#like a wife who works all day but still cleans the house because its a womans work

[skellyheart]

CC so good I actually watched the sponsorship all the way through

[asuyaka]

Gojo-Sensei has a husband?!

★ - drabble s part of m' first Satoru oneshot !!૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

☆ - Gojo Satoru x Househusband! Reader

♡ - f m' manga readers, how we feelin' 'bout nurse kenny ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ (she's m wife m callin' it rn!!)

Gojo [Name], the loved and unknown husband of The Strongest, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru was at work, most likely teaching the first years he loved to talk about. You were at home. Cleaning the house and making preparations for dinner when Satoru got home like the good husband you were.

You brought out a chicken broth cube from the cupboard, brushing the slight dust on your pretty light-blue apron that Satoru brought for you (then ended up fucking you in but that's on days when you're being a brat).

Your eyes scan the countertop, looking for the knife holder until they land on a sage-green bag dusted with flowers that you hand-painted. It was Satoru's lunch bag that he had forgotten.

You weren't a sorcerer, but you're able to see curses. Ironically, that's how you and Satoru met. A younger you (who just got unemployed) was walking home when something you couldn't describe stopped you in the alleyway you took sometimes as a shortcut.

It was tall, with eyes running along its skinny, dark-red arm. You were only twenty-two at the time and have only ever seen things like that in shitty horror-flicks. You never thought they were real.

As if you were in a cliché love story, a patch of white hair stands in front of you. He has sunglasses on despite the sun being nowhere in sight.

Due to you being (obviously) weaker than the average sorcerer, Satoru always discouraged you from going to Jujutsu High unless it was an emergency.

You huff diligently, grabbing the lunch bag and putting your shoes on. You'll make sure Satoru gets his lunch. What kind of husband would you be if you didn't?

Turns out, the people at Jujutsu High are either scary or odd. There's absolutely no in-between.

You've only been at Jujutsu High a handful of times. More times than not, it was to help Megumi.

You make your way to the main school building, holding the bag close to your chest for safekeeping. You didn't bust your ass making cute shapes out of food just for Satoru to go eat fast food instead.

Reaching the door of Satoru's class, you knock softly. It’s quiet, and you guess Satoru must be out training with his students. You turned around to try and find just where the training grounds could be on this huge campus. 

All of a sudden, the door opens and there he is. Your beautiful husband, wearing his black blindfold and Jujutsu uniform. “Baby? What are you doing here?”

Baby. That’s right, you’re his baby. No one else's. “You left your lunch, so I…” Your voice trails off as you gesture toward the bag in your hands. Satoru smiles, opening the door wider and pulling you in.

He keeps your hands intertwined, softly pushing you against a chair. “You’re so nice, baby. Going out of your way to bring me my lunch?” His hands are on your cheeks now, still smiling sweetly even with a saccharine voice.

Your face flushes and your hands are stiff. You don’t know where his students are, but you’re sure they’ll be back soon. This is risky— irresponsible even. 

“Satoru, ‘s risky..” You mutter under your breath, your hands cupping his. They’re warm like they always are when you two are close. You wish you could see what his eyes looked like, but they’re for his comfortability, you’re aware.

“You know I love you, right baby?” He leans closer, to the point you can smell the cologne on him. It’s the one you bought him a few weeks ago because it smelt like home. 

Satoru smells like home.

Shakily you nod. “Are you sure this is safe…? I don’t want you—”

“Shh… let me worry about all that.”

And with that, he closes the space between your lips. Satoru’s strong– dominant even; and no matter what he does, it always manages to show through his actions.

His tongue breaches past your lips, slotting perfectly against yours. You can hear the clicking of teeth as Satoru sits across your lap. It’s hot and you can feel your cock start to rise in your pants. 

“Wore this cute fuckin’ apron all f’me–” He plants a kiss on your cheek, your face flushed and breathing heaved.

“Satoru– sir, I need—”

“But baby…” He whines.

He fucking whines.

His face is pouty and it looks like he’s getting off your lap. Is he denying you? You haven’t done anythin’ wrong– did he give you instructions and you didn’t see them?

“I’m at work, and as much as I want to fuck you ‘till you can’t think– you can’t have my students seein’ you all messed up like that, can you?”

Satoru’s words bring your attention to your appearance. Your apron is messed up and so is your hair (most likely from Satoru gripping on it). Your lips are slightly swollen and your cock is half-hard.

Embarrassment brings you back to your senses, your arms covering what's between your thighs. If you stood up, your apron would cover it (hopefully), but your pants weren’t going to do you any justice. “‘M sorry ‘toru…”

Satoru cocks his head, sitting on his desk and crossing his legs. “It’s okay baby, I know you just can’t help yourself when I’m around.” His tone sounds mean like he’s mocking you. It’s condescending.

“But that’s what makes you my good boy, isn’t it?” His foot brings the chair closer to the point where your body is sandwiched between his legs. “Always so plaint f’me to fuck you, right?”

God. You can’t do this, and it isn’t helping your slowly growing problem go down.

Satoru must sense your nervousness (he knows you and your emotions like the back of your hand) because his expression turns soft again. “Just wait till I get home, okay baby? Relax for me.”

His fingers caress your cheek gently. It’s lulling you, pulling you in. Like he’s a siren, and you’re a plaint, very easy sailor.

You nod because you’re his good boy and you want it to stay that way.

Satoru smiles before pulling you in again for a kiss.

It’s gentler this time. There’s less kiss and more gentleness behind it. It feels like the kiss you shared at the altar. It makes you calmer, it makes you happy.

All of a sudden, the door slams open. Revealing three, very surprised teenagers.

“Gojo-sensei!?”

“Gojo-san?”

Satoru breaks the kiss, briefly smiling coyly at you before looking at his students. “Hello, my favorite first-years! I didn’t know lunch had already ended…”

A boy with pink hair and what seems to be two sets of eyes stares at you, then back at Satoru. “Lunch ended five minutes ago. Nobara stayed to eat more watermelon.”

The girl, who is shorter than all of them and who you assume is Nobara, kicks the boy in the knee. “Shut it Yuuji! Not my fault somebody decided to eat all my food while I was gone!”

“Gojo-san, I thought you’d be at home.”Megumi looks at you with a confused expression. Your heart tugs in fondness when he says ‘home’ like all three of you share it together (legally, you do but Megumi would never admit that).

“Why would Gojo-sensei be at home? He has to teach us, stupid.” Nobara rolls her eyes, before pointing at you accusingly. 

“All I wanna know is why this random man and Gojo-sensei were kissing!”

Satoru steps off the desk, grabs your arm, and pulls you up as well. He slings his arm around your shoulder, slightly leaning on you with a bright smile on his face. “Yuuji, Nobara, this is my husband, [Name]!”

“Husband?!” Yuuji and Nobara parrot, staring at each other before staring back at you. 

Nobara notices it first, the sleek ring on your finger. There’s an initial that she can’t make out but can only assume it’s the one that belongs to her teacher.

“Why would anyone date you?” She says suddenly, causing Yuuji to laugh.

Megumi rolls his eyes. “I thought that at first too. Gojo-san is too good for him.”

Satoru gasps. “Rude! You cried during our wedding, or do I have to ask [Name] to pull up the photos?”

“Wedding?! Why wasn’t I invited?” Nobara looks at Satoru like he committed a war crime. 

You don’t notice it, but somehow Yuuji is right in front of you. “Hello! I’m super glad Gojo-sensei has someone to love!! He’s always saying something about how he misses his ‘hubby’ randomly during class but we never thought he was being serious!”

You smile bashfully. You never thought Satoru would think of you during work, and for him to call you his “hubby”? 

Megumi stands beside him, handing you a book. “That’s because Gojo-sensei can’t shut up. They’re so lovey-dovey behind closed doors it makes me sick.”

Yuuji smiles. “That’s ‘cause they’re in love Megumi! Shouldn’t it be sweet that your dads love each other?”

Megumi frowns. “They aren’t my dads.”

“They totally are! You called Gojo-sensei dad one time during a mission, don’t think I’d ever forget that!” Nobara teases, holding Satoru’s ring in her other hand to presumably examine it.

Satoru claps his hands. “Okkayy! I appreciate that you two love my husband, not as much as me of course, but he’s got stuff to do! And we have to learn about the boring sorcerer families. Ew.”

His students groan but make their way to their seats. Satoru walks you to the door of the classroom, a small apologetic smile on his face. “I can’t walk you all the way to the door, Yaga would kill me, but I’ll see you at home?”

You nod with a soft smile on your face.

Satoru kisses you one last time. It’s more of a peck than anything, then leans into your ear. “Prep yourself for me before I get home okay? I have to reward you for being so good today.”

Blush rises up to your cheeks as you nod again. Pushing your hands down to your lap and turning away from his classroom door. The blush gets harder when you hear a loud “See you at home baby!” from the door.

Satoru watches you until he can’t anymore. A relieved sigh leaves his face as he closes the door and sits on his desk. Legs crossed and a ring adorning his finger, with your initials on them.

“Ask away, and I’ll show you any pictures you want.”

Yuuji and Nobara visibly light up and begin asking questions about where he met you, how long you’ve been together, and how long you’ve been married, plus the pictures of Megumi crying.

He shows them every photo and answers every question without hesitation.

After all, they’re all questions about you, his husband.

And he knows you’ll be home waiting for him with dinner, and dessert.

Your ass (that he loves to watch jiggle every time he fucks you), and ice cream.

He loves you, and he’s glad his students (and son) love you too.

[p0orbaby]

Life Was So Simple Then (1)

summary: you and leah embark on a trip through Europe in an effort to save your marriage

warnings: a smidge of angst but you’ll live

a/n: i may or may not be considering making this a series…

word count: 1.4k

-

The train moves at a comfortable hum, soothing in its way, while London shrinks behind you in pieces, in windows, in corners. The world outside your window looks surreal, vaguely greenish, fragmented by flashes of trees and brick houses. There’s something almost too quiet about it, an uneasy softness to the edges of this journey that is meant to patch you both back together.

You’ve been married for—what is it?—six years now. But you were Leah’s shadow long before that. You’ve been her plus-one, her background feature, her silent assistant in uncountable ways that now feel petty to list. The bitter edge surprises you as it rears up unbidden. You take a breath and decide you’ll name these feelings, as if naming things might tame them. Resentment. Grief. Stubborn hope. You and Leah have been through worse. But also… maybe not.

You glance at her. She’s examining her nails, mouth set into that default neutrality she pulls out when she’s feeling strange or anxious or tired. It’s her ready face, the one she’s kept in her kit since she was just a gangly teenager at Arsenal, desperate to be taken seriously, to get noticed for more than her posture and a fast left foot. You remember those early days. You remember being eighteen, in the stands, showing up for her even when you barely knew her. When all she had to offer was coffee in half-cleaned thermoses and lectures about work-life balance that were one part playful, two parts scolding, and strangely magnetic.

When you finally pulled her into that first kiss, it was a Thursday. You remember that because she had a match the next day. She’d stood there with her mouth half-open, one eyebrow raised, until she laughed that strange, short laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something but willing to give it a go. Afterward, you’d watched her lace up her shoes, this careful process that she performed like ritual. The order mattered: left, then right, then another knot. The same attention she brings to everything—coffee, calls, stretching, the single glass of wine she never finishes at dinner because it’s “almost too nice to ruin.”

Back then, she’d just been Leah. But then she’d become Leah Williamson, and you, married to her, got folded into the package. You’d get, “oh, that’s Leah’s wife!” from strangers at the shops, from mothers of kids at school fundraisers, from friends of friends who never bothered with your name. You hadn’t known how strange that would feel until it did, like there was this parallel version of yourself, waiting in the wings, and now this strange person had overtaken you. You’re still working on making peace with that, though there’s little peace about it.

Leah raises an eyebrow as if reading your mind, which is a trick she’s only gotten better at. “You’re very quiet. Am I allowed to ask if something’s wrong?”

“You could,” you say, but it sounds a little brittle, so you reach for her hand, entwining your fingers, hoping the gesture makes up for it. She doesn’t flinch, which is a start. You’re not entirely sure where you left off, after the months of silent dinners, of days bookended by her rising before dawn for physio appointments and crashing in bed long after you’d fallen asleep. Now, as her fingers brush your knuckles, you can almost feel that old connection, an unexpected sliver of warmth threading through the silence.

“Fine, be cryptic.” Her mouth quirks in a half-smile, the kind that used to come so naturally but has felt harder and harder to coax out. She lets go of your hand and turns back to her phone, skimming news alerts and whatever else she’s curated into a daily distraction routine. That’s new, too, the constant scrolling. It used to be just the morning Guardian and the Arsenal forums, but now she reads everything as if she’s half-waiting for some seismic news, some validation that she made the right decision. Retirement. The word feels abrupt, like something has been shaved off the ends. The other day she’d admitted to reading the tabloids. Just the sports ones, she’d said, in that overly casual voice she uses when she’s trying not to sound defensive.

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Leah’s voice drifts up, and it takes you a second to process that she’s talking to you.

“Yes, your honour.” The words slip out like they used to, like you’re just starting out, laughing over drinks after midnight. You see her relax a little, a sign she’s actually been worrying about the sandwiches, and you realise she’s probably equally terrified that she’ll spend the entire trip thinking about where she’d rather be. The knowledge of her own shifting nature used to thrill her; she’d tell you she was “made of kinetic energy,” that she couldn’t ever be truly still. Now, it seems to disturb her.

