, gifting him with the view of your throat curving up towards your jaw, and the contemplative bow of your lips. And then, finally, you’ll drop your eyes to his, smile like you’ve never been more excited to order a cup of coffee, and then you place your order.

Always a chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.

“Good morning,” He greets you when you appear in a pink jumpsuit. His eyes follow the sounds of your bracelets jingling, up to the clink of the two necklaces you always wear, up to the cheeky swish of the earrings that ornate all three of your lobe piercings.

Your eyes fall from the menu to his face like they’ve been physically pushed, surprised by his friendly voice, and he doesn’t think he imagines the sudden rush of heat that crawls up your throat with a wash of color. “Oh.”

He’s caught you off-guard; he knows, because you’ve never given him that upward tilt of your voice before.

“Good morning!” You sing back, that smile pulling your lips back.

“Chai latte with oatmilk?” He recalls, already lifting a cup and holding his marker at the ready.

“With extra cloves.” You confirm, slightly in awe that he’s remembered.

Of course he remembers.

He flashes you a wink just before he turns around to start on your drink, and sees you in his peripheral moving towards the pickup counter. You’re smiling down at the rings that clutter your fingers, and he can’t help the swarm in his chest that floods in as a result of the fact that this time, you’re the one flustered over him.

The day that you arrive at the café to find that your latte is already made and ready for you, you’re missing one of your earrings. He catches your eye as you enter, his gaze flickering over that blue sweater again as you approach the register.

Before you can order, he’s pushing your full, steaming cup towards you and the screen is already flashing your total. His eyes flick from yours to the empty piercing on your left lobe. “Good morning,” He says.

You’re staring down at the cup with a sort of delighted, half-confusion, before your gaze snaps back up to him. “Is this—”

“Chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.” He confirms with a grin. Then he falters, tilting his head at you. “Unless you want something different today?”

Your hands bring the cup closer to you, possessively. “No, this is perfect.” You argue, and then you’re digging for your billfold. “Thank you…” You drift off, eyebrows lifting hopefully as you hint around for his name.

“Changbin.” A pink tint covers his cheeks as his grin softens. “And you?”

You give him your name, and your money, and leave the café with butterflies in your stomach.

When he finds the missing earring a few feet from the entrance to his café, accidentally dropped on the sidewalk, he scoops it up and tucks it in his pocket with care.

On an unseasonably warm day, you appear at his register in a shorter black skirt and a slouchy gray sweater that hangs off all the protruding points of your body with teasing subtlety. He passes you your drink, with the addition of a new flavor of muffin that his baker is trying out in the form of mini pastries, and notices that your skirt is well above your knees, fluttering around your mid-thigh in a way that has his gut clenching.

The tights don’t distract at all from the musculature of your legs and the curve of your ass that suddenly seems dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“Good morning, Changbin,” You greet cheerfully, and the sound of his name in your mouth brings his attention back to your bright features.

He makes sure no one follows you home. Your sweater is too flirty with your curves, your skirt too short, for him to rely on the strength and decency of lesser men.

You make it home, safe and sound, to your modest and tasteful townhouse. You live on the ground floor, surrounded by windows and bathed in soft fluorescent lighting.

You listen to pop music in the mornings, and early 2000s grunge rock in the afternoons. He takes note of the artists you listen to the most, and, soon enough, when you walk into the café in the mornings, there’s familiar music playing through the speakers.

He lives for the way it makes you smile when you notice.

As you get ready every morning, you put the same TV show on in the background, so he finds the station. It takes a few days for you to realize that he has it on one of the TVs mounted in the corners of his café, but when you do, you start lingering for a few extra moments every day to catch a couple seconds with fondness on your face.

He’s never watched an episode of the show in his life, but if it gets him two more sentences out of you every morning, consider him obsessed. He watches it all the time.

All of your snacks and meals are high protein and low sugar, because you go to the gym for two hours every other day and your one self indulgent treat is the sugary chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves that he makes for you.

This fact warms him from the inside out, because he resonates with this lifestyle choice. Your gym is near his, and it’s almost as large, almost as nice. You’re a hard worker, your beautiful curves the product of self discipline and dedication. He stops offering you his baker’s pastries and starts giving you the rich and smoky cheesy egg bites instead, and starts to realize that the guilty smile you once accepted your freebies with is now replaced by weightless excitement.

There’s not a single inch of you that needs less sugar, of course. He’d give you every muffin in his shop if he thought that was what you wanted. But he understands the yen for the feeling of progress in the gym, and the burden of cheating yourself through bad nutrition, so if he can help you feel like you’re getting stronger, he will. Hell, he’d start serving steak in his café if he thought you had an iron deficiency.

“Changbin!” You keen one morning as you flounce to the register in a flattering red blouse that he watched you pick out this morning. You lean against the counter with a great heave, and past the rush of excitement he feels for the very deliberate interaction you’re giving him, he notices a trace of greenish blue wrapping around your throat.

Then you turn your head and the light shifts the shadows on your skin, and he’s not sure.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” He greets casually, despite the pink tinge to his cheeks. “What’s going on?”

You scrub your nails over your scalp with exasperation and then set your enormous pleading eyes on him. “Binnie…”

His gut swirls.

That’s a new nickname.

It’s in his head now, locked into his brain, the way your tongue forms the sweet sound of his name like that.

“Changbin,” you say again. “Changbinnie.”

Despite the absolute earthquake happening in his chest, he gives you the flattest expression of suspicion that he can manage, and hopes his skin tone isn’t currently tomato. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.” It’s a lie.

A bald faced lie. He loves the sound of this. He wants you to keep repeating his name like that until it’s all he can hear.

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout, and he has to physically turn away to clean the milk steamer before he loses control in his place of business.

“Tell me you haven’t made my latte yet?” You plead, leaning further on the counter.

When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the way you’ve inadvertently showcased your breasts for him, and he spins around again, pinching his eyes shut. As though his apartment walls aren’t disappearing more and more by the day behind pictures of you.

As though he doesn’t know every single color in your underwear drawer.

“No, not yet. Why?” Another lie. The latte is sitting by his left hand, still steaming, just waiting for your manicured hands and perfectly lined lips.

“My blender broke this morning.” You whine, and dig in your purse for something. “I know you have smoothies on your menu, but I was wondering if you would add my protein powder to one? Is that legal, to take an ingredient from a customer?” You flap an admittedly suspicious looking ziplock bag at him. “I have a protein smoothie every morning for breakfast, and at this point it’s more of a crutch than my latte and I’ll just spiral for the rest of the day if I don’t start it with a strawberry shake, so please, Binnie—”

He cuts you off with one hand covering the one of yours that holds the ziplock, and the other pushing your latte towards you. “I have protein powder. You want vanilla or strawberry for your strawberry smoothie?”

Your mouth makes a beautiful “O” shape as your free hand cups the hot latte. “I thought you hadn’t made it?”

Changbin tosses a wink over his shoulder, already grabbing the vanilla protein powder. He already knows it’ll be vanilla. He already knows you want the whey powder and not the plant-based. He already knew about the blender.

Your morning may have started with an unexpected hiccup, but his is going exactly according to plan.

“Pull up a chair and drink while I make your smoothie. The latte is on the house.”

You immediately protest, but he won’t hear of it. He basks in your company as you sip down every bit of your comfort beverage, and then offers idle chatter between the scenes of your TV show as you spend ten minutes more than usual in his café, drinking your protein smoothie.

He got a full thirty minutes with you this morning, and it’s worth every second.

The morning that you wake up with another man steals the smile from his face. You must have brought him home with you last night, invited him to stay over, and are now foregoing your sacred protein smoothie in your new blender for a more traditional breakfast of eggs and toast, for the sake of your half-naked guest.

Changbin’s heels haven’t cooled even by the time you make it into the café for your latte, and he’s especially somber when you order an additional drink, a reeking pumpkin cappuccino that he’s forgotten to erase from the menu from a month ago.

He notices the extra warmth in your smile; your excitement is diminished, replaced with a satisfied contentment that makes his shoulders tense.

You’re falling in love with this new man, blushing down at your phone and walking home with your chin high, waking up in the mornings with a smile on your lips.

Changbin serves you every morning, your rich and creamy oatmilk chai latte with extra cloves, and the nauseating pumpkin cappuccino for your bedfellow. He doesn’t know why this man doesn’t come to the coffee shop with you, if he sends money or if he makes you pay for both of your drinks, if he even likes the autumn atrocity that Changbin makes with shaking hands every day.

The fire in his throat only heats when your drink order abruptly changes to two hot green teas. He watches you turn down his readily prepared chai latte with an awkward darting of your eyes, lifting your hand in refusal as though if he doesn’t take it away, you’ll reach out and snatch it from him.

“I’m actually getting some green teas this morning,” You say, and he knows he isn’t imagining the disappointed chuckle in your tone.

He takes your discarded usual away without hesitation, suddenly concerned that you may have developed an allergy or an intolerance for your favorite drink, but you just swipe a palm over your forehead and lean your elbow on the counter, settling into the comfort of your casual friendship with the attentive barista. “My boyfriend and I have decided to start eating healthier,”

Changbin can’t bring himself to believe you. You eat vegetables and chicken or fish for lunch, you snack on cheese and meat, you bake with honey instead of sugar, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen you without a water bottle in hand, in various stages of emptiness.

“We’re opting away from the lattes and cappuccinos for a bit.” You give another awkward laugh that turns his stomach, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

“You like the green tea?” He’s surprised. You have tea at home, of course, but it’s all black teas—rich and spicy and meant to be topped with a swirl of milk and brown sugar.

The skin around your mouth tightens as you fight a shiver. “Oh, no, but my boyfriend does.”

“I can make you something different,” He offers. “I have a bunch of teas. I just got in a new chai spice blend—” He breaks off when you raise your hand again, a physical barrier between your weakening determination and his tempting offer.

“That’s okay, Binnie. I think it tastes like soap and grass, but I promised him I’d give it a chance. Just the two green teas, please.” And you give him a sweet smile, just to make sure he knows that you’re not frustrated with him so much as your new dietary commitments.

You know he’s about to argue again, so you toss an appreciative glance around his coffee bar. “You live around here? I can’t imagine working every day like you do.”

“The apartment upstairs is mine,” He explains. “This café is my life; it’s not really a job anymore.”

“Wow.” Your soft voice is awash with jealousy. “That sounds like a dream.”

He hums softly at you, pulling the tea from his shelf. “It only tastes like soap and grass if you brew it too hot,” He says, and flicks on the kettle, indicating the thermometer on the lid. “If it tastes fishy, or sudsy, it’s either steeped too long or brewed too hot. Brew it low, steep it briefly, add a drop of honey, I swear it tastes like summer. If you don’t like it, I’ll give it to you for free.”

You protest, rolling your eyes nervously at his kindness, insisting that you’re not going to like it but you’re going to pay anyway. But when he hands you the drink—yours with honey and the boyfriend’s without—he urges you to take a delicate sip and watches your anticipating frown fade into pleasant surprise.

“Oh, it’s not bad.” You say, and beam at him.

He beams right back. “You want more honey?”

You shake your head. “No, this is fine. I’m still not sold on the flavor, but it’s not rancid like it’s always been from other shops. Thank you, Changbin!” And then you skip right out of his shop, on your way to deliver the drinks you don’t even like to your boyfriend.

But then, the morning that you arrive at his register with dark circles under your eyes and a downward slant to your lips doesn’t bring him the sense of relief that he thought it would. Your voice is low and unengaging as you order the teas, your smile unconvincing as you pay and leave without so much as a glance toward the TV.

Your boyfriend starts waking up earlier than you, leaving you to eat breakfast by yourself. It allows you to go back to your usual protein smoothies for breakfast, which seems to grant you at least a little bit of peace.

It seems that you’re still meeting him for lunch, because you still come in and order the two teas that you hate so much, but you hardly even talk to Changbin anymore. He watches your posture droop when you walk home, watches the way your muscles bunch and tense when your boyfriend looms behind you to greet you, hears the rising voices float across the street as you argue for the hundredth time.

Changbin hates the man who’s taken you from lovesick and floating on air to burdened and fearful. He hates the snippets of your life that he gets to see, the early morning sighs of disappointment as you realize you’re waking up alone again, the drag of your feet as you prepare to head in and grab the teas, your discouraged slump after lunch when your boyfriend comes home from work.

So when the morning comes that you arrive with your makeup sloppily done, tear tracks splitting the seamless layer of your foundation, and you order a single chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, Changbin smiles sympathetically at you and gives it to you for free.

He had watched you receive the breakup text over breakfast, his heart keening as you cried into your smoothie, his gut clenching as you sniffled your way through applying and reapplying your mascara, smiling proudly as you stared at yourself in your bedroom mirror and set your shoulders, determined to go about your day as you intended.

“His loss, gorgeous.” He says, unprompted, as your purple-tipped fingers curl around your cup of comfort.

Your eyes snap up to him, wide with surprise, and for a second his smile stalls. But then he reaches across the counter and presses a napkin into your hand, gesturing to where your eyeliner has fallen from your lower lid, and says, “I assume the tears, the single drink, and the lack of rancid green tea means your boyfriend isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Suspicion falls from your shoulders and you dab at your eyes brokenly. “Your tea was never rancid, Changbin.”

He reaches across the counter in a move that he, himself, wasn’t anticipating, and covers your hand with his own. “I know you’re having a bad day, gorgeous, but you can always talk to me.”

That brings a smile to your face. “Do you give all your customers such five star service?”

“Only the crying ones,” He winks, and then gives your hand a squeeze once he notices that you haven’t tried to pull it away.

You gather yourself with a bit of his offered strength, pushing your shoulders back and swallowing the next threatening round of tears, and flash him a smile that holds a trace of your old vibrancy.

He smiles proudly back at you. “Can I assume you’ll be taking your usual from now on?”

You nod, pulling a long drink from the beverage you’ve missed for so long, and give him the most beautiful sigh of contentment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Binnie.”

“See you soon, gorgeous.”

It turns out, that ominous bruise on your throat from a couple months ago wasn’t a trick of the light.

You bounce into the café wearing a shade of green that makes your eyes pop, earrings jingling as you make your way to the register. When you take a habitual gander at the menu, as though you’ll ever order anything but your usual ever again, he sees it again.

Not greenish blue, like it was that time, but a bright red and darkening purple, freshly settling into the flesh of your smooth throat.

You’re chattering about something, his peripheral catching flashes of your teeth as you talk, and his ears catch the clatter of your bracelets when you gesture with a hand to punctuate whatever point you’re making, but Changbin’s eyes are on the faint handprint beneath your jaw.

A paper to-go cup, mercifully empty, crushes in his angry fist, and your words stop abruptly.

“Binnie?”

His mouth stutters open, mind searching for words to demand an explanation for the signs of violence against you, stare still stuck on the marring of your perfect skin and supple flesh, when a delicate blanket of warmth covers his shaking hand. His mouth clicks shut, gaze dropping to where your hand is wrapped around his.

“Binnie. It’s fine.” How you knew what is speeding through his mind escapes him, because all he can see is another handprint, this one wrapped around your wrist, barely concealed by the stacks of mismatched bracelets.

