#;; but you and i know it gets better when the morning finally rears its head (v; sosu)

[kalmiaphlox]

Crash Landing

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Astarion has never been a bat before. He's never wanted to be a bat before, but a little sneeze is all it took for him to be stuck as a disgusting rodent.

Wait- He can fly!

But maybe flying isn't all it's cracked up to be...

Main Tags: Batstarion, FLUFF!, Dadstarion, Established Relationship

Waking up next to Astarion is a new experience every time, and this morning is no exception. 

The moment she opens her eyes with a yawn, his head looms above hers, ruby eyes boring holes into her face as if she might dissolve into nothing if he looked away for even a moment.

“Any particular reason for being a weirdo this early?” Kalmia asks while placing a hand over his eyes, but he leans forward to nip at her fingers instead and once she pulls away, Astarion bares his teeth. “Ah, so no reason.”

“Do I need a reason when I'm with you, little wyrm?” He holds her wrist and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. “I just want to see every side of you, even when you snore louder than a dragon… Oh, wait…!”

She pinches his nose. “Awe, the vampire has learned comedy this morning. How fun.” 

“I'll show you fu-” Astarion rears back, blinking in bewilderment. His nose scrunches up, sniffling before sneezing - violently.

She didn't even know vampires could sneeze.

Gone is the dastardly man with the killer good looks though. Just… gone from her sight. Kalmia sits up swiftly and an alarmed squeak brings her eyes down to the emerald green duvet. A fluffy white bat with overly large ears and a short, pink snout stares up at her with confused red eyes. 

Well, isn't this something? 

“My, oh my, irthiski, seems I'm not the only shape changer around.” She rubs at his fuzzy head with a finger, and in typical Astarion-fashion, he bares teensy fangs that shimmer like pearls. “What a cutie pie! I could eat you right up!”

That raises another squeak from him, though she can hear the rage burning behind it. How mighty it is, but a dragon does not cower from such things. 

“You should be able to speak normally, come on, use your words.” Kalmia nudges him a bit too hard, knocking him over on the sheets. “Oops, sorry!”

There's little grumbling noises that sound suspiciously like speaking, he must be getting a grasp of this new body, it'll take time. Astarion is wobbling around best he can, using his wings as crutches to stand up, the little hook at the end catching on the bedding so he gets stuck, letting out more angry squeaks.

Oh gods, her heart might explode from the cuteness.

“I'm going to pick you up, can't have you tearing all the bedding.” Gingerly, Kalmia wraps her hand around his fuzzy body, picking him up and offering her other hand as support beneath his legs.

The grunting finally becomes audible, “You- What have you…” His lungs aren't at their usual capacity, a full sentence is a struggle. “What have you done, you witch?!”

“Oh, I turn you into a cat once and now it's my fault?”

“What in the…" He gasps, "hells am I?” His small head is angling around to get a look at himself, but she'll do him one better.

The Truesight mirror, its shiny reflection and lacquered wood encasing reveals all.

They stand now in front of it, holding her hands out so Astarion can gaze upon his visage - his favorite activity, but definitely not hers. “You're a bat, irthiski. I've heard vampires can do this sometimes, but maybe you're a late bloomer.”

“Late bloomer-!” He erupts into more enraged squeaks and growls, almost completely falling off her hand before his grabby feet latch onto her finger on instinct, dangling precariously upside down. “A damned bat! I don't want to be this! Where's my beautiful body?!”

Ignoring his dramatics and pressing a smooch to his head, she smiles widely. “I know someone who would be very excited to see this sight.” And they depart from their room, striding into Izmezine's where the girl is just waking up. “Good morning, anon ! Who do you think this is?”

Izzy sits up, blinking her bleary eyes and rubbing them with a big yawn, before scrunching her button nose to inspect the white ball of fluff in Kalmia's hands. Her lips form into a frown, turning her head away in disgust. “It's ugly.” 

That was not the reaction I anticipated. 

The wail of anguish that leaves his tiny bat body is very impressive, if not over-reactive. Setting Astarion down on the bed, Izzy pulls away slightly, what a terrible start but Kalmia will fix this. “Izmezine, sweetie, please, this is your father. He's turned into a bat by accident. Let's be nice.” 

That gets Izzy to take a peek again, and she looks to Kalmia for confirmation. “T-Th-That’s my papa?”

“Yes.” 

Poor Astarion is trembling against the bed, the words of his daughter like a stake straight through his heart, but at least he's stopped crying. Izzy reaches forward hesitantly, brushing a finger against his fur and she gasps, “He's s-soft!” She goes back in for a more gentle pet, “W-Why is papa a-a baby?”

Finally finding his words again, Astarion speaks up, “I don't know, I just turned into a bat, but kitten, you think I'm ugly ?” That last word barely makes it out as a squeak. Gods, he's going to be hung up on that for ages.

Izzy scrutinizes him further, golden eyes narrowing and appraising the bat before her. “Uhm, a l-little ugly?” Kids are always so blunt, Astarion should feel lucky that Izzy has enough sense to walk her statement back. The gold eyes turn up to her now, “Kalli, I'm hungry.”

“Me too, let's go have breakfast. What would you like?” Kalmia scoops up the whinging bat and places him on her shoulder, then holds Izzy against her hip. 

“Cake!” Is Izzy's first breakfast suggestion.

“Normally I'd agree, but a cake takes a long time to make, how about we make one later and we can have some scones and jam now?”

The dhampir thankfully concedes to that idea and they settle in for an easy breakfast while bat-Astarion clumsily scrabbles along the counter, whining, “I'm hungry too, you know.”

Seems Kalmia isn't the only one that becomes ravenous when changed. “I'll get you food in a bit. Let me take care of my anon first.”

He collapses into a sad pile, crying endlessly, “My daughter thinks I'm ugly, my lizard is starving me. Where is the love?!”

Kalmia slathers some jam onto a scone, ignoring him, “Izzy, what would you like to do today?”

“Can p-papa go in my h-house?” She asks around a mouthful of food.

“Hmm,” Kalmia eyes the worming creature before her, the image of Astarion being stuffed into the doll house is hysterical, but… “I don't think he would like that. Bats are supposed to be able to fly, maybe we can help him learn.”

Both Izzy and Astarion perk up at that, their eyes shining with new possibilities. “You really think I can?” Astarion seems apprehensive at the prospect.

“I don't see why not, irthiski. We can try it out once you get some food.” With breakfast finished, Kalmia takes the bat downstairs, leaving Izzy with the task of gathering pillows and blankets. “What blood do you want?”

“Yours.”

She brings the bat in her hands close to her face, “If you have it now, you can't have it later.”

More grumbling follows, “Fine, get me a glass of the boar.”

Filling a goblet to the top, Kalmia rests them both on their desk. Astarion's little wing hooks grab onto the lip and he shimmies his little body up the length of it, long tongue lapping up the blood. She watches quietly with her head tucked between her hands as a red stain begins to bloom along his snout and neck as he drinks. 

“Kalli! The-The blankies and p-pi-pillows are ready!” Izmezine shouts down the stairs.

Astarion pulls away, flopping down to the desk, “I'm full.” The goblet's halfway empty now, she's impressed by his apetite. They return upstairs now after a cleanup, finding the sitting room absolutely covered in blankets and pillows. 

Setting her bat on the couch, Kalmia gives Izzy a big kiss on her cheek and squeezes her into a tight hug, “I knew I could count on you to go above and beyond! Wow, look at all this coziness!” 

The girl giggles in her arms and Astarion pouts, crossing his wings in a pitiful stance, “What about me? ”

“I didn't forget you, irthiski!” Kalmia showers his tiny head in kisses and Izmezine does the same. He melts at their love. “I don't know how different it is from being a dragon, but my first time flying was… a little wild, you know? I think my mother just threw me off a cliff a few times until I got it. Be thankful for our care, Astarion.”

Izzy nods like she completely understands the lengths they are going to take care of him and he scoffs, “Your mother is a brute.” Kalmia only remembers those days with fondness, he wouldnt understand.

“No! Nafl i-is nice!” Izzy corrects him with a tap to the snout.

“I turn into a rodent and you both gang up against me? Where is the-”

Kalmia interrupts, “Enough. This should come somewhat naturally to you, but we'll start here on the couch and move up in height, ok? Now get to flapping.”

His beady little eyes glare at her and she just smiles sharply back. He's testy, big or small. With a despondent huff, Astarion shuffles along to the edge of the couch, stretching his leathery wings and shaking them out. 

The first few attempts end with an immediate face plant to the ground, and while he may not admit it, Astarion is very thankful for the pillows now. The fifth attempt though? His wings find the right rhythm and angle, so he glides down to the end of their makeshift protections. More tries are made, his gliding and flapping now consistent. 

Kalmia and Izzy erupt into applause, and she isn't quite sure if she imagines the blush on those little bat cheeks. “Higher now, Astarion?”

“Yes, yes!” He's glowing with pride at his newfound capabilities. Raising him up to the fireplace ledge, he huddles on the ledge peering down to the blanket laden ground. “Alright, I can do this.”

Izzy cheers from the sidelines, “Papa can f-fly!”

With one step, Astarion dives over the edge, flapping vigorously to maintain his height, and it sticks. He's flitting about excitedly, if not a little haphazardly, cackling gleefully. Kalmia, while very happy for Astarion, is concerned he's being too reckless. “ Irthiski, you should slow down and watch where you're going!”

His head whips to her, “Never! Nothing can sto-!” and he smashes head first into a wall, crumbling to a heap of bat limbs on the floor. Izzy shrieks, running over to his still form.

The downside to an undead partner? Can't really tell what kind of damage they've sustained because they don't breath or exhibit any of the normal symptoms.

Astarion is probably fine though. 

I hope.

“Don't worry, Izzy, your father will be ok. He'll just need to… sleep that off.” Kalmia strokes the girl's head, whose eyes are welling with large tears. “We should find him somewhere to rest.” She is concerned that he's not changing back… but vampires don't die that easily, no matter how small they are.

Izzy zips downstairs and returns with two doll-sized beds, laying them down by the fireplace with extra bedding so it's very cozy. Kalmia assists in putting his bat-self onto the bed and covering him with blankets. “Kalli, m-ma-make a f-fire! Papa’s c-cold!” Stacking some logs, Kalmia breathes fire onto them, stoking the flames until the room is toasty. With a sniffle, Izzy lays out next to her father and rests her hand on him, “I take c-care of papa.”

“I know you will. You watch over him so I can get lunch started, ok? We can eat here.” Kalmia kisses her forehead before setting off to the kitchen. 

It's always an adventure with them.

++++

Over an hour later, Izzy has fallen asleep looking after Astarion's limp body, which hasn't even twitched all this time. 

Maybe it's time to take matters into her own hands. 

Or fingers.

Pricking the tip of her index finger, Kalmia places it up against Astarion's bat snout, hoping the pooling blood will work like vampire smelling salts.

And of course it does, she should have thought of this earlier. 

His snout wiggles side to side, seeking out the delicious scent before him, and begins licking at the drop the moment he makes contact. Red eyes blink open, looking haggard, “What- What happened?”

Kalmia picks up her sad bat, cradling him in her arms, “You crashed into the wall going much too fast. Izmezine took very good care of you, so you should thank her once she's up.”

“How do I change back? If I spend another moment like this, I'm going to become quite cross with-”

“Hush, you're always angry. I normally just think about being me, so maybe try that?” 

Astarion goes silent for a while, so he must be trying anything to be himself again. Nothing happens though and he grumbles unhappily, “This is stupid. I don't want to be stuck as a flying rodent for the rest of my life. How will Izmezine be able to introduce me to people? ‘ Oh, come meet my father! The bat? Yes, that's him!’ Kalmia, I can't stay like this!”

“Shall I tickle your nose? A sneeze seemed to set it off the first time.”

His bat face goes through a range of emotions, before settling on sadness, “This is so unbecoming, but fine. Do it.”

Kalmia locates a feather pretty quickly, Gale has quills laying out everywhere, and lightly shuffles the tip across Astarion's nose. His nose wrinkles but nothing happens, and he folds in on himself in defeat. 

“I'm sorry, irthiski. We'll figure something out.” She does feel terribly for him, nothing is worse than being stuck in a form at the wrong time. She knows it well.

“Mmm, papa?” Izzy’s sleep laden voice pulls their attention as she starts grabbing at the doll beds, but realizes nothing is there, so she shoots up, alarmed. “Papa?! Wh-Where are y-you?”

“I have him, anon, it's ok.” 

Crawling over, Izzy pets her father, also seeming sad that he's still stuck like this. Who's going to read the bedtime story for them?

But if Astarion continues to be a bat, might as well take advantage of this opportunity. “You know, Izzy, I think he's kind of dirty. We should bathe him.”

The girl's eyes light up, “Yes!”

“What?! What do you think-” Astarion begins to shout.

Kalmia presses a finger against his snout. “You've been outvoted. Accept your fate.”

He whines and complains all the way downstairs, and once the bath is filled a few inches deep, she settles the little bat in. Izzy gets to work swiftly, wetting his fur and carefully working in the shampoo. Kalmia assists from the sidelines, but Izzy has it handled. 

Astarion's taking this with as much grace as possible, letting Izmezine do as she pleases, because there is never a world in which he would deny her.

But this time must come to an end, it seems.

He makes a strange noise, like a sharp intake of breath, and sneezes, splashing water everywhere when a vampire reappears where a bat once sat.

His resting clothes are soaked and Astarion is absolutely covered in soap, hair flattened against his head as he sneers at the two of them. ‘You two have had a lot of fun today. I think daddy needs some payback.” Izzy and Kalmia both shriek with laughter as they attempt to run, but Astarion grabs them both, dragging them into the tub, turning the water on. “If I had to suffer, then so should you!”

Once they're all soaking wet and giggling, they climb out of the bathtub, drying off, Kalmia has a new idea. “Ready to make a cake, Izzy?”

The girl jumps up and down in excitement, “I w-want pink frosting!”

“Any requests, irthiski?”

He runs a towel over Izzy's curls, “One of Gale's nice bottles of wine. I'm just… going to lie down, my body hurts.”

Kalmia laughs, “You'll get used to it.”

“Ugh, I sure hope not. If I never turn into a rodent again, it will still be too soon.”

++++

Notes:-anon = flower (draconic) -nafl (short for nafldask) = grandmother (draconic)

#astarion #bg3 #dadstarion #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fic #ao3 #astarion ancunin #batstarion

[pedge-page]

Candles

Part 5 to Best Man Series. follow Christmas Party.

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It's Tommy's birthday. So why are you still looking for Joel to celebrate it?

notes: Its been 4 months but here's the next part for those of you still waiting on since December! The next part will most likely be the finale.

Warnings: unprotected sex (with Tommy), infidelity / cheating, pregnant reader, toy usage, dildo riding, breeding kink, oral m!receiving (with Joel), m!masturbation, short voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cum eating, jealous!Joel, emotions are FLLYYINNGGG in this one

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous. 

He’s at home, drifting off in thought as his hands do poor work on wrapping paper around the new pair of shoes and watch that he picked out. When Sarah, who’s focus is on brushing her doll’s hair and changing her bathing suit, starts yapping about how Uncle Tommy's kid is gonna be her best friend since she doesn't have any siblings to play with right now, all Joel can think about is you and Tommy together right now on his special day. 

What would it be like, waking up to you in a shared bed every day? To be the first to kiss you, smell your morning breath and sift his fingers through your bed head? To see your eyes shine from the sun reflecting off of them, twinkling with the buildup of a tear after a yawn.

What would it be like, getting a birthday blow job from you first thing in the morning? Even if you aren’t his wife, he’s thought about getting to have you all the time, just for him. He doesn’t get jealous of Tommy very often, because Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous, but he tuts at the idea that your mouth wrapped around his cock is a sight he gets to behold more often than Joel ever will. 

What would it be like, to not have to sneak around? To just have you loudly, unashamed, sloppily, proudly, the way you deserve, without constantly checking behind your back? To capture your lips in front of everyone like it were normal, to hold your pregnant belly like it was his, because damnit it might as well be.

It drives him insane he can’t mark you up the way Tommy can, less the two of you be caught in your affair. All he can do is pound you better, ruin you some more, and fill you with his seed. 

As if the last one hadn’t already reared its consequences in your growing belly. You’re too beautiful, too full of something special to be kept to one guy.

Still. He’ll only ever be second to Tommy.

What would it be like … to call you his?

“Dad…Dad!”

“What!”

Joel looks down at Sarah who’s got her hands on her hips and a stern look about her face.

Jesus, she really does spend too much time with me.

“The door,” she repeats, pointing downstairs. On cue, the doorbell chimes again.

He grunts as he lifts himself to his feet, brushing her head messily with his big palm before hopping down to answer.

It’s his dad.

“How old ya gotta be to leave your old man standin’ outside in the cold?”

Joel rolls his eyes, shifting to allow his father through the front. “It’s 79 degrees out.”

“Cold for my old bones,” he groans, feinting a shiver. “Share-Bear!”

Sarah bulldozers straight to his abdomen and wraps her arms in a big hug. 

Joel lightly tugs on one of her curly strands and she yelps “ow!”

“Go upstairs and get changed.”

She barrels upstairs to her room, leaving Joel and Miller senior. 

Joel continues tossing a bunch of tape on to the sad excuse of a gift before crinkling all the paper up and tossing it. He moves to search for a gift bag in the closet instead.

His dad sighs loudly. “Tommy sure got a nice beat goin’ for ‘im.”

“Sure does,” Joel notes, his attention more on the shoving past the vacuum.

“Good house, good job, kid on the way. A pretty gal.”

Joel closes the closet and turns towards his dad. “What’s your point, pops?”

“You know my point. He’s got it all together. You...”

“Me what? You don’t think I ain’t doin good on my own?”

“You shouldn’t have to be on your own. Sarah’s mom wasn’t...we knew she wasn’t gonna stick around. Its tough havin’ a kid to raise by yourself—“

“I wouldn’t trade my babygirl in for anything else in the world,” Joel snaps quickly. His eyes dart upstairs briefly. Its a conversation he hates when his dad brings up, especially when Sarah could just be lurking around the corner.

“Im not sayin’ that but.” Grandpa Miller shakes his head and takes a seat at the island. “Kid needs a mom. You need a woman. Someone to hold and kiss and make promises to. Someone to love.”

Joel drops the now filled bag on the countertop. I have that already. It’s just—complicated. “There a reason you stopped by? Other than to lecture me?”

His father grunts apathetically. “Just came by for some wrapping paper, but by the looks of it—“ He glances at Joel’s empty tape roll and bunched up pile of ribboned paper—“Guess I’ll go down to the store to get some.”

“Well you know where the door is.”

His dad follows Joel to his open front door to show him out. One aging father and one rapidly aging eldest son look at each other with a sense of sadness.

“Joel—“

“I’ll see you at Tommy’s.”

-

If you weren’t so pregnant, waking up before Tommy would have been so much easier to give him a blow job.

Instead. It’s half past 9, and you’re just rousing to consciousness. Fully well knowing Tommy has probably been awake for at least an hour but faking it just so he can wake up with you.

“Good morning birthday boy,” you grumble groggily, a soft smile spreading across your cheeks as you pull him in for a peck.

He grins and wraps himself around you. “Mmm Good Morning, little Momma. Ya know what I want for my birthday?”

You did know. He dropped hints like crazy and you already had it ready to go by your nightstand.

