#custom hot dog boxes

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[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, anal, suggestiveness & pressuring

fem reader

Thinking about really boyfriendly boyfriends – simpy and helpful and sweet – boyfriend material perfectly cut as if custom-ordered – boxed and shipped and sent express mail from the boyfriend factory with love.

He’s interested in your hobbies and studies and is equally passionate about sharing his interests with you. He’s comfortable and playful with your family and makes a true effort to befriend your friends. He’s even outgoing at parties where he doesn’t know anyone but you instead of sulking and asking you to leave like so many past boyfriends have.

He likes sharing food, sings loudly in the car, texts you throughout the day, and calls you when he’s at the store before coming over, asking if you need or want anything. He’s open and honest and geeks over new releases – that movie trailer, that game, those sneakers, that album, that car, and all that other boy stuff – and yet never fails to tell you how beautiful you are every time he sees you.

And he likes taking you on dates – cinema, arcade, roller rink, amusement park, road trips, picnics, beach days – or simply hanging out at his or your place – making food, binging a series in bed, kissing and dry-humping…

He’s just, all in all, everything you could’ve ever wished for. Perfect in every way.

Only… there hasn’t been a single time he’s had you in bed where he hasn’t all but begged to fuck your ass…

He’s literally crying for it while moaning, “Please~ lemme put it in~ just wanna try it once, please, baby~” with his hands squeezing your butt over your shorts and his head under your shirt, kissing and sucking your tits with the prayers on his lips as he humps his tented crotch against your clothed cunt – making your panties hot and damp. 

You squeeze your eyes shut with a suppressed whine.

He keeps pleading, “I’ll be gentle~ just the tip~ I’ll go so slow~”

His fingers dig into the crevice of your cheeks, wedging your shorts and undies through your slit. Everything clenches from the friction.

Your face is heated, biting your lip with cinched brows. You knew he’d ask for it again today – he never doesn’t. Even though he’ll get pussy-drunk and pound your poor womb in a tight mating press the second he’s made you cum on his fingers. 

He slurps your nipple, still begging, “Please, baby, please~ it’ll feel so good~ so-so-so good~”

You’d been deliberating giving in to his incessant proposals for a little while. He’d been so unrelenting you were starting to feel bad denying him for so long.

Not like past boyfriends hadn’t been equally relentless in the ask.

But this one was different… unlike the others… you really like him. 

You think you might be in love with him, even though it’s a little early to say.

Still… since he’s so perfect… you want to do your best to be perfect for him, too.

So you’d made yourself ready for it this time – done preparations in the shower. 

But… you pout… it was all so embarrassing, and your poor mind was riddled with doubts as though you were a virgin all over again. 

What if something… gross happens? What if it hurts so bad you have to stop? Will it disappoint him? What if you hate it but go through with it anyway, only for him to keep asking? What if you have to break up because you won’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again?

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His voice slips through the inner turmoil.

He’d resurfaced from beneath your shirt on account of your silence, only to see you’d covered your face in both hands. He gently peels them away – revealing your eyes and the shy way you nibble your lip.

“I’m sorry…” He apologizes then. “I’ll stop asking-” 

“No!” You blurt. To his surprise – staring at you with those big puppy-dog eyes you just couldn’t handle seeing look so disheartened. “I mean…” 

You look away, cheeks burning – voice just barely above a whisper. 

“If you really want to… I’m fine with it…”

He seemed to perk up at that. If he’d had a tail, you know it would be wagging behind him. 

His chest swelled, eyes big and unblinking, swallowing thickly – breaths already thick with containment. 

He leans in close and nose-kisses you, brushing your lips with heated words, “Really? You’ll let me?”

You made a small sound, too humiliated to say or do much more than nod your head in confirmation.

He seemed to shudder, closing the space between you, kissing your lips softly – he tasted like static – buzzing with restricted urgency. Parting with a soft-spoken yet strained, “Thank you.”

Both his hands messaged your waist – fiddled with the band to your shorts as though he couldn’t wait to drag them down your thighs and free you.

Still speaking against your lips, “Can you turn around on your knees for me?”

Everything was burning – from the tips of your ears to your lips and deep down in your stomach where something equally hungry and anxious was preparing for something.

He moved back to allow you to crawl into position, taking a pillow and placing it underneath you – patting it while telling you to “Lie down.” 

You did like suggested, lying with your face and chest against the soft plume, sinking into it with your back in a slope and your ass presented. Heart pounding in your head, loud and hot, as he took position behind you – placing his hand back on your hips.

He hooked his fingers into the band of your shorts again, pulling them back over the fat of your haunches, then dragged them down slowly until they pooled around your knees. You felt the damp heat of his breath immediately hit the peach fuzz on the small of your back – seeping through the cotton of your panties – making your belly brew with butterflies. 

“Just relax, okay? Tell me to stop if I go too far.” He said, sensing how you quaked as he placed both palms on your globes – denting the plump flesh with greedy fingers.

It’s not like you haven’t fucked in this position before – it’s just that you knew this time was going to be different. You felt so exposed.

He fingered the frill of your panties and started peeling them off – baring your naked skin and the pretty dip between your cheeks. 

You yelped. His mouth was on you before he’d even finished undressing you – placing a sloppy half-bite half-kiss on your upper ass before proceeding to slurp the crack.

You whimpered – flustered and flushed as the heat of his tongue laid wet trails down through the valley until his lips met with your rim. You shuffled your thighs and balled the pillow in small fists as he groaned into you. Shamelessly squeezing your fat with his hands, spreading the cheeks to let him at your little puckered hole.

Your eyes screwed shut while you hid your face in the pillow beneath you – muffling all uneasy sounds as he canted his mouth against your ass. Chin rutting into your puffy cunt while bobbing his jaw, lipping at your taint and rim – nose nuzzled between your cheeks – mouth fully closed around you – moaning at the feel of it pulsing on the tip of his tongue as he runs it over the tight scrunch again and again.

Your shoulders brace as he tries and screw the wet muscle inside. You tense up way too tight for it to happen.

He smacks off with a raunchy sigh. Your heart is in your throat. 

Slick from your ignored cunt feels sticky on your swelled pussy-lips – hot and twitching in the cool air.

He pops the cap of the little bottle of lube the two of you always keep on hand. You flinch when his slick fingers come back to rub your hole. He gives it slow and soothing circles before easing the tip inside. Filling you up only to the first joint, waiting for you to relax and loosen before sinking the rest inside. 

He hums at the display, groaning, “Fuuh-ck~” Sliding the digit in knuckle-deep before slipping it out to the tip again – repeating the motion while feeling your muscles ripple around it. “You’re so cute, baby~ so pretty~”

He bows and places a chaste kiss on your buttcheek, laying his face on it like a pillow – his eyes half-mast while looking at his finger disappear inside you.

He works another in with the first, shuffling them – messaging the tightness, slowly training it to stretch. His hot breath fans over your wet skin, making you go goosefleshed.

“Fuck, baby – so pretty with my fingers inside yah~” He hums, almost in a whine while curling them inside you. “So fucking hot how you swallow and squeeze on ‘em like that~”

He pulls himself up again, tugging on his belt with one hand – keeping on fingering you with the other. 

His pants drop to the floor a moment later, and he lifts his neglected cock out of the sticky mess he’d made in his boxers – throbbingly fat and hard, pulsing in his fist and leaking pre, another pearl each time he rubs over the bulge of his tip.

He looks at your hole – eyes misty. You seem to have loosened up a bit – enough for him to part his fingers.

He pulls them both out with a schlick. “I think you’re ready…” His voice is sticky – stuck to his throat. “I’m gonna try ‘n put it in.”

Your hands curl into the pillow as you nod your head – eyes still squeezed shut. It hadn't felt too bad so far – just weird. Embarrassing and… clinical. A bit like a doctor’s visit. But you knew that would all change now.

His hands glide across your back, catching your crop top in balled fists, stretching it as his tip works on stretching out your opening – nudging against it, coaxing it into accepting the head.

“Fuh- oh fuck~” He moans, lost to the sight and feel of your butt seizing around him – closing up around his tip. 

You look so fucking perfect like that – face-down and kneeling with your ass pressed back against him – giving him your second virginity. 

His eyes flitter across the slope of your spine – looking over your creamy skin, looking so pretty, all glossy with dew, until he reaches your face. Your brows are pinched together, gnawing on your bottom lip, eyes shut tightly.

“Are you okay?” He pants.

You nod your head – curt and rushed.

He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You’re so perfect, so good to him – the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. Trusting him like this, letting him do this even when you’re so nervous about it. You must really love him.

He’s nearly crying, holding onto your hips as he fucks you with just the tip – loosening the rim up and going just a little deeper for every shallow thrust. He nearly barrels over, standing there with his back hunched – bowing his head, looking at where the two of you connect while sweat drips from his weighted bangs.

“I love you, too.” He confesses out of the blue, and you blink, looking back at him – seeing his mouth parted with blissful moans, his eyes wet, and brows softly curled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect fo’me – so good.” 

He loves you so much he can barely take the blossoming in his chest, feeling like he wants to eat you up and swallow you whole. His girl – who laughs at all his silly jokes and holds his hand everywhere you go and doesn’t tease him when he yelps and holds you close during horror movies. His perfect perky girlfriend – who lets him fuck you raw and cum inside, and now… even letting him fuck your tight round ass for the very first time.

He's almost all the way in now – just a few more thrusts, and you’ll have him swallowed down to the base with his balls pressed firmly against the puffy lips of your wet pussy.

“Fuh-uuck-” He breathes out again, gripping your hips tight as he bottoms out. 

He nearly cums right then, having to bite his lip to hold back – savoring how you ripple and squeeze him – so tight and firm.

You’re such a good girl taking him so well and so deep, lying so sweetly beneath him with your ass presented – letting him nestle his entire length inside you. Curling your toes all cutely as you adjust with only pretty girly mews leaving you.

You didn’t expect him to mount you. 

But he does. Now standing with his feet in the bed, squatting over you with his cock sinking balls deep in your ass. Freshly broken-in, it’s tight and firm and twitchy as though it’s confused as to why there's a big fat cock stretching it out. 

He can’t help but smile, perched on top of you – hands still hooked upon your hips for balance while he leans forward, settling even deeper. 

You moan, and it nearly drives him wild. Barely holding himself together as he pulls out – wishing he had something to bite into instead of his lip as he focuses on the way your firm walls clench on him, clinging to his shaft so tightly it’s hard pulling out despite the wetness – it’s so good he’s losing it. 

He’s taking his perfect girlfriend in her perfect ass. And it feels so fucking good his hands leave their grip on your hips as he slugs forward, bending over you until his chest presses into your back, and his head rests on top of yours, cheek to cheek – slinging both arms around you, putting you in a headlock – leaving you to do nothing else but pant, squished between his biceps and his cock kisses your guts. 

“Can’t believe I'm fucking your little ass, baby.” He rants breathlessly. “It's so tight and good, gripping me so fuckin’ hard.” Huffing and groaning with his back hunched as he curves into your butt as deep as he can – stuffing into you from behind slowly and carefully as though he’s savoring every single flutter of you hugging him.

He’s barely even pulling out – kneading as far as his cock can reach instead – cock-warming himself inside you.

“Fuck, baby – I can cum inside, right?” He whimpers against you, kissing the corner of your mouth with his tongue out.

You’re so squished beneath him you can only just wheeze out the word. “O-okay-”

“Oh- fuck, I love you.” He cries when he blows, squeezing you so tight you’re choking as he pumps pulse after pulse of thick hot cum deep inside you. “I love you, I love you- love you- love you so much- so fuckin’ much-”

And you don’t know if it’s the confession, the headlock, or the cum being pumped up your guts – but your clit’s pulsing and your cunt’s twitching even though it’s around nothing, gushing down your shaking thighs as your butt pushes itself flush against your boyfriend’s cock, clenching hard around it and milking him free of every drop.

BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio

JJK – Gojo, Choso, Yuji, Yuuta

HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins

AOT – Armin

and whomever else you imagined♡

[jenniferwilson1234]

Custom hot dog boxes convey to customers a message about the brand that they support and the principles that underpin the business.

Visit: https://clearpathpackaging.com/custom-hot-dog-boxes/

[lettersofgold]

prompt 4 for trent 🫶

-> I left my shampoo in your shower, I left my smile inside your head.

break ups, makeups, nothing but wasted time. you were a sniffling mess as you grabbed each piece of clothing out of his closet and placed it into another overfilled box. trent was a gift giver - it was his love language - and now you wished he never gifted you anything. the reminders of him were non-stop. you had not left liverpool as quickly as you aimed to, but when you finally got the apartment you wanted, you took to quietly moving out while he was away.

his dog sat solemnly near the box of clothes with his head on his paws, eliciting whines of disapproval. he used to do the same thing when trent was leaving for a game or when you would go away for holidays and deep down, you felt the pup knew that you weren't coming back. although the tears burning your eyes refused to fall, you did nothing to stop the gut-wrenching sob that escaped your lips once your custom jersey, with polished white lettering with "MS TAA" across the shoulders that pulled into your hands. you stared at it with the pain of a thousand fires swirling in your chest angrily because your entire relationship was gone and taken away from you, like death by a thousand cuts. you called your best friend and within thirty minutes she had arrived and took over the rest of the packing. as you sat on the floor with the dog in your lap and your best friend captaining the slowly slinking ship of diginty and hope, with you merely muttering "keep" or "toss".

you left your key with his brother, who gave you solemn look and a tight hug that lasted longer than any hug you had with him before as he whispered, “i’m sorry he did this,” against your ear. you wiped your tears, shaking your head as you stared at him “it’s not your fault”. it was no one’s fault but trent’s - he made his bed, with her beside him, and now he had to lay in it.

irritated. trent had been irritated all day. if it wasn’t one thing it was another - training was a mess, he wasn’t going to be back playing as he had planned and he hadn’t heard from you in days. every text he sent immediately turned green - you blocked him. he knew it but it didn’t stop him from trying. the guilt was seeping out of his pores alongside the sweat of the day as he walked into his house. he muttered a hello to his brother who waved him off, not even taking his eyes off of the tv. trent forced himself to not pay any mind to his brother - he didn’t have time for lectures. it was what it was. the stomps of his dog walking behind him as he entered his room gave him some type of ease but as he sat on the bed and loosed a breath, he was met with two puppy eyes and whine.

