#they would let her out in the summer and she would trot her way down the street to their neighbour's house who had AC

[hugepolecat3298]

our air conditioning broke and since my dog is a spoiled little 21st century baby she doesn’t understand that the inside of houses aren’t actually naturally temperate so she just lies panting in the living room thinking that there’s something wrong with her and refuses to go downstairs to cool off unless you physically move her

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[berriwritertingz]

the summer i wrote | one

content: future smut, fluff, angst, basically all of it

pairing: milo manheim x afab!reader & ross lynch x afab!reader

summary: every summer, you travel to dahlia's beach to reunite with your mother's closest friend and her son. but this year he unexpectedly brings a friend along. caught in the gentle waves of affection and longing, you find yourself navigating uncharted waters where the boundaries of friendship blur.

notes: this is loosely based on the summer i turned pretty. i just watched the second season and lawwwd i wanted to make a ff soo bad. plus milo and ross have absolutely none anywhere.

masterlist

You loved Dahlia's beach. It always smelled salty with a hint of expensive barbeque if you were in the city. But near the countryside there was the sweet smell of honeysuckle. That's where you would rather be, where the tall grass met the sandy dunes. The sounds of hooves on pavement and bustle around the farmers market on a hot weekend afternoon.

This summer was no different. Your stomach churned, rumbling in excitement as you neared the beach house. It was huge. Five bedrooms with enough bathrooms. Too many patios surrounding it. Turquoise colored pool with a small waterfall. The house was a blueish gray color with white accents. Calm and minimalistic, much unlike the other grand colorful houses on the street. It sat like a diamond around other stones in a non normal way. The most priceless of them all. Placed directly in front of the beach but not close enough to tourist spots so it was always quiet. It was always such an amazing way to spend the three months in between school. You looked forward to it every year.

But that wasn't all you looked forward to.

Your mom honked as you guys entered the driveway. A wide smile plastered on her face. Your mom seemed to love this place more than she loved you, even if she denied it when you asked. You knew the truth. Summers at the beach house were the only time she got to see her best friend, Camryn.

"Hey!" A voice squealed from the porch. You shuffled out of the car, legs aching after a long 5 hours. As you stretched you were met with Cam, arms spread jumping for joy. Practically knocking you over. They were best friends from high school. Going to college together and even sharing a dorm room. With how they acted every time they met, you were convinced they had separation anxiety. They didn't get to see each other throughout the year. Other than here of course. For they lived states apart, Dahlia's being a quiet beach town that was located in the middle.

Camryn engulfed you in a bear hug first, gushing about how pretty you are. Making you do a spin in your dress. Once she pulled away she did the same to your mom whose high pitched voice could be heard from the beach. As they talked about how ‘different’ each other looked. You watched as they walked inside hand in hand when your eyes met his.

Milo.

He radiantly smiled as he trotted over to you. The classic hands in pockets, ruffled hair, and expensive glasses. It was like he had a glow up every year whether it was him dressing better or maybe getting a bit taller.

"Hi" He cooed embracing you in a tight hug. The smell of his overpriced cologne filled your nose. It reminded you of sugary trees and cool waves. Much like the beach house. He was another reason you loved the beach house so much. Without him you were stuck with two middle aged ladies whose celebrity crush was Liam Neeson and only watched tv shows made by Shonda Rhimes. He was fun. He never made you feel left out or alone. He was everything any girl could wish for. Tall, smart, rich, and incredibly good eye candy.

"Hello, Milo." You smiled as he let you go.

He ran a hand threw his hair looking down at you. Eyes trailing down your body strangely. His expression was unrecognizable. Your face heated up turning your head to avoid his gaze. He touched the bottom of your dress. Yanking the fabric gently.

"This is a little short isn't it?" He questioned eyes meeting yours. Lips curled up in a sly smile. Rolling your eyes you scoffed slapping his hand away. He acted like a big brother sometimes. Especially with your clothes. Every summer complaining about how short your shorts were or how revealing your bathing suit was.

"Oh shut up you do this every-" The sight of someone else on the porch caught your eye. "Who's that?" You questioned raising an eyebrow.

Milo turned around and nodded in acknowledgement as the boy made his way down the stairs. Bleached blond hair slightly overgrown and wide smile on display as he made his way towards you two.

"Y/N this is Ross, Ross Y/N. He's staying the summer with us this year." Ross reached his hand out to you. Clad in silver rings that looked a bit out of your price range. Does Milo have any Middle Class friends? It was unusual. No one ever came to the beach house from back home. It was like a unsaid rule between everyone. Written in big red letters 'No Strangers'. The dads didn't even bother coming even though Milo's paid for it.

"Nice to meet you." He looked you up and down a tongue swiping over his lips. "Milo didn't tell me how pretty you are."

"Dude!" Milo exclaimed punching his shoulder rolling his eyes.

"Thank you." You beamed softening your voice. Milo scoffed walking towards the trunk slightly bumping into Ross. But he didn't seem to mind, hazel eyes still trained on you.

"So where are you fr-" Ross was cut off by a slightly pissed off Milo. "Are you guys serious? C'mon Ross help me with these bags." Ross walked away backwards eyes still focused on you with that addicting smile of his.

"See you inside?" He whispered loud enough for you to hear him.

You didn't respond. Only nodding as you strolled inside.

a/n: soooo what do you guys think? im still trying to figure out this tumblr writing stuff im so used to just reading ive never written and posted anything on here lololol. pls be patient with me! a few tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated!!

taglist

[maikissed]

cherry flavoured lips

Kylian Mbappé x reader

summary: he stole from her a few of cherry flavoured kisses. would she forgive him? warnings: bit of sexy times I guess?

I honestly love it, probably there will be more parts

She felt exceedingly excited, gazing out of every window she passed as she moved around the house, checking every few minutes to see if her friend has already arrived. She must have looked a tad silly, but she truly hoped none of her family members noticed her stoked trot through the corridors. She was standing in the kitchen now, observing her mother’s process of cooking, the woman’s talking surrounding her, but the words blurred and incoherent. Breath stuck in her throat as she could hear the front door opening, she hoped it was not her father. Straightening from the counter slowly, she watched Kylian’s tall silhouette entering the room and she smiled at his presence. It was not such a very long time since she has saw him last, but she was always dazed by every change in him she could notice every time they met. It was like he seemed taller every time, or broader? Or maybe a little bit older and more mature and collected, the boyish aura fading in him, his features more sharp, his gaze surer, harder and confident. She stood still, letting her mother to smother him first.

“Kylian! Salut!” older lady called, her fingers covered in flour so she leaned into him, greeting their guest with two gentle kisses on both cheeks. “How you’ve been, darling?” she beamed looking up at him.

“Bonjour. I’m good, thank you. Happy to see you well" he smiled brightly at the tiny woman, his heart warmed at the fond greeting and his eyes travelled behind her for a second, noticing his lovely friend standing with her hands joined on the countertop, simply observing his interaction with her mom.

“Oh, we are so happy you made it!” her mother added “The dinner is not even close to be ready yet, but I’m on it” she laughed, circling the kitchen counter to resume her previous activity with the big heap of dough. Kylian of course had to comment on how delicious was the smell of the stew slowly boiling on the stove.

It was just before y/n approached him to pull him in a tight hug. He let out a quick laugh of contentment as they swayed a little in their embrace. Her smell coating him, he missed it.

“Are you getting even bigger, or is it your new oversized clothes style?” she joked leaning away in his arms.

He frowned funnily at her question, her voice slightly sarcastic.

“You love my style” he acknowledged, smirking at the roll of her eyes.

“It’s debatable” she stepped away from him, slapping him playfully on the arm.

He followed her outside to the spacious terrace with a view on the elegant and well-kept backyard and family’s vast area of apple and cherry orchards further away. He always enjoyed spring and summer here - fresh and full of sun, and most importantly quiet. But before he could revel in the sight of the lovely countryside, his gaze rested on her silhouette before him. Her back to him, she was saying something about one of his games – she was most likely making fun of him as she enjoyed so much – but his mind didn’t pay much attention to it. He was hypnotized by the way the end of the flounce of her dress was fluttering delicately with her every move, the material high on her legs, the dress was rather short, a lovely one. It was a hot day, she had every right to dress as comfortably as she liked and he was in no position to ogle his friend so shamelessly. It was inappropriate.

She smiled at him as they sat down. Did she ask him a question? No, he didn’t think so.

“I love the taste of the smell here” he commented looking around to see if anything changed since his last visit.

“Oh, yeah? Dad has too much free time lately and planted marigolds around the corner. They stink awfully” she scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Really? I thought it was the scent of your new perfume” he shrugged and there was too much seriousness in his features but she knew he was being ironic.

“Oh, wow, really funny” she snickered at his comment and there was a sound of a gentle chuckle coming from him.

“How is your dad?” he asked.

It has been few weeks since her father had a bad stroke, it was not the easiest times of her family’s lives. It has been one of the most stressful ones, she has been worried like never before, but she had Kylian’s support, even from the distance, even when he had more important things on his own mind. She appreciated it greatly.

“He’s much better, still has some troubles with bad cramps and stiff muscles but he’s working on it. He is at the rehabilitation right now” she shrugged, calmer now since the worst was behind them.

“I’m glad to hear it” he smiled softly at her.

She bend her legs at the knees and placed them on the big patio armchair behind her. The weather was pleasant, even warmer days were coming, the vision of the upcoming holidays looked to be wondrous and she hoped they could use more time here as they used to as children. But they had more responsibilities and their own activities, so much less time for each other as they grew older. But she was happy they at least could still meet like this from time to time. They still managed to make it.

Suddenly the doors to the terrace opened with a thud and she spotted her little sister approaching them. Her long hair a little messy, there was a wide smile plastered on her face.

“Kyky” Fleur announced, more than called, and wrapped her hands around Kylian’s shoulders to hug him, a sweet kiss placed on his cheek.

Her sister adored him from her earliest days. It was no surprise at all.

“Hello Fleur, how are you?” Kylian chuckled, taking her hand in his as she graciously circled the couch and sat beside him.

“Very well. I’m finishing the school year so there’s still much work for me to do, but few more classes and I’m starting my well deserved holidays” she grinned gazing up at him, Kylian exchanged a little amused smile with y/n.

Fleur was exceptionally mature and well-spoken for a kid her age. It could be infuriating at times, since she revelled in being a smart ass with her nose always in her books, but Kylian pinpointed that Fleur was a spite image of her older sister. And there was much truth into it, but y/n wasn’t so keen on admitting that.

“I’ve missed you, really” she sighed “Not as much as y/n, I suppose, but I have. She was literally checking the driveway every five minutes with hope that you’ve arrived” she grinned mischievously, sending a dangerous look in her sister’s direction. Y/n frowned. Fleur was a very evil child.

“Right” y/n cut in acting carelessly “Lemonade?” she leaned into the little table between them to pour them some.

“Kylian, this is the best time for you to visit us” Fleur declared, changing the subject and sitting on her knees to face him comfortably “I have a very important essay for my French class and I need some inspiration” Y/n’s eyes shot up, very curious about what kind of inspiration would she need now. Something football or sports related? She doubted. “And since my sisters emotional range is the size of a grain of sand and her heart is hollow and dry as a desert, and most likely dead” she punctuated the last word “I have thought I must ask you”.

Y/n choked on her cold lemonade and Kylian laughed softly, his eyes a little wide when he looked at his friend.

“Fleur” she complained sending her a questioning look, but her sister acted like she did not notice at all.

“Alright, ask away” he encouraged, not very much prepared for the upcoming question.

“Have you ever been in love?” if y/n took another sip of her sour lemonade she would most likely choke herself to death.

Kylian’s smile died a little but was still present on his face. One of his knees jumped up lightly and he looked like he considered his answer. Fleur was serious, expecting an answer from him, matter of fact y/n was waiting for it as well.

“Yes” a clear answer. He was looking at Fleur. She nodded. Y/n’s gaze focused on his face, examining his expressions, reminiscing his past girlfriends.

“How many times?” she continued.

“Uh” he stammered a little “Once”

“Interesting” Fleur announced, a spark in her eyes as there seemed to be a process of deep thinking in her hard working brain “You’ve had girlfriends, as in plural. So it means only one of them was the object of your true feelings?”

“Fleur” now y/n chastised her sister for prying too much into Kylian’s personal life. She placed her glass back on the table.

“What? Those are just harmless questions!”

But Kylian cut in:

“Answering your question Fleur: not exactly”

“What does it mean?” she seemed excited turning her head back to look at him.

“None of them was the object of my true feelings”

This answer surprised y/n. She didn’t know what answer she expected, they never talked much about their love lives, mostly it was the time when they weren’t keeping in touch so frequently. It was an odd subject, they never really knew how they felt about each other dating people. But they accepted it, because they were best friends, they did not own each other exclusively.

“Now, that complicates all” Fleur sighed resignedly “How could you be with someone you don’t love?” she asked almost accusingly, making Kylian bit his lip with perplexity.

“It’s like you said. Complicated” he stated, his knee bounced up once again. His expression soft, his gaze landing on y/n for a split second. Their eyes met.

“This love you mentioned at the start…” Fleur still kept digging “You fell out of it or is it present still?”

“Okay” y/n called, her voice firm “Fleur you’re being nosy. Go write your essay now, it should be enough, this big brain of yours can surely make up the rest of it” she sent her a chiding look.

“See” she nudged Kylian “Dead heart” her voice almost a whisper now.

Kylian sent her a lovely smile before she stood up, Fleur added something about games night before she left them, but there was too much burden on y/n mind to focus on anything now. She took a breath and tried to mute the race of thoughts inside of her. Kylian seemed relaxed.

“I think it’s the best time for a walk” she started with a smirk “Wine or champagne?”

“In this weather, I’d say champagne” he answered calmly.

“Champagne it is” she stood up with intention to rummage through her father’s wine cellar.

They took off in the direction of the orchards, sun was about to set in about two hours, the evening aura of June coating them warmly as they strolled through the enormous tracts of cherry trees. The stillness and quietness of southern countryside brought him peace and calmness he yearned for amongst the noisiness and turmoil of all the cities he visited in just those last few weeks. Crickets chirping amongst the grass, frightened birds taking flight from the closest trees as they passed, some singing prettily in the distance. It was a lovely, cherished time. Any time they both stole something from the house they used to come here, to hide amongst the trees and talk, play and laugh for hours. At the beginning it was candy or ice cream before dinner, then beer and other alcoholic beverages as they grew older. Something to remember for years.

Now, a little tipsy from the alcohol they drank on their way here, they enjoyed each other’s presence. The bottle of champagne almost empty in Kylian’s hand. His head lighter, as he looked around, taking a big, cleansing breath. Y/n laughed about something and he looked at her, noticing her cheeks painted a sweet rosy colour. The most refreshing and calming amongst all those wondrous things was the sight of her. For him, she was a treasure, the most beautiful thing he could revel in. His fingers itched to grab her, touch her, make her laugh more, make her look at him like he looked at her.

“See?” she asked suddenly and he had to shake off this little trance that overtook him “Those are the sweetest in the season” she pointed in the direction of the cherry tree line on their right “But they ripen late in the summer. I guess you always have to wait a little bit longer for the sweetest things” she remarked looking his way over her shoulder, he smiled at her, she smiled back and blinked before taking few more steps ahead.

With a jumpy run she approached different trees on their left.

“But these…” she reached to pick some red fruit “Are ready for harvest”

He could not stop his eyes from falling lower, observing the hem of her white summer dress as she stood on her toes with her hand up. So high on her thighs, he could feel a wave of heat washing over him. He had to look away.

She run up to him, close, bringing one of the cherries to his lips.

“Try it” she encouraged.

“You know I’m not a fan of cherries. It’s too sour”

A delicate frown appearing on her face as she put the fruit in her mouth instead. She bit it, spatting the seed out to the side. Somehow this act fascinated him. She looked careless and content.

“They’re not so sour. Maybe just a tad, but they’re good” she added with her mouth full of more cherries and he watched, with his eyes wide open, as she licked her lips, now darker, painted burgundy by the cherry juice.

