#without them there would not be a business

[perpetualstargirl]

Girl Dad!?

a drabble in which Nanami is the girl dad.

"Here, I keep them on hand for the kids," Nanami says, handing Nobara a hairband from his pocket.

First comes Nobara's question. "Kids? Plural?"

"Nanami! How many kids do you have?" Yuji's voice rang out as Nanami stood beside Gojo, watching the first year students train.

"Four," The blonde haired man responded simply, checking his phone. A text from his beloved wife. He opens it with little hesitation. One picture, their little five month old daughter laid on her mother's chest. He smiles.

"Four kids?" Nobara asked in surprise.

"Four daughters," Nanami corrected her without glancing up from his phone. A second picture. His twin daughters, three years old, had drawn something together that his wife had sent him a picture of.

"Don't you get tired of all those girls in the house, Nanami?" Gojo asked, throwing an arm around Nanami's broad shoulders.

"No." Nanami responded, scowling. "Why would I?" He checks his watch with shimmery pink nails, the work of his eldest daughter. Underneath his brown business shoes and black socks held up by sock garters, his toenails matched, the same shimmery pink.

"Four kids and not one son?" Yuji asked, his big brown eyes gazing curiously at his teacher.

"Aren't you at least a little disappointed?" Gojo asked, cocking his head at his coworker.

"My genetics determined that we had daughters. I love them all dearly." Nanami spoke, shoving Gojo off of his shoulders.

"I have four daughters, and they look almost exactly like my beautiful wife. I'm more concerned about all the boys I'll have to fend off of my doorstep than I am about only having daughters." Nanami said proudly, a soft smile making it's way onto his usually stoic face.

"Now, if you don't mind, my wife says dinner will be done in 20. Have a nice day, everyone." And with that, Nanami Kento leaves, a big smile on his face. He can't wait to get home.

[ms-demeanor]

I don't know how to say it so that people will listen, but if you work at a business you should just accept that *unless your literal job is being the only one who handles wire transfers and you are professionally engaged ONLY in verifying that money is being transferred correctly* any request to wire someone money is a scam.

Our client is working with a company called (anonymized for internet example purposes) "Anaheim Sales" and have been communicating with them at their email, which is, deeply unfortunately, anaheimsales@aim.com

Client has been told by Anaheim Sales to send a check in the mail. They put the check in the mail, then get an email from anahiemsales@aol.com requesting a wire transfer instead. They cancel the check and they wire the money.

Now. A huge part of this is Anaheim Sales' fault. Buy a domain, dipshits. Your business email shouldn't be going to a gmail aim yahoo outlook whatever ass address, it should be going to YOURNAME@YOURDOMAIN.COM because it's a lot harder to scam your clients when you have to purchase YOURDOMIAN.COM than it is to scam them by setting up YOURNAAME@aol.com.

But also. They never should have wired the money. Even if it HAD been from bobsmith@anaheimsales.com, Bob's email could have been compromised. Even if it's in an industry where wiring money isn't something that happens only once in a blue moon.

If you are working at a business and you get a request for a wire transfer, you NEED to make sure that you speak to someone from the requesting business who you either know personally or who you reached by calling a known number for that business (KNOWN NUMBER from your vendor/client records; not from an email signature, and not from their website). If I were allowed to make all the rules, you wouldn't be allowed to make a wire transfer without a notarized request from the accounts payable department of the vendor.

This will slow down the transfer. It will make things take longer. But nobody doing legitimate business with you is going to be pissed if you take a couple extra hours to verify that they are actually making that request before you send them tens of thousands of dollars. If someone is yelling at you that you need to send the money NOW, that is actually when you need to stop and back away and escalate to your boss or get someone else from the requesting company on the phone.

"They said the contact I knew was out sick" cool don't send the money, if your known contact is not available you require a notarized request from one of the company's officers.

"They said they'd cancel the contract if we didn't get it out by this afternoon" then let them cancel you can re-sign a contract, even with a penalty, but you can't get that money back.

"They said that THEIR business was tied up and they couldn't do anything because they didn't have the payment and the check would take days to clear" sounds like a them problem; unless you get a signed, notarized request for a wire transfer you will not be sending a wire transfer.

And if you are a business owner you need to give your employees unlimited permission to say "yeah this sounds like bullshit I need to verify before I move forward" to anything that is even slightly suspicious. Your employees should NEVER be worried that they'll get fired if they say no to wiring money. You should give them a fucking bonus if they cause a delay in getting a *legitimate* wire payment transferred because they needed to get confirmation.

Wire transfers need to be a last resort, and you need to have policies in place that make them extremely cumbersome to use. The fact that wire transfers are immediate, efficient, convenient, and irreversible is WHY they're such a common way to scam people.

Also ffs please please please just set up a real website for your business there are cheap and easy ways to do it that will mean your clients are less easily targeted by scammers because they know that your email address isn't at *AOL INSTANT MESSENGER DOT COM*

[okwonyo]

FIGHT FOR YOU 。 𝗉𝗌𝗁

𝐈𝐕────𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝖠 ★ 𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 ❫ 、 boxer!psh & fem!rea 1O8O fluff 𝘄 ｡ mention of blood skinship kissing ◞ ◟书

REBLOG = KISS ！

door closed but unlocked, you take sunghoon in after he knocks a few times on the door. he presents to you breathless, pecks heaving as he tries to calm the pace of his heartbeat. his hair is messy, sticky on his forehead due to his sweat. he is wearing a white tank top that sticks to his abs for dear life.

“hey, pretty,” he greets you. with his usual smirk tugging on his wounded lips. he still looks ridiculously handsome, even bruised and bloody.

you roll your eyes at the petname, although you still smile, and walk into the room without greeting him back, “close the door behind you.”

“so bossy,” he laughs quietly. he listens to your order however as you sit on the chair in front of the bed.

he sits down, right in front of you. he is quiet for a short amount of time, watching the way your fingers work softly to prepare the cottons and products you will use to ease the slight sting on his skin.

you hold his chin. turning his head to the side, you trail your eyes over his perfect jaw. you turn his head to the other side, looking at the wounds that you need to take care of.

he isn’t very bruised. just a cut on his lower lip and left eyebrow. there is also some reddened parts due to the hits he received, nothing some ice can’t heal.

“you didn’t come watch me fight,” sunghoon breaks the long silence. his lips are formed in a slight pout. it’s cute, even for a giant like him.

you laugh quietly, “i didn’t,” you can never bring yourself to. your knees buckle at the thought of him getting hurt alone. as you tap the disinfectant soaked cotton on his lower lip, you think that you will have a heart attack if you watched one of his fights.

“i won,” he tells you. you nod slowly, patting the tissue, letting the blood disappear from his perfect face. “you own me a date.”

he hisses when you press the material against his bruise. you didn’t do it on purpose, “i’m sorry—w–what?”

sunghoon’s fangs show up when he smiles so widely, “damn, do i make you that nervous?”

you sigh loudly, tossing the bloody cotton in the bin next to you, “please, shut up and let me work on you.”

he runs his tongue on his mouth, tasting the cleaned cut on his lower lip. “you can work on me anytime, sweetheart.”

you ignore his comment and the creeping blush on your cheeks. his presence makes your heartbeat go at a ridiculously fast pace. even more when he talks to you this way.

“so?”

“what?”

“you own me a date.” he presses while you clean his other cut.

you sigh once again, too busy focusing on your work to give him an answer just yet. you remember that he told you about how he wanted to take you on date. and you joked that if he won his next fight, you would think about it. but you thought it was meaningless joking.

“i don’t know what you are talking about,” you put the other tissue in the bin again. then you get up to take a pack of ice in the fridge.

you can hear the grin in his deep voice, “oh yeah?”

clearing your dry throat doesn’t help. your voice is still weak, “y–yeah.”

his gaze is hard to avoid. when you stand so close, applying ice on his bruise. you don’t know why you do it for him. he can do it himself. you don’t stop, though.

“then why are you red in the face, hm?” his goddamn smirk never wipes off his face, you swear it. his eyes are burning holes in your lips when he stares at them so shamelessly. how can he know anything about the state of your face when he is only focused on your mouth?

“stop it.”

“what?” he fakes confusion. tilting his head to the side.

“looking at me like that,” you are embarrassed of your voice’s ridiculously high pitch.

he seems amused by it. he chuckles, “like what?”

the tension in the room is building. you feel your body being pulled by his, telepathically, more and more, “like you want to kiss me or—or something!”

sunghoon falls silent. your eyes rest on his face after your sudden outburst and his gaze is still on your lips. slowly, he brings his hand to yours, the one that is holding the ice against his skin.

you can only blink as he brings it down, away from his face. “would you let me?”

you breath is stuck in your throat for a while. you eyelashes bat as you slowly try to take in what he just asked, “what?”

you want to hear it again. you want him to be clear, as he always is.

“if i kissed you,” his voice is quiet. you didn’t realize how close he got to you— or was it you who leaned in without realizing? “would you let me do it, doll?”

he is already close enough. he might be able to hear the sound of your fastening heart rate, “d–do you really want to?”

his lips tickle yours when he answers, “i really need to.”

the sound of the ice pack falling on the ground echoes in the entire room. you hold his face into your palms. his lips smash against your with such a passion that your body reacts to it like it would to electricity.

his hair are fluffy against your hand after you wrap your arms around his neck and run your fingers through his locks. he smiles against your mouth when you grip into his hair slightly.

his strong hands hold onto your waist. he yanks you closer to his body. you can feel the metallic taste of his cut on your tongue when his mouth moves so smoothly against your own.

sunghoon’s hand comes to hold your own. he slides your hand down to his neck, then your palm brush of his pecs and you soon feel his sculpted abs under the thin tissue of his tank top.

“fuck, love it when you touch me,” he says. it makes your knees so weak that you almost fall. but he holds you tighter and slides his tongue in your mouth when you yelp.

after thinking for a while, you decide that will let him take you on a date.

분지 ܃ for sallie 🎀

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open 。

[saudad3]

Daddy was a rolling stone

Smoke x Reader Word Count: 1,908 Summary: Baby Daddy! Smoke returns to the Mississippi Delta with two things hot on his mind -- his woman and his baby. Let's just say, all he was met with was a purse to the face. Genre: two parts angst, one part fluff!! enjoy

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

“I hope you rot in hell, Elijah Moore,” you spat in the man’s direction before turning on your heels and beelining it out of the bustling grocery store. Your face was hot with embarrassment as you made an honest attempt to compose yourself, smoothing over your white church dress and gripping your purse in front of your thighs. 

Here you were, thinking that after listening to your daddy’s sermon at church this morning, you’d simply stop in town to pick up some additional ingredients for Sunday dinner – red snapper for daddy, some collard greens for you, and cornmeal for your mama’s famous cornbread. 

Sunday was your favorite day of the week. The house was filled with the busy chatter of aunts and uncles, siblings and cousins playing in the yard, and your mama yelling at them to “quit that rough playin’!” through the kitchen window. On these occasions, you could be seen in the living room with your sisters and girl cousins gushing and cooing over your one-year-old baby girl, Elisabeth. 

Unbeknownst to you, you would be thrown off course when met face to face with the father of your baby girl, whom you had presumed dead sixteen months ago – Elijah “Smoke” Moore. 

Ever unchanging, Smoke’s serious aura and towering figure announced himself to the market before his low, southern drawl could. Everywhere Smoke walked, he turned heads in fear. Murmurs of infamous heists and crimes follow closely behind. 

You turned your head with everybody, face heating up as your eyes met his. 

You’re supposed to be dead.  You thought, head whirring with a myriad of thoughts, none of them particularly kind to you. Then, came the fury.

Screw Sunday dinner. 

You quickly placed the products you had stored in your basket back on the shelves before scanning the grocery store for an exit. All the while, Smoke makes his way through the crowd to you. You sped towards the glass door separating you from the outside world before stopping in your tracks at the call of your name. 

“Stop runnin’ away from me.” Smoke called out to you, earning some more disapproving stares from the aunties looking over produce.

You didn’t feel bad for damning Smoke to hell. Gosh, he deserved it. 

Smoke disappeared without a word two months before your pregnancy due date, making you give birth alone. You had been raising your baby girl with only the help of your family, which you were so thankful for. But nothing could cure the sting of being scorned by your former lover, who, by the looks of it, believed he could just come waltzing back into your life, demanding to play father and husband. 

You think the fuck not!

--

When you told Smoke that you missed your menstrual for the fifth week in a row, you expected the notorious gangster to be pissed. You mustered up the courage you could to include him in your pregnancy, telling him you were gonna keep this baby regardless of whether he was in your life or not. Instead of the expected rejection, the goofiest smile you’d ever seen plastered across Smoke’s face, and he dropped to his knees, peppering the smallest kisses onto your belly. 

That night, he promised you he’d be the father to his baby that his father never could be to the twins. He professed his love to you in confidence, declaring you his woman between the plush sheets of your bed.

His future wife. 

And for eight months, he kept this act up. He delegated most of the dangerous, dirty work of the Smokestack twins to his baby brother Stack, freed up his schedule to wait on you hand and foot, and even asked your father for permission to propose. 

Your sister giggled like a schoolgirl as she watched from between the stair bannisters. Smoke in his Sunday’s best, sat across the stern gaze of your father, adjusting his blue tie ever so often, and sweating in the cool air of the winter from nervousness. When your sister burst into your room, her infectious giggle let you know that Smoke was able to seal the deal with your father, and you two would soon be officially engaged. 

Two weeks later, he was gone.

He’d booked it up to Chicago with Stack, following promises of big money and “good work.” What followed for you was a maddening silence. 

Not a single letter or a telephone call throughout his absence made you convince yourself that he was dead. Maybe, he'd been caught up in the wrath of an Italian mobster from the dirty slums of Chicago. You mourned Smoke and his brother, Stack, whom you learned to love as your own. You halted your life for months, barely going outside, consumed by grief and the care of your new baby. During the nights, while your sister nursed and cared for baby Elisabeth, your mother soothed you from nightmarish visions of Smoke’s stiff body, bloody and bruised, drifting down the river. 

And now, sixteen months later, he’s returned to the Mississippi Delta – alive and well. In a perfectly tailored, expensive tweed suit that fit his strong figure, and chasing you out of the market and into the hot summer sun. 

“You needa stop followin’ me if you know what’s good for you Smoke.” 

No one dared talk to the Smokestack twins in such a brazen manner, but you were feeling mighty bold today. Anger rumbled in your chest as you took long, brisk steps out of the town square and onto the back road that led to your family’s plot of land. Trees stretched down the sides of the dirt road for what seemed like miles before you.

“You needa stop walkin away and tell me why you runnin’ from me,” Smoke addressed you seriously, grabbing your hand and forcing you to turn his way. His face was hardened with frustration, his nostrils flared with each breath.

Before your mouth could react, your body did, and before you knew it, your white handbag connected with the side of Smoke’s temple. 

“Who are you to touch me?” you shouted, landing a few more blows to Smoke's shoulder and torso. Your knuckles turned pale from how strongly you gripped your purse.

“What the fuck-” Smoke attempted to grab your hand and block you from attempting another swing, forcing you to looking up into his cold, chocolate eyes. You immediately softened and whipped your arm away from his large, calloused hands

No one attempted to harm the Smokestack brothers and got away scot free.

You licked your lips, suddenly feeling a bit bashful under the hardened gaze of your former lover, averting your eyes to anything but him.

“What are you doin’ here anyway?” you mustered out, suddenly more interested in weed across the way than the vision of your handsome ex-fiance. 

“I came to see you,” He took a slow step in your direction, keeping his hands at his sides. “I’ve come home.”

“You lost your damn mind if you think you gotta home here,” you chuckled dryly, looked at him in disbelief, before attempting to move past him.  

You ignored the way his familiar southern drawl ignited a certain fire within your stomach, one that ain't been tended to in months. You had to keep strong. Your baby was being raised without a loving father in her life, and you wasn’t gonna let him walk in and out of your life when he was chasing a thrill of looking for a quick fuck. 

“I want to see my baby girl,” Smoke started, stopping you in your tracks once again. 

“How you know she's a girl?” You whipped around, face morphed in pure confusion.

The corner of Smoke’s mouth tugged into a small smile, the glint of his gold fangs sparking in the sun. “I figured I’d pay the Rev a visit this mornin'. Had some sins I needed forgiven and whatnot.” 

You cursed your father for being the pushover he was, always giving words of god to those who you don't believe deserve it. You rolled your eyes before Smoke started again. 

“He told me how much I hurt you, darlin’. How you been taking care of our baby girl by yourself while I been away.”  Smoke’s eyes filled with sorrow as he pulled your smaller frame into his. He breathed in your scent as if it were the only source of air for his lungs and he hugged you so tightly, you threatened to pop. You bit your lip to stop hot tears from falling from your eyes, but did not hug back. “I missed you so damn much, baby.”

Smoke was alright with that. Just as long as he had his woman in his arms again.

– 

You allowed Smoke to walk you home just before the afternoon sun scorched you both. You allowed him to hold you for a few more minutes on the front porch before you invited him in. You allowed him to sit stiffly in the living room of your home, blazing under the unapproving gaze of your youngest siblings, before dismissing them to their rooms. 

“Do you wanna meet her?” You asked meekly, standing at the foot of your stairs. He nodded eagerly at the question, almost stumbling to his feet. He wiped his hand on his suit pants before rushing to the stairs, careful not to ambush you.

In your bedroom, on a small cot next to your bed, lay Elisabeth, sleeping peacefully, with a blue rabbit snuggled up to her slowly rising chest. She still had on her frilly white dress from church this morning and dark, soft curls brushing over her chubby cheeks. She was a splitting image of her father in looks, but you were thankful she at least had your lips and nose. 

You watched as Smoke entered the room carefully, trying his best not the make a noise or disturb the child's sleep. You bit back a laugh as he looked at you awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. This image of him was a sight to behold. Rarely was Smoke ever unsure of himself.

