#pi: cast away blues

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓤𝓖𝓐𝓡.       eren yeager.

‎𐦍 ₊˚♱ ෆ . . . 5.1k. fem!reader, country!eren + bluecollar!, housewife!reader, established relationship, domesticity, ovulation, oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱, kreaming + squirting, rough sex, nasty talk ofc, unprotected, daddy kink, spanking, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama ꒱, praise, hair pulling, check ins + aftercare, choking, breath + sensitivity + salvia play, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . a lil sum i thought of randomly. this is related to the dangerously in love couple. <3 visual. visual. visual. wish i had a link for the exact position i have in my head, so here’s a small example. hopefully i explained them well. :<

ivory sunflowers are imprinted along the frilly apron that hugs your body cutely, the coquette lace floral dress with a baby pink ribbon to create a corset style underneath. the warm scent of strawberry pie baking in the matcha green vintage oven blooms your heart. dusting flour over the counter to roll and mush at the dough you’ve created for the chicken pot pies, one of eren’s favorite meals. the sun was fairly hot today, your eyes fixating on the two beautiful tawny cows roaming your farm, their mouths chewing at grass as the wind blows serenely.

you told eren to keep a close eye on them while he was outside, watching your husband stand halfway down the driveway with sweat dripping from his brow as he tinkers with the engine of his polished black 1968 ford f100. he’s been having troubles with it this past week, and constantly handling it became tedious. he expressed his anger a few times now, this truck being his first big purchase for himself and he was having issues only a year later.

his light blue levi jeans and classic wife-beater was streaked with grease, clinging to his muscular thighs as he crouches low, peering intently at the mechanical innards. every so often, he wipes his hands on a rag before reaching for another tool, his calloused fingers moving with practiced ease. the sun casts a glow on the definition of his biceps as he lifts and maneuvers heavy parts. angelic brown strands held back by a black cap turned backwards.

you’ve been subconsciously humming along to the 70s and 80s rock tunes he has stationed on the radio. don’t dream it’s over currently on play. meanwhile, inside the cozy farmhouse kitchen, with the tantalizing aroma of food and your chocolate brown maltipoo who eren named honeybelle sleeps on her bed by the window — although this moment was romantic and peaceful to view, you weren’t too happy of a woman.

this was one of the few days he was off from work, and he’s been outside fixing his car since your eyes opened to an empty bedside. it’s nearing nighttime, and you’d spent half your day to your lonesome. shaving your body, doing your skincare routine and deep conditioning your handful of a curly head that’s currently pinned up away from your soft features. it’s felt like such a long time since the two of you enjoyed a full day together, let alone make love. your ovulation period not making this any easier on you, feeling like a wild animal in desperate heat. the only time you really interacted today was when you brought out a fat honey-turkey club sandwich, knowing he tends to forget to eat sometimes.

brushing the crust you created for the pot pie after layering them in crisscross patterns with butter, your mind wanders off, daydreaming as the sun begins to set and the sky blooms into color palettes of saffron and coral. the air outside turns warmer, and you study your husband once more, watching the ball in his throat shift as he chugs on a pitcher of water, droplets hitting his chest. his briefs are peaking out from his jeans, feet in his black timberlands per usual. his arms have veins streaming from the middle of his forearm to his big, dirty hands. silver wedding band on his right.

those slanted viridescent eyes of his catch your stare as he glares at you over the pitcher, swallowing and giving you a movie star smile with pearly whites. you smile faintly, returning the gesture. your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, shifting in your spot as you realize you’re biting your lips and almost riding the air. your blood is thrumming throughout your body, needing him to come inside right now.

the chicken pot pies are done in thirty minutes, each crust perfectly golden brown. and within that time, he’s still outside messing with his truck. you wanted to be understanding that he needed his truck in order to head to work tomorrow to further provide for you and the home as he does, but you can’t help that feeling of abandonment in your chest. you really didn’t want to cause an argument, but this was becoming irritating.

removing your apron, you slip on your outside shoes to head towards the garage where he resides, being faced with his broad back and gruff noises of agitation.

“baby.”

“yes, sweetie,” he replies quickly, groaning as he twists the wrench.

“dinner’s done. you’ve been out here all day. please come inside,” you pout, going to wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek on the column of his back.

eren removes his cap, scratching at his head before smoothing his hair back and placing it on again. “mhm, baby, i know. gimme like ‘nother hour, i just gotta connect the fuckin’ valve springs to the camshaft.“

“i thought it was just overheated?”

“yeah it was, the water pump wasn’t sending coolant through. the crankshaft wasn’t movin’, ‘n the radiator cap had too much pressure so the spring in the cap compressed ‘n flew over in the coolant reservoir. glad i ran to the auto shop beforehand.”

he’s saying a lot of shit you don’t understand if being frank. sighing, you let go of him, knowing he was real intricate with his truck so he definitely wasn’t going to be done in an hour. he stops what he’s doing to turn and face you, observing your expression.

“what i say about that, mama. huh?” eren sighs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “don’t be givin’ me that face. i’m tryin’ my best right now. swear ima be in, i’ll make it forty-five instead.”

“that’s not the point,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “fuck the dinner, i want you to be with me. you’ve been out here since eleven in the morning. not once have you come inside the house ‘n checked on me.”

his jaw clenches, your tone expected but not what he wanted to hear right now. “i ain’t tryna argue with you.”

“then don’t, help yourself to dinner.”

“꒰♡꒱.”

turning with clear attitude, you stroll back into the house, honeybelle barking softly as she follows you around. you feed someone in the house, pouring kibble into her beige bowl before patting her head and watching her scruff down the food. by this point you’d lost your appetite, huffing and puffing in your kitchen as you set the food back into the oven and made your way up the staircase.

to cool yourself down, you decide to run yourself a bath. twisting the gold faucet to fill the clawfoot tub with hot water, crouching on your knees to swish the water around to help form the bubbles. it was fully dark outside now, lighting aromatherapy candles and opening the double vintage windows that overlooked the farm you and eren spent years creating. stars in the sky and clouds camouflaging. undressing yourself, you grab a novel off of the shelf and submerge yourself into the tub, closing your eyes in bliss and leaning your head back against the spa pillow that elevates your neck.

eren manages to take approximately thirty minutes to finish up his project, starting up the truck and test driving it before he sighs in relief to see she’s back in shape. after parking it back into the garage, whistling at the cows to get them to follow him back into the barn after much needed playtime, he’s finally stepping into the house. honeybelle skips towards eren, sniffing at his ankle and wagging her tail. eren smiles, patting the top of her head.

“where’s your mommy, girl. huh?” he coed, scratching under her chin.

his eyes scope the dining area, finding the table set up just for the two with candles that were half burnt, blown out. the homemade sweet tea in a pitcher leaking with condensation, ice cubes melted. the pie you baked was set into a glass cake stand, and the pot pies are settled into the oven under the light. it was definitely clear you were upset with him, groaning and putting a hand on his head. he truly didn’t mean to take away this day from you, aware of how much you’ve missed him. hours at work are longer since the power plants needed more tending to from low employment.

just last week he had to go out of town and leave you for an entire three days to travel to another refinery. in that time you’d tend to your farm while also helping eren’s father with his. you knew what this lifestyle would mean for your relationship. things around the house including you will be secure, but having him come home exhausted to the point where you rarely spend as much time as you’d like with him was difficult. at most he had two days off a week, but a lot of times they’d call him in because someone else didn’t show up.

you’ve suggested countless of times that he should switch locations, but this one provided better benefits and he was close to a promotion that would also guarantee him extra off time. ‘it just takes time, baby.’ he’d constantly tell you. and you’re not one of those wives that complain about every single thing to make her husbands life harder, the two of you rarely even argue, but you do have your moments where you’re too stubborn.

the heavy thud of his boots sounds in the home as he heads up the stairs, softly calling your name to see where you reside. with his hand on his toned stomach under his shirt, he finds you rested in the tub, head turned away as you sleep comfortably. his tall frame leans against the doorframe, watching you with a pout on his face. you look angelic, cloud white bubbles flowing around your body, the jets in the tub keeping them in tact, slowly dissolving. the tankless water heater he installed a while back kept the water warm, making you comfortable enough to drift off to light slumber.

he makes his way closer to you, crouching before you to brush the tendrils of curls dangling in your face. your breath is light, lashes feathering against your cheekbones as he caresses your jaw with his thumb. he bends to pull the plug and drain the tub, not fond of you sleeping in water. you didn’t have it too high up, but people drown in tubs a lot more than you think.

you hum gently, eyes opening to see him looming over you, studying him in silence. sitting on his behind, he grabs a pedicure knife to clean under his nails, tattooed arm dangling into the tub and under the running faucet to remove the impurities.

“don’t like you fallin’ asleep in the tub, sweetie. you could drown. this isn’t your first time doin’ that,” his brows deepen, grabbing a nail brush and applying some of your cashmere and goat milk soap you currently smelt of with to scrub at his manicured fingernails.

you bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms over your knees. “sorry.”

eren scans your face, eyeing the beauty of your entirety. perfectly white painted toes and matching nails, dark, big curls framing your face, slowly falling from the claw clip on the back of your head. the fullness of your lips with the cupids bow curve of them. soft skin, pretty eyes . . you were all his. such a beautiful wife. so when you’re mad at him, it makes him feel like shit. the way you look at him is different as well. your eyes are dead almost, a scolding glare in them.

“this day was supposed to be for us, i know,” he breaks the silence. “old shit was being difficult, ‘n you know i gotta drive far, sweetie. gettin’ ‘n a crash isn’t somethin’ you’d want happenin’ to me, right baby?”

the frown on your face serves how you feel about that. “i’d lose my mind if something bad happened to you.”

“ ‘n i’m not tryna guilt trip you or anything like that. i understand how you feel. i miss you just as much. i think about you all fuckin’ day at work. but, as time passes, eventually i’ll be in a better position ‘n you can have me with you whenever you want. jus’ lemme handle shit, okay?”

his strong hands go to caress your ankle, the silver jewelry shining there, lifting your foot to kiss at the shape of it, eyes low and focusing on you, unable to help the heat that swims within your hips and core.

“i really just needed you so bad today,” the sound of your throat clamping up causes him to go alert. you bow your head, wanting to hide your face as the tears threaten to spill. “it’s so stupid. i spent all that time pampering myself and cooking for us — i just hated being alone, even if you were still here.”

“c’mon, baby. why you cryin’ ? none of that. i’m sorry, truly,” he’s rising up on his knees, kissing at yours.

“missed you touching me,” you whimper, sniffling and pouting. “missed your kisses. i miss you.”

ah, so that’s what it is. he doesn’t make any effort to hide the smirk on his face, scoffing lowly while dropping his head. you can be such a brat when you’re horny, and given it’s been about two weeks since he’s last fucked you, he now gets why you begged for him to be with you today. quality time was still needed, but he can tell by the way your body tenses and your lips part to release tiny gasps while he strokes the pads of his fingers across your hips . . that you’re ovulating.

“that’s all you needin’, mama? some touches?”

salvia trails down your throat as you swallow, thighs squeezing together out of reflex, throbbing from those damned eyes of his, nodding with hooded lids. “mm hmm. so bad.”

“mm, yeah?”

the butterflies in your stomach swarm as he brings his face closer to yours, his touches on your skin causes you to grind when his mouth suddenly connected with your throat, your jaw widening as you gasp and toss your head back, his mouth sloppily kissing at the right side of your body. lips moving from your collarbone, each sound coming from him emphasized as he sucks at your chest, pulling your areola into his mouth and trailing his tongue down the side of your stomach, down to your hip and the crease between your thigh and waist. every kiss and lick is rough, his groans exaggerated as you moan from every touch.

“ooo, fuck. oh my god,” your hips can’t stop moving, his tongue gliding back up before his fingers indent into your cheeks, turning your face to his so he could kiss you roughly, sliding his tongue on yours.

eren doesn’t kiss you for long, detaching your lips with a lewd slick, both of your lips pouty before he’s arching over the tub and guiding his mouth along the left side of your body, repeating his motion of sucking and licking you. your eyes gloss back, spreading your thighs further apart when he gets closer to your pussy, swallowing your bottom lip inward.

he cocks his head back to lewdly spit over your clit, the string of saliva and the vein on the side of his thick neck making your face heat up. your mouth hangs open as he takes his fingers and slowly spreads it over, grumbling, "want me all over you," before rubbing your clit in smooth circles, groaning at the weak noises you made.

you were so needy, every touch he gives you consuming, a lust and desire looming over you that only he could give you. your hips twitch and hike midair, and your positive you've made your lip bleed by how hard you bit into it, doe eyes hazily watching his face. brows furrowed as he tentatively paced his fingers, repositioning himself so he could tug you down flat in the tub, your knees pressed to your chest as he clutches onto the sides of the tub.

“hold ‘em there, be good.”

a squeal envelops eren’s ears once he cranes his neck and drops his mouth over the puffy nub, enclosing his lips to kiss at your folds. your pussy is soaked, dripping between your ass cheeks, inner thighs twitching while he licks you up. the cap on his head continues to hold his hair back, his biceps flexing from every noise you make, trying to keep his composure. he wanted to make you feel real good, you deserve it, and he’s missed you.

“b—babyyy,” a mix between a groan and a whimper flows from you, keeping your legs open and squeezing at your chest hard, slowly rocking your pussy on his face, voice shuddering from the feel of his light stubble on your soft skin.

eren spanks the back of your thigh, dragging his mouth to soothe the feel after with an open mouth followed with more of his tongue. he loved tasting you, clearly. melting on the velvet of his tongue like sugar. his chin is doused by your slickness as he buried his face deep, circling your clit in languid strokes, lower lip dropping to bring it back into his mouth. you’re never embarrassed by how loud you get, knowing you’ll be reprimanded if you do keep silent. so a pathetic, drawn out whine fills the space when he removes his mouth.

“feed it to me,” eren hisses, spanking the back of your thigh again, french kissing either side of your ass. the hungry aggression through his eyes tell you to listen, his body almost entirely inside of the tub to make sure he’s giving you what you need the right way. “c’mon, girl.”

the gruffness in his tone makes you squirm, like he’s just as pent up as you. easing your hips up, you hold your legs fully up so they’re past your ears, gripping on his arm for balance as you dip your hips so your pussy connects with his face, your face curling up as he spits and slurps, your body trembling.

“mmmahh,” you weakly moan, chest heaving and breath stuttering, his tongue occasionally dipping into your hole to taste that sweeter place, eren grunting and bouncing his head along with your movements, teeth every now and then biting at your inner thighs. “g-g’na—squirt, f-fuck, nnnngh.”

eren acts on instinct, reaching to grab the back of your neck as your body arches forward to hold you so you won’t hurt yourself, swallowing at your achy bud as you coat his throat in your juices, humming and savoring every ounce. the static of your legs as you sing out your moans makes his dick harder, straining in the confinements of his jeans.

he pulls away, your body flat within the tub as he stands and undoes the leather belt on his waist, ears perking up from the sound of his zipper and then awaits the weighty girth of his dick. blush pink tip and tan with a protruding vein trailing up the underside. you find energy to lift yourself up, clinging to the side of the tub like a mermaid on rocks. reaching for the back of his leg to pull him closer, eren’s brows lowered at the sight of your eyes setting into seductiveness.

your mouth opens instinctively, giving him those big brown irises that has his dick jump in your face. eren’s waist spasm backwards, fingers grasping the coils of your hair to stop you. “no, no. not now. y’know you’ll make me cum too quick.”

“y’know you can’t fuck me till i taste it,” you pout, evidently upset, keeping your lips parted as a need to have it. “just a taste, daddy. i want it.”

“fuckin’ hell,” eren clenches his jaw, pupils dilating, lowering his jeans and boxers to his thighs to inch his dick to your lips. “yeah, jus’ a lil taste, baby. gimme those pretty lips.”

eren moans when you waste no time intaking half of his dick, tongue licking at the underside and slurping him up, bobbing your head and letting him hit the back of your throat in nasty squelches. his head falls back then to the side as he squeezes his eyes shut, attractive neck showcasing, grunting and slowly thrusting into your throat.

“f-fuck, ꒰♡꒱. love this sweet fuckin’ mouth of yours. show me that throat, baby,” two hands go to clutch your neck, eren pulling his dick out, salvia dribbling down your bottom lip. you widen your mouth, angling your face up so he can see your tongue in it’s entirety, the tight ring in the hollow of your esophagus calling him.

“good girl, take this shit deep,” he whispers painfully, teeth clamped together in a hiss as he lays the heaviness of his dick on your flat tongue, pushing in till his pretty, leaky tip connects with the back of your throat, constricting around him. “a-ahh, yeahh.”

you let him use you as long as he anticipates, eyes drooping low, trying to focus on eye contact with your nose mushed to his happy trail, the scent of the day and his cologne seeped into his skin. you heave when he pulls back entirely, whining and riding the air. he’s so damn masculine it makes you so feminine and submissive.

“one more time, hold it,” bending his back slightly, he slides back into your mouth, gently holding your neck in place to thrust a few times more, deep melodies of grunts and hisses pouring as he furrows his brows and studies how you made his dick wet and shiny, balls slapping against your chin.

with your mouth stretched open, you take him in as deep as he likes, closing your eyes to shut off your brain so you don’t choke. eren holds you there, huffing out ‘ooh fuckin’ god, baby.’ before smoothing his hand on the side of your face after he withdraws his hips to let you breathe, his own chest knocking from holding his breath.

“love you,” eren reminds you as he peppers kisses all over your face and you smile, a continuous gesture he’d do every time to make you aware, especially when he’s too rough.

the trance you have on his dick is sickening, following it as he maneuvered around the bathroom, retrieving a towel he spread on the lower part of the tub before entering, not bothering to take off his boots. you giggle as he hovers above you, biting at your nail and shifting your body beneath him so he could slot in. the weight of his cock lays on your stomach, eren grinding to rub along your folds, coaxing your hidden clit to show. eren steadies his figure, knuckles turning white from him grasping either side of the tub and holding himself up by indenting his feet into the towel.

“i fuckin’ need you,” eren growls, biting at your neck before licking and shifting his hips to nudge the tip against your opening, easily sliding in slow.

the warmth fills your face again, abdomen pinching from pain and pleasure, pawing at his slightly dirty wifebeater and hiking it further up his chest you were desperate to touch. the silver chain around his neck sways in your face, squinting your eyes and dropping your jaw when he begins pounding into you with the need he expressed. the sluice of your pussy is loud, his balls slapping against the rounds of your ass while your thighs hit his pelvis.

“this what you needed, right? what you been whinin’ for?” eren grunts in your face, taking your lips in his for passionate kiss, moaning together.

“y-yesss, mmmph,” the pleasure swarming in your stomach feels foreign, whimpering from every stroke he gives you, clawing at his sides. it felt so fucking good, your eyes scrolling and your breath inordinate along with his. “dick feel so good, ‘ren.”

“mhm hmm,” his face curls up, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your cheek and behind your ear, his touches making your body burn. “i hear it, she’s creamy as fuck.”

and it was, peering down between where you two connect to see him covered in you, the sticky slaps making his eyes lose focus, rutting into you harder. so hard it makes you scream, that sweet spot being pressured and your tummy flutters.

“e—ren,” you can barely see him, whines and whimpers being your only way of communication. spreading yourself wider by holding yourself open with both hands, arching your chest into his face where he sloppily eats at your brown skin again.

“talk.”

“annngh,” your lips turn into a pout, face completely gone. every word and sound coming out brokenly. “f-feelin’ something. s’so fuckin’ deep in me. you fuck me so good. w’na cum on it.”

“mhm, cum on it. cum on your dick baby, make it creamier.”

it’s quiet at first when you cum, legs shaking almost violently as eren lets go of the tub and lays his entire weight onto you, tucking you fully underneath to angle his hips and dig his dick in deeper, rough and steady pivots making you reach for his hair to tug, knocking off his hat. his fingers grip your cheeks, big hand almost covering your whole face as he brings his forehead to yours, growling rough.

“yess. give. it. to. me. lemme hear it.”

“g-god, y-yessss, fuck. right there, right there. please don’t fuckin’ stop . . oh my god.”

a long, exasperated groan disperses, vibrating in your chest and in his ears, hiccups and gasps following as you clench and suck him tighter. he feels the throb from your orgasm, dick twitching inside of you, rolling his waist and keeping you close to let you ride it out and feel it longer.

“take your time, there we go. feel it all.”

it pulsates harder from hearing him, grasping his wrist and releasing what’s been caged within you; a cry. “oh . . my . . g-god. eren!”

it’s not that you’re hurt, it’s that you’re experiencing too much at once. overwhelming pleasure, your husband’s embrace, the way he speaks to you, fucks you, the love you have for him, how he loves you, and even the annoying rise of hormones from your ovulation. a cry bolts from you, body convulsing and your voice dying out, grinding mindlessly on his dick and kissing his lush lips.

“that’s it, it’s okay.”

eren’s kissing all over your face, soothing you and giving you time before he holds you close to his chest and turns himself around so he’s leaning up, resting his head back on the spa pillow and twisting you so your back is to his chest. he balances your weight, taking the initiative to sling your right arm over his shoulder, eren smoothing his palms up the back of your thighs before locking your knees to your chest with his forearms.

“you good, baby?” eren whispers, smooching your cheek again.

chewing at your lips, you nod. “uh huh.”

eren moans as your fingers thread through the brown coils of his hair, tugging and planting a kiss on the shell of his ear, jumping slightly from the way he patted your pussy with his dick, sinking back in deliciously slow. with your lips parting in sync, eren flattens his feet to fuck up inside of you, your walls spasming from how good it feels and the sensitivity.

collecting the tresses of his messy hair, you fist it harder which makes him fuck you harder. your tits bouncing on your chest you fondle at.

“watch us,” he says, placing both of his hands on either side of your head to force your head down to stare at how he fucked you, keeping your legs locked with his arms.

the sloppy collision of your stickiness coating his cock that plunges into you roughly, his heavy hits making the both of you whimper. eren begins to grow so weak from being in your pussy and the hard labor he’d done today, and you can tell by the slowness in his pace after a few minutes. he’s throbbing hard, knowing he’s close to cumming, wanting to making him feel it too. he also had to get up early and still eat dinner, so did you.

“ ‘ren,” slithering your head from his grasp, you guide them to sit at your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as you tug at his hair again and nibble at your bottom lip.

moving your body further up, you arch your chest forward and implant your feet flat to the surface, snapping your ass down to fuck him instead. eren tightens his hold on you, jaw slacking and squeezing his eyes shut while placing his forehead on your shoulder. you gasp, bouncing on him and constantly groping at your chest, skin clapping louder.

“you g’na cum in me, baby?” you speak with a whiny tone, taunting him.

“y-yeah, baby. please. bounce on that shit harder,” eren sucks at your side again, retracting his hand to land a harsh spank under your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “fuck, you do it so good, ꒰♡꒱. do it so good.”

“mmmm,” you smile drunkenly. “this daddy’s pussy, right?”

eren whines, and you love when he gets this way, so horny he lets his guard down. makes sounds he wouldn’t usually make. his tongue on you again causes your hips to stutter, that pressure building back up, a shaky moan pressing out the harder you fuck yourself on him.

“it’s daddy’s pussy. oooh, shit baby. don’t stop, i’m g’na bust all in your p—ussy.”

“all in my pussy?” harder, faster, you pounce your ass down, knees hiking and reconnecting as you drop down completely, feeling your orgasm near and riding him by scooting your ass on him.

