#and I can't wait to see the finished coif

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the dirt pour onto the casket. The caretaker shovels down the earth in a final farewell to a woman without mourners. You fold your hands numbly, waiting patiently for him to finish. There is little emotion to the affair. You just want it done with.

You don't notice the approach until a shadow wavers over the plot. You look up and nearly blanch at the blonde across from you. Frigga's golden locks are silvering but still finely coifed. She wears black in a mockery of the event. You're not offended for your mother, she harboured no good will in this place. No, you bear umbrage only for yourself. That clan truly thinks you can so easily be bought.

"You have my condolences," she says softly, lowering her golden lashes as another heap of dirt thunks onto the lid.

"Your son already delivered them," you reply frigidly, crossing your arms.

"It must be strange to be home again," she remarks.

"This is not my home," you insist.

She tuts and dips her chin. Slowly, she walks around the open earth and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with you. She fixes her posture and tilts her face in your direction.

"Then it shouldn't demand a high price," she sniffs, "we made a generous offer."

"Leave," you say, "now."

"It is only facts. Your mother can't have left you much more than her tab down at The Horn," Frigga intones, "you can take the money and go. You'll never have to see Hammer Ford again."

You scoff and jut your chin out, turning your face away from her, "you really think you can buy anything. Anyone. No, I want you to by that pit of dirt from the bank. You can wait, for once in your life."

"Careful," she warns.

"Or what?"

"You think the city has lifted you above us? That anything's changed--"

"Tell me, Frigga," you turn on her, "what can you do to me now? Look away? Keep your mouth shut? Just like you did before. You and everyone else, huh? Keep me at the point of your pitchfork? I am changed, Frigga," you snarl, "because I don't give a fuck about you or your last name anymore."

She inhales and her cheeks pinch. She glances over at the caretaker, old Foster, and gestures to him. He stills the shovel and nods, walking away, your mother left half-buried.

"My son was right about you," she squares her chin as she turns to face you fully, "you are a stubborn bitch."

You cackle and look around the cemetery. What a show she puts on. It's amusing.

"He must have mommy issues, 'cause he seems to like it," you rebuff.

Her lip curls, "I resent that suggestion."

"It's only a fact," you mimic her words back to her.

"Ugh, you are a smart one. You never used to be so mouthy. As I have it, you didn't make much noise at all."

You wince and bite down. Your teeth ache with the pressure of your fury. You could throttle her but you won't give her the satisfaction.

"Thank you for coming," you grit out, "my mother would've spat in your face."

It's her turn to laugh. She sighs it out and flutters a gloved hand at you.

"Think about the offer a little longer," she trills, "you know better than anyone, the future can take us to the most unexpected places."

You stare her down. He spins without hesitation and struts off. She waves and Foster reappears with his shovel. You take a deep breath and let it out through your nose.

Oh, you'll think about it. You'll think of the perfect fuck you for the next time an Odinson comes your way.

🏚

After the funeral, you drive to the small bank with its marble columns and arched double doors. You climb the steps and enter, the only teller behind the counter looking up at you. She greets you with a shaky smile as you approach. You know her, she sat behind you in physics; Marska.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" She asks.

"Well," you shuffle around the folder in your hands, "I need to close my mother's account."

"Oh?"

"She's dead," you say plainly. She knows, everyone does. They're all just playing that stupid game of pretend. They pretend that nothing's ever wrong. "I have her statements and a death certificate."

You lay both documents out promptly and wait. She stands from her chair and swallows, "let me get the manager."

You roll your eyes and sigh. You remember when she whispered with Kati during lessons. She was no kinder than anyone else. She cut off some of your hair and got you detention for swearing at her.

She goes off to fetch her superior as you wait. You clear your throat in the dull silence. She returns, walking slightly behind the man in his burgundy suit. You know him too. Fourth-period English.

"Hello, miss, I understand you want to close your account," he stands at the window as the Marska snaps her gum and twirls her hair. You glance between them. Really, they're fucking. You don't think the rings on their fingers were exchanged between them.

"My mother's. I'd also like to sign the foreclosure on her propety."

"Foreclosure. You understand you won't get any money back?" He raises a brow.

"I do know," you say firmly, "I don't care."

He types on the old blocky keyboard, sliding over the certificate and statement. He taps and clicks and looks at you again. "The account is closed. How would you like the eleven dollars?"