‘Elisabeth,” you cooed the child awake, earning a small huff from the child and her turning her back from you.

That attitude must have been from Stack. 

“Elisabeth, you have a special visitor,” You laughed at your baby girl, who wiped her tired eyes and immediately attempted to bury herself in your arms, arms wrapping around your neck. “C’mon Elisabth, that’s not polite.”

Smoke stood in the entryway of the room, brimming with pride. He let you take the reins of the interaction, but you could tell he wanted so badly to hold his baby girl. You motioned him to come closer before passing Elisabeth into his arms. 

God, he couldn’t contain his joy. Elisabeth practically melted into her father’s arms, letting out a small yawn. He scanned her beautiful features, imprinting them into his mind for all of eternity. 

Little did you know, he had been looking forward to this day for sixteen months. 487 days passed without being able to contact his woman on account of the dangerous jobs he was taking with the Irish mob.

487 days passed with nothing to think about but what you were doing, how you felt, who you could take comfort in while he was away. 

487 days passed without being able to touch and feel his beautiful baby girl and his precious wife. 

“Papa’s here,” Smoke whispered into your daughter’s ear. “Don't worry. Papa’s here.” 

You felt a beat in your chest of satisfaction, maybe something a bit sweeter than that. You touched your cheeks as hot, slow tears escaped the corners of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks.

You allowed Smoke to stay for dinner that night, allowing him to hold her baby girl for hours without end. Maybe, after the sun went down, he would have the chance to hold you as well.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Hello guys! Had this idea all weekend and wrote some paragraphs down whilst I was on a weekend trip. Saw sinners again, and gosh, do I love the twins. Anywhosits, this was supposed to be a drabble, but ended up almost 2000 words, so hope you enjoy! Also, if you have any fic ideas or wanna talk about sinners, my inbox is open bbies.

[gf2bellamy]

Hear me out…reader on Spencer’s glasses and he’s struck by how pretty she looks. Or, reader puts her glasses on at work after her contacts dry out, and the team tease her for her glasses, but Spencer can’t help but find them adorable

pretty — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: i went with the first idea !! such a cute one <3

Spencer Reid took off his glasses for two seconds.

Literally.

Just long enough to scrub the sleep from his eyes, to blink away the exhaustion that clung to him after hours of staring at case files. The team had been working nonstop, and even his brilliant mind was starting to fog over. He set the glasses down on the table, rubbing his face with both hands before letting out a long, slow breath.

And that was all the opportunity you needed.

You had been bored out of your mind—stuck in the same chair for what felt like eternity, flipping through the same reports, waiting for something to happen. So when Spencer’s glasses sat there, unattended, you acted on impulse.

You snatched them up before he could even register they were gone.

Spencer didn’t notice.

He was too busy yawning, his jaw cracking as he stretched his arms above his head, his eyelids heavy. For a second, you thought he might actually slump forward and pass out right there on the table.

Grinning to yourself, you unfolded the glasses and slipped them onto your face.

The world immediately blurred.

Wow. You hadn’t realized just how bad his eyesight was.

Everything beyond your own hands was a hazy mess of shapes and colors. You blinked a few times, adjusting, but nope—still useless. How did he function like this?

You were still grinning when Morgan walked in.

His sharp eyes landed on you immediately, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Well, look at you,” he said, voice loud enough to make Spencer jolt slightly in his seat. “Looking all nerdy.”

Spencer turned toward him, squinting—which was generous, because without his glasses, he could barely make out more than vague blobs of color. But then his gaze shifted to you, and his breath hitched.

There you were, his glasses perched on your nose, your lips curled in a playful smile.

“How do I look?” you asked, tilting your head.

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because you looked nice.

No, not just nice.

Pretty.

Really pretty.

Something about seeing you in his glasses made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

Morgan dropped into a chair across from you, his smirk deepening as he watched Spencer’s dumbstruck expression. “Took the words right out of his mouth. Literally.”

You giggled, reaching up to take the glasses off, but Spencer’s hand twitched forward before he could stop himself.

“No—you, uh. You can leave them on. If you want.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

Spencer swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. “You… uhm. You look very pretty.”

The words came out in a rushed mumble, barely audible, but you heard them. A soft warmth spread through your chest as you bit back a smile.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, deliberately ignoring Morgan’s quiet chuckle from across the room.

But then you carefully slid the glasses off anyway, holding them out to him. “I think you might need these more than I do.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a subconscious pout before he could stop himself.

“You know,” you teased, “to see things.”

He turned even redder, suddenly mortified by his own words. Why would he tell you to keep them on? He obviously needed them to see.

But before he could spiral further, you leaned forward in your chair.

Spencer’s breath caught.

Your fingers brushed against his temples, gently sweeping his hair back as you carefully slid the glasses onto his face. You nudged them up the bridge of his nose with a light touch, your fingertips lingering near his skin just a second too long.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“You look pretty too with them on,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost intimate.

Both of you were silent.

Spencer stared at you. Wide eyed. Mouth hanging wide open.

And then Morgan cleared his throat.

“Is he still alive?”

[holymolyyikes]

II(.5) / VI.

As I ran, I couldn’t help but notice that a solid third of the crowd was making my way towards me. Not in a sprinting way, or even an aggressive one, but they stood out as slightly faster than the rest of the camera crew trying to keep up with us without shaking their cameras. But they were following me, not her. I couldn’t help but do a quick spin as I ran, confirming my suspicion – they were the tall ones.

My phone buzzed – too busy.

One metre from the main road, I knew this was where I had to get serious. Any time taken to pause and consider my route was time I didn’t have. Instead, I dashed left, Frogger-style. I would make my route. I hit the road, and suddenly I knew this was my domain; she wouldn’t follow me here. The cars swerved for me, but I certainly didn’t swerve them. There was wind, and more wind, but I was wind too. Not for much longer, but for now. I looked behind me, which was admittedly very risky, and immediately regretted it – Ellie had followed me onto the road. What the fuck was going on? I kept sprinting, considering if I could jump into one of these cars and escape so I didn’t have to consider any of the terrifying reasons I was here at all.  

I made it off the road, and quickly decided my best course of action was down the suburban streets – there were more curves, so it’d be easier to create distance. Admittedly, my options were limited. I turned behind me again – suddenly, Ellie was pummelled by a passing car. VREWM! There was too much traffic for it to stop either, so it had to keep going. It felt wrong considering the circumstances, but I was… safe? Suddenly, a car veered off the road, right onto the grass towards me. Holy fuck. I jumped to the side and it zoomed past, but there it was again, hitting what was probably a 300 degree turn on hilly grass to face me. Even despite that, his Oakleys glimmered in my face. Of course. I turned and scampered towards the shopping centre instead. Even if it wanted to, and I could bet it did, it physically couldn’t follow me now. Probably. What I did know was that, despite my adrenaline, I wouldn’t be able to run for much longer.

what if people over a certain height had a special currency called tall coins that short people didn’t know about. And one day you’re walking with your friend (huge) and she drops something and you pick it up and say what is this and she says oh that’s my tall coin don’t worry about it. But you did worry

[sirfrogsworth]

So Elon has decided to skip the imminent disaster of global climate change and just move on to a calamity 5 billion years in the future.

If you ever need to understand Elon's motivations, it's all this.

Okay and a little bit the woke mind virus.

But mostly this.

He wants to get to Mars more than anything. It's why the only thing he can speak intelligently about is his rockets. He has put in the time and effort to learn about them because this is his singular passion.

A lovely Youtube physicist did a video about SpaceX and she said half of the rockets blow up and Elon just wants more money. And it was disappointing to hear her say that because she is a scientist and both things are inaccurate.

SpaceX would be an amazing company without Elon. His leadership is the only thing really holding it back. They have put lots of cool shit into space. Their Falcon program is the most productive and cheapest rocket program in history. They put more stuff into space than everyone else combined.

They had to blow up part of the graph just so you could see the competition. Half of the SpaceX rockets are *not* blowing up.

Starship is a specific prototype. It has nothing to do with their main rocket business. Starship is Elon wanting to go to Mars. It is basically him trying to send a 3 story building into space. And he keeps blowing it up because that is the fastest way to develop a rocket. He's wasting a lot of money by trying to speedrun a trip to Mars in his lifetime. And these tests are bit more like crash test data than expecting the rocket and Starship to actually function properly. It's a process and they have goals for each launch, and for the most part, they reach those goals. Any success after those goals is gravy to them. But they are pretty certain it is going to end in fireworks at this stage of development.

I don't know if they will get it to work. It would be nice because a functional spaceship that size could do a lot of cool science. But Elon's goals and NASA's goals are going to conflict in a major way at some point in the future. And I'm worried that may damage space exploration.

Starship is very different than their Falcon program. It's a science experiment. Falcons rarely blow up. They get shit to space like the James Webb telescope.

And as far as Elon just wanting more money... sort of.

His personal wealth has not been a huge concern of his for a while. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Tesla fall apart like it has. The wealth he is actually concerned about is not his own. Going to Mars is a trillion-dollar-plus endeavor. Even the richest man in the world cannot raise that much money.

Only a government could fund that.

Elon knows this. He figured it out a while ago. And when he saw an opportunity to get his hands on the government purse strings, he jumped at the chance.

He jumped in the shape of an X like a giant loser.

I'm *positive* Elon thought, "If I could save the government a trillion dollars, they'll give it to me so I can go to Mars."

But it is probably breaking his brain right now after learning he isn't this super genius who can figure out government bureaucracy in a weekend with a bunch of coding dorks.

He got depressed and realized his cool plan to get to Mars was falling apart.

Whoops.

Elon will say anything to get to Mars. He will lie about anything to get to Mars. He will consort with anyone to get to Mars. If you are ever unsure why Elon is doing something, it's to get to Mars. His moral calculus is based on this. In his delusional mind, everything is justifiable to save the human race.

He does have side quests. He wants to repopulate the Earth with his seed. And he uses IVF because you can drastically increase the odds of getting a boy if you pay extra. And he is angry at his trans daughter because he wants boys to continue his mission to spread Musk seed. He spends $50,000 extra to make sure he gets boys and she is messing with the plan.

Oh, and he really really wants people to think he is good at video games. And he wants people to like him. And he wants to kill the woke mind virus because he didn't get the boy he paid for.

But Mars is *almost* all he cares about.

Elon thinks Earth is doomed and he wants immortality from being the man who saved human civilization. He truly believes our existence is dependent on being "multiplanetary." It might be the only thing he believes.

Saving the human race is supposed to be his legacy.

And it is killing us.

[urmommysfavkisserrr]

Spoiled Rich.

°•☆•° - Paige Bueckers x Ex-Wife Reader (Brazilian)

°•☆•° - Even after five years of divorce, you can’t help but remember what life had been like before everything went to shit. With the blonde curled up in your bed, something about it all just feels right.

°•☆•° - Part Two of End Of Her Rope. Ya’ll, I swear this was supposed to be all cute and domestic, but then the angst just crept in...and now here we are.

°•☆•° - for those of you who decided to throw a fit the first time.

°•☆•° - 6113 words

Part 1 | Part 3

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

That next morning, you woke up to a slightly warmer but empty bed. You brushed it off, assuming one of the girls had crawled in after a bad dream, then left early this morning when they got bored to go play with their toys or find a way to make some kind of mess, they always did.

You sighed, looking over at the alarm clock to find that it was way past drop-off time for school. 10:42 am. Guess it was gonna be another late day for the girls, which would end up with you having to argue out some dumb excuse with the principal.

But before you could move, your eyes shifted to the blonde figure standing in the doorway of the master bathroom, leaning against the doorframe and just watching.

She had stayed? It wasn't a dream.

"Don't..you have practice or something?"

A sly smirk appeared on the blonde’s face when she noticed your eyes on her. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” She asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Paige leaned against the bathroom door frame, her arms folded as she watched you with a soft gaze. She had been up and awake for some time now.

You just huffed, rubbing your forehead and shuffling to sit up. "I gotta get the girls to school.."

“Already taken care of,” Paige replied, pushing herself off the door frame and walking over to the bed.

She sat down next to you, a knowing glance in her eyes. She knew the kids were off to school already, and she knew you were still partially oblivious to the events of last night.

You furrowed your brows, still working on rubbing the sleep off your face as you sniffled. "..what?"

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle at the confused expression on your face. “I dropped the girls off at school this morning.” She explained, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “And before you ask, yes, I did get them there on time.”

"You didn't have to do that."

“Who else was supposed to do it? You?” Paige said, her tone slightly teasing. “You were passed out when I dropped them off this morning.”

"You could have woken me up.” You huffed out, looking around for your phone without really looking. You were too tired to care. “I have alarms, I just don't know why they didn't go off."

Paige shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. “I tried waking you up this morning. You were dead to the world.”

She remembered her attempts to shake you awake, only to be met with unintelligible mumbling. “Besides,” she continued. “You needed the sleep.”

You just palmed at your face again, sighing, rubbing your eyes, fixing the hoodie you had slept in, and the stack of necklaces on your neck.

Most of them were gifts that Paige had helped the girls pick out over the years. Then, with one last huff, you put your chin in your palm, looking at the blonde. "I appreciate it, everything, I do, but I know you've got your own shit to take care of so don't feel like you need to stay. I get it. You can go"

“Ma,” Paige said your name in a hushed tone. “Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.”

She knew you. And she knew you were always quick to dismiss any kind gestures with claims that you didn’t need them.

Her hand reached out and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You were exhausted last night. The girls were fine, and I could handle dropping them off. Stop being stubborn and quit trying to get rid of me.”

"You're busy.."

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Paige let out a soft laugh, recalling all the times that you had always put others before yourself. No matter the cost.

“I’m not busy,” Paige replied. “And even if I was, I’d still be right here. You need to take a damn break sometimes. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, baby.”

Paige couldn’t help but look at you with concern. She had seen this happen before. You were stubborn and didn’t know when to slow down. You had always been this way. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?” She questioned, still keeping her voice soft.

“...Huh?”

“You heard me.” Paige raised an eyebrow, waiting for You to answer. She was serious, she wanted to know the last time You made time for yourself. “When was the last time you did something just for you? And not for the girls or your job. When was the last time you were selfish?”

You softly shook your head, still trying to shake the sleep while following the conversation.  "I...don't...I bought a coffee last week?"

“You’ve gotta be joking.” Paige rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. Buying a cup of coffee hardly counted as being selfish. And even that probably came with some sort of guilt after spending the money on yourself.

You shrugged a little. "The coffee machine here broke, and I needed a pick-me-up. So after I dropped the girls off, I got one and a donut. Then, after school, I felt bad and took them to get it too."

“Of course you did…” Paige sighed, shaking her head. It was almost like clockwork; You always put everyone else first. You just couldn’t seem to shake that habit of giving everything all the time.

“You, I’m serious.” Paige shifted her body, facing you. She took hold of one of your hands. She needed you to know that she was being serious. “You can’t keep going like this, constantly looking out for everyone but yourself. You need to do something for yourself sometimes. Not because it’s your job, or because the girls need it, or because it’s what's expected of you. I’m not kidding, you’ll work yourself to death if you keep this up.

The version of you that Paige used to know, back in college, would have found something you wanted and bought it without a second thought.

You would have been dressed to impress even if it was just a night at the bar or to a restaurant for dinner.

You were the most selfish fucking person you'd ever meet, and now?

Now, everything makes you feel guilty.

“You’ve changed since college, ya know?” Paige commented, noticing the difference in you. You were still gorgeous, but now you were just exhausted. You used to be so much more self-assured. 

But now? Now you feel bad about doing anything that wasn’t necessary.

“I miss that old you.” She said with a smirk.

You tilted your head slightly, a thoughtful look in your eyes. "That me had two kids."

“Which did a number on you, alright. I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that.” Paige let out a sigh, her hand still holding yours. “The girl I knew in college would never feel guilty over buying a cup of coffee.”

"She was a different girl. A very different girl."

“You’re still the same at your core.” Paige insisted. “You just…don’t take care of yourself anymore. You run yourself ragged for the sake of everyone else. You’ve turned yourself into a housewife and mother completely, leaving nothing for you.” Paige’s thumb traced over your knuckles. She wasn’t wrong.

You sighed, leaning to the side to flop yourself into Paige's lap. Head on her thighs.

Paige smiled softly, shifting her legs to make you more comfortable. She let out a soft sigh, her hands finding their way to your hair again. “You need to take care of yourself.” She said softly, running her fingers through the long, dark locks.

"Mhm"

Paige rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me any of that.” She scolded softly. “You know I’m right. You’ve dedicated your life to your kids and work. You have nothing left for yourself, it’s like you don’t even know what self-care is anymore.”

"What do you want me to do? Huh? You wanna take the day and pamper me like some rich bitch?" You huffed with a raised brow, still in the blonde's lap.

“What if I do?” Paige asked, her hands still playing with your hair. She shrugged with nonchalance, like pampering you was no big deal.

"I'm not letting you spend money on me. Money for the kids is one thing, but for me it's another."

“So you’ll go broke spoiling the girls, but you can’t allow me to spend one little cent on you?” Paige raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. It was like she was talking to a stubborn child.

"You don't do ‘one little cent’. You go overboard every time. I don't need that kind of money spent on me."

“Oh really?” Paige raised an eyebrow again, amused at your protest. She knew damn well that if she even got the chance to get you a gift, she wouldn’t hold back.

She knew your protests were pointless. You knew it, too.

"Yes."

“Are you sure about that?” Paige let out a soft laugh. Her free hand came down gently and took hold of your chin, tilting your head up so that their eyes could meet. 

“Because I could very much shower you with gifts, and it wouldn’t make a dent in that bank account of mine. So you’re wrong.” Paige shrugged, like she was completely unbothered by telling you she could, in fact, spoil the hell out of you.

"I don't need it.”