“all . . in it— fuck. good girl.”

weakness fills your bones, loosing your balance completely, eren bellowing out curses and grunts as he locks his hand around your neck to pull your back to him again, swiveling his hips with yours while you both ride out the wave. heaving on the side of your face after he lays his cheek on yours, warm cum leaking into you while you gush all over him in exchange.

eren softly kisses at your shoulder, embracing you in his hold and moaning from your walls clenching on him. you can’t even find the energy to speak, enduring the comforting silence and weak breathing. rubbing your arms and molding his face with yours, skin to skin a necessity for him. rocking you side by side, smiling into his forearm he used to lock against your neck, inhaling the coconut fragrance in your hair.

“we need a shower, and that chicken pie i worked hard to make for you.”

“and that strawberry pie,” eren chuckles within the crook of your neck. “i’ll eat it all just for you.”

“you better.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[muwapsturniolo]

Brutus 2 🦇 Chris sturniolo

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...." PT 1

NSFW AHEAD!!! mentions of murder, stabbing, assault (not detailed!!!), alcohol, blowjobs/face fucking, facials, cum eating, rough sex, biting, cream pies, choking, switch! Chris, Matt is a perv

The police still couldn’t figure out what happened on the final night of Halloween horror nights. It’s been a month and the gruesome murders were still unsolved and left everyone scratching their head. The police took the right measures, they taped off the crime scene for weeks on end, rewatched the CCTV footage, and questioned the crew and attendees.

But they came up empty-handed.

They couldn’t figure out who committed the crime or why they did it.

But she knew.

When she was questioned, the police showing up at her door with her discarded tweed purse, she lied and said she didn’t see anything. Claimed she barely remembers that night due to the alcohol she consumed on the premises.

She knew it was wrong to lie to authority, to take away the possibility of a grieving family to finally have peace and to know the killer is behind bars. She knew if anyone found out what she did they would call her insane and probably throw her six feet under a jail - She didn’t want that.

She was lying to cover her own ass and the nameless killers, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Especially if it meant they would continue watching her.

It was only a couple of days after that night when she felt as if she was being watched. She had just gotten out of the shower and walked into her bedroom to put on her pajamas when she noticed the clothes were on the floor.

That isn't where she left them.

She vividly remembered placing them neatly at the foot of her bed, folded and ready to throw on. Now they were thrown onto the floor in a mess, and her panties were missing.

Fear should have settled into her body, but instead, she proceeded to get dressed right in front of the open window.

With that being said, she went about her life as if nothing happened, as if she wasn't being stalked by two psychopaths.

Her routine never changed.

Weeks had gone by, minutes, hours - two months to be exact. She had given up the little bit of hope that those two would make an appearance. Honestly, she had forgotten about them until a Christmas party had gone wrong.

Her friends had forced her to attend, shoving her into a powder blue satin dress and a pair of silver heels to match. soon, she was at the party, standing in the corner with a frown on her face.

She wasn't having a good time. Her friends had ditched her as soon as they made it to the club, this guy who was completely wasted wouldn't leave her alone, and she was hot.

Deciding that she was over it and needed some air, she found her friends and told them she was leaving. She walked away, ignoring their drunken protests, and pulled out her phone, attempting to order an Uber.

It seemed like she didn't have any luck, the cellular device having no type of signal. With a huff she begins walking down the street, not noticing the two people following her.

"This is so stupid! This is the last time I let them drag me to a dumb party an-" A small scream escapes her mouth as she's pushed into an alley, her phone falling from her hands. Her body collides with a trash can, preventing her from falling into the muddy puddles of water from the melted snow.

She's soon shoved against the wall, the streetlamps casting a shadow over her attacker's face. She didn't need lights to know who the person was, the rancid smell of alcohol was enough.

It was the same man from the party, he had followed her out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get off of me!" She shouts in annoyance, trying to push him off. It was odd, the way she was completely sober and had better coordination should have given her the strength to push him away. But to no avail, he proceeded to force himself upon her, slurring his words in the process.

Just as his hand goes up her dress, he's yanked away and tackled to the ground, her savior immediately throwing punches.

She stays frozen against the wall, too shocked to even register what's happening.

A glimmer of light snaps her back into reality.

She watches as her savior raises his arm, a knife in hand.

She watches as the blade is plunged into her attacker's chest, his screams slowly drowning out as he chokes on his own blood. She watches her savior continuously bring the knife down, not stopping until he's satisfied.

His actions begin to slow, his breathing heavy as he slumps back, staring at the lifeless body underneath him.

She takes a hesitant step forward, freezing when her savior turns to her.

She already knew, but the mask adorning his face confirmed it.

Her savior was the same man from that night, the same masked man who was ready to kill her before being scared away by his partner in crime.

His wild and deranged eyes soften as they connect with hers, his breathing calming down.

They say nothing, the only sound being heard is the flurries of snow rushing past them.

She slowly approaches, holding her hand out before speaking softly, "Come on, let's go."

He looks down at her hand before standing up, towering over her. He points towards her discarded phone, his silence-speaking words. She nods and rushes over to her phone, bending down to grab it. She huffs seeing the cracked screen, cursing out the dead man in her head. Just as she begins to wipe the phone off, she hears a loud bang.

She whips around and sees both the masked savior and the dead body gone, her brows slowly creasing.

Where did they go? How did they disappear so quick?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hand landing on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise and turns around to see the masked savior in front of her.

"Jesus Christ, " she covers her chest as her heart begins to beat quickly. She swears she heard him snicker softly, but before she could question him, he wrapped his hand around her arm and dragged her down the street.

In reality, she knows she should be scared and questioning him, but she stays silent, allowing him to guide her to wherever they are going. They soon arrive in front of a beat-up pickup truck, parts of the car rusting as snow sits in the bed.

He opens the passenger door and looks at her expectantly. She peers inside the truck, noticing the mess inside. The cans of Pepsi discarded on the floor, the wrappers from candy, the smell of cigarettes, and most importantly,

The small bloodstains on the seats.

She looks back at him, noticing the soft look in his eyes.

"You want me to get in?"

He nods, still refusing to speak.

"Are you taking me home?"

He nods once more.

"Do you know where I live?"

He tenses, the grip he has on her arm tightening. It's almost as if he's scared, scared of being caught for stalking. Scared she's going to scream, run away, reject him.

She snickers softly seeing the fear in his eyes, it's a bit ironic.

She says nothing, simply climbing into the truck and buckling herself in.

"Come on, I miss my bed."

With that, he closes the door and climbs into the car himself, quickly starting the engine and driving off. She watches silently as he drives down familiar streets, having driven down them herself whenever she's on her way home.

The car ride was filled with silence, it wasn't tense if anything, it was calming, the both of them relaxed.

They soon arrive and he kills the engine, staring straight ahead out the window. She turns to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face behind the mask.

"Thank you for helping me," she says softly. He gives a curt nod, his hands still placed on the wheel.

"Did you want to come in?" His head whips to her, his eyes holding confusion. She smirks, enjoying the hesitancy and confusion in his eyes.

" Come on, you've been inside anyway. Might as well come in with an invitation this time."

He huffs behind the mask but follows her actions in unbuckling the seat belt and climbing out of the car.

They walk inside the house, the girl kicking off the annoying heels and throwing her keys in the bowl on the stand. She walks to her bedroom, smiling to herself as she hears his sluggish footsteps behind her. She throws herself onto her bed, flipping onto her back and propping herself up with her elbows.

She looks him up and down curiously, attempting to familiarize herself with him again.

"How come you wear a mask?"

Like always, he says nothing, refusing to even glance in her direction. She pushes herself off the bed and approaches him, cornering him. No words are spoken between the two as she presses herself against him, his breathing speeding up. With a slow and steady hand, she trails it up his arm, her fingers soon fanning out against his chest.

She goes to touch the edge of the mask, but she's stopped by his hand firmly grasping her wrist.

He looks scared.

Despite the tight grip he has on her, she continues with her actions. Her fingers grip the edge of the mask, slowly pulling it off of his face.

He quickly turns his head, his hair falling in front of his face. She gently turns him back towards her, their eyes connecting as her fingers dance across the scar on his cheek.

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...."

A shocked expression makes its way onto her face. He spoke, he finally spoke, and the first thing he decided to say was a number.

"W-what?" She questions in confusion, raking her brain for what the number could mean.

"Th-the man....I sta-stabbed him one hun-dred and f-fifteen times."

She's shocked by the confession.

She didn't know a lot about murder, only having seen it and heard about it in movies and TV shows, but she knew it took a lot of energy and anger to stab someone that amount of times - He did it for her.

It was sick, it was twisted, and yet, it attracted her.

"Let me thank you," she mumbles, her hand leaving his face and trailing down his chest, soon finding its place over his crotch. She begins to palm him, watching his breathing grow harsh, their eyes still connected. A small whimper leaves his mouth, and she breaks out into a grin - his moans were so pretty, so soft,

Submissive.

She sinks to her knees, both of her hands working at his belt, soon throwing it to the floor. Her mouth waters as she pulls his pants down, his cock slapping his abdomen.

It was pretty, just like him.

It was long and thick, and had a bright red tip that matched his chapped lips. There was a vein running up the side that she knew would feel euphoric when sliding against her spongy walls.

He bucks his hips softly as she wraps her hand around his shaft, pulling it towards her mouth. She opens her mouth and allows a wad of spit to trickle out, landing directly on his tip. Her thumb swipes over the tip as she moves the spit around, starting to jerk him off.

His moans and whimpers are kitten-like, despite his horrific and brutal demeanor, he was like putty in her hands.

She enjoys the way his body relaxes against the door, his head thrown back and his mouth open as he pants softly. She kitten licks his tip before taking him fully in her mouth. His rough and calloused hands fly to her head, grabbing the strands of hair and forcing her to take him deeper.

She gags around him, tears forming in her eyes as she opens her mouth wider, but she keeps going. She bobs her head up and down, making sure to hum and fondle his balls in the process.

His moans and groans grow louder, and his actions become more dominant. It was like a switch was flipped in his head, his hips starting to slam against her face.

He shows no mercy as he fucks her face, his dick reaching so far down her throat and giving her no chance to breathe. Her actions of gratitude had quickly become sloppy, the mixture of spit and precum coating her chin and falling down to her chest.

There were even bubbles of the mixture forming, popping every time her nose hit his happy trail.

She manages to look up at him, her mascara tears and glossy eyes making her look so damaged yet innocent - It drives him over the edge.

He quickly pulls out of her mouth and releases all over her face, enjoying the way she gasps in shock.

It's like his body is on autopilot, nothing but excitement and adrenaline controlling his actions. His hand wraps around her throat, lifting her to her feet with ease. Their lips instantly mesh together, swapping spit as they hastily make out. She moans into the kiss as he tightens his grip on her throat, the wetness in her panties only growing. She could feel the sticky fluid in between her folds every time she clenched her thighs - She was aching for him to touch her.

He suddenly pulls away from the kiss and begins to lick his own semen off of her face, his eyes rolling back. She moaned at his erotic actions, the way his soft and spongy muscle glided over her cheek. She could smell the faint mixture of cigarettes on his breath, but she found herself not caring.

Suddenly, she's pushed away from him, her body colliding with the mattress. It all happens so quick, the way her powder blue dress is ripped into pieces, her soaked panties following.

He was like a rabid, feral dog, ready to take what he wanted and she was just as excited.

Her jaw drops and her back arches as he shoves his length inside of her, reaching to the deepest hilt. Much like his partner in crime, he stretched her out perfectly, her aching walls sucking him in and not letting him go. The bedframe bangs against the wall with each ferocious thrust, items falling off her nightstand due to the shaking.

He shoves his face into the crevice of her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin. He proceeds with his actions, the marking of his teeth covering her whole chest along with her breasts - Blood is drawn in certain areas.

It's an overwhelming amount of pleasure, so overwhelming that she can't even keep her eyes open nor hold him. Her arms lay flat by her head, her eyes clenched shut as her mouth remains open.

Her eyes fly open when her head whips to the side, the same hand that slapped her wrapping around her throat, squeezing tightly.

He's heaving like a dog, his pants mixed with groans, making him sound like a beast.

She weakly grabbed at his wrist, trying to ease the pressure on her throat, but it was no use. She had become lightheaded from the pleasure and lack of air.

She was close to passing out, but she was also close to reaching her orgasm, it was just a matter of which one she would experience first.

"You're going to kill her, ease up on the choking."

Her blurry eyes dart to the bedroom door, a choked gurgle escaping her mouth when she sees him.

He was here, the one with the painted face. Except, his face wasn't painted, and he was watching her be fucked by his partner.

She gasped for air when he released her throat, her eyes still trained on the other one. She watches as he takes a seat at her vanity, leaning back on the chair and manspreading.

"Don't look at me, look at him. He's the one fucking you."

She does as told, her eyes connecting with the man on top of her. He had the same look in his eyes from that night when he chased after the girl trying to run away.

"Tell him how good he's making you feel, he loves the praise,"

"S-so good- Nghh. Fuck- " She could barely speak a full sentence, her speech slurred.

"That's all you can do? Come on dollface, he killed someone for you! Show him how grateful you are! He finally gets to feel you after watching me fuck you, give him the experience he deserves."

Her mind is reeling, incoherent babbles of praise falling from her lips. The more she praises him, the harder his thrust become, her sobs of pleasure getting louder.

It's not long before she felt that familiar coil in her stomach forming, ready to burst at any second - and all it took was one final thrust from the man on top of her to push her over the edge.

Her whole body shakes violently, her eyes rolling back as she feels the static rush through her body. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry as she came down from her high.

She lays there shaking, her fingers twitching as she pants harshly. She was worn out, fucked, and tired.

Suddenly, he stands up from the vanity and slams his hand down on Chris's back, "Look at her....and I thought I wore her out." They both look down at her, trying to figure out what to do next.

Matt suddenly bends down and moves her hair out of her face, grabbing her chin softly.

"Wake up doll, your night has just started."

[venus-haze]

Your Name in Lights - Chapter 1 (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for your big break, co-starring in one of Soldier Boy's movies and the undeniable chemistry the two of you have on- and off-set. [AO3 Link | Masterlist]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. I left the time period intentionally ambiguous, but it has some '50s/'60s classic Hollywood vibes. The actress you're replacing and the director are made up for this fic.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny. Implied age gap. Power imbalance. Soldier Boy is his own warning.

Sweat gathered at your brow under the bright studio lights, and you hoped it wouldn't show in the costume test photos being taken. You turned to the side at the photographer's direction, wondering what the hell you were even testing for in the first place. Your manager had called you at nearly five in the morning, telling you to come to the studio right away, because if you didn't, some other starlet would get the part. Practically everyone in the room looked stressed, from the costume designer with her furrowed brow to her assistant, hovering near the clothing rack.

"I'm sorry," you began, taking the dress that was handed to you once your navy blue sweater-skirt combo was adequately documented. Sleek, black, with a slit up the side. Obviously for a nightclub scene. You hadn't done many of those. "What movie is this for, again?"

"The latest Soldier Boy picture," your manager Frank said, following you behind the privacy screen toward the back of the room to help you into the dress. You'd long since foregone any sense of modesty around him, the only person looking out for you in Tinseltown.

"In what role?" You wiggled into the dress and peeked around the screen. "This is gonna have to be taken in around the bust."

"Are you kidding? You're the leading lady," he said, zipping up the dress for you.

Your eyes widened. "What happened to Olivia Yearly? I heard months ago that she was cast in Soldier Boy's latest picture."

"Stormed off set and quit. She's a real diva."

"But she's Olivia Yearly, and I'm—"

"You're gonna be a hundred Olivia Yearlys if you play your cards right with this one."

"I haven't even auditioned or done a screen test. How did they find me?"

"Audiences liked you in your last few pictures. It was the people over at Vought who wanted to take a chance on you," Frank said, letting you steady yourself on his shoulder as you slipped on the heels that accompanied the dress. Of course Vought had the muscle to get just about any studio to lend out their stars to them, who could pass up being in a movie with a superhero? "Besides, this way Soldier Boy won't have to share top billing, and obviously you won't be getting an Olivia Yearly salary, so it's a win-win for them."

"Frank—"

"Don't worry, kid, you're not getting stiffed."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"They only filmed two scenes, small ones, from what I've heard, so it's not a big reshoot. You'll get the script this afternoon, the writers are changing a few things, a little less femme fatale, you know? I told them that's not your image."

You sighed. That wasn't your worry either, but Frank already had his mind made up. You'd only recently gotten fourth or fifth billing in your movies. Soldier Boy had been America's favorite leading man and a guaranteed box office draw for as long as he'd been on screen. It'd be a big break for you, the kind you always dreamed of. "Okay, let's give it a shot."

"Attagirl."

The script you received wasn't the most imaginative or groundbreaking, but it was good, a solid film noir that softened its femme fatale lead, the sultry Laura becoming the ingenue Laurie to accommodate introducing you to a wider audience next to Soldier Boy of all people. A sweet girl who'd become his partner and confidant as the plot progressed, eventually his lover by the end of the film. After all, Soldier Boy always got the girl.

From the moment he stepped into your powder pink dressing room, any notions you may have had about your co-star's clean-cut persona went out the window. The smell of marijuana took you aback. You recognized it, knew to stay the hell away from it unless you wanted a scandal that ended your career before it even began.

Still, you tried to be gracious and courteous, thanked him for taking a chance on you, let yourself giggle at the compliment he threw your way about how the makeup artist wasn't going to have a thing to do as long as you were in the picture. Except he steered the conversation clear off course. You supposed he expected you to be more naive than you let on, but you'd been around the industry to know better, tried to stay as professional as possible even though he kept pushing it.

"You know, if you ever wanna run lines, just you and me, I got a suite up at the Chateau Marmont," he said. "All the privacy you could want, get to know each other better."

"That won't be necessary," you said as politely as you could. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's either that, or you're frigid as hell. I can relieve whatever your issue is, sweetheart. You just say the word."

Your face heated up, and you turned away from him. "I'd like you to go now, please."

"Suit yourself," he said. "See you on set."

As soon as you heard the door shut, you reached for the glass of ice water on your vanity with a shaky hand and brought it to your forehead, staring at your bewildered expression in the brightly lit mirror in front of you.

No wonder Olivia Yearly quit, though you didn't dare imagine what he could've possibly said to her. But you had to try, if not for your own career, then for Frank's sake. He believed in you, even when you were just starting out in an industry that you'd seen cannibalize so many others. He must have pulled some impossible strings just to get you this role. You weren't going to let an unpleasant co-star ruin the opportunity of a lifetime.

Except he almost did, as you faltered ad fumbled your way through your scenes with him that first day. Frustration radiated off of the crew, and every time award-winning director Julian Garrett yelled 'cut', he sounded tired, as if he wondered if the movie were ever going to be made. They were all doing you a favor, especially the people at Vought, giving you a chance, and you had yet to prove you earned it. You knew if you didn't get it together, you wouldn't have another chance to.

Standing next to Soldier Boy by the facade of a made-up bar, you pushed your hair out of your face as a giant fan just out of frame kicked on to fabricate a windy night. The chill, the uncertainty, the tension, all set up perfectly for the scene.

"Haven't you ever had that feeling? Where you know something's not right, but you can't explain why?"

He nodded. "Sure I have, it's what's gotten me this far."

"Then you have to trust me, Soldier Boy," you implored. "Something about Everhart's plan doesn't seem right—seem on the level—"

"Cut!" Julian yelled.

Soldier Boy turned to the representative from Vought, hovering on set, probably a lawyer to cover any liabilities after the Olivia Yearly situation. "This is what you get for hiring some fresh piece of ass who doesn't know what she's doing."

Your hands balled into fists at your side. He said what everyone was surely thinking after having to start the scene over for the dozenth time, but it still hurt to hear. "I'll have you know my ass and I know exactly what we're doing!" you snapped. "Let's start from the top, Mr. Garrett. I'll get it this time."

The director sighed. "Alright, one more time."

When you turned back to face Soldier Boy, you caught a glimpse of his smile before it fell from his face in preparation for the scene.

The tension between you and everyone else on set fizzled out as you spoke, finally finding the sweet spot where you could match Soldier Boy's energy, your determination to succeed and prove him wrong far exceeding how intimidating you found your co-star until then.

"I really hope it won't take so long to get a performance like that out of you tomorrow," Julian said, looking relaxed for the first time all day.

"It won't. I promise."

"Better not," Soldier Boy muttered.

You kept your word, ran through your lines every night until you could hardly keep your eyes open, showed up on set early, even when Soldier Boy was an hour or two late, started getting on people's good sides, or maybe they were finally recognizing your potential now that you were only having to do two or three takes of each scene.

Despite your rocky start and the trepidation you felt about him, there was no denying Soldier Boy's charisma, how easy it was for you to play off of it. Then, between takes, he was more amicable, though you doubted his intentions were as mundane as wanting to get along with his coworker. But you found yourself flirting back when he did, telling yourself it was to keep up the chemistry between your characters rolling, even when the cameras weren't. Frank even told you over dinner one evening that industry chatter had already begun talking you up as the find of the year, whispers of your chemistry with Soldier Boy already drowning out the drama with his previous co-star.

During the second week of filming, the lawyer from Vought had pulled you aside to let you know someone from one of the big Hollywood gossip columns was going to be on set that week. You figured someone from Hedda Hopper's outfit, as she sung Soldier Boy's praises in her articles, though you read both her and Louella Parsons' columns religiously, especially after you were cast in the current picture, and public interest in you piqued. He didn't tell you about it to keep you informed, but rather to warn you to keep your mouth shut if you wanted your career to stay on the upward trajectory it was going.

You tried not to look at the unfamiliar woman too much, cigarette dangling from her lips, notepad and pen in hand, writing a sentence or two every so often. Her face was unreadable, but you tried not to let it get to you, not when the next scene was so important.

Outside of the same bar facade where you finally found your place in the film, you stood as Laurie in the black and white houndstooth coat you'd come to love, preparing to distract the two-faced Everhart so Soldier Boy could gather intel, the first big step in foiling his enemy's plan. Laurie was being thrown to the wolves.

"Soldier Boy," you simpered, "I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Laurie—"

Your eyes glistened with tears, voice breaking ever so softly as you placed a manicured hand on his chest. "No, I don't want to do this without you."

He took you in his arms and kissed you, deeply enough that you had to steady yourself on his biceps, that certainly wasn't in the script, but no one seemed to mind. "Be brave for me, honey," he husked against your lips.

"I'll try."

Again, his lips on yours, and you nearly lost yourself in his embrace until a loud "Cut!" tore through the scene.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from Soldier Boy. Your heart was racing. You could hardly gather the courage to look at him. It almost felt…real.

"Goddamn, I think that was it," Julian said.

"Should we do another take?" the assistant director asked.

"I don't know if we'll get anything better than that. Yeah, let's go through it one more time."

Out of the corner of your eye, the columnist scribbled frantically in her notepad.

The rest of the day, it seemed like you and Soldier Boy were on fire, requiring fewer takes as scenes grew tenser, more intimate—close-ups on yearning faces, the subtle brushing of hands, worried glances across the room. More than once, you felt your heart actually skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

The movie magic dissolved by night, and a well-deserved day-off of filming awaited you in the morning—as did headlines that screamed of the latest Hollywood romance, spurred on by a photo the columnist had taken the day before, Soldier Boy and Starlet Sizzle on Set!

Starlet. You frowned. They couldn't have even bothered to use your name?

Small potatoes, Frank assured you over the phone when you called him about the papers, soon enough, your name would be in lights.

Vought was certainly pleased with the way you stole the focus from Soldier Boy's beef with his former co-star, all eyes on the two of you with just murmurs of undeniable chemistry.

