#— ...Maybe a crate. We got milk crates in the back.

[sodapopcurtis-dx-asks]

[a folded piece of paper was in the jar...]

=HOW TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR ALIEN= + note

(ooc: A guide for soda ^^)

Make sure to feed it daily, that sucker loves to eat ANYTHING

Don't feed it after midnight or it'll want more

NEVER give it cheese or it'll explode

Too much attention in a small span of time will cause it stress

It can fit in tiny places, so no open vents or holes

Don't be too harsh on it, the alien doesn't fully understand you guys to he might either hide away or call for back up

[note part]

Hey sorry for not sending instructions to you, so yes the aliens were responsible for...that horse, but they mean no harm, They are just tiny little fellas after all, Just do the rules and the little stinker will be happy, to warn you, they do eat ALOT so...watch out if they eat unusual things...Oh and let it explore the new foods ^^ the aliens never tasted something with flavor before

-from anonymous person who started this alien thing >:)

Soda took the paper out and read it over. He "huh"'d a response as he did so, smiling and underlining some things on the list that felt the most important.

Oh hey, well that sure is helpful! Good to know that it CAN eat everything, and I ain't just giving the thing a bad diet.

Y'know, I oughta buy a baby gate or somethin' to keep it somewhere safe at night time. Because so far, I ain't got a lick of a clue as to what to do to keep it here overnight.

Last time I left the thing by itself, well... uh. We know what happened. HAHA!

Soda pocketed the note and looked behind him to stare at the alien. The alien had nabbed a candy bar at some point, and was chewing proudly on it. Soda just smiled.

“For a little guy, you sure do like ta give me trouble.” Soda giggled.

[magicalmatcha]

now playing ♪ undressed by sombr

"i don't want the children of another man

to have the eyes of the girl i won't forget"

cw: mention of drugs (?), mentions of alcohol, panda wants the smoke

“Man, they really toned this place down.”

The group stepped into the converted warehouse—now aglow in fairy lights and dipped in the warm, hazy hum of cheap rum, sandalwood incense, and stale beer that had permanently embedded itself in the walls. It was crowded already, a sea of half-drunken conversations and low laughter echoing through the open space as people milled about, waiting for the set to start.

Maki let out a slow, sentimental sigh. “Damn. That corner over there?” She pointed dramatically. “That’s where Yn used to do lines off Kirara’s ass. Simpler times.”

“Can you not say that in front of the toddler?” Yuuta hissed, adjusting his hold on Yume, who was curled up in his arms with her panda plush and oversized headphones.

“She’s wearing noise-cancelling,” Maki shot back. “And probably doesn’t even know what an ass is.”

“I’m literally right here,” Yn said dryly.

“Exactly,” Maki replied, smirking.

“Did we have to come for the opening set?” Panda grumbled, steering them toward an open table mid-venue. “The opener’s probably better than the headliner. Nepo babies always fall flat.” Toge argued.

“What about Gracie Abrams?” Panda challenged.

“That’s exactly who I’m talking about,” Toge replied, dropping his bag beside the booth and flopping into his seat.

“Wow,” Yn said, running a hand along the edge of the polished table. “They even gave the tables real seats now. No more repurposed milk crates.”

“I kinda miss the milk crates,” Maki shrugged.

“I’m hitting the bar. Usuals?” Toge asked, already standing.

“Two vodka cranberries, a cosmopolitan, a rum and coke, a Long Island iced tea, and a water?” Panda listed off.

Yuuta blinked. “You’re starting the night with two vodka cranberries?”

“One’s for Yume,” Toge said flatly.

Yn snorted. “Strawberry lemonade for her. Sugar after seven. Aren't I good mama Yu?”

“The best,” Yume chirped, reaching her arms out.

Yn scooped her into her lap and pressed a kiss into the crown of her freshly done hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Who’s opening, anyway?” Maki asked, checking her reflection in the compact mirror from her phone case.

“Miwa,” Yuuta started, then frowned. “Wait, no. No, she’s still out with mono from some guy she made out with at that jazz club in Tokyo. She’s been sidelined for two weeks.”

“So what, they’re dragging out some forgotten intern from the closet?” Panda asked, unimpressed.

Yuuta shrugged. “Maybe. Kyoto doesn’t have as many artists as the Tokyo location, and I didn’t check the lineup. I’ve been behind on internal memos.”

“Great,” Maki deadpanned. “Can’t wait to be serenaded by someone’s emotionally constipated SoundCloud find.”

“Could be worse,” Yn muttered, taking a sip of her water. “Could be your ex.”

Maki raised a brow, smirking. “God, imagine. No way she ever made it off SoundCloud. She wanted to be Beabadobee so bad.”

Toge returned with a tray balanced carefully in his hands, distributing drinks like a seasoned bartender. A water and strawberry lemonade in front of Yn, a cosmo for Maki, Long Island iced tea for Panda, and a rum and coke for Yuuta.

“See? This is nice,” Yuuta said, settling back into his seat with a smile. “Going out in your twenties doesn’t have to mean clubs and crowded house parties.”

Panda scoffed. “Please. I’m twenty-six. For me it's clubs and boat parties.”

“You’re twenty-six,” Yn said flatly, “why are you still going to those?”

“I’m twenty-six, not fifty,” he shot back.

“Could’ve fooled me with those smile lines.”

Panda blinked. “You wanna go? Because I don’t care if you’ve got your kid in your lap, she can get some of this two. These hands are rated E for everyone.”

Before Yn could fire back, the lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the room as stage lights slowly warmed the crowd in amber.

“Welcome to The Gutter!” the host called out from the mic stand. Applause followed. A few whistles. The faint clink of glasses.

“Tonight, Limitless Records has been kind enough to lend us one of their newest artists. Mimiko! We are so excited to have her here let’s give her a warm welcome.”

Another wave of claps rolled through the space.

“But first,” the host added with a grin, “we’ve got a little surprise for you. He took a break from prepping for his first-ever tour, sold out all over the continent, just to be here tonight. Kyoto’s own—Wait for May!”

The name hit like a fist to the chest.

The cheers were deafening, probably. The applause definitely got louder. Her friends’ heads snapped to her. Even Yume clapped enthusiastically in her lap, the little headphones still wrapped snug around her ears though she was starting to suspect they weren't even on.

But Yn didn’t hear any of it.

The room blurred,light and noise folding in on itself. Her breath caught, like her lungs had forgotten how to work. The weight of Yume on her legs felt distant, like a memory. The table, the drinks, the chatter,they all slid out of focus.

There was nothing.

Just the echo of a name she hadn’t said out loud in years, ringing in her ears like a song she used to love but couldn’t bear to listen to anymore.

Not now.

Not like this.

The lights shifted again—warm gold bleeding into a haze of blue and lavender as the stage darkened, save for the soft glow surrounding the mic stand.

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t need to.

There were too many things her body remembered before her brain could catch up. The hum of the stage. The soft shuffle of movement. That voice.

“Hey,” Megumi said, smooth and low, the sound pulled into a dozen speakers. “Thanks for showing up tonight.”

Just that. Nothing flowery. No dramatic build-up. But it knocked the air out of her anyway.

God. That voice.

It hadn’t changed, just matured. Gotten steadier. Like him.

Yn kept her gaze locked somewhere just left of the stage. On the condensation gathering around her lemonade glass. On the way Maki’s nails clicked lightly against her cosmopolitan. On her daughter, small and wriggling in her lap, still clapping in sync with the rest of the crowd through her little pink headphones.

She could feel all their eyes on her. Maki. Yuuta. Even Toge. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath.

But she didn’t say a word.

“This one’s old,” Megumi said, clearing his throat. “I wrote it back when I didn’t know what I was doing. Or how to say what I meant. Still don’t, most of the time.” A light chuckle from the stage. “Anyway. This song’s called undressed.”

That was the moment her heart dropped.

The soft rise of the synth kicked in behind him. The live band settled into place, drums low, steady. Keys soft and glittery like water under moonlight.

Undressed.

Of all his songs, he started with that one?

Yn swallowed hard. Her hands were shaking now. Not visibly. Just enough that she had to tighten her grip around Yume’s waist.

He’d written undressed when they were barely legal. When they shared too-small beds in even smaller apartments, when love felt like a fever and survival meant pretending that was enough. It wasn’t one of his hits. Not the one people quoted or stitched into TikToks or tattooed in cursive across their ribs.

But it was the realest thing he ever made. Because he made it for her. Though she never remembered him actually finishing it.

And now he was up there, clean-cut, styled within an inch of his life, spotlights dancing across his jawline, and singing a song she helped him write without ever touching a pen.

Yuuta leaned in close. “Say the word and I’ll get you out of here.”

Yn didn’t answer.

She just kept her eyes forward.

She had to stay.

Had to hear how it ended.

The first note rang out.

And Yn. In all she was. Mother, former addict, reformed lover-girl turned podcast host, closed her eyes.

Because this wasn’t something she could watch. Not when the song he never finished was once about her.

And still was.

He wasn’t really looking for her.

Not because he didn’t want to see her—he did, he always did, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

But five years was a long time.

And he’d convinced himself, over and over, that if she was there, he’d miss her. Or worse, he wouldn’t recognize her.

Because maybe she’d grown into someone else.

Someone better.

Someone whole.

But then halfway through undressed, on a note he held too long because his hands were trembling behind the mic stand, he saw her.

Near the middle, just off-center. Lit by the warm glow of the stage lights. Still. Still in that way only she could be. Like a stone dropped in water. Like silence with a pulse.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. A trick of the light. A cruel mirage of his own guilt. But it was her.

And she was different. Healthier. Steadier. Glowing, maybe. Not the kind of glow they sell in skincare ads, but the kind that came with surviving. The kind that came from choosing to live.

God. She looked like she’d finally forgiven herself. And it gutted him that she had to do that without him.