“But you still deserve it,” Paige said firmly. She was done listening to the protest. “You do everything for those two girls and your career. You don’t have anything just for you. It’s always for everyone else. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to just…let yourself be spoiled for a change?”

"Not really. The budget is for groceries and lunches."

“You’re impossible.” Paige sighed, exasperated. It was like talking to a brick wall. You was so damn stubborn in ways. No matter how many times she got the point across, you just wouldn’t get it.

“You won’t let anyone spend anything on you, yet you’d go to great lengths to spoil your kids. Can’t you see the issue here?” Paige reasoned again.

"I love my kids."

“That’s not the point, Ma!” Paige couldn’t help the rise in her voice. She didn’t understand why you didn’t comprehend what she meant. 

Her hand moved to hold your chin a little tighter, making sure you were hearing her. “You love, live, and breathe for those girls. But you don’t do a goddamn thing for you. You don’t have any sort of me time. You don’t even get a minute to yourself.”

You shifted your head slightly in Paige's lap, looking up at her with the same eyes the blonde fell in love with all those years ago. "..if you could spend the whole day, just pampering me, what would you do?"

That was a question Paige didn’t even have to think about. In the blink of an eye, she knew exactly what she’d do. She’d spend every waking second of the day doting on you.

Her head tilted, looking down at you and answering in a tone that was slightly above a whisper.

“Well..” She began, her fingers resuming the rhythm of playing with your hair. “Spa treatment, nails, hair, the works. And then I’d take you someplace nice to eat. Just the two of us.”

"And if I'd rather just stay in bed all day?"

“Well then, I’ll get room service,” Paige responded, her hand coming up to gently brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. “No kids, no cleaning, no work. You’d get to lie in bed all day, and the only thing you’d have to worry about is me taking care of you.”

"Room service? You mean DoorDash?"

“Room service, DoorDash, whatever floats your boat.” Paige chuckled softly, her fingers still gently running through the locks of dark brown hair. “Whatever the hell you want. I’ll get it for you.”

Your voice dropped to a small and vulnerable whisper. "...what if I just want you?"

That. That question caught Paige completely off guard. Her heart immediately fluttered in her chest, and she felt as if all the breath had been taken out of her lungs.

She tried to remain as calm and collected as she could, but damn. Hearing those words from your mouth…it made her heart want to burst. “Then you’ll have me.” She finally responded, her hand coming to rest on your cheek.

"Anything I want?"

“Anything in the world,” Paige responded without hesitation. She was a little surprised at the confidence in her voice. But it was true. If there was one thing Paige had been sure of forever, it was her love and devotion for you.

When they were back in college, Paige could and would have given you the world. And now, all these years later, it was still the same.

"...I did recently get a new dress, but I have no reason to wear it. A gift from my sister."

“Wear it for me,” Paige replied a little too quickly. Seeing you dolled up in a dress would be a treat.

"Yeah? You gonna take me out, Bueckers?"

“You bet.” She responded again, her confidence in full force. She was going to spoil the hell out of you with or without protest.

She was tired of watching you give yourself to everyone but yourself.

"hm.."

“Don’t hum at me,” Paige said, her tone still firm. She wasn’t going to let you say no to this. “No protesting. You’re going to let me take care of you for once in your life.”

"What about your agents and the fans? When they see us together, in public?"

“Who cares about them?” Paige raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t about them,” She went on to say, her hand still cradling the side of your face. “It’s about doing something fun for yourself. It’s about you. Not them. Not me. You. For once. I’m gonna do something completely for you, and you’re gonna let me do it.”

"Paige.."

“Not a single word.” Paige hushed her again, now putting a finger to your lips to shush you. “You’re going to take a break and let someone take care of you for a little bit. And you’re not going to fight me on it.”

"..what if I just want to stay here and hide with you?"

“That’s even better,” Paige said with a smirk. As selfish as she was, getting to have you to herself for a day was something she wanted to do.

And now it seemed like there was a chance. “If you want to stay in, we’ll stay in and I’ll still pamper you.”

"Without spending thousands?"

“Oh, now hold on.” Paige had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Of course, you weren’t going to let yourself get spoiled without some form of protest.

She leaned down slightly closer, her tone still firm. “It’s gonna be a little expensive, babe.”

"Nah. We've got...food here." You didn't look too sure about that. Money had been tight lately, and you hadn't told Paige. The cabinets were uncomfortably empty, so most times she'd made food for the girls and just drank water or nutrient shakes. 

Don't tell Paige. Don’t. Tell. Paige.

"Yeah, we got stuff. And I'm sure I've got some old face masks lying around, and movies, and blankets. That's all we need."

Paige furrowed her brow, noticing the subtle hesitation in your words. She could sense something was off. “You sure you have the stuff? Cause I’ll just go out and-” She began, cutting herself off halfway as a horrible realization hit her. The realization of why you were being so difficult.

It hit her like a ton of bricks.

You were being difficult because of money.

Her heart dropped, realizing that you were trying to deny yourself getting the care you needed because you were struggling.

She sighed softly, her eyes moving to look down at you. “You’re not being difficult because you don’t want to be spoiled. You’re not allowing me to spend any money because you don’t have any money, do you?” She questioned softly, her heart twisting in her chest.

"I have money-"

“Not enough, though.” Paige cut in. She could tell by the way that you were avoiding eye contact that you were lying. It was obvious that things were way tighter than you were trying to let on.

“You..” Her tone was still soft, but now it was tinged with an almost pitying tone. ”You haven’t been telling me the truth about how bad it’s been, have you?”

"We're fine. We're handling it. Okay? The girls are happy, they have what they need."

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’ve been telling me the truth.” Her tone was still firm, but still gentle. “The girls? Yes, the girls are probably happy. And they probably have what they need. That’s because you are going above and beyond for them.”

Paige took a deep breath. “But I’m asking you about yourself, baby. I’m asking if things have been bad enough for you to struggle to afford the necessities.”

"I'm fine. We're fine. Everyone is fine."

Paige shook her head, a mixture of both disappointment and sympathy for the woman in her lap. “Stop it. Stop saying that you’re fine. And stop saying that you’re doing just fine, because you’re not.”

She said firmly, her hand gently cupping your face. “That’s not true. And you lying to me about how you’re doing is making a lot of things make sense.”

Fuck.

You put your hands up, rubbing your eyes to hide them. So Paige couldn't read you anymore. "I don't need your pity."

“It’s not pity.” Paige shook her head. She could see how stubborn and defensive you were getting. “You’re not letting me take care of you because you don’t have the money to take care of the girls AND yourself, don’t you?”

Her tone was still gentle, but firm. And she was still trying to get you to uncover your face.

"The girls are fine-"

“Ma, stop. Stop this.” Paige said a bit firmer this time. She could see that you were getting more and more defensive and stubborn. “I’m not asking you about the girls. I’m asking you about you. And from what I’ve seen, you are not fine.”

“You’re not eating the way you should, you’re not sleeping-“ Paige started to list. “And you’re not doing anything for yourself. You’re putting all the focus on the girls, to the point where you won’t even give yourself the bare necessities.”

Paige took a deep breath. “Aren’t you even going to try to deny it? Or are you going to actually be honest?”

Her eyes followed the movement, watching as you sat up and hid your face.

“Don’t shut down on me.” She said softly. Her hand came to gently rest on one of your hands that currently covered her face. “Look at me.”

Your bottom lip quivered. "I dont need help."

That response made Paige’s heart drop.

“Ma..” She said softly, her heart aching in her chest. She gently pulled at your hand, wanting you to uncover your face and look at her.

“Please look at me,” Paige repeated, this time a little bit more desperately. “Let me see those pretty eyes of yours, baby.” She cooed softly.

That just earned a sob, like a full-on, real sob. You broke. Completely shattered.

The sound of your sob shattered Paige’s heart into a million pieces. She let go of your hand and quickly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close.

“Shhhh…” She soothed, a hand rubbing soft circles on your back. 

“Hey… hey hey….” Paige’s tone was still soft and soothing. She was trying to keep her own emotions in check as she held you in her arms and rubbed your back.

“You’re okay…just take a breath..” she murmured into your ear, holding you a little tighter against her chest.

You melted into Paige, just absolutely breaking down.

“I got you..I got you..” Paige continued to murmur softly, cradling you against her chest.

Her chin rested on top of your head, her lips gently pressing into your hairline. She just held you in her lap, letting you have your moment.

"I wanted to do it…god, I wanted to be able to do it so bad..." You had managed to sob out, the sound twisting and ripping through Paige’s heart.

“I know you did, baby…” Paige murmured, her fingers gently combing through your hair. She knew it wasn’t in regard to the pampering anymore. It was so much more than that.

Her arms remained wrapped around you, holding you as tightly as she could. She hated seeing you so worked up like this, but it was clear that you needed to break. You needed to be able to let this out, and she was going to let you.

“Shhh….let it out….” Paige reassured you softly, her hand continuing to run through your hair.

Her fingers ran through your dark locks over and over again. She just kept repeating yourself, trying to soothe you.

“I got you…..you’re okay….I got you…” She held you as tightly as she could, trying to wordlessly remind you that you were safe here in her arms.

You just kept sobbing, harder and harder, till eventually you could barely breathe.

The sound of you sobbing broke Paige’s heart. She felt helpless as she just held you, listening to you sob and watching you fall apart.

“Baby..” She murmured softly, her arms wrapping a little tighter around you and trying to bring you as close as possible.

“Shhh…you’re okay….” Paige repeated again and again, just letting you cry it out. She hated how she wasn’t able to do anything more than just hold you, but if that’s what you needed in the moment, then that is what she was going to do.

You heaved, head shaking the best it could in the hold Paige had you in. Tears coating every inch of your face, pouring down like a waterfall. "I can't..I-I-I can't.."

Hearing those words made Paige’s heart ache.

She cradled you against her, her hand rubbing up and down your back as you continued to sob and break in her arms.

“You can…you are….” She replied softly, her lips gently pressing into your hair again.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you…” Paige continued to repeat softly into your hair, desperate to keep you calm and stop your tears.

She continued running her fingers through your hair, her hand occasionally massaging the back of your neck.

The sobs eventually calmed into whimpers and sniffles, your body heavy and limp against Paige's. Exhausted.

You had calmed down considerably, your sobs and tears reduced to nothing but quiet sniffles. Paige gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head so Paige could see your face.

“There you are….there’s that gorgeous face of yours…” Paige murmured, hearing and feeling your sobbing, calm just a bit. She kept you close, your body still tightly clutched against hers. “That’s my girl…”

Your bottom lip still wobbled. Lips pulled into a small frown.

“Don’t go and ruin that pretty face. Don’t cry too much…can’t let you get all puffy on me…” Paige said with a soft smile, her thumb gently wiping away any remnants of tears from under your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, you know..” Paige said softly, her hand resting against your cheek. Her thumb gently traced one of your tear-stained cheeks.

That made your eyes well up again. Even the simple words hit somewhere deep in your chest, causing an ache she’d been so hard to ignore to grow more intense.

“Oh….no….” Paige instantly noticed your eyes welling up, tears threatening to fall again.

“Hey..hey….don’t do that again.” She said quickly, her thumb running over your cheek, trying to wipe away tears that hadn’t even fallen yet.

"I'm sorry.."

“None of that..” Paige said, gently hushing you. She kept her hand against your cheek, her touch gentle and caring. “No apologising…there’s no reason to be sorry…”

"I ruined everything."

“No way,” Paige said firmly, yet still in a soft tone. She was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You had a moment, and it’s okay. Look at me…” Paige gently lifted your chin so that your eyes would meet hers.

“You didn’t ruin anything, alright? It’s okay that you broke a little…”

"A little?" You scoffed, rubbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Alright. A lot.” Paige said, a small chuckle leaving her.

“But it’s okay. You’re allowed to cry. You’re human, and you’ve been putting yourself under so much damn stress it’s a miracle you didn’t break down months ago. You have every right to cry, to break down, to be upset. But don’t you dare ever say you ruined anything.” Paige said firmly, her hand still holding your chin so that your gaze wouldn’t stray from hers.

"..I'm sorry."

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Paige said, still keeping your chin in her hand. Her tone was stern, wanting to know why you were still apologizing for breaking down.

You looked up slightly, just enough to finally meet the blonde's gaze. "I should have told you...accepted the money for the girls...I...they don't deserve to suffer"

“Mama…Come on,” Paige sighed and shook her head, finally letting go of your chin. “The girls are not suffering. They’re happy. You’re making damn sure of it. You’ve been doing everything you possibly can to make sure those girls don’t know you’re struggling, to make sure they’re taken care of.”

Paige’s hand fell away from your chin to grip your hip tightly. “You are not a failure. You didn’t ruin anything. You’re not allowing your daughters to suffer or whatever other bullshit you’re going to say next.”

"I-"

“No.” Paige cut you off. “No more of this. You’re gonna listen to me.”

She took in a deep breath and continued. “You are not doing anything wrong. You are a great mother. You have been busting your ass to make sure those girls have everything they could ever want. You’ve exhausted yourself. You’re running yourself thin.”

“You’ve run yourself so thin to the point that you’re literally letting yourself starve. You’re not feeding yourself. You’re not eating like you’re supposed to. You’re not sleeping. Your body and your mind are paying for it in the most awful way, and you just don’t see it. But I do. And now that I’m here, I’m not letting you run yourself like this anymore.”

"You have more important things than this..." Did she really? Her whole world was lying right in front of her, broken and messy.

That made Paige’s heart drop. She knew what you were doing. You were trying to push her away. Make her leave, even if it meant lying to herself.

She clenched her jaw, her hand tightening on your hip. “There is nothing more important to me than you.”

"Paige.."

“No, don’t you ‘Paige’ me. You’re going to listen to me.” Paige said, her tone slightly firmer than before. “You are literally on the brink of breaking. You are struggling. And your first instinct is to push me away? Why in the hell would I be anywhere else but here with you right now?”

"I'm not-"

“Yes, you are.” Paige gently shook her head, refusing to let you pull yourself into a self-pitiful spiral. “I don’t want you to tell me you’re not. I don’t even want to hear you think about it. You’re not going to try to pretend you’re not important because you’re the most goddamn important thing to me at this point.”

"I..I just.. I can't be what you want, what you need." And you truly believed that. Even after all these years, the things Paige’s agent had said to you echoed in your ears. That all you were and would ever be was a story. A star that burned up and was left alone in the dark. A burnt-out mom with two kids, who could barely pay the bills.

“Bullshit,” Paige said, her tone firm but soft. “You’re exactly what I need. You’ve always been exactly what I’ve wanted. You’re the one I’ve always wanted. You keep trying to push me away. You think I’m not going to fight to make sure you don’t? You’re stuck with me. For better or for worse.”

Paige didn’t want to let you look down and hide your tears away from her again. “You’re what I need. What I always needed. You’re everything to me, baby. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

"Then why did you sign the papers?"

That made her heart ache. She still regretted signing the papers and leaving her. So much.

“Because I was stupid,” Paige said softly. “And young and scared and an idiot. I should have never signed those damn papers. I should never have left.”

Paige was so close to you now. Her hand still cupping your chin delicately, eyes glued on yours. Everything in her body was screaming to kiss you and hold you and never let go.

But she held back, wanting to make sure you were truly okay first. She needed to get you to break down, get you to get it all out. And then she'd kiss you. She'd do everything she needed to give you the attention and affection you were craving.

You didn’t say anything, just shuffled to put your head on Paige's chest. Tucked under her chin.

Without hesitation, Paige took the opportunity to wrap her arms tightly around you. One hand returned to gently playing with your hair, fingers lightly tracing over your spine.

It was almost as if she knew exactly what you needed in that moment to soothe you, to calm you.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, just the sound of your sniffles and soft sniffles. Paige let you bury your head in her chest, not caring that you were crying on her shirt. The only thing that mattered to her was having you in her arms, holding you as tightly as she could, trying her hardest to silently show you how loved you.

“Don’t you ever doubt how damn important you are to me, alright?” Her voice was just as soft as her hand gently rubbing your back.

"It's been bad," You finally whispered. "The money.."

“I figured,” Paige responded, her hand moving from your hair to run along your back, rubbing slow soothing circles.

“How bad?” She asked softly, keeping you against her chest, holding you close and wanting to know just how bad things had gotten.

"..you don't want to know."

“Try me,” Paige responded instantly, one of her eyebrows raising. She had a pretty good feeling that she had a good idea how bad it had gotten. But she wanted to hear it from your mouth.

"The money you send goes to the girls, clothes, shoes, whatever's left over goes into a fund. The money from work goes to bills and food. They've been cutting hours."

Her eyes closed as she listened to everything you said. She could tell by the sound of your voice that this was hard for you to explain. That you felt ashamed.

Paige’s heart ached. How long had you been struggling like this and trying to do it all on your own?

That wasn’t gonna happen anymore.

She pulled you as close to her chest as she could and rested her chin on top of your head.

“God, baby…” Paige whispered, her heart squeezing in her chest as she held you tightly. It was hard to hear how much you were struggling.  How you let everything pile up on yourself without trying to get help in the slightest.

She took a deep breath, holding you a little tighter before asking, “How long have you been drowning?”

"...too long"

“Longer than you should’ve been,” Paige responded immediately. She was angry. Not at you, but at the situation. “You’ve been drowning for God knows how long, and you haven’t told me one damn thing about it.”

"You work hard for your money. Just because I'm some ex doesn't mean I deserve it."

“Don’t you dare say that.” Paige’s grip on you tightened. The way you said it pissed her off. “You’re not some ex. You’re not just someone I used to be with. You’re not a burden or a freeloader. You matter to me, so you deserve every penny I have.”

"Paige, please-"

“No,” Paige said firmly, her arms not loosening on you. “Absolutely not. You’re not gonna talk down about yourself. You were never just my ex. You’re so much more than that.”

"I'm not taking your money."

“Too bad,” Paige said firmly, pulling away a little bit to look down at you. One of her hands went to gently lift your chin, wanting you to look her in the eye. “You’re not going to fight me on this. You’re struggling and you’re getting my goddamn help whether you like it or not.”