"So, how does dinner sound? Anywhere you want," Frank said.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure, you're the talk of the town. Long as Soldier Boy's with you."

"Tell him it's his choice," you said. You'd make the most of the good press as you could, play his game within reason if it meant finally getting somewhere in your career.

"Alright, well, he'll probably pick you up around eight."

"Here?" You glanced around your modest apartment. Decently furnished for when you had a few friends over for drinks, though the striped wallpaper was peeling, and you were more than used to the smell of mothballs that permeated the air. "No, Frank, that won't do. Have him pick me up at your office downtown."

"You got it," your manager said before hanging up the phone.

By the time Soldier Boy picked you up, you'd already helped yourself to some of the bourbon you knew Frank kept in his office to settle your nerves. The drive wasn't too bad, he wasn't as handsy as you were anticipating, a bit disappointing, if you were being honest with yourself.

Somehow, word of your and Soldier Boy's date was leaked ahead of time, a crowd of fans and reporters waiting outside of the nightclub for your arrival. Its simple, sleek white facade would've been classy if not for the giant neon palm tree sign next to the actual palm trees.

You offered your best smile for the cameras, played up your relationship with Soldier Boy, giving him a kiss on the cheek and practically clinging to his side.

"It's been such a dream working with him," you told one reporter. "I couldn't ask for a better leading man."

As for whether or not the rumors of romance were true, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell," Soldier Boy said, his arm around your waist as he finally ushered you inside. The gaudy, tropical-inspired decor throughout the club was almost tacky, but you supposed it had a certain charm to it.

Sitting down in the booth reserved for the two of you, you felt like you just finished running a marathon as you settled into the plush red upholstery.

Soldier Boy looked at you, amused, "Just wait 'til the movie actually comes out, sweetheart."

A waiter arrived, asking if you'd like to start with drinks or hear the specials first.

"What're you drinking?" Soldier Boy asked.

"Bourbon, neat," you said.

"Make that two." He turned to you, his green eyes giving you a once-over, as if regarding you differently than he had before. "I wouldn't peg you as a bourbon girl."

"It's what was in my manager's office earlier," you said, quickly adding, "I don't make it a habit."

He nodded. "Good girl."

You didn't know whether or not to be grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks, giving you an excuse to look away from him for a moment, flustered by the simple praise.

Soldier Boy waved him off after the glasses were set down, claiming you needed more time to look at the menu.

"Look, I know we didn't start on the best foot," he began, almost reluctantly, "but you're not half bad. And you kiss like you mean it. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to kiss a broad for a scene and might as well have been kissing cardboard."

"So I'm not frigid?"

He chuckled. "Hell no."

The two of you so engrossed in conversation, you'd forgotten to even look at the menu when the waiter returned, and Soldier Boy ended up ordering for you—as soon as the two of you were alone again, he muttered something about the drinks being the only thing worth going to the place for. The dry baked potato and rubbery steak presented to you on an otherwise gorgeous plate proved him right, and you tried your best to pick at your food without too much of a puss on your face.

Drinks kept flowing, and you switched from bourbon to your usual order, though Soldier Boy was outpacing you by a mile.

"How are you not plastered?" you asked.

"Takes about three times as much alcohol to get me drunk than a normal person."

"What's it like, being a superhero? I mean, I've met plenty of other actors, but no one like you," you said.

"It's a lot of responsibility," he began, his canned answer disappointing you a bit, "from the day I was born I had these powers, I don't know why it was me over anyone else, but I have to use them to help people, to do good."

"But what does it feel like? Some kind of adrenaline rush coursing through your veins? Is it something that just happens?"

"You asking if being a supe gets me hard?"

Your face heated up, "No, not like that, I mean—"

"I don't get whisky dick, I can promise you that, sweetheart."

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

He shook his head. "That's the limit of my powers. I can do everything but fly and be subtle."

Despite yourself, you laughed. Maybe it was the drinks, or finally having a chance to talk to Soldier Boy outside of a professional setting let you scratch just beneath the surface of the world's first superhero. Since his debut, when the country was in desperate need of a superhero like him, there had been other supes, each with unique powers, but none inspired the awe that he did.

Over the course of the conversation, he moved in closer to you, your space becoming his until you finished your drink, and he managed to talk you into just one more, his hand squeezing your thigh.

"The table service takes too long, I don't mind going up to the bar," you said.

He shrugged, and you took that as permission to go ahead as you slid out of the booth. Not quite steady on your feet, you made it to the bar in one piece, feeling light as you told the bartender your orders.

The bar's polished surface allowed you to see your reflection—and Olivia Yearly's, right next to you. Striking black hair with hardly a strand out of place, green eyes practically made for technicolor, and her signature pouty red lips, you tried not to swoon at the sight of her. She didn't pay any attention to you, of course she wouldn't, she had no real reason to, until you forced yourself to speak up and say something to one of your idols.

"Miss Yearly? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm such a big fan," you said.

"Thank you. It's always nice to—" She raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. "Hold on, you're that new girl, the one in the Soldier Boy picture, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"He hasn't scared you off yet? You can't be that desperate for a job."

"Soldier Boy's been a wonderful co-star," you said.

She scoffed, her upper lip curling in a sneer. "How much is Vought paying you to say that? He's the most shameless, unprofessional man I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a sound stage with, and I've been on a lot."

"I know, I've seen almost all of your movies," you confessed quietly.

"Then take my advice, stay the hell away from him, and that company, too."

"What did he even do—"

"Olivia," Soldier Boy said coldly, appearing at your side unexpectedly. "Surprised the place made an exception to its 'no hag' policy for you."

You nearly gasped. Olivia Yearly was a star. A goddess. An institution. Definitely not a—

"Hag? Who the hell do you think you're talking to you fucking—"

"Just shove it, Liv."

"You're digging your damn grave if you stick around the sorry likes of him," she shot at you before storming off.

He scowled, moving so he blocked her retreating figure from your line of sight. "Whatever that bitch told you about me—she's gonna be old news as soon as they see you on that screen. That’s why she's trying to scare you."

"Do you really think so?" you asked, trying to ignore the doubt that crept up on you.

"She sure as hell couldn't kiss like you can."

As if to prove it, he leaned in, his plush lips pressed against yours, the same sparks you felt on set flying between you. His hands on your hips, soft and strong as he pulled you closer, something like that couldn't be faked, not so naturally as the two of you seemed to do. Almost couldn't help but lose yourself in his embrace—until a camera flashed in your peripheral vision, tearing you from the intimacy of the kiss and reminding you that you were only there with him for publicity. You wondered if it could ever be anything more.

Taglist: @waynes-multiverse @youdontknowe @sl33pylilbunny @ladykitana90 @urmomissuperhotsworld @riah1606

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

[frostgears]

We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 1: Bree 1

"You should come away from the railing, miss. We're doing thirty knots, easy, with the wind in our favor like this, and the water's absolutely frigid. We lose anyone overboard, they're in trouble. Plus, I heard, the uh, the second mate, she said, uh…"

The catboy's tail swung nervously behind him, side to side.

"Spit it out, Henley," she said without turning away from the churning ocean.

"She said dolls don't swim so well."

"Yeah, all right," she grudgingly admitted, stepping well back from the wooden rail between her and the icy brine. And then, "Aren't you cold?"

"Nah. Cold-weather breed, me. Triple coat. And I swim just fine." he said proudly. "Proud nautical family, mine. Still, not looking to take a dip today. Aren't you cold, miss?"

"Can't feel cold any more."

"Huh."

"Captain awake yet?"

"Yes, miss. Captain's just finishing breakfast."

---

"Heard you were roaming around and scaring the crew," the captain said, spreading a piece of toast with jam.

"Hardly. Henley doesn't seem to mind me."

"Henley's blessed with the daftness of youth and an untrained eye for magic. The ship's witch refuses to come out of the crow's nest; they're sleeping up there now, even in this chill."

"My compliments to the ship's witch on our speed, captain," the doll said, dipping a precise curtsy. She'd meant it to be a halfassed curtsy, but even after years of upgrades, there were reflexes built into this body that were too strong to shrug off.

"I suspect they just want you delivered and off this ship."

"The winds have been good, so I'm not fussed as to whatever they think of me. Whatever gets me there fastest."

"And you will consider our debt settled then, I hope," the captain said, in a much-put-upon voice.

"Captain! I thought we were friends enjoying a sea voyage together. I had no idea you were such a mercenary."

She raised an eyebrow, a feat that had been beyond her until fairly recently, due to her previous set of eyebrows having been painted on.

"Yes, of course we're done, old man. I'm not an unreasonable person."

"You're not a person at all," he grouched.

"So I can't be an unreasonable one," she said happily, having scored a point in the long-running game that she played against the rest of the world.

---

"There we go, miss. That's the last of your things."

"Thank you, Henley." She slid an intricately jointed hand into the long-unused pockets of her old Academy greatcoat, found what she knew would be there. "Here. Little something for you."

"A pocketknife, miss? Thank you. This will come in handy under way."

"An Academy pocketknife. Take two steps back and open the big blade."

The catboy put a thumb over the tab for the big blade. She made a sharp noise.

"Ah-ah, Henley. Two steps back."

"Yes, miss."

The knife unfolded, an aurora-blade of ghostly light three feet long. Henley's fur stood on end.

"I… I can't take this, miss."

"You can take it, and you can use it, so you should. Most people can't even open one. Maybe your ship's witch…" She tilted her head, crystal eyes scanning nothing visible, and added, "I have to admit that it's not just out of the goodness of my heart. We're about to get jumped."

"You hear them too, miss?"

"Not hear, but… yes. I make three."

Two figures in crimson cloaks rappelled down from the roof of the building to the right. Another from the left.

"Four. Behind us."

She turned. A fourth cast aside their dull grey overcloak and tray of eel pies.

"Good ears on a good boy. They're Crimson Fist, Pact executioners. They're far from home, but so am I: no one's going to help us here."

The not-person in the Academy greatcoat adjusted a crystal cylinder in the open metal webwork of her left arm. Within it, something hissed; chill blue-grey fog streamed from vents, pooled at her feet, and began drifting in all directions.

"You don't have the stomach for a fight? Run now, quickly, back to the ship as fast as you can. But I think you'll be better off if you hold that blade and stand with me. And Henley?"

"Yes, Miss?"

Two of the three in front drew blades: jagged, showy things. The Fist was here to leave a mess and send a message. They'd leave witnesses. But Henley had helped her. Henley had carried her baggage. They probably wouldn't leave Henley.

"You said you were a cold-weather breed."

"Yes, Miss!"

"Still. Ware the ice."

She stepped forward.

"Hey. Hey," she shouted, as loud as she could; it had taken months of tuning to get it this way, and her voice still wasn't that loud, but it carried well enough. "Pact puppets. Future corpses. You know who I am?"

The center cloak unrolled a scroll. The Fist loved their drama. The scroll-carrier intoned, "The failed mage of the Splinter Territories known commonly as 'Bree the Blessed' has been convicted of high crimes against the people and order of the Crimson Pact—"

"Yeah, that's me… wait, 'the Blessed'?"

"–for which the sentence is death. Judgement will be rendered here forthwith—"

"You probably won't take it, but: one chance. Just walk away."

They never walked away. Except that one time they actually did. She felt a little better, given that one time. But so far it had just been the one.

"—so let all who have eyes take heed."

The one behind them incanted something she couldn't quite pick up. The two holding swords rushed her and Henley.

Right into the fog.

They never learned. Except that one time. This didn't seem like it was going to be like that one time. You had to stay alive to learn.

Bree snapped her fingers; the fog erupted into jagged blue-black ice; the two sword-wielders staggered, impaled by lances of horrible cold. She snapped again and they shattered.

Quick, at least, and limited. She'd used fire often enough that she'd come to appreciate alternatives. This one wouldn't spread past the targets of her wrath and burn the town.

Henley screeched and came swinging wildly for the one with the scroll. They caught the catboy's stroke easily on an armored wrist.

Too bad for them. An aurora-blade touching skin could burn. An aurora-blade reacting with a metal gauntlet sent fat sparks crawling over the Fist assassin's body and dropped them. The catboy might have a little more magic than she had thought.

So far, so good. She took a half-step back, turned, and opened her hand, willing the fog to condense for her into a keen-edged rapier, glinting icy blue light from its blade and freezing a trail of frost in the air.

The trip to the utter north had been worth it just to see what lay pooled there, where the world touched the cold void beyond, and on top of that, she'd been able to take some for herself. So far, it obeyed her, and she loved it for that.

The last Fist assassin, the false seller of eel pies, lunged at her, their own blade glimmering lucent gold with some invocation she didn't recognize.

She iced the ground beneath them just barely enough to trip them up. When they stumbled, she thrust, her rapier accompanied by a half-dozen reflections of itself, a hexagonal column of frozen death.

A hexagonal column of frozen death tore seven long slashes through a crimson jacket and skidded off the material underneath. She barely kept her balance. The Fist stood up, apparently unhurt, shrugging off their ruined uniform.

Bree stared, crystal eyes scanning again and again over what was clearly no armor. Her opponent bore articulations in metal and ceramic in a way that admitted no human occupant.

The Crimson Pact was human, by and large, except for the ruling minority that famously was not. The demons suffered no power that threatened theirs, and especially no permanent interference with the flow of souls.

"So you're making dolls now?" she said aloud.

The Pact assassin ran her free hand through her hair, fanning golden tresses behind her. Shreds of crimson trailed her in the slight wind. Crystal eyes met hers. They looked just like hers — or Lyric's — if rendered in pitiless ruby.

"Only," the Pact doll said, "in the service of unmaking other dolls."

The Fist really did love their drama. But she had to admit that the other doll was a work of art, a sculpture of martial glory.

"That's a hell of a compliment," Bree said. "Good luck with that."

She moved to interpose her armored frame between the Pact doll and Henley, and then let go of her mind's grip on the frozen rapier and the surrounding fog, all at once.

In the chaos of the ensuing cryonic explosion, she picked up the catboy, threw him over her shoulder, and ran. This wasn't his fight. She'd dump him somewhere safe, and then…

Her mind already churned with plans and stratagems and half-formed invocations. Another doll… Had she become threat enough to actually rattle the Crimson Pact? What could that other doll do? And were people really calling her Bree the Blessed?

She thought that, just for a moment in her flight, she saw the flicker of a certain silver radiance, but told herself it was just sunlight off the harbor. Had to be. It wouldn't dare get in her way.

---

prev: We Who Will Not Bow next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 2: Lyric 1

[siblingshuffle]

Rockrtober Day 3: Virus

TW: graphic imagery (kinda…? Like allegorical blood.)

I would’ve kept this one’s scene as a script but I feel like it loses its impact without anything to make it into a story.

“Yeah!!” Bass cheered, spinning in his chair as Piano cleared the final obstacles in the stage. Refocusing, he kicked up his feet on the desk and announced, “You’re in the clear! Now, your next opponent is right up ahea—"

Bass’s ventilation backfired directly into the mic, which he quickly muted. When he finally managed to stop, he groaned, optics unfocused as he deactivated Screen Share.

-…Bass?- Piano’s monotonous voice almost sounded concerned over the comms. -Are you operational?-

But Bass didn’t answer. If he were human, he undoubtably would’ve gone pale at the sight of his hand. How had his ventilation backfired with enough force to rupture a fuel line?

-…I am returning to Light Labs if I do not receive an answer within seven seconds.-

That snapped Bass out of it. Immediately, he scrambled to unmute himself. “Uh, nothing to worry about, Pi! Just… that Proto-Dweeb wandered over to the computer. Don’t worry about it!”

The Wily twins didn’t have the Light twins’ ability to sense one another’s emotions, but Bass could’ve sworn he felt Piano’s doubt. He held his breath, waiting for her to say something.

-…You are…certain that you are unharmed?-

Bass released the breath he’d been holding. “I’m fine, idiot. Go kick ***! I’ll keep the First Draft away from the computer.”

-Understood.-

—————

LORE: Ive had a cold since Oct 1 so this is fitting lol. Anyway, during the Roboenza outbreak, the main cast of robotic protagonists ends up dropping like flies. You know, for dramatic tension and stuff. So, here’s the order in which characters fall ill.

Tempo. She got the virus first out of everyone in the main cast. Blues stopped by to see if she could hang out, only for Dr. LaLinde to reveal that she had a virus. Despite this, Blues still wanted to hang out (they both thought it was more like a computer virus than an illness, and joked about how she would make sure not to send him any downloadable content). Her symptoms worsened throughout the visit and into the next few days.

Blues. At first, he mistook his Roboenza symptoms for core-problems symptoms. He woke up feeling more tired than usual, but he doesn’t get a consistent flow of energy usually. He probably just didn’t charge well… Then, he starts feeling all warm. Oh well, maybe he’s doing a little too much & that’s why he’s overheating. But then his vision gets all grainy, and his sunglasses won’t help. Maybe he’s just malfunctioning…? Finally he ended up telling Dr. Light that he wasn’t feeling too good, at which point he collapsed and kicked off the start of the game.

Bass. This one takes place in the early-to-mid-game time period. After Wily ran off to Light Labs, Bass took over Mission Control there and Piano joined Roll and Rock in their objective. When Bass started showing symptoms, he insisted on just handling them himself… That is, until he overheated and was pulled away from the console.

Roll. This follows the same general structure as her sacrifice in the original. She gets sick while at Light Labs, and Blues (a little less lucid) gives the prototype medicine to her. (Bonus: I’m thinking he says a line about it being “his turn to make a sacrifice for her”).

Rock. While he and Roll infiltrate Wily’s castle, he collapses. Roll ends up half-carrying her twin until she can find a good spot to set him down. There’s no more medicine, so Rock is sent to Light Labs to rest. He shows up at the final battle anyway to block Wily’s escape route

Piano. Piano gets sick while infiltrating the castle from the other side. However, she’s built pretty sturdy and it feeds her ego a bit when she ends up fighting pretty well even with her symptoms.

And Rhythm might not even get sick lol

I kinda imagine Dr. LaLinde hearing about Blues getting sick after hanging out with Tempo all day & being like “Rhythm, I’m sorry, I need to keep you out of proximity with your sister”

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life. (Waitress Au) Part 1

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader.

All you wanted to do was bake your pies, but life had other plans for you. Now you find yourself pregnant with your no-good husband's baby, and worried about the direction in which your life was now heading.

Heavily based on the 2007 film, Waitress.

Warnings:Pregnancy, Billy is reader's husband (and he is not a nice guy at all),

Word Count: 2,630.

Next part ->

*divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist.

“C’mon, just take the test, and then you’ll know one way or the other and you can take things from there.” Robin shouts from behind the bathroom stall.

You step out of the cubicle and huff out a nerve-steadying breath. Your future is quite literally in your trembling hands. Your blue and white waitressing dress suddenly feels all-too constricting and the fabric feels scratchy against your skin.

You look down at the pregnancy test in your hands, desperately hoping and waiting for a negative result.

“Please, not now, not ever, I don’t want this.” you mutter to yourself. “I don’t need any trouble and I most certainly don’t want a baby. I just want to make my pies in peace.”

“I thought you weren’t sleeping with Billy anymore?” Nancy chimed in.

“Oh you know what her husband’s like.” Robin babbled. “He played nice, took her out and got her drunk. Now look where we are.”

“I should never drink. I always do stupid shit when I drink, like sleep with my husband.”

The timer goes off and you cast your eyes downwards to the test in your hands.

“Oh fuck!” you panic “It’s positive.” 

“It’s positive?” Nancy and Robin exclaim in tandem.

A heavy fist knocks at the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? I’ve got a diner full of hungry customers and no waitresses on the floor!” shouts the gruff voice.

“Hold your horses will you Hopper, Y/n isn’t feeling too good.” Nancy shouts back.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute, Hop.” you chime, brushing the stray strands of hair away from your face.

“Well hurry up!” he grumbles.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, rubbing a gentle and reassuring hand over your back.

“Shhh..I’m coming up with an idea for a new pie.” 

In your mind you can see the pie so perfectly. The golden crisp shell, with all its fillings and toppings.

“It’s called ‘I don’t want Billy’s baby’ pie.

“I’m not sure that’ll fit on the lunch-board.” Robin laughs.

“Okay, then I’ll call it ‘Bad-Baby’ pie. It’s a quiche, with smoked ham and sharp cheddar.” 

The flaky pastry shell, filled with a savoury, cheesy, egg custard, pieces of salty smoked ham running through it. The sort of thing that would fly off the counters during a Sunday lunchtime rush.

Your mind was never not thinking of new and exciting flavour combinations, In a way it your way of expressing yourself. The ideas coming to you at odd times of the day. Sometimes sweet, and fruity, and sometimes tangy and savoury. No matter what pie it was that you made, it was always served with a smile, and enjoyed by the diner's patrons with an even bigger smile.

You sigh quietly as you hold your head in your hands. You were happy enough with how your life was going. You had a job that you loved, working alongside friends that you loved, and a husband who you were quite content to ignore to the best of your abilities. Two out of three ain’t so bad. 

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to get away from Billy now.” 

You sit beside Nancy and Robin on the bench outside the diner, a pie leftover from today’s dinner rush sitting wrapped up in cling-film on your lap. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Nancy asks.

“I’m not sure.” you mumble, suddenly more interested in the dirt-scuffed marks on your white tennis shoes than thinking about how to tell Billy you were pregnant with a baby that you weren’t even sure that you wanted. 

“In an ideal world I wouldn’t have to tell him. If I could get away from him somehow, he might not ever have to know.” 

“Are you absolutely sure it’s his?” Robin asks carefully, trying not to force the implication of her question.

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve never cheated on him, it absolutely couldn’t be anybody else’s.”

“Here you are; married to this handsome man, you’re pregnant with his baby, anyone else might be happy, and yet neither of us would ever want to trade places with you for a second.” Nancy says.

“No I would not.” Robin agrees. “Well maybe there is one thing I would trade.” She starts.

“What’s that Rob?” you ask, turning to your friend.

“I would love to be able to make pies as good as yours.” she smiles, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“So what if I can make a decent pie. I’m still stuck in a marriage with a husband who I should never have gotten with in the first place.” You sigh.

When you had met Billy you’d both been too young and blinded by love. He was handsome, with soft blonde curls and devastatingly piercing blue eyes. He’d sweet talk you in-between classes, and he made you feel special, made you feel seen for the first time in a long time. Things had been great for a while, and marrying him felt like the logical next step in your relationship, but after that everything changed. He was no longer the man you once knew. Once he’d tied you down to him he stopped trying, so sure that you would never leave him. His words were often cruel and manipulative. Many times you had found yourself dreading leaving work, for fear of what might be waiting for you at home.

The sight of your husband’s Camarro pulls in front of the diner, the wheels crunching over the rocky gravel drive-way, and his horn blaring obnoxiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you.” you mutter to yourself, when he continues to blare his horn, thumping his fist against the steering wheel.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Nancy nods, bidding you goodbye.

“-and if you do decide to tell hi-” Robin whispers to you, but you cut her off with a ‘shh’ as Billy’s car rolls to a stop in front of you.

“Hey,” you smile, putting on your best brave face. “See you girls tomorrow” you wave goodbye as you make your way to his car.

“You getting in or what?” Billy's clipped tone comes from the driver’s seat.

The sounds of soft rock music filter from the car’s radio as he rattles down the dusty back roads.

“You don’t look too pleased to see me.” he grumbles. “You didn’t even give me a kiss or nothing.”

“I am pleased to see you.” you answer back.

“Well, where’s my hello kiss then?” he demands, taking a hand off the wheel to point at his cheek.