“Well, just checking.” She doesn’t ask you to get them, and you don’t offer. You suspect there’s a silent mutual agreement that eating will come later, a familiar tactic she’s deployed whenever nerves or a big match made her too jittery to eat. You’ve read about married people developing shared instincts, unconscious patterns. But this knowledge, like all the habits you’ve developed over time, somehow doesn’t offer the comfort you’d expected. It’s like putting on a jacket that’s become a touch too tight, and you find yourself oddly self-conscious.

As you both sit in this semi-awkward silence, you try to remember the last time you truly sat together like this, uninterrupted. The thing is, you can’t. Even on the few weekends she’d been around the last season, it had always been meals with other players, birthday parties with people you barely knew, her agent dropping by with a sheaf of papers and a grin that you’ve come to resent, though you never say so. Leah had been “there” in a vague sense, the way a familiar armchair is there: functional, comfortable, reliable in theory. But Leah herself? The woman you fell in love with—that particular version of her seemed more and more like a house you once lived in but that someone else owns now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks finally, in that deceptively soft tone that makes you feel like you’re on trial. She’s always done that, approached difficult conversations like they’re penalty shots. Direct, unflinching, too close to your heart.

“You, mostly.” The honesty slips out before you can stop it. “Us, I mean”

She lets out a soft sigh, nodding as if she understands something specific, though you suspect she doesn’t. Her understanding has become like that of someone who’s learned a language only halfway. There’s the ability to navigate, but no intuition, no rhythm.

“Does it feel strange to be doing this?” she asks. “Like, taking this whole trip to—what’s the word?—to reset?”

You nod, though it’s more than strange; it’s surreal. You’re on a mission to resurrect a version of each other that you barely recognise anymore. The stakes are uncomfortably high, like someone’s dared you both to restore something irrevocably broken.

“You know,” she says, “I used to imagine us doing something like this. But I thought we’d be sixty or something, grandkids on the way, planning things for fun, not… whatever this is.” She looks down, expression somewhere between regret and wonder.

“Yeah. Me too.” You allow yourself a small laugh. “I thought we’d be the kind of couple who’d stay on for tea in strange little pubs and get lost in French villages and drink wine in the countryside”

She snorts, “I’m not sure if I’d drink the tea. Have you seen the quality of some of the pubs out there?” The joke feels just shy of funny, but you force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice the effort.

“But you’re right,” she says, finally. “I thought the same. That’s the dream, right? And I don’t know…” She trails off, staring out the window, at the blur of countryside, the unremarkable patches of brown and green that scroll by. “I don’t know if I even know what I wanted anymore. Or what I still want”

The words hang heavy, a confession too thick for this tight, narrow train car. It’s too early in the journey to delve into it fully, too fragile a moment for honesty of this weight. You reach for her hand again, a steadying anchor. Her grip is warm, though her fingers feel a little too light, as if she’s not fully committed to the touch, a detail that pierces your heart like a needle.

“Then maybe…” you start, pausing, wondering if the words are too simple for what needs to be said. “Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out”

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 2

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Cassy, pardon my eldest daughter. As a mother, I admit the mistakes and the shame you've witnessed today.” Genevieve clasped her friend’s hands together, her demeanor polished yet tense.

She couldn't ruin Victoria and Bucky's engagement because of you. She had worked hard to persuade her husband to connect with the Barnes.

Juliana looked at Genevieve, noting how she was swallowing her pride—a remarkable feat for such a proud woman. She gently patted her friend's hand. “It’s alright. Every family has its own troubles.”

Genevieve's face brightened upon hearing that. She placed a hand on her chest. “Oh, what a great friend you are. I’m so glad we’re going to be in-laws.”

Victoria felt a wave of relief wash over her. Your attempt to ruin her future hadn't succeeded.

Bucky and his mother, exuding an air of sophistication and wealth, got into their Rolls-Royce Phantom. Juliana's movements were graceful, and her every gesture was a testament to their family's high status. Still silent and composed, Bucky followed her, his mind racing with thoughts of the day’s events.

In the quiet ride, Bucky's mind kept replaying the events of the day. His fingers touched his lips.

Someone had touched his face and kissed him.

He hadn’t vomited or fainted.

He would have to see the doctor tomorrow.

“Are you alright?” Juliana looked at her son, noticing how unusually quiet he seemed. He hadn't shown any reaction when she saw him get so close to you. Compared to Victoria, she could see Bucky's face turn pale.

Bucky murmured, “It's strange.”

Then he looked at his mother. “After what we saw today, do you still want to keep the engagement going?”

Juliana tilted her head and crossed her arms. “We need their money. I thought being in-laws would benefit us, but I'm starting to have second thoughts. We'll see.”

She asked, “What about you? If you don't like it, we can stop the wedding.”

Bucky hummed, his eyes looking out the window. “I don't know.”

Right now, all he needed was an answer to why he didn’t react when you kissed him.

He grabbed his phone and started typing, his fingers moving quickly over the screen. “I want you to search for someone.” Then he clicked send.

Within a minute, his phone vibrated with a message: “OK.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, his fingers lingering on his lips, his mind racing as the car smoothly glided through the city streets.

💋💋💋💋

Inside the bedroom, Bucky emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets glistening on his six-pack abs and muscular chest. His dark hair was damp, and he exuded a fresh, clean scent.

He had spent an hour in the shower, trying to wash away the sensation of Victoria’s touch.

Then he heard his phone buzz again. It was the information he had requested about your background.

He quickly put on his pants, then sat on the edge of his bed, his body still slightly wet, and started reading the message, his eyes scanning the details intently.

The story unfolded: you are the child of the first wife. After your mother's death, your father, Jonathan, brought another woman and her daughter into the house.

It turned out that when Jonathan was drunk, a woman took advantage of the situation. That woman was Genevieve, and her daughter was Victoria.

You hated your stepmother and stepsister, becoming a rebel. You caused chaos at home and were a troublemaker at school, until the day you were finally kicked out of the house.

Bucky read on until he reached the part about your occupation. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he stood up abruptly. “She's what?!”

🎒🎒🎒🎒

“RINGGGG!”

The bell's sound echoed throughout the entire building. It was supposed to signal the students to enter their classrooms. But they didn’t. They continued smoking, sitting on the floor, or sleeping.

This was a common sight at Granite Hills Reform School, where problematic, delinquent students from all over the country were gathered.

“Tuck. Tuck. Tuck.” The sound of something hitting the floor echoed in the hallway. Students who were still lingering started to head into their classrooms. The sound served as a final warning for them.

They didn’t want to have a problem with the person responsible for the noise.

“It’s time to enter the class, you lazy pricks. Why the heck are you guys still here? Are you discussing the solution for world peace?” You tapped a baseball bat on a locker door, addressing the final-year students who were still acting tough.

The students who had been acting strong before began to back away. One of them pulled a friend away from starting a fight with you. “Let's go. Didn’t you hear she fought two students who weighed like sumo wrestlers?”

“It was her? Damn. No wonder she broke her left hand.”

You watched as the last group of students left the hallway. Now it was empty.

You entered your classroom. Your students were already waiting for you, looking attentive and ready.

You sat on your chair and rested your leg on your teacher's desk.

Pointing at one student, you said, “Andre, prepare the TV.”

“TV again? When can we study?” Jimmy, one of the students, complained.

“Now you want to study? Fuck. I don't get paid enough for this,” you retorted.

“Grab your phone and look for 'To Kill a Mockingbird,'” you instructed.

“We didn't use the book?” Jimmy asked.

“What's the point? You're going to throw the book away,” you replied.

The other students agreed with your reasoning.

“Read two chapters, and I will ask you questions,” you said.

The students in your class started complaining amongst themselves, but you didn't care.

After a while, you announced, “Time's up,” and began asking questions.

You got up from your seat and walked around the class, your presence commanding attention. Then, you picked unlucky student Jimmy.

“Who is Scout Finch, and how does she introduce herself and her family in Chapter 1?” you asked.

Jimmy gulped nervously. “Scout Finch is a local shopkeeper who lives alone and has no family.”

“WRONG,” you declared bluntly.

“Miss, I know the answer,” Andre raised his hand eagerly.

“Give it to me,” you commanded.

“Scout Finch is the young narrator of the story. She introduces her father, Atticus Finch, her brother, Jem, and mentions her mother’s death,” Andre confidently answered.

You snapped your fingers, a smirk playing on your lips. “That's right. Bravo.” Then, you pulled dollar bills from your pants pocket and handed them to Andre.

“As a reward, you could skip this class, buy a coca-cola for you, and grab a coffee from the cafeteria for me,” you said.

“But… I'm diabetic,” Andre protested.

“A mineral water for you then,” you replied dismissively.

Andre rolled his eyes and left the classroom. As he headed to the cafeteria, he never imagined that the hallway would be empty and the dirty graffiti gone.

All of this has happened since you joined this school, and the crime records have also decreased significantly.

You were scary as heck, but you had made a change in this school.

As Andre returned to the class with the drinks, he saw someone who seemed out of place entering the building.

He looked the gentleman up and down. This man seemed to embody the type of person he wanted to become when he grew up.

“I'm looking for Miss Sinclair,” the man asked Andre with a deep voice.

Andre raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “My teacher?”

💋💋💋💋

Back in the classroom, you sat behind your teacher's desk, still asking questions while waiting for your coffee. You rested your right arm behind you and propped your legs up on the desk again.

Finally, Andre entered.

“Finally—" you began, but your words stopped short when you saw the person behind your student.

“Whaa—Andre, did you bring your master?” Jimmy asked, starting to laugh. “Hahaha—oh.” He realized he was the only one laughing in the class.

Andre handed you your coffee. “Here's your coffee, miss. This gentleman is looking for you.”

“Oh, you have a gigolo, miss?” Jimmy quipped.

You looked at the guest while sipping your hot coffee. “The outfit he's wearing from head to toe is worth more than your net worth, Jimmy.”

Other students murmured while Jimmy asked, “Should I become a gigolo too?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked Bucky.

“I want to talk to you,” Bucky replied.

“I don't have time,” you retorted.

“Is this how you talk after you stole a kiss from me?” Bucky's words hung in the air.

“Oohhh…,” the students murmured in surprise, their voices echoing in the classroom. Seeing their intimidating teacher talking to a man who looked prosperous, and she stole a kiss??

“RINGGGG…”

“Get all of your asses out of this room,” you commanded sternly, gesturing for the students to leave.

“Awww,” the students started complaining, reluctant to leave as they wanted to see what happened next. However, they eventually relented and filed out of the classroom, grumbling as they went. In a short moment, the classroom had become empty.

“Is this how you talk to your students?” Bucky asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, observing your interaction with the students.

“They're not students, they're devil spawn,” you replied with a wry smile, leaning back in your chair with a sense of satisfaction.

“Pfft…” Bucky turned away his face, trying his best not to laugh. Now, he realizes entirely that you're different from all the women he's ever met, especially Victoria.

“So why are you here? Is it because I kissed you without your consent?” you asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Ehm. Partly. And I want to talk to you about something else. Please,” he replied politely, his demeanor surprisingly calm despite the situation.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting him to ask so politely. He didn't seem mad, even after you kissed him. You were starting to feel like Bucky was too good for your stepsister.

Author Note: I have so much fun writing this chapter 😂

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[gatitties]

Hello!!! Can I ask you something?

I wanted to ask for a super cute Scenario or headcanons, where in One Piece's AU, Shanks is a businessman who has a very good salary and is married to YN who is a super kind and attentive housewife who treats Shanks like a king, because he always is working and always getting very tired from work and still pleases YN with gifts and taking her out on days off, they don't necessarily have kids, that's you decision

shanks wants his wife to be the happiest wife in the world!!!

─Shanks x wife!reader

─Summary: it doesn't seem like you can get a second of rest, but your husband surprises you with some gifts.

─Warnings: modernAU

this is so cute hjhsajh 😳

You narrowed your eyes as you saw the vase slightly further to the right, moving it a couple of centimeters so that it was exactly in the right spot, in the same place you put it every day after doing a big cleaning of the house.

You sat on the neat couch, scanning the living room for anything still missing out of place, smiling at your good work, although the smile soon disappeared when a slight back pain broke your good mood bubble, the pain had intensified lately since Shanks had some meetings in his personal study, so you did your best to make everything as organized and clean as usual.

It was a bit sad since he spent many hours busy, although he always made up for it on the weekends when he had his days off, however the company had to resolve some issues regarding some clients and employees, collections, payroll, settlements… there were always months filled with a lot of work and you both ended up so exhausted that you didn't even have a single moment to talk for days.

Today seemed like it was going to be one of those days where you were waiting with a glass of wine, eating dinner alone in the kitchen, you knew that if Shanks hadn't arrived by a certain time, you shouldn't make dinner for two, and you were about to get to cook, you only managed to cut a couple of onions when you screamed when you felt a strong arm lift you slightly from the ground, your shock faded when you felt the redhead's presence.

"I thought you wouldn't come today."

"Surprise!"

He joined his lips with yours sweetly, when he put you back on the ground, he left for a second to return with a small bouquet of roses and a wrapped box, you frowned strangely at the detail, Shanks was not a person who usually did gifts like that, yes, he would buy you things, but he would just arrive and give it to you unwrapped or he would just ask you if you want that thing directly.

"What is this? Oh don't tell me I forgot about our anniversary or-"

Your worried tone and nervousness for having forgotten some important date was cut by the man's lips, who left a trail of short kisses all over your face, making you laugh like a fool in love, he smiled at this.

"No, I'm the most likely to forget that kind of thing love, it's just a gift! Can't I spoil you a little? I know how much it costs to maintain a home, plus your sore muscles..."