"You could do good with that money-" You tried to protest. Paige shut that down.

“You’re more important,” Paige said firmly, her hand gently tracing your jawline. “I don’t care about that money. I care about you. I will throw away every single penny I have to take care of you if I have to.”

That made you shake your head again. "Paige-"

“No.” Paige quickly cut you off, still holding your chin up to make you look her in the eyes. “Don’t even argue. It’s happening. I’m gonna spoil you, and I won’t let you talk yourself out of it.”

"...One week. You get one week. Pay the bills, buy groceries, clothes for the girls, whatever, but that's it."

“Two weeks,” Paige responded immediately, her hand still on your chin. She knew you were being stubborn and trying not to let yourself be treated. You were so hardheaded, it was infuriating at times.

You shook your head, still rubbing at your eyes. "One."

“Two,” Paige said again. “And don’t argue with me on this.”

“One.”

"Two."

"One."

“Two, Ma.”

"Seven days. One week."

“Not a chance. Two.”

"One, or nothing. Take it or leave it."

If possible, Paige’s grip on you got even tighter as her eyes narrowed. She was a stubborn person by nature. But when it came to you, she was even more stubborn.

“You don’t get to say no.” Her hand moved from your chin to the side of your face and gently took your chin in her fingers. “Two weeks is what I’m giving you. And I’m gonna spoil you the entire time.”

"No-" you really were trying here.

“Don’t even finish that.” Paige cut you off again, her jaw clenching. She was getting frustrated, watching you try to deny yourself things. “Two weeks. Two. And you’re not gonna spend a dime. I’m going to spoil you as much as I possibly can, and you’re gonna let me, no arguing. That’s the only deal I’m offering.”

You shook your head, pushing Paige away. "I don't accept."

“Too bad. It’s happening.” Paige cut you off before you could finish your sentence, shaking her head. “No more arguing. No more denying yourself. I’m taking care of you, I’m spoiling you for two weeks, and you’re going to enjoy it. No more fighting it. Alright?”

"And what about your games? And practice? And your place?" You raised a brow, cocking your head. Your voice took on the same tone Paige had heard before, the one you used just moments before she’d deck someone in the fucking face.

Paige shook her head and scoffed. “I don’t care about that stuff. That’s not what my priorities are right now. You are. And the girls are. I’m going to use every chance I get to take care of you. So suck it up. You don’t get to tell me no.”

[colonelkaboom]

Their Biggest Insecurities

✎ AN: What makes them the most insecure in your relationship? If you view them differently than I have described them here, I'd love to hear your opinion! I have no one to discuss this game with, so I'm truthfully very open to hearing other points of view. Word count: 1.1 k

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❥ Xavier - Not being enough for you: Being with you was worth spending all his stamina on, there was no doubt in Xavier’s mind about that. However once his battery ran out, there was nothing he could do but go home and sleep. You’d happily join him for a nap. The issue was that he didn’t need a nap, he needed a minimum of 10 hours of heavy sleep to reach a semi comfortable 50% before he gladly let you drain him again. He loved your energetic passion and relished in simply watching you have fun as he sat back and rested. But, of course you wanted him to join you and share new experiences. 

He wondered when you’d get sick of quiet nights on the couch playing video games and watching movies. Surely you’d grow too restless for him soon. He’d understand, of course, he’d let you go if he had to. The thought made his chest ache. Where would you go? Who would you go to when he no longer excited you? There was one question he already knew the answer to; what would happen to him, when you were no longer his? The answer is simple, yet terribly complicated and difficult at the same time. The day you decide he can’t keep up with you anymore, is the day he’ll allow his battery to permanently burn out…

❥ Zayne - Being too cold for you: Shielding his emotions and remaining professional was a quality of Zayne’s that came in very handy when working as a Doctor. Remaining cool, calm and collected in any situation was part of what made him so good at his job. The issue arose when you became such a big part of his personal life. He had his ways of showing his devotion, but moving beyond small gestures no one but you would deem affectionate seemed to be beyond his reach. He was scared.

He couldn’t help but fear that perhaps you’d want more. That you’d want someone who would dare hold your hand in the presence of others. Someone brave enough to kiss you with all the passion he felt, every single time your lips touched his. Someone who was able to shout from the rooftops, for the whole world to hear, that he loved you. Someone who wore his emotions proudly, rather than keeping them hidden underneath small smirks and gently furrowed brows. Your continuous reassurance and reminders that you could read him like an open book, brought him little comfort. In fact, it simply made him more uncertain, assuming this meant his emotions were slipping through the cracks at a rate he could not keep up with...

❥ Rafayel - Being too much for you: Rafayel knew who he was, confident, talented, handsome, all laced with a spellbinding dramatic flare that only he was capable of wielding. But he was also emotional, needy and at times unreliable. All these qualities, both good and bad, could only amount to one thing; Too much. He swore he could sense it radiating from you at times, you were annoyed at him. He took it one sassy comment too far this time. It was supposed to be funny, but perhaps you were not in the mood for his humor today. Your busy work life drained you, leaving no patience for his antics. You couldn’t handle him. 

He’d attempted to keep his distance. Adopt a more quiet persona. But he needed your presence like he needed the ocean, he simply could not breathe without you. There I go again, being too much, too needy… He’d attempted to communicate his insecurities to you, and you did your best to ease his worry. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was simply too much for you. You’d realize sooner or later and leave him stranded and alone once more… 

❥ Sylus - Being feared by you: When he finally found you and you couldn’t resonate with him, he was terrified. The thought of you being afraid and disgusted by him made his usually hard exterior slowly crumble. No one could see it, not even you, but he was aching. In order to keep the N109 Zone his domain, being feared was a necessity. But you had no reason to fear him, why were you so scared? He’d never hurt you, surely you knew that? 

As you slowly warmed up to him, he dared melt furter into you. Yet, every time he saw you, he’d still have that lingering ache threatening his hard facade. Was there any trace of his business visible on him? Any blood from his enemies? Soot and ash from a bad deal going up in flames? Any trace of the dangerous activities he partook in, all in the name of Onychinus? How much of his villainous lifestyle would it take for you to finally back away? How much more could you handle before he’d find you quivering in a corner staring at him with tears in your eyes? He hoped he would never learn the answer to all these questions burning a hole in his heart. He’d rather not know... 

❥ Caleb - Being rejected by you: He’d spent his whole life catering to your every need, always doing his very best to make sure you had everything you wanted. He loved watching you smile, be happy, do well in school and have the privilege of witnessing you growing into the beautiful woman you are today. But most of all he loved when he was able to be part of or completely responsible for your happiness. 

That is why the distance that occasionally grew between you was so hard for him to handle. He lived for your satisfaction, and when you claimed that you didn’t need him or wanted to do something without his help, a small part of his heart broke. You would be right there to glue it back on, but as more and more pieces would break you simply couldn’t keep up with the maintenance he silently required. He asked too much of you, without asking anything of you at all, he knew that. How honest could he be without risking you finally shutting him down and backing away from him? You knew he was devoted to you, but his everlasting silence on just how devoted he actually was remained a painfully obvious secret. 

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⋆ Read more ⋆ Masterlist ⋆

- Colonel Kaboom

[vunblr]

Tangled (#11)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 8.8k

Note: And we have reached the end. A big thank you to the readers who accompanied me on this journey. As I always say, this may be the story with fewer 'notes' on my masterlist, but the quality of the interaction has been overwhelming -in the best way- asking, drawing, commenting, reblogging, I am so grateful I got to experience that, truly, thank you❤️

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Making the alcove habitable wasn’t so bad.

Bucky had shifted to his human form to help her carry the essentials: an air mattress, blankets, a few rechargeable lights for the pitch-black space, snacks, and water. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it would do.

Shifting during mating season, however, had taken a toll. His body, busy channeling energy toward more primal needs, had little left to spare. By the end of the day, he was sluggish, aching, and quietly grumpy, made worse, she suspected, because she’d witnessed a side of him he didn’t particularly like showing.

“You okay?” she asked, stepping close with a gentle smile. “You seem a little… indisposed.”

He didn’t respond right away, just blinked slowly, then reached out with his limbs to draw her in until her body was pressed against his chest.

“Changing forms during mating season is not... wise,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“Because the body craves only one thing, and its energy is focused on that. We don’t do other things. We barely eat. We just-”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

“Oh,” she murmured, brushing a hand along his cheek. “You shouldn’t have shifted, then. I could’ve brought everything down myself, and you could’ve just set it all up.”

That struck a nerve. He stiffened, frowning. “I won’t let my mate exert herself physically when I am perfectly capable-”

She cut him off with a quick kiss. “I know you’re capable, but I could’ve made three trips. You wouldn’t be feeling like this now.”

After a while, she asked softly, “You said your kind don’t do other things during mating season. Just mating.”

He made a small, tired noise in response.

“Do you feel frustrated because we- I mean, it’s just once or twice a day, but then I…” she trailed off, cheeks warm, voice muffled as she buried her face into the curve of his neck. She didn’t need to end the sentence. Usually, she ended up sore, and he refused to take her again, even if it killed him.

“No.”

The answer came quickly, firmly, but she didn’t miss the way his arms clenched around her.

“But it’s not the same,” she mumbled. “And clearly, you want more.”

He stared up at the rocky ceiling, ticking his jaw as he searched for the right words. “I spent decades doing this alone. So you… being here with me is enough.”

“Better than nothing, huh?” she teased, nudging him gently.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice came out stiff, almost panicked, words tumbling over each other. Damn his poor way with human expressions. He could hunt, fight, track movement through currents, but explaining feelings without tangling them up? Nearly impossible.

She smiled against his skin. “I know what you meant.”

“Besides,” he added after a pause, “even if your body can’t have me inside all the time, you still…” He trailed off, clearly wrestling with the wording. His cheeks tinted pink. “Service me.”

She snorted softly, biting her bottom lip to hide her grin. “That sounds so old-fashioned, and kind of dirty.”

He looked genuinely confused. “What would you call it then? You do things with your hands, your mouth… only for my pleasure.”

She reached up to brush a damp lock of hair from his brow. “I don’t know,” she murmured, still smiling. “Let’s just say I take care of you.”

He hummed at that. Maybe he didn’t fully grasp the nuance of the phrasing, but he understood her tone, her softness. She was choosing to stay. Choosing him, even when he couldn’t give her the most comfortable version of himself.

After a silent moment, she stopped brushing her fingers through the damp ends of his hair.

“Do you want some fruit?” she asked softly, reaching toward the bag by the mattress.

Didn’t get an answer.

When she leaned back to look at him, she found his eyes closed, lips parted slightly, with the kind of peace he rarely allowed himself. He’d fallen asleep mid-conversation, curled around her, completely spent.

Smiling to herself, she shifted back down into the cradle of his limbs, letting the slow pulse of the tide outside lull her into sleep. Wrapped in his embrace, she closed her eyes too, deciding that maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

----

Days came and went, and the pull of mating season finally began to loosen its hold on him. The fevered need that once gripped his body -the aching hunger to touch, to scent, to stay wound around her- eased gradually, like the tide drawing back from the shore. He still wanted her, always would, but the urgency had dulled into something manageable.

With that came a mutual decision: she would return to her home to sleep, to the comfort of her proper bed and familiar things. He didn’t argue, not much anyway, especially after she reminded him he was always welcome there.

She started spending her mornings in town again. A conversation with the old woman who ran the craft shop turned out to be a surprising opportunity, the chance to give beginner crochet lessons twice a week. Just a couple of hours, enough to earn a little extra and maybe help the shop sell more materials.

She hadn’t been sure at first. Teaching felt… official. But she liked the idea of sharing something useful, something she loved. And really, she had nothing to lose.

She printed a few modest posters and pinned them around town, at the bakery, the library, and the community board near the ferry docks. Just a soft-colored flyer with her name, the schedule, and the promise of beginner-friendly crochet. She didn’t expect much.

But the very next day, three people signed up.

Emma, the elderly owner of the bookshop, had always meant to learn. When she found out her granddaughter Harriet wanted to attend, motivated by a deep desire to make amigurumis, she decided it was finally time. And then there was Chris, one of the clerks at the general store, who admitted in a shy, mumbled tone that he was hoping crocheting might help with his nerves. Dealing with people every day, even in a small town, was wearing on him. He needed something quiet to focus on.

It was an odd little trio, but a good one.

----

She dipped her toes into the foamy edge of the tide, wrapped her arms loosely around her knees. Bucky stayed just within reach, half-submerged in the water, with his elbows propped on a rock as he watched her.

“I got three students already,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that wild? I just put up the flyers yesterday.”

His ears perked faintly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Emma from the bookstore, her granddaughter Harriet, and Chris. You know, from the general store.”

His expression didn’t shift much, except for the slight furrow between his brows and the narrowing in his eyes. “Chris… isn’t it a male name?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning. “Yes.”

He pushed up a little straighter. “But… that’s a secret craft.”

“A secret craft?”

“Only females do it. It’s private.”

She chuckled, moving beside him and reaching over to tuck a stray lock of damp hair behind his ear. “Maybe in the past it was a woman's thing. But not anymore. Plenty of men crochet now.”

His frown deepened. “Why is he doing it?”

“Anxiety,” she said, smiling. “He says it helps with that. I think it’s great.”

The point of his limbs curled and swayed, a sign she was beginning to recognize as disapproval. “He must want something else.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, brushing sand off her calves. “Like what?”

“You.”

She turned toward him, surprised at his bluntness, but the stern, almost sulky set of his mouth made it hard not to laugh. “You think he signed up just to get close to me?”

Bucky didn’t answer, but the look he gave her said exactly that.

She laughed then, swatting gently at his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He didn’t laugh. He just blinked at her, completely serious. “Males don’t do manual, trifling things like that without purpose.”

That was not the best choice of words, as he’ll discover.

“Well, that trifling thing had put a roof over my head and fed me for years, and luckily for me, there are those who find it valuable.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The water stirred faintly around him.

She straightened her back, brushing the last of the sand from her skirt, not looking at him this time. “You might not get it, but that doesn’t make it worthless.”

He watched her walk a few paces down the shore. “I didn’t mean-” he tried.

“Maybe next time, think a little before calling my work trifling.” And with that, she turned and started toward the path.

In a flash of black and blue, two of his tendrils snapped forward, one curling gently around her wrist, the other at her waist. Not harshly. Just holding. Just asking her to stay.

“Wait,” he said.

She didn’t fight him, but didn’t speak either. Her gaze stayed ahead.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” he stated in a low voice. His eyes flicked to the side, like the words were hiding somewhere in the tide. “What I meant was… it’s work for women-”

She turned back sharply, narrowing her gaze. “Oh, so it’s trifling because only women do it?”

“No!” he sighed, frustrated but not at her. “I meant… it’s not a physical trait. Not something a provider would normally do.”

He looked genuinely troubled, his brows drawn and lips parted like he was still sorting through the right phrasing.

She softened slightly, folding her arms. “Bucky… we’re not in the stone age anymore. There aren’t roles like that- not here. Maybe in some outdated societies, sure, but that’s not how things work.”

He opened his mouth again, as his stubborn instinct was brewing, but she held up a hand.

“I’ll give you this: yes, crocheting and knitting are still mostly seen as women’s hobbies. But there are men doing it. And good ones, too.”

“You’re proving me right, then,” he said.

She blinked. “How so?”

“That few males perform such activities. So it’s likely that this Chris wants to be close to you. Some kind of subterfuge-”

“Bucky,” she cut in, already exasperated. “I promise you, not every man who talks to me wants to get into my panties. I’m not exactly Sabrina Carpenter.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he muttered. “But I know you’re not this... whoever.”

“That’s not the point,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “The point is, we’ve talked about this before. You know how things work here, men and women can be friends. They can work together, share hobbies, without any ulterior motives. And that is what happens most of the time.”

She took a step closer, calmer. “I’m going to teach this guy. If you’re that insecure, you’re welcome to come sit in on the classes.”

That seemed to give him pause. The thought of keeping an eye on things clearly appeased something territorial in him.

She lifted a finger before he could get too pleased. “Which is not a free ticket to intimidate him. Or harass him. Or loom in a corner like a judgmental gargoyle.”

“What is a gargoyle?”

----

None of the students had any experience with crochet, so they were starting from square one: how to hold the hook, how to tension the yarn, how to make a slip knot that didn’t unravel immediately.

Emma and Harriet picked things up quickly. The older woman had a natural talent, it seemed, and picked up the instructions quickly, and Harriet seemed determined to master the basic chain stitch with youthful stubbornness. Chris, on the other hand, struggled a little more. His yarn slipped too often, his fingers cramped, and he held the hook like a screwdriver. He needed extra attention, which she was happy to give, crouching beside his chair now and then to guide his hands.

They were about half an hour in when the front door creaked open.

Bucky stepped inside. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing black jeans and a blue shirt that stretched a little over his chest. His hair was still wet, combed back pretty neatly, for being styled using his hands.

He stood silently for a moment, sweeping his blue eyes over the scene at the dining table.

She caught his gaze and gave a small nod, subtly signaling him to say something.

“Hello,” he said flatly.

Then, without another word, he made his way to the couch and sat down, resting his hands on his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he’d declared his presence.

Three pairs of curious eyes followed his movements. Harriet leaned toward Emma and whispered something behind her hand. The older woman gave her a gentle nudge and a sharp look. Chris squinted subtly, then tilted his head.

“Oh,” he said, as if just connecting the dots. “This is your friend from the city. It’s been a while since we saw him around town.”

Bucky scowled without blinking. “I’m her mat-”

“Boyfriend,” she cut in smoothly, not even glancing at Bucky as she reached to correct Chris’s chain tension again.

The three reactions came in their own little time: Emma gave a satisfied nod, like she’d seen this coming all along. Harriet made a face of teenage disappointment, barely masking it with a sip of juice. And Chris… well, his was harder to read. For her, anyway.