In her lap sat a little girl, clapping gently along with the music, stuffed panda crushed against her chest and a pair of headphones tucked over her ears. A cup of some kind of pink drink, she kept tapping her mother for permission to take sips from. Yn leaned down to whisper something to her, and the girl tilted her head up and smiled, and it was—

—it was someone else’s kid.

Of course it was.

Why wouldn’t it be?

He missed the next chord.

Just barely. Just enough.

His fingers recovered. The band didn’t falter. But his breath caught, and the line came out thinner than it should’ve.

He kept singing.

Kept his face neutral, soft, even as his heart cracked open in real time.

Because what did he expect? That she’d pause her life? Wait in suspended animation while he chased a future he’d once promised would be theirs?

He knew he had no right to feel it, but it burned all the same—jealousy. Bitter and sharp.

Of the man who got to love her when she was ready to be loved.

Of the version of her that healed without him.

Of the little girl in her lap who had a place in her world that he would never earn back.

It wasn’t fair.

Not that she moved on. Not that she was okay. But that she looked happy. And she hadn’t looked at him once.

He tried not to. He really did. But his gaze kept crawling back to her like a wound he couldn’t stop reopening.

She didn’t even blink in his direction.

She wasn’t frozen or flustered or overwhelmed. She just was. Existing without him, like it had never hurt her. Like he hadn’t torn her in half and left her to stitch herself back together with nothing but spite and half-sincere apologies.

She was here.

And Yuji was right. She was beautiful.

And she had someone else’s kid in her lap. Just as beautiful as she was.

And Megumi Fushiguro, up on that stage with a mic in his hand and a crowd screaming his name, had never felt more unknown.

More irrelevant.

More like a ghost in a room he used to belong to.

So he did the only thing he could.

He kept singing. He kept standing. He kept pretending like he wasn’t unraveling from the inside out. But every word felt heavier now. Every note a reminder. Every lyric a lie he’d once promised would be a truth.

He kept singing.

Pretending she was just another stranger in the crowd.

And hating himself for every reason she wasn’t.

And he knew.

extra! extra! read all about it (no seriously read it)

not proofread

for this chapter specifically I would recommend listening to the song bc I was not about to write out the lyrics he's singing

yuuta never turned on yume's headphones like he was supposed to

they stayed for the whole set but clocked out after wet dreams and went to 7/11

listen to the lyrics of wet dreams by sundiver ca and you'll understand why

yn doesn't know why she didn't suspect megumi could also be in town when she found out yuji was but she curses herself for not doing so

megumi likes to act nonchalant but when it comes to yn he doesn't have a single nonchalant bone in his body and it's hard for him to hide that

Also I wanna say now I described Melon milk as an actual carton when it's more like a juice box and isn't even in the fridge. I just liked my description better sorry.

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[whitehotwild]

took a peek at amazon music’s The Boys character playlists (really just Butcher’s and Hughie’s… womp womp)… ohhhh old man Butcher my beloved.

all i can imagine is being at Butcher’s apartment for one reason or another.

☆ maybe the team went out to a bar together, and as everyone turned in for the night, saying their goodbyes, you and butcher were the last ones there. For whatever reason, he refuses to send you off by yourself to your own apartment this late at night and tells you to just come over and spend the night at his, that it’s closer anyway.

you try to ignore the zip up your spine when he leads you into his apartment with a hand on the small of your back. you try to ignore the soft flush of your cheeks when he teases you about snooping while you look through his one (barely filled) bookcase.

“what? you scared I’m gonna find your fuzzy pink handcuffs?” you tease right back, squatting down to flip through the vinyl records he has sitting in a milk crate next to the bookcase.

butcher rolls his eyes with a smirk, “mine ain’t fuzzy… d’you even know what those things are?”

you don’t react, but you do store that in the folder labeled ‘Useful Butcher Information’ that lives in your brain. ignoring his teasing, you let out a soft huff of laughter when you see a record you’ve only seen at your grandparent's house and in the back of a shitty thrift shop uptown.

“exactly how old are you?” you ask, pulling it out and showing him the record in question: Roy Orbison Sings Lonely and Blue (1961).

butcher walks over and takes the record from your hand, switching it for his beer. he had asked you if you wanted one when you two walked through his door, you had declined before, but have taken to stealing sips of his. it’s probably the closest you’ll get to kissing him tonight.

“old enough to know this is real music… not that Taylor Swift shite you force me to listen to in the car.” he snarks, slipping the record out of the sleeve, setting it on his cheap turntable.

you stand back up straight with a scoff, “you can make fun of my ‘brat summer’, but Miss Swift is where I draw the line.” the beginning of the record starts to ring softly through the room…

‘Only the lonely… (dum-dum-dum-dumby-doo-wah)’

“oh… you can’t be serious,” you smile softly and he holds a hand up as if telling you to ‘wait for it’. “…so corny,” you mutter shaking your head, still with that same smile.

butcher takes the beer bottle out of your hand, taking a sip before setting it on one of the shelves, “nope… classic.”

he lets himself be a bit softer around you, even if only for a moment. it’s only when you two are alone, usually late at night, usually after a few drinks that he lets the walls drop… only just a bit.

like now, when he pulls you into the empty space of his living room, placing your hand, the one that isn’t wrapped in his, on his shoulder, his free hand goes to the small of your back.

“so now you wanna dance?” you ask with a bit of snark.

butcher lets out a soft huff of amusement as you two start swaying, “what you lot was doin’ at the bar wasn’t dancin’… you was flailing about.”

“hm… whatever. least we were having fun, i mean… even M.M. got up!”

“‘cause he’s a sucker for ‘Earth, Wind & Fire’.”

“well yeah… who isn’t?”

“me.”

you roll your eyes with a soft sigh, “suuure… stick in the mud.”

you’re both quiet after that, only the sound of old music coming through shitty speakers and gentle steps against his floor fill the room. he dances you through the whole a-side of the album, the hand on your back has snaked around your waist, your head rests against his shoulder, and he holds your intertwined hands closer to his chest.

you take as much of this as you can get from him, knowing these moments are fleeting. there are so many unspoken words between the two of you, you’re too stubborn to make a move, and well… butcher’s too… butcher. he thinks he’s much too undeserving of something as precious as you.

and maybe he’s right. maybe he doesn’t deserve you, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you, it doesn’t stop you wanting him. so for now… the soft, fleeting, moments are enough.

it’s always strange when those moments end, though. the way you can see his demeanor shift in an instant.

like now, the music stops and he looks away from you when you look up at him. you can see the way his face changes, like he’s snapping out of a trance or he’s caught himself doing something he knows shouldn’t.

butcher pulls away from you, wiping his hands on his pants as if the feeling of you lingering on his skin has to go. he turns to put the record away and turn off the turntable.

the silence lingers for a minute before he speaks up, “think we should turn in. you take my bed.”

you try to protest, “the couch-“

“don’t fight me on it.” the command isn’t harsh, it’s not mean, it’s only a bit stern, but he just wants you to listen to him.

he just wants to do something nice for you.

you nod with a quiet sigh and thank him with a soft smile. you both retire for the night and you both know you’ll be gone in the morning before he wakes up. you both know you won’t make any mention of it when you're both in the office tomorrow.

but you both know that for now, the fact that it happened at all is enough.

(divider by @/plutism)

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty - love hurts

the rest of your friends had gone to sleep hours ago. it was past midnight. the swing moved gently, creaking in time with the breeze. the outer bank's night was thick with summer heat, but the kind that wrapped around you instead of smothering. insects sung in the grass somewhere beyond the porch.

you pulled your knees to your chest and rested your chin on them. jj sat beside you, legs stretched out, a half-empty beer can cradled loosely in one hand.

there was still music humming from the speaker that hung from a tree branch out in the yard. 'love hurts' was playing, a song you fought and fought jj to play.

between the two of you, there had been about three glasses of wine and a six pack of beer downed.

it was your first time being more than tipsy, and boy, were you loving it.

you're already laughing from something jj said earlier, and he grins, clearly loving the attention.

“okay, wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “have i told you about the time me and john b tried to build our own rollercoaster?”

you raised your eyebrows, already smiling. “oh, this is gonna be good.”

“we were, like, ten. maybe nine. and we had this great idea that if we tied enough skateboard wheels to a wooden sled, we could ride it down john’s driveway and do, like, a loop. we had a blueprint, it was drawn in sidewalk chalk and made absolutely zero sense. the loop was just a milk crate ramp and a pile of soggy mulch we were supposed to land in.”

you're already crying from laughter, again. “oh jj, no."

“listen. we wore bike helmets and used swim goggles for safety, so it was basically an osha-approved operation.”

“anyway. i went first, obviously, because i was the brave one, and the sled immediately fell apart. like, wheels just detached, gone. i flew straight into a prickle bush. john b panicked and called 911, but he got scared halfway through and hung up.”

you're doubled over laughing, not even from the story, more from the hand gestures and stupid faces jj kept making.

you were laughing so hard your head fell onto his shoulder without thinking. but touching you had become all too comfortable to jj.

the past week, he'd been lacing your fingers together, wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulder, even daring to leave a kiss in your hair when rafe was glaring at the two of you during a trip to the market.

you and jj had been fake dating for three days short of a month, and it was getting dangerously easy.

for a moment, all that matters is the sound of your laughter, unrestrained, raw, loud, and how it fills the space between you, warm and unfiltered, like the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating you.

once you've lifted your head from him, you say it, through the last of your giggles, “i don’t think i’ve ever laughed with anyone as much as i laugh with you.”

and just like that, jj wasnt laughing anymore.

he glanced over at you. the words hit him slow and warm, like they took a second to sink in. you werent looking at him. you're just staring at the sky, still kind of smiling, like you didn’t even realize you said something so important, something that shifted whatever was happening between the two of you.