He could not tear his eyes from her lips, maybe she noticed, but he couldn’t care less. His heart started to beat ruthlessly against his ribs, blood pumping quicker in his veins. The thing he wanted most in the world right now was to taste this goddamned cherry, but straight from her lips. It almost made him dizzy. She placed the fruit on his lips once more and he parted them slowly, his gaze now meeting her big, almost dark eyes. She looked lower at his mouth and giggled sweetly.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s not poison, try” she almost whispered, a little bit out of breath, he noticed.

He smirked taking the fruit from her fingers, noticing another plump one unluckily crushing between her fingers, a trickle of juice flowed down her digit. It was difficult to fight it, in fact, he did not give it much of a thought as he quickly spat the seed out to the side and reached with his hand for hers, bringing it closer to his lips and with the help of his mouth and tongue cleaned the juice off her fingers. The most insane part of this act was the fact that he did not dare to look anywhere else except her eyes as he did it. It felt forbidden, could seem innocent, but with the thoughts and visions hiding behind the blackness of his eyes, it felt obscene and almost pornographic. And to add to it all she made a soft noise, hard to describe and depict but a lovely one, the prettiest one, the gentlest gasp that fought it’s way out of her. His head was spinning. He had to, he wanted to, he yearned to. So he did it. He closed the distance between them, placing his palm behind her head and kissed her on the mouth. For the shortest moment her body went rigid under his touch but he did not stop and could feel her relax short moment after. Putting his other hand on her hip he pressed on her to take a step back, guiding them both deeper into the trees, carefully pushing her against one of them. She did not fight him, he took it as a good sign and reassurance, that she would not push him away. Wreaking havoc sensations awaken inside of him, and the excitation urged him to do more. Her soft lips danced with his perfectly, the taste of cherries lingering between them, he grew impatient. He needed more taste. The tip of his tongue pressed against her lower lip and she invited him, she let him in, parting her sweet lips to let him take what he pleased. Another pretty sound made by her reached his ears and it felt like a deadly shot to his senses, he grabbed her waist firmly, his mouth turning ruthless and wanton, his thigh secretly slipping between hers. She moaned again into his mouth. Her hands on his nape and biceps, wandering, touching him, holding onto him.

“Most perfect way to taste the cherries” he whispered between kisses, his right hand travelled higher up her body.

He could feel many things, the warmness of her body radiating through the material of her dress, her chest rising and falling quickly, out of breath, her heart beating hard against his own chest, the rhythm of his and hers beating in sync, he realised. And she was kissing him back with the ferocity and urgency matching his. The earth shook underneath their feet. Kylian turned more bold, pressing his knee higher between her legs as well as his hand that rested right under one of her breasts. He stroked it gently with his thumb and could feel her tremble in his embrace. How far would he go? How far would she let him? He was driven by wicked and untamed needs and sensations. And finally his thigh met the apex of her legs and she jumped, a feverish moan of hers followed.

“Kylian…” she whispered against his lips, a plea, he felt ecstatic and groped her breast, she writhed against him “Kylian, stop” she breathed.

But he didn’t want to stop, it was the last thing on his mind. He wanted it all. He wanted her. He wanted to blend into her. It was the first time he heard his name coming out her lips in such manner.  

“Oh” she whined when he pressed his thigh harder up in contact with her clit “Please, stop, we can’t” against his hungry lips.

She wasn’t trying to push him off her, her body was letting him to continue, but her words finally reached his consciousness and it awoke him. A protest was coming from her and it would be a tremendous mistake for him to ignore it. He stopped, leaning away from her and slowly opening his eyes, his hands still lingering on her shaken body. The sight he met was even more blissful than his dreams, her eyes wide and sparkly, hair lightly dishevelled, her skin flushed and deliciously radiant and her beautiful lips, swollen and reddened – the remnants of cherries and his kisses. But she said that they can’t and he blinked remembering the sound of these two words. What has he done?

She moved against the tree, something close to fear and insecurity visible in her eyes and he tensed, worried that he did something unforgettable. But she enjoyed it as much as he did, he could feel it. She looked away from him and his heart fell, with a gulp he watched her palm delicately resting on his chest. She tried to push him away, he could tell, but she did not put any force into it. So he made this task easier for her, stepping away a little, giving her space.

“The dinner must be ready now” she simply declared, her voice hoarse, her gaze distant, he frowned in disbelief.

Was she planning to act like none of this happened? He was out of words. Hurt.

“We should go” she stepped away, passing him and he huffed.

“Y/n, we should talk about it” he called but she seemed to not have any intention to turn or wait for him “Y/n, I’m sorry!”

Yet she fled from him. Just like that.

[call-me-strega]

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: ch.4/5 of p.2

First, prev, next, lore, ao3,

I've already said it but thank you for all your wonderful comments and for engaging with my story. It really motivated me to finish up this chapter. I hope you all enjoy and Happy (early) Halloween! As a bonus I'm also releasing some memes for this chapter here.

This chapter a heat wave overtakes Gotham and causes some trouble, but at least Jason gets a title upgrade.

~~~

"Uggh! How is summer in Gotham so miserable that I'm still sweating buckets in the rec center? It has AC?!" John complained, setting down the box he was holding. He stopped, pulling a hair tie from his wrist and tying his hair up in a circle man-bun. "I swear I can feel my hair sweating!"   

"Hah! Sucks to suck whiteboy! Maybe if you chopped off that mop, you'd be less sweaty!" Irene taunted, hoisting a box onto her shoulder.   

"Well, we can't all just decide to shave it off the second we get bored of our braids, now can we Irene!" Johnny fought back, lifting his box with new vigor. "Some of us had to work for this kinda hair growth!"   

"Like I said, 'sucks to suck'! Get good whiteboy!"   

She stuck out her tongue as she trotted past him.   

Jason sighed as he dragged two of his own boxes out of the truck and followed behind.   

"Would you two quit yer yapping? Yer hot cause we've been moving in and out, carrying boxes in the middle of a recorded breaking heatwave during a Gotham summer. And, might I add, that I'd like to finish moving this shipment in on schedule, ya know before my skin melts off? So that I can actually enjoy the industrial-strength air conditioner we installed in this place? Plus, you know Fern won't be happy if they find out that all the equipment for the new kitchens and cooking classes didn't get set up 'cause you two were too busy trying to goad each other into a rumble."   

The pair stiffened.   

Fern was 152 pounds of rage, spite, and mischief, condensed into a 5'2" package, decorated with kitties, glitter, and spikes.   

Neither of them wanted to see Fern mad.   

They promptly stopped their bickering and rushed toward the kitchens, mumbling complaints under their breaths.   

 "Who even says rumble anymore," John muttered. "S.E. Hinton much."   

Jason rolled his eyes, gently bumping the door with his hip to keep it open. He walked over to the table where they had piled the rest of the boxes, setting them down with a soft grunt. He pulled up the bottom of his shirt, using it to wipe his brow as the three of them took a brief pause in the kitchens to catch their breath.   

That's when a ringtone went off.   

"Huh? Whose phone was that?" Irene questioned glancing between Jason and John. "Did one of you change your ringtones?"   

Jason knew exactly who it was.   

He flushed slightly as he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, hoping in vain that neither would notice his embarrassment. Irene sidled up to him with a smirk.   

 "Who's that? Your hot neighbor-dad crush?" she teased with a cheshire grin. "Did you set a special ringtone for him lover-boy!?"   

Jason defensively tried to hide his phone.   

 "Maybe? And what if I did!? Now back off and let me pick up!"   

He shoved the smug girl off him as he picked up the phone.   

 "Hey neighbor," Jason gave his customary greeting, fully expecting Danny to give it back. Instead, he was met with panicked breaths and an anxious little girl's voice.

 "Mr. Jason? That's you, right?"   

Jason's hackles instantly rose.   

 "Yes, it's me, Ellie, it's Mr. Jason. Is something wrong sweetie? Where's your dad? Why do you have his phone?"   

 "You like to help us right? Daddy said you told him we could come to you for help. You'll help, right?"   

 "Yes, Ellie I did say that. I promise I'll help, but you need to tell me where your dad is, okay? Can you take a deep breath for me sweetheart? What's going on munchkin?"   

John and Irene exchanged nervous glances, responding to the way Jason tensed up. They watched on apprehensively, the mood quickly growing somber. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that one of them picked up a call and had to ask questions like these.   

 "Huuup-haaah,  - um well, Daddy took me to the park, the one with the purple swings, because I really wanted to play today, and Sasha said they were doing soccer today and I really wanted to go. And, and I made Daddy run around with me even though he was getting tired. And then Daddy said he was getting too hot, so he was gonna rest, b-but he fell before he got to the bench and he- he's not getting up."   

The young girl explained, fighting back tears.   

"Hey- hey, Ellie, Ellie! I want you to listen to me, okay? First things first, I'm proud of you for reaching out to me when you knew you needed help, okay. That's a very responsible and big girl move. Next, I need you to understand that this isn't your fault, okay? Sometimes the hot weather can make people sick just like cold weather can."

 "Mmm-hmm," she sniffled.

 "Great. Next, I need you to find an adult at the park you can trust. Is your friend Sasha's mom nearby?"   

 "Yes."   

 "Good. Here's what you're gonna do: When I'm done talking, you're gonna go up to Sasha's mom and tell her your dad needs help. Tell her that she needs to call the VPA, okay? The V-P-A. Try to cool your dad off, maybe get him some water. If he can't drink it's fine to pour it on him since it'll still help cool off. I'm going to come get you so I can help. Stay with your dad and Sasha's mom until I get there, alright?"   

 "Alright, Mr. Jason."   

 "Good girl, can you repeat back to me what I said?"   

 "I need to go to Sasha's mom and tell her Daddy needs help. I need to tell her to call the VeePeeAay. I should try to cool Daddy off and stay with Sasha's mom till you come to help us."   

 "That's right. Good job, Elle! You're such a big, strong girl! I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"   

 "Okay, Mr. Jason. Please hurry."   

 "I will sweetie. Promise."   

Jason hung up the call.   

 "I'm sorry guys, but I gotta ditch. It's an emergency. Neighbor's daughter called saying he passed out after playing with her at the park. It's probably heat exhaustion. Hopefully, the Volunteer Paramedics Association will have sent someone by the time I get there."   

He promptly had a pair of car keys shoved into his chest. He made eye contact with John to see him giving him a serious look.   

 "Take my car, Jay. From the sounds of it, it'll probably serve you better than your bike. Don't worry about returning it. I know you'll have Hood get it back to me when you can."   

Jason gave him a look of appreciation. "Thanks, Johnny," he said, turning to leave. He looked back at Irene, who nodded at him in determination.   

 "Get outta here! We'll cover for ya. We can handle the rest of the delivery ourselves. Now go help your lover boy, lover-boy!"   

He nodded in thanks before rushing out the door. He hopped in turning the AC on full blast and taking off.   

~   

Jason tore through traffic as fast as he could, breaking several minor traffic laws along the way. He hastily parked and rushed through the park looking for the Nightingales.   

She said the park with purple swings. Ellie was playing soccer, so they'll be near the field.   

He scanned the area as he approached. Suddenly he felt like his blood froze as he locked onto a small crowd formed near a tree. He assessed the crowd: a few parents, a couple of kids, two people in paramedic uniforms, and them.   

Jason marched over, pushing through the crowd with one single-minded purpose echoing in his head: Help them.   

He could see that the paramedics had laid Danny down and elevated his feet on a balled-up picnic blanket. His face was sweaty and red, his eyes barely open as one of the paramedics helped a pleading Ellie coax him into taking a few sips from a bottle of water. Another used a small hand fan borrowed from a parent in the crowd to cool him.   

He pushed forward, reaching out a hand to call to Ellie, only to be stopped by a hand hastily pressing against his chest. A small portion of him grew enraged as he turned to see who stopped him.   

'Who dares stop us from getting to our people!'   

A tall, lean woman in a t-shirt and athletic pants. Judging by the age lines on her face she was likely in her late-30s, maybe early-40s. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail and her face was just as severe, promising pain if she deemed it necessary. She spoke first.   

 "I don't know who you are, but you can't go over there. Don't get in the way."   

 "Tch! Let me through. I'm here for them." he growled out.   

The woman tensed.   

 "Look I don't know what you want from them, but that man is in no position to give you whatever you're after." Her face grew more dangerous. "And don't even think about getting near the girl."   

That's when Jason belatedly realized he had had his mission face on the entire time. This woman mistook him for some sort of collector or enforcer. She was trying to protect them. He felt himself warm up to her a bit, releasing some of the tension from his body. He had to explain to her why he was actually here.   

 "Look ma'am it's not like tha-"   

 "YOU'RE HERE!" a small voice interrupted.   

Ellie promptly attached herself to Jason's leg. Jason bent down wrapping his arms around her. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her.   

 "I promised I would be, didn't I?"   

 "Ahem," the woman glanced between him and Ellie with a slightly reproachful glint in her eyes. She addressed Ellie first.   

 "Ellie dear, do you know this man?" 'And are you safe with him?' her eyes asked. Ellie nodded in response.   

 "This is Uncle Jason. He lives in the same building as us, near me and Dad. He came to help us b'cause I asked him too. He's the one who told me to ask you for help."   

Jason expertly masked any surprise he felt over the new title Ellie had given him, which implied a level of trust and familiarity he wasn't 100% convinced he'd earned just yet. He simply nodded in agreement, waiting for the woman to confirm his theories on her identity.   

 "I am Katrina Malone; my daughter Sasha is friends with Ellie. We all live in the same building apparently. You can call me Trina." She addressed him this time, holding out her hand. Jason shook it, nodding at her once.   

 "Jason. Ellie called me in a panic, and I got over here as fast as I could." He returned. She simply nodded in acknowledgment.   

That's when one of the paramedics approached them. Jason recognized them as one of the kids that apprenticed with Dr. Thompkins, Emilio something-or-other.   

 "Ah, Jason! I'd say it's nice to see you but, well..." He glanced back at Danny. "If I overheard correctly, you're here for the patient?"   

 "Yes, I am."   

 "Ah-well, it's a pretty bad case of heat exhaustion. My guess is that he hasn't been sleeping right or enough. We've cooled him about as much as we can, but it would be ideal if we could get him indoors, preferably somewhere with air conditioning. That is assuming you don't want to take him to the hospital."   

Jason nodded along. "I brought a car with me. I can take them home; we live next door to each other, and I definitely have AC. I can accommodate them just fine."   

"Great. We've already administered some first aid, but keep in mind for once you get back that he should be kept in a cool environment. Try to elevate his feet if you can and have him drink something with electrolytes. Handle him gently when helping him move. He didn't hurt anything much when he fainted, but his head and side may be a bit tender."   

Jason stood up and walked over to Danny, Ellie trailing behind him. His face was considerably less red, but he was still barely conscious. Danny cracked his eyes open and looked up at him with through his eyelashes. He managed to mutter out a weak "Hey" before trailing off, unable to remain fully cognizant.   

 "Easy does it, your highness," Jason whispered as he went to pick up Danny.   

He slid an arm under his knees, the other supporting his back and hefted him up off the ground, holding him close to his chest. He dismissed the paramedics and said a quick goodbye to Trina before turning to Ellie.   

 "Come on princess, let's get you dad home."   

He led her to the car, carefully buckling into the two most precious pieces of cargo Jason had ever transported. And then they were off.   

~   

Jason gently placed Danny down on his bed, taking great care to make sure he was comfortable. Ellie, in an attempt to be helpful, shoved a cushion under her dad's feet. Jason couldn't help but give her a slight smile at the cute gesture. He reached over and gently ruffled her hair, before moving around the room.   

First, he double checked that his AC was working, even setting it to a lower than he normally used. Then, he dragged out some folding chairs he kept in his closet for the sake of convenience. One for him and one for Ellie. He set them up next to the bed and gestured to Ellie to go ahead and sit. Finally, he went to his kitchen.   

'He needs something simple and easy to eat that will help rehydrate and cool him off ', he thought.   

Jason ended up going with some simple orange slices with a sprinkle of sea salt and the light blue Gatorade (he refused to call it "frost glacier freeze". It was light blue, goddammit!). He set them on a tray with some pretzels, hummus, and carrots that he cut up into little sticks for Ellie.   

He walked back into the bedroom, placing the tray on the side table.   

"Come on munchkin, you've had a lot of excitement huh? Come have a snack. I'll watch your dad."   

She looked up hesitantly, glancing between Jason and her dad.   

"He'll be alright sweetheart. He just needs some rest."   

Eventually, Jason managed to coax her into eating while he attempted to get Danny to drink some of the Gatorade. Danny managed to pull himself into consciousness long enough to drink a fourth of the bottle and stomach a few orange slices. Before he went out again, he managed enough energy to reassure Ellie he'd be better after a nap, and lock eyes with Jason briefly saying "thanks" and then he was out again.   

Ellie finished her snack and hopped up onto the bed, laying down next to her dad. She left some space between them but reached out to hold his hand as he slept. She looked at him from her place on the bed and murmured a small voice, "Thank you 'ncle Jas'n."   

Jason felt his heart clench. He wanted to ask her why she had called him that. To ask if she really trusted him that much. Could he really say he deserved the opportunity to become such an important figure in her life?   

"You're welcome sweetheart," he whispered back instead, letting her rest with her dad.   

Jason decided to step out of the room at that point. He went to sit in the living room for a bit to try to get his thoughts in order. He updates John and Irene on the situation, thanking John again for the use of his car, then heads to the kitchen to whip up a quick lunch. Something the Nightingales could eat when they woke up. He ended up making some fruit salad, ham and cheese roll-ups, and using some left-over grilled chicken to make chicken pesto sandwiches with tomato and mozzarella. The rhythmic motions of his knife calmed him as he mulled over the day's events.   

'Her actions were calculated. She wanted to express her trust in me so that her friend's mom would ease up and let me help,' he analyzed.  'But... but there was no hesitation or unease. She knew what she was doing and did it anyway. I- I want to make the most of her actions. I'll prove I deserve the trust she placed in me. '   

Once he was finished, Jason carefully stored the food in his fridge before going to check on the father-daughter duo.   

Jason cracked the door open, peaking in at the pair sleeping soundly on his bed. He walked over to one of the chairs he'd set up earlier, quiet as an assassin. He sat as softly as he could and observed the pair.   

Danny's complexion had greatly improved, beginning to return to his normal color. His chest slowly moved up and down and his calm face was at peace. Likewise, once Ellie had fallen asleep her worry melted off her face, leaving a calm expression so different from her usual boundless energy. She looked so much like her father it was almost uncanny.   

Sitting there looking at the two, absolutely relaxed and trusting nothing would happen as they lay in his bed, Jason came to a realization. One he honestly should have expected sooner or later what with his Big Realization, last week. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.   

'I want to protect them.' he thought.  'When Ellie called me, I was so scared something was wrong. But the two of them are safe with me. In my apartment. In my bed. I don't want to lose this trust. I don't want to lose them.   

~   

Jason woke up with a crick in his neck.   

He groaned, straightening himself out and cursing himself for falling asleep sitting. Couldn't he have at least fallen asleep on the couch? He stands up from the chair, stretching out his back. 'It's nearly 5', he thinks as he checks the time. They've all been asleep for around 3 hours. 'Oh well, at least I'll be rested for patrol later’ he thinks, heading to the kitchen to go eat something, never mind the fact that it won't be dark for a few more hours.   

He pulls out the lunch he made earlier, serving himself a portion. It's closer to dinner now but he'd be damned if he let food go to waste. As he was eating, he heard the sound of light groans and shifting coming from his room. Abandoning his plate Jason gets up and goes to check on the Nightingales.   

He opens the door to see the pair sitting up in his bed, both rubbing the tiredness out of their eyes in the same way.   

Like father, like daughter, huh?   

"Feeling better your highness?" He says leaning up against the wall.   

In unison, the two stare at him with wide, innocent eyes before smiling those smiles that never fail to make Jason's heart melt.   

 "I'm feeling much better. Thank you so much for taking care of us Jason. I'm sorry to have worried you," Danny began, a finger coming up to scratch his cheek as if trying to dust his embarrassed blush away like a few stray crumbs. "I've had some health issues in the past which make me more susceptible to the heat. I really should have planned better, even if it did get hotter than I thought it would. I must have given you and Ellie a big scare, huh?"   

He turned to his daughter pulling her into his chest. She hugged him back for a few seconds before abruptly pulling away. Danny stared at her in shock only to find her pouting. Ellie scrambled off the bed and made her way to Jason. She indicated for him to pick her up. He obliged. Once she was in his arms, she reached up awkwardly hugging his face to show her dad and gave him an ultimatum.   

 "You scared us both, daddy! If you don't take care of yourself and scare us again like that, then me'n Uncle Jason will just move in together until you learn to take care of yourself! So, if you don't wanna be lonely, you better not scare us again!"   

'What is she saying!?’  Jason sweat-dropped, nervously staring at Danny's shocked expression.   

 "Is that right, Uncle Jason?" Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.   

'Fuck what am I supposed to do now!?'

 "Uuuh- uh, yeah! Me and munchkin here will just stay together if you don't take care of yourself!" He wondered what the hell he was thinking as he doubled down on her words.   

 "So, please," he continued genuinely pleading, "We care about you, try to take better care of yourself."   

Or at least let me help. 

Danny gave a bemused chuckle, getting off the bed. He sauntered over to Ellie and Jason, wrapping his arms around both of them. His face slid into the gap between Jason and Ellie's, fitting in easily as a puzzle piece. Jason couldn't see his face anymore, but he could practically feel the affection rolling of the man in waves. Danny squeezed them tight before speaking.   

 "Alright. I promise to take better care of myself. I don't want to worry either of you."   

 "Pinky promise daddy?"   

Danny pulled back and extended his pinkie out to his daughter.   

 "Pinky promise, Ell."   

His pinkie was larger than hers, wrapping her own finger like a hug. Keeping their hands in place, Ellie turned her unwavering gaze to Jason.   

 "You too, Uncle Jason."   

Jason agreed, giving her a slight smile.   

 "Alright, me too."   

Jason brought up the hand that wasn't supporting Ellie's weight and wrapped his own finger around Danny and Ellie's. His finger was bigger, thicker, rougher, and covered them nearly perfectly. He almost felt like he was acting as a protective barrier, which he felt wasn't an unappealing thing to be.   

Eventually, they all had to let go. Jason, remembering that they hadn't eaten properly, led them to the kitchen. The three managed to easily fall into a comforting and familiar atmosphere.   

Once the Nightingales finished eating with Jason they returned to their own apartment. They stood in Jason's doorway stretching out their goodbyes.   

 "I really can't thank you enough for all your help, Jason. Is there anything I can do to pay you back for this? I'm just so thankful for all your help."   

 "Hey now, I already told you there's no need. Really, I was happy to help."   

 "Oh, but I insist."   

 "Look, it really wasn't that big a deal but if you really insist, I'll accept some more of that fudge you gave me," Jason joked.   

 "Deal. I'll make a special batch just for you," Danny replied with a light blush dusting his nose.   

He leaned over, giving Jason a brief hug.   

 "Good night, Jason."   

 "Good night, Danny."   

 "Me too!"   

Both of them looked down at Ellie before glancing at each other. In unison, they bent down and took her in their arms.   

 "Good night, Ellie," Jason spoke softly. Her small hand tightened its grip.   

 "Good night, Uncle Jason."   

With that, Danny and Ellie went back to their apartment. Jason closed his door, sitting on the floor with his back against it, his head cradled in his hands, and pondered these newfound desires swirling in his chest.   

'What do I do now?' 