When he finally catches your eyes, you look embarrassed and ashamed, but not unwell. Your smile is weaker this time, and his fingers pinch around the crumpled cup when he notices your lips trembling. “Binnie, I swear it’s fine.”

He takes your hand on his as permission to reach for you, and he tosses the cup in the trash and leans against the counter, his hand sliding up your forearm to grip your elbow. “Is someone hurting you?” His eyes narrow and his head cocks to peer under your jaw at the large, obviously male handprint.

Now that he’s close enough, he sees redness on your scalp, thin spots in your hair, tiny specks of crusted blood. Someone’s been yanking you around by the hair, and he’s almost sure it’s not a consensual act.

His mind is made up then, certain that something bad is happening in your house after he’s gone, determined that he needs to stick around longer and make sure you’re okay. Some time between his afternoon watch and his early morning check in, you’re being harmed by someone much larger than you.

When he looks away from the bruise at last, feeling your perfectly painted nails dig into the muscle of his forearm, he finds tears in your eyes.

“I’m okay, Binnie, I swear.” You whisper, and your free hand reaches for the latte that he tried to give you right before he noticed your damaged throat.

He loosens his grasp on you—it wasn’t tight to begin with, but he doesn’t want you feeling trapped. Instead of helping you reach the latte, he brings his hand up and lifts some of the loose strands of your hair away from your throat.

Changbin hears your breath catch, sees the pulse racing beneath your ear, so he pulls back. He drops his palms on the counter and watches you with a frown, observing as you desperately try to collect yourself from the intimate touches he’s surprised you with.

He can’t do anything about it until he knows what’s going on, so he just matches your weak smile and clears his throat. “Don’t go letting someone hurt my best customer, alright? No, put that away, it’s on me today.” He makes a waving motion at you as you go for your billfold, and the tension escapes from your chest.

Your voice sings with light laughter. “How can I be your best customer if you keep giving me things for free?”

Changbin just nods towards your latte. “Get out of here, gorgeous. Enjoy your drink.”

“I always do, Binnie.”

It’s your brother.

There’s a definite family resemblance in the slope of your noses and the bends of your knuckles, but the similarities stop there.

It’s after dinner that he arrives—two, three times a week—bursting into your house with no regard for your privacy or boundaries, rifling through the wallet that you keep on the mail table. His voice booms through the house, calling for you, so loudly it travels across the street.

He’s the reason you start coming in with darker bruises, poorly concealed by makeup on your throat, on your wrists, under your eyes. He’s the reason more of your hair tangles in your shower drain in clumps bunched together by clotted blood. He’s the reason for the spattering of bruises across the smooth skin of your chest, the reason you’ve stopped wearing bras with underwire that press into your damaged ribs for the sake of soft and gentle sports bras.

Your brother is the reason you sit on your bed at night, pressing an ice pack to your naked thigh where a faint boot print has stiffened the flesh. He’s the reason two of your fingers are wrapped and splinted, and the reason that Changbin has watched you sell your family piano and your late father’s expensive stereo set.

All for drug money.

Threats and violence and theft from your own brother so he can meet with his dealer outside the fourth street McDonalds.

Your smiles grow heavier and Changbin’s heart pounds harder as he watches you tremble in front of him, holding your latte with both hands. The expensive stones from your jewelry collection are gone, as is the vintage watch that your grandmother gave you.

It’s getting worse.

Your brother comes by more often, he gets more desperate. He’s no longer just looking for drug money, now he’s in debt, and you don’t have the means to help him pay it back. Not that he can be convinced of that.

You stop coming to the café. Changbin knows why, he knows you don’t have the money to spend on a drink every morning—even though most times he gives it to you for free. You won’t take advantage of him, even though he tells you you don’t have to pay.

Instead, he sees you tenderly rise from bed, walking on stiff and pained legs to your closet, dragging loose clothes over your mottled skin. You haven’t stocked up on your protein powder; it’s an expensive supplement, and your bank account is drained from your brother’s latest visit. Your breakfast is the last of your frozen strawberries, blended with yogurt and honey, and you sag over your straw like you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

He sees you bend over your work with your water bottle next to you, not having the energy to take your usual gym break. Instead, you nap.

You’re drained of money, drained of strength, drained of hope.

He sees you lock your door, and then sweep up the splintered wood after your brother breaks it down. He sees you block the door with a bookshelf, and then collect all of your books off the floor after your brother shoves it aside anyway. You try everything, from nailing the door shut to setting a burglar alarm, but you just end up having to clean up shattered windows or stand silently while your brother explains to the police what a silly misunderstanding it all is.

And then one night, the one night that Changbin has to stay late to update his inventory after his weekly supply shipment at the café, there’s a knock on his apartment door. He’s fresh out of the shower, upper half bare and a towel draped over his shoulders, one end of it clutched in his hand and scrubbing the dampness from his hair, when he swings the door open and there you are.

You’re a tortured vision in white; white t-shirt and white sweatpants, your face streaked with tears and your left eye swollen from a fresh beating, and you throw yourself into his arms like you’ve known him forever.

He’s stunned, panicking, desperate to get you out of his apartment, but he’s a weak, weak man because you’re wrapped so tightly around him, your hands pressed into his back, your chest flush against his, your damp face curled into his neck, and his brain just blanks out.

The towel drops from his grasp and his arms find their way around you. Whether it’s his heart or yours that’s pounding like a jackhammer between you is unknowable, especially when he breathes in the scent of you. He knows the smell, knows it like his own home, but it’s different when it’s directly from you.

You’re weeping into his ear, trembling beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything he needs to hide.

“Slow down, gorgeous, I’m here.”

You crumble in his arms, sagging against his chest.

“I’m here.” His hands smooth delicately over your hair, mindful of the abrasions that you’ve suffered, and his strong arms keep you on your feet.

“I need help, Binnie.” You weep, pulling back ever so slightly. Your eyes flutter open and it’s like the entire ocean is inside them. “Please, Changbin, I—”

And then it’s too late.

Your gaze drifts over his shoulder, and there they are.

The walls are covered. Printouts, pictures, drawings. You sipping your smoothie in your kitchen, you working at your computer in your home office, you tugging a shirt over your head, the lace of his favorite red bra peeking out between the hem of the shirt and the skin of your stomach, you doing your hair in your bedroom mirror.

You.

You.

You.

It’s too late. He can’t get a word out before you bolt.

Gone in a second, terrified by the man you had run to for safety, disappearing into the night.

You pull all your curtains closed after that. The lights in your house are always off, a for sale sign goes up in your yard. You exist in the darkness, hiding in the shadows, suffering alone.

His heart breaks as he feels you slip further and further through his fingers.

You’re still hurting, still being hunted. Your brother keeps coming, keeps attacking you, keeps stealing from you. He’ll take the money from your house, too, Changbin already knows it.

It makes him angry.

He’s so angry, he hasn’t touched his camera in weeks. He’s so angry, he hasn’t swiped an article of clothing to hold onto the scent of you in ages. He’s so angry that your own brother has treated you so badly, that now all he does is watch.

Because you won’t be getting any more bruises.

You are so scared and tired of your brother’s treatment of you that you ran to Changbin’s apartment for the first time in your life, just to seek protection. You trusted him. You wanted his help. You knew he would protect you.

A million pictures of you aren’t worth that gift.

So he watches.

And waits.

And then, one night, just as the sun has disappeared beneath the neighborhood houses behind yours, your brother pulls up in the driveway. He stumbles out of his car, jerking with nerves, and pounds your door down, disappearing inside your home.

Each crash fills Changbin with rage. Each shatter, each groan of damaged belongings sets his blood on fire, until he’s across the street and on your porch. He finds the key where you’ve left it in the hanging pot and pushes the door open, skillfully dodging the creaky floor panels in the entryway.

The desperate grate of your brother’s voice worms into his ears like a venom, and the ensuing whimpers and cries from you settle in his stomach with painful weight. He rounds the corner and finds you there, your back pressed to the wall, your brother’s hands around your throat.

Your face is red from strangulation, your eyes wide and reddened from burst blood vessels, trails of crimson streaming from your scalp. Your brother is screaming about the money you owe him, money that he’s expected to find by some miracle after having already pilfered your paycheck earlier this week.

And then, just as your eyes begin to roll, you catch sight of Changbin. For a second, you freeze, and it’s fear in your expression as you behold the barista that you thought you knew, creeping through the shadows of your dark living room.

But then your brother’s other hand smacks against the split skin of your cheek, and your expression changes.

Changbin sees it.

You’re staring at him in relief, your mouth forming desperate pleas for help, tears spilling down your face in a sudden moment of vulnerability.

His chest clenches.

At your next whimper, he has your brother by the collar, hurling him backwards. At the thump of your feet hitting the floor, the rest of your body falling in a heap, his hands are fisted in your brother’s shirt, shoving him out of the house.

Your brother is spluttering and shouting in confusion and protest, while you’re coughing and gagging behind them.

There’s only a few seconds where your brother attempts to fight back, his wired muscles throwing stabbing punches into the dark at Changbin’s face, but he doesn’t land a single one. Instead, a deliberate blow strikes his jaw, knocking him back. Another hammers against his eye, and he sprawls in the grass, gasping for air.

You’re on your feet then, following them out of the house, standing on your porch as you watch through stinging eyes.

While your brother is stunned, Changbin turns and sees you, and he freezes. He knows he’s scared you. He knows he’s crossed every line of acceptable social interaction, and that you caught him red handed. He says your name, a whisper into the night, and your gaze shifts to him.

You’re thinking, panicking, mind no doubt tracing back through the evidence of his intrusion plastered all over his walls, the sanctity of your home utterly violated by his undetected presence.

While you try to make up your mind about it, Changbin can’t breathe.

But at this point, your brother can. “What the hell?” He gasps, breath clouding above his face. “This is none of your business, asshole.” He’s up on one knee then, cupping his face and getting his wits back.

Changbin whips around to face him, his fists once more clenched in fury. “Touch her again and I swear to god—”

“Binnie.”

Your voice is a song in his ears and his head snaps back around to you. Your hands wrap around his still tight fist, your eyes peering up at him in earnest. You’re leaning into his arm, begging for safety, and he sees the blood that spills over your lips.

You’re hurt, you need medical attention, and you’d rather be with him than with your brother.

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” Changbin whispers, and when you nod weakly, he brings his hand to your temple. You’re hot, feverish, under his touch. “Will you let me do that, gorgeous?”

“You’re not taking her anywhere.” The voice is an inch away, and your hands grip Changbin’s bicep.

He reacts on impulse, shoving your brother away from himself, away from you, and can only watch as the larger man stumbles out onto the street, illuminated by the yellowish glow of headlights. And then it’s like that scene from Mall Cop—one minute he’s there, the next he’s been plowed out of sight like a sliding transition in a Star Wars movie.

You don’t scream.

You don’t cry.

Both of you gasping in shock at the completely unintentional turn of events, Changbin feels you press yourself into his side, your weak and bleeding arms winding around his back. He can’t believe you’re there, trusting him, clinging to him, but he holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He needs to take you to the hospital, let them figure out why you’re coughing up blood, check your bones for new breaks, but right now your face is nestled against his throat and he can’t move.

“You’re still such a creep.” Your broken voice whimpers, but your hand tightens in his shirt.

He could cry with relief. You’re not letting go. “I know,”

He gets a grumble in response. “You stole my favorite sweater.”

Not even the flashing red and blue lights speeding around the corner can take this moment from him. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’ll give it back.”

“Promise me you’ll burn the pictures.”

“All except the ones that incriminate your brother.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

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[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART FOUR

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 3.6K

Warnings ✦ overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI, cussing, weapons (pew-pew), weapon caused injury (non-fatal), reader being a little self deprecating, insinuated crime

A/N ✦ this one is a long one! hope you enjoy! (added a little bit of a somewhat bucky POV for once as well)

PART THREE »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

Time seemed to speed by and next thing you knew it was the day of your date. Nerves riddled your stomach. 

You weren’t the most experienced in the world of dating. It embarrassed you to no end thinking about how you had only ever had one boyfriend. The ex in question and you having only dated for less than a year. 

You rubbed your eyes and peeled yourself out of bed, trying to shake the thoughts from your mind. After brushing your teeth and doing your skincare, you exited your room, heading to the kitchen.

Nat leaned up against the kitchen island, a small checkered plate was in her hand, a piece of banana bread sat on top of the dish.

“I already cut you a slice.”, she nodded her head towards the plate she had made for you.

“Thanks.”

The two of you ate in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet. 

“Nat,” you started, “What if he ends up not liking me?”

She shot you a dirty look.

“Quit thinking like that.”, she straightened up, walked over to you and put her hands on your shoulders, “Anyways if things don’t end up going well that’s his loss, you’re beautiful, and one of the kindest people I know.”

You smiled up at your friend, embracing her in a hug.

As she hugged you back Nat said, “Okay we have two hours until seven. Let’s go get you put together.”

She took you by the hand, dragging you to your room.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹

Bucky Barnes was also wracked with nerves at the thought of your date. He leaned back in his office chair, one of his forearms thrown over his eyes.

“Buck, you’ve gotta relax.”, Steve chuckled at his best friend, “She’s just a girl, you’ve gone out with plenty of them, you’ll be fine.”

Bucky removed his arm from his eyes, sitting back upright in his seat. 

“Yeah but I wasn’t going out with those girls to date them.”

“Fair enough.”

“Look Steve, you’re just as aware as I am that most women don’t go for us for our personalities.”, Bucky shook his head, “I’m tired of being minimized to a checkbook or a pretty face. I want to find someone that I emotionally connect with, someone I want to do the little things in life with.”

Steve nodded at his best friend, staying silent to let him continue.

“I don’t know man, there’s just something about Y/N that just draws me to her. She’s beyond beautiful and I like that she seems to be the complete opposite of our world.,” Bucky pointed back and forth between him and Steve.

“Speaking of that, I was going to ask, how do you plan on telling her about your career.”, he used air quotes as he said career, raising his eyebrows at his friend. 

“I don’t know Steve, it’ll probably scare her half to death and she’ll want nothing to do with me.”, Bucky put his head in his hands, “How the fuck are you supposed to casually tell a girl, I’m the head of one of the oldest, and biggest mafia families in the city.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹

You looked yourself up and down for what had to be the twentieth time, feeling absolutely gorgeous. The dress you had picked was a dark midnight blue, with flowing bell sleeves. The hem of the dress reached right above your feet, a thigh high slit going up the left side of the garment. You wore glittering silver heels on your feet and silver jewelry adorned your ears to match. 

You had done your makeup, eyeliner and a dark plum colored lip. Nat helped with your hair, which was now pulled half up-half down. A small bow matching the color of your dress was wrapped around the pulled up portion of hair. 

Looking at the time on your phone you saw it was six fifty-one. In nine minutes Bucky would be gracing your front door, and your stomach immediately dropped at the realization. 

“Oh my God Nat I can’t-”

“Y/N, I’m not gonna listen to any bullshit about how you can’t because you’re too scared you’re gonna fuck something up.”, Nat cut you off, “Let go of all those negative thoughts and allow yourself to enjoy your night, you owe it to yourself.”

Your eyes welled up with tears.

“And don’t you dare start crying, you just did your makeup.”

You chuckled a little, trying to blink away the tears and fanning your eyes.