The thing about Tommy is…Tommy likes watching. It’s something you figured out when you were already dating after a year. Something about watching you touch yourself, spreading your legs on the bed and fucking yourself with a dildo, or grinding on his pillow and moaning as he stroked his cock from across the room, has him leaking in his palm with dirty words of encouragement.

And even with a hefty baby in your belly, his view of you bouncing on top of the sizable dildo was no different.

“Fuck, fuck that’s it angel. Takin’ that dick so good. Bet it feels good, huh?” He grips his balls with his palm while the other fists over his dick. Sitting upright in your makeup chair, fully naked and facing the bed, he gets a view of everything. His hungry eyes never once leave your body.

You nod. Your knees hurt, but the sight of Tommy’’s heart shaped eyes watching your milky breasts bounce, your lips spread to accomodate the girth of the silicon cock has you smiling for your deserving husband.

“It’s—not as easy with the bump…” you say fretfully. You feel like shit, not being able to give him the show that he wanted on his birthday. It’s a lot more difficult to angel and thrust a stick into you when there’s a planet blocking your view.

Tommy hoists himself up quickly, jerking his cock as he approaches you. He tosses the dildo and crawls over you before veiny hands caress along your hips, over your belly and squeezing your tits. “S’okay, little Momma. ‘m’here now. Daddy’s gonna make it better.”

You grasp his face with both hands and grin, pulling his lips to yours. At the same time, he slides his leaking member into your folds, forcing a grunt in the back of both of your throats as he bottoms out.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” he growls, fucking you steadily with deep strokes. “I get my one birthday wish today. Thinking’ I’m gonna leave a little present in this pussy. Have ya walk around all day with a lil bit of me inside.”

You laugh and gently tap your belly. “There’s a bit more than a ‘little’ bit of you inside me already.”

His stomach rumbles with a a chuckle. “That’s for everyone else to know who ya belong to. Nah, I’m talkin something just between you n me.” His arm holds himself above you as he rocks his hips with shallow ruts. “Shit, shit, ya gonna take it f’me? Gonna take my present on my fuckin’ birthday?”

You let out a high pitched whine, neck convulsing backwards as your cunt starts tightening around his length. 

Tommy locks your lips to his, tongue’s messily rolling into one another’s mouth. A string of saliva connect between the two of you when he pulls away, only for him to rub it against your breast.

“Tommy,” you moan desperately. You’re close, you’re about to tell him so: “I—“

“I love you,” he rasps. His eyes are shut tight as he finds that sweet spot inside, sending you over the edge before you can finish your thought.

 He thrusts a few more times before stilling. His balls twitch with satisfaction, each grunt from his chest echoing the spurts of his seed inside you. He feels at peace when he can be this close to you, his hand warm against your tight tummy and his soon-to-be kids.

His soon to be complete family.

His words rattle in your ears. You feel the opposite of light and airy after an orgasm. No, everything is heavy. Your head feels like a boulder stuck to the pillow. Yet empty. Your body so full yet feeling incredibly hollow right now. 

Tommy kisses your lips once more, not noticing the way you don't return the vervor. He sits up, wipes the sweat from his brows and slaps your thigh.

“You okay? Fucked ya a little too hard, baby momma?” He snickers.

You fake a laugh, hoping he’ll see you’re feeling exhausted rather than suspect anything is wrong.

Your husband kisses your forehead with a whisper “Stay in bed, you rest as long as ya need,” before walking towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

I love you. It should have made you feel surrounded by him. Comforted, secure, proud, inseparable, sound, cherished, warm, fuzzy, happy, truthful, light. Your husband confessing his love to you. 

Instead, it only reminded you of the dream had about Joel again last night.

Joel in your house. Joel in your bed. Joel dropping Sarah off at school and feeding your newborn with her bottle. Joel cooking in your backyard, Joel’s hands entwined with yours on a walk. Joel rubbing your shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Joel kissing your cheek and telling you he lo—

You cover your face with the back of your hands. Tommy’s the one in your bed. Tommy holds your hand and kisses your cheek, and will be feeding and burping your baby, will be there for you forever and always because that’s what you promised to each other. 

You hold the ring on your finger up high in the air, its dazzling shimmer glints in your eyes. Your eternal promise, displayed on something so small yet so permanent, wrapped up in such a beautiful band.

The same ring that Best Man Joel carried in his pocket safely for months before you swore yourself to his brother. 

 You curse under your breath.

You’re still going to have to see him today.

-

He watches you crowd over Tommy seated at the head of the table, your hands lovingly on his shoulders. He thinks about his “one wish” for a while, but he only looks sideways towards you, holding your gaze for a moment before he confidently blows his candles. The room erupts in a rumble of cheers and clapping, but Tommy and you are only smiling at one another. He grabs your face and kisses you, smearing some icing on your nose. You laugh with him and rub it along his own, the two of you giddy and in your own world.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

And when you slice into the cake, nobody really understand why the cake is split between a blue and pink center. Everyones thinking the same thing--we already did the baby shower, it was going to be a girl!

“We might...have found out…there's gonna be another one,” you say sheepishly, your hands rollings over the heft of your larger than life belly that surprisingly has two little bubbas growing inside. 

Twins. you're having fucking twins. 

Tommy grasps your face and smears more icing on you, the two of you locking lips again and getting a little too pg-13 in a room full of raucous screeches that feel like nails on a chalkboard, shuffling chairs like a thunderous stampede. Everyone rushes to congratulate the two of you, how your lives are really starting, how exciting it must all be, what names you’ve been thinking of, its its everything you’d hoped it would be.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

Tommy knew, of course he did. Both of you planned it, to announce it like that. He’s got that smug look on his face, nothing of surprise. Just absolutely elated to share news that had been sitting on the two of you for who knows how long. Something Joel used to always get firsthand word from. You’re having twins. And he’s learning about it for the first time, same as everyone else. Tommy’s friends pat him on the back. Aunts kiss his cheek and even his dad smiles towards his youngest son’s success, all while the whole time, his ringed hand hasn’t left the curve of your swollen womb.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

He slips out the back of the room, everyone too engrossed in surrounding the happy couple. Nobody cared for Joel’s presence, not since the minute Tommy was born. Nobody would bat an eye for his absence today too.

…

You’re excited, you want to celebrate, and having everyone touching and surrounding you and asking questions wasn’t the way you wanted it. That’s why it was supposed to be during Tommy’s birthday, so there was something else to focus on.

But your body is on edge. It was attention from all that thrill. Jittery and warm under your palms.

Between your legs.

It’s hard to force Joel out of your mind whenever he’s in the same room. So when he dips out of the kitchen without making any gesture towards you, you didn’t hesitate to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Nobody questions it, continuing their swarm around Tommy now who’s too eager for all the attention to really notice.

You don’t know what you expect from Joel. You don’t even know why you’re seeking him right now, and not standing by your husband’s side. You love Tommy. He’s everything to you. 

So why is there still this half of you that feels… like you need more?

Maybe your body is thinking on her own accord now, and that’s been a problem that needs to end. No. No you just wanted to talk. That’s all. He's your brother-in-law, for fucks sake. it’s natural you want to hear his thoughts. He’s gonna be a double uncle! He deserves a congratulations! Hope he’ll tell you congratulations too. Acknowledge it in some way. That its happening. That you and Tommy—are just you and Tommy. 

You wonder where the older Miller may have gone in such a small house. Sarah was still in the room, sneaking cake since nobody else seemed to care to slice it up, so where on earth—?

A callused palm wrap around your mouth and pulls you backwards into the dark bathroom, the door closing you inside with him warm and pressed tightly against your back.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, all the way down to the dampness spreading along your panties. Fuck. What was it about just ‘talking’ to him again? 

“J-Joel,” your voice wavers cautiously. “I—“ 

“You still gonna keep pretending you don’t want me?”

You face him as he turns the lights on and the two of you are caught in one another’s grasps. There’s a moment where you size him up, and he wonders if you’ll bluff his pass.

Instead, Like magnets that can’t resist their attractions, your instincts overwhelm you. Your eager fingers dig into the back of his neck and smash his lips against yours. The traces of icing still linger on your lips and tongue, the two of you devouring one another, fighting to get the last lick before coming apart to breathe.

Joel just smirks, his tongue swiping over his puffy lower lip. “Sweet,” he hums. His thumb brushes the bit of icing you didn’t know was still on your nose and puts it in his mouth. “How somethin’ so sweet come from someone so naughty?”

You quickly drop to a squat and roughly shove his hips back against the sink. Nimble fingers working swiftly to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down to his thighs.

You’re both panting through swollen lips, heart rate moving a lot quicker than the activities you’ve so far done would permit. He’s gorgeous like this—illuminated by the harsh florescent light above, his sincere, albeit sinful, smile and rosy cheeks watching you kiss his hardened length. 

He doesn’t force you. Doesn’t do anything to make you feel concerned. In fact, you’ve cornered him against the vanity, forcing yourself between his bent knees and inserting his tip to your wet mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers softly. His thumb strokes over your cheek as you guide more of his leaking cock into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, not even to blink. 

Your head bobs eagerly, swallowing around him. There’s just something about that huge dick of his that has you going feral. An itch you can’t scratch until his cum is either nested safely in your stomach or your womb. Maybe it’s because you’ll never be able to get rid of him. He’ll be around forever, and that means you can keep seeing him and his beefy horse cock forever. Forbidden yet yours for the taking. Every day if you wanted. 

The sounds of the party outside feel so remote compared to the events happening in such a little room right now. Just between you and Joel. 

The babies ain’t quite here yet so just you and Joel.

“Pretty pretty angel, sucking’ Daddy’s cock like that. What would your husband think? Suckin’ his big brother off in your house? I’d tell ‘im you got to your knees all by yourself. Little slut couldn’t wait for it. Second she saw me, needed my fat cock stretchin’ her throat, ain’t that right? Needed me to give ya something today too? Just that selfish, aren’t ya?”

You pull off his cock with a big gasp, smiling lazily. He slaps his cock against your open tongue with thick and wet patpatpats. 

He tsks you. “Pregnant gal, on her knees, takin’ cock like a slut. What a woman you are, little momma.”

You hum in approval, the drunken desire for Joel to fill your every senes clogging your brain.

Soft lips enclose around his tip again and he thrusts forward this time, holding his cock deep. You try to remember to breathe through your nose, even with his hairs tickling your lashes, but Joel pulls back enough to just his tip, and sets a gentle rhythm back and forth.

Joel’s head falls back against the mirror. His eyelids feel heavy each time he looks down to you. So full and rounded by a child—two children…if they're his, Joel’s having another daughter and his first son.

“Told ya you were made from breedin’. You’re gonna be like this the rest of ya life. Gonna put another baby in ya, then another—” he chuckles to himself, “N’another—havin’ ya suck cock not remember what number baby ya got growing’ in ya belly.”

He hisses through his teeth as you suck his member in and out, picking up pace. Your tongue works over his tip with each swipe, hand jerking off the base of his dick that you can’t fit. Any saliva and precum is immediately suckled and swallowed, leaving no evidence at the scene.

You’d gotten pretty good at that.

Joel’s beefy paw grasps the porcelain edge behind him as he hisses through his teeth. His stomach tenses, the veins in his v’line straining and you know he’s close. 

You alternate between sucking his balls and jacking off his cock above you. “What if I busted all over that pretty face? Have ya walk around your house with my cum on those lashes as everyone told ya what a cock hungry whore you are.”

You moan around him, your pussy so slicked between your thighs that it’s dripping down your pants. Its wrong. Fuck, you’re so wrong to want it. Want Tommy to see who’s marking you up, see how much you’d spread your pussy for Miller cock no matter if its your husbands his brothers.

His cock finds its way to your mouth again, and he starts thrusting lightly. 

“Swallow it, swallow it all. Want ya hesitatin’ to kiss Tommy after this. Knowin’ ya got my spunk in your mouth still. Fuck me babydoll, mouth’s a dream.”

His jaw drops low as he cums, and god what a sight. Your cunt throbs as he lets out pained breaths into the air, ready to cum if you were able to touch yourself right now.

You gulp down his salty load, lips suctioned to his tip and milking him clean to avoid any messes that might linger.

“That’s a good slutty wife,” he whispers down to you. Even on your knees, the heft of your pregnant belly is doing wonders to him. 

You lazily grin up to his smug grin. He knows you like showing him just how good you are at swallowing loads, like a good wife always does.

He pulls his softened cock out of your mouth, and you gasp a big breath of air, your hands still clinging to his thighs.

You feel his protective hands hoist you up to your feet. 

“Anything hurt?” He asks gently, holding your body flush against him as he rubs your tummy and hips. He feels much less tense than just moments ago when he pulled you in the bathroom with him. 

You shake your head. It’s not the first time you’ve gone down on a man while 30 pounds heavier with a baby. Your knees are a bit sore, but it’s nothing compared to the ache you’ve been feeling in your back for months now.

You try to pull away from Joel, but his arm is wrapped tightly around you. 

“Didn’t think you were pullin’ me in here just to suck me off. Why are you actin’ like this little snatch is happy from that?”

“I didn’t pull you—you pulled me,” you correct.

“You came lookin’ f’me. And you got on your knees all by yourself.”

His hands caress lower down your hip, gliding along your leggings towards your crotch. It should be wrong, the way your hand closes around his wrist to guide him closer, his digits dipping below the waistline and down your panties. 

He feels it: the soft squelch of your slick in your ruined underwear, pulsing madly. He grins and lets out a satisfied yet devious ‘ooooh there we go’ against your cheek. 

But there’s more. More dripping from here than he’s given you just from the thrill of sucking his cock.

He pushes his middle finger past your entrance and fingers out the glob of cum that had been deposited inside you earlier today.

“It’s —it’s Tommy’s birthday,” you moan, as if he needed an explanation as to why your husband’s seed is dripping out of your pussy. “Had—to give him—ooohhhhuugggg—his…gift—“

He continues to finger fuck you slowly, his younger brother’s cum practically pooling in your underwear. “Got one man’s cum in your mouth and a different one’s in ya pussy." He shakes his head. when he gets you like this, sometimes he would forget that you’re Tommy’s wife, after all. That Tommy gets you more than him. Gets to fill you whenever he pleases. Gets to hear your moans as loudly as he wants. That Tommy’s right to your pussy is his first and foremost, sacredly, forever and always.

That doesn’t stop Joel from seething at the thought of having to finger his brothers spent out of you.

"What, he didn’t make ya cum?” He taunts, picking up the pace. Even as you wreathe under his touch, your nails clench into his bicep, feeling the muscle work with each flick of his knuckle. “S’why you’re so desperate today? Wifey didn’t get her selfish little cunt pleased from your husband on his birthday?”

 "I did come …” you protest weakly. You squeeze your eyes shut, head tilted down as he works you open. It’s sloppy and sticky in your leggings, soaking the underside with your slick and Tommy’s cum being forced out by Joel’s big fingers relentlessly hitting the gummy spot inside.

His other hand grips your chin and forces you to look at him:

 “Then why you comin’ to me?”

There’s a prickle of a tear filling your eyes. You've been asking yourself the same thing for months. You don’t know from what; the brink of pleasure or guilt, but there’s a hefty stone that’s burrowed in your chest all day that you didn’t know needed to escape. The words are forced out of your chest with a pained gasp. 

"... I just want... more.”  

It should pain you to admit it, to be so selfish for these men, never feeling one is enough for you.

Normally He would kiss you right now, to hush your mind to reveal something so heavy, but instead, he holds your gaze, gritting his teeth with a snarl just barely poking along his lip. He wants to let your words sink into your bones, really grasp what you've been denying for too long. Suffer with it, even.

You hadn’t even realized he backed you up against the door, pressing his knee between your leg. You’ve become trapped and hadn’t even noticed. His fingers prod your entrance incessantly, reaching deep inside so there’s no way of you to wiggle out of his grasp. curling up and beating your g-spot better than Tommy can—at this point, its very possible you’ve had more sex with Joel than with your own husband.

And that makes the coil in your pussy snap.

Joel belittles you without any words while you fall apart against the wooden door holding you up. Working the heft of his palm against your clit until your brows are furrowing, mouth agape, walls clamping down tight around him as you cum. The door rattles with each little roll of your hips, and your moans aren’t hushed either. 

He watches, the way your eyes are glued to him, blown wide in guilt and in pleasure while little whines escape your lips. Unrelenting and stoic as he works you through your orgasm, granting no mercy nor even trying to shush your little cries from over stimulation. You don’t hesitate when he brings his fingers to your lips, swallowing them whole and sucking Tommy and your slick off Joel’s fingers. He wipes the rest off on your shirt.

Every emotion you feel with Tommy, you feel with Joel in moments like these. He holds you close to him as you breathe in his musky, minty scent. His shirt smells a bit like flowered softener and a hint of early morning sweat. Fumigated with the thick aroma of sex.

You're looking at the ring on your knuckle.

“I helped pick it out. Carried it for months. ’S practically my ring to you too.” He’s babbling now, getting lost in that hazy after-orgasm glow between two people who are connected by a strong, strange bond. “Sometimes …sometimes I think about stealing you away all to myself.”

He makes you two look in the mirror together, with him cradling your belly as you hold your ring hand to your chest. “Look,” he commands softly against your ear. “Kinda looks like our own little family.”

You hate that you kind of liked that idea. But then Tommy is in your mind, the man that you actually love, who fought for you, who you tied your vows to, and as far as you’re concerned, the father of your children. 

Angry, you try to break away and shove Joel, but he's used to it. Used to you closing him off right after these moments of pure insanity. He's not letting it happen today. This time he’s got a firm grip on you like a brick wall and steel wire melding you tight to him. He knows you don’t actually want to push him away. 

"You said you wanted more.”

It’s not a question: it’s a statement. A fact.

The very real thought, the one you tried to push away every time this happens, dawns on you: Joel is tired of sneaking around. Wants to have you when he wants. When everyone is watching. 

Not just sex. To be in your bed, making you dinner and watching movies, dropping Sarah off to school rubbing your back when you’re in pain, there for the babies when you deliver and every day after. 

You manage to push him off of you and shake your head. The chatter outside grows louder than the beats of your heart. Hoisting your pants back up into place, you go to grab the bathroom door, but Joels strong grip lays over top your and forces the door shut.

There’s a deadly, threatening finality to his tone. “I’m telling him.”

You turn back with a shocked expression, partially expecting him to be joking about it. Not that it’s funny. It’s not funny at all. 

But Joel hasn’t moved. Hasn’t cracked a smile. A man whose resolve has overcome his patience. His lips are tight, jaw tense as he watches you try to answer to that horrifying outcome. 

“Joel. No. Are you insane?”

“If its my kids you’re having, I have every right to be there for you—“

“But it’s NOT!”

“You know that? Tell me right know, you know it for sure. Say it ain’t mine, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

You go quiet, looking down at the belly that’s carrying your babies. You want to shrink away from your fears, from the men who’ve caught you between them with their words and their love and their touch. You’re Tommy’s wife. Yet here you are with Joel. Again. In your and Tommy’s house. And Joel’s hand on you, and on your finger is Tommy’s ring—Joel’s ring--TOMMY—

 It’s too much. Everything is closing around you, your lungs suffocating themselves under the pressure that you caused by seeking him out. Finding him and putting yourself in this exact situation ever. Single. Time. 

You yank the door again, desperate to escape, but Joel doesn’t budge. He refuses to let you walk away from the conversation. From him.