“wha’s your problem?” he reached to touch the puppy who took two steps back. the puppy huffed and whined as he pawed the air. “she’s not coming back.” which deflated the dog’s spirit entirely and he curled inward on himself on what used to be your side of the bed and huffed once more - with a judgmental look from is round puppy eyes. trent grumbled to himself as he turned on the shower and waited for the steam to rise. a shower and a long nights sleeps would fix his sour mood. maybe seeing sarah would fix it too, and he contemplated inviting her over but decided against it. he couldn’t handle the tension between his brothers and he didn’t want to hear a goddamn thing come out their mouths, no matter how right they were. he kept himself occupied but the shower left nothing but memories rinsing over him alongside the water. he reached for his shampoo but it was empty and muttered “fuck.” before tossing it to the side. he reached for the next one and stopped - the pink bottle glaring at him, taunting him, reminding him of the memories he made.

how he rarely showered alone. the intimacy he shared with you as you teased him and washed his hair. you were always so gentle - your eyes were red from the hot water running down your face but you didn’t care - and far too concentrated on the task at hand. it was so simple but to trent, it was everything. you would talk about your day and take your time in unbraiding his hair and lathering the shampoo into his hair. or, you would place kisses on his back and your fingers trailed his wet skin, aiming to ease the tension he carried physically and emotionally. the showers started due to the insatiable habits of needing to be inside you and making love to you. then it turned to wanting to be near you, all the time, no matter the circumstances - even if that meant invading your showers and taking turns washing each others hair. trent was at ease under your touch and it was never lost on you the release of his tense shoulders and the sighs that loosened out of him when you touched him in any capacity. he loved knowing you were right there, easy to touch. easy to love. dependable. yet, he ruined it all, blinded by lust while lost in a chokehold of endless yes men and women who wanted to be affiliated with a premier league footballer.

he left the shampoo in the shower after sloppily washing his hair just to say he did so. he rummaged his cabinets to start his skin care routine only to realize it was your skin care routine that you applied for him. but your skin care products that were no longer there. his heart fell to his stomach and he felt sick with the memories running through his mind - suddenly blindsided with guilt instead of anger. your smile was all he could see as he rummaged to find any type of moisturizer to throw on and go to bed.

as he applied the product to his skin it felt all wrong. it should’ve been you, sitting on the sink, wrapped in your towel and scolding him playfully as you stuck eye patches on him before bed. it should have been your smile that he saw as he kissed your wrist as you smoothed out one of the many products that he had no idea clue what they did but obliged, because it made you happy. it should’ve been your smile that he as your brushed your teeth alongside him and complained about the early mornings or the latest work drama.

it should’ve been you smiling, there, alongside him and wrapped up in bed. instead you had left and all that was left was your smile inside his head.

[vixonspixels]

My Favourite Food Mods Master Post

Honestly this has taken me a hot minute to sort out, but here is a list of ALL of my current food mods. All of them have been play tested by myself and are fully working in my game. I know the majority of simmers love their food mods so i thought i would make my own master post on them. I hope you enjoy and more importantly, find some new food mods for your game. As I find new mods for my game i will be updating this post. If you know of any that aren't on this list feel free to comment and i can add it to the list! We all love a good food mod in the sims ❤️

Rice Cooker | Hot Chocolate Machine | Hot Dog Roller | Waffles Maker | Home Barista | Juice Processor | Oni’s Recipe Pack | Eggnog Bowl | Edible Junk Food ATS4 | Edible Junk Food Insimnia Eats | S&S Cookbook | Chocolate Tray | Grannies Cookbook | Valentines Set | Gourmet Burger Set | Love Day Hamper | Drink Flask | Eggs Basket | Air Fryer | Toddler Food Bottle Warmer | Ice Cream Maker Machine | Shop Chef Buffet | Pressure Cooker | Kawaii Snow Cone Machine |  Witches Brew Cauldron | Round Tray For Drinks | Functional Champagne Bucket | Croissant Basket | Cakes Tray | Baby Bottle Warmer | Gift Set For Sake | Toaster | Sandwich Stand | Protein Blender | Nutri Baby | Soup Maker | Pizza Vending Machine | Keto Recipes Tablet | Frappe Maker | Baby Food Steamer | Donut Machine | Crepes Maker | Mulled Wine Barrel | Smoothie Blender | Soda Maker | Cake Mixer | Water Cooler | Insimnia Grocery List | S&S Healthy Food Delivery | Hungry Plumbobs Fast Food Delivery | Little MsSams Food Delivery | Recipe Enabler | Tianasims Cookbook | Fondue Set | Fall Flavoured Donut Box | Popcorn Cart  | Functional Champagne & Forrero Rocher | Instant Icecream Menu | Instant Pizza Menu | Cake A Break | Starbucks Drinks | Mcdonalds | Popsicle Maker | S’more Options | Grocery Store Mod | Healthy Drinks On Fridge | Custom Food Interactions | Healthy Food on Fridge  | Yogurt Maker | 

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[after-witch]

Cowslips [Yandere Summer Spirit x Reader]

Title: Cowslips [Yandere Summer Spirit x Reader]

Synopsis: You meet a stranger in the woods in the summer, and keep him a secret. It’s just a summer adventure. What’s the harm in that?

Word Count: 5036

notes: yandere, mentions of fear of sexual assault, that’s about it

The air is hot and steamy. Thick with pollen and wavy with the heat of a high summer afternoon. It is well past those carefree early summer days, when the bright warmth was a novelty, a welcome reprieve from the bitter winter and the chilly breezes that still blew in spring. Laughter and picnics and admonishments to go-enjoy-the-weather were abound, then. 

But not now, so far into the season. Now, the heat draws people inward and away, like curtains drawn thick, desperately seeking relief when the sun is at its strongest.

Women who can afford leisure nap in their homes, maids with frowns and damp clothing fanning them as they rest. Children and dogs alike scamper underneath tables, finding the coolest corners, any spot where they might gain a bit of reprieve. Even businesses in town break, allowing customers and shopkeepers to hurry along home or stretch themselves out in shop basements, sheltering from the heat amidst jars of pickled vegetables.

You are none of these things. You are a young woman with responsibilities. Serious ones. Especially now that you’re older, of marriageable age (a thought that both terrifies and thrills you) and your parents are struggling to keep up with the house, your father’s business, supporting you and your siblings.

Though, admittedly, you are not exactly sticking to those responsibilities today. You were meant to be gathering wild berries for supper, first. your mother and aunt had finally saved enough to gain access to a shared ice box, and the promise of chilled berries as an accompaniment to dessert on such a hot day made your mouth water. Then, once that simple task was done, you were to head into town to pick up boxes of supplies ordered for your father’s business.

And your mother gave you a letter to post to the postman. And you were to stop in at the house of the local pastor and inquire after his sick wife, not only because it was the neighborly thing to do, but because your mother wanted to stay in that woman’s good graces. 

Then you were to come home and tend to all the drudgery of the house. Laundry and cleaning and caring for your siblings. At least the laundry could be dried outside in the summer, and no one had to worry about their clothing being singed by the fire. And so much more besides that, a thousand little tasks that added up, especially in a season which was meant to promise so much freedom from the drudgery of life.

All of that (day in, day out) weighed you down more than you cared to admit. It made you long for childhood, sometimes. Still, you carried on and did what you had to--for the family. For yourself.

But today feels different. Perhaps it’s the heat. Perhaps it’s the silence that comes with it. For you’ve yet to even pick the berries. Instead, you’ve gotten extraordinarily distracted by bursts of wildflowers in the field leading into the forest. 

They were especially colorful, or perhaps that’s just what you told yourself once you decided you wanted to keep some for yourself. They would look lovely on the table, or in your window… a keepsake of summer to brighten your day. They seemed more vivid, especially in this heat. Like a mirage, you might say, if you were being fanciful.

They blossomed almost in a path through the field, leading into the edges of the forest, just enough for the trees to provide a bit of cooling shade from the sun. It was curious and quaint, and only added to the idea that they were something out of a fairy tale. You followed the wild trail, hands brushing against the blossoms now and then, gathering the scent of pollen on your fingers.

Now and then, your mind reminded you that you ought to be going, ought to be getting back to your responsibilities. But what could a little distraction hurt? The flowers swayed in the breeze, seeming to agree with you, and you walked on.

The air around you is thick, and sweat clings to your under linen, but you have nothing but warm thoughts for even this hot summer day. The stillness of being alone, with nothing but nature, has always been something you appreciated.

As you walk through the field, high grass and stalks tickle your wrists. You pick a few of the intriguing flowers, tucking them into your basket, skipping the ones being enjoyed by fat black bees. Sweet and bitter florals sting your nose pleasantly, and you hear nothing but the quiet drone of the summer. Chirping. Bees and crickets all dulled through a sort of warm thickness that settled in your skin.

“Good afternoon.”

A voice jolts you out of your pleasant reverie and if the basket were not hooked around your arm, it would have went flying when your entire body jerked, spasms away from the sudden sound of a voice just a few feet from you. As it is, you lose a few of the flowers, but your heart is racing and you don’t even think to mourn that.

You spin towards the sound of the voice, and it’s your mind that jolts, now.

There is a man standing there. But his face is not familiar, and everything about him is wrong and unpleasant.

His… clothing, for starters. His clothing is indecent, even to someone like you, who is not quite as stuffy as the older generation when it comes to wearing something comfortable on a hot day. But there is a difference between forgoing a formal jacket for dinner inside the home and what this man is wearing.

Or should it be what he is not wearing? For he is hardly dressed at all.

He's wearing some sort of unfinished shirt, thin black cotton that doesn't even cover his arms; as if the sleeves were forgotten on the sewing table. On the shirt is a painted image that makes little sense, all bright garish colors and an exotic tree you saw in a print, once. There's some sort of white cream smeared on his nose. It makes you think of your mother’s vanity table, and how you were once caught slathering dollops of her expensive cream on your face as a child. Your bottom stung for two days straight.

His indecency has made heat rise to your cheeks, a low, deep blushing heat that is so different from how the summer sun warms your skin.

“Hey, you okay?” The man says, tilting his head, sporting a confused, almost childlike grin.

He must be mad, you think. An escapee from an asylum. But there were none near town, nor near here, and he must have come from very far. Or perhaps he was some family’s secret, normally kept hidden and locked away, but the summer heat made them careless…

You take a step back. If he is mad--and he must be, for any man who waltzes up to a woman alone wearing practically nothing is surely not in his right mind--it would be best not to anger him.

“Yes,” you say slowly, with your voice as neutral as can be. “I am just leaving, sir.”

You take another step back, feeling grass scratch at your ankles even through your stockings.

“Why?” he asks. He doesn’t move, which gives you some reassurance. But not much. Not when you’re alone, and there’s no one else in sight, and you’ve wandered so far from your original path.

And then he seems to finally see you staring at him, and he glances down at himself. Something clicks in his gaze, an understanding, perhaps. And he laughs.

The sound is bright and warm, and were it not for his appearance, it might even be reassuring.

“Oh,” he says, voice stuffed with mirth. “I forgot what year it is. That happens sometimes.” His words make no sense, other than to confirm your earlier suspicions about him escaping from some madhouse.

But then he turns around and he’s… not there. For a second, for a blink. And then he’s back and oh, oh, what is happening? Now he looks completely different. As if he turned and some sort of fairy godmother magicked him up a different outfit. He’s wearing a suit now, a formal stiff thing that you ordinarily only see on servants attending to traveling aristocrats passing through your rural town. On his arm is a silver tray with tall clear glasses filled with a sparkling liquid. The delicate sound of ice tinkling joins the buzz of the summer insects.

It’s wrong. It’s wrong that you’re seeing this. It shouldn’t be possible. It can’t be real. But it is. And you’re forced to grapple with this realization in the span of a few terrible slow seconds.

The body reacts before the mind, and you try to run. You try, but you trip on something--a hole, maybe, or your own feet--and you fall to the ground, sprawling backwards. Your heart feels sick, racing wildly. Your mouth sputters nonsensical syllables, an attempt at words.  You expect him to come barreling down on you, perhaps now transformed into some hideous monster.

But he merely stands where he was, head cocked, looking down at you with puzzlement.

“Was this not right?” He asks. “It does fit the year, and it is summer, and you do like lemonade, don’t you?”

You stare up at him with your eyes wide in horror and fear and confusion . Your mouth tries to form words but they refused to come out, stuck in molasses. You shake your head. A bee lands on your arm and your eyes are drawn to it, feeling grounded for the first time in the last horrible moments of your life. It flies away and you find yourself able to speak.

“Who are you?” You ask, voice trembling, child-like. And then, as an afterthought. “What do you want?” For this… this… whatever he is, whoever he is, is surely after something precious. Your soul, or, or something else… your mind aches for the knife on your kitchen counter. A feeble protection in untrained hands, perhaps, but protection nonetheless.

He shrugs, an easy, nonthreatening gesture. He looks around him, above and below, at the sun and the grass and the flowers still swaying now and then with a breeze. Then he looks back at you and you see nothing evil in his eyes, nothing to suggest he’s about to pull out a contract from the Devil himself.