“Okay, okay no crying.”, you said, “I appreciate you Nat, I’m so lucky to call you my best friend.”

Nat pulled you in for a hug. Your moment however was interrupted by a knock at your front door. Grinning at you Nat shoved you in the direction of the entryway.

“You’ve got this!”, she said as she ducked down the hallway to avoid being seen.

You took a deep breath, smoothed down the front of your dress, and turned to the door. When you opened it Bucky stood in front of you; he wore a tailored black suit, a crisp white dress shirt sat underneath his jacket, and a forest green tie wrapped around his neck. He wore the same watch and rings he’d had on the two times you had seen him. 

“You look wow.”, Bucky said as he looked you up and down.

You blushed and thanked him.

“You look wow too.”, you stuttered out.

Bucky gleamed down at you, finding you adorable.

“Thank you. You ready to head out?”

You nodded your head, “Yeah I’m ready, let’s go.”

Pulling the door shut behind you, you locked it, and followed after Bucky. Once you made it outside, he approached a sleek black car, walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door for you. 

“Thank you.”, you said, holding onto his hand that he had extended to you, helping you lower yourself into the older Mustang.

He gently closed the door as soon as you were situated, coming back around the car to the drivers side, and getting in. The keys turned in the ignition, the car drumming to life, and the radio softly played a local station. Bucky shifted the car into drive and pulled away from your apartment, heading down the street.

The two of you drove in silence for a while, both of you almost too scared to talk. Almost. 

“How has your week been so far?”, Bucky asked, glancing over at you with a small smile on his lips.

Feeling your nerves slowly start to dissipate, you filled Bucky in on the absolutely wild interaction you had the day before at work; an older woman had come in and cut the entire line of people who had already been waiting to order, stating that because her grandson was supposedly Tik-Tok famous, she deserves special treatment. From there the two of you easily chatted back and forth, until you pulled up outside of your destination. 

The restaurant sat in the middle of a row of shops and other businesses. A decorative hanging sign sticking out from the restaurant wall read The Iron Man.

One of the valet boys hurried to the driver's side door, opening it for Bucky, greeting him, “It’s nice to see you again Mr. Barnes.”

He politely greeted the boy in return, moving around his car and opening the door for you, extending his hand once again to help you out of it. 

“This place is owned by a very close friend of mine.”, Bucky explained as the two of you approached the front doors.

Once inside your eyes looked around, absolutely in awe. Fairy lights twinkled around the dark restaurant, the curved booths were wrapped in a soft floral fabric, tables covered with perfectly bleached coverings, and a small vase of red flowers sat in the middle of each of them. 

“It’s so pretty in here.”, you said.

“I hoped you would like it, I figured this seemed like your vibe.”

Bucky couldn’t help but grin widely as he studied you. You looked absolutely immaculate to him, the dress you were wearing fit you perfectly, your makeup accentuating your already beautiful features. He also found himself rather pleased with the look of joy that was being expressed on your face.

The hostess led the two of you towards the back of the restaurant, your table being somewhat secluded from the others. Bucky pulled out your chair for you, helping you scoot it closer to the table after you sat. 

“Your server will be with you in a bit.,”, the young woman who sat you said with a smile, “And I’ll make sure to let Mr. Stark know you’ve stopped in Mr. Barnes.”

“Thank you.”

Both of you unrolled your silverware from your napkins, placing the linens in your laps and laying the cutlery out on the table. Lifting up your menu you began to read it, jaw almost dropping in shock of the prices. 

“What’s up?”, Bucky asked, noticing your frantic expression. 

“Everythings so expensive.”

He lifted his eyebrows at you, “Y/N, I’m paying, order whatever you want, price doesn’t matter, just get whatever sounds good to you.”

Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yes, anything you want and it’s yours.”, he said, shooting you a big smile.

You took your time scanning the menu, trying to ignore the massive price tags by the dishes and only focus on what looked tasty to you. Finally deciding on your meal, you sit the menu down.

“Good Evening.”, a young man approaches your table, “My name is Evan, I’m going to be your server tonight. Can I get you started with any cocktails?”

“I’ll take my usual drink and the lady will have…..”, Bucky trailed off, waiting for your answer. 

“Oh I’ll just have water thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back with those for you.”

Evan the waiter turned and headed towards what you assumed was the door to the kitchen area. 

“Sorry, not really feeling like drinking after what happened last time I drank alcohol.”, you sheepishly chuckled, rubbing your arms anxiously, worried the man in front of you might find you silly for your admission.

“That’s totally okay, makes sense to me, but you don’t have to explain yourself just because you didn’t want to drink.”

You smiled at him softly.

Evan returned to the table a few minutes later, bringing you your water and Bucky his old fashioned. Before he retreated again, he took your meal orders, steak for Bucky and lobster mac and cheese for you. The waiter reached for the menus, removed them from in front of you, and stated your food would be out shortly as he made his leave. 

Bucky and you talked a lot, the conversation between the two of you flowing with ease. You learned he was twenty-nine (a few years older than you), you both loved cats and literature, he told you about his love for cooking and baking, and you expressed yours for mixology. The two of you were deep in a conversation about possibly going to a cat cafe together, when a familiar man approached your table.

“Bucky!” Tony called, leaning down to embrace his friend.

Bucky patted Tony on the back.

“Nice seeing you again.”, Tony said as he turned to you.

You stared at him, trying to place him in your memory.

“Shit you don’t remember anything from that night, duh, I’m a jerk. My names Tony, Tony Stark, Bucky is one of my oldest friends, known him since birth.”, Tony lamented, extending his hand to shake yours.

“My name is Y/N”, you said, embracing his hand back, “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

The three of you chatted for a while, Tony yapping about old memories he had with Bucky, before he was pulled away by a frantic waitress, who whispered something in his ear.

“I’ve got to go take care of some urgent business, I hope you enjoy the food Y/N, and hopefully I’ll be seeing you around again soon.”, Tony winked at Bucky, waving at you as he made his exit. 

“I like him.”, you smiled at Bucky.

“Well don’t tell him that, you’ll just make his head bigger.”

The two of you laughed. 

You were beyond thrilled that the date was going so well. Bucky had so far been a perfect gentleman to you, making sure you didn’t touch a single door handle of any kind and pulling out your chair for you. Such simple acts almost had you turned into a swooning idiot. What really put you at ease, was the fact that the two of you could just bounce back and forth off of each other, not running out of topics of conversation. 

Evan appeared again, this time carrying a serving tray. He placed your respective meals in front of each of you, before he turned to leave saying he would be back in a bit to check in on the food and to enjoy. 

You reached for your fork, scooping up a big bite of your meal. As soon as the food touched your tongue you swore you were in heaven. This was the best mac and cheese you think you’d ever tasted. You almost moaned around your fork, savoring the test.

“How do you like it?”, Bucky asked.

“It’s amazing.”

The two of you ate in mostly silence, you too focused on your food at the moment to form a good conversation. You sat down your fork, having eaten almost all of your meal, and feeling like you were about to burst from the seams. Bucky on the other had eaten his whole meal, setting down his silverware on the empty plate that remained. You honestly weren’t surprised. With how beefy the man was, you knew he had to be able to put down some food.

“Do you want any dessert?”

“I think I’m going to explode if I try to eat any more.”, you laughed, hands holding onto your stomach.

“The check it is then.”, he laughed along with you.

Evan had boxed up your remaining food, bringing it back to you in a little bag. Bucky slid him a generous wad of cash, telling him to keep the change. Standing, Bucky made his way to you, pulling out your chair, helping you stand. He then reached past you, grabbing your bag of leftovers. 

“Thank you for dinner.”, you said to him.

“The pleasure is all mine.”, he responded, his empty hand brushing yours, as the two of you walked closely out of the restaurant and waited for the valet to get his car.

As you climbed back inside the Mustang, and Bucky shut the door, you felt as though you were a princess in some kind of fairytale. How lucky were you to be on a date with such a kind and sweet man. Bucky joined you back in the car, clicking his seatbelt into place and starting up his vehicle. 

“If it’s okay with you, I kind of wanted to just drive around and talk some more before I take you home? I’m enjoying talking to you way too much right now to end our date already.”, he admitted turning to you.

Your face blossomed red and butterflies churned in your stomach, “Yeah of course, I would love to do that, let me text my roommate really quick and let her know.”

Bucky beamed at your response.

You pulled your phone out, opening your text chain with Nat and sending her a message.

Y/N: Bucky and I are going to drive around for a bit, he said he likes talking to me ahhhh, dinner went amazing, will fill you in on everything when I get home!

She liked the message almost immediately and sent you back a response.

WIFEY: I told you to not worry! I love you!

Y/N: I love you too!

You and Bucky drove off down the semi-busy street and away from the restaurant. At first you had just been driving straight forward when Bucky all of a sudden began to change direction every few blocks. He made a left here, two rights there, another left, not really driving around with any destination in mind, at least that’s what you assumed. 

In all actuality, a few blocks back Bucky had realized that a large black SUV was tailing his car. As to not raise any alarm to you he continued on talking as though nothing was wrong. Mentally he noted that this was probably related to some of the business Tony had been referring to.

When there was a pause in your conversation, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and dialed Tony’s number. 

“Give me just a second sweetheart, gotta check on something really quick.”, Bucky said to you, reaching out and turning up the radio louder, hoping you wouldn’t overhear his conversation. 

You nodded, responding with an okay.

Two rings later and Tony answered, “What’s up?”

“I think part of the business you had to deal with wasn’t taken care of man. I’ve got a dog giving chase if you get what I mean.”, he whispered into the phone. 

“The girl still with you?”

Bucky glanced at you, “Yeah.”

“Shit. Head out of the city, I’ll track your location and the guys and I will catch up to you. We’ll get rid of the problem before your girl even notices what’s going on.”

Bucky hung up the phone without a good-bye. He took another left turn, followed by a right, getting off on a remote road that led out of the city and into the country.

You had purposefully diverted your attention from his phone call, focusing on anything other than Bucky, not wanting to be rude and eavesdrop. 

“Where are we going?”, you asked, worried slightly at the fact your date was driving you out to the middle of nowhere.

“Shit, this seems creepy to you, doesn’t it?”, Bucky questioned, seeing your expression, “I just wanted to drive out a bit to try and see the stars better.”, he quickly made up a lie.

It totally worked on you too, easing your worries. The car ventured even further into the country, fields of crops on either side of the road from you, the car behind you inching closer.

“You started to make me worried that I was about to become the topic of a true crime podcast for a second.”, you giggled.

Bucky joined you, laughing loudly, noticing in the rearview that the car pursuing you was way too close.

A loud pop sounded, something whizzing past your face, and the front windshield splintered with cracks. 

“Oh fuck!”, Bucky yelled from beside you.

He floored the gas pedal, speeding ahead of your attackers. Another pop sounded from behind you, the passenger side mirror gaining a hole through the middle. 

“Holy shit are they fucking shooting at us?!”, you screamed.

“Yes, yes they are!”, Bucky yelled back.

“What the fuck why?!”

He didn’t know how to answer you, glossing over your question, he asked one of his own.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

You baulked at him.

“No I don’t know how to shoot a gun why the hell would I know how to shoot a–”, you were cut off as another bullet shot past your head., “Holy shit!”

“Okay well I’m going to need you to hold the wheel steady for me then!”, he instructed you.

Before you could give him a response, he let go of the steering wheel. You launched your body across the console, yanking the wheel to the correct position, keeping you guys straight on the road. Bucky reached to his left, opening a secret drawer of sorts in his car door. Reaching inside he pulled out a black pistol. You stared at it in shock, eyes flipping between the weapon and Bucky. 

Next thing you knew, he had turned around in his seat, aiming it towards the vehicle giving you guys chase. As he steadied the weapon, another bullet shot through the car digging into his left shoulder, an agonized groan leaving his mouth. Ignoring the burning feeling in his arm, Bucky realigned the weapon with his target and fired, successfully taking out one of the tires on your assailant's car. Their vehicle lost control, veering off the road and into the ditch. 

“Shit.”, Bucky hissed, as he faced forward, taking the wheel back over from you.

Bucky's arm was throbbing, white hot pain radiating down his arm. His attention was locked forward, focusing on getting you as far away from the shooters as possible. The two of you drove further and further away, finally stopping at the end of a dead end road. He threw the car in park, hurriedly reaching around for his phone. Finally finding it, Bucky immediately dialed Tony again.

As the phone started ringing, Bucky’s eyes finally looked at you. Your hair was tousled, shattered pieces of glass were scattered all over your dress, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. 

Your head reeled, there was no way any of this was actually real. You reached for your forearm, giving it a pinch, feeling pain bloom from the spot you squeezed in between your fingers. 

You turned slowly, eyes locking with Bucky’s blue ones. The two of you sat there in silence for just a brief moment before you spoke.

“What in the absolute fuck is going on?!”

PART FIVE COMING SOON

TAGLIST IS OPEN!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

TAGLIST ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ @danzer8705 @sebastians-love @mrsnikstan

[fee224]

Catching up to your friends

Rafe Cameron x topper thortons baby sister reader

Warnings: manipulation, sex, underage sex. (Not proofread!!). Perspective is spoke in a young and naive perspective on purpose!!

MASTERLIST

You slammed the door of your big brothers forest green jeep as he pulled up to the Cameron residents. Soon you were promised a matching white jeep for you’re sixteenth birthday. Topper was seventeen and so was rafe.

Rafe seemed older but you always put that down to how big he was, being in the gym almost half of his life and his miserable undertone that disappeared when he noticed you staring at him from across the table at Sunday brunch, or midsummers.

“Look I don’t give a shit, You’re a Little snitch and you’ll tell mom and dad I left you and they’ll give me shit” topper rubbed his forehead and I rolled my eyes as he lead me through the door.

“Topper I’m not a baby! Im fifteen. I don’t need babysitting from you or…” the one boy you want to see you as a woman. You constantly worked your baby status in the family in your favour but that might be your worst nightmare if rafe saw you that way “any of your friends!”

“Hey I’m not any of his friends, am I?” Rafe startled you as you kicked off your shoes at the front door. Walking bare foot, admiring your mani pedi, into the kitchen where rafes back faced you making a drink.

“Yes you are” topper coughed as he stole the drink off the counter “nerves” he winked at rafe as he downs what looks like raw whiskey. Topper never told you where he was going but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You wandered over to his living room making yourself comfortable. A door slams and a few seconds later rafe is plopped down on the couch next to you.

You gulp, attempting to ignore his presence until “you know I’m fifteen, I don’t need babysitting. I do babysitting, this whole arrangement is ridiculous” you roll your eyes and pout with crossed arms.

“Yeah I can fucking see you aren’t a baby y/n” he shakes his head, focussed on his phone, texting someone.

“You gotta girlfriend?” You blurt out and his head spins towards you.

“No” he exhales dropping his phone down on the couch “you gotta boyfriend?” You shake your head with a small smile you’re trying to hide.

“Why not, you’re a pretty girl” he states and you look away to conceal your blush trying to not think about his words. He didn’t mean anything by it, it was a fact more than an opinion, nothing personal.

“Just don’t…… most of my friends do” you admit turning back to him and resting your cheek on the back of the couch. “Everyone’s loosing their virginity to them and I-“ you pause helplessly.

