#still have a dozen or twenty more to take pictures of

[dailypokemoncrochet]

So productive today! Took so many pokeamidex photos and queued some of them up and it isn't even light outside yet

[yandere-daydreams]

Not-So-Scary Moments With The Yan. Genshin Boys (Sumeru + Fontaine Edition).

Characters: Alhaitham, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Tighnari, Cyno, and Wriothesley.

Word Count: 2.7k.

TW: Borderline Shitposting, Prolonged Imprisonment, Varying Levels of Emotional and Physical Abuse, Codependency, Mentions of Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

Alhaitham

It took Alhaitham about ten minutes to drag himself out of bed, his staggered footsteps audible through the thin walls of his apartment.

It took twenty for him to haul himself through his morning routine – water running somewhere in the distance and porcelain clattering against marble countertops as he washed his face and tried to work some life into himself. Alhaitham usually wasn’t so lethargic, but he’d had a rough week. There’d been a sudden influx of paperwork for the Akademiya’s sole scribe, and every second he didn’t spend buried under new legislation and requests for increased budging was, instead, dedicated to one of his many personal research projects. By the time he’d gotten home last night, it’d been all he could do to make sure you hadn’t starved to death and drag himself to bed.

He usually would’ve kept you waiting for a few more minutes, but an agitated grunt marked an end to his normal patterns. In a moment, he was braced against the doorway to his own study, his eyes narrowed half-hearted towards where you sat in his leather-padded chair, your feet propped on his desk. There was an book open in your lap – one of his, something about metaphysics and ley line abnormalities and how both tied into the Inazuman politics. He eyed it wearily before speaking, his voice still deep with exhaustion. “Where did you put my hearing aids?”

His tone was accusatory, his irritation visible. You put on your sweetest smile. “Where did you put my novellas?” you signed, thinking for a moment before adding, “Bitch?”

“They aren’t ‘novellas’, they’re—” He cut himself off with a scoff. “They’re filth. I don’t want you rotting your brain with smut.”

“The plots are very—”

“The plots are half-baked excuses for paper-thin characters to fondle each other in locations you can tell the author didn’t take the time to properly research and—” His gaze flickered to you, his frown deepening. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’ve read them?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, he let out a labored sigh. “The dozen or so I couldn’t be bothered to throw away are in a cabinet underneath the kitchen sink. It’s locked – the code is your birthday. Now, where are my aids?”

“You fell asleep with them on last night,” you said aloud, abandoning his glorified textbook and pushing yourself to your feet. His hand shot to the side of his head, finding the metallic cuff only slightly displaced by having spent the better half of the night on his head. As you passed him, you paused, pressing a kiss into the corner of his scowl and pretending to ignore the muffled groan he let out in response.

Neuvillette

Of all the sights you thought you might see after arriving in your wonderous new nation, the Iudex of Fontaine standing over your drained bathtub with a look of potent remorse written across his expression was not one of them.

You’d imagined yourself strolling through the walls of the Opera Epiclese in vivid detail, been able to picture exactly what you might’ve seen standing below the Tower of Ipsissimus or above the bottomless pit that was the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, but even after you’d found yourself in the smothering care of Monsieur Neuvillette, you never would’ve been able to conjure this sight. He usually insisted that you bathe together, going so far as to have an in-ground tub that could’ve easily been mistaken for a hot spring installed in his (until recently neglected) personal residence to better indulge the habit. Thankfully, the trial he’d been presiding over had run long today, and you’d been able to save yourself an hour of his calloused hands running over your body, of his eyes burning into your skin with a nearly inhuman focus. You knew he’d be disappointed. Irate, even, depending on how his trial swung.

You hadn’t expected him to be so… sulky about it.

Half-lidded eyes, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips as he lingered idly in the doorway between your shared bedroom and the in-suite bathroom. Steam and silence laid heavy in the air – the latter you were eventually forced to break as you fiddled with the hem of your robe. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping more to break the tension than to make him think you were genuinely apologetic. “It was getting late, and I didn’t know when you were coming home. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.” When he didn’t respond, you braced yourself for the worst. “If you’re angry, please say so. I… I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to you.”

His expression softened. He let out an airy sigh and, with only a moment of hesitation, closed the space between you. “I’m not angry.” A pair of lean arms wrapped around your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale, and did what you could to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine at the thought of him basking in your scent. “I’ve just been… looking forward to it, I suppose. Your taste relaxes me.”

Immediately, you went rigid. “My… taste?”

“Mhm.”

“Neuvillette,” you started, very slowly, giving your own mind time to catch up to the dread slowly building in the pit of your stomach. “Have you been drinking my bathwater?”

He was quiet for a not inconsiderable amount of time.

Finally, he pulled away from you just far enough to speak. “…no?”

For your own sake, you decided to believe him.

Kaveh

“Kaveh.”

“Not now, treasure.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, in another hour.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I’ve already told you – I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes, expression contorted by concentration. “Knight to B4.”

“Kaveh,” you repeated, leaning across the table. “You were showing me your blueprints.”

“Oh.” He blinked several times, looking over the sheet of blue paper marked with chalk drawings and near indecipherable hand-writing. “Were you impressed?”

Your frown irked, but you swallowed back your exasperation and pushed yourself to your feet. Slowly, you took him by the hand and, when he failed to protest, guided him out of his own seat and towards the room you were usually restrained to, when he wasn’t home. He’d kept himself awake for the past two nights, every moment of the past forty-eight hours devoted to finishing his proposal for a wealthy commissioner’s summer mansion before its upcoming deadline and, now that the coffee had been drained from his system and his adrenaline had been given time to fade, he was practically a shell of a man – all dark circles and hunched posture and disheveled blonde hair.

Sleep deprivation was, by far, the worst thing he could inflict on himself. At least he was happy after he drunk himself into oblivion. This was just depressing; as miserable for him as it was for you.

With a dutifulness you shouldn’t have had to show to your lover-turned-stalker-turned-captor, you brought him to his bed and watched as he collapsed onto it, what little strength he had to hold himself up immediately dissolving. With a sigh, a roll of your eyes, you turned to leave, but a hand lashed out from the crumpled heap and caught you by the wrist. “Stay with me?” His voice was muffled by layers of sheets and blankets, but clear enough. “Please?”

Usually, his bids for affection were met with bitter neutrality or, on your worse days, spiteful condensation. Usually, you would’ve torn yourself out of his hold and made sure he knew that he’d ruined any chance of living out his little domestic fantasy the second he decided his obsession was worth more than your happiness. Usually, you would’ve hated him that much more for daring to ask.

But, he could barely hold his eyes open and when you failed to immediately recoil, the sloppiest, most lovesick smile you’d ever seen plastered itself across his lips. It was his turn to pull you forward, this time; to drag you onto his bed and into his chest. With a satisfied sigh, he slotted his chin against the dip of your shoulder and draped his arms around your waist – an old position. A relic of better times you’d never been strong enough to completely dicard. “When it’s time to draw up the plans for our home,” he mumbled, only half-audible. “I won’t so much as breathe until its perfect.”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t say anything.

He’d already fallen asleep.

Tighnari

He glanced once at the thick packet of ink-marked parchment you’d slammed in front of him before looking back to you, his expression disparaging. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“A custody agreement,” you answered, grinning. “Alhaitham put it together during his last visit.”

“We don’t have any kids.”

“It’s for Collei. If I ever leave you,” and, to be clear, you would be leaving him, as soon as you figured out how to get away from a man who poisoned your tea whenever you so much as suggested entertaining a future that didn’t include him, “I want weekends and summers.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Which is why we’re letting her pick who she wants to spend holidays with.” You tapped the front page with your knuckles. “Honestly, dear, if you weren’t going to so much as read the documents, we could’ve scheduled this for another day.”

His ears twitched, his tail sweeping across the floor in irritation. “Even if this was legally binding – which, by the way, something assembled by a scribe would not be – I would never give you weekends. That’d be too much travelling for a girl in her condition, and I don’t want her to feel like she comes from a broken home. Moreover, according to Regulation #531 as passed by the Grand Sage last year, you would have to get Collei’s signature before—”

“Check page twenty-seven.”

You watched him scowl as he thumbed through the pages. A second later, his ears flattened against his scalp, and he took to muttering under his breath. “Traitor.”

“If you don’t want your aggression towards the dependent party used against you in court, I’d suggest you sign on page four, seventeen, and thirty-two.”

You left his villa half an hour later with a with a new imprint of his fangs on the side of your throat and a signed document in-hand.

Cyno

“You have kidnapped me.”

“Technically, I was only—”

“You’ve blackmailed me, imprisoned me, and tortured me.”

“You can’t still be hung up on—”

“You’ve branded me with your name, forced me into your bed, and made me play out all your delusional, fucked-up fantasies—” You took a deep breath, pursed your lips. “—but if you show up to a black-tie event wearing that, it will be the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

He looked down, as if considering his attire for the first time. He was in his usual uniform – which was to say, shirtless and barefoot, his hair windblown and a fine layer of sand still coating what little he was wearing. You could only be thankful his polearm wasn’t slung across his back, but you knew he’d make it past the door without it. “The way I dress has never been a problem before.”

“There’s a difference between hunting down rouge scholars and going to a banquet being held by a literal god. Archons, Lesser Lord Kusanali herself might be there.” You gasped, dragged your hands over your face. “Everyone who’s ever gone to the Akademiya will absolutely be there.”

For all his many faults, he could never stand to see you in pain. There was a brief delay, a moment of unsure shuffling, then his arms were wrapping around you, his chest slotting against your back has he pulled you against him. “It’ll be alright,” he muttered, speaking into your shoulder. “If anyone so much as attempts to insult you—no, if anyone tries to talk to you at all, I’ll strike them down in the blink of an eyes.”

His comfort was stale, but you forced yourself to relax. At least enough to speak. “You know,” you mumbled, letting your hands drift to your temples. “Dehya was hired by an up-and-coming scholar, a few weeks ago. I’m not sure how long her contract was, but there’s a chance we’ll see her tonight.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Cyno?”

“I’ll change.”

Wriothesley

You could hear him trudging up the metallic stairs to his office; his footsteps heavy enough to drown out the soft music flowing out of his century-old gramophone. His head emerged from the curving staircase, first – his hair somehow more disheveled than its usual state of barely-tamed chaos – then his chest, his tie undone and his collar terribly mangled, as if he’d spent all day indulging the worst of his nervous habits. He was baring his teeth, his pale cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes narrowed into a pointed glare. It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for (in your wildest dreams, he would’ve managed to sink his beloved fortress before he ever reached you), but it was close enough.

You moved to stand, to greet him with the warm embrace he usually demanded, but he was already in front of you, already pinning you to the back of the lounge you’d been splayed across with a single fist planted less than a hair’s width above your shoulder. “You,” he growled, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “Do you know how many journalistsI had to deal with today? They were everywhere. I couldn’t go a step without tripping over some— over some glorified tabloid.”

“So, your meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette went well?” His scowl deepened, and you let out your most faux innocent laugh – a chiming, bubbling thing he’d never been able to stand. “You shouldn’t scowl like that, love. All those photographers will have to find a new model if you manage to give yourself frown lines.”

He jolted, but forced himself to shut his eyes, to let out a long, ragged breath. When he did face you again, he’d regained a degree of his composure – just enough to meet your smile with his own tight-lipped grin, more teeth than anything. “I’ll let you off easy if you tell me how you did it now. Before I decide it’d be faster to strangle an explanation out of you.”

“I didn’t break any rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You paused, folded your hands over your lap. “It was all thanks to our great and benevolent duke. Contacting people outside of the fortress has gotten so much more efficient ever since you decided prisoners should be able to send letters without administrative vetting.”

He buckled visibly, his shoulders falling as he lean towards you, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” There was a raspy chuckle, a hand on your thigh, squeezing just hard enough for his anger to shine through the playfulness of the gesture. “I think I’ve earned the rest of the day off, and I think you’ve earned—”

The door to his office swung open before he could finish, a masculine voice calling up from the voice below only a moment later. “Your grace, t-there’s a reporter here to see you! She says she’s been told not to leave until she speaks to your partner!”

“That’ll be Charlotte,” you half-sung. “She seemed like such a nice girl in her letters. It’d be a shame to keep her waiting.”

When he failed to answer, you brought up both hands and cupped his face, cooing as you used your thumbs to quirk the corners of his mouth upward.

“Just remember to smile for the camera this time, alright?”

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Don’t Prove I’m Right - [Part 4]

♥ prev

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ series synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.

♥ chapter synopsis: after his reckless decisions, lando attempts to make it up to you. it took some convincing from oscar but you eventually gave in and had a conversation with him.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: its been MONTHS since the last chapter I am so sorry lovelies!

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, and 120,538 more

yourusername ever since @/logansargeant and @/oscarpiastri got camila these plushies she’s been obsessed with them

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yourbestfriend please don’t tell me the deer is being replaced 😔

yourusername camila would never

lilyzneimer shes just too cute to not spoil

user1 haven’t seen lando in any of her posts recently 😕

user3 they did JUST get back to Monaco so I wouldn't be worried

user6 they're not dating either so I don't see why he would be

user4 we need a godfather reveal

logansargeant it’s me

oscarpiastri its me

carlossainz55 … it’s probably not me 😕

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It had been a couple of days since your last conversation with Lando and a knock on your door drew your attention away from your phone.

A giant box was sitting on the doorstep alone with no sender information. You hesitantly brought it into the living room and grabbed a pocket knife to cut through the clear strip of tape. The box quickly burst open from the pressure of the deeply packed objects—about a dozen jellycats and an apology note placed on top. 

It was clear to you that this package was from Lando, and it was a very sweet gesture. He’d clearly seen the post you made the previous day and was trying his best to make up for his mistakes. You sighed and folded the note up, setting it on your couch. You pulled out a soft pink bunny from the box causing Camila to squeal and hold her arms open. 

You still hadn’t checked your texts from Lando, but Oscar was right. You couldn’t ignore him forever. Lily offered to take you out for the night in order to clear your head. You were extremely grateful for Lily’s support and generosity ever since you met her. She had truly become one of your best friends throughout this experience.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by lilymhe, carmenmundt,, and 102,843 more 102,473 more

yourusername girls night

tagged; @/lilyzneimer

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lilyzneimer <3

user1 we love a self care queen

user2 she’s so pretty

alexandrasaintmleux we should all hang out together <3

francisca.cgomes i second that

yourusername i’m so there

user7 i love that the wags include her 🥹

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You sat next to Lily with a glass of white wine in your hand, conflicted. Of course you were. Like Oscar said, you had to confront him at some point, but it was going to take a lot for you to trust Lando again. You pulled your phone out of your purse.

You got the response pretty much immediately.

You sighed and turned to Lily, "I'm gonna go talk to Lando."

"Good luck," she said with a smile, and took another sip of her drink.

You picked Camila up off the couch and bundled her up in a small yellow blanket.

-

You were at his apartment in about twenty minutes. You knocked hesitantly, tapping your nails on the case of your phone and jangling your keys in attempt to reduce your anxiety. Lando opened the door in silence, letting you into the room. He sat back down on his couch and you followed, cradling your daughter in your arms and choosing to stand up as you spoke.

“Listen Y/n, I know what I did was-“

"I'm not going to take your child away from you,” you stated, cutting him off. “You said you want to be in her life, but you have to keep that promise."

He nodded and ran his hands across his face. You wanted to get straight to the point with no excuses. You had heard all of his apologies already.

"Lily talked to Kmag and found her a babysitter, so we're good on that end. But, you still have to earn back my trust to be alone with her and if anything like this happens again I won't be nice."

He looked back up at you, “It won’t ever happen again, I swear. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

”I agree.”

There was some awkward silence as you gently sat on the arm rest of the couch.

You looked down at your daughter, “She may not fully get it yet, but you’re her dad and she loves you,” you locked eyes with Lando again. “You chose to raise her with me, so you need to take responsibility.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

"Good," you responded, standing back up and stepping towards the front door. You paused without turning your head back towards him, "Good luck in Imola.”

With that you were gone.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: this was short, I am aware! there was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but I decided to turn it into its own whole part lol :) I've already started working on it so stay tuned!