He took your hands in his, rubbing circles with his thumb on your knuckles, you melted under his touch, pulling him to your body to sink into a comfortable embrace, you breathed in his scent slowly, burying your face in his shoulder, he let you hold the position. As long as you needed, Shanks didn't care if you spent hours hugging him, he would enjoy every second of contact. You pulled away a couple of minutes later, turning your attention now to the box he had left on the kitchen counter earlier next to the roses, curious about its contents, he urged you to open it, even he seeming more excited than you by the gift.

"Oh… how did you know this was what I wanted? I don't remember telling you about it yet."

Although both you and Shanks used to share certain things that you needed or would like to have for possible birthday, anniversary or Christmas gifts… you still hadn't had the opportunity to tell him that this was what you were thinking of buying as a self-gift for your next birthday.

"A husband's intuition never fails, and look, there are more things!"

Looking at the bottom of the box you pulled out two stiff papers that seemed to be hidden, a silly smile decorating your lips as you read them.

"Spa and massage session for two?"

He raised and lowered his eyebrows with a mischievous smile, you laughed, hitting his shoulder, hugging him again as a way of thanking him, you felt a little bad for not having a gift for him right now, since you weren't the only one who needed a break from time to time from work, but you made a mental note to look for something that he might like.

[merakiui]

MERA IVE BEEN HAVING THIS THOUGHT AND I THINK YOURE THE RIGHT PERSON TO SHARE IT WITH BC ITS SO PERFECT FOR THE TWEELS 😭

A long time ago, back when i was a teenager and still a wattpad girly, I read this one really good story called "Family Comes First" about a family of cannibals that lives in the middle of nowhere. They only keep boy children who are born, no daughters. Whenever a boy turns a certain age (I think 21 but I cant really rmbr), the father goes out to the nearest city, interviews girls under the guise of offering them a job, and kidnaps the best one as a birthday gift and bride. The mother-in-law teaches the new girl how to be a good wife (cleaning, cooking that strange meat, etc.), and the husband is otherwise responsible for his wife, to the point of selecting and laying out her clothing every morning. The ultimate honour is to birth a son, and so the husbands are CONSTANTLY trying to get their wives knocked up. I can't help but imagine Jade and Floyd in a story like this, it suits them perfectlyyyyy

In the book, one of the boys ended up catching feelings for brother's wife (the main character) instead of his own, and it causes fights serious drama in the family. This works so well with the recent ideas about Jade stealing Floyd's cute little wifey except it would be even better for them because they're twins and Jade can pull all his nasty tricks 😭 maybe when she finally gets knocked up with a son, they won't know who it belongs to, because he looks just like his daddy, but the potential daddies look the sammmeee OTZ

Oh oh oh and imagine if reader tries to escape and the family decides to let her try. Let her have fun. Hell, they even join in on the fun. She was blindfolded when they brought her and she's never been out of the house before, so she doesn't know her way around the woods, whereas the men in this family have been hunting humans for sport and food in these woods for generations. Now she's lost in the dark forest with daddy leech and the tweels rapidly closing in on her. She's going to be taught a lesson after they drag her home. After all, she lost the game, and losers never get rewards >_<

OHHH!!! Omg that concept is perfect for the tweels!!!! And they would absolutely draw out the chase in the forest just to scare you even more. Maybe then, after spending an entire day and night being hunted like a wild animal, you'll learn your home is with them. There's no point in running from your family, after all.

Hehe running from the three of them and you injure yourself, so now you're even more panicked because what if they can smell the cut on your leg? What if they can hear your pained grunts as you drag yourself along, limping through the forest? >_< omg and it doesn't matter who finds you; it's going to be frightening either way. Floyd who drags you out of your hiding place by the ankles, or Jade who stands over you as he patiently waits for you to take notice of him. Or Papa Leech wrapping you up in big, strong, scarred arms to carry you back to the house. Maybe you're kicking and screaming all the way, and it's useless to struggle because there's no one else out here for stretches. Just you and your family, who care so very much for you. You should be grateful! Mr. Leech's sons fight over you to be named your husband. Aren't you lucky to have the two of them? Most of all, aren't you lucky you're alive and not on their murderous menu?

AAAAAA and Papa Leech picks your clothes for you going forwards! They were far too patient and lenient with you before, far too forgiving. Now you're living under a new schedule, a fresh set of rules. Your clothes are selected for you, and your meals are prepared in advance (gone are the days in which you were given choices; each meal is healthy and has properties meant to boost your fertility). When you aren't learning to be the perfect housewife, you're getting bent over every possible surface and bred by the twins. Or if the twins can't behave, then maybe Papa Leech ought to knock you up instead........... thinking thoughts.

In conclusion, the entire family is crazy and you're stuck with them forever. orz

[billythesimp]

Hi hello i hope you're having a wonderful day 💗💗💗

If its alright i would like to request some headcannons for the underrated Ben bigger. Something like how the domestic life between him and his spouse would be, how he would treat his partner

Like imagine him and you just snuggle after a long day, his favourite dish still being cook on the stove, left forgotten bc Ben is the priority rn

( reader can be fem or gn, i'll let you decide )

Again, i hope you have a wonderful day.💗💗💗

[SLAMMING MY FIST INTO THE WOODEN DESK]

WE FUCKEN LOVE BEN BIGGER-

[FUCKEN DIES]

Bear with Me, Love

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…

After being disciplined by Butterboo for the loud outburst, I can calmly say that we support all Ben Bigger love in this household. I'm happy to see our friendly grizzly getting the attention he deserves!

Ben x fem!reader

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡…⋙

tw: complete fluff

✦ Can you imagine how cute it would be for Ben to have this tiny house wife, someone half his size that when you compare the two side by side you can’t help but wonder- How did they end up together? I like to imagine that to the outside view you have Ben, a big gruff guy who looks scary and has this glare to him that makes people shiver at first glance. And there you have Ben when his wife calls for him, his eye getting a small sparkle as he gently turns to them and asks what he can help them with, ears twitching as they hand him some bags of groceries or reach out to hold his hand. HE WOULD LOVE HIS WIFE, SUCH A SWEETHEART.

✦ Coming home from work, he would yell out for his wife, waiting until they come pattering down the hall to give him a huge hug, one that has him picking them up with a twirl and caring them to the sofa. She peppers kisses on his face and scared face, brushing his fur back and picking out the small gravel and dust from his paws. He is all sparkles and blush as he’s in pure bliss in his wife's presence. Becoming a mindless drone as they order him to take a long, warm shower to clean up before dinner, taking his jacket and hanging it up as it wasn’t that dirty. He can’t wait to relax after a days work, wife in hands as he tells them about his day, her hands working on drying his fur off with his towel the way he likes it.

✦ She loves having her big boy well taken care of and so makes an effort to make him his favorites in larger portions. Always offering him seconds which he won’t refuse due to his large appetite. Though he has mentioned that he does feel guilty as he seems to be growing too large and needs to cut back from time to time to help keep his fit. Her response; She doesn’t care that he’s getting a little more chubby, if anything she’d feign innocent as to how he’s been gaining weight so fast all the while serving him a rather large bowl of homemade ramen. But if he makes a special request for dinner or lunch, she’ll listen because she still loves Ben and cares about his wants. His lunches are often made cutely, with little pins and adorable faces of seaweed, Koleda and Grace have often spoken about how jealous they are of his wife’s cooking. If she knew Ben’s friends loved her little bento’s she would 100% make them for them as well. Maybe even come by herself to hand deliver them and get an excuse to see her hubby at work.

✦ Best cuddler in the colder climates, Ben is a walking heat source so he will always be the bigger spoon with his little wife. Though due to his size they compromise cuddling and sleeping habits to having her lay on his stomach and curl up around him. He always falls asleep with a smile from her touches fluttering around his chest and arms, an angel in his arms. You both don’t need to sleep in covers since he’s already warm as it is. Waking up is a process though, in order to make breakfast and his lunch for work, she does have to fight to escape his bear hug on her. That and sometimes the claw marks from how tight he holds her in his sleep.

✦ Due to Ben’s limited sight, he often loses things easily so while she will hand him his glasses to better see for a while, she’s always tasking herself to finding what it is he is looking for at home. The smile he gets when she hands him a pencil/ his newspaper/ records for work that he almost left behind, what he would be without his wife. Her reward, a grizzly kiss that leaves her giggling at how ticklish it is. Ben probably would have been in trouble at work had he not had his wife reminding him of his files.

[a-deep-ocean-of-secrets]

BuckTommy Fluffebruary

Day 1: Non-Sexual Intimacy

Summary:

After the longest shift of Buck's life, there's nothing he wants more than to curl up with his man.

Read below or on AO3 (3.2K words)

Buck could barely keep his eyes open as he pulled his Jeep into Tommy’s driveway after the longest 24 hours of his life. His shift had been an unrelenting slog from the moment he entered the station until the blessed moment he had finally been free to leave that particular circle of Dante’s hell. 

Call after call. Big calls. Little calls. Batshit crazy calls, like the woman who had hysterically rung 911 believing her husband, who was unresponsively stretched out on their ancient recliner in the living room, was dead. When the 118 had arrived with their sirens blaring and fearing the worst, they were baffled when the man perked right up and began talking to them. He hadn’t been dead, just dead set on ignoring his wife’s constant stream of conversation. 

And so it had gone. When coming back to the firehouse from a tedious call, the team had hardly had a moment to eat or clean or decompress before the alarm would shrilly blast throughout the station, and, with loud and despairing groans, they got back into the truck and off they went to serve and protect their community. 

Someone had to have uttered the dreaded Q-word. (Probably Ravi.) And when Buck got his hands on that certain someone, there would be hell to pay for the cursed shift he had just barely survived. 

And worse yet, Tommy had been just as busy—or even busier, god forbid—at his shift over at the 217 because the two had hardly been in contact for the last 24 hours. Texting his boyfriend a steady stream of consciousness of his innermost thoughts and feelings (interspersed with plenty of funny photos and memes) had become the highlight of Buck’s work days, and he had been cruelly denied the pleasure that was rapidly growing into an all-consuming addiction. 

When he cut the engine, it was as if he was a marionette whose strings had been snipped and he slumped forward and pillowed his arms on the steering wheel as he contemplated how pathetic it would be to fall asleep here in his vehicle instead of braving the twenty or so steps to Tommy’s front door. As awful as it’d be to have to walk (he’d been on his feet all day), he’d for sure wake up with a terrible crick in his neck if he stayed here. And besides that, his boyfriend was inside that house, which made it the obvious winner. Still, it took far too much energy to rouse himself to get out of the Jeep.

Grabbing his trusted duffle bag, Buck opened the car door and only whimpered a little as his feet landed on the unforgiving concrete driveway. He sluggishly shuffled his way up the walkway of Tommy’s postwar bungalow, dragging his feet in silent protest. When he reached the cheerfully painted canary yellow front door and stomped his feet on Tommy’s hilariously apt ‘Welcome! Just kidding, please go home’ doormat, he tiredly dug through the pockets of his sweatpants and pulled out Tommy’s house key. Dangling from it was a silver helicopter keychain and Buck couldn’t help but giddily smile at it as it gleamed in the early morning sunlight. 

Inserting the key into the lock, the door easily swung open as Buck made his way inside the home he had come to know as readily as the back of his hand. With his mind on autopilot, he quietly de-stressed. 

His Jeep was parked alongside Tommy’s truck outside. His keys clanked together as they plopped into the ceramic bowl on the sideboard in the foyer, right alongside Tommy’s own set of keys. He toed off his ratty sneakers and tucked them under the sitting bench, right next to Tommy’s worn boots. He dropped his duffle bag onto the leather cushion next to Tommy’s. 

It was all so automatic, all so routine. He had done this more times than he could count. Buck just fit in Tommy’s home, in his life. The synchronicity of it all wormed its way through the veins of his weary, exhausted body and warmed him from the inside out. The feeling was not dissimilar to being wrapped up tight, snug as a bug, inside an electric blanket on a cold winter’s day.  

Biting back a jaw-splitting yawn, Buck went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was quiet and peaceful as dewy morning light trickled in through the east-facing windows in radiant, golden shimmers. 

He entered the kitchen and his eyes were immediately drawn to the crock pot situated on the butcher block countertop. Older than Buck, the weathered, cream-and-blue crockpot was adorned with a homely floral pattern, though the original design was now hard to discern through the various stains and scorch marks tarnishing its kitschy facade. It had been one of Grammy Kinard’s prized possessions and Tommy couldn’t bear to part with it when she died ten years prior. He had even fished it out of the trash when his father had callously thrown it out after her funeral. 

It was an eyesore compared to Buck’s modern and sleek GreenPan slow cooker, but it prepared a meal just as well and he could never begrudge Tommy his sentimentality, not when it was one of the many traits he adored about him. He peered through the plastic lid at the firehouse chili simmering away on low heat. 

In a few hours, the house would be filled to the brim with the rich, hearty aroma of tenderly slow-cooked beef, tomatoes, and beans. Fragrant with the mouthwatering scents of garlic, cayenne, ground cumin, oregano, and chili powder all melded together. Later, Buck would prepare Bobby’s famous and flavorful honey jalapeño cornbread to accompany the delectable chili. He licked his lips in anticipation of how decadent their dinner would be. They would feast like kings tonight. Which was perfect, as both were heading into their stretches of 96 hours off. 

Grabbing the pitcher of water from Tommy’s fridge, he poured himself a glass and was absentmindedly sipping it as he eyed the coffee maker and found the carafe full of a fresh brew and being kept warm by the machine. When they awoke from their post-shift nap, coffee would be readily available for consumption. That kind of proactive thinking had Buck so often hot under the collar when it came to his boyfriend. 