You lean over the centre console to quickly peck his cheek, the harsh scruff of his stubble feeling uncomfortably coarse against the press of your lips.   

“That’s more like it.” he grins, satisfied to have gotten his way once more.

“Where’s the money you made today, huh?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Hand it over.”

You fish the notes from out of your pocket, handing them over to Billy reluctantly.

“Doesn’t feel like much there, now does it sweetheart?” His tone is snide as he takes the money from you and places it into his own shirt pocket.

“It was a slow day today, that’s all.” 

“You’ve been having a lot of slow days recently, I’m not even sure it’s worth you working there anymore.” he scoffs. “Think I might prefer it if you stayed home and cooked me pies all day.” he smirks, his teeth pulling against his bottom lip as he chuckles to himself.

The quiet between you falls once more before he speaks again.

“Aren’t ‘ya going to ask me how my day was?”

“How was your day, Billy?”

“Oh you know how it is, the boss is busting my ass as usual, tellin’ me that i’m not putting in enough effort-” Billy launches into his spiel about how his day went, but it all blends into the background noise, his voice no more than mindless chatter to you as your mind is elsewhere.

Inventing a new pie.

I hate my husband pie, Bitter-sweet dark chocolate, in a crumbly dark chocolate crust, filled with a gooey, salted caramel-

“You’re not even listening to me.” Billy shouts out, taking you out of your happy place. “You never fuckin’ listen to me anymore.” he shoves your shoulder with a free hand.

“Well, aren’t you going to apologise to me?” 

It’s pointless to argue with him. You know this. He knows it. And by god does he hold it over you every single time.  

“I’m sorry, Billy. Sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you were telling me about your day.”

“See? Was that so hard?” 

It’s late in the evening when you get back home, and both you and Billy are sitting at the kitchen table. Your hardly eaten dinner being pushed around by your fork. In contrast to the man opposite you, who hungrily forks up pieces of steak to his mouth.

You have something that you want to ask of him, but for that you know that he’s going to need sweetening up. You smile softly at him, as your hand reaches for his across the table.

“Baby, you’re always so sweet to me, you know that?” you tell him, your voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, yet false, tone.

“You’re my girl, that’s why.” he says, the knife scratching along the china plate as he cuts himself another piece of steak.

“I was hoping I could borrow some money from you?” you ask sheepishly.

“..And my answer to that question is gonna be no.” he clips, his answer short and curt.

“There’s going to be a big pie bake-off out of state in a few months, and I really like to go.” you continue.

“I already said no.”

“The prize money is really good.” you add on, hoping the promise of bringing more money home might change his mind.

“What do you need money for, huh?” Billy barks out. “I give you everything, and you don’t want for nothing.”

“I don’t want for nothing, Billy.” you sigh. Your plan to get away from your husband starts to look bleaker by the minute.

“I mean why do you wanna go all the way across the state, when you’ve got me to take care of?”

“You’re right, Billy.” you shake your head with a sigh. “Forgive me for asking.”

Late into the night, with Billy heavily asleep in bed next to you, snoring loudly, you’re lying awake. 

Quietly as you can you tiptoe out of bed, trying your best to not disturb the man next to you, you quietly pad over to where his shirt lay discarded on the bedroom floor. 

Looking over your shoulder to where your husband lies undisturbed on the bed, you reach into his pocket to take back the money that you had earned from your shift at the diner that day. Taking the money to hide it away from him in a secure place that you hope he would never find it.

You sit nervously in the doctor’s waiting room. Another pie perched on your lap, ready to give to your doctor.

Your name is called by the receptionist and so you make your way through the door to the doctor’s surgery.

In strolls your Doctor, except, he isn’t your Doctor. This guy wasn’t Doctor Bloom. He had a bountiful bounce of shaggy brown hair that was slicked back. His tan skin peppered with a few golden freckles, a few of them clustering over the sloping bridge of his nose, and his hazel brown eyes seemed to sparkle under the cool white lights overhead. His white over-coat draped over his broad-shouldered frame as he sauntered towards you.

“Mrs. Hargrove is it?” he asks, looking over his clip-board of notes. “Oh and you’ve brought me a pie! How lovely!” he smiles, reaching to take the pie from your hands.

“This pie is for Doctor Bloom. I made it for her, it’s her favourite, peach and raspberry.” 

“Well, Doctor Bloom retired a few months ago, and so, from now on I’ll be taking her place.”

“Well I really liked and trusted Doctor Bloom.” you sigh.

“Perhaps, you could really like, and trust me too.” he says earnestly, before offering a hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Doctor Steve Harrington.”

You shake his hand and tell him your name in return.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice a calming presence as he talks to you.

“Well, I seem to be pregnant.” you say plainly.

“That’s great! Congratulations!” He smiles broadly.

“Thank you, but I’m not as happy about it as everyone probably expects me to be, so if you could be sensitive and perhaps not congratulate me, I’d really appreciate it.” 

He nods as he listens to you talk through your feelings.

“I’m having the baby,and that’s that. It’s not a party.”

“Alright, noted. Not a party.” he nods in understanding. “Okay, well then let’s do a blood test first, make sure that you really are pregnant, and then we’ll do some basic checks, diseases, hormone levels, stuff like that.” he explains.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Alright then, the nurse will be with you in a moment, so don’t go anywhere.”

 “Mrs. Hargrove, come in.” he says gesturing for you to make your way into his office. Doctor Bloom’s peach and raspberry pie is still in your hands as you step through the door.

“Y/n.” you remind him, hating the way your husband’s name tied you to him.

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t really had the chance to tidy things up around here yet.” he offers apologetically, carefully moving a stack of papers off his cluttered desk.

“Well if you’re going to be my doctor from now on, then I guess this pie belongs to you.”

Steve graciously accepts the pie with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much.” he says, setting the pie down on the desk. “Well, uh, have a seat.”

You sit yourself down in the chair opposite him, ready to listen to what he has to tell you.

“The results of the blood test came back, and you’re definitely pregnant. So for the next eight months, I’ll be right here if you need me, any questions - I’m just a phone-call away. We’ll be monitoring your progress, keeping an eye on how things are going, making sure both you and baby are healthy. Did you have any questions for me?”

“What kind of questions?”

“Anything really, any concerns with regards to your pregnancy, some do’s and don’ts, lifestyle choices, exercise, sex..” he trails off, scribbling his pen down on a piece of paper.

“Oh well I don’t do much of either of those things.” you reply honestly.

“Okay, any diet concerns?”

You shake your head at him. 

“Not really, I mean, it’s just a lot of healthy eating, right?”

“Yeah, just try to maintain a healthy diet, be careful around certain kinds of cheese and fish, here’s a list of foods I would try to avoid,” he says handing over a small piece of paper. “..and here is a prescription for some prenatal vitamins.” 

Despite his nervous energy, something you’re putting down to meeting with a new patient for the first time, he seems sweet. Caring and attentive, and spoken with calming demeanour that immediately puts you at ease, and in the situation in which you find yourself, you are eternally grateful.

“Okay, thank you, Doctor.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/n. I’d like to see you again in about three weeks.”

You leave the doctor’s office with a smile tugging at your lips and your worries put at ease by the calming influence of your new, handsome, kind and caring doctor.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n

[oswildin]

Hope {Loki x GN!Reader}

Summary: Hoping for the better, for change, was hard… But sometimes, hoping for another… Was what was more important.

A/N: Reader is in place of Sylvie (love you bestie, sorry we took your plot), and it’s a reinterpretation of the ‘pie room’ scene in S2 EP4. Please refrain from any comments regarding Sylvie’s character here.

Loki was never one for sentiments.

At least that’s what he told himself, displayed to the world. The meticulously crafted illusion he had spent years building, wielding, using as a shield of sorts.

And when you came along…

Well, his shield began to crack. His walls began to crumble.

See within the TVA, having watched his whole life pan out before his eyes - his failures, his mistakes - it put things into perspective. Loki knew he was a man with a heart that was much bigger than he lead others to believe. No, he wasn’t as cold or indifferent to sentiment as he made out - quite the opposite in fact. Every mistake, every failure he had seen play out in his life on the Sacred Timeline was fuelled by sentiment - whether for those he cared for or his own for himself.

And when you came along…

Well, his walls were practically rubble, piles of dust and debris.

Even if he didn’t quite know how to articulate the way you made him feel, or even dare give it a name. ‘Sentiment’ was the closest he could come to. And now, there you were. In the TVA, the place you had sworn to burn to the ground. The place where your life was stolen from you, that made you run and run and run - hide and plan… Years of your life, gone, because of the TVA.

You were strong. There was no doubt about that. You had to be. You were resilient because you had to be. You were brave, unafraid to make a stand… because you had no one else to do it for you. You were independent, fiercely so. And Loki couldn’t blame you. He wished he could, he wished he could cast the blame your way, to curse the fact you had put them in this mess…

But he couldn’t. Not when you looked at him like that.

All you had wanted was a home. A place you could feel safe in, protected… Not constantly surviving. But living.

“Say it.”

Your voice cut through the silence of the automat, surrounded by the sweet aroma of key-lime pies. It was sickening. A reminder of a life that was always just out of reach. Loki stayed silent, hands in his trouser pockets as he leaned against a nearby table, head tilted faintly, brows furrowed ever so slightly. The way he looked at you made you feel… Uneasy. But a good kind of uneasy. If that was even possible.

“Come on.” You pressed, folding your arms, standing in the middle of the room, holding his gaze unwaveringly. “You heard O.B. I can see it when they look at me.” You purse your lips. Why did it bother you what they thought? You did them all a favour. At least, you thought you did.

“See what?” Loki finally asked, voice low, subdued. You let out a small frustrated breath.

“The blame.” You raise a brow, unfolding your arms as you turned slightly, eyes drifting over the numerous pies littered in the displays around the room. Loki stayed silent, answering your silent question - ‘am I right?’ A small, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you nodded to yourself, hands moving to your hips. “Yeah.” You murmured quietly, barely above a whisper.

Silence fell between you both, Loki’s gaze flickering down to his shoes as his jaw twitched, trying to figure out what was the right thing to say. “Blame is a… broad term.” He spoke lowly, voice measured. “Especially in an impossible situation we faced. Still face.” He looked up again, blue eyes trying to meet yours, but you kept your gaze away, his eyes trailing your profile.

Hurt. Betrayed. Lost.

That was how he felt. And he imagined you felt something similar. You had pushed him away, sent him back to the TVA, took it upon yourself to face He Who Remains alone, to make the decision for everyone. You fought for what you thought was right. Although, you couldn’t deny, emotion had fuelled your resolve. Loki understood that better than anyone. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t be angry, why he couldn’t bring himself to blame you. Not entirely. He should’ve known. Tried harder. You’d been on your own for so long, unable to trust, unable to see there was other ways… He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head lightly.

“We all just want what’s best-“ He tried, but you quickly cut him off, finally turning your gaze to meet his.

“Best?” You almost scoff. “There is no ‘best’, there is no version of this where any of us get what we want. There is no peace.” You say, voice holding an edge of anger. Anger at yourself, He Who Remains, the TVA… The universe… All of it. “Do you think I wanted this?” You furrow your brows, shifting on your feet to face him directly. “Losing the TVA? Sure, fine-“ You nod, as Loki pursed his lips, eyes narrowing faintly. He had to admit, he had begun to felt a sense of belonging at the TVA, with his friends, and to hear you say you still didn’t care if it lived or died caused a flicker of anger to go through him. But he understood.

And he hated that he did. It was much easier when he pretended that sentiment didn’t affect him.

“But all of this…” Your voice quietened slightly. “No. This isn’t what I wanted.” Your anger quickly shifted into remorse, guilt even, shoulders slumping. You had never meant to hurt Loki. No. The look on his face as you pushed him through the time door was imprinted into your brain, it had been the only thing you could focus on for the last six months on Earth. “I am… trying.” You clench your hand into a brief fist, an outward display of your inner turmoil. “I’m trying to… do what is right. I’m here. I’m trying to help.” You take a deep breath. “But it’s hard.” You admit. “This place…” You gestured around you both languidly. “It’s hard to imagine it could be something better.”

Loki’s expression shifted, the sharp lines of his face softening at your admission. After a moment, he pushed himself to his full height, removing his hands from his pockets, taking a few slow, almost cautious steps towards you. You were both complex people, with such different experiences… Yet both the same at your core. Wanting to have a place to belong, to feel loved, to have something… real.

“I know.” Loki replied softly, raising his brows momentarily. “I know.” He repeated, quietly, more to himself. He stopped a few feet away from you, and in his closer proximity, he could see the faint sheen of tears that stung your eyes. It tugged at something within him. “But change is hard.” He continued. “Imagining something better is hard.” He paused, letting you absorb his words. “Hope is hard.” Loki’s eyes dropped again, drifting to the tiled floor. “The notion of right and wrong… It isn’t as simple as what we are lead to believe.” He sighed. “It’s complex, nuanced… It isn’t black and white, but shades of grey that bleed into one other.” His eyes rose again to meet your own. “Much like us.”

You lick your lower lip anxiously, hands at your sides itching for something to fiddle with. The way he looked at you, as if you were the most perplexing yet beautiful thing in the universe… It was a sight that never failed to leave you scrambling for your words. Even despite everything… He still looked at you like you had all the answers to his questions.

“Very Shakespeare of you.” You commented wryly, finding it easy to use humour as a way to deflect from letting your emotions surface. Loki’s lips quirked upwards briefly at the quip, letting you take your time. “I-“ You cut yourself short, sighing as you closed your eyes for a moment. “I… don’t know… what to do.” Your lip quivered faintly as your breath hitched. “I just… wanted to live.” Your heart ached at the word. A selfish desire? Yes. But one that was born from a lifetime of experiencing the horrors of apocalypses, whole worlds dying, having to go through it all alone. And then… when you had the chance to not be alone… You panicked.

Loki blinked quickly seeing your lip tremble, as he took a step closer, a hand rising faintly as if to reach out, to offer comfort. But hesitated. As if he was scared to, incase he caused you more distress. But when you looked at him with those big, sad eyes… He couldn’t resist. Tentatively, his hand grasped your bicep gently, offering a grounding sensation, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t as alone as you may have believed. You watched his face closely, lips downturned, brows furrowed.

“And you deserve that.” Loki affirmed quietly. “You deserve to feel… happy. Safe… protected.” The word ‘loved’ lingered silently in the air between them. “I meant what I said in the void… Nothing has changed.” He shook his head, voice resolute. “We can figure it out. Together.” He repeated his words he had spoken to you in the desolate Void, conviction in his eyes. His hand shifted from your bicep, sliding up your arm soothingly as he stepped even closer, his hand moving to ever so gently, carefully, rest against your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw tenderly.

You let out a quiet breath at the touch, feeling your heart beating in your chest. Sentiment was never something you were able to let yourself feel. You never had the chance…

And when he came along…

Well, it was something that quickly began to take root within your heart, something that you knew was dangerous.

“I don’t blame you.” Loki’s words broke the silence once again. “It was an impossible decision… I just wanted more time.” He spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the momentary stillness that had settled around you. “Time to think. Time to… discuss.” He let out a quiet breath of his own, searching your eyes for any sign of understanding. “I was not trying to betray you.”

You bit your lower lip at his words, a tear escaping your eye as you could see the honesty, the sincerity of his words. You had reacted rashly at the citadel, panicking, using your instincts of survival to guide you, your emotions… Rather than logic. You couldn’t say you regretted your choice. You would be lying. Freeing the timeline… It was the right thing to do. But how you went about it… Maybe… Maybe there could’ve been another way. One that didn’t evolve into the mess, the predicament, you all found yourselves in the midst of now. But it was too late. What was done, was done.

“Emotions get the better of us all sometimes.” Loki continued, seeing the vast array of emotions going through your features. “Trust me, I would know.” He added wryly, tilting his head faintly, lips quirking into a small self-deprecating smirk - an acknowledgment of his own past. “But sometimes, letting our emotions rule over us… Finding a balance of mind and heart… Can lead to good things.”

“And you think this is it?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Bringing Timely here… Fixing the loom… Changing the TVA? You think that’s a good thing?” The skepticism was evident in your tone, and Loki gave a look of understanding. You were right to have reservations… Especially after Dox and her escapade.

“I think it’s the best option we’ve got. Whether you believe that to be the case or not.” His thumb brushed against your skin once again, soothing, calming - but most of all, reassuring. “We ensure nothing like what Dox pulled happens again. The branches will remain safe, guarded by those here at the TVA.” He spoke with quiet conviction. “Mobius, O.B, B-15, Casey… These are people we can trust.”

Trust. You squirmed inwardly at the fragile word. Loki noticed.

“We’ll never know, if we don’t try.” He told you, nodding lightly, silent encouragement for you to believe him, to remain skeptical, but to at least try… You closed your eyes, another tear falling as you ever so faintly nodded. Loki felt a wave of relief go through him, his features relaxing as he let himself release a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His hand pressed more firmly against your neck, more certain of your acceptance now, before it slid up to properly cup your jaw, fingers brushing your skin. “Thank you.” He whispered, as you opened your eyes, feeling him wipe away a tear with the pad of his thumb.

He knew you were doing this for him.

“Don’t make me regret it.” You said, an undercurrent of pleading to your voice as he shook his head.

“I won’t.” He promised, a rare thing for Loki. But he meant it, wholeheartedly. He would do everything in his power to make it right.

For you. For all of them.

Sentiment… such a vast word for an array of meanings… of feelings. Yet he understood exactly what the word really was for how he felt. What he felt. Did it need saying? These feelings were as new for him as they were for you. They were terrifying yet comforting. Such a contradiction. It seemed fitting for you both.

“The smell in here is overwhelming.” You voice broke the silence, such a blunt observation, one that elicited a breathy, low chuckle from Loki as he nodded.

“It really is.” He agreed.

“So… sweet.”

“Completely too sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Mobius likes it.”

“Of course he does.”

Your lips quirked upwards faintly, and the sight made Loki’s heart flutter in his chest. There was a look on his face, it was almost giddy, completely soft as his eyes crinkled lightly, lips holding back a grin. He’d missed this. Missed you. And you had missed him. Life on the branch… it didn’t fill the void you’d felt since the citadel.

“We should probably…” You cleared your throat, as Loki let out a breath, nodding, although his hand made no move to pull away from your face.

“Yeah…” He breathed out, his eyes flickering to your lips. The kiss at the citadel, initiated by you, had been seared into his mind, the way it had made him feel… It was unlike anything he’d ever known. It was like the world had stopped - or in this case the universe. It made him feel seen, cared for… You could see the longing in his eyes, and it made your own heart quicken in your chest, holding your breath. You could see the silent question on his face, as you gave the barest of nods. That was all Loki needed.

His face ducked to meet yours, lips capturing your own in a soft, tender kiss. Both of your eyes closed as you both savoured the feeling. Even if time flowed differently in the TVA, for you both it seemed to stop. His kiss was reverent, deeply caring, as if this was what he was made for - what you were made for.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

[cocotierz]

A catalog of all my completed and ongoing fics. These are all explicit, please check ratings and tags.

reylo

oneshots

all the right reasons

Rey Palpatine has a big crush on Professor Solo. When she leaves her diary behind after wasting his office hour, Ben sees just how much he has to teach her.

baby blues

Rey becomes pregnant after a one-night stand. Ben decides to do the honourable thing.

rain on me

The state of California has put restrictions on water usage per household due to drought but Rey’s roommate Ben has a solution. What’s some platonic co-showering between friends?

signals crossing

It's a lot easier to accidentally chrome cast porn to your neighbours TV than one would like

loving you is cherry pie

Rey Niima knows for a fact her pies are nothing short of delectable. So why is it that neighboring criminal defense attorney and resident asshole Ben Solo keeps ordering slices just to pick at it without taking so much as a bite?

don't let it stop

Ben and Rey are no strangers to competition, so when Ben proposes they see who can resist the other for the longest, they both get extremely creative to make the other break.

multichapter - completed

sign of the times

Fifteen-year-old Rey Niima can’t stand her neighbour Ben Solo. So you can imagine her surprise when she wakes up fifteen years in the future in bed with him — especially when he is calling himself her husband.

delivered

The guy Rey hooked up with at that frat party is turning out to be weird, pushy, with no respect for boundaries. And yet…

ask for more

Rey is single and wants Ben as her Alpha. Ben is hung up on some nameless Omega. They make a mutually beneficial and strictly platonic arrangement.

talk to me boy

In which Rey is a romance author, Ben is her editor, and Rey needs help with a sex scene.

multichapter - wip

queen of disaster

Crown Princess Regina and First Son of the United States Benjamin Solo hate each other. Fate, it seems, has other plans.

once upon a dream

Rey and her virgin sisters live and dance by the lakes, giving offerings to the gods. That is until the demon prince Kylo Ren takes a liking to her and steals her away to the underworld, to be his wife.

cool about it

Rey treats her dms with a list actor Ben Solo like a diary of sorts, sending him rants, memes, nudes, and recipes. It’s not like he’ll ever see it…right?

playing house

Rey Niima became an au pair in order to sightsee and improve her French. She did not become an au pair to pine after her brooding host and grow attached to his adorable daughter.

series

loser ben

drive through

Sixteen-year-old Ben Solo isn't used to pretty, kind of scary girls climbing on top of him and taking what they want - that is until he meets Rey.

video games

Rey really wants the snail Squishmallow at the arcade. She also really wants to suck her boyfriends cock.

migwen

oneshots

if you're seeking heaven (then you want to come and get it)

The girl next door is loud and arrogant and only a couple months into legal territory. Miguel shouldn’t be wanting to fuck her like some starved old man.

[darksxder]

rush it

pairing: frat boy! chad meeks-martin x fem! bff! reader

summary: you only rushed a sorority for chad’s sake, but you can’t imagine regretting it after the game of capture you get to play one fall night

warnings/tags: requited unrequited love, bittersweet (alleged by tae), skimpy bunny costume, angst and tension filled fluff, friends to lovers, deserves a second part honestly

word count: 2.1k

a.n. : I think this was subconsciously inspired by @ethansluvbot’s pfp of regina george in her bunny costume, so thank you fr!

sdt: @belle82devart

dt’s: @ethansluvbot , @midnightaemond & @spiderlover03 

If someone had told you that you would be where you are right now, maybe a year ago-hell a few months ago, you would’ve laughed in their face. Might have even flushed pink when they detailed your outfit. The fact you were dressed like a bunny, or perhaps the Kappa Deta Pi’s version of a bunny that mostly resembled Regina George’s costume rendition at Halloween.

And you were just about as skittish as an actual bunny as the fluffy white pom-pom attached to your ass rustled in the grass. Currently, you were crouched behind a bush, heart nearly beating out of your fucking chest as you heard the hoots and hollers of the various boys around.

You weren’t the only bunny. 

There were plenty of girls hiding around campus or dashing across the trails and parking lots of Blackmore University dressed as bunnies. But every man on campus, or at least everyone trying to get into a frat was a fox. Mind you they just had orange paint stripes over their bare chests, no confection or ball of fur needed to be attached to their ass.

Which only infuriated you on account of feminism and not because you had a bad habit of looking away whenever someone was shirtless. Totally. It made keeping watch difficult. And every five seconds your eyes went blurry with the glitter Tara forced into your eyes inner corner. A thick, pure dazzling white she poked there with her finger after she lined your eyes with dark brown gel eyeliner. Then go so far as to add a pretty bright pink blush to your nose and cheeks, and spread a clear gloss to your lips.

Just that and then you were off, out of the sorority, sprinting across the Blackmore University campus, and running for your furry little life. Immediately feeling your quite exposed ass cheeks freeze in the biting fall wind.