Bucky, however, watched him closely. The second the word left her mouth, he saw the exact thought crossing the man’s mind, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Nice to meet you,” they all said, nearly in unison.

“Oh,” Chris added, still half-focused on his lopsided chain. “Wouldn’t have guessed. You’re one of those couples with zero PDA, then?”

“What is that?” Bucky asked before she could intervene.

Chris grinned a little, maybe not expecting him to ask. “You know. PDA, public displays of affection. When a couple acts like they’re together. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing in public. That kinda stuff.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “That’s expected?”

“Not expected,” she said quickly, giving Chris a short look. “Just... common.”

He seemed to mull it over, nodding slowly with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for treaties or battle plans.

“I see.”

And then, just to top it all off, he reached over from the couch, hooked a finger in the edge of her shirt, and gave a gentle tug.

When she looked over, he was watching her, not quite sulking, but clearly filing this PDA business into the things to think about later category.

She reached over and grabbed Bucky’s hand, curling her fingers around his reassuringly.

“Well, if you must know,” she said, “we haven’t been a couple until recently. We were just friends during the other times he came into town over the winter. That is why we didn’t erm- seem lovey dovey.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but the tightness in his shoulders eased a little.

“Anyway,” she went on, lifting her voice just slightly to return everyone’s focus, “now that you’ve all met the mysterious newcomer, let’s get back to it, we’ve got twenty minutes left.”

“Oh, Hermann and I started as friends too,” Emma offered, smiling softly. “Been married fifty now.”

“Wow, Emma,” Chris laughed. “Don’t scare the guy. They just started going out.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to him sharply, but he didn’t say a word.

The minutes passed without major disruptions. Harriet caught on quickly, needing only a few corrections. Emma took her time, her hands were slow, but she didn’t need help. Chris… still struggled. He kept missing stitches, his tension was inconsistent, and more than once, he asked her to come over and count with him, tilting his head and giving a sheepish little smile.

Bucky didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss anything.

From his place on the couch, he might as well have been carved from stone, silent, unmoving, sharp-eyed.

And when Chris caught him watching, he had the gall to smile. A little smug thing. Not overt, not enough to make a scene, but Bucky saw it. Knew exactly what it was.

She didn’t seem to notice.

But he did.

And the only thing that kept him from dragging him out of the house, and made sure he never breathed near her again, was the promise he’d made: to behave. To prove he could live in her world without wrecking it.

Still, she could feel his stare, like storm clouds building behind her.

So when Chris finally seemed to grasp the rhythm of the stitch and stopped calling her over every few minutes, she took the chance to wander slowly toward the couch, pretending to examine a basket of spare yarn nearby. Her fingers brushed Bucky’s shoulder in passing, just a brief squeeze.

He looked up at her.

There was thunder in his eyes. And something else, something almost young, uncertain, raw. She bent down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace.

Bucky exhaled against her neck, hiding his face in its curve. He inhaled slowly and deep, greedily, like he needed her scent to calm himself.

When he opened his eyes again, Chris was watching.

Subtle. Curious.

Until Bucky looked back.

Something in the way he saw him -ancient and cold- made the hairs on Chris’s neck stand up. It didn’t make sense. The guy was sitting politely, with his arms around his girlfriend. But the weight of that look felt like being alone on a dark street and realizing you were being followed.

Hunted.

He blinked and looked away, back to his project. It was probably just his imagination.

Probably.

----

Chris didn’t ask for help again. Not once.

Harriet, on the other hand, lit up near the end, asking if she could try making a little Pokémon. “Something easy,” she said, “like Jigglypuff maybe?” She promised to bring some colorful yarn next time.

When the hour wrapped, everyone gathered their belongings. Emma kissed her cheek goodbye and Harriet gave a little wave. Chris on the other hand didn’t leave right away.

He lingered in the yard, standing awkwardly near the front gate, holding something in his hand.

“Um,” he started, when she stepped out to check. “I actually signed up for this class as sort of a trial.” He extended a folded bill, just the amount for the hour they’d spent. “Uh… I reckon it’s not for me. And when I take over the afternoon shifts at the store, I won’t be able to come anyway. So…”

He trailed off, like he was waiting for her to say something, maybe expecting her to ask him to stay.

She didn’t.

Behind her, the door creaked faintly as Bucky leaned against it, watching without blinking.

Chris noticed.

He hesitated a beat longer, then gave her a faint smile. “Thanks, though. You’re a good teacher.”

Then he nodded once and turned, walking down the path without looking back.

----

The second she clicked the door shut, Bucky's body crowded her against it, suddenly and overwhelmingly. He rested his forearms flat to the wood, bracketing her head and pressing his chest flush to her back.

She barely had time to exhale before he clicked his teeth near her neck, a sharp little sound, half warning, half claim.

“I told you,” he said, low and gravelly.

“Bucky-”

“I told you.” His voice didn’t rise, but she could feel the restraint vibrating against her. “But I behaved.”

“Yeah, you did.” She tilted her head slightly, trying to look at him. “Thank you.”

“You don’t know…” His lips brushed the curve of her neck. Not a kiss, something rougher, hungrier. “…how hard it was not to-”

He bit back the rest with effort. Tear him apart. That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“-hurt him. For defying me. For pretending to steal my mate.”

Her breath hitched as he dragged his nose on the shape of her throat.

"Well," she managed to breathe, "I'm not a thing to steal. I have a mind of my own. And I wouldn't-"

He growled, low and rough, deep in his chest. “Don’t twist my words, mate,” he murmured. “I’m talking about his intentions. There’s a reason he fled, and you know it. He came with a purpose and was informed you were taken.”

She shifted slowly until she could turn around and face him. His arms still caged her, but she maintained his gaze with something firm in hers.

“And do you think I’d just indulge him if he tried anything?”

“No,” he said, voice suddenly lower, darker. “But he wouldn’t even be able to try.”

His expression was lethal with certainty. Not rage, but possession. The kind forged from instinct, not ego. And yet, behind that hard glint, there was a flicker of something else.

“Is that why you came today?” she asked quietly. “To make sure he saw you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “He needed to understand. They needed to understand.”

She studied his face for a long, quiet second. There was no bluff in his attitude, just the rigid, primal edge of someone who’d grown up in a world where claiming something meant defending it with tooth and claws. Where lines were drawn in sand and blood, not conversation.

Her hand lifted slowly to his chest, resting just over his heart. “I know,” she said gently. “I know you come from something… older than all this. Something wilder. I don’t expect you to see the world like I do.”

His eyes searched hers, still stormy but no longer threatening.

“I know what it means to you. To protect. To claim. I’m not mocking that.” Her thumb brushed his shirt soothingly. “But in my world, it’s enough that I choose you. That I stand beside you, not behind.”

His brows twitched faintly. She tiptoed and pressed her forehead to his.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, warm and shaky, and nudged his face along hers, nuzzling slowly like a creature trying to soothe himself.

“Still hated how he looked at you,” he mumbled, half-pouting, half-exhausted.

“I know,” she smiled. “But you were good. You kept your promise.”

She reached up and cupped his jaw, brushing the edge of his cheek.

“I understand,” she said softly, “I know your instincts are different. I know this is all... learned behavior for you.”

His eyes flicked over her face, searching, hungry, wild, restrained by the thinnest thread of discipline. His hands pressed at her waist, and for a moment, he didn’t speak, just breathed against her cheek.

“I hate not feeling you,” he muttered. “Not the way I should.”

“You’re here,” she murmured, dragging her fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body beneath it. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he snapped, not cruel but desperate. “I need more of you.”

And before she could answer, he pressed her back harder against the door, finding the line of her throat with his mouth, trailing it with sharp kisses that teetered too close to biting. His hips pinned her in place, and his breath came fast, as his hands slid up to fist her hair.

“I don’t want to pretend I’m like them,” he growled into her skin. “I’m not. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t want you to pretend,” she stated. “I want you. However you come.”

His grip became tighter, and he kissed her like it hurt, like the human shape could barely contain the hunger that lived beneath it. But as her hands slid under his shirt, as her body arched into him, as she pulled him into her bedroom for the first time -not as a creature of sea and storm, but as a man- he began to discover something else:

She didn’t just feel different under human hands. She felt new.

And new could be dangerously good.

He didn’t wait for the bed.

His hands were already under her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing, softly tugging her back against the hallway wall. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, locking her legs around his waist without a second thought.

“Still strong,” she whispered, awed.

“Not even close to how strong,” he growled, mouthing at her collarbone, dragging his lips over the line of her neck, then lower. “But here, I don’t have to hold back the same way. I don’t have to think every time I touch you.”

His palms gripped her hips, tightly, almost bruising, like he was testing what he could take. What she could take. She moaned, shifting in his hold, and he felt it in his bones. Her need, her surrender.

“I could throw you over my shoulder,” he muttered against her chest, his breath hot through the fabric, “spread you open on that bed and not worry about your ribs snapping, or your hips dislocating.”

His words made her ache. She arched into him, dragging her hands through the messy ends of his hair.

“So do it.”

That earned her a sharp sound, deep in his throat. His fingers fumbled at her clothes, impatiently, not bothering with finesse. He wanted skin. Now.

She barely registered crossing the threshold of the bedroom before her back hit the mattress, and his weight followed, pressing her into the bed. Her clothes were half-off, half-wrung around her limbs, and he didn’t care. He peeled the rest away with single-minded focus.

His hands roamed through her body like he was learning her all over again. He gripped where he wanted, pushed and pulled where he pleased, not restrained like in the cave, no bracing or shifting weight around sensitive places. Just him. Human and hungry.

“I don’t have to measure how deep I go,” he rasped, nosing the edge of her shirt as his fingers tugged it up and over her chest. “Don’t have to think about your skin splitting when I grip you. Can go as far as I need to.”

“You’re still holding back,” she said, as his mouth trailed lower.

His gaze shot up to meet hers, with something feral simmering behind it.

“Not for long.”

He peeled her shirt the rest of the way off, dragging it over her head in one swift pull, then paused, and just stared.

His eyes dropped to her chest, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

It hit him harder than expected, that swell of hunger in his gut. Maybe it was the way she always kept her breasts covered here, wrapped in soft fabrics and loose sweaters. Maybe it was the contrast, the novelty of unveiling something she guarded in daylight.

His kind didn’t think twice about nudity. Breasts were just another part of the body. But hers…

Hers were warm and heated from his touch, and he couldn’t stop staring at the way they lifted with each breath. Full and soft and real beneath his hands. Something she showed only to him.

He sank lower, bracing one hand on her waist while the other cupped the weight of her breast, slowly dragging the thumb across the peak until it stiffened. He bent then, wrapping his hot mouth around her nipple, and groaned as she arched beneath him.

His hand slid to her other breast, kneading it gently, grazing it back and forth with his thumb until both were stiff and aching under his attention. He flicked his tongue, slow and deliberate, drawing another one of those sounds from her, breathy and sweet and just for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gently grazing his teeth before soothing the spot with his tongue.

She shivered when his mouth released her with a soft, wet sound. His breath was hot against her skin, his hands still roaming, still greedy. But she pressed her palm to his chest and pushed just slightly, enough to make him pause, confused.

"Take it off," she said, huskily. “Not fair, I’m the only one naked here.”

Bucky blinked, then growled low in his throat. "You want me naked, mate?" His smirk was all teeth.

She raised an eyebrow and started tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You’re in my house. Strip.”

He let her pull it over his head, lifting his arms to help as the soft cotton slid up his torso and his muscles flexed under her touch. She brushed her hands down his stomach and watched the way his breath caught when her fingertips ghosted past his waistband.

He worked on the button of his jeans, growling when her hand slipped inside before he could push them down. Her palm found him, hot and straining, and she cupped him fully, feeling him twitch against her skin.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and in that moment, he felt it. The flicker of surprise. The subtle widening of her gaze, like she’d just realized this part of him was still big.

His chest puffed just slightly, and pride flickered behind the hunger in his eyes.

“Surprised, little mate?” he rasped, and his voice tightened as she gave a slow stroke. “Even like this, I can still ruin you.”

And God, he wanted to.

“Lie down,” he muttered with intent. She obeyed, trailing her eyes over his body as he shoved the jeans down, revealing himself, broad, thick, and every inch of him tensed and aching.

He crawled between her legs, pushing her thighs open with a hungry sound in the back of his throat. No teasing smile, no patience in his gaze.

“I want to know what it feels like… like this,” he murmured, ghosting his fingers up her inner thighs. “Want to taste you without the sea on my tongue, without other senses.”

She shifted, but he pressed one large hand to her lower belly, firmly but not harshly. “Be still,” he said, voice low and trembling with control. “Let me learn you this way.”

Then he dipped his head and parted her with his tongue.

His mouth was greedy from the first stroke, his wide tongue dragged through her folds with a growl that vibrated deep into her pussy. He gripped her thighs tightly, pulling her closer, still pressing her belly down with his hand when she tried to arch. “Still,” he reminded, voice half-lost against her skin.

He licked slowly at first, savoring the difference, then faster, sloppier. The flat of his tongue worked her clit, again and again, and when he felt her twitch, he groaned and pushed two fingers inside her, slow but firm.

She gasped, and he felt that. No claws, no careful restraint this time. He could curl and stretch and press into her as deep as he wanted.

His jaw flexed as he fucked her with his fingers, tongue never leaving her. Every moan escaping her lips made his own hips buck down into the mattress, chasing friction like he couldn’t help himself. The rough fabric of the afghan grew damp beneath him, smeared with the thick mess he kept leaking, desperate.

When her thighs trembled and she sobbed his name, he pushed his fingers deeper, held her down firmer, and sucked harder around her clit. She came with a cry, clenching tight, and he groaned against her like it hurt him to feel it: his mouth, his fingers, his cock all aching for her.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed there between her legs, licking up every drop, dazed and possessive in the aftermath. He then rose onto his knees, chest heaving, his face still wet with her pleasure. His eyes -dark, glassy, starving- fixed on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Mine,” he rasped.

She barely caught her breath before he pushed her thighs open again and reached for his jeans, shoving them down the rest of the way. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, slick already from how he’d rutted into the afghan. He grunted as he gripped the base, angling it toward her, dragging the head through her folds with a deep, shaking breath.

“You know I understand,” he said low, almost a growl. “I do. I try. But he came here to have you, and you welcomed him in.”

Her hands cupped his face, soft but firmly. “I welcomed him to learn, but I yielded to you.”

That was all it took.

He moved forward, driving into her in one thick, claiming push. She gasped as her body stretched around him, and he dropped his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“So tight,” he gritted. “So wet for me.”

He started to move with deep thrusts that rocked her under him, gripping her hips with his strong hands, pulling her onto him as much as he pushed forward. His restraint frayed with every sound she made, every flutter of her walls around him. He wasn’t rough yet, but the need gauged at his body with every thrust.

“You were made for me,” he whispered. “Me. No one else. Say it.”

Her palm slid up to his cheek, brushing her thumb just under his eye. “No one else’s,” she whispered, her voice thick with pleasure. “Yours.”

A snarl tore from his throat as he pushed forward, wrapping his arms beneath her knees and pressing her thighs up toward her chest. She gasped, but didn’t pull back, and he felt it, that yielding in her body, that aching stretch as he pushed in again.

Deeper now. She was hot and tight and utterly his.

He folded her beneath him, slamming his hips into the cradle of her body, sheating his cock again and again with a ferocity he’d never dared to unleash in his true form. But now, this body could take her without holding back, could give without fear. The wet slap of skin filled the room, raw and primal, and her cries were swallowed by his mouth when he dipped down to kiss her, panting into her lips between thrusts.

She moaned against him, and he answered with a low, hoarse growl.

He shifted his angle, grinding deeply, and a sharp cry escaped her lips. That sound spurred him on, and he rammed in again, rougher, harder, relentless. His grip bruised her thighs as he kept them pinned, opening her wide to every inch of his cock.

The wet slide, the stretch, the heat, it all blurred into sensation. His jaw clenched tight, veins standing out on his neck, as his muscles trembled with the force he poured into her body.

“Say it again,” he panted, voice dark, nearly broken. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Bucky,” she breathed again, wrecked and barely coherent.

That was all it took.

He cursed, snapping his hips forward so brutally that it knocked the air from her lungs. Over and over, he thrust into her, shaking the mattress, shaking her, and all she could do was take it, moaning, trembling, completely at his mercy.

Her body welcomed it, wet and swollen, clenching greedily around him like it knew who he was. What he was.

His mate.

“You were made for me,” he snarled into her throat. “No one else -no one- will ever take you like this.”

He pushed her knees higher, angling deeper, folding her tighther beneath him. She sobbed his name, as her legs trembled in his grip, and her hands scrabbled for purchase across his back, his shoulders, anywhere she could hold on while he took her.

Every muscle in his body was straining, and sweat slicked his skin. He was so close. His hips stuttered for a beat, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with her looking like that, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open, hair fanned out wild on the sheets.

Her walls fluttered around him again, and he groaned, raw and desperate. “You gonna come again for me, mate? Let me feel it?”

She nodded -whimpered- and that was enough.

He slammed in, rougher and faster, grunting with each punishing thrust, grinding his pelvic bone against her swollen clit until she broke with a cry, digging her nails into his back, spasming around him. That was it. That was it.

He hissed and growled against her neck as he came, hips jerking out of rhythm, buried so deep he swore he could feel her heartbeat around him. Hot pulses of pleasure wracked his body, thick and heavy as he emptied himself inside her, claiming her all over again.

For a moment, all he could do was breathe -harsh, ragged- and hold her close, with their bodies still tangled, slick and messy and utterly spent.

She was his. Marked and filled and ruined for anyone else.

And he’d never let her forget it.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, with his chest blanketing her folded body, breathing hotly and unevenly against her skin. Her body was still trembling -tight, spent, and slick beneath him- and he liked it. Liked how full she was. Liked the lazy drip of his seed where they were still connected, sliding warm and slow from where he’d emptied himself into her.