“You’re fifteen…. You’re way too young for that shit”

You raise your eyebrows amused “and what age did you loose your virginity, saint” it rolls off your tongue like an insult.

Thirteen.

“Fair point” he nodded “you’re still too young”

“No! I’m not….” You roll your eyes.

“You want to have sex?” He raised his eyebrows kicking his feet on the plush footrest as if your dangling virginity was amusing.

“Sure why not” you giggled as a joke.

“With what boy? They’re all…. dumb and cocky at your age” he was staring at you as if this conversation should be happening. As if it was about homework.

“I never said a boy my age” you roll your eyes and purposely don’t make eye contact.

“What does that mean” he scoffed shaking his head, as you gulped. Your smile was long gone and now all you could feel was sick to your stomach with nerves.

“Whatever you think it means” you quickly glance at him and then enter into a staring match with his dark oak coffee table.

“I don’t think it means what I think it does” his thumb was toying with his bottom lip. His soft bottom lip that he probably had kissed a lot of girls with.

“We’ll just because I’m two years younger doesn’t mean our brains are on other sides of the universe” you folded your arms, assuming again, making a fool of yourself again.

“I think it means you want to fuck me” he stated confidently and correct. Your mouth gaped staring at him weakly.

“You can’t just say that!”

“Why not!”

“Because I have feelings, and your toying with them!”

“Toying with them because I want to fuck you back?”

“Fuck off rafe, you don’t get to fuck me, and then ditch, and then brag, and be you in your full dick form afterwards” you rambled with a small tear running down your hot cheeks.

“Y/n” he palmed his forehead “just stop with the thinking” he kneeled forward in-front of you, touching your bare thighs with caution as you watched him with wide wild eyes. “Shh, if not going to ditch, kay?”

You gulped. What the fuck.

Rafe Cameron. The boy you’ve liked since forever. Your brothers best friend. The older boy. The in front of you boy who was offering to take your virginity.

“I guess I know you” you bit down “and your not dumb and cocky” you squinted your eyes, a beg for reassurance that he wasn’t.

He nodded agreeing solemnly “like boys your age” he grinned beneath you, his hands inching closer up your thigh.

“And I guess I like you a little” you giggled brushing a hair behind your ear.

“Definitely like you a lot back” he winked. His movements were calm and his words rolled off his tongue with no thought but his breath was shaky, matching yours.

“You do?” You smiled cheesily inching forward.

The moment you did, years of anticipation exploded into a kiss. He picked you up of the living room chair, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass and scooping you up. His lips hungrily attacking yours and left you in a dizzy haze as you softly kissed him back. Rocking against his hips as he took the steps two at a time.

“You walked past Sarah’s familiar room and then wheezies, not veering this far down the hallway since you were young as his door was kicked open and slammed shut you gasped as he pulled away to place you on the bed, contrasting to give you his gentle side, and the furniture a more normal rafe.

He was in between your legs kissing your neck as you hummed softly, gasping as he gave you purple bruising hickeys. Damaging your heart with every swirl more than anything he could ever do your body.

His massive muscled arms were wrapped around your body holding you still as you shook with temptation and nerves.

“I’ve never showed anyone my body, I- I’m the only person who’s ever seen you know my…. Body” your voice slowly drifted into a lull as you kept talking, feeling dumb. His head was lifted to look at you and give your words attention.

“You trust me right” his head tilted softly. You nodded making eye contact from underneath him. “Kay, then don’t be embarrassed with me, or shy.” His tone was kind and his volume was low. It was seeming more appealing being connected to this boy. Physically intertwined.

You lifted up, as he backed up. You sat across from each other on the bed as your head bowed and reached for the buttons of your top, fumbling but managing. Revealing your rose budded, perky small breasts as he gulped trying to maintain eye contact, any other girl, he wouldn’t remember her face while being inside of her, but you, how you were feeling and making you comfortable was all he could think of. His eyes darted between you to your chest. He practically dived into you, laying you on your back as he kissed everywhere urgently. “So fucking pretty, fucking beautiful” was the only sound filling your ears, blocking out the sounds of your own embarrassingly loud pleasure.

“Rafe when are you going to do it” you muttered, clawing at his neck. His shirt was off and he had scratches on his back you were trying to ignore.

“You want it now pretty girl?” He whispered into your ear, unbuttoning your denim shorts, the feeling made you tingle and squeeze your eyes shut fully.

“Now” you whispered in confirmation as he pulled them down cautiously, bringing your polka dot underwear down with them. Leaving them on the end of the bed.

You watched intensely as his pants came off, followed by his underwear. A thick cock sprang out, hitting of his toned stomach and all you could do was gulp at the sight, praying you wouldn’t break in half. He reached into his drawer as the pair of you looked each other in the eye, smiling soothingly.

His hands were pressed into your hips as he finished you off in one deep thrust. Not moving till your face went back to normal from the current distortion.

“S’okay, take your time, can I put anymore in yet” his thumb was rubbing gently on your hips as you opened your eyes and stared at him.

“There’s more” you panted, before collapsing back into the pillow. “Okay, b-be slow ra…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as more of him filled you.

He thrusted in and out intensely, he was vocal as you suppressed shudders. “You feel so fucking good around me”

You felt like you were entering another universe, seeing a purple orange haze. Giggling softly as you felt your body shake and almost levitate of the bed.

“Ride it out Baby, just feel it” he was still caressing you as you blinked away tears. Ultimate heaven. If a unicorn flew over this bed, which was actually a magic carpet, you wouldn’t be surprised.This was so epically strange. You wanted rafe to ask you to do it again, but when he got off the bed and came back with a wet towel, it was all over, all too soon. Holy macaroni.

- fee xxx

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 122 (The Elusive Rafa Bonilla)

"Conrad? Conrad wake up! Oh man, I'm so sorry, please wake up..."

Slowly, Conrad's eyes adjusted to the torchlit room, which smelled like seawater and wet wood. Coarse grains of sand scratched against the back of his head. His blurred vision subsided as he blinked dust from his eyelashes. Rafa knelt over him pleadingly, gently lifting his head. "Wh-where am I?"

"Inside the abandoned ship. I brought you down here when I realized it's really you. I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while."

"How long was I out?"

Rafa shrugged. "The sun will be up soon."

Conrad struggled to push himself up and Rafa reached out a hand to help him. "I need to call Heather."

Rafa nodded. "Your phone rang a bunch of times," he admitted. "I turned it off after a while."

The place was half full of sand and the wood beams were falling apart. He looked at Rafa, all grown up, instinctively leaning in for a hug. Even though he'd knocked him out and was a lot bigger than the boy he remembered, Conrad couldn't believe he killed the Brindletons.

"Why are you out here?"

"I don't have to pay rent, and if anyone comes around to play on the old mast, I padlock the door or hide out in the caves."

"When was the last time you checked in to work?"

"Couple days ago. I tried to get in to the villa but I couldn't. Figured maybe the old man and his wife had gone home and no one told me."

Conrad frowned. "Oliana Ngata said you have a key. You didn't go inside? Take your shoes off, find George, maybe step in the blood under June Brindleton's bed, then clean yourself off in the master bathroom and run?"

Rafa tried to protest, but the look in his eyes told Conrad he was on the right track. It was the same guilty look he used to give when he tried to say his homework was done because he just wanted to play video games.

"I didn't kill them, I swear, and those aren't my footprints. I saw a couple guys jump off the villa balcony and swim off, but I didn't see which way they went. I found the Brindletons dead and got scared. I've been ignoring Oliana's calls for days. She owes me a week's pay, but she can keep it. I'll figure it out, but I'm not going down for murder. I never killed anyone."

"The other stuff you've been into isn't great, Rafa. San Myshuno PD would love to toss the book at you just to close the cases they've got with your name on them."

"I know that. I don't want to go to prison. I never wanted to run any of the drugs I ran, and I didn't start that fire. Jimmy's a pyro freak and I tried to put it out. Cops said I was fanning the flames but that's crap, Conrad. I swear."

"Jimmy's dead, Rafa."

The young man's face fell. "How?"

"I think your sister ordered the hit to get my attention. I've been looking for you for years."

"To bring me in?"

"Look...you knew me before I was a cop, and I don't want to bring you in, but I've got a family and Ximena's trying to take me down. We finally got her in handcuffs and behind bars, but we need to prove she was involved in Jimmy's murder or she could walk. Right now all we've got her on is rental fraud, but you might be able to plead down your own sentence if you're willing to give intel on Ximena."

"I don't know anything about Jimmy's death." Rafa scoffed. "I don't want to talk to my sister, but you know what she did for me, getting us out of Selva when she did."

"And then what? She dragged you into a life working for the cartel, anyway. You could give her stories away, Rafa. Separate her from the cartel, paint her for who she is and what she dragged you into. Forget Jimmy's murder for a minute. Let them see your involvement in your own crimes was under pressure from your sister."

"I always wanted to get out, but Ximena needed me."

"She doesn't need you now."

"If I turn on her, she'll turn on me. I don't know what you want me to do, but I just want to live in peace out here. I want to turn this place into a cool SimBnB or something. Renovate it, you know? Maybe I could have more than one, eventually. I just want to live out my life far away from any cartels. Far away from Ximena. If I go back, I'll go to prison just like her."

"Rafa, I'll do anything I can to help you stay out of prison whether you help me or not. I'll talk to lawyers, judges, find you the right advice. I can't promise a plea deal without jail time, but I can try."

Rafa shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, I can't help you. Ximena was always there for me, and you left! As Javier Vargas, I could recognize the guys in a lineup if you find suspects for the Brindletons' murder, but I can't bring down my sister. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I left. I had to, but you're the closest thing to a little brother I'd ever had. It was a lot harder to leave you than it was to leave her." Conrad frowned, shifting a little on his feet. "You're really staying here? In an old shipwreck?"

"I miss electricity and haven't played a video game in years, but this is a good place to hide out. It's not open to the public because it's not structurally sound, but no one ever comes down here. If I can get the place fixed up enough for a rental, it'll be much better. A lot less sand."

"And you're not worried I'll send police to arrest you?"

"You'd have me arrested because I won't help you?"

"It's not just me she's after, Rafa. Heather and I are getting married, and we have a daughter; she's almost three. And I love Heather's son like he's my own. He's the same age now that you were when I met you, but I've known him so long...you and Melissa were still together when I met him."

"Don't talk about Mel. She's not involved in any of this. She never was, and she's better off without me."

Conrad's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. "Got any food?" he wondered, as much for himself as he was worried about Rafa.

The young man pointed him in the direction of his small, off-grid kitchen. "There's enough ice in the icebox to keep a few things cool. You can have some yogurt if you want."

Conrad took him up on the offer and considered his next move while he devoured a bowl of coconut yogurt and looked around the dismal digs. Rafa had a bed, a table, the tiny kitchen, and a hole in the ground for a bathroom. He was living far worse than Conrad ever did in his dated old apartment in the city.

Rafa might be Ximena's sole weak point and he had to exploit it, but Conrad wouldn't be able to live with himself if he exploited Rafa, too. He needed him to want to help, but had no idea how to change his mind.

He turned his phone back on and the device started beeping with notifications - multiple missed calls, texts, and voicemails. He sighed. The best he could do for now was keep Rafa's secret and hope he'd flip. He had to fly back to the mainland...after his impulsive neatness made him clean up a bit of dirt and sand near the small kitchen sink - which didn't even dispense water.

Conrad needed to check in with Heather and with work, and open a new investigation into the death of George and June Brindleton. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

WCIF: Conrad on the floor and Rafa bent over him is another from @yibsimchronicles' Fainted posepack, and probably my favourite pose in the collection!

[poorlittleyaoyao]

OH NO I MISSED THIS POLL? I MISSED THIS POLL ENGINEERED TO MY INTERESTS?

In terms of enjoying the play, I think he'd have next-level Histories brainrot. I know they were not options because they are not tragedies, but!! He would!! All eight of the plays examine political power from different angles. Who has the right to rule? Is usurpation ever justified? Is divine right of kings even real, and if it's not, what are we doing here? What makes a "good" ruler? What happens when the good ruler isn't the rightful ruler? What happens when being a good ruler is incompatible with being a good man? Can one's identity as a human coexist with one's identity as a ruler, or must one subsume the other? It's great stuff, all explored through wonderfully human characters (who regrettably all share the same three first names , but that's what family tree reference sheets are for!), and I think JGY would really enjoy mulling them over!

In terms of I'm In This Picture And I Don't Like It, I have talked at length already on this blog about JGY and Macbeth, but he'd have some opinions on Caesar, too. My hot take on Julius Caesar is that it's foremost a character-driven story (@ classical theater companies: please stop staging Caesar as a political drama! it isn't one! if you want a political drama, Richard II is literally right there!!) about a bunch of people who are all doing what they genuinely believe is the best thing under the circumstances; the tragedy ensues because the characters' values cannot coexist with each other, and the protagonists' attempts to make things better end up making it worse.

Meanwhile, I agree that he'd like King Lear, but I don't think JGY would like Edmund at ALL. Gloucester might not be willing to let Edmund inherit over his legitimate half-brother Edgar, but he officially recognizes Edmund and speaks highly of him (albeit with a microaggression about his parentage). Edmund's entire usurpation scheme hinges on the fact that Edgar and Gloucester both love and trust him. Edmund has a banger of a speech that justifiably gets used in JGY gifsets, but JGY would look at Edmund and be like... literally WHAT do you have to complain about? No, I think the thing JGY would enjoy about this play isnt the theme of children usurping their dads, because the work itself does not approve of the children sabotaging their dads, even when that dad is an absolute shithead like Lear. The part JGY would be into is how Lear casts out Cordelia and spends the remainder of the play suffering about it. A horrible dad realizes that the child he cruelly rejected was actually the best child ever and he repents of ever mistreating them? To the point where he dies of sadness after that child's death? Now THAT is some wish fulfillment.

He would not like Hamlet at all because Hamlet is so goddamn mean and slut-shamey to his mother and JGY would not stand for that.

PLEASE explain your reasoning in the notes, i am very stupid

[fluentmoviequoter]

Meet My Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!baker!reader

Summary: Street is ready to introduce you to his family. You become fast friends with his SWAT team, but meeting his mother is a difficult challenge. After she tries to scare you away from Street, he faces a tough decision about who he considers family.

Warnings: Karen is Karen, Jim Street is a flirt™️, brief angst, fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hey, handsome,” you greet before kissing Jim’s cheek.

“Hi,” he responds slowly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you. “What’d you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?” you ask, blinking innocently.

“Because you met me at the door with a kiss and it smells like cookies in here.”

“I am a baker.”

“And I’m a cop. I can read you, babe.”

“Babe?” you repeat with a smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Not until you tell me what you want,” Street stipulates, failing to hide his smile.

“You said you were ready to introduce me to your team. And I accidentally tripled a few trial recipes, so I have a ton of cookies right now.”

“You want to bribe them,” he concludes, nodding.

“Not exactly what I meant, but… yeah.”

“Are you sure? They can be a lot. They’re going to like you, probably more than they like me, but I didn’t say I wanted to introduce you to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not rushing me. I’m ready to meet them. They’re important to you, and I love you.”

“Enough to save some cookies for me?”

“Of course.”

Less than half an hour after arriving at the station, Chris inhales deeply and says, “I love you.”