“yeah?” he says, quieter.

you hum in response, still completely lost in the stars. “mhm.”

he swallowed. he doesn’t say what he’s really thinking—that wasn’t just funny. that was happy. you make him happy.

instead, he nudged your ankle with his foot and says, “you should probably give me credit for being this hilarious. it’s a gift.”

you groaned, it made him laugh. but, you were smiling again- and it solidified the fact jj would sit with you on this stupid, uncomfortable swing that kie insisted they have, and laugh with you forever.

his phone

liked by 300 people!

jjmaybank: @ynstjohn fan page

ynstjohn: ok never take candid photos of me again i hate you

↳ jjmaybank: you take that back right now

↳ ynstjohn: 😄😄💓💓

sarahcam: shut up omfg

sarahcam: this is the best and only thing ive liked on your page

↳ jjmaybank: youre a hater

↳ sarahcam: proudly

johnbroutledge: 🥲🥲

kiaracarrera: this is so cute i love you two

cleo anderson: why dont you do this for me @/popeheyward

↳ popeheyward: im posting one rn my apologies my queen

↳ jjmaybank: look at me setting the standard

liked by 500 people!

ynstjohn: my person

sarahcam: YALLLLLLLL

jjmaybank: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 u my person me ur person

↳ ynstjohn: okay caveman

↳ jjmaybank: ur so mean to me

johnbroutledge: 😣😣😣 i can’t take this anymore my heart is exploding

kelcee: alright i give in yall are cute

↳ ynstjohn: thank you! i knew you would come around!

janeylowens: cute!!!

↳ ynstjohn: :))

popeheyward: ok now marriage

kiaracarrera: STFU i’m obsessed

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - hi besties! im gonna be busy for the next few days, but im gonna try to plan boys like you/the blue tide and update piss off your parents the best i can, have patience!!

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abslvrs13 / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567

[holidaygirl1224]

💬New Post from holidaygirl1224

One of you suggested that I "explore an abandoned haunted house with someone" for a spring break activity. I don't think I have any of those lying around my neighborhood... but if there's one person I know that's into the occult, it's my friend Catti XP She's probably the person I most frequently hang out with besides Berdly. Lately she's been pretty busy with work... and hanging out with Jockington...... so we haven't been spending AS much time together. Today, however, she had the day off, and Jockington's not back in town until break is over, so... it's a classic Catti and Noelle adventure today X) I went over to her place and we sat in her bedroom and talked for a while. Eventually I asked her if she knew of any nearby haunted houses, and.......... she does not LOL She did say she wishes HER house was haunted, so maybe that counts... in SPIRIT XD Still wanting to get our spooky fix, we left and walked through the woods behind her house. The most horrifying things we managed to find there were squirrels and litter... jinkies! We wandered through the trees for a while before heading back in town, ending up near the apartment buildings a little ways down from our street. In between the apartments is an alleyway that Catti's actually taken me to a few times... she loves it there. She says it's one of the few places in this town where she can actually think. There's maybe a little too much trash for my taste, but I appreciate the small slice of city life XP So we spent some time in the alley... she's leaning against the wall, I'm sat on a milk crate. After talking for a while she pulls out a bag of... snacks? It was definitely food, but I don't really know WHAT it was. She offered some to me and I took a few... things. Whatever they were. They were sweet, I liked them enough. Then she got a call from her mom, and she had to head back home for dinner. I'm back at my place now and feel kinda funny... maybe the real horror today was not looking into what I put into my body XD Have a spooky day!

[bunny-jpeg]

bets made (and mistakes happened) - a restaurant au

john 'soap' mactavish

cw: restaurant!au, one night stand, smut/pwp, cocky!soap, bets/wagers, dirty talk enemies-to-lovers, (accidental) pregnancy, semi-long

bunny says: like this fic? leave a comment! really like this fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

you could stand toe to toe with whoever got in your way. you REFUSED to be talked down to like a dog. you were a good sous chef, you didn't need the guy who washed the dishes to tell you how to do your job! you could've KILLED john.

and he probably would've let you. he wanted to see those blunt nails of yours dig into his throat. he'd take it as a challenge and give you the same energy. he'd probably grin as you like a madman before he could finally sink his teeth into you. he had been wanting to for years.

so in order to keep some semblance of peace in the kitchen, chef price sent you two out in the back for a smoke. you sat on the milk crate near the door and john pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

"i like yer fire." he said.

"i wish you'd go to hell." you replied.

he chuckled and shook his head, "yer too sweet. i'm surprised you didn't poison me when you had to show tonight's dishes to the rest of staff."

"i didn't expect you to count as staff. it was meant for the other cooks."

he put his hands on his hips, apron on and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth he tilted his head to the side and chuckled, "i'm staff, bonnie. more of the backbone than you are."

you stood up, and got close to him. you were facing each other and painfully close. you plucked the cigarette out of his mouth before you took a inhale of it. he looked at you in shock as you placed it back in his mouth. you turned away from him and said, "how about this, soap. you come to my place, we see who's the better cook."

he stood up a little taller and asked, "what do i get when i win?"

you narrowed his eyes at his words, you amped up the stakes. you replied simply, "i'll let you sleep with me."

the cigarette almost fell out of his mouth from the shock. he soon took it out his mouth and exhaled, "nah, nah. really, what is it?" there was a smile on his face. he leaned in a little bit to you.

"i told you... you, me, sex. do i need to spell it out for you?"

he laughed, "oh yeah. that's a good prize, that sweet cunt." he closed the gap between you two and took your chin in his hand, he held his cigarette in the other, "deal. maybe i can finally put ya in yer place. talkin' big game for such a little girl." he shook his head. he pulled away to have another drag of his cigarette.

-

the first thing you noticed at the end of the week. john 'soap' mactavish didn't taste like an ashtray when he kissed you. currently it was friday night, the only night you two had off, and john had just won your little bet.

he had you up on the kitchen table with his hand spread out on your thigh, pushing up your dress. his lips were on yours and you tried your best to NOT melt into the kiss.

when he pulled away he pressed his forehead to you and said, "how was that?"

"it's a bet, it shouldn't matter how i feel." you replied as you kept your arms around him. his laugh pulled something in you when you were so close to him.

you expected him to make some pasta with packaged noodles and a jar of sauce. you had seen what lunches he brought. but instead in your tiny apartment, he made you a scotch pie with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth the entire time. even with the ash, it was still the best thing you had ever tasted.

he knew he won because you couldn't hide the expression on your face fast enough after the first bite. when he laughed,you hit him then went in for seconds. who would've thought the annoying dishwasher could cook this.

"how?" you asked.

he put a finger over his lips, "family secrets. only shared through marriage, doll."

after the meal, then he took his dessert. his winnings from your bet. and in all fairness, if/when he was going to fuck you, he'd rather he did with after you had a good meal. it was going to be quite the energy waster.

you broke the kiss and looked at him, those big blue eyes stared back at you. you held his face for a moment to stop him from leaning in again. you said, "i'm not fucking on a table i got from goodwill."

he chuckled, "of course, my majesty. would you like for me to fluff the pillows first." then made a noise when you squeezed his face.

"i'm saying because the fucking thing will break." then let go of him. he backed up enough for you to get off the furniture and head towards the bedroom.

he trailed behind you, his cock stood at full attention in his jeans as he get his first glimpse of your bedroom. while he noticed that there wasn't much life to the decor of the walls. he did notice that your bed was unmade and looked very comfy.

but what drew his attention was the sight of you undressing. he watched you zip down the button of the dress. you stepped out of it then quickly got your underwear off. he was barely out of his socks by the time you were naked. your curves glowed under the light of the city outside.

you sighed and approached him, "i guess i have to do everything, huh?"

he was brought back to reality and stepped back, "you don't have to do shit, love. i just need you to lie there and look pretty. if you really wanted to put on a show, make the girls bounce a little." he chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head. he showed off his lean body and caught you staring a moment before he went to his jeans.

soon both of you were naked, and you led him onto your bed. you kicked the covers further down the mattress as you laid in bed with the other man. you kissed once more trying hard not to fall for him with each linger of his fingertips across your back.

he held you like a protective force, even if his words were often biting. he wanted you. in a carnal, lustful kind of way. the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

his hands roamed your backside, his cock twitched against your thigh as you continued to make out with him. finally that cocky mouth of his was quiet.

you pulled away soon after and placed both hands on his chest. he looked up at your curiously and you gazed down at him. those blue eyes were like dark like rocky seas as you rubbed your knee up against his cock. he hissed through his teeth.

"careful, doll." he said quietly.

you held his face once more and gave him one last kiss before you moved away and got into his lap. your ass rubbed against his cock. the sensation made him exhale deeply to try and hold back a moan.

he placed his tattooed hands on your hips. you always did find his tattoos quite appealing. you did have a dream once where he was shoving those digits inside of your pussy. at the time it made you want to put bleach in your eyes. but now... you were second guessing it.

"like this?" you asked.

"oh yeah. i love a good girl on top." he purred as the two of you began to move your bodies against one another. his eyes closed for a moment as he pressed his head into your pillow. he was drowning in the scent of the strawberry shampoo you used often. he could get whiffs of it at work when you walked by, but to be smothered in it made his cock hard.

you placed your hands on his chest and leaned forward so his cock was pushed inside of you at an angle. you panted which was accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

"feel real good. like a glove." he said, heavy on the accent, "like two pieces the same puzzle. you and i, doll, are meant to be."

"one night." you affirmed.

he chuckled as he dug his fingers further into your hips. he watched you take all of his cock and replied, "that's what they all day." before he started to meet your pace more aggressively.

the bed creaked from your movements. the heavy thrusting of sex in the cramped room of your one bedroom apartment. you funded this life through cooking and you got out cooked by a dishwasher.

you should hang the apron up already!

the thought made john smirked as he felt his cock deep inside of you. he wondered for a moment if you could still run a kitchen while caring for his brats. but that thought was pushed away from the intense rush of pleasure through his body. made his head feel full as he got closer to orgasm.

