#mud room off of garage

[timelordoflumpyspace]

Craftsman Entry - Mudroom Example of a large arts and crafts ceramic tile and black floor entryway design with gray walls and a black front door

[pedge-page]

Hiii the breastfeeding question that can be used as a question or to a fic I was just curious because I love the sexual ones but I was like would u do one just a sweet one Joel had stressful day at work or Joel can’t sleep and needs the boob to help him and then it comes into a routine every night before and when he wakes up has milk and I’m also loving the mommy fics too. But don’t worry on the response time 💓

Routine

Joel Miller x F!Reader

warnings: breastfeeding, somewhat sub!Joel, not sexual but still mature content

`18+ ONLY

- - - -

He doesn’t even have the energy to slam his truck door. The frame is bent at the top, making it close unevenly. Two, three, sometimes four or five tries before it actually clicks close. He’s been meaning to get it fixed, hell, even just take a hammer and knock it somewhat back into shape, but he’s just too fucking exhausted today.

He lays his head back against the headrest, wrinkled eyes closed upwards. His nose involuntarily wrinkles: the cushions smell like smoke too. Tommy borrowed the truck yesterday and lit up his packs. The little fucker. 

He doesn’t get weekends off. He doesn’t get 8 hour shifts. He gets whatever shovel, hammer, nail and mud that needs dished out. He bears it, grunts it, heaves and shovels until his bones are cracking. 

He needs home.

When Joel gets through the garage door, he sees the living room lamp light on. The girls must already be asleep. You were probably staying up awake for him. Suffering, because of him.

Fuck. He shouldn’t think about it like that. He’s grateful for you. For many reasons.

He feels shy, hesitating at the door, pretending he’s dropped something because he’s a little too embarrassed to ask this one thing of you. 

“Joel?” You call out softly. It’s like swan-song to his ears, delicate and sweet. 

He steps into the room. “Hey.” You tilt your head to the side with a warm, tired smile. 

“You okay?”

He swallows, looking away and rubbing the back of his head as nonchalantly as possible. 

You tsk him with a bemused smile. “C’mere,” you whisper, patting the open cushion next to you for his invitation.

He shuffles towards you, his hole-ridden socks gliding along the shag carpet like a toddler dragging his feet. Joel kisses your forehead, his scruffy chin brushing against your lashes briefly before you grasp his cheeks and urge him to lie next to you. He tosses his jean-clad legs up on the length of the couch, propping his elbow on the seat so that he can face you.

“Bad day?” You hum, kissing his eyelids one at a time. He breathes you in, momentarily feeling lost in your embrace. You nuzzle his nose with yours, his eyes flickering open to meet your gaze again.

“Mmm,” he grunts. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.

But his eyes drift a bit lower, fingers fiddling with the spaghetti straps of your silk night-top. His pointer traces over its path, knuckles grazing your collarbone as he pulls the strap slowly, exposing a bit more of your chest. He plays with it, like he’s telling you something without words, but still waiting for your say-so.

He glances back up at you through his brows. 

“Will it help you sleep?” You coo.

He nods with big round eyes, his lips leaning forward to press a kiss to your breastbone. 

You stroke his face lovingly, giving him the answer he needed as you and he both reach to pull the edge of your top down, revealing your ample breasts.

He huffs his hot breath over your nipple before blowing cool air like a whistle, loving the way it tenses from the temperature change.  He brushes his thumb over your other as his lips find your nub, kissing it repeatedly. His plush lips wrap so delicately around them, baby kisses spoiling your skin.

“Five minutes. And then to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t want to waste time then.

Joel re-situates himself over you, his forearm holding himself between your thighs. He latches on to your tit, humming around your areola and starting to gently suck. Closing his eyes, he breathes steadily through his nose. Nothing audible yet, but quickly the room fills with the sound of his swallowing as his mouth is filled with your warm breastmilk.

You close your eyes, still twirling his hair with your fingers. He’s not inching for anything more. No quickened case. The two of you fall into an almost hypnotic trance of sleepiness.

His warm tongue massages your breast muscles as he works more milk out of you. He takes almost exactly 2 and a half minutes from one breast, before pulling off with a slight kiss, a droplet of white balancing off his lower lip. He eyes your other breast before putting his mouth on it, eyes closing and repeating his steady sucking. 

It fills his belly so contently. Warm and sweet, traveling from your heated body directly onto his taste buds, down his throat and safely nourishing his stomach. There’s no rush. He knows you’re here, your hand gently yet tenderly placed behind his head, cupping him close so even if he loses himself in you, he knows you’re here to catch him.

If it weren’t for you to let him know its time to get to bed, he’d fall asleep right in your lap, titty still hanging from his mouth with milk pouring over the sides of his cheeks.

It’s been weeks since he’s had such a fulfilling slumber.

The next few days weren’t any easier on his body or mind. But you were never complaining. 

The two of you started settling up right in bed for your nightly routine. Joel resting his head in your lap, letting the milk just fall right onto his tongue thanks to gravity. He’d drink until he was practically snoring. Then you’d stroke his face soothingly, letting him sleep like that for hours until the morning. 

All the guys talked about going home to their wives or girlfriends to unwind. Have dinner. Cuddle. 

He’d wake, shifting your sleeping body into a more comfortable position, laid back while he hungrily undoes your shirt again and starts drinking his breakfast straight from your boobs.

When he’s halfway through the day, he sits in his trailer at the site, wishing you could visit him for lunch. He’d lock everyone out, pull the shades, set you on his lap, and suckle your breasts for his midday snack. He wouldn’t be able to let you go though, grumbling into your chest and wrapping his arms protectively around you like a child unwilling to let go of his mommy.

He does all three with you at the same time, putting him at ease and helping him sleep like the beautiful, caring, nurturing wife you’ve always been.

He hopes he can put another baby in you soon so that people don’t keep wondering why your breasts are still so plump full of milk despite both your kids already being well off breastfeeding… 

- - - -

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[pocketsizedq]

Let’s have a baby

Word Count: 1828

Author's Note: This is my first smut so bare with me on this. thank you to @jungkookskookieblr for helping me and i hope you enjoy it!

I decided to change this smut from who it was originally about

Warnings:Fluff. Steamy smut. Breeding kink. there are hints of her being a housewife. I think that about covers all of it.

As the sun slowly started to set the pacific northwest region of the us.

Matt slowly made his way into your guys shared seattle home through the garage. He shuts the garage door taking off his shoes in the mud room that was when he enter also hanging up his keys on the hook near the door.

He makes his way toward the kitchen where he knew he could find you as when he had later practices he would always come home from them to find you cooking dinner to which has made you gain the nickname of his little housewife.

As He walked to the kitchen, He could already smell what you were cooking but couldn't figure out what you were cooking so once he made it into the kitchen.

The center made his way to your shorter figure that was leaned over the stove stirring something. He took a moment to just admire you also taking in the fact you were wearing one of his shirts until his thoughts went somewhere else.

He imagined coming home to you taking care of his kids. You both have talked about having kids even before you both got married but since he's nearly thirty. He's been thinking more about it.

Matt wraps his arms around your body pulling you close to his processing to bend down which puts him at a weird angle so he could rest his chin on the top of your head to watch what you were doing at the stove.

He bend down more processing to move your hair to the side that was covering your neck so he could have access to your exposed skin starting to leave soft kisses on your neck.

You let out a soft giggle not use to him being super cuddly as he's usually like that when he is tired or drunk so you decided to speak up and ask him whats going on.

"Honey." you spoke finally breaking the comfortable silence that had filled the kitchen to which he went "hm" against your neck continuing to kiss your neck holding you close to his large warm figure.

"What's got you all cuddly." you said with a small giggle enjoying the affection he was giving to which the canadian answered bluntly with somewhat with a smirk which you could feel it against your neck.

"you just look so.... domestic. just standing here cooking while waiting for me to get home. it makes me think about me coming home to you taking care of my babies." Matt spoke this into your ear which made you clench your thighs.

He slowly took his hands that were around you to go down to the bottom of the shirt of his you were wearing moving his hands so they can go under the shirt and started to rub your bare sides with his hands.

You shivered a little bit due to the coldness of his wedding band. he starts to move his left hand to rest on you stomach to which he whispers "you'd look so pretty full with my babies."

Matt's touch on your stomach sent a jolt of anticipation through your body, igniting a primal fire within. As his thumb trailed gently over the subtle curve where your uterus nestled beneath the surface, a quiet gasp escaped your lips.

But suddenly, his movements shifted. With a swift motion, he moved away, his hand reaching towards the stove's switch. The click of the knob heightened the tension in the room, as he swiftly turned you around to face him. Your bodies remained inches apart, the air thick with heated energy, as his warm breath tickled your earlobe

He was so close to you to the point where you could smell the tom ford cologne he had put on after showering at practice. It was the one you had gotten him for birthday a couple of years back.

Matt spoke into your ear, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Imagine how full your breasts would grow," he said, his words dripping with desire as his warm breath grazed your skin.

The mention of your changing body added fuel to the fire burning between you. With a subtle smirk, Matt's hand trailed from your stomach to your waist, his touch electrifying every inch of your being as he slowly pulled you closer.

As he drew you near, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. "I want to explore every inch of you," he murmured, his fingers lightly grazing the curve of your hips.

A surge of anticipation surged through you, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and longing. The intensity of Matt's touch and his words spurred you on, reaching out to trace your fingers along the contours of his chest, desperate to feel his own desire rising alongside yours.

The energy between you crackled, igniting a fierce passion that threatened to consume everything in its wake. With each passing moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you caught in a mesmerizing dance of desire and exploration.

As the passion between you both grew more intense, The hockey player lifted you to your feet and carrying to the bedroom. He set you down gently on the bed and gazed into her eyes, his desire for you burning brightly.

Without a word, he began to explore every inch of your body, tracing his fingers over your curves and kissing you deeply. You moaned softly as his touch sent shivers down your spine.

As Matt's hands drifted lower, your heart skipped a beat. you knew what was coming next, and your body responded eagerly to his touch. you lifted your arms, allowing him to pull your shirt of his shirt over your head, revealing your bare skin to his hungry gaze.

As Matt's eyes drifted downwards, he couldn't help but notice that you weren't wearing a bra. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of your breast.

Without a word, Matt reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing over the soft curves of your breasts as you moaned softly. He leaned in to kiss you deeply.

Without a word, Matt sat up on his knees, his hands moving to remove his shirt. you watched in awe as he revealed his chiseled chest and broad shoulders, your heart racing as you took in the sight of him.

Next came his pants, which he discarded with your shirt that was lying on the floor. He removes his briefs then slowly moves his hand down removing your underwear throwing them to the side.

The hockey player watching you in awe as you take his cock into your hands driving the head of his cock over your cilt making your body shake.

You let out a soft groan smiling to yourself as your cunt adjusted to his size.

Matt presses his forehead against yours looking into your eyes as he let everything else in his mind fade away into it just being about you and him starting a family.

He watched as your eyes moved from his to adjust your eyes to the moonlight that was shine in on you both to which made him look so perfect.

"i want you to put a baby in me Matt." you pleaded looking back into his eyes clenching around his cock. "want be full of your cum."

The hockey player thought it was so hot to hear these words fall from your lips. "I'm going to fuck my pretty little housewife. so hard she forgets her own name."

As gentle as Matt's words were you knew it was a serious promise as he spoke the same words to you on your wedding night. He started to slowly move inside of you wrapping your legs around his waist.

Matt's hands found their way to the sides of your head, his fingers gently cradling your delicate skull. As he leaned in to kiss you deeply, you felt a shiver run through your body. you closed your eyes.

As your lips parted, Matt's chain dangled and swung between you both.

Matt's rhythm was slow and deliberate, his movements measured and precise. you felt yourself being pulled deeper into his embrace, your body responding to his every touch.

The hockey player then became desperate to fulfill his desires of seeing you full as he move one hand to grip the headboard the other staying by your head as he slowly started to go harder watching as his cock bottomed you out hitting your g-spot.