~~~

Okay y'all that's all for this chapter. I hope it was enjoyable. Let me know if you think the flow and pacing is going well. As always, I'm open to constructive criticism. Also, I'm thinking about adding an extra to the series where I go over my visions for some of the side character OCs so if you are interested in more info on them or to see anyone in particular, let me know.

[pandafishao3]

TEASER Breeding/Lactation

YOU GUYS I went right ahead and did it, didn't I. I wrote an AU for my Milk Farm AU where Steve has Bucky as a private little cow hybrid in his own farm instead of a big factory and I am NOT SORRY. The full thing will be posted during Kinktober but for now, please enjoy a little teaser! I am seriously so excited to share this with you all, I cannot WAIT till Kinktober!

Steve yawned as he poured coffee into a cup and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The mornings started early out on the farm. The sun had just started climbing over the treeline across the golden rye fields, and it made the rustic kitchen warm and cosy. The little cottage had been in his family for generations, but Steve really felt like he’d added his own personal touch to it by re-painting the kitchen a soft green and building a proper dining room table out of sturdy oak wood. The clunky ceramic cups and white, embroidered curtains all spoke of the work of his mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, however. Steve liked the reminder of them, especially now that he was left to manage the farm alone.

“Meow?”

The sound of his cat Alpine jumping on top of the counter and chirping as she trotted towards him made Steve smile. He reached out his hand and she immediately buffed her fluffy, white head against it in a friendly gesture.

“Hi Al. Where you’ve been? Out wreaking havoc in the stables?” he winked at her and she promptly sat down and started licking her paw like she’d never done anything wrong in her whole life. In her mind, she probably ran the whole farm.

Steve huffed out a warm laugh to himself and went back to his coffee. But when he reached into the fridge, he noticed that he was completely out of milk. Oh well. He was heading to the barn anyway – the only reason he was up with the rooster was so he could get the milking done. After pouring Alpine some wet food, Steve took his coffee cup and went outside.

The flannel shirt he was wearing over his worn, patched jeans would be too hot in a few hours, but for now it was just perfect. Steve fondly watched his chicken pick at the corn on the ground as he walked past, and made a mental note to himself to go check on the rhubarb after this. He would need to tinker with the tractor too, since it had been acting up lately and it almost time to bring in the very first harvest of the summer. The barley would be done in a week or so.

But before that, he looked forward to spending the morning with his favourite pet.

“Good morning, my little moo. You up yet?” Steve smiled as he walked into the small barn. In the corner, his two goats and their babies looked up at him lazily and then went back to resting. The kids bleated and then ran out of their hatch to play outside, so Steve was in no hurry to take care of them. They pretty much took care of themselves, and he mostly used them for company and as lawnmowers.

But his little moo was a different story.

“Bucky? Where are you, honey?” he sing-songed as he walked further down the aisle. There, in his stall, his beautiful cow hybrid looked up from the mound of straw and blankets where he slept. His pretty little face instantly lit up in a bright smile and he mooed in that adorable way that only he could. “There you are! Are you still sleeping?” Steve teased him softly and leaned his elbows on the wooden door so he could watch Bucky struggle to get up.

Please let me know if you want any more of these teasers! Love you all <3

“Nooo, m’awake!” Bucky insisted with a cute pout and hurried to untangle himself so he could get to his owner. It wasn’t easy with his little hooves slipping on the floor and his tail getting caught up in the blanket, but he managed to get to his feet and tiptoe all the way to Steve. There, he immediately pushed up against the door and buffed his head against Steve’s chest, cooing happily all the time.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

Credit for the header: Evangelitaa on Pinterest

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

So Much For Summer Love and Saying “Us”

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

1.5k words

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, angst because this thing has been surprisingly angst-free so far

Summer had come and gone too quickly. All the weeks of Roy and football and fun had blurred together and given way to the transition into autumn. Before long, it would be time for you to pack your suitcase and return to Southampton, a long train ride away from Roy and the things you had shared all summer.

You did your best not to dwell on that as the days dwindled by. Instead, you focused on your time with Roy, on his hands on your body and his lips on yours and his laughter in your heart. Of course, you did your best not to let that focus wander to the uncertainty that plagued you; what happened when you returned to school? Was this just… over? Would you become a phone call when you were in town? Would you have to watch in magazines as he went back to flittering from one model to another? You weren’t sure if your heart could handle it.

As the seasons began to change, you finally allowed yourself to admit what you’d known all along: you were absolutely, without a doubt, completely head over heels for Roy Kent. And you wanted to be his girl. His only girl.

And before your term began, you knew you needed to tell him.

You were firm in your decision as you trotted down the stairs, ready to join your dad for another day of training. He greeted you in the kitchen with a friendly nod over the top of his coffee cup. Ever since that night you went with Roy to the casino- where Roy had made sure you were back at the hotel before even your dad had returned- your dad seemed to have relaxed a bit. Maybe it was because he saw Roy keep his promise. Maybe it was because the two of you had been better at hiding your flirting around the club. Whatever it was, you were grateful to see your dad start to thaw.

“There’s some eggs on the table,” your mum called as a greeting as she poured her own mug.

You grabbed a plate and sat down, rehearsing in your mind the things you wanted to say to Roy when you met him that night. He’d asked if he could make you dinner again; it was the perfect opportunity for a more serious conversation, you decided. And maybe, if he reciprocated your feelings, a little bedroom action to cement things.

Doing your best not to giggle at the mere thought of Roy Kent’s bed, you grabbed the paper, flipping indifferently to the entertainment section. Maybe reading about whatever shenanigans Prince Harry or Paris Hilton had gotten into would be a decent distraction.

As you flipped the page, a familiar face caught your eye and stole your breath.

There was Roy- your Roy- smiling next to some insanely gorgeous actress. You had seen her in some cheesy horror movie earlier in the summer; you’d recently read that she was in the running to be the next Bond girl. And she was standing far too comfortably with the man who’d been climbing out your window mere hours ago.

Your head was clouded with confusion and jealousy as your dad sat beside you, saying something you were far too distressed to hear. He repeated your name once, twice, until you finally realized he was talking to you.

“What, Dad?”

“The sports section,” he said- repeated, actually- as he stared at you. “Can you pass it to me?”

You absently handed him everything that wasn’t the entertainment section, unable to take your eyes off the photo. Below it, a small blurb speculated that this was the mystery woman Roy Kent had been seeing lately; surely he had to be seeing someone, since he hadn’t been seen out as much as usual. According to the tiny article, the two were spotted at a recent team celebration, one that you, of course, had not attended, and talked for quite a while before Roy left. Before Roy left and went straight to your bedroom window, actually.

Your dad could sense your distraction, but not your distress. “What’s so interesting?” he hummed vaguely. “The Beckhams pregnant again or something?” He shot you a toothy grin, knowing your investment in your favorite supercouple, but that grin faded when he saw the numb expression you wore. “Love?”

His eyes landed on the paper in front of you. For a moment, his face softened with pity when he saw the photo, realizing immediately what had you so distracted. But just as quickly, his face hardened as he drained his coffee mug.

“Well, that’s Kent for ya,” he mumbled. “It’s a good thing it never went beyond your little crush on him. Men like him are best left on the pitch, right darling?”

You looked down, blinking back the tears that had formed. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Best left on the pitch.”

Of course, when you walked into the changing room, Roy’s eyes were immediately on you. His normally sexy smirk instead felt mocking, as if you were nothing but a silly little fling that had boosted his ego. Not that it needed boosting; he’d always made it clear he knew how beautiful, how talented he was. And for weeks, you thought you were special, getting attention from such a beautiful talented man. Now you just felt stupid, thinking a few weeks of sneaking around together meant something more to him.

“Morning, princess,” he hummed, raising an eyebrow at you. “Got another book for you if you’re interested.”

Instead of returning his smile, instead of flirtatiously asking what book he was recommending, you simply turned your face away from his. “No thanks, Kent.”

His face looked something close to dumbfounded as you walked to your dad’s office. Even before your romance- or what you thought was a romance- had begun, you’d always had time for Roy. Always a joke, or playful eyeroll, or a lingering smile. He’d never left an interaction with you feeling anything but pleased. But now? Now you left him confused and wanting something more than the three little words you’d given him.

But that’s all you gave him all day. His smirks were met with silence. His winks had you turning away. Any effort to start a conversation was interrupted by the tasks that suddenly required your full attention. Your poor heart ached too much to act like the two of you were fine. All summer, you were able to fool yourself into thinking Roy was different than the rumors, his reputation, your dad’s expectations. Even though you had initially kept your guard up, he’d slowly torn it down, kiss by kiss. And now, you were reminded why you’d needed it in the first place.

Roy Kent was the kind of man who could truly break your heart.

Once the incredibly long day was over, you trudged outside after telling your dad you’d wait for him in the car. The lot was quiet, mostly empty, except for one other car, whose driver stood beside it.