He gulped the last of his water just as he spied a paper bag resting innocently on the counter with a familiar logo plastered across it. Clinging to it was a neon blue sticky note. Buck reached forward and plucked it off as he was greeted with Tommy’s familiar, blocky handwriting. 

I stopped at Baked Bliss on my way home and picked up some sugar for my sugar. ~ T 

“Dork,” Buck couldn’t help but mutter with a low chuckle, but his expression turned helplessly fond as his finger reverently traced over the clumsily drawn heart Tommy had placed after his initial. 

Baked Bliss was a bakery that opened a few months ago near Harbor and quickly became Buck’s go-to place to stop when visiting his boyfriend at work. They had everything: cookies, cupcakes, muffins, cakes, cinnamon rolls, and more. Tearing into the bag, Buck groaned loudly as he pulled out a key lime coconut cronut. His absolute favorite. 

It was beautifully baked and flaky, with coconut icing encircling the top and garnished with fresh lime zest. The citric scent tickled his nose in the most delightful way as Buck wasted no time taking a gigantic bite. He moaned indecently as soon as the pastry dough melted on his tongue. Barely stopping to swallow, he proceeded to devour the baked treat. 

He knew he wasn’t exactly the classiest of eaters. 

Maddie had given him shit for years about his seemingly abysmal table manners, but she was his sister, so that didn’t really count, right? And to be fair, he had tried to curb the bad habit around his partners with varying degrees of success. After the emergency tracheotomy, he had been too scared to really eat around Abby, worried he’d nearly kill himself again like the idiot he had been. Ali and Natalia hadn’t stuck around long enough for him to move past his early relationship jitters, so neither had been subjected to the full Evan Buckley Experience™. At a certain point in his relationship with Taylor, she’d just roll her eyes and mutter about him needing a pig trough. Which was rude, but her caustic sense of humor had never bothered him. So he liked people who were bitchy and a little mean? He had a type. 

She had that in common with Tommy, but luckily for Buck, Tommy found his table manners adorable rather than grotesque. So he was free to stuff his face as much as he pleased, all while his prime rib of a boyfriend gazed at him with doting eyes. More than once, Chimney had gagged at their antics and ordered them to stop being so disgustingly in love. 

But Buck had no intention of stopping, thank you very much. 

Once the cronut was gone and Buck’s fingers were licked clean, he hummed happily to himself as he surveyed the kitchen. After dealing with a shift just as backbreaking as his own, his boyfriend had driven to Buck’s favorite bakery to pick up his favorite treat and then driven home, prepared their chili, and got a batch of coffee brewing. 

Buck adored him with everything he had. 

Speaking of which, where was Tommy? He had yet to make an appearance and the house was serenely peaceful. Placing the glass in the sink and throwing the bag into the recycling bin, Buck turned on his heel and made his way to the bedroom.  A trail of Tommy’s clothes was randomly thrown around the hallway and guided his path. He pushed open the bedroom door and leaned against the doorway as he took in the endearing sight. 

Tommy was flopped haphazardly across the bed on his stomach. It was almost as if he had face-planted onto the mattress in his haste to get into bed and then was too tired to wriggle his way under the covers. So, instead, he had given up the fight, falling asleep right on the spot. His sturdy back rose and fell with deep, measured breaths and he peacefully slumbered as every exhale came out as a wailing whistle. He was clothed in nothing but his black boxer briefs that did amazing things to his ass, accentuating every ample curve. He must have showered at Harbor, for his hair was fluffy and free of product in the way that drove Buck wild, making him resemble a precious newborn chick more than anything else. 

Like an artist admiring his magnum opus, Buck pressed his shoulder into the doorframe as his eyes slowly and devoutly took in every feature and quirk of the man he loved with his entire heart. 

He began with the elegant swoops of Tommy’s arches and the thin, wiry scar stitched across his right heel from a childhood accident. Then, there was the way his second toes were just a smidge longer than his big ones; a fact that Tommy was embarrassed by, but Buck was completely enamored with. He loved tracing them on movie nights as the two lounged on the couch with Tommy’s feet in Buck’s lap. He’d massage them, digging his fingers into the arches and watching with glee as Tommy squirmed and attempted to hide his snorting laughs into the curve of his shoulder. And every time he had the gall to deny that he was ticklish there. No matter how much Buck made him giggle. 

Buck’s eyes slowly dragged up Tommy’s strong legs. He admired how they were splattered with downy leg hair, like numerous paint strokes slashing Tommy’s skin. He still remembered the first morning he woke up with Tommy in his bed. The other man had been a furnace at Buck’s backside as sweltering heat blazed across Buck’s naked, sleep-soft skin. His thick arm had been thrown proprietarily across Buck’s stomach, anchoring Buck to him as if afraid he’d slip away in his sleep. 

Which was completely ridiculous, because where else would Buck want to be than bunkered down with his beast of a man? Their legs had been tangled together and Buck’s neurons had been firing off in all directions as he shifted and felt the delicious friction of their leg hairs rubbing together. A far cry from the soft suppleness of women’s legs, even the ones who hadn’t enjoyed shaving. Not better or worse, just different in a way that had Buck’s engine revving. 

Buck’s eyes purposefully traveled upward to the two dimples grooved into the swell of Tommy’s lower back. God, did Buck love those two little craters crafted into the moonscape of Tommy’s skin. They were like homing beacons to him; it didn’t matter where they were or who they were with, but his thumbs always found purchase within those two dimples. 

When they were spending their weekends at the local farmers’ market, Buck’s arm would be slung around Tommy’s waist as his thumb settled into one of the dimples. Cuddling together on the couch, his hands always found their way under Tommy’s shirt to those two little furrows. When Tommy was above him, his thighs bracketing Buck’s hips as he rode him with reckless abandon, Buck’s hands always locked around his waist, his thumbs pressing into the skin with enough force to bruise. 

Those dimples were designed specifically for Buck’s thumbs. He firmly believed that. 

Buck’s eyes feasted on the sight of Tommy’s muscular back and the wide expanse of bare skin. Now, that was a canvas masterpieces were painted on. Dotting the landscape were numerous freckles and moles of varying sizes and colors. They were peppered up and down the slope of his spine. An entire universe of stars was contained to Tommy’s back; Buck’s very own starry night. 

Swaying in the doorway, Buck suddenly had the brilliant thought that the only thing better than admiring Tommy from a distance was getting up close and personal. Better yet, getting his hands all over the man in question. He quickly stripped off his clothes until he was left in only his boxer briefs, lowered himself onto the bed, and began crawling up it. 

His hands and knees sank into the sinfully soft mattress and Buck let out a weary sigh as any remaining tension from his hellish shift completely seeped away. He slithered along Tommy’s side until his head could rest on a pillow and he was pressed to Tommy’s robust body. Now that he was in close proximity, the freckles and moles were even more mesmerizing as they stood out brilliantly against Tommy’s creamy skin. 

With the utmost gentleness, he brought his callused fingers to Tommy’s back and began tracing over the various spots and splotches, forming his very own constellations. Not the hunters, maidens, or fierce creatures charted by the ancient Greeks, but renderings of his imagination brought to life against the backdrop of his boyfriend’s skin. 

A racing rabbit. A sparrow in mid-flight. A daffodil with its petals raised towards the sun. There were infinite possibilities to explore and create and Buck couldn’t wait to come back to them time and time again. Tommy was his North Star. The most dazzling one in the entire night sky, and all Buck’s. 

Overcome with affection, Buck replaced his fingers with his lips as he kissed the individual knobs of Tommy’s spine. He could feel the heady warmth of Tommy’s skin as it splayed before him. He deliberately worked his way up the curvature of Tommy’s back and had just reached the bend where his neck met his broad shoulder when movement below caught his attention. 

Tommy snuffled himself awake as a shuddering sigh passed through his body. And like an overly-indulgent cat in a sunbeam, he stretched out his long limbs. His back rippled intoxicatingly, like a pebble bouncing off the surface of a calm lake. 

“Ev’n?” he sleepily murmured as he buried his head further into his pillow. “Iz t’at you?” 

“Yeah, babe. It’s me,” Buck whispered, keeping his voice low as he propped his chin on Tommy’s shoulder. He tilted his head and watched as Tommy’s face began to come to life. A furrow developed in the grooves of his forehead as his eyebrows scrunched towards each other. His dry lips smacked together as he worked up to speak. His eyes blinked blearily and Buck watched enraptured as he caught the barest flicker of blue. 

Moderately more awake, Tommy sleepily asked, “How was work?”

“Long. Exhausting. Bizarre.” Buck punctuated every word with a kiss to the shell of Tommy’s ear and enjoyed the shiver that swept through his boyfriend’s massive body. He was so responsive, in all ways. It drove Buck mad, and if he weren’t so physically drained he’d do something about it. But alas… 

“What were you doing to my back? I could feel you.” 

Buck felt a flush spread rapidly across his cheeks that surely was the same color as his birthmark, but he didn’t demur at being found out. Honesty was the best policy and all that jazz.

“Tracing constellations.” 

Tommy snorted as he raised his head and met Buck’s gaze. Humor and fondness were clear in his eyes as the two looked at each other. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“You have an entire galaxy mapped out across your back. How could I resist?” Buck let his fingers tenderly run up and down Tommy’s spine as he spoke. 

Tommy’s lips quirked. “You’re so weird. I love it.” 

From anyone else, the words would have had Buck ducking away self-consciously, but from Tommy, they were a compliment of the highest order. Tommy never made him feel as if he was Bucking things up by simply being himself. He embraced all of Buck’s oddities and tendencies. He didn’t just embrace them, but was enthusiastic in diving into Buck’s psyche; always asking for more, more, more. 

It seemed Tommy was not as tired as he let on because, within the blink of an eye, he had rolled onto his back and had Buck gathered up in his arms. Their bodies were pressed together from head to foot and Buck reveled in the gluttonous sensation of so much skin-to-skin contact. The combined heat of their bodies was an inferno unto itself as it burned and burned. Buck basked in its dizzying glow. 

Like a brand, Tommy pressed his lips to Buck’s temple. Buck hummed contentedly as he burrowed further into Tommy, his earlier exhaustion creeping in as sleep tugged persistently on his drooping eyelids. 

“Sleep now,” Tommy whispered, already halfway there himself. “I made coffee for later. And chili.”

“Can’t wait,” Buck replied. He couldn’t wait for all of it. The coffee. The chili. The cornbread. The upcoming four days spent together. The weekend trip to Napa Valley that was planned for next month. Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Year’s Eve. 

The rest of their lives. Together. 

Buck slid his head down Tommy’s chest until his ear was fitted over the steadfast heartbeat reverberating from within. 

Thump—thump—thump. 

The most beautiful sound in the world. 

And so together, they slept. 

@bucktommyfluffebruary

[annepsilvaauthor]

You Belong With Me - Jamie Dutton

Pairing: Jamie Dutton x OC (Ava North)

Summary: Ava only wanted one thing: to be a horse tamer. And when she had the chance, she took it. Ava became the new horse tamer of Yellowstone, a totally different ranch from the others she met, either because of its immensity or because of family problems. Ava thought her problems were big, but when she met the Dutton family that thought dies. However, there is a Dutton who is a point out of the curve, a lawyer mistreated by the problems and by his own family. Meeting Jamie Dutton may not have been the work of chance, after all one broken understands the other.

Warnings: Subtle sexual innuendos, brief language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, fluffy.

Author's note: Can someone tell me how I put the "read more" by app? Please, help me!

Part III

Someone I can't have

The days went by and Ava became more and more connected with the cowboys and especially with the foreman. They didn't have another moment as intimate as that, since Ava no longer showed any interest beyond the conversations and Lee seemed to understand this. She respected him and liked to see that he respected her equally. This fact alone could have made him even more attractive, but something got in the way. He was kind, capable and kissed very well, he was a man. Why didn't she feel attracted to him?

One day the Duttons invented to have a family reunion on top of the horses. She could see Lee, Jamie and another brother she later discovered was Kayce, John's youngest son. There was a boy with him and from the way John looked at that boy, he was his grandson. But there was no sign of Kayce's wife, if he had any. Ava knew there were more children, a woman, but she didn't leave the House much and she certainly wouldn't share that moment with them.

Ava rode on one of the horses and joined the other cowboys, waiting for the Duttons to gather on the horses. Lee was the first and stood next to her at a distance considered far enough not to cause suspicion, but close enough to take care of her. Ava can observe Rip's look on himself, curious and mocking. She knew he understood what was happening between them, but had let her bear her own decisions. And she would thank him for that.

Jamie was the second to climb the horse. That stallion was one of the most docile and calm in the stable, which made it clear how far Jamie was from the farm and the routine of the cowboys. He certainly wasn't a landowner. At least, Jamie didn't get out of balance and managed to guide his horse to where Lee was, keeping his eyes fit, of course, on John Dutton. He helped his grandson to climb on his horse with satisfaction and love, with a look that she had not yet seen launch even to Lee, let alone Jamie.

Jamie, at a rare moment, looked away from John to Ava. It was a quick moment, maybe milliseconds, but she can glimpse a look of sadness. He fixed his gaze on Kayce, calling him to ride, but Ava kept watching him. Once again he had dressed differently from the suit and tie, wore boots, jeans, a white shirt and a cream jacket. However, as much as he dressed like a cowboy, he wasn't one. The well-aligned hair was certainly not from a cowboy. Jamie represented everything that Ava never managed to stay close to, that she never saw in that small town. He represented a class very far from her. Still, her body kept burning whenever she saw him.

Kayce finally joined the rest of the family and everyone headed to the countryside, where they guided the immense buffaloes from one valley to another. They did that from time to time to give the land time to recover while the buffaloes fed on the other part. The land trembled with the noise of the strong footsteps of the animals, both buffaloes and horses and Ava admired the beautiful and raw landscape of Yellowstone. The clean air, green and blue of the sky enchanted her every day as if it were the first time.