You smile as Street asks, “Because of the cookies?”

“Really?” Hondo asks you. “Street?”

“I see why he hid you,” Tan says, reaching for another cookie. “We’re going to need the address of your bakery.”

“The cookies aren’t the only reason we like you,” Luca explains. “You’re great for Street.”

“He’s great for me,” you reply. “But I’m glad you like the cookies, too.”

“How’d you meet?” Deacon inquires.

“He stole a cake.”

“I did not steal it,” Street corrects, looking at you as if you just accused him of murder. “I accidentally knocked it out of her window.”

“How do you accidentally knock a cake out of a window?” Hondo asks.

“I’ve asked the same thing almost daily since we started dating and I’ve never gotten a clear answer,” you say.

“Did you start dating after that?” Chris wonders.

“The same day,” Street brags. “I apologized for ruining the cake, and when I saw her, I had to ask her out.”

Hondo looks at you for confirmation, and you shrug. It’s close enough to the truth. Street tried to salvage the cake, offering apology after apology until you laughed. He looked up at you, with cake and frosting up to his elbows, and couldn’t find any more words to say. He finally blurted out a proposal to buy you dinner, and you haven’t looked back since.

“You should come to dinner with us on Friday,” Hondo tells you. “We’re going to a diner that just opened on Wilshire.”

“I’d love to,” you reply. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by just showing up today with no notice.”

“Family can drop by anytime,” Luca assures you.

After you say your farewells and gather the now empty cookie trays, you exchange numbers with Chris and talk to her about some of your shared favorite recipes. Meanwhile, the guys tell Street you’re perfect for him and welcome anytime, whether you’re bearing baked goods or not.

“How long have you been together?” Deacon asks him.

“About a month,” Street answers.

“What does your mom think about the new relationship?” Hondo inquires.

Street looks at you, where you’re laughing with Chris, then admits, “She doesn’t know. I wanted to introduce her to my actual family first.”

Deacon pats Street’s shoulder and encourages him to do what he thinks is best.

“We are your family, kid,” Hondo promises. “And we’re here for you – both of you.”

Street stops outside his door. He begins speaking but doesn’t get past your name before trailing off.

“I know,” you whisper comfortingly. “I’m here for you, Jim. Not your mom. And if she doesn’t like me, that’s okay. At the end of the day, it’s your decision about who you love, not hers. You know that, right?”

“I do. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Street takes your hand and leads you into his apartment. His mom is living with him temporarily while she gets on her feet again and figures out what exactly she’s going to do for the remainder of her parole – or so she says.

“Jimmy!” she greets warmly. When she sees you, her smile drops.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend,” he introduces. “And this is my mom, Karen Street.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Street,” you greet with a smile, offering your hand.

“You too,” she answers. She then turns to Street, wiping the hand she used to shake yours on her pants, and says, “I couldn’t remember how to use the coffee maker. Could you show me again?”

“I’ll just make you some right now,” he offers before asking if you want anything.

“No, thanks,” you answer softly. Sitting with Karen, you ask how her day is going so far.

“Let’s just skip all the niceties since Jimmy isn’t here,” she interrupts. “You know as well as I do it will never work out. My Jimmy is a cop, he’s handsome, and you’re… a baker? Do you honestly see that working?”

Your smile droops, but you’re unwilling to let Karen Street deter you or scare you away from dating the man who makes you happy.

“We can make it work,” you answer. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“It would be in your best interest to leave,” she snaps.

“Here you go, Mom,” Street says, placing a steaming mug of coffee beside her.

Karen looks between you and Street, then asks, “Could I speak to you alone, Jimmy?”

“Mom,” he begins, shaking his head.

“I actually need to use the restroom,” you offer, standing.

Street nods, points you in the right direction, then takes your previous seat. He brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him and prepares for his mother to be back to her usual antics.

“That girl is not good for you, Jimmy,” she warns. “She’s rude, uncaring, and she told me that I was a bad mother! Can you believe that? She practically admitted to using you for your law enforcement ties and for money.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Street replies, knowing perfectly well that you didn’t say anything rude or about using him.

Karen gets desperate then, unwilling to lose Street because he’s her access to everything. Jim can get her everything she needs and wants, and she will not let you win him over and take him from her.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, not to you,” Karen continues. “She mentioned another man, so I’d bet she’s not loyal. And you, Jimmy, are the most loyal and caring person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to see her hurt you.”

You linger by the door and scroll on your phone in the bathroom. You’re going to give Street and his mom five minutes to talk, you decide. Smiling as you reply to a message from Chris, you don’t concern yourself with hypothesizing what Karen is saying about you. When you do return, Street stands and rises from his seat.

“Did Chris text you too?” he asks. “About coming over to help with the paint?”

“She did,” you reply, following his lead. Chris texted about helping her paint; that wasn't a lie, but she doesn't need help until next weekend. If Street’s taking it as an out, you’ll go with him. You’d go anywhere with him, you think. “It was a pleasure,” you tell Karen. “I made blueberry scones earlier and thought you might like them. They're on the counter.”

“Thank you,” she replies flatly. “Be safe, Jimmy.”

“I’ll be back later, Mom,” he assures her.

As the door closes behind you, Street sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, homewrecker,” he murmurs.

With a laugh, you ask, “What?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need ice cream.”

“And cookies?”

“So many cookies.”

After arriving at your home, you share a plate of fresh cookies and homemade ice cream with Street. He stays close to you, stealing kisses between cookies, and makes you feel incredibly loved. As always.

“Now that you’ve met the family, what do you think?” he inquires.

“If you and Tan ever get tired of SWAT, you should do standup comedy,” you begin.

As you continue raving about 20-David squad and envisioning yourself staying friends with them for years to come, Street smiles. He knew his team would like you, but he’s glad you’re joining the group as seamlessly as he hoped you would.

“Oh, Deacon texted me yesterday,” you remember. “I’m making Sam a birthday cake.”

“Charge him double,” Street jokes.

“I said Deacon not Hondo.”

“You talk to my friends more than I do.”

“They’re great.”

“But my mom is insane.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up straight. Pulling your leg beneath you, you promise, “I was not going to say that.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a question,” Street assures you, tugging you closer. “You’re not going to see her again unless you really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. My mom… My mom isn’t good for me, I’ve known that for a long time. Today, she showed me that she isn’t good for you either, and, if she can’t be supportive of us, I’m done. She’s pulled me in too deep before and I’m not going to let her do it again.”

“She’s your mother, Street.”

“And I’m not risking what I have with you for her manipulative schemes. I think I have to cut that tie before I give her something I can’t get back.”

You nod, frowning sympathetically. You feel uncomfortable giving input on the situation because it’s Street’s decision. As you hug him, he knows exactly what he has to do. His mom was scared of losing him, but she was going to be the one to drive him away.

“Is that why you called me a homewrecker earlier?” you ask against Street’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, she thinks you’re seeing other men. Just using me for my loyalty, good looks, and SWAT money.”

“Please,” you scoff. “That order is way off.”

Street gently pries your arms off of him and shakes his head. “Apparently you also called her a bad mother and if she were a fraction less manipulative and self-serving I’d think she was finally engaging in some reflection.”

“I’m sorry that your relationship is the way it is,” you offer. “But I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

Street looks at the last cookie, and you smile as you nudge him toward it. Someone knocks on your door, and you leave Street’s side to answer it.

“Uh, I think it’s for you,” you murmur as you open the door wider.

Deacon, Hondo, Tan, Chris, and Luca walk into your home and look expectantly at Street.

“She didn’t like her,” he answers with a shrug. “Hondo was right.”

“Say that one more time?” Hondo requests, raising his phone to record it.

“No.”

“It smells good in here,” Luca whispers to you.

“There’s cookies and a cake in the kitchen,” you tell them. “I still can’t get that cake right. The one time I made a passable version, someone knocked it out of my window.”

Street prepares to defend himself, but you whisper, “Luckily for me, I fell in love with him.”

“So,” Hondo begins as he returns from the kitchen. “How’d it go with your mom?”

“As expected,” Street says quickly. He turns to you and says, “I love you, too.”

A few weeks later, you wait at your open door for Street to arrive. His mom is going back to jail for a parole violation, and his entire team came by your bakery today after a stressful day of saving lives and arresting domestic terrorists. Now, you want to provide Street with the comfort he gives you daily.

“I love you,” Street says as he hugs you.

“I love you,” you reply, brushing your hand over his hair. “Come on in, I have something I want to show you.”

Street nods, catches your falling hand, and follows you inside. Sitting on the counter is a cake that looks nearly identical to the one that brought you together.

“I didn’t get to taste the first one, so I need you to let me know if this is a redemption cake.”

Street forces you to take several pictures with the cake before he takes a small bite. His eyes widen, and he nods rapidly.

“It tastes similar, but even better,” he says. “Can we have this at our wedding?”

“Sure,” you answer with a smile.

Street offers you his fork, and you admit it’s a good cake.

“Speaking of our wedding,” you say after taking another bite, “your future groomsmen invited us to dinner at Deacon and Annie’s tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I should introduce you to Annie.”

“We’ve already been texting.”

Street shakes his head and kisses you before reminding you that he loves you. "And the cake," he adds as he pulls back and steals another piece.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 11

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,438 of 29,558

Start | Prev | Next

AO3 Link

Frottica has no friendly faces to offer us, only howling wind and bitter cold. If the air was thin in Wittica it's threads of ice this far up in the mountain range. It's good and I like it that way. As each arctic gust blows my black peacoat open and stabs me with a chilled knife, I feel the tether of reality to my situation.

I moved back into the sleeping cabin after we left Wittica, and to the Wizard's respectable credit, he hadn't brought up how I had shut down after the meeting with Morrible. Madame Morrible, actually. They were so familiar that when I asked him if we would see her again at Rouncible, he gave me a queer look as if I had addressed her by some childish nickname. She was a woman of great accomplishments and Headmistress of Shiz University. It would be a great faux pas if I were to ever address her as anything other than Madame Morrible.

The possibility of accidentally insulting someone else once we get to the safe house has been eating at me since that moment. All of this, the war and secrecy, was so foreign and new. What I had experienced back in the Emerald City between the Wizard and Ambassador Humak was shallow compared to the depths of the political web of Oz that we were now swimming in, groping for any sort of lifeline.

Once in the train station, we make our way up to the counter and the Wizard asks for any correspondence for and Oscar Diggs or Engine 1701.

"Mail's running late," the concierge says, "but there is a letter that came yesterday for Engine 1701." He fishes out a mint green envelope from one of the back cubbies and gives it to the Wizard.

"It's for you," the Wizard says, almost astonished. He hands me the envelope, and I can see that it’s from Bruno back in the Emerald City.

"How?" I ask, smoothing my thumb over my name, trying to see if the ink is real. "The city is under siege."

"He must've snuck it out," the Wizard says. "Come on, let's get some lunch."

We walk to the diner, and I glide my finger underneath the seal, trying not to tear the delicate paper. I’d have to find a safe place to put it once we got back on the train. "This means he's alive," I say as we sit down.

"It means that he was alive when he sent it," the Wizard corrects. "I haven't gotten news of death tolls yet... Hopefully, we'll get some today. I'm sure they're still... counting bodies.

I pull the letter from the envelope. The top right corner of the paper was addressed two days prior.

"We made it through the night," I recite. "Prince Fiyero has escaped, and we're still looking for the Grimmerie, but we have rid the palace of any Winkies. The ambassador probably stashed it somewhere in the palace thinking he'd be able to come back and get it.

"I checked on Fileah this morning. She's alright. A little shaken, but alright. I'm making sure that the kids there have enough food and heat. That place is like an ice box. It isn't right. Kids with no coats and the fires are nothing but coals. Fileah wanted to know where you were. I tried to explain it to her without talking about the ongoing investigation, but I don’t think it made much sense. She asked when she could see you again. I told her that it would hopefully be soon.

"We haven't gotten a good count of the dead yet, but it's good you got out when you did. A few bystanders were killed in the attack. The Gale Force is looking into identifying them so their families can be informed, but they've been stretched thin with spy efforts lately.

"It's a huge risk putting all of this into a letter, but I'm doing my best to get it smuggled out of here and away from enemy hands. I've got a friend in one of the amnesty medic units, but even that is not guaranteed safe. Don’t expect further correspondence from me.

"Tell the Wizard that we're working around the clock to find ways to break through the roadblocks and get the city restored. We'll succeed or die trying.

"-Bruno."

We sit in silence together, letting the verbal ghost of Bruno linger. The Wizard stares at the letter, tapping his index finger against the table.

"That's it?" he asks.

I flip the letter over; nothing is on the back. "That's it," I reply.

He drags his hand over the lower half of his face, leaning back into the booth. "They haven't even counted the dead yet," he says to no one in particular.

Those words linger over the meal as we half-heartedly eat our bacon sandwiches and drink watery burnt coffee. Every bite feels like a herculean effort, knowing that my own sister is being kept in a freezer and that Bruno alone is seeing to her being fed while also fighting a siege. If I was ever going to see her again, I would have to find a way to slip away from the Wizard, before we got on that train to Rouncible.

We head back to the concierge to find that mail has arrived with two envelopes for Oscar Diggs in care of Engine 1701. If I pretend I have a question to ask the conductor once we get back to the train, I think, then I can get away and have time to hide.

"Anything good?" I ask him. I have to act normal.

"Death tolls," he says quietly, eyes glued to the one paper. We slip away from the counter where people might hear us and onto a wooden bench meant for passengers heading back to Wittica. This far up into the Pertha hills, there are hardly any trains that continue north. There were a few smaller villages up north and the hunting lodges for the particularly wealthy, but they were so few and far between that the board for departures going north only showed one time of departure for seven o'clock this evening.

"How bad?" I ask, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. He turns from the paper, briefly glancing to where I have touched him, and then looks me in the eye.

"Hundred of the palace guards. Half the Emerald Guard. Some party guests," he says.

I squeeze his arm, trying to let him know that everything will be okay. "We can come back from it. There's always the backup of Gillikin."

He doesn't say anything to that, simply moving on to the next letter. This one is from Governor Thropp. Good news that makes me breathe a sigh of relief. A favor repaid was exactly what the Wizard needed. He tears the letter open and as he reads it his face darkens into a grave expression.

"Thropp isn't coming," he says.

There are no good words to say to that. It's impossible. I know nothing of the man, but everything of the Wizard. You did not refuse the Wizard of Oz. Whatever power he had, he had earned the name Oz the Great and Terrible. He was the Wonderful Wizard of Oz and all of the benevolence that came with the title. Maybe he didn't get everything he wanted, but it would be unthinkable to refuse him. To be in direct rebellion would be a sign of wickedness of the heart.

The Wizard gets up from the wooden bench and walks silently toward the exit for the train platform. I follow after him, my pathetic boots clicking on the tile floor to match his long strides.

"Morrible said she was going to talk to the Lord-Mayor," I offer, trying to bring some ray of shining hope back into the situation.

He doesn't respond to that.

"A thousand guards is more than enough to replace what we lost," I offer. We are back to the train car and he turns on me.