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[ao3-rex1223]

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐈𝐕

Pairing: DBF!Leon x Fem!Reader

Tags: vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, cunnilingus,

Summary: Leon is called away to a mission in Spain before Christmas and you wait anxiously to see if he'll make it home in time.

“I’m going to try my hardest to finish in the next couple days,” Leon reassures you over the phone. He’s been away for two weeks on a mission in Spain since a rogue military faction started snooping around for remnants of Las Plagas. You pace Leon’s living room; ever since you two got together, you spend a lot of time waiting at his place. You tell your parents your ‘house sitting’ since they still don’t know you’re secretly dating him, though sometimes you wonder if your father at least suspects and isn’t saying anything. He never questions what you’re doing anymore. As soon as you say you’re going to Leon’s, he simply smiles and nods, never pressing you for further details. 

You flop onto his bed, twirling your hair in your fingers. “Think you’ll be home by Christmas?” you ask, hope rampant in your tone, the holiday only one week away. Your eyes glance around the bedroom you share with him more often than not, lingering on photos of you two placed in simple frames all over. You smile to yourself, feeling the warmth from the happy memories. 

“I wanna be there. I’ll do everything I can, baby.” 

“I’ll make sure your house is nice and Christmas-y for when you get home,” you promise, already envisioning so many decorations, it’ll be like Christmas threw up all over his house!  

I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” Leon replies with a chuckle. 

You hear gunshots ringing in the background, causing your heart to race wildly. “Leon!” you choke out, plagued with worry.

“I better go, baby girl,” Leon says suddenly. You can hear rustling, like he’s moving quickly. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, Leon. Please be careful!” you cry, tears pooling in your eyes. The line goes dead and, as always, you never know if it’s because he hung up or something awful happened. You won’t know until he calls again. It could be hours… It could be days. You take a deep breath and sigh, hands trembling as they hold your phone, eyes staring at the screen with Leon’s image and contact information still displayed. “Just come home,” you whisper to that digital picture. 

In an effort to distract yourself, you make a trip to the local hobby store to find some decorations for Leon’s house. Your mood lifts slightly as you wander the store, picking out every tantalizing Christmas decoration you see, filling the large shopping cart full before you’re even half way through the store. You glance down at your haul so far; reindeer, Santas, porcelain houses, lights, fake snow, candles, garland, nutcrackers, bows, stockings, ornaments, even a few gnomes dressed in holiday garb. You return your gaze to the aisles ahead…and then…in the distance, you spot an eight foot tall synthetic tree, decked out in colorful LED lights and your eyes shine like a small child padding down the stairs on Christmas morning to see all the presents that good old Saint Nick left for them. Beaming, you rush to the nearest employee and ask - no, beg - them to help you get one of those magnificent trees. The twenty something year old worker clearly suppresses an eye roll - not that you’ll let it get to you - and tells you he’ll ‘check the back’. After a few minutes, he returns and tells you there are no more of the trees you wanted in stock. “The closest we have in stock is a nine-footer,” he explains, his tone detached and apathetic, as though he'd explained the lack of stock a dozen times already today and couldn't muster any more effort.

Unwilling to let this Grinch steal your cheerful attitude, you gleefully exclaim, “Oh! I’ll take the nine-foot one, then!” You practically jump up and down. 

“Great,” the worker replies, coldly and turns on his heel, heading back to the stockroom. You bob your head and sing softly along with the Christmas music playing overhead. Finally, the worker returns with a flatbed carrying your beautiful tree. 

After struggling to get it into your car, eventually you strap it to the top and carefully drive back to Leon’s place with your massive purchase of holiday decorations. You link your phone to the stereo in his living room and start playing more Christmas music, along with which you are all too happy to sing. You immediately start putting up the nine foot tree. With tender, loving care, you add lights, ornaments, and tinsel. You string more lights along the mantle of his fireplace and garland on the banisters. The small statuettes you bought find places on his coffee table and end tables. 

Throughout the afternoon, you’re constantly checking your phone to see if Leon has called or at least texted. Nothing. You know he must be pinned down somewhere. He will always let you know he’s okay when he can. You clasp your hands together in a silent prayer for his safety. 

Meanwhile…

Leon forces himself to breathe quietly as militia men scour the decaying laboratory - the one that used to belong to Luis. He stays hidden behind a cabinet, clutching his handcannon in position to fire if needed, but he’s hoping to avoid a direct confrontation, not that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s faced down a hoard of enemies…and it wouldn’t be the first time in this location, either. Flashbacks from that day he came here to rescue Ashley Graham back in 2004 fill his mind. That was long before he met you, before you changed his whole goddamn life. Christ, he misses you. He misses the warmth of your body pressed against his; he misses your smile; he misses your laugh, your kisses, your warm, wet mouth around his-

“Hey! Check over there!” one of the men commands, pulling Leon from his reverie. Fuck, he thinks to himself as he hears heavy boots approaching his hiding spot. He cocks the powerful magnum, ready for a fight. Some big burly motherfucker pokes his ugly head around the corner of Leon’s hiding spot. He growls, bearing his sickly teeth which are quickly blown to pieces by the bullet fired from Leon’s weapon. Shit, can’t catch a break. Guess we’re doin’ this, Leon realizes. He pushes the large man’s limp body away and gets into position, ready to take out anyone else who dares come his way. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will keep him from returning to his girl. 

Back at Leon’s place, you decide to bake some cookies, hoping to have a nice treat for him when he gets back, as if you didn’t practically buy out the store’s entire stock of Christmas decorations. You inhale the warm, homey smell of the delicious dessert, soothing your weary heart, which still worries for Leon’s safety. You take a deep, centering breath, reminding yourself to trust in Leon’s abilities. 

Two days before Christmas, you finally hear from him. “Hey, baby girl. I'm coming home!”

You shriek with joy, jumping up and down in his living room. You spend the day meticulously cleaning the place, making sure it's perfect. 

And on Christmas Eve, near midnight, The door opens, his face marred by fatigue and restless nights, but still handsome as ever. The soft glow of the fireplace illuminates his features in a warm hue. “Baby…” he whispers, his voice barely loud enough to hear. Tears pool in your eyes, your nose tingling as emotion overwhelms you. You rush toward him and throw yourself into his embrace. 

Just like that, with the love of his life in his arms again, Leon feels whole once more. He crushes you against him, soaking in your warmth, soothing his aching soul. He buries his face in your neck, taking in your unique scent. It reminds him why he fights, why he continues to battle the evils of the world, because, as bad as things are, if he can make it a little better for you, it’s worth the pain and effort. For a while, you simply hold each other, the crackling of the fireplace and the quiet whispers of the cold winds outside the only soundtrack for your heartfelt reunion. When you finally part, he gently cups your face and presses his mouth to yours in a tender and passionate kiss. The softness of your lips is a balm for his wary heart. Your tongues slide together in perfect synchrony, a dance of love and devotion. 

You finally break for air, gazing with longing into each other's eyes. “I missed you so much, sweetheart,” Leon coos, his voice cracking slightly from the weight of all his emotions. 

“I missed you too, Leon,” you reply, pressing a delicate kiss to his nose. 

He smiles, his tense muscles finally relaxing after the long and grueling mission. “Hey,” he begins, his voice smooth like butter again, “got something for you…” He bends down to pick up a box with a bunch of holes in it. You look with curiosity at it, certain you hear it…whimpering? A giant red bow adorns the top. He holds the bottom while you lift the lid. Inside is a small, fluffy white puppy, looking up at you with innocent, golden eyes. It yawns, inadvertently showing off its sharp little teeth. Adorably ferocious, you think to yourself. 

“Leon…it’s…” You try to speak, but feel too choked up. Your hands carefully reach in to pick up the helpless ball of fur. Holding it in your arms, it sniffs you cautiously before licking your face, drawing out a genuine, joyful grin from your lips. 

“You remember me telling you about that dog that helped me out all those years ago?” Leon asks. After you nod in affirmation, gently scratching your new friend’s furry cheeks, he continues, “I found him again. Had a litter of pups around. This one was the runt; he wouldn’t do well on his own in the wild, so I brought him home. Thought he could keep you company while I’m away. Merry Christmas, baby.”

Tears fall down your face at the thoughtful gift. “Oh Leon! I love him!” you exclaim, kissing him deeply once again, your soft pup nestled between the two of you. 

After settling the pup - who you decide to name Buddy - into his new home, you and Leon share a bottle of champagne to celebrate his safe return. You clink your crystal glasses and snuggle together on the couch while Buddy snores softly, fast asleep on the recliner. 

Hearts yearning to share the most intimate of connections, Leon lifts you into his arms, bridal style, and carries you to the bedroom, the champagne glasses long since drained of their titular contents. He lays you on the bed with infinite gentleness and crawls over the top of you. He kisses your lips then peppers kisses all along your cheeks and jaw. He pecks a few more just below your ear before whispering, “I love you so much baby. More than anything. I fucking need you.”

You moan softly, cunt getting slippery with your essence, arousal growing, unobstructed. “Leon…I need you, too. I love you!” Tears pool in your eyes again as your feelings for him overwhelm you, yet again. 

He hums his approval at your response, hand gently lifting your shirt, grazing your perfect breasts as he removes it entirely. He growls hungrily as his eyes take in the plush mounds. “Missed these two, as well,” he adds with a smirk and kisses both breasts before taking one hardened bud into his mouth. 

Your teeth take your lower lip between them, biting gently as pleasure begins to fill you, originating from the gentle nibbles on your tits. You can feel his cock hardening, throbbing against your thigh through his pants. He sucks on the fat of your breasts, definitely intending to leave hickies there. Your hands reach down to tug at his shirt. His mouth releases you for mere seconds, long enough to whip his shirt off and throw it across the room. He continues to kiss his way down your taught stomach. His hands grab the waistband of your sweatpants and panties, pulling them down and off, effortlessly. “My Christmas feast…” Leon growls and pushes your legs apart. His thumbs part your wet folds and he looks hungrily at your glistening, pink sex. He licks his lips before diving in, hot, open mouthed kisses claiming your neglected pussy. Your hips roll in time with his expert licks, angling your clit toward his tongue. He closes his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking on it like it’s a rare delicacy. Your abs tighten as your body begins to respond on its own, your back arching hard and your head digging into the bed. Your hands death grip the sheets, nails nearly cutting through the fabric, a mind numbing climax imminent. 

“Leon! I’m cumming! Fuck! I’m cumming!” you cry out, the pleasure worth the wait you had to endure while he was gone. Orgasm ripping through you, he pins you in place with his strong arms while he continues to lick you though your waves of euphoria. As you pant, gasping for air, he kicks off his pants and gives his aching dick a few strokes, precum leaking from the tip. He pushes your legs apart again, which practically fall open whenever he looks at them. 

“Can’t wait to be inside you again, sweetheart. Not at home until I feel your perfect cunt wrapped around my shaft,” He guides his throbbing cock toward your willing entrance, notching the tip past your eager barrier. He drops onto his hands above you, arms caging you in as he slides further inside, the familiar sensation of his thick length filling your tight channel and kissing the entrance to your womb like a warm embrace, a feeling of completeness. “Fuck…you’re so goddamn tight, baby girl. Never gonna get tired of this,” Leon purrs. His mouth connects with yours once more, pouring all of his pent up love and passion into the heated kiss. With tender thrusts, he begins to move inside you. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock rubs your g-spot, teasingly slow. You moan and whimper, begging for more with incoherent babbles. “Yeah, baby girl. You want more? Want me to put a baby in you, honey?” His mouth returns to your neck, licking and sucking, his own arousal and need growing beyond his control. 

His words make you arch into him even more, the thought of him impregnating you is once again a potent aphrodisiac. “Yes! Please! God, I want it so bad!”

He groans at your impassioned affirmation. He begins snapping his hips forward hard, your tantalizing breasts jiggling with each movement. He withdraws nearly completely out before slamming back inside you again, driven by primal instinct, an innate desire - no, a need - to breed you, to watch your belly swell with his child, to claim you in every way imaginable. He laces your fingers together, pressing them gently into the mattress. His rhythm is frenzied and irregular as he begins chasing his own high. As you cum a second time, you tense, hard, then cry out as your walls collapse on his dick, sucking him in deeper. With a guttural, rough moan, Leon thrusts into you one final time, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. For a long time, he simply remains buried inside you, unwilling to sever the connection just yet. He pulls you with him as he rolls off of you, deciding to keep himself warm inside your delicious heat for the night. “Need you to cockwarm me, baby girl. Been too damn long.”

Your pussy quivers weakly as the last remnants of your orgasm trickle out of you. “Always, Leon. Merry Christmas, baby,” you coo softly, running your fingers tenderly through his hair. 

He closes his eyes as you caress his scalp and rub it gently. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he replies, wrapping his arms tightly around you, pulling you close as he begins drifting off to sleep, comfortable and happy for the first time since he left for the mission to Spain. 

[ginxyy]

Midnight in a sea of lights

The streets were alive with celebration, a kaleidoscope of glowing lanterns, food stalls, and bustling crowds. Laughter and music filled the air as couples, families, and friends moved through the festival, their faces lit with the warm glow of string lights hanging above. The chilly evening was warded off by the vibrant energy all around, and your hand rested snugly in Mingyu’s as he guided you through the chaos.

“Are you sure this is better than staying in?” you asked, smiling at how easily he navigated the crowd despite his towering height making him an obvious target for bumps and stares.

“Of course it is,” he said, turning to flash you a grin. “You said you wanted to do something special for New Year’s, and what’s more special than this?”

He gestured around dramatically, his free hand sweeping over the colorful scene. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, his energy infectious even in the overwhelming sea of people.

“I’ll admit,” you said, “it’s beautiful. But I didn’t realize you’d be dragging me to every food stall.”

“Hey, I’m doing this for you!” he said, mock offended. “You need to try everything once. It’s a festival rule.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as he stopped at yet another stand, buying two sticks of candied fruit and handing one to you. He watched expectantly as you took a bite, his expression lighting up when you hummed in approval.

“See? Worth it,” he said, popping a piece into his mouth.

The two of you wandered through the festival, Mingyu’s excitement never wavering. He tugged you toward a booth where you both tried (and failed) to win prizes at a dart-throwing game, then insisted on taking a dozen selfies in front of a giant light installation shaped like a crescent moon.

“Hold still,” he said, adjusting the angle of his phone as you stood beside him.

“You’ve already taken, like, twenty pictures,” you teased.

“Yeah, but this one’s for the memories,” he said, snapping another photo before looking at you with a cheeky grin. “Plus, we look good together.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but before you could reply, the sound of fireworks bursting overhead drew your attention. The first few explosions of color lit up the night sky, signaling that midnight was near.

“Come on,” Mingyu said, pulling you toward a quieter spot near the edge of the festival where the view of the fireworks was unobstructed.

The countdown had already started, the crowd’s voices echoing around you.

“Ten… Nine…”

Mingyu turned to you, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the fireworks.

“Eight… Seven…”

“You know,” he began, his voice low but clear, “this year’s been kind of crazy. But having you around made it feel… right.”

“Six… Five…”

Your heart raced at his words, the sincerity in his tone catching you off guard.

“Four… Three…”

He smiled, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something softer. “So, thank you. For being here. For being you.”

“Two… One…”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was sweet, warm, and full of unspoken emotion. The crowd erupted into cheers around you, but the world felt still, the only sound the soft pop of fireworks above.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cold night air.

“Happy New Year,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Happy New Year, Mingyu,” you replied, your cheeks warm despite the chill.

He grinned, pulling you into a tight hug as the fireworks continued to light up the sky. “This year’s going to be amazing. I can feel it.”

With the vibrant energy of the festival buzzing around you and Mingyu’s arms wrapped securely around you, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

[ylangelegy]

montage of love ꩜ seungmin x reader.

── .✦ 💌 reader uses she/her pronouns. includes: idol!ksm, feelings realization, [childhood] friends to lovers, freeform, time skips, fluff, light angst.

── .✦ 🚏 self-indulgent and prose-heavy with a reference to Twenty-Five Twenty-One! originally posted on ao3.

── .✦ 📟 wc: 1,600+

Seungmin’s poorly concealed indifference towards her is probably the biggest tell of his affections.