Which made you start filling the room with your moans.

Matt took the hand that was on the pillow cupping the back of your head to pull you into a kiss letting out a soft chuckle. " I bet you've been thinking about me filling you with my baby." he spoke up to you watching your eyes roll back.

You slowly took your hand down between your bodies finding your clint "want it so bad" you felt you eyes rolls back and your breathing become irregular as you struggled to focus.

Those words were like honey to your husband. "wont be able to last you speaking like that." Matt groaned in your ear as he felt your cunt clench around him.

You both started to feel the room grow hot as your legs began to shake. sounds of slapping skin echo between the both of you as your eyebrows clenched up.

"go ahead princess" Matt ordered as his cock could only handle so much of this before he came himself. "milk my cock sweet girl." His lips went to your neck leaving kisses on your neck.

low grumbles left your lips as you clenched yourself around his cock in spurts as you continue the movements of your finger on your cilt struggling to stay focused.

"shit baby." you let out as your vision went blurry making you shut your eyes. "dont stop" you pleaded making him pull you into a hungry kiss.

Matt wasn't that far behind you as his chest began to grow tight sweat dripping from his forehead but at the moment he was focused on fucking you through your orgasm "such a good girl" He praised as the coil in his stomach snapped. "fuck!" putting both his hand on the headboard.

your cunt coated with his release making smile as he continued to slowly fuck you making sure it stays in and gently kisses your lips with a small smile.

He gently flips you both over so that you are now on top of him but with his cock still inside. "gotta make sure it accepts." he softly teases kissing your head as you are now cock warming him.

Matt pulls the covers over the both of you gently kissing your head as you snuggled into him and starts rubbing your back from under the covers just enjoying this moment that was filled with love.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Not surprised that this 1912 Craftsman style with-a twist home in Montgomery, AL is under contract. It has 3bds, 2ba, 2,353 sq ft, and is only $234,900 + $1mo. HOA.

It's a Craftsman, but it has a traditional southern Dog Trot center hall.

The sitting room has a magnificent carved fireplace and large traditional enclosed shelf units, plus a Craftsman beamed ceiling.

And, check out the magnificent dining room across the hall. It has a door to the porch and an ornately carved fireplace with built-in hutches.

This home is amazing. In the primary bedroom there's a beautiful green tile fireplace with a built-in cabinet.

Nicely updated ensuite.

Bedroom #2 has this amazing fireplace and a built-in closet.

Bedroom #3 is a large room that is used as a home office, but it also has a completely original fireplace and closet.

You can see another big closet in the hall, too.

Bath #2 is vintage. Love that sink.

Not so keen on their kitchen reno. I don't like the plastic cabinet units, but I love that they kept the magnificent original drainboard sink.

Nice big corner banquette.

Back porch/mud room off the kitchen.

The yard is nice, but the garden needs a cleanup.

The patio bricks are lifting, This could be beautiful, though. I think that's a garage, but I'm not sure.

Back here there's a pond. They didn't really maintain the landscaping too well, but it can be saved. It's a 10,000 sq ft lot.

Bonus little guest cottage or studio.

What a great little building. There's a lot you can do with this.

https://www.zillow.com/homes/10-S-Capitol-Pkwy-Montgomery,-AL-36107_rb/72797288_zpid/

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 1

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 2,070

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Under the relentless blaze of the scorching sun, Bucky Barnes, the pampered scion of the country's largest retail business, was far removed from the air-conditioned boardrooms of his family's empire. Grumbling incessantly, he swatted away the relentless flies that seemed to thrive in the rural heat. 

"Pick them up gently, Bucky. We don't want scrambled eggs before breakfast," Y/N instructed sternly, her eyes narrowing as Bucky clumsily reached for the first egg. The delicate shell slipped through his fingers, meeting the unforgiving ground with a sharp crack.

"Really, city boy? You gotta treat 'em like they're made of glass," Y/N scolded, her tone unyielding. Bucky, now sporting a mix of irritation and embarrassment, shot back with a sarcastic retort.

"Glass? They're just eggs, not Fabergé. And who knew these chickens were so high-maintenance?"

Bucky, wiping sweat from his brow, replied with a half-smile of his own, “This is absurd. I'm a Barnes, not a farmer.”

How could the sole heir of the country's largest retail company find himself toiling like this? It all stemmed from a bet he made with his father.

2 weeks ago:

Under the glittering Dubai night sky, Bucky, driven by the thrill of rebellion, decided to join a race car event despite his father's explicit warnings. The roar of the engines reverberated through the darkness as Bucky sped along the circuit, the city lights blending into a streak of colors.

As Bucky pulled into the pit garage, the bright lights revealed an unexpected sight – his father, stern-faced and waiting. The realization struck Bucky like a sudden brake, his heart pounding in rhythm with the fading echoes of the race.

His father's disapproval was palpable as he approached, a storm gathering in his gaze.

"Dad!" Bucky exclaimed, but his words were drowned by the tirade that followed. His father, fueled by a mix of anger and concern, chased after him, leaving no room for escape.

The victory that should have been a sweet taste of triumph was overshadowed by the looming storm of his father's wrath.

His father, face etched in a stern expression, strode towards Bucky, a potent mix of anger and disappointment simmering beneath the surface. Bucky's heart sank, realizing that the victory he had just tasted was now tainted by the disapproval in his father's eyes.

"Damn it!" Bucky muttered as he reluctantly shut off the engine and climbed out of the race car. His father's presence loomed over him, a formidable figure casting a shadow on Bucky's moment of recklessness.

His dad, arms crossed, began to unleash a torrent of frustration. "For the whole year, you roamed overseas to live your wildlife. You promised me after graduating that you'd take a year off before entering the company."

Bucky hails from a family that owns the largest retail company in the country, a business empire built over generations. As the sole heir to this colossal enterprise, Bucky enjoys the privileges that come with his family's success. 

Bucky is set to inherit Verve, a retail giant in the country. Despite the family's success, his spoiled and impulsive nature creates a conflict between his privileged upbringing and the responsibilities tied to the business. 

Seated on a nearby bench, Bucky nibbled on his snacks, a subconscious attempt to deflect the gravity of the situation. His eyes, darting between the snacks and his father, conveyed a mix of guilt and defiance.

He heard his father's words but struggled to understand why he, the heir to the family's business empire, should start as an intern when his friends effortlessly landed positions in their family companies.

"Why intern, Dad?" Bucky interjected his tone, a mix of frustration and confusion. "We own the company. Why don't I get the same treatment as my friends?"

The tension in the pit garage hung thick as his father expressed his feelings. "I'm fed up with it!" he declared, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment.

Bucky, attempting to downplay the situation, replied nonchalantly, "Dad, chill. At least I gained some money from this."

His father responded swiftly and cut, "And you blew it all in a second! How can I trust our company to you?"

He rubbed his chest, a physical manifestation of the stress and disappointment weighing on him. "I feel like our ancestors are judging me. They were never big spenders like you."

A moment of silence followed as both father and son grappled with the underlying issues. Bucky's father couldn't shake the feeling that he had spoiled Bucky too much, especially since the loss of Bucky's mother when he was still young.

Feeling offended, Bucky retorted, "Do you think I can't handle my own money? I could make a million in one week."

"Really?" his father questioned, a skeptical look in his eyes.

Bucky, fueled by pride, affirmed, "Yes."

The challenge was set. Bucky's father nodded, "Alright, if you could make our farm profitable with a million, I will give you any position you want in the company."

"Really?" Bucky's eyes widened, a glimmer of opportunity sparking.

"Yes. If you manage to do it, I will never interfere with your life anymore," his father declared. Both of them shook hands, sealing the deal.

But then came the unexpected twist. "By the way, I'm going to cut all your access to your money," his father dropped the bomb.

"What?" Bucky exclaimed, shock and disbelief etched across his face.

"Your great-grandfather started his business with $100. You need to appreciate money, stop wasting it all in one day," his father explained sternly.

"But how am I going to live without money?" Bucky protested, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I've provided everything you need on the farm," his father countered, emphasizing the gravity of the challenge. "You're my only son, and I don't want you to be a wastrel!"

The moment's intensity lingered in the air as the weight of the challenge and the drastic shift in Bucky's circumstances began to sink in.

Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes at the daunting challenge ahead. "Fine. I'll show that I can do it on my own. How difficult can it be?" he muttered, perhaps more to reassure himself than anything else.

Oh, how he wished he could take those words back as his Ferrari pulled up to the family farm, the only luxury permitted by his father. To his dismay, the farm appeared desolate and barren, a stark contrast to the lavish lifestyle he was accustomed to.

Bucky, sporting his usual city-boy ensemble of expensive leather shoes and a sleek leather jacket, stepped out of the pristine car only to find the uneven terrain immediately wreaking havoc on his attire. Mud splattered on the once-immaculate leather shoes, a cruel irony of the stark contrast between luxury and the rustic farm reality.

As Bucky surveyed the damage to his meticulously polished shoes, his eyes widened with panic. "No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered frantically, attempting to wipe away the mud with his hands, only succeeding in making matters worse.

The realization of his Red Ferrari parked amidst the farm's untamed landscape hit him like a ton of bricks.

A look of horror crossed Bucky's face as he surveyed the mud-smeared exterior of his prized possession. "This is not happening," he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and anxiety.

The once-gleaming Ferrari now stood as a symbol of the clash between opulence and the unyielding demands of rural life, leaving Bucky in a state of mild panic about the fate of his beloved car amid this unexpected farm adventure.

His panic only intensified as he turned his attention to the house assigned to him. It was a far cry from the sleek, modern apartment he was accustomed to. With its weathered exterior and superficial charm, the rustic farmhouse left Bucky in shock. 

"Wait, this is my house?" he stammered, disbelief etched across his face. The reality of the situation sank in, and Bucky grappled with the stark contrast between the urban comfort he knew and the quaint simplicity of his new rural abode.

In sheer disbelief, Bucky scratched his head and pulled at his hair. "How am I going to do this? I'm so dead," he lamented, realizing the task's magnitude.

Just as the weight of the situation began to sink in, a voice disrupted his thoughts. "James Barnes?"

Turning around, Bucky saw a woman seated in a farm truck, wearing a practical flannel grey shirt. She stepped out of the truck, her attire markedly suitable for the farm environment.

Still grappling with the shock of the situation, Bucky mustered a response, "The one and only call me Bucky. And you are?"

Undeterred by his casual attitude, the woman retorted with a smirk, "The one who will make your life miserable."

Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this how you introduce yourself when meeting a new person?" he shot back, a mixture of surprise and amusement playing across his face. 

Y/N's face remained stoic, her expression unwavering as she delivered the news to Bucky. "I will be straight to the point; your life won't be easy like in the city," she asserted, leaning down to rest her hands on the wooden rail. "I'll be your mentor."

With a pointed finger, she continued, "We're neighbors. My dad asked me to help you." Her tone hinted at an unspoken determination to ensure Bucky's time in the town would be far from a leisurely escape. She was poised, ready to make him regret ever leaving her domain.

Flashback start

Y/N had returned from the farm two days prior, dropping fresh milk on the kitchen cabinet with plans to make cheese—her mother's favorite. Her family, owners of a dairy farm and several crops, had a livelihood deeply rooted in agriculture. The biggest of their ventures was their dairy farm.

As Y/N washed her hands, her father said their family would assist their new neighbor. Y/N, although accustomed to helping neighbors, Y/N couldn't hide her disdain when she heard the name 'Barnes.' She gritted her teeth at the mere mention of the family.

Her aversion to the 'Barnes' name was reflected in her unyielding body language, a subtle tension in her shoulders, and a clenching of her jaw. The prospect of aiding Bucky, the city boy from the family she held some resentment toward, added an unexpected layer of complexity to her already busy life on the farm.

Years ago, in their relentless pursuit of expanding their retail empire, the Barnes family made a business move that significantly impacted Y/N's family farm. The Barnes Corporation, seeking to acquire more land for development, had set its sights on the quaint farmland owned by Y/N's family.