"shit, soap. ah." you moaned.

he gave your ass a slap and chuckled, the sweat dripped down his back, "you can't get enough of me. you just love it so much. you love me."

you groaned, "in your dreams." the sex was amazing. you could feel the sweat on your brow as you rutted against him. your nails dug into his pecks as you moved.

he hissed through his teeth and drove his cock deeper into you. he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. nothing like a feisty chef to get his blood pumping! with a spark on inspiration, he took you by the hips and rolled you onto your stomach.

he lifted your hips up with ease and pounded away at your cunt with vigor. the angle took the air out of your lungs, you could feel his ramming against sensitive areas. your legs were practically in the air!

the angle was amazing for both of you and soon you were gripping onto the mattress under your head.

"who would've thought scotch pie would've let me fuck ya." he laughed as he scratched at your hips due to the force he was holding you.

"shut up!" you whined as your back arched. with a few more stokes of his cock, you both came. your mind went blank. you came so hard that you honestly forgot that he wasn't wearing a condom and had dumped a bunch of his scottish seed into your aching cunt.

this wouldn't be a problem later, right?

-

a month later you're sitting on top of the toliet with a pregnancy test in hand. your hand over your mouth as you watched the test read positive.

for a second you tried to rationalize that it COULDN'T have been john who got you pregnant. not that blue-eyed, mohawk having, smug dishwasher! but you sure as hell weren't pregnant before your night together.

you pulled your hand away from your face and putt he test down on the counter. you cupped your middle and sighed. you had no choice but to tell john about it. he was going to find out eventually.

you sent him a text message, 'soap. need to talk. urgent." then put the phone down. instantly you were on the phone with him, when you heard his voice you broke down. the normally cocky john sounded sincere as he asked what was wrong. you composed yourself for a moment and wiped your eyes and said, "you are your stupid scottish cock got me pregnant."

there was silence on the other end for a moment. he then said, "anythin' ya need, doll. it's yours."

you swallowed and replied, "you and some more scotch pie." you felt your heart do a somersault.

"ay." he said, "already got the scottish in ya."

xoxo, bunny (might do a sequel, let me know!)

[hp-hcs]

😜💖 friendship is magic 😌✨ (Chapter Four of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

❕new addition of Regulus Black❕

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. just slow plot shit this chapter, i’m afraid

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Determined to find the source of the leak, Blaise tromps back out to the hall to find wherever the L/Ns stashed their pole hook to open the attic. Tucked away in a dusty corner is where Blaise finds it, and he carries it back into Y/N’s room with a pleased expression.

This was going to be a piece of cake. If Blaise could find the leak and patch it up, maybe the L/Ns would put in a good word with the courts and shorten their sentences. Or his, anyway.

Slowly raising the pole hook up towards the ring handing from the attic ladder, Blaise missed multiple times, the ring bouncing off of the hook.

“Hey.”

“Holy fucking-” Blaise startles and drops the pole hook, taking a step back. The figure standing in the doorway of Y/N’s room waves awkwardly.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Regulus? Er- Regulus Black? I’m the grocery boy for the L/Ns.” He trails off, motioning to the milk crate he held against one hip that was practically overflowing with produce and wrapped butcher’s packages.

“Oh! Yes, yeah, sorry. Uh, house just has me on edge is all,” Blaise rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Do you need help with the groceries?”

Regulus’ eyebrows raise and he smiles. “That would be fantastic, actually,” he turns on his heel, already starting down the stairs.

Blaise has to jog to catch up, following the spry boy ahead of him down to the kitchen. Regulus is maybe a year younger than him, but has far too much energy for five in the morning.

“So why are you lot here? The L/Ns aren’t exactly known for their warmth and welcoming-ness. If you’ll excuse my bluntness, they don’t really have a propensity for entertaining guests.”

“They’re on vacation. Uh, we’re here as part of a…community service punishment,” he winces as he skates around the truth.

“Ah, nice,” Regulus seems unruffled as he puts away a carton of eggs. “What are they making you do? House-sitting?”

“Uh, babysitting.”

Regulus hums. “Ah, really? They didn’t take Y/N with them? That’s pretty surprising.”

Blaise startles. “Please tell me you don’t also think it’s…”

“Alive? ‘Course not. But it’s better to just humor them. Mrs. L/N gets awfully upset if you mention anything about it being inanimate, and this job pays too well for me to want to piss off my employers.”

Blaise laughs. “That’s fair. So…was there really an Y/N? Like, an actual one?”

Regulus nods, handing him a stack of cans and motioning towards the cabinet they belonged in. “Mhm. We were never allowed to play with them when we were kids. My older brother always called them freakish. And Mr. L/N only ever described them—the one time I asked, back when I very first started working for them—as odd.”

Blaise pauses halfway through stacking apples in the fruit bowl. “You knew them? Like, you were the same age?”

“They were a year or two older than me, but yeah,” Regulus accepts the mug of coffee Blaise offers with a quiet thanks, sitting down with him at the kitchen table.

“Anyway, story goes that they were playing out in the woods with Brahms—he was their only friend, that I know of—and they got in an argument or something… Mr. Heelshire—that’s Brahms’ dad—found ‘im by the river, skull all smashed up. The police chief wanted to question Y/N, you know, just to cover all the bases, but nobody could find ‘em and then-”

Regulus makes a fwoosh noise, setting down his mug to spread his hands out as if to imitate an dramatic explosion.

“Boom! The L/Ns’ house completely burned down. The only person inside? Y/N L/N.”

Regulus takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “Look, I’m not saying they’re connected, but…”

Blaise shivers, cracking his knuckles anxiously. “How long ago was this?”

“Oh, a while. Happened when I was real young. I think Y/N was…eight or nine. Should be just about a decade since then.”

“So why the doll?”

“Nobody knows,” Regulus shrugs. “They rebuilt the house after the fire, and then the doll just showed up one day. It’s creepy as fuck, I’m aware.”

“Just a bit,” Blaise drawls.

Regulus laughs. “You seem cool, man. D’you wanna come hang out with me sometime? I could take you to the good restaurants in town for like, lunch or something. Lord knows you gotta get outta this house.”

“Sounds great,” Blaise grins. “Would be nice to hang out with literally anyone other than those guys. I love ‘em, but y’know.”

“Well, if you’re not busy, how ‘bout today? There’s this awesome old-school diner that makes the best onion rings-”

Regulus chatters on, promising to pick Blaise up at noon for lunch. Blaise smiles, actually smiles, and tells him he can’t wait. After walking him out to his car, Regulus calls from the window, in a sing-song voice,

“See you soon, Blaisey-Waisey!”

Merlin, he’d get along great with Pansy, Blaise muses as he walks back towards the house.

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hello! I know you've written a lot of Jack Kelly lately, so please disregard this if you're feeling burnt out. I was wondering if you would be in the mood to write a Jack Kelly x reader where the reader is scarier to the newsies than Spot but during the strike, she and Jack start working closely together and it's clear that she's not all that bad, just tough on people that do her dirty.

“Who would have thought?” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: you and Jack are up all night together planning the way you’re going to stop the wagons. The morning after, the wagons have successfully been stopped, and the pair of you share an intimate moment of rest, as you realise you don’t always have to protect yourself from everyone.

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 908

Warnings: none, fluff, probably some typos you know meeee

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You sat together in a dimly lit alley that separated Brooklyn and Manhattan, with a map spread across a couple upside down milk crates.

Jack glanced at you, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes. “So, you got a plan?”

“Why am I here, again?” You sighed.

“Because, Y/N, you want better pay too, whether you admit it or not. And people listen to you.”

You studied the map intently, tracing the routes of the wagons with your finger. “Your area’s the smallest and theres more of you, I think your boys can handle that, we should be in Queens for when the bell rings.”

Jack nodded. “We need distractions, too. Get 'em looking the other way while we make our move.”

“Next time you speak, can you make it something helpful?” You snapped, his brows furrowing in response.

Hours passed, and the alley echoed with the soft murmur of your voices, punctuated by the occasional sound of a distant shout from the newsies preparing for the confrontation. The adrenaline built, but amidst the planning, a shift occurred – a subtle transformation in your disposition.

Jack stole a glance at you, a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “You know, you're kinda nice.”

“Nice?” You repeated.

“Yeah, you’re actually not as scary as everyone says.”

You looked up from the map, meeting his gaze. The walls you'd carefully built around yourself seemed to soften, if only for a moment. “We all got our roles to play, Jack.”

Jack leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. “I've heard the stories. Brooklyn's enforcer, they call you. Meaner than Spot.”

A rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Spot's got his way of leading, I got mine. Keeps the streets in order.”

As the night wore on, the initial skepticism that Jack harbored began to dissipate. The shared purpose, the planning, and the unspoken camaraderie melted the icy reputation that preceded you.

Jack's playful banter continued, each word chipping away at the tough exterior you'd carefully crafted. “You gotta have a soft spot somewhere in you, you know.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “Maybe, but you'll never find it.”

The atmosphere shifted as the night wore on, the impending confrontation with the wagons looming over your plans. You were up late into the night, and then early into the morning, making sure every newsie knew what the plan was, in order to actually make this strike a success.

***

As you approached the Manhattan lodging house, Jack, with his cap pulled low to shield his eyes from the early morning sunlight, greeted you with a half-smile. The adrenaline that fueled the morning’s activities still pulsed through your veins, a shared victory in your tired yet satisfied eyes.

Jack spoke first, his voice raspy from the long night. “Well, we did it. Those wagons won't be rolling through today.”

You nodded, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. “Yeah, we did do it.”

The night's successful plan to halt the wagons had taken its toll, leaving both of you fatigued and in need of a moment of respite. Jack's room offered a brief refuge, away from the clamor of all the other newsies sharing stories and reveling in the victory.