She’s known him for so long, after all, growing up in the same Gangnam neighborhood. Their mothers stayed in touch, too, so Seungmin knows all about the course she’s taking up at university and the sporting competitions she’s winning first place in. 

Had things been any different, Seungmin is sure he would have been urged to pursue her. As a teenager, the thought would have repulsed him. Now that he’s a bit older, he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t cross his mind at least once.

Maybe a couple of times. 

Maybe every single time he got to go home, really, because there she always was. A few houses down, their basement converted into a flower shop.

He wishes sometimes that it wasn’t flowers, because he sees flowers everywhere, which means she haunts him even when he’s miles and miles away. 

They don’t keep in touch online. They only ever see each other when his mother sends him out to buy a fresh bouquet for the living room vase.

Never mind that Seungmin comes home hours late, his face flushed and his answers curt. She always gives him the prettiest arrangements to make up for their rendezvouses.

(And, secretly, their mothers are still hopeful.)

But there was no romance in their meetings. Not the first dozen, anyway.

She would close up shop for an hour or two so they could visit a nearby convenience store or some obscure cafe. And when the group’s popularity began to pick up, Seungmin didn’t have to say anything. Their walks began to veer into quieter neighborhoods, more secluded spots. 

He doesn’t want to love her. He doesn’t have time for any of that, anyway.

But when she mentions offhandedly that a classmate flirted with her, Seungmin flexes his hand unconsciously. He feels the sudden urge to swing a bat at something.

And when she says it didn’t work out, Seungmin is embarrassingly relieved. 

She notices, laughs, reaches out for his hand. He doesn’t move away.

So Seungmin cares for her. He lets himself admit that much.

None of the boys know for the longest time, but he lets slip in front of Minho and Felix and Jeongin one day that he’s going back to Samseong-dong for the night because it’s his 여자친구’s birthday. 

Girlfriend. They all balk, even Seungmin. His what? 

Seungmin doesn’t bother to correct himself. He leaves his roommates in a general state of confusion and spends the night with her in her flower shop, eating take-out on the floor and talking about his latest trip overseas.

He contemplates, then, asking her what they are. But Seungmin has never been the type to rock the boat. Not when something is still good. 

They spend most of their time together in her shop. Rarely anyone who knows him stops by. It’s always an old man, an apologetic husband, a clueless boyfriend.

He asks her, one night, which flower she likes the most, and she simply says, “All of them.”

So he watches a couple of YouTube videos and arranges a bouquet with a little bit of everything. She tells him to stop wasting her resources but keeps the arrangement in the back room until they wilt. 

Though the boys ask, Seungmin never dignifies their questions with a response. They stop prying when they realize he’s not about to crack. They follow the breadcrumb trail instead, the traces of her that are difficult to avoid. 

Passport photos that Seungmin keeps at the bedside table of every hotel. Pictures he never posts but sends to someone, not the fan Bubble or the like.

And when they’re back home, he’s always hitting the ground running. The typically put together, restrained Kim Seungmin has started rushing, speed walking “home” after extended trips abroad. 

One day, his roommates look out their window and spot who he’s running towards.

Seungmin is in love with her, he eventually concedes. Big deal, he thinks.

He doesn’t really realize just how much it matters until he tells her offhand I think I might be in love with you and she freezes. Then laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs, and he leaves the shop that night with the tips of his ears red.

They don’t talk for a week. Chan even pulls him aside at one point, concerned because all his recordings are too sad, too angry. 

She meets Seungmin at his dorm one evening and apologizes about her reaction. She was trying to act cool, she admits. And then she says, I think I might be in love with you, too.

Seungmin wants to laugh coldly, wants to get back at her, but there’s something so earnest in her confession that he knows she means it. 

Their first day as a couple goes by without much fanfare. Slowly but surely, she becomes more known to him. When he introduces her, formally and finally, to the boys, they are all shocked at the Kim Seungmin he becomes without him even noticing. 

He keeps an envious, watchful eye on all the members. There is always some form of connection between them; their knees touching, his arm around her shoulders, his fingers twisting a strand of her hair.

When she speaks, he nods in all the right places. “Call me when you get home,” he tells her as she leaves, and she rolls her eyes like it’s something he’s said a thousand times before. 

Seungmin dismisses the boys’ jokes about it. He has no idea, it seems, just how unfathomable his love is to others. And is that not the best kind? His affection is almost intrinsic, instinctual.

To him, loving her was as practical as breathing. 

“Did you ever really love me?” she asks bitingly during a particularly nasty row. The details are hazy, now, about what had them bringing out their claws and spewing venom.

It could have been Seungmin’s jealousy. It could have been her aloofness.

Nothing justified her question.

Seungmin recoils like she’d hit him. He stares at her, hard and angry. “Watch what you say,” he hisses, his voice impossibly tight and his eyes deceptively dry.

She has her lips pursed and her arms crossed. She’s poised and raring to fight, and waiting for the right answer. But Seungmin is stubborn, and tired, and what kind of question was that? 

There’s no way she could have known, or even seen, the way that Seungmin looked at her. The devotion in his expression. Oh, he practically worshiped the ground she walked on.

And here she was, questioning that. How dare she, Seungmin thought. 

What do I have to do? he wanted to ask. Do you want me to yell your name off rooftops? Give everything in my life up to prove it? Say the word. Say the word and I’ll show you just how much I love you. 

He says none of that. Instead, he does what he does best: He watches her leave. He watches her retreating back, watches the light blink out from the window of her room, watches their KakaoTalk conversation receive no updates for yet another grueling week.

He doesn’t even find out that she’s fallen ill from her. It’s his mother who tells him in a conspiring whisper. 

He shoulders into her room despite her protests and treats her until he’s coughing and sneezing, too. They switch roles.

“Is this enough proof?” he asks one night, delirious and drugged. Then, for the first time, with his whole chest, he says: “I love you.” 

She strokes his forehead with a damp handkerchief. Her eyes are dry but they shine, twinkle, and quietly, dozens of times over, she says it back. 

They’re able to keep it a secret for four years. Even the most harsh of critics begrudgingly have to hand it to them. What phenomenal discipline! What utmost consideration! Why did she never demand, never ask to have a bigger share of his life?

The short answer: She was happy. She didn’t need the whole world to know that she was the idol’s muse. She was content to watch his stages and know that he would be coming home to her for the weekend. 

Right before he enters military service, he releases a SKZ-Player. 사랑의 몽타주. Montage of love. And its hers, wholly hers, referencing their relationship, promising a safe return.

Fans think its about them. She knows who it’s really for. 

And when the 21 months of service is over, Seungmin is a bit of a changed man. Enough to stand before the higher-ups of JYP Entertainment, and then his adoring fans, to tell them all that he is in love. He has been for quite some time now. And there’s nothing he wants to do more than to keep making music, and be in love with that one person, if they’d all still have him. He asks, too, for his privacy to be respected. 

People do, for the most part, but she’s still found out.

Her flower shop booms in popularity. Old classmates from uni blow up her inbox. She waits for Seungmin to come home to her after his surprise pronouncement and can’t decide if she’s going to hug or slap him.

He gives her the long answer: He’s tired of hiding. He doesn’t care what might happen to his career. And the boys, he ran it through them, and they all think the same. 

If you love someone, why hide it? If you love someone, let it be known.

Seungmin takes her hand. “Let’s go out,” he urges.

It’s late in afternoon. Most of their dates have been snatched up moments; evenings in parking lots, backstage in dressing rooms. 

But the day is warm and promising, and the flowers are in full bloom. And Seungmin is looking at her, expectant and hopeful, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

And she can’t say no.

She squeezes his hand. “Let’s go out,” she repeats. 

He smiles, then. Indifference be damned.

They walk out of the store and the flowers lean towards them like they're somehow brighter than the noonday sun. 

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART I

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 2,992

read on ao3

summary: in which contract killer simon "ghost" riley has to marry by a deadline, and of all the women to pick from, he chose you - without your knowledge, against your own stubborn will, and without much hesitation. your entire life, what you thought you knew, is flipped on its head while you try to navigate your new worldview and the complications therein.

cw: toxic parenting

♡

Simon stares at the photos before him, eyes flittering across the array wordlessly as he contemplates the question at hand. As migrant as his gaze has been, he keeps circling back to the same photo in his grid. Something about it draws him in, calling to him like a siren song. There’s no inclination that this path could lead him to his death, leave his bloated corpse floating just below the surface like seaweed, equally as limp and lifeless, nor can he be bothered to mind the possibility of rocky shores ahead, nearly certain to run his ship aground if he’s not exercising the utmost caution. His sails have never flown higher, and this? This feels like the right rigging for his needs.

It’s not that Simon wants a wife. Truthfully, he wants for nothing - he fucks when he feels like it, does as he pleases, and has hired hands to handle his household; anything he desires is placed at his feet with the snap of his fingers. He’s earned the life he has now, paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears - the likes of which belonging both to him and the piles of bodies he prefers to think of as stepping stones rather than people. But Simon Riley is nothing if not a man of his word, and the bill has come due.

Twenty years, he promised. Twenty years, and not a day more. It seems like an eternity to an eager, naïve teenager.

John Price, the master of hired guns, trained Simon. He put years of his life into molding Simon into the perfect weapon while instilling a moral compass impossible to sway. It did not come without cost, though. When he agreed to teach a driven, persistent, gifted fifteen year old Simon the ins and outs of the business, they made a deal. In exchange for John’s knowledge, Simon would be given time to build his empire before being required to take a wife.

“A mountain can’t rest upon a single pebble,” Price had told him. “Strength is in numbers, my boy. Earn loyalty where you can and buy it where you can’t.”

He’s been on his own for just over a decade, John becoming his equal, and he still takes those words to heart; hence the spread of pictures. Word travels fast, and when it gets out that the Simon Riley is seeking a bride, every magnate - respectable or otherwise - with a daughter to spare is throwing their hat into the ring. Conceited, perhaps, but having connections with Simon gives a man the kind of power they’d be foolish to reject.

His right-hand, Johnny, has already weeded out those with seedier dealings - those who cater to terrorism or are even suspected of having connections to human trafficking. While Simon is merciless in his kills, he does not kill without compunction. He’s swift and silent and doesn’t believe in leaving them to suffer. Death itself is punishment enough. There’s no purpose in his life for those who inflict undue dolor for their own gain, and he will not be associated with the uncouth.

The process limits his options, though not by nearly enough. Still, nigh on two dozen remained. He culled the field down to a mere nine by adding stricter constraints: age, employment history, education, and the like. He has no interest in the barely legal, the spoiled socialites, the vapid, shallow, or vain. As hollow as this state of matrimony may ring under the circumstances, he’d prefer not to be one of those men who feels disdain for his partner.

That’s the thought that keeps him circling back to one specific photo - a grayscale surveillance-style photo. The subject is undoubtedly stunning, appears to be precisely his preference in every physical aspect, but the devil is in the details. A delicate necklace that appears to be well-worn but treasured enough to stay polished, a purse that bears no distinguishable designer but shows no sign of detrition, neat, complimentary nails, but he can see a thin sliver of dried glue at the cuticle of the thumb; all signs of frugality without sacrificing sophistication...

Even the tiniest observations sing a haunting, operatic tune that keeps Simon hypnotized with little regard for what could lie within the treacherous depths below. Instinct drives interest, and if there’s anything Simon’s learned in his line of work, it’s to trust his instincts.

Not another beat passes before his fingertips finally close around the edge of the picture. He hands it to Johnny.

“Dig up everything you can on this one, yeah?”

♡

Fascination seems to be the weakest word to describe the rabbit hole Simon finds himself in when Johnny slides a file across his desk. He thumbs the manila tab that peeks out beneath the slew of staggered papers, taking caution to remember the name printed neatly across it - your name. It tastes sweet when he says it out loud. Pretty name for a pretty girl, he muses with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

The surname strikes him with a notch of recognition. Your father, if memory serves correct, is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. A pleasant man by reputation, though Simon has never met him directly. Sans the obvious, he keeps his nose clean. Nothing iniquitous or unscrupulous. There aren’t many American families that Simon has ties to, and forging a bond of this sort with a weapons tycoon would certainly be beneficial.

He digs into the contents of the folder, the pages feeling almost like silk between his heavily calloused fingers. A vague eagerness settles into his bones. Simon feigns disinterest outwardly, expression masked in stoicism, but he can’t lie to himself - he’s undoubtedly curious.

Each barely-cooled sheet turned only draws him further into a spiral. Your basic documents - driver’s license, birth certificate, passport - fill in a few blanks. The additional knowledge of your height, weight, and eye color offer insights not clear from the photo. He knows your middle name, birth date, that you’re an organ donor. You’re not living off your father’s money, as evidenced by the consistent bi-weekly paycheck deposits in your bank records. Educated, obviously, as your student loan payments are automatically drafted monthly.

On paper, it’s almost as if you were made for him, and what a thought that is. Optimism isn't in his nature; a heavy dose of skepticism hangs like a dark cloud, brewing a storm of adversarial rationale. But the pinch of hope that hovers like the sun in the back of his mind tells him to digest before coming back for seconds, and he concedes.

In the days that follow, Simon notices himself spending every spare moment revisiting your file. He placates Johnny’s lingering nosiness with the assurance that he’s merely trying to make a prudent choice under the circumstances, but that’s not quite honest. Truth be told, you’ve become a bit of an obsession of his over the last week. He often notes that his mind is wandering to the things he didn’t learn from the dossier - how you take your tea, what perfume you use, where you’ve always wanted to go but have never been. It’s a dangerous admission, one best kept to himself.

He toys with the notion of conducting the same research on a couple of the other candidates, just to be sure, but his decision is made final when Kyle sends over the links to your social media accounts. None of them are private - an issue Simon will have to address quite thoroughly at a later date - so he has no trouble combing through the last several years of your life.

Admittedly, it leaves an adequate mark. You’re witty and smart while remaining a bit sardonic. Thoughtful and warm, but not without your sharp edges. You’re ambitious and driven, a bit of a firecracker. Color him impressed; he quite likes that.

Demeanor aside, he also finds that you really, genuinely are an absolute beauty. The few photos from your file don’t hold a candle to the selfies you’ve posted. Something about seeing you when you feel most confident, when you’re exuding that effervescent glow of aplomb, it sparks a sensation in Simon’s stomach that he can’t quite describe.

That all but seals the deal.

He snaps up his phone and sends a text to Johnny before placing it face-down and turning back to his laptop.

>>> Set up the meeting

♡

As his jet touches down in Bogotá, Simon is reminded of what a nasty beast jetlag can be. It’s an animal he’s not had to contend with since his younger years, a fact for which he’s grateful. Call it a perk of his constant travel over the years and the more… unconventional hours he entertains on jobs. They’re approaching hour fourteen of their flight, though, so he supposes he can’t fault his men for falling asleep.

(He did, however, take a picture of them sleeping on each other before the turbulence awoke them; you know, for the sake of posterity and potential future blackmail.)

Simon’s mind had been far too occupied to allow him the opulence of rest. Upon his lap sits a dossier on his next target, a relatively high profile subversive at that, and all he can think about is the pretty little thing that’s been haunting his subconscious for the last two weeks.

By all accounts, it’s baffling. He understands that this sudden onset of infatuation is irrational, illogical, and quite frankly, irresponsible. It distracts him from things he ought not be distracted from, and that irritates him to no end.

The whirring of the engines slows to a dull hum, and Simon, with a grunt of discontentment, stuffs the file into his briefcase. He’ll accomplish nothing as long as he’s preoccupied. Hopefully, focus will be far less elusive on the flight back.

A loud thunk from the cockpit draws him from his spiral of ire, and Nikolai emerges. He greets Simon only with a curt nod before disengaging the door and deploying the stairs. Once they’ve kissed the asphalt, he ventures back a step, creating room for the men to disembark.

“Welcome to Colombia, gentlemen,” he announces. “We leave in six hours; gives me time to refuel the bird and grab some fuel myself. Enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” He tacks on a wink for good measure, which draws a bark of laughter from Kyle. Nik’s been with them long enough for them to know that’s a very short list, a fact Johnny is very quick to point out.

Simon claps a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and hands him an envelope before stepping out - a hefty cash sum for his time and efforts. He may have also snuck in a sizable bonus as an anniversary present, but that will stay between the two of them.