Despite Y/N's family's resistance and the sentimental value attached to their land, the Barnes Corporation, driven by profit, successfully carried out the acquisition, leaving Y/N's family with no choice but to relinquish the farm that had been in their possession for generations.

The ruthless business dealings and lack of empathy from the Barnes family left a bitter taste in Y/N's mouth.

Despite the Barnes Corporation's relentless pursuit of their farmland, Y/N's family salvaged a small piece of their ancestral land.

But, the memories of losing her family's cherished farm to the corporate giant fueled Y/N's resentment and distaste for the Barnes family. 

Flashback end

Y/N flashed Bucky an assuring smile, though it carried an undercurrent of intimidation. Her expression was a blend of warmth and a silent warning. Bucky, feeling the weight of the unspoken challenge, involuntarily gulped.

It was a realization that, from that moment onward, his life was destined to be anything but easy. The smile that seemed promising also bore the weight of a mentorship that would test his resilience in the unfamiliar terrain of the farm.

Still processing the intensity of Y/N's smile, Bucky mumbled uncertainly, “What have I gotten myself into? ... and I have no clue where this is headed." With a mix of trepidation and curiosity in his eyes, he took a hesitant step forward, realizing that the journey ahead was bound to be far more intricate than he had initially bargained for. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7

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[luvvyouforever]

snowed in with joel ⋆⁺₊❅.

content: fluff, sweetness, no other warnings apply, bf joel, short not very beautiful writing. author's note: this is so self indulgent it hurts. i'm stuck in the snow storm rn and my power's been out since yesterday at 6pm and it won't come on till tomorrow and now that i have internet at my family's house, i'm writing this for self comfort. enjoy!

the power to joel's home shut off with a loud click followed by two groans echoing throughout the now quiet living room.

"damn," joel exhaled, pulling himself from the warm spot next to you on the couch. "i thought we'd get lucky this time."

"i did too," you responded, moving to get up from the couch.

joel immediately turned around, hands outstretched to your rising figure. "nuh uh," he grunted. "you stay in here and get the fire going. i'll go fix the pipes up, close off the doors, and bring the mattress in here. both of us don't need to be cold."

"joel, let me help. it's pouring out there," you insisted, still not allowing his strength to push you back on the couch.

it took him one swift movement to push you back down on the plush couch, causing you to bounce upwards. with an almost imperceptible groan, he bent over and placed a warm kiss to the top of your head. "stay inside, doll. i'll be back soon."

with that, he left the cozy living room to head back towards the mud room where his snow boots had only just finished melting from his last foray out to retrieve firewood. he slipped the boots back on, put on his warm coat, and stepped out the door.

you got up from the couch sooner than later, intent on getting the fire started back up to keep the home warm. joel's house in jackson was nice, but it could get drafty quick with the two floors and multiple large windows. you pulled large matches from beside the fireplace, lit up some dry pieces of paper, and set those at the bottom. slowly, you added pieces of wood on top which the fire caught on to quickly. with a few pokes and shoves, the fire was blazing in the stone and instantly, the house felt cozier.

by that point, joel still hadn't returned from keeping the pipes from bursting outside and you felt useless sitting on the couch while he did so. with a sudden resolve, you moved into the guest bedroom to pull the mattress you used for cold nights out into the living room.

it was heavy, that much was true, but the years of surviving an apocalypse and trying to live self-sufficiently in the country had built up your strength enough that dragging the mattress out of its frame, through the hall, and into the living room only built up a little sweat around your brow.

by the time you had positioned the bed between the couches, joel returned to the mud room and shrugged off his coat and boots.

"i thought i'd told you just to light the fire, little lady," joel teased, walking into the living room.

"one less task for you to do, my handy man," you said with a smile. he came over, borderline shivering, and placed his hands in front of the fireplace.

"ellie's set out back with that old kerosene heater. it'll keep that garage warm and then some. pipes are covered so they shouldn't burst any time soon."

"good, i'm glad. you get warm in front of the fire and i'll drag our blankets and quilts down here."

you didn't give him any time to protest as you placed a kiss to his damp shoulder and jogged upstairs to the main bedroom. you started with the blankets on joel's bed, added the thick quilt kept in the closet, and grabbed the pillows too. before you had moved in, joel kept the bare minimum. now, there were more pillows on the bed than you could count and his blanket collection had increased tenfold. you're just supporting local small businesses is all.

with a grunt, you managed to pick up everything from the floor and carry it down the steps. joel had risen from his spot in front of the fireplace and took to covering the outside doors with thick sheets to block some of the wind from the near blizzard happening outside.

"think you got enough, hon?" he teased, taking a break from his nailing.

"can never be too cozy," you said with a shrug. "we'll probably only need the one blanket since you already put off enough body heat to warm a small elephant."

"and that's a bad thing?"

you thought about it for a second. "when it's 95 degrees out and you insist on keeping me wrapped around you, yes."

he chuckled deeply and placed his hammer down to head back towards where you were making up the bed. he took one side of the sheet you were currently fighting with and helped you place it over the end of the bed. "can't help that you're 'bout the size of a teddy bear. i'm asleep. i dunno the difference."

"ya know, now that i'm thinking about it, the garage with ellie sounds pretty nice right about now."

"yeah, right," he said with a laugh. for the next fifteen minutes or so, you worked in comfortable silence, setting up the living room as your main room till he and the others in town can get out to work on the power supply. you fished candles out of the cabinet, he found a battery operated radio with a cd and cassette insert, and you found a few lanterns that would offer some light around the dark house.

eventually, everything was set up and now there was nothing to do but enjoy the quiet peace of the night. joel managed to dig up some cds and cassettes with the player and he had an old country tune quietly playing over the crackling of the fire.

"c'mere, doll," he finally said, offering his arm out to cuddle up with you on the bed. you gratefully took it, eager to finally lay down. joel took the left side (he always did) and you took the right. his back was propped against the couch and you easily curled into his side. his arm wrapped around your frame and within seconds, the cold dissipated from your body.

his lips met your head in a sweet gesture and you smiled at the warm comfort of it all. joel was all you needed, really. the power being out was a frustration, true. you had wanted to bake some cookies that night and you wanted to read another cheesy romance book that joel had found for you in an old store. joel wanted to keep tinkering with the old record player tommy found and he liked to end his nights with a warm shower before crawling into his bed with you.

but this was fine. more than fine. you were warm in front of the fire, his favorite music was echoing through the room, and he had you under his arms, where he liked you to be the most.

[mountainsandmayhem]

hey hun!! for your 500 followers celebration could you do 📝, of a scenario in which joel comes home to find you all cramped up and in pain since you began your period and he decides to be the comforting little man and cuddles you to death??

(no pressure!! 🥰🤗)

-vii💗💗

Joel: Period Master

18+, but mostly fluff

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

AN: Thank you sweet Viv for this ask. This is based in the Little Dove universe, but Sarah and Ellie are teenagers and living at home. 💋 also, I 100% did not edit or proof read this. Sorry!

Joel has had a long ass day. A joke of a day really. First the concrete was late, then someone broke the powered wheelbarrow so they were moving gravel by hand. Then it started raining and they scrambled to cover everything, the job site soon became a muddy mess. He’s desperately looking forward to a hot shower and a glass of whiskey.

He pulls into the garage to see your vehicle already parked, which is strange since you had plans with a friend for after work drinks.

He trudges from the truck to the back door, mud still breaking off his work boots along the shiny concrete floor of the garage. He toes them off before heading into the back entry. Your heels are tossed on the floor, work bag and jacket haphazardly placed on the bench.

“Babe?” He calls from the back door, walking around to the family room to find his two daughters curled up on the couches.

“Hi girls. Where’s your mom?”

They both shoot daggers from their eyes, Ellie clutching the blanket tighter around herself and Sarah flipping the ice pack that’s draped across the back of her neck.

Shit, already that time.

The joys of living with all women….they’ve synced up. His usually sweet teenagers daughters turn extra moody, but Joel is the supporter of this family in every way, so he is always prepared for this time each month. Sarah, usually the sweet tooth, needs salt and chocolate milk. Ellie, usually the salty one, needs Diet Coke and green gummy frogs. All things Joel keeps tucked up in a cupboard, or in the back of the beer fridge in the garage.

He sneaks quietly back into the living room, putting the emergency supplies for the girls down on the coffee table as they watch Dirty Dancing.

Ellie looks up at him with sad eyes, tears welling in the corners. “Thanks, dad.”

He crouches down beside her and rubs her lower back through the big fuzzy blanket she’s cocooned in. “You’re welcome, kiddo. Do you need anything else?”

Sarah’s head pops up from her couch, “Mom’s not doing well. You should go be with her.”

He kisses both his daughters on the foreheads, taking a big breath before walking down the hall to your bedroom. Nothing in this world breaks his heart more than seeing you in pain. He knows some months can be worse than others, he knows about the bloating and the large clots you deal with. He knows that you can be insatiably hungry one minute and throwing up the next. He knows that your cramps can have you on the floor in the matter of seconds most of the time.

He opens the door as quietly as possible, finding you curled in a tight ball under the down filled duvet, just your hair peaking out the top. The room is stifling hot, the air almost thick, it feels like being in Phoenix in July as he pads over to the bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, carefully climbing up beside you, trying not to disturb you. A lesson he learned a few years ago when you had finally gotten comfortable, only to be brought to big crocodile tears when he moved a pillow that was tucked against your back.

A sad groaning whine leaves your throat as his large palm dips under the blanket to cup your forehead. “Sweetie, you’re burning up.”

“I’m freezing,” you whine, pulling the big blanket tighter around you.

“Ok, baby girl. I’m here now,” he says, standing and stripping down to his boxers briefs. You peek your eyes over the blanket, watching the way his strong body flexes and relaxes, the muscles ripping as he moves. The summer sun has tanned his arms a beautiful golden brown.

He wanders around to lay behind you. “Let me in, honey.”

You let go of the blanket so he can slip under, his warmth immediately sinking into you, heating your sore and achy body all the way to the bone. “You’re practically naked under here, Little Dove.”

You sink back into his heat. “Don’t look, I’m wearing the worst granny panties and one of those super pads.”

His hands trail around your slides, a large palm resting on the very bottom of your belly where the cramps are, hand sliding under the band of your incredibly unattractive panties. “You’re sexy to me no matter what you wear.”

Joel begins kneading the muscles of your lower abdomen, simulating the contracting of your uterus and the pain begins to ease. You moan and relax more into your perfect man.

“That feel good?” He says in a deep, gravel filled whisper.

“Mm-hmmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and finally feeling relief from the debilitating cramps.

Joel pulls you in tighter and kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re suffering, baby. I’m going to take care of you. Anything you need, I’ll do it or get it.”

“DAAAAAAD!!” Sarah and Ellie call in unison from the couch. “PIZZAAAA!!!”

You snort a little laugh. Poor Joel, having to deal with all these uterus’s.

“Pizza party?” You ask.

“Anything for my girls.” He hums, stubble grazing the shell of your ear.

“Anything?” You say mischievously.

“You’re not painting my toe nails again”

“Damn. I have this new hot pink that I think would really suit you,” you tease.

Joel’s quiet for a moment, still kneading the muscles absentmindedly, but with incredible care and precision. “I’ll lend you my favourite sweats and t shirt if you stay away from my toes.”

“Deal,” you say with a wince.

“What’s wrong?” Joel says, pulling you onto your back so he can look you over. Concern etching his eyebrows.

You reach up and rub the creases spot with your thumb, his eyes meeting yours. “Butt hole cramp,” you say flatly.

Joel smirks down at you, at this angle your swollen, heavy breasts are on display for him. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller. And our daughters will riot if we don’t get them pizza soon.”

Joel lends you his clothes and helps you get dressed before sliding on his jeans and t shirt. He kisses your forehead and helps you to the lazy boy chair, brining your king sized duvet with him to wrap you up.