As you entered, the worn-out furniture and scattered newspapers created a cocoon of familiarity. Jack, with a reassuring smile, gestured toward his bed, teasing you slightly, “Sit down, tiger. We've earned a break.”

The weariness weighed on your shoulders, and without resisting, you sank onto Jack's bed. You and Jack exchanged a glance, the unspoken acknowledgment of shared victories and silent pride.

Jack, with a knowing smile, settled beside you, his presence offering a sense of security that allowed your guard to momentarily slip away.

As your eyes fluttered closed, your body drifted closer to his. The protective aura he exuded made it easy to surrender to the exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the night. For once, it felt like you didn't have to protect yourself. Your head gently found its way to his chest, falling asleep curled up on him.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack, too, succumbed to the weariness. The room, draped in a calm silence, cradled the two of you in a moment of reprieve.

Time slipped away as both of you rested. Yet, as the morning sunlight continued its ascent, your brain had finally caught up to you. Panic momentarily gripped you as you realised you had fallen asleep with Jack.

Startled, you jumped off of him, the remnants of sleep dissipating quickly. “I— I shouldn't have—“

But before you could finish your sentence, Jack's reassuring voice cut through your anxiety. “Hey, settle down, tough girl. Our secret. You deserve this.“

His words lifted the weight off your shoulders. Jack pulled you back into his embrace, dispelling the fear that had momentarily clouded the room. Jack's arms wrapped around you once more, holding you close as you let your eyes fall shut again. You got comfortable, laying on his body, his fingers beginning to trace patterns on your back, causing you to let out a relaxed sigh.

“Who would have thought? Your soft spot is here, in my bed.” He whispered, teasing you.

“Wrong. I don’t have one, remember.” You mumbled, a small smile tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, sure.” Jack laughed.

[carlsdarling]

How to save a cat Part II

Carl and Y/N take care of the cat together and grow closer… Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: angst, violence

"Stay behind me," Carl instructed you, raising his gun.

"Out of the question, I'll help you," you contradicted grimly and went after a female walker with the knife in your hand, stabbing her in the forehead.

It wasn't easy, but a little later you two had killed all six walkers. "Are you all right?" made Carl sure, wiping rotten blood from his hands. The stench of the undead was simply sickening.

"Yes," you muttered, already heading for the cabin, but Carl outran you and pulled you back.

"Wait, Y/N," he ordered curtly. "We don't know what's in the cabin. I want to check it first, to make sure if it’s safe." You sighed. You barely knew each other, but Carl was so overprotective. "All right," he then announced, and you entered the cabin. The cat had huddled in a corner, frightened, and was growling and hissing at you. Carefully, you approached him, murmuring soothingly at him. You reached out to him, ignoring all his snarling and fussing. The cat was obviously very young, and totally emaciated, full of fleas and ticks.

"He's not in good condition," Carl complained as you picked up the cat. "His leg seems to be broken." It hung down limply.

You cradled the little animal in your arms, giving him your warmth. "But he has a chance, doesn't he?" you asked with tears in your eyes. He felt so fragile.

"Maybe," Carl said distractedly as he rummaged around the cabin, then brought in a wooden box. "We can use this to transport the cat. Have Denise take a look at him. It's too bad Hershel isn't alive, he was a vet, but I think Denise can also splint his leg." Gently, you placed the cat in the crate, then made your way back to Alexandria. Your gloomy thoughts had faded for now, you now had a new mission; someone who needed you.

                                                 ***

Denise had bathed the cat, cleaned him up, put a splint on him, and given him an IV because he was dehydrated. It wasn't until the evening that you were able to pick him up, and Carl accompanied you. "He's a sweet boy," Denise commented, feeding the cat with some milk, boiled eggs and corned beef. "What are you going to call him?"

"He looks like a Garfield, I think," you said indecisively, stroking the reddish fur.

Carl nodded. "I think Garfield is a good name for him."

Your parents allowed you to keep Garfield - your dad had never objected to pets, he preferred that to you hanging around with people who didn't please him and who weren't worthy enough in his eyes.

But that very evening there was trouble again when you told your parents that you were going on a scavenging trip with Carl the next morning to get cat food and supplies for Garfield.

Your father looked at you sternly. "I hope you realize that the Grimes boy is no company for you," he said snidely. "Let him go with you to get the supplies for the cat, but I forbid you to befriend him."

"Why?" you enthused. "Carl's so friendly, and I like him."

"He's just the police chief's son," your father spat, cutting his bread in two halfs. He had appointed Rick as Alexandria's police chief. "He's not nearly good enough for you. He's under your class, and on top of that he's got this... disfigurement." Disgusted, he pointed to his own right eye.

You stopped eating. "That's so mean and shallow," you said, stunned. "It’s not Carl’s fault, after all, you know he got shot, and it doesn't make him a different person, he..."

You didn't see the slap coming, but it was so hard that your lip was split open and blood dripped onto the table.

"Go to your room," your father ordered. "Dinner is canceled for you. I've warned you. Don't you dare get involved with Carl Grimes." You looked to your mum, who, as usual, avoided your help-seeking gaze. There was a glass of scotch in front of her, and her glazed eyes revealed that she had once again consumed Valium. Never did your mum defend you, never did she speak her mind! All she did was to drug herself. Not once had she sided with you or poor Brooke, always accepting your father's tyranny. For that, you hated her almost as much as you hated your dad. She was such an incredible coward, and you despised her.

                                                  ***

Carl immediately noticed your swollen lip when you got into the car with him the next morning. "Who did that?" he asked, upset and gritting his teeth. You had intended to lie to him and claim that you had hit a door in the dark, but you were aware that he wouldn't believe that anyway.

"My dad," you countered cagily. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?" you immediately rebuffed.

Carl stared at you, horrified. "But it's not okay for him to treat you like that," he snapped. "He has no right to do that. My dad is chief of police, I could..." For the first time you noticed what a beautiful eye color Carl possessed, and what a handsome face, and how charmingly his dark hair contrasted with his fair skin.

"No!" you interrupted him, placing your hand on his. "Please don't, Carl. Please, stay out of this. I'll only get in more trouble," you said quietly, looking to the side.

Carl was silent for a moment. "Fine, if that's the way you want it," he grumbled disapprovingly. "But it's not okay!" You let that go uncommented, and the drive went on in silence.

You found a pet supply store and looted a large quantity of canned cat food, kibbles, and a litter box; also cat toys, a scratching tree, a cat bed, and lots of cat litter. "Thanks, Carl," you said as he started the motor and steered the car onto the road leading back to Alexandria.

"Do you want to go home already, or do we want to have some fun first?" asked Carl mischievously, winking at you, "Your dad doesn't have to know anything." He pointed to a large building to the right. It was painted in bright colors and the billboard on the street read, "Joyland - THE one and only indoor playground!" "Come on," Carl urged, "We don't have to stay long, just an hour or so. You look like you could use a little distraction." Finally nodding, he parked the car and you got out. Fortunately, there were no walkers anywhere to be seen.

Inside the building, daylight fell through the domes in the ceiling. There was a lot of playground equipment that you two were actually much too old for - a huge ball pit, several slides, and various trampolines. There was also a roller skating rink. Carl took a running start and jumped into the ball pit, laughing. "Come on in," he urged you, and finally you gave in. You frolicked in the ball pit, wrestling with each other, then you tried the slides and finally the biggest trampoline.

Eventually you were completely out of breath; sweaty, you let yourself drop in a corner of the trampoline to rest. Carl sat down next to you, drops of sweat were on his forehead, and his sweet face was all flushed. His eye sparkled with joy. "I'll go get us something to eat and drink," he announced, climbing down the ladder and running across the great hall, toward one of the abandoned vendor kiosks.

After a few minutes, he returned with masses of snacks and two cans of Coke. "I'm afraid the Coke isn't very cold," he commented. You didn't care, you were thirsty, and greedily you emptied your can. Carl tore open several bags of snacks and candy, and you stuffed yourselves with them without restraint.

"Look," you said with a giggle, holding up a bag of cheesy corn wheels. "Carlitos," the label read. "Some Carlitos for Carlito?" you asked. Carl grinned and reached for the bag. When you were satiated, you lay on the trampoline with your bellies full, looking up at the concrete ceiling and talking about all sorts of things. Carl turned his head to look at you. Crumbs from the Carlitos were stuck in the corner of his mouth, and you reached out to wipe them away and to stroke his cheek. Carl let it happen, then moved closer to you, pulled you into his arms, and you kissed for the first time. Carl's lips tasted like bell pepper chips and Coke, and they were so soft. Your injured lip hurt a little, but you hardly felt it.

"I can't let my parents know about this," you pressed around, when you were leaving the place and heading for the car. "They... they don't like you."

"Why not?" wondered Carl innocently. "They don't even know me."

"That's not the point, my dad just... doesn't think the son of a plain police chief is good company for me," you muttered angrily. „He's such a snob.“ You didn't want to tell Carl how spiteful your dad had been about his facial injury; you didn't want him to feel bad about his appearance.

"Oh," Carl said, concerned. He never expected that someone would find his father's profession inferior and therefore would reject him, Carl. "Then we'll just meet in secret, Y/N. And maybe your dad will change his mind," he said hopefully.

It's more like hell freezing over, you thought bitterly.

[aemond-one-eyed]

I Can Fix Him (No Really, I Can)

(Closed starter for @rhaenaspearls)

The first morning waking up in his old chambers made Aemond feel uncomfortable and strange to say the least the circumstances as to why he was back in the Red Keep only made it stranger. It was no secret that Viserys would be dead soon, the latest report he'd heard insinuated the King was functioning no better than an infant by now. His older sister would soon be the Realm's first Queen, and he and his siblings would no doubt be shunted back to Dragonstone shortly thereafter. He hoped he would ultimately be successful in his attempts to convince Rhaenyra to appoint him to her small Council, potentially as Master of Wars if she did as everyone said she would and elevated Daemon to be her new Hand.