"I don't want to hear it!" he snaps, startling me. "I am good as dead without Thropp's help. I have no way of forcing him to help if all of my troops are locked in an Emerald Box. Do you get that? Everything…. Everything that I have built for the past fifty years is about to be rocks. It’s going to be rubble. Just..." He shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, hands held up to silence. "I need time to think. I- I need to be alone."

I can feel my bottom lip trembling as he steps into the passenger car and shuts the door behind him. This is what I wanted, right? To be left unsupervised so that I could slip off? There are a few strangers milling about the train station – bums, really, with the holes in their clothes and shoes worn fabric-thin – but I need to be alone. I need privacy. My hand reaches for the passenger car handle but shies away from it. The train station seems like exactly the wrong place, so I hop down onto the tracks, hoping to find some engine heading back to Wittica. As I step around engine 1701,  I peer into the cab, hoping that the conductor has stepped away for a bit.

Unfortunately, when I get to the doorway, I can see a man in a sooty gray uniform – probably a railway worker – sweeping coal dust out from the cab floor of the engine. I try to slip away without notice but he calls out to me.

"Oy! Miss! You can't be running around the tracks!" he shouts. "You're going to get run over."

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling my cheeks burn as if I were a child scolded. Near the engine component, the smell of smoke and ash is unavoidable. It makes it impossible to think about anything else besides wanting to hold your nose. There is a creeping fear that if you breathe too deeply you'll die hacking up a lung.

"Well then get off alright?" he says. "I'm pulling this engine out in ten minutes and I don't want anything gumming up the works."

I hurry back around the train, wishing that I could punch him for ruining my plans. I have ten minutes to disappear before the Wizard comes out to get me.

Once back up on the platform, I walk down it quickly enough to put some distance between me and the train. I need to be careful not to walk too fast so that anyone looking might make note of me and report which direction I went to the Wizard if he came looking. Frottica is almost identical to Settica and I smile for a moment thinking how funny it is that the two towns form drab slices of bread for the colorful sandwich of Wittica. There are some plain-looking shops just ahead: a tailor, a bakery, a bank. Those will be the first places he looks. I make a right turn down the cobblestone street, pulling my coat tighter around me from the biting wind. Wherever I'm going, I need to get there soon, before I get frostbite.

I scan the shops, trying to swallow the fresh memory of the Wizard tearing into me. It really was my fault for setting him off like that. Why couldn't I have just kept my big mouth shut? It was so obvious that things had gone from bad to worse with the lack of support from Munchkinland. A thousand guards would not be anywhere near enough if his estimates of a 5000-strong Winkie host were true. Optimism only got you so far, and even I knew that. Why else would I be running away to save my sister by myself? Whatever magic he holds would do no good if she ended up dead.

I turn the corner, thanking the Unnamed God that I am finally doing what's right. If I had stayed on that train I might as well have signed her death certificate. I would need to come back here and find the railway worker someday to thank him. If he hadn't told me that the train was pulling out in ten minutes-

I stop, trying to put two and two together. Maybe it had been the awful choking smoke or the biting cold, but the man who was in the cab of the engine looked nothing like the barrel-chested and balding man from the boiler room.

I grab my head, trying to focus. I need to keep going, to get out of here before someone comes looking for me. And yet, here I am worrying about some stupid train conductor… or was he a railway worker? My feet refuse to budge any further down the cobblestone street.

Something is wrong. I don't know how long I've been gone, but if I can warn him, maybe he'll listen. If something really is wrong he can fix it and I’ll find another way to get away while he’s fixing it. My hand grips the ten dollars in my pocket as I race back to the train. It's a promise: a promise that after this, it'll be the last time I see him.

I'm wheezing when I get back to the platform, the thin and icy air stabbing my lungs with its crystalline fingers, but I can't help smiling. The train is still there. I made it in time. Ten yards away from the platform, the train blows its whistle and slowly the smile drops from my face. My legs are still running, but I know I won't be able to get off if I get on. Smoke has already started to billow up from the stack.

The thought about optimism from earlier occurs to me. He wasn't guaranteed to save my sister, only I could do that. But if there was something wrong with the train conductor, who would warn him? Who was there to save him?

The wheels creak forward and I push my legs harder and faster into the ground, diverting my course toward the moving train. I reach the door and heave it open to find the Wizard standing there. He pulls me in and shuts the door.

"I felt the train start moving and I- I didn't realize we were leaving so soon." His eyes roam over me, taking in my wind-reddened face and the way I'm gasping for air. "I'm sorry that I said that stuff earlier. It's just that-"

"Something's wrong," I cut him off, wheezing. "The train... Something's wrong."

[in1-nutshell]

I would like to request juno having the sparkling at the worst time and place

Highly requested and now here!

Yes, I know that Bots cant have sparklings like humans do. Yes, I did this pregnancy loosely based off of human pregnancy.

Hope you enjoy!

Juno and the sparkling

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Romance, Mentions of pregnancy and birth but nothing too graphic, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

The ship was buzzing with excitement and anxiousness.

Juno’s due date was coming soon, and all the final preparations were being placed.

Perceptor and Brainstorm made it their job to check that everything was sparkling proof… after checking 50 times that is…

Rodimus was rarely seen too far from Juno.

Did this make his job harder?

Yes, Magnus had already long given up on trying to get him to stay for more than half the day.

Rodimus was uncharacteristically nervous about the sparklings arrival.

Juno, for once, was being the levelheaded one and tried to calm their partner down.

Rodimus had a paintbrush in one servo and several color chips in the other. Juno walks into their shared habsuite and raises and optic. Juno: “Roddy? What are you doing?” Rodimus: “I’m repainting the habsuite.” Juno sighed tiredly. Juno: “Roddy this is the 5th time this week. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rodimus: “But its just not right. How is the sparkling going to fall asleep fast if the colors don’t help her sleep.” Juno: “Help him fall asleep?” Rodimus: “I found some articles on sparklings from Perceptor and Ratchet’s archives. And its she Juno.” Juno: “Nope, it’s he. I can feel it.” Juno takes the brush from his servo and replaces it with their own. Juno: “How about we lay back and watch something?” Rodimus: “But—” Juno: “Do you really want to argue with a heavily sparked bot right now Rodimus?” Rodimus: “… I’ll set the movie up.” Juno: “I’ll get the snacks.”

The arrival of the Scavengers was a welcoming surprise.

Swerve had gotten in contact with Misfire and told him the news.

The rest of their crew wanted to stop by and personally congratulate the pair since they were close by.

No one saw the harm in that.

Juno looks over and spots Spinister. They wave at him as they try to get through the crowd of bots. Juno: “Spinister!” Spinister jumps a bit at the sound of his name but relaxes seeing Juno slightly waddle to him. He walks over and pulls them in a side hug. Spinister: “I leave for a couple cycles and now your sparked. You didn’t waste any time.” Juno chuckled a bit returning the side hug. Juno: “A couple thousand cycles you mean.” They both chuckle a bit. Most of the Scavengers are staring in amazement and concern. Rodimus is just staring at the servos on his Conjunx’s waist. Juno: “Oh you have to see the new built in cameras in the crib Spin! Perceptor did an amazing job in modifying it.” Spinister: “Lead the way.” The pair walk out of the room chatting away leaving a silent room behind. Fulcrum: “Wh-what just happened?” Crankcase: “I second that.” Rodimus gets a strange look on his face and quickly walks after the pair. Krok: “Have you ever—” Misfire: “Seen Spinister so… civil? Not in my lifetime. Bet they used to be a thing.” Perceptor: “Juno remained with little to no contact with most Autobots and Decepticons throughout the war. The likelihood of them meeting Spinister, let alone be courting him is slim to none.” Brainstorm: “… Are you placing any bets?” Perceptor: “Brainstorm!”

This was the hot news now spreading around the ship.

Jumpy, scared of their own shadow Juno was happily chatting with the most trigger happy Decepticon, Spinister.

Rodimus eventually joined them and tried to make a wall in between the Con and Juno.

Occasionally trying to ask questions on how the pair knew each other.

Too bad none of the questions would get answered.

The ship’s alarm went off.

Someone was invading the ship again.

Rodimus tried to get in contact with the others, but communications were down.

As much as it pained him, he sent Juno and Spinister to the med bay.

It would be the safest place for Juno to be in.

Rodimus was surprised when Juno reached out and grabbed his servo.

They had a pleading look on their face.

He almost caved in, but Spinister gently took their servo.

 With a silent promise the bots ran off into different directions.

On the way the way to the med bay, Spinister and Juno found the rest of the Scavengers.

They all feezed at the sound of the Empyrean suite began playing in the halls.

Tarn was here…

Everyone quickly ran into the nearest room and locked it.

Too bad they hid one of Brainstorm experimental locked rooms.

The room not only was heavily fortified but had locks thicker than Grimlock’s helm.

Nevertheless, they all started fortifying the room in the worst case scenario.

Everyone pants and vents tiredly. The music sounding a bit closer than before. Everyone hushes down. Fulcrum: “At least it can’t get any worse than this right?” Misfire shots him a glare. Misfire: “You did not just say that.” Fulcrum: “I’m trying humor Misifre.” Crankcase: “Sorry but I’m siding with Fulcrum on this one. It can’t get worse than this.” Misfire: “Literally everything goes wrong when you say that! Right Grimmy?” Grimlock nods in agreement. SPLASH! Juno slowly looks down at the fluids running down their pedes. They frantically tap Spinister’s arm to look. His optics widen significantly. Spinister: “Oh no.” Krok looked over. Krok: “What do you mean—oh Primus now!” Everyone looked over in horror at the fluids on the floor. Misifre: “I told you!”

After the first few moments of terror, Spinister takes control.

Everyone’s servos on deck.

There was a sparkling to be delivered.

Fulcrum, due to his squeamish tanks, was put on communications duty with Crankcase.

Both were trying different channels for anyone to answer.

Grimlock was to make sure the door and all the barricades stayed in place.

He even managed to promise Juno that nothing would get past him.

Misfire would be Juno’s stress ball/ comforter.

His servos were going to need repairs with how hard Juno was squeezing.

Krok would be Spinister’s make do nurse.

Which was mainly passing Spinister things and holding Juno down.

Juno had to be gagged to muffle their screams and cries of pain.

Spinister was doing everything he could to make this a safe birth for the sparkling with the limited supplies around.

Fulcrum managed to get a signal.

Fulcrum: “Hello? Is there anyone there?” Drift: “This is Drift speaking.” Fulcrum: “We are here in one of the rooms close by the med bay and need medical assistance.” Drift: “What happened? Anyone hurt?” Fulcrum: “Well—” Misfire: “Can’t you hold it in?!” Juno angrily spits out their gag. Juno: “YOU TRY HOLDING IN A SPARKLING AS STUBBORN AS THEIR FATHER!!!” Fulcrum: “Did you get that?” Drift: “Oh… Oh sweet Primus its happening! I’ll get medical assistance over—” CLICK! The call had been cut off. Fulcrum sighs tiredly. Misfire: “Put this back—Did you just try and bite me!?” Juno: “I WILL BITE OFF MORE THAN THA—AAAAARRRGGGHHHH!!” Meanwhile with Drift… Drift runs to Rodimus and Ratchet’s side as they watch the DJD’s ship fly away. Drift: “Roddy! Ratty! We’ve got to go now! Its Juno!” Rodimus looked at him worried. Rodimus: “What happened?! Are they okay!?” Drift: “I just got off the com with Fulcrum, they are having the sparkling now!” Rodimus: “NOW!?”

Drift and Ratchet had never seen Rodimus look so stressed and barrel through a crowd so fast.

They followed behind him, recruiting First Aid and Velocity on the way.

It took a bit for them to find the right room before Rodimus finally melted the right door with his flaming servos.

Grimlock fully decked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

At least he kept his promise.

Rodimus woke up a few minutes later in the med bay with a smiling Drift above him.

He groaned as he woke, gripping his helm right as the memories of the past few hours came rushing in.

Rodimus quickly jumps up from the med slab and grabs Drift. Rodimus: “Juno! Where’s—" Drift shushes him and leads him to a separate room in the med bay. The Scavengers were there surrounding something while Juno, in the med slab, was talking to Spinister and Ratchet. Rodimus: “Juno!” He quickly ran up to his Conjunx, knelt to their level and gave them a tight hug. Juno chuckled weakly burying their face in his neckcables. Some tears escaped from both parties. Juno pulls away and gesture to the Scavengers. Juno: “I think that there is someone there who wants to meet you.” Rodimus freezes a bit before he slowly walks to the crowd. There is a lot of cooing as the Cons part a way for him to go through. In the little basset was a sparkling. His sparkling. Juno and his sparkling. Rodimus smiles down at the little one. The sparkling smiles back. The bitty had Juno’s smile. Rodimus: “Hey there, its me you father.” He let the sparkling grab his digit. A series of happy chirps and whirls came out. Juno: “Looks like our son likes you. Don’t you Flare?” A son! His little Flare. Rodimus carefully picked up the sparkling and held him to his chassis. They both smiled… then the sparkling sneezed and busted into flames. Everyone screamed in surprise as the flames died down. Rodimus: “HE CAN FLAME OUT!!!” He started twirling around with the laughing sparkling in his grasp. The medics tried to get Rodimus to stop twirling around with the sparkling. The Scavengers were just trying to comprehend what had just happened. Juno’s optic was twitching, already making a mental note to have fire extinguishers at the ready. BANG! The med bay doors flew open as a disheveled Perceptor and Brainstorm vented heavily. Perceptor: “Who was going to tell me Juno had the sparkling?!”

[joelsbloodyhands]

DisneyWorld with the Millers - Snippets of Scenes

Summary: Joel and Tommy take Sarah and Ellie to DisneyWorld for the weekend. Reader is dating Joel and has yet to meet the fam and sends the occasional text and call to Joel during their trip.

Warnings: None, all wholesome shit but be warned that Tommy is a menace 😈 and will continue to be when I drop the whole story

A/N: This is going to be mostly Miller family shenanigans. I wanted reader to be involved though even just a little bit but then reader may become very involved later *wink wink* you go to DisneyWorld with the Millers *cough cough*. This is just a couple of the first things I started writing for this. Like many things, I lose motivation so rather than let this rot away in my drafts, I thought it’ll bring me some drive to keep writing by posting these small random snippets. This at least gives a general idea for what’s to come. It was inspired by a moodboard by @whocaresstillthelouvre : https://www.tumblr.com/whocaresstillthelouvre/761712710067044352/joel-miller-takes-his-girls-to-disney-world and I wrote short bits of dialogue after the spark of inspo this moodboard gave me.

Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

Extremely Short Teasers 🤭:

“Tommy for fucks sake,” Joel grimaces, his teeth gritting at stumbling across his brother standing outside Japan at Epcot with a small plastic cup in his hand, a sheepish grin on his face.

“That’s right, brother. This is saké,” he chuckles and downs the cup in one while Joel’s eyes dart around for his missing kid that ran off to the gift shop without so much of a word while the other trails behind him begrudgingly.

“Are we going to space mountain or what?” Ellie groans and Joel shakes his head and Tommy who chucks the cup half hazardously into a nearby bin.

“You have to get piss drunk at-“ Joel checks his watch, “barely even noon.” Tommy frowns.

“Tom, I’ve got two kids to accommodate here and I need you to go watch Sarah doesnt max out my credit card on mouse ears. Can you do that for me while I take this one-“ Joel jabs a finger back towards Ellie stood with her arms crossed, her brow raising with a growing smile, “to the space shuttle?”