You were just thankful you could keep your knee-high boots, as they were heeled yes, but black leather, thus very warm. They even covered the majority of your stocking-clad legs. The large bunny ears glued right into the headband snug on your head were so tight it was giving you a migraine, especially when you had to double back for them twice because you ran too fast against the early September wind.

You had two hot pink flags on each side of your hip, and no one had touched yours yet. you were free.

You wanted to say you weren’t trying hard or you never usually took these types of childish games seriously but it would be a lie. You take EVERYTHING seriously and your heart is racing so fast on account of the fact you’ve fallen into that cloying and tempting trap of pretending it was real. Like you were truly being hunted like you might die, and it wasn’t too far-fetched with the masked murderer going around NYC. But you tried not to think of that. To think of anything else as you finally saw him.

Chad.

He was nearly gasping as he slowed from his dead sprint, his tanned and built chest rising and falling harshly. The tilted orange stripes were dull when you first saw them on his brown skin, but now they proved stunning in the moonlight. You allowed one glance, a second to note the soft light casting deep shadows across his muscled abdomen, leading your eyes to his sharp v-line dipping past the hem of his dark blue jeans. The sight was past your eye line but not your mind. And sweat was running in perfect droplets down his chest, the veins in his hands prominent as he clenched them, as his eyes darted from tree to bush to tree and bush. Looking for you.

Your heart pounded harder as he stopped dead still, right in front of your bush. A good twenty feet away. But he made you. Thinking of options you noted you could run, but something told you it wouldn’t do you much good.

But if there was one thing that you loved more than escapism through these types of games, it was fucking winning these types of things. So with your hands sliding down your hips, you checked to see if your flags were still there. And with a soft touch, you picked up a rock and chucked it into the bush across from you and watched as his head swerved towards it. As soon as his attention left you, and you no longer felt that hot iron brand to the side of your face, you dashed.

Some might say running in heels was difficult, especially in the platforms you were in that almost made you taller than Chad. They are correct, as you find it is indeed difficult. Especially on grass.

In a mere second, you hear this man catch up to you, your tired heart jumping at the thundering footsteps quickly echoing yours. With one of his strides, being three of yours, truly damning your advantage of being a past track star.

And when thickly muscled arms wrapped around your waist and pull you up like it’s nothing, you scream. Even though you know it’s Chad. Because he wears the same cologne and you saw him spot you. But mostly because he picks you up like it’s nothing always, no matter how many times you say you’re ‘too heavy’ for him to do so. It was the way he was gentle and firm, not yanking you into the air. Instead, it felt like he was helping you there almost.

But the fact his warm sweaty arms were around your bustier-clad middle had your pulse racing as fast as a rabbit's run.

“Gotcha'” he purred near your ear, laughing as he heard you squeak.

“Chad, put me down!” you lament, voice tired, obviously disappointed too. You had been so fucking close to winning. Hadn't seen another bunny in hours. But you just heard him hum out a 'no'.

His hand is now on the back of your plush thighs, your tits pressed firmly against one side of his back, painfully smothered against the strapless push-up set, the underwire digging into your sensitive flesh.

“Chad my boobs will fall out!” you squealed, face beet red, fists pounding sadly at his spine. To no avail. He didn’t even so much as flinch and you knew it was because you never actually hit him hard, you couldn’t even imagine it.

“Sounds like a good time for me. Wanna switch sides so I get a good view?” he asked, voice deep and teasing. But the smug drawl was cut off as the lip of your boot slammed into his bare ribs. And you were laughing into the starry night sky as he huffed out a harsh breath, gripping your thighs higher, almost fully folding over.

“Can’t hurt a man for trying, or I would’ve said that eventually if you didn’t quickly prove that you would indeed hurt a man for trying.” He rasped, voice fake pained. Back in the teasing sing-song tone that made your eye twitch.

Then he ripped the flags off your hips, pausing for a second as if to soothe the area there, hand firm and warm against your cold rear, your face flushing at the soft caress. And you just gave up. Honestly, truly, gave up, as he carried you across the vast freshly cut fields and through twisting trails, hell half the quad as other partygoers watched and laughed at the sight. But it wasn’t mean-spirited like you expected, it was almost camaraderie, but you still felt a bit like a child in time out. Helped by your huffing as you rubbed at the glitter in your eyes, sick of the burning it caused you. Hating the pain in your spine from the slumped-over posture. But as Chad reached his dorm and dashed up the stairs, to the very obvious approval of his frat mates, if their whoops and smirks were any consolation, you stopped whining about it.

Just taking the bouncing of your tits and head against his back in stride. Soft and feverish cheek smushed to his shoulder blade, just focusing on the ground beneath you, tracing the tattoos you could reach on his back.  It’s almost an unconscious action if you could ever touch him and not be fully aware of it. But you couldn’t.

You had been in love with him for years, and although he was an affectionate person, his touch never ceased to give you jitters. No matter how many years passed, it had been thirteen. It never failed to make your stomach flip so quickly and suddenly you’d think you were on a rollercoaster that just dropped 3 stories in height.

“So, are you planning on skinning and eating me?” You muse, one hand propping up your cheek, elbow purposefully digging into his muscled shoulder hard. He laughed a beautiful sound that had your cold thighs squeezing together.

“If that means I get to see you naked, then yeah.”

“Chad!” You yell, going to kick out at him again before he flipped you back over to his chest, cradling you like one might a bride, your boobs pressed harshly against the side of his chest, nearly spilling out of the small cups.  

“Okay, so you caught me..” you roll your eyes hard, trying to play along, knowing he wouldn’t drop it without your playing it up. “Whatever will you do with me now, Mr. Fox?”

He snorted, hoisting your ass under one arm and fiddling with his dorm keys in the other, his own heart skipping at your gasp at the action, your soft and perfect arms thrown casually around his neck in a vice grip.  

“I understand why they took away your barking privileges when you played Nana in Peter Pan that one year. Your acting sucks.” he laughs, smiling down at your scowling self, trying desperately to take you seriously with the soft white bunny ears on your head. But it was difficult, what with them being all fluffy and big, with a hot pink center, the right one folded over slightly for optimal effect.

“Whatever. I wanna go home and shower, Chad. Been running from sweaty dudes all night.” Your eyes fall to the carpeted floor, now actually glad he was carrying you, not wanting to get your nice leather boots sticky with whatever marred the boy's dorm carpet. You could only imagine. And instead of taking the bait to tease you, flirty personality stroked, he went quiet.

“You are home,” he said, voice soft, no ounce of teasing there and your gaze shot to him. And you felt yourself swallow hard, blinking back tears you would have sworn came from the glitter.

“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking me to stay over?” You tease, heart, pounding a mile a minute, feeling sweat trickle down your neck, sticking your hair to your shoulders as you tilted your head up at him, curious and waiting. Soft and sure, gentle. No judgment there. From the warmth in his eyes, he knew that.

“Yes. And figured I earned it since I caught you. Plus you’ve been working too hard lately. You need rest.”

The tears fall now as his words swallow you whole, making that tension building for weeks, bunched in your shoulders subside. You could only sniffle and nod, understanding the truth in his words. The reality. You had been running yourself into the ground with club applications, sorority pledges and rush, all of it too much.

“You’re right. Just this once,” you nodded slowly and sincerely, “I’m surprised too.”

Chad rolled his eyes so hard that you laughed through your tears. “Okay. Am I sharing your bed, or camping out on the floor? Or is your roomie home, the cute one?”

He scoffed, hand pressed to his bare striped chest in mock offence. “I am the cute one, not Ethan Landry.” he bit, pushing open the door and stepping inside over the frame with you still in his arms. It felt a little like you had just been married, but you dashed that thought down before it could truly take hold.

“Sure. whatever you wanna believe..” you coo, eyes narrowed in mockery.

He just shook his head, glancing up at the clock on the far wall. “He’ll be gone 'till two am. Can get out a movie, shower and get to bed before then, huh?”

Nodding, you flushed deeply as he handed you a basket he kept on his desk. Eyes widened as you took in its contents. It had your glasses container (your spare), contacts, tampons, pads, Burt’s Bees chapstick (wild cherry) and your favourite makeup wipes. You smiled wide at him.

“This is giving relationship.. like you really like your bestie.”

He shook his head quickly, cheeks heating under your teasing tone. “No.”

“Ehhh I don’t know, this is giving no commitment issues actually. it’s giving I want you in my dorm and life so much, I made a special box of your stuff for you.”

“It’s giving all that?” he mocked, glancing at the tiny basket cradled in your lap, but you just nodded firmly, lips pursed in surety.

“We’ll then maybe it’s accurate…” he whispered, breath soft.

And you felt like you had been punched, mouth agape in shock for a mere moment before you pulled it together as your head spun. “Then let me shower before this glitter makes me fully blind.” You groan, throwing in the last bit because you know he’d give his ever so clever and original ‘you’re already kinda blind’ without it.

And you hate that you loved him for it. Hate that you loved him period. Hate that you wanted him so much it ached, that it made tears spring to your eyes when you thought of it at home in your dorm.

Knowing that after your shower in his bathroom, you would steal his shirt and boxers and crawl into his twin-size bed, the laptop screen lighting up the room as he pulled you in closer by the waist, his face half in the bend of your neck and half watching the screen. Bare chest pressed against his oversized shirt he lent you. It made you so excited you might actually scream. But you knew from the many past experiences so similar to this one, that it was hard to fall asleep like that. When you were surrounded in sheets that smelled like him, generally surrounded by him, with his bare arms around you. In those moments it was hard to deny you wanted him. And you needed to because he was your best friend.  

Nothing more.

[the-kr8tor]

IM BLUE DABADEE BADA DIE. Daily Hobie HC! We got more silly highschool dork Hobie today<3 Hobie had asked you out on a date. Nothing too special or fancy, but just a hangout into town. As the two of you walked through town, practically bound to each other's side, just talking and laughing like the lovestruck teenagers you both are. Hobie feels your hand nervously grasps his, and he immediately looks down at both of your hands, before interlocking his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand firmly with a smile. He tugs you closer to him playfully, his heart melting at the sound of your giggling. You both had managed to get some rock candy beforehand, both of your tongues purple from you both constantly swapping the candy for implications sake. Hobie listened to you crunch on the crystal candy, jokingly leaning towards you at times to try take a bite, laughing as you pressed your hand to his cheek and pushed him away from your treat. Eventually, you both had wandered to the outskirts of town, near an abandoned park. Hobie looked towards you as you poked his shoulder, planting a quick peck to his cheek that definitely left him stunned, before sprinting at full speed to the swings. Shaking himself out of his daze, Hobie weakly exclaims with a playful pout, slowly walking to you as you swung back and forth on the normal swing, a smug smirk on your face. Luckily for Hobie, he could escape the baby swing with another normal swing nearby. Hobie and you easily passed the time with each other, trying to see who could swing the highest, running around the playground like little kids, a whole lot of teasing. As the sun began to set, the two of you settled down from your sugar highs, sitting down on the daisy-covered grass as Hobie plucked the strings of his guitar, smoothly harnessing a small melody of a song for you. He enjoyed the way you subtly leaned against him as he continued to pluck the strings of his guitar, his eyes occasionally glancing over to you as your fingers slowly intertwined the daisy stalks into each other, making the both of you flower crowns. The sunset casted an array of pinks, reds, golds, purples, oranges, all across the canvas of the sky, illuminating the cute scene much more. Hobie's smile uncontrollably widens as he sees your eyes light up with success. Briefly pausing his guitar-playing, he dips his head down slightly towards you, allowing you to place the flower crown on his head. (this was before he had wicks shush) Hobie gently slid his guitar off his lap, wrapping his hands around yours as you grab your flower crown. He manages to slip it out of your fingers, and putting it on your head for you. You meet his eyes with a soft, fond gaze, before resting your arms on top of his shoulders and pulling him close for a hug. Hobie responds with a chuckle, his fingers brushing across your midsection as you both hugged. (My apologies if my writing seemed off after the halfway mark- I took a quick playing break with the cats and one of them sliced my finger down the middle..I'm okay now, but the bandages are annoying me cus i cant type properly) -🐦‍⬛

NOOO NOW THE SONG IS STUCK IN MY HEAD! AGAIN!!

Daily Hobie HC ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

THE SWEETIE PIES THE DORKS AHHHHH WUSHIWJSNSJSJJSKS THEY'RE SO ADORABLE 😍😍😍😍😍😍

Oh to have such a cute experience like this 🥺 Imagine years later when they're adults and still together they have a little date back in that abandoned park where Hobie would tell R that he bought the land where they're standing so they could build their home there together 😭🥹

(oh no! That sounds like it hurts! Take care of yourself angel!! ❤️)

[ladysif8]

🍩 Sweet Heat 🍩

•Pairing: Firefighter Bucky Barnes/OFC

•Rating: General Audience

•Tags: Firefighter AU, Firemen Bucky, Curvy/Tall/Tattooed OFC, Firefighter Avengers, Flirting, Meet-Cute, Cat Rescue, Humor, Everyone Picks On Bucky

•Summary:

Fireman Bucky Barnes discovers the delicious doughnuts of Chubby Dough while at the local Farmers Market, and he is instantly smitten. When he meets Aria, the quirky doughnut goddess herself, sparks fly between them. However, fate intervenes when Bucky is called away on duty, missing the chance to get her number. Weeks later, fate as their paths cross again when Bucky receives a call about a cat stuck in a tree, which turns out to be Aria's.

The sky is a stretched canvas of endless blue, wisps of white clouds scattered like strokes of a painter’s brush sailing on a gentle breeze, casting fleeting shadows on the ground below. The air is filled with a warmth that wraps around everything, holding the promise of long, lazy days of adventures. It was a warm July Saturday in Pikesville, Indiana. Which only meant one thing… Farmer’s Markets.

The bustling energy made the air feel alive as the aroma of freshly picked fruits, fragrant herbs, and other seasonal produce mingled together—stalls overflowed with various colorful fruits and vegetables, showcasing the best summer harvest. Juicy, sweet watermelons, succulent peaches, and plump berries beckoned with their sweet smells and vibrant colors. Heirloom tomatoes, vibrant yellow, red, and green peppers, sweet candy onions, just-picked green beans, zucchini, and crisp cucumbers this morning. The local farmers proudly offered the fruits of their labor in their wide-brimmed hats and sun-kissed smiles. Baskets of sunflowers and bouquets of herbs add a rustic charm to the scene, and tables are filled with jars of freshly made jams and jellies. The air was filled with the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread, flaky pastries, and aromatic coffee contributions from the local artisans and bakers—stalls filled with handcrafted jewelry and pottery, offering unique treasures to discover. With booths from local organizations, the library is offering a free book per child, along with the local Police, Fire Department, and other various organizations. Conversation buzzed in the air as customers engaged with farmers and vendors alike.

Children scampered between aisles, clutching dripping ice cream cones, while families gathered around shaded picnic tables, enjoying farm-to-table meals prepared right there with nothing but the freshest ingredients by local food trucks. There was a wide variety of cuisine, such as a taco truck that specialized in authentic Mexican food, serving up mouth-watering tacos from traditional carne asada to vegetarian options—a burger truck offered everything from the classic cheeseburger to gourmet with a range of toppings. A BBQ truck known for its smokey and tender means, slow-cooked ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, brisket, and more. A pizza truck offers wood-fired oven pizzas on wheels, passing out freshly made slices or whole pies with a wide range of toppings. An Asian fusion truck is blending flavors and techniques from various Asian cuisines, serving up Korean tacos, Vietnamese banh mi sandwiches, and Thai-inspired noodle bowls. A seafood truck offers a taste of the ocean in the form of fish tacos, lobster rolls, shrimp po’boys, and other seafood delicacies. Several dessert trucks specializing in tasty ice creams, decadent pastries, cupcakes, cookies, and doughnuts of every flavor were waiting to offer up sweet treats to round off the savory meals consumed. Local musicians strummed guitars and played lively tunes, infusing the market with a cheerful melody. Under the warm sun, the farmer’s market buzzed as a hub of the community, where neighbors greeted each other with smiles and shared stories. It was a place where the spirit of summer thrived—a place to savor the flavors of summer.

"Thank you for your support," Sam said with a smile as a group of giggling teenagers hurried away with copies of the Pikesville Fire Department yearly calendar.

The local Fire Department had chosen the Pikesville Animal Welfare as the non-profit organization to support through their calendar fundraisers this year.

"That's another one for me," Sam declared, walking over and placing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill into the cash box. "How many have you sold, Barnes?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky rolled his eyes but checked the unofficial tally sheet. "Uh, thirty-two," he replied.

"Thirty-four," Sam countered, a smug smirk on his face.

"Come on, guys," Steve interjected, stepping between them.

"He's just jealous," Sam said, slipping his thumbs between his navy PFD t-shirt and the red suspenders from his turnout pants.

Bucky scoffed, "As if," he retorted, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "I think the heat is getting to your brain; you do remember the signs of heat stroke, right, Wilson?"

"Guys," Steve warned, trying to diffuse the tension.

Just then, Natasha reappeared like a redheaded angel, holding a bright pink pastry box. She gracefully made her way around the two tables covered in red tablecloths adorned with a Pikesville Fire Department banner. The tables were stacked with calendars, each featuring a member of the PFD for every month alongside an adorable shelter animal. In addition to the calendars, a poster board was prominently displayed, showcasing pictures of the shelter animals and their names and information. The board served as a visual representation, capturing the attention and hearts of passersby. Each photograph conveyed the unique personality and charm of the animals, inviting potential adopters to learn more about them. The information provided on the board offered insights into their age, breed, and endearing traits, further encouraging visitors to consider opening their homes and hearts to these furry companions.

"Alright, boys, I have doughnuts," Tasha sang happily, her voice brimming with delight. With a cheerful demeanor, she carefully placed the box of doughnuts on the table, elegantly flipping back the lid, and stepped away, creating an alluring display of sweet treats for everyone to enjoy. "Thor, Scott, Clint, come on over. I've got doughnuts!" Tasha called out to the other members of their squad, who were gathered by the fire engine.

"Oooh, yes!" Scott exclaimed, jogging over and energetically shaking his shoulders as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Clint followed suit while Thor was preoccupied with allowing a young boy to try on his helmet, drawing the attention of the boy's mother, who couldn't help but check out the tall blonde firefighter.

The aroma of freshly baked doughnuts wafted through the air. The sight of the various flavors and toppings tantalized their taste buds, drawing the guys closer to the table to choose their favorite doughnuts.

Bucky swiftly snatched a doughnut with a thick brown glaze, chopped pecans, and a drizzle of chocolate. He settled back in his chair, taking a large bite.

"Holy shit," he mumbled around his mouthful, the doughnut tasting like a decadent caramel turtle.

Sounds of approval and satisfied hums echoed throughout their tent.

“Hey Tash, where’d you get these?” Scott asked, stuffing half a doughnut into his mouth.

Steve hummed, “These are the best doughnuts I’ve ever had,” he commented, taking a much smaller bite than the man next to him.

“Chubby Dough Doughnuts,” Tasha answered, ripping a piece of the sticky fried dough. “These two girls run the truck; Yelena kept going on and on about them,” she adds before plopping the piece in her mouth.

The tent was silent as everyone chowed down, but that didn’t last long. Barton just had to open his trap.

"So, who's winning so far?" Clint asked, jelly smudges adorning his mouth.

Steve groaned, "God damn it, Clint."

"I'm glad you asked, Barton," Sam said with a smile, taking another bite of his doughnut. "It's me," he proclaimed, his voice slightly muffled by the fullness of his mouth.

"Oh man, that's gonna suck cleaning all the engines alone, Buck," Scott remarked, licking some whipped filling off the side of his hand.

Bucky grunted, unamused. "There's still plenty of time for me to wipe the floor with Sam," he retorted.

Tasha produced a napkin for Clint, who sheepishly accepted it. "No manners, the lot of you," she shook her head, playfully scolding them.

"Ha!" Sam laughed sarcastically, his tone laced with playful annoyance.

"Alright, guys, come on, do we have to do this every year?" Steve asked, looking between Bucky and Sam.

"Yes," they both answered in unison, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

Steve sighed, his exasperation evident as he dragged a hand down his face.

Fortunately, another wave of people approached the booth. Several women and a few men purchased calendars, dropping a few dollars into the jar in front of the poster board. Some of the customers requested the squad to sign their pictures, a request that the firefighters gladly obliged. With smiles on their faces, they interacted with members of the community.

A beautiful woman with raven hair approached the table, her gaze fixed on the post board displaying various animals. She reached out and picked up a calendar, flipping through its pages.

“Those animals are all just a few tents down if you’re interested in adopting any of them,” Bucky said, sauntering over to the woman with a flirtatious smirk.

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Are any of the firefighters available?” Her gaze traveled up and down Bucky’s form, and she teasingly licked her lips.

"They might be. Which month caught your eye?" he asked.

The woman pondered, twisting her lips in thought. "Well, Mister July has that All-American apple pie vibe," she remarked, stealing a glance at Steve. He was engaged in conversation with an older woman, her curly white hair framing her face. It was evident that she had taken a liking to him, her hand gently resting on his forearm and a blush coloring his cheeks.

"Is that so?" Bucky asked, his voice still carrying a flirty and playful tone.

The woman stepped closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But you know, Mister October has this tall, dark, and dangerous feel to him. He's the kind of guy I'd love to bring home to meet my parents, just to see their disapproval," she admitted, biting her bottom lip playfully.

Bucky winced, realizing his reaction had been more noticeable than intended. He quickly cleared his throat. "Well, we genuinely appreciate your contributions. All proceeds will go to the Animal Shelter to provide them with new equipment, enabling them to help the animals better," he explained.

The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed as she abruptly pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and slapped it onto Bucky's chest before walking away.

A low whistle caught Bucky's attention, and he turned to see Sam approaching him.

"You alright, Buck?" Sam asked, concern evident in his gaze.

Bucky frowned, turning on his heels and starting to walk around the table. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, his tone slightly curt.

"You don't look it, man," Sam pointed out, walking alongside Bucky.

Bucky let out a sigh. "It's always the same with every woman," he muttered, crossing his arms. His navy PFD t-shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting his muscular physique. "They look at me and automatically assume... well, they think I'm some sort of—"

"Fuckboy?" Sam interjected, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky's frown deepened. "Sure, let's go with that," he said, rolling his eyes in mild exasperation.

"Listen, man," Sam sighed, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're a good guy, Barnes. You've got a good heart, you're smart and funny, and hell, you're easy on the eyes," he chuckled softly. "You'll find the one, somebody who sees beyond the surface." Sam reached out, giving Bucky's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky replied, mustering a grateful but slightly weary smile.

Sam nodded. "No problem, man. You good?" he asked, looking for confirmation.

"Yeah, I'm good," Bucky confirmed, appreciating the support.

Sam began to walk away.

"Hey, Wilson, let's try not to go through this again, alright?" Bucky called out, slumping down into a chair. "Kinda made me feel dirty."

"Oh, fuck you, man," Sam chuckled teasingly before leaving the tent. "I'm still gonna kick your ass," Sam tossed over his shoulder with a playful grin.

Bucky chuckled and shouted, "Only in your dreams, Wilson!"

Eventually, the competition between Sam and Bucky faded into the background, but it resurfaced when Thor finally made his way over to the group.

"How goes the competition, Barnes?" Thor inquired, grabbing a doughnut from the box. "Are you kicking Wilson's ass?"

Thor's words caused Steve to almost whine in exasperation, feeling like he wanted to repeatedly bash his head against a hard surface.

"Ha! I'm at... forty-eight," Sam declared confidently.

Bucky grinned. "Fifty-two," he countered, a playful spark in his eyes.