If he was being honest, though, he would accept any position she was willing to offer him; Anything to get him off their gods' forsaken family island. To say Aemond was bored there would be a monumental understatement, he spent most of his time reading whatever he could get his hands on, or flying around on Vhagar, but fuck he wanted something to do. He couldn't even participate in tourneys like most second son's did to occupy their time since he'd never been able to stay on a horse after the accident that cost him his eye. He had heard people around Court refer to him as "The Spare's Spare" and as much as it infuriated him, he couldn't mount an argument against it's validity to his own feelings.

He reached over to his side table and grabbed one of his vials of milk of the poppy, downing it before he got on with his day. He knew he should probably be trying to be less dependent on the drug, but he would buckets of it if he was going to get through the upcoming weeks. He finally managed to get himself out of bed and dressed, pulling his eyepatch on last, before leaving to go scrounge around the kitchens for some food. As he was walking down the hall, about to descend the main stairs, he tripped and fell over something. One of the servants must've left left supplies at the base of the stairs in their hurry to prepare for so many guests.

"Who the fuck left something out in the fucking hall?!" He yelled. Then, the supply crate started to cry. Shit...definitely wasn't a supply crate then. He pushed himself up and looked down towards his feet to find one of his sister's many spawn in a sad heap on the floor. Before he got the chance to say anything, though, Rhaena was whirling down the hall towards him, anger written all over her face. She picked the child up, who was apparently named Aemma, and consoled her in her arms for a moment before demanding why he would kick a child.

Aemond only stared at her, astonished, and blinked his one eye a few times, "I'm sorry, you think I kicked the kid?! It's not my fault she was running around unsupervised, if you didn't notice I have one fucking eye! I couldn't see the little one, maybe you shouldn't ne letting her run off so much, we could've both tumbled down all those stairs just from you being a bad nanny." He sneered, then grabbed another vial from his pocket and sucked down a few drops as his foul mood grew even worse.

[dumpster-divers-unite]

I finally got 2 folding shopping carts!

It took my neighbor moving out and some interacting with someone who somehow knew her via my partner, bc he gets involved with the most interesting people somehow, to get them. One is smaller and is in near perfect condition, and the bigger one needs bars replaced. It may need a replacement something for the handle.

We got a lot of stuff from her unit, too! She’s not coming back to this unit sense she’s going to prison (long long story) and it’s saving us a lot of $$ in the long run. The original plan was to go to some of the thrift stores that I know for sure have cutlery and other miscellaneous objects up for grabs. $30 of gas and maybe $20 for the stuff we’d want makes $50 of money that we can keep in our pockets.

From today, we got; bowls (Pyrex), umbrellas, more milk crates, clothing/pants (not for me, for a friend), a blanket, round head forms (for my ‘adult’ gear), little bit of bleach, polyfill bag, & spools of sewing thread!

Edit: forgot to mention we got lotion and a working ring light!

[the-fiction-witch]

Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Media - It Chapter One Character - Richie Tozier Couple - Richie X Reader (Platonic love) Reader - Y/n (Friends / Maybe kinda closet buddies) Rating - 12 Word Count - 924

‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’ played gently from the small radio that sat among the various clutter in the Loser’s Den. Richie was the only one inside at the time, his leg hung lazily from the hammock as he reclined comfortably, comic book in hand. The hammock softly swaying as he mindlessly shifted to the music.

“And if a double-decker bus…Crashes into us…To die by your side…Is such a heavenly way to die,” he absentmindedly sang along,

But he jumped a little as the hatch opened without warning. He sat up, a little panic flashing across his face briefly until he saw the familiar boots.

Y/n climbed down and shut the hatch behind her out of habit, wearing her usual brown muddy boots, green rainbow patterned tights, denim skirt, band t-shirt she’d cut into a crop top at a slightly asymmetrical angle, with her hair in tight permed curls. And of course, her thick black glasses were on her nose.

He smiled and set his comic book down on the milk crate beside the hammock. He adjusted his patterned shirt a little and smiled at her, “Hey Y/n.”

She didn’t say anything, not a single word. She just stepped across the den, kicking off her boots as she went, before she began to clamber into the hammock with him.

“Hey! Y/n! No- We both can’t- there’s no space for us both! Ahh! Fuck- don’t tip it that way we’ll both crack out head’s open!” He complained as the hammock swung and shifted as the two attempted to figure out a way this would work, that didn’t involve one of them in a hospital visit.

Finally, they got stable and settled.

Richie lay with his head propped up, not unlike he had been before she got here, and Y/n lay over him, her body between his legs and her head on his chest. Keeping their centre of gravity much the same.

He rolled his eyes a little and looked down at her. “Comfy down there, Y/n?”

Y/n nodded, shifting herself a little closer. So much so, the scent of her cherry body mist and the slight scent of ammonia given just how fresh her perm was.

Richie let out a long sigh and merely accepted that this was going to be his afternoon now. Given that he couldn’t even get up if he wanted to, unless she herself decided to let him. But he was used to this with her, and he didn’t really mind a little cuddle with her anyway, if the losers weren’t around.

She slowly tilted her head up to meet his, her big eyes behind her glasses meeting his own. Strangely forming a sort of infinite mirror effect that almost blocked their actual eyes from one another.

As Richie’s glasses reflected in Y/n’s glasses, which then reflected in Richie’s glasses, which then reflected in Y/n’s glasses. And Vice Versa.

They both sat silently for a few seconds, the music all that lingered between them.

Until Y/n’s hand crawled up Richie’s body like a spider and plucked his glasses from his face, “Yoink.”

“Hey!” He complained, “Gimme!”

“Mine now,” she said,

“I can’t see, Y/n!”

She laughed and pulled off her own glasses, putting Richie’s glasses on her nose, and Richie’s glasses on her own.

They stared at one another again, but neither was now actually able to see, given they had wildly different eye issues. The glasses once more reflecting back on one another.

“You…” she began, looking around like a shocked lizard, “Are very blind.”

“And you are very blurry, my dear,” he laughed, “Can you see anything?” He asked, bringing his hand up to jokingly slap at her face, but he actually was struggling to do so, even for a joke, managing to find her bangs and tuck some curls from her face.

“I see… colours.”

“How do you see anything out of these things, my god girl.”

“Shall we swap back?”

“I don’t know, I think I look rather fetching.”

“Rich!” She laughed,

“And… I kinda prefer you in my glasses anyway,” He smiled,

“But I can’t see,” she whined,

“Neither can I,”

“Richie! Give me my glasses!”

“But I am blinded by you, Y/n.”

She scoffed and swapped their glasses back, “There. All the better to see you with.”

“Yeah, but… You do look alot cuter than me in my glasses.”

“I look cute in everything.”

“That you do,” he laughed, “Giving all the boys heart palpitations, just begging to get to cuddle with you.”

“You’re a boy,” she reminds him,

He dramatically gasps, “Oh! My god! I never knew! How could you not tell me this?”

“Rich!” she laughed,

“But… I mean it, the boys all do think you’re cute,” he smiled, “Yet you don’t?”

“Boys are gross.”

“I’m a boy. Am I gross?”

“No,” she smiled, tucking her knees up a little, being much closer to him, their legs brushing up against one another, “You’re Richie.”

“So I’m the only one who’s not gross?”

“Mhm,” she nodded with a gentle yawn,

“You better not be falling asleep on me, Y/n,” he laughed,

But it was way too late,

Y/n had gotten so comfortable, she’d fallen asleep right there in the hammock against Richie’s chest.

He softly chuckled to himself, knowing he’d be stuck here till she woke up. But he leant over, careful not to disturb her, turning the radio down a little lower. Before he gently removed her glasses and his own, he set them both on the milk crate. Before he slid his hands around her back and closed his own eyes.

The two happy and content to snooze away the summer, in one another’s arms.

[vortexdoll]

hehe me again (🕯 anon if you must), could I request anything w Pope with a reader who collects things? doesn't matter but if you need ideas, like funko pops, cds, pokemon cards, maybe seashells? and how their dynamic would work? since he is a pretty organized person and whatnot, he could like organize their collection of things since they have it just kinda thrown together? idk 😔🙏

A Place for Everything

A/n: Thanks so much for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think or if there’s more you’d like to see!

Pope Heyward x reader

Summary: Pope brings order to the reader’s beautiful chaos by helping organise her eclectic collections, showing his care through quiet, thoughtful acts of love.

Warnings: N/a

Word count: 1,050

Your room looked like a secondhand shop and a tide pool had a lovechild. The cracked windowsill was covered in mismatched jars filled with seashells—spirals and fans and half-broken bits that still looked beautiful to you. Your CDs lived in a few milk crates you’d stolen from behind the gas station, no rhyme or reason to how they were arranged. You liked the chaos. Mostly.

Pope didn’t say anything the first few times he came over. Just glanced at the piles of shiny discs and vintage ticket stubs, and the tiny stuffed alligator someone had given you as a joke, and your cluttered nightstand that always had a seashell or two perched on it like it was their home now.

You caught him once, staring at a cracked CD case that had no cover art.

“Is this Nirvana or, like… Enya?” he asked cautiously.

You blinked up from your spot on the floor, where you were painting a shell with glitter nail polish. “Honestly? I don’t remember.”

He smiled, setting it down gently like it might break. “That’s kind of impressive. It’s like a mystery collection.”

That was the moment you realized Pope wasn’t judging your chaos. He was just… trying to understand it.

About a week later, he showed up at your door holding something behind his back.

“No offense,” he said, grinning, “but your CD organization is a war crime.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you! That’s years of effort you’re insulting.”

“Effort?” He raised an eyebrow. “You literally tossed them all in a box. Some of them are upside down.”

You shrugged, playful. “They like it that way.”

He held up a small, handmade wooden shelf, painted your favorite color, with enough space for at least fifty CDs. “Well, they’re about to like this better.”