“You didn’t deny it,” he reminds you. he pulls your reluctant focus to him again. “Just say it: Tell me you want me. Tell me you lo—”

“I don’t.” You declare rigidly. Its too far. No, no, no,nonoNO. You expel those thoughts, his words, quick to cast them out before letting them enter your system. The next words rush out of your mouth with a deep ache seized in the pit of your stomach: “You’re just a good fuck.”

The air is thin around you. Something has dropped, a pin, a dime, a fucking boulder, between the two of you. Joel grits his teeth and removes his hand from the door, backing away from you with a scowl. He pulls it the knob open harshly and brushes past you quickly, not even taking a moment to check if anyone was nearby to see you emerging from the bathroom too.

He grabs his jacket and strides towards the living room. You can make out the commotion behind the wall; Sarah is having her own philosophy course to her personal audience, asking, "Whats the point of having so many candles if you can only make one wish!?"

Joel grabs her hand and dismisses them quickly. Her sad cries echo into the hall: “But why! It’s too early!”

Joel’s stern voice echoes in the hall as they make their way across the entryway.  “Because I said so. I’ve got work tomorrow. We’re leaving.”

She continues to complain, but Joel doesn’t have any heart to continue their conversation. Ushering her out of the house and slamming the front door behind them.

You stare at the door, having not moved from your place. 

The carpet beneath your socked-feet feels too shaggy. I hated this carpet. Its too fucking much for fucking Texas and every god damn person who sees it here.

You flinch when Tommy’s hand creeps along your belly. Disgusting your sniffle as a cough and wiping your nose. You worry he noticed, but he doesn’t do anything to push the matter further. “What’s up with him?”

You huff an annoyed sigh. “I don’t fucking know. He’s your brother. Just Leave me the fuck alone.”

Tommy observes  your face momentarily, the way you avoid his eyes. He pulls away. “I’m gonna let this one slide as a pregnancy hormonal thing,” he says lowly, a cold soberness to his tone. “Then you can tell me what’s botherin’ ya so much lately. Or not. I’ll let you decide.”

You cover your face with your hands, sinful hands that feel like dry leather and charred ashes. Hands that don’t feel like your own anymore.

It would be better if Tommy just walked away. So you can simmer in your guilt and pain, like any cheating wife would. Like a sensible man who doesn’t take that shit from his wife, no matter what her personal problems are. From a woman who’s secretly jeopardizing their marriage for… what exactly?

You wanted more…but…what did you want more of?

Instead, Tommy feels his lips quiver slightly. He brings your head to his chest, smothering you in his scent and his embrace, his love and comfort.

Your insides break down in a flood. Tears and hiccups suffocate you as you wrap your arms around your husband and sob into his denim jacket, the one you just gave him this morning as his first birthday gift from his new wife. 

Tommy’s never pushed you for anything. Maybe to his own detriment.

Deep down, you suspect, he knows it too.

Instead, he just holds you, swaying back and forth with gentle ‘shhh’ into your forehead. Never once faltering on the stretch of his hug, his arms holding you up and against him like a seatbelt built for a lifetime.

You feel like you just drove the car off a cliff.

Series Taglist: @yawnetu @tearfallpixie @morgaussy @whirlwindrider29 @merci-killing @604to647 @robertpattins0nswh0re

- - - -

Finale poll: Who are you Rooting for?

Permanent Taglist:

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#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us smut #tlou smut #the last of us fic #last of us fic #best man #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller smut #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller fic

[yandere-romanticaa]

I've had a very fun and fruitful conversation with @allfearstofallto and she had some very strong reactions for a story about yandere Diluc and Tartaglia that has been marinating in my mind for a while now. I'll just give you a brief version of my idea.

You and the 11th Fatui Harbinger are to be wed. With your freedom stripped away from you and with your wedding date fast approaching, you are working tirelessly to escape the Harbinger's grasp.

However, even with your freedom stripped away, even if you have no autonomy on your own, there's an inkling in your heart in which you cannot hate your captor. He is far too kind and gentle towards you, the way in which he treats you makes your heart swell with a plethora of emotions.

But enough is enough.

You need to leave. Fast.

One evening, you act sweeter, more submissive than usual. Your fiancee eats it up and is delighted by this change in attitude. His happiness is evident because now things can proceed without a hitch. Don't worry darling, you won't be anywhere near his work. He'll keep you safe, fed and loved.

All he asks in return is to be in your heart. Love him. Love him, please. It's a hard request, a selfish one even, he knows this.

He can make it up to you. He can and he will.

He promises.

You kiss him in bed, telling him that you understand. Your eyes shift towards the hidden suitcase in the corner as you feel the drugs start to kick in. Tartaglia is fast asleep, and you finally taste the sweetness of freedom.

The man wakes up the next morning in a daze. The bed is empty and cold.

His heart shatters into a million pieces. He roars out your name like a wounded animal, his throat sore and bleeding from the pain.

He must find you.

Meanwhile, you made your way towards the City of Freedom.

You settle in, find a job, a place to live in. It's hard but you manage.

You ignore the lingering presence that you feel behind you when you're alone at night. You're making it all up, you keep telling yourself.

No one is following you.

One evening, you enter a cozy tavern. You order a drink and it is prepared by a handsome, albeit stoic bartender. You manage to get him to open up. He introduces himself as Diluc, the owner of the fine establishment in which you sat in.

How neat.

Due to various different factors, after a short while Diluc takes you in. He is patient and strict. It's an improvement.

You don't know about his ever growing obsession with you. You don't know about the endless sea of portraits he has of you. He keeps it all hidden well under wraps.

Regardless, Diluc is still only human. It's only natural that his jealousy would bubble up and rear in its ugly head from time to time.

Dawn Winery is in a way, forced to attend a massive social gathering. Diplomats from the North are everywhere and, of course, Tartaglia spots you in the crowd.

Even if his eyes were to be plucked out, he would always manage to recognize you.

Tensions rise and the danger of bloodlust reeks in the air. Much to his chagrin, Childe cannot simply just kill Diluc and be done with it.

He is being forced to play Mr Nice Diplomat.

Oh the horror, being stuck between these two.

Now, since this has the potential to be long as fuck, I was thinking of making it into a multiple part story. The best name I could come up with it so far was "A Song of Ice and Fire". I'm open to title names, if someone has better ideas. An important note to add would be that this would be a serious commitment for me as I haven't done a story like this in years. Chapter updates would probably take me a long time due to my job and potential lack of energy, but this idea has been in my brain for years now, which is a clear sign that I'm passionate about it. And, my question is - would you like for me to make this story come to life?

#yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere diluc #genshin impact #♥️ girlie says

[bellarkeselection]

We’re All Family Here

Reader is Carter’s younger sister and she has a prosthetic leg and the reader is worried that Rip and Beth will kick her off the ranch if they found out. Wattpad request from - @Quackity_bwead

Pulling down the Jean of my right leg I sighed staring at myself in the mirror that was in my room in Rip and Beth’s house. My brother Carter was already up for work in the barn but I got to sleep in this morning which was rare. Walking out of the house I headed to the barn with large Y above the doorway. The sun had just started to rise above the mountains and everybody was busy already working. Taking my horse out of the stall I climbed on feeling my fake leg hanging over. “Alright boy, let’s go.”

Kicking my horse we rode off towards the sunset with the wind running through my hair. I was wearing a tan dark cowgirl hat and my hair was tied in a braid. Riding through the fields I saw my older brother Carter who was trying to rope a cafe but it started running at me. “Y/n, watch out!” He cried when the cafe got underneath my horses leg and it spooked causing the horse to throw me off its back.

“Sis I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get a good hold on it.” My brother apologized coming over on his horse while Ryan rode past me to go grab my horse that had ran off somewhere else.

Rubbing the back of my neck I winced feeling some pain but it wasn’t as bas I have normally been through. Shifting my gaze away from my brother I saw that Rip was riding over to us. He dismounted his horse quickly dropping himself on a knee in front of me. “What the hell happened, kid. You can’t be injuring any of our guys!..are you hurt Y/n?”

“No just sore a little.” I shook my head not understanding why his deep brown eyes seemed to be filled with concern.

Rip moved closer to me touching my right leg and he pulled up the fabric of my pant. Once he saw something odd sticking out of your pant leg he knew something must be wrong. “Then what exactly is wrong with your leg here?” He questioned me where I finally noticed that he had seen my fake leg.

“I….uh….” I yanked my leg back feeling my face turn red being embarrassed over this. Carter wasn’t with me the night of the accident. I was just driving back to our place with our dead beat dad until someone rear ended me harshly.

Rip saw that I wasn’t going to answer him so he called to Ryan who had brought back my horse. “Ryan, take her back to the ranch.” Getting to my feet I climbed back on my horse and followed the ranch hand back to the ranch then he went back to work like Rip had asked him.

Laying on my bed inside my room I stared at the ceiling in silence and a pit of nervousness. Sitting upright I knew I had messed up or more so my brother had. I had done my best to keep the fact that I had a prosthetic leg a secret. In fear that if they knew I would be removed from the ranch. Someone came down the hallway and I lifted my head up seeing it was Beth. “Hi mom….uh what’s up?” I nervously asked since she had just started letting me call her that.

“I heard about your fall today from Rip. I’m happy you shook it off but we need to talk about something.” She entered the bedroom before I saw that Rip was also walking in behind her heels.

Playing with my thumbs in my lap I avoided their gazes when they came to sit down on the bed. Well Beth did leaving Rip standing directly in front of me. “So are you going to tell me about your leg or no?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it…” I gulped trailing off in my response already knowing the answer they would give me.

It was hard enough for Carter to prove that he would be a good worker. I already was a good hand but the fake leg wasn’t a good look. John Dutton had the greatest ranch in Montana and that means he should have close to the best people working for him. “You better tell us otherwise things will get ugly.” Beth warned me with her annoyed look and I froze knowingly.

"It's...it's about my prosthetic leg..." Rolling my pants leg, I made it visible to their gaze, and I didn't dare make eye contact with either of them. "I didn't want to tell you about it because I've been sp terrified of what you would say. Even though I get my work done, nobody else on this ranch has one. So I....just assumed that you would kick me off the ranch over it."

Rip put his hands on his hips, tilting my head to the side slightly. "That's totally ridiculous, Y/n. We would never do that."

"This family may be complicated, but we don't abandon our family members." Beth shifted on her spot on the bed, grasping my hand in hers.

Hanging my mouth open I couldn't believe it. "Really but I thought that-"

"That what us having some cowboys from the prison and others in debt wouldn't have given you the message that we take in the trouble so they can have a home." Rip declared, coming to sit down beside me, tucking hair behind my ear.

I parted my lips without thinking I fling my arms around his neck hugging him tightly. Rip stiffened up at the embrace but calmed down after a second and wrapped his arms around me with the same comfort. “Thank you….I didn’t think you would let me stay.” I sniffed against his chest.

“Anyone who has a problem with that will have to deal with me.” Beth responded after I hugged her and she actually hugged me back too to my surprise. I smiled at the pair knowing that Carter and I were gonna do really good here. This wasn’t just a rnhc, it was a family for everybody.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler #beth dutton #rip x beth #carter yellowstone #yellowstone series #yellowstone #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone season 4 #Wattpad request #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated #cole hauser #kelly reilly

[film-in-my-soul]

Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve/eddie #stranger things ficlet #ficlet bingo

[ghost-proofbaby]

oh, what a wonderful feeling (eddie munson x reader)

when you have a bad day with your chronic pain, eddie is prepared to take care of you.

→ warnings: none! pure, soft, good old-fashioned fluff <3

→ wc: 1.8k+

→ a/n: just some absolute softness with eddie taking care of reader with chronic pain, for my love @big-ope-vibes. divider by @firefly-graphics. title is inspired by the song "the man in me" by bob dylan, and i highly recommend listening to it as you read. <3

Eddie knows something is off the moment he walks through the front door. 

Usually, you’d greet him with a brilliant smile and open arms. The two of you had it down to a science these days; he’d get off work at the local auto shop around five, and be home by six, you already waiting by the door as you bounced on the balls of your feet and prepared to exchange gossip of each other’s day. A glass of wine in your hand, a beer in his. He’d tell you all about the shitty customers of his day, ranging from the old man who thought he knew more about his car than Eddie (he didn’t) to the woman who had thrown a full-fledged tantrum when all of her obnoxious flirting didn’t come to fruition (he still charged full price). You’d catch him up on your office’s latest gossip, about the manager who was trying to seduce his scandalously young receptionist or the ongoing war of who was stealing Mavis’ lunch out of the communal fridge (it was the newest intern. It’s always the newest intern).

It was so mundane, so simple, and yet managed to be his favorite part of every day. 

Except today. Today, he’d gotten home on time, even five minutes earlier than normal, and there was no sign of you or your glowing smile. 

“Babe?” he calls out, toeing off his work boots, grunting when he has to accept defeat and lean down to untie the laces. 

No answer.

“Baby?” he draws out the last vowel, glancing around the dark living room for any sign of you. The couch was empty, a soft throw blanket draped over the back of it. A mug of coffee from this morning was left to grow chilled on the dining table. 

Finally, though his ears have to strain, he hears you softly call out, “In here.” 

He heads straight for where your voice had echoed from, down the hall and into the bedroom. All the lights were off, and he made no move to turn a single one on. He already knew the layout of your shared apartment by heart, every creaking floorboard and every leaky faucet. 

The moment he sees you laying in bed, face down into the pillow, a weight lifts from his shoulders. A warmth spreads over him, comfort swaddling him just like the first time he’d laid eyes on you. 

It didn’t feel like he’d come home until he saw you. 

“You okay, bub?” he asks gently. He notes the way the bed is still made, the comforter only ruffled from where your body dips into the mattress. The subtle shake of your head nearly breaks his heart. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

He’s overdoing it on the nicknames, and for good reason – the muffled laugh that you release into the pillow you’ve buried your face into. It’s a symphony of gold to him. 

“You’re so stupid,” you mumble, and he has to lean in as he crouches down beside the bed to hear you clearly, “‘S my back.” 

The worrisome furrow between his brows smoothes out, his features falling slowly as he breathes out, both in empathy and relief, “Your back?” 

There were good days and bad days when it came to your body and chronic pain. When the two of you first began dating, it had worried him to no end. He had nearly smothered you with an abundance of doting. But time and practice had finally equipped him to be better prepared for the bad days, knowing what to do when the pain reared its nasty head without driving you insane. 

You finally turn your face, cheeks squished as you reveal your eyes to him. Big and glowing, even as they squint in pain, “Yeah. It’s killing me. I can’t even walk, it’s so bad.” 

“Have you taken anything?” He's poised and ready to leap up, to retrieve whatever painkillers you’ve filled the medicine cabinet with. But when you nod, he relaxes, crossing his arms and resting them on the edge of the bed before mirroring the smush of your face as his cheek presses into his forearm. 

“Four Advil. They haven’t done shit,” a frown settles into the corners of your mouth. 

He widens his eyes dramatically, mocking your pout, “Wow, that’s a lot of Advils.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” you groan, freeing an arm to throw it out into his direction, attempting to aim a slap to his forehead. He dodges it easily.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs out, dodging a second attempted slap, “I’m sorry! Sheesh, for someone in pain, you’re in a fighting mood.” 

He finally stands and grimaces at his own knees popping with the movement, cursing his own aching joints at the ripe age of twenty five, before he settles to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You must truly be feeling awful, because you don’t even scold him for doing so in his dirty work clothes. 

“What can I do?” he asks, bringing a tentative hand to rest on your shoulders, feeling the tension even between layers of blankets and clothing. 

You manage the smallest of shrugs, an ever-permanent wince gracing your features more roughly now. 

“I just want it to…. To stop,” you grit out in irritation, “I’ve barely gotten any work done today, and it’s just gotten worse and worse. It’s shooting down my leg now, down my… down my… that one nerve, you know? The stoic nerve or whatever they call it.” 

“Sciatic,” he corrects with a hushed chuckle. 

“Right, sciatic. Anyways, I can’t walk, and I can hardly stand to sit up. And it was my one day off. I was supposed to do the dishes, and then the laundry, and then… and then walk Gertrude’s dogs….and…” you trail off your rambles as your body slowly relaxes. As you’d been speaking, his hand had moved in soothing patterns over your shoulder before traveling down the path of your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure that he’d learned wouldn’t inflict any more unnecessary pain. Instead, it would simply soothe you, as it is right now. 

“I’m sure Gertrude can walk her own mutts,” he muses of your elderly neighbor as you sigh out deeply, “And I can handle doing the dishes and laundry. I’m a big boy.” 

“You couldn’t even tie your own shoes this morning,” you remind him in a teasing tone with a corner of your mouth still hidden in the plush pillow. 

“Unfair,” he whines, his hand finally reaching your lower back, taking more precautions in where and how he rubs circles, “I was still half asleep, and you offered.” 

“You were only half asleep because you ignored your alarm, and I had to kick your ass out of bed.”

“I was tired. Sue me. Also, I had a very comfortable pillow - or should I say pillows?” he references to your chest, leaning himself down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek as you twist to finally face him fully. 

You’re still smiling through the whine that hitches in your throat from the movement, jokingly wiping away his kiss as you shake your head, “Are you still in your work clothes?”

There it is. The scowl and the tilt of your nose he had been anticipating, clearly displeased in his filthy state even as your eyes spell out your adoration for him. 

“You’re cute when you try to be angry with me,” he grins like a young boy, features lighting up with a youth only you could draw from him. He leaves no room for protest as he stands from the bed and claps his hands, “Alright, here’s how the night’s going to go - I’m going to go order your favorite takeout, and pour you a glass of your favorite wine. And then, you’re going to take a bath-” you open your mouth, a squeak of protest falling off your lips, but he simply holds up a finger and shakes his head, “Nope. Hot bath, wine, dinner. I know you probably haven’t eaten today, have you?” 

Your silence is all the answer he needs. 

His grin softens, and he fights back the urge to trail a ginger finger over your cheekbone, not wanting to risk getting any of the residual oil and dirty on his hands across your face, “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait!” you finally call out, sitting up quickly and nearly doubling over, “At least take a shower first. I’ll order the food.” 

“You will not order the food. I’ll do it and then shower, but you better not lift a damn finger while I do, baby. I’ll kick your ass, I mean it.” 

“Not if I kick yours first.” 

His chest blooms with love for you, the terribly stubborn beauty with a wicked sense of humor that has managed to keep him on his toes the last several years.

You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re his pain in the ass – he doesn’t care how cliche that is. 

You both follow through on your promises; he showers, and you don’t lift a finger. By the time he’s running a scalding bath, getting it hot enough it would burn him but somehow comforts you, the food has arrived. 

The night goes exactly as he had said it would. You sink in the bathtub and your skin is already flushing pink as he returns with a glass of wine for you in hand, the other holding a plate stacked high with your favorite food. He sits on the floor beside the tub as the two of you sit in silence at first, content with passing the plate back and forth before he tries to feed you your bites, which leads to snarky remarks and playful banter until he drops a piece of food into the bath. It has you screeching about how gross it is, but he can only cackle as he fishes it out, nearly knocking over your glass of wine, which leads to more scolding from you. You’re not mad, though, or even irritated in the slightest. He knows by the cracks in your voice and how hard you have to bite your lip to hold back your own laughter.  He knows by the way you press a kiss to his forehead after he shakes his still-damp curls out in your direction, if for nothing else than to pester you. 

And when the wine and food has been finished, when the bath has run cold and you’ve finally gotten each other up to date on the day’s latest gossip, he has a warm towel freshly fluffed in the dryer awaiting you. He insists on another back rub, this one more thorough as he lays you on the bed and carefully straddles you, peppering in kisses this time along with the working of his nimble hands. A trail of love notes written across your skin in his breath, in his murmurs of affection and his whispers of devotion. 