“It’s summer,” he says, as if that should explain everything. “I’m just having fun. That’s all.”

And then he smiles and reaches down with his free arm towards you. “Won’t you have some lemonade with me? I don’t bite. And I like company.”

Beside you, one of the unusual vibrant flowers brushes against your cheek.

Inside, the sensible part of you, the part that wears ugly wool stockings in the winter and never takes second helpings when you know the business isn’t doing well that week, tells you to get away-- to crawl away if you must.

But another voice, a lighter one, a younger one, the one that urged you to follow those flowers and just take a break and think about yourself for once… that voice whispers soft and low and urgent in your ear.

And you slowly, tentatively, accept his hand.

It is summer, after all. Like he said. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun.

--

Sometimes you think about telling your mother. Or your father. Or perhaps your aunt or some of your friends. But you have so little for yourself in that house, in your life. Shouldn’t you be able to keep something for yourself? A secret. A summer secret.

And it’s true that your secret is a little more unorthodox than a young woman who hides a whirlwind summer romance developed in a summer cottage by the sea. But is it all that different? Just because the person you’re meeting happens to be something extraordinarily strange and unusual.

Of course he isn’t human. You know that. You’re not stupid. You don’t know what he is, or really who he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Especially after the first few afternoons when it becomes easier to forget all of his strangeness. Or at least view it in a new light. It’s exciting, not scary. It’s unusual, not fearsome.

It’s your secret and your friendship and your summer.

He’s different every time. Sometimes he appears again in that strange state of undress, with the exotic tree and dollop of cream on his nose or his cheeks. Once, he appears wearing dusty trousers, smelling of hay and dripping in sweat. Another time, in a wrap made of muslin--an old fashioned fabric, to be sure--that reminded you of fashion plates from ancient Greece. He sheds forms like a snake sheds its skins.

You ask him why he always looks different, once. He shrugs, and when he shrugs he changes yet again. “Summer is about trying something new, isn’t it?”

And it really is, you realize later, setting the table while your siblings run around. Summer is the perfect time to try something new and different and exciting. Like going on a trip to the sea. Like having a whirlwind adventure. Like meeting up with a stranger-turned-friend, a not-a-human-exactly, on the edge of the forest every afternoon, chores delayed and forgotten.  

The time you spend together is always different, always pleasant. Sometimes he tells you stories about people you’ve never met, places you’ve never been, things you don’t quite understand. (He tries, for instance, with hands flying and words spilling, to describe exactly what ‘air conditioning’ is, but you never get it.) He asks about you, what you like, what you do, where you would go in the summer if you could go anywhere. He pouts when you tell him you always stay here, because you don’t have the money to go to the sea or anywhere at all, really.

And every day, he is different. 

Today, he is wild. A few weeks ago perhaps you would have shrunk away from him in fear. But when he strolls up to you today, with damp skin that glimmers blue and green, smelling of salt water and the slight tang of fish, you can only gasp and smile in delight.

“It’s not too much?” He asks, and spins around, like a girl showing off a new dress from the tailor. The outfit is more than indecent--a pair of leather trousers that looks like it was made from a ship’s sail, and nothing for a shirt but woven netting draped over his shoulders.

What would your mother say right now? It’s what you should be asking yourself. But you found that here, with him, underneath the warm sun and surrounded by those fragrant blossoms, you no longer cared.

You cover your mouth and you laugh again. But you shake your head. “Not at all,” you say, voice tinged with wonder and lightheartedness. “It’s beautiful, in a way.” You look him over, feeling serious, seeing him reflect your somber shift in his own eyes. “Really. It suits you.”

He smiles, and today his grin has sharp teeth, like a shark.

“Can I touch them?” Your hand reaches out, childlike, before he even answers.

--

The end of summer always rushes by. No matter how slow the middle of summer is, no matter how much that oppressive heat seems to make everything go molasses thick, the end always feels like a rushing river, hurrying to get to the end of things and make room for autumn.

You’re sitting under a tree, enjoying the slight shade, tilting your head back and waiting for a good breeze. You’re alone, until you’re not. When you blink, he sitting next to you. This no longer phases you.

Today he is a young man, brown hair falling slightly over his face, wearing a white shirt that is only slightly damp from perspiration. Ordinary trousers. He looks like he could work on a farm near your house, or perhaps at the post office in town if he put on some suspenders.  He might have even looked entirely human, except the color of his eyes eyes are such a bright striking green--shimmering, like scales--that no human eye could ever hope to compete.

He looks serious, and he doesn’t smile when you grin and start to greet him. The words die in your mouth and  you sober up, waiting for what he has to say. For it must be important, and it must be serious, for him to look so grave.

"Summer is ending," he says, words coming out slow, as if he’s choosing them with tender care. "I won't be able to visit you after that."

You knew this was coming. Somewhere, deep down.

"Oh,” is all you can say, voice soft.  You get your breeze, but it feels like little consolation.

And yet… yet isn't that the way of the world? Nothing lasts forever. Summer is one of those things. You’ve had your fun, and now back to the work of the fall, preparing for the winter… the endless cycle of life. People returned from summer cottages by the sea and so you, too, must return from your little oasis.

"I'll see you next summer?” you say, as the two of you really met on some ordinary holiday and are making plans to write.

He bites on the end of his lip, chewing on it like a child. And then he takes a slow breath, and the seriousness melts from his face like wax. In its place is a smile, a grin, boyish and hopeful.

"Come with me." His smile is white. No sharp teeth today.

You laugh. You see instantly that the sound hits him like a slap and you regret it instantly.  You didn’t mean it to be cruel--you would never be cruel to him.

"I'm sorry,” You say, forcing the mirth from your voice. “I really don’t understand.”

You feel sweat trickle down the back of your neck. A selfish part of you wishes he'd conjure up some lemonade again.

He places his hand on yours. You shiver, despite the heat. You’ve long since stopped wearing gloves around him and you don’t pull your hand away. This is not the first time he’s displayed no concept of propriety. But it’s a boundary you’ve let him cross, because of the bond you share, because of how special he is and how special he’s made you feel. You can’t begrudge him wanting to hold your hand, strange, slippery summer thing that he is.

"Stay with me,” he says, smile gone, voice earnest.

You see that he’s serious, and something in the air seems to change. The warmth of summer feels heavier, like wet skirts weighing you down. “I can’t,” you say. “I can’t do that. Don’t ask me that.”

He tilts his head in a familiar gesture. He really doesn’t seem to understand why you aren’t saying yes, and something about that lack of understanding scares you.

“Why not? We have fun, don’t we?”

The tree behind you scratches your back as you push yourself against it, standing. The weight of his hand on yours falls as you do. He quickly copies you, standing up, keeping his head quirked to the side as your mind searches for the best way to answer.

“My family,” you say, because that comes first to mind. “My… everything. I have obligations.”  You gesture towards the basket you have left laying on the ground. It’s filled with errands; letters to post and payments to give and a grocery list, among other things. 

“I have to help keep up the house and tend to my siblings and work at my father’s business when I can. What would they do without me?” 

You think of other things too, things your mother tuts at you for putting off. Finding a husband, having children, finding your own home and keeping it; Continuing the cycle of life with babies in your arms. Things you don’t express out loud would have always wanted, even if you’ve wanted it a little later than everyone else.

“You don’t need any of that. It will be boring,” he says, and your heart startles as he begins to recite everything you kept inside, kept secret and safe. “You know it will. That’s why you aren’t married yet, and everyone else your age is. That’s why you don’t have little kids running around at your feet and a house filled with things to dust and a maid to boss around. That’s… That’s for everyone else. Not you.”

He grips your hand just a little too fast, just a little too tight.

“None of that matters out here.” He gestures towards the space that has become your secret sanctuary. The space where the two of you have laughed and talked, where you have tasted drinks and treats he’s conjured from thin air. Cold ices and frozen treats and something rich and decadent called a “Banana split.”

“But it’s not going to be summer forever,” you say. “It was fun, but it... well.” You shrug, though your gesture is tight and stiff compared to his. “It has to end.”

Suddenly, desperately, you wished he’d given you his name. You wished he’d given in, when you asked him questions about his past, his nature, his very existence. You wished these things because, above all, you think they might help you make him understand what you mean.

His lip twitches in a smile, as if you’ve just presented him with a simple puzzle that he can solve.

"Is that it? It can be summer forever.” He shrugs, that easy fluid gesture you’ve seen him do so many times, when you’ve asked him about who he is, really, and why he can do what he does. “It will be. If you stay with me.”

His shimmering eyes gaze over you and they seem to flow and ebb, like the summer tide. You could stay, his eyes seem to say. You could stay and it would be summer and everything will be like this forever.

But do you want it to be? It has been wonderful, to have this summer secret. To take a break and think about yourself and not just the endless things you must do for others. To indulge in the spirit of the summer, the carefree air that so many others get to enjoy. To think about things you normally don’t allow yourself to. 

But you’ve always known it was temporary, haven’t you?

You look at him with something akin to pity. “I’m sorry. It’s been fun, but summer…” It’s over, you think. Soon. The edge of summer, just a few steps, and it will be time to tuck this all away until next year.

You expect him to argue with you. You expect him, perhaps, to grip your hand hard and for him to beg you not to leave. Instead, he produces something in his hand, that appears in a blink like he so often does. It’s a bracelet made from flowers. The same beautiful, unusual flowers that drew you here in the first place all those weeks ago.

“Here,” he says, friendly, casual, as if he didn’t just ask you to stay with him. “Will you wear it?”

And you remember, suddenly, that you never did take any of those flowers home. It slipped your mind after that first afternoon, and since you came here everyday, you saw no need to keep keepsake with you. But this would be a beautiful reminder of the summer you spent with him. Until the flowers withered, anyway, as summer flowers always do.

“Of course.” You smile again, hoping that it’s filled with joy and not pity. He matches yours--and some part of you misses his wild look, today--and slips it on your wrist. Before you glance down to admire it, you catch the edge of his beaming smile. A part of your heart is so glad that you’re able to part as friends--not bitterly, not on unpleasant terms or begging.

“Thank you,” you say, but as you look up to see him again, he disappears. In a blink. As always. And that does hurt, to get no proper farewell. Perhaps he couldn’t give one, strange thing that he is.

It hurts, yes, but it had to end somehow. Better quick and painless, tearing out a root, than something drawn out.

Your time with him is ended, and now, you know, you should return to your ordinary life. You gather the basket you brought with you and begin the trek back to the path that leads into town.

But the path isn’t there. At first, you think you’ve simply gotten turned around. But you’ve walked it so many times, that it seems improbable to get lost now. No matter how far you walk, where you turn, there is no path.

No road. No sign of anything familiar to you at all.

You walk up the hills where you can normally see buildings in the distance, and there is nothing but fields and forests. Trees that were marked by lumberman and travelers are naked, untouched by human hands. There are so many of the vibrant flower now, not just a whimsical path marking the way, but bunches and bushes surrounding you. Sometimes they appear in a blink, like he does, and you wonder if you’re not hallucinating.

You march on, sweating, scared. Your feet ache and you’re surrounded only by the fields and the flowers and the trees. The hot sun presses down above you, the buzzing of the bees and insects feeling wilder and wilder.

The bracelet on your wrist feels heavier as you go. At one point, you decide to try to pull it off. But it won’t budge. It is like there is some force you can’t see, some gravity, that holds it onto your wrist. Your stomach turns to lead. But you refuse to think about what it means.

After hours of walking, you’re dizzy. Hot and lost and sweating and scared. Finally, you collapse in a heap under a tree. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do. Your throat is dry and you wonder if you might pass out from the heat.

And then, footsteps.

Why didn’t he come in a blink? And does it matter that he chose now to walk like some ordinary person? 

You look up, but he’s fuzzy. You’re not sure if it’s your own vision blurring from the heat or if he can’t decide how he wants to look. When he does come into view, he’s muddled. A bit of everything. His skin is damp and shimmery, but human colored. A net drapes over his undressed shirt, which has buttons like an old fashioned servant’s livery. His eyes change as he blinks, going from dark to light to deep and ebbing.

He offers you a glass of cold water, and some reasonable part of you says that you shouldn’t accept anything from him, but your throat is so dry that you can’t resist the ice cold liquid.

“What did you do?” You ask, voice croaking, once you’ve downed the entire glass.

He smiles down at you. Today, he has wild teeth, shark teeth. You don’t get the desire to touch them this time.

“I didn’t do anything. You accepted my gift. So you can stay, now.” He says this like you should have known, like you did this willingly, on purpose. Like he’s explaining something to a silly child.

Perhaps, to him, that is what you are.

Your hands reach for the bracelet and you tug at the blossoms. They should crumple under your hands but they remain as fresh and beautiful as they were that first day. No matter what you do, you cannot take it off.

And it’s so hot.

“I didn’t,” you stammer, still tugging, still reaching. “I didn’t mean to--I didn’t know.”

He reaches down, suddenly, and brushes your cheeks. His hands are cool and refreshing, as if he’s dipped them in ice water. They smell faintly of salt. You lean into his touch without thinking, lean into that coolness, refreshing as a summer breeze.

“Well, that’s all right,” he explains, gently, sweetly. As if he’s forgiving you for something you did. “I don’t mind if you didn’t know.”

Again, you get the sense that he doesn’t understand why you don’t want to stay, why you can’t stay, why this is filling you with dread and horror instead of delight. He simply doesn’t understand.

He reaches out his hand, and you take it, eager for the coolness and terrified that you might just sit here forever in utter exhaustion if you don’t accept his help.

“What… happens now,” you manage, feeling woozy, wishing he’d give you more to drink.