It made something primal in him snarl in satisfaction.

He leaned back just slightly, grasping her hips with his hands to keep her in place, and gazed down at the mess he’d made. Her thighs were marked with faint crescent moons where his fingers had gripped too tightly, and he smoothed over them possessively. Her sex glistened with his spent.

His.

Bucky lowered his mouth and gently sank his teeth into her inner thigh's softness. Not to hurt, just to brand. Just to taste. Her muscles jumped, and her hips gave a little involuntary twitch beneath his weight.

When she squirmed again, shifting like she meant to slide down or straighten out, he just pressed his pelvis more firmly against her, groaning softly as the movement coaxed a lazy twitch from his spent cock still nestled inside her.

No. Not yet. He liked this.

Liked her folded beneath him, open, yielding. Her skin heated and damp, her scent thick in the air, her breathing shallow. She felt so his like this. So utterly owned. He could do it again. Could flip her, press her into the mattress from behind, and take her like he’d seen some of the inland animals rut, gripping her hips and-

“I’m starting to not feel my legs, darling,” she murmured, hoarsely but teasing, her chuckle was a warm flutter against his throat.

It broke the trance.

He let out a huff of laughter, gruff and sheepish, then kissed the bite mark he’d left on her thigh. One last gentle nip for good measure before he finally -finally-eased out of her, careful even if he didn’t want to be. Not really.

He didn’t go far. Just enough to let her stretch out again, to rub the feeling back into her calves with his big hands while murmuring something low, half-feral, half-affectionate, against her skin.

But even then, his body was ready again.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

He should’ve been sated. By all logic -by how hard he came, how thoroughly he took her- his body should’ve been spent.

But it wasn’t.

He looked at her, splayed and soft, dreamy with satisfaction and leaking his seed down the swell of her thighs… and he throbbed with need all over again.

In his true form, it would take time. Her body would be too sore, too stretched. He’d need to soothe her, let her rest, cool the fever in his blood with a swim or a hunt beside her ministrations.

But this form… this dull, dry, two-legged skin… it was weak in many ways. Yet here he was, already hardening again, marveling at how her body didn’t seem to resist him.

Didn’t ache. Didn’t tremble too much. Just lay there, warm and willing.

Bucky leaned close, mouthing kisses between her breasts, then coaxed her with large, careful hands. A gentle tap to her hip. A nudge.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She gave a lazy, breathless chuckle, not opening her eyes. “What are you doing?”

He clicked his teeth right beside her ear and growled, “What does it seem I’m doing, mate?”

She let him guide her languidly, as he helped her roll onto her belly. He kissed down the curve of her back, dragging her hips up into place, then sat back on his knees to take in the sight.

Gods.

Her rear was high, thighs parted, and his seed a slow, glistening thread on her skin. His jaw flexed, a hunger flaring hot through his core. This view… this view would have killed him in the sea.

He shifted closer, guiding the head of his cock against her entrance, notching himself into place. The angle was different. New. Promising. He gripped her hips tighter.

And pushed in. Slow, savoring the slick resistance, the tight draw of her walls as she gasped and braced her hands against the mattress. The angle let him sink deeper -fuller- and he growled at the sensation, at how perfectly her body received him again.

Her thighs quivered. Her back arched.

“Fuck, Bucky-”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out partway and slammed back in, snapping his hips forward with a wet slap. Her cry turned into a moan, as she clawed at the covers with her hands.

“This-” she gasped, barely able to get her breath between the hard rhythm he set. “Ah- where did you learn-”

“Dogs,” he grunted, leaning over her back, biting lightly at her shoulder. “In the summer.”

She let out something between a laugh and a whimper, as her body jolted forward when he thrusted particularly hard.

“This is -oh my god- mortifying.”

“You don’t seem mortified,” he growled, slapping into her again, making the mattress groan beneath them.

He was relentless now, driving into her, dragging her back with his hands into every thrust, mouth open against her spine, her nape, the curve of her shoulder. The scent of her arousal, his seed, her sweat, clung to their skin and flooded his senses. And she was dripping for him, making a mess of her thighs, the bedding, his cock.

“Mine,” he snarled into her skin, losing himself all over again in her warmth, her submission, the fact that she let him have her like this. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she choked out, her breath catching as he rutted into her harder, rougher, almost punishing. “No one else’s. Yours.”

He buried himself to the hilt, growling loud enough that it vibrated against her back. “That’s right. Mine. My mate.”

He bent over her, flattening her to the mattress, heaving his chest against her back as he rolled his hips in tight, relentless thrusts, grinding his pelvis into her ass at the end of every push. Her thighs trembled. Her hands fisted the sheets.

The slick slap of skin against skin echoed between them, his heavy balls smacking against her clit with every drag and surge of his cock. She was soaked, dripping down her thighs, down his length, and every time he bottomed out, his seed leaked around the base of his cock and made a filthy, wet mess of them both.

She whimpered something that might’ve been his name. Or maybe just a sound, raw and mindless.

He bit her shoulder again. Not hard, not breaking skin. Just enough to state a claim.

“You feel this?” he snarled into her ear, rutting deeper, as if he could crawl into her body and stay inside her. “You feel how full you are with me, mate? This is what happens when another man thinks he can come near you. You get bred.”

She sobbed out a noise, clenching around him like her body couldn’t help it, and he lost it again.

His rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic. Her body milked him, needy and greedy, and he pushed in one last time with a guttural moan as he came in hot pulses, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades, and his knuckles turning white while he gripped her hips.

He stayed there, panting hard against her sweat-damp skin, unmoving. Then, slowly, he let out a small groan and nuzzled her back, still buried to the root. Still thick and throbbing inside her.

She gave a tiny, dazed laugh. “Starting to not feel my legs again.”

He grunted. Didn’t move.

His hips gave the smallest twitch, already tempted again.

----

She lay sprawled over his chest, with her limbs draped boneless across his body like she’d melted there. Bucky was flat on his back, looking at the ceiling, as the rise and fall of his chest finally slowed.

"So- um," she began, her voice a little raspy from all the moaning and whining. "I take it you enjoyed doing it as a human?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her even closer, as if he still didn’t want to let her go. Then he let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes.

“It’s different,” he admitted. “It’s not- I can’t feel the same. Not like when I can taste you with my limbs. And the movements are limited.”

She tipped her head to look up at him, already smiling when he cracked one eye open to meet her gaze.

“But,” he went on, voice rough and low, “I don’t have to restrain myself like this. I don’t have to worry if I’ll break you. Or hurt you. I can be freer with what I want to do.”

“Well, look at that,” she murmured, with a teasing grin. “A positive thing you found for this form.”

“Also,” he added, giving her ass a firm squeeze, “I can finally do it all the times I want.”

She laughed against his chest, drawing idle patterns along the ridged scars scattered on his skin. “Speaking of that…”

Her finger stilled.

“You, um- don’t have a refractory period as a human?”

He frowned instantly, wrinkling his nose, clearly not liking the lack of something in the sexual department. “What is that?”

“Usually once you, erm, come… generally men have a period when they can’t get hard again. Could be minutes, could be hours.”

He made a thoughtful little grunt and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t know. Never done this in this form before.”

But the smile that pulled at his mouth was anything but uncertain. It was smug. Lazy. Entirely satisfied. “Doesn’t seem like I need to worry about my aptitude, though.”

She groaned and hid her face in his chest.

He chuckled low and rough, clearly far too pleased with himself.

“It's not that bad,” he muttered, waving one hand in the air to gesture at the room. “This.”

She lifted her head just enough to watch his face.

“Still feels… weird. Incomplete.” His voice dropped as he exhaled. “But not like it did before.”

Her smile was soft, a little crooked. “You’re saying that because you got to have a lot of sex.”

He scowled. “I’m a healthy male with a mate. Of course I’ll have urges.”

“Hey,” she chuckled, “don’t pout. I was messing with you. I wasn’t criticizing.”

She brought her hand to his cheek, trailing the scruff along his jaw. “I’m glad you told me that. Makes me happy… that you don’t hate my world. That you’re more comfortable in it now.”

His expression softened slowly under her touch. His brow unfurrowed, though his mouth still held the hint of a sulk.

“I don’t hate it,” he said. “Did. For a long time.”

He looked around her room again. The pale morning was creeping in under the curtains. Her yarn stash, the quiet tick of the old wall clock in the living room. The calm.

“But not anymore,” he finished, his voice quieter now. “It’s still strange. But it’s where you are. That makes it… tolerable.”

She gave a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “High praise.”

“It is,” he insisted, though his tone was gentler now.

Then, after a beat, he added: “And the sex helps.”

That earned him a smack on the chest, and her laughter muffled against his skin.

She shifted a little, still tracing lazy circles near one of the older scars. The silence had turned warm and sleepy, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the old house.

“So, now that Chris won’t be coming to class anymore, I assume you lost the reason to check in or see how things are going.” She didn’t expect him to answer, not right away.

“What if I wanted to learn?”

That made her lift her head, arching her brows. “Wait. You? Crochet?”

He avoided her gaze, fixing his eyes on the ceiling with seriousness. “Seems interesting,” he muttered. “To create instead of destroying.”

That sobered her smile just a little.

“So it’s not so trifling, then?”

He turned his head to squint at her. “I already apologized about that.”

“I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up again,” she said gently, brushing her fingers through his hair at the temple. “Old habit. I’ll stop poking at you.”

He gave a grunt that meant he’d let it slide.

Then she added, softer, “I can teach you, if you want.”

He didn’t answer with words, just let his hand drift across her back in silent agreement. When he finally spoke, it was almost shy, which startled her more than any growl or sharp retort.

“Wouldn’t mind making something that’s only mine. That stays mine.”

“Right,” she murmured, her cheek still resting against his chest. “You told me your kind doesn’t really do possessions.”

He shifted a little under her, like he was debating whether to speak. Finally, he murmured, “I... I have some.”

That made her lift her head again with curiosity. “Really? What is it?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, slipping his gaze sideways toward the wall. “The… things you crafted me.”

Her heart nearly flipped in her chest. “Oh, Bucky. I thought you’d thrown them away,” she said softly. “Or that maybe they were ruined by the salt water.”

He shook his head once, firmly. “Hung them. In one of the cave’s alcoves. High up where they won’t get wet.”

A beat passed, and her smile widened. “That’s so romantic.”

He grunted. “Didn’t do it to be romantic.”

“I know,” she teased, leaning to kiss his cheek. “That’s what makes it romantic.”

He grumbled under his breath, but his arm curled tighter around her.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, absentmindedly. “I have to do some errands before the stores close,” she said. “Do you wanna come, or are you returning to the shore?”

That soured his expression immediately. His gaze narrowed slightly, and his mouth twisted as he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. Before he could speak, she added quickly, “Or you can wait here while I do them.”

“There is another option,” he muttered.

She arched a brow. “The things I need don’t do delivery,” she said, cutting him off before he could scheme.

“Don’t know what that is, and don’t care,” he grumbled.

His hand was already cupping her breast, circling her nipple with a slow, deliberate pressure of his thumb. “What if I make sure you’re so tired you can’t even walk out the door? Then you’ll stay here. With me. In your nest.”

“Bucky!” she laughed, trying and failing to sound indignant.

“Are those errands essential?” he asked, voice low near her ear. “Is it food you lack? Medicine?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then they can wait,” he said, far too pleased with himself.

She gave him a look. One that was supposed to be firm, unamused. But her breath caught when his mouth brushed softly down her neck, and his thumb flicked over her nipple just a little harder this time.

“Bucky,” she tried again, more of a sigh now than a protest. “I have things to do…”

“Mhm.” His lips trailed lower, leaving a wet, warm path across her chest. “Like staying in bed. Resting. Letting me take care of you.” His tongue circled her nipple now, slowly and reverent, then sucked it gently into his mouth.

She gasped, “I mean it.”

“You say that,” he murmured against her skin, “but you’re not stopping me.”

She huffed a soft laugh, arching into his mouth. “I was trying to.”

“Try harder, mate,” he challenged, grinning against her breast. Then he switched sides, giving the other the same attention, greedy, focused, as though he’d missed them terribly in the short span since he last worshipped her.

She could feel him hard again, pressing against her thigh. Her legs shifted slightly, just enough to part for him, to welcome him without a single word.

He caught the motion, and his eyes darkened as a crooked smirk tugged at his lips.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

And as his mouth found hers again, slow and claiming, the rest of the world -the errands, the daylight, the clock ticking somewhere in the distance- ceased to matter. Nothing mattered but the warmth of the sheets tangled around their legs and the thrum of her heart syncing to the rhythm he wove between their bodies.

FIN

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke @ladypncl @homiesexuallaj @kulteule @awesompawsum @killerwendigo @princessgriffin1998 @helen-2003 @nynxtea @alagalaska @maryevm @kittieboo @otterlycanadian @queergalpal97 @gentlelimerence @moogles93 @tentacle-priestess @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @lemonylover

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[hollyberrygarden]

I was thinking over the way Pavlova describes Wildberry's crush. he says (direct quote), "you know well that it won't work out, but you have no intention of giving up!" in their interaction in the kingdom, he also calls it a "foolish" type of love

and I was like. what does that imply about Wildberry's crush?? and how would it apply to Crunchy Chip??

"foolish" implies a lack of good sense or judgment. it's a crush that can only end negatively—heartbreak, fighting, strain, or some other horrible result. Wildberry could either keep his feelings to himself, being unhappy with his own cowardice. he could also confess and get rejected, therefore losing whatever bond he had with his crush in the first place. but he could also be accepted and enter a relationship, but then the worries he has could be true. it could not work out, just like he knows it won't, and it would be unfair to both of them. every possible end result (to someone who is convinced it will not work out) would demonstrate the foolishness of the crush he has. Wildberry strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn't get crushes often, and he deals with them on his own before he chooses to confess, if ever

I'm imagining him in his own head about it, which is why no one else seems to know; it could also be why he doesn't externally react to it when the others are around but pretty much concedes to his worries over it (and openly seems. I guess worried about them!!) when he's talking one-on-one with Pavlova. he has gone over these possibilities to himself without any external input. he is trying to figure out how to make it work, which is the "no intention of giving up" that Pavlova mentioned, but maybe he doesn't have a set answer yet, which is why it's still something he hasn't confessed. Pavlova only knows because it's what he does

I was thinking about why it "not working out" (very generally speaking) is something he would think about, and I wondered what kind of relationship he would want. in an overworld dialogue, Royal Margarine tells him he must be "popular with a tall, muscular build like that." whether it's true is unknown, but Wildberry says he doesn't care about such "trivialities," assumedly being popular. if he doesn't want popularity, maybe he wants something simple?? or steady?? or maybe even straightforward. it's hard to know for sure. he wants something that's actually possible for him and his lifestyle in the kingdom. he's a busy guy who often travels away for important and dangerous business. it would be difficult to be in any kind of steady relationship when that's what you do for work. long distance isn't for everyone

to him, he cannot be with Crunchy Chip because of their duties to their kingdoms. I think it circles back to that. Crunchy Chip is the captain of the cream wolves in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and he is close enough to the king to travel with him to Beast Yeast. he protects the kingdom every day, as well as the woods surrounding it. Wildberry is a hired bodyguard to the Queen Mother, and he has sworn loyalty to her (and the king and queen of course); he frequently travels for work and is likely gone for long stretches of time, depending. they both have very important jobs that neither wants to give up. during Cookie Odyssey, they each talk about their love for their kingdoms and their respective leaders, even making a bet about who will want to visit the other more. they exchange letters on the regular. Hollyberry herself has noticed how much closer they're getting. he knows how much Crunchy Chip values his position in the Dark Cacaco Kingdom, and he values his own position in the Hollyberry Kingdom. they don't want to leave. they cannot leave. not now, maybe not for a long time. maybe not ever, in a horrible reality

it's foolish in every way fathomable. to Wildberry, at least

[the-immortal-restless]

A Millennium of Changes

(BETA READ BY @pumpkin-pepperz :) thanks pookie)

Summary: Everyone thought that the new baby Monkey would age like a mortal, after all, they were in the mortal realm and the baby was made in that realm… why would it age differently?

No one expected it to take so long

TLDR:The egg takes 35 celestial months to hatch, which roughly equates to 1,050 years in the mortal realm.

Takes place just after this chapter!

Warning:Heavy Angst(There is also heavy comfort to help don’t worry), Many Major Character Deaths, Transmasculine individual (MK) getting pregnant and giving birth(though it’s not a significant plot point).

This work was written by someone who did not grow up in Chinese culture, and while there are little references to the culture I still want to acknowledge that I am not the most educated on the practices and traditions of said culture.

Notes before the fic(skippable. Skip to *’s): This was based on an idea I had while sick where the egg takes 35 celestial months to grow. And one celestial day is one mortal year. Which I will guide you through the math now.

35 months x approximately 30 days per month = 1,050 days. Converting to Mortal Time is 1,050 years or 12,600 months. They have already completed 9 months in the comic at the time of writing this (may fifth) so that’s 12,591 months or 1,049.25 years. Which is a long time. In the comic it is established that MK is immortal and we already know that Redson is a half celestial, half demon, so of the main group them two are the only one likely to be alive after that long.

Tang is Papa and Pigsy is Dad.

**************************************

”You’ll see- Next time I call you, You’ll finally meet your new sibling… I Promise.”

Those were the last words he heard before his dads went into a deep meditation. It was essentially a magical coma.

MK was worried for his dad, he looked so tired, and his Mama had already passed out. He worried they wouldn’t wake up, but his Baba assured him they would.

MK went home with his Dad and his Papa. His Papa took him for a much needed haircut in the morning, he practically had a mane by now and he wasn’t to keen on having long hair.