You’re his favorite part of his day, even on the bad ones. 

You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, but my God is he glad that you’re his stubborn pain in the ass.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #so soothing to write after all the angst lately thank u ash <3 #SUDDENLY SECOND GUESSING IF THIS IS ANY GOOD #IT'S TOO LATE NOW I GUESS I'LL JUST HIDE AWAY

[softguarnere]

2 am

Joe Liebgott x reader

A/N: (this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) This fic idea has been banging around in my head for a solid year now, but for some reason I'm only just now writing it. Oops. The title comes from "2am" by Foals. Thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoy! Warnings: alcohol, mentions of the Holocaust, language (one f-bomb and that's it)

For the middle of summer, the night air is cool against your warm cheeks when you stumble out of the hotel lobby, arms slung around the necks of your friends as the three of you lean into each other for support and guidance as you make your way to the curb. The three of you are still laughing at some joke that Luz made back inside when the cab pulls up.

“Here you go.” Careful not to lose his grip on you, Luz opens the back door of the cab and guides you towards the back seat.

You really should be getting back to your hotel, but you don’t want this night to end. And who would, after all the fun you’ve been having with your old friends? It’s nice to see them again, to catch up with them, like you’re finally getting to know them without the constant threat of German artillery fire looming over your heads.

“I’ll take the next one,” you protest.

This makes Babe laugh. “Nope. Drunkest person needs to get home first. We gotta make sure you get in the cab before you pass out.”

You fix your old friend with the best intimidating look that you can manage in your current condition. “You drank way more than me, Heffron.”

Babe chuckles. “But I can actually hold my liquor.”

Well, touché. You can’t argue with that one.

“Can you make it home okay?” Luz asks.

“I’ll be fine,” you promise. After all, you’re not nearly as drunk as they seem to think that you are . . . At least, you don’t think you are.

As if he can see your thought process, Luz laughs. “I’ll swing by tomorrow morning to make sure that you’re still alive.”

Your friends close the door of the cab then. Babe taps the glass of the window twice to signal to the driver that you’re ready to go. On cue, the car pulls forward, slowly pulling out of the hotel’s drive. Only when it nears the exit of the parking lot does your driver finally ask his question.

“Where to?” A voice with a familiar raspy quality wants to know.  

The sound is enough to make you freeze, your breath stuck in your throat. Maybe you are drunk. Yes, that must be it – the alcohol making you hear what you want to hear, using some wild manifestation of your subconscious desires. Because you haven’t heard that voice in years. You haven’t seen its owner in just as many. And you certainly didn’t expect to run into him here, of all places.

Your eyes jump to the rear-view mirror. A lump the size of a golf ball appears in your throat. Because even in the faded light of the late summer night, there can be no mistake as to who is staring back at you, waiting expectantly for your answer. Even after all these years, even though you can only see his eyes, you would recognize him anywhere.

“Joe?” Somehow, the words manage to push past the lump in your throat, echoing through the car in the silence that has fallen.

Click-click, click-click. The turn signal methodically keeps time, a metronome as your fellow paratrooper waits for a reply. Though you still haven’t said anything, he takes a right out of the parking lot and eases onto the road.

“Guy behind us was looking impatient,” he says by way of explanation.

It’s Joe Liebgott, you can tell. From the voice, the eyes, the way he tensed when you said his name. Would he have reacted that way if anyone else had said it? Or is it only because of you and the things that happened between the two of you so long ago?

The car is moving and you probably shouldn’t, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, trying to get a better look at him. He’s so close – closer than you ever thought he would be – but he seems unreal and worlds away, like a dream that you can almost, but not quite, reach.

“Is it really you?” You whisper.

Joe sighs, a familiar sound. “Yeah, (Y/N). It’s me.”

“San Fransisco,” you remember aloud, some far away memory of some offhand comment that he once made to someone filtering into your memory. “You always said that you would come back here.”

He only nods. Your heart thuds in your chest. There’s so much to say, to ask, yet it feels like you’re running out of time for it all.

“And now you’re here,” Joe finally says. “With . . . them.”

It takes your brain a second to work out that he means Luz and Babe. Two of the many members of Easy Company who came to the reunion this year. Unlike some people.

“You didn’t come to the reunion.”

“No.” He makes a noise that might be a laugh. “Kind of defeats the purpose when you’re trying to leave the war behind you.”

Leave the war behind you. A slap in the face would have hurt less. Is that why he stopped calling you? Stopped answering your letters? You met during the war, during boot camp, and made it through the whole thing together – from Georgia to the Eagle’s Nest. You had been under the impression that you could make it back to the States . . . Well, at least now you know that Joe had different ideas.

“Then why are you here?” You ask. It’s a fair enough question; Easy Company reunions always generate a lot of attention. Joe happening to be outside of the hotel that was hosting this year’s reunion can’t be a coincidence, can it?

His silence is all the answer that you need.

“You showed up, but you didn’t come inside. Why?” Before he can answer, you add, “And don’t say the thing about leaving it all behind you again. I got that part, okay?”

You can hear Joe’s mouth shut with a click. You hadn’t meant to snap the last part at him. But seeing him here . . . All the anger, the sadness, anything you ever felt about or towards Joe Liebgott that you’ve spent years repressing is now rising to the surface.

“I think you know why,” Joe mutters.

No! You want to snap. No, I don’t understand how you could have left me hanging like that, after all that we went through together, all that we meant to each other.

“I – “ He clears his throat, shakes his head. “I was only hoping to see you. Just . . . I don’t know. I thought that would be enough, if I saw you. I never expected you to get into my cab.”

“And now I’m here.”

“Now you’re here.”

Thankfully the darkness of the night hides your faces from each other. In the solitude it provides, you can feel warmth bubbling and spilling over your eyelids, leaving glossy trails down your cheeks that shimmer gold in the passing streetlights. When it was clear that Joe was done with you, you had decided to leave him and your affections towards him behind. Clearly a part of you never quite let go. That much is clear to you now, as tears escape you without your permission.

Still driving, Joe glances up at the rear-view mirror, catching your eye. Your teary eyes. You can hear the frown in his voice.

“(Y/N)?”

“You left me behind,” you whisper.

For a moment, more silence. Then, “I know. And you know what? It was the stupidest decision that I ever made.”

Yes, it was. For a while, having loved him, having trusted him, felt like the stupidest decision that you ever made. It seems so terribly silly and childish to be sitting behind the man you once loved wholeheartedly – the man who broke your heart – and to wish for nothing more than for the two of you to go back to the way that you once were.

Second times the charm? Or should you follow a policy of “fool me once”?

“I want to go home,” you say. “Can you take me home? Please?”

Joe nods. “Where to?”

You give him the name of the hotel that you’re staying in. The cab fills with the rhythmic click-click, click-click of the blinker as Joe changes lanes, easing the car onto the exit and then navigating onto the quickest route like a master. There are several times when you hear him draw a breath as if to speak, but he never says anything. You keep quiet, allowing him the silence to concentrate on his driving.

Say something! Part of your brain – or is it your heart? – demands. You never expected to see him again, and now the chance is here. The destination is fast approaching, and then what will you do? If only you don’t squander it, this could be your chance to say all the things that have plagued you for years.

The cab slows as Joe sidles up to the hotel. Warm light from the lobby spills out the door and into the back of the cab, beckoning you into its safety. However, something stronger in the front of the cab keeps you firmly in place.

“I can’t sleep alone. Not again.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you’ve even had the chance to register them in your mind.

For the first time since you got into the cab, Joe turns to face you so that you can look at each other head-on. He frowns.

You rush on. “Do you remember Austria? After we liberated that camp, I never thought that I would sleep again. I only got rest because you were willing to flaunt the fraternization policy to come hold me, keep me safe.”

“I remember.”

“I think about that, sometimes,” you admit. You probably shouldn’t have told him that, given him that power over you. But who doesn’t regret the things they say at 2 a.m.?

Joe pushes a sigh, long and hard, through his nose. “Fuck.” He adjusts his position so that he’s leaning further back into the cab, closer to you. Through the darkness, you can see the conflict so clearly on his face, with his wrinkled brow, his frown. It’s so familiar.

“I’m sorry,” Joe says. “I really . . . I was stupid. You deserved better than that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought that I was sparing you.”

“From what?”

“All my pain. My anger.”

“You don’t think I have that, too?”

Joe blinks, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. When your boyfriend should have been helping you through those things, you had to rely on your old friends from the company instead. You would have helped him through his struggle, if he had only let you.

Then again, Joe Liebgott always had trouble asking for and admitting when he needed help.

“Park the car, Joe,” you say. “No, not here. In one of the parking spots.”

“Why?” Joe asks, even though he’s already pulling into a parking spot – he gets it perfect on the first try, effortlessly.

“Because,” you say. “You’re done driving for the night. You’re coming up to my hotel room and we’re finally going to talk.”

Joe kills the engine, but he doesn’t move from his seat. For a moment he stares at you, like he isn’t sure if this is real, or if he should. He must make up his mind because he nods, gets out of the car, and comes around to open your door for you. In the old days, he would have smirked at you, given you some pick-up line to hear you laugh. Now, he watches you with reserve.

Maybe this is a mistake. But if either of you really feels that what happened was a mistake, then there’s the possibility that it can be fixed, even after all these years. Not in one night, but it will be a start. Tonight, you can do something for Joe that people so often forget that he needs – show him some understanding, some compassion. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to reignite the light that once existed between you again.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x reader #joseph liebgott #joseph liebgott x reader #my writing #hbo war fanfic #hbo war

[winniemaywebber]

The Apple Tree • Part 7

read previous chapter here

(gif by @hephaestn)

Rosie and Y/N make a decision about their relationship.

A sweet breeze ripped through the trees, the May weather finally rearing its head between inconsistent cold snaps. The children were grateful for it, the sun shining in their faces once again. One of the greatest joys in life was seeing them run madly through the fields, the sunshine turning their pale skin a delicious golden brown color. Another was seeing their eyes widen with joy when their persuasion worked. 

“Please, Miss!” they'd beg, their puppy eyes softening your already mushy heart. “Please can we go over to the air field?” You'd pretend to consider, falsely uhm-ing and ah-ing, keeping them on tenterhooks until you pretended to relent. It wasn't hard to say yes; the children got to see the planes take off and land, some of them hanging around with their favorite crew chief - sweet Kenny Lemmons was only nineteen and far away from home, a playful big brother to the kids. Always so gentle with them and always so willing to answer any question they had about his job, he made them feel so special with his kindness.

“Children!” You'd softly scold, making apologetic eyes at Ken. “Leave Lemmons alone. He has a job to do, and you're under his feet!”

“No worries, ma'am,” he'd reply, his young eyes twinkling with joy at being able to pass on his knowledge to more young minds. “I don't mind at all!” And he'd take them across the field, letting them watch him and the rest of his crew patch up flak holes. 

You'd get to see Rosie, always so darn handsome in his flight gear. The best part of it all would be seeing his face light up the second he saw you, running over to give you a secret kiss when the children were distracted by Kenny and the crew.

“I'll be back before you know it,” he'd murmur, pushing your worries away with a soft kiss to the forehead. 

“I love you, darling.”

You'd started to enjoy the longer days that this new summer was bringing, especially how the sun rose even earlier, flooding your bedroom with bright light. It was even better when you got to wake up next to Rosie - the soft morning daylight reflecting over him; the reddish tint in his hair coming out because of it. He'd usually kicked off the covers, the blanket ending up at his waist. Sometimes, the prettiness of him would take your breath away, your hand stroking every exposed part of him you could reach. Even in his slumber, he'd smile softly at your touch, humming as your gentle tickles on his broad shoulders would wake him slowly. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he murmur, pulling you closer as he woke up. 

“Hey, handsome,” you'd reply, curling up in his arms and savoring every second of his warmth. It's on one of these mornings that he looks at you seriously with those beautiful blue eyes, still full of sleepiness. 

“What happens when this is all over?” he asks, suddenly.

“What do you mean, my love?”

“When this is over…and I have to go home.”

“Yes?”

“Would you come with me?”

The question shocks the breath out of you, you crawling out of his arms to sit up and look at him. 

“Darling,” you begin, your hand on his chest. “I absolutely would. But I have a life here. I have my job, I have this house. My friends…my whole life is here. I can't just simply turn around and give it all up.” You feel him sigh under your hand, his face dropping slightly. Without a word, he takes your hand and kisses it, nodding. A moment of silence passes between you both, the tension of the question hanging in the room.

“Will you at least think about it, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sweet man. I will.” 

—

“Turn on the radio!” Sally squeals, rushing through the door as you're in the middle of explaining fractions. “Oh, heck. Sorry, Y/N.” Their eager eyes turn to you, and then back to Sally. 

“Miss Sally,” Harrison pipes up. “We only listen to the radio at school on Fridays.”

“Well, I'm sure Miss Y/N here will make a special exception,” she replies brightly, turning back to you with her teeth gritted. “Turn on the darn radio.” With a sigh, you do as you are told and hear the familiar voice of Prime Minister Winston Churchill:

"Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m. at General Eisenhower's Headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Doenitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German Land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force, and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command…Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight to-night, but in the interests of saving lives the "Cease fire" began yesterday to be sounded all along the front, and our dear Channel Islands are also to be freed to-day.”

The whole room erupts into cheers at his last words, the booming voice of the country's leader being drowned by joyful screams, the children pumping their fists in the air. You and Sally grab one another, hugging tightly and jumping up and down. As you break apart, the joyful tears in her eyes suddenly turn to sad ones when she figures out what it all means for her. With a deep breath, she slinks back into your embrace, her whole body shaking with sadness and adrenaline. 

“Oh, Sal,” you say, surprised to feel a sob catching in your throat. “Hey, now. No need to cry.”

“I'm scared,” she weeps into you, her arms getting tighter around you. “I don't know what I'll do without you.”

“Doll,” you sigh. “You'll be fine. We'll write all the time, Sally.”

“B-but…”

"No buts, lady. Give me a minute.”

You break away from Sally and clap three times to get your students' attention, them stopping their celebrations immediately upon hearing it. 

“Wow, thank you. This is a very exciting day and it would be rude of me to not let you celebrate properly. I'm dismissing you all early!” Another cheer erupts, some running over to wrap their arms around your waist in thanks. Retrieving their belongings from their cubbies, they hastily wave as they rush on home, except for Penelope who hangs back. 

“What is it, dear?” you ask, walking over to her. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a shiny red apple, placing it in your hand. 

“Wanted to give you this, Miss,” she says sweetly, her eyes bright. “Was gonna give it you at the end of school. Picked it this morning.”

“Thank you, darling. You are so sweet. Go on home to mum now, okay?” Penelope nods and skips out of the school house, her long hair flowing behind her before breaking into a run to catch up with her friends. 

—

Walking home arm-in-arm, you and Sally have to stop every few moments to greet or wave to someone passing by. Some even hug you both in celebration before rushing off down the street to the pub which, no doubt, was opening early today. 

Opening the door to your cottage, you let Sally in first. She sniffs, her eyes cheekily squinting at you.

“It smells different in here than usual,” she teases, elbowing you in the ribs. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sally?” you reply, winking back at her. “I guess it's just because it doesn't smell like solely me anymore. It's me and someone else.” Her face drops suddenly, her eyes filling with fresh tears. 

“And what will you do when it just smells like you again?”

“Oh, Sally!” you say, exasperated. “You keep dropping these hints, like I'm meant to know what to do.”

“You never told me he asked you to go home with him,” she replies, sitting down in an armchair. 

“Because it doesn't matter if he asked or not,” you respond, kicking your shoes off in the entryway. “I haven't made a decision. I thought I'd have much longer, but obviously after today, I–”

“You'd better make up your mind. Don't break his heart, Y/N.” Suddenly frustrated, you stare at her pointedly.

“I wasn't planning on it,” you say, feeling your cheeks turning an angry shade of red. “But what about all this? What do you think Granny would think if she was here if I just gave up this nice house she left me? And what would the kids do? I can't just leave them like that. I can't abandon them when they need me.”

“When will you ever think of yourself? What do you want?” 

Without hesitation, you respond, the words spilling out of your mouth. “I just want to be with Rosie,” you say with a shrug. “But it's not that simple, is it?” 

“There. Yes, yes it is. You and I, we'll figure this out.”

“What if they figure out we're hard to live with, huh? What then?” You joke, Sally breaking into giggles.

“Then at least we'll have somewhere to come back to.” 

—

The celebrations on base had carried on until first light, you and Rosie walking back to your cottage hand in hand. The early morning mist hung atop of every house in the village, the grass sparkling with dew in the morning light. 

Walking into your cottage, you lean down to start the fire to warm you both up. Sitting on the couch, Rosie sits next to you and wraps his arm around you, his warmth enveloping you instantly. 

“What a night,” you murmur sleepily into him, and you feel him nod in agreement. Taking a deep breath, he lifts your chin to get you to look at him, his eyes softening as you do so. His thumb begins to stroke your cheek as he speaks. 

“Did you think on what I asked?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, suddenly awake. “But I haven't made a solid decision yet. There's so much to figure out, but I–” 

You’ve barely got time to finish your sentence before he's getting up from his seat and walking towards the door. 

“Hey!” you blurt out, walking towards him to stop him from leaving. “Where do you think you're going?” 

“I'm going back to base,” he says flatly. “It seems you haven't thought about it at all, Y/N.”

“Believe me, I have.” You reach out and take his hand, kissing his palm gently. “I've been thinking about it an awful lot. It's been torture. I think of saying goodbye to those children and it breaks my heart.” Hot tears begin to spill down your cheeks and you try to wipe them away as fast as they come but the constant stream is too hard to keep up with. 

Suddenly, you're wrapped in a tight hug, Rosie shushing you with his hand stroking your hair until the cry is spent, you feeling the frustration leave his body the moment you wrap your arms around him in reciprocation. Sniffling, you break away to look at him, your hand on his cheek. 

“Please, don't go,” you whisper, your voice croaky from the sobbing. “Please?”

“I won't, I'm sorry, I--ugh, I just reacted the wrong way and honestly, I'm being selfish. I want you to come home with me. I want to give you a beautiful life, give you whatever you want. I want to take care of you. My ma will love you, Y/N, so will everyone else and–”

“Rosie, you have to understand that I cannot rely on you,” you interrupt. “I've been on my own for so long that being ‘looked after’ is a difficult concept for me. I haven't needed anyone and I don't intend to change that.” You see him sigh, his eyes downcast. “But,” you begin again, your fingers under his chin to have him meet your gaze. “I love you. I'm in love with you. And if there's anyone I want looking after me, it's you.” A pause hangs in the air for a moment before you reach up to kiss him, your hand playing with the soft curls on the nape of his neck. As you break away and see how he looks at you, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, how he smiles softly at your touch, you've relented and done for. It's the easiest decision in the world. 

“I will come with you, darling. I'd love nothing more.” There's a moment of silence as you press your foreheads together, noses touching. 

You break apart and sit on the couch, Rosie holding your hand in his and rubbing his thumb over the surface.

“How will this all work?” you say, meekly, voice squeaking with nervousness. “I mean, where would we live? What could I do for work? I mean…I–”

“I understand your worries, sweetheart. How about this,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “We give it, I don't know, from now until Christmas. We'll write and I'll keep you updated.”

“That's over six months,” you say, eyes squeezing shut. “That is unbearable.”