“Oi.”

Roy’s gruff voice, which normally had you smiling and blushing, now had your heart sinking. His face was completely crumbled, those brown eyes positively pitiful. He approached you with slumped shoulders, looking nothing like the cocky football star you’d fallen for. If you weren’t so devastated, you’d probably try to smooth the crease between his thick eyebrows and invite yourself over for takeaway and a movie. Instead, you folded your arms and looked down at your shoes.

“You alright?”

What a stupid question. Of course you weren’t alright; you were spiraling, feeling like the biggest fool in the world. Roy, who had made you feel so special, had made you a fool. With all of his stupid flirtations and horribly lovely words, he’d built you up, just to drop you and let you break.

But at least you didn’t have to let him see you break.

“’m tired,” you managed to mumble as you stepped around him to try to get to your dad’s car before those tears you’d been holding all day finally fell. “Got to try to wrap shit up here and get ready to head back to school soon.”

Roy cleared his throat, clearly not leaving you alone. “Right, right. Your term’s starting soon.” He took a deep breath, letting it out heavily. “Well, maybe a nice dinner will help you relax.” He tried that sweet smile again. “I was thinking of trying a new recipe. You like paella?”

Some part of you wanted to give in. His earnest eyes and kissable mouth had your heart tugging towards him, willing to ignore whatever the newspaper said just to get a little bit more of Roy, a few more crumbs of affection to sustain you until your next great romance. But the sinking feeling in your stomach, the one that kept saying ‘Told you so’, had you shaking your head brusquely.

“I’m not coming over,” you murmured while unlocking your dad’s car. “Have a good night, Kent.” Without another glance at him, you climbed into the passenger seat, not looking up until you heard the sound of Roy’s car door slam shut and his vehicle driving away.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent@itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782@dd122004dd@veryprairieberry@spacecluster@dark-academia-slut@her-fandom-sanctum@wosokirby

[bitterrfruit]

you invite him inside

It's Summer 2007, and you're on your way home from a party in Edinburgh. You encounter an exceptionally forward Scottish stranger with a buzzed head and a brow ring, calling himself Soap - you roll the dice, and let him walk you home.

18+ MDNI - cw: reader is drunk - 5k words

tags: Indie Sleaze(!!) Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!Reader, teasing & denial, flirting & banter

a/n: this is (some) of the first chapter of my longfic Trainspotting on A03, bitterfruit. I thought I'd share on here since I'm working on a part 2!! ♡

You carve through the beating crowd of the house party; sloshing drinks and drunken hands intercept you as you attempt to navigate your way to the front door. MGMT’s Kids thunders from the speakers in the hallway, its deafening volume only exacerbated by the passionate chanting of the dancers that hover around it.

Control yourself! Take only what you neeeed from it!

Your friend Katie, who had brought you as a plus-one, had long disappeared with some boy she had been all over - taking your coat with her - leaving you to make your way home in nothing but your needlessly skimpy playboy bunny costume.

Finally stumbling out of the dense jungle of partygoers, you burst through the front door as if you’d just been birthed, sweaty and panting. 

Just a fifteen-minute walk.

With your arms crossed, you trudge down the steps in the stiletto pumps you had borrowed from Katie – glossy, sharp, and a size too small. Fuck, they ache. Before you even make it past the gate, you throw in the towel and unstuff your feet from their latex trappings; holding the shoes with two fingers hooked at the heels, doing your best to avoid stepping on the broken glass on the footpath.

As your distance from the house party grows and the echoes of Paper Planes begin to fade, it dawns on you that you’re far drunker than you had believed yourself to be. Being surrounded by students two boxes and three pingers deep has the tendency to make you feel staunchly sober by comparison.

Still, you feel the slabs of concrete wobbling beneath your feet, your head starts to spin like you’ve stepped off a carousel if you shut your eyes for too long. The streets are utterly quiet, devoid of cars or people, despite the neighbourhood’s proximity to the CBD. You may well have found it off-putting if you were sober, but in truth, you’re just thanking Christ there’s nobody around to see you trotting down the road in nothing but a bodysuit and fishnets. You imagine a car might pull up alongside you, rolling slowly on its wheels as the driver asks through his window, “how much for an hour?”

And that would almost be preferable to what you actually encounter once you’re halfway home – crossing the street, stumbling in your bare feet as you walk past shops with steel shutters blocking their doors and windows.

You hear the distinctive thuds of sprinting feet from far behind you; the soles of sneakers slamming hard on the footpath, in a rapid enough pace that the person might as well be an Olympian runner. As they get louder, closer, your first instinct is to flee – but before you even have the chance to turn to look over your shoulder, the sprinter has come to a screeching halt beside you, tearing off their jacket and tossing it over your shoulders as if it were a cape.

“What the fu–” You yelp, hastily cut short.

“Shh – shut up, pretend y’know me.”

A man, and a local, evidently – the kind of Scottish accent so thick you can barely distinguish the beginning of one word from the end of another. 

“Get away fr–”

He interrupts you once again, tossing an arm over your shoulder as he walks alongside you, shoving his other fist into the pocket of his loose black jeans. “Please, lassie, do me a favour and just go with it.”

Amidst his breathlessness he sounds quite desperate – voice deep and warm, oozing sincerity despite the edge in his tone. So you weigh your options, whether or not to trust him, or to help him, or to scream and flee. You tilt your head just enough to take a peek at him; he hunches over, shoulders shrugging high as if keeping his neck warm, head low like it might hide his buzzcut from whoever may be chasing him.

You quickly discover that there are, in fact, people chasing him – more echoes from further down the road of multiple sets of running feet. You hear an enraged roar from a man behind you; your body tenses on instinct, head twisting further in the hopes of checking how close they are to you.

“Don’t look at ‘em,” he instructs you pointedly, under his breath.

More indistinguishable yelling erupts from his pursuers, though they no longer seem to be approaching. “Cheap fucken’ trick, ye fucken’ coward!”

“Keep walkin’ with me,” he mutters, tugging you along with his heaving arm draped around the back of your neck, forcing you to accelerate so that you can keep up with him.

Adrenaline throbbing hotly in your ears, you try to steal glances at the controlling stranger, not able to see much of him in your periphery. You realise now that the gifting of his jacket was not a chivalrous gesture, but a failed attempt to trick his pursuers. “Sounds like they’ve spotted you,” you whisper-yell, facing ahead.  

“Aye,” he grunts, “but they won’t touch me if there’s a witness.”

“I don’t want to be a witness,” you squeak, nervous terror in your throat.

He chuckles breathily, gives a single shake of his head. “Too late.”

“Next time I see ye, yer a fucken’ dead man, hear me? With or without yer hoor!”

The stranger groans as he scoops you around a corner, keeping a hurried pace, shooting looks over his shoulder to ensure he’s no longer being followed. Fortunately – or, unfortunately – this was the corner you would have taken anyway.

“Did he just call me a whore?” You whisper, still in shock.

He chortles at you again, sliding his weighty arm from your shoulders and releasing you at long last. “Ignore ‘em. Fucken' wankers.”

You finally have the opportunity to turn around fully to check behind you, seeing only empty, silent street.

“They won’t follow us,” he assures you, still walking alongside you, arrogant in his assumption that you won’t tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t, not yet. “Why – why were they chasing you?”

“Nosy wee thing, aren’t ye?” He smiles, crossing his arms, and you finally get a good look at him.

Hair buzzed short, the sort of job he likely did himself over his sink with an electric clipper plugged into the wall. A curved barbel pierces through the tail of his left eyebrow, almost as flashy as the sharp grey eyes pointing down at you from beneath it. His grin pushes dimples into his densely stubbled cheeks, revealing charmingly crooked teeth, and a golden crown on his right canine.

There’s something tired, jaded about him, dark eyes and low brows; face speckled with a variety of little scars, one white slash through his right eyebrow, a few pink lines carving over his temple and through his shaven scalp.

You blink, reminding yourself to speak.

“Nosy?” You snap, “you brought me into this!”

He tilts his head, appearing to acquiesce. “Aye, true. They’re just mad ‘cos I short-changed ‘em.”

As he shrugs, the hem of his cropped t-shirt tugs up on his stomach, revealing the hem of plaid boxers sticking out from his baggy trousers, a sliver of firm abdomen, a dusting of curly hair trailing down from his navel. You swallow.

“Hm. For what?” You pester.

“Now yer bein’ nosy.”

You huff, crossing your arms underneath the cape of his jacket, checking over your shoulder one last time to be certain you’re no longer being stalked.

“Fine,” you pout. After a beat of silence, you decide to add; “I’m not a prostitute, by the way.”

He snickers hoarsely, “’course not. Prostitutes are much more subtle. You’d be the first I’ve ever seen dressed as a – a what, a bunny?”

He reaches behind you, the cocky prick, lifting the back of his cloaking jacket and flicking the puffball pinned to your ass. You gawk at him, a surge of adrenaline buzzing within your chest – curious, that it’s not out of fear but fascination.

“See a lot of prostitutes, do you?” You sneer, noting how briefly his gaze lingers on your backside before it flits to your face.

“Not ‘round this side of town,” he chortles. You suspect he’s joking, but who’s to say? “So… why a bunny?”

“Playboy bunny,” you correct him, turning your head to glance at him; he just looks bewildered. “Pimps and hoes party.”

He laughs, richly, lurching forward as he does. “Ha! Had no idea they still did those.”

“Sure do,” you say, failing to suppress your grin. “Too old for them, are you?”

“Aye, for house parties full o’ students,” he admits, “but not too old to party. M’only twenty-six.”

You smile. “Good for you.”

“Got no girlie-mates to walk ye home?” He changes the subject.

Peeking at him, you squint. “You’re not supposed to ask a girl if she’s alone, you know.” 

“Oh,” he frowns, “why’s that?”

“Like, stranger danger.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles deeply. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

You turn to look at him, running your eyes from his cocksure grin, down to his Chucks and back again. He certainly looks the part. Rough around the edges. You wonder if you would have avoided him, had he not approached you so blithely.

“Very,” you nod. “Plus, you’re following me.”

“Am I?” He jibes, “well, love, if ye want me to leave y’alone, tell me and I’ll try to leave ye be.”

Your pout shifts into a girlish smirk despite your dire efforts to contain it. “You’ll try?”

“Mm. Might be easier said than done,” he ribs, leering down at you. Your quiet titter only serves to embolden him. “It’s probably for the best that I found ye.”

“You reckon?”

“Mm. Not very bright o’ye to be walking home by yerself at this hour. And in that.”

You click your tongue impatiently. “You sound like my mum.”

“Then she’s a smart woman,” he says, with a sternness that leaves you taken aback.

You peer up at him, scrutinising. For fuck’s sake, you curse at yourself, get a grip. All better judgement, your guardian angel, screams at you to stop flirting with this bizarre studded stranger and hurry your ass home. But the little devil on your other shoulder is far more interested in seeing how this unusual interaction plays out.

“You gonna protect me, are ya?” You probe.

“Naturally,” he chuffs.

“Walking me home, then?”

A devilish grin stretches in his lips. “Happily.”

“Promise you’re not a psychopath or something?”

He inhales deeply, blowing a raspberry as he puts his hands on his hips. “No promises.”

“Mm. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” you say, “only psychopaths would roam the streets at three-a.m.”

“Yeah? What does that make you?”

You giggle. “Shit. You got me.”

“You bet I do. What kind of psycho wears a fucken’ outfit like that ‘on the streets at 3-a.m.’?”

Taking a peek down at yourself, you’re confronted immediately by your obnoxious cleavage, unsure how you could have forgotten it was there. You decide to slip your arms into the roomy sleeves of his jacket, wearing it properly rather than as a cloak – much warmer.

“What’s wrong with it?” You wonder in jest, feigning offence.

“Yer jokin’.” He scoffs.

“What?” You gaze at him, with a cock of your brow; he unashamedly glowers at you, vibrantly grey eyes raking from your lips to your feet before climbing back to your stare.

He huffs petulantly. “I could see yer tits from across the street,” he murmurs, “don’t make me say something about the stockings.”

You laugh coyly, feeling your cheeks burn hot and red. Seems like you got the answer you wanted. “S’that why you ran up to me, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Nae. That was just dumb luck.”

“Ah. Lucky you.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, voice low, “very lucky.”

Why is your heart fluttering? Why are you suddenly hanging on his every word like a fucking teenage girl? You blame the cherry-flavoured RTDs you were knocking back every ten minutes while you were at that party. They’ve made your cheeks all pink and your tongue all wet.

Yet in the current quiet, strolling nonchalantly down an empty street at half-past three in the morning, you don’t feel any awkwardness in the silence. You just smile at your feet like an idiot.

“What’s yer name, then?” He asks casually, both fists in his pockets.

You hum in thought, “hmm. I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“You’re a stranger, remember?”

“So?” He disputes, grinning and playfully biting his bottom lip with his top teeth, brandishing that glistening golden canine.

You shake your head. “Who knows what you could do with my name! You could be a stalker for all I know,” you explain defensively, “you might find out where I work on MySpace, or something.”

He snickers. “Wouldn’t need MySpace to figure that out, lass.”

Frowning, you give him a disapproving smirk. “You’re proving my point.”

“Ye really won’t tell me?”

“Nope.”

He huffs disappointedly. “Alright, then, I’ll just have to call ye the bunny I found on the street.”

“Fine by me,” you declare proudly. “What can I call you, then? The playboy?”

With a chuckle, he purses his lips in contemplation. “The playboy to yer bunny, I like that,” he says. “But, pals call me Soap.”

“Soap?” You question incredulously, “seriously?”

“Aye. If I can’t have yer name, y'can’t have mine.”

You snort. “Is it meant to be ironic?”

“Can’t be,” he refutes, quick to detect your insult, “I’m clean as a whistle.”

As you open your mouth to offer back some snippy response, you spot your mailbox, number eighteen, three terraced townhouses down – you had lost track of how long the walk was, your charming stranger having sponged up every last drop of your attention.  

You find yourself disappointed, unjustifiably; you even consider, briefly, not mentioning that you had arrived home just so you can keep walking with him. God, you’re pathetic.

But imagining yourself having to eventually turn around, having to admit that you purposefully missed your stop – you begrudgingly decide to be a good girl and put yourself to bed.

“This is me,” you say flatly, slowing your steps before you come to a stop.

“Ah,” he stops beside you and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Bugger.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, mindlessly slipping your hands into the pockets of his jacket, preceding a reluctant silence. “Well, um... thanks for walking me home. Who knows what danger I could’ve gotten into.”

He waves away your jocose gratitude. “Oh, ‘course,” he says, “had to make sure ye didn’t get tricked into a chase by some strange gadgie.”

You snicker. “Oh, yeah. That would be terrifying.”

Crossing his arms, her gives you a wide but wistful grin. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, hen.”

“Okay,” you nod, chewing your lip, you feel something in his pocket – rolling it between your fingers, feels like a wad of paper. Cash? A receipt? You start to wonder what he might have ‘short-changed’ those thugs for. Don’t be nosy. “Oh – your jacket.”

As you slip it off your shoulders, he disputes; “don’t wanna keep it as a memento?”

You chuckle, frowning, shaking your head in bemusement. Memento? What a peculiar bloke. “No. It sorta smells.”

“Bollocks,” he retorts, reaching to take the jacket from you – a brown leather bomber, now that you can see it properly. “I smell divine.”

God, he does. Like patchouli and sweat and leather; some sort of earthy masculine concoction, the kind of scent that’s probably entirely accidental – underpinned, you note, by something strangely chemical, like he had just taken a walk through a hospital. Still, so delightfully distinct from the stench of Axe body spray that the boys at your university gassed themselves with daily.

You pass him the bomber, shivering once your scantily clad body is once again exposed to the chilly air of the night. He’s quite shameless, this stranger, eyes almost bulging as they comb brazenly over you – legs, hips, tits – finally getting a good look at you, he takes his time.

“Eyes up here, playboy,” you chide.

He smirks, piercing gaze jumping to yours while his head remains tilted down; you’re almost intimidated the intensity of his eye contact from under his brow. “Aye. They’re just as pretty.”

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, face glowing hot. “I’d better turn in.”

“Yes, you’d better.”