He grins, all teeth, eyes glimmering above. “I don't know! That’s what I love most about the summer, though, don’t you? It’s always an adventure.”

You used to love the idea of a summer adventure. Once. You used to find the idea of summer romantic. The temporary affairs, the change in the weather, the indulgence of treats and things that are kept strictly forbidden during the rest of the year. But now, with a bracelet of summer blossoms on  your wrist that won’t come off and an ever-changing being in front of you, you’re not so sure anymore.

You think to voice that, but then think better of it. The heat is too thick and you’re too exhausted from trekking through that unnatural wilderness. Instead you let him lead you away, hands cool as a breeze, the bitter floral scent of flowers wafting as you wade through the field

And into your mind comes the faint, terrifying thought…

What does one do when summer never ends?

[the-pixel-architect]

[BriarWood Gas Station]

SO! I've begun making a few non-restaurant Lots for my game. First up a gas station. You might ask, "why would I want a gas station you can't fill up gas." Welllllll....... sassy pants, this gas station has 1) Edible and F.U.N.C.T.I.O.N.A.L hot dog machine 2) Groceries can be bought from the display fridges 3) Coffee can be made and drunk 4) The vending machines are super cute, stare at them 5) I put a hidden treat, a skate box, so your sims can put on roller skates and skate through and around the gas station 6) You can make a quick meal with the microwave UPDATE: After play testing, for some reason this custom coffee machine is NOT community lot friendly so switch it out for the default machine. Also, and perhaps @2fingerswhiskey can help the vending machine is not vending the drinks-- I will find the drink files and add to the download folder separately. Download a new non-restaurant type of Lot, you might like it. Link is HERE happy simming! Also, @enelea has made a gas station too, check it out!

[swan-of-sunrise]

Hawkeye (Part IV)

Summary: Christmas Day arrives and while (Y/N) and Steve enjoy a quiet day with their daughter, a familiar face pays them an unexpected but ultimately welcomed visit.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! We've finally made it to the last chapter of this little mini-series and trust me, there's no content warnings but you'll for sure wanna read this with a box of tissues nearby lol thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Hawkeye (Part IV) December 25th, 2024 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Steve Rogers, Brooklyn (Previous Chapter)

Christmas Day had finally arrived, and the Rogers-(Y/L/N) family spent their morning amidst a flurry of shredded wrapping paper, discarded ribbons and cast-off decorative bows, their home overflowing with holiday cheer. The television was turned on to a broadcast of the Yule Log and while Christmas music played faintly in the background, the scent of (Y/N)’s famous hot coca and Steve’s homemade cinnamon rolls combined with the smell of fresh pine emanating from their sizable tree to create a warm, heavenly aroma. Outside, snow leisurely came down from the cloudy sky, dusting their lawn and the near-deserted street and creating a tranquil landscape that (Y/N) couldn’t help but admire each time she glanced out their windows.

Carina, after tearing through all the presents she’d gotten from her parents and her many aunts and uncles, was sitting content on the floor of the living room and playing with her brand-new Mega Bloks while Indy, whose fur had been lovingly decorated with bows by the enthusiastic fifteen-month-old, was curled up in his dog bed by the heat vent and munching on his new bone. (Y/N) and Steve took advantage of the peace and quiet to exchange gifts with one another; they initially agreed on giving something small and possibly handmade, but it quickly became apparent that they both went behind each other’s back and splurged on one another. (Y/N) beamed with joy when she opened her expertly wrapped package to reveal a handmade cassette mixtape, featuring various songs that had special meaning to the two of them and their relationship, and her jaw subsequently dropped when she withdrew a gorgeous antique pearl necklace. Steve laughed in delight when he pulled a custom Viewmaster out of his box, marveling at all the pictures of their life together she’d added to its many reels, and his azure eyes went wide when he saw the autographed 1941 Pee Wee Reese – one of his all-time favorite Brooklyn Dodgers players – baseball card tucked into a hard protective sleeve.

It was then that (Y/N) and Steve finally unsealed the envelope that Dr. Prince had prepared for them together, scanning their most recent sonogram and gasping in unison when they read ‘It’s A Girl!’ printed along the bottom. “We’re having another girl!” Steve exclaimed and (Y/N) laughed in delight as his hands came up to cradle her face and he captured her lips in an enthusiastic kiss; when they came up for air, he pulled her into a tight hug and murmured into her ear, “I told you so…”

(Y/N) playfully dug her fingers into his sides, smirking at his surprised yelp and leaning back to meet his mirthful gaze. “Come July, you and Indy are going to be outnumbered around here.”

Grinning, Steve trailed kisses along her jaw and towards her smiling, kiss-swollen lips. “We wouldn’t want it any other way, sunshine.”

Some time later, they FaceTimed their friends one by one to share their happy news with them. The Barton’s and Kate Bishop were thrilled, and (Y/N) was pleased to see how much the young archer was enjoying spending Christmas Day with her new partner and his family; the Wilson family was equally ecstatic, with AJ and Cass letting out a cheer at the news and Sarah immediately listing off various foods that would help with her lingering nausea, and they all burst into laughter when a disgruntled Sam reached into his wallet and handed a folded bill over to a smug-looking Bucky. Everyone else they contacted – Bruce, Scott, Rhodey, Pepper, Brunnhilde, Carol, Wong and the Guardians of the Galaxy – seemed to be enjoying a wonderful holiday season with their own families and they all eagerly congratulated them on their second pregnancy; none of them said anything, but (Y/N) could tell that they were relieved to see another signal that life was slowly but surely returning back to normal after Thanos and the Snap.

“Shouldn’t you put the ham in the oven soon?” (Y/N) asked, her arm outstretched to grab a wayward scrap of wrapping paper that somehow ended up underneath the armchair. When she finally succeeded in grabbing it, she sat up with a tired huff but frowned once she realized that her husband hadn’t answered her; glancing over her shoulder, she smiled to herself as she watched Steve and Carina stacking her new blocks together, both wearing near identical looks of concentration as they completed their task. Like father like daughter, she thought with an inward chuckle before pointedly clearing her throat. “Sweetheart? The ham?”

Steve’s head shot up and his brows rose in surprise as he craned his neck to look at the clock hanging over the entryway. “Time sure flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it? I’ll be back in a minute, angel.” He kissed the top of the infant’s head and let her continue playing before standing up and walking over to where (Y/N) was kneeling, offering her a hand and helping her clamber to her feet. “What’s that look for, sunshine?”

“Do I need a specific reason to admire my handsome husband and his newfound appreciation for toddler architecture?” She countered with a teasing smile.

Chuckling, one of Steve’s hand rested on her waist while the other moved to cradle her cheek. “I suppose not, but I’m afraid it’ll cost you a kiss.” He leaned in and planted a swift kiss onto her forehead. “One more.” His lips brushed against the bridge of her nose and she giggled at the ticklish sensation. “Wait a sec, one more.”

“Steve!”

“Nope, that last one didn’t count.” Steve gave her cheek an over-exaggerated kiss, a devious smirk playing on his lips as she laughed. “One more, baby.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, I’m carrying your child and if I don’t eat something soon, I promise that you’re going to live to regret it.” Her half-hearted threat went unnoticed by her husband, who was preoccupied with peppering kisses along her jawline, so she was forced to place her hands on his chest and firmly push him away with a laugh. “Go!”

With a playful wink, Steve turned and sauntered into the kitchen to prepare their Christmas Day dinner, and (Y/N) looked over at Carina with an exasperated sigh. “Your Dada’s silly, isn’t he, lemon drop?” She chuckled when the infant giggled and clapped her chubby hands together, leaning down to ruffle her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair and letting her continue stacking her blocks while she gathered up the rest of the wrapping paper; after she crammed the last of it into her brown recycling bag, she carried it into the kitchen and set it down by the back door to dispose of later. Steve was setting the oven’s timer when she sidled up beside him and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but the sound of their doorbell ringing throughout their otherwise quiet home interrupted her.

“We didn’t invite anyone over, did we?” Steve asked and when (Y/N) shook her head, the muscle in his jaw clenched as his brows furrowed in worry. “Guess we should’ve left Brienne activated after all…”

“I sincerely doubt that any of Kingpin’s lackeys would be dumb enough to announce their presence by ringing the doorbell,” She reasoned, but her own logic didn’t stop her from bringing a hand up to her lips and whistling Indy’s command to guard; they exchanged a look before leaving the kitchen and heading down the hallway to their front door, and she spared a brief glance into the living room to see their senior German Shepard standing alert beside an unaware Carina as she continued to play. They passed by their entryway table – stopping for a moment to retrieve several stun discs they’d stashed away in its hidden compartment for emergencies – and Steve wrapped a protective arm around her waist as she unlocked the door and cautiously pulled it open.

Standing on their porch was a young woman, with long blonde hair intricately braided over her shoulder, numerous silver ear piercings decorating her ears and dressed in a stylish emerald-green winter coat. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and while her pale green eyes were outlined with dark blue liner, the makeup couldn’t mask the uncertainty and the hint of fear in her gaze; her lips were pursed and her hands were shoved into her coat’s pockets as she looked between them both, and after a tense moment she finally spoke. “I’m so sorry for imposing on your Christmas, but I was in the city on a work trip and I couldn’t leave without stopping by. My name is-”

“Yelena,” (Y/N) interjected, her eyes widening in surprise; Natasha’s description of her little sister was spot-on, but it wasn’t until she heard her thick Russian accent that she fully realized who she was.

Steve, who was doing a far better job of hiding his shock, opened the door wider and gave the young woman a tight-lipped smile. “Please, come in.” Yelena hesitated for a moment but stepped through the doorway, her eyes carefully scanning their festively-decorated entryway as she slipped off her coat and black leather gloves. She allowed Steve to hang her coat on their coat-rack and followed them into the living room, and (Y/N) caught the blink-and-you-miss-it smile that formed when she spotted Carina and Indy. “Would you like something to drink, Yelena? Water, hot coca, hot coca with a splash of whiskey…?”

“I won’t lie, the third option sounds very good right about now,” The former Black Widow replied with a wry smirk, although it was still easy to see the apprehension that she was trying so hard to hide. “Thank you.”

Steve’s azure eyes briefly met (Y/N)’s before he turned and headed into the kitchen, whistling the command for Indy to join him, and (Y/N) scooped Carina up before sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Yelena; the infant squirmed on her lap, seemingly displeased to have been taken away from her Mega Bloks, but she was quickly distracted by the stuffed Hulk – a Christmas gift from her Uncle Bruce – that (Y/N) wriggled in front of her. “If it wasn’t for this little gumball,” She patted the side of her baby bump with her free hand. “I’d have a spiked hot coca the same as you.”

Yelena smiled politely. “Congratulations. Do you know whether it’s a boy or a girl yet?”

“We actually just found out this morning; it’s a girl, and we’ve already decided on her name.” (Y/N) took a steadying breath before continuing. “Natalia Austen Rogers-(Y/L/N).” When they were initially brainstorming various baby names, she and Steve came to the agreement that they would find a way to name their little boy or girl after Natasha and Tony; Natalia, being the spy’s birth name, and Austen, being the long-lasting nickname that the billionaire bestowed upon her the very first time they met.

The younger woman’s green eyes misted over, but she was quick to duck her head to hide her emotional reaction. “That’s…um, that’s a wonderful name. Natasha would like that.” She anxiously began to twirl one of her many rings around her finger. “I’ve been working up the courage to speak with you for quite some time. I came close earlier this week, at the pizza parlor in Greenwich Village, but I…” Trailing off, Yelena’s eyes flicked up to meet (Y/N)’s, carefully reading her before continuing on. “Judging by the overwhelming tension that is emanating from you and your husband, it would be safe to assume that you’ve been in recent contact with Clint Barton.” When (Y/N) mutely nodded, Yelena sighed to herself and threaded her fingers together in her lap. “Firstly, I would like to assure you that you and your family are not in any danger. I was hired to remove an obstacle and while it was an assignment that I was admittedly eager to complete, I ultimately decided against completing it; Barton was not responsible for my sister’s death, and I couldn’t see that until it was almost too late.”

“But you did see it, and that’s what really matters,” (Y/N) reassured her as she gently smoothed out her daughter’s hair, smiling when the infant waved at the former Black Widow and babbled away in excitement when she waved back. “And if it makes you feel any better, Clint’s not really the type to hold a grudge…well, except for that one time when Nat bit him during a fight. He still likes to bring that up from time to time.”

The corner of Yelena’s lips briefly twitched upwards before she sobered. “Secondly, I would like to thank you for helping my parents arrange for Natasha’s memorial. Ohio was…it was the first place where she was truly happy, and I’m glad that there is something there to honor her memory and her sacrifice.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, (Y/N) adjusted her hold on Carina and cast her eyes downward. “It was the least I could do. Nat told me a little about her past after she went on the run and helped take down the Red Room, but she opened up more in the years after you Vanished.” She glanced up and met Yelena’s gaze with a sad smile. “She was so proud of you, Yelena, for traveling around the world and making it your mission to give all those Widows their freedom. Everything she did to help us reverse the Snap she did because she loved you, and she never once gave up trying to get you back.”

Yelena, overcome with emotion, nodded in thanks as she wiped a wayward tear from her cheek. A moment later, Steve walked back into the living room with a full mug of hot coca cradled in his hands and Natasha’s old knapsack slung over his shoulder; the former Black Widow murmured her thanks when she accepted the mug and while she took a cautious sip, Steve shrugged the knapsack off and leaned on the arm of the couch beside (Y/N). “I’m so sorry for your loss, Yelena. Your sister wasn’t just one of a kind, but she was a hero.” One of his hands moved to rest on (Y/N)’s shoulder and she briefly brushed her lips against his knuckles in comfort as he continued. “As I’m sure your parents already told you, Nat left you a message before she died; we’ve kept it safe since then, along with a few of her things that survived the Battle of Earth.”