“I’ll be back with pizza,” he says to the group.

As soon as he’s out of ear shot Ellie pipes up, “do you think if we play this up we can get him to let us paint his toe nails again?”

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

meaning upon motion: rosquez [e]

Marc catalogues those things that keep showing up.

The rosé wine he likes—God, Valentino used to give him so much shit for that, him and his girly drinks. Sugar next to the coffee pot. A room for himself, but Valentino’s door is always open. The towels are 100% cotton, silken soft to the touch.

It says—something, maybe, or it’s the heavy roll of all that fucking wine in his stomach.

Marc doesn’t want to look too closely into it, so he doesn’t. Everything is still there.

Valentino makes a noise, that cross between kissing his teeth and clicking his tongue. “Tomorrow, eh?” He says, pointing his chin to the window, to the track outside.

Rain had turned it into a slippery hellslide, all brackish puddles and mud banks. He’d been thinking about that track for ten years now, give or take. Dreading it, picturing it, loving it. If they go to shit tomorrow, if racing does to them what it likes to do, he’ll have gone up on a dirt bike there anyway.

It helps. A little.

“Yeah,” Marc mutters. He goes for another sip, finds his glass empty.

Valentino is right there, though. Their calves are touching. Their knees. He lets out a soft ah, let me and fills it again for him, just a couple of fingers, almost like a fancy restaurant. It’s funny, because a couple of minutes—hours—ago, they were pretty far from each other on this ratty couch.

Marc snorts. Doesn’t want to linger on this either. “Who else is coming?”

“I tell you, no? Just the two of us.”

Valentino’s expression stutters, his baby-fine eyebrows twitching and his mouth pursing. Marc wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t so close.

“Did you? Sorry, I forgot.” It comes out easy, that harmless little lie.

Problem is, Valentino is bright like a knife between the ribs. “You are alone,” he points out. Then, less sharply: “I think, allora, for sure he brings Álex this time.”

Marc pulls a face, and Valentino breaks into a chuckle. He’d considered it, for a brief, panicky half second, right before he boarded on the plane to Bologna.

But Álex is already unhappy enough with this whole thing.

So Valentino is right—he is here alone. No Ducati mechanics, which he could’ve demanded, back to their usual tune; no Álex, which was expected; none of his branded bikes.

And the Ranch is empty.

“He wouldn’t leave the dogs,” is what Marc settles on saying rather than why don’t you have any of your staff here? Where are your Academy boys? Why are you doing this? Am I being stupid again? Is it funny? Another little harmless lie.

“All the better for me.”

Marc smiles. “Isn’t it usually?”

And that’s how the night goes, the two of them not quite talking, brushing against the heat of each other, edges dulled on rosé wine. Marc allows himself to wonder if tonight, maybe, but nothing happens.

The disappointment only softens the next morning, when Valentino shows up at his door at an insensate hour and drags him to the garage. He shepherds Marc along, a hand splayed on his back, between his shoulder blades, to show him—

“So?”

Valentino is basically bouncing. Trying to play it cool, with another impatient tsch sound, but his eyes are too keen, and there’s something jittery about the sway of his long, spindly arms.

Marc swallows past the tangle in his throat. Unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

It is an MX Honda, a red and orange 93 emblazoned on the front, two stroke engine. Not his model, but close enough. Everything about it is smooth and new and polished. If he tried, he thinks he would be able to smell the leather, the freshness of undented metal. His stomach rolls, light and airy like a frizz of champagne.

What an odd, expensive thing to do for a one-off guest when you have dozens of bikes around. Marc would’ve ridden any of them.

“It is,” he fishes for a word. Any word. Everything he feels is the hook of affection tangled in his guts, tugging. His mouth might as well be stuffed with cotton. “Good. Tell me the specs?”

“Always the hunt with you,” Valentino says.

It sounds mean—a little. In that way of Valentino’s of prodding bruises. Fond too, with him squeezing his arm, fingers lingering on the crook of his elbow. Marc wants to get on it already. Wants to race. Wants to freeze this instant, Valentino golden in the morning sun, just the two of them, talking about a dirt bike’s innards.

Leathers, gloves, boots, helmets. They hop in, and the track unfurls ahead of him. Dejavu threatens to kick Marc off the first five or so laps, where they aren’t exactly racing yet. It’s not that different—except the angle of a few corners. Too narrow here, too wide there, places where it’s either his memory fumbling or Valentino, shockingly, making changes.

“Still remember it?” Valentino prods, shouting over the engines rumbling. Marc can picture it, the slanted curve of his grin.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Then they are racing, reckless with it. Valentino slides on a half-dried mud patch when he gets off the usual line to try and overtake him. Marc goes down too low on a corner and loses the front. They kick up dust and dirt, laughing uproariously, and Marc allows himself to think, just once, that Valentino has to be up to something.

It is easy anyway, to have fun, even if he knows that Valentino is shrewd, no stitch without a knot, even if he’s prickling, restless, unkissed. They didn’t come up with rules, so the excuse of racing becomes a graceless overtake fest, round and round and round, until their bikes start to splutter without fuel.

Valentino leads them through a final show, a victory lap on the colosseum, bathed by the infernal midday sun. Leads them to the kitchen after that—chipped plates, an atrocity of a tablecloth, horrendous yellow flowers on a green field. Another world from the track, it looks like.

There’s escabetx. The fish is soggy—reheated—but it tastes good. Familiar. Way, way, way above Valentino’s cooking skills.

Dishes left on the sink for later or tomorrow or whenever, they circle back to the couch. It throws Marc off more than the changes to the track, more than his growing catalogue of things that don’t quite add up. Last time he was here, there wasn’t a moment to think. The Ranch was full of cameras, and events, and eager-hungry Academy kids, and personnel, and PR stuff.

Valentino brandishes a small chocolate bar like a parrying knife. Breaks off a piece for himself, shoves the rest in his hands. Marc can’t pretend to not want it. He’s always liked sweetness.

He can’t pretend to not have something on his mind either. It lingers, red-hot.

Might as well do it. Make it real.

“Valentino,” he starts, gets cut off.

“Are you having fun?”

Marc’s mouth clicks shut. He prods his tongue against his teeth, the chocolate sticking there, to not laugh. The weave of them sitting so close feels like crystal in his grip. Fragile glass. It’s very Valentino. A bit myopic. He’s immortalized moments less gentle than this. Cradled them close and kept them with him forever.

And really, fun.

Was fun ever the issue?

“Of course,” he answers, smiles. The corners of his eyes are crinkling, he knows, but so are Valentino’s.

There’s a suspended beat, Valentino inching closer, about as subtle as his neon merch. “But is it fantastic—the best you’ve ever had?”

Marc does laugh this time. Valentino aims for smug, hits it pretty well.

“Almost.”

And it’s a mindfuck, that he sees the way Valentino straightens up in real time. Now that he isn’t so young anymore, buzzing with the chance of touching a streak of the divine. Now that he can recognize the man in him—which is no less devastating, truth be told. The little frown on his forehead, deepening the wrinkles there.

Tell me, he says without saying, spreading his hand on Marc’s ankle. “You used to be pushier when I was twenty.”

Valentino’s breathing does something funny. A convulsive little wheeze.

“You,” he starts, has to try again. “In Argentina.”

Marc looks off to the side.

Argentina, right. His arm had been hurting, chainsaw teeth to the old wound. Álex had been watching, a worried, unhappy tilt to his lips—one in a sea of pinched-tight faces, going from the jerky seesaw of his shoulder to Valentino standing there, close. Too many cameras, too many eyes, too many points he could win. Did win.

And Marc is as superstitious as he can afford to be.

Nothing good can come out of Termas, of Sepang—like nothing good can come out of Galilee.

Marc doesn’t remember what he said, exactly. Only that he’d been clenching down on a razor blade for the whole weekend and very, very tired of being in pain. If Valentino touched him then, it’d have hurt too. But now he has Marc’s ankle, and a bike for him, and Catalan food, and chocolate, and soft towels, and everything rattling in his mind for the past thirty-something hours is—

Kiss me.

“But it’s fine, now.” It isn’t.

It categorically isn’t, but it’s stupid to worry about that. Why tempt this into breaking? Marc licks chocolate off his fingers, Valentino’s eyes burning on his hands, his mouth. He clambers into his lap with the sugar sharp on his tongue, their knees knocking together.

Careful, mild, it never lasts, not between them. Valentino gets both hands on his waist, thumbs digging on the sliver of skin where his undershirt has ridden up.

The small bite of pain is exquisite. Barely anything, but still.

“Cannot be easy, hm?” Valentino hums, lilting, bemused, closer than they’d been since that odd week between Sepang and Valencia.

“Like you want it easy.”

He spits out the word, and Valentino laughs. Runs his fingers over the jut of his hipbones. “Allora, we can say we try, it is boring.”

It’s that small sway of movement that gets him. His head is spinning. He surges into the kiss he’s been hungry for a humiliating stretch of time, catches the noise Valentino makes ravenously. Marc likes it more than he thought he would, making out like teenagers—nipping at Valentino’s lower lip to make him hiss, licking into his mouth.

The kisses start melting together, one after the other after the other. They’re greedy, unashamed. Marc only realizes they’re grinding against each other when Valentino breaks off, groans, sweat beading on the edge of his thinning hair.

“Do you want—” Valentino skims his hand over the knobs of his spine. Marc wedges them closer together, leaning in to suck a bruise on the hollow of his throat.

“Not yet,” he mumbles there, hidden, safe as it gets. “No. Sorry. I am not—I do not know what—”

“Alright,” Valentino tells him, brusque but not unkind. “Alright.”

Is it, Marc wants to ask, but instead he takes his time pressing his teeth to Valentino’s jaw, leaving a red imprint there. Marc can feel him hard against him, pressing against his belly. There’s a gasping noise, but Valentino shakes his head at his inquisitive look.

It’s exactly as ungainly as the past thirty minutes and thirty hours were, Valentino pulling their cocks out. Takes some shuffling. Marc ends up with his hand on the half-melted candy bar, stumbles over half a dozen curses, and Valentino tugs at wrist to lick it clean before managing to get his underwear down and spitting on his own palm.

His hand is still dry around them both. The callouses there scrape. Marc chokes on a whine, closes his eyes, then forces them open again because he has to watch this.

“Vale,” Marc moans, hips hitching. Valentino’s other hand surges up, grabs his chin tight to force his head back. There’re teeth, his tongue soothing their sting.

Marc jolts, their cocks rubbing together—and God, it’s only everything he wants. After that, they don’t settle into a rhythm as much as they crumble into one. Valentino’s hand hot and tight around them, and his mouth insistent against Marc’s for a kiss, two, ten. The slide gets easier, wetter. There’s the fucking noise it makes, damp, obscene.

And there’s Valentino, looking at him. Softer, maybe, than either of them should risk.

“Are you—wooing me?” Marc asks, halfway to a laugh. He doesn’t stammer. Much.

It’s there, behind his teeth—were you wooing me this whole time? Are you being gentle?

Valentino has the gall to grin, makes his grip a little firmer when Marc tries to pretend to be annoyed. “I am a romantic,” he says, all showmanship that shatters when Marc bucks against him, grinds them together. “Stop that, Christ.”

He doesn’t.

So Valentino clamps down on his nape, wound tight, biting on his throat. There’s zero fucking finesse to any of it, Marc fumbling for air, for the string of his sanity, digging into Valentino’s skinny, sharp shoulders. It’s ugly, too fast. Valentino jerks at the bite of his nails. Marc is so hard his vision that starts to wobble.

Next time, they can get on a bed, they can be sweet—maybe.

Right now, Marc wants to come so much he’s unraveling, drool pooling inside his mouth.

“Good?” Valentino asks, strained. He could make it sound cruel—there was a time when it was the only way he spoke. But it’s plaintive instead. Small.

“Fantastic. Best I’ve ever had.”

God, he tries for a joke, for wryness—it comes out too honest, instead. Marc vows to be ashamed about it later.