“I know,” he grins, leaning over and kissing you on the forehead. “But how else do you expect me to save for a ring?”

“A ring?!” You reply, voice full of surprise. 

“Yes, my love. I’d ask you right now if I could, and–”

“Just say the word. Then I'd race you to the courthouse.” 

“I know it's a long time apart. But, it gives me time to make sure I can look after you the way I want to. I want to find you the prettiest house in the neighborhood, with enough room for a whole army of kids.” You giggle, your head now on his shoulder. “I'll find you the best school to teach at. I'll find you the sweetest dog at the pound. I'll find you and get you whatever you want and need, Y/N.” He pauses for a second, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just want to spend my life with you. In the grand scheme of things, seven months isn't long when we've got forever together.”

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kissing him gently. “I'm over the moon.”

—

“Everyone?” you squeak out, trying your best to get their attention despite the crippling sadness clutching at your throat and chest. “I have something to tell you all.” The children's sweet eyes are on yours in an instant, ready to listen as usual. You take a deep breath to try center yourself, calm your nerves and steady your pounding heart. 

“Now, you all know that I've been seeing a lot of Major Rosenthal and–” you feel the tears pricking at your eyes as you try your best to stop them running down your face. “Well, he's asked me to join him when he returns home to New York. This means that–”

“Miss?” Harrison responds, his big green eyes brimming with tears. “Are you going with him?”

“Y-yes, dear. I am. I'll be with you until the Christmas holiday, and then I'll be leaving. But don't worry, I've made sure you'll be taken care of.”

A few days prior, your nerves shot after agreeing to Rosie's question, you had seen Rita, bicycling down the lane to her family home. She'd caught sight of you first, stopping the bike as quick as she could and wrapping her arms around you. It had taken everything in you to not begin to weep at this close contact, her face full of concern as she'd taken your expression in.

“Y/N!” she coos, rubbing your shoulders quickly. “Talk to me.”

You'd explained everything, from Rosie asking you to go home with him, you agreeing and then it all hitting you: leaving the children you had taught and been around from infancy, the cottage having to be sold and the thought of being so homesick you could barely stand it.

“Oh, darling,” she soothed. “But think of it this way! What a wonderful adventure, how fantastic for you. You and Major Rosenthal make such a great couple, too. I know you'll be so happy together, no matter what's thrown at you both.”

“What about you?” You sniff, wiping your damp face with your handkerchief. “Are you leaving anytime soon?”

“Oh, no,” she replies wistfully. “It turns out that I'm better off alone.”

“Nothing to do with the fact both your Yanks found out that they were simultaneously engaged to you?” You smirk at her, waiting for her reaction.

“Hey, I'm young,” she giggles. “It's all fun. Fun while it lasted.”

Through your stress, Rita's face still etched with sympathy, the answer had come to you. 

“Well, if you're staying, I have a job for you.” You shrug as casually as possible. Rita's face lights up in an instant, nodding enthusiastically before you've even finished your sentence. 

“Oh, Y/N!” she wraps her arms around you again, jumping up and down with you. “I'd love to. I'd be honored. Though I'll never compare to you–”

“Oh, stop it, you,” you cut her off, smiling nonetheless.

“I'm being serious! Nobody will compare to you. But I'll definitely try my best.”

---

“Miss Rita will be coming to teach you in the new year. What do you all think about that?” The children's faces go from sadness to excitable within an instant, some even pumping their fists in cheer. 

“Good! That makes me so happy.” You let the tears fall freely now, your hand clutched to your chest. “You'll never know how much I'm going to miss you, darlings.” You hear a few sniffles from the little crowd in front of you, and you turn away for a second to wipe your own tears. “But, luckily, we have all this time left together. No use being sad now, chickens. Shall we run over to the air field?”

“Yes!” they yell in unison, zipping out the door in a flash. 

—

Rosie's departure date comes quicker than expected, the news hitting you like a freight train the night he tells you, you both sat in the officer’s club. 

“Monday?” You manage to push out, feeling your throat close at the suddenness of it all. “Two days away?” Sally looks over at you, those big doe eyes of hers overflowing with tears. At any moment, the floodgates will open. You know you're able to stand it and be strong if Sally doesn't cry, but the second you hear her sniffle next to you, it's game over. 

“I need some air,” you croak out, trying your best to stand up without wobbling, in part from the three Old Fashioneds you'd consumed in quick succession. As you turn to grab your handbag, you see Sally clinging to James, him shushing her and stroking her hair as she weeps into him, leaving a dark stain of mascara on his dress uniform. You wipe your own as you walk away, not wanting to overwhelm the situation any more. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear behind you as you lean against a wall, face crumpling in what you thought was privacy. Rosie walks up to stand in front of you, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching the first tear that drops from your eyes.

"I'm sorry,” you snivel, holding the hand that's resting on your face. “I thought we'd have more time.”

“I know, baby. Honestly, me too.” He sighs a long breath leaving his nostrils. “But I promise you, it'll go so quickly. Before you know it, you'll be on that boat to New York to start your life with me.” He smiles his beautiful smile, your nerves gone in an instant. 

“I love you, Y/N. So much.”

“I love you too.”

—

Monday morning. You awaken before Rosie, not feeling well rested at all. Sleep had refused to come for the pair of you until the wee hours, you both falling asleep on tear stained pillows, clinging to one another so hard that you're sure you've left bruises on his soft skin. The soft morning light peeks through the thin curtains, flooding the room and enveloping Rosie. The gentleness of it brings out the red hints in his pretty hair, his subtly tanned skin glowing in the sunrise. Knowing this will be the last time in a while you'll wake up to him, you reach your hand out and run it along every exposed part of him, just as you do every morning. 

The blanket - always kicked off in the night by him - begins at his waist, so that's where your fingers start. Gently tickling upwards, your hand dips at his torso, all the way up to his collar bone before leaving your hand on his face, your thumb stroking the end of his mustache. He sleepily grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your palm, pulling you closer. 

"Hmmm, morning, sweet girl.”

“Hi, handsome,” your voice a little shaky. Feeling fresh tears threaten to spill from you, you sniff, trying to will them away. Without needing to say anything, Rosie places his hand on your waist and kisses you deeply. “Let me make love to you one last time before I go,” he asks. “Please?” 

You nod before the plea is even out of his mouth. Not wasting a moment, he's inside you, his mouth hovering over yours. 

“God,” he murmurs. “How will I manage without you?” You giggle, your hand stroking his face. 

"It'll be easy,” you moan. “Just think of all the time we'll have when I'm home with you.”

“Yes, my love,” he breathes deeply, kissing you. “I can't wait.”

—

“Come on, kids,” Rita says, trying her best to hurry them along to the air field to watch the planes ascend for the last time. They walk along, sluggishly, not one single sweet face holding a smile. Their usual ruby red cheeks are flushed, their demeanors the opposite of their happy selves. 

“My darlings,” you coo. “I know you will miss your friends. But, let's look at the bright side. They're going home to their families today, after so many years. Let's be happy for them for that, yes?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N,” they chorus, eyes suddenly looking a little brighter as you take control of the situation. Rita looks at you and bites her lip worriedly. 

“Don't worry,” you reassure her. “They'll take to you in no time. We have months and they'll get used to it, alright?”

“If you say so.” 

Walking along the grassy footpath that leads to the edge of the airfield, you see Croz and Rosie in a final conversation. You hear their joyous laughter from across the way, their bond always softening your heart. 

“You want me to bring my infant son to a jazz club?” you hear Croz laugh, his bag swinging in unison with his body.

“Hey, it's never too early,” Rosie replies, his finger wagging at him. With a knowing glance, they part from one another, acknowledging the fact with a glance that they've been bonded together forever due to this experience. As Harry walks away, he catches sight of you and waves, his usual anxiety and nervousness gone. You wave back, some of the kids around you saluting him. He reciprocates, putting his bag down and giving a proud salute in their direction. 

You turn back to Rosie and see him masterfully run his hand on the aircraft's every curve, using the same movements with his hands as he does on your body. You feel your stomach drop and it's an effort to keep standing as you witness him put his hands on every part he is able to reach. He sees you staring at him and grins, you running over to him as quick as a flash. 

“Love bug,” he whispers as he envelopes you in his arms. At this, you whimper and begin to sob, your body wracked with sadness. “Hey,” He soothes, his beautiful hand stroking your back. “Shh, darling. Those kiddos will keep you occupied and we'll be at city hall before you know it. Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you manage to muster out, your voice blocked by his shoulder. You break away and kiss him deeply, not caring who sees. “I love you, Rosie. So much I can hardly stand it.”

“I love you too, Y/N. My girl.” He hugs you tightly again, as if he cannot bear to let go. Alas, he does, sighing as his arms leave your body. He gently pulls your chin towards him and gives you the most soft, sweet kiss that makes your stomach flip. You take a few steps back and watch him clamber gracefully into the aircraft, your heart in your throat.

You find Sally a few moments later, both your faces blotchy with tears. Hilariously, you both reach into your pockets and swap matching embroidered handkerchiefs, Granny coming in clutch once again. 

"Frances strikes again,” Sally says, shoulders shaking from laughter and residual sobs. She reaches down and clings to your hand, her free one waving to James as she sees him whiz down the runway. Following behind is Rosie, who blows you a quick kiss before slamming his window shut.

 

Over the familiar hum of the aircraft, the gathered villagers cheer a chorus of “bye, goodbye! We'll miss you! Get home safe!” The final aircraft ascends, the noise going with it leaving a sort of eerie silence over the village that hasn't been heard in years. With a deep breath, you beckon the children down from the tower and lead them back to the schoolhouse.

Once there, you let them play outside so you can compose yourself before beginning to teach for the day. Sitting under the apple tree, you pull out your book from your bag and plan to read where you left off last week. A small piece of paper falls from it, scrawled in Rosie's penmanship.

“Counting the days until I see you again. I can't wait for you to come home. All my love, always. Rosie."

friends! thanks so much for reading this series. this is the final part of this arc but I hope to bring them back to you soon!!! <3

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666

masterlist

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fic #mota fic #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie's riveters #the apple tree #winnie writes

[tiredcowpoke]

A BETTER EVENING

Pairing: Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader Request: Anon sent “Hey! I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing Molly? Something about an angsty molly/f!reader just makes me 😩. An “I can treat you so much better” type situation and both are aware there’s feelings there? (one-sided or otherwise! however it comes to you!). Smut if you are up to it, but no pressure at all!“ Warnings: Cheating (emotional, at least), pretty Dutch critical, angst, pining. Note: I'm upset I had to take forever with this, but I'm always down to write something with Molly. lol Thank you for requesting, anon, and I hope this at least lives up to your expectations? Regardless, I hope you all enjoy.

She disappeared down the shoreline again, fists clenched and arms swinging at her sides as if she was going to punch whoever might appear at the end of her march.

A part of you, not born out of frustration toward her or her situation, almost wished that she’d just keep going. You had seen and heard her issues with Dutch, that she had taken a punch from Karen a day or so back for some sort of fight between the two of them, and you knew she would fare better if she just left. Yet, you knew she wouldn’t. She was loyal to Dutch, she loved Dutch, and you could see her trying to win his affections back.

Given how he’d been acting around Mary-Beth, who was unwillingly dragged into this mess without wanting to be, you had found yourself biting your tongue a few times from making a comment or two to him about everything. Yet, you knew your time would be better spent giving Molly your time. Things had been good between you two–you had been warned by the other women a few times about her temperament and how Molly kept her distance. You still found a way to get her to talk with you–it wasn’t hard, back in Horseshoe. Spirits were high, or better than they had been since Colter, but now things felt…different.

Molly was distancing herself. Didn’t really want to talk with you for too long, and her anger was rearing its head a lot more since the gang had moved camps. With her and Dutch going head-to-head most days, you couldn’t blame her for the foul moods.

Still, you wanted to try. Even if it was a small conversation or she would brush you off.

Upon seeing her sit down on a rock just out of eyesight from most of the camp, you started to make your way over toward her. There was some apprehension to your movements–at most, you just didn’t want to ruin her day more than it already has been. It wasn’t even midday yet and she was sitting out on her own again after another shouting match. You knew you would have to tread carefully, at least.

“Molly?” you asked once you came within a couple steps of her.

She glanced toward you, eyes sharp but you could tell from the puffiness that she was holding back the tears. Seeing her like this, it pulled at something in your chest–sympathy, but also anger toward Dutch. You realized you were about to give her the apology that he wouldn’t.

“That was horrible…” you started, “I’m sorry. I know things aren’t good with you, but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” she stated, voice tight. You didn’t believe that for a second, but you didn’t press as you gestured toward the space beside her.

“You mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” she replied shortly.

With a small exhale, you finally crossed the space between you two and sat down beside her. You looked out at the river, the islands across from you that were still shrouded in the morning mist. Even with the tension, you didn’t want to speak. To push Molly into talking when she didn’t want to. Yet, you just…wanted her to know you were there, you supposed. You had wanted that more than you cared to admit, and not just within situations like your current one.

You knew you were just putting yourself into more pain in the end, but it was hard not to feel drawn to her. Yet, you knew you couldn’t act on it. As far as you were aware, Molly hadn’t made any signals that she returned your sentiments, and you knew trying to pursue the woman who was with your gang’s leader was just asking for trouble. Reason pointed largely toward why it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

You had wanted to see her smile. See her laugh. Anything other than the shouting and crying that you had seen out of her as of late.

“I don’t know what to do,” Molly admitted, pulling you out of your thoughts as you glanced toward her. Her voice was shaky and tired, her Irish accent thick with the tears you could hear she was holding back.

“I know you’re all watchin’ me, too,” she continued, the venom in her voice taking you aback somewhat, “Just waitin’ for the next show–well, I’m sure you’ll all keep gettin’ it.”

“I’m not finding any amusement,” you said, tone even despite the anger that clearly sat her own. “You’re one of the first people I got close to in this camp. I care about you.”

Molly turned to glance over at you, then. While she didn’t say anything, you could see her expression shift. The sharp gaze she gave you when you first approached fell away to something a little softer, though you could clearly see the hurt in her eyes before she turned to look away from you. This place was draining her–clearly. You could see that, and you knew others did too. Yet, you had the feeling that you might be one of the few, if not the only one, to try to talk to her directly about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, the words slipping out without much thought, as much as you knew an idea had been forming in your head.

“What?”

“Just for a while,” you continued, “I know a quiet place that would be nice for the afternoon. I…well, I think we both could use some time away from here.”

“I…I don’t know,” Molly replied after a pause, looking conflicted. You raised your hands somewhat in a placating gesture–you didn’t want to stress her out, but you thought that maybe it would be nice for her. You knew nobody else was going to, anyway.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought I would offer. I can lead my horse around, you won’t even have to explain it to anybody else. It’s not like I’m asking you to rob a bank with me or anything.”

Molly seemed to debate that for a few moments–in that time, though, you had noticed a change in her body language. Even if it was just a suddenness of the offer, she seemed to perk up somewhat at the idea, even if she hadn’t voiced it out loud just yet.

“…Not for too long,” she settled on, making a small grin appear on your face.

***

You appreciated the shift in temperature from Lymone into New Hanover.

Perhaps more than you did when the gang had been staying in Horseshoe, but the current camp was stifling in more ways than just the tension you had noticed in places. While it wasn’t a major drop in temperature, you didn’t want to go too far out, it felt like you could breathe a little easier. Well, as much as you could in the current situation.

Honestly, you were a little nervous as your horse trotted along at an easy pace, you being all too aware of the passenger you had behind you on the horse. Molly’s hands rested on your hips, the two of you not really talking much on the journey toward a little spot you knew from a while ago. A place you took off to from time to time to be alone with your thoughts, or when camplife got to you a little too much. It was quiet, isolated, and sometimes it felt like you were separated from reality for a while. Little peaceful places like that, you had learned to appreciate where you could.

You didn’t know if Molly would get the same experience, but you hoped so. At the end of the day, you were just hoping that perhaps it would give her a chance to relax. To get away from the camp, Dutch, and all the rest. (As much as a small part of you did wish that it’d be your company that would help her do that, but you didn’t want to put her in that position. As much as your mind tormented you with the idea from time to time.)

“I haven’t done this in a long while, you know,” Molly said suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts as you turned your head toward her somewhat over your shoulder. “Dutch used to take me on rides like this before, but…not so much anymore.”

“…He’s busy these days. You know how he is,” you offered in reply, though your tone betrayed the fact that you didn’t put much heart into your defense of Dutch. It kind of felt like a knee-jerk reaction, sometimes. You cleared your throat somewhat, perking up a little. “Though, I’m happy to take you out for a bit. It’s not too far now, I think.”

“Ya don’t have to defend him to me, you know,” she said, “He…I just want someone to tell me that they see what I do.”

“What do you see?” you asked after a pause.

“That he’s…different, now,” Molly said, you feeling her hands tighten a bit on your hips as she shifted on the back of your horse as you steered down toward a familiar patch of trees.

“A lot of things have changed lately, haven’t they?” you asked, “Not to dismiss your concerns…”

“Yes, but…” Molly trailed off, sounding a little frustrated but you were glad that at least she wasn’t bottling it all up. “Even before Blackwater, you saw how he was. I thought things were getting better in Horseshoe, but now he has no time for me. Can’t help but resent the man.”

“I can’t say I know him that well,” you said, “I’ve only been around for…maybe half a year? Yet…well, I’ve seen the way you two yell at each other now, so I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change.”

“Mortifyin’, that’s what that is,” Molly muttered, “I just don’t want to sit there and take it. I just want him to listen.”

“I know,” you replied, reaching a hand back to grasp at her own where she was gripping your shirt, “Dutch…he…Don’t tell anybody I said this, but it feels like doesn’t listen to anybody unless they are agreeing with him. From what I’ve seen, anyway. He may change. Come to his senses or something…”

God, listening to yourself say those last couple of sentences didn’t make you believe you believed what you were saying. Molly didn’t say anything in return–you couldn’t blame her. You wanted to respect her relationship with him; and for all you had to say, Dutch did help you out. Yet, you really didn’t want to force yourself to defend the man you saw hurting someone you cared about, day after day. You knew Molly hurled her own share back at him, but after seeing what happened with Mary-Beth and her discomfort, you couldn’t help but want to stand with Molly.

It wasn't your place to get involved, anyway. Not directly, at least. You could just offer her things like this, you supposed.

Finally, after making sure to take a path into the clearing that wouldn’t get you both smacked by tree branches, you arrived at the little clearing. The little stream, some rabbits running off into the bushes on the other side and the early evening sunlight giving you plenty of shade. You steered your horse to a stop near a tree, slipping out of the saddle first before offering your hands out to Molly for some help down with a somewhat awkward chuckle.

She took your offered help, slipping off the side of your horse with your assistance, gripping onto your hands as she glanced around herself. You couldn’t help but notice the freckles that dotted her cheeks, a few strands of her red hair resting against her shoulders as you still gripped her hands in your own. Your heart was beating hard, both worried about her reaction and the fact that you were still standing like you were.

Finally, you dropped your hands to your sides as you looked around yourself before giving Molly a small grin.

“Like I said, it’s not a gala or anything, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t think I could handle anythin’ more than this,” Molly said, “It’s…quiet.”

You made a sound of agreement, moving toward one of the trees to rest under as you gave Molly the option to follow. Really, you couldn’t say you had many hobbies that you could do in a place like this, but just taking in the relative quiet was enough for you. Though, you noticed Molly walking over to join you after a few moments, lowering herself down to sit next to you as you glanced toward her.