You blinked. “You built me a CD shelf?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I mean, yeah. Thought you might want a way to show ‘em off. You’ve got some cool stuff in there.”

Your heart did something very embarrassing in your chest.

He spent the next two hours helping you go through every CD you owned. You sat cross-legged on your bed, naming albums off the top of your head, while Pope gently wiped off dusty cases and sorted them into piles.

“You want them by genre? Artist? Year?” he asked, fully in project mode.

“Surprise me,” you said, watching the way his brows furrowed when he focused.

He ended up arranging them alphabetically and color-coordinated the spines. You didn’t even know he could color-coordinate spines.

Once the shelf was full, you stared at it, kind of stunned.

“This looks… legit,” you said.

Pope sat next to you, brushing his shoulder against yours. “Told you it would. You collect the coolest stuff—you deserve to see it.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re gonna spoil me, Heyward.”

He chuckled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

⸻

The next time he came over, he brought tiny mason jars. “For your shell collection,” he said. “We could label them by beach, or size, or weirdness level.”

“Weirdness level?” you laughed.

“I feel like that purple one with the hole in the middle is like, at least a Level 8.”

You ended up spending the whole afternoon reorganizing your seashells, sitting on your porch with the sun warming your legs and Pope writing tiny labels in his neat handwriting.

“This one’s from that day we skipped school and went to the north shore,” you said, handing him a tiny scallop-shaped shell. “Remember? You swore we saw a dolphin.”

Pope smiled. “We did see a dolphin. You just weren’t looking.”

You rolled your eyes. “You saw a wave.”

He gently tucked the shell into a jar labeled North Shore Finds and passed it back to you. “Agree to disagree.”

You stared at the neat little rows of shells, now organized and shiny and somehow even more special. It wasn’t like you needed everything to be perfect. You liked your clutter. Your randomness. But Pope made it feel intentional. Like your collections weren’t just messes—they were memories worth preserving.

“Thanks for helping me with all this,” you said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

He nudged your leg with his. “I like being part of your world. Even if it’s made of seashells and bootleg Avril Lavigne CDs.”

“Bootleg?” you gasped. “That’s vintage!”

He laughed, leaning in to bump your shoulder again, this time letting it linger a little longer.

“Okay, okay. Vintage. My bad.”

You smiled, watching the sunlight dance through the jars. Everything looked brighter when he was around. Not just your collections—but you, too.

Maybe that was the best part about Pope: he didn’t try to fix your chaos. He just made space in it for himself.

[eponastory]

Snippet 4 from 'Sometimes, Maybe, It's Okay'

He's sitting at a table made out of a pallet and a milk crate with five other men. Its the middle of the night and their sitting in a fox hole on the front waiting for something to happen. He can smell mud and piss coming from all directions because they had been there for days with nothing but rations and their weapons. Yet, here he was, sitting at the table playing poker. Seven cards are in his hand, he's got a pair of eights and he's on the fence about folding. He's clasping a cigarette between his lips as he's trying to decide if he wants to bet five more peanuts because that's literally all they have to use as currency. 

He's looking at the other guys, the light from the lamp in the middle of the table illuminates their faces. He can see someone is having a hard time with their pokerface when there is a twitch of the lips. He may as well fold. He knows someone has a higher hand than him. He doesn't even have a face card, but he still has a generous amount of peanuts in his pile. He's so fucking tired of peanuts. They all are and he just wants something much better. 

It's the sound of whistling that causes all of them to look at each other. It takes a second for him to realize that the game is over and he's reaching for his rifle before a blast rocks the earth just outside of the fox hole. There goes the game. He's struggling to climb his way to the top of the hole, the mud is making it difficult to grip the wood reinforcing the sides as he's seeing flashes of blue coming from the distance. 

He can't hear anything but his own heartbeat when he finally scrambles up to the top and sees the tank coming through the brush. 

“It's a fucking tank!” 

Yes, he knows. It's a fucking tank with a weird blue light coming from it, but what else is new? He's not sure how he managed to keep his cigarette in his mouth this entire time, but it's keeping him sane. The nicotine is keeping his nerves placid for the moment, that is until he gets blown back by a blast. 

The impact of his body against the floor shocks him awake before he reacts by curling into a ball and putting his hands over his head. He can still feel the impact against his head and back as he shakes. He's sweating, it's not hot by any means, but his body is responding to the terror that he hadn't felt in months. His throat feels scratchy, probably because he was screaming out in his sleep and he hopes his neighbors didn't hear. The last thing he needs is for them to call the police for a wellness check. 

It's the middle of the night and a crazy man is yelling from all the trauma he went through over seventy years. It's not exactly a story he wants to explain to the people nearby or the cops when they show up. At least the cops know who he is, even though sometimes they give him distrusting looks. He wouldn't trust himself either. 

He finally relaxes enough to spread himself out on the hardwood floor. The nightmares are not new, but ever since he's been alone, they are more frequent. Sometimes they are intense, other times he just wakes up in a cold sweat. This one was intense because he genuinely thought he was going to die when it happened. He expressed as much after he woke up in a cell.

Someone is yelling at him as they pull him up by his shirt. A sting on his cheek pulls him out of a dark place as the fuzziness wears off. What is he doing on the ground? Why does his hands and eye hurt? His lips taste a little weird too, almost like sour grapes. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” Another sting on the other side of his face causes the clearness to go away as his eyes focus. “Sergeant Barnes! Pull out of it!” 

“Wa…” He licks his lips, tasting what he knows to be blood as he is pulled to his feet by two men. “What happened?” He feels unsteady as his legs don't really want to work. 

“We got captured.” He recognizes Dum Dum after a second and sighs. “You took a hit to the head after that blast threw you into the fox hole.” 

“I don't think I remember that, but I feel it.” Bucky feels it alright. He feels it in his stomach too because it's churning from how discombobulated he feels. “How bad is it?” 

“I've seen worse.” Jim pipes up from behind him. “You'll live.” 

“Perfect. I was planning on going dancing.” Sarcasm was how he processed everything, but some of the men in the cell with him took it way too seriously. The nausea withstanding, he manages to finally find his balance. “Where are we?” Bucky walks up to the bars of the cell, grabbing on to them as he feels his stomach lurch. 

He doesn't get to say anything when bile forces its way up his esophagus and he's bending over to let it out. The others stand back as he grips the bar with one hand and holds his stomach with the other. It's not pretty. He doesn't care if he looks like shit or smells like it either, he's behind enemy lines. 

“How do we get out of here?” Bucky wipes his mouth once he stops dry heaving. “They captured us for a reason, so we have to get out of here.” He knows they are all going to die if they stay here. He's heard about all the things they Germans did to their prisoners and he certainly isn't a fan. 

“They've been taking men at random, dragging them off to God knows where.” Dum Dum states as he leans on the bars. “They never come back.” 

“Just how long was I out?” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair until he feels the small laceration at the back of his head and grimaces. 

“Long enough.” Jim crosses his arms over his chest. “About a day. You started moaning in your sleep.” 

“I had a really bad dream.” He pulls his fingers away to find them covered in dried blood. Well at least it's not bleeding anymore. “So, how do we get out? Any ideas?” 

Everyone looks at each other before they all shrug and Bucky is at a loss on why he has to come up with all the plans. He does come up with one eventually. It takes a couple days of thinking and listening to his fellow soldiers being dragged away to God knows behind the metal doors at the end of the room. 

They get their chance when after another three days, guards finally come to their cell to take someone away. Bucky thinks they can overpower them, but it quickly becomes apparent that isn't going to be the case when they bring in new ways to subdue. Now they all carry electric sticks that incapacitate anyone who gets poked with them. It shocks Bucky when Dum Dum goes in to take one of the guards in a chokehold, only for him to fall to the floor stiff as a board. He stares at his brother in arms on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief before he is suddenly yanked backwards and dragged away. He isn't even sure if he wants to fight back as they pull him through the metal doors. The last thing he sees is the men in the cells watching with terrified looks on their faces. 

More missing scenes that should be explored deeper in a hypothetical Bucky film/series. Sometimes I wonder if writers really take into account what really goes on in the mind of someone who suffers with PTSD.

[rygoespop]

Thomas and Friends: Legends of Sodor (Story 101): Same Diesel, New Tricks

Narrator: Same Diesel, New Tricks

Scene opens with Molly working at Tidmouth Harbor

Narrator: It was a busy day at Tidmouth Harbor, and Molly was busy hauling freight cars to and from the key, but it can be overwhelming for her

Scene transitions to Sir Topham Hatt, who arrived to see Molly

Narrator: One day, Sir Topham Hatt came to see Molly

STH: Knowing that you’ve been busy, I made arrangements to have another engine help you

Molly: Oh that’ll be great sir!

Transition to Diesel arriving at Tidmouth Harbor, as Molly was shocked to see him

Narrator: Soon, the other engine arrive, Molly was shocked to see Diesel

Diesel: Good morning, Sunshine on wheels *cackled*

Molly: Diesel?! What are you doing here?

Diesel: Well little sunshine on wheels, Sir Topham Hatt send me here to help you with the cars

Molly looked stern

Molly: I’m more happy to do it without you

Diesel: Oh, maybe you do, watch me! *he biffed 3 cars full of flour*

The Cars: Oh oh oh!

Diesel: Grrrrr!

Scene transitions to Molly backing down to a Goods Train (a Short Lynton car with Cable Drums, a Flour Car, a car full of Milk Churns, 2 LNER Vans, a car full of crates, and 2 Oil Tankers) at the station

Narrator: Soon, Molly backed down to a Goods Train to take to Vicarstown, until suddenly

Diesel oiled up in front of her and shunted 5 Cars with each one full of Coal, Sand, Ballast, Flour, and Fish in front of Molly

Molly: Oh bother!