Or not at all. Valentino buries whatever he was going to say next in a bite, hard and mean on the swell of his chest. Marc catches a fraction of what his face looks like, shocked, hungry, mouth tight. He comes over his hand, his stomach, shaking with a keening groan.

It’s—Christ. Marc ruts against Valentino and his lax, sloppy grip until he’s twitching and whining with oversensitivity, cock fully soft against his thigh. But those flashes of pain get Valentino back online, have him wrapping his come-streaked fingers properly around Marc.

He doesn’t take that easy, either. Fucks Valentino’s fist, pants heavily. It’s burnt with hot iron in his mind, how Valentino’s expression had turned raw like a bruised nerve ending. Marc chases his own orgasm wildly, babbling—Spanish, Catalan, Italian, whatever. He comes in a kaleidoscopic fritz of color, everything narrowed down to the slack line of Valentino’s mouth.

His bones are loose, liquid. If he tried walking, he thinks his feet would sink in clouds. The minutes tick by around them, a string of flowing, round pearls slipping from his fingers.

Marc blinks—once he feels marginally more human again—and stretches his neck. Smooths his hand over Valentino’s crooked collar, his skinny chest. There’s come on his stomach, drying on a viscous patch over dark gray fabric.

“Your shirt is dirty,” he says, feeling clumsy, feeling golden.

Valentino clicks his tongue. “Ah, who cares.”

“Uhm, okay.” Marc decides against safety, tucks his face into the crook of Valentino’s throat. “It is an ugly shirt anyway.”

There’s laughing, the sound punched out and disbelieving. A hand comes up to cradle the back of his neck. Outside, it’s raining, a soft, gray security blanket over the everything else that they’ll one day be able to say.

[luna-andra]

Domesticated!König Headcanons ✨

Image: @Jispooks (Source)

Some HCS I thought up of for funsies, take it with a grain of salt if you disagree with any of it. And let me know what you would think differently! If this gets any love, I have a couple of more headcanon ideas to post as well, so please support my delusions of grandeur!

Part 2 is out! StepDad!Konig

Adjusting to civilian lifestyle for König proved to be challenging. Thankfully, he had you to help him along the way.

If you're not from Austria, König will compromise with spending summers in Vienna in the vacation home and live full-time with you in your home county (or wherever the hell you decide to choose. As long as he's not a convicted war criminal there.)

König tends to keep his PTSD episodes in check for the most part, except when he has a few drinks. He opts to sleep in the guest room after scaring you one night from the terrors. The years away from his past life helps them fade, but he will always carry that shit with him.

You help him job hunt. Blue-collar work was for him, the less human interaction, the better.

With that being said, König insists on DIY-ing every problem in the house. He tried figuring it out with his own basic knowledge, but became unstoppable when you introduced him to the DIY side if YouTube. Some projects had him at his wits end, and when you hear him cuss up a storm in German, you have to hold your laughter back until you're out of earshot.

The grocery bill. That's all I gotta say.

Add a couple more bills on it if you got a kid(s).

Most days, König is careful with not trekking mud in from the job site, leaving his boots in the garage/on the front porch. If it slips his mind, you know he's tired. It took a couple of scoldings to figure it out, but he does his best to make it up to you.

König had been okay with living where you wanted to, but he doubled down on living somewhere secluded, or at least outside of the city. Meaning longer drives/day trips if you wanted to shop at outlets. Totally fine, you talk his ear off during the drive to catch up on what he's missed out on during his long week of work.

Tons of nature hikes. If you weren't used to the outdoors, König would get you shaped up. He was so damn proud of you when you stopped relying on GPS and used maps/surroundings/cardinal directions, etc.

Dog or cat family, but I also see him being a reptile dad, too.

WANTS KIDS. THE MORE, THE BETTER. He wants to age and be surrounded by his kids & grandkids every holiday.

When you would go out on dates/shopping trips, there was no avoiding the double takes and stares. You man was giant, it wasn't something he could help. It would grind on his nerves when it came from grown ass adults, but he had a soft spot for children. They didn't know better, so he'd flash a friendly smile or wave so they're not afraid. Those moments would bring back the baby fever for him.

Nothing made König more happy than coming back home to the home you two have made after an adventurous day, watching you saunter happily to the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks to settle down into the plush couch next to him to watch some movies. Your choice, always. And if that baby fever was raging, he would toss you over his shoulder to settle that urge in the bedroom 😏

If this does well, I'll consider posting some other headcanons I have been thinking of! Likes & reblogs are always appreciated <3

[geekgirl750]

Random details I noticed in Scream after watching it for the umpteenth time.

First:

Stu has a dog?!

In the final confrontation scene in the kitchen before Stu brings out Sidney's dad I noticed that there was a note written on the white board behind him

Here it is in more detail, although the quality isn't the best as I had to screenshot the scene from YouTube:

When I paused to read it in the actual film I was able to make out most of the note except for the small writing in the upper right (Which I think is either a phone number or date) but I'm pretty sure the note reads:

"Hi Stu, Sorry we missed you today. We'll be back Sunday. Be good! Love mom & dad. P.S. feed the dog."

The last line I wasn't sure about because it was blurry but I matched the note from this shot to the shot where Stu is sitting at the desk on the telephone and sure enough the last line is "P.S. Feed the dog"

So basically, Stu canonically has a dog which I think is super funny because it makes me wonder where the dog was during the party and what type of dog it is.

It also makes more sense for the dog door in the garage that Tatum tries to crawl through to be put there for the Macher's family dog rather than the cat.

Side tangent head cannons:

The orange cat we see run out before Tatum is killed in the garage belongs to Stu's sister Leslie and has a basic name like Marmalade or Garfield

Stu is 100% a dog person and hates his sister's cat because its tried to scratch him on a number of occasions and now he's lowkey afraid of it

That's why when he's left home alone he doesn't really watch the cat and lets it do as it pleases. (His sister is adamant that the cat is indoor only but Stu is kinda careless lets the cat roam free outside through the dog door)

The Macher's family dog is either a basic crusty ass white dog that belongs to his mom and has a ridiculously fancy name like Princess or Dutchess

Or the dog is something small and hyperactive like a Jack Russell that Stu used to play fetch with and run around with in the backyard as a kid

Like I said before I feel like the Machers aren't super creative with naming their pets. If the dog is a boy his name is probably Max or something like that.

Okay second thing:

I never noticed this but you can see Randy dancing with/ flirting with a girl at the party when Sid and Tatum first walk in

And then later that girl is being led away by a different guy so I guess Randy struck out twice that night lol

(Also peep Stu and Tatum flirting/ kissing in the lower left)

Thirdly:

In the garage scene after Ghostface first cuts Tatum's arm she stumbles backwards and bangs into a bike

This is more of a head canon than anything but I noticed that the bike is more feminine in coloring (shades of red and purple) so it makes me wonder if it belongs to Stu's mom or maybe his sister.

Lastly,

The layout of Stu's house makes no sense!

So I'm going to make another longer post about this because I spent like an hour last night comparing shots from Scream 1996 to shots from Scream 5 to get an understanding of the Macher house because it's almost labyrinthian in it's layout, especially the upstairs, but I'm pretty sure there's no way that house has 3 bedrooms if Stu's sister is supposed to be canon.

Anyways, here are a couple details I noticed that I thought were interesting:

I think the house has an intercom system! You can seen what looks like speaker/receiver on the wall behind the lamp in Stu's room as Sidney runs by it.

Lastly,

The Macher house has a back stairwell!!!

So I've watched this movie a bunch of times and I always thought that there was a door in the kitchen that led directly to the garage but that's NOT TRUE!

When Tatum goes to get the beer for Stu you can see that the kitchen is connected to the dining room and off the dining room is a door that leads into a laundry room/ mud room.

To Tatum's right you can see what looks like an ironing board and then a set of railings/steps which I'm assuming is a back set of stairs that leads to the upper floor.

You can see again in the reverse shot that the door that gets locked behind Tatum isn't actually the kitchen door but the door to the laundry room in between the garage and the kitchen .

Seeing this changed my whole perception of Tatum's death scene because I was always like how did no one see Ghostface sneaking around the party, whether it was Billy or Stu, and not realize when he goes back inside after killing Tatum rather than leaving through the garage. Now I think it's because whoever was Ghostface never actually cut through the party at all.

HE WENT UP THE BACK STAIRS!

And the layout of the laundry room would have hidden him from view of the kitchen as he would have behind the wall and out of sight.

I want to go more into detail about the logistics about how I think Billy and Stu got around the house as Ghostface as well as the entire layout of the house in a second post because I think the set design is so interesting but for now these are just some cool things I noticed that I wanted to share.

[bitchesuntitled]

Goober

Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)

Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.

“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”

“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.

“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”

“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”

You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”

A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.

“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”

The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.

“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”

The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.

“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.

The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.

“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”

You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.

“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.

“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”

“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”

“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.

The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet. 

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.

“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”

“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”

The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.

“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.

“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.

“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”

“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”

“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.

“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”

“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“

“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”

“Do what now?”

“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.

Frankie: What the fuck?!

—

“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“

The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.

“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.

“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.

“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.

“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”

“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”

“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”

“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”

“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”

“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.

Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.

“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.

—

“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.

It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.

“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”

“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”

“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”

“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”

“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.

“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”

“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.

“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”

The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”

“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.

—

“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.

“Yes it would.”

“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”

“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”

“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”

“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”

“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.

“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”

“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”

“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.

“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”

Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.

“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”

She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.

“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.

“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.

—

“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.

“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”

Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.

“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.

“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”

“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.

“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.

“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”

Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.

“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.

Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake. 

“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.

“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.

Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.

“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”

The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.

“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”

“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.

“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”

Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.

“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”

—

“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”

“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”

Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.

“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.

“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”

“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.

“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.

You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.

“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.

“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”

Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.

“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.

“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”

“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.

Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.

“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”

“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

[itsa-me-lily]

@nightunite I hope she is everything you want her to be.

This is the start of an expansion in the Military Program Spouse Universe.

Please note this is a different reader than with Simon. Here you are Goggles and you are a menace to all.

The gym scene that Johnny is obsessing over came from Pick Up Games (A fic from Simon and his reader's playlist)

Here is Johnny & Goggle's playlist

Content warning;

Sexual themes, sexual tension, Sexual innuendoes, Goggles

Johnny knew he was a good solider. He was part of the 141. He prided himself on it. So why the hell was he letting someone from Mechanical of all places get under his skin like this?

"I bet you're real good at following orders aren't ya Sudsy?"

The words from the gym kept circling around and around in his head for days. Sudsy. That wasn't his call sign and he positive you knew it. It would be like if he called you fucking Wrenches instead of Goggles. What kind of call sign was Goggles anyways? He earned his call sign with how cleanly he swept houses thank you very much.

With a huff he cut off whatever conversation Gaz was trying to have with him. Something about a bird? A pigeon? Or dove? Whatever it was Johnny was sure that it was something they could revisit later at least. He could feel an energy buzz in his fingertips. It was similar to when they'd be cooped up on site, a need to excise it without the space to do anything about it.

Only this time he wasn't cooped up waiting for some terrorist or oligarch to make a drop. The only four walls around him were the breakroom, and he could leave it at any time. And like a cartoon it was almost like a lightbulb went off above Johnny's head. He just had to tell it to you straight. His call sign was Soap, and he was a seargent damnit, he was going to be respected.

With that mission directive in mind he hustled his way out of the break room and down to the garage. Surely you had to be there.

Whoever the fuck had decided to go try mudding with the LTATV and fucked up the undercarriage, their mother was hoe. You could feel your blood pressure rising as you looked at what seemed to be like gallons of dried mud that caked underneath as well as inside. Seriously, it was built for like two people, but given how the suspension was fucked you could only guess that, the weight limit was happily disregarded. Cap gave this to you as payback for giving Smudge new markers, you were sure of it. Bastard.