"Ain't no way," Sam crossed his arms, showcasing his bulging biceps.

Scott leaned forward, inspecting the tally sheet. "Yeah, Barnes is right," he confirmed, his tone revealing the truth of Bucky's higher count.

The friendly rivalry between Sam and Bucky was reignited.

"Alright, knock it off, guys," Tasha interjected, her voice carrying a note of authority from her perch on the table. "You're both hot, we get it, but you're going to give our Captain an aneurysm," she playfully scolded, gesturing toward Steve.

The squad chuckled, understanding that the good-natured teasing had its limits. With a collective nod, the firefighters refocused their attention on interacting with the customers, signing calendars, and polishing off the last of the doughnuts Natasha had brought.

Taking a much-needed break from running their booth, Bucky felt a sense of relief mingled with excitement at the prospect of indulging in some delicious treats and moseying about the other stalls and booths with Steve. While he enjoyed managing their booth, he knew that a short break would do him some good. The delightful aromas from the food trucks wafted through the air, luring them closer with each step.

Steve turned to Bucky, inquiring about his lunch preference, "What are you in the mood for?"

With a smile, the brunette replied, "That BBQ smells amazing."

Steve enthusiastically agreed, "Sounds good to me, as long as we make a stop at that doughnut truck before we head back Thor said they have blueberry streusel doughnuts."

Bucky chuckled, appreciating their love for food, “I knew you were my best friend for a reason.”

“I hope that’s not the only reason,” Steve chuckled, elbowing Bucky playfully.

Fifteen short minutes later, Bucky and Steve were happily munching on a little dish of crispy golden brown tater tots topped with sweet, smokey, and tangy pulled pork drenched in BBQ sauce, a drizzle of nacho cheese, thin slices of red onion, chopped green onions, and jalapeno slices from the BBQ food truck. As they strolled through the bustling stalls, they enjoyed their lunch and chatted with old high school friends and other folks from the community. They leisurely made their way around the market, pausing at tables filled with tempting goods.

"Oh man," Steve sighed contentedly as he tossed his little paper dish into the trash. "That was delicious," he said, stretching his arms above his head.

Bucky nodded in agreement, quickly finishing his last bite before following Steve's lead and disposing of his paper dish in the trash.

"Man, I'm so full," Bucky groaned, patting his belly as he walked alongside Steve, the band playing a cover of some Charlie Daniels song.

"Too stuffed for doughnuts?" Steve quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky gave him an exaggerated hurt expression, shaking his head, “And here I thought we were friends—"

“—Best friends," Steve corrected with a grin.

" Right, right, best friends,” Bucky amended, “I'm utterly appalled you'd ever think I'm a quitter," he retorted, pretending to be outraged.

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s expression as they joined the line at Cubby Dough Doughnuts.

"Oh, my bad, I forgot Mama Barnes didn't raise a quitter,” Steve teased, playfully nudging Bucky’s arm with his elbow.

“Damn straight; now, let’s if the beautiful doughnut goddesses can entice me into taking just on—”

Bucky’s words faded away as he got entranced by the captivating woman with a dark, messy bun, a neon green sticking out the side, her smokey eye makeup, and mesmerizing hazel blue eyes—a mix of brown, green, and blue that looked like a cosmic swirl framed in with dark thick-rimmed glasses, cute little button nose, her lip was a sight to behold with the most alluring shade of pink he had ever seen, a natural cupid’s bow—a perfectly formed curve that gave her smile this irresistible charm. She had on a black t-shirt, hot pink frosting, and bright pink letters with sprinkles, proudly stating Donut Squad, and when she turned around, he noticed the back of her shirt was the name Chubb Dough. Her smile was dazzling; he watched as she tucked a whisp of hair behind her ear, the many colorful bracelets around her wrist catching the light. Bucky was intrigued.

“Buck?” Steve said, trying to contain his laughter as he lightly chuckled, attempting to get his friend’s attention.

Still entranced by the doughnut goddess, Bucky turned to Steve with a dreamy look in his eyes. “I think I might be in doughnut heaven,” Bucky mumbled to Steve.

"Holy smokes, dude," Darcy groaned, leaning her head against the compact refrigerator. "They just keep coming and coming," she mumbled, opening the door to grab a water bottle.

Aria chuckled, "Isn’t that the point?" she asked, taking another tray of doughnuts from the warmer.

"I mean, I guess; I don't know why I let you talk me into this hair-brain scheme of yours," Darcy said, taking a long drink from the bottle.

"Ha! Because really, I had to twist your arm," Aria replied dryly, carrying the tray to the work table. "You know you secretly love this doughnut-making adventure!" she teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

Darcy couldn't resist teasing her friend further. She reached over and pinched Aria's cheek, playfully saying in a baby voice, "It's so hard to say no to this cute little face," while patting Aria's cheek.

Aria playfully batted Darcy's hand away, giving her a mock glare. "Yeah, yeah, very funny," she said, trying to suppress a smile.

The dinging of a bell echoed throughout the small food truck.

"Ah, they summon me," Darcy sighed, finishing off her bottle of water. "The public awaits," she announced with a playful flourish, crushing the bottle and making her way back to the front window, ready to serve the hungry customers.

Aria playfully rolled her eyes at Darcy's dramatic announcement. She then grabbed an icing bag filled with delicious cheesecake icing, adjusting her hold on the small bag. Starting at one end of the tray, she skillfully gave each golden brown, perfectly cooked doughnut a delightful drizzle of creamy and tangy icing, followed by their rich caramel sauce and decadent chocolate ganache to the doughnuts, making sure each one was beautifully coated. She artfully sprinkled chopped pecans across the top as a finishing touch, completing the mouthwatering treat—the enticing aroma of freshly made doughnuts filled the air, enticing the eagerly waiting customers.

Cubby Dough had humble beginnings as a tiny pop-up camper that Aria and Darcy purchased from a questionable gentleman on Craigslist. They embarked on the ambitious project of gutting and remodeling the entire camper themselves, and it was no easy task. They spent countless late nights watching YouTube videos, trying to figure out how to connect the plumbing and make everything work. Thankfully, Aria's Dad came to the rescue, offering his years of experience and a helping hand with his tools. With their determination and his guidance, within six months, Chubby Dough was finally transformed into a mobile doughnut haven. That was four years ago, and since then, the little food truck has been delighting customers with its delectable treats all over the southern part of the state.

Today the food truck is built on a 22ft trailer with black sheet metal sides and roof, giving it a modern and sleek appearance. The silver servicing window is not only functional but also adds a contrasting element to the black and wooden features; it can be easily closed and locked for security when the food truck is not in operation; outside the window is a practical butcher block counter bar on the outside, where customers are greeted. The wooden trim around the windows adds a touch of warmth and rustic charm to the overall look. Inside is a compacted modern kitchen, a double fryer, a large proofer, a warmer, and all the necessities one needs to operate a food truck; a large butcher block workspace and prep tables provide ample space for food preparation and serving. The crowning glory is the light-up sign that proudly displays the truck's name, "Chubby Dough," drawing attention and helping customers easily recognize and locate the food truck.

As the morning rush settled down, Aria and Darcy decided to switch spots; Darcy had reached her limit dealing with customers at the front.

"I'm just not built to deal with people," Darcy grumbled, washing her hands in the sink.

Aria couldn't help but laugh. "You're in the wrong business, my dude," she teased, finding humor in her friend's confession.

Darcy chuckled at Aria's playful response and played along, giving Aria an exaggeratedly sad expression. "Oh, I know, right?” she said dramatically. “It's a never-ending doughnut-filled nightmare," she joked, pretending to be overwhelmed.

Aria gave her a mock sympathetic look. "Oh, poor Darcy," she said, trying to hold back a laugh. "It must be so tough," she added before bursting into laughter.

As the pace picked up once more, doughnuts were flying out of the window as fast as Aria and Darcy could make them. They were in sync, their teamwork seamless as they worked together to keep up with the demand. It was a flurry of dough, icing, and toppings, all coming together in perfect harmony. The little food truck was once again buzzing with excitement, and the smiles on their customers' faces made all the hard work worthwhile.

Aria quickly excused herself, saying, "Give me just a second," as she grabbed a fresh notepad and reached for the green pen that was stuck in her messy bun. She spoke as she turned back around; she looked up to take the next-in-line orders. “Chub…Chubby Do—” she said, stumbling over her words.

One of the men was tall, sporting short blonde hair and baby blue eyes with a subtle hint of green around the iris. He had a solid and muscular build, dressed in a navy PFD shirt that emphasized his strength.

The other man was just an inch shorter than the blonde, with curly brown hair on top and tapered sides. His mesmerizing blue eyes resembled a stormy summer evening, bringing back memories of the scent of rain-soaked earth. His handsome face was adorned with a cleft chin and a set of the prettiest pink lips. Like his companion, he also wore a navy PFD shirt that barely contained his well-defined and impressive muscles.

Aria was taken aback, almost losing her balance in the process. She managed to offer a slightly awkward smile. "Welcome to Chubby Dough... Uh, what can I get you, gentlemen?" She quickly corrected herself as she almost knotted her pen in her hair.

The tall blonde man smiled warmly, his baby blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "You were close," he said with a gentle chuckle. "I'll have two of your blueberry streusel doughnuts, please."

The man with the captivating stormy blue eyes flashed a playful grin, making Aria’s heart flutter. As he glanced at the menu, he asked in a smooth and inviting voice, “What’s your favorite?”

Aria’s nerves got the best of her, and she pointed to herself, feeling like more of an awkward mess than she already was. “M-mine?” she stammered, blushing under his gaze. The man nodded, his smile still warm and encouraging. “Oh, uh, Jesus,” she muttered, nervously licking her lips as she pushed up her glasses.

He raised a curious eyebrow, intrigued by her reaction, then looked at the menu again. “I’ll take one of those,” he said, pointing to her favorite doughnut, “and a maple bacon, please.”

Aria nodded, trying her best not to make a fool out of herself further. "Sure thing! Two blueberry streusel, one Jesus, and one maple bacon coming right up," she replied, writing down their order on the notepad, trying to hide her flustered state while secretly thrilled that he had chosen her recommendation.

As she turned to start preparing their doughnuts, Darcy peeked over her shoulder, curious about the sudden change in her friend's demeanor. Aria couldn't help but blush slightly, secretly hoping she looked presentable despite the messy bun and lime green pin.

"Hey, who are these fine-looking specimens?" Darcy whispered teasingly, earning a playful nudge from Aria.

"Just focus on your doughnut-making, will you?" Aria whispered back, glancing over her shoulder at the two men chatting outside the truck.

“You’re no fun,” Darcy grumbled, heading back toward the fryer.

Darcy's pouty face made Aria chuckle as she continued working on the doughnuts. Every morning hours before an event, Aria and Darcy would head out early, starting on their batter for the day; they would start frying until the first customer arrived. By then, the warmers were filled with tray after tray of freshly fried doughnuts, each doughnut that left through Chubby Dough's window was freshly made to order, it was a bit time-consuming, but it was worth the short wait.

Aria started with two plain golden-brown doughnuts, dipping each in a thin white glaze. She added their homemade blueberry compote and topped them with a delightful streusel. Moving on, she took two more doughnuts and dipped one in a thick maple glaze, generously adding chunks of maple bacon. The other doughnut was lightly coated in a thin glaze before being tossed in cinnamon sugar, its top dipped into a vanilla frosting and topped with a drizzle of thick gooey caramel.

As Darcy assembled a box for the four heavenly treats, she playfully pointed out, "You know that guy keeps looking in here at you."

Curious, Aria glanced over her shoulder to see the brunette with stormy blue eyes giving her a wide, flirtatious smile. A hint of a blush crept up her cheeks, but she tried to maintain her composure while finishing the doughnut orders.

Aria carefully transferred the beautifully crafted doughnuts into the bright pink box that Darcy had left on her table. She looked down at the delectable treats, feeling a sense of pride in her creations. Closing the box, she made her way to the window and set it down on the countertop outside. Turning to the tablet used for processing payments, she greeted the two men with a friendly smile.

“Alright, gentlemen, your total is $16.20 after the first responder discount,” Aria said, glancing over at the two men.

Before the blonde man could even react, the brunette quickly pulled out his wallet and handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” he said with a playful wink, taking charge of the payment.

Aria felt her heart race a little faster, but she managed to nod in response, inwardly cursing her nervousness. “Th—thank you,” she stammered, trying her best to keep her cool.

“Have a good one, ma’am,” the blonde said with a warm smile as he took the box of doughnuts. He nudged the brunette, who seemed entranced by Aria, prompting him to stumble back a few steps before they both walked away.

As Aria bit her lip, trying to hide her smile, she celebrated her small victory before she noticed that the brunette was still looking back at her with a wild grin. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly ducked back inside the truck, trying to hide from his gaze. The whole encounter left her heart racing, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see him again.

Steve's excitement was evident as he eagerly opened the lid to the bright pink box, revealing the array of sticky sweet, and fresh doughnuts inside. The delightful aroma wafted into his face, making his mouth water.

"I think I'm in love," Bucky sighed dreamily, unable to resist the temptation of the delectable treats as he snatched one of his doughnuts out of the box. He took a large bite, “Jesus,” he mumbled with his mouthful looking down at the doughnut in his hand.

Steve paused with his doughnut almost at his mouth, giving Bucky a playful look. "With the doughnut or the girl?” he asked, laughing.

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?” Bucky asked before taking another bite.

Steve chuckled at Bucky's response, thoroughly enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he said, taking a bite of his doughnut. "Guess you can have your doughnut and eat it too," he teased before devouring the rest of his treat.

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Who says I can't have the best of both worlds?" he replied, savoring another mouthful of the delectable doughnut. They continued to enjoy their sweet indulgence on their way back to the Fire Department’s booth.

As Aria and Darcy finished packing up the food truck, they couldn't help but feel exhaustion and satisfaction from another successful day at Cubby Dough. It wasn't their first time running out of doughnuts, but they knew it meant they had served plenty of happy customers. The two friends decided to take advantage of their free afternoon and treat themselves. They locked up the truck and made their way to the farmers market, excited to explore and indulge in some of the delicious offerings from other vendors.

The farmers market was still bustling with activity, and Aria and Darcy relished in the sights and sounds around them. It was a well-deserved break for the duo, a chance to relax and enjoy the vibrant atmosphere of the local community.

“Oh hey, look who it is,” Darcy pointed toward the Pikesville Fire Department’s booth. “It’s the smokin’ hot fireman,” she says as the pair look through a display of hand-painted vases.

Darcy's playful comment about the "smokin' hot fireman" caught Aria's attention, and she followed Darcy's finger to spot the brunette at the Pikesville Fire Department's booth.

"Oh, cool, come on," Aria said, attempting to steer in the opposite direction.

Darcy was quick to intervene, snatching her friend's hand. "Ah ah ah," she chuckled, "Where do you think you're going?"

Aria blinked at her friend, puzzled by the question. "Isn't it obvious? Anywhere but near him, duh," she replied with a sheepish grin, trying to hide her mild embarrassment.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Darcy shook her head, laughing; she tugged Aria toward the booth.

When she got into this playful and determined mood, Aria knew better than to argue or stop Darcy. With a resigned sigh, she reluctantly followed her friend toward the Pikesville Fire Department's booth. Aria braced herself for whatever fun or mischief Darcy had in mind as they approached the booth.

A short blonde man greeted them warmly as they approached the table, offering them a Firemen's calendar to support the Pikesville Animal Welfare.

Darcy couldn't resist flipping through the calendar and teasingly muttered to Aria, "I'm gonna have to set my house on fire. Take a look at these guys." She tilted the calendar towards her friend, showcasing the tall blonde fireman who had come with the brunette. He was photographed wearing nothing but patriotic swim trunks and aviators, his chest glistening, and a flirty smile on his lips as he sprayed a hose; the golden retriever next to him was living her best life chomping at the water.

"Darcy," Aria said, trying to hide her amusement.

 Aria couldn't help but be drawn to the poster board displaying animals available for adoption. Among them was a black cat named Smokey, with shiny black fur and beautiful yellow eyes. She found herself contemplating the idea of adopting him.

Darcy's amused voice interrupted her thoughts, still ogling the firefighters' calendar. "I wouldn't even think about it," she advised. "Doom wouldn't even look at you for a week after you brought your goldfish home; I can't imagine how she'll react if you bring another cat home."

Aria frowned, acknowledging that Darcy had a valid point. Doom Kitty, her temperamental feline companion, was not the easiest to get along with. Despite her delicate appearance and sweet meow, she had a feisty side and often showed her claws to anyone other than Aria. Even with Aria, she sometimes seemed more tolerated than genuinely liked.

"Well, hello there, Mr. October," Darcy playfully sang out, cocking her head to the side. "Aria, you gotta see this," she said, turning the calendar toward her friend.

Aria blinked as the calendar was thrust into her face, and her eyes fell upon the stormy blue-eyed man, shirtless with red suspenders against his tanned, toned physique; his chest had a fine dusting of hair across it, dark pink nipples, the hair seem to disappear over his well defined six pack the dusting of dark hair narrowing just under his navel disappearing into the slung low waistband of his turnout pants, showing off his Adonis belt. He stood on a ladder propped against a beautiful tree with vibrant autumn leaves in reds, browns, orange, and yellow hues. Surrounding the tree were jack-o-lanterns and hay bales, adding to the seasonal charm. He firmly gripped the ladder in one hand while the other held a black cat against his naked torso. He smiled, half-smirking for the camera, his disheveled brown hair adding a hint of charm to his rugged appearance. The picture defiantly captured the essence of October and the spirit of the season.

"I can get him to sign that for you," the short blonde said with a friendly smile. He leaned over the table, propping his head on his elbows as he looked up at them.

Aria and Darcy exchanged glances, Darcy excited and mischievous, while Aria silently begged her friend not to go through with it. "Oh, that would be amazing!" Darcy exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with mischief, clearly ignoring her friend's silent plea.

Aria couldn't help but glare at Darcy, trying to convey her reluctance. "Oh, you really don't have to," she said to the friendly fireman, mustering a smile.

The short blonde nodded, his warm smile never fading. "Nonsense!" he assured them with a wave of his hand. "It's for a good cause, after all."

"Oh, I'm Darcy, by the way," she introduced herself with a smile, holding out her hand to the man.

"Clint," he replied, shaking her hand.

Darcy couldn't resist adding a playful twist to the introduction. "Oh, and this is Aria; she totally has a thing for Mr. October," Darcy grinned wickedly, teasing her friend.

Aria's face flushed with embarrassment, and she playfully nudged Darcy, trying to downplay the comment. "Ignore her, please," she said, chuckling softly. Clint chuckled, too, finding their banter amusing.

Clint playfully drummed his hand on the table. "Don't move, ladies. I'll be right back," he winked before quickly turning on his heels and jogging towards the fire engine.

Aria couldn't help but hiss at Darcy, feeling embarrassed. "I hate you," she whispered through clenched teeth.

Darcy laughed at her friend's reaction, teasingly insisting, "No, you don't. You love me," she said with a mischievous grin, knowing that Aria's frustration was all in good fun.

Clint couldn’t resist teasing his friend as he approached Bucky and Steve. “Hey Buck, got a pretty lady over here that has a thing for Mr. October,” he said with a sly grin.

Bucky’s interest was piqued, and he looked up eagerly. “Oh yeah?” he asked, licking his lips with curiosity.

Clint playfully pointed to the two women standing in front of their table, drawing Bucky’s attention to Aria and Darcy.

One of them had her hair braided in playful pigtails; she was dressed in denim capris and the same black t-shirt he had seen earlier. As Bucky’s eyes landed on the woman standing next to her friend, he couldn’t help but be captivated by her appearance all over again. Her hair was down from its messy bun, and the sunlight caught the purple hues mixed into her dark locks, adding a touch of uniqueness to her look. Now that he had the opportunity, Bucky let his eyes roam down her full body; he’d missed the purple crystal necklace hanging around her neck, resting on her full breast that stretched out the shirt. He licked his lips, admiring her soft-looking tummy, wondering how her curves would feel under his hands. God bless whoever made those denim shorts hugging her plump ass and thick thighs showing off her beautifully tattooed legs; Bucky wanted to get more aquatinted with legs.

“Oh ho ho,” Steve chuckled, playfully slapping Bucky’s shoulder. “Looks like the doughnut goddess has heard your prayers,” he teased, referring to Aria, who seemed to have captured Bucky’s attention.

Bucky laughed along, giving Steve a mock-annoyed look. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes in good humor.

As Bucky and Steve followed Clint over to where the women stood, they were introduced to the charming duo.

Clint pointed to Steve and said, “Ladies, this here is our Captain Steve Rogers, aka Mr. July.” Steve gave a friendly nod to Darcy and Aria, acknowledging the introduction.

Next, Clint gestured toward Bucky and said with a playful grin, “And this here is our Lieutenant Bucky Barnes, aka Mr. October.” He wagged his brows in Aria’s direction, adding a touch of flirtatiousness to the introduction.

Aria’s cheeks turned even redder, and she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. The playful teasing and unexpected attention made her feel flustered, and she wished she could disappear.

“Aria here has a thing for Mr. October and wants him to sign her calendar,” Clint announced with a playful smile.

Bucky raised a curious eyebrow, “Is that so?” he asked, a smirk playing on his pretty pink lips as he held his hand out for the calendar. Which Darcy quickly handed over.

Aria was beginning to wonder if one could die from embarrassment. “I like black cats,” she blurted out awkwardly. Desperately wishing for a giant hole could appear and swallow her up.

Bucky chuckled warmly and teased, “I hope that’s not all you liked,” he winked, signing his name to the corner.

Aria’s cheeks reddened further; she was going to murder Darcy.

Before anyone could speak, a series of urgent tones came through the radio attached to Steve and Bucky’s belt, and everyone around the booth stilled to listen.

“Engine two, this is Central Dispatch—code 3. We have a report of a structure fire on 708 North Maple Street. Please respond immediately,” the voice on the other end urgently relayed.

Steve wasted no time and reached up to press the button on his microphone. “Engine two, Roger, over,” he replied promptly, his voice steady and focused.

Aria and Darcy stood in awe as Steve, Bucky, and Clint sprang into action, their years of training evident in their swift movements. The fire engine stood ready, its sirens blaring as the crew readied themselves to respond to the emergency; turnout gear seemingly appeared out of thin air as they efficiently dressed.

As the engine roared to life, Bucky gave Aria a reassuring wink before climbing aboard. Steve and Clint exchanged quick glances before they joined Bucky on the engine. In a matter of seconds, they were off, racing towards the structure fire. The engine’s sirens faded into the distance.

Inside the fire engine, Bucky glanced over at Steve, a hint of regret evident on his face. “I should have gotten her number,” he admitted, speaking into the coms.

Steve chuckled, a playful tone in his voice, “You didn’t write yours down when you signed the calendar?”

Bucky’s expression turned sheepish, and he shrugged, “Guess I was too focused on not tripping over my words.”

Clint, who was listening in on the conversation, chimed in with a teasing remark, “Smooth move, Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Thanks for the support, guys.”

Just then, Sam’s voice joined the coms, adding to the banter, “Hey, Bucky, don’t worry. You’ve got the charm of a superhero. I’m sure she won’t forget you that easily.”

Thor’s booming voice followed suit, “Indeed! Fear not, my friend. Many a warrior has stumbled in the presence of a fair maiden. It happens to the best of us!”

Natasha, who had been quiet until now, couldn’t resist joining in, “Oh, come on, boys. Give him a break. We’ve all been there. It’s not easy to flirt when your heart is racing faster than Quicksilver.” She winked at him.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at his friends’ comments. “Thanks, appreciate the pep talk.”