“Get some rest, too, yeah? You’ve earned it.”

The air outside is crisp and pleasant. Underneath the standard airfield smells, Simon detects a pinch of coffee and cocoa. He wouldn’t be surprised; there’s a manufacturing plant not too terribly far from here, and if the wind blows just so, it may carry on the current. It’s refreshing, especially after being trapped for hours in an aluminum tube with three men who, today in particular, seem to be having a war over who can wear the strongest cologne.

Kyle and Johnny flank him on either side as they stroll off the tarmac. They’re both covertly armed to the teeth as a general precaution, but he trusts there will be no sinister intent behind a simple lunch. Surely, his appointment won’t mind. He likely won’t be attending alone either.

At the far end of the strip, a hired car is waiting. It’s relatively inconspicuous for the part of the city housing the restaurant, according to Simon’s research - a sleek, black SUV with windows tinted dark enough to hide any passengers, but passable enough to not draw attention.

Once in the city, it’s inherently obvious that there’s plenty of time to kill before the agreed upon hour. Place and time re-confirmed, the boys are turned loose to occupy themselves however they see fit, and Simon delves into the rows of local shops.

He finds things here and there; a pair of stunning leather boots, a box of cigars for Price, trinkets and treats he can share with his staff or gifts he can bring to gatherings so that he never greets his gracious hosts empty-handed. Even a little something for you, should all go according to plan. He smiles inwardly as he tucks the velvet box into the pocket of his slacks. It won’t replace the necklace you clearly adore, but he hopes you’ll wear it regardless.

After a quick trip back to their driver to leave their finds, the trio makes their way to the restaurant. Johnny and Kyle lag behind, keeping a respectable distance from Simon, whose eyes are immediately combing the patio for your father.

He spots him closer to the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Two tables over, a pair of rather conspicuous men sit, cliché aviators perched in place while positioned to have a clear view of the upcoming interactions. Simon makes a mental note to wait until closer to the wedding to offer suggestions for higher quality detail. Assassinations are easier when you can gauge your obstacles so easily; trust him, he’d know.

In his periphery, he sees his companions select an empty table four over from the rent-a-cops. Kyle sits with his back to the table, glasses off. Johnny sits across from him, keeping his on to supply a reflective overview. Simon can’t help but crack the tiniest grin. He’s taught them well. They move as a singular unit when needed and rely on instinct over protocol. It’s the perfect display of how safe you’ll be with him. If he seems a little arrogant about it, that’s because he is.

Your father looks up from his phone and meets Simon’s eyes with an unspoken question. Simon tips his chin just once before the man stands, greeting him with a gracious smile.

“Ah, Mr. Riley… Pleasure to finally meet you.” He’s sincere in tone and offers his hand. Simon takes it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake while he shares the sentiment.

“You as well, sir.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and he gestures to the open chair, saying, “Please, sit.”

Simon takes the invitation, settling into the seat and the subsequent relatively meaningless small talk. They cycle through the basics before ordering their food and get a pinch more personal while they wait, discussing their respective hometowns and places their work has taken them. It isn’t until they’re digging into their plates that your father finally broaches the subject they’re both most anxious to discuss.

“As much as I’m enjoying getting to know you,” he begins, gaze not rising from his fork as it prods a pile of coconut rice. “I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just for that.”

“No, sir,” Simon responds. “I’m here to talk about your daughter.”

That draws the man’s attention, eyes finally meeting Simon’s with a subtle grin. It’s almost somewhat unsettling, like a cat finally catching that damn canary, though he’s unsure whether it’s him or you that owns the role of prey.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“That I did,” he confirms, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Tell me, Simon, what exactly is it about my daughter that calls to the infamous Ghost?”

Simon pauses a moment, unsure of quite how to approach the response. He'd rather not tip his hand until he determines what sinisterity lies behind that predatory gaze. The mask your father is wearing at the moment is approaching uncanny, and a faint alarm bell sounds in the back of Simon’s mind.

“I only ask because, well, I never would’ve expected that a man of your stature would choose someone so… plain, shall we say? Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, but she’s certainly not without her flaws. Stubborn, opinionated, talks too much, certainly far from the ideal housewife. And don’t get me started on how she takes care of herself. Really makes me wonder, Mr. Riley, what ulterior motives might you be hiding?”

“None, sir. Nothin’ I need from you that I can’t get myself.” Simon’s voice is flat as he tamps down the anger crawling beneath his skin. How does a real man speak ill of his own daughter so flagrantly? Does he really have no regard for you? He has half a mind to remove your father’s tongue after the wedding, if only for your sake.

“Pray tell, then.”

Simon scrubs a hand over his jaw before he answers, “Pretty girl. Smart from the sound of it. Doesn’t rely on attention from the public or ‘er daddy’s money. Ain’t lookin’ for a sweet little housewife; I like it when they bite back.”

“And you understand that she’s… How do I put this delicately?” He pauses. “She’s a bit bigger than what you'd consider a trophy wife."

Simon scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he's aware of that. That's part of what drew him to you.

“Quite like a fuller figure. Don’t want a woman who’ll fuss over calories when I cook for ‘er.”

Your father mulls it over, chewing thoughtfully as he considers the words before him. Simon watches as the muscles in his jaw flex and reflex, and he swears he can hear the scales tipping back and forth as they try to find some balance.

Finally, he wipes his face with his napkin. His expression cracks into something adjacent to genuine, and that alarm gets just a little bit louder.

“I suppose this little meeting has reached its end.” He snaps his fingers twice as the waiter, gesturing for the check. Rude, in Simon’s opinion, but he bites his tongue.

“Sir?”

“I’ve got business to attend to back in the States, and by the sounds of it, a wedding to start planning.”

♡

part ii

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Not So Perfect Life

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: angst, fearing for your life, slight torture, fluff at the end

Summary: According to you, Sam lives a mundane life with his brother who is a very skilled mechanic. It doesn’t take long for his secrets to bubble to the top, threatening everything and everyone he loves.

Square Filled: zip ties for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: i pulled inspiration from a tiktok video! apparently, it's from a turkish tv series, but i am unsure of the name of it.

x

The empty lot next to your apartment has finally been bought, and one of your favorite stores has been built in its place. You make the most of your money by buying Barbie and Bratz dolls and transforming them into animated characters. You’ve taken an old Barbie doll and made her into Maleficent. Someone wanted you to make a doll version of themselves, so you did that with a Bratz doll. To make extra money, you work at a diner for two nights a week so that you can focus on your doll-making career most of the time.

Sam was supposed to meet you twenty minutes ago, but he’s still not here. You check the time on your phone and sigh silently before walking over to the doll section of the store. While you love transforming an already-made Barbie doll, you do enjoy starting from scratch. The store has different kinds of blank dolls that have nothing on them that you can do anything with.

You grab three of them and put them into your cart.

“I’m here!” You turn and see Sam jogging over to you. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was helping my brother.”

There is a splotch of blood on his cheek, and you frown when you see it.

“You have blood on your cheek.”

“Oh.” He quickly wipes it away. “Shave nick. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” you smile. You walk to the fabric section and browse the different colors. “So, what did Dean need?”

“What?”

You look at him. “You said Dean needed help. With what?”

Sam opens and closes his mouth like a fish, suddenly nervous. “Oh, you know… His job.”

“You don’t know how to work on cars.”

“I know the basics.”

“So, you’re telling me your brother, the very skilled mechanic, needed help on a car he was working on so he asked you?” He nods. “Okay.”

Sam hates lying to you but what else is he going to tell you? You get everything you need to create at least a dozen more dolls and check out at the register.

“So, I was thinking while I make my dolls, we can have a movie night. What do you say? Care to spend the night?” When Sam doesn’t answer, you look at him to see him on his phone. “Sam?”

“Right, sorry, Y/N. You know I’d love to, but Dean needs me right now.”

“With another car?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know I said I’d spend all day with you, but I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

He kisses you quickly before practically sprinting off. You trust Sam with your life but there’s something about him lately that has your red flag radar going off. He’s lying about something, but you don’t know what.

Sam promised to call but he never did. In fact, you go days without hearing from him. It’s Friday and you just got back from your diner job early so you can get a head start on your dolls. You put on The Nightmare Before Christmas before starting your Sally doll. Weaving the hair in is the most time-consuming of it all, so that’s what you start with.

Your phone rings and you smile when you see Sam’s name and picture pop up. He has his own life and you don’t ever want to be clingy and annoying, so you give him his space. You love him so much so those few days with no contact are like water under the bridge.

“Hey, baby,” you answer.

“Hey, are you busy this weekend?”

“I’m just making my dolls. Why?”

“I have some free time. Dean and I are heading to California for the weekend. Want to come with us? He has some business there, and I was thinking we could go to the beach. Just me and you, sunshine, seafood, and maybe a few kisses.”

“Wow, you know how to butter a girl up. When do you leave?”

“I can pick you up in a few hours.”

“I’ll pack. I’m so excited. I’ll see you soon.”

Forget Sally. You turn off the movie and run to your room to get packed. A few hours later, Sam knocks on your door while Dean waits in the car. You open the door and jump into Sam’s arms with a huge smile on your face.

“This is going to be a fun weekend,” you grin.

He kisses you a few seconds longer than usual. “Come on.”

He grabs your bags while you get into the backseat of the car, and you smile at Dean.

“Thank you for letting me come with you guys.”

“The more the merrier,” Dean says.

Sam gets into the back seat with you, and he pulls you close as Dean drives away. Dena turns the music up just to drown you two out so he doesn’t have to hear how gushy you two are going to be.

“So, I was thinking we could go at night when the sun is going down, and we’ll walk the entire pier and watch the sunset. I’ve been to this area before, and I know this seafood joint you’d love.”

“I already love it. Do you want to know what I’ve never done but want to try?”

“What is it?”

You lean in closer to whisper in his ear. Not that Dean can hear you anyway. “I’ve never had sex on a beach before.”

Sam laughs and runs his hand up and down your back. “I have. Sand gets everywhere, but you’re worth it.”

He slides his hand in your hair and kisses you, keeping it short and sweet for his brother. Since it’s night by the time you get to the hotel, you decide to have a chill night in with the brothers before planning stuff for tomorrow. They don’t have a lot of money which is why you and Sam don’t have your own room, but you’re happy regardless.

“Can we go to the beach today?” you ask over breakfast.

Sam and Dean look at each other and have some sort of secret conversation with their eyes. Dean waves as he sips his coffee.

“Go. You two have fun. I have some business to do. I’ll call you later.”

“Yay!”

You pack for an eventful day at the beach, having everything you need and more in your tote bag. However, you don’t get to use most of it because your fun-filled day at the beach isn’t anything like you expect it to be. At first, you took some time to tan and soak in the rays before you wanted to go swimming.

“Sam, let’s go swimming.”

“Give me one second.” He’s on the phone. “It’s Dean.”

You shrug and walk to the shore, shivering when the cold water washes over your feet. If you get it over with, you’re entire body will get used to the temperature instead of one part at a time. You run the rest of the way in and squeal when the chill seeps into your bones.

“Come on, Sam!”

Sam nods but doesn’t say anything in response. He continues to talk to his brother over the phone, and you look away with a sigh. It only takes one time before Sam gets caught in the current, and he spends most of his time with his nose in his phone, claiming he’s helping his brother with something.

Never have you ever felt like you were second best in this relationship, but there’s a first time for everything…

After a few hours of swimming by yourself, you get fed up. You walk over to Sam who just put his phone away, but the smile is lost on his face.

“I want to leave, Sam.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m good now. Dean can manage without me.”

“That’s good, but I’m done for today. Take me back.”

Sam sighs and packs up anyway, hating the way he makes you feel. He can see the disappointment in your eyes, and he hates that he put it there. If only you knew what he was really up to, you might be a bit more understanding. Still, he’d rather this than suck you into his toxic life.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry,” Sam says once you walk into the hotel room.

“I’m not mad, Sam, I just thought this was a vacation. If you need to work with Dean, I have no problem with that. I would have let you two come on your own.”

“I know, and it is a vacation.”

“Dean’s a mechanic. What kind of business does he have out here that he needs your help with?”

“It’s complicated.” You sigh and look away from him, but he cups your jaw and brings your gaze back to him. “We took care of everything today. Tomorrow, I am all yours. We can go to the beach again if you want, or we can go shopping or whatever you’re feeling up for. Okay?”

“Can we watch the sunrise on the pier?”

“Yes we can, and maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll show you how messy beach sex is.”

You can’t stay upset at him for too long. “Okay, deal.”

Sam leans down and kisses you, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean gets home late but you’re already fast asleep in your bed. You don’t know what wakes you up, but you open your eyes to see Sam and Dean dressed and standing by the table. They’re whispering and trying to be quiet, but you can hear every word they’re saying. Sam is keeping so many secrets from you, so you don’t move a muscle to make it look like you’re still sleeping.

“Are you sure the nest is out there?”

“Yes. I talked to the locals and that’s the only place they all singled out.”

“Okay. I have to be back before the sunrise. I promised Y/N we’d watch it at the beach.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll get you back before then, but we need to go now before someone else dies.”

Sam looks back at you before leaving with his brother. Okay, that’s not what a mechanic does. Are they worried someone is going to die? You have to find out what they’re up to. You quickly get changed and follow the brothers down to the parking garage where the Impala is, and you pull out your phone to call an Uber.

It takes five minutes for it to get to you but that’s not enough time for Sam and Dean to get far.

“I’ll pay you extra if you follow a Chevy Impala.”

You tell the driver where to go, and you’re able to catch up to them on the freeway. They head north, far more than you thought they would go. They end up in the woods, but the Uber driver is only willing to go so far.

You hand him a handful of twenties “Thank you for doing this.”

You get out and finish the rest of the trek on foot. You’re not sure where Sam and Dean went, but there’s only one thing in these parts. While on the drive, you looked up the history of the woods, and according to local legend, there is a cabin in the woods responsible for a bunch of paranormal activity. If Sam’s big secret is that he’s a ghost hunter, then you really overestimated him.

You push past the thick trees and bushes until you come to a clearing. A cabin with a lot of windows stands big and tall and the lights are on inside, allowing you to see everything inside. The cabin is a bit run down as it tends to do with age, but there are broken windows and doors from either vandalism or old age.

The Impala is off to the right so you know Sam and Dean are somewhere around here. You walk closer to the cabin and gasp when you see a man fly across the room. Sam walks in with a thick blade in his hands, and he rushes at the man like he’s pissed at him. He tackles the man to the ground but the man kicks your boyfriend off him easily. Sam stands and punches the man as hard as he can twice before bringing the blade down on him.

You’re shocked and horrified to see someone you love so much brutally murder another man without cause. Blood, bruises, and cuts adorn Sam’s face and arms, and Dean isn’t any better. He walks in holding the same kind of blade with just as many cuts on him.

“One of them smoked out before I could get to him,” Dean says.

“Great,” Sam sighs. He cracks his neck and just so happens to look out the broken door and right into your horrified eyes. “Shit.”

You turn and flee from the scene as fast as you can, ignoring the whips and stings from branches smacking you in the face. You reach the road and panic when you don’t see a single car, and you take out your phone to see if you can get a signal.

“Come on,” you freak.

Light shines in the distance, and you start running toward the headlights. The car doesn’t slow down when they see you, and they don’t care if you’re in need of their help. They zoom past you, and you yell out in frustration in fear. You look back to see if Sam or Dean are following you, but there is no one there.

Another set of headlights shines in the distance, and you wave your arms frantically. They slow down at your signs of distress, and you hop into the front seat without seeing who is behind the wheel.

“Thank you so much. Can you--”

You scream when you see Sam sitting next to you.

“Please, just let me explain.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you cry.

“I won’t hurt you, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

His words aren’t connecting with you because all you can see is him killing that poor man. You try the door handle but he's locked it and engaged the child locks, and that causes you to cry more. Sam’s heart breaks at seeing you so terrified of him but this is necessary. He can’t bring you back to town and have you go to the authorities so he has no other choice but to take you back to the cabin where his brother is.