Before you could consider if insubordination was worth having on your permanent record, the very man you were considering insubordinating was calling for you. What great timing. With a grunt you rolled out from the LTATV, brushing the crumbling mud from your front, uncaring of what was caught in your hair at the moment.

"Yeah yeah I'm coming what-Oh Sudsy!"

And just like that your day was looking so much brighter. Sgt 'Soap' MacTavish was an absolute fucking meal and you were starving. Especially when he got that annoyed pouty look on his face that made you wanna give him something to be a little less grumpy about. Or maybe a little more grumpy depending on if he'd let you-

"Sargent here wanted to have a word with you."

Fuck Cap for being a goddamn buzzkill. You were enjoying giving the good sargent a slow once over.

"Sure. I'll take a little break from the bullshit you gave me."

Honestly you knew you were lucky that Cap let you be as mouthy as you were, but that was something to tell him later. You were giving your undivided attention to a certain Scott.

"So, what can I do ya for? Sudsy?"

Oh you probably shouldn't have enjoyed the way his eyebrow twitched at your new nickname for him. But you did and well that was going to be his problem. You tilted your head as you waited for an answer, enjoying the way Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. Seriously you just wanted to gnaw on him. Just a little. Those biceps looked very gnawable...

"What's wrong with it?"

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, looking back at the LTATV with a shrug.

"Some dumbasses thought they'd test the all terrain in some unauthorized mud shenanigans."

"So it just needs a wash?"

Oh it should have been illegal for him to sound so cute when he was confused. Seriously. You just wanted to smoosh his face between your hands.

"The suspensions fucked at the very least, but won't know until I can get a better look. And get covered in mud myself."

With a sigh you leaned against the side of the vehicle, and couldn't help but give Johnny a smirk.

"Though I bet you know all about that right?"

His confused stare only made your smile grow.

"Getting dirty? You know through mud and blood and all that jazz? Bet you clean up real nice too Sudsy."

Having a neon sign above your head flashing 'fuck me' might have been a little less obvious. But given the look on Johnny's face you weren't sure if he was getting it yet.

"Soap."

Huh?

"Huh?"

You didn't mean to sound stupid, but if it meant having this man step into your space, you could be the dumbest bitch possible. You could just barely smell whatever aftershave he used as you tilted your face up to keep eye contact with him.

"Call sign's Soap. Not Sudsy."

Fuck you'd call him whatever he wanted with that hard look on his face. Wonder if he'd still look like that if you slid down and-

"Right. Soap."

"Don't forget it."

You weren't planning on it anytime soon, and you could feel how charged your little stare down was getting. It was for you at least. Before you had a chance to suggest that you move your little meeting to somewhere more private, like a storage closet, the man was nodding to himself and stepping back to turn on heel and walk away.

Not great manners, but you could train that into him. You were sure. You enjoyed the view of him walking away, waiting until he was just about to leave the garage to call out to him.

"Toodles...Soap."

The man didn't bother to wave good bye but that was alright. You were pretty sure the flush you saw crawling up the back of his neck wasn't your imagination. With a groan you dropped your head back for it to clunk to the ATV frame.

"Fuuuuuck I gotta get that man pregnant."

You weren't sorry for the private that you startled.

Edit;

Goggles is a menace and I will never apologize for that.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Oliver and His Company

[A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but if you want context on Aaron & reader’s relationship, find their story here and here! Enjoy 🖤]

4 times Aaron Hotchner refused to admit that he’s a cat person…

1) A Spicy Upgrade

“I swear, Em, it was like an out of body experience,” you tell your best friend through the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you balance grocery bags in one hand and fish your keys out of your pocket with the other.

“So everything was just backwards?” Emily laughs.

“Yes!” you cry, equal parts miffed by your dream and excited to have somehow slotted the key into the lock in the correct orientation without looking. “Pen was, like, fifty shades of beige, and everyone else was super bright and colorful! Hotch was wearing a suit worthy of Elle Woods herself,” you assert.

“I would pay a stupid amount of money to see that,” your best friend snickers. “Can we please get him a pink suit?”

“Not gonna lie, he looked pretty hot,” you muse quietly as you shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. “I’ll work on…that…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, sorry to have worried her. “Just found my man in an interesting position. Call you later, love you, bye,” you rush out in a whisper, ending the call and snapping a photo for your personal album before the opportunity disappears. Clearing your throat, you place the last of the grocery bags on the counter with a solid thud. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

Aaron’s answer is muffled given the fact his head is currently in the spice cabinet, the rest of his tall form tucked under him, ass comically up in the air for better leverage. You bend down with a groan and open the adjacent cabinet to pop your head in, meeting his sheepish smile and reddening cheeks. Pressing your lips to his, you murmur, “I didn’t quite get that.“

“I said-” He pauses to capture your lips in another sweet kiss, and the butterflies that have taken up residence in your belly since the first day you met Aaron Hotchner stir to life. “I read online that it’s easier for cats to open doors with handles than knobs, so I’m fixing all the doors before you move in.”

“You’re what?” You bump your head against the top of the cabinet in shock, letting out a harsh curse that you’re glad Jack isn’t around to hear.

“Oh, honey,” Aaron tuts softly, unfolding himself from his spot to help you out and delicately rubbing the tender area on the back of your head.

“You- by yourself- you’re swapping out every single handle in this house for Oliver?” You don’t mean to sound incredulous, but there’s no way this man is real. Then again, he bought this house six months into your relationship so that you could each have an office space and ample room for Jack and one or two additional little Hotchners to grow up- although he hadn’t divulged the latter part of that plan to you when he gifted you a key.

“I know it sounds ridiculous-”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, molding your palms against his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, your lips quirking up in a victorious grin. “It sounds like something a loving cat dad would do.”

Aaron scoffs before muttering, “Just don’t want him getting stuck, that’s all.”

“Right,” you draw out the word, one eyebrow raised playfully. “Totally not cause you’re a cat person. And that’s why I spotted an empty box sporting a picture of a cat tree as tall as you in the garage?”

“I never said I dislike cats, I’m just a dog guy!” Aaron insists, his words falling on deaf ears as you playfully hum a tune from The Aristocats while arranging the groceries in the fridge and he returns to his project.

2) A Sleepy Surprise

Toeing your shoes off in the mud room, you call out, “Boys? I’m home!” The novelty of getting to say those words has yet to wear off even though the last of your moving boxes are piled up on the curb, waiting to be recycled.

There’s no answering pitter patter of feet in the hallway nor voices greeting your arrival, but the sneakers lined up next to yours- one large pair in understated colors, one much smaller pair with Darth Vader on one shoe and Luke Skywalker on the other- tell you your little family is definitely home. You place your car keys on their designated hook before making your way down the hall, pausing at the threshold of the living room with a smile on your face at the sight before you.

Aaron’s lying on his back, his tall form taking up the entire length of the couch, with Jack tucked into his side and an orange ball of fur curled up on his chest, rising and falling with each peaceful breath of his. You let out a content sigh, warmth blooming in your chest from the overwhelming sense of comfort and love these three have brought into your life. Holding your hair back so it doesn’t tickle your darling boy’s face, you press a delicate kiss to his cheek and his mouth turns upward for the briefest of moments. Then you nuzzle your nose against the soft fur between your cat’s ears, and he stirs with a half-hearted chirp before curling up even tighter on his literal man-made bed.

“You’re home,” Aaron murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper with a guilty pout, carding your fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to make dinner.”

He grabs your hand before you can get too far, and you turn back to find just who exactly Jack inherited the puppy dog eyes from. “We can order in tonight. Stay with me?”

You gesture to the full couch and ask, “Where?”

Aaron tips his chin down to see Oliver purring contentedly on his chest, and he taps his head until the cat sits up with bleary eyes. “You’re in your mom’s spot.”

You stifle a laugh as your cat pointedly yawns in your boyfriend’s face, then takes his time using Aaron’s solid body to stretch before flouncing away in search of a bed with less attitude. Aaron looks up at you with a self-satisfied grin and pats the newly vacated space. Shaking your head as you ease yourself down to lay across his body, you chide, “That was mean.”

“Never too young to learn about sharing,” he pontificates.

“Mm, yes, what a poignant lesson from father to son,” you respond, voice muffled against Aaron’s chest.

“Step-cat, at best. And don’t you even say it- I’m not a cat person.”

“Sure, babe.”

3) A New Purr-spective

“Jack-Jack,” you call out with a knock against the doorframe to get the little Hotchner’s attention. He looks up from his latest art project with a smile and says, “Yeah?”

“Daddy washed your uniform so you’re all set for tomorrow’s game. And I wanted to ask you about…this,” you offer hesitantly, flipping the shirt in your hands around so he can see Hotchner displayed at the top and the number matching his jersey. “Would it be okay if I wore this so we can match?”

“Does Daddy have one, too?” His excitement- and nonchalance about you sporting their last name- has relief flooding through you, and you mirror his eager smile.

“Of course! Except his is even cooler cause it says ‘Coach’ on the front,” you respond with a click of your teeth. “I made one for Uncle Dave, too!”

“Awesome. You’re the best!” Jack proclaims.

“No, you are.”

“Nu uh, you,” he insists.

“Nope! You!” You let the word be drawn out as you make your escape down the hall, peals of laughter from Jack’s room echoing behind you.

“I have received official approval to wear my shirt,” you announce as you cross into the master bedroom, only to find the space empty. You can hear Aaron’s voice in hushed tones from the walk-in closet, so you approach quietly thinking that he’s on the phone.

“…not exactly your textbook psychopath, right?” He pauses, then continues, “Right. So there must be a piece of the profile we’re missing, something that explains the evolution of the kills with the alarming disorganization of the crime scenes. Do you think we could be dealing with two unsubs?”

Aaron’s phone is on the bedside table, and he’s using both hands to wrestle one of his dress shirts onto a hanger. Then, you spot his silent partner- Oliver’s sitting in his bed, in the nook that Aaron built into the closet for him, languidly cleaning his paws as your boyfriend theorizes aloud.

“So,” you start, crossing your arms and leaning against the wide doorframe, “you still maintain that you’re not a cat person?”

You can see the back of Aaron’s neck turning red at having been caught, but he studiously carries on putting the clean laundry away. Without turning to face you, he asserts, “I’m just… using him as a soundboard. Animals are excellent judges of character.”

“Congratulations, Ollie,” you offer proudly to your son, “you’re the very first cat to join the Behavioral Analysis Mew-nit.”

“Now that’s bad, even for you,” Aaron chuckles, and you bark out a, “Hey!” with faux umbrage. “When are you going to admit you love this cat?”

“I do love this cat,” your boyfriend counters, finally turning to face you. He curls his arm around your waist to pull you against him and speaks between kisses dotted along your nose and cheeks, “I’m just not a cat person.”

Smoothing your hands across his chest with playfully narrowed eyes, you mutter, “The Hotchner doth protest too much, methinks.”

4) Paw-sitively Whipped

“Bedtime, my little bubbas,” you raise your voice to be heard over the churning of the dishwasher as it starts up, drying your hands on a towel while you walk into the living room. Jack is sprawled out on the floor, flicking a feather toy on a stick back and forth that has Ollie frantically giving chase. You’re honestly not sure which little guy is more entertained by the game. “But I’m helping Oliver get his exercise! Daddy says he’s looking chunky lately,” Jack negotiates.

You and your cat turn to Aaron in unison, the man in question suddenly engrossed in an article on his phone. “Daddy’s lawyer genes certainly passed on to you, huh, Jack?” The little Hotchner grins proudly up at you in response, but even that sweet face doesn’t break your resolve. “C’mon, my love, we left off at a really good cliffhanger last night, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jack gasps, suddenly inspired to get ready for bed. “I’ll be ready in two minutes!”

“Make it three- you need to brush your teeth for a full two, Jack,” Aaron calls as he zooms past you to his bathroom.

“Okay!”

“Alright, Weight Watchers,” you snort, tweaking Aaron’s nose while he looks up at you sheepishly, “who’s on reading duty tonight?”