“Space mountain,” Ellie corrects matter-of-fact while Joel mutters the correct name and Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hey, no problem! Uncle Tommy’s got it handled! That’s what I’m here for.”

“Look, Ellie! They’ve got astronaut themed ears with Goofy on ‘em!” Sarah bellows from across the gift shop, Joel grimacing when Ellie knocks past him, practically sprinting through the store to Sarah’s arm holding a pair of silver mouse ears with blue and white accents.

Joel is just about ready to block his card when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He tugs it out sliding open the message you’ve sent him.

You: Hey baby :) how’s DW with the girls?

Considering just two minutes ago, Joel’s face felt like he’d gained new wrinkles since they set foot past security, his smile reaches his cheeks when he sees your name plastered across his phone screen. He glances up to check on Sarah and Ellie still tugging ears of all shapes and colours off hangers and giggling before typing out a reply.

Joel: I think I’ll need to build a wardrobe just to hang ears by the time they’re done breaking my bank account :’)

“Sooo…” Ellie swings her arms as the four of them walk away from the food cantina, “animal kingdom next?”

“Noooo,” Sarah groans, her brows furrowing as she flashes her eyes towards Joel, a grin on his face at her when she pleads, “Magic Kingdom. Dad, please.”

Joel feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. His hand goes to retrieve it but if he knows Sarah and Ellie well enough, they’ll be shocked just to see him even pulling it from his pocket. They’ve yet to know about you and he wants to introduce you the right way so he ignores the message…just for now and gives his daughters his undivided attention.

“Magic Kingdom and then we’ll make our way over to Animal Kingdom after.”

“Uncle Tommy wants to go to Hollywood Studios,” Joel practically has to hide the jolt that went through him when Tommy spoke up from behind his shoulder.

“Of course you do,” Joel grumbles, “and then we’ll go to Hollywood Studios.”

“What the hell!” Ellie flails her arms, her head snapping towards Joel, “No fair! We already went to like three different gift stores Sarah wanted to go to.”

Sarah flashes her sister a glare, “and you already made us wait for you and Uncle Tommy to finish Mission Space. The LEAST you could do was come gift shopping with us.”

“Joel!!” Ellie exclaims but Joel cuts her off.

“You have had your turn, Ellie. We’ll get to Animal Kingdom. I promise. Just let Sarah choose our next park.”

Ellie scoffs, “fine.”

“What’s she losing it over?” Joel quirks his head towards Ellie, his question directed at Sarah who has her phone out ready to take a video.

Meanwhile Ellie is busy bouncing on her heels and trying to shove her way through a busy crowd of people much to Joel being wary of how unapologetic his adoptive daughter is with ensuring she gets to the front of whatever army just gathered.

Sarah laughs, trying to follow Ellie while Joel takes his daughters arm to make sure she doesn’t get hurt through the crowd. He takes a rare minute to remember Tommy but when Joel catches the back of his brothers crazy dark mane walking into the catina, he shakes his head and decides he’s probably better off anyway.

“The Mandalorian,” Sarah nods towards a speck of silver, the wave of the crowd giving Joel only a blurry view of what they’re working their way towards.

“The what?” Joel grimaces, keeping his hand on Sarah’s elbow while holding his shoulders inward to avoid bumping into people.

“Some space man,” Sarah replies, emerging from the crowd and reaching Ellie’s side, her bouncing becoming more erratic.

Joel emerges too, his hand dropping back to his side and taking in the view of a helmeted character wearing armor with a robotic green alien looking thing in a bag.

“Bounty hunter,” Ellie rolls her eyes at Sarah’s earlier remark having caught the end of Joel’s questioning.

Joel’s brow lifts in concern, his eyes flickering between his daughter and the man in question she’s so excited to see who is currently showing some kids his little green pet.

“Don’t bounty hunters kill people?” Joel mumbles causing Ellie to nod, her amusement growing when the character gets closer to them.

Joel looks the guy up and down again, “Huh…and I thought this was Disney.”

“Don’t they have a tendency to kill off people in the movies?”

Joel starts, his head whipping around with wild eyes to see Tommy looking at the metal man with intrigue.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Joel scolds under his breath at his younger brother who smiles to him in response. Joel swears the most annoying thing about Tommy is that he never matches the same irritated energy Joel receives from him. Tommy forever is as cool as a cucumber while being the most aggravating entity on the planet.

“They got drinks back there,” Tommy shrugs and then backtracks when Joel’s eyes narrow impatiently, “no, not like that. They’ve got these weird blue and green milk things.”

Joel frowns.

“Thought I’d come back and we can take the girls to try them together.”

The lines between Joel’s brows even out.

That’s surprisingly, well…surprising coming from Tommy.

Then Joel remembers himself.

“Wait, what was it you were saying about Disney killing people off again?” Joel inquires, his head turning to check on his girls watching the character make his rounds.

“Ya know, Bambi’s mother, Tarzan’s parents, Nemo’s mother…” Tommy trails off.

“They got a vendetta against women or-“ Joel’s teeth grit.

A Girl Dad through and through.

“Nah, you don’t remember Mufasa?” Tommy asks seriously.

Joel sighs, “can’t say I do.”

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 41

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: All That Glistens Is Not Gold

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  41/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

One moment you were in a room with Pym, and now you found yourself alone and laying down in a bed in one of the bedrooms of the castle. It was enough to frighten anyone and cause panic, it truly felt like no time had passed.

“Pym?!?” You sat up in the bed and felt dizzy and nauseous right away, you had to lay back down again.

The door opened and Merlin stepped inside, a sigh of relief escaping him upon seeing you conscious again. “Pym is having supper.” He walked to your side. “Fear not, I do not believe that you fainted from the fall.”

You found comfort in how calm he sounded. “Then what happened to me?”

He picked up a plate with a sliced pear on it, offering you a piece. “When did you last eat, and what was it?”

You had to think for a moment. “I had some bread this morning. I wasn’t really hungry.”

“I fear your body disagrees with you on that matter.” He held the piece of pear right under your nose. “Something sweet will help you feel better. Go on.”

It was a bit uncomfortable to eat while laying down, but Merlin stood by to make certain you didn’t accidentally choke on it. “I fainted because I didn’t eat enough?”

He gave a slow nod. “Indeed. With everything going on, it is common for hunger to go unnoticed until it makes us ill.”

“Is my head alright?… "

“I have had centuries to learn all there is to know of healing, whether it be from a curse or sickness, you have my word that you will be well.” He took a vial with a strange looking liquid from his satchel. “But just to be certain, drink this.”

The whispers of the Hidden were in your ears at the sight of the vial. “That contains magic.”

He was surprised to hear that you could tell. “Did the Hidden let it be known?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes. And I can smell it from here, it doesn’t smell normal.”

He put the vial in your hand, looking at you curiously. “It will not taste well either, but this bottled magical concoction will help with any pain your head causes you.”

You eyed the vial. “It’s not poison, is it?”

Merlin was amused by it. “Poisoning one of the last to carry the Fey Fire in their blood would be foolish. If only you knew how I risked my life to have just a small jar of it.”

You sensed he was truthful and drank the vial, he had been truthful about the taste of it too. “Thank you, Merlin. Not just for helping me, but for helping all of us.”

A gentle smile appeared on his face. “You are very welcome. I have stood aside in this battle between Manblood and Fey for far too long, it took me losing my daughter to see how wrong of me it was. I will continue the fight she could not.”

“A noble choice.” you told him.

He disagreed on that, “It would have been noble if I had made that choice before losing her.”

You could see that guilt was eating at him. “No one is free of mistakes, Merlin, it is how we handle them that is important.”

He fell quiet for a moment, seeming to ponder on that thought. “I will go and tell Pym that you are awake. The poor girl was quite shaken after she saw you faint.”

Poor Pym… “Tell her that I’m alright and that she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

He gave a nod, opening the door and finding Gawain standing outside ready to knock. Gawain greeted Merlin and stepped into the room, closing the door behind Merlin. Gawain came right to your side to help you sit up a little and adjusted the pillow behind your back for support.

“You had us worried.” He said, putting the plate with sliced pear into your lap. “How are you feeling?”

It was easier to sit up now, the small bite of pear was starting to help. “My head still doesn’t feel good, but Merlin gave me some medicine for that. Don’t worry, Gawain, I’ll live.”

He pointed in a scolding manner. “You’d better.” Upon seeing you frown he explained, “The Ash Man threatened to fight the Hidden if you did not wake again.”

You tried to be serious about it, failed and chuckled instead. “How does he plan on doing that?”

He sounded confident on the matter, “He may just be mad enough to find a way.”

True. “Tell him to behave. He will listen to you.”

“I have.” he assured. “And once Merlin told us you would be alright after some rest and a meal, I gave Lancelot some tasks to focus on to keep him calm. That man is a bottled storm.”

You took another piece of pear to eat. “Best to keep him busy. Or that storm unleashes.”

Gawain headed to the door again. “I will have someone bring you a meal to eat. Soup was made.”

Poor, poor Pym. She would not have been happy with that. “Thank you, Gawain. Do tell Lancelot, and Percival, that I am alright.”

He opened the door to step out. Just then Percival darted past Gawain and into the room right towards you, in his hands was your satchel.

“Tell him yourself.” Gawain chuckled.

The knight left you to handle the boy alone, who promptly went to stand by the side of the bed. Percival put the satchel down beside the bed.

You noticed him glance down at the slices of pear. “Do you want some pear?”

It looked like he wanted to say ‘yes’ but he stopped himself. “No. You should eat, or you’ll faint again.”

He had sounded so worried… and it was adorable how he tried to look like he was not worried at all.

“Come sit with me.” You patted the spot beside you. “I’d love some company.”

The boy took the offer right away and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Merlin said you’d be alright. You will be alright… won’t you?”

The loss of his friend had scarred the child’s heart. Too many goodbyes, too many loses.

You hoped to put his mind at ease. “I will be back on my feet in no time. Don’t you worry about me, Percival. I’m stronger than I might appear.”

He pressed his lips shut, as if he hoped not to say what he did, “I hope so.”

Wait… was that in response to you being back on your feet again soon or…

The cheeky grin that appeared on his face gave you that answer.

You snatched hold of his arm, pulling him into you, ruffling that wild hair. “You little rascal!”

“I’m not little!” He tried to squirm free, a joyful laugh escaping him.

Finally you let him go. “Still a rascal!”

Percival was still chuckling and a little out of breath from the playful attack on him. “And you’re a minx.”

You barely held in the gasp, it was stated like it was a fact to him. “Where did you learn such a word?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Lancelot once said it really quietly when you were walking away and he thought no one could hear.”

“He said that, huh?” That sneaky twit…

The boy nodded, ratting out the Ash Man. “What does it mean though? He wouldn’t answer when I asked.”

Speak of the devil, the door was opened quickly and there stood your worried husband. A quiet sigh of relief fell upon seeing you conscious again.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “Ah, there you are. Just in time. Percival was just asking me what the word ‘minx’ means. Does that sound familiar to you?”

His relief turned into confusion, then concern and ultimately guilt. Like a child caught in a crime. “Percival, why don’t you go and see if the Green Knight needs your help?”

“But-”

“Now.”

The boy grumbled whilst getting up from the bed and glared at the Ash Man until he was out the door, leaving the door wide open behind him. Lancelot sighed, closing the door.

Your brow arched. “Well?”

He shuffled a little where he stood. “I may have referred to you as such. It was not my intention to have the boy overhear it.”

Of course it wasn’t. “Uhu.”

Whenever he felt out of his comfort, he would fold his hands behind his back and try to appear taller than he already was. It was so easy to tell he feared being reprimanded over it.

He came to stand beside the bed, his tone half-serious, “Must you insist on trying to make me a widower today?”

“I’m trying not to.” you jested.

It did not make him smile, and that was how you knew he was still shaken from it. A slight frown set on his face as he looked at the floor, as if he wanted to hide how shaken he was. “Your markings have gone back into hiding I see.”

“Have they?” you hoped the question would make him look at you again.

He simply nodded, then took in a deep breath, tilting his chin up to the ceiling for a brief moment. “Are you certain you wish to stay here?”

Your smile fell. “What?”

His eyes locked on yours, searching for the answer. “Had the gods not opened that door, you would not have fallen and you would not be here like this now-”

You stopped him right there. “Lancelot, I fainted because I haven’t eaten well today.”

He said what he needed to say, “If you feel unsafe, we will leave.”

You sat up more. “The fall was an accident, I can feel it. And the fainting was my fault. I don’t feel unsafe here.”

He was quiet for a moment, then picked up the satchel from the floor and took out the journals to hand them to you. “Forgive me for showing caution. I may never put my trust into any deity again.”

Once a monk, a loyal servant of the god the paladins prayed to, but he would never be so blinded by faith again.

And you were happy he was able to listen to the voice of reason inside of him. “I understand that.” You reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Gawain said he gave you some tasks to keep you distracted. What have you been doing whilst I was here?”

He summed some of it up, “Taking inventory of what we have and what we need. Near half of the bed linen in the castle is too worn down to use. Much needs to be washed, some is good to use. We will have a lot of work to restore this place to it’s former glory, I fear. There are broken windows that will need to be repaired, the stables need to be tended to…”

There was so much to be done. Some parts of the castle needed to be stabilized. Doors needed to be repaired or replaced. And the whole place was covered in a layer of dust that would take time to clean away. But underneath all the flaws was a glimpse of the beauty the castle had once held, and deep down he knew he could restore it. This could be home, as it once had been to the Fey.

It was clear he was a bit overwhelmed by it all, the work, your health, that fear of failing the Fey. “We’re not alone in this, Lancelot. We can do this.”

His eyes softened at the sheer determination in you. He sat down on the edge of the bed, curling a finger under your chin to let his intention be known when he leaned in. The opportunity of a kiss was stolen away when Percival barged into the room with a bowl of soup. Lancelot was quick to sit up straight again, cursing internally.

The sweet child came to personally hand you the soup. “Careful! It’s warm.”

You gave Percival your sweetest smile. “Thank you, young knight.”

Percival beamed with pride over to mention of his title and fulfilling the task the Green Knight had given him. He turned to Lancelot. “The Green Knight said he still needs our help.”

Lancelot tried to hide his reaction over having to leave your side again while you were still recovering. He stood up from the bed, glancing at you to see you nod in understanding. Duty called, and this time the work was to better life for the Fey. There would undoubtedly be busy days ahead, days where you’d work hard and to be able to do that you needed to rest and get your strength up again. And that is what you did once they left the room.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Later, in the midst of the night, the dipping of the mattress pulled you out of your slumber. Your vision was still a blur from sleep when you made a disapproving noise and lifted your head off of the pillow a little. The scent of him reached your nostrils with ease from how close he was.

“Lancelot?” you mumbled still half-asleep.

He hushed you, kissing your cheek whilst putting an arm around your waist. You could feel him lay down behind you.

He sounded very tired, “Will you let me rest here?”

You took hold of his hand and brought it up to hold it to your chest, scooting back a little to be closer than he’d probably thought he was allowed to be.

He hummed content. “Trying to push me out of the bed, are you?”