"I'll get him going for you." Kayce informed Lee with a playful smile.

"Race you!" Lee took the challenge and rode next to his brother, pairing the speeds in the middle of the herd.

"Men." She laughed alone when she watched the two brothers increase their speed more and more and the buffaloes follow them downhill.

"Think they should hold here." Jamie announced to his father, who ignored him for a few minutes.

"Kayce might be the only man who can outride him." John replied calmly as he watched the two sons ride through his land and then walked away from Jamie taking Tate with him.

The cowboys continued with their work and followed John, but Ava took a few seconds to watch Jamie. He stood there after hearing that from his father, with a sad and disappointed expression. John had said with all the letters that Jamie was not good enough to defeat Lee. And that statement didn't seem to be just about the race. Jamie was destined to be just the family's lawyer forever, at least according to John Dutton.

Before following the same direction as the others, Ava noticed a mucca on the back loins of Jamie's horse and rode to him. Jamie received her with a question mark on his face, after all, their last meeting had not been so friendly for her to want to approach him again.

"There's a mucca on your horse, sir. Don't move. I'm going to remove it." Ava informed respectfully when she got close enough to him. Jamie was reluctant for a moment, as if he didn't believe she was helping him, but gave in with a nod. If that mucca stung the horse, God knew how far he would take Jamie.

"Be quick." Jamie ordered by observing that the herd and the cowboys were distancing themselves. Ava rolled her eyes without him noticing and stretched towards Jamie's horse, pushing the mucca away with the thick gloves.

"Quick enough?" She didn't contain the sarcastic comment. "Oh, sorry...sir."

Jamie shook his head in front of her comment and left towards the others without looking back.

"Thank you, Ava. You were very kind." She replied to herself and rode quickly in the direction of the other cowboys.

After they guided the herd to valley nine, the Duttons took a different turn on the way back. They took a turn and rode towards the river. Ava and some cowboys remained at the top of the hill, waiting for the bosses to fish in the river. They prepared the baits and hoisted them over the water while still riding the horses. They seemed to be having fun and for a moment Ava wished she wasn't a cowgirl and could just had fun in that river.

Lee was the first to catch a fish and handed the fishing rod to Kayce, who gave it to Tate. John Dutton had gone up with the other cowboys to solve landowner problems and left his grandson with his father. Tate was an adorable boy who didn't seem to have much contact with nature, at least not like that.

"I got a fish!" Tate exclaimed excitedly to his father.

Ava observed that Jamie had positioned himself in the center of the river and after a few minutes he hooked a fish as well. Then Jamie got off the horse in a cumsy jump and wrapped the nylon thread of the fishing rod.

"Lee, get my horse. Whoo!" Jamie exulted when he could catch that fish as if he were a child, almost as excited as Tate. "Little late in the year for that!"

"Do they have the habit of coming here?" Ava asked Ryan, one of the cowboys who had been left behind.

"Not in recent years." He responded by watching the family downstairs. "Only Lee still shows up here from time to time."

"You can tell that."

Ava watched Jamie lift his huge fish from the river with a smile of satisfaction. He seemed very proud of his feat, it almost seemed that he had never done something so good that he deserved to be proud of or that someone had never given him due recognition. One thing or another, the fact was that Jamie seemed happy. It was the first time Ava saw him smile, most of the time Jamie was frowing, sad or worried. She could almost see every line of expression of his no longer so young face from above. He raised the fish so high that she thought he wanted to show her his big fish too. She laughed without warning.

"Oh, she's so beautiful." Jamie admired the dead fish in his hands.

The Dutton brothers lit a small bonfire by the river and roasted the two fish they had caught. They were more comfortable at that moment, taking off their jackets and sitting on small tree trunks. The moment seemed so intimate that Ava felt bad for having to watch them. She, more than anyone, knew the value of privacy and they deserved it.

"You're gonna raise him on a reservation?" Lee asked his brother about Tate while eating some of the roasted fish.

"People do it every day." He responded in disdain while taking care of his son's fish.

"Cause they have no choice, Kayce." Jamie entered the conversation after eating another piece of the fish, carrying a small knife between his big hands.

"Yeah, looks like you're ready to eat." Kayce ignored the brothers' comments to pay attention only to her son.

"It's a good day." Tate sentenced by finally tasting his fish.

"Every day, just like this." Jamie reported excitedly, but Kayce didn't buy that.

"Who are you kidding? Bet you haven't fished here in years."

"Only thing we haven't done in years is seeing you, Kayce." Jamie replied looking for another piece of fish meat.

"Well, he told me to leave."

"He told us all to leave." Lee recalled with the most serious voice. "You were just the only one who did."

"It's different. You know that."

"So you're gonna raise him in that meth-filled desert to prove a point." Lee continued to debate with his brother.

"What I'm proving you'll never understand." Kayce explained and the brothers laughed.

"Shit, I miss being young. You wake up in the morning and you just keep right on dreaming, huh?" Lee mocked his younger brother.

"You're a 38-year-old bachelor living in your father's house, working 100-hour week for a nibble of his approval." Kayce countered directly in a heavy argument. "Is that the dream, Lee? Sure as shit it ain't mine."

Ava could see the brothers talking from afar without being able to hear them, but she could notice a certain repulsion and anger in Lee's always cheerful expression. She wonder what they were talking about? Suddenly, Lee caught a pebble and threw it in the direction of Kayce, who deviated before the piece hit his face.

"Hey! Don't throw things at my dad!" Tate screamed anrily and got up to throw, with all his childish strength, the fish he had caught on Lee. The brother fell back more scared than by the force of the object. "Fucker!"

The brothers laughed because of the boy's behavior and verbiate. Even Ava laughed from up there. It was something so unexpected that she couldn't hold back her own laugh even if she didn't know what it was all about. Lee was hit by a little boy. She would definitely make fun of him later.

And there it was again, his smile. It was more surprised than happy, but it was still a beautiful smile. Jamie had big and wide teeth, but crooked. She was sure he could have left them straight if he wanted to, he had money for it. Ava didn't understand why someone who apparently cared so much about appearance didn't care about their own teeth. However, she had to admit that it matched him. A sign of imperfection on that plastic mountain. She liked that, it was fucking charming.

The brothers remained talking for a long time until Tate seemed tired and they decided to return home. The Duttons reunited again with the cowboys and they rode back. Jamie didn't ride as fast as his brothers, not even the cowboys, so he always ended up behind the crowd. And this distance allowed him to see a red handkerchief stuck in one of the branches of the trees. Jamie recognized it and approached to pick it up, keeping it in his jacket pocket.

Upon arriving at the stables, the cowboys collected the Duttons' horses to feed them inside the barn and they all entered the house, at least that's what Ava thought. She took care of the last horse in the stable, combing the mane while he fed, when she saw boots appear at the door. Ava raised her head to contemplate Jamie Dutton.

"Is there a problem, sir?" She asked with a frown, since he had never entered there since she had taken over the job.

"My father cares about his men as much as about animals and the land, Ava. He gives you everything you need to take care of what is his." He began his report by crossing his arms over his chest and staring at her with disdain.

"We are grateful for that, sir."

"Is it really? It doesn't look like it. Where's your handkerchief, Ava?"

She continued to frown at his question and looked for the piece on her neck, but did not find it. Ava widened her eyes and looked under her jacket, in her pockets and even in the cabin, but she couldn't find it. Holy shit! She sighed strongly and closed her eyes for a second trying to remember where she could have left it. Damn, the wind was so strong that day that it could have fallen anywhere.

"I lost it, sir." Ava responded after realizing that lying would not be the best option.

"Good. You were honest." Jamie let out a mini smile and rummaged through his jacket pocket, removing the red scarf. Ava opened her mouth slightly in surprise and closed it immediately. "It was near the river. It looks like you got distracted."

"This is not going to happen again, sir."

Jamie didn't answer by just studying her entirely with those huge and bright blue eyes. She had never been so close to him as to see them like that. They were beautiful, although a little sad. Jamie extended the handkerchief towards her and Ava picked it up, but not before she felt a remnant of his warm skin between her fingers. Sparks exploded from that touch.

"I feel like I know you from somewhere." Jamie resumed talking after the brief shock.

"I don't think so, sir. I would remember, for sure."

"You would?" Jamie asked almost choking and Ava felt a little powerful for making him disassemble like that.

"We are from completely different worlds, sir. If I'm in a place where you are, or that place is poorly frequented or it's from high society." Ava acquired a seductive tone that she had no intention of having. Jamie swallowed it dry over and over again. "I would definitely remember someone like you."

"Someone like me..."

"Yes, someone I can't have."

Ava didn't understand why she did that, in fact, she knew well, she just didn't understand why she couldn't contain herself. He was her boss, just like Lee. If she continued like that, she would lose the respect of cowboys and bosses. But she couldn't help but like everything that Jamie threw at her at that moment, in complete shock, as if he had never heard something like that from someone, especially from a woman. Ava saw him as an imposing man, smart enough to rid the ranch of many problems, but she realized that Jamie didn't seem to have many experiences with women. He seemed naive, disconcerted and fucking surprised. Probably, Jamie had never been desired by a woman before, at least, not one as attractive as Ava.

"IIII, I need to go." He stuttered and swallowed dry several times.

"OK, sir. Thank you for returning the handkerchief to me." Ava maintained the malicious tone and opened an irresistible smile, which Jamie almost disassembled in front of her. "Have a good day, Mr. Dutton."

"Likewise, Ava."

Jamie squeezed the step away from the stable and if she wasn't looking maybe he would have run out of there. Once alone, Ava allowed herself to laugh at the situation and bit her lower lip.

"Did you see that, Leon?" She talked to the horse that squeamed.

[bobomcfoe]

BONUS OC-TOBER POST!!

OCtober Day 9: Relationships

One of my favorite relationships amongst my OCs is that of Desa and her mother, Elessa, who she hasn't seen since she was four years old.

So under the cut is a passage about them from my WIP! It's very long-winded and very self indulgent, as is my nature

Also, you can check out some art I did of Desa and Elessa for OCtober last here HERE!

Thank you for joining me under the cut :)

-

There was a chair in front of the mirror. It was robust; carved of stone, with none of the detail work so commonly sought after in noble houses. Its surface was cold as Desa, still naked, sat upon it. She watched herself in the mirror as she lifted the comb and began running it through her wet hair. There were few tangles to get through, as Desa made a point—as any member of the sun court would—of keeping her hair clean and neat. Regardless, she would need to make herself more presentable before going out tonight.

As she combed, she looked at herself. She watched her own face.

She did look like her mother.

It was in the set of her eyes, Desa thought, and perhaps the shape of her lips. Desa’s nose looked more like her father’s, but the overall map of her face quite resembled that of her mother. Desa had often been told, as a child, that she would grow up to look like Elessa. She had not seen it. But looking in the mirror, now, seeing herself, there was undoubtedly some resemblance. It was easier to see with Desa’s age approaching that which her mother had borne her at. Elessa had been twenty-three, then. Desa was only two years away.

There was something funny, Desa recognized, about comparing her likeness to that of her mother. It had been so long since they had seen one another. Seventeen years. Every memory she had of Elessa was hazy. Dim. All fond, certainly, but hardly clear. But her mother’s face… she knew that much well. Not by virtue of her own memory, no, but because she had so often seen that face. Long after they had parted, long after Desa had left Oskyal and her mother behind, the face had stayed with her.

It was her father's doing. Olian had never had any particular talent for paints, which were so loved in the Oskyish court, nor had he pursued the skills of carvings and sculpture, which the Eyrans praised as highly as they did. He had maintained a much humbler hobby: Olian had drawn, with simple charcoal and parchment, and his skill for it had been quite considerable.

He had always been best at drawing people. His ability to capture likenesses was impressive, and Desa had always admired the fluidity of the forms he put upon the page. He had mastered the motion and feeling of the human body in a way many artists sought their entire lives. His skill had been humble in its foundations, certainly, but—at least in Desa’s eyes—he had always been able to elevate it to something greater.

The most common subject of Olian’s art had been Elessa. He had drawn her time and time again. Though Desa could not, in honesty, picture her mother’s face, she felt she nonetheless knew every expression her mother ever wore, and knew each expression at every angle. Elessa’s personality had shone through in those drawings. And though Desa had hardly had the opportunity to know her mother, there was, regardless, a closeness between them which Desa could not describe in any reasonable way. How could she have formed such a bond merely through likenesses and drawings?

Desa missed her mother. Olian had missed her, too. He had rarely spoken of his wife, but each time he drew her, there had been a longing in his eyes like nothing he had ever otherwise shown. Desa’s father had been a largely reserved man, but… he had never done well at hiding his love. Especially not for Elessa.

As she, in her childhood, had watched her father draw, Desa had often wondered if he regretted leaving Oskyal. She’d wondered if he, sometimes, in the privacy of his own thoughts, had wished he had stayed with his wife. Those early years, when Desa was young, she knew that she, despite her love for her father, had certainly longed to be back home. They had left their country, their ways, and their family behind. How could his heart not have ached?

She knew, now, that his heart had ached. That he, too, had longed for home. But that had not been the question. She had wondered if he had regretted leaving. As she had gotten older, she had learned the answer which he had held in his heart, and she had come to share that answer.

Regret? Regret had not been a factor. Longing, love, aching… none of these had been held into consideration when Olian had left Oskyal behind. When he had left his wife behind. There had been one factor only. Loyalty. And never, never, had his loyalty been in question. Olian had known who he served, just as Desa knew now who she served.