As the engine continued toward the scene of the fire, their camaraderie and playful banter lifted their spirits amidst the intensity of the situation.

Two weeks later….

“Doom, please come down,” Aria begged, her voice filled with concern as she looked up into the giant oak tree in her front yard. “Come on, Doom Kitty, please.”

The feline, perched high on a large branch, meowed softly, seemingly indifferent to Aria’s pleas. It stretched out leisurely, basking in the comfort of its elevated spot.

Aria’s heart sank with worry as she tried to coax the stubborn cat down. She sighed, reaching up as if she could physically coax the cat down. “I don’t know how you managed to get up there,” she said, half-amused and half-exasperated.

Doom let out another tiny meow as if acknowledging Aria but showed no intention of budging from its lofty perch.

Suddenly, Darcy appeared by Aria’s side, eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “Still not budging?” she asked, looking up at the tree.

“It’s Doom Kitty; she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do,” Aria replied, gesturing upward with one hand while the other rested on her hip.

Darcy chuckled, observing the defiant feline. “Looks like she’s quite content up there.”

“Yeah, I think she’s just enjoying the view,” Aria said with a small smile, but her concern was still evident.

The two friends exchanged glances before Darcy suggested, “Why don’t we try shaking the treat bag? Maybe that’ll tempt her down.”

Aria nodded, liking the idea. “Good thinking. Let’s give it a shot.”

As Darcy came back with the treat bag, Aria held her breath, praying Doom would actually be tempted by the treats. The sound of the treats rattling inside seemed to pique Doom’s curiosity. The cat perked up, its ears twitching.

“Come on, Doom Kitty,” Aria called gently, shaking the bag a bit more.

The feline looked around and then down at her owner, almost glaring as she turned around.

As minutes passed, and Doom showed no signs of budging, Aria's worry escalated. "I don't know what to do," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

Darcy pulled out her phone. "I think we should call for help," she suggested. "Let's dial the fire department. They'll have the right tools to get her down safely."

“Uh, no, I don’t think were—

“Too late,” Darcy interrupted happily as she walked back towards the house to explain the situation to the operator.

Aria sighed, defeated, “This is all you’re fault,” she grumbled, scowling at the cat in the tree.

Within minutes, the sound of sirens filled the air, and the fire engine pulled up in front of Aria's house.

Aria recognized the familiar figure stepping out of the fire engine, and her heart sank. It was Bucky; she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in his turnout gear. The jacket hung open, revealing a navy PFD shirt underneath, and his hair appeared slightly disheveled and sweaty. When their eyes met, Bucky smirked, seemingly amused by Aria’s flushed cheeks and embarrassed expression. Aria couldn’t help but feel self-consciousness under his gaze.

“Hey there, Aria,” he greeted warmly, his voice carrying a hint of playful teasing. "I hear we have a daring feline in a tree?"

“Hey, Hi, um, Bucky,” Aria managed, pushing up her glasses, feeling a mix of relief and awkwardness at the same time. "Yes, that's Doom," she said, gesturing towards the tree. “I’m sorry, Darcy called; it’s just so cliché. Cat stuck up in a tree,” she rambled.

Bucky chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling. “It’s no problem at all; it’s not every day I get to rescue a pretty girl's kitty from a tree,” he replied, his smirk never leaving his lips.

Aria giggled; she actually giggled. Now she has to move out of town, out of the state, and change her name and hair color.  Bucky winked at her before he addressed the other two firefighters with him.

Aria and Darcy watched with careful coordination as a ladder extended into the tree; Bucky climbed up it. They watched as Bucky expertly made his way up the tree, reaching out toward Doom with gentle gestures.

"Hey there, Doom Kitty," he called softly, trying to calm the agitated feline. "No need to be scared. I won't hurt you."

However, Doom was having none of it. The closer Bucky got, the more she hissed and growled, clearly not pleased with this unexpected visitor in her domain.

Bucky kept his cool, softening his voice, "It's alright, girl. I just want to help you get down safely," he said, trying to soothe her nerves.

Aria and Darcy watched with concern and amusement as Bucky engaged in a subtle "dance" with Doom Kitty, attempting to gain her trust. There were several swipes with her claws extended at Bucky’s hand; he tugged the glove off, offering the feisty feline his hand for her to sniff. Finally, after a few tense moments, Doom's agitation seemed to subside slightly. She stopped hissing and growling, allowing Bucky to move closer.

"There we go, girl," Bucky said gently, inching closer to Doom with caution. "You're doing great."

With a few more patient efforts, Bucky reached Doom and gently cradled her in his arms. He carefully made his way back down the tree, ensuring the safety of both himself and the feisty feline.

Once they were safely on the ground, Aria rushed forward to take Doom into her arms, relieved to have her furry friend back on solid ground.

“Doom Kitty,” she sighed, taking the grumpy cat from Bucky’s arms. “Thank you,” she said, biting her bottom lip and looking up at the fireman through her lashes.

Doom looked around, seemingly unimpressed by the whole situation. Her feline eyes met Aria’s, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if Doom was giving her owner a disapproving glare.

Aria couldn’t help but chuckle at the comical expression on her cat’s face. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Doom,” she teased affectionately. “You’re the one who got yourself into that mess.”

Doom flicked her tail in response as if to say, “I did it my way.”

Bucky joined in the laughter, finding Doom’s attitude amusing. “She’s got quite the personality,” Bucky remarked, reaching out to pet the cat.

Aria chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease in Bucky's presence. "That's an understatement," she said, rubbing Doom's head affectionately. “She’s a little diva.”

Doom purred contently, enjoying the attention despite her earlier defiance.

As the rest of the team finished packing their equipment, Bucky stepped closer to Aria. “You know, despite the chaos, I’m glad we got to see each other again,” he said with a hint of sincerity.

Aria blushed even more, her heart fluttering at the genuine sentiment in his words. “Yeah, me too,” she admitted, trying to gather her thoughts through her nerves.

Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice lower and filled with charm. “My shift ends in two hours; maybe we could grab a coffee or something together?” he suggested a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

“I’d like that,” she replied, mustering a confident smile.

As the two of them exchanged numbers, Bucky promised to text her later that day to set up a time for their coffee date. Aria felt excitement and anticipation as she watched him climb back into the fire engine. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him drive away.

Aria felt a sense of possibility in the air. There was something different about this encounter with Bucky, something that made her heart flutter with the start of something new.

As she stood there, the cool breeze gently brushing against her cheeks, Aria realized that Doom’s mischievous adventure had unexpectedly led her to a chance encounter with Bucky.

“You didn’t plan that, did you?” she asked Doom.

“Murph,” Doom Kitty replied.

Aria raised an eyebrow, “I don’t believe you,” she mumbled, walking back inside her house; Aria’s phone buzzed, and she eagerly checked her messages.

It was Bucky, just as he promised, setting up their coffee date for later that day. Her excitement grew as she replied enthusiastically, looking forward to spending more time with him. Aria couldn’t help but feel the sparks of something special in the air as she lay on the couch that afternoon. She knew that this unexpected meeting had the potential to lead to new beginnings, and she embraced the feeling with an open heart.

Little did she know that the adventurous spirit of her mischievous grumpy cat and the bravery of the firefighter who came to her rescue had set the stage for a beautiful connection that would blossom into a meaningful journey together.

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[proxylynn]

MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #1)

Summary: [Nursery rhymes are rarely given a fair chance in a world of magic and fairy tales. Often mocked and considered jokes. Little do most know of the hardships they endure. What they have to do to overcome their namesake. Most embrace it. Others fade away into obscurity. But few are able to break this mold they were placed in. They become something more than what their rhyme would allow. Sometimes for the better yet often worse. Jack Horner was one such mold-breaker. Overpowering his nursery rhyme to become something so much larger than a simple pie boy. Now he runs not only a substantially profitable pie company but is also a feared crime lord and collector of all things magic. Not bad for a buttered baker's boy. Yet he's not alone. Under his employ is another nursery rhyme character. One that owes him her life. You won't find her name in any book, and she prefers it that way. None know where she comes from or why she is so close to someone such as Jack. He knows her past and that's enough. It is this reason that she serves him. And nothing can break the chains that bind her to him. This is the story of an unlikely and very unhealthy friendship. The tale of a greedy man and a woman that seeks his happiness.]

Do you know the difference between a nursery rhyme and a fairy tale?

Nursery rhymes are different from fairy tales for several reasons.

Nursery rhymes are usually poems, while fairy tales are narratives.

Nursery rhymes are usually meant to be sung, while fairy tales are spoken.

Nursery rhymes are usually kept short with little context, while fairy tales are long and full of details.

Nursery rhymes usually have a musical component, while fairy tales are more visually stimulating.

But there's also one big key difference between the two...Nursery rhymes rarely end well.

------

Nestled in the heart of a Spanish industrial city, using its lake as a moat, and standing out as the tall centerpiece of it all is the Horner Pie Company. Currently, the Jack Horner Pie Co. is run by the man himself. This somewhat isolated enterprise where most employees even live on-site may smell sickly sweet from all the baked goods it produces, but don't let the alluring scent of pie deceive you. This compound is a base of operations for the owner's eccentric obsession with magic. He's hired various soldiers, assassins, and his own bakers to scout the lands to collect as many magical items as possible. Despite this, it is still a well-run business, even if conditions are a tad disheartening.

Imposing towering walls, giant dark wooden doors emblemed with golden J.H.s, barbed wire, red-tinted light fixtures, and rather warm stained glass windows are just some of the sights you can take in while entering its base. There's far more that awaits deep within the facility's main area and even the below. However, the seat of power is not all that distant from where the goods are made. It's easier to manage the bakers if one doesn't have to roam very far away from them. It is here that he sits at his large desk, "Big" Jack Horner, with quill in hand and going over numerous parchments that are slowly but surely making his right eye twitch with ever-building frustration. Something isn't adding up right.

"Big" Jack Horner is a very large sizable man, both height and girth, boarding on being eight feet tall. Rotund in both body and the cheeks of his face which are far bigger than the rest of the face. His short pink hair hasn't changed once from the childish bob cut of his youth and his piercing blue eyes have been known to cast the iciest of gazes. He wears a long ripe plum-colored overcoat over a mountain’s majesty colored dress vest detailed by little upturned pies, under that is a white buttoned dress shirt with a double triangular cut, pomp and power colored cravat ties around his neck, wine-colored textured leather pants, and black knee high buttoned leather boots with small heels complete his flawless attire that somehow resists all logic by not exploding from his bulk. His legs are much a contrast to the rest of him, being average-sized, if not smaller than the rest of his body. His right hand's thumb is stained a lovely shade of plum, an effect from all the pies he has and continues to stick it into.

While one would think based on his looks that he's a jolly giant, nothing would be further from the truth. This is a man you want to handle with care lest you live to regret it or live at all if you're lucky. A cruel, sadistic, irredeemable megalomaniac with a rather comical nihilistic narcissism about him. This is a man who would see a burning house then toss in fireworks and roast marshmallows on the smoldering remains. This isn't to say he lacks people skills, because he's actually a surprisingly patient individual. Calm and collected like a saint at times. Always trying to interact with those around him even if he's about to do something horrible. Like a true businessman, he's witty, charming, persuasive, and above all a master manipulator who loves toying with others for his enjoyment before ending them. It's such skills that have allowed him to rise to power and amass respect in those he deems worth his employ. These same employees stay out of loyalty and fear of him. No one crosses Jack Horner. No one.

*knock-knock*

The faint sound breaks his concentration but isn't loud enough to irritate him.

“Enter.”

The doors open with a small groan from the wood as a woman pushes in a tea cart before shutting the doors behind her.

“Forgive the intrusion, Master Jack. But it's tea time.”

This was Lynsie aka "Little Lynn", his personal assistant and bodyguard. The woman was small compared to him, by at least two feet, and a little on the thick side but it worked with her full figure. Her most striking features are her long thigh-length brown hair and her deep chartreuse eyes that were highlighted by dark circles. She wears the standard musketeer guard uniform of a white buttoned undershirt, dark violet overshirt with matching trousers, a black vest with the crest of Jack Horner Pies emblazoned in fuchsia on the left breast held down by a dark gray belt, completed with black elbow length leather gloves and black knee high leather boots. Both of her ears are pierced twice with steel ball stud earrings. And around her neck, a silver choker band studded with a row of amethysts gems.

Jack groans, running a hand through his hair as he leans back in his throne-like chair.

“Five already? Where did the time go?”

She tilts her head in puzzlement as she approaches his desk with the cart.

“You sound troubled. Is something amiss?”

“Bah. Damn quarterly reports. They're always a pain.”

“But...?”

She could tell there was something more to this than troublesome paperwork and her inflection was his invitation to elaborate further as she beings to fix up an assortment of goods from the cart. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, knowing while she won't pester him about it now she'll do so later on.

“But...Some numbers from one of our distribution shops aren't adding up. Their sale totals aren't matching the given amount of product sold.”

“Oh dear. That's definitely not good...”

She places a plate of tapas on his desk and starts making his tea.

“You don't think they're foolish enough to steal from you, do you?”

He wastes no time in feasting on the meaty appetizers before him. It's at least something else to focus on other than damn work. That and in the fixation on his work he had missed lunch entirely.

“Normally I would suspect something like that. But this is from one of our lucrative shops. Business is great in that area so it's not like they need to. Not unless they want to lose out on their money maker.”

“What area is it? Mind if I take a look?”

She offers him a cup of warm plum tea and he takes it with a knowing look.

“Sure, fine, whatever. You're only going to do it anyway.”

He sips from his cup as she smirks.

“Well, you're no fun.”

She strolls around to be at his side and leans down to read.

“Work isn't supposed to be fun.”

“It is when with you, Master Jack.”

He merely rolls his eyes at her. Not many were comfortable enough to speak with him so casually. Or rather, he didn't allow many to be so casual. He didn't need employees to be familiar with him on a personal level. Fearful respect is better than loving admiration in his eyes. She was the only exception to this but for reasons he'd never admit to. Thankfully for him, she didn't push this rare privilege too far as he imagined someone else would.

“I think I know that area.”

His brow cocked at her.

“Oh?”

She double-checks just to be sure.

“Yeah. It's a small spot, but it's not far from a docking port. Sailors like to hit local places and splurge after being out at sea for ages. Very good coin to be made, that's for sure.”

She straightens up and puts her hands behind her back.

“If you want, I can check what the issue is personally. I'm sure I can find the cause of this discrepancy.”

Her soft, gentle voice dipped slightly into bitterness with that last word, making him smirk.

“Now, Lynsie, the last time I let you go off on your own it resulted in a less than discrete bloodbath.”

“To be fair, in my defense... They deserved it.”

To that, Jack gave a much-needed laugh.

In stark contrast to her boss, Lynsie is someone most wouldn't think chose to be willingly around Jack. She exudes a calming and pleasant positive energy that can make a room full of roughhousing rouges disband with ease. Incredibly clever, civilized, and witty with a playful spunkiness. At heart, she's someone who'll bump into an inanimate object and then proceed to apologize to it because she doesn't want to seem rude. Such a woman at first glance appears to be everything a man like Jack Horner isn't. Kind, sympathetic, and empathetic. But to be frank, she is only like that to one person, Jack himself. Everyone else is merely tolerated for the sake of politeness. There is another side to her. A reason why Jack had made her his personal guard. A loyalty with no means of severing, unquestionable obedience, and a need to please that was scarred into her very core as a child. These are the traits that made a once gentle girl into a remorseless woman. Using her natural sweetness to persuade and disarm others into vulnerability before striking with deadly precision. If she targets you for any reason, it's too late to beg.

As Jack's mirth settles she leaves his side to return to the cart and tops off his tea.

“Ah...I needed that.”

“Always a pleasure to make you smile, Master Jack.”

And for her it honestly was. While it wasn't rare, Jack didn't smile often, and it filled her with pride whenever she was able to bring one to his face.

“Awe, well aren't you sweet. ...You're still not going.”

“Oh come on!”

Such a childish outburst is countered with a look of indifference and a rather hash flick to her forehead that makes her yelp.

“Do not raise your tone to me.”

His voice is stern with just a hint of warning. She rubs her sore brow and nods meekly.

“Yes, Master Jack. My apologies.”

He sits up straight and takes a slow sip of tea.

“As I was saying...You're not going. At least, not alone.”

She perks up at this as he continues.

“I do agree with what you said. This discrepancy needs to be handled with a personal touch. So take at least a few others with you and go.”

Her head tilts.

“Go? As in right this moment?”

His answer is just a look that speaks for him in a way that says “Did I stutter?”. She bows her head.

“Yes, of course. This will be taken care of post haste.”

She turns on her heel and starts to leave.

“And Lynsie...”

She pauses.

“See to it that this 'discrepancy' never happens again. Is that understood?”

A small smile comes to her.

“As you wish, Master Jack.”

She exits his office and he resumes taking in this moment of reprieve before getting back to work.

“*clears throat*”

She comes back in a minor sprint and grabs the cart.

“My bad!”

She shuffles out embarrassed which makes him chuckle. As he drinks his tea, he wonders if letting her out of his sight is a good move. Not that he had to worry about her fleeing or failing, no. If any of his subordinates can get a job done, it's her. The thing that concerned him was if she took things too far. Granted she only went ballistic one time, but still. The last thing he wants is more paperwork.

“Mr. Horner!”

A guardsman rushes into his office. Not a smart move. Jack doesn't like when people bust in like that.

“There better be a good reason you're barging in here.”

The look in his eyes is one of a snake ready to strike for this sudden intrusion. The guardsman gulps.

“Sir, yes sir. Little Lynn has been spotted rushing to stables and saddling up one of the unicorns.”

Jack sighs deeply and palms his face, dragging it slowly down with a groan. Of course, she'd take a unicorn. Those steeds are powerhouses. She going to ride into the night without sleeping. Typical.

“That woman, I swear...”

There's a small moment of silence. The guardsman is unsure what to do and Jack feels his eye twitch before his hand slaps down on his desk with a mighty intimidating 'WHACK'.

“Well? What are you waiting for?! Follow her!”

The guardsman stumbles a bit in fright from the shout but quickly turns tail and flees.

“Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots. Oh...And they left the door open too? That's just fantastic!”

[Time Skip]

It's been two days now. No word had reached "Big" Jack Horner. But was he worried? Not at all. There's never a need to get reports by message when he could watch the events unfold before him in real-time and all in the palms of his hands.

The Trophy Room is where Jack keeps his more prized mystical artifacts, enchanted objects, magical icons, bobbles, geegaws, and trinkets. It's also where he keeps his research on the fabled Wishing Star, but that's neither here nor there. Cinderella's Glass Slipper? He's got it. The Beast's Enchanted Flower? He's got that too. Snow White's poison apples? He has them by the bushel. The mythical Sword in the Stone, Excalibur? You best believe he has it. Yet none of that was what he was engrossed in.

In his imposing seat, he holds the crystal ball of the Wicked Witch of the West, a massive orb to anyone else but to Jack, it was like holding a simple child's toy. This particular object granted him the ability to see that which he knew of and his desires. Granted, a useful tool, but it was specifically limited otherwise he wouldn't need to pay thieves to find items for him.

With a mere thought, the crystal ball heeds his whims, and the storm of magical energy inside swirls to open in the center, revealing Lynsie with the other guardsman as they approach a room somewhere.

————————————————–

She pulls a key out from her glove and turns to her associate.

“Keep watch out front. I won't be long.”

The man looks at her funny.

“Are you sure you don't need...?”

She shoots him a look dead in his eyes as if to say “Leave. Now.”. He flinches and steps back slowly.

“I...I'm going to go keep watch out front.”

She watches him leave, pausing before unlocking the door and then entering the dark room. Inside, she relocks the door and lights a candle left in the seemingly empty room, highlighting a man bound to a chair with a sack over his head. He doesn't appear to be moving. She gives a huff through her nose before snapping her fingers. This gets the man's attention.

“H-Hello? Who's there?”

He's nervous, as he should be.

“If this is about my tab, I swear I'm good for it.”

“Is that so?”

Her voice confuses him.

“Y-You're not from the bar, are you?”

“Afraid not. A shame really.”

She approaches the man.

“Why's that?”

“Because whoever you owe coin to would've been far kinder than I.”

She grabs the sack and yanks it off the man's head.

“Hello there, Simple Simon.”

It's clear he doesn't know who she is, but the moment he sees the crest on her uniform his eyes widen.

“Oh...Oh no...”

She smirks.

“I see you understand the situation. Good. Saves me the trouble.”

He starts to sweat a bit.

“L-Look...I...I'm sure we can come to an understanding.”

She tosses the sack to the side.

“Simple Simon met a pieman, Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, Let me taste your ware...”

She begins to circle the man while reciting his nursery rhyme.

“Said the pieman unto Simon, Show me first your penny; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, Indeed I have not any...”

“You don't have to do this.”

Her response is to slap him hard across the back of the head.

“Simple Simon went a-fishing, For to catch a whale; All the water he had got, Was in his mother's pail...”

He grumbles and stares down at the floor.

“Simple Simon went to look; If plums grew on a thistle; He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle...”

She stops in front of him.

“He went for water in a sieve. But soon it all fell through. And now poor Simple Simon; Bids you all adieu!”

His eyes are still downcast and she doesn't like it.

“I know you're simple, Simon. But to be this stupid? To be pilfering pies from "Big" Jack Horner? Don't you know? No one steals from "Big" Jack Horner.”

“Don't you talk down to me!”

He snaps, glaring up at her, though she is unfazed.

“You have no idea what it's like being me. Being a nursery rhyme known for being a moron. I was just a dumb kid! What kid isn't dumb?!”

He grinds his teeth.

“No one wants to hire a simpleton. I have to scrape by on pity scraps just to live. A rich scumbag like Jack Horner doesn-ack!!”

His words are caught in his throat...which is currently in her grip.

“You shall not speak ill of that man.”

Her voice is as cold as ice. This did little to sway Simon's ire, as he then spits in her face. He probably expected her to release him and he could try to mess with his binds while she'd distracted by being grossed out. But to his dismay, she doesn't move. In fact, her grip only tightens and her eyes intensify with malice.

“Big mistake.”

He has only a moment to gulp in terror before she begins to pummel the ever-loving snot out of him. Gloved knuckles meet his face repeatedly. His pleas fall on deaf ears. She is not going to listen. She will stop only when satisfied with doling out this punishment to such a disrespectful soul. After a good couple of minutes, she relents, wiping the spit and blood from her face on her upper arm sleeves. His bound and busted body lies broken on the floor.

“You truly are simple. Do you think your nursery rhyme traps you? You couldn't be more wrong. Your nursery rhyme doesn't hold you back, Simon. You do. You chose to stay in its shadow. To let it control you. You are the reason for how your life is.”

She retrieves from her vest's inner pocket a small pouch.

“Nursery rhymes get dealt a bad hand compared to fairy tales. You admit to knowing this. So to knowingly steal from a fellow nursery rhyme, well...That's just asking for a bad ending.”

She kneels and grabs his face.

“You can insult him all you want, but you're just mad because he is everything you wish you were. He overcame his nursery rhyme. He made something more of himself. Something you'll never do.”

She forces his mouth open and crams the pouch in his gob, expelling the contents before making him swallow. He sputters and somewhat chokes as a strange powder fills his insides.

“*coughs* W-Wha...What was that? What did you give me?”

She merely lets go of him.

“Jack Horner is a man. A real man. But you? You are nothing.”

His body begins to tremble. He can feel things from within begin to change. She puts her hands behind her back and watches him as he panics.