"Cash," you shrug, "and the foreclosure?"

He doesn't say anything. He turns to get your money from the drawer. As he comes back to you, you take it.

"A foreclosure won't come close to what your mother owed us," he says, "I suggest you seek a buyer."

You huff.

"How much would it pay?"

"Maybe ten at most. She owes-- owed us ninety."

"Ninety," you breathe.

"Like I said, it's a small town, I heard there's some interested investors--"

"Oh shut up, Pete," you shove the bills into your purse, "you're the same little toady you always were."

You shake your head and sweep around, marching out without another word. Even in her grave, your mother continues to fuck you over.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #drabble #series #forget-me-not #au #backwoods au #mcu #marvel #thor

[stevesbipanic]

Dedicated to the lovely Lex @thefreakandthehair Happy Birthday 🎉😊❤️

Eddie was terrified.

This wasn't something new persay. Eddie was scared of a lot of things; maths tests, gym class, checkouts, bus timetables and interdimensional monsters. This was a new kind of fear.

"You'll be fine, kid. I've seen the way that boy looks at you."

"What if I mess it up, I've never been on a date, Wayne."

"Son, you could fall on your face in a pile of cow dung and Steve would still look at you like ya hung the damn moon."

Eddie smiled, fears not completely quelled but settled enough at the thought of Steve's smile. Eddie barely had time to finish tying his shoes before he heard the familiar crunch of gravel outside. He opened the door to see Steve getting out of his car, hair meticulously coiffed, jeans ironed and shirt hugging him perfectly.

"Sorry I'm late sweetheart."

"Hey, that's my line," Eddie said smiling shyly as he made his way to Steve.

"Think I deserve to call you sweet names for a bit too, after all you've gotten to call me sweetheart, angel, big boy, hot stuff, sweetcheeks, princes–"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, can't help myself, baby."

Steve blushed softly, "Will have to add that one to the list."

"I've got plenty more, sweetheart, and we've got all night to hear them."

"There's something I don't think I'll be able to wait all night for," Steve said taking Eddie's face in his hand, Eddie unconsciously leaning into it.

"What's that, angel?"

"This," Steve whispers, almost as nervous as Eddie had felt in the trailer, as he leans in and connects their lips. Eddie smiled into the kiss, the last of his nerves melting away. Steve was here for him, Steve wanted him and as long as that stayed true Eddie would never worry again.

"Don't think I could've waited either, Stevie."

Inside, Wayne shook his head as he listened to the car pull back out of the trailer park.

"Like he hung the damn moon."

#happy birthday lex #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stranger things season 4 #ficlet #fluff #wayne munson #first date

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

There! Right there!

Liam strolled through the street, hat tilted down to conceal his face. Then he heard it.

“There! Right there!”

The voice was familiar, self-assured and high-pitched. A silhouette appeared, standing atop of one of the shophouses. “Shit,” Liam hissed. “Not again.”

“Look at that tan, well-tended skin,” the voice he knew to be Rhonda's continued. Liam adjusted his coat to cover himself and began walking faster.

“Look at the killer shape he's in,” Rhonda sang. “Look at that slightly stubbly chin, oh please-”

Liam clenched his fist. “Rhonda, shut the fuck up!”

“He's gay, totally gay!” The resonance of her voice made the passerby turn to look, and Liam felt himself cringe in horror. 

“I'm not about to celebrate,” a woman in the crowd said, flipping her cowl down to reveal red hair and a sly grin. “Every trait could indicate-”

Liam started running. This was so incredibly, utterly ridiculous. Why him, of all people? He wasn't even all that gay! 

“A totally straight expatriate, this guy's not gay, I say no way,” Olive continued, stepping in front of him to block him. She laughed at his horrified expression.

From the crowd, a circle formed, and began chanting, “That is the elephant in the room! Well, is it relevant to assume: That a man who wears perfume is automatically, radically fey?” 

Liam cursed under his breath. He'd only sprayed a few drops of cologne today; It wasn't a big deal! “Stop it, guys,” he snapped.

“But look at his coiffed and crispy locks,” Daphne sung, winking at him. “Look at his silk translucent socks.”

What was these people's problem with him dressing nicely? The socks were perfectly fine! And if he took good care of his hair, was that such a bad thing?

“There's the eternal paradox- Look what we're seein',” she added.