Before you bring yourself to turn around, his hand reaches toward you, plucking the bunny-eared headband from the top of your head.

“Oi!” You bark, smoothing your disturbed hair; watching in confusion as he meticulously sits them on his head, flicking one of the fuzzy white ears with a pleased grin stretched in his lips.

“I want a memento,” he explains boldly. “Never know when I'm dreamin’ these days.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, amused and oddly endeared. He slips on his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging it over his shoulders.

“Fine, all yours,” you capitulate, smiling meekly, once again letting a pregnant silence linger while you resist a goodbye. “Um. Alright. Goodnight. Soap.”

He nods. “G’night, wee bunny.”

You nod, too, finally turning on your bare feet and walking up the stairs of your flat’s brick stoop. Fumbling around in your handbag, you pluck out your keys – jingling loudly with all of your various keychains as you unlock the painted white door.

You hear his footsteps as he strolls away, slowly, growing duller as the distance grows. You find yourself frozen in the open doorway, staring into the dark abyss of your foyer, facing solitude. Bouncing in dispute with yourself, you exert all strength to bite your tongue. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.

He starts to whistle, some obscure tune from just down the street, as if he is purposefully reminding you he’s still in earshot – a smug little prompt.

Fuck it.

Spinning around to face the road, you lean out of the door, and call out; “Hey!”

As though he had expected it, he stops in his tracks, twirling on his heel to face you with his hands still in his pockets. Had lit himself a cigarette already, in the thirty seconds since you had bid him farewell.

“Hm? Want the ears back after all?”

“Um–” You scramble to come up with an excuse. “Those guys won’t be looking for you, will they?”

He grins. “Oh, they could well be.”

“What’ll they do if they find you?”

“Who knows,” he huffs. “Probably kill me. Might gimme one o’ those Glasgow smiles.”

“That would be pretty terrible,” you remark solemnly.

“Aye. It sure would.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, battling with your drunken little demon. “Maybe you should hide out here for the night.” You daft bitch.

“Hm,” he ponders aloud, sauntering slowly back towards your stairs, squinting in thought. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

“How come?” You challenge, tapping the inside of the doorframe with shy fingers.

He creeps up your short footpath. “Never know what might happen.”

Your lips curl into an impish smirk. “That’s the best part.”

He laughs, plucking the cigarette from his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “How drunk are ye. On a scale one-through-ten.”

“Um,” you muse, biting your lip. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Well, hen, you must be steamed. ‘Cos that’s not a number.”

You snicker, then groan impatiently. “Four.”

“Only four, eh?” He asks dubiously, standing at the base of your stairs, he gazes up at you devilishly. “You gonna remember in the mornin’ that you asked me to come in?”

“’Course,” you say. “I want you to come inside.”

He sneers. Filthy boy. “Don’t wanna get in trouble,” he refutes.

“I want you to come in,” you insist, correcting your wording just slightly.

He hums, feigning deep thought, as if he hasn’t been hoping you’d ask. “Alright,” he surrenders. “Why not.”

You do your best to conceal your glee, nodding, grinning, you turn to step inside and you hear him follow you.

“Ye live alone?” He asks, as he looks around the empty hallway, shrouded in darkness.

Shutting the door behind you and locking it, you tut at him. “Still shouldn’t ask that.”  

“You’ve already invited me in,” he jeers, “if you’re worried I’ll hurt ye, you’ve made it well easy for me.”

“I s’pose so,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you go to switch on the light hanging in the centre of the foyer. Christ, it’s a tip – you and Katie are equally dishevelled, leaving shoes and lip gloss and hair ties and clothes in your wake wherever you venture. “Can’t be too careful,” you add – very aware of how uncareful you are being.

“Do I scare ye?” He asks coyly, taking a raffish drag of his cigarette.

“I dunno,” you answer frankly, leaning bashfully against your front door with your hands tucked behind you. “Should I be scared of you?”

“Mm,” he shrugs, “probably.”

You purse your lips and nod. “Stranger danger,” you remind yourself.

“I reckon you’re a lot more dangerous than me,” he grins.

You frown. “Why’s that?”

He puts his cigarette between his lips, holding it with a pinch, taking a puff as he eyes you scrupulously. “Look at you.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fucking hell.

“I have a flatmate,” you finally answer his initial question, and change the subject. “But she’s not home tonight.”

“Good,” he says, milky smoke spilling from his smile.

“Um,” you make noises to fill your flustered silence. “Want to go upstairs?”

He cocks his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

Pushing yourself from the door, you slip past him and trot up the staircase that sits flush with the panelled wall. The old oak creaks and moans under the weight of his heavy steps, he follows you steadily.

Rushing to get to your room before he can see it, you scuttle across to your bedroom door from the landing, hoping he ignores the kaleidoscope of peeling stickers you’ve tacked above the handle. You shove it open, quickly kicking aside a pair of twisted up panties you had left on your red shag rug.

In a blink he’s behind you, standing in the doorframe, a terrifyingly tall and bulky silhouette against the dim glow emerging from downstairs – made uniquely funny by the rabbit ears sticking up from his head.

You step over the piles of discarded outfit options and switch on the lamp by your bed; the yellow bulb glows coral pink from behind the vintage fabric lampshade. Looking back at him, he’s already perusing your room like it’s a museum.

He picks up and analyses the assortment of trinkets on your shelves and chest-of-drawers (old jewellery, empty lighters, some strange ceramic babies you once picked up at a flea market), and admires the mosaic of posters on your wall (Gorillaz, Feist, The Killers, MGMT,  Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Peter Bjorn and John – careful cherry-picks of your favourite bands, in the hopes you’d one day impress some hot guy with taste as good as yours).

“Bit of an artiste, are ye?” He queries, nodding at the easel against your wall – housing a half-finished and long-hated painting of yours, an attempt at a masterwork copy of Monet; sitting amongst a bombsite of palettes, brushes in dirty cups, and curled-up tubes of oil paint.

“Guess so,” you answer. “It’s my degree.”

He leans into your hideous painting, taking a drag but careful not to stain the canvas with the smoke. “Still studying, then?”

“Yeah, uh, my Master’s.”

He nods. “If you’re already this good, what does a Master’s in painting get ye?”

You snort. “Good fuckin’ question.”

Feeling suddenly shy, you venture to busy yourself, electing to pull the curtains shut over your window.

You hear him chuckle while you aren’t looking. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

You spin on the ball of your foot, and freeze instantly – stare caught on your grape-coloured vibrator, held comfortably in the palm of his hand, he tosses it and catches it again. You had left it on your bed, a rookie mistake. You fucking idiot!

Your hand shoots to cover your mouth, fire burns white-hot behind your cheeks; but you can only giggle, humiliated. “Put that down,” you plead into your palm.

Ignoring you, he inspects it, quickly finding the button to turn it on; its buzzing rings out obnoxiously loud into the cripplingly awkward silence, forcing you to grimace. He doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, holding the end of the purple rod into his other hand, curling his lips in disapproval as he evidently evaluates the vibration against his skin.

“Never understood why you girls like these things,” he remarks insouciantly.

“Please put it down,” you cry, staring at the ceiling as if it might hide you from the embarrassment.

He only sniggers. “Cannae compare to the real thing.”

You cover your eyes. “It fills the void,” you quietly admit.

He finally switches it off, but continues to fiddle with it as he ambles towards you. “Mustn’t do a very good job o’ that.”

Uncovering your face, finally, you jolt when you see how close he is to you – only a foot between you, you can feel the heat of him from where you stand. You do your utter best to prevent your eyes from jumping to the vibrator in his grip, but he still toys with it, as if just to taunt you.

“What makes you say that?”

He gazes down at you, lips stretched into a smug grin. “Why’d you invite me in, eh?”

You swallow, stifling a giggle – you look around capriciously, anywhere but his drilling stare. “Just wanted to help you out.”

“Help me out?” He interrogates you, inching forward, forcing you to step onto your back foot.

You’re suddenly short of breath. “I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”

He gleams that cheshire smile, suddenly his canines seem sharper. “You’re a bad liar, wee bunny.”

“Am I?” You utter, shambling back further has he continues to encroach.

“Took me to yer bedroom straight away… didn’t even offer me a drink…” he teases, “I’m thinkin’ ye want me to help you out.”

You feel a sudden bump as your back hits the door of your cupboard, shrinking as he leans over you, closing the gap. Your eyes catch on his lips as he again places his cigarette in between them, its smoke drifting softly over your face, your stare lingers.

“Dunno where you got that idea,” you breathe, entranced by the cloud that’s left in his mouth once he tugs the roll out again.

Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.

Ignoring any remaining shred of common sense, you step up on your tiptoes to slam your lips against his, sucking down the smoke lingering behind his teeth deep into your chest. He matches you with no hint of hesitation, leaning into you with the full weight of his body, you hear him finally drop the vibrator as it lands on the carpet with a dull thud.

Fuck, his tongue tastes good – like tobacco and peppermint chewing gum, soft and hungry as it writhes against yours. He does what he can with his one free hand, starting tastefully with a cup of your cheek, then a hold of the side of your neck, down to your shoulder – before plunging into a greedy handful of your breast, kneading it like dough.

His wet and eager lips drag along from yours, taking soft bites out of your cheek, hot tongue licking from your jaw to your neck, where he burrows his teeth. You let out a breathy whimper, fervid fingers clutch and claw at his chest through his t-shirt, using the fabric to pull him closer. His busy hand ventures along your waist, taking a palmful of your hip and tugging it only slightly towards him.

Impatient, ravenous, your fingers slither down his firm stomach to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling to get his button undone; you feel him smile against your skin, a breathy chuckle, before his other hand moves to stop you with a hold of your wrist.

He releases your neck from his maw, standing upright with a fucking cocky and self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You let go of his button and return your hands to your sides, worried you’d been too eager, put him off with your fervour.

“Glad to know it’s this easy to get ye hot n’ bothered,” he drawls, taking another drag of what is now nearly just the butt.

“No idea what you mean,” you pant, utterly breathless, you sweep some stray hair from your forehead with your palm.  “I’m not hot and bothered.”

“Aren’t you?” He goads, and the hand that clutches your hip sneaks towards your centre, prompting you to hold your breath; he snakes it over your mound, gliding it brazenly between your closed legs.

His shrewd eyes watch you, arrogantly, as he palms your aching pussy through the thin fabric of your bodysuit – under which you wore no panties, you wonder if he can feel how damp it is. He pushes a coaxing pressure against your covered clit with the heel of his palm, forcing you to whine in desperation; your insatiable hands return to his chest, balling the fabric of his t-shirt into your fists – and he only chortles.

“I could fry an egg on that,” he says.

And suddenly you snort, breaking into cackling laughter as you shove him away with both hands. “God, you’re disgusting!”

He laughs with you, proud of himself, he finally takes off the fucking bunny ears.

“I could hang a towel on that,” you jab, eyes suddenly caught on the frightening tent pitched in his roomy trousers. That can’t be real.

“You could hang a lot on it,” he agrees rakishly, chuckling, palming the length under his pants to tuck it away.

You try to contain your giggles as you push yourself upright, attempting to un-fluster yourself by smoothing your hair and wiping the dampness of his saliva from your neck. You feel the slippery wetness of your cunt with a step. “You’re evil,” you spit, still throbbing from his attention.

“Cannae fuck you yet,” he declares bluntly, turning to dump the end of his cigarette into your paintbrush cup full of brown water.

“Why not?” You pout, whingeing like a spoilt brat.

He returns with a debonair grin. “Gotta give you a reason to see me again.”

[willowsnook]

Hi! Can you do Josh Allen x Wife!reader

She goes to one of his games and he shows off by pulling a 40-0 win.

Thank you

Josh Allen x wife!reader (Big Win)

You loved Buffalo in the fall just before it got too cold. As you made your way Highmark Stadium, the sight of trees changing colors made you smile. Josh's sister Makenna was sitting in your passenger seat filling you in on her first summer post-grad.

"Am I going to get a niece or nephew any time soon?" She asked out of the blue. You whipped your head around and stared at her in disbelief.

"What?"

"I mean he's not getting any younger," she said nonchalantly.

"He's 27," you protested. "And I'm only 25." She shrugged.

"Just wondering." Comfortable silence filled the car as you pulled into the stadium. Yes, you wanted kids with Josh but why now? He was busy and away for games all the time and you didn't want to give up your career if you didn't have to. Your thoughts came to a stop as you pulled into your spot, jumping out of the car with Makenna. The two of you headed inside and towards a grand room where the team catered brunch for the families. You grabbed a plate and went through the line before finding a seat next to some other WAGs you were friends with.

"Are you guys traveling to London next month for the game?" One of them asked. The group was split with some nodding and others shaking their heads.

"I would rather die than wrangle my two kids on that long ass flight by myself," someone said and you laughed.

"What about you y/n? Are you going?"

"Yeah, I've never been to London. It seems like a good excuse to explore," you said smiling.

"I'm going too, what day is your flight?" Your friend Emily asked and you two started making plans on what to see while the boys were busy.

When it was a little closer to gametime and the boys were warming up you headed down to the field to say hi to Josh before you settled in.

"Hi Mrs. Allen," he said smiling as he came over to you.

"Hi, Mr. Allen," you replied laughing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and he kissed the top of your head. "Nervous?"

"Never baby," he said. You knew he was lying though, no matter how amazing was, he was always a little on edge before gametime.

"Let's make a little wager then hmm," you said with a glint in your eye. He looked down at you expectantly.

"Four touchdown passes and you can come home to me in just your jersey and nothing else." His face reddened as he blushed making you smile wider.

"What if I lose?" He mumbled. You brought your finger to your chin thinking.

"Hmmm, then I'll get to go on a shopping spree with your card in London," you replied and he rolled his eyes.

"Not like you weren't going to do that before," he said. He leaned down and gave you one last soft kiss before trotting off to join the rest of the guys.

You headed up to your seats and settled in. Kickoff came and went and by the time the second quarter rolled around Josh had already thrown three touchdown passes.

"This is crazy!" Makenna exclaimed. "He's on fire."

You blushed thinking about your earlier conversation and took another sip of your drink. The Bills were driving down and after Josh threw a 40 yard bomb to Stefon you knew it was only a matter of time.

Sure enough on the next play you watched as Beasley caught your husband's pass for another Bill TD. You cheered loudly with his sister and the rest of the fans in your section. Josh trotted over to the sidelines with the biggest grin you'd seen on his face all game. He found you in the stands and gave you a wink.

The final score ended up being 40-0 and your husband ended the day with 5 touchdowns and 400 passing yards. On the field you waited for him with Makenna who rushed to give him a big hug.

"You were amazing! 5 touchdowns, it's like you couldn't be stopped," she exclaimed. He looked over at you.

"I had some good motivation," he replied making you blush. You were in for a long night.

[rabidrabbit10]

A shit ton of Fnaf Movie headcanons for no reason at all

Abby excels at anything that requires creativity, not just drawing.

Vanessa absolutely despises Easter for some reason. She doesn't know why, but she always gets a sense of impending doom whenever Easter comes.

William hates summer because he's very sensitive to heat. He always has been. He almost passed out once because he took a shower and the water was too hot.

William used to be friends with one of or both of Mike's parents. William ended the friendship abruptly and never explained why.

Mike had Scarlet Fever when he was six and his parents had to take him to the hospital.

Mike is almost always cold. On especially cold days, he likes to cocoon himself in at least ten blankets to escape the cold.

At some point after the fnaf movie, Vanessa adopts a rabbit and names him Vinnie. Vinnie is evil incarnate and is likely planning world domination, but Vanessa is seemingly unaware of this and thinks he can do no wrong. Vinnie hates everyone... except Mike for some reason. Mike does not like Vinnie and is terrified of him.

Vanessa once asked Mike to pet-sit Vinnie. Mike initally said no... until Vanessa told him that she'd pay him. Mike spent most of that day hiding from a red eyed rabbit.

Speaking of pets, Mike dog-sat Bonsey for Maxine a few times. He felt bad for not being able to pay her for babysitting Abby so he offered to watch Bonsey when Maxine went out of town. He didn't mind, he actually got along well with Bonsey.