Diesel: Heh heh heh! How’s that for being a middle engine? *he oiled away*

Molly: That Diesel is a nuisance

Scene cuts to Sir Topham Hatt at his office, having Coffee and Iced Bun

Narrator: Meanwhile, Sir Topham Hatt was in his office, having some Coffee and an Iced Bun

STH: Mmmmm, come to Topham!

Soon the phone ring

STH: *answers it* What’s that you say? There’s trouble at Tidmouth Harbor?

Scene cuts back to Molly on the line at the Station in Tidmouth Harbor, but she decided to go on strike

Narrator: And soon, he was right, there was a lot of confusion and delay, as Molly didn’t want to work, not when Diesel is around

Diesel: *oiled up behind Molly* Come on Molly, we got work to do

Molly: *stern* I refuse to work, not even with you here Diesel!

Diesel rolled forward and bumped Molly

Molly: Botheration! *rolls her eyes in surprise*

Scene cuts to the next day, as Diesel shunted a line of 5 cars full of Ballast

Narrator: Diesel thinks he can get away with his bad behavior was ruder than ever, the next day he was shunting freight cars full of ballast

Diesel biffed the cars through the buffers and the cars splash into the sea

Narrator: He biffed the cars hard through the buffers, but the buffers weren’t secured

Diesel stopped, looked surprised as the ballast cars sank

Narrator: The silly cars were sunk

Scene cuts to Sir Topham Hatt in his office, after the Stationmaster gave him the news

Narrator: Sir Topham Hatt has heard the news

Scene cuts to night at Tidmouth Harbor, as BoCo arrived with Rocky, as Rocky fished the cars out, and BoCo took the 3 cars that were fished out away

Narrator: The cars were hoisted out of the sea, but the Ballast was lost

Scene transitions to Molly and Diesel, with Molly looking pleased and Diesel sulking, as Sir Topham Hatt scold Diesel

Narrator: Sir Topham Hatt has some stern words to Diesel

STH: Things worked much better before you arrive, so therefore I am forbidding you to work with Molly until further notice!

Diesel sulked

STH: *turns to Molly* Would you like to have a replacement engine to help you Molly?

Molly: Oh yes please sir!

STH: Who would you like?

Molly: Emily sir!

STH: Very well then, Emily will arrive first thing in the morning!

Molly blew her whistle and puffs off happily, as Diesel oiled away backwards sulking

Narrator: Soon, Molly headed off to sleep for the next day, and Diesel oiled away sulking, do you think Diesel will be a more sensible engine, don’t you?

Stars rolled in

Story end

[missvelvetsstuff]

Where You Goin, Star

Bucky Barnes x Reader

BikerAU

Summary: Reader meets Bucky when the truck hauling her show horses breaks down as she is trying to leave for an event and he works for the mechanic. Passionate, secret love affair ensues. After a confrontation with her father, Bucky decides she deserves better than a poor biker like him and leaves town with his friends Steve and Sam.

Three years later, reader is trapped in an abusive relationship and about to give up hope of things ever improving, when Bucky comes back.

Chapter 18

Warnings: swearing, little angst

Bucky and Y/N went to her house to see what kind of shape it was in. When she filed for divorce from John she went to her old house, which was dusty and stale thanks to 3 years sitting empty, with an interior designer to redecorate and get the place ready to be lived in again. The trial ended faster than she expected so the work hadn't even been started yet.

Star spoke to the designer and learned that the paint crew was all sick and wouldn't be able to start for at least 2 weeks. And the living room and dining room sets she had chosen were unavailable with no eta. She paced the living room while being updated.

"I'm not sure what to do, I can find replacements for the furniture but we can't do anything until it's cleaned out and painted."

She sat next to Bucky on the milk crates that were on the front porch.

Bucky looked serious "Wait, I'm thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself" she snickered.

Bucky looked at her in awe, happy to see his fiery Star returning. He liked her much better than the sad, angry woman that John and her father had turned her into.

He gave her a big smile "We could paint. Get the guys over here and knock it out in a couple of days. Steve and I have done plenty of places, even have some tools."

She furrowed her brow "Are you sure? Obviously I can pay you all and-"

Bucky shook his head "Nope. You're not paying us, that's ridiculous."

She just stared at him for a moment "How is it ridiculous to pay someone for providing a service? It's way more out of line to expect people to work for you for free."

Bucky sighed "Star, we are your friends and want to help you. Besides I'll be living there too and want to help get it ready for us."

She still looked skeptical "I don't know, Jamie it just seems wrong. I've certainly never had any friends that refused money."

Bucky rubbed her hand "I don't know any of your other friends so can't speak to their motives but we aren't friends with you for your money or what you can do for us. We love you for you, doll."

She thought for a minute "Ok. You talk to them and after that we can go look for living room and dining room furniture."

Bucky spoke to Steve and Sam to get a group together to clean and paint the upcoming weekend. Then went with Star to look at furniture.

While they looked Bucky found a chair that he loved but when he saw the price he shook his head and walked away from it.

Star went to get the tag to add to her stack to take to the sales person when Bucky stopped her "What are you doing with that doll?"

She looked at him confused "Adding it to the stuff we're getting, why?"

He shook his head "I can't get it today, maybe some other time."

"I don't understand, this is for the house so I'm paying."

"I can't let you do that Star, it's not right. I'll save up and get it some other time."

Star giggled "I'm not sure what the problem is but I'm getting it."

Bucky took a breath and looked like he was going to say something but shook his head and stalked away.

Star dropped the tag and went after him but he didn't slow until he got to her truck.

She approached him, a little mad "What the Hell is going on with you Jamie?"

Bucky scoffed "I'm not John, Y/N. I don't need a sugar mama."

Her face scrunched in confusion "What are you talking about? This is stuff for our house."

He shook his head "No. It's for your house. I'm just the loser who can't give you what you need. If we had to live on my income, we'd live over my shop."

She clenched her fists "James Buchanan Barnes! You give me exactly what I need! Love and acceptance that my father never gave me. Money is just money and I'd rather be poor with you than rich with anyone else."

Bucky pinched his nose "You don't understand. It's easy for you to say it's no big deal because it never has been for you but for someone like me who has struggled all their life, it's a very big deal. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."

Y/N looked at him sadly "Jamie, please. You do take care of me, in every way that matters. Let me take care of you back."

Bucky sighed "Star, it's not right for you to spend a bunch of money on me. I'm supposed to be spoiling you." He looked down and mumbled "What kind of man am I anyways?"

Star hit his chest "What kind of man are you? You're starting to piss me off Jamie. Don't you dare badmouth the man I love. My father was one of the richest men in the country and my mother had every physical comfort, the finest of everything but it didn't make up for his cruelty or his cheating or the fact that he was behind her death. She would have given it all up for some peace with someone who truly cared for her."

She was crying now "It's not my fault I was born into this but I promised myself years ago I wouldn't be some shallow, vapid debutante without a thought in her head. I've been working on my plans for my inheritance for years and will be doing more than buying the newest Fendi bag every season."

She wiped her tears "You're the first person since my mother that saw me as more than a well dressed pretty face."

She looked at him with teary eyes "You do spoil me, in all the best ways. The ways that matter to me." She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. "I love you Jamie" she kissed him "and I'll spend whatever I want on you so either learn to accept it or, or just fuck off."

Bucky's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest "You love me?" He kissed her softly.

She gave him a half hearted glare "Yes, dumbass I love you, so you better get used to being loved by a generous woman with money and good taste."

Bucky laughed, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with her spending large amounts of money on him but he certainly wasn't leaving her. Not when he just got her back. "I love you too, my sweet shining Star."

She grabbed his hand "Good, now let's go waste some of my fathers money!"

They went back inside the store and picked a living room set. Then another store for the dining room. Another couple of stores for rugs, pillows, sheets, towels and dishes along the way.

Bucky was overwhelmed at the amount of money she was spending every single time she put down that black credit card but forced himself to keep his thoughts from escaping. He didn't ask for anything but smiled at her and tried to keep the concern from showing. He had to work on some of his old programming, pushing back the shame that tried to creep up on him for letting her spend so much money when he couldn't treat her. A real, official relationship was going to require some changes in his mentality but he would do anything for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday morning they met Steve, Peggy, Sam, Peter, MJ, Nick Fury and even Dot at Stars house to clean and paint. They had it done in 3 days and the house was ready for new floors, cabinets & counters, which they left to the professionals.

It took another 2 weeks for all of the work to be completed, new furniture to be delivered and the house to be ready to move into.

Bucky, Steve and Sam had to work most days but Peggy, MJ and Dot helped her organize and put everything away. With their help it only took a couple of days.

The first night that Bucky and Star spent in the house everyone was exhausted from the days work so they just ordered pizza and drank the beer that she picked up for them.

After every one else was gone, Bucky looked around the house "Not too bad doll, I think this is the nicest place I've ever lived in. Still getting used to the idea of a real home that I don't have to worry about being kicked out of and isn't a room for rent in the bad part of town."

He pulled her into his arms and started kissing on her neck. "You're gonna spoil me Star. I'll have to think of some way to repay you."

Star giggled softly. "I'm sure you'll think of something. But for now, I'm very tired and sore. We have to get up early." She yawned "I get to start my work with my horses again. Gotta drum up some new riders to teach." She batted her eyes at him "I can probably fit you into one of my beginner classes, if you're interested."

Bucky chuckled "I was hoping for some private lessons but I'll have to figure out my schedule." He suddenly picked her up bridal style "Let me carry you over the threshold." Carried her into their bedroom and gently set her down on the bed.

Star shook her head at him "Carrying me over the threshold is a wedding night tradition."

Bucky winked at her "True but it doesn't hurt to practice. Among other wedding night traditions that we can practice if you're interested."

Star tried to hold back a yawn and Bucky laughed "You could have just said you were too tired doll."

They curled up together and crashed until her alarm went off before the sun was up.

@pattiemac1 @hhiggs