“What are we seeing?” Gloria, Daphne's partner in crime, butted in. Her green eyes met his, and she grinned.

“Is he gay…” 

“Of course he's gay!”

“Or Nyctomachian?” Olive finished with a flourish.

“Huh,” the Oracles all said in unison, peering at him.

“Gay or Nyctomachian? It's hard to guarantee,” they sung, twirling in place around him. “Is he gay or Nyctomachian?”

“Well hey, don't look at me,” Rhonda chirped.

“You see, they bring those boys up different in those charming foreign ports,” she explained.

“Nyctomachia’s not that foreign,” he hissed, still trying to find a way out of the circle.

“They play peculiar sports-” Rhonda gestured for everyone to join in.

“In shiny shirts and tiny shorts!”

“Gay or just exotic? I still can't crack the code,” Gloria crooned. 

“Yea, his accent is hypnotic but his shoes are pointy toed,” Daphne agreed. 

Liam scowled at her. Pointy-toed shoes said nothing about gayness. Women wore pointy-toed shoes all the time!

“Gay or Nyctomachian? So many shades of gray!”

Rhonda leaped off the rooftop to land in the center of the circle, right beside Liam. “But if he turns out straight, I'm free at eight on Saturday,” she announced with a wink.

“I'd not date you if you were the last person alive,” Liam snarled, crossing his arms.

Rhonda stepped back, and the rest of the circle stepped forward, closing in on him. “Is he gay or Nyctomachian? Gay or Nyctomachian? Gay or Nycto-”

“Wait a minute! Give me a chance to crack this guy,” Olive announced. “I have an idea I'd like to try…”

“The floor is yours,” Angel, at the head of the circle, announced. They all stepped back, leaving Liam and Olive to glare at each other.

“So… Mr Jacett,” Olive began, pacing around him. “Your alleged affair with Miss Sabrina has been going on for?”

Liam gave her a distrustful glance. “Two years,” he told her.

“And your first name is?”

Where was she leading with this? “Liam,” he said cautiously.

“And your boyfriend's name is?”

Liam winced. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and even as he tried to keep his mouth shut, he said, “Petras.”

They all gasped in mock horror. “I'm sorry,” he said exhaustedly, letting the flow of the song take him. “I misunderstand! You said ‘boyfriend’, I thought you said ‘Best Friend'! Petras is my… best friend.”

He waited for the gasp, and it didn't disappoint. “You bastard!” Petras forced his way to the center of the circle. “You lying bastard! That's it, I won't cover for you, no more! Peoples, I have a big announcement!”

Liam rolled his eyes. “This man is gay and Nyctomachian! And neither is disgrace! You've got to stop; You're being a completely closet case,” Petra's chided. “It's really not hard to see- No matter what he says, I swear he never ever ever swung the other way.”

Liam placed his hands on his face. Why him? Why now? This eternal farce just never seemed to end? Stupid reader, still continuing to scroll through this damn thing. And stupid godsdamn writer for even thinking this was funny.

“You are so gay, you big parfait, you flaming one-man cabaret,” Petras continued.

“I'm straight,” Liam said stubbornly.

“You were not yesterday,” Petras countered. “So if I may, I'm proud to say… He's gay!”

“And Nyctomachian,” the crowd added.

“And he's gay!”

“And Nyctomachian!”

“And he's gay!”

“And Nyctomachian!”

“And gaaaayyyyy!” 

“Fine, okay, I'm gay,” Liam muttered.

“Hooray!” The crowd cheered and clapped.

Liam turned to Rhonda. “I'm sure you found that very funny,” he snapped. “Now, release my boyfriend and hurry up and wipe these people's memories.”

“Aww, but wasn't it such great fun?” Rhonda fluttered her eyes at him.

“It's not gonna work, cos he's gay,” Gloria said, smirking as she walked over. 

“I'm not gay,” Liam replied, out of reflex.

The Oracles stared at him for a moment. Then they began clapping their hands to the beat again. “There, right there,” Daphne began, tauntingly slow.

#my writing #writing #creative writing #writeblr #short story #I'm sorry I had to do this #This is dumb but so am I #crack post #crack fic #Possibly the dumbest thing I ever wrote

[of-madness-and-theater]

Body

I fell asleep at 28 years-old, and when I arrived in my dreams, my 10 year-old self was waiting. They are small, with stringy brown hair and Little Mermaid pjs on. We're in my mother's bathroom, sitting on the cold tile in front of the toilet at midnight. My younger self clutches their stomach and shivers.