After Bonsey escapes the car, he was lost for a while before he eventually finds his way back to Maxine's house. He waits there for a while, but Maxine never came home. After another few days, Bonsey eventually finds Mike's neighborhood. Bonsey must've remembered how to get there from all the times Maxine would drive him over to Mike's house so he could watch him. Mike found him trotting down the sidewalk when he was walking to his usual spot by the culvert. He didn't immediately recognize the dog as Bonsey, but Bonsey recognized Mike. He followed Mike to the culvert and sat with him. Mike eventually spotted Bonsey's collar and put two and two together. Mike takes care of Bonsey now. It's an extra mouth to feed, but Bonsey was skin and bones when he found him and he would've felt bad letting him continue to starve.

Like Abby and Mike, Garret never liked his Aunt Jane. He always got the feeling that she thought he was annoying. She did, but she never directly told him that's what she thought of him.

[jungle-angel]

The Neverending Summer (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: You and Calvin decide to make the best of your summer despite the heat

Warnings: Parenthood, pet parenthood etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @ateliefloresdaprimavera @attapullman

The typewriter in Calvin's little home office space ticked away as he typed up the grant proposals for the coming school year, the jazz records playing quietly on the record player in the corner. The little bell went off on the typewriter as he finished that section, moving the roller as needed before he ticked away at the keys again. If it was one thing Calvin could hardly stand, it was the damn grant proposals for the college. Besides, lesson planning for the year was much more fun.

The scritch of nails on the wood floors and the jangling of the metal dog tags signaled Six-Thirty's arrival. He put his paws right up on the desk, panting as his tail wagged happily back and forth.

"Hey you," Calvin chuckled, scratching the back of his ears. "Where've you been all day? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were hiding from the Missus and the kids."

Rosie, the little squished nose cocker spaniel, came trotting gracefully into the room with both hers and Six-Thirty's leashes. "Oh I see how it is huh?"

Calvin looked up to see you and your six month old daughter, Ellen, in the doorway, the baby happily babbling in your arms and the both of you in matching salmon pink.

"Don't you look gorgeous sweet pea," Calvin remarked, happily taking you into his arms and kissing both you and Ellen.

"I thought you'd like your girls to match," you giggled. "Now why don't you get out of that stuffy office and come with us?"

Calvin couldn't have agreed more. He very quickly switched out of his dark button down and into the one that matched your dress, drawing a laugh from you. He hooked the leashes onto Rosie and Six-Thirty, the pups still asleep in the big, cushiony dog bed between the living room window and the fireplace. Luckily Calvin's parents would be there in a few minutes to look after the house while you were out.

You loaded Ellen and the two dogs up into the car along with the picnic basket and the red checkered blanket. Already it was looking like a beautiful day, the sun shining and the July air warm and pleasant now that it had rained for a few days.

You finally reached it after just a few minutes, the very spot that you and Calvin had frequented since day one. It was a beautiful little spot down by the river where the water ran gently and all sorts of chicory, white bedstraw and black eyed susans grew in profusion. The air smelled so sweet and heavenly even as the cicadas screamed and a hot breeze blew your way.

You set up the blanket and the picnic basket under a shady tree, the very one where Calvin had proposed to you five years previously. You let Six-Thirty and Rosie off their leashes so they could run and fetch as many sticks as they pleased, the two of them bounding into the water for a quick swim.

Ellen giggled happily as she played on the picnic blanket while you and Calvin dug into the sandwiches you had made with the leftover steak from the night before, all of it piled onto baguettes with plenty of thinly sliced cucumber and greens fresh from your garden. You and Calvin took turns reading to Ellen from two of the books you had brought with you, her favorite being "Buttermilk", the tale of a little bunny rabbit whose father had taught her not to fear the woods. No sooner had you finished than you and Calvin had spotted a family of cottontails bounding through the grass, a mother, father and their fifteen little babies.

When Calvin had read her one of the little Peter Rabbit books, you had both lost track of the time, the sun already having begun to set. Ellen, Rosie and Six-Thirty slept the whole way home and when you had tucked her into bed that night, you and Calvin had agreed that it was a summer day well spent.

[nanaosaki3940]

Feels Like A Family [Sakamoto Days]

I'm currently working on my next chapter and decided to share a small snippet of it... Please let me know if you liked it or not... 

Fanfic Name: Love In The Line Of Fire [Sakamoto Days]

Pairing: Yoichi Nagumo X OC

Nana's POV

I walked down the bustling street, my hand securely holding the small, warm hand of Hana, my cheerful five-year-old niece. The summer sun bathed us in a gentle, golden glow, casting long shadows as we made our way toward a popular dessert shop known for its delectable treats. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional bark from dogs being walked by their owners.

“So, Hana-chan, what kind of dessert are you in the mood for today? Ice cream? Cake?” I asked, glancing down at Hana with a warm smile.

Her wide, innocent eyes sparkled with excitement as she pondered the delicious options.

“Ice cream! I want strawberry with sprinkles!” Hana replied cheerfully, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Her excitement was infectious, and I found myself grinning in response.

"Of course. We'll get the biggest ice creams they have…" I promised, imagining the joy on her face when she would see the towering scoops of her favorite flavor.

As we continued our walk, Hana suddenly pointed excitedly at something ahead.

“Aunt Na-chan! Look at that big dog!” she exclaimed, her voice high with delight, her tiny finger was directed at a fluffy, golden retriever that was trotting happily beside its owner.

“Yes, Hana-chan, it’s a very big dog. Maybe we can say hi to it on our way back…” I suggested while chuckling at her excitement, picturing the scene of Hana petting the friendly dog and her face lighting up with pure joy.

The sidewalks were crowded with people enjoying the pleasant weather. Vendors lined the street, selling everything from fresh flowers to colorful trinkets. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the aroma of street food being cooked at various stalls.

As we approached the dessert shop, the bustling crowd momentarily parted, revealing a familiar face striding towards us. It was Nagumo, easily recognizable in his signature brown trench coat, a printed shirt peeking out from beneath, and black pants. His long rectangular-shaped suitcase, undoubtedly filled with his assortment of weapons, was slung over his shoulder with a casual air.

“Yo-chan?” I called out, my voice tinged with surprise as I spotted him.

“Hey, Nana-chan! Fancy meeting you here!” Nagumo greeted, his trademark grin spreading across his face, radiating his usual infectious energy.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my eyebrows raised in curiosity as we closed the distance between us.

“I was actually heading to your place to meet up with Sakamoto-kun. But since I ran into you, I’ll stick around and we can go back together…” Nagumo replied in an energetic tone, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Did you come here to talk about the Death Row Inmate assassins?” I questioned further, a hint of concern in my voice.

“Yeah…” Nagumo responded, nodding his head solemnly, though the gleam in his eyes remained.

Just then, Hana tugged gently on my hand, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Who is this, Aunt Na-chan?” she asked, her innocent voice breaking the moment.

“This is Yoichi Nagumo. He’s a friend of mine and your dad’s…” I explained with a smile, introducing her to Nagumo.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?” Nagumo asked, his grin widening as he crouched down to Hana’s level, making sure to look her in the eye.

“I’m Hana! I’m my Daddy’s daughter!” Hana giggled, introducing herself with a bright smile that could light up the room.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana-chan!” Nagumo responded, extending a hand dramatically, his grin widening even further.

“Nice to meet you too, Uncle Yo-chan!” Hana grinned back and shook his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his with an endearing enthusiasm.

Immediately, Hana's cheerful demeanor meshed seamlessly with Nagumo's playful nature, and seeing that brought a smile to my face. Nagumo had always had a special talent for connecting with kids. His blend of cheerfulness, playful energy, and undeniable charm made him irresistible to children. They found him fun yet safe and harmless, a figure who could effortlessly bring joy to their day. Women, on the other hand, were naturally drawn to his magnetic personality, while men admired his effortless confidence and charm, often wishing they could emulate his captivating presence.

I understood that feeling all too well. My first encounter with Nagumo occurred when Taro first got into JCC. Back then I was only 8 years old while Taro and Nagumo were 14 years old; they were just 6 years older than me. At that time, Taro was just beginning his training to become a professional assassin, and through this journey, he formed a fast friendship with Nagumo. Through Taro, I came to know Nagumo, who quickly became a significant presence in my life. He was everything one could admire: charming, charismatic, funny, witty, incredibly handsome, and endearingly cute. His boundless optimism and ever-present smile created a magnetic aura that drew people in effortlessly.

Nagumo's friendly and approachable demeanor made him popular among his peers and endeared him to those younger than him. His quick wit and humor kept everyone entertained, and his genuine kindness won the hearts of many. It was no wonder that children adored him and women found him irresistible. His ability to make anyone laugh with a quick-witted comment or lighten the mood with his infectious smile had always captivated me. It was easy to see why people were naturally drawn to him.

As a child, I had admired him from a distance, and as I grew older, those feelings blossomed into a quiet, persistent longing. I had been infatuated with him, and over the years, that infatuation matured into a deeper, more profound love. Even now, standing next to him as he effortlessly bonded with Hana, I felt that familiar flutter in my heart. Despite the years that had passed, my feelings for Nagumo remained as strong as ever, a constant, unspoken presence in my life.

His charming presence reminded me of countless moments from our shared past. His ability to make anyone laugh with a quick-witted comment or lighten the mood with his infectious smile had always captivated me. Watching him now, I was transported back to those days when I first realized just how special he was. He was more than just a friend of Taro’s; he had become an indelible part of my life story, someone who had always been there, quietly shaping my dreams and hopes.

And now, here he was, effortlessly winning over Hana, just as he had won over everyone else in his life. It was a poignant reminder of why I had fallen for him in the first place, and why those feelings had never truly faded. His presence was a testament to the enduring nature of my love for him, a love that had stood the test of time and continued to thrive in the quiet corners of my heart.

Nagumo and Hana continued to chat animatedly as we made our way to the ice cream parlor, their laughter filling the air. Once inside, the shop owner greeted us with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with delight at the sight of us.

“Oh, what a cute family you are! You make such a lovely couple with your adorable daughter!” the shopkeeper remarked, looking between the three of us with a beam of approval.

My face turned crimson upon hearing the comment. I felt a rush of heat spread across my cheeks and quickly opened my mouth to correct her.

“O-Oh, we're not actually—” I began, my voice wavering slightly from the unexpected embarrassment.

But before I could finish, Nagumo, ever the opportunist, cut me off with a mischievous grin.

“Thank you! Yes, I'm quite lucky to have such a young wife and cute daughter!” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around my shoulders with an easy familiarity before winking at me.

“Yeah! We're a happy family!” Hana giggled, catching on to the playful ruse as her eyes sparkled with delight at the game Nagumo was playing. “Daddy, can I have extra sprinkles on my ice cream?”

“Yes, anything for our dear Hana-chan! My sweet daughter!” Nagumo responded, his voice full of mock seriousness.

He tickled and hugged Hana gently, making her giggle louder, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the dessert shop. I stood there, flustered and at a loss for words. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to find the right thing to say, but all I managed was a small, awkward smile. The shop owner's eyes were full of warmth and affection, completely convinced by Nagumo's and Hana's playful act.

As we ordered our desserts, I couldn't help but notice how natural Nagumo seemed in this role. He exuded a warmth and charm that made it easy for others to believe in the illusion he had created. His dark hair and eyes matched Hana's so well that it was no wonder the shop owner had mistaken them for father and daughter. With my presence completing the picture, it was easy to see why she had assumed we were a family.

“Here you go, a big strawberry ice cream with extra sprinkles for the little princess…” the shopkeeper said, handing Hana her treat with a fond smile.

“Thank you!” Hana exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she took her ice cream.

Nagumo and I both received our own desserts and coffee and he, in his usual generous manner, took care of the bill before we made our way to a cozy spot at a small table. Throughout the entire interaction, I could feel the amused glances of the other customers, and it only added to my flustered state. Sitting down, I couldn't help but glance at Nagumo, who seemed entirely unbothered by the whole situation.

“Enjoy your treat, everyone!” the shop owner called out as she returned to her work.

Hana, her face lighting up with delight, dove into her strawberry ice cream adorned with colorful sprinkles.

“This is so yummy!” Hana exclaimed between giggles, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“I'm glad you like it, Hana-chan!” Nagumo replied warmly, casting a fond glance at her before turning his playful gaze toward me. “Nana-chan, you were positively adorable back there, all flustered and blushing.”

“Yo-chan, you really shouldn't have played along like that. It was embarrassing!” I chided, a slight frown betraying my lingering embarrassment as my cheeks retained their rosy hue.

“Oh, come on, Nana-chan. It was harmless fun!” Nagumo chuckled, tousling Hana's hair affectionately as she giggled along with us. “You should have seen your own expression! And besides, Hana-chan seemed to get a kick out of it.”

“Yeah, Aunt Na-chan! It was so funny!” Hana chimed in, her laughter bubbling with infectious joy.

“But you have to admit, we made quite a convincing family…” Nagumo teased with a mischievous smirk.

“Still, you didn't have to... to...” I huffed, crossing my arms and searching for the right words.

“To what? To acknowledge how lucky I am to have such a beautiful young wife and an adorable daughter?” Nagumo interjected playfully, his grin widening. 

“Stop teasing me, baka!” I scowled, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

“You two are funny! Just like a real mommy and daddy!” Hana added with a wide grin, clearly amused by our banter.

Despite my initial embarrassment, I couldn't help but smile at Hana's innocent comment. The warmth between us was palpable in that quaint confectionary shop. As Nagumo and Hana continued their playful interaction, a sense of contentment settled over me. For that brief and sweet afternoon, sitting together like this, we truly felt like a family.

As I leisurely sipped my coffee, I observed Nagumo and Hana engrossed in lively conversation, their laughter and chatter creating a warm ambiance around our table. Nagumo, with his characteristic charm and animated gestures, was deep in conversation with Hana. He asked her about school life, her friends, and her hobbies, and in return, regaled her with amusing anecdotes about her father Taro Sakamoto during their days at JCC. Hana, wide-eyed and fully attentive, hung on every word, finding immense amusement in learning about her father's youthful antics.

Notorious for the intricate tattoos adorning his whole body, Nagumo even showcased a few to Hana which were on his arms and neck, sharing stories behind some of the designs. His playful side emerged as he performed magic tricks with his dice, deftly making them disappear into thin air, leaving Hana marveling with wonder.

Nagumo possessed a natural affinity for interacting with children, a skill that seemed effortless for him. Not everyone could engage with youngsters as effortlessly as he did. Beyond his knack for connecting with kids, Nagumo genuinely enjoyed their company. Whether it was indulging in sweets together, sharing stories, or simply engaging in playful banter, he thrived in their presence. It made me reflect on what kind of father he might one day become. I couldn't help but imagine him as the epitome of a cool, fun-loving dad—someone his children would undoubtedly adore. His inherent warmth and ability to create joyful moments would undoubtedly make him a cherished figure in his children's lives. It was a thought that filled me with a sense of certainty and warmth.

Contemplating Nagumo's future, I couldn't shake the question of whether he would ever find it within himself to settle down and create a family of his own. His career as a professional assassin, aligned with both JAA and the Order, presented formidable obstacles to such aspirations. I reflected on my cousin Taro's experience—he had made the difficult decision to exit the assassin world in order to build a family with Aoi. Their journey underscored the sacrifices and challenges inherent in balancing a life of danger with the desire for domesticity.

In contrast, my parents had boldly chosen to defy the odds, navigating the perilous waters of their profession while choosing to marry and eventually bring me into the world. Their decision to start a family despite the risks spoke volumes about their love and commitment. I had always felt their affection deeply, and their words of gratitude for having me in their lives were a testament to their unwavering devotion. I cherished the bond we shared and considered myself fortunate to call them my parents.

Turning my thoughts back to Nagumo, I couldn't help but ponder his stance on relationships and marriage. He was a different case altogether. From what I knew of him, he had never ventured into a serious romantic entanglement despite his charm and affable nature. While he had casually dated during his tenure at JCC, those interactions had never progressed beyond the superficial, likely due to the inherent risks of his profession. His profession as an assassin imposed significant barriers to forming lasting attachments, and I wondered if he harbored any desires for a more settled life.

The thought gnawed at me—did he envision a future that involved settling down and sharing his life with someone?