“I’ve got it,” he declares, tugging on your hand to guide you into his open lap. You settle against him with a sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and pressing lazy kisses to his skin. Aaron turns his head to capture your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly grows more heated, and you let out a whimper when he cups the back of your neck to hold you more firmly to him until Jack’s little voice rings out down the hall.

“I’m ready for bed!”

“And that’s your cue, Daddy,” you laugh, patting his chest fondly before detaching yourself from him.

“We’ll pick this up later,” he declares in a murmur, and you can’t resist a smack to his shapely ass before parting ways in the hall.

You run through your own nightly routine, then make your way back to Jack’s room to say goodnight. You find Aaron with his son settled on his lap as he reads, and Ollie is settled on his favorite boy’s lap, purring up a storm. Your boyfriend is absentmindedly scratching his chin, pausing only to turn to the next page in the book. Then Aaron shifts to hold the book with both hands, and Ollie bats at his arm until he relents and resumes petting him. He looks up to find you standing in the doorway, the ghost of a smirk twitching at your lips, and you mouth, You are so a cat person.

He smiles back and shakes his head in response, refusing to give in.

…and the 1 time he finally did.

When you open the front door, you’re surprised to find the house dark. Given your shared line of work and healthy dose of paranoia, you and Aaron always leave at least one light on when the house is empty. But then you hear Jack giggle, “She’s coming!” and Aaron quietly shushing him, and a smile graces your face at whatever adorable surprise awaits you.

You flip on the light to find the foyer decorated with balloons dancing across the ceiling and streamers hanging down, each one adorned with pictures of you and Aaron, you and Jack, and your little family together. Your eyes immediately well up with tears seeing all the memories you’ve created and thinking about all the love you’ve been blessed with thanks to this family.

You walk through, awestruck, touching the Polaroids and printed pictures as you pass them. By the time you reach the living room and your eyes settle on Aaron with Jack standing pressed against his leg, your little boy holding your cat in his arms, you’re damn near sobbing.

“This is why you sent me to get my nails done, huh?” you ask through a half sniffle, half laugh. “You boys certainly were busy.”

Aaron smiles at you and holds out his free hand, and you grab onto him like a lifeline, letting him pull you in before bending down to press a flurry of kisses along Jack’s squishy cheeks. Ollie lets out a squeak of protest in the same timbre as Jack’s ticklish giggle, and you relent your attack with a pleased grin.

“Jack has a very important question to ask you,” Aaron murmurs, then winks at his son.

Jack raises Ollie up as high as he can, not unlike the scene out of The Lion King, and a glint of light flashes at you from your cat’s collar.

“Aaron,” you breathe out, moments before Jack excitedly asks, “Will you marry us, Y/N?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer softly, looking up at Aaron as if he hung all the stars in the sky to find your adoring gaze reflected in his eyes.

—————

Lying in bed that night tangled up between the sheets and Aaron’s legs, you absentmindedly trail your fingers across his chest and muse, “Mighty interesting that a vehemently self-proclaimed not cat person would use a cat to propose, isn’t it?”

“You’re still on this, hm?” he murmurs from above you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Merely making an observation,” you answer back lazily, then roll over until you body is nestled between his legs, your hands pressed against his chest so you can look at him directly. “I lied, I’m still on this,” you concede with a playful grin. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you’re not a cat person, Aaron Hotchner.”

He hums, then leans up to capture your lips in a series of soft, slow kisses that nearly make you forget your name, let alone the challenge you’ve posed. “Can’t do that, honey,” he finally admits between pecking your lips.

“Cause you are!”

He laughs, his fingers ghosting up and down your spine. Aaron notices you shiver under his touch and pulls the sheets up higher on your body while you settle against the warmth and security of his broad chest. “Honestly, I have been since day one.”

“Oh yeah?” You attempt to goad him, but your sass come out muffled thanks to your lips pressed to his skin.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly as if you haven’t been lovingly arguing about this for over a year now. “He was your cat, and I’m a you person.”

Pushing against him to stretch up and level him with a raised eyebrow, you clarify, “Wait. He was my cat?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now Ollie’s ours.”

“Everybody thinks you’re such a hardass, but you’re really a big teddy bear, Aaron,” you tease before pressing your lips to his.

“I’m admittedly both,” he concedes with a chuckle, pausing to kiss you again before adding, “and a reformed cat person.”

—————

[A/N: I absolutely adored writing these two and I enjoyed getting to sprinkle in a healthy dose of cat puns 😂 Thank you all for reading!]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Picturesque 1898 Craftsman Bungalow in Redlands, CA was completely renovated. The 4bd, 2ba home was opened up and now basically open concept, but still retains some of the original features. Asking $925K.

Unexpectedly, a large entrance room leads directly into a pool room. I'm lost trying to figure out what the original floor plan was. The rooms with columns are usually the living and dining rooms.

A central hall with original oak stair rails is off the pool room.

Also off the entrance room, there's a dining room.

A mud room with lovely original doors.

And, a guest powder room.

The kitchen and living room are now open concept and share a stone fireplace. A new stove island stands in the middle of the floor, acting as a division.

The kitchen is quite spread out. There's a lovely cabinet bar, then what looks like a doorway with a baby/dog gate, another cabinet, and fridge.

More cabinetry is along the window wall. There's an opening for a dishwasher next to the sink.

The kitchen goes right around to the back of the fireplace.

However, the "living room" is kind of small. Like a large foyer.

The primary bedroom has doors to the terrace.

There's a nice awning over the terrace for shade, which is great.

This room is a home office with some extra bedroom furniture.

Secondary bedroom with interesting architecture.

Here's another home office.

And, the 2nd cute vintage bath.

The yard is very nice. It has a large pergola and a barbeque set into a stone counter.

The garage has a guest bedroom above it.

8,100 sq ft lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/337-S-Center-St-Redlands-CA-92373/17263105_zpid/

[the-amazing-digital-time-capsule]

TADTC Lore Dump #1

Character Lore And Fun Facts!

Pomni

Pomni was born in and grew up in upstate New York, going down to New York city to visit her very large extended family. She is incredibly good at math and physics, being able to recite long equations, and complete computations very quickly. Despite being able to do this, her memories on why or how she is able to, are foggy.  She doesn't remember her job, family, or education, or training…

She also loves to write historical fiction, but her dyslexia makes spelling and grammar a challenge. Sometimes she gets Caine to read over her stories and check both his historical accuracy as well as spelling and grammar. 

Pomni heavily dislikes playing the violin despite that being her assigned role in the capsule.  Though her memories are cloudy she associates the violin with nothing but anxiety and frustration.  Especially if she is ever tasked with playing sheet music, because of this correlation between distress and sheet music Pomni almost always plays the violin by ear.  She creates or edits performances on the spot, no matter if she was tasked with playing a specific piece or not.

Pomni’s Greek (But doesn't remember), and knows how to speak and write the language, however she has issues with her listening interpretation.

Pomni's lost the most memories when compared to the other capsule members.  Sometimes this fact makes her feel isolated and lonely as she is sure of so little about herself. 

Caine

He was born in 1900, Detroit, later moving and growing up in Pittsburgh. He is a WWI vet, he joined the army right out of high school, lying about his age (to his families dismay).  After showing exceptional skill in marksmanship, he went to Camp Perry, Ohio to become a trained sharp shooter.  He’s favorite rifle to shoot with is the Model 1903 Springfield with a scope.  Near the end of the war, he suffered an accident that made his confidence drop leading to job issues when coming home. After returning from war he worked as a freelance artist and animator, but after losing his animation job in 1926 he had to live off almost nothing. Eventually leading to him raiding an old garage for any junk that he could sell for cash.  There he found the Time Capsule.  

Caine has had a lot of time in the capsule to learn and master many skills.  He is a real renaissance man.  His favorite is being ambidextrous, since he finds amusement in confusing people by switching the hand he's using very quickly. 

Since becoming the leader in 1957 he has access to everyone's names including his own. However, Caine refuses to tell anyone their name, and to be in solidarity with everyone else refuses to go by or tell anyone his own.  Only Kinger Knows that Caine has access to everyone's names. 

No one besides Kinger really knows what has happened in Caine’s past.  He doesn't like to talk about it much due to severe PTSD; PTSD that can get triggered by loud noises, the smell of mud and gas, and getting touched without warning. 

Caine never goes to his room for this reason.

Caine is always interested in learning about what he's missed since entering the Capsule, but people don't tend to talk to him due to his depressing demeanor.  If given the chance he would be incredibly happy to sit and listen to whatever he's missed in the past 70 years. 

Kinger 

Kinger was also a WWI War vet and a Lintennieut Colonel in the U.S Army.  Kinger refuses to enter a relationship while in the capsule, only Caine knows why he chooses to stay “single”.  

As the bartender in the capsule Kinger knows a lot of information, be it people's deepest desire or their social security number. He is very aware of his customers and their affairs.

Kinger is also the designated surgeon of the group, if any Capsule member gets hurt or injured by one of the Guests or anything else… Kinger will sew them back together.  When he performs a procedure he will give the patient alcohol (except Caine) to numb the pain as they don't have access to painkillers. 

Kinger is Caine's best friend and they rely heavily on each other.  Kinger tries to manage Caine's drinking habit by hiding or measuring his alcohol intake, but that doesn't always work. 

Kinger, despite acting the most aloof, retains the most memories of his past.  When you walk past his room at night you can hear him murmuring about missing someone.  

Zooble

Zooble is half German, and speaks the language fluently even in the capsule.

Zooble is the most deadpanned member of the Capsule but also has the biggest heart.  While they may not seem like the person to go to for help they will do anything to lend a hand if needed. 

They have a strange aversion to kids... while they don't hate children and even like them, Zooble avoids them at all cost.  Since Ragatha is the child care attendant, that also means that Zooble inadvertently avoids Ragatha as well, causing tension between the two.

Zooble’s right hand can act as almost any tool, from a blow torch to a screwdriver, Zooble's hand can act as any tool needed as long at they have the correct bit inserted. 

Zooble’s torso is a radar system that tracks every member of the capsule.  Bubble will sometimes use Zooble as a way to find and track down the other members.  Zooble’s hate this fact but can’t do anything about it.

Gangle 

Gangle is half Hispanic American and half Japanese.  Before entering the capsule she juggled two different worlds.  One being her cultural side at home and the other being her American side to her friends.  She would do anything to avoid having these two worlds collide. 

Within the Capsule she is most comfortable with Caine.  She’s not entirely sure why but Caine has always treated her like a younger sister and she is nothing but grateful for that.  He really helped her try to find some joy in the capsule allowing her to find some peace with her new situation. 

Pomni and Gangle are roommates as they are the two main performers.  They share a dressing room 50/50.  Gangle's side is a shrine to her favorite characters, of which she had Caine draw for her from description, and is surprisingly immaculate.  While Pomni's side is minimalistic, with a drawer next to her bed full of crumpled up pieces of paper. Gangle always tries to encourage her to decorate.

Jax

Jax used to be a rich brat who got through life with daddy’s money, but after partying a bit too much his senior year of college he found himself stuck in the capsule. 

Jax likes to be seen as a kind of idiot, cool guy, even when a human. He hid his love of classical books and chose to perform poorly in school.  Barely scraping by enough for his father to buy his way into Yale. 

In the capsule Jax lives on the pixelated streets, “entertaining” the children too old to be cared for by Ragatha.  If his joystick were to ever break Jax would be unable to ever move again, he would be conscious but paralyzed.   

Off duty Jax loves to tinker in Zooble's workshop, making a variety of small trinkets to decorate his alleyway. 

List of who remembers most about their life (Top is most, Bottom is least)

This list excludes Caine since, as the leader, he has access to all his memories.  

Kinger 

Jax

Zooble

Gangle

Ragatha

Pomni

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

A Ghost Of A Man (PART EIGHT)

Summary: After Tommy locks the reader in his room, she desperately tries to escape to get to him, will she succeed? Will Tommy use the information she gave him to save his life?