We are alone.

"What's wrong?" I ask, but I already know.

"My tummy hurts." They look both afraid and resigned--they know they're going to throw up. We HATE throwing up.

"Why?"

"I ate too much at dinner."

I know the answers to my questions, but I ask them anyway. "Why?"

They shrug. "I just felt like I had to."

I reached out and brushed a hair out of their face. "I understand. I do it, too, sometimes."

"You do?" They still look afraid.

"Yes, but not as often anymore and not enough to make me sick. The feeling isn't as strong when you grow up." They suddenly turn green, and I hold their hair and rub their back while they puke.

Mom enters the bathroom when younger me is done, and she silently ushers them into the shower, then back to bed. She never once asks herself why her 10 year-old has thrown up 4 times this week.

She turns off the lights, and when they come back on, 12 year-old me is staring back. We're in our bathroom in the house we moved into with Dad's Wife #2. Their long brown hair has started to frizz and is a pain to keep coiffed. They look afraid.

"What's wrong?"

"My tummy hurts."

"Why?"

"I don't know." They sit down on the toilet and I see it--blood.

"Our first period." I look at my feet.

"...I'm afraid. Aren't we supposed to feel happy?"

I'm still looking at my feet. "We never do. I'm sorry."

They frown at me and call out into the house for our step-mom. She's a nurse and we trust her to be clinical about this. No dice.

She shows them how to put a pad on, not telling them that next month they'll have to endure the humiliation of trying to put a tampon in just so they could go swimming with the rest of their siblings. Or that they'll fail and never learn.

Younger Me emerges from the bathroom and we shuffle downstairs to the living room. Dad is there. He smiles big. "Did you become a woman today?"

The question knocks us both back--it scoops the breath out of my lungs, even though Older Me had heard it 16 years prior.

My younger self and I hang our heads, and as he says, "congratulations". Shame floods our cheeks and buzzes like flourescents in our skull.

I take their hand. "I understand."

Neither Wife 2, nor Dad ask why we are upset, or why we don't want to talk about it, or why their very social 12 year-old spends that weekend locked in their room.

When I look back up at the living room, my 16 year-old self is sitting on their bed. We're in the bedroom of the house we moved to after Dad's Divorce #2. It's after school and we we're writing fanfic, Sherlock to be exact. The long brown hair is still there, but the rest of them is... blurry. My connection to my body had been severed years before this moment and I no longer had a reference for it.

I look over their shoulder and read as they type, smiling to myself. The writing style is young, but I remember the passion.

"It's not finished yet." They say, smiling at me. "It's part of a series and lots of people are waiting for the next chapter."

"I remember. You kill the ending, by the way."

Before they can answer, Dad opens the door. He wants to talk. He's concerned about our health. No, he's just concerned about our weight.

Older-almost-300-lbs Me frowns; 16 year-old Me was a size 16 and active in dance--a normal teenager.

He keeps talking, even as my younger self hangs their head in shame. "Do you want to go to prom?"

We're confused, but say yes.

"Well, imagine how much prettier you'd be if you lost a few pounds. Fiance #3 says all the time that you're the best looking out of my kids."

I speak up. "That's not a compliment, that's just a weird thing to say. We're kids!" He can't hear me, but they can.

"You were such a cute baby, but then around 10 or 11 you just started gaining all this weight." He keeps talking, though both of myselves are crying now.

"That is how bodies WORK." I scream.

Younger Me yells now, too. "I am growing in a body that is too small for me--I'm clawing at the walls of this prison as it fills slowly with water and I know I'll eventually drown. If I'm lucky, I'll see 21 first! And you wanna talk about my DRESS SIZE?!"

I grab them, lock them into a hug. "I understand."

"How old are we?" They ask into my shoulder, suddenly small and afraid again.

"28. Luck had nothing to do with it, kid. It was all you."

I open eyes when the feeling of their hug fades and my 17 year-old self was sitting in the basement of the house Dad built for Wife #3. Our sister is there and my stomach drops.

Dad had asked us to talk to our sister about her weight--she was only 14, but my dad wanted her to start working out with my personal trainer before school. I was around her age when he made me start.

I stumble backwards, desperate to get away from this. My younger self sees me.

"What's wrong?"

"We can't do this. We can't tell her she needs to start working out." I say, desperate to change the scene.