After another sip of hot coca, Yelena set her mug down onto the coffee table and gingerly accepted the knapsack, her expression unreadable as she examined the faded name patch sewn onto the sturdy canvas. “Can I…?” She cleared her throat and looked up at them, her green eyes tinged with red. “Would you mind if I listen to it now?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) assured her with a tight smile, allowing her husband to help her stand and positioning Carina to sit against her hip. “We’ll, um…we’ll just be in the kitchen, if you need anything.”

Yelena nodded and while she tentatively reached into her sister’s knapsack, the (Y/L/N)-Rogers family made their way to the kitchen to give the younger woman some much-needed privacy to finally face her grief head-on.

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

“So, what’s Yelena like?” (Y/N) asked, reaching into her satchel for another apple and offering it to the massive rhino behind the wooden fence; the Border Tribe had been gracious enough to allow both the visiting members of Wakanda’s new outreach program and the fugitive Avengers to visit their impressive herd of rhinoceros and since (Y/N) hadn’t seen the spy since she’d gone on the run after Siberia, she invited Nat to join her at the enclosures.

“She’s strong, much stronger than she realizes. She’s funny, smart as hell and although she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass, she’s the kind of person who’ll have your back no matter what.” Natasha’s sincere smile turned playful as she arched an appraising brow at her. “Come to think of it, she sort of reminds me of another person I know…”

(Y/N) sighed in exaggerated exasperation. “You better not let Sam hear you saying that, ‘cause his ego’s inflated enough as it is.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha lightly shoved her shoulder as she burst into giggles. “You know damn well that I was talking about you, hot-shot, and I meant every word of it.” Both women shared a look of understanding and while her heart burst with affection for the spy, (Y/N) patted the rhino’s neck and fed her another apple. “She likes music almost as much as you do, you know, and lately, she’s turned into a bit of a fashionista. Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to meet her someday; you guys would totally get along.”

“I think so, too. We can talk about music, clothes and all the best ways to annoy the hell out of you,” (Y/N) chuckled as Natasha shook her head in disbelief, giving the rhino one last pat before looping her around hers and smiling brightly, “C’mon, we should head back to Bucky’s farm and make sure he hasn’t fed Birdbrain to his goats.”

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she recalled her conversation with Natasha so long ago and leaned down to kiss the top of Carina’s head. It had been nearly a quarter of an hour since they’d left Yelena alone in their living room with Natasha’s final message for her, and they were trying to distract themselves from the emotionally-fraught situation with their daughter and their dog; Steve was crouched on the kitchen floor and scratching a pleased Indy behind the ears while (Y/N) entertained Carina by singing various Christmas songs, beaming with pride as their daughter sat on the kitchen island in front of her and happily babbled along with her.

“At this rate, she’s gonna be singing her ABC’s before she even turns two,” Steve remarked with a proud grin, standing up and watching Indy stroll over to his water bowl for a moment before leaning against the kitchen island and jiggling her stuffed Hulk in front of her. “Aren’t you, angel? You’re so smart, just like Mama.”

“Mama smart!” Carina exclaimed and clapped her chubby hands together in glee.

“Yep, but so’s Dada! He’s very, very smart, lemon drop, just like you.” The infant giggled when (Y/N) gently booped her nose with her index finger, and she glanced over at her husband and smirked when she saw the bemused expression on his face. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart; your intelligence is one of the many, many things that I love about you.”

Steve’s brow playfully arched and he hummed in interest as his arm not-so-subtly moved to wrap around her waist. “Is that so? Mind tellin’ me what the rest of ‘em are, or is that classified intel?”

“Not necessarily, but it is the sort of intel that comes with a hefty price-tag.”

“I’ve got a pint of A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge and two Three Musketeer bars stashed in the downstairs freezer-”

“Sold!”

Just as a chuckling Steve leaned in for a kiss, Yelena hesitantly entered the kitchen and cleared her throat, giving them an awkward sort of smile when they both looked over at her; her pale green eyes were puffy from crying, but (Y/N) could see that for the first time since entering their home, the younger woman’s features were free of any anxiety and trepidation. I hope that Nat’s final message helped her find some closure, she thought to herself as she watched Yelena gently place the empty mug onto the counter before finally speaking. “I want to thank you both, for the delicious hot coca and for inviting me into your home so that I could accept my sister’s personal items.” She hugged the knapsack close to her chest and gave them a tiny smile, and (Y/N) could’ve sworn she spotted a hint of longing in her steely gaze as she continued. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, so I should leave you to enjoy the rest of your holiday.”

Steve and (Y/N) exchanged a look as the former Black Widow turned to leave, an unspoken agreement passing between them before Steve spoke up. “Yelena?” She turned back around to face them and Steve gathered Carina up into his arms, his trademark smile of sincerity spreading across his face as they walked around the kitchen island to stand before her. “I know that you’ve only just met us and that there’s probably other ways you’d rather be spending your Christmas Day, but we’d be honored if you joined us for dinner.”

Yelena froze, seemingly unsure of how to respond to their invitation. “I…that’s very cool of you to ask, but I-I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“You wouldn’t be intruding at all,” (Y/N) promised as a smile of her own began to form. “It’ll be great, so long as you don’t mind listening to a fifteen-month old incoherently sing along to Christmas songs and fending off an adorable German Shepard as he begs for some of your dinner.”

As she looked between them both, Yelena’s pale green eyes softened and a softer, more genuine smile slowly illuminated her features. “Well, I do like your American Christmas songs and adorable dogs…”

At the start of the holiday season, (Y/N) planned on spending her picture-perfect Christmas with her beloved Steve and Carina, and she assumed that the biggest surprise in store for them would be finally learning the sex of their new baby. But after over ten years of living the life of a superhero, it should’ve come to no surprise that even the best-laid plans could change in the blink of an eye; in a week where she’d watched a Broadway musical loosely and hilariously adapt her husband’s entire life, helped her favorite archer and his biggest fan take on one of New York City’s most notorious criminal organizations and finally met her deceased best friend’s mysterious little sister after she nearly killed their friend, it just made sense that they’d add another place setting to their dining room table and enjoy their Christmas Day dinner alongside a talkative and overall happy Yelena Belova.

Neither (Y/N) nor Steve dared ask Yelena about Natasha’s final message to her, both unwilling to dampen the younger woman’s cheerful mood, but if her sparkling eyes and joyful laughter was anything to go off of, then (Y/N) knew that the message succeeded in helping Yelena finally find some closure. Yelena, being the sort of person that was quick to open up once she felt at home, was a delightful guest; while they enjoyed their dinner, she regaled them with stories of hers and Natasha’s childhood in Ohio and her journey of self-discovery since being freed of the Red Room’s chemical subjugation and in turn, (Y/N) and Steve shared their happiest memories of Natasha with her. If this is any indication of what the future Rogers-(Y/L/N)’s Family Christmases will be like then I’m all in, (Y/N) thought to herself with a smile as Steve and Yelena laughed at her story and Carina nodded off in her highchair, stroking a hand over her growing bump and basking in the cozy holiday cheer that occupied their home.

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

A/N: And there you have it, a little Christmas fluff for ya'll in April! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ @groovyqueer​​​​​ @ljej95​​​​​ @innersublimefury​​​ @prettysbliss​​​​​​  

[sierrathesimmer]

MUELLER'S ORCHARD FARM 🍎🍂

Just in time for the fall season! Here's my pumpkin patch and apple orchard farm + shop Mueller's Orchard Farm. This lot will work as a functional Retail lot where sims can purchase individual pumpkins, apples and products inside. Or you can set this lot as a functional Café or Restaurant with the Dine Out game pack. Make sure to tag my socials below if you use the build in any way. Enjoy!

Lot Size - 50 x 40 | view more pictures here.

DL [Patreon] Public Release - 9/24 🍁

credits:

Mueller's Orchard Farm Banner sign, posters, labels, etc. recolored by @sierrathesimmer.

Custom Fall foods (Fall Flavored Donut Box Maker + Fall Custom Food Stall) by Icemunmun (Apple Cider Donut, Pumpkin Spice Donut, etc.) and 

Functional Cinnabon Custom Food Stall by Qmbibi. 

Functional Cup of Cozy Drink Kit, S'more Maker, Pretzel and Hot Dog stand and Instant Ice Cream Maker by RAVASEEN.

Thank you to all the creators that made this build possible!

SOCIALS:

YouTube | Instagram | Patreon | Website | Pinterest | Twitter

[itsnickgalitzine]

joyeux noël et bonne année, seasons greetings, happy holidays! been a tad busy with travels, seeing those i haven't much and getting used to events and stuff again. however, i had to send something anyway. you've helped make my life fun, i appreciate knowing you and hope to have you around next year. all my best, nicholas galitzine

for taylor @therestayzakhar - long distance pillow, face creams, picnic kit, diy chocolate, bucklist travel book, desert subscription service

for hendery @hvnderys - mug & cookies & hot chocolate bomb, ramen bowl, british treats, hedgehog succulent pot, bread coasters

for soobin @socbins - drink openers, crystal growing lab, coca cola ornament, necklace, coffee mug

for lucy @hale-raiser - glowing gummy bears, t-shirt, crystal advent calender, british treats, fish rod but for campfire cooking

for joey @joeykvng - snoop dog cookbook, movie night kit, bracelet, a pair of socks

for joel @joelcourtncy - bread coasters, poster, lazy af throw blanket, tiny hands, hype button

for flo @florenvcepugh - kermi mug, icee maker, drinking card game, bluetooth banana phone, misfortune cookies

for miley @milcycyrus - keychain you can add pictures of nova and you know, personalized plate to honour your and awsten's anniversary, non-alcholic drink, christmas gift box

for vanessa @queenvh - candle holders, sleep mask, bluetooth karaoke mic, coffee mug, murder mystery puzzle & game

for sarah @hf-sarahhyland - gourmet milk & dark chocolate, at home facial, hammock chair, wine preservation, self cleaning water bottle

for sabrina @carpenterbrinas - tiktok based light, desk orgainzer, birthstone bracelet, smores in a jar, flowers subscription

for maxence @famemaxence - shirt, the secret box, homemade gin kit, luxury robes, shakespare insults mugs

for louis @lw-tomlinson - harry potter light, cocktail kit, monster cookies in a jar (recipe on the jar), bracelet of your favourite sports team, retro mini fridge

saying their friends, if that's cool, through taylor aka his birthday twin of course

for tom @tcmhcll - harry potter hat, a way to help you find your keys and wallet, custom connect four, grilled cheese toaster, hot cocoa in a jar

for nat @thatnattyice - pajama set (got you two sets for during and after your pregnancy), necklace, non-alcholic wine, personalized kids apron, kids & todders toys subscription

for bruna @brunamrqzn - lamp, personal smoothie maker, electric smores maker, perfume, best scented candles

for taylor @tylrswfts - a way to lounge in the tub, personalized initials bracelet, embroidered bookmarker, remote control string lights, compliment pencils

for kaia @kaia-gerbcr - british treats, custom mug set for you and austin, warm comforter, 100 scratch off date ideas, peppermint pappering

for carrie @carrieunderwccd - win holder, wine glasses, rainbow wall hanging, essential oil diffuser

for lily @lilyjxmes - cookies, a heat changing mug, flower clock, snow cone maker, vegas gift basket

[devil-doll13]

Bark At The Moon.

(Prologue)

Cw: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Weed and Alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Mid-way through their first tour of the US, the band find themselves stalled by a busted van. Unbeknownst to them, this would be the start of a catastrophic streak of misfortune.

I have been planning on Max’s backstory fic for a while and here it finally is! Or the beginning of it, at least. Hope you enjoy!

Dividers by silkholland

The sky is painted yellow, and a circling flock of birds is flying so close that he can hit them with his chubby fist. Tall white bars imprison him, but he is softly cushioned by sponge-like pillows. A fuzzy brown bear, lined with stitches, is his sole bedfellow.

“Hey, little man,” booms a tired, hearty voice. Above him, a friendly giant is looming over. His moony face is cracked and dimpled in a grin.

Max flails with joy. To his delight, the giant stretches out his massive hands and lifts him into his arms. He smells familiar… He smells of dirt and sweat and cement. He smells of cheap coffee and even cheaper hot dogs. Maybe that’s what love smells like.

Yes. Sense of smell is the first thing he remembers being aware of. The next is colour; the man’s eyes are cornflower blue, just like Max’s.

“Uhf. You’re getting heavier, kid,” he grunts.

“Daddy, when’s Max gonna be big enough to play with us?” Another, higher-pitched voice pipes up.

Standing in the doorway is a smaller version of the giant, his own blue eyes blown wide and curious.

“He’s just a baby, Roger. It’ll take a bit longer for him to start walking around.” He explains, patting Max’s back as he gently jostles him.

“Oh.” Roger blinks.

“Where do babies come from?” He asks.

The giant’s whisker twitches. Max swats at it.

“Dada!” He squeals, mimicking Roger.

Dad stares at him in shock. His eyes are twinkling. The boy’s mouth forms a circular ‘o’ shape.

“Mommy, Max said ‘Dada!’” He yells.

“Linda, Max is talking to me!” Dad shouts.

There’s a rush of footsteps and the other giant bursts in. Her hair is yellow just like the sky. Max babbles happily as a chorus of voices echo around him. Now he realises he can speak and hear, and suddenly the world doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

It strikes him only several months after the fact that this was the first time he’d dreamt of his father; a man he’d only known through mangled second-hand stories and grainy photographs. Maybe it was an omen of some kind, because several months after the fact, Max would be dead.

But not yet. Just asleep. Or, well, he’s awake now.