Presently, Nagumo remained single and unattached, with no apparent romantic interests or crushes on the horizon. If there was someone he fancied, I believed I would have been aware of it by now. And yet, despite the passing years, my own feelings for him had not waned. I still harbored a deep affection, nurtured from the innocence of childhood. Now, as a young woman, I found myself contemplating whether it was time to disclose my feelings to him.

I had grown since those innocent beginnings of admiration when I harbored a childish crush. My experiences had shaped me into a mature individual, and I knew Nagumo must see me differently now—a woman rather than the girl he had once known. If he didn't, then it was up to me to make him see me in a new light. I resolved to take the initiative in altering his perception. The thought emboldened me, stirring a resolve to confront my feelings and perhaps take a chance on love with Nagumo, despite the uncertainties that lay ahead.

The question lingered in my mind like a persistent whisper, echoing through the depths of my thoughts. If I were to muster the courage and convey my feelings to Nagumo, would he reciprocate? Could I dare to hope that he might accept me as more than a friend—a potential girlfriend, even?

It wasn't merely a matter of summoning bravery; it was about navigating the uncertainties that accompanied such a confession. Nagumo, entrenched in a perilous profession as an assassin, had forged a life defined by danger and unpredictability. His world was a stark contrast to the stability and security that traditional relationships often required. Would he be willing to venture into uncharted emotional territory, to explore the possibility of intimacy and commitment with me?

My heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I had known Nagumo for years, watching him navigate life with his characteristic charm and wit. Yet, beneath his affable demeanor lay a complexity that intrigued and, at times, perplexed me. Would he view my confession as an unexpected revelation, or had he perhaps sensed the undercurrent of affection that had lingered between us?

I replayed our interactions in my mind, searching for signs—subtle hints that might indicate his feelings toward me. Had there been moments when his gaze lingered a fraction longer, or his smile held a deeper warmth? Or had I been projecting my own desires onto our friendship, seeing what I wished to see rather than what was truly there?

These questions swirled within me, intertwining with memories of shared laughter, meaningful conversations, and the undeniable bond we had forged over the years. If I were to take the leap and confess my love, would it risk our friendship, or could it potentially blossom into something more profound—a partnership built on trust, mutual respect, and a shared journey through life's uncertainties?

The thought both excited and terrified me. Yet, as I contemplated the possibility of revealing my feelings to Nagumo, I knew that uncertainty was an inevitable part of love. Perhaps, in embracing vulnerability and expressing my truth, I would discover that our connection ran deeper than I had ever imagined—a bond resilient enough to weather the challenges that lay ahead.

"Nana-chan, my dear wife?" Nagumo's teasing voice interrupted my reverie, his smirk pulling me back from my thoughts. "Looks like you're lost in deep contemplation. What's brewing in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Nothing much…" I sighed softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I took another sip of coffee before glancing affectionately at Hana, who was immersed in her delight over the ice cream. "I was just thinking how much Hana-chan is enjoying herself here."

Noticing a smear of ice cream lingering at the corner of Hana's lips, I reached out instinctively, gently wiping it away with my finger before casually licking it off. Nagumo's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected gesture. In response, he theatrically smeared a bit of cream from his pastry near his lips, turning towards me expectantly.

"Honey, could you do me a favor and wipe this off?" Nagumo's request was playful, his pout exaggerated, eliciting an eye roll and a playful scoff from me.

"Handle it yourself, hubby…" I retorted playfully, tossing a few napkins in his direction.

"Aww, Hana-chan, see how mean Mommy is?" Nagumo exaggerated further, continuing the playful charade.

"Yeah! Mommy, stop being mean to Daddy!" Hana chimed in, giggling mischievously as she joined the game.

"Okay, you two, enough!" I laughed, pretending to scold them both, before reaching out to playfully pinch their cheeks simultaneously.

Our laughter filled the air around us, creating a warm, lively atmosphere in the cozy confectionery shop. As we bantered and teased each other, I couldn't help but revel in the joy of the moment. Despite the teasing and the playful dynamics, there was an underlying warmth and closeness between us. It felt almost like a glimpse into what a real family might feel like—filled with love, laughter, and genuine affection.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a gentle glow over our little tableau. Hana's laughter echoed in the background, blending with Nagumo's teasing banter. In that moment, surrounded by sweetness and laughter, I couldn't deny the fondness that had grown for Nagumo over the years. He had become more than a childhood friend; he was someone who understood me deeply, someone who brought lightness and joy into my life.

As we enjoyed our treats and shared moments of lightheartedness, I couldn't shake the lingering thought—the possibility of what could be if I dared to express the feelings that had been quietly simmering within me. It was a daunting prospect, yet one that held the promise of something beautiful and profound.

But for now, I was content to bask in the warmth of our playful camaraderie, savoring the simple pleasures of being together in that cozy corner of the world, where laughter flowed freely and love lingered in the air.

Read the whole fanfic on Wattpad and Quotev -

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 8

Hello! I don’t know if it’s that it’s summer or what, but I’ve seen a sharp decline on my stories, so I just wanted to check and make sure everyone was okay. Take care of yourselves.

The hunt for the new apprentices start, they make room, and Eddie and Steve talk the design for the tattoo.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

***

Steve got the biggest, most caffeinated drink on the menu and had downed half of it before he pulled up to Erica’s apartment complex. He put his in the cupholder and then grabbed the tray with Robin and Erica’s coffees plus breakfast.

He trotted up the stairs to Erica’s apartment and knocked on the door. Erica answered the door groggily. She spotted coffee first and grabbed it out his grasp.

Robin took her coffee gratefully from Erica as Steve pulled out their breakfast.

“Bacon, egg, and cheddar on an English muffin for Robin,” he said handing to her. “Fruit salad with whip cream for me and a sausage, egg, and Swiss on a croissant for Erica.”

Again Erica made grabby hands at Steve, who handed it to her.

Once they were fed and on their way, Erica asked, “So what’s all this about anyway?”

Steve looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m thinking of taking on a couple of apprentices at the shop so I can focus on doing a large back tattoo.”

“Suzie was telling the truth?” Erica gasped. “Holy shit. I thought she was making shit up. Because there was no way you are cool enough to do a back tattoo for Eddie Munson.”

Steve turned around and glared at her.

Robin smacked him. “Turn around and drive, dingus. I would rather not die today, thanks.”

Erica stuck her tongue at him and he tapped the breaks to get back at her.

“You should let me apprentice for you,” she said as they pulled up to Will’s apartment building. “I have the steadiest hands, from all those years painting tiny ass figures for D&D.”

Steve sighed. “I was hoping to find people who have already started working toward being a tattoo artist, but failing that, I guess I could teach you.”

He got out of the car and leaned back in. “I swear to god, if either of you touch my coffee, you’ll be walking home from here.”

He slammed the door.

“How serious do you think he was?” Erica asked, eyeing the caffeinated beverage with want.

“Don’t try it,” Robin warned her. “The last time someone messed with his coffee, he drove them to the complete other side of town and told them they could find their own way home.”

“Who was this?” Erica asked, rolling her eyes. “Mike?”

Robin twisted in her seat to look Erica in the eye. “Dustin.”

Erica looked at the coffee in the cup holder and then nodded. “Right. No touching the coffee.”

“Smart girl.”

Will and Steve came out moments later, so there wasn’t really time to mess with the coffee, anyway.

“Erica,” Steve said after opening the door again. “We’re going to divide and conquer. You’re going to go with Will to the colleges and shit. Robin and I are going to hit up the bars and clubs. We’ll meet at Nicki’s Diner for lunch in about three or so hours.”

Erica saluted and got out of the car to go with Will. “Roger, roger!”

Steve put his stack of fliers on the back seat and got into his car. He waved at Will and Erica and then drove off.

They had made a list Sunday night and started at one end of town and worked their way through asking if they could put up their flier. At some of the trendier bars and clubs they got turned down, but most of them let them put it up on their community boards.

They are both tired and hungry by the time they make it to Nicki’s to meet up with Will and Erica.

“We managed to put up every flier we had,” Erica said proudly.

“Yeah,” Will said, “I even had to print out ten more to hand out.”

Steve and Robin shared a glance.

“Wait, really?” Steve asked. “Robin and me barely got through our stack.”

Will nodded. “I’m so happy you’re doing this. I’ve been telling you for the last year to get more people in your shop.”

Steve sighed, pulling up the menu to look it over. “I know. I’m actually really excited about this. I probably won’t get more than a couple applicants but even if it’s just me training someone how to tattoo, they can at least do initial sessions of talking out ideas and shit for the clients that will take more than one session. Or even start offering henna that they could practice with in the mean time.”

“Me and my friends do henna all the time,” Erica said. “It’s fun trying to find colors that show up on darker skin tones.”

Steve straightened up. “Oh. Now that’s an idea. Jeff was telling me that it was hard to find a tattoo artist that could do dark skin, because a lot of artists forget that black on black doesn’t show up.” He looked at her and rubbed his lip thoughtfully.

“Would you be willing to do henna at my shop?” he asked. “I’d be able to pay you.”

Erica and Robin shared a glance.

“Does this mean you won’t teach me how to tattoo?” she asked, eyeing him sidelong.

Steve shook his head. “If you want to learn, I’ll teach you. I just don’t want this to be a fun summer thing for you and then when you go back to school in the fall, you never pick up a tattoo gun ever again.”

Erica paused. “Oh. I see what you mean.” She thought about it for a moment before she nodded. “For this summer at least, I’ll stick to the henna and if after this summer is over, I can pick whether to go back to school or stay with you and train to be tattoo artist.”

Steve stuck out his hand and she shook it.

He paid for all their lunch as thank you for helping him put up the fliers.

*

They spent the rest of the day clearing out the other rooms that would be used for the new artists. They got the chairs set up and them set up to take clients. Most of the stuff was already there, just waiting for Steve to make the decision to hire more people.

They took to cleaning and decorating the rooms to match the rest of the of shop.

They ended up ordering pizza and continued to work until late at night. Finally it was all done. This was the easy part. The hard part was waiting to see if anyone would answer the flier. Or their online messages.

Steve took the younger adults home and then practically crawled up the stairs to the apartment with Robin.

“You know this is entirely your fault,” she said, totally devoid of sympathy. “You didn’t have to spend all night talking to Eddie. You could have stopped at any time and actually got some sleep.”

Steve didn’t even bother rolling his eyes he was that tired. “Just let me die in peace, please.”

Robin pushed him in the direction of their bathroom. “Take a shower at least, dude. And then crash. You’ll thank me and yourself in the morning.”

Steve nodded, already swaying on his feet. He got into the shower and let the heat wash over of his tired, aching body and sighed in relief. He carefully washed his hair, but only did a perfunctory scrub down of his body.

He got out and smiled when he saw that Robin had placed his pajamas in there while he was showering. He pulled on the clothes she set out for him and padded back out to their apartment in bare feet.

“Feel better?” Robin asked from their sofa.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, yeah. It has long been established that you are smarter than me.”

“Hell, yeah,” she said with a grin. “Now go to bed before you pass out on the carpet.”

Steve nodded and went to do as he was told.

He slept deeply for the first time in a long time.  

*

Steve tried not to let his anticipation get to him as he worked on other tattoos, waiting for Eddie to come in. He was pretty sure he failed judging from the smirk on Robin’s face when Eddie finally arrived.

“Hey, Eds!” he greeted cheerfully. “We’ll go over some ideas I had and I can start laying the ground work for those wings of yours.”

Eddie grinned. “I can’t wait to see what you have for me, big boy!”

Robin raised an eyebrow at the pet name, but wisely said nothing as Steve led Eddie back to Steve’s work station.

“I saw the other rooms were opened,” Eddie said as he took a seat. “You’re really serious about the getting more people in here to work for you, huh?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I’m a little nervous, but mostly? I’m hella excited.”

Eddie smiled fondly at him. “Certainly sounds like it. Show me what you got.” He made grabby hands at the drawing book Steve had picked up.

“You have any ideas of your own that you’d want to do or thoughts on what you think it should look like?” Steve asked flipping to the start of his ideas for Eddie’s tattoo.

He shook his head. “Not really, other than size. I want them all the way down my back.”

Steve nodded again. “I wasn’t sure, so there are a couple of wings that are just on the shoulder blades. You can ignore those.”

Eddie was looking at the different styles of wings and inward facing verses outward facing when a small piece of paper fluttered out of the book on the floor. He bent over to pick it and was opening it when Steve snatched it out his hand.

“Um...” Steve said. “That’s not really anything, just a stupid idea I had after listening to you talking to Dustin on Sunday.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Come on, I want to see it. I promise not to laugh or poke fun.”

Steve held to his chest for a moment and then handed the paper back to Eddie, heart in hand.

Eddie opened the paper up and there was a close to accurate rendition of his back with a pair of leathery bat wings, just like a lot of the designs in the drawing book. But in the middle of the two wings along the spine was a sword. It was a one-handed sword with a wavy blade that started at the base of the spine with the hilt and went all the way up to the nape of the neck with the point. The cross guard was in the shape of a bat and it was black.

It was beautiful.

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie said, breathless. “What is this?”

Steve blushed. “It’s the sword of Kas.I was thinking on one side of the blade have it say bloody-handed crossed out and then other side have it say betrayer.”

“This.” Eddie tapped the paper. “I want this. All of this. Including what you just said about the words. I want it.”

Steve’s jaw dropped and then he gulped. “It’s going to cost an awful lot. Like more then you were probably planning on spending, though.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve been saving up for this tattoo for years. I have roughly four thousand saved up. I don’t think it’s going to be the problem you think it will.”

Steve gently took back the paper. “You really want to do this?”

“Yeah, I really, really do,” Eddie said, smiling up at him.

A slow, sweet smile blossomed on Steve’s face. “All right. Let me scan this so I can print out the stencils and we’ll get started.”

“I can’t hardly wait.”

***

Part 9 Part 10  Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18 Part 19  Part 20  Part 21   Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25 Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Epilogue

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[indigofyrebird]

My baby dog turns 13 today and I wanted to share a fic I wrote for her this summer. Love you, my Indigo.

Old Dogs

Hunter put a jacket on and slipped his feet into his sandals, careful not to make too much noise. He looked behind him. Batcher was still sleeping, her great sides rising and falling peacefully. The front door clicked as he opened it and then she was up. Hunter sighed. She rose stiffly, stretching on her bed. She huffed at him, hobbling to his side. Standing next to him she barked her hoarse bark again, demanding. 

Hunter scratched the top of her head. Her face had gone grey over the years and her eyes were slightly cloudy. "Batcher..." he said, trailing off. He had wanted to go for a longer walk this morning. 

The lurca hound hopped her front feet off the ground a few times, barking continuously now. You really think you're going without me? Not going to happen...she seemed to say. 

"Alright girl, come on," Hunter said, giving in as he always did. He buckled her collar around her thick neck. The leash was only to stop her from chasing the neighbor's feline.

She was still strong enough to drag him down the path to the beach but her creaking joints quickly slowed her down. The beach was empty and he unclipped her leash. She ambled along, sniffing as she went. Hunter walked at her pace, stopping when she stopped, waiting for her. 

It was still early and no one else was out yet. The morning air was still and cool, the sound of the water rippling across the sand the only thing breaking the silence. Hunter's heightened senses made everything feel so much more, and he inhaled deeply, 

They walked along the edge of the shore near the rocks. Batcher loved sniffing in between them, searching for the scents of whatever creatures had come through before her. Hunter watched her, enjoying the way she never grew tired of the same scents, the same walk.

His gaze moved to the ocean, to the sky. He never stopped looking for her. Omega hadn't been back to visit since she first joined the rebellion a year ago. Thinking about her now made his heart ache with melancholy, homesick for someone that wasn't there any longer. He leaned against the rough rock face, letting a long breath out.

Batcher nudged his leg. He looked down at her and smiled. She had found a good stick. He tried to take it from her but she held it tight in her jaws. She placed it at his feet, staring at him. He reached to get it and she grabbed it up again, trotting away with her tail high. Hunter snorted a laugh. 

"Silly beast," he murmured. He rubbed at his right knee, straightening slowly.