She pulled her legs up to her chest somewhat, crossing her arms on her knees as she looked off at the treeline across from you both. It was probably the most casual you had seen her.

“I used to look for places like this to write poetry,” Molly commented, making you raise your eyebrows at her somewhat.

“You’re a poet?”

She chuckled lightly at that, the sound pulling at your heart a little. “I appreciate the flattery, but I wouldn’t say that. I don’t write nearly enough.”

“You could always pick it up again,” you encouraged, “I’ve seen Arthur with his journal many times, Sean and his whittling. Javier and his guitar, even Uncle with the banjo…”

“I know, but…” Molly started with a small shrug of her shoulders, “I don’t think I could write the same. About nature, love, folktales…things have changed too much.”

“I don’t think that means you should stop…” you replied, “Not to pressure you. Just…well, I know Mary-Beth writes romance, but I doubt Arthur’s journal is sunshine and rainbows. It’s a way to express yourself, I guess.”

“I never took you for the creative sort,” Molly commented in some mild amusement, which made you huff.

“I just think I’m overcompensating for the fact that I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

“Well…I don’t think many people have encouraged my poetry in a long while,” Molly admitted after a few moments, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said with a nod, glancing down at the tips of your shoes, “You deserve to have people supporting you.”

“You…always do that,” Molly said after another pause, which had you glancing back toward her, “Since we’ve met. You go out of your way to lift my spirits. I know I don’t appreciate that enough.”

“I just…” you started, squeezing your hands together, “I want to help. I like you–your company. I think you deserve better than a passing greeting or…” Dutch, you wanted to say. You deserve better than Dutch. “I know you appreciate it. You don’t have to say it.”

“…Why me?” Molly asked, the question taking you a little off guard. “You’re friendly with others, but you go out of your way for me…”

“I…It’s…” you said, trying not to stammer as you could feel your heart in your throat, “I mean…you have to know by now, right? I appreciate your company and friendship a lot, and I shouldn’t even say anything more, but…I’m sweet on you.”

“You’re sweet on me?” Molly asked, her tone not quite as shocked and put-off as you had been expecting. “That…makes sense, I just never thought…”

“You don’t have to say or do anything,” you said, meeting her gaze with your serious one, “I just know that you deserve better than Dutch. I know you love him, but I’d hate to see you chasing after someone who isn’t there anymore. The idea of him, at least. I don’t want to say I’d be the one who would be better for you, but…I just think you deserve better than to be brushed off and ignored. Certainly better than being condescended to and yelled at.”

Your gaze had dropped as you spoke, feeling like you were saying too much and should stop while you were ahead. Yet, it was all true. You knew you had felt some sort of way toward her for a while now, and to see her and Dutch had taken on a particular sting. Especially with how things had been lately. Still, it wasn’t your place. You were expecting to be told off or something along those lines, and you’d understand that.

So, you were surprised when she leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your middle. You returned the embrace, holding onto her as she didn’t say anything. You knew it was a lot to take in, and you were concerned that you had ruined things, but this reaction was a bit of a relief. You rubbed your hand over her shoulder lightly in a small, soothing gesture.

“Regardless of how you feel about this now or later, I just wanted you to hear that from somebody,” you muttered, Molly nodding before she pulled back somewhat.

It looked like she might say something for a few moments, but instead she just reached out for your arm again as she leaned her head against your shoulder. You sighed, turning your head and pressed a small kiss to her hairline before pulling back to look across the clearing where some rabbits had returned to graze.

“I know,” you muttered.

#my writing. #molly o'shea x reader

[bigdvmnhero]

Casey Jr.'s first word was ‘Weo.’ 

His second was ‘Cashee’ or ‘Raff’ or ‘Bifurcated Time Branch’—depending on who you asked.

At 36 months old he was their tiny poet. The Kraang was rearing its head, its mouth still smoking from the detonating hockey puck when Cassandra tucked his leg back into the fold of her baby wrap, unsheathed her stick's retractable blade, and asked, "What shall we do to the big bad annoying Kraang?" and out came his first, fully-formed sentence.

"TAKE ITS BRAINS!"

Donnie said, "What."

Leo said, "What."

Raph said, "NO?" and Cassandra said, "Yucky—but sure." 

SCHLICK went the Kraang. Mikey added, "that's what you call a butterfly cut, kiddo—what did you just say?" 

Casey howled, "TAKE ITS BRAINS."

No alien brains were taken (though Donnie would've liked to, very much). But Casey had a knack for putting the soul of the thing into words.

The first day they'd run out of sugar, he passed around flat stones he'd plucked from a river and declared, "DESSERT!"

Mikey sniffed at it. "What kind is it?" he asked, not unkind.

"A cuppycake." 

"Ah, a cupcake?"

Donnie—dismally unfunny after they'd officially ran out of coffee rations, and then cigarettes—scoffed. "What would you know about dessert. Do you even know how frosting tastes like?" and Casey pointed at a passing cloud, then pretended his heart burst into tiny, lovestruck pieces. 

"Like BWAH," Casey said, giddy.

Later, he'd fish the truth out of the air again; the last time Leo and Raph fought like this they'd been teenagers. Not imposing figureheads of a rebel group. Teary-eyed, Casey chased after Leo all the way out of the camp, wrapped his arms tight around Leo's knee, and dug his feet in.

“You need to come back and, and, and hug each other real tight or else—! Or else your arms will forget forever."

"Forever." Leo touched his throat; it hurt from all the yelling. 

Casey's lower lip wobbled. "And ever."

Kid was right again, of course. The days rolled into weeks, into seasons, into the Year We Don't Like to Talk About, and his arms had forgotten; he'd dropped the hug on the way here, maybe, got distracted by some ugly three-headed Kraang and tripped on a punchline, and Raph was gone in the morning. No one there for the final sendoff.

Casey didn't get the concept. At six years old, the kid could perform triple axels around any fresh recruit, but he still couldn't sort out his tenses. Said "I eated!" or "I beated your ass, sensei!"; his past and present verbs tangling like fishing lines.

Kid had a point, Leo thought. What was the difference anyway? Leo missed Raph. Misses Raph. Is missing Raph. Will miss Raph, for the rest of his days, in perplexing ways that will continue to surprise him, like the sunrise outside the canyon. How it rose and rose and rose and rose.

Halfway up the ascent, Leo's knees buckled. Hadn't the future dissolved in that instant? Ten years, he'd promised Mikey. This time we play for keeps. Still: the end of the world, ecosystem degradation, no brother to haunt him; dystopia after dystopia. Something inside him was blackening. 

"Had a bad dream," Leo said, shivering as the kid grabbed his cheeks.

Casey said, “Well, have a better one!” 

prev | read on ao3

#rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rise leo #rise casey #rottmnt movie #forgot to post this sdfsf throws another micro fic at yall #you know how kids just... see things adults dont #yeah. kids are great #rise raph #bigdamnher0

[daydream-cement]

Violet and Rose Ch. 20

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Authors Note: It's hard being Fern Rogers.

“Day two of indulgence?” Larissa whispered when you finally roused from your sleep. She pressed a kiss to your clothed shoulder, but you weren’t particularly looking for any messing about this morning. Not yet at least, you still felt too tired, instead all you offered her was a low hum in response that was akin to the phrase ‘no thank you’.

You were exhausted and being pulled from your sleep immediately made you nauseous. The inconsistencies of pregnancy were becoming a nuisance. Typically, you had preferred sleeping on your stomach, but the forming bump made that impossible to get comfortable. Everything about being pregnant was stressing you out and the past week you had been dealing with a ravenous appetite while feeling so depressed you hadn’t wanted to consume anything. You were someone who appreciated a routine and consistency and pregnancy was depriving you of that.

“Feeling okay?” Larissa curled into your back, a hand finding its way to your hardening stomach. You were becoming a bit nervous at your size so early on. In your head, you had assumed you were about 8 weeks into the pregnancy and everything you had read suggested that the pregnancy wouldn’t really show until the second trimester. And just as easily as your anxiety had been building, the tears began to fall. You wiped your eyes with the bed sheet and pretended you were fine, but Larissa knew better.

“Talk to me.” She moved away from you, propping herself on her elbow, and tugging on your arm so you would lay on your back. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to blink away any tears before flipping onto your back, but Larissa can see the tears staining your face. The fragile state of your relationship was rearing its ugly head when Larissa felt her heart drop and began wondering what she had said to make you feel this way, “What’s wrong, darling?”

“I just- I think I need to see a doctor. I feel so far along and I don’t think that’s normal. I’m only eight weeks-“ You began gesturing with your hands, your tone growing more frustrated.

Your brow furrowed when you looked up to see Larissa smiling down at you. The smile was almost pained, like she knew something you didn’t, “Honey, you could be up to 11 weeks pregnant. I counted. The house warming party was at the end of May and it’s early-August now.”

You lurch up from the bed, knowing you are about to be sick. If you were that far along, then your first trimester would be coming to a close, leaving you with less than 30 weeks until you would be projected to have the baby. Your mind was reeling as you vomited into the toilet. Larissa was right behind you, holding your hair and pulling it into a rough ponytail. While you continued to relieve yourself of the contents of your stomach, Larissa began formulating a plan to settle your anxieties.

Larissa left you alone in the bathroom momentarily for her to grab her cell phone. When she returned, you were sitting on the bathroom floor with your eyes closed, hoping you were done for the day. She takes a seat on the bathroom floor behind you, allowing you to lean back into her embrace.

She proceeds to make a phone call while she holds you, “Hi, mother.”

“I’m good… I was wondering if you still knew that woman who is an OBGYN?”

“Fern and I still have a few days left in England and she is particularly nervous about the baby right now. Do you think you could-”

“Really?”

You become distracted by the sound of the hotel room door opening and Rowan walks in. A smile graces the vampire’s face when she sees the both of you together on the bathroom floor. Rowan pulls a finger to her lips, letting you know she plans to be quiet, before moving deeper into the hotel room. She had been coming and going infrequently since you and Larissa’s reunion. In all honesty, you hadn’t spoken to her so you had no idea where she was getting off to during those long stretches of time.

“Yes, just call me or text me what she says.”

“The baby is fine, mother. I think we are just looking for answers on how far along she is and-”

“Tell dad we will just ask when we meet with the OBGYN-”

“If, yes, if, mother. If we can meet with the OBGYN.”

“Yes, okay… I love you too.”

To your recollection, that was one of the longest and most pleasant calls you had ever heard between Larissa and her mother. When she placed her phone up on the bathroom counter, she placed her hands on your sides, “Are you ready to go back to bed for a bit?

—---

“Now don’t embarrass me.” Christine was gripping the steering wheel and her knuckles seemed to be turning white. She had been nervously chattering the entire drive to her old friend’s private practice outside of the city. Larissa’s mother had insisted on driving the both of you, mainly for the opportunity to prove her support for your relationship and spend time with Larissa. Her plans seemed to be failing when Larissa chose to sit in the back and had been silently staring out the window for a majority of the drive.

“You shouldn’t talk to yourself like that, Christine.” You crane your neck to look at her from the passenger seat, your tone was flat, reminding her of the critical nature of her own words. You face forward once more, unable to see the humored smile that crept onto Larissa’s lips.

“I just mean to say that I haven’t seen Dr. Feng since we went to Nevermore together and I…” Christine trailed off as she began remembering her own time at Nevermore and the complicated relationship she held with the siren. Larissa and you were none the wiser about the true depths of the relationship they had while attending Nevermore

You assume Christine’s vanity was getting the better of her as she wanted to portray that her family hadn’t recently imploded. You try to offer her words of reassurance, but the events of the past week almost made you sound sarcastic, “We will be one big, happy family… Don’t you worry.”

Driving outside of the city made you feel quite at home in a way. You enjoyed staring off into the fields of crops, silently identifying the grains and trees that lingered at the outskirts of the fields. You couldn’t help a happy little smile when Larissa reached through the small space on your right to tap at your side- all she wanted was for you to hold her hand. Though it was slightly uncomfortable, there you both sat, quietly holding each other as you prepared yourselves for news that would assuredly change your futures.

The placard in front of the building read:

C. Feng, MD. Obstetrician-gynecologist

The office was technically closed, but Dr. Feng was more than happy to stay late in order to see Christine once again. You found the tension between the two to be palpable, but Larissa only seemed to be focused on you as she whispered quiet reassurances and kept a hand on your arm or back at all times. As to be expected of a siren, Dr. Cirilacia Feng was extremely beautiful, but her devil-may-care bedside manner put you at ease when she guided Larissa and you into a small room for an ultrasound. Christine opted to stay outside to avoid seeing any part of your potentially naked body. You took a seat on the examination table with Larissa nervously shifting back and forth at your side.

“Please sit.” Dr. Feng gestured to the open chair, but Larissa shook her head insisting that she would be more comfortable standing near you. You reach up and take Larissa’s hand, hoping to calm her nerves. From the drive over here, your nerves seemed to be settling while Larissa’s nerves climbed. You always did find a way to balance one another out.

“Alright… Now, we are going to speed up the process a little bit today. I’m going to forego some of the normal questions and procedures just to let you guys get a look at the baby.” Dr. Feng went to work setting up her equipment whilst she instructed you where to sit and what to do, “Fern, I would like you to sit back more on the table, get nice and comfortable, then, please lift your shirt nice and high for me…”

You silently went to work, pushing yourself back so you laid against the backrest and lifted your shirt so the fabric was bunched up right below your breasts. Larissa unintentionally was squeezing your hand a little too tightly, anxious to receive more answers about your child.

Dr. Feng kept speaking, even while you and Larissa were quiet from the nerves, “Now the gel is a little cold and we will try to keep it off your shirt, but accidents happen sometimes… What I’m going to do is move this little wand around and through the magic of science, we should get a funky little image of your uterus and developing babies on the screen.”

You were at a loss for what was happening on the staticy screen. You tried convincing your brain into seeing something, but you had no experience or skill in detecting the outline of your baby. This was until Dr. Feng’s guiding hand pointed to the screen, “You can see all of your reproductive organs. Here is your uterus and ovaries… and there… right there is baby #1… and there is baby #2. Twins. Congratulations!”

“Twins?” Larissa and you enquired at the same time. Both of your eyes were glued to the monitor, trying to rationalize the words the doctor had spoken. Your mind was reeling. One baby, sure, but two? You were beginning to question your personal capabilities in handling the parenting of two children.

“Yes. If you would like, I could do a transvaginal ultrasound and we could figure out a rough due date for them?”

—---

While you remained silent on the drive back, Christine and Larissa seemed to be buzzing with excitement, bonding over the shopping that needed to be done. Christine dropped you both off at the hotel and Larissa had an air of protective nervousness around her. She kept insisting you should go upstairs and rest, while you were interested in getting out of the hotel for once.

In the end, you didn’t find it something to be worth arguing over so you let her lead you back up to the hotel room. Rowan was upstairs waiting for you. Larissa texted her the news during the drive back. Ro was jittering with excitement, “Not one little hybrid outcast, but two? This is going to be amazing! When are they due?”

“February. Valentine’s day-ish.” You responded quickly, but couldn’t help but pout when Larissa tucked you into bed, her lips pressed to your forehead, almost sealing the deal that you were going to stay there and rest until you went out for a late dinner.

Rowan was gently spinning herself back and forth in a swivel chair, her tone turning nervous, the pacing of her words cautious, “So when are you planning on getting back home?”

Both you and Larissa exchanged looks before turning back to Rowan, providing her with a ‘what have you done look’. She immediately became defensive, trying to explain away her question, but she only seemed to be digging a deeper hole, “Nothing is wrong. I just got a call from the person who is watching the forest and it seems like there are some strange occurrences where the Council of 12 Cedars is. There was some dieback in the forest, but now things are grown again. M-My friend was just concerned about the fluctuations in the health of the forest, so I was just-”

“What kind of dieback? Do you have pictures?” You attempted to get up from bed, but Larissa’s hand against your chest kept you resting against the headboard.

“I’m sure everything is fine. Right, Rowan?” Larissa’s tone was threatening, causing Rowan’s eyes to widen.

“Yes. She told me that things are beginning to grow back. I’m sure we can go take a look when you get home.” Rowan tried recovering, but what was said was said. You were regretful of so many things at this moment and they all seemed to just be piling up.

Link to Chapter 21

#larissa weems x oc #larissa weems #ferissa #fern rogers #stately sequoia #the cedars have eyes #violet and rose #principal larissa weems #principal weems #wednesday netflix #fanfic #gwendoline christie

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: warnings: Mentions of abuse, drug use. wc: 2,840

The sun was beginning to set by the time the pair arrived at the trailer park. Heather would cast a glance towards the girl in the driver's seat, anticipating a look of judgment but nothing ever comes. Autumn merely squints and presses herself forward for a better view through the night. The tall lights flickering and providing little to no help through the shadows. She seeks guidance from the passenger, who directs her along the path until they arrive at their destination. At the rear end of the Jeep, Heather pulls her bike from the trunk and wheels it up to the porch, where it lays without chains.

“Welcome to the Hunter abode,” she speaks in a drawl, keys jingling in her free hand as she fumbles with the lock. She mumbles in annoyance. Confessing the key always manages to get stuck, so she has to wiggle it around until there’s a seamless fit. There’s almost a relieved sigh as all falls open - welcoming the two girls into the cozy, dimly lit home. Wood paneling hides behind framed photos and patterned curtains, the light from the television flickering across every surface. It holds a familiar feeling; like a home. Old cigarette smoke pouring out from the fabric, the smell of fried food working hard to disguise it.

“Give me a second, okay? I’ve got t’get this t’my mom.” The other girl gestures down to the brown paper bag, grease darkening a few scattered spots at the bottom. In a matter of seconds, she’s gone. Moving into the small kitchen and down the empty hallway, calling out for her mother who replies in delight at her daughter's return. Their conversation is buried between the walls that separate them—incoherent words paired with a few sudden fits of laughter.

Jealousy stares back at Autumn through reflections in the glass. An ugly thing that mocks and stews in misery. It points a finger and reminds you of what you no longer have, and if it would ever be that way again. She finds herself loosely trailing after her friend, lazy steps carrying her towards the canary yellow fridge decorated in magnets and polaroids. Some hold people she cannot recognize.

Grandparents, unknown family members, or strangers as they linger in the background. Others are all too familiar. A group of boys with wild outfits and wide smiles, or the many versions of Heather as she grew into who she was today. Pictures of her and what she believes to be her mother out at the beach, bucket and shovels in hand. Pictures of Christmas morning and Halloween night, or something a little more recent as they stand in front of a moving truck.

That jealousy begins to simmer out into nothing. Its haunting face is now stoic without harmful words spewed. It drinks in the unknown world of Heather Hunter, finding similarity in ways no one should. Heather is almost breathless when she reappears, face red from smiling for too long, not once faltering as she finds the girl's focus locked on a particular picture. “I know what you’re thinking,” she begins, finally catching Autumn’s attention. “What went wrong?”

The girl snorts, shaking her head in disagreement. It’s nowhere near close - but the thought brings a feeling of guilt. Yet still, it falls off of her tongue. “Has it always been you and your mom?”

She’s hardly phased, blowing a raspberry at first as her body shifts. It had become clear Autumn wasn’t the first to ask. “Nah. Dad’s out there, somewhere. Doin’ what he does best. Being an absolute piece of shit.” Her arms are crossed, her side resting just against the chilled surface as she waits in anticipation for a response. But her friend is left speechless, lips parted as if wanting to speak but unsure of what to say. Heather opts to fill the emptiness. “Mom and I had t’leave him. It just wasn’t safe.”