He parks outside of it and gets out, but you refuse to follow. Sam walks to the other side of the car and opens the passenger door.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sam reaches into the car and grabs your arm, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

“No, please don’t! Please!” you cry. You fight to get away but Sam’s grip is tight. This is breaking his heart but it’s necessary. “Let me go! I won’t tell anyone. Please!”

“Y/N, would you stop fighting me?”

You fall to your knees as if that will prevent you from going inside the cabin, but Sam just picks you up instead. He brings you inside and sets you down, and you jump away from him and fall onto the dirty couch. Dean walks into the room when he hears you sob, and he sighs.

Sam walks off to the side with his brother while keeping you in his line of vision. He can’t have you running away.

“She doesn’t know what we do. She thinks you’re a mechanic.”

“Now is as good a time as any to tell her, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, if she’ll let me.” Sam walks over to you like you’re a wounded animal, and he sits on the coffee table. “Y/N, please…” He reaches out to touch you but you jerk away from him in fear. You jump to the other side of the couch and curl up into a ball. “I’m not a murderer, Y/N.”

You look around the cabin and see the bodies of the men they came here to kill.

“I’m on it,” Dean says.

“He’s not a mechanic, is he?” you mutter.

“No, he isn’t. Not professionally, at least. If you’d let me explain--”

“Please let me go, Sam,” you beg and cry. “I have a family and a little sister and parents who love me. Please let me go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Baby, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t call me that!” you yell.

Sam knows he’s not going to get anywhere if you’re like this so he decides to let you cool off and help Dean with the bodies. He stays within sight the entire time to make sure you don’t go anywhere, and it’s not like you can fight him off. He’s twice your size and three times stronger than you. Not to mention he has a brother who is similar in strength and size. You wouldn’t get far and they know it.

By the time the brothers are done, you’re already asleep on the couch. Sam sighs when he sees you. This is so not how he wanted to tell you about the supernatural. He wanted to take you on a date, probably in the Bunker, and ease you into it. Now you’re scared half to death and refuse to listen to him.

He brought in a blanket to take care of the last body not knowing that Dean had already done it. Instead, he drapes it over your body gently. You don’t stir and he should leave you alone. He should turn away and wait for you to wake up, but he can’t help himself. He runs the back of his fingers down your cheek. The slight movement is enough to wake you up, and you jerk away from him in fear.

“Dean is getting food and water for you.” You don’t answer him. Sam takes the food when Dean comes back, and he sets it in front of you. Your stomach is growling but you don’t move an inch. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. Look, those men you saw were demons. They were monsters. I don’t hurt innocent people.”

“Like I’m going to believe a word you say,” you glare.

Sam sighs and rubs his hands together. “I love you, Y/N.”

Again, you don’t answer. The brothers can’t bring you back to town so they set up shop in the living room. They’re light sleepers so if you’re going to do something, you have to do it without making a single noise. An hour after Sam and Dean have fallen asleep, you decide to make your move.

Dean is sleeping on the other smaller couch but Sam is sleeping on the floor right next to your spot. You hook your legs on the back of the couch and slip off the back as quietly as you can. You tiptoe to the front door and open it, wincing when it creaks. You look back but Sam and Dean don’t move.

The first steps out of the cabin are slow and careful until you get to the treeline, and then you make a beeline for the road. You look back to see if they’re following you which they’re not. You turn back only to run right into a man’s chest. He reaches out to steady you so that you don’t fall on your ass.

“I wanted a Winchester,” the man’s eyes turn pitch black, “but you’ll do nicely.”

In the next second, you’re knocked unconscious. When you come to, the first thing you notice is the zip ties on your wrists. You’re tied to a chair that’s bolted to the concrete ground. Even if you can escape, you’re too weak to move. The man who took you, the one with black eyes, walks into the room and over to you.

“Please let me go,” you whisper.

“Good, you’re awake. I love hearing humans scream. Music to my ears.”

“Please don’t. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go,” you beg.

The man doesn’t listen and grabs the back of your chair. He shoves his hand into your body and touches your soul, and you tip your head back and scream as loud as you can. He only takes three vials of your soul, but that’s enough to knock you out again. Your entire body aches when you wake up again, and there are two men in the room instead of one.

“I need more of her soul.”

“Stop being so fucking greedy. You’re using it too fast. Lucifer won’t like that. Plus, she’s Sam Winchester’s girlfriend. He won’t be too pleased if she dies too soon.” Both men walk over to another person that’s tied up. How have you not noticed him before? “This one is empty. Toss it and grab another one.”

The second man has no choice but to listen. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let the darkness overcome you for a third time.

“Hey, Y/N, open your eyes. Come on, wake up.”

You moan tiredly and open your eyes to see Sam kneeling in front of you.

“Sam,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m going to get you out of here.”

 He takes out a knife to use on your zip ties, but you see someone enter the room… and it isn’t Dean.

“Sam, behind you.”

He stands and turns to face the man who took you.

“Looks like I scored the jackpot. I knew you’d come for her,” the man smirks.

“Yeah, you’re right. I did come for her, but it’s not going you be you who leaves this place alive.”

A fight breaks out between the man and Sam. He has the same kind of blade as he did in the cabin, and that’s apparently a weapon that hurts the man. Sam slices the man’s arm and punches him in the face. Without even touching him, the man uses some kind of power to shove Sam into the wall. Sam tries to move but he can’t, and the man laughs at his helplessness.

He doesn’t get enough time to gloat because Dean enters the room with a sharp knife. He flips the knife so he’s holding the blade, and he tosses it at the man. The blade sticks out of his back, and his entire body lights up orange and gold.

The man falls to the ground, dead, and Sam is released from his hold. Sam runs over to you and cuts the zip ties off, and he scoops you into his arms. You have no fight left in you. If Sam is going to kill you, then he should do it now before you gain your strength back.

Sam and Dean leave before Lucifer hears about this, and they take you to the Bunker knowing Castiel is going to be there to heal you. They didn’t keep you long enough to take a lot of your soul but it still takes a lot out of you.

When you wake up, you’re in some kind of infirmary. None that you’ve ever seen before. Sam is on the other side of the room whispering to Dean, and you make eye contact with Dean. The older brother clears his throat and gestures to you. Dean leaves the room and Sam walks over to you carefully. When you show no signs of freaking out, he sits on the edge of the bed.

Sam doesn’t go into a ton of detail so as to not overwhelm you, but he does explain about demons and a bit about their hunting lives.

“I never wanted to hurt you. This is why I didn’t tell you what I did.”

“You scared me,” you whisper.

“I know, and I am so sorry. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I love you so much.”

“I forgive you,” you sniffle. You saved me.”

Sam reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll always save you. I’ll answer any questions you have, but you should get some sleep right now.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

He kicks off his shoes and slides into the small bed with you, and you snuggle into his side. Despite him scaring you, Sam has always and will always feel like home to you. You feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms like you’ve done so many times before.

x

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[large-lit]

We were about the same size when we met. I was a little heavier thanks to my efforts to fatten up alone, but you promised to change that.

After the first twenty pounds, people started assuming I was the one paying for our dates more often. I must have looked a little more mature and imposing with my bulk, I suppose. Or maybe they correctly assumed that I was the one eating most of the food ordered.

Fifty pounds, and people started giving you sympathetic looks once they recognized us in public. 'It must be so hard,' they must have thought, 'having a boyfriend who so completely failed to take care of himself. How could he have let himself go so badly?' If only they knew the sort of garbage you fed me behind closed doors, how badly you whined for me to get on top or crush you against a wall.

At the one hundred pound mark, I could no longer keep up with you as easily during our walks. You managed to maintain your slim, athletic physique while I had blown up into a genuine porker, and with every restaurant you dragged me to, every appetizer you had two bites of before pushing the rest onto me, the difference only grew more pronounced. Having replaced my entire wardrobe at this point, I joked that you had only blown me up so big to steal my clothes. You silenced me with another funnel full of gainer shake.

After one hundred and fifty pounds, my weight nearly doubled from when we met, you unceremoniously cancelled my gym membership. A fair decision, honestly, since I hadn't gone in months and that was perfectly good money that could go towards food. I was a little worried about my future mobility, not having enough muscle mass beneath the several dozen layers of padding, but you assured me that it was fine and stuffed another cinnamon roll into my mouth. You'd been getting more dominant the fatter I got for a while now, but here is where it really kicked into high gear. I couldn't have been more turned on by it.

At two hundred extra pounds, I was closing in on some seriously massive sizes. Not only that, but with how much facial and body hair was starting to come in on me, you decided it was time for some help in blowing me up. Now that I was undeniably in bear territory, you put me on the appropriate dating apps and advertised me as someone who needed help staying fed. With plenty of pictures of my smaller sizes to prove that I was a blubber bomb, you had no trouble enticing new feeders to your cause, and the weight continued piling on.

After two hundred and fifty pounds gained, I got called into a meeting at work. My size and drastically changed appearance was starting to affect my performance in the office, and it had gotten to a point where they could no longer ignore it. I was offered a work from home position, and you were over the moon when I told you, already scheming up ways to more effectively fatten me now that you'd have me home all the time. No office hours meant we could stop spending money on work clothes, but I pointed out that I would still need to be on video calls at times, and I'd need shirts for that. The idea of me popping even more buttons seemed to lift your spirits from the idea that I would not in fact have all my wobbling blubber on display at all hours.

The next milestone, three hundred pounds gained, came more quickly than either of us were expecting. Between working from home and having multiple extra feeders working on me over the course of the day, those next fifty pounds came on fast. Not a free moment went by when I wasn't either being hand/funnel fed, getting my belly rubbed, or both. We both laughed pretty hard when my office chair finally gave up the ghost while I was on a video call, sending me toppling to the floor and giving my coworkers a full view of just how wide and low my gut had gotten since leaving the office as I got back up. You insisted on a full sheet cake "reward" before we ordered a new chair.

After a whopping three hundred and fifty pounds gained, my weight triple what it had been when we'd met, I realized that it was now completely impossible for me to reach around my gut and between my thighs to get to my dick. You took obvious pride in this accomplishment, and celebrated with a double helping of gainer shake, funneled into me as you fucked my enormous ass. With all my numerous heavy rolls and folds of fat wobbling and jiggling, and me living in a near-constant state of arousal from how intensely you'd been feeding me, it didn't take long for me to have my first hands-free orgasm, filled from both ends and hearing you go on about how huge, fat, sexy, massive, etc I was getting. When I told you I was still hungry after we both finished, you looked ready to go for another round.

Another fifty pounds later, a package arrived in the mail addressed to me. Seeing as my main activities were either work, food, or sex, I didn't really have much time for online shopping. When I walked into the kitchen with the package, you grinned and sat me down in my chair, eager to see me open it. Inside was an enormous pair of sweatpants that looked like they would've drowned you, and a photo of us when we'd just met. Back when we'd been younger, and I much thinner, we'd joked about getting a pair of sweats just like these, ones that you could fit your entire body into one leg of, while I'd overflow the whole thing. After you did a quick test of your part, you helped me pull them up around my blubbery waist, having me hold up my gut as best I could so you could wedge the waistband between the two heavy, blubbery folds. When it came time to pull the rest up behind my rear, they only barely cleared my shelf of an ass.

In an uncharacteristic move of dominance that I could tell both surprised and aroused you, I whirled on you, pressing you to the wall with my belly. I grabbed your wrists to keep you against me as I waddled the two of us over to the couch. While you still reeled over having your whale of a boyfriend manhandle you so, I brought my immense belly down to rest on you, sandwiching you between my weight and the furniture.

"Any thoughts for dinner?" I mused idly as I looked out the window, spying one of our feeder friends pulling up to our driveway. "I think someone's bringing pizza today. Might call them to double the order, eh?"

From beneath me, I could feel you groaning and groping me, your arms barely able to reach halfway around me. I wasn't even close to done growing...

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

One last round of trivia:

"The Stunti-Con Job" exists as both a comic and a BotCon script reading; the plots are the same, but the script reading added a subplot featuring Minerva, a medibot determined to meet Ratchet at all costs, who's somehow dragged Warpath along on her quest. (She does also appear in the comic version - see below.)

The script reading also featured a musical interlude - a duet sung by G1 and Animated Grimlocks. I don't think it went according to plan.

Like the story's title, the comic's original cover pays homage to the classic British comedy film "The Italian Job". (As do the picture captions on the relevant TFWiki page.)

Sideswipe and Breakdown share a body-type (first seen on Rodimus Prime) - possibly a callback to the G1 episode "Masquerade", in which that iteration of Sideswipe was disguised as Breakdown. (The same applies to Jazz and Dead End, and, more or less, to Optimus and the Motor Master.) In-universe, all the Stunticons underwent spark transplants into Autobot frames - except Toxitron, who's a clone of Optimus. Not a very successful one.

Cheetor, meanwhile, is a retool of Blurr - a fact Sideswipe remarks on four BotCons later, in "The Return of Blurr". which takes place at about the same time as "The Stunti-Con Job". Hence Blurr's appearance in the latter, in the High Council box alongside Cliffjumper - still cubified, and no doubt still talking twenty-four to the dozen.

Strika's Team Chaar, seen at the very end of this story, has undergone a reshuffle since "Transwarped" - Oil Slick is still there, unfortunately, but Cyclonus, Blackout and Spittor have been replaced by Mindwipe, Sky-Byte, Scalpel and Blot.

As for Autobot cameos, there are too many to list, but most of them are here:

(Botanica is also in this frame, but further up in the High Council box. TFWiki claims that Tap-Out is somewhere in the crowd; I can't see him, though.)

[girlactionfigure]

On Tuesday morning I returned to Israel from Tokyo via Bangkok.

‎Before boarding the plane from Bangkok to Israel, the terminal was full of young backpackers who wanted to return to Israel to the reserves. 

‎Upon boarding, they announced that all those who still do not have a seat will wait and try to get everyone on the plane. 

‎There were dozens of young people there who wanted to go back to enlist! 

‎⁦‪@ELALUSA‬⁩ took all the available seats on the plane and filled up to the last seat on the plane. I felt sorry for those who could not go up due to lack of space. 

‎Then to my surprise, after they finished filling the plane, the El Al people took more than twenty young women and put them on the plane and put them in the crew's folding chairs. 

‎And after that the captain gave permission and more than ten young men to sit on the floor in the kitchens and near the doors of the plane were put on the flight.

‎In my entire life I have never seen a flight where dozens of people are sitting on the floor. During the entire flight, they slept on the floor wherever possible including near the cockpit, on the floor in the business class and in every corner of the plane. 

‎The pictures speak for itself and illustrate a little of what was on this special flight.

‎During the flight I saw the captain walking around the plane making sure the crew was taking care of all these wonderful young people.

‎Thanks to the wonderful team of El Al pilots and flight attendants for the extraordinary gesture. 

‎Kudos to the CEO of El Al for having such employees.

‎I have to admit that they warmed my heart (to say the least).

‎Original post by: אורי שכטר ‎Translation and post by: ⁦‪@haivri‬⁩

livinglchaim

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Canto

Chapter Thirteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Reader's OC family, Ellen, Dean/Jo, attempted Reader/Cas, Pam/Lee, Sam, Cole/Reader's sister and Garth/Bess

Word Count: 5009

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. MORE BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, flashback to Jan. 2004 in italics, all towns mentioned are made up, I gave the reader the best dad in the world (you're welcome), underage drinking, talk of bar hook ups, car accidents, injuries, character death, guilt, stupid brother-in-laws, unbeta'd

Special shout out to @thoughtslikeaminefield who helped immensely on sorting out the backstory for this chapter and the next, way back when I started outlining this thing.

Series Masterlist

You made your way through the harrowing process that was holiday travel, flashing your medical card at the TSA agent and going through the regular pat down deal before finally getting to your gate. It was mild in LA, but you brought your puffy coat with you on the plane because December in Nebraska was never that kind. It was also a free blanket once you reached cruising altitude.

You put your phone in airplane mode, popped in your earbuds and let yourself nap for most of the three hour flight home.

You didn’t go home often, your schedule never left you with much time off, especially over the last couple of years. Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself and how you avoided invitations from your family. Between the band and Bobby, all you would have to do is ask for time off and they would have given it to you, of course they would. But it’s not like they aren’t workaholics themselves.