If Omega did come home she would be surprised to see that Hunter's hair had gone even more grey, the lines around his eyes, his mouth deeper.

Hunter stood for a moment, breathing in the scent coming off the ocean. He tasted the salt, felt the shimmer of light as it bounced off the water. When he moved again, it was slow, following Batcher up the beach.

[domesticated-feral]

small town AU where:

Scott and Melissa moved there after losing the house during the divorce and she's working at the rural clinic while he's working under Dr. Deaton.

Stiles is still the kid of a sheriff and the sheriff's department takes care of beacon hills as well as the surrounding other small towns in the county :)

Four words, Livestock Veterinarian Alan Deaton! Four more bonus words Livestock Veterinary Assistant Scott!!! A bunch of more words Deaton and Scott with cute little baby farm animals!!!!!!!!

(if i truly had the energy to do so, i would love to continue writing my livestock vet Scott + farmhand Stiles fic, but that's a different AU)

Derek Hale is a city kid turned farmhand on an old man's farm (the old man in question is Elias, Stiles' grandfather)(and to the question why is Stiles or his father working at the farm is because 1. Elias lets his son work as a sheriff because whatever and 2. Stiles is a walking disaster no way is he letting that boy in charge of farm chores nuh uh not even on a lazy almost fall summer day where there's not much than the usual morning feeding also 3. Derek was only hired after Elias accepted that he was not as young and capable as he used to be and Noah and Stiles put themselves in charge of finding a farmhand)(Derek was the only one to send in a reply to their job ad) and the farm primarily raises sheep for meat and wool but I'd like to think that after Derek started working there a few years back he'd regularly add in new animals every summer or so. Sometimes he'd raise poultry, sometimes it's a small drove of pigs, sometimes it's not even animals but just a crop of pumpkins and squash and tomatoes and cucumbers!!

Derek loves the sheep. He's a shepherd through and through.

Jackson is not a whittemore but a miller, except his parents just died a bit later into his life and he lives with the whittemores on their large scale hay farm where there's an added bonus (to me)! h o r s e s !!!!

(all of this is just a way for me to write my fav characters interacting with my longest running obsession of all time, horses)

Lydia's mother owns the town's bistro/bar, her father owns the lodge built next to it. It used to be a whole business but it split with the divorce but there's still the whole B&B package deal to this day as it's wayyyyy too popular to risk losing business by stopping it.

Allison moved there pretty recently and the guns business her family owns fits in pretty well with the need for safety of the farmer and their livestock from predators and also for the wild game hunters in the late summer through fall hunting season.

Scott and Lydia bonding over being two kids from a divorced family. Scott and Lydia bonding over having pet dogs (Roxy is alive and Prada and her are absolute besties). Scott and Lydia being partners in science projects. Scott and Lydia spending wayy too long staring into each others eyes than how much friends would. Scott and Lydia realizing they want to be more than friends.

Stiles spouting off cool animal facts that Scott 100% already knew but acts like he didn't because both of them are stupidly in love with each other.

Scott meeting Derek when on the job. He can't help but crush over Derek and his enthusiasm over regenerative agricultural practices.

Jackson trying to impress Scott and Stiles by trotting up and down the main street on his horse. (I live laugh love by my Scott/Stiles/Jackson agenda) He also gets his dad to bring his horse over to school so he can just ride on it back home, in hopes of impressing Scott and Stiles but Scott is too invested in Stiles animal facts that they only way Jackson really has a chance was when Scott came over with Deaton for an emergency check up on a rogue cow on their property that was limping bad. Jackson straight up embarasses himself because he's a loser :P but Scott finds the attempt endearing and asks if he'd want to hang out with him and Stiles. It's the beginning of a slippery slope of 'Oh. Oh.' realizations for the three of them.

Scott and Allison meeting each other at the bistro and it starts a blossoming relationship that tugs at the heartstrings. It's cute little notes during class and hanging out at the bistro over hot chocolate even on hot days and going over to each others house to watch TV to cuddle under the same blanket and quick glances at each other and it's so goshdarn cute.

BASICALLY, SCOTT/EVERYONE because I can't choose which ship to go with this au because Scott DESERVES everyone and everyones ALSO DESERVES Scott :D

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 14/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Six weeks later

“I’ll be home late,” Diana tells him, rushing around as she scrambles to get out the door. “Don’t forget to put the garbage out tonight.”

He nods, sipping from his coffee mug. Frenchie rests her head on his thigh and he gives her a pat, an unspoken promise that they will go for a walk soon. 

“Did you call the cable company?” Diana asks, halting in the doorway of the laundry room. 

“No, but I will,” he says. 

“Okay, thank you,” she continues, collecting shoes, briefcase, purse, travel coffee mug. “Please remember to take your medication. See you tonight.”

She gets as far as the door into the garage, then turns back and hurries over to him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor. She kisses him briefly on the cheek, and then is out the door in a flash, leaving him and Frenchie alone in the house. 

“All right, French Face, let’s go,” he says, and the dog woofs, her tail wagging excitedly. 

The heat of early summer is already warming the pavement, sending the metallic, earthy smell of concrete and dandelions up into his nose. Frenchie trots happily beside him, stopping to inspect bushes and street signs for messages left behind by other dogs. The Children’s House is noisy and chaotic, the older children waiting at the corner for the bus and the younger ones puttering around the driveway as their mother supervises the whole lot from the front porch. She waves and he waves back, then crosses the street so he doesn’t distract the children with his appealing furry friend. 

He’s beginning to sweat by the time they make it back to the house, which exacerbates his already buzzing nerves. From the back of the closet he pulls out his nicest suit, black Armani, and pairs it with a blue dress shirt and black tie. When his wingtips are on his feet and his hair is styled just so, he lets Frenchie outside one last time, then leaves her with a bone that should entertain her for the several hours she’ll be confined to the house. He climbs into his car and navigates out of the neighborhood and then onto the turnpike, his stomach already in knots. 

It’s the lie that bothers him the most, followed closely by the possible outcome if this goes to plan. Sneaking around, lying, obfuscating: these are things he swore he would never do again, promises he made on his knees as his whole life flashed before his eyes. And here he is, letting Diana believe that he will spend the day at work and then helping Fred put together his new entertainment center when he will be nowhere near his office, nor Fred’s house. 

He tried to talk to her about it. Several times, several ways. He made frequent mention of feeling unfulfilled by his work, demonstrated a renewed interest in exploring the unexplained. When his subtlety went unnoticed, he directly told her that he had thought about re-engaging with the FBI and moving back to the DC area. 

“Absolutely not,” she’d said emphatically, setting her fork down and turning more fully toward him in her seat at the kitchen island. “We’re established here, Jeff. I have a career here, we have friends and a mortgage. I’m not interested in starting over again.” 

Just start again.

He attempted to compromise and suggested that he could work out of the Philadelphia field office instead of Quantico or the Hoover if the Bureau would have him back, perhaps even consult as a behavioral specialist. The answer across the board was no. No to relocating, and absolutely no to re-joining the FBI. The level of anger in her response left him feeling hurt and confused, wondering why she was more focused on the quality of his ideas for improving his own happiness than the fact that he’s unhappy in the first place. 

Had she asked, he would have told her that he feels stuck. Stuck in a job that’s no longer fulfilling, stuck in a daily routine that’s become predictable and boring, stuck in a life that he isn’t sure he ever wanted to lead in the first place. Diana herself spends enormous amounts of time at work in Philly, and when she’s home she holes up in the office, on phone call after phone call well into the evening hours. He empathizes with the stressful nature of her job, but he sometimes feels like he doesn’t have a wife at all.

This job posting fell into his lap, literally. Diana brought in the mail and tossed his favorite newspaper unceremoniously in his direction, and he caught it by the folded edge before it fell to the floor. It opened itself to the classifieds, and a particular advertisement caught his eye. 

Seeking Trained and Experienced/Licensed Therapists for Clinical Research

John Hopkins Bayview Medical Center

Department of Psychiatry Administration

It felt like fate. A new city, a new job, one that seeks to find answers to as yet unasked questions. And so he applied, and got a call the very next day. If he’s offered the position, he will have to make a choice: decline and continue slogging through each day of this unfulfilling life, or accept and tell Diana that he’s going, with or without her. At this moment in time, flying down the freeway at seventy miles per hour with Green Day filling his ears, both options are too terrifying to even consider. 

The interchange comes up and he is faced with the first choice that will lead him to a series of others: stay on the turnpike and drive into Philly, or get on 476 and head south. One way to more of the same, the other to the great unknown. 

He exits, taking 476 south, calculating about two hours to Baltimore. 

-

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Spender. I can’t make any promises, but I can tell you that we’re very impressed with your work history and your intended research methodology.”

He stands, accepting the proffered hand and focusing on a firm, confident handshake. 

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Bering. If there are any questions that come to mind, anything I may not have answered, please feel free to reach out by phone or email. Based on what you’ve shared about the work you do here, I’m very interested.”

He’s escorted back to the lobby, though he and Mr. Bering continue talking for upwards of fifteen minutes. By the time he walks back through the doors into the late afternoon sun, he feels buoyant and hopeful for the first time that he can remember in years. 

The nature of the research, the opportunity to be a part of a dedicated team and impact the course of treatment for test subjects, his own office, a salary that exceeds his current earnings: it’s all too good to be true. He has the reflexive thought that he can’t wait to tell Diana, but then remembers that she will be anything but happy for him. He’ll have to wait and find out if he gets an offer before he broaches the subject with her—no use overturning the whole apple cart for nothing. 

He returns to his car, too optimistic to be bothered by the parking ticket pinned under one of his windshield wipers, and heads back toward the highway. Just before he gets to the on-ramp, he sees a small coffee shop and decides to stop. This day is already going so well, a cup of decent coffee would only serve to make it even better. 

He waits in line, debating getting a cookie but ultimately deciding not to risk getting crumbs all over his good suit. 

“Hi, welcome in. What can I get for you?” the barista coos with a genuine smile. 

“Just a large black coffee, please. No room.”

“You got it,” she says, throwing him a flirtatious wink that makes him think he should wear this suit more often. 

He pays and makes his way over to the coffee bar to wait. He starts to think about how he might break the news to Diana, but quickly decides to focus on the positive and imagines himself living here, driving into work each day to do something different, maybe even stopping for coffee at this very shop. 

“Latte for Dana,” the barista calls out, sliding a lidded paper cup across the countertop. 

He realizes that the life he’s imagining: his morning routine, his evenings in a one bedroom apartment—ground floor for easy dog walking—don’t include Diana at all. And perhaps that’s because he already knows what her answer will be. 

Just start again. 

He becomes aware of someone standing very near to him, too close to be another patron waiting for their coffee. He looks over to find a very petite woman with red hair and a fair complexion staring at him, an oddly intense expression on her face. She’s quite pretty, but she also looks distraught. 

“Mulder?” she says, her voice husky, and his eyebrows furrow, confused. “Mulder, it’s me,” she says insistently, and it’s clear that she thinks she knows him. 

“Black coffee for Jeff.”

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he says gently, and the way her face falls feels like a punch to the gut. 

“Your name isn’t Mulder?” she asks, her voice growing tight as her eyes well with tears. 

“No, I’m Jeff,” he says, offering his hand reflexively. “Jeff Spender.”

“Oh,” she says, a tiny ghost of a sound, as she places her hand limply in his and allows him to pump it up and down twice. She shakes her head gently, remembering her manners, and then says, “Dana. I’m Dana.”

“I think these are our coffees, Dana,” he says with an attempt at a smile, stepping forward to pick up both cups before handing one to her. 

“Thank you,” she says in a near whisper, wrapping both hands around her cup and staring down at the lid. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, feeling worried for this stranger who is clearly not quite in her right mind. 

She looks up at him, and he’s momentarily taken aback by the icy blue of her eyes. Like ocean water. Like glaciers. Like the sky on a cloudless day. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, much more confidently. 

They both head for the doors of the coffee shop, and he takes two long strides to get ahead of her, holding the door open as she walks through. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, squinting against the sun. 

They stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, and he has an odd feeling of responsibility for her, like he shouldn’t leave her here in the state that she’s in. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, searching her face. “Is there someone you can call?”

She clears her throat and looks at the ground. 

“Yes, my husband. But I’m fine, really. I just have a short drive home,” she insists, though not all that convincingly. 

“Are you local?” he asks, continuing to make conversation for reasons he doesn’t understand. “I might be moving here soon, actually. From Philly.”

“No,” she answers blandly. “Ellicott City.”

“Ah,” he says, bobbing his head. 

Awkwardness descends over them, and though he still feels compelled to see to her safe return home, he accepts that this is where his interaction with her will end. 

“It was nice to meet you, Dana. Take care,” he says, and she looks up at him with some mix of alarm and melancholy. 

“You too…Jeff,” she replies, dazed 

He returns to his car, then sits and watches as she stands on the sidewalk for several minutes looking devastated, then finally climbs into a slate gray BMW. For several more minutes her car sits, unmoving, and eventually she pulls out of the lot and drives away. 

He heads back north, arriving home to an empty house, save for Frenchie. He stashes his suit, changes into running shorts and a T-shirt, and they go on an evening run together, burning off her energy and his excitement. He keeps thinking about the woman at the coffee shop, and how disappointed she seemed that he was not whoever she was looking for. He has the urge to help her somehow, to find this Mulder who must bear some resemblance to him. 

When he gets home, he feeds Frenchie and takes his blood pressure medication, then grabs a pen from the junk drawer and scrawls “Mulder” on a post-it note. Maybe he’ll do some internet sleuthing, just as a project. Maybe he’ll find his doppelganger and tell him that Dana in Ellicott City is trying to find him. 

He eats dinner, showers, and is reading in bed when he hears Diana come in through the front door. There is the thunk of her discarding her heels, the opening and closing of cupboards, the tinkle of ice cubes as she makes herself a drink. He considers pretending to be asleep so he won’t have to lie about his day, and is just closing his book when her voice booms up the stairs. 

“Jeff?!” she says in an alarmingly serious tone that has him scrambling out of bed and down the stairs to see what’s wrong. 

“What is it?” he says, his heart racing and his feet fumbling over the steps. 

He arrives in the kitchen to find her holding the post-it note like it’s a pair of unfamiliar panties, and she looks up at him with a horrified expression. 

“What is this?” she asks, turning it so he can see his own handwriting. 

“I think it’s a name?” he answers, confused by her demeanor. 

“Where did you get it?” she asks sharply. 

He steps forward, taking it from her hand. 

“I was at a coffee shop today and this woman came up to me and called me ‘Mulder.’ She thought I was someone else. I was thinking about maybe looking into it,” he says lightly, downplaying the situation and leaving out the detail about what city he was in when the exchange took place. 

“Looking into what?” she asks, her tone still suspicious and hard. 

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, tossing the post-it onto the kitchen counter. “Nothing, I guess. It was just odd. She really seemed sure I was this other person. Forget about it, Diana, it’s not a big deal.”

“What did she look like?” Diana asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Who?”

“The woman in the coffee shop.”

He recognizes the true concern here. She’s taking this as a red flag, a bread crumb. The fact that he is hiding something from her only makes the stakes higher. He could tell her about the job interview, or he could let her think that he’s sneaking around again, meeting up with strange women. He decides to go with another lie. 

“Fifties, brown hair, heavy set,” he says convincingly. “She didn’t look familiar to me at all, which is what made it so weird. But honestly, Diana, it’s nothing. You can just throw that out.” He begins to walk away, showing complete disinterest in the post-it and the name written there. “You coming to bed?” he asks, one foot already on the bottom step. 

“In a bit,” she says flatly. “I need to make a phone call.”

He listens as she walks to the office, Frenchie’s claws clicking across the tile as she follows. When the office door closes, Frenchie whines at having been locked out. He hears the murmur of Diana’s voice as she makes a phone call, the pitch of it increasing and then decreasing sharply over and over. 

He makes his way back into bed, turns off the light, and tries to get tired. He thinks about the job, the potential offer, the eventual move. He wonders if Frank and the guys will drive down to visit. He thinks about the woman, Dana, and whether she got home okay. He wonders where he’ll be one year from now. If he’ll be happy. If he’ll be free. 

Just start again. 

Tagging @today-in-fic