House Lantas, and its Lady Siell, removed every other component that would be from Desa’s made-up game of regret. There could be no regret here, not when she stood before her god-touched lady. Desa could not imagine that she would ever have found such purpose had she remained in Oskyal. Her life was here. Aei Deive was here. What greater purpose was there than that? To serve her god?

[marinahavik]

a second version of Yumi for the fairy tale AU by @cheerleaderman

(first and second version of the drawing, I still need to scan the second drawing)

This second version of Yumi is based on a Japanese fairy tale called THE MAIDEN WITH THE WOODEN HELMET, I read this story for the first time when I was a child, and I really liked it.

Instead of drawing Yumi wearing a bowl or a helmet, I decided to draw her with an iron mask, inspired by the masks of the Amazons of Athena from the anime Saint Seiya.

the original story from this fairy tale is

In a little village in the country of Japan there lived long, long ago a man and his wife. For many years they were happy and prosperous, but bad times came, and at last nothing was left them but their daughter, who was as beautiful as the morning. The neighbours were very kind, and would have done anything they could to help their poor friends, but the old couple felt that since everything had changed they would rather go elsewhere, so one day they set off to bury themselves in the country, taking their daughter with them.

Now the mother and daughter had plenty to do in keeping the house clean and looking after the garden, but the man would sit for hours together gazing straight in front of him, and thinking of the riches that once were his. Each day he grew more and more wretched, till at length he took to his bed and never got up again.

His wife and daughter wept bitterly for his loss, and it was many months before they could take pleasure in anything. Then one morning the mother suddenly looked at the girl, and found that she had grown still more lovely than before. Once her heart would have been glad at the sight, but now that they two were alone in the world she feared some harm might come of it. So, like a good mother, she tried to teach her daughter all she knew, and to bring her up to be always busy, so that she would never have time to think about herself. And the girl was a good girl, and listened to all her mother’s lessons, and so the years passed away.

At last one wet spring the mother caught cold, and though in the beginning she did not pay much attention to it, she gradually grew more and more ill, and knew that she had not long to live. Then she called her daughter and told her that very soon she would be alone in the world; that she must take care of herself, as there would be no one to take care of her. And because it was more difficult for beautiful women to pass unheeded than for others, she bade her fetch a wooden helmet out of the next room, and put it on her head, and pull it low down over her brows, so that nearly the whole of her face should lie in its shadow. The girl did as she was bid, and her beauty was so hidden beneath the wooden cap, which covered up all her hair, that she might have gone through any crowd, and no one would have looked twice at her. And when she saw this the heart of the mother was at rest, and she lay back in her bed and died.

The girl wept for many days, but by-and-by she felt that, being alone in the world, she must go and get work, for she had only herself to depend upon. There was none to be got by staying where she was, so she made her clothes into a bundle, and walked over the hills till she reached the house of the man who owned the fields in that part of the country. And she took service with him and laboured for him early and late, and every night when she went to bed she was at peace, for she had not forgotten one thing that she had promised her mother; and, however hot the sun might be, she always kept the wooden helmet on her head, and the people gave her the nickname of Hatschihime.

In spite, however, of all her care the fame of her beauty spread abroad: many of the impudent young men that are always to be found in the world stole softly up behind her while she was at work, and tried to lift off the wooden helmet. But the girl would have nothing to say to them, and only bade them be off; then they began to talk to her, but she never answered them, and went on with what she was doing, though her wages were low and food not very plentiful. Still she could manage to live, and that was enough.

One day her master happened to pass through the field where she was working, and was struck by her industry and stopped to watch her. After a while he put one or two questions to her, and then led her into his house, and told her that henceforward her only duty should be to tend his sick wife. From this time the girl felt as if all her troubles were ended, but the worst of them was yet to come.

Not very long after Hatschihime had become maid to the sick woman, the eldest son of the house returned home from Kioto, where he had been studying all sorts of things. He was tired of the splendours of the town and its pleasures, and was glad enough to be back in the green country, among the peach-blossoms and sweet flowers. Strolling about in the early morning, he caught sight of the girl with the odd wooden helmet on her head, and immediately he went to his mother to ask who she was, and where she came from, and why she wore that strange thing over her face. His mother answered that it was a whim, and nobody could persuade her to lay it aside; whereat the young man laughed, but kept his thoughts to himself.

One hot day, however, he happened to be going towards home when he caught sight of his mother’s waiting maid kneeling by a little stream that flowed through the garden, splashing some water over her face. The helmet was pushed on one side, and as the youth stood watching from behind a tree he had a glimpse of the girl’s great beauty; and he determined that no one else should be his wife. But when he told his family of his resolve to marry her they were very angry, and made up all sorts of wicked stories about her. However, they might have spared themselves the trouble, as he knew it was only idle talk. ‘I have merely to remain firm,’ thought he, ‘and they will have to give in.’ It was such a good match for the girl that it never occurred to anyone that she would refuse the young man, but so it was. It would not be right, she felt, to make a quarrel in the house, and though in secret she wept bitterly, for a long while, nothing would make her change her mind. At length one night her mother appeared to her in a dream, and bade her marry the young man. So the next time he asked her—as he did nearly every day—to his surprise and joy she consented. The parents then saw they had better make the best of a bad business, and set about making the grand preparations suitable to the occasion. Of course the neighbours said a great many ill-natured things about the wooden helmet, but the bridegroom was too happy to care, and only laughed at them.

When everything was ready for the feast, and the bride was dressed in the most beautiful embroidered dress to be found in Japan, the maids took hold of the helmet to lift it off her head, so that they might do her hair in the latest fashion. But the helmet would not come, and the harder they pulled, the faster it seemed to be, till the poor girl yelled with pain. Hearing her cries the bridegroom ran in and soothed her, and declared that she should be married in the helmet, as she could not be married without. Then the ceremonies began, and the bridal pair sat together, and the cup of wine was brought them, out of which they had to drink. And when they had drunk it all, and the cup was empty, a wonderful thing happened. The helmet suddenly burst with a loud noise, and fell in pieces on the ground; and as they all turned to look they found the floor covered with precious stones which had fallen out of it. But the guests were less astonished at the brilliancy of the diamonds than at the beauty of the bride, which was beyond anything they had ever seen or heard of. The night was passed in singing and dancing, and then the bride and bridegroom went to their own house, where they lived till they died, and had many children, who were famous throughout Japan for their goodness and beauty.

In my version of the story, Yumi's family suffered an attack, in order to survive and take revenge, they separated and went into hiding, Yumi, along with her twin brothers, Seiji and Akemi, disguised themselves as servants and hid as new employees of a rich family, Yumi to hide her face began to wear an iron mask

Yumi ended up becoming friends with the young master of the mansion (Kalim) who decided that she and his best friend could be great friends and so introduced Jamil to Yumi.

The beginning was complicated (because of Jamil) but as time went by they both fell in love even though Jamil has never seen Yumi's face

One day Yumi's brothers completed their revenge and Yumi disappeared from the Al-Asim residence, Jamil was heartbroken, and felt betrayed and deceived, only for a few days later Yumi to return to the residence asking Jamil to go with her, since they were in love, she explained that she had to hide in the Al-Asim residence pretending to be a servant until her brothers completed their revenge, and now that she was done, she could return to her home, and wanted Jamil to go with her, it was at that moment that Yumi finally took off her mask, and asked Jamil to marry her, Jamil ended up accepting and they had their happy ending.

this was just a summary of my version of this story for the fairy tale AU, maybe I'll make a fanfic of it at some point

I hope you enjoyed it and see you next time

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

A Family Trip - E.Munson

Summary - As she was stressing to get ready to host about 30 people for Christmas, her youngest son falls and breaks his arm. This means a family trip to the hospital and a mental breakdown.

Word Count - 1507

Warnings - Female Reader, use of Y/N, reader feeling like a bad mom, hospital visit, broken bones, reader breaks down a bit, mention of alcohol, stress, not proofread, set in the modern day

Author’s Note - Welcome to day 21! Only 4 days left!! For the names in this fic, I chose James for James Hetfield and David for the first two guitarists from Iron Maiden, they feel like very Eddie picked them names. I’m hoping to finish these as soon as I can but I’m not sure, I am swamped with a lot of work for my winter class. I’m pushing myself to the finish line, my friends! I’m trying! I hope you enjoy!

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Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

not my gif

The countdown had started in the Munson house, only 4 days left until Christmas. The kids were excited and their parents were excited for the holiday to be over. Eddie was sent out to go get the booze for their Christmas gathering, Y/N home with the kids who were bouncing off the walls from cookies and pure excitement and joy. She let out a sigh for what felt like a millionth time as she heard something fall over in the living room, it was something heavy which she could only assume was either the coffee table or Eddie’s recliner.

“Boys for the last time, sit and watch your movie! Please!” She begged her sons, they were carbon copies of Eddie, not a single ounce of her was put into either of those boys.

“But mommy, it’s more fun to jump around! I didn’t mean to knock the couch over!” The oldest argued his point, she let out a groan of frustration. The stress of the holidays was getting to her, trying to get everything ready for Christmas dinner, making sure the house was clean and ready, optimizing the space for over 30 people, space they didn’t have. It was all piling on top of her, Eddie was trying his best to juggle what he could, he worked for at least 10 hours a day and when he was home he was taking care of the boys, helping to keep the house clean and getting ready for the large number of people.

“Can you boys go to your room, please? And play nice? Mommy just needs a break until daddy gets home, can you do that for me?” She asked her kids who had taken notice of how upset their mom was. They both agreed, hugging her legs tightly before racing to their shared room to play.

Just as she got to prepping dinner for the night, she heard a loud bang and her youngest crying. She dropped her knife and rushed to the boys room to find her youngest on the floor holding his arm, his face bright red from crying.

“Oh baby, what happened?” She asked sympathetically as she pulled him into her arms. 

“We were sitting on the bed playing with our action figures and he leaned back and fell. When he fell I heard a crack and then he started crying,” The oldest explained.

She had looked at the bed and took note of the action figures sitting on it. She knew her son was telling the truth so she nodded, picking up the injured boy and telling the oldest to follow her to the kitchen. As she planted her little boy on the counter to look at his arm, the front door swung open to reveal her husband, his arms full of liquor for the party.

“Oh no, what happened here?” He asked his sons and wife.

“James and David were playing on the bed and James fell. David said he heard a crack when James fell,” Y/N explained.

“Looks like its a family trip to the hospital. Davey, can you be a rockstar and grab your jacket and Jamie’s jacket for me?”

“You got it daddy!” David rushed off to the coat closet, throwing the door open and quickly located his jacket and his brother’s. He was quick to grab them and bring them back to his parents and little brother who was still crying. Because it was his arm that was hurt, Eddie draped the jacket over his shoulders rather than making him put his arms through. 

As they piled into his car, Y/N had insisted she sit in the back but David promised her that he would keep his little brother safe which melted her heart. She sat up front with Eddie instead, staring off out the window for most of the ride. He squeezed her thigh gently to get her attention which seemed to work. “You okay baby? You’re spacing out on me,” Eddie asked her concerned.

“Fine honey, just stressed out,” She assured him with a tight lipped smile. He brushed it off for now but knew there was something else going on that she didn't want to talk about in front of the kids. As he pulled into the parking lot of the emergency room, he decided to pull out his cell phone and call Wayne to come get David. He hadn’t eaten dinner and he was starting to get tired, they didn’t know how long they’d be sitting and waiting. They decided to tell him once they got inside and signed in.

“But daddy, I wanna stay here. I can’t leave Jamie yet, he’s not better! I promised him I’ll be there to hold his hand if he gets scared,” David protested.

“That’s very sweet of you baby, but we don’t know how long this is gonna take. You’re hungry, right? Grandpa will give you some dinner and bring you back, that sound like a plan?” She reasoned with the 6 year old. He nodded his head vigorously before hugging his mom tight.

“Love you mommy,” He whispered to her, “You’re the best mommy ever.” She held onto her son tight as she kissed his head.

“Love you more baby. Go sit with daddy. I’ll be right back, I just have to potty.” He kissed her cheek before rushing off to his dad. She found her way to the bathroom where she allowed herself to cry for a bit. She had felt like a bad mom today, like she didn’t deserve the boys she had. She sniffled and willed herself to stop crying when she heard a knock on the door. “Just a minute!” She called.

“It’s me, baby. Can you open the door for me? Wayne’s with the boys waiting,” Eddie asked through the door, he waited until he heard the lock turn before letting himself in. He pouted when he saw the state his wife was in. “What’s wrong baby? What’s got you so upset?”

“Am I a bad mom?” She asked between sniffles.

“Not at all! Are you kidding, you’re the best mom! Those boys absolutely adore you! Where is this coming from?”

“I just got so frustrated with them today, they were making a mess of the house after we had just cleaned, knocked the couch over, they were screaming most of the day, it was just too much. I couldn’t handle it so I told them to go to their room and of course not even five minutes later James falls and breaks his arm and of course David feels like crap which makes me feel like crap and it’s too much feeling. I just need a break from feeling for a day so I can get shit done before Christmas,” She vented.

“That does NOT make you a bad mom. Trust me, I had a bad mom. The hyperness may have been my fault because I did give them cookies before I left the house. They’re kids, baby, they’re excited because Santa’s coming and they’re getting new toys and seeing their family. I know it’s stressful, but that doesn’t make you a bad mom. I know you feel like James getting hurt was your fault but I can assure you that it’s not, it was an accident and accidents happen. You are a great mom, never think otherwise.” She hugged her husband as tight as she could, taking in his scent and heartbeat before pulling away. She pecked his lips before wiping her cheeks and under her eyes, blowing her nose and looking at herself in the mirror.