“Max! Max!” A familiar voice is shouting for him. It’s drowning out his memory, smothering it in thick fog… What was… Who was that…?

But by the time he’s clambering out of the backseat of the Audi, he’s already forgotten. More pressing matters are at hand, like food and stretching; his body aches from the bumpy upholstery, probably only worsened by the fact that he was lying curled up around their merch box.

“What’s going on?” He calls out groggily.

Now the whole band is gathered in a sweaty quartet, with their bassist, Austin, at the outskirts, swatting at flies buzzing around in the Florida humidity. Then, Max notices his friend Dwayne standing with his hands on his hips by the roadside. He looks agitated.

“She’s making a fuss again,” Dwayne tells him.

And Max knows immediately that it’s their van: a black Ford Transit Custom with LOCKJAW splashed onto the side in big, bold letters. A sour, sulfuric stench is curling out of her painted bonnet. Equally as sour is the expression on their lead guitarist Jett’s twisted face. His ever-present red bandana is askew, and he’s pacing like a caged animal, the way he always does when something isn’t going their way.

“I swear to fuck, if this shitty rust bucket kicks it on us this close to Miami, I’m gonna riot,” he’s fuming. “I’m gonna riot, Max, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Jett, don’t blow your gasket just yet, ok?” Comes a softer and more reasonable voice. It’s Cyndi. Her curly brown hair is so permed up today that she looks rather like a fluffy cocker spaniel.

She casts Max a pleading glance.

“Ok. Let me take a look at her,” he says, and twitches his mouth in what he hopes is a reassuring smile. It’s not the first time he’s played handyman.

Max heaves up the van’s hood and immediately recoils away from the awful smell.

“Ugh,” Cyndi gags. “Smells like rotten eggs.”

“Or one of Austin’s socks,” Dwayne agrees.

“Hey!”

Max grins wryly. He leans over to inspect the damage further, but it’s as he suspected:

“Battery’s dead,” he reports, looking over his shoulder warily at Jett. “But, uh, don’t worry. This problem is definitely and easily fixable!”

Jett swears furiously under his breath.

“…How much will it cost us to get it replaced?” Cyndi asks, carefully eyeing their van.

“Well, I don’t have a replacement on hand, so whatever the nearest mechanic charges us.” He scratches his chin nervously, still glancing at Jett.

“Right. Alright. Cyndi, you’ll…” He straightens his crooked bandana. “Sort the funds out?”

“Yeah.”

Max shakes his head and slams the bonnet down, stifling the odour. The truth was, old girl was a retired workhorse pushed too far past her prime; there were only so many times he could smack her rear into action before she fell fatally ill.

But he understands Jett’s concern well enough. She was screaming out in agony under the weight of all their equipment, and probably the worst of it was Max’s drum kit. It wasn’t as if they could lug it around in their rusted up little Audi, though.

“Hey,” he starts. “We’ll take the car over to buy a new one. Maybe some brunch too, yeah? I saw a sign back there, it can’t be far from here.”

“I’ll stay and watch her,” Dwayne says blandly.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Austin gives Dwayne a toothy grin. He seems to have forgiven the slight from earlier.

“Don’t worry, Big D. We’ll bring you back a big sandwich wrap or something,” he says.

“Yup. Thanks, Austin.”

Jett breathes out a puff of air. There’s still an angry blood vessel pulsating on his forehead, but it seems he’s no longer threatening to explode on them.

“Come on, let’s go,” he orders.

They all bustle into the Audi. Jett sits in the driver’s seat - It’s an unspoken rule that he always takes the wheel in situations like these - with Cyndi riding shotgun and Max once again stuffed into the backseat with the merch box and Austin. He stinks of sweat and weed, the same way Jett always has the thick aroma of hairspray clinging to him. But it’s a familiar stink, like the mucky fur of a childhood dog. Max beams at him.

“Hey, man. D’ya think we’ll get to sell more t-shirts in Miami?” Austin slurs out. He’s squinting at Max like he’s still drunk from last night.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” he reaches into the box and pulls out a scratchy strip of fabric. Their lupine mascot snarls back at him, jagged maw open wide and dripping thickly with saliva.

“If we get there,” Jett mumbles.

“Dwayne did a bang-on job,” Max continues. “Hopefully the new album art can lure in some buyers too.”

“Yeah. Wolves are cool,” Austin says. “I wonder if he’ll do me a tat for free… Y'know, since we’re buds.”

Max feels old ink itch underneath his shirt, and instinctively airs out the collar. The rottweiler Dwayne did for his birthday hurt, but it turned out gorgeous.

“By the way… My socks don’t smell that bad, do they?” Austin gazes longingly at him. This must’ve been what he wanted to ask all along.

“Uh. Only sometimes,” Max says kindly.

They’re abruptly jostled by a bump in the road. Max presses his face against the window and sees a big red billboard with ‘Spoons’ plastered on it.

“Who the hell names a town after cutlery?” Cyndi wrinkles her nose; a habit Max has always found adorable. “Jett, pull in, I think I see a garage.”

Jett grunts and jerks their car over the sidewalk. Sure enough, there’s an auto repair shop squashed between a block of flats and a donut shop, labelled plainly as ‘Mandy’s Motors.’ Max feels Austin writhe beside him as he unbuckles his seatbelt, and shuffles out the cramped backseat with as much grace as he can manage. The shrill screech of metalwork assaults him the second he’s out, and he winces.

“I’ll go in. You guys clear off,” Jett says curtly.

Max figures he needs a little time away from the rest of the band; or maybe he just wants someone to yell at who won’t cause a fuss on the trip to Miami. Cyndi apparently senses this too, because she swiftly corrals Max and Austin away towards a nearby phone booth. The passing pedestrians are dressed as if they’ve never left the last decade - all headbands and bell-bottoms and florals - and they reel away from Max as if they’re nauseous; a reaction he has gotten quite used to over the years.

Austin pats his shoulder with urgency.

“Hey, man. Look.” He points to a bright, eye-catching diner on the outskirts of town. “Brunchtime.”

And that’s exactly what’s flashing them from across the road in large, curly font. Max glances over to Cyndi in a way he hopes doesn’t seem too desperate.

“You don’t have to look at me anytime you wanna spend money, you know,” she giggles. “Go on, boys. I’m hungry too.”

Max feels a sudden rush of affection for his girlfriend, and he slings an arm around her shoulder to kiss her temple, his nose twitching at the smell of her perfume. She quirks a smile and leans into his touch, not caring how Austin pitches a retch at the sight. The doorbell chimes as they step in, leather boots and high-top sneakers clacking on the shiny tile floor.

“Oh, wow. It smells just like my grandma’s angel cake in here.” Cyndi says, shrugging off a cuddly Max. They all slide neatly into an empty booth.

“I always thought angel cake stank like a wet dog.” Austin offers up unprompted, and Max can’t help but crack a silly grin.

“Austin!” She slaps his arm half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know, our late and great Ellen Richardson would’ve beaten you with a spoon for that!”

“I’d sit up on the countertop while she whipped up the batter…” Her eyes dim like they have shutters on. “Jesus, that was so long ago.”

Cyndi lays back in a daze, as if the memory had threaded a ghostly hand through her hair.

“Not that long ago,” Max comments.

“Well, ok, I guess not. But still, it tasted way better when I was nine,” she says breezily.

“Oh,” Austin smirks. “Y’know, I read in a magazine before that our senses of smell and our memories are like, super connected and stuff.”

“Uh-huh?” Cyndi humours him.

“Yeah. Yeah, so basically it has to do with the brain and… Like, the parts in it.” He fumbles slightly.

“What kinda magazine are you talking about, anyway?” Max asks him, curiosity piqued.

Austin brightens up again.

“Dude, it’s called ‘Strange US.’ I have a subscription, and it’s cheap, too! I’ll lend you a copy. There’s so much that the government is hiding from us, you don’t even know the half of it, man.”

“You mean UFOs? extraterrestrials?” Max quickly starts filling in the blanks.

“Max, don’t you start with the aliens!”

“But there’s gotta be something out there, Cyndi! I mean there’s nothing to disprove it, right?”

“Yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean…”

Cyndi narrows her eyes dubiously.

“Where did you find out about this, Austin?”

“Guy about a year ago from our old campaign,” he scratches his nose. “Like, tabletop.”

Max nods eagerly. He remembers him, even more so since he was DMing at the time.

“Yeah. His name was Trey, right? He used to go on about how our system wasn’t like ‘real magic…’”

“There’s a whole bunch of these secret organisations, too,” Austin continues. “Working behind the scenes, y’know, making sure we don’t find out…” He waves his hands around, almost bowling over a nearby bottle of ketchup. “Like, men in black, in disguise.”

Max leans forward, lowering his voice:

“Austin, it’s totally a thing… There used to be this super tall bald dude that always hung around our local playground. He’d just sit and watch us.”

“Woah. For real?”

“I never found out what he wanted from us, though. He was creepy, but not in your usual way, more like in a… I don’t know, he was like a hall monitor. I could never make out his face, y’know?”

Then, Austin pales into a papery white.

“Oh. Max… There’s an entry in one of the issues…”

“It’s a load of bologna,” Cyndi interrupts. “Come on, you two don’t really accept this crap, do you?”

But their awkward faces seem to imply that they do.

“Unbelievable…”

“Have ya’ll decided what you want yet?”

Max turns to see a young, blonde-ish waitress who’s chewing bubblegum. He quickly fiddles with a menu, only realising now he’d been too distracted to look.

“Oh. How about… Um, eggs and bacon?”

Cyndi sheepishly blurts out a request for syrupy pancakes and Austin orders a cheeseburger. The waitress jots it all down with a smack of gum and roller-skates away. Max is rendered dully aware of children in other booths craning their heads to stare at their patched jackets and band shirts, tightly-laced parents urging them away with disgust. He guesses their small town world just isn’t ready for this much rock n’ roll yet.

“Hey,” he says, already feeling uncomfortable. “Keep it for me, will ya? I’m gonna go check on Jett.”

“Ok, Max. But don’t take too long.” Cyndi warns him.

The oppressive atmosphere lessens somewhat as he steps outside. Damn, at least city folk are better at hiding their contempt for you... It was a bit stuffy in there, too, all boxed in and clouded heavily with tobacco smoke. He wonders when they’ll ban it.

Max cuts past a throng of people and hurries over the road, hands stuffed casually in his jacket pockets. On an empty block near the outskirts of town, there’s a construction site. It’s developing a mould of apartments that are about half-way formed, manned by sweaty, red-faced workers chewing on sandwiches and leaning idly against the scaffolding. While passing by, Max catches a whiff of cement, and for some reason it smells painfully nostalgic.

Next

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr-main, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

[joyousanya]

seasons greetings, sorry this is a bit delayed, holidays are a crazy time, but i can't not send you something for helping make my life better. i couldn't imagine you not around and this is my thanks and a way to show my appreciate. while late, hope you still appreciate what i gifted. sincerely, anya

for zac @zacharyefrons - coffee maker, mug to keep your drink warm, coffee, christmas cookbook, one of those cheese, meat and cracker platters

for jisoo @kmjiscos - natural body care gift set, earrings, flowers, fluffy blanket, silk pajamas

for seulgi @kvngsevlgi - silk pillow, dior lipstick, dior perfume, beauty pie membership, signet ring

for bangchan @bangchvns - mini bar cocktail books, champagne chocolates, fire pit, book membership, bento box tech organizer

for sarah @hf-sarahhyland - six of your favourite ice cream flavoirs, oil defuser, wine membership, skin care products, essential oils

for tyler @tylcrhocchlin - dog goodies membership, alcohol cabinet (sending locks as well), vinyl player, dad jokes book, custom calendar for 2024

for chris @chrizhemzworth - name tag apron, cooking guard (for less mess), cozy hammock, personalized mug, leather wrap to take chargers and cables on the go

for victoria @vicdeangxo - personalized wallet and bag, friendship bracelet, gold rose ring, pecan cheesecake in jars, peppermint hot chocolate mix

for damiano @ykaaarr - drink game (similar to spin the bottle), italian cupcakes, christmas treats, shakespare insult mug, fuck ring

for ethan @ethaneskinx - bluetooth vinyl music player, cat light (because it's cute like you), money gun, baguette slippers, grocery bags

for @ariianaz - personalized embroidered journal, bracelet, panda bear money stealker (because it's cute like you), diy lip balm kit, spa kit

for flo @florenvcepugh - tea membership, luxury body products, burrito blanket, cute message from me to you, watermelon wedger

[dvggered]

Happy Birthday Jackie!!

@insanislupus

Rebekah peeks over Gordon's shoulder as he pulls the shortcake she had compelled him to make from the oven. Judgmental as she is, she knows she would completely ruin this recipe if attempted so she's best as an observer in this scenario. The original finds a nice countertop and hops onto it to watch. “Don't forget my special garnish Ramsay,” she calls out, knowing he won't because he's compelled. 

In a short time, there is a beautiful strawberry shortcake dish before her just calling Jackie's name. It's not quite ready just yet though. Her eyes flick up to stare at him deadpan and impatient. He gets the message clearly and grabs one of the beautiful knives from his collection and wordlessly runs the sharp blade down his forearm causing a steady stream of blood to drizzle across the whipped cream covered dessert like a work of art. It’s perfect. Rebekah wraps it in a cute little box covered in anatomically correct hearts and adds a beautiful blood-red rose to finish the look.

With all her little gifts in place, she impatiently waits for Nik and Jackie to get home. The moment their feet cross the threshold Rebekah is beside them, linking arms with Jackie excitedly. “Sorry Nik, the birthday girl is mine now. You can possibly have her back in a few hours but no promises.” She smirks at him and then Jackie looking to the other girl for permission to steal her away just in case she wants to stay with him for whatever reason. The moment Jackie begins to nod and her lips part to say something, the original is pulling Jackie away not even bothering to wait for Niklaus to respond. 