"But, Dad asked us to. He's trusting me to help her."

I feel sick, as the reality of what happened here sets in. "He's making us complicit in her abuse."

"I don't understand." My younger self says. "I just want to help."

I just want to scream.

I open my mouth and they're gone. Instead, I see my 18 year-old self standing in the kitchen of the same house.

Wife 3 is there, and she's scolding them about some toast crumbs they left on the counter after breakfast, even though they'd wiped down the counter and ate their toast over the sink. Dad comes home, and when he hears what the issue is, tells them to be more careful and sends them to their room.

They didn't know how to be more careful than they already were. And no one notices when they resign to just not eat in the house anymore. And no one notices their lunch money run out. And no one notices the week they go hungry. And no one notices when they start spending evenings with Mom and Step-Dad, neither of which liked them very much, but at least they had food and allowed them to eat on the couch. No one noticed a lot...

"I noticed." I say and reach out to grab their hand.

My hand passes right through theirs, and I look up to see an old friend and coworker, standing behind the register at Dairy Queen talking to still-18-year-old me.

"This is what I looked like last year." She shows us a photo on her phone--she looks like us. That is to say, she was heavier in the photo.

"How'd you do that?" Younger Me would've given anything to be thin and pretty--it just had to be the missing piece to solving my Body Problem.

"Oh, I shouldn't have done it, but I just didn't eat. I think there was a weekend once where all I had was a granola bar."

I watched the wheels spin in their head--if we felt out of control when we ate, then we would control IF we ate.

"But it's Thanksgiving time." I say, gently touching their arm. "You love Thanksgiving."

They nod. "Yes, but if we could get this under control, Dad would stop talking about it. He might even let me quit personal training so I wouldn't have to get up at 5AM anymore to work out."

I open my mouth to speak, but the scene has shifted swiftlynagain. This time, 21 year-old me is pacing a hole in the carpet of our bedroom in the house Dad bought after Divorce #3. They're picking at their fingernails and trying to stop the guilt and panic spiral they're slipping down.

Our sister's eating disorder was back and it was triggering. Trigging our OCD because she was puking in our shared bathroom. Trigging our anxiety because I worried about her. But most of all, triggering our Body Problem...

She had lost a ton of weight with bulimia--enough that a teacher noticed and she got help. We had lost nothing with a year of 2 week cycles of starving and binging.

"I can't even do an eating disorder right." They say, before slumping to the ground.

I feel the weight of that failure on my chest as I sit next to them. "There's no such thing as 'right' when it comes to self-harm."

"I just wish I knew why I feel so much shame when I look in the mirror."

I reached out for their hand. "I understand. But you will figure it out. Give it a few years and you'll understand, too."

They look like they're about to say something, but then they're gone, replaced immediately by 24 year-old Me. We're standing in the kitchen of our very first apartment. They've lost 80 lbs in 6 months on a fad diet Dad suggested they do, and they're even part of the downline of its pyramid scheme; shitty MLM social media posts included.

But now they're staring at the bag of almonds they were just snacking on--the program says only 10 almonds for a snack, and they'd definitely eaten way more than that. I can see the panic attack welling up in their eyes.

"I can't do this anymore." They say. "I'm paying $400 a MONTH to panic about eating almonds."

"You should've never felt like you had to do this in the first place." I say, a bitter tone creeping into my voice. "Dad should've minded his own business."

"He's just worried."

"But if he wants to have opinions about your health, he should actually pay enough attention to you to understand your health. Not just make assumptions based on looks."

"Does he ever stop talking about this?"

I sigh. "Not yet. But we're getting better at dodging the question."

They frown. "I wish he understood what his... obsession with my weight does to me."

I put a hand on their back. "I understand."

Their back turns to cold metal, and I'm standing in front of a mirror, all 28 and a half years old. A smile creeps over my face. The image is clear--the blurriness of the last 15 years is gone.

The long brown hair is chopped to a short cut, similar to the way Dad and our brother wear theirs, and the whispers of a mustache are beginning to creep in. My shoulders have more muscle, my hips are smaller, and my fat doesn't bother me as much anymore. In fact, I find myself looking at it with love from time-to-time.

"I know you." I say.

My reflection smiles back. "I've been waiting to hear you say that."