You matched the jest with your own, “You’re the one who crawled in and took up my space.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“No.”

That earned you a lingering kiss to your cheek. He held on tight, as if he thought you’d fly off into the night. “Are you feeling better?”

You let him rest his face in the crook of your neck. “I am. And you? You sound exhausted.”

He did not deny that it was true. “It has been an eventful day and I am glad it has ended.”

That did not sound very good. He must have tired himself out. Creating Fey Fire, the journey here, the visions and then the work this castle needed on top of that.

You curved into him more, a little playful. “Tomorrow I believe I will be back on my feet and able to help. And I’m going to make sure that you don’t overwork yourself, because I know you have a tendency to do so.”

His hand flew to your hip upon feeling the playful push of your behind into him. “I will not let you help unless you are truly better.”

“You won’t ‘let’ me?” You snorted a little arrogantly. “I will decide that for myself, thank you.”

If he thought you wouldn’t do exactly that, he was in for a shock. His protectiveness was sweet, but it was not going to stop you from helping tomorrow.

He dared it. He dared to jest, “Sometimes I miss the days when I could just put some rope on you.”

You sat upright instantly, grabbed your pillow and smacked it against his side. “Out.” Again. “Out of the bed!”

He shielded himself from another hit of the pillow with his arm. Even in the darkened room his smirk was visible. “You do not mean that.”

You were more baffled by the audacity than you were angry. “Did you truly just jest about how you once kept me tied up?!”

He took hold on the pillow too. “I was merely jesting.”

It made you roll your eyes and snatch the pillow from his hands. You scooted away from him, creating a distance, and laid down nearly at the last bit of space on the edge of the bed.

He disapproved of the spot you had chosen. “You will fall off if you sleep there.”

You closed your eyes, mumbling under your breath, “Perhaps I’d rather be on the floor.”

He did not know why seeing you get feisty made his blood run faster. It simply excited him, feeding a natural instinct in him to be the one that could weather the storm you cast down upon him.

He got closer again, gliding his hand over your shoulder and arm. Laying himself back down again just like before, only now he was vying for attention. Quietly he inhaled your scent and made a content sound. “I prefer you to be on the bed with me, where I can have you close.”

When you ignored him, he simply grew more motivated to get your attention. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, brushed the tips of his fingers over your arm. He knew what he was doing when he lowered his voice to a husk. “I know you are not angry. You would not let me do this if you were…”

You struggled to keep still when he proceeded to kiss your neck. “If you come near me with a rope again, I’ll strangle you with it.”

He chuckled and kissed your neck again, then the side of your head. “As is your right.” A squeeze of his hand on your waist made you ticklish and he did it again upon noticing it. “I do enjoy your fighting spirit. It excites me.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “Is that why you decided to wake me up and annoy me?”

A cheeky grin was plastered on his face. “It was not planned. But I do not mind this result.”

“You miss the excitement from battle and decide to cause it in the bedroom. I am not surprised.” you blurted out matter-of-factually.

“Well…” He clicked his tongue. “An angry wife is a formidable opponent .”

You pecked his cheek. “And don’t you forget that. Now sleep, you are looking pale.”

“No.” His brow arched.

“Why not?” you sighed.

“First this.” He tilted his head, locking his lips to yours briefly. “Goodnight, my love.”

It was all it needed to cause the fluttering in your stomach to overwhelm you. “Sleep well, Lancelot.”

With one last kiss to your forehead he laid down to rest behind you, holding you close. It was quiet for some time, his breathing was getting deeper and slower.

“You feel so very warm…” He was close to sleep.

You held on to his hand as you fell asleep. Grateful for the chance to sleep in a proper bed again.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The next day, when you presented yourself ready to help, Gawain was relieved. The task you were given was simple. To go to the village and purchase the linen and wares that were needed. How you were to carry all that? Well, Lancelot and Arthur were send along. Gawain did agree with purchasing a wagon and horse to make it easier to transport everything. The journey to the village was… interesting to say the least. One moment the Manblood and Ash Man got along perfectly fine, the next they were rolling their eyes and annoying each other.

You were almost at the village when your patience ran out and you all but shouted at them as they rode a little ahead of you. “Good gods! Can you two just shut up if all you say is meant to bother the other?!? I have no interest in having to delay our task just to prevent the two of you from trying to kill each other!”

Arthur and Lancelot fell quiet immediately, like a pair of scolded children feeling the eyes of their parent burn into their backs. That silence did not last long.

“I wouldn’t be the one who first draws a weapon.” Arthur knew exactly what would rile Lancelot up.

Lancelot scoffed loudly. “Is that not what you did when we met again in Gramaire?”

“I had every right to have a sword at your throat. You tried to kill me the first time we met.” Arthur said.

He muttered under his breath, “How many times will you bring that up again…”

“Forever if I can.” Arthur deadpanned.

“Enough!” you barked the order.

Another silence fell. This time a shorter one.

“Gawain trusts me to complete this task without problems.” Arthur looked at Lancelot.

He arched a brow back at him. “Gawain ‘trusts’ you?”

Arthur tried not to let it get to him. “I’ve know Gawain longer than you.”

He did not hold back. “And still he has yet to show you the amount of trust that he shows me.”

“It is because you’re Fey. If you were Manblood he would have murdered you.” Arthur said casually.

He fired the jab to Arthur’s pride, “Or perhaps he knows I will not let my ego cloud my judgment.”

You did not warn them again, sick of hearing the continuous attempts to irritate each other. It was like listening to bickering children and to avoid having to hear it for the last bit of the way, you spurred Bear on and rode past them to get ahead. Their bickering continued a little quieter and by the time you reached the village it had changed into normal banter again. The horses were left under the care of a stablehand of the stables next to an inn, you paid him and promised extra when you’d return.

Arthur came towards you, gesturing at you a little awkwardly. “I’ve noticed you are wearing a different bodice today. It suits you well.”

It made you look down at it as well. It was one of the clothes you had salvaged from your old room in Ravenwick. “Thank you. I’ve had it for a while but wasn’t sure if it would look good on me.”

“It does.” He was glad the compliment was received well.

The one who did not receive the compliment well was the Ash Man who approached a moment later, his eyes said it all.

And as if to toss oil onto a flame, Arthur smirked at him. “Have you noticed how lovely she looks today.”

Lancelot knew it was meant to provoke him. “I have.”

You looked between them, sighing. “Let’s go and see if we can buy a wagon and horse from the one who owns these stables.”

You went over to the stablehand again and asked him where the owner could be found. The owner was in the inn, having his midday ale. And when you entered the inn, others were having their midday ale as well it seemed. With the description of the stablehand you found the owner sitting at a table with others and you introduced yourself first.

His nose had turned red from the ale he had drank. “What can I help you with, lass?”

Straight to the point it was. “We are looking to buy a wagon with a horse from you.”

“That’s a costly matter, lass. How do you want to pay for that?” The old man put a hand on your behind.

Arthur was quick to notice the movement from Lancelot and he planted a hand on his chest to stop him. The rest of the table laughed it off.

By remaining calm, you hoped to settle the deal without any hiccups. You took the hand off of your rear, feigning your best smile. “With coin, of course. How much will it be?”

“Two coins of gold!” He said it loud, half-jesting because he didn’t think you could ever afford it. “One for the wagon. One for the horse. They are worth the price.”

You reached into your satchel and put down his asking price. “I believe this is correct, is it not?”

The whole table stared down at the gold, having quieted down abruptly, the man scratched his beard.

The man took the coins and quickly put them in his pocket. “Uh… it’s the white spotted horse… I’ll show it… come.”

Lancelot and Arthur stepped aside, letting the man pass so he could show you your purchase. The wagon was not in the most perfect shape, but you counted yourself lucky that you were able to buy a wagon at all. The horse was a strong stallion who had experience with pulling the wagon.

The man turned to Lancelot whilst you and Arthur inspected the wagon. “I have more horses for sale, if you are interested?”

“No.” He was short, barely even acknowledging the man.

Arthur looked at Lancelot a little worried, knowing that he was still fuming internally about what had happened earlier. “Lancelot, what do you think of the wagon?”

He came to stand beside you. “It will do for now.”

You whispered to him, “You alright?”

“I am calm.” he said, more as a reminder to himself to stay so.

The tension in his jaw and the way he tilted his chin up just a tiny bit gave him away. He had hated to see the man touch you. At least he stayed in control over that anger now and it was oddly attractive.

First you looked to see if neither Arthur or the man were close enough to overhear, then whispered. “Don’t be jealous. You can touch my rear too later.”

His eyes snapped to you and upon seeing the wicked smile on your lips the tension in his features vanished. He looked so innocently flustered. A nervous smile settled on his face. A quiet scolding, “Don’t do that. Not here.”

You lightly bumped into him on purpose with your side. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just acting like a minx right now, aren’t I?”

The smile turned into a smirk, entertained by the throwback to the previous evening. He turned to you, leaning in to whisper right back, “Yes, you are.”

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, noticing the close proximity the two of you were in. “So we agree on this sale then?”

Lancelot gave a nod. Arthur proceeded to chat with the man a bit more and thanked him for a well-struck deal. The man returned to the inn to spend some of that earned coin again.

Arthur hopped onto the wagon, taking the reins. “There’s a merchant up ahead, in that building there, that sells what we’ll need. Are you walking or…?”

It was only a few houses away, you could manage. “We’ll walk.”

        There was so much to buy for the Fey, for the castle… And this merchant sold clothes and fabrics. It had to be one of the best days of that woman’s life when you nearly bought her complete inventory of wares. The fabrics could be used for so many purposes, and one could easily make bed linen, bandages and curtains from them. The clothes felt surreal to buy. You thought of all the Feys who’s homes and belongings had been lost to the war. All the children wearing clothes that were either worn down severely, or too big or small, would find joy in having some good clothing to wear again. Everyone helped folding the wares and loading them onto the wagon.

Lancelot had seen Arthur struggle to fold a pair of trousers and had not commented on it, showing that there was improvement happening between them. While loading up the wagon, you put a stack of clothes aside for Percival, hoping the boy would like them.

Soon the wagon was filled with new hope and wares, and you had retrieved the horses. Lancelot had tied the reins of Arthur’s horse to Goliath’s, as Arthur rode the wagon back to the fort. Arthur struggled in silence to steer the wagon, zigzagging from time to time.

Lancelot had noticed the struggle. “Perhaps I should-”

Arthur had felt it coming. “No. No, I can steer this wagon. It’s fine.”

The Ash Man send you a look, you tried not to laugh when the wagon swayed overly to the left again.

Arthur suddenly began to slow the wagon down, eyes set on the forest surrounding him. “Lancelot.”

One look was all Lancelot needed to know that something was wrong. He rode up to Arthur. “What is it?”

Arthur kept his voice low. “I think we are being followed.”

He did not show how alarming it was. “Keep going as you are. Stay calm. I will go and inspect it.”

From the corner of your eyes you had seen something move, there was a split second where you thought it was a bird. But then Bear reared up in fright of the burning arrow that had landed right in front of his legs. A scream fled your lungs, the sudden rearing of the horse caused you to fall out of the saddle.

The next burning arrows barely missed Goliath, Lancelot dismounted fast and send the stallions away, because as long as they were near the horses were a target. He moved to your direction until Arthur loudly warned him of the next set of arrows coming his way. There was barely enough time to dodge the arrows, from the trees the assailants charged at him and Arthur, their target was clearly the contents of the wagon. And unfortunately you, Arthur and Lancelot were their obstacle. They had send that arrow towards Bear on purpose, causing a distraction and preventing you from having an advantage on horseback against them.

Arthur jumped down from the wagon to help you and Lancelot, and immediately had to defend himself against these attackers. There were many, at least ten, all Manblood. You got up to your feet and barely had enough time to draw your sword to ward off the woman that lunged at you. Chaos had erupted from all sides. These thieves were ruthless and impatient, you saw Arthur get struck in the face by one of them. The same happened to Lancelot mere seconds later when four of them gathered up against him. The woman attacking you was growing angrier by the second, and as she lifted her sword into the air to strike it down upon you you sank down to your knees and send your sword upward into her chest. One of her comrades had seen it happen and there was not enough time to free your sword before you had to evade him. He swung at you with his axe and you grabbed his arm to block the attack, you held on, knowing that letting go meant getting wounded. The man roughly moved half a turn and made you trip over his feet, you kicked the back of his knee right away to get the idea out of his head that he was just going to put that axe into your skull, it send him to the ground too and the fight for the axe began. You balled your fist and struck his nose hard while trying to pull the axe from his hand.

A strong tug at the back of your jacket broke you away from him, and then you were being dragged over the grass while you tried to pry the hand from behind your neck. The cold steel of a blade touched the side of your throat. Just then, Arthur hit the ground, a sword was held to his throat as well. Lancelot was still cutting through them, meeting their violent attack with his own.

The one threatening Arthur drew his attention. “Drop your sword!” He saw Lancelot look at him, then at Arthur, then at you. “Kneel on the ground, hands behind your head, or we’ll gut them like pigs!”

The broad man that held on to your jacket chuckled ominously, then proceeded to drag you over the ground towards the wagon and only then did you notice it was your own sword you were being threatened with.

Arthur saw them drag you to the wagon and understood their intent. “No! Lancelot!”

What choice did he have? If he continued to fight whilst you and Arthur were held at the blade this would end in tragedy.

Arthur received a hard kick to the stomach for that and tried to crawl away to no avail.

“Leave him be!” Lancelot let the sword fall from his hands and knelt down as they had ordered.

They bound his hands behind his back and fortunately they did not see the importance and value of the sword near their feet. Arthur was bound by rope too, left to struggle to get himself into a seated position. Your eyes locked on Lancelot’s, your worried ones found his to be eerily calm.

“Lance-” you couldn’t say what you wanted before you were being pulled further away.

“Be not afraid.” he answered the question he could read from your eyes.

The broad man held your hand up all of a sudden. “Gerold! Look here. Gold!”

You closed your hand into an iron grip when realizing he was going to steal your ring.

He twisted your hand, digging his dirty nails into it to pry it open. He nearly broke your finger to get it off. Another came to look inside your satchel to search for valuables, you prayed the bracelet did not slip past your sleeve as it would certainly tempt them to steal it too.

“Gerold…” The scrawny man held up one of the golden coins that was found in the satchel. “This one is worth more than she appears.”

Gerold looked at the wagon full of newly purchased wares, at the coins found in your satchel, and he came to his conclusion. “There’s more where that came from. She’s coming with us.”

The nasty comment made you want to strangle the life out of the scrawny one. They forced you onto the wagon, some of the thieves got on the wagon as well whilst others went to retrieve their horses.

Lancelot called out to Gerold, “I will bring any gold you desire if you leave her be!”

Gerold was disinterested. “Unlike her, you do not have a satchel with gold on you. We are taking her.”

The wagon began to move, those on horses rode along to guard it. A few of them stayed with Lancelot and Arthur, keeping them under control until the wagon was at a safe distance. You kept calm as they bound your hands behind your back as well. It was an odd calmness, one that hide the storm brewing underneath your skin. This wagon, your ring, you were not going to abandon it. Lancelot and Arthur were alive, and safe now that those thieves had left them there. They believed you were the key to the gold they so desired, if only they knew what you planned to do to those who threatened your newfound home.

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