Their first stop is the bar of course. Rebekah compelled quite a few people specifically for this night, including a really hot and tasty bartender (she had checked, quality control). He had two bourbons already waiting as soon as they walked into the room and Rebekah grabbed both glasses, handing Jackie one. “To the most incredible best friend and sister. You deserve the world but sadly I do seem to have my limitations surprisingly so this will do.” Rebekah winks at the hybrid and they clink glasses in a toast. 

Four more glasses down and the two girls are starting to feel the buzz set in. Rebekah excitedly pulls Jackie from the couch they were settling into.  She’s almost vibrating with the excitement to give Jackie her birthday gifts. “Up up! Let's go!! You have to see your birthday gifts now that drinks are started! I can't wait any longer!”. Jackie smirks up at Rebekah “Okay okay, jeez bex, you're worse than a chihuahua when you get excited.” The hybrid is at Bekah's side in a blur and Rebekah is grinning ear to ear. 

Rebekah guides them to a forgotten room tucked into the compound. She places her hands over the hybrid's eyes “No peeking!” she blurts and pushes them through the door, switching on the lights and letting the room shine in all its glory. Rebekah pulls her hands from Jackie's eyes and gives the hybrid a moment to register what the room is meant to be. It doesn't take long before Jackie is turning to Rebekah with a huge grin “Bekah, did you make a room for my heart collection?!” Rebekah fully returns the hybrid's grin nodding excitedly. “Yes, I did!! Let me give you a little tour! Then we have a special little birthday dessert.”

They go through each little compartment of the room Rebekah had custom created (by compulsion of course). Everything is also spelled by a witch to ensure the hearts stored are kept viable if desired. There's a little experimentation desk with all sorts of examination equipment just in case Jackie felt the urge to explore a little deeper. As well as 2 full walls of individual boxes for each heart to be stored into. Her previous heart fridge gifted from Nik is also blended into the decor just in case she still wants it for sentimental reasons. The last tour stop is to a special corner made just for Jackie's dog baby, so she can rest if Jackie is in here for a while.

“Bex, this is insane.” Jackie actually seems in awe for a few minutes and Bekah absolutely revels in it. “I'm so glad you like it! Now for dessert, let's go!” She pours herself and the hybrid an overfilled glass of wine from the cart she had put next to the room. Just in case Jackie needs a buzz in the future, she is fully stocked with all her favorite drinks.

When they get to the kitchen the cake box is still perfectly presented on the kitchen island waiting for its owner. As well as four poor, hot souls who crossed Rebekah’s path during this planning process. They were all compelled and would be finishing out this party with them tonight much to Rebekah’s delight as she had already run quality control and knew that the brunette in particular was delicious and even seemed to enjoy her bite. Too bad her heart was likely to end up in one of those shiny new boxes by morning. Maybe Jackie would let Bekah have a little fun with her first as a thank you.

 The original promptly guides Jackie over to the box waiting for them and hops up on the counter again. “It's all yours love, however, I'd love it if you shared a bite because damn can Gordon make a cake. Jackie pulls the box open and finds the blood-drizzled strawberry shortcake waiting and beautiful. “Damn bex, this looks so good.”  Jackie walks over to grab 2 forks and gives one to Bekah. They eat basically the whole thing while discussing stealing Randy Fenoli from ‘Say Yes to the Dress’ for a gown collection. Gordon had worked out so well they might as well see who else they can kidnap next.

Jackie finishes off her last bite of cake and downs the rest of the champagne they had paired with it. The moment the fork hits the plate Rebekah pops off the counter. “Okay, truly the last surprise. These lovely four will be joining us for the rest of the night, possibly even joining your collection if you want. If possible though I'd love more time with this one” Rebekah wraps her arm around the cute girl she was dying to get another taste of and smirks at Jackie. Jackie's wicked little grin meets Rebekah's and it's very clear they will be spending the rest of the night throwing their own little blood soaked party.

[cadencejames87]

Forever Mine: Part 2

Series Masterlist // Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: Steve comes to find you when you fail to meet up for dinner, though soon discovers you are missing, the police arrive, and the investigation begins.

Word Count: 3.2K

WARNINGS: Hospital setting, Investigation into abduction, Steve breaks some things... Honestly not a whole lot in this chapter aside from not capturing the Officers voice (that’s a warning for his die hards) *Warnings updated with each chapter*

*Not beta'd thus any and all mistakes are my own*

*Dividers above by @maysdigitalarts ​*

*Dividers in story by @whimsicalrogers *

Beyond the privacy curtains closed around your bed is the regular hustle and bustle of a busy hospital. “Right this way Officer.” Doctor Banner draws the curtain open.

RCMP officer Helmut Zemo steps inside.

Doctor Banner enters further, scanning the space with confusion. The hospital bed sits vacant, with no sign of Bucky, you, or any of your belongings; in fact, it looks as if no one had even been there.

Zemo turns to Doctor Banner unamused as he exits the private washroom shaking his head. He continues passed Zemo with an apologetic shrug, rushing out of the room to the nurses station, the officer hot on his tail. “Did you check out Y/N London, room 223?”

A young blonde nurse looks from Banner to Officer Zemo and back. “Sorry, I just got back from break.”

Doctor Banner flips through a folder behind the desk. “Her husband never filled out a single form. Did nobody check her out?!“

The nurse skims a log sheet and shakes her head regretfully.

Officer Zemo approaches the desk. “Did anything feel off when you met with the victim and her husband?”

Doctor Banner thinks back to his encounter. “Patient. And no, we never really had a chance to communicate. Although her injuries were minor, she was in shock. We administered a sedative, and by the time she had settled, Mr. London arrived; nothing out of the ordinary.” He continues to sift through papers. “It makes no sense why he would leave without talking to myself or any of the staff.”

Officer Zemo closes his notepad and tucks it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Would you mind leading the way to security? I’ll need to ID the victim and her husband.”

Doctor Banner promptly takes the lead with a quick nod.

Zemo pauses long enough to hand the nurse a card. “If you or any other attendants have information, feel free to call.” He smiles warmly and turns to join Doctor Banner.

Steve holds the door to a lovely little bakery as the four little ones enter, holding hands to form a train. He follows behind the tikes carrying the car seat and guides them to a bistro table in front of a large bay window.

The bakery is bright and welcoming. An intricate, white chandelier hangs in the centre of a wall, filled floor to ceiling with Victorian-style display shelves. Baked goods sit on display inside a pair of glass pastry showcases on either side of a small counter.

Steve sets the car seat on top of the table, then helps Peyton and Delaney onto their chairs across from Brier & Bailey. “Daddy, are we here for my cake?” Brier pleads with big puppy dog eyes.

“My cake too, Brier.” Bailey glares at his sister.

“Yeah, no... Look, I need you all to sit here and be good while I talk to the lady, okay? No fighting!” Steve waits for their response. Brier gives him a nod, crossing her arms as she sinks into her seat with a pout. Bailey is still glaring at his sister when Steve turns his attention to him, and in any other situation, he would find himself laughing. “Bailey?”

Bailey looks to his dad, and his face softens “Okay.”  

Steve digs through the diaper bag, removes four colouring books, and sets one in front of each child with a box of crayons. He kicks the diaper bag under the table and crosses to the counter.

May Parker, a cheerful lady with rosy cheeks, stands behind the counter, flour dusting her apron. She finishes with a customer as Steve approaches. "Hello, welcome to Aunt May's, I'm May. How can I help you?"

Steve searches his pockets for his cell phone. "My wife came in earlier to pick up a cake for our twins." He shows May a picture of you on his phone.

Her smile falters. "She did stop inside, yes."

Steve slips his phone away, allowing her to continue.

She wipes her hands on her apron and clears her throat. "We've been a little behind schedule today. I let your wife know I could have your order if she allowed me a few moments. She agreed and must have stepped out while I was in the back. Not too long after I heard an ambulance, then saw the lights and went outside... it was her."

The news hits Steve hard, causing him to step back from the counter. He checks on the children over his shoulder as he steadies his breathing. "Are you sure?" He returns to the counter. "What happened? W-where did they take her?"

May shrugs, shaking her head. "I-I'm so sorry, my best guess for where they took her would be, Queen Victoria, just across the river."

Steve nods slowly, taking a moment to compose himself before returning to the table. He collects the crayons and books, stuffs them into the diaper bag and slings the bag over his shoulder. He helps Peyton and Delaney off their chairs.

"Sir, I know it's not much." Steve turns back to May as she slides a pretty decorated half pink and half blue box with a Tiffany blue envelope across the counter. The twins excitedly rush over. "Happy birthday, sweetie. Happy birthday, young man." Steve grabs the car seat in one hand and retrieves the box and envelope in his other. May taps the envelope on top of the box. "Your deposit." Steve gives her a friendly smile and leads the kids to the exit.

"Is that my cake?" Brier asks, skipping along.

Bailey glares at his sister again, "Our cake!" He spits through gritted teeth.

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah... Let's go; hands." The kids quickly hold hands. Bailey takes the lead while Brier chooses to hang back, closer to Steve and the cake. She stares at the box and licks her lips.

Officer Zemo opens the door and smiles graciously as he holds it for the family. Zemo and Steve exchange friendly nods in passing. He quickly approaches the counter. "Hello, Officer Helmut Zemo." He flashes his badge. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, ma'am?"

"May, please. Though, if this is about the incident this afternoon in the alley, I’m useless. I was in the back when the ambulance showed up."

"What about cameras?"

"Only ones are right here." She points to a pair of cameras in the corner, one aimed at the cash register, the other towards the dining area. "Oh, the man who was just here. Said he was her husband." Zemo looks out the window over his shoulder. "I returned their deposit. I felt so horrible."

"Did you say, Husband?"

"Such a lovely family. It’s a shame." She answers with a nod.

"Thank you." Officer Zemo pockets his badge and rushes out after Steve.

Officer Zemo hurries through the waiting room to the emergency room doors. He gives the admittance desk window a quick RAP.

The ENTRANCE NURSE hits a large button, opening the doors between the waiting room and Emergency.

Steve slams his fist on the nurses station as Zemo flies around the corner.

The emergency nurse stands on the opposite side of the desk with a stern look and arms crossed.

"I'm her husband! Am I wrong, here?! In thinking, if you bring in an unconscious woman, you, I don't know, keep an eye on her, make sure she is safe and maybe ID the guy claiming to be her husband? Or better yet, wait until she wakes and ask her yourself."

Officer Zemo steps between Steve and the desk. "Hey, hey, hey, calm down, sir".

"I just want to know where my goddamn wife is." Steve reasons, softer yet still fuelled with anger.

"You were the man at the bakery looking for Y/N London?"

Steve's eyes narrow. "London? Rogers, my wife's name is Y/F/N. Y/M/N. Rogers."

"Mr. Rogers, I presume. Can we talk a moment?" He motions for Steve to step away from the desk. "I'd like to get a little more information about you and Y/N. I’m trying to piece this all together, and we need to start the paperwork before--"

"Paperwork?!" Steve swiftly steps back before he does something he might regret.

The nurse rolls her eyes, grabs a folder, and leaves.

Steve turns as Zemo joins him. "Some asshole abducts my wife, and all anyone wants to do is waste time filling out forms!"

"You're understandably upset, I--"

"You're ffff... Ooh." Steve catches himself, looks to his kids and back to Zemo. "Yeah, I'm upset! I want to speak to a detective. You need to get out of my face and find out how she wound up here in the first place." He speaks in a hushed tone.

"I get it, I do..."

"Do your job!" His voice raising slightly.

"I'm only asking to see proof."

"Now you bastards want proof." He scoffs.

"Once we have established that proof, together, we can try to identify the man who abducted your wife."

Steve steps back with a quick, shocked laugh. He returns to Zemo, close and in his face. "Do your fucking job!!" He seethes through gritted teeth.

Officer Zemo stands his ground, cool, calm, and collected. "The problem, Mr. Rogers--"  

"The problem is..." Zemo backs away from Steve as the two men turn to acknowledge the person speaking. Lieutenant Monica Rambeau, Badass Black Métis woman who has seen it all... "Up until Officer Zemo here went to investigate the mugging at the bakery, we thought Y/N had left with her husband. There were no signs of a struggle--"  

"Who are you?" Steve questions.  

"Officer Zemo?" Zemo lifts his head higher as he looks to Lieutenant Rambeau. He seems to be pouting now since her arrival. "Would you mind finding us an empty room to talk with?"

"Steve Rogers."  

"Steve Rogers." She repeats, extending her hand to him. "Lieutenant Rambeau, Major Crimes Unit with the RCMP."

Steve shakes her hand, and Zemo obediently excuses himself with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear about your wife. You understand there was no reason for us to suspect--" Lieutenant Rambeau's attention turns to the sound of children’s laughter. The kids sit on a bench behind Steve, huddled around a tablet. "Are these your children?"

Steve nods as Officer Zemo returns. Lieutenant Rambeau gives him a polite smile. "Will you be joining us, Officer?" Zemo hides his excitement and quickly turns to lead the way.

The kids share a bed, eat cake, and watch a movie as the adults talk by the door.

"I believe you, I do." Lieutenant Rambeau sympathizes with Steve. "We just need to go over your day from the beginning. You said you know of no one who would want to hurt Y/N, correct?"

Officer Zemo looks Steve up and down. "How about you?" He flips through photos of the family with you on Steve's phone.

Steve glares at Zemo, his jaw clenched.

"No one who might have something against you, is what I meant." He pretends to backtrack over his previous words.

"Zemo." Lieutenant Rambeau warns.