Once she was ready, she flicked the lock again and opened the door, making her way back to the waiting room where Wayne was sitting with both boys in his lap. He shot her a smile and a little wave as she approached. He spoke up as she sat down beside him, “How are you darling?” He asked her, kissing the side of her head after asking.

“Getting there, been a hell of a day,” She chuckled.

“Mommy, you said a bad word!” James called her out, making the adults laugh.

“James Munson? We’re ready for you,” A nurse called out. Y/N had grabbed her 4 year old from Wayne, her and Eddie following the nurse.

“What about grandpa and Davey?” James asked sweetly.

“They’re gonna wait out there for us. Grandpa promised to bring you a happy meal and Davey said he'll give you his toy,” Eddie assured his little boy.

“Okay daddy!”

It took nearly 3 hours but finally James had a cast on his arm choosing red for the color. When they got back to the waiting room, they found David curled up in Wayne’s lap fast asleep and Wayne himself asleep. It was then that she realized that her life was always going to be hectic. Raising two boys who were exactly like their father and their father who was like a child right with them. But she wouldn’t change it for the world.

[princessisfinethx]

Invisible Man x Reader pt. 3

I'm tired, I'm a little drunk. I finished my first year of college. And I'm hungry. I'm sorry t took so long.

Warnings: mentions of poison, mentions of suicide by drinking (nothing serious) slight mention of past abuse (you'd have to squint), some drinking, male masturbation, mentions of sex.