The wind rattled the jet bridge as you made your way to the gate, dozens of strangers trudged along beside you as you felt the first hint of true winter air. You turned your phone back to normal settings and tried not to get caught in a young family’s way as you all followed the signs to baggage claim. You smiled as you heard the familiar buzz of the accentless plains’ speech in the surrounding conversations, you were really home.

You stepped out of the line of traffic to find a restroom and clear out the ridiculous amount of notifications you received while in the air. You had texts from both your mom and dad, your sister, Sam, Dean, Bobby and Ellen. You opened up the chat with your dad because he was picking you up and said you had landed and told him where to look for you because you knew he parked instead of waiting in the chaos of the arrivals area traffic.

You ignored your mom and sister because it was all wondering when you got in and you’d have time to reply on the drive home. You opened Dean’s message and it was a picture of a ‘Nebraska… the good life’ sign taken out of a car window. You sent a heart emoji and told him that you just landed, because no matter how tough he was Dean always complained about flying and you needed to give him proof of survival.

Sam’s message was a compilation of shots of Dean sleeping with random things propped on his head or shoulders, which meant Dean was probably driving the last stretch to their dad’s and Sam had been saving those for blackmail. You laughed, forgetting you were in public and rushed out a reply before saving them to your phone.

You read the message from Ellen but stopped yourself from fully opening it. You locked your phone and shoved it into your pocket. Right now nature’s call was more important than answering questions and you always had to be careful how you replied to your surrogate mother, she could always read between lines you didn’t know you’d drawn.

Twenty minutes later, you were greeted by a burly bear hug, compliments of your dad, that knocked the handle of your duffel out of your grip and rocked you on the spot. He smelled like engine oil and canvas with winter still clinging to his Carhartt, you held on tight.

“Glad you’re home, sweetheart,” he mumbled, breaking a way with a firm hand on your shoulder. “Got everything?”

“Yep!” 

He smiled his tight lip smile, where it was all in the eyes, and nodded. “Alright then, let’s get out of here.”

The ride home was uneventful, catching up, complaining about traffic, asking about the weather, all while you cleared through your messages and emails. You stopped for a late lunch and got the rundown on your older sister and four-year-old niece. 

“Any word from Cole?” you ask about the elephant in the conversation.

“Nothing she’s telling us. Figured you’d know more,” your dad sighed.

You tisk, “like she tells me anything.”

“Maybe she would if you called her,” your dad replied, eyebrows up and knowing.

You rolled your eyes, you and your sister were not close. After she got knocked up by a guy known for his charm, you pretty much never heard from her. You weren’t worried about her, she always had a tight friend group that was impenetrable. But when her husband suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth, you started to pay attention.

Your mom had generously kept you in the loop, whether you liked it or not.

You and your dad finished your meals and got back on the road. The town of Mills’ Crossing had roughly a population of one thousand people with enough villages and farmland surrounding it to make it feel bigger than it was. Your first trip to LA the summer before starting college was mind altering. Coming home was surreal, knowing everyone (to some degree) everywhere you went was almost alienating after so long living amongst droves of beautiful strangers.

You never sought that kind of attention.

Your parents lived in the same three bedroom ranch you grew up in on a quiet street with normal, working class people as neighbors. It was the exact opposite of your place now, where you were wedged in a neighborhood that was both overpriced and rundown and your neighbors came from every walk of life imaginable.

Luckily for you, you were charged next to nothing by LA standards of rent.

Your dad drove through town with the radio on classic rock, like always, unless he was in a mood and he put in a Maynard Ferguson cd or Tower of Power, blasting brass to wake up. Meanwhile, you took in all the things that had changed since you left, not that there were many. As you approached Hound Drive, a familiar apprehension crawled into your stomach, taking you back to a snowy night almost fourteen years ago.

“Come on! They’re not going to be there all night, and it’s not like we can follow them to another bar,” Jo whined at you as you put on your makeup. She barely needed any, which always made you jealous. But you didn’t want to rush yourself and look like you were still in high school. Bela had taught you a lot about maintaining a strict beauty regimen during your first semester and you were going to put those lessons to good use. So what if you were late.

You primped your hair and took one last look in the mirror.

You drove to the Roadhouse in your ancient Buick LeSabre, which still had a cassette deck. But you had upgraded it with an adapter so Jo slipped a burnt cd into your Discman and turned up the volume, Phantom Traveler’s latest recording blasted through the old speakers. The open road and the entire world were at your feet.

“I can’t believe they’re still playing around here,” you said, letting the drum beat add to your excitement.

“Dean says they’ve had some nibbles from labels, but he won’t tell me which ones,” Jo confided.

“How often do you guys talk?”

“Enough that my mom got me my own phone line for Christmas,” Jo admitted.

You shrieked. “Girl, I know that bill has gotta be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m paying for it. And it’s worth it. Can’t be as bad as his cell bill.”

You giggled. “Which one is the one you want me to talk to?”

“Castiel, Cas, he’s the quiet one with blue eyes. Not the guitar player, that’s Lee. He’s been eyeing the drummer, so don’t get any ideas there. Trust me.”

You tried to picture who she meant from the handful of times you’d seen them play, but came up empty. The parking lot was packed and you pulled your jean jacket tight against the falling snow as you made your way to the entrance, missing the California weather you’d been soaking up since starting school. A wave of smoke and stale beer hit you as you stepped into the bar, an old jukebox filled the dim space and you tried to act like you weren’t too young to be there.

Jo navigated the crowd and you kept pace behind her, scanning your surroundings until you found a group of guys who towered over both of you at the pool tables. 

“Dean!” Jo called over the cacophony at a guy in a vintage leather jacket drinking a beer. He was even more hot up close, almost casual until he spotted her and his entire face lit up.

“Here she is!” he called, stepping away from a long haired guy to drag her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“This Y/N?” Dean asked, holding out his hand for you to shake. 

You shook it like your dad had taught you, firm and with eye contact. “Hey.”

Dean cupped your hand in both of his before turning and tucking Jo into his side and gestured to the guy he had been talking to. “This is Lee, and that’s Cas, Pam’s around here somewhere. What are you ladies up to?”

You nodded at the other guys, older than any of your classmates, but still welcoming. You couldn’t have known that your life would change in impossible ways that night. 

         Jo challenged the winner of that round of pool and you mingled, not sure what to do with yourself besides tease Jo and try and seem aloof. Apparently, the band were out for a good time and even though you were driving, you accepted a beer from their pitcher when they offered. It was crappy, but it was free and you weren’t about to play prissy to get something that tasted better.

Around ten o’clock, Ellen spotted you and you gave her a hug and asked about her shift. She eyed Dean with suspicion as Jo flirted with her cue in hand. You tried to keep Jo’s mom’s attention away from the budding romance, but other customers were more effective than your rambling about California ever was. You left her to work and got suckered into a game of pool.

“Cas, please, teach this girl how to shoot. Explain the physics of it or whatever, because I can’t watch Sammy win that easy,” Dean begged his friend, who you had learned was the keyboard player.

Cas rolled his eyes and circled around the table to your side.

“Not exactly subtle are they?” you conspired.

“No, but Dean always tells me my people skills are rusty, so this is him playing wingman,” Cas admitted. “Here, you want to brace the cue on your left hand.”

“I know how to do it, I just really don’t care if I win,” you said out of the side of your mouth.

“I won’t tell if you won’t, but it will be a lot easier if you play it up,” Cas admitted in his low voice, knowing you both were stuck in this setup while neither of you were particularly interested in one another.

“So, what? I just let you put me in position, cop a feel?”

Cas’ eyes sparked with amusement. “I’m fine with verbal instructions if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, it’s okay, let’s give them something to talk about.” You winked at him and saw the blush creep across his cheeks with his gummy grin.

“If you say so,” Cas whispered, stepping behind you to guide your arms.

The rest of the night was a blur. You started drinking soda around midnight, knowing your parents would kill you if you came home smelling like booze, even if they couldn’t enforce a curfew on you anymore. But Jo could sneak behind the bar like the thief she was and everyone else was getting sloppier for it. Knowing Ellen, she was keeping tabs, but as long as she had an eye on you both, you knew you couldn’t get into too much trouble.

Sam wasn’t much older than you, but being in a band and astronomically tall gave him sway into the not getting carded club. He asked you about school and you told him as much as you could, though most of your classes were just prerequisites at that point. He seemed really smart and thoughtful, but maybe it was just because he was less lewd than Dean or Lee.

Jo held her own, like always, keeping the men on their toes like the bartender she had grown up to be. It was no wonder she had made friends with them when they played there after their dad begged Ellen to give them a place to play. Stopping back on their latest self-scheduled tour had just lined up for your winter break and Jo’s night off.

At some point, you lost Jo and when you tried to go find her, Lee dragged you back to the tables with a game of ‘Never have I ever’, they didn’t even tease you for drinking soda. Dean appeared out of nowhere and stole Cas’ beer, before a very flushed Jo rounded the table and deposited a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels for them to split. That earned her a chorus of praise, but something told you she had been off stealing bases instead of just booze.

You smirked at her and bit your lips. She just nodded at you and mouthed ‘later’.

Later came with Ellen kicking everybody out, warning you to get Jo home to bed before she could put her to work closing the place up. You huddled in your car as Jo and Dean had their goodbye in the parking lot, Sam honking the horn on an old Chevy for Dean to wrap it up. You hoped they had done just that, curiosity ate at you as your car warmed up.

Finally, Jo dropped into the passenger seat with her dimples on full display.

“Oh my god, dude!” you balked.

“I know! Shut up.”

“Tell me everything and then I’ll decide if I will!” 

Jo smirked and turned down the volume on the radio. “He is such a good kisser, Y/N, you have no idea.”

“Uh, I couldn’t have guessed! God, you were out there for like twenty minutes.”

You pulled onto the side street and increased the speed of your wipers, the steady snowfall had turned into a cascade and you really needed to see. Jo continued about her rendezvous with Dean in the men’s room and how he’d fingered her against the stall door. 

“Oh my god, Jo!” You were impressed, guys were always talking about this shit, but apparently it was worth it to Dean to see Jo squirm.

“He was so into it, like obviously, he’s a musician, he’s got good hands, but it was like he liked doing it,” Jo continued. “Ugh, he better call me before they leave town.”

“He will, he’s got it bad, even I can see that.”

She beamed. “Yeah? What did Cas say? Did Dean tell him anything?”

You threw your head back and laughed, feeling the tires slip on the unplowed road. You righted the wheel and checked your surroundings, slowing slightly to keep steady.

“Cas didn’t say anything about you two, but I could just tell, okay? Call it bff intuition, okay?”

You made the turn onto Hound Drive, three blocks from Jo’s neighborhood, feeling the way your backend fishtailed with even the most careful of maneuvers. Jo continued her story, talking about Dean promising to take her out, just the two of them, about how big the backseat was in his car. And just as you made her promise to be safe, headlights blared on the wrong side of the road. You spun left to avoid a head-on collision, but the other driver wasn’t slowing down and before you even fully stopped you were T-boned directly into Jo’s door.

You woke up to the sound of the other driver screaming at you if you were okay. You couldn’t move your right leg and Jo hadn’t woken up. There was glass and blood everywhere. And even though the snow had gotten worse, you couldn’t feel the cold. The paramedics told you it was shock, they wouldn’t tell you if your best friend was dead or alive.

Your mom hugged you at the door, followed directly by your niece, Ada, running from the playroom shrieking your name. It felt good to be so welcomed, so loved. You held them both longer than they meant you to. Your sister gave you a sad smile, but hugged you too. And you told her honestly that it was good to see her. You hoped she meant it when she said it back.

You dropped your stuff off in your old bedroom and joined everyone in the living room where the Christmas tree was bursting with years of handmade ornaments. You could spot the new additions from Ada’s preschool. You wondered if you’d ever have little hands in your life to make macaroni art with. It wasn’t something you ever really thought about, but leave it to being home or the adorable company to stir up those nurturing instincts.

“Wanna play cards before dinner?” your dad asked, breaking you out of the daze of the tree’s lights.

“Obviously,” you replied and marched over to the pantry to fish out a deck and the coin jar.

Christmas Eve was magical, carols on the old stereo and lots of snacks. Your aunts and uncles and cousins came and went, making sure to leave time for everyone to get to church for the candlelight service. Ada fell asleep in your dad’s arms before the closing hymn of Silent Night sent you all back home to await spiritual and material gifts.

You opened presents at the crack of dawn, you could tell your parents had missed having little kids to cater to with the amount that “Santa” brought that year. But you couldn’t blame them, the coffee was bottomless and breakfast was to die for. Nothing could beat home cooking.

Just before ten, you had your dad drop you off at the Roadhouse and you let yourself in through the employee entrance. Ellen’s smoky voice greeted you before you even made it into the kitchen, “here comes Trouble!”

“Merry Christmas!” You called back, smiling, she was the one who had given you that nickname in the first place.

She tossed the towel she was wiping her hands with onto the counter and held open her arms. You stepped in to hug her and a piece of your heart thrummed inside your chest. 

“It’s damn good to see you,” Ellen whispered, though nobody else was there.

“Yeah,” you agreed, still holding her tight.

Ellen pulled back and looked you in the eye, dark eyes full of wisdom and sorrow. “You doing alright?”

You nodded and sighed. “Same old, same old.”

Ellen hummed, still watching you. “Okay, if you say so. Why don’t you wash up and we’ll finish up these trays?”

Every year on Christmas day Ellen opened the Roadhouse for a free dinner. She sent fliers to the nearest homeless shelter, veterans outreach center and local churches. She served everyone, no matter what and whatever leftovers she ended up with, she left at the firehouse for the night shift to enjoy. The bar itself was closed, it wasn’t about money, it was about something bigger.

Whenever you were home for the holidays, you helped. It wasn’t much, just chopping vegetables and serving the people as they came through, but it made you feel good to be able to do something. To be able to be there for Ellen on one of the hardest days of the year was the least you could do. Your family never questioned you ditching them and before Ada was born, your parents volunteered sometimes too.

Something about this year, you were grateful for it to be just you and Ellen doing all of the prep work. An old radio played the classics in the corner and you helped finish the green bean casserole. You worked in comfortable silence, every once in a while answering questions that came up about life and the band. The one you didn’t want to answer popped up just as the last tray went into the oven.

“So Dean’s seeing your friend, huh?”

“Ellen,” you groaned. You did not want to lie to her.

“What? Is that a bad thing?” she prodded.

“No, it’s just weird talking to you about it, I guess.”

“Girl, I’ve heard more gossip than you could shake a stick at. I’m just checking in on you all. It’s not like I get updates all that often,” she finished with a flawless guilt trip.

“Yes, Bela and Dean are an item,” you said in a confessional huff, crossing your arms over your chest and waiting for the interrogation to begin.

Ellen hummed again and bit her bottom lip. “Well, I guess that’s something. She good for him? I know he’s been going through it again.”

“He’s been doing a lot better. Sam and Bobby got him a therapist,” you sidestepped beautifully.

“No shit. Huh.”

“And we’re ramping up for a new tour. New album is all done, just waiting for clearance from the label and that’ll be on the market in a couple of months.”

“I’m sure that’s great, but I’m worrying about you as individuals, not as rockstars and company,” Ellen smiled sadly at you. “You know that, right?”

You melted inside and nodded, letting your defenses down. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Okay, well, let’s go move some tables while everything cooks,” Ellen said, guiding you out to the main room of the bar and grill.

The day became a whirlwind of small talk and easy smiles, faces you remembered but names you couldn’t really recall. Just after three Garth showed up with his wife Bess and little girl in tow to give you and Ellen a chance to sit down and eat yourselves. He had worked the bar through dental school and ran a small practice on the edge of town after settling down. He was always in a good mood and its genuineness thrived at the holidays. 

Ellen watched the small family fondly as she tucked into her mashed potatoes. “They’re expecting again, twins,” she confided in you.

“Good for them,” you said between bites.

A couple of older guys sat at the other end of the table, sipping coffee and talking about a mutual friend. They must not have had anywhere else to be and it made you mix of sad and proud that Ellen did this whole thing in the first place.

Nobody should be alone on Christmas.

“How are you doing? Still dragging your feet about putting more sandwiches on the menu?” you asked Ellen, changing the subject.