It’s all so casual. She even spares the shrug of a shoulder as if she hadn’t spent years of her life in physical and mental anguish. As if he never bruised her skin or broke glass at her mother's feet. Jealousy had shifted into something sorrowful. Reaching out to console another wounded bird, though she hardly seems unable to fly. She stands tall with wings at the ready, taking flight off into the freedom she had fought hard for. No more bars to cage in something once delicate, now a force to be reckoned with.

Something in the distance steals away their attention, eyes shifting to the concealed window as heavy equipment moves past, gears squeaking and pipes rattling from within. Autumn chances a look as she leans across the sink, prying back the short curtain to watch as a two-toned van comes to a stop not far from them. A dark figure nearly stumbles out, his silhouette recognizable even now. “Is that Eddie?”

The other leans in just at the girl’s side, eyes narrowed to peel back the darkness. Soon, a smile is etched into place. “Sure is.”

“That’s convenient. Being neighbors with your best friend?”

She shrugs, not seeing the importance of her words. “S’how we met. Want t’go say hi?” Autumn can barely register the thought, let alone reply before she’s dragged back the way she came. Heather shouting out to her mom that she would be at “Munson’s.” Along the way, Heather is suddenly struck by an idea as a few lights come to life from within his home. She instructs Autumn to crouch and follow her lead, creeping along the path until they can hear his music bouncing off of the walls. The pair move along the siding, looking all too suspicious. She’s suddenly hyper-aware of neighbors watching as two shadows stalk around his home, phone at the ready to call for police.

“What are we-?” The question is silenced as a hand cups her mouth, a single finger held midair to keep her from speaking.

Slowly, their skin parts and she watches in continued silence as Heather slowly stands before a closed window, the glow from within illuminating a look of pure joy. Without warning, her palm slams against the glass, immediately forcing out a shriek of fear from the boy. “Bitch!” he calls out from within, angered steps carrying him towards the window. “Let us in!” Heather cries out, still wearing a smile of pride.

“Us?” The curtains are pulled back and the window latch is flicked, ring-clad fingers gripping at the edge as he leans out for a better view. “Who is-? Oh,” he pauses, barely taking in the sight of a familiar girl at Heather’s side. “Hey, Reid.”

Heather doesn’t waste another second. Hardly letting Autumn return the gesture as she boldly states, “Put your porn away and open the door. We’ve got a situation.”

A small smile of amusement is seen in the shadows, yet a look of confusion in his eyes as he wasn’t entirely trusting of her words. “Yeah? What kind of situation?”

The bright eyes of Heather look back to the girl, a smile to suggest secrets on her lips. Autumn does nothing but cross her arms in wait, unsure of what was happening. “We’re in desperate need of some fun.”

His fingers tap against the siding, biting at his lower lip to resist mimicking her joyous expression. But he stands back, arms held out in good faith. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Eddie soon hurries off once the window is shut, his frantic steps heard echoing as he races for the front door. Without a word, the two girls follow after, waiting another moment beneath the porch light. Though the time was short, it was enough to tug on Heather’s interest as she spared a curious look at Autumn in suspicion.

The door is swung back, fingers hastily combing through his mess of hair with rings threatening to tangle in the strands. Once settled, his arm is outstretched as an invite, a mocking bow in his posture. “Ladies,” he says dramatically, waiting until they both settle into the warmth of his home. It’s a stark contrast to the Hunter’s. All beige and brown. The only color coming from a collection of mugs and caps from around the world.

“Were you actually hiding your porn?”

He tuts in disapproval, his finger waving in the air. “A gentleman never tells.”

But the girl knows better, turning to face her friend to confess the boy’s secrets. “He’s got about five magazines under th-”

“That’s enough!” Eddie cries out, a large hand moving to clamp over her face. He tucks her back against his chest, now dragging her through the small home and down the hall. All protests are muffled as she stumbles along the way. “C’mon, Reid.” He calls out. “The fun is this way.”

She doesn’t follow in their steps upon his command. She instead lingers, arms tight around her torso as she considers what the fuck she’s agreed to. With a steady intake of breath, she braces for what's to come. She’s in it now, and it would be even more painful to make an excuse and bail. So, with one forced step after another, she inches closer to his bedroom, where Heather cries out in disgust. “Your hand tastes like ass!”

There’s a brief pause between the two. “You know what ass tastes like? Ow!” The punch to his arm is hard enough to hear. A muted ‘thud’ followed by clumsy feet as he works to catch himself. The room is exactly what she imagines, matching his personality, or at least what she knows of it. Posters of familiar bands hang up on the walls, his guitar resting up against the dresser that's cluttered with everyday items. It's careless and free, just like him.

He rubs at the unseen injury, a look of agony on his face until he finds Autumn standing in the doorway. The flip seems to switch, then. A bright smile to light up the room as he gestures out to the small space. “Make yourself at home.” Heather is already making herself comfortable, the desk chair pulled out with legs kicked up onto the mattress. She can see the hesitation in the other, giving a kind smile and nod towards the bed. Autumn does as suggested - first just at the edge out of uncertainty. With further encouragement in the silence, she pulls her legs up to cross over one another, finding easy comfort.

Eddie keeps his back to them, mumbling to himself as he digs through the top drawer. She can hear the crinkle of plastic, his deep eyes studying the contents with care before dropping it all back into the depths. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he turns with a victorious cry. “Ah-ha!” The bag contains numerous, rolled joints. Tape across the surface marked with a date and a specific plant name. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Fuck yes it is,” Heather replies with a grunt, her body now stretched out to rip the contents from his grip. She pauses once the seam is torn open, eyes cautiously looking back to Autumn who has remained mostly silent. “Unless you don’t want to? We can have sober fun.”

She’s not left in the silence for long. The girl before her is already painfully aware of the ache in her ribcage. A heart turning to heavy stone before it shatters to rubble, unable to withstand the pressure life adds upon it. “I think it’s exactly what I need.” It’s all either two need as they settle down, smoke soon filling the air with every exhale. It’s all casual talk in the beginning, waiting for the high to creep in like a growing shadow. Eddie mentions Dungeons and Dragons, looking at Autumn expectantly from his place on the carpeted floor, body stretched out and relaxed.

“Oh, no, no-” She says in panic, waving away the cloud that spills from her lips. “I’ve got t’much going on t’be playing that.”

The boy’s head falls back in a fit of laughter, his linked feet swaying from side to side in pure bliss. “You say it with such disgust.”

The joint is passed across the way to an eagerly awaiting Heather, a smile on her lips as she watches her two friends dive deeper into a genuine friendship. “It’s not disgust.” Autumn corrects. “Doesn’t that game last, what? Months?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, a subtle shrug seen as a shit-eating grin grows. “Or like, years.”

“Years?” she practically shouts, eyes wide with disbelief. Eddie’s form is slowly becoming hazy. The colors around him slowly melting into one another, creating an abstract painting before her eyes. “You’re nuts.”

“Best way t’be.” He retorts. The boy follows after the lit embers, a moth to a flame. His torso is sagged forward, heavy as he carries the universe's weight on his shoulders. The inhale of his chest moves in near slow motion, a stupid look on his face as he surrenders to nature's beauty. Giving himself over to whatever she desired.

The room becomes a chaotic storm. Wild conversations and shouts of delight rebound off of the covered walls. Snacks spilling out onto the floor as heated debates began, with pointed fingers yet joy in their eyes. Laughter was always just around the corner. Even through the swarm of madness, and violent winds ripping the world away - it’s hard to miss the way he gravitates to her. An anchor to keep him steady as the eye of a hurricane tears through his sanctuary. Deep brown eyes linger on her when she’s not paying attention, and hers do the same. It’s painfully obvious even through the fog that threatens to blind them all. Autumn wonders if they even know what’s happening between them.

“Fuck.” Heather suddenly blurts out as an idea strikes her like a bolt of lightning. “D’you bring your cards?”

Autumn shakes her head, an effortless laugh rumbling within her chest. “It’s at home.” It’s the first time in a while that the word doesn’t carry a feeling of sorrow and longing. A feeling of emptiness as she wanders through life without a clear path.

“I wanted you t’scare him again.” His eyes roll dramatically, thinking back to the time he spent cowering away from the girl once she depicted his past and future. All written throughout his flesh.

“That’s not hard.” Autumn retorts, watching the way his focus snaps back at her, clearly offended while the girl at his side wears a look of pride.

“I think she just called you a ‘pussy.’”

A narrowed look aims in her direction, a feigned look of anger and a scowl on his lips. “You’re honestly a terrible friend.”

“I could read palms again. Things can always change.” She offers with a small shrug, watching as their eyes light up with excitement. But they never get that far. Heather had scrambled her way across the small space between them to sit at her friend's side, asking for a demonstration on reading palms and what it all means. She holds her hand out to Autumn, and with a delicate touch, she points to every curve and loop of chains. Heather can barely focus, eyes squinting as she pulls her skin closer, not truly seeing what the other could but playing along out of fascination.

Then, the confidence kicks in. She’s slipped from the bed and down onto the floor, where Eddie waits in silence. Heather is muttering to herself, studying both of his hands before taking favor of his left palm. Given the encouragement she needs, she studies through the haze of her high. At first, the action renders the boy pink in the cheeks. Wide eyes flickering elsewhere to ignore the embarrassment of such an intimate moment put on display. She doesn’t notice, but Autumn does.

Heather’s thumbs push and pull at the skin, looking for something that sparks with light in her mind. Then, a trembling smile comes to the surface, holding secrets hostage as she begins to speak. “I see something.” The pair share a look of wonder, though the girl on the bed remains a little more disbelieving, but doesn’t stomp out his fire as he leans forward with intrigue.

“What? What is it?” She has to bite back her smile before forcing it all to fall flat, keeping on the mask for the sake of the game.

“I see,” Cheeks hollow and without warning, she spits into the dip of his palm. A look of pure horror dances across his expression while she continues to bask in her success. “A pool.”

The metalhead is nearly frozen in place, staring down at the dampened spot in his hand in shock. When she begins to snicker, it's then that he retaliates. The hand is ripped away from her grasp to then smooth its way across her face, nearly tackling the girl as she tries to fend him off. “It's your spit! Take it back, you nasty freak!”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things ff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington ff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x ofc #steve harrington x original female character #steve harrington angst #steve harrington slow burn #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own

[bangchanshehe]

The Trespasser pt. 26

You were on top of the world with the new title of leader of your family’s clan. You were the strongest clan in all of the orient and you were proud. But your family feels that there are threats still lurking around making you a target. When they introduce you to a potential man for a business and marriage merger will it help your clan or make matters worse?

Wonho x Reader, Shownu x Reader, Jooheon x Reader

The next morning you woke up feeling groggy and tired. The entire night you kept thinking about Hoseok wondering, did he get home okay? He’s not hurt right? Why was he so drunk? Why did he have to come here of all places? Did he really mean what he said last night? And although your mind kept telling you that it was just a drunken mishap, your heart wanted to fully believe that he had come for you. It made your mind wonder if he was doing as horribly as you had been. If he was feeling like an emotional zombie, focusing only on work, and just getting through the next day like you had been doing.  But once again your brain had reared its ugly head and told you that he hadn’t, that it was just a mistake and that he only said those things because he was so drunk.

You let out a loud yawn and stretched in bed feeling your sheets glide across your skin before you reached over to find your phone on your nightstand. You clicked the lock button once to see what time it was only to find that you had close to a dozen notifications from your mother alone. You quickly unlocked your phone and rummaged through the messages and missed calls.

4 New Messages, 6 Missed calls…

Mom: You had better give me a damn good explanation as to why I heard that you and Hoseok decided to end things

Mom:  Your father is beyond pissed!!!

Mom: If you want to ever come over here again you better pick up the phone!

Mom: Fine!

You let out a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. In the mix of everything that had been going on you had tried so hard to maintain appearances so that you could explain to your parents what had happened on your own terms, and not when wounds were still so fresh.

You got up and immediately went to the bathroom to freshen up before you subjected yourself to the emotional warfare that was your mother on the phone. and while you sat on the toilet you stared down at the pad that remained completely clean after your night’s rest. You gently ripped the pad away and wadded it up in toilet tissue before you threw it away.

“it’s finally done” you whispered softly to yourself as you stared at it in the trash can. There was a particularly enslaving feeling that overwhelmed you as you looked down into the bin. Many people may not know that you were once pregnant, but you would always know and every time that you had a period you would feel a small tinge of guilt.

You finished things in the bathroom and then took a seat on the side of your bed and stared at your phone for a moment, before picking it up and calling the last person who you wanted to discuss your marriage with.

“You have some nerve calling me this late in the day missy!” Your mom almost immediately answered.

“Hello to you to mom, oh I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking!” you said back.

“What the hell happened to you? Did someone piss in your cheerios today?” she asked back, “Why the hell am I hearing that you and Hoseok decided to end things?” she paused for half a second before she continued, not allowing you to answer the question. “Get your ass over here! You have some explaining to do!” she barked out before she hung up the phone.

You sat there in complete silence like a statue for a few seconds before you unfroze. You heard the chime of a new text message alert, and you looked down at your phone to see what it was.

Mom: Don’t you dare think about disappearing! If you don’t come today, then there will be some restructuring of this family!

Your eyes widened for a moment as you processed what your mother had sent to. You knew that she was going to be disappointed that you had ended the contract with Hoseok, but you didn’t think that it was going to become so serious! You got up from your bed and quickly put on some clothes before you headed off to your parents’ home.

As you parked your car you looked up to your family home and let out a quick deep breath. Today was going to fucking suck! As you got out of your car and started your walk to the front door you looked up to see your mother standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest and a look of disapproval on her face. As soon as she was sure that you had seen her, she walked away from the door into the house leaving you by yourself outside. You completed the few steps with a scoff and a final sigh before you shut and locked the door behind you.

When you entered the house, you followed the smell of cigars and coffee to the living room where your father was smoking and reading the news paper and your mother was sitting, sipping on her coffee like a prima donna. Sensing your presence, your father looked up from his paper and quickly took hold of his cigar.

“There’s my little puppy! What are you doing here darling!” he exclaimed, obviously unaware of what was going on.

You cut your glance over to your mother before you smiled softly at him and took a seat in a chair across from her. If things weren’t already terrible now you would have to cut the news to him too, which you’re assuming that your mother was going to allow you to do as a form of punishment. “Mom called me over!” you finally answered.

“Good! It’s been a while since I’d seen you last kiddo!” he said with a chuckle.

You stared at him for a moment, taking in his happy image. You knew that his mood was going to do a whole 180 after he was finally in the loop, and your ass was going to be on the line. You looked down at your feet for a second and took a deep breath before you aired it all out.

“Dad there’s something that i-“…. You started softly but before you had time to say anything else you were interrupted.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were here! Want any coffee?” Hoseok chimed out in a positive tone as he entered the room with a coffee pot to fill your father and mothers’ cups.

You looked up at him in complete confusion and immediately began to feel yourself tighten up and close off. You looked over to your mother who was looking over at him sweetly with her cup stretch outward for a refill, and you immediately were filled with a silent rage. You were already going through enough of a tough time as is and the last person who you expected to exploit your emotions right now was your mother. But if she was going to do this to you and play around with threats then you were going to go straight to the source and make sure that she couldn’t do it again.

“Dad, there’s something that I need to talk to you about and I would prefer it if we could do that in private.” You said to him with a serious tone hoping that he could feel your sense of urgency.

Your father pursed his eyebrows together but then as soon as he had, he released them and gave you a soft smile back in return with a slight nod. As soon as he began folding his paper you stood up from your chair, ready to follow him to his study. But just as quickly as you stood up your mother had already began making her move.

“Darling none of that right now, you just got here!” Your mother trying to complain.

“If she has something that she needs to discuss with me then let her do it. She’s a busy girl!” Your father chimed in, standing from his seat.

The two of you were about to turn to leave the room when you suddenly felt a hand grabbing your wrist, restricting any further movement forward. You looked down at the hand that held onto you and followed it back to Hoseok, who had a particular look of urgency in his eyes.

“Actually, if you don’t mind… can I have a word with you first?” he asked softly.

You gave him a blank stare for a moment before you nodded your head. You looked over to your father who had already sat back down in his chair and waved his hand at you to go on. You looked back at Hoseok and pulled your hand away from his grasp, and he let go reluctantly.

You guided Hoseok to your father’s office where you knew that your conversation would remain private from any lurking eyes and ears. You locked the door behind the two of you as he entered behind you, and you gestured to the chairs that your father had arranged for meetings. You took a seat and the two of you sat in silence for a while and stared at each other’s faces.

Hoseok looked as good as ever and possibly even better, which pissed you off. Some days you could just manage to get out of bed, and yet here he was looking handsome after a night binge drinking while you were sober and feeling like a freight train had hit you.

“Why didn’t you unblock me?” Hoseok asked first thing.

You looked up to him surprised that he had remembered that much of last night. “To be honest I didn’t think that you would even remember showing up last night.”

Hoseok gave you a soft smile, but you could tell that there was nothing but a slight sting of pain behind it. “That’s fair. But if you know me at all you know that I’m a man of my word.” He said with a cheesier grin, “And… I know that you’re a woman of your word, so unblock me” he challenged.

You gave him an emotionless stare for a second before you pulled out your phone and unblocked his contact in your settings. You locked your phone and sat it down in your lap and looked up at him with a look of tiredness. “Are we done now?��� you asked.

“Well….” He started to say but before he could get anything else out, he cleared his throat and looked around the room for a moment. You watched him in anticipation, which only seemed to make him more nervous. “I wanted to tell you a few things. And I know that right here, right now, is probably not the place where you want to hear them, but it’s the only way that I could get to you.”

“Well now you’re unblocked, so can we please do this another time?!” you pleaded with him

“No!” he said quickly, causing you to look up at him in shock. “I need to get this off of my chest before you go out there and tell your father that we’re done!” he said without being able to look you in the eyes.

Hoseok stood up from his chair and walked over to your father’s desk, letting his back face you. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you anymore.” He said just louder than a sigh, “and I don’t want you to think that I don’t like you because of the pregnancy.” Hoseok finally turned around to face you from the desk and you could see that there was a single tear ready to spill out of his eye. “And I understand why…” he said with a broken voice.

You clenched your teeth and your fist into a tight ball as you worried about spilling tears of your own. You could see how this had affected Hoseok and it hurt to know that what you had done had caused him pain, but there was also a sense of relief that he had felt that pain. That you weren’t alone in your own thoughts and feelings. You closed your eyes and a shudder racked through your chest as you tried your best to keep yourself together.

Hoseok quickly cleared the office with a few steps and sat down on his feet in front of you holding your fists to his face as he cried. Slowly, you relaxed your hands and held his face, wiping away his stray tears with your thumbs.

“what’s done is done” you said in a soft whisper.

Hoseok gathered his breath, and he looked up at you. “I know, and I’m sorry that I tried to make the decision about my own wants… I only though of my own happiness before I even considered that this was something that could hurt you.”

You ran a hand over his hair and placed it back to his cheek trying your best to comfort him. “I know, and I’m sorry that I hid it from you.” You admitted “I should have been honest with you, but I was scared and nervous.”

Hoseok tilted his head further into your palm and shut his eyes. “Please…. Please don’t let this ruin everything that we had.” He prayed silently in your hand as you looked down on him.