Steve turns away from Zemo. "Our twins turned five today, and in a few days, Delaney will be three. Y/N and I... The trip was a spur of the moment.

Zemo returns the phone to Steve. "Adorable, really." He says flatly.

"They look a lot like their mother." Lieutenant Rambeau tries to cover for Zemo's current attitude.

Steve smiles adoringly at his children, then just like that, he stops, eyes falling to a spot on the floor with guilt.

"Where was it you drove in from?" Rambeau is quick to pull his attention back to the subject at hand.

He breathes deeply and stands taller as he turns back to the Lieutenant. "Calgary."

"And when you arrived?"

"It was late, we unloaded the vehicle, checked in, and the kids woke us up almost as soon as our heads hit the pillow."

---

Sunlight streams in, lighting the double occupancy. The newborn sleeps in a bassinet, resting on a suitcase stand. Bailey and Brier help their younger sisters Peyton and Delaney climb onto your bed. The toddlers attack you and Steve with snuggles while the twins choose to jump on the bed instead.

Steve peeks out one eye and growls. "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." You both spring up, attacking the twins with tickles until they fall into your laps. You draw the toddler's into the fun, and the room fills with laughter.

---

The children LAUGH at their movie, echoing the memory.

"We took ‘em down for breakfast on the Mountain View Terrace." Steve continues.

"Ah, you're staying at The Hillcrest." Officer Zemo confirms and Steve nods in response as Zemo scribbles in his notepad.

"And after breakfast?" Lieutenant Rambeau asks.

Steve sighs, "Y/N and I took the kids to the Enchanted Forest, had lunch, and spent the rest of the day at Skytrek Adventure Park. Then went back to the hotel."

Officer Zemo looks up from his notepad. "And when did your wife decide to leave you and the kids?" Lieutenant Rambeau shoots dagger eyes at Zemo.

Steve, on the other hand, pays him no attention. "Y/N ordered the cakes this morning over the phone. She decided to walk to the bakery from the hotel and was supposed to call a taxi from there."

---

You breastfeed JONAH beneath his nursing blanket and help Peyton into a dress. Steve finishes packing the diaper bag and sets it by the door; he returns with shoes and helps the kids put them on.

Your phone PINGS, and you immediately check the message. "I have to pick up the c-a-k-e. He needs to be burped." You hand Jonah to Steve with a quick kiss and kneel to finish helping with the shoes. "I’ll meet you sweet little buggies later, okay? Be good for daddy." You pull them all in for a hug, grab your jacket, and turn to leave.

Steve steps in your path, burping the infant in his arms. “How about you? Are you gonna be good for daddy later?” He whispers flirtatiously.

“Steve!” You playfully swat his arm as you step around him.

Steve gives your ass a friendly slap on your way out.

---

Officer Zemo continues to scribble notes on his little pad.

"Where was she going in this taxi?" Lieutenant Rambeau inquires.

"She was meeting us at the Ol’ Frontier."

Zemo looks up from his notepad. "And when she was a no-show, why didn't you check on her sooner?"

"With the amount of time it took to get the kids loaded into the SUV and then unloaded and find a table before any of them had a meltdown...” He pauses a moment. “You're right, I should have. I just figured since it was dinner, on a Friday, she may be stuck in traffic or... Not this." Steve recounts with regret.

"What traffic? It's a small town." Zemo points out with a hint of amusement.

"It's tourist season, in a tourist town, Zemo. Please, Mr. Rogers, continue."  Lieutenant Rambeau is growing tired of Zemo, but she continues to keep things professional.

"The kids got hungry." Steve continues, looking over at his family. "I ordered for us, hoping she'd turn up. I called her cell about a million times. Then her phone shut off and I panicked. Most worried I'd been in my entire life."  Steve fights to stay composed, tongue in cheek. "I mean, a car accident was my worst fear." He shakes his head, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Lieutenant Rambeau offers sincerely.

Zemo clears his throat, eyes on his notes. "Apparently, the guy posing as her husband had photos as well."

Steve side-eyes Zemo as Lieutenant Rambeau turns to him questioningly.

"He had a story." Zemo motions to Steve. "Like you, for why they were here, why she was at the bakery alone, and--" He flips through his notes.

"All information that evidently isn't true, Officer." Rambeau cuts him off before he can continue.  

"Photos?! This guy, this fucking creep, was stalking my wife?" Steve steps closer. "Who did he say he was?" He questions through gritted teeth.

Lieutenant Rambeau pulls out her notepad. "The doctor said his name was..." She scans her notes. "Bentley London. Does the name mean anything to you?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Mr. Rogers, was your wife having an affair?" Zemo cocks his head.

"Zemo!"

Steve steps forward, and Lieutenant Rambeau blocks Zemo from his advance. "I suggest you do your job and find my wife." Steve turns to walk away.

Officer Zemo places a hand on his chest to stop him. "And what happens if we run his name and it comes back he is an upstanding citizen? One who has never caused a problem in his life?"

Steve steps face to face with Zemo, despite Rambeau standing between them. "Why don’t you say what you really feel, Zero?"

"You have anger issues, first thing I noticed. Maybe you and your wife were having problems. Wife finds comfort in another man's arms, happens to the best of us." He responds disdainfully.

Steve leans closer. "You want to see anger issues?"

Lieutenant Rambeau pushes the men apart. "Enough! Zemo, outside. Now!" Officer Zemo storms out. Rambeau catches the door before it slams and removes a card from her breast pocket.

"Nothing but a beat cop playing detective," Steve says under his breath as he begins pacing.

"Send me a recent photo. I'll get copies of the report sent out to CSIS and NCIC, and add it to my personal files." Lieutenant Rambeau tries for a reassuring smile as she holds her card out to Steve. He takes it, and Rambeau follows Zemo out of the room.

Steve stares at the card in his hand, jaw clenched.

Steve steps into the bathroom, closing the door. He leans on the sink, head hanging low, heavy breathing. He looks at his reflection, and the mirror shatters as his fist connects with the glass. He turns and tears the hand dryer from the wall, throwing it across the room. Running his hands through his hair, he grips the roots as he falls back against the wall and slides down to the floor, angry tears finally falling. He slams his head back against the wall, crying quietly at the ceiling. His hands fall to his thighs, running up and down in a calming manner.

The kids bring Steve back with their LAUGHTER. He sniffles and wipes away his tears as he stands. He moves to the sink where the card lies crumpled inside. He shoves it in his pocket and splashes water on his face before exiting the washroom. "Time to go, bathroom and jackets." Brier races Bailey to the bathroom. "Watch out for the glass." He calls over his shoulder.

"Where's mommy?" A sleepy Delaney asks, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Steve wipes the girls’ hands and faces with baby wipes. He helps them off the bed and kneels in front of Delaney. "I don't know, Laney."  Steve helps her into her coat. "That nice lady I was talking to is a detective. Like a police officer, only smarter." He states with an obvious dig at Officer Zemo. "She said she is going to help us find mommy."

"Noooo, I want mommy now." Delaney whines.

Steve, with a heartbroken smile, kisses her head. "I do too." He helps Peyton into her jacket and off the bed, then tosses the diaper bag over his shoulder, quickly cleaning the mess before he collects the car seat. "Let's go, guys."  

The twins scramble to the door. Jaxton takes Peyton’s hand, and Delaney holds her other.

Next Chapter

[lunapwrites]

It's summer.

You're standing in your parents kitchen, wearing your little brother's shorts and hoping no one says anything about it. (They don't even notice.) It's hot as hell, stuffy; windows open, since you've got the sort of parents that have air conditioning but don't like to use it. There's a little breeze that flutters the weird lacy half-curtains, wind chime ringing, but it dies halfway across the countertop. So there you are, bare feet and sticky linoleum floors. Everything's fucking Pepto Bismol pink.

Mom's fussing at the stove, smacking pots and pans and cussing under her breath (and over it too) and you can see the hair sticking to the back of her neck too. Stubborn. She smacks the pot down, grabs her purse, rifles around in it. Calls your name. Turns around to shove five dollar bills into your hand, run down to the store and grab a gallon of milk. You're, what, fourteen? Fifteen? So no car yet, but you've got a bike you like to ride down the hill at the end of the road - no hands, no pedaling. Just cool, easy breeze.

It's a shame the store's a mile in the other direction, on an incline.

Still, you could go for a ride. Beats sweating your ass off here.

You grab your backpack and your Diskman, headphones hooked round your ears, and set off at a good clip while still in sight of the house. (Slower once you get past the fuck off huge rhododendrons lining the drive. You're in no rush.) It's still hot, but you can lift your elbows a bit now, get a breeze flowing. Glide along the pavement a bit - you're not at the uphill bit yet. It's bright out, clouds making a valiant attempt but the sun's not fucking having it, not today. The sky's a faded sort of blue. Jeans that went through the wash half a dozen times too many, knees all worn out. There's honeysuckle thick on the air, twisting up and into the pines. Little white blooms dotted all along the deepest green. If you were walking, you'd grab one to chew on, sweet like red clover.

There's a low hum of life around you, loud enough to hear over the music blasting in your ears. A rattle and seethe of insects and frogs and birds, chirping and chattering in the woods as you ride by. They don't bother you. (The ticks won't either if you keep off the grass.) The only cars around are the ones parked in driveways, half-hidden by trees and bushes and custom mailboxes. Some of em have little signs with last names you don't recognize but your parents probably do. They know everyone.

You weave around the middle of the road, lazy like, one hand dropped to your side. It's quiet. Speed limit's 45, and no one's around to hit it. Certainly not you. There's horse shit on the side of the road, somewhat fresh, and a long-dead deer, less fresh - nothing but a few bones and a pile of fur melted into the dirt like mold. You wonder if that's where your dog got the ribcage from. He'd brought it home slung over his back like Santa Claus with a bag of toys, ho ho... ohhhh. Little shit was so proud of himself.

(You also wonder when your parents will put up a fence, but you know the answer to that already.)

After a while, you see the store up ahead, stuck in the middle of a criss-cross of intersections no one ever uses. There's a patch of dirt across one street that everyone calls a parking lot (it isn't.) The shop's the same color as your house, same pale yellow siding, but taller. The gas pumps are all gone now, though you don't know why - something about insurance, you can't remember. You were too young then and can't be bothered now. You swing your leg over the side of the bike and dismount while it's still moving - a little trick that always makes you feel fancy. Less so the kickstand that doesn't work. You lay your bike next to the rusty ice box, pause your music, and walk in.

The bells hung on top the door jingle as you walk in, metal-frame door slamming back into place as if to scold you for letting all the cold air out. You probably had.

The place is real dingy on the inside, like some relic of the fifties gone to shit. It's cramped, hardly bigger than your kitchen with shelves so low you can see over them, condensation dripping from every glass door. Dark wood panel walls and yellowy tile floors that were probably white once upon a time - the counters are clean, at least. The AC's on, but you wouldn't know it. There's one of those metal fans with the little ribbons on it perched behind the deli counter, and the owner's sat in front of it melting like a snow cone in his little folding chair. He's watching the world's smallest television from across the room. Local news or something. Looks sweatier than you feel. He grunts hello though, so you know he's not dead yet. That's good; he makes some damn good sandwiches, even if you always pick off everything but the meat and cheese (especially the tomatoes.) Not today's mission, but maybe next time.

You could walk that floor blind, making a bee-line to the fridge - ignoring the siren call of the Good Humor ice cream chest - and popping open the door. You wrap your hand around the cold, wet handle of a gallon of 2%. The sharp plastic seam bites into your knuckles like it always does, and you wince but carry on. You eye the Snapple case; pink lemonade sounds real good. You grab one of those too, and a Twix bar; call it a finder's fee. You take em to the counter, set em down and the owner heaves himself up and over to you. Rings you up on a register older than God while you debate on whether or not to add a pack of Bubble Tape (you decide against it this time.) He drops everything but the milk in a little plastic bag for you. No receipt; you both know you're not bringing anything back. The milk you stuff into your backpack and swing it up onto your shoulders, straps chafing hard against the bare skin there. For the first time, you regret the tank top.

Say hi to your dad for me. Sure thing.

The bells jingle again as you step back out into the sun.

Golden hour's almost over now, sun at your back, kissing the tree tops. You've got the plastic bag wrapped over the left handlebar, and the Snapple bottle keeps clinking against the head tube - glass on metal - so you hook your thumb around it to keep it steady while you're racing back home. The way back is faster, slightly downhill. A good thing, since the bag you're carrying is a little colder, a little wetter than you'd anticipated - you hope to every God you can name that you didn't pop the cap when it smacked against the small of your back. Fingers crossed.

The scenery's the same: still green, still blue. Only now a little darker, a little cooler, a little more crowded as a Ford whips past you going too fast in the other direction. Diesel. You know he's got until the store to slow his ass down to 25 unless he wants every cop in town - all two of them - on his tail. They're hungry out this way. Bored. You all are.

Takes two songs until your front tire hits the dirt of your driveway, crunch of pebbles and dust as you drive straight up to the garage, dismounting just like you did at the shop. Haul your spoils back into the house - still stuffy and eye-searingly pink. Screen door slams behind you. The backpack slips off your right shoulder, swinging onto your left hip as you open it, extracting the prize. One gallon of milk, delivered straight into the fridge, lid intact. Your mother doesn't ask for change; she knows better.

Dinner'll be ready in a bit.

Your shoulders are burning. You head back to your room and swap your CD from your Diskman to your stereo, and lie down on the worn, scratchy carpet. You can hear your brothers fighting in the basement, your mom ripping the door open to shriek full names down the stairs. She mixes them up; it ruins the effect.

You take a long sip of your Snapple - a little sour, a little cloyingly sweet. A little warmer now than you'd like.

It's too fucking hot for this shit.