MK focused on other relationships. His Dad’s shop was still busy, rightfully so, it was the best noodle shop in town. He still liked listening to his Papa’s wisdom and learning from the scholar. He had therapy with Sandy and his clowder of many cats. He trained with Mei and Redson, outside of hanging out and little dates.

Of course he visited his Baba and Mama every weekend, made sure all the things they had prepared for the baby stayed well taken care of. They’d need it when that baby finally hatched.

But MK started to worry as more and more weeks passed without so much as a sign the baby would hatch.

Eventually the first year passed. His Papa told him that maybe the baby was going to take the full 35 months. That thought both soothed and worried him, almost three years? That’s a long time.

He was worried some new villain would come back, and he wouldn’t have his mentor to help.

He talked to Sandy and he was able to slowly come to terms with that. Telling himself that the baby would be okay and he had a huge support system to help incase something did happen.

He’d focused on living instead of worried. Focus on what can be now, instead of what could’ve been.

He invested his time in growing, learning, becoming someone to be a hero and becoming better and better.

He cooked with Pigsy, the noodle shop had been there since before he was born. He loved cooking with his Dad and he always wanted to continue it. His Dad liked to impart wisdom onto him much like his Papa, (he was beginning to see why they were married) whether it be about trusting his senses over a recipe or some cooking metaphor for life. Things like: “Things are the best when you wait for the perfect time.”

He read more with his Papa, talking about myths and stories. The two of them even ventured outside Chinese Mythos and looked into all kinds of myths and legends. He enjoyed learning and taking in wisdom. Though their time together wasn’t restricted by myths. He also learned things from his Papa about human nature and philosophy. He learned that even though sleep was a vital part of mortal life, it’s still important for Celestial and Immortals because outside of the physical body, the mind benefited greatly from sleep. Sleep allows the mind a break to reset for the next day, to sort all the things you learn into their places and make sure you remember everything.

That’s when he started taking his sleep more seriously. If he was going to be immortal he needed to keep his mind healthy.

He took care of animals with Sandy and went hiking and camping with him, learning about nature and meditation. Sandy also likes to impart wisdom onto him (He was beginning to notice a pattern) about nature and how to learn to value to little beauties in everything.

He played video games with Mei, they always had fun. They also trained both with and without Redson. Though they all trained with and without each other. He focused on spending as much time doing their favorite things: watching movies, shows, playing games. They went to concerts and even tried plays.

He went on dates with Redson. They did picnics occasionally, but they also began cooking together. MK watched him work in the workshop. He and Mei introduced him to shows they thought he’d like. Much to everyone’s surprise and unsurprisingly he took a liking to cooking shows like DBK did.

He even connected with Nezha more, they were both princes and despite Nezha being a bit of a rule-follower, he liked MK’s defiance and rowdy attitude.

It was hard but he managed to live without being consumed by his worry. There were days where he was a bit bed bound with worry and sadness, but his family came and helped him. They all loved MK and MK loved them.

The trouble came when the third year passed. Why weren’t they awake? Why was the egg still unhatched? Why were his parents still so tired looking?

After days of frantic research with the help of MK, Nezha and other people, his Papa found something.

Apparently, sometimes celestial gestation progresses at the rate of the Celestial Realm even if they are in the Mortal Realm. A factor they didn’t know to consider. This information hit everyone like 67 consecutive trains.

The egg would take centuries to hatch… MK would face his immortality without his immortal parents. He would grieve almost everyone around him without his parents. He was… alone.

They couldn’t even undo the spell, because awake or not the baby needed Wukong and Macaque’s power to grow. Not to mention that undoing a spell like this could be dangerous, it would undo on its own when the baby was hatched and the two Celestial Monkeys were healthy. Them being asleep was safer and easier. It was hard but they couldn’t undo the spell that sealed them away

MK cried that day, that week, that month. He was scared, he was terrified. How was he going to survive over a thousand years without his parents?

But he knew mourning was only going to eat at the time. He had more therapy with Sandy. It would take an incredibly long time, but he needed it.

He focused even more on his family. He wanted his to see his life and he wanted to squeeze everything he had into time with them. MK grew closer and closer to his family. He knew by the time his Baba and Mama woke up, the time he spent with his Dad, Papa, Sandy and Mei would be a grain of sand in an an hourglass, but he didn’t care. It was his family.

It felt like centuries already when 7 years passed since they found out, and 10 since his Mama and Baba went to sleep. He hoped that was a good sign. His Dads noodle shop only grew bigger and they made more money. MK even offered to move out to make room for having more guests. MK was basically 34 years old and still living with them but they denied the notion. They said he’d have years to lived outside their house, they wanted him there.

MK didn’t argue.

He and Redson took it slow, but in mortal terms, which might’ve been fast for Demons but Redson nor his family said anything about it. After the first five years of their relationship, they spent a spent together, they both were new to it but it was a night they both enjoyed and never regretted.

After 15 years, they got married. MK knew it might’ve been a little fast. After all his Mama and Baba were engaged for… what 2,000 years before they married? But MK wanted his Dad and Papa to see him get married and Redson agreed that was a good idea. He didn’t mention that his mother had been pestering him for over a decade about getting married and having children with MK.

His Dad and Redson had already spent time together, they were close. But they only got closer when they started cooking together. Now they’d have family cooking nights where MK, Redson, and Pigsy, would cook a big meal and they’d all eat as family. More often than they’d expected, Redson’s family would also come, and DBK would join in cooking.

Those nights were MK’s favorite, his entire family was together.

Somehow in all his packed time with family, he still visited his Mama and Baba at the mountain, while he knew they likely wouldn’t wake up for another ten centuries. He still wanted to visit, talk to them even if they probably couldn’t hear him.

As his family got older, he valued the time more and more. He planned to take over the Noodle Shop. Not out of some obligation or anything. His Dad and Papa had made sure he knew that they wouldn’t be upset if he chose to do something else. He wanted to take on the business. It was his entire life, his first meal, his home. He wanted to live there forever.

MK took care of his parents when they got older. He wanted to, they took him in as a kid and they had a pretty substantial amount of saving to help with these delicate years. Pigsy, despite always talking about having a ‘Noodle Empire’, never bothered to expand. He was content with one shop, one building, one family.

MK hired more trained professionals, of course, to help him as the years passed. He wasn’t a nurse and elderly people had a lot of health concerns that he wasn’t trained to be able to accommodate. But he still did most of it, he learned to do it.

Mei got older too, she got a job as a professional racer. She was happy and MK made sure she practiced safe driving. He wasn’t about to let his best friend die in a fiery crash. That would be cringe of her.

Sandy got older too, and as his own years passed he began to coach MK through that, how to handle grief and understand death without fearing it. How it was natural and how it wasn’t the end. It was only a bridge to new beginnings. Sandy taught MK that life wasn’t about avoiding death, it was about enjoying the time we have. About forming connections and understanding each other. Death was inevitable, yes, but life was also inevitable.

Almost every single creature on earth would make at least one meaningful connection. It was simple math. We are born from someone and that very person is often our first relationship, and earth isn’t even close to being underpopulated. To live a life on earth and not make one single connection was a statistical wonder. It would take effort. Humans especially were inherently social creatures, they hunted in groups in the beginning of the species and now they lived in cities and villages with thriving cultures and family. The purpose of life, Sandy told him, was to give life a purpose.

MK buried Tang first, he was fully human and even though he was younger than Pigsy, demons just simply had a longer lifespan. It was peaceful, without pain or sadness. MK brought Pigsy to the grave to visit everyday, he replace the flowers at the first sign of wilt, lit incense and talked with Pigsy to Tang. It was comforting that they had more confirmation than other mortals often did that there was an afterlife.

MK mourned, Pigsy mourned, everyone mourned. Tang was a good man, he had a heart that was bigger than himself and an intellect to match. He always sought to understand the people around him and see the best in others.

Pigsy didn’t live much long after, he was older than Tang and the two of them were just barely older than Sandy. MK made sure they were buried together. Even if they weren’t alive in those bodies, they had stuck together longer than MK had been alive at that point and he wanted them to stay together long after they departed.

Sandy helped him grieve, though it was made significantly easier with the therapy before the deaths. It was more practice than anything.

MK continued to make human connections. He didn’t let his immortality swallow him. He learned that life was precious and even Redson began to grow friendly with a handful of mortals.

True to his word, MK took over the noodle shop with Redson. It was a family business and Redson had been apart of the family longer than they had been married.

Mei stayed close, she was a well known racer and she was a near expert at it, but she wanted to live in Megapolis. Her family was there, biologically and emotionally. She spent a lot of time with MK and Redson, the three of them were inseparable and even if she couldn’t cook she still had much to offer. She had humor and company and family.

Sandy encouraged MK to continue therapy after his passing, the kid was very stable and had a good support system, but therapy was always a good decision. It helps and it’s better to keep it up, rather than to wait for a catalyst and need more extensive help. Waiting until some breaking point would only make issues worse and take longer to deal with. It’s always a better decision to refine something than wait till it breaks to repair it.

MK mourned when he buried Sandy, of course he did. Sandy was an important figure in his life, he helped him through so much. But he also knew how to continue with himself. Sandy had taught him well.

Redson and Mk took a long time to have kids, not because they couldn’t but because MK had a small fear that he would get stuck in a thousand year rest like his family. But with patience and a heap of therapy, they decided to have one. MK was a little sad his parents couldn’t meet their grandchild but MK knew his parents would rather him be happy than to rush his life just to have them see it.

MK decided on his own that he wanted to carry the child. He didn’t want to follow the egg route, he wanted children but he didn’t want to miss out on a millennia just to have baby. Not that his parents were less for choosing to do that. He knew they wouldn’t have done this on purpose.

So they began to try for a baby, much to Mei’s teasing. It didn’t take long for them to conceive and 9 months later they brought the cutest little boy into the world. Redson and MK ended up naming him a classic name for triumph or victory, Kai. When the baby finally opened his eyes, they were like a mirror image of Redson’s, deep red like dark fire, like the fire he created.

There was some worry among them that Kai would end up creating a second Samadhi Fire like Redson. So they made him a necklace with a pendant carving with a bull and a monkey surrounded by fire. One the back was written three things.

小宝宝(xiǎo bǎobǎo), meaning "little baby."

火焰猴 (huǒyàn hòu), meaning “flaming monkey.”

凯旋 (kǎixuán), meaning “triumph.”

When Kai was born they had a baby shower soon after, it was nice. Life was good for them. They felt at peace, life was going.

MK was still taking care of Flower fruit Mountain, after all, their king was incapacitated, which kinda made him acting leader, then again they were monkeys and they managed to be alright before, but he liked to visit and keep the place nice and clean.

Kai got older, and while he had intense fire power, he hadn’t created a second reality burning fire yet. So they were a bit calmer about the matter. Mei loved the little guy. He was irresistibly cute.

Kai aged slower too, his infancy last almost 5 years. He was a toddler for 10 years. It only grew slower but never old. Before long he was a kid, looking about 8 or 9.

Mei got a bit more time than the rest, she aged slow because of her dragon heritage but she was far from fully draconic. So time did what it does, and Mei passed away. MK and Redson mourned her, that part would never be in question, they buried her with honor, just like the rest. Kai missed her, she was his auntie, Mei took him on motorcycle rides and he watched the old Monkey King movies with her.

Kai was raised knowing the history of his grandparents, he visited Flower Fruit Mountain with his parents and for the first few years of visits he would play with the other cubs and monkeys, eating fruit and roughhousing.

After the first few years, Kai began to stay by his parents, ever curious about what they talked about with two men who probably couldn’t hear them.

After a while he came to realize they talked because they cared. Because even if there was a slight chance that they could hear them, then it was worth it. That’s why he started doing it more, he talked to Mei when they visited her grave and even his other grandparents as well as Sandy. He didn’t meet them, but he wanted them to know him.

Before they knew it, 100 years had passed since Wukong and Macaque went under. Kai was a tween and he was making friends. Both immortal and human. MK and Redson taught him at home, that how both of them knew it and they both turned out okay.

MK and Redson had made friends as well that had also died but they had other families to bury them, he still visited, he cared for them no less. That’s how it continued.

Megapolis grew around them, not big, the city was already pretty good, but trees get bigger and buildings change, even just slightly. They all fell into a bit of a routine, a pleasant one that always seemed to find new ways to keep them from boring to death.

Pigsy’s Noodles continued to remain one of the best restaurants in the city and it stayed a staple of Megapolis. It brought in amazing business and good money.

Demons were becoming more and more integrated into daily life, MK and Redson obviously participated heavily in that, earning a reputation for their acceptance, though to them it was basic decency.

Demons were beginning to become more and more accepting as generations progressed and less of them were driven to crime because of it. They were getting help and proper healthcare instead of being shunned to the corners of society’s shadows. MK found himself acting in a hero role less and less, which he found himself proud of. It meant he did a good job.

By the 9th century, demons were everywhere, they were apart of the culture and everyone grew better because of it. More and more of Megapolis became accessible to everyone, literature became richer and fuller, education and intelligence rates of the schools and districts surrounding them began to rise.

Megapolis was quickly becoming a growing community of vibrant individuals and friends. MK found comfort in the fact that Sandy, his Dad and Papa, would be proud of the world that this was becoming.

MK hadn’t even realized how long it had been since his parents fell asleep growing the egg.

Before long, Kai was an elder teenager, nearly a thousand years old.

MK, Redson and Kai were at the mountain, Red had gone to tidy up the house and make sure everything was ready, even if they thought they weren’t even close to when MK’s parents would wake up. It was still routine. MK was training with Kai, something they had started a hundred odd years ago.

That’s when a bright light came from the mountaintop where Macaque, Wukong and the egg were. MK halted in his step and Kai nearly tackled him before he realized.

Wukong woke with a start, the spell had fallen around them moment ago and Macaque woke up at the same time as him. They both look toward to egg, only to see a little monkey cub in its place.

Their Baby

Wukong and Macaque cried with joy and they both gathered the cub into their arms.

That was until they notice how big the tree near them had gotten, and the vines growing in the rocks, evidence of more age than they expected.

How long had they been out?

That’s when they heard it. A voice, not their sons. Not MK’s but one that called for his Dad.

The boy called for his Papa, urging him to wait for his Dad. He sounded worried but Wukong didn’t care for details. If there was an intruder he needed to protect his cub. He pulled his staff out of his ear. And held it ready.

With a clang, the staff dropped when he saw his own son, his adult son standing there instead of the younger man they remembered him being. Both of their heart sank, tears welled up in their eyes as they realized.

How long has it been, they wanted to ask. But their son, a millennium older and wiser, answered before they could.

One thousand fifty years, he said. The two men were horrified at that answer. They’d been asleep that long? That was a terrifying notion.

Their world only grew harder to believe when a teenager in a red shirt, soon followed by Redson, appeared up the mountain. Redson was shocked and came to MK’s side. Wukong covered his mouth for a moment, slowly connecting the dots that the teenager was his grandson.

Macaque looked worried that their son would hate them for this, that fear melted when MK ran to them and hugged them tightly, careful not to hurt the baby.

Macaque and Wukong hugged their son back and Redson guided his son toward the cuddle pile.

MK rambled about the past millennia to his waking parents for a while before explaining that they had gotten married and had a son. MK looked toward Kai, motioning for him to introduce himself.

“Hello… I’m Kai, I’m your grandson.”

THE END(?)

Tags: @kyri45 (the creator of the comic that inspired this!) @ainnur @iglowinggemma28 @autism-autobot

[theladyregret]

I think people underestimate how many things we consider just normal aspects of life that this will affect the same way.

I saw a report on a bicycle manufacturer who said if they had to make them from parts only created in the U.S. it would raise the price of your average bike from $100 to $1,000. That they can’t even imagine trying to run a business that way because it would never work.

ALL manufacturing is dependent on the exploitation of labor workers without labor protections at this point. Not just fancy tech. The tariffs are making it so companies can’t order parts from…anywhere really. They order from another country and they have to absorb ALL the combined fees, they don’t import and the parts are so expensive they’d be forced to operate at huge losses that are even worse.

Potential buyers aren’t being paid to match this huge jump in inflation so they’re not going to be able to buy even if they wanted to. So it’s basically telling businesses to go bankrupt with no means of avoiding it.

It’s a lose lose situation with no clear solution with the way things have been designed to work.

Though obviously not his intent it is interesting to me that Trumps actions has put such a spotlight on how very dependent the world economy has become on the exploitation of slave labor.

…but also…very much why people being “deported” are actually just being sent to prisons…the only place where slavery is legal in the USA.

Coincidence? I think not.

It seems that your cheap phones are not a god given right but actually a luxury sustained by imperialist inequality after all. Mirá vos.

[cameronsbabydoll]

hii for scc can you pls write something like they go to a party and one of the mums judges reader for not having her own life and always being with her kids or the husbands saying something about reader ^_^

what would they know

warnings: mom-shaming, judgment from other wives/husbands, reader feeling small or insecure, rafe being protective, soft comfort

you didn’t want to go to the party in the first place.

it was one of those shiny coastal soirées—linen shirts and cold wine, white lights strung over someone’s backyard, men clustered around the grill while the women gathered around cheese boards talking about tennis schedules and personal trainers.

you’d gotten the kids ready that morning, packed snacks, kissed scraped knees. you’d braided your daughter’s hair twice because the first one was “too bumpy.” you wore your softest summer dress and let rafe tug you close for a kiss before heading out.

you were tired. you always were. but you smiled, like always. because you loved them more than anything.

rafe disappeared off with some of the husbands when you arrived. you didn’t mind—you were used to it.

you stood near a small group of wives, laughing politely, even when you didn’t understand the joke. you were halfway through sipping your sparkling water when one of them looked at you, head tilted slightly.

"so, do you do anything else?" she asked. “besides the kids, i mean.”

you blinked.