Minors DNI, everyone else, enjoy :)

~~~Read under the cut~~~

You turned on your side and kept your eyes closed. Breathe in, breathe out. Again. Then you sigh. You weren’t able to sleep, and being in an unfamiliar old room wasn’t helping. Griffin wasn’t wrong when he said the room hadn’t been used in years. You could see dust particles floating about the moment he opened the door. It was an old bedroom, with a dresser, a vanity, and a large bed. All covered in dust. You made a face when he first showed it to you. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you grabbed a duster and a broom. It was 11 o’clock at night when you finished cleaning, but you were satisfied.

After Griffin brought you some of his clothes to sleep in, you thanked him and wished him a good night. He did the same and retreated into his bedroom. You got dressed, giggling at yourself for wearing even more men’s clothes, then got into the dust-free bed. The blankets were cool and fluffy, and the extra pillows on the bed made you feel as if you were lying upon the clouds. So, you lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twisted at the fabric on your chest, and you inhaled to sigh but paused. Your eyes scan the shirt; then slowly, you lift it to your nose. You take a small sniff, and your nostrils are greeted with the faint scent of soapy sage wood and musk.

You blink, feeling how hot your face became. You sniff again, then let go of the shirt quickly; the fabric settles on your chest. How perverted you must seem right now! You close your eyes and frown as guilt begins to worm its way into your chest. Guilt for taking Griffin’s clothes, his room (even though he said he’s never used it), and guilt for leaving your fiancé all alone to cook and clean for himself. You open your eyes again and stare up. No, you knew it wasn’t guilt that made you think of your fiancé. It was fear, but you wished it was guilt. You silently wished that you could play the role of a good wife, like he said earlier. Your mother would have scolded you, should she be living in the same town. But your father? You smile softly, knowing he would probably knock the teeth out of your fiancé for ever hurting you.

You missed your parents terribly You knew moving to a larger city would be a challenge, especially for a single woman with no great status. You met with Johnathan, the son of your mother’s friend. He offered you a residence and food if you married him. And, of course, that sounded like a dream come true! And John was sweet, most of the time. But it didn’t sit right with you. Staying in that house and doing nothing all day except clean and cook and occasionally birth a child. You frowned again, looking away from the ceiling.

Then you met Griffin. The albino man who works with chemicals, solutions, poisons, and antidotes. He didn’t see you as a future housewife or mother, he saw you as an extra pair of hands that could be taught. You remember when you asked him why he allowed you to work with him. He looked over at you, still visible at the time. He had handsome features when his face wasn’t scrunched up in annoyance. Even despite his pale nature, he was beautiful. “You’re a capable human being with the same brain as a man. It’s ridiculous that some must be antagonized because of one’s gender. Women have gone to war, and hunted, why should I care…” He looked away and hummed. “You’re smarter than most men and women I’ve met anyway, I think that earns you a place as my research assistant, wouldn’t you agree?”

A smile graces your lips as you recall the memory. He’s been nothing but kind to you. He hasn’t yelled at you for breaking a vile, or sneered at you for cooking something he didn’t like. Though it’s rare to receive praise from the man, but you didn’t mind. He would speak up about something he didn’t like. One time you cooked a beef stew when it was cold out, and he ate two bowls worth. He left all the carrots inside the bowl however, then admitted that he hated carrots. So, you don’t cook with them anymore. Another time, you were cleaning the inside of a beaker, and he suggested a different way of cleaning and drying them, so your fingerprints didn’t stain the glass.

You sit up slowly and throw the blankets from your body. You decided you would go and drink a glass of water, hoping somehow that would help you sleep. Carefully you move across the floor and towards the door. Once you open it and peek outside, you spot Griffin’s door already open. You look towards the stairs, and you spot a faint light flickering below. Being careful not to make a sound, you head for the stairs and make your way down. In the lab, the light was brighter. A candle was lit and sitting on the counter, around the way was a headless and handless body. You watched for a moment as he moved, and you could notice when he turned his head by the way the collar of his shirt would bend.

You cross your arms and stand at the entranceway of the lab. “Griffin.” Your voice was soft but it didn’t stop him from jumping in surprise. His body turned towards you and he set down a book he was looking over. “I see you can’t sleep either.”

“Apologies if I disturbed your sleep.” He stretched his back then looked down at his desk. “I’ve discovered I can’t sleep without a blind on; my eyelids are invisible, so I see right through them. I’ve also discovered I don’t quite like sleeping with a blind on.” He sighed in annoyance. You took a seat across from him at the table.

“You didn’t disturb me. I suppose I couldn’t sleep with so many thoughts in my head. Worrying thoughts.” You look at the shirt, then let your eyes wander up to look at the invisible mass, where you know a pair of eyes are studying you. “I thought maybe a glass of water might help.”

A short ‘hmph’ sounded from his throat and he stood up. “I’ll join you. You know what they say really helps you to sleep? A glass of whiskey.” He walks to the kitchen with his candlestick leading the way. A smile forms on your lips and you tilt your head.

“You have whiskey? I didn’t know you indulged in that type of alcohol.” You follow him into the kitchen as you hear him mutter.

“I own one bottle of whiskey, a gift from an old friend. However, I also own a bottle of wine, also a gift. I only indulge when I think I’ve deserved some.” He opens a cabinet and takes out a beautiful-looking bottle of whiskey. “Or for a special occasion. Both don’t happen often.” He looks over the bottle, then looks at you. “Care for a taste?”

Your nose scrunched and you gave a nervous smile. “I’ve heard terrible things about whiskey. Like how disgusting it is…and how violent people become…” Your smile falters, and he notices. His thoughts carry to your fiancé’s drinking habits.

“I can assure you that it’s not the alcohol that makes you violent, it’s the person that acts upon it themselves.” He looks over the whiskey and then at you. “And I promise that one drink will not get you drunk.”

You weigh over the idea, knowing you’ve never had whiskey before but have heard a lot about it. “All right, I’ll try a little bit.” Griffin takes out two glasses and sets them down. He opens the whiskey, and you realize he’s never opened it before tonight. As he’s pouring, you ask, “Whiskey is a Scottish drink, correct?”

“Correct.” He closes the alcohol and puts it away. “The man that gifted it to me, traveled to Scotland himself and picked this up at a shop. He told me Scott’s drink as if the world is ending tomorrow.” As he handed you the glass of alcohol, he hummed and mumbled. “He warned me this stuff was strong.” He raises his glass, and you stare at him. He then reaches over to grab your hand holding your own glass, lifting it up as well, before tapping his glass against yours. “Cheers. Now you say cheers as well.”

A little laugh bubbles out of your throat and you grin. “Cheers.” You tap your glass against his and then watch as Griffin drinks his whiskey. The alcohol runs down his throat and you watch it disappear within his shirt. You then do the same, taking a drink of your whiskey as if it were water. A big mistake. You cough and cover your mouth, shaking your head. “Oh God what is that?” You could feel the whiskey literally burning your nose and throat. And somehow, it felt hot as it slid down.

You hear a mixture of coughing and laughter from across you. Griffin was covering his mouth with his sleeve, and he was doubled over. “I’m sorry, I guess I should have warned you…”

“It burns, is that normal?” You cough again and head to the sink for some water. “Am I allergic to this?”

Griffin chuckled again, a deep sound that you weren’t familiar with. You weren’t sure if it was the whiskey or him that sent goosebumps up your back. “That’s normal. I should have explained it better to you.” He finished the rest of his drink while you drank water from your cupped hand.

“How do people enjoy this? It tastes like poison, literal burning poison. At least I imagine that’s what it tastes like.” You turn the sink off and glare down at the cup of whiskey still sitting in your cup.

“It is poison. And many choose to drink it for different reasons. To get drunk, or to relax, to get tired. Or to slowly kill themselves. A bottle at a time.” He walks to the sink and places the cup down. “You don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to. But a tip for drinking any alcohol, except wine, is to drink it fast. Let it run straight down the throat. Wine is for flavor, this is not.”

You take in his words carefully. Licking your lips, you take the glass in your hands, quickly throw the drink back, and attempt to ‘let it run straight down.’ It does, however, still burn going down. And once again, it warms your throat and chest as you swallow it. You let out another cough and push the drink away once again. “I’m done…” You coughed again but Griffin could see a little smile on your face.  

            He took both glasses and set them down in the sink. You turn to try washing them, but Griffin stops you with a hand on your back. “No need for that tonight. Go back to bed and try getting some sleep.”

            You frown and stare at the clothes that float before you. “I’ll try, but…I’m still worried.”

            “About what?” He questions you, still standing beside you with his hand resting on your lower back.

            You sigh softly. “Well…what if we can’t find a cure for you? You’ll just be invisible forever? And what about my fiancé? What if he comes in the morning with the police, o-or he tries breaking in?”

            “There’s a cure for everything, even if we haven’t found it yet. It will take some time, is all. And I have plenty of time. As for your fiancé, I’m sure he’s fallen asleep in some drunken stupor…if he tries breaking in, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” You failed to notice the change in his voice when he admits this.

            You nod slowly, your eyes staring down at his shirt. His words helped only a little, and he seems to realize this. “It all feels like a massive burden on you, Griffin.”

            Warm, gentle hands touched your chin, lifting your face up so you looked up at the nothing that sat upon his shoulders. Once he had your eyes, he took your hands in his. “You’ve called yourself a burden twice now. I’ll not allow it a third time. You’ve done more good for me in this house than I’ve done for myself in years. I want no more talk of this, understand?” When you nod, he hums, and you think he nods back. “Good. Scientists like you and I shouldn’t doubt or worry. It’s not good for the brain.”

            A smile grows on your lips, and you tilt your head. “I’m a scientist now?”

            Griffin was quiet as he thought over his words, then he cleared his throat. “No, not yet. I could give you a test to see if you’re smart enough to be one. Not that you’d fail, I should have taught you everything I know by now.” He started mumbling. “Have I taught you everything? Perhaps I should have taken note…” His fingers were rubbing your hand, and you held back a giggle. You felt lighter and giddy. A little dizzy.

            “I’ll take any test you give me.” You grin. “I want to be a scientist.”

            “I can have that arranged.” He pauses before quickly letting go of your hands. He clears his throat once again. “You should go to bed now, I’m sure the alcohol is calming your system.”

            You give a small nod before walking to the stairs. You turn your head to the kitchen and smile softly. “Goodnight Griffin.” With that, you carefully climb the stairs and smile to yourself, finding the task to be funnier than it should be. And once you hit the bed, your mind seems to swim in bliss that wasn’t there before. Butterflies in your stomach and a head stuck in the clouds, it seemed. You think briefly that this was, in fact, the alcohol. Then you remember Griffin’s words and how he was holding your hand, and you let out another giggle followed by a yawn. Lulling you to sleep was the faint scent of his shirt, and when you finally slept, it felt like your body and mind were able to rest for the first time in forever.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            He watches you leave the kitchen, knowing now that you were tipsy from one drink. It was too much, and he knew it; shame on you for almost wasting the small woman, he scolded himself. Once you are back in your room, he walks slowly to the lab and pauses. His mind kept wandering back to you. Your chin in his hand, how you looked up at him when there was nothing there. The soft touch of your hands in his. An invisible hand runs through invisible hair while Griffin lets out a deep sigh. What was happening to him? He was drunk, that’s the only logical answer. And with that logical answer, he knew he should go to his room and sleep.

            He walks upstairs, his eyes glancing at the door of your room. He walks inside his own room and shuts the door. Walking to bed, his mind wanders to his work, about his invisibility tests and blood samples. He’s yet to do a semen sample. His mind wanders for a moment, asking himself if it was appropriate to do such a thing after what just occurred. A grunt leaves his throat, and he gets up to find a clear test pallet. After laying down on the bed, he adjusts himself, imagining anything to arouse him. Using the long sleeve of his shirt, he covers his eyes to better imagine. He’s never had sex, but he’s witnessed it before, as well as read about it in a book that generously came with pictures. His pants become tighter, and he lets out a deep breath, palming himself.

            Griffin has done this before, plenty of times. He has needs like everyone else. But he usually never has the time to do so. He’ll imagine the photos from the books, combined with the sounds he’s heard from the couple that decided to fuck in the middle of a bar. His hand takes out his cock, slowly stroking it while his imagination played out. You appear in his head (almost immediately) and his hand slows to a stop, but he feels a shiver of delight run down his spine. This is sick, he thought to himself. You smiled at him, your legs straddling his hips while wearing his clothes. And then you had no pants on, sitting against his length bare. A shaky breath leaves his lips, and his grip tightens for a second.

            You said his name, in that soft voice you use on him. It drives him wild. How dare you use something so simple to enrapture him like this? His hand strokes faster as he imagines your eyes, staring up at him. When he lifted your chin, you’d look at him, and how your lips parted when you did. He groans and bites his lip. He imagines where he would take you. In his bed, of course. To have you lay down against his bed sheets, looking up at him with soft eyes, caused a moan to escape his throat. He wanted you in his tub as well, water be damned. He wanted to make a mess. Having you on top of him, riding his length while water splashed out of the sides. And he couldn’t begin to imagine the beautiful noises you’d make for him.

            His back arched and he groaned as he came, his hips bucking into his hand while his head tilted back in pleasure. He spilled across himself, panting as he tried calming down. He realized his first mistake; he didn’t use the damn pallet. His sample was all over his chest. His next mistake was the thoughts he just used to pleasure himself. You.

How perverted he must seem right now, he thought regrettably.

[all-pacas]

here's a bit of the chase 13 story i cut out for being too… dark? tonally different? i really do like it, if i can think of a way to finish it i might make it its own thing:

--

They go drinking again.

It doesn't become a habit, not quite; not frequent enough to call it regular. They drift out of work at the same time, Taub going home to his wife and Foreman going home to his work and the two of them with nothing much to go home to. They'll grab a drink together, somewhere loud and crowded with college kids and young professionals and music too loud for conversation.

Even so, there's things you learn about someone in a club you don't in an office. He gets an eye for her type without Thirteen needing to say much: Chase himself avoids flirting like it still scares him a little, gunshy from his divorce and not quite ready to leap over the edge. She gets an eye for Chase's drinking, figures his family history from his strict cutoffs and his alcoholic's knack for appearing sober. On a bad day, her preferred hookup is young and giggly and experimenting, the kind of girl who will regret her in the morning. On a bad day, he drinks gin.

You know what they say about children of alcoholics, she jokes one night around three, one night after their patient coded and died suddenly and painfully and House hadn't even been angry, just sent them home. It's the set up to a joke with no punchline. He raises his glass, and they both silently consider sex. Not because they want to, but because it would ruin this friendship, this thing they have going, and sometimes all they want is to pour out their drinks and eat the glass.

-

A week before she’s planning on quitting her job, Thirteen tries to think of herself as Remy and calls Chase. It's the first time she's invited him out instead of the two of them just drifting to the same clubs after work, but he doesn't balk or ask questions. Georgie's, they agree, for old time's sake. She wants somewhere meaner, less clean and established. She wants drugs and sex and to be held at gunpoint. Chase has finally teetered over the edge of his post-divorce celibacy and into lukewarm, mediocre hookups; the rush of knowing strangers, at least, can be tricked into thinking you have value. Once again they could sleep together, but they do not. They drink syrupy house cocktails. They do not.

[arlington-loverboy]

Sweet Elite x Bridgerton (Pt. 2)

Following on from the previous post, I wrote what I think each of the Main 10 would do in this au!

━━━━━━━━

Claire:

She is probably one of Arlington's most renowned doctor/botanists. She loves her work and spends a lot of time in her greenhouse and is used to being ignored by society.

Her family insisted that she accept the Queen's idea to nominate her, she gave in to make them happy although she did not expect much.

She was so nervous and shy at first that she didn't seem to be interested at all, so everyone tried to match Scholar with someone else.

When she and Scholar finally had a chance to interact, they both found understanding and acceptance in each other like never before in their lives.

She has conflicting feelings about Scholar being Lady Whistledown, it seems cruel to spread rumours, but she knows they are not bad people and have meant well from the beginning.

Tadashi:

His family's scandal damaged his reputation and left him in a difficult situation, but being the Queen's protégé has its advantages.

He's not too worried about getting married, but the Queen decided to nominate him so he accepted it as an assignment.

Tadashi: "I have struggled in vain against my good judgement, my own expectations and will, I can't take it anymore. I love you, I cannot live without you. Despite the inferiority of your birth and the scandal surrounding your circumstances." Scholar: "Oh, me too- Wait, against your good judgment?"

Scholar had to explain to their father that they were not being bullied into marriage, Tadashi just has a strange way of courting.

Lady Whistledown helped clean up his reputation after the scandal, he likes knowing that Scholar genuinely cares about him. He has never paid much attention to society gossip anyway, he just hopes Scholar is safe.

Raquel:

She was not willing to marry, it was her parents who made the decision.

She never treated Scholar badly despite initial attempts to match them up, she knew it wasn't their fault.

She began to grow fond of Scholar when they proved to be quite adventurous and fun, but her heart was smitten when Scholar kicked her butt in a shooting competition.

At one point Scholar thought there was really no interest on her part and accepted the courtship of others, Rachel burst into their home at dawn the next day to ask their father for they hand in marriage.

She thinks having Lady Whistledown as a wife is fucking sexy and cool, if she could she'd brag about it, but she will protect Scholar's secret with her life.

Alistair:

He did not expect to be a candidate for the Diamond of the Season, after all, he only rubs shoulders with society because of the inheritance he received from a distant aunt.

He felt he was not a good match for them, after all, his family was still on a slightly higher scale than his own.

His younger brothers were a crucial part of the courtship, they plotted and even forged letters to motivate Scholar and him to meet and fall in love.

His whole family is delighted with Scholar and his father, they treat them as part of their family and often meet at their country house.

He is more concerned about Scholar being caught than the issue of them being Lady Whistledown itself.

Ellie:

As a natural inventor, Ellie knew what it was like to be seen as an outsider and to be constantly questioned by society, so she did not hesitate to extend a helping hand to Scholar from the start.

Neither she nor her family had any urgency for a marriage, but the Queen thought that marriage might appease her mischievous personality.

The moment she discovered that Scholar matched her freak Arlington trembled.

Since their marriage she calls Scholar her muse and tries to name all her inventions after them.

She finds all the logistics behind the gossip and publishing network that Scholar created interesting. She is proud of her spouse's work and will do anything to help them protect and evolve their business.

Axel:

The most renowned musician of the moment in society, hundreds of bachelors line up every season hoping to be the lucky one to become his spouse.

He was definitely not willing to marry, it was all nonsense orchestrated by his benefactors and patrons.

He had a first engagement that ended badly and became wary of romance, he tried to put some distance between them at first, but Scholar was simply too charming.

Right when everyone was about to dismiss the idea, Axel rode dramatically across Arlington on horseback to find Scholar and ask them to marry him.

He was initially conflicted about Scholar being Lady Whistledown, but remembered that Scholar never wrote anything scandalous and cruel about him unlike the mainstream press (he was secretly always a fan of Lady Whistledown because he likes gossip and mayhem).

Karolina:

As the perfect daughter of one of Arlington's oldest families, she and the entire society had very high expectations about who she marries.

‘Of all the beauties and talents of the season, the diamond had to be YOU? Something must be clouding the Queen's judgement’.

“If I loved you less, I could talk about it more”.

Not ONE SINGLE SOUL thought they were really going to get married, the day the church announced it, everyone's jaws dropped.

Scholar swore in front of their father that they would never marry Karolina because she was a heartless person, their father reminds them every time he wants to make fun of them.

She knows talent when she sees it, admires Scholar's brilliant mind and the grace with which they have managed their secret business. Lady Whistledown's publications have become even more irreverent and sarcastic since their marriage.

Neha:

She doesn't have much experience in society as her family is quite new, she became popular as a designer and works with Arlington's most famous dressmakers.

Rather than looking to marry for love, Neha was looking for someone she could count on to deal with the responsibilities of work and family.

She was quite cold at first because she thought Scholar would not understand her due to the difference in their conditions and status, but the moment she saw how hardworking Scholar is she slowly let her guard down.

She feared that Scholar would not like her family, as they are very important to her and Scholar felt the same way, however, the moment the families were reunited it was all laughter and joy.

As someone who started her business from scratch, Neha admires and respects Scholar's career as Lady Whistledown. The two help each other to innovate and expand their businesses.

Tegan:

Despite being from one of Arlington's most prominent families, Tegan always let the spotlight of society fall on his parents and sister.

His parents put pressure on him to marry, he didn't even know the Queen well enough to be nominated.

He felt sorry for Scholar because he knew they both preferred to be invisible and watch from a distance during the seasons.

Scholar became his refuge, they both chose a small wedding and spend the whole day at home after their marriage.

When he found out that Scholar was Lady Whistledown he was surprised, the person he loved was much more amazing and brave than he had imagined, he definitely had to help them continue their dream.

Tyler:

His family has been involved in the arts for generations and the Queen holds them in high esteem, which is why she chose Tyler as a candidate despite considering him a little… unconventional.

The situation made him incredibly nervous by putting him in the public eye, as if the family reputation he had to maintain was not enough.

He always dreamed of a dramatic and epic love story, but the moment he saw Scholar he couldn't help but gravitate towards them without knowing it.

Scholar becomes one of their greatest sources of motivation, they both feel free and supported by being together, so much so that he no longer worry about what society says about him.

He always loved Lady Whistledown, laughing out loud at the writer's witticisms. Since their marriage the publications became even more humorous beyond sarcasm, sometimes accompanied by small illustrations by an unidentifiable author.

[shifting---patterns]

Elena Dawson: The Art of Artisanal Fashion

Today's blog post marks a special moment for me. Not only because it's my first on Shifting Patterns, but also because I deeply admire and enjoy the work of this designer. So much so that my wife and I even got married in her garments. Today, I want to introduce you to Elena Dawson.

Elena Dawson, a London-born fashion designer for menswear and womenswear, keeps much of her personal life under wraps.There's no existing website anymore, and her former blog is no longer accessible. Only a Instagram account with a couple of posts and a contact email serves as a point of contact. It all somewhat reminds of the enigmatic Paul Harnden, doesn't it? But we'll get to that later. She studied Art and Fashion Design at the University of Brighton and worked as a seamstress after completing her degree. At that time, she said, "I draw on the knowledge I learned at the tailors still now in the way I make clothing."

In 2000, she co-founded the clothing line "Paul Harnden Clothiers" with her ex-partner Paul Harnden. She was an integral part of the design, concept, and business until 2009 with Paul Harnden, who was primarily known under the name "Paul Harnden Shoemakers" until then, when she decided to establish her own clothing and shoe label in East Sussex. Her studio is located there as well. Despite Dawson's departure, Paul Harnden's ready-to-wear collections continue to this day. Since 2009, the brand has naturally grown, but Dawson still produces her clothes and shoes herself, supported by a small team. Everything is produced in-house in multiple studio spaces, but all is handmade.

The aesthetic of Dawson's work at Paul Harnden and her own brand has definitely evolved over the years. Paul Harnden, who is now known not only for his shoes but also for his blazers/jackets, coats, trousers, and shirts, has a rather clean cut and neatly sewn edges. On the other hand, Elena Dawson has a rather rough look and is known for her unfinished seams with dangling fabric scraps. It's sometimes hard to describe, but she has a very romantic, poetic, Victorian look that partly reminds me of Tim Burton movies.

When I put on one of her beloved blazers, I often feel like a part of Bertolt Brecht's Threepenny Opera, almost like a wardrobe from the 19th century. I own 2 blazers (linen and wool), 1 linen shirt, 2 pants (linen and cotton), and silk accessories from Dawson. My wife has a mix of a coat and dress. All her clothes are labelled with the classic "Elena Dawson - Made In England" label and the washing/material information written in her really unreadable handwriting with a Sharpie.

The coats and blazers (mostly) feature beige/white cotton lining, and the classic look, often seen online, is achieved by rolling the sleeves backward, exposing the lining through the open seams. She works with a dress form, sculpturing everything, and only uses natural materials. Her favorites are English wool, Indian cotton, Irish linen, and Chinese silk. She describes her work as follows: "When you work on alterations you are really tearing the guts out of the garment, performing a sort of autopsy—you really get to see a garment at its most vulnerable point. Observing this state of semi-deconstruction in the making of a garment or shoe is what I like to retain in my finished work."

You'll rarely get the chance to buy her pieces online, as there are hardly any retailers offering her items online. She mentioned: "We don't do much press or social media work and we don't sell online at all. I'm not against that. It's just not the brand's main job." Elena Dawson limits the maximum order quantity and carefully chooses her retailers. She prefers to keep the brand small, and even on classic online platforms like Grailed, Vestiaire Collective, or eBay, you won't find many of her items used.

I highly recommend visiting a retailer near you for the experience alone and trying on the clothes in-store. In my case, it's Harvey's in Berlin. However, the most well-known point of sale is probably Dover Street Market in London, with whom she has a strong relationship, as Dover Street Market has actively supported her brand from the beginning, granting her a significant presence there. In Tokyo, I was also able to find her pieces at DSM and at the Comme des Garcons Pocket Store.

The result is garments full of personality that evolve over time alongside one's own personality, incomparable to any other looks consumed and worn nowadays. Each piece, crafted by her hands, is unique, and I'll tell you, the first time I wore an Elena Dawson blazer at Harvey's in Berlin, it resonated with me. The look, the weight, the fit… it felt like a second skin, and over the course of 2 years, seeing how it aged with me, it became more like an extension of myself each day.

Here's to Elena — may your artistic journey continue to inspire and captivate for years to come!

Davis Jahn