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes, smut (18+ minors DNI)

You had been sitting on Tommy's bed for hours. You tried countless times to open the door, but with no energy left and no more tears left to cry, you had given up. Staring off into the small room hopelessly waiting for Tommy to return, your eyes focused in on the old empty fireplace. Pushing away the hair that was now stuck to your face, you stood up and walked over to the dusty furnace. Grazing your hand over the top of the black mantle, you looked down. There beside the fireplace was a metal stoking iron. Picking it up you glanced over to the old wooden door, without a second thought you lodged the poker inbetween the door frame and the door itself. With all your force you pushed the metal rod towards the wooden frame prying it open. With a loud creak the door flung open as you stumbled back onto the floor, dropping the heavy iron pole. Breathing heavily you stood up rushing to your clothes as you frantically dressed yourself. With no time to lose, you bolted out the bedroom door running faster than your feet could take you down the stairs and out the front door.

"Y/N!" John shouted to you as you pushed past him, running down the street. Had it already happened? Was Tommy already dead? The thought alone had you crying uncontrollably as you held your skirt up, freeing your legs from the fitted garment as you raced desperately to him. Turning the corner a car suddenly stopped in front of you.

"Y/N, what the bloody hell is going on?" John asked as he lent over the passenger seat, opening the door for you. Climbing in breathless you tried to speak.

" It's...it's Tommy...his in trouble. His offices...Sabini" you managed to stumble out, as panic filled your eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he answered looking at you in complete confusion.

" We don't have fucking time for this! Go!" you said as you slid over, putting your foot down on the accelerator.

" Jesus Christ, hang on woman!" He said as he pushed your foot out the way. Speeding down the road John observed you in the corner of his eye. Hair disheveled, mud splashed all over your once pristine clothes, panic in your eyes, tears sticking to your cheeks...Who was this crazy girl? He wondered as he looked at your frightened face.

"Faster!" You shouted to him as you pushed his knee down making him press harder on the acceleration. Eyes wide, John turned to you in surprise. Never had he met a woman so determined, so forward absolutely relentless, a match for Tommy if there ever was one, he concluded.

Turning the corner you recognised the building instantly. John hadn't even stopped the car before you opened the door, jumping out into the pouring rain.

" Bloody hell, Y/N wait!" He said as he pulled the handbrake, running after you. Approaching the building you heard a whistle blow as multiple gunshots filled the night sky, men quickly scrambling away from a small garage into the downpour . Following the noise you watched as countless police officers then ran into the same area.

"Tommy!" you screamed as you turned the corner, fear in your eyes as you saw him laying on the concrete covered in blood.

" Shit" John said as he followed behind you, shock on his face at the sight of his brother helpless, unprotected.

"Tommy it's me, I'm here, get an ambulance!" you shouted at the policemen behind you. Cradling his head in your lap, you looked down at his bloodied face as he grabbed onto your arm trying to pull himself closer to you until, with no energy left he let go.

"I suppose we should see if the bastards still alive " A man with a walking stick said as he approached you, his thick Irish accent filling your ears. Turning to face you he looked down giving you a smirk as he then walked away, the sound of his cane echoing through the rain.

A few hours later you was sitting beside Tommy in hospital, holding his hand as tears fell from your eyes. Gripping onto the metal frame at the end of his bed, John watched you as you focused your stare in on Tommys chest, watching it rise and fall, panicking whenever his breathing labored.

"What happend?" You heard a voice say as the doors flung opened. Turning around you realised it was the same lady from the betting shop, Tommy's older brother Arthur following behind her.

" Sabini and his men beat the shit out of him" John said as he chewed at his tooth pick. Wide eyed the older lady walked over to the opposite side of the bed, resting the back of her hand to Tommys forehead.

"Fuck!" Arthur said as he kicked over a chair, pushing his hands through his hair.

"Arthur, calm down" the dark haired woman told him as she looked down at her injured nephew." Why was you at his offices?" she asked looking over to John.

" Saw Y/N here bolting out the house, caught up with her, said Tommy was in trouble. Never seen a woman run as fast as she did " he answered nodding towards you. Nervously shifting in your seat, you made eyed contact with the mysterious lady across from you.

" You saved his life" she said quietly, reaching for you hand.

" Bet...she could, out...run you Arthur" you heard Tommy croak as he tried to sit up, squeezing your hand tightly.

" Not bloody likely" Arthur replied chuckling, as everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief. Opening his eyes, you were the first person he looked at, as he softly caressed your hand with his thumb.

" Hi" he said smiling to you.

"Hi" was all you could manage back as you brushed away your tears with your other hand.

" Come on, he's well looked after" the older lady said next to him smiling, nodding to you as she stood up. "Out, out!" She loudly said as she batted the two brothers out the room with her hand .

"What about Sabini?" Arthur asked as he was being pushed out the door.

"Out!" She demanded once more.

" Bloody hell Pol give us a sec..." You heard in the distance as the door shut.

" You're alive" you said smiling to him, relieved.

" Only because of you" he answered pointing to you.

" I didn't think you would listen"

"Oh I listened love, can't say you did the same" he replied chuckling. " I contacted Campbell after I left the house, he said he would intervene, which he did, but let me get the beating I imagine he thought I deserved beforehand" he added groaning in pain as he tried to turn his body to face you.

" How did you get out?" He asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

" Broke out" you said smiling. Scoffing Tommy shook his head.

" You owe me a new door miss Y/L/N" he chuckled. " I knew you'd get out some how, never give up, eh?"

"Never..." you said as you leaned in gently pressing your lips to his.

You stayed at the hospital with Tommy for the rest of the night, he had told you to go back to his to get some rest, but you insisted on staying. Knowing you wouldn't listen to him, and with no strength to argue, he reluctantly agreed. You slept peacefully next to him as you rested your head on the side of his pillow, and for the first time in a very long time so did Tommy.

The next day you woke up with a thumping heachache, yesterdays events had obviously taken it out you. After freshening yourself up in public bathroom, you walked into Tommy's room as the same man from last night passed you by. Tilting his hat to you, you watched him walk out the hospital entrance, his cane thudding on the tiled floors with each step.

" What's he doing here?" You asked Tommy as you walked towards him.

" Irish business" he said groaning as he stood up from the bed.

" Tommy! What the hell are you doing?" you asked as you rushed to him, holding him up.

" I'm a sitting duck here Y/N, Sabini's men could come back at any moment to finish me off " he answered as he reached for his coat and hat.

" Tommy you can't leave, you need to rest" you said looking at him, astonished by his resilience.

" You won't win this one love. He said smirking. " Come on we're gonna take a boat" he added as he held onto you, wincing in pain as you both walked out the hospital doors.

Four days you had been travelling to London by canal, all the time staying by Tommy's bedside on the small barge called the "January". You helped him in any way you could, and surprisingly he let you. Tommy, always ahead of everything was already planning his next course of action, spending most of his time writing down notes in a small black book when he should have been resting. Was that why you was going to London, another plan?

Walking down the wooden steps into the small bedroom, a cigarette resting between his lips, he watched you as you busied yourself cleaning up the old bandages you had just changed.

" Come 'ere" he said as he stubbed his cigarette out." You alright? You're pale" He asked holding you in front of him, worried by your fairer complexion.

" I'm fine, just been a lot these past few days" you answered, deliberately not mentioning the pain in your head.

" Finally a bit of excitement for you, eh?" He chuckled as you playfully hit his arm, the memory flooding your recollection when he teased you about your "mundane" life.

" Tomorrow I need to go see a man, alright?" He said ducking his head down to meet your eyes.

" I'll go with you"

" No Y/N, this time you stay here with Curly'

" But Tommy.."

"Hey" He said holding your chin with his thumb." You don't need to worry, ok?" he added winking at you as a cheeky smile formed on his lips.

"Ok" you nodded unable to stop your blushing cheeks.

Cupping your face with his hands Tommy leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your waiting mouth. Placing your arms around his neck you moved closer as you pressed your body against his, deepening the embrace as you quietly moaned into his lips. Whilst his hands softly caressed your waist, he dipped his tongue into your mouth, passionately brushing it against your own. Heat rising in your bodies, Tommy's hand traced up your spine tangling his hand into your hair, pulling you closer to his face.

"Y/N" he stopped breathless as he pressed his forehead against yours " We don't have to".

" I want to" you replied, opening your pleading eyes to meet his lustful stare as you held onto the front of his shirt. Crashing his lips back onto yours he walked you slowly to the edge of the small single bed. Hands all other eachothers body unable to hold back anymore, you both frantically began taking the others clothes off, desperate to feel eachothers body heat. Standing next to the bed holding the small of your back quietly panting from the intensity of the moment, Tommy tried to catch his breath as he looked down at your naked bodies, letting out a hiss, he pushed himself flush against your stomach, his arousal already dripping from his swollen tip. Feeling the now desperate need for him to be in you, you let yourself fall onto the bed as Tommy climbed on top of you, spreading your legs with his body as he settled down between your thighs. You let out a small moan as you finally felt him pressed against your waiting heat, desperate for more.

"Tommy please..." You whined as you pushed your hips up to his. With his fingers softly stroking up the inside of you thigh he grabbed hold of himself, slowly entering you whilst he let out a whimper of a moan, as your body's slid together as one.

" Fuck...Y/N" he groaned quietly into you ear, feeling your wet heat wrapped around him. He had been wanting, waiting for this moment longer than he wanted to admit, now finally at one with eachother he pressed his lips onto yours as he slowly rocked himself into you. Hands gripping onto his back, you held on as tight as you could, relishing in the feeling of him inside of you, adoring you, pleasuring you...making love to you. Panting into eachothers mouths, sweat gathered on your foreheads as you looked deep into eachothers eyes. Stopping Tommy cupped your cheek.

" Y/N...I love you" he said looking at you desperately waiting for your response.

" I...I love you too Tommy" you said as you crashed your lips back onto his. Tommy holding onto your body picked up the pace as he drove himself into you, harder, deeper, desperately craving the high your body would soon give him.

" Tommy I'm so close" you said moaning into his mouth as you clenched yourself around him. Groaning at the sudden increased tightness, he could barely hold on, grabbing your outer thigh with his sweaty hand he rocked into you faster as he buried his head into your neck.

"God Y/N.. I'm going to.." he breathed against your neck, the words barely leaving his lips as his whole body stiffened, scrunching his eyes as he released his hot white arousal into you with force.

"Tommy..." You whined as you grabbed onto his shoulders reaching your high as he continued to throb inside you.

Looming over you, sweaty and breathless Tommy placed a tender kiss to your lips, nudging your nose with his as he pulled out collapsing beside you exhausted. Turning to face you he watched as your bare chest moved up and down beads of sweat trailing down to your stomach.

" Hey" he said turning your chin to face him. "You ok?"

" Perfect" you said smiling to him, ignoring the ringing in your ears.

Wrapping his arm around you, he pulled you closer to him as he held your hand. Both content and in peace you rested your head on his chest as you listened to his beating heart, he was alive, he was safe and you was here with him, finally. As you tried to get comfortable, the ringing in your ears was getting louder, almost unbearable.

" You ok Y/N" Tommy said opening his eyes a content smile on his face as he stroked up and down your arm.

" Yeh I'm fine" you answered as the thumping in your head increased. You was just tired, you tried to reassure yourself as you adjusted your position in his arms. Suddenly you started to feel hot, your hands sweaty the ringing becoming deafening. In a panic you abruptly stood up from the bed, your hand pressed against your forehead.

"What's wrong ?" Tommy questioned, fear in his eyes as he watched your face go a deathly white. Turning to face him you held yourself up by a nearby chair as the room spun around you. Eyes glossed over you looked at him, mumbling in a shaky panicked voice,

"Tommy, I don't feel so good..."

NEXT PART

Tag list: @theshelbyclan @babayaga67 @sysymei @nataliewalker93 @cherryslyce @globetrotter28 @jyessaminereads @meowtastick @kathrinemelissa @casa-boiardi