“Oh, I’ll do it eventually, maybe before the summer tourist season. I’ll have some more staff by then,” Ellen answered non committedly.

“But things are going good?” you pressed.

“Yeah, I mean, my back is still acting up, but can’t really complain,” she replied.

“You seen Cole around?” you asked about your elusive brother-in-law.

“Not lately, but I heard he wandered off on your sister, what a coward,” Ellen muttered.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. He seems to get his mind on something and he can’t leave it until it’s sorted. Maybe missing Ada’s at Christmas will wake him the hell up,” you sighed.

Ellen gave you a knowing look.

“When do you want to head home? I usually wrap this up around five,” she asked.

“That works for me, no plans for the rest of the day, thank God,” you said before excusing yourself for the bathroom. The gentle croon of ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ reverberated through the bar and the persistent ache inside you reminded you it still existed.

When you got back to the main room, Dean and Sam were there giving Ellen hugs and asking in hushed voices about what was going on. 

“You mean she didn’t tell you? I’ve been doing this for years, her too most years,” Ellen chided. 

“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas,” you said as they turned and hugged you in turn. Sam got to you first, hugging you to his chest with a quick clutch on the back of your head. Dean sauntered closer and you could tell by the look on his face it had been a hard day. You hugged him and could smell the whiskey on his breath, but trusted Sam to be the safe driver.

“You better eat now that you’re here, nobody gets served on Christmas, you understand?” Ellen laid out the law before corralling them towards the line.

Dean nodded and hid his face, shoving his hands in his pockets as you went behind the line to let Bess get off her feet. 

“Wow, Ellen, you’ve got all the fixin’s,” Sam pointed out.

“It looks amazing, thanks for letting us crash your meal,” Dean said softly.

She looked him over with her classic tough kindness. “Anytime, hon.--- Now don’t you worry about anything, let John rot in his own stubbornness, alright?”

Dean didn’t say anything, just hummed in agreement and turned his plate for you to add the gravy. You hadn’t thought you’d run into them since you were only home for a couple days, but something about being back and guessing what had been going through Dean’s mind made you feel oddly protective. And you couldn’t help but watch them both as they sat at a booth by themselves and ate in near silence. 

The remaining guests came through by themselves, occasionally two at a time. But just before Ellen was going to call it a young family came in with their three kids and little Gertie had somebody to play with as you dished up plates for them all. Ellen ducked into the kitchen for to-go containers, wanting to send some home with them before taking the rest to the firehouse.

Dean and Sam stuck around, wiping down tables and making sure everybody had a way to get to where they were going. Once Ellen had her truck loaded up, you turned to say goodbye to the boys.

Instead Ellen interrupted, “you’ll get her home safe? I’m wiped and would appreciate it.”

“Wha–I thought you were taking me?” you felt instantly guilty about pilling on to Sam and Dean’s Christmas.

“We got Trouble, it’s fine,” Sam answered over your head.

“Come here,” Ellen insisted, pulling you into another motherly hug. “Don’t forget to call me when you get back to California so I know you’re safe. That goes for you two, too!”

You held her tight and promised. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Ellen replied, brushing the hair out of your face and thumbing your chin before pulling back to hug the boys.

You stood there next to Sam’s car and watched her pull out of the parking lot, the winter chill enough to keep you in the moment. 

“I guess we better get going,” Dean said to Sam more than to you.

“Yeah, did you still want to swing by St. Mary’s?” Sam asked quieter. Your mind spun on the idea of them going to church, but then you remembered what lay behind the aging brick building.

“Maybe we should ask her if she wants to go,” Dean said, looking you in the eye.

You swallowed and shook your head. “It’s okay, if you don’t mind dropping me off first. I know it’s in the other direction.”

“It’s fine, we’re not in a rush,” Dean answered for them both.

You climbed into the backseat, finding evidence of their cross-country trek strewn about. You pushed some wrappers off the seat and clicked your seatbelt. Sam turned down the music and double checked your parents’ address. Dean whisper-sang along with the radio while you asked them about their trip. 

It wasn’t a long ride, nothing in town was, but you hoped it was enough to even Dean out before going to see Jo. You told them you’d see them next week, double checked Dean would be back for the photoshoot to accompany his interview with Meg on the 31st, and that everyone would be going out for New Year’s afterwards. It felt ludicrous to be discussing LA excess after the humbling day you’d had, especially in the driveway of your parent’s home. Even if that was the life you all led, you didn’t want to look at it too closely.

“Alright, drive safe, talk to you soon,” you said, finally opening your door to find a familiar truck parked behind your dad’s.

“Tell your folks Merry Christmas,” Sam said. 

“Later, Trouble,” Dean added, watching you with something unsaid behind his gaze.

It turned out, Cole had shown up not long after you left, arms full of presents for everyone. And he and your sister had taken a walk to talk things out while Ada napped. Which was probably the only reason your dad hadn’t kicked him out on the spot. You sat down on the floor with Ada to open the gift Cole had brought for you while your mother’s favorite Christmas album played. 

It was a double sided picture frame, one side held Ada’s school picture and the other had a picture of the rest of your family from one of their camping weekends the previous summer. 

“I know you’re big time in LA, but figured you probably have a desk or something to put that on,” Cole said shyly. 

You felt the heat behind your eyes, but you wanted him to know where you stood, squarely on the fence about him still. “Thanks, I know just where to put it. Look at that big girl, huh, can’t believe it.”

“I am gonna be fibe Auntie Y/N. I’ve been big a long time already,” Ada said firmly.  You couldn’t help but laugh and hug her little shoulders. “I know, babygirl, I know.”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Fourteen: Pomposo

[lady-bess]

Just A Date - Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey

Part of the LadyBess Valentine's special! 8 Characters; 8 Dates 💜

Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x GN!Reader Mature/18+ (Minors DNI Please✨) WC: 1.7k Notable Tags: Fluff, Jack being the biggest sap you've ever seen, References to Spouse/Partner Death, References to Sex, References to Trauma/Implied PTSD, Admission of Love, Kissing, Shameful Flirting.

Paying a homage to my dear friend @avastrasposts for Jack's Valentine's Day fic, using a subtle nod to their bakery created in 'A Baker's Dozen' as where these two lovebirds met ❤ Please check out their work if you haven't already!

Anyone who knows me knows that of course I had to kick off these character Valentine's head-canons with the one and only Jack Daniels. And, oh boy, have I overthought about how that man would treat you on Valentine’s day…

Ahem...

Now, let’s get something cleared up first. Jack, as we see him in Kingsman: The Golden Circle is, deep down, a broken shell of a man. It’s been twenty years since he lost his first sweetheart, “the love of my life”, and it’s still got him so messed up that I cannot imagine him even wanting to date.

But after his… injury (yeah, that’s what we’re calling it. I’m in charge of the script now, Vaughn), let’s say Jack goes through some much needed therapy. After such time, he’s finally open to letting someone into his life.

This is the Jack I’ll be describing.

It had been years since he had actually wanted to celebrate this holiday. For so long he’d not had any reason to, and for years after losing his sweetheart Valentines day became nothing other than a harsh reminder that he had lost the one he loved with all his being.

But, years after the events of The Golden Circle incident (as Champ so aptly named it…), life was different for Jack. He’d left Statesman, the therapist he worked with helping him to see that for as long as he remained in that line of work he was never going to improve. Every bump to the head that saw him needing Ginger to prompt his memories with a picture of his sweetheart sent him back months with any progress he made.

Now, gone from the organisation, Jack was truly living for the first time. Settled in nicely on a small patch of land in the Kentucky countryside, he kept himself to himself predominantly. He’d met you by complete chance on one of his trips into town, nestled in the corner of a bakery where you both waited for your collection orders to be finished up.

He’d struck up a conversation with you there, it being easy to make small talk when a subject was handed to you on a plate – quite literally. It turns out you’d both ordered the same item from the bakery in question to take away, but there had only been enough for one of you to take it.

Jack, being the perfect southern gentleman, let you be the one to take it.

“Please, sugar, you have it. I’ll go ahead and order something else,” he’d said, tipping his hat towards you as you gingerly took the box from the worker’s arms.

“Are you sure?” you’d asked him. Jack grinned as he sensed the golden opportunity.

“I tell you what, sugar, give me your number and let me take you out sometime, and all will be forgiven,” he chuckled.

To his surprise, you’d agreed, blushing at the cowboy’s request and letting him type out the digits of your number into his phone. He watched you walk away, a slight skip in your step, and he began that moment planning your date.

That was seven months ago now, and now you were fast approaching your first valentine’s day together as a couple. Jack couldn’t be more nervous if he tried. He suddenly had the same level of anxiety as he did the day he asked his first love to marry him, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing quite to that extent planned.

Not yet, anyway.

But it had been so long since he wanted to make an effort on Valentine’s day that suddenly today was filled with all these great expectations. He’d actually managed to terrify himself into wanting to call off the whole day’s plans off. But he persisted, and from the moment the sun rose on the 14th day of February, Jack had been working tirelessly on his plans.

His day had started early, heading to the same bakery where you’d both first met to pick up a selection of savoury and sweet treats. Jack had considered going all out and cooking you a steak dinner under candlelight, but the more he reminisced on your time together, the better this idea suited the two of you.

Once he had everything he wanted, he headed to a nearby florist, and picked out some flowers for you. Twenty-eight flowers, each one signifying a week that the two of you had been dating. He’d smiled to himself bashfully as he waited for the florist to string the bouquet together, allowing himself to briefly think back on his marriage to his first love. This was the sort of gesture she would have adored, and he hoped deep down that she would be able to find comfort in knowing her cowboy was happy once again.

Jack took the flowers carefully and headed back to his truck; next stop, you.

Jack had mentioned something about valentine’s day to you a couple of weeks back, but nothing more had ever been said. Truth be told, you weren’t all that bothered, as you viewed the day as nothing more than an excuse for big corporations to push cheap tat on people in a bid to create an illusion of happiness. But Jack had said to keep your day free, so you let your cowboy run with whatever idea he had brewing.

Just before lunch, there was a knock at your apartment door. You turned down the volume on the TV as you headed over to go answer it, expecting it would be Jack, but not knowing for sure. Sure enough, it was.

Stood in a freshly steamed suit, a basket in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in another, the cowboy before you looked absolutely ravishing (well, he always did, but today it was certainly more so). You smiled at him, giggling at the toothy grin that he shot back at you, a smile that was somehow brighter than you’d ever seen it before.

“Well, look at you, all scrubbed up nice,” you teased, stepping back to let Jack in. He set foot in your apartment, chuckling under his breath and rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, less of the teasing,” he joked, leaning forward and kissing your cheek before allowing you to close the door behind him.

“Okay, sorry!” you giggled, “You look good, Jack. Is this my valentine’s gift?” you asked, motioning to his slim yet muscular body, perfectly contoured under the fabric of the denim suit. Jack smirked, then shook his head.

“Maybe later, sugar. But for now, I got you these,” he said, handing you the flowers. Your face softened as you lovingly took the bouquet, handling them delicately. You made note to count the amount of flowers, and realised the significance behind them.

“Jack,” you began, looking up at your cowboy, “These are lovely. Thank you,” you said. “Let me put them in water!”.

Jack chuckled as he watched you head to the kitchen sink, filling up a vase that was already in the windowsill, and then carefully setting the flowers in the glass. You arranged them so that they would catch the sun while in the kitchen window, and gently placed the vase to one side once you had done.

“There! Oh, they look so lovely,” you said, “Seriously, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like ‘em. Now, I hope you also like these,” Jack said, now handing you the basket in his other hand. You took it from him, furrowing your brow slightly.

“What have you got buried in here then?” you chuckled, setting the basket down on the table. Jack stood next to you, his hand settled on the small of your back as you peeled away a small cotton cloth which covered the top of the basket.

The smell of freshly baked pastry hit you the second the cover had been removed. A mix of aromas, sweet and savoury, flooded your senses and almost threatened to make your mouth water. But the scent was familiar, like it was something you’d smelt a thousand times before…

“Are these from-,” you began, turning to look back at Jack, but stopping speaking at the look he gave you. It told you everything you needed to know.

“The bakery where we first met, yes,” he said, confirming your suspicions. “Felt apt that I should go there, back to where this all began,” he said, chuckling slightly. You turned properly where you were stood, allowing Jack to snake his arm around your waist properly and to hold you in his arms. You rested your hands on the lapels of his jacket and looked deep into his eyes.

“Look at you, getting all nostalgic with me,” you giggled, “What gives, cowboy?”.

Jack sucked his bottom lip in and averted his gaze momentarily. The one thing he wanted to say was something he had been toying with admitting for a while, but he had been so scared to do so. Eventually he took a deep breath in and looked back at you. Cupping your cheek with one hand, he kissed you softly. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips, and in a small whisper he spoke.

“I love you, sugar. With all my heart. Happy Valentine’s day,” he said.

You smiled at Jack, your heart pounding in your chest at the confession. You knew the trauma that he’d been through in his life, Jack had always been very open about that. It was something his therapist had recommended he be, to involve you in these discussions, and you’d even attended a couple of therapy sessions with him to show your support for him. Long before he had the courage to say he loved you, you knew.

“I love you too, Jack,” you said, softly kissing him anew. He sighed in contentment into the kiss, relief passing over him as he heard those sweet words leave your lips – words he had hoped you would speak, but not ones he ever wanted to guarantee.

In each other’s arms, together on this day, Jack felt like for the first time he was truly starting his life over again. And to do it with the one he loved?

Well, what could be better?

For more from this series, check out the Just A Date Masterlist! For more works from me, here's my main Masterlist! ❤

LadyBess xox

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 24/02/2024

Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion

Season 5 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume GS

Ripped by Emm Bee Sea Visuals by Brawlcats

Requested by crickqt! (Ask Box)

The show must go on, and we move now from yesterday toward a happier little tale. Wheras I grieved over not getting to know enough about R.L.99 in Through the F​-​F​-​Fire and the F​-​F​-​Flames, today's rip sort of explores the opposite journey. Because in the narrow view of the SiIvaGunner community that exists within its comment sections, it was impossible not to recognize Emm Bee Sea.

With videos as frequent as those on the SiIvaGunner channel, there's bound to be just as many different kinds of comment sections, each rip its own little hub of discussion. There's the funny ones, like the comments to :3 being filled with other people reciprocating the same kitty emoticon, there's ones from more recent rips wherin people are still trying to discern what the joke is, enjoying the music althesame, there's ones where people remark on and discuss the absurdity of the channel's lore like on A love letter to this wonderful community and my amazing friends...and honestly, Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion just so happens to hold a lot in common with that last example in particular. Amidst all these comments sections, you would start to recognize regulars, people who obviously knew their stuff from having watched the channel for so long - people like New Guy, and like Emm Bee Sea.

Its not even as if I can pinpoint any specific date that I started realizing how often Emm Bee Sea was showing up, but eventually she just became someone you expected to see, always wearing the same recognizable profile picture of Maki Love Live. And like, it obviously isn't a very substantial connection, but...there WAS a connection there, one that made the realization that she was now full-on contributing to the channel hit more than it otherwise would have. And even three years later, Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion sits pinned on Emm Bee Sea's profile as her proudest work. In my eyes, its easy to see why.

We've covered Fusion Collabs on here before - File Select Fusion Collab, Balcony Fusion Collab, Bramble Blast Collab - they're a mainstay of the channel put together as loveletters by a group within the channel. But by that metric, and indeed by its own title, Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion doesn't technically fit the bill - as you can see at the top of the post, Emm Bee Sea made the audio entirely on her own, covering one and a half dozen styles across the track's entire runtime. A task that's usually divided up across multiple rippers for projects like this was taken on by this one ripper alone - yet all the styles, from MOTHER 3 to Kirby's Dream Land 3 to Super Mario Sunshine, are incorporated so seamlessly, never feeling as if corners are being cut. It's effectively a tribute to both Super Mario 64 and the SiIvaGunner channel itself in that way, a tribute to the very idea of fusion collabs, set to the credits theme of one of the channel's most-ripped games.

Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion delivers exactly what it promises on the tin, as a befitting celebration to Super Mario 64's twenty-fifth anniversary, yet it's stuck with me in some special way for just how well the styles chosen all fit the source track. So many of them, from Mario Party to Ghost Trick to the Mii Channel, have a sort of silly, Bossa Nova lightheartedness to them, that fit the Super Mario 64 Staff Roll theme like a glove - althewhile taking such good advantage of all their unique soundscapes. It reminds me of a rip like Aquadial, where an otherwise so simple concept is elevated to great heights by just how immaculate the vibes become through the instrumental style chosen. It made me immensely happy to see Emm Bee Sea cherish this rip as much as I still do, and she's right to be proud of it.

[random-of-random]

Can I Save You?

Chapter 2: I’m Going to Get You Out of This

The airport was quiet, Patricia had never seen an airport that quiet when it wasn’t after midnight. Still filled with people, they were huddled around televisions watching Bane's latest statement. Patricia and Wilson stopped to watch with them.

"Behind you stands a symbol of oppression; Blackgate Prison, where a thousand men have languished under the name of this man..." He was holding up a picture. The man had blonde hair and a kind smile. "Harvey Dent, who has been held up to you as the shining example of justice."

"Who is Harvey Dent sir?" Patricia asked.

"The old DA. He was said to have been killed by Batman." Wilson replied.

"You have been supplied with a false idol to stop you from tearing down this corrupt city. Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent from the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon." Bane continued. Patricia saw a woman in the airport crying. Her dirty blonde hair was hanging at her face and two teenagers were sitting on either side of her. The girl had her head in her mothers shoulder, but the boy, however, the same blonde hair as his mom's was staring intently at the television. His eyes were dark but Patricia saw something he was clearly trying to hide. Fear, but not fear for him, fear for someone else. The mention of Commissioner Gordon's name had caught attention. "'The Batman didn't murder Harvey Dent, he saved my boy then took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the mad man who tried to murder my own child but I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth and it is time for me to resign.' " The woman cried harder.

"Well, this is certainly going to make things a lot worse." Wilson said, his hand was tapping his belt. A nervous twitch he had adopted when he was promoted to director.

"And do you accept this man's resignation? Do you accept the resignation of all these liars? Of all the corrupt?"

"What's he getting at?" Wilson asked. Patricia felt her heart racing.

"What ever it is, sir. It's nothing good."

"We take Gotham from the corrupt! The rich! The oppressors of generations who have kept you down with myths of opportunity, and we give it back to you... the people. Gotham is yours. None shall interfere. Do as you please. Start by storming Blackgate, and freeing the oppressed!" Bane continued. "Step forward those who would serve. For and army will be raised. The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests, and cast out into the cold world that we know and endure. Courts will be convened. Spoils will be enjoyed. Blood will be shed. The police will survive, as they learn to serve true justice. This great city... it will endure. Gotham will survive!" As he finished his speech, the cameras quickly moved. A tank had a gun pointed at them. The camera dropped and there was a moment of static as a loud bang sounded through it's microphones.

"My God!" The cameraman must have been the one talking. The camera pointed at a now gaping hole in the side of a wall. For a moment there was just dust settling, but then men, by the dozens, wearing orange jumpsuits and carrying guns of every kind came storming through. The camera cut off and a reporter came quickly into view. Sitting in a studio, she was claiming technical difficulties.

"At least we know the police are safe for right now." Patricia commented. "Down in those sewers, they might not be able to help, but the prisoners can't get to them either."

“You called it, about going after the rich.”

“I think he wants chaos.” Patricia said with a sigh. “This just helps get there quicker.”

"We should be going." Wilson stated and Patricia followed them to get their luggage.

The sunlight was almost painful after being in the artificial light of the airport. A young man walked up to them, he couldn't have been more than twenty-one. He looked like how television and movies think FBI agents should look. He was dressed in a black suit, black tie, and dark sunglasses. His light blonde hair almost looked out of place.

"Mr. Wilson? Miss. Robertson?" He asked.

"Mr. Tiller?" Wilson replied and the kid nodded before smiling. Patricia could tell he was wearing a gun on his hip and another on his ankle. He graciously picked up Patricia's bag and lead them to a black SUV. Patricia climbed in the back and leaned her head back against the headrest. She studied the outside world once the vehicle started moving through the city. DC looked normal, despite the crisis in Gotham. People went in and out of grocery shops, moms took their children into daycare, and college kids went into bars for an early drunk. She couldn't imagine what the people of Gotham were experiencing. As far as she knew no one had left the city, the military wasn't letting anyone across the only bridge left and the tunnels out of the city had been blocked. The SUV they were in came to a standstill and Patricia sat up.

"I'm sorry." Tiller said quickly. "It's about that time. Traffic can come to a crawl or worse sometimes. I'll have us there as soon as I can." Patricia let her body fall against the comfortable seat.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Bane. The current Bane, cold, heartless. She closed her eyes anyway. Nightmares had stopped her normal sleep pattern. Well, what she called a normal sleep pattern. Going from 4 hours a night to 1 was just unhealthy. A thought popped into her head as she felt the seat behind her, a memory.

————-——————-

"How long have we been running for?" Patricia asked. She was sitting in a chair in a very small hotel room in Berlin, Germany.

"2 years?" Dominic replied. "You were 14 when we left."

"Then two years." Patricia commented.

"You should have stayed to finish school." Dominic's voice sounded sad.

“You’re less than two years older than me. You should have finished school.” The lines around his eyes increased and she could tell that he was smile. Dominic was laying on the hotel room bed. His body was tired, they had been in China the previous morning, and his belt had been taken off. As long as he didn't move the pain would stay at bay.

“I… I’m ready to tell you.” Dominic said barely above a whisper.

"About what happened to you?" Patricia asked her voice turning serious. She could see a flash of pain cloud his eyes. Not physical pain, mental. "I told you that you don’t have to tell me-“

"I didn't want to scare you." He said quietly. Patricia stood up and moved to the opposite side of the bed, trying her best not to move the bed very much she laid down beside him. She heard him sigh.

“You’re not going to scare me.” She pushed some hair off of his forehead.

"I was three or four. My mom woke me up late one night.” He started, his eyes closed. “I remember my room was so dark. She told me to hide under the bed. Men had broken into our home. I could hear stomping, a-and shouting. The men burst into my room and they found me, quickly. When they pulled me out from under the bed my mom began fighting them."

He took a ragged breath and Patricia felt his hand softly grasp hers. "It’s okay. I’m right here.” She assured him.

“She was so strong. She attacked the guy who was holding me. I think she stabbed him with something, but he was strong. He pulled me to the window. My room was on the second floor. He shouted something down, in a language I didn't understand. Then he dropped me."

Patricia inhaled sharply. Her eyes were wide and she squeezed his hand, urging him to continue.

"I felt an excruciating pain shoot down my back and I cried out, but as soon as I screamed a boot was put on my face. Someone trying to keep me quiet. I felt like I was suffocating and I tried kicking and pushing, but whenever I moved the pain was horrible. I saw my mom sneaking around the side of the house. The man holding me didn't." His eyes looked as if he was in a far off place. "I could feel warm blood running down my face mixing with tears. My mom jumped on the man. They fell into the darkness of the back yard and I tried to get up, call after her but all that came out was a scream. It hurt so bad that I passed out.”

He didn’t even realize he had been crying until Patricia wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“When I woke up I was in a hospital room and my mom was sitting a chair next to me. I felt so weak that I couldn't move. Mom told me not to."

"Do you know what hospital?" Patricia asked.

Dominic nodded. “Where your dad worked.” Patricia’s dad was a surgeon. “I guess I had just come out of an operation. Your dad was talking to my mom. He told her my back was severely broken and would never be the same. He wanted to do a lot of surgeries and my mom told him that we needed to run. That they would still come looking got me. So, he told her the only thing they could do is keep giving me pain killers. I think he performed, at least, one more surgery. I was in and out for what felt like weeks. The anesthetic and pain meds they were using just made me tired. It was the only time I wasn't in pain. We stayed there until I was healed enough to move then we were on the run.”

"Why?" Patricia asked. "Why are these men after you?"

"My father owes a debt." Dominic said with a sarcastic smile. "He offered me. That I be put in a prison instead of him."

"He can't do that!"

"Where he's from, he can. I am suppose to rot in prison for him." Patricia moved closer to him and rested her forehead against his shoulder. "They started catching up to us when I was eight. My mom knew we couldn't keep running."

"That's when you guys came to us." Patricia remembered. "You were about 8 then."

"My mom knew we could trust your dad after all the help he gave us before. Plus, your parents and my mom go way back.”

“I remember my mom saying they were friends as kids.” Patricia offered.

“When my mom left me there I was barely coherent. I remember the news story your dad brought into me saying she was found dead."

"I'm sorry Dominic." Patricia said softly.

"You saved me." He was looking at her.

"Not yet." She replied seriously. I am going to get you out of this. In one way or another." She felt his hand squeeze hers as he closed his eyes.

———————————

Patricia's door opened and the bright light was almost blinding.

"Sorry if I woke you." Tiller said shyly.

"I wasn't sleeping." Patricia replied stepping out of the car. She fixed her blazer and followed Wilson into a back entrance to the white house. She was immediately searched, and then they were led into the heart of the white house and down toward a basement. The situation room there was white and very well lit, a stark contrast MI6. FBI director Parsons was there to greet them and they took two seats around a large table. The secretary of defense as well as the president were among the people chosen to decide what to do about Bane.

"Wilson, you seemed to have an idea over the phone. What was it?" Parsons asked.

"I think we should send men in with the food. Workers will have to drive the food in to the city. It should be special forces, a chosen few. We take their badges, give them different ID's, and send them in."

"The first rations will go in within a few days. We can have fake IDs for all the forces made by then" Parsons commented.

"With all do respect sir." Patricia started. "We should not make a move that quickly."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I mean that Bane's men will be weary of any workers coming into the city. They'll expect cops. They need to be the same rotations of workers. The special forces and myself-"

"You think you're going in there?" Parsons asked.

"I know I'm going in there." Patricia answered. "I know Bane better than any of you. I've studied him. I'm also trained in the field." No one said anything. "Now, the special forces soldiers and myself should go every time. We need the men checking out the trucks to recognize us. Think that we're normal civilians who won't do anything."

"Alright, Robertson." The President said carefully. "Then you start as soon as the first shipment goes in."

"Yes, sir." Patricia replied.

“How long are we thinking this could last?” The President asked.

“As of now, sir.” Parsons started with a sigh. “We really have no idea how long it will take.”

The days and planning ticked away slowly. Patricia's ID read 'Megan Reilly' and their first trip into Gotham was rapidly approaching. They had picked several special forces officers that would rotate in and out. Communications with the saved commissioner Gordon as well as his detective had been made. They grocery shop they were going to had a back room where they would meet.

The ride across the bridge was slow and nerve racking. Patricia's driver was nervous and they were stopped before crossing completely. Men dressed for gorilla warfare checked their ID's. One eyed Patricia suspiciously.

"England?" He asked, looking at her ID.

"Yes." she answered quickly.

"Why are you here?" He asked. She took notice of the machine gun hanging off of his shoulder.

"I came for the American dream. Didn't turn out as I expected." He laughed and Patricia felt her body slightly relax as he handed her ID back and let them pass. The shop was half stocked when they arrived. As the truck began unloading the man at the counter signaled Patricia to head to the back. She was unnaturally nervous and could hear her heart beating. He was somewhere in this city. Somewhere closer than they'd been in a long time. The first person she saw had dark hair and matching eyes. He was younger but his eyes looked hardened. Immediately he walked up to her.

"John Blake." He said while shaking her hand.

"Gordon's detective." Patricia said returning the handshake. "Patricia Robertson, MI6."

"Good to meet you." He said hurried.

"You'll see me every time a delivery is made. We're trying to get the guards used to us, to trust us. Eventually we'll come in with more power and some of us will start to stay, build up as many men as possible."

"We need all the help we can get."

"Try to keep people calm." Patricia said softly. "Hopefully people won't fall for Bane's ploy. Stay hidden and get as many high standing members of Gotham society to hide as well. You'll see me soon."

"Thank you."

"Good luck, Blake. Be safe out there."

[claypigeonpottery]

Heyyyyy~ I'm just... So in love with all the work you do, they're all so precious and beautiful I'm in tears. Thank you so for what you do, can't wait to buy something you made soon :D

If it's okei, can you please tell the story of how you got into this and how did you progress from being babie artist to now growing artist and how long you've been doing this for? What's your top 3 fav works you've done? Did you eat good food today, if not please dooo. Thenks

thank you! that's very sweet x3 I'm excited to get more stuff fired and up on Etsy, hopefully before the end of June

.

choose three favourites of my work? oh, that is a difficult question.

one thing I really didn't like about my art when I was younger was that it was all very static. it was people sitting or standing, it was still life paintings. one of the things I'm really proud of in my work now is the sense of capturing a moment instead of someone posing, and/or giving a sense of movement

these two are just the opposite of static and I love them for that

and then there's this mug. the design is great, the details are great and I had so much fun carving it. it was honestly just delightful and I wish I'd kept it. I don't say that very often.

all sold

.

I'm putting the rest of this under a cut because I'm going to ramble

I started drawing because I was making silly comics about me and my friends in grade school and through high school (I assigned them all fursonas because I was a really cool 15 year old lol)

I got a little more serious about art in high school, but I never thought it'd be something I'd make money at.

when I was... in my early twenties? maybe 19 still? ah, memory issues, I went through a nine month art program, the 'Urban Canvas' project run by SCYAP (saskatoon community youth arts programming). the program is meant to support young artists, especially those with mental health or addiction issues. and it meant I got paid to draw and paint and create weird shit for 40 hours a week, for nine months. and then some (seven? eight?) years later I got to go through the program again which... honestly I'm so grateful I got to do that. (and SCYAP still supports me, they give me a table at their craft show every year and helped me with my first solo gallery show)

these are some of the pieces I made during my time at SCYAP:

and two very rare pictures of me, posing with two of my master studies. the left from when I was 20ish, and the right when I was... 27ish? (man I'm still proud of that Gentileschi copy)

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it was after SCYAP when I started thinking that I could actually make money as an artist. so I painted more than a dozen murals, drew a 20-some page full colour comic, painted pet portraits, and sold my own paintings. commissions were more reliable than selling my own work for a long time lol

as for how I got into pottery, my mental health uh... haha. it took a nosedive about six years ago and during some of the worst of it, I was severely agoraphobic. my mom, who has always supported my art, offered to take me to pottery classes with her, in an attempt to get me leaving the house at least once a week. it did help (along with a lot of other things) and once I started exploring the surface decoration side of pottery, things really clicked for me

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tangent: one of the things that really drove me to progress as an artist was having something driving my work. whether it was preparing for a gallery show or making a bunch of holiday cards or making piles of fan art because I was obsessed. every time I made something, anything, I improved. so when I had a goal that made me create more, I improved faster.

my unsolicited advice: make that weird fan art. it's good for your art. (I was really into tf2 lol)

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I've tried tons of different mediums and I think it was a great way to help my style evolve.

when you're making art with a new medium, it might take awhile before you're making your own personal work. I, at least, find that I usually have to do some studies of other peoples' art and just try some basic creations before I do anything more personal. but once I'm ready to do MY stuff, I have a new repertoire to pull from. I wouldn't be the potter I am if I didn't have the experiences I got from other mediums

like acrylics (I did a lot of self portraits >.>)

paper flower making

watercolour

collage

cake decorating

(also oil paints, pastels, 3D wire art, crochet, linocut, stone carving, sewing, set painting and quilting. also my spouse and I like to make crafts together, like cutting-construction-paper, gluing-pompoms-and-googly-eyes crafts, because it's just fun to make stuff together)

I'm sure pottery isn't the last medium I'm gonna try. I'll probably get obsessed with carving tiny wooden figurines or making wax sculptures at some point. who knows!

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and now I'm in my mid-thirties, making art pretty much every day. I've been doing this since I was a teenager, so almost twenty years now.

I never imagined I'd be satisfied with my own art, that I could look at most of my pieces and not see how I could have done it better, but hey, here I am.

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wow that was rambly. the ADHD really comes out when I'm writing lol. and I did eat real food today! before having some freezies

thanks so much for your ask, hopefully I satisfied your curiosity