“What's happening to me?! What did you do?!”

Her expression is as dead as a gravestone.

“You are nothing, Simon. Nothing but an insignificant bug.”

His body suddenly implodes, bursting into a puff of glittery dust. When the dust clears, where once there was Simple Simon now is only a small bug. Using the pouch, she scoops the bug up and ties it shut.

“I should kill you, Simon. Do you know what you've done with your stupidity? Not only have you stolen from my boss, making him very upset. Not only have you insulted the only friend I have, making me very upset. Not only do you bring shame to all of us nursery rhymes by being so damn pathetic, which should make you upset. But, most personally annoying, you got me to leave his side!”

She snarls and her grip locks to prevent her from crushing the pouch.

“I have been gone for two days...NEARLY THREE DAYS! YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF ABSOLUTE SH-!”

*knock-knock-knock*

“WHAT?!”

She barks at the door.

“...Is everything okay?”

It dawns on her she's being rather loud and unbecoming. She shuts her eyes, takes a few breaths, then runs a hand through her hair to center herself.

“Forgive me. That was rude. I didn't mean to snap.”

“...So...Is all well in there?”

“Yes...”

She looks at the pouch and sneers at it.

“All is well.”

Getting the key, she unlocks the door and opens it to face the guardsman who can see the now empty room.

“We're done here. Has the client been informed their problem is taken care of?”

“Yes, ma'am. I took the liberty of doing so shortly after we detained the thief.”

“Good. Retrieve our steeds. We ride for home at immediately.”

“Now?”

Her snarl shuts him up.

“Right. On it.”

He flees to get their mounts and she glares down at the pouch.

“I need to find a jar or I'm going to end up squishing this bugger.”

————————————————–

Jack can't help the grin that spreads across his face. Now that was the kind of display that stirred something in him. Is it something good, who could say? Maybe it was respect? Maybe it was admiration? Or more likely it was the enjoyment of seeing her beat the crap out of someone before dooming them. That's always something he can take delight in.

“Good girl.”

The images inside the orb get lost in the magical storm as he gets up and returns the ball to its pedestal.

[Time Skip]

It would be another day and a half before a familiar knock would be made on the door of Jack's office.

“Enter.”

He doesn't bother looking up from his book as the door opens and her soft footfalls are heard.

“I've returned, Master Jack.”

“I can see that.”

He remarks without actually looking.

“You know the drill. Tell me everything.”

She nods and shuts the door, slowly strolling over to him.

“Upon arrival, I questioned the shopkeeper and staff in case they knew anything more than what was reported. As it turns out, in the dead of night someone was sneaking in and stealing product. We came to this conclusion based on evidence around the building. So, we proceeded to set an ambush and wait for the culprit to attempt the following night. The idiot never saw it coming.”

She pulls from her pocket a small jar containing a bug.

“Meet the culprit, Master Jack. Simple Simon. Now in a more condensed form.”

That got him to glance her way.

“You kept him alive?”

His tone was that of lack of interest with just a hint of surprise.

“Not going to lie, I've been tempted to just crush him or release him into a swamp full of hungry toads. The damn fool pressed my buttons in all the ways to seriously tick me off the longer he spoke. But...”

She puts the jar down on his desk.

“He's the one that wronged you. Stole from you. Insulted you. Thought so little of you...”

The way she said that word causes his grip on the book to tighten harshly. If there's any way to get under Jack Horner's skin more, it's remotely insinuating him as little. He spent years under the humiliation of being "Little" Jack Horner. It's why he worked so hard to get out of the shadow of his nursery rhyme. His face reddens as his breathing gets more labored and he glares daggers at the jar.

“I can do this for you if need be. Just say the word and this fool will be nothing but a memory. All you have to do is give me the order.”

His hardened stare goes to her and she backs up a bit. His attention falls once more on the bug in the jar, the tiny thing cowers in its glass prison knowing full well it can't do anything as this giant of a man is now the judge, jury, and executioner of its fate. In a swift motion, he grabs the jar, gets up from his chair, and storms out of his office with a haste that would trample anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path. She is quick to follow after him. His heels cast ominous strong speedy clops on the stonework floor as he reaches his destination...the bakery.

The bakers turn and look up from their work as he enters, looking like curious and worried prairie dogs that just popped out of their holes to see a threat approaching. Jack scans the room, his eyes landing on an unoccupied oven and he makes a beeline for it. All just watch as the massive man goes to it and hurls the jar in with pure hate before slamming the doors shut, locking it for good measure.

The staff find this confusing before sudden screaming is heard. It starts rather small, even squeaky, as if from something tiny. But then it gets louder and deeper, till it is undoubtedly the recognizable voice of a man. It is an agonizing burning sound. And it's made all the more haunting by how long it lasts before smoldering silence takes hold.

“Let that be a lesson...”

The fury he once had seemed to have dwindled but was not quite gone yet.

“No one...And I mean, NO ONE, disrespects "BIG" Jack Horner!”

Without another word or even a look of confirmation, he huffs and fumes his way back toward his office. The bakers merely look at Lynsie who is smiling for reasons they probably don't want to know.

“Leave the oven be.”

She mutters.

“Give it two hours to cremate the body. Then flush the remains out and wash it thoroughly. We can't have a single oven be compromised or out of operation for long.”

She turns on her heel and waves to them over her shoulder as she begins to go after Jack.

“You're all doing a great job. Keep up the good work everyone!”

The bakers are left in a state of unease. This was not something they were used to. Body disposal is normally a weekend thing and this is still early in the week. Whoever that guy was, he was incredibly unlucky.

Back in Jack's office he leans over his desk and settles down, his hands splayed over the fine wood. His heaving chest slowly returned to a steady rhythm. It isn't often he lets his temper flare that much. But damn did it feel good. Nothing quite like getting rid of a pest that’s been bugging you.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice makes him flinch just ever so faintly and he rumbles low.

“Did you forget how to knock?”

She ignores this and shuts the door for privacy.

“That got a bit intense out there. Do you need to talk?”

Perhaps she was misreading the moment, but something felt odd and her natural instinct was telling her to be supportive. Maybe he just needed to vent his frustrations.

“You know, I'm here for you if you need to let off some-”

“Lynsie...”

His tone is slightly off. Playful, sure. But off. See for him, now that he had calmed down and collected his thoughts, it occurred to him that something wasn't quite right. A question stewed in his head that needed answering.

“That was quite the interesting means of dealing with Simon. Turning him into a bug and all. But I must say, it begs to question, where did you get the transmogrification powder?”

His question stuns her and her silence has him turn to face her with a smirk.

“Granted, it made clean up a lot easier after you had beat his face in. A bug is much lighter to carry than a full-grown man after all. But still...Magic of any kind hasn't been part of your arsenal before. So where did you get it from?”

His sterner tone makes her demeanor shift. She'd never dare lie to him. Even if it meant punishment.

“I...I made it. Using a recipe from one of your books.”

She scrunches timidly inward, her eyes looking away at the floor while holding her own hands as a means of keeping herself together.

“I figured...It could in handy during missions. I swear, I bought the materials and didn't use anything of yours!”

His amusement becomes conflicted yet he still finds a means of enjoyment in it.

“Perhaps I've been too lenient with you.”

She tentatively looks up as he beckons her with a few curls of his finger, which she does all be it with the slightest hint of hesitation. The moment she is within his range, he grabs her by the face and she freezes in place. Her eyes widen and blink rapidly with uncertain nervousness as his huge hand smothers her, keeping her silent as well as still. She's far from the same woman he witnessed in the crystal ball. No longer confident or sure of herself. This shy and frightened girl is a side only he knows of. One that he met long ago.

“You know better than to touch my things without permission. Are there any other little tricks up your sleeves? Better tell me now. I would hate to have a reason to be disappointed in you, Lynsie. And you don't want that. Do you?”

His voice is almost mocking her. But even in mockery his aura of strength is ever present and isn’t to be taken lightly. She shakes her head as best she can in his grasp and starts turning out all her pockets to show she has nothing. Accepting this, he shoves her back and she stumbles before falling onto her rear.

“You're going to be making it up to me.”

She nods weakly.

“Starting now, you'll be given extra duties to perform around here. Is that understood?”

She nods again but this time he wags his finger and clicks his tongue.

“*tsk-tsk-tsk* What are you a dog? Speak! Use your words!”

His voice raises just above his normal volume and she freaks out in a rush to apologize.

“Yes, Master Jack! I understand, Master Jack! Forgive me, Master Jack! I'll do better, Master Jack, I promise!”

Oh, how watching her squirm and revert to a begging child tickles a twisted part of him. He loves it. He loves knowing her weakness. It's how he knows she'll always be under his big purple-stained thumb.

“Good girl.”

With those two words, he could see in her eyes just how fragile and easy to manipulate she was for him. He could visualize the chains of his control binding her further to his needs. But for her, hearing those words fills her with a comforting warmth. A feeling of recognition and worth from the one she respects above all else, including herself.

This was their dynamic.

Jack, the one in a position of power and dominance that overshadows everything that he once was.

Lynsie, the subservient eager to please one that yearns for the approval that had always eluded her.

The conqueror and the follower.

It is perfect.

Perfectly toxic.

----------------

[I do plan to add more to this. I think you’d all find Jack and Lynn’s background together interesting. If this goes well I’ll begin on chapter two soon. I only made it seem like it ends here in case my brain decides to crap out on me. Best not cliff hang anyone, even myself. Thank you all and I hope this was a good read. Have a pleasant day/night. ^_^]

[im-nearly-30]

Have you seen the Asian guy in the Blue Suit and Gold shoes running really fast?

If you're like me you're almost 30 and before you go to bed you lie awake for about 30 to 45 minutes in bed scrolling instagram watching re-uploaded tiktok videos.

I can't remember the first time I came across the 'Vintage King' videos but it was before they even introduced the 'Red Prince' (his brother).

These videos were wild and I would scream anytime I found a new one immediately sharing it with my one friend (and he is actually 30).

If you haven't had the great fortune of stumbling across any of these videos it usually goes like this:

A young man going his way through his life is met with an unfair and unjust situation. He turns tail and bolts, tears streaming down his face.

The pain and hurt is too much and he must change, he must TRANSITION!

As he sprints across the road with magnificent speed a bright flash signals his change, just in time with the beat drop. He is no longer the crying and sad boy, he now a MAN wearing a bright royal blue suit and golden vintage shoes. He swiftly passes the camera and looks back with a smugness as we get a view of the full buttocks on display.

You get the gist of it. Usually all of the videos follow the same format of Cheng having some sort of difficulty and then running away crying and then returning stronger than ever wearing a blue suit, gold shoes and pillow tucked into his pants.

Pi has now been added to the saga as the Red Prince as his main antagonist and the Blue King is too overpowered to be taking on normals anymore.

I'm honestly fascinated and a little obsessed with this strange series, it feels like a fever dream. Anytime I run across one I head straight to the comments because I know I've found my people. The people who speak English and are glimpsing into the "Wild Wild East" of foreign-made videos for social media.

For months my one friend (who is actually 30) and I would talk about these strange videos. We would have brief respite from time to time as our algorithms were inundated with various trends - like the Long nose dog who will do it for me, or Chestnuts roasting on an open Fye - but we would always return to the normal daily dose of "The Cheng & Pi Vintage Brothers".

Usually I would be okay with just that but lately I've been thinking about even when I'm not on instagram. I would be in my morning Teams meetinfs thinking about the man in the blue suit running so fast in these golden shoes. What is he running from? What is he running to? Is he a good guy? Or is he a bad guy?

Spurred by these nonsensical questions I fired up the old Google Chrome and just started looking for "running chinese man in blue suit" and I did manage to come across a lead -

mr.chen_handsome

The Ultimate Vintage King himself (self pro-claimed No.1 handsome boy).

Where does he fit into this? I don't know but he does have the OG cast (Blue & Red) on his actual TikTok.

I must continue my research and find out more, I must know who the Blue King and the Red Prince are!

Much Love,

You're almost 30 year old friend.

[barbelz]

𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗟𝗶𝘀𝘁: Movies and Series.

1. Crazy Little Thing Called Love (2010)

Romance-comedy

2. The Grotesque Manson (2021)

Horror

3. Titanic (1997)

Romance, historical drama

4. Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo (2016)

Romance, colossal, fantasy

5. Dark Blue Kiss (2019)

BL, romande-comedy

6. Kiss Me Again (2018)

BL, romance-comedy

7. Our Sky (2019)

BL, romance-comedy

8. Remember You (2021)

27 Dec 2022

Action-crime, thriller

9. Dilwale (2015)

24 Dec 2022

Romance-comedy, action

10. Ketika Cinta Bertasbih 2 (2009)

Religi-romance

11. Mencuri Raden Saleh (2022)

Adventure, action-crime

12. Ivanna (2022)

28 Jan 2023

Horror

13. The Proposal (2009)

Romance-comedy

14. Secret Window (2004)

2 Feb 2023

Psychology-thriller

15. 50 First Dates (2004)

6 Feb 2023

Romance-comedy

16. Di Bawah Lindungan Ka'bah (2011)

8 Feb 2023

Religi-romance

17. Forrest Gump (1994)

26 Feb 2023

Magical-realism, romance-comedy

18. Surga Yang Tak Dirindukan (2015)

6 Mar 2023

Religi-romance

19. Surga Yang Tak Dirindukan 2 (2017)

8 Mar 2023

Religi-romance

20. Quickie Express (2007)

12 Mar 2023

Mature, romance-comedy

21. Pintu Terlarang (2009)

19 Mar 2023

Psychology Thriller

22. Arisan (2003)

19 Mar 2023

BL, light comedy

23. 4bia (2008)

25 Mar 2023

Horror

24. Kucumbu Tubuh Indahku (2019)

26 Mar 2023

Documentary-based on true story

25. Fiksi (2008)

2 Apr 2023

Psychology thriller

26. Takut: Faces of The Fear (2008)

3 Apr 2023

Thriller

27. 300: Rise of An Empire (2014)

5 Apr 2023

Historical-action, colossal, war, drama

28. Nocebo (2022)

6 Apr 2023

Psychology thriller

29. Ada Kamu, Aku Ada (2008)

8 Apr 2023

Light drama

30. Hancock (2008)

9 Apr 2023

Action-drama

31. The Karate Kid (2010)

14 Apr 2023

Action-comedy

32. Bride Wars (2009)

16 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

33. Keramat 1 (2009)

16 Apr 2023

Horror-mockumentary-based on true story

34. Ever After (1998)

18 Apr 2023

Romance

35. Rumah 78

Youtube horror series, based on true story

36. The Pursuit of Happyness (2006)

19 Apr 2023

Biography-drama-based on true story

37. Sex And The City (2008)

20 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

38. Sex And The City 2 (2010)

21 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

39. Romeo + Juliet (1996)

26 Apr 2023

Drama

40. Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

30 Apr 2023

Drama-biography-based on true srory

41. Perfume: The Story of A Murderer (2006)

2 May 2023

Psychology thriller

42. Cast Away (2000)

5 May 2023

Adventure, survival, drama

43. Life of Pi (2012)

7 May 2023

Adventure, survival, fantasy, drama

44. The Devil Wears Prada (2006)

14 May 2023

Drama

45. The Number 23 (2007)

Psychology thriller

46. Goblin (2016)

Drama, romance, fantasy

47. I Know What You Did On Facebook (2010)

July and 9 Nov 2023

Romance

48. Saus Kacang (2008)

30 Jul 2023

Romance-comedy

49. Memoirs of A Geisha (2005)

17 Aug 2023

Historical romance, based on true story

50. Ada Apa Dengan Cinta (2022)

19 Aug 2023

Romance

51. Ada Apa Dengan Cinta 2 (2016)

20 Aug 2023

Romance

52. Eiffel I'm In Love (2003)

21 Aug and 30 Sep 2023

Romance

53. Eiffel I'm In Love 2 (2018)

22 Aug and 1 Oct 2023

Romance

54. Tusuk Jelangkung (2003)

25 Aug 2023

Horror

55. Rumah Kentang (2012)

26 Aug 2023

Horror

56. Ali & Ratu-Ratu Queens (2021)

27 Aug 2023

Drama

57. Kawin Kontrak (2008)

30 Sep 2023

Comedy

58. Hors de Prix (2006)

6 Oct 2023

Romance-comedy

59. Terlalu Tampan (2019)

8 Oct 2023

Webtoon-based, romance-comedy

60. A.I Artificial Intelligence (2001)

9 Oct 2023

Sci-fi, family-drama

61. Peekay (2014)

10 Oct 2023

Satirical-comedy

62. 3 Idiots (2009)

11 Oct 2023

Comedy-drama

63. Kirun + Adul (2008)

12 Oct 2023

Romance-comedy-action

64. Tentang Cinta (2007)

16 Oct 2023

Romance

65. Love For Sale (2018)

18 Oct 2023

Romance

66. Step Up 2: The Streets (2008)

21 Oct 2023

67. Love For Sale 2 (2019)

25 Oct 2023

68. Arini by Love.inc (2022)

26 Oct 2023

69. Dhoom 3 (2013)

27 Oct 2023

70. Anaconda (1997)

27 Oct 2023

71. Thugs of Hindostan (2018)

28 Oct 2023

72. Anacondas: The Hunt For the Blood Orchid (2004)

29 Oct 2023

73. Mohabbatein (2000)

01 Nov 2023

74. Laal Singh Chaddha (2022)

05 Nov 2023

75. Crouching Tiger: Hidded Dragon (2001)

11 Nov 2023

76. John Wick: Chapter 4 (2023)

13 Nov 2023

77. Jakarta Undercover (2007)

15 Nov 2023

78. Cinderella (2015)

16 Nov 2023

79. Pretty Woman (1999)

18 Nov 2023

80. Slumdog Millionaire (2009)

20 Nov 2023

81. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)

24 Nov 2023

82. A Moment To Remember (2004)

27 Nov 2023

83. Cek Toko Sebelah (2016)

01 Dec 2023

84. Cek Toko Sebelah 2 (2022)

07 Dec 2023

85. Ngeri-Ngeri Sedap (2022)

14 Dec 2023

86. Milly & Mamet (2018)

16 Dec 2023

87. Mean Girls (2000)

20 Dec 2023

88. The Bodyguard (1992)

24 and 30 Dec 2023

89. Petualangan Sherina (2000)

06 Jan 2024

90. Qodrat (2022)

91. Laskar Pelangi (2008)

19 Jan 2024

92. Cherry Magic (2023)

14 Feb 2024

93. Warm Bodies (2013)

25 Feb 2024

94. Sang Pemimpi (2009)

95. Pamali: Dusun Pocong (2023)

04 May 2024

96. Jakarta Undercover 2 (2022)

97. Mirror (2008)

20 Jul 2024

98. Speed (1994)

22 Jul 2024

Action

99. Foxtrot Six (2019)

27 Jul 2024

Action

100. Merantau (2009)

03 Aug 2024

Action

101. Shallow Hal (2001)

04 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

102. Jomblo (2006)

07 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

103. Janji Joni (2005)

09 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

104. 3 Hati 2 Dunia 1 Cinta (2010)

10 Aug 2024

Romance

105. Diana (2013

14 Aug 2024

Romance-documentary

106. The Wall (2012)

17 Aug 2024

Drama-mystery, sci-fi

107. Eat Pray Love (2010)

18 Aug 2024

Romance

108. Ticket to Paradise (2023)

22 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

109. Tali Pocong Perawan (2008)

24 Aug 2024

Horror

110. Last Twilight (2023)

1 Sep - 13 Sep 2024

BL Thai series, romance

111. Vice Versa (2022)

14 Sep - 16 Sep 2024

BL Thai series, romance

112. Testpack (2012)

10 Oct 2024

Romance

113. Daisy (2006)

12 Oct 2024

Action-tragedy-romance

114. Disturbia (2008)

9 Dec 2024

Thriller

115. Only Friends (2023)

26 Dec 2024

BL series

116. Herditary

29 Dec 2024

[thelemonzone42]

Evie Scruffypup

Jess and Lily were both at the Helping Paws Wildlife Hospital feeding nuts to a shy squirrel.. Not wanting to bother them, they left the nuts by a pile of fallen leaves if he’s hungry. Then they wished that Goldie could be there. Just like that, Goldie appeared and took them to their secret hideout in The Friendship Forest. 

When they got there, Goldie told them that it’s Blossom Day, a holiday in The Friendship Forest where everything blossoms. Everywhere it smelled like plums, honey and jasmine all together. Soon it’ll be time for the Blossom Drop Hunt, an event where The Nibble Squeaks go around Petal Hill, the place where they hold Blossom Day every year, and hide honeysuckle petal pet treats all around the place. Along the way they meet collie sisters, ‘Hattie’ and ‘Evie’ who were excited to find the Blossom Drops. Eager to get to know them better, they agreed to bring the two collie sisters along.

As they were searching the place, they found a few in a treehouse. Just then, they heard loud noises coming from outside. 

Outside, they saw the Scruffypup home turning into a wreck and Grizelda casted a spell that whoever touch’s Masha the Rat’s mess will behave like one. Evie touched it and behaved like one. Jess and Lily had to change her back to normal fast. Evie’s older sister, ‘Hattie’ explained that Evie loves to treat Blossom Treat and they have to get more honeysuckle blossom petals fast. LUckily, Olivia knew where the trees were. Thanks to a little breeze, they caught at least twenty petals, just enough to make the blossom drops. Olivia promised to get started on the Blossom Drops right away.

At the Scruffypup Residents, Hattie explained that she loves to collect things, including jewels. After searching her room for the jewels, Hattie suggested that her jewel collection should be at Toadstool Glade, where they have jewels on the ceiling.

Along the way, they run into their friend ,’Ellie Featherbill’. Ellie explained that she was getting blackberries for her mom’s pie when she saw a mess. Goldie gave Ellie some raspberries as a blackberry substitute. It may not be the right ones, but they’ll do for the pie.

Behind them, Evie and Masha snuck up and pelted them with blackberries. Jess, Lily, Goldie, and Ellie rushed off to Toadstool Glade and they saw numerous jewels above. Thinking back, they remembered from Hattie that Evie kept her jewels in a basket. After they found it, they found round and square jewels and a special heart-shaped jewel. They decided to bring it along for precautions. 

Outside, they found a trail of golden leaves to Willowtree River, where a numerous pile is at, including a leaf wreath, but they need to know who it’s for. After running from an ambush by Evie and Masha, they come across The Blue Flash Family, which is a flock of blue jays, and Evie’s kingfisher friend, ‘Bethany’ who knew Evie’s secret at Petal Dell, which is near Petal Hill. Along the way, they met up with Nibble Squeaks and gave them the honeysuckle petals. 

At Petal Dell, they saw that Evie is going to throw a surprise party for her older sister, ‘Hattie’. Every year, her birthday gets overshadowed by Blossom Day. Evie figured it out quickly by the tired patrons and the frequent sad look on her older sister’s face. So she and Bethany decided to throw a surprise party for her. Once Masha and Evie came, they said Evie’s favorite things and Evie turned back to normal. Masha rushed off to Grizelda and they left. 

Everyone arrived for Hattie’s surprise birthday party, including The Nibble Squeaks with freshly made Blossom Drops, cheesy twists, fruit pies, honey biscuits, raspberry cream sponge cake, lemon roll cake and a birthday cake with nectar frosting. For entertainment, an owl played in his one man band. Jess and Lily gave Hattie the leaf wreath Evie made for her and she loved it

After the party it was time to go home. When they got there, they saw the squirrel they encountered earlier placing his nuts in Jess’s father’s shoes and they laughed.

The End.