“i… i stay home,” you said slowly. “i take care of the house. our kids are still young, and—”

“right,” she interrupted, nodding, her tone too sweet. “i just feel like i’d go crazy without my own thing, you know?”

she smiled with teeth. “i mean, you’re always with your kids.”

you shrank a little. you knew what she meant. the implication. the subtle jab at your softness, your simplicity, the fact that you weren’t chasing something with your name on it.

another wife chimed in with a tight smile. “yeah, all the guys were joking earlier that rafe basically has a live-in nanny.”

your heart dropped.

you forced a smile. “i don’t mind,” you whispered. “i like being there for them.”

but it didn’t matter what you said. they’d already decided.

too soft. too available. too devoted.

you excused yourself a minute later and found a quiet spot by the pool, pretending to check your phone just so your hands had somewhere to go. your chest was tight.

and that’s when rafe found you.

he crouched down beside your chair. “hey,” he said, brushing your arm. “you alright?”

you nodded, blinking fast. “just a little tired.”

he saw right through it.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

you didn’t answer right away, but your silence gave you away. your bottom lip wobbled the slightest bit.

“they said something, didn’t they?”

you looked down. “it’s stupid. just… one of the moms said something about me not doing anything else. like i’m just—around. all the time. with the kids.”

you laughed softly, bitterly. “i guess i just never thought that was a bad thing.”

rafe’s jaw tensed.

he stood up straight, tugged your hand until you followed. he looked down at you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“you know what i said earlier? about how the guys were joking around?” he asked quietly. “you know what i told them?”

you shook your head.

he stepped closer. “i told them they wish they had someone like you.”

his voice was calm, but tight with conviction.

“someone who holds their whole damn family together. someone who chooses to be there every day. not ‘cause you have to, but because you love us that much.”

you looked up at him with wide, stinging eyes.

“they don’t get to judge that. not when they’re too busy hiring help just to make it through the week.” he cupped your jaw. “they don’t get to look at you like you’re less for being the kind of mom every kid dreams of.”

and then, gentler:

“our kids are lucky. i’m lucky. and i swear to god, if anyone says otherwise again, i’ll—”

“rafe—”

“no,” he muttered, brushing a thumb under your eye. “they don’t get to talk about my wife like that.”

you exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against his chest. he held you close, warm and steady under the twinkle lights.

because the world might not understand a woman like you.

but he did.

[lieslab]

For now, I will stay alive

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Felix X gn reader

Summary: You're thinking of ending things when your boyfriend calls you while he's on tour.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2.5k

Trigger warning: Suicide, depression, anxiety, mentions of pills and death

Suicide, depression, and anxiety resources

A/N: Ugh, I love this man. Requestee, I've done it yet again. Felix makes my heart soft, so I tried to capture that feeling perfectly here. I hope you enjoy it <3

_ _ _

Everything was almost perfect in Felix’s eyes. Everything really was bigger in America. He still couldn’t get over the large size of his fountain drink. He ordered it for dinner and that was a few hours ago. The liquid inside watered down from the melted ice, but he didn’t care, he’d drink it until it was gone. 

The rest of the guys scattered into their own hotel rooms. After a busy day of rehearsal and tonight’s concert, everything went to plan. The concert unraveled like usual. The jokes between songs, the dances hit every choreographed beat; he soaked up every moment like a sponge. 

The fans shined like diamonds in the crowds. From the front barricade and higher in the balcony, he never forgot the moments. Even if he couldn’t see faces clearly, he could still see the colors. The splashes of pink from one body. A fox-eared headband to represent someone’s love for Jeongin. 

Posters scribbled with handwritten messages of love and admiration. They still circled his head and filled his heart with affection. The love of his fans felt like sunlight on a dark day. Every time he saw reminders, every little worry washed away. 

In the hotel room, the sun disappeared a few hours ago, tucked in and nested on the other side of the world. The moon perked up tonight, stretching light across multiple states. Between the open curtains, it peeked inside the opening to check upon him. 

Sprawled out on the side of his bed, his skin smelled of ripe tangerine. Usually, he didn’t buy hair products in America, but ever since he stumbled across one this afternoon he couldn’t resist trying it out. He bought shampoo and conditioner without a second thought. He threw in the leave-in conditioner and body wash, just because he could. 

In the rays of moonlight, dewy skin glowed. The sweat from the concert, he scrubbed it off. It disappeared and circled down the metal drain. Tomorrow, he’d repeat the process and do it all over again. 

The matching bed across the way lay empty. Minho came up missing quite a while ago. He showered, slipped into pajamas, and disappeared. He said he’d be back, but never mentioned what time, or where he was going. 

Felix didn’t mind. He didn’t know if he’d be up by the time he’d come back. Not that it mattered, Minho had another room key. He’d be able to get inside if he needed to. 

The only thing he missed? Your touch. The way your fingers dug into his sore muscles. You practically lulled him to sleep by your touch and your touch alone. Thumbs pressed into tender muscles and you massaged them in such a way, he couldn’t get enough. 

He couldn’t get enough of you at all. Leaving for tour, it had always been hard. Taking a break out of the usual routine. Saying good-bye to his permanent resident. It hurt a lot. A lot more than he’d ever admit out loud. 

Ever since the two of you started to date two years ago, it hurt so much worse. He missed you. The way he woke up with your legs tangled together. Most mornings, he found your fingers tangled in his shirt. You were afraid to lose him in the night. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

Every time he went somewhere for something, deep down, he felt like he betrayed you in multiple ways. You understood it, of course. His career would always be more important than dating. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Nothing brought more light into his life than being a star. 

You missed him between your own usual routine. Every time he left for his schedule, it left behind a big open wound. No matter how much time passed, it wouldn’t heal until he came back. The shape of his soul connected and tangled around yours. 

Thinking about the way you smiled, his heart ached. He’d never get used to being away from you. You had your own career and you couldn’t leave it there for months at a time. He wished you could be with each other all the time. When you couldn’t, he’d pick up his phone and dial your number. 

Hearing your voice gave him the strength to go another day. 

~ ~ ~ 

You decided you were different a long time ago. You didn’t know why you were born this way, you just were. Something was missing in your brain. Emptiness seeped into your heart during the lowest times of your life. Your brain ballooned with the worst thoughts. 

Your brain highlighted every flaw. It sucked out your energy. Depression clung to you since you were young. It came and went in waves, but this time felt different. Every time you reentered that same mindset, it almost felt like coming home. 

Things rarely changed in your brain. Maybe you weren’t meant to survive on your own. Perhaps, you just couldn’t handle living here. Living is exhausting. What’s the point? 

It burns. It aches. Life rips out your heart, tears it to shreds, and shoves it back in your chest. There’s always something and why is it so hard? It’s not hard for everyone else, they do what they need to do. Life goes on. Why is it so different for you? 

Every minor obstacle feels like a mountain. The more you battle and fight your way uphill, the more it feels like you will never reach the top, no matter what you do. When will it end? When does it stop? 

Lately, life unraveled. Minor work related tasks, you weren’t sure if you could do it anymore. Each one vacuumed your energy into empty particles of nothingness. The past few days, you’d been nodding off at work. Miraculously, nobody caught you, but if they would have, you’d certainly be written up, or fired. 

You missed Felix like crazy. Curled in your shared bed, you openly mourned him. You’d tuck his pillow to your chest and squeeze. Hoping and waiting for the day you’d see him again, you couldn’t wait, but you had days, weeks, and a couple more months. 

Each day that trudged along, you weren’t sure if you could keep going. You didn’t know how you’d manage this anymore. Life became an endless cycle of defeat after defeat. Where did your upbeat glow go? 

It always did this, your brain. Just when you thought you were making progress, you fell again. Free falling from a cliff, there were no footholds to grasp, no vines, no jutting out edges; just you slipping over an empty ocean. The riptide swallowed you whole. 

Deep down, you knew your life would end one way, or another. You waited, hoping something would occur, so you didn’t have to do it yourself. A failing organ. A drunk driver swerving out of control. A murderer released from prison that snapped once more. 

You hated yourself a little more because you weren’t strong enough. It came so naturally to everyone, why not you? What higher being created you to live like this? What kind of life comes from this; when your brain is so focused on the worst, you forget to find the good?

Days tick by and time turns to dust. The end is always there, but you try to ignore it. Death knocks. Eagerly. Constantly. Rhythmically. Knuckles rapped and you try to ignore it, but like a siren, it calls. 

Some people dub it selfish, but is it really? Is it selfish to give up when your brain shrieks at you; when your brain paints your flaws on full display and crucifies yourself in front of those you love most? Hurt ripples through your soul every day. 

Living with depression is a slow suffocation. You try so hard to light the fire of life, but the spark never catches. The flames forget to light. There is no steel wool. The matches are wet from tears of desperation and misery. 

It takes over everything and destroys whatever is in its path. Frustration leads to screaming matches and tears. People don’t know how to befriend a boulder; a flipped turtle stuck on its back, no matter how hard you try, your stubby legs never find land. 

It’s a slow spreading poison and when reasoning dissolves, what more can you do? Is it selfish to want the thoughts to stop? To want a single night’s rest without tears and worry? 

When you pictured the freckled face you loved so much, you pictured something so much more; a glowing yellow ball of the brightest light. Felix is stubborn, but you didn’t doubt he’d find someone better. More caring and lovable, someone who wasn’t nearly as broken as you. You didn’t know what else to call it. 

Your shell of life broke years ago. It wasn’t until this year that it finally clicked. There would be no happy ending. There would be no hope. No love. No healing. No future. 

The wick in your candle burned out. Wax seeped out and destroyed your surroundings. The room filled with smoke. It suffocated everything in its reach. You destroyed everything you touched. Life was no different. 

And without Felix, it all grew so much worse. You stopped reaching out to your friends a while ago. They tried to check on you, but life went on. It’s not as simple when you’re older. People get busy. Jobs can’t be put on pause. We live in a quick-fire society. 

Felix called and texted. He wasn’t around as much as you wanted him to be. You couldn’t blame him. He had his life, too. It wasn’t his job to fix you, but you wanted it to be. 

Maybe that’s the worst part about letting go. Who cares for those you leave behind? Who sweeps away the self-doubt and negative manifestations in your loved ones? How do you make peace with never seeing their faces again? The pet you spoiled too much, the friends you laughed with for hours, and the family members you vowed to take care of. How do you let go of this life and trust the next is better? 

Doubts circled your head and funneled in your heart. You laid on the bathroom floor with tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. You shut out the light and closed the door. In the fit of darkness, you cycled through everything. 

Once it’s done, it’s done. 

In your grasp, a plastic bottle of pills. The lid remained sealed tight over the bottle. If Felix came home before anyone else found your body, would he forgive you? For the half-opened eyelids and fingers clenched into fists of pain? Would he pray for your weary soul, or would he scream so loud upon finding you, searing the sight of your corpse into his brain, he’d never speak again? 

Suicide always feels like the right answer. You’re asking someone with no motivation to continue dragging themselves through the mud. It’s wet and cold. Your body is numb and yet, it still shivers. Warmth would be a savior, but it never feels like it’s coming. 

Your eyes squeezed shut and you breathed. Inhale and exhale. In for four and out for four. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Your lungs expanded and your heart beat, but this didn’t feel like living. Hell, it didn’t even feel like surviving. It felt like torture more than anything; a soul trapped and bound in a cage. 

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of vibrations beneath you. Pressed between the cold tiles and your back, your phone vibrated. It must have slipped from your back pocket. You sniffled, reached back, and answered it without looking. “Hello?” 

“Hi, baby! I miss you!” On the opposite end of the phone, Felix grinned. “Am I bothering you? I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I have some free time and I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

With the phone pressed against your ear, your bottom lip quivered. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the sting of gathering tears. You could picture him so clearly in your head. The glittering eyes and excited smile. If he were here, he’d reach out and touch you, gripping you and never wanting to let go. 

“Hi, Lix.” 

“Are you okay, baby? Your voice sounds funny.” 

“Yeah, you caught me.” A weak laugh escaped your lips. “I’m having a rough moment and really missing you.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry. I miss you, too. I miss you so much, baby. You know I’d hold you if I could. I’m sending you so much love. Can you feel it? Across the states and through the countries. Is it working? Can you feel it now?” 

“Yeah, I-I can feel it.” You sniffled again, clutching the phone tighter. “I really miss you,” you whispered. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you? I don’t know how I’d live without you. Baby, my heart is so entangled in you! I know touring is hard for you. I’d bring you along if I could, babe.” 

“It’s not your fault, Lix. Duty calls when it calls and our lives pull us in two different directions.” 

“I know, but I…” He trailed off, pushing himself upright on his bed. “I’m so grateful you’re with me. Sometimes I worry you’ll leave and find someone closer to you. I worry they’ll be yours forever and it won’t be me.” 

A needle stabbed your heart. Tears silently streamed down your cheeks and soaked the bottom collar of your shirt. “I wouldn’t leave you,” you whispered again. “I can’t. My heart is stitched to yours.” 

“Today, I had the best pastry ever. It was warm and gooey. Straight out of the oven and topped with powdered sugar. When I come back home, I’m going to try and make it for you. It probably won’t be perfect, but I want to try and share the sweetness of it with you.” 

The more he spoke, the more tears leaked from your eyes. You were hurting so badly and Felix didn’t know just how much. Despite being on the other end of the world, he talked to you like he always did; full of so much happiness and laughter. 

“Felix?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I love you.” 

“Ah! You can’t see me, but you’re making me blush! I love you! I love you! I love you!” A loud obnoxious kissing sound came from the speaker. “Pretend I was kissing your lips.” 

“You’re such a goof.” 

“Your goof and I’ll happily take that compliment. Anyway, back to my undying love for you-” 

You didn’t realize it until after the phone call, but you were smiling. The pill bottle left your hand at some point. You shifted and curled away from it, clutching onto the phone as if it were a lifeline. Felix’s voice kept you company for nearly an hour. He didn’t know how close you were to ending it forever. 

When you stood up, you put the pills back into the medicine cabinet. Maybe one day, you’d admit to Felix just how close you were to giving up. Maybe. For now, a flame of hope reappeared. 

It might not last forever, but Felix was counting on you, just as you were counting on him. 

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[comicgeekery]

I'm sorry to anyone who feels this way. It's awful.

But I also think it's wrong.

I try to not use the word talent in my life. Because 90% of the time what people describe as talent, an innate even destined ability, is actually skill, an ability that has been developed through practice and experience. And it's a super important distinction, because skill isn't up to genetics or god or some basic seed from which you sprouted. Skill is based in your choices and, essentially, your opportunities.

I don't want to turn this to the other extreme and say that you're not great at That Thing because you haven't tried hard enough. There are certainly many circumstances that can get in the way. Like money, like available time. Can you go to classes? Afford materials? Dedicate hours every week to practice and improvement?

And it's more than that even! Have you ever learned HOW you learn? Were you taught how to embrace failure? Because no matter what, you WILL fail at the thing you like a LOT on the path to getting good at it.

But I think the absolute most important element is, do you have people who support and believe in you? Not just for your interest of choice, but also in general.

OP strongly compares exceptional ability with fame. That makes sense. I know the kind of optimistic posts they're talking about with lists of celebrities who became famous later in life. But fame is a different game entirely. It's based in opportunity to the nth degree, on being attractive in a very specific way, and on having skill in one or two of just a handful of abilities. Sure, there's a fixation on singers, actors, and athletes, but how many people would know it if the world's greatest knitter walked on stage?

That wouldn't mean that the knitter wasn't incredible, just that there isn't an industry built around promoting them.

The celebrities in those posts are for a point of connection, as people you can recognize. But yeah, ANYONE can start again at any time. And to keep it mundane, I'll use myself.

I'm 36. I've spent the last few years rebuilding my life after living through many shitty things. I grew up in an abusive household. I was bullied a lot. I lost friends through death and through just being too much.

And now I've done SO MUCH therapy and work on myself. I find I have the strength to try new things. I've been taking local classes for fun; ballroom dance, juggling, and improv. I started a book club that just reads terrible books because I find that fun. I started ANOTHER club for doing escape rooms because I love those and they need about 4 people. I'm putting together a little business to help people with their writing.

This is a lot of stuff, but I chose it all one at a time. Some of these things may not particularly amount to anything. They certainly won't make me famous. But I get joy from the trying, from working with other people, and from having others who support and compliment my efforts.

So much of our self-esteem, for better or worse, is based in the love and attention of others. Is it really FAME you want? Screaming fans, paparazzi, and a billion strangers with some opinion on your work without knowing a thing about you? Or would you be overwhelmed with joy if a dozen people were proud of you?

I'm sorry you don't have enough love or encouragement or self-esteem right now. I hope that gets better for you as you live and build skills you need.

But most of all, I promise that it's never too late!

everyone says you can always restart. that your future isn't forgotten, just sort of misplaced. they name actors and singers and authors who started at 46, 59. they cite chappell roan's 10 years. they tell you to push and push, that some day you'll open a door and the truth will be behind it.

but what if you aren't a celebrity in sheep's clothing. what if you're just a normal person. most people aren't exceptionally talented or else talent wouldn't be exceptional - right? what if you're just another median person; not ever startlingly bad nor terrifyingly good.

you put the shopping carts back and you walk your dog and you write poems on the internet. you have grown a plant or two; killed a few others. you did okay, overall, and you've been okay most of your life. not valedictorian, but you were a smart kid. you had some hard knocks, but you got up again. your life is just - average. you probably will never sing onstage at coachella. most of the time you are at peace with that - someone needs to drive the speed limit. life isn't about extraordinary circumstances, it's just about building a life you love and figuring out how to live in it.

but you would like to feel as if you'd found "the answer." everyone else seems to have some kind of talent they are born nesting in - and meanwhile you just exist. is that why you cycle through crafts and hobbies and activities like a roulette wheel? are you waiting for the moment where it turns out - all this time, you've been a visionary. a genius. all this time, you were special. even you: someone who has-never-been.

crawling up your throat: something bitter and savage. not quite a feeling of wasted potential. after all, you need to first have potential in order to waste it.