My hand is still on the mirror as the reflection changes. I see myself turning 30 in a few years, surrounded by friends and laughing a deep, joyous laugh. I watch myself go to the beach and take my shirt off, the sun warming the surgery scars that I wear with power. My face splits open in a wide, radiant smile as I walk arm-in-arm with my Beloved on our wedding day. I take a selfie with my cat from the house that I own; the crows feet and smile lines of 50 years of life are my most treasured possessions. I rush out the front door of my house, rapid firing a water pistol at grand-neiflings and their parents, a blitz attack they never suspected of a 65 year-old. My best friend of 60 years and I conspire to move into the same assisted living together with our spouses--we're almost 80 and we plan to keep everyone on their toes.

Finally, I see another reflection. I'm 90, my hair is mostly gone and my mustache is white, and I'm slowly buttoning up a flannel--a style preference that never changed from my mid-20s. I sigh and trace the lines on my face and run a hand over my bald head; souvenirs of a life I never thought I'd have.

Older Me smiled through the mirror with such incredible kindness. "Luck had nothing to do with this, kid--this was all you."

"I understand."

#tw: ed #tw: eating problems #tw: body issues #tw: abuse #tw: emetophobia #don't reblog

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Lee Jaehyun (Hyunjae) - Intoxicated [Requested]

Request: dom Hyunjae + overstimulation

badboy! ceo! Hyunjae x PA! fem! reader

Warnings: petnames, dirty talk, slight degradation, a lot of grinding lol, some choking, Hyunjae is a narcissist here

Finally finished this one for @jaepocket ! Thanks for requesting, I hope you like it 💕hope you don't mind that I made Hyunjae an asshole lol

Work parties have taken a toll on your boss, and as the best personal assistant in the world, you help him home.

You kept a watchful eye over your boss throughout the Christmas party. Year-end parties were lined up back-to-back for the most influential entrepreneur under 30 in Seoul. Jaehyun was being extra charming tonight, wooing men and women alike with his dazzling smile, charisma, and powerful aura. He knew he was untouchable, and it showed in his walk. Long legs that could rival any model, perfectly coiffed light brown hair, and a designer tailored suit hugging him in all the right places, showing off his broad shoulders. He glances over to you, and shoots you a wry smile from across the room. No one else might have noticed, despite the fact that everyone who spoke to him couldn't take their eyes off him, but a subtle flush dusted his cheeks and there was a slight glassiness in his eyes that alerted you. Jaehyun has definitely had too much to drink. You stride over to him, and he politely excuses himself from the flock of older women giggling and sidling up to him, and meets you halfway on the dance floor.

He walks to you with a slight wobble, and reaches out to steady himself... by grabbing your hips. "Hey you," he grins, thumbs softly rubbing your waist through the thin material of your dress. You resist the shiver that runs down your spine, the warmth emanating from his hands a welcome sensation since the place was freezing. A mansion full of people and it was still cold? The hosts hadn't bothered to turn the heaters on. That's probably how the rich stay rich, you supposed. It definitely didn't help that you were wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress, with a little slit up the thigh. "Sir, I think you've had enough to drink tonight," you murmur, gently tucking a lock of golden hair back into place. Jaehyun grimaced. He had a glass of wine with every group that approached him that night, and he wasn't feeling too well now, considering everyone wanted to meet with the Lee Jaehyun™, one of Seoul's most prominent and eligible bachelors.

"Let's get you home then, sir, you really need some rest. Or rather, your liver does," you sigh, offering your arm for him to hold on to so he doesn't fall flat on his face in public, possibly ruining his reputation. He lets out a hearty laugh, and intertwines his arm with yours, trying to maintain a power walk out of the place, nodding at other party-goers that greet him in passing. He gratefully gulps the fresh air outside as you wait for his chauffeur to pull up in his stupidly expensive limousine, helping him to clamber gracefully into the backseat once it arrives. You're about to shut the door to book a ride home for yourself when he tugs on your arm, a blazing fire in his eyes as he looks up at you, and you know he wants you to come home with him tonight.

You glance around quickly, making sure no one is watching you get into the car with him, but really, who would question a PA ensuring that her drunken boss gets home safely? You quietly slip into the plush leather seats, leaving a space between you two just in case he feels stuffy or nauseous. Jaehyun roughly loosens his tie, and you can't help but stare at his large, veiny hands. Before you can snap out of it, he catches your eye and smirks, using those very hands to yank you closer, almost sitting