“Hoseok…” you started and let out a small sob of your own. “I don’t know that it can go back to how it was after this.” You admitted “what happened is still so raw for me.”

“I know, I know.” He repeated and nodded his head “I’m sorry!” he sat up on his knees and reached out for your face to place soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, chin, forehead and eventually your lips. “I just want to be there to help pick up the pieces.” He said looking into your eyes.

You considered it… all of it. The happy moments, the moments of concern, the nights spent together and apart. The tears and the anger. And how the two of you had left each other so easily.

“I want that too…” you admitted “but I’m scared that this will always be there to haunt us.”

Hoseok pulled you down from the chair into his lap and he held you close to his chest. “I will never ever use this to harm you, start arguments, or belittle your character.” He said strongly “y/n, what I want the most is to be able to call you a partner again. And I know that right now you just need some time and space to heal, but I want to continue the contract…with you.”

You pulled back from him after your breathing and tears had settled and you looked up at him, holding onto his broad shoulders. “Are you sure?” you asked him.

He scoffed and gently tucked loose strands of your hair away from your face. “I never wanted to end it in the first place.” He said with a sad chuckle, causing you to look at him confused. “You were the one who had said that we should end things.” He smiled.

You looked down at his chest while you recalled what you had said … “Since we have come to such an outstanding disagreement then I think it’s best that we end our contract here. There’s no point of continuing if we can’t agree on such important principles or trust each other from here on out.”

“You had immediately pulled out the contract and signed it as completed, so what could I do?!” he stated. “You had already made up your mind, before I could even try to work things out.”

You nodded your head, taking ownership of how rash you had come to the decision without letting him discuss his own feelings or pain and how the pregnancy would have altered the relationship between the two of you. You had been the sole provider of your pain instead of talking things out.

“I’m sorry.” you said clearing your throat and wiping away any tear stains on your face. “I don’t really want to end things either, and things have been though lately without you there.” You admitted to him. “But I think before we jump headfirst in again, we should maybe take things slow, while we get everything figured out.”

Hoseok smiled at you and pulled you in once again, embracing you in a full body hug. You were shocked for a single moment before you allowed yourself to find comfort in his embrace again. You smiled to yourself and let out a deep breath, letting the dust settle over the animosity between the two of you.

“I’m okay with slow” Hoseok whispered to you, as he held you close.

#kpop #kpop series #kpop smut #monsta x #kpop fanfiction #monsta x hoseok #shin hoseok #wonho series #wonho smut #wonho mafia #monsta x mafia #kpop mafia #monsta x smut #monsta x series #wonho

[eeveearoace-creative]

another installment in my (still untitled) warriors fic! :>

cw: referenced animal death (food)

“Kits, I’m back!” 

“Mom!” Moon, Dawn, and Dusk squeaked in unison, tripping over their paws as they raced over to meet the ginger-spotted she-cat. Cherry’s eyes glowed like little amber suns, radiating warmth as she reached down to greet her kittens, purring. 

“You were gone for sooooo long,” Dusk complained, dropping his entire weight on Cherry. She gave him a few teasing licks on the forehead before gently pushing him away. Dusk flopped over, rolling on the ground dramatically until his belly was facing away from Cherry. 

“Where did you go?” Dawn asked, stepping between Dusk and Cherry. Popping his head over his shoulder, Dusk glared at Dawn. She puffed her fur out in rebellion. 

“We’re hungry!” Moon whined, bouncing impatiently on their paws.  

“Hush, now, little kittens,” Cherry soothed. “I had to go out and get some food.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“Do you all think you’re big enough to finally try solid food?” Cherry asked. 

“Yes!” 

“I don’t know,” Cherry purred. “You all still seem pretty small to me.” 

“We’re not small!” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

“Yeah! You’re just big.” 

“Big Mom, big Mom!” 

“Well, then,” Cherry mewed, eyes twinkling, “If you’re sure.” 

Gesturing for her kits to follow her, Cherry stepped through the entrance to her den. Dawn scrambled after her, Dusk hot on her tail, with Moon bringing up the rear. 

Moon’s leaf-green eyes reflexively scrunched shut as they stepped into the dappled sunlight. Birdsong filled the air as the sunlight warmed Moon’s fur, a pleasant warmth sinking into their skin. Soft grass shining with morning dew tickled their paws and legs, waving slightly in the light breeze. As the wind tugged gently at their fur, Moon puffed out their pelt to savor the sun’s heat. 

Cherry wrapped her tail over her forepaws as she settled down in the shade beneath a brightly colored tree, multicolored leaves dancing in the air as they fell from its branches. Dawn and Dusk bounded over to her, noses sticking awkwardly in the air as they tried to pick up on the fresh-kill scent. Moon gave their den one last glance before running forward to meet their mother and littermates. 

Eyes sparkling with pride, Cherry pulled a small orange-and-white shape from a hole in the tree Moon hadn’t noticed before. Moon’s whiskers twitched as Cherry dropped it, eyes widening as they picked up on the warm, sweet scent radiating off the shape. Moon leaned forward, jaw opening as their mouth watered, utterly entranced as everything became about the delicious smelling shape. 

“What is that?” Dawn breathed. 

“It’s a squirrel,” Cherry purred, voice bubbling with humor. 

“Oh, oh! I’ve seen one of those before!” Dusk announced. “But it was gray instead of orange, and it was chewing on an acorn. It ran away before I could show anybody.” 

Moon extended their muzzle to take a better sniff of the limp squirrel, gulping up the sweet-smelling air. 

“Go ahead,” Cherry nodded. “Try it.” 

Dawn gave the squirrel one last sniff before taking a bite. Her amber eyes lit up instantly, and she quickly swallowed her mouthful. 

“This is great!” she purred. 

Dusk watched with a bit more uncertainty as Dawn took another mouthful of squirrel. Looking up to their mother for approval, Moon saw Cherry nod encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, Moon joined their sister and took a bite. 

Warmth and flavor exploded on Moon’s tongue. It was the first thing they had ever eaten, besides milk – and the one beetle Dawn had “caught” - and it was new, and exciting, and good. 

“Dusk, you have to try this!” 

Dusk’s whiskers twitched. He shifted on his paws nervously before taking a small, hesitant bite. 

“Oh, wow,” he breathed. 

Cherry watched as her kits devoured the rest of the squirrel. Moon stepped back, realizing what they had done. 

“We didn’t leave any for you!” 

“Don’t worry,” Cherry mewed. “I ate earlier, when I was hunting.” 

“I think I ate too much,” Dawn huffed, flopping dramatically to her side. “Now my belly feels all weird!” 

“You should’ve saved more for me!” Dusk complained, swatting at Dawn’s ears. 

“Just because you were being a scaredy-mouse-” 

“Hush. You both got enough to eat.” 

“Yeah...” 

“Okay...” 

“Now, c’mon,” Cherry mewed, stretching as she rose to her paws, “Back to the den so I can bathe you and get some rest.” 

“But I’m not -” Dawn yawned, “- tired! 

“Yeah, we just...” Moon’s eyes dropped for a second, “Just, got out... here...” 

“Come on,” Cherry purred, nudging her kits with her nose. “Back to the den we go.” 

#kaivee's warriors fic #fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #warriors #warrior cats #wc #warriors fanfic #warrior cats fanfic #wc fanfic #animal death #referenced animal death #cherry seeds

[penflicks]

Bloom held onto Sky for what would be the last time in maybe forever. What had previously been a desperate need to stay with him in the hopes of clinging on to a future was muffled under the crushing weight of knowing she was the monster that haunted the otherworld. Perhaps something on the other side of the conduit would be able to take this monstrous thing inside her, but she was far past hoping.

A noise that sounded like the dog yip came from up the stairs. Bloom could only stare at the wriggling puppy in Saul's arms. Behind was Andreas holding a piece of what looked like the convergence crystal.

"You told them I was leaving?" Bloom turned to Sky.

"We guessed, this little guy almost didn't arrive in time." Saul closed the distance and pushed the little Dalmatian/Border Collie cross into her arms.

Bloom stared at the cutest puppy she'd ever seen and the puppy licked her nose. She felt the tiniest thawing in her chest, as an emotion over than numbness peaked out.

"He's all yours, just sign here please," Saul held out the piece of crystal to her. "Just pop a bit of your dragon flame in that and it's all sorted."

Sky was looking at Saul with a slight frown of confusion, but 8 year old Bloom who had begged and pleaded for pet despite her dad's allergies reared her head. Bloom found herself unable to refuse this buried need inside her for a fluffy companion who would love her even when the school bullies had turned everyone else against her. Tearfully, she touched the crystal and discharged some of the dragon flame into it.

It seemed it really was a piece of the convergence crystal as she could feel the magic returning to her just as soon as she'd charged it. Andreas grabbed it from Saul's hand before the dragon flame had fully dispersed and yeeted it through the conduit.

The conduit flickered and closed from the dragon flame on the otherside. Her path out was gone. She was trapped here. Always trapped. Bloom let out a heartrending sob and slumped her head forward. Her face pressed into the puppy's soft fur who batted her ear with his wagging tail.

"Come on, let's get you back to bed. You're exhausted. This will all feel more manageable in the morning." Saul wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the stairs.

"I can't! What if I hurt someone while I'm sleeping? What if I loose control?" Bloom wailed. The tears finally uncapping the vault of misery that had been brewing deep inside her.

"We already thought of that when you arrived, why do you think you were roomed with a water fairy?" Saul rubbed her arm soothingly. "I'm sure we can leave the magic blocking bracelets in you room if that will help you feel better."

"It won't help! They don't work! I can feel it still. One slight push of the dragon flame and they'll break! You should have let me leave!" Bloom cuddled her new puppy tighter and felt its rough tongue licking her wrist.

"Dogs like that need jobs, just tell him to guard, and he'll raise the alarm ap Aisha can come put you out. Her name is Aisha right?" Andreas said from behind them where he seemed to be the only thing holding Sky up, whose legs were failing him from the shock and grief of almost losing Bloom.

"You could call him Suiteheart. Y'know S-U-I-" Saul was cut off by Sky's groan.

"He's cracked. The last few months have been too much and Saul's finally cracked to the point of dad jokes," Andreas had the tone of mock exasperation.

Bloom hiccuped through her tears in an almost laugh. The puppy yipped again and wagged his tail harder.

"Oh no," Bloom sniffled. "I think he liked the name."

Suiteheart the puppy only snuggled deeper in her arms.

As they returned her to the suite and Saul tucked her up in bed while Sky argued that he should be able to sleep on her floor with Andreas, Suiteheart curled up against her chest to guard her sleep.

"Don't worry about anything, Bloom. We'll have Farah up and about again in no time and she'll help us fix everything Rosalind broke." Saul stroked the hair out of her face in a fatherly fashion. "Forget about Luna, she won't get her hands on you again. I promise."

Sky had apprantly won the argument with Andreas and was settling down on the floor beside her bed. Bloom sniffled and nodded and felt a comforting wave of sleep slide over her. Crying always did make her tired. She closed her eyes and barely registered the two teachers leaving.

#ftws #fate the winx saga #fate winx saga #Winxsource #Skloom #Sky/Bloom #bloom peters #saul silva #sky of eraklyon

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (5/?)

They only found the place by chance, passing it on a county road about 40 minutes outside of Boise. The house on the property was a double-wide on maybe five acres, and it was fairly well taken care of — it had a graying brush pile and an old hoop house with a torn roof — but there were flower boxes in the windows with flourishing geraniums, and Mulder had made a good point about the cars.

“How do you know any of them even run?” Scully asked, warily eying three vehicles in the yard that had For Sale signs in the windows.

“Because there’s no grass growing under any of them,” Mulder pointed out, and he was right. Each of the three cars — a black late 80’s TransAm, a truck only few years younger than the one they were driving, and an early 90’s black Grand Prix — were parked on the lawn (lawn was a generous term, being made up of mainly field grasses and weeds) near the road and the grass under each one was the same length as the rest of the yard, freshly shorn in neat rows no more than a week ago.

“The Grand Prix, do you think?” Scully asked as they drove by a second time, this time slowing marginally to get a better look.

“That was my thought, yeah,” Mulder said, lowering his head to see out Scully’s window.

“It’s going to be a pain, getting him in and out of a car seat in a coupe,” Scully pointed out.

“It’ll also be a lot harder to see him,” Mulder answered, finally pressing the gas and rumbling further down the road.

A mile on, he pulled into a river access site with a small empty parking lot and a mint green porta potty. About forty feet from the lot, past some trampled down grass and a sign that marked a trailhead, was a graying picnic table set up under the lofty pine to which it was chained. Mulder nodded in its direction.

“I’m thinking I should probably go alone,” he said, throwing the truck into park, but letting the engine idle. “You guys can hang out here?”

Scully looked out the window of the truck. The rain had stopped, but the weather was still overcast, and it was nearing nightfall. She had changed William into a dry diaper and some of the clothes that Mulder had picked up, but it was October in the mountains.

“Looks chilly out there,” she said.

When they’d left for the Van De Kamp farm that morning, it had only been for the day. That quick drive-by and an hour or so of casing the place. They’d left everything they owned – an admittedly meager collection – back in the room they rented over the diner where Scully waited tables. She’d only worn a light jacket that morning and had no other clothes. Let alone warmer things for the baby.

“Stay in the truck then,” Mulder said, “I’ll walk.” He leaned forward to aim one of the air vents in the dash at her. The warmth it eked out was meager at best and tinged with the sharp scent of burning oil. In her lap, William was getting bored and trying to stand, his footing awkward on the springy vinyl seat.

“Okay,” she said, holding out a hand behind the baby as he pulled himself up by the seatback to look out the flat rear window.

Mulder gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back with new wheels,” he said, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Then, after a slight hesitation, he leaned toward the baby and pressed a kiss to the top of William’s felty head. The driver’s side door opened with a creak and he rolled out as a cool piney breeze rolled in. The door closed and he was gone, trotting down the small turnout before disappearing behind the trees that lined the road.

“Dah,” William said, watching him go.

Scully brightened somewhat.

“That’s right, William, that’s Dada.”

Several looks came over William’s face at the same moment. Confusion, perhaps a look of exhaustion, and then, dawning realization.

“Dada?” he said, looking around the cab of the truck. “Dada?” he said with increasing urgency.

Scully immediately realized her error. Though they’d entered a tenuous detente with their child, bringing up probably the only parents that the boy remembered made him remember them. And look for them. And cry for them with rising panic.

“Dada?” he called one last time before succumbing to snotty tears. “Mamaaaa!” The last word was said with a kind of depressed agony. The child had likely seen his adoptive mother killed before his eyes only that morning.

Scully began to make shushing noises, trying to calm him, but he only howled louder, squatting his little froggy legs and then rising up in a fit of agitation. The boy’s face was red and he was having none of the comfort Scully was offering, his crying screams echoing off the old windows of the truck.

She could feel tears prick her own eyes – the stress of the day surging back up, the agony of the last few months without him, her guilt at all he’d had to witness and endure in his brief life.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her words turning into a sharp sob.

If only she’d been able to protect him. If only they weren’t on the run from a myriad of sources all looming with dark intent.

William seemed to lose steam after a few minutes, not exactly calming, but his screams ratcheted down until they were more fussy whines and he dropped down onto his bottom on the bench seat and looked at her with beseeching eyes. She reached forward and brushed away a few of his tears.

If only he knew who she was.

At that moment, she felt a kind of desperation from deep in her chest. This child was hers now. Hers to protect. Hers to raise. Hers to comfort. She looked into his eyes, the feeling inside of her fit to burst. Please remember me , she thought, please . And then William stopped fussing, canted his head to the side and gave her a long look. Scully held her breath.

“Bah mah,” he said, his expression quite serious.

“Bah mah,” she whispered back, and the desperation she felt turned into a warmth that spread through her like a quick shot of whiskey. The little boy in front of her reached up and patted her cheek. She covered his hand with her own and then brought his little palm to her lips and pressed a kiss there. And made him a promise.

Never again.

Xx

Mulder knocked ineffectually at the flimsy screen door to the house. It was made of aluminum and had a screen on only the top half, the scalloped edges bordering the mesh beginning to rust. He was about to unlatch it to knock on the inside door when it was quickly pulled open.

A man stood in the doorway. He was wearing a red t-shirt, stained with any number of things over the belly and was a few inches taller than Mulder. Where Mulder was lean, the man was bulky, carrying most of his weight in his middle, which sagged over the waist of ill-fitting jeans. He looked either angry or mean and grumbled something that Mulder couldn’t make out.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, Mulder still had the urge to simply apologize and walk away, but he instead stood his ground and hooked a thumb at the cars that were marked for sale out by the road.

“I’m interested in buying one of your cars out there,” he said, standing his ground.

The man’s face softened a bit and he grunted, nodding at Mulder so that he stepped off the cement blocks that served as the house’s front steps.

“Which one?” the man asked, coming down the steps with a bit of a limp.

“I was thinking the Pontiac,” Mulder said.

“Which one ?” the man asked, a tinge of impatience in his tone.

“Sorry,” Mulder said. “The Grand Prix. Does it run okay?”

“Runs great,” the man said, and started making his way across the lawn toward the red car. Mulder followed in his wake.

The man said nothing else as he walked and opened the door when he got to the coupe, reaching down to pop the hood. From there he circled around to lift the hood the rest of the way, propping it open with the strut. Mulder joined him in front of the car, both of the men staring at the engine compartment.

The gentleman looked to Mulder expectantly.

Mulder cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about cars,” he admitted.

The man sighed and started pointing. “I rebuilt the engine and the transmission,” he explained. “Tranny didn’t need it yet, but this model’s famous for it conking out. She’ll do one-ten on the highway, easy. Got about sixty thousand miles on her, but her tires are new and so’s her battery. Oil life’s at about eighty percent right now. Driver’s side tail light can be hinky sometimes, but she’ll run for ya.”

“The tail light,” Mulder said, a bit of unease creeping into his voice. “I’m uh, not too keen to get pulled over.”

The man took half a step back to give Mulder a thorough once-over and then held out a hand. “Name’s Ken.”

Mulder reached forward tentatively and shook the man’s hand. His grip was strong and the skin of his palm was rough from years of working with his hands.

“Steve,” Mulder said. Ken pumped his hand once and then released it.

“You give that back fender a pop with your fist before you start her,” with this he made a punching motion with his hand, “and you got nothing to worry about.”

Mulder nodded, thoughtful and maybe a little skeptical.

“That said,” Ken went on, “the police,” he pronounced the word POE-lees, and at the word he spit on the ground with irritated fervor, “try’n pull you over, well… She can outrun ‘em.” He crossed his hands in front of his chest confidently.

Mulder wasn’t entirely sure about the prospect of punching a fender to get the tail light to turn on (or attempting to outrun the poe-lees), but they needed a car so that they could safely transport William. And, at the very least, he was somewhat confident that if any kind of authority tracked them this far and knocked on Ken’s door, the big man would keep his peace.

“How much you want?” Mulder asked.

“Five grand,” Ken said, tilting his head back like he was expecting Mulder to barter.

Mulder reached into his back pocket where he’d pushed seven thousand dollars worth of one hundred dollar bills. “Cash okay?”

“Better’n okay,” Ken said.

Mulder turned slightly away to count out the money. He handed it over, pressing it into Ken’s meaty palm, who rolled it up and shoved it into a front pocket without counting it.

“Keys are in it,” the man said. “Let me get you the pink slip.”

#fanfic #my fic #msr #the x-files #fanfiction #wip #post the truth #family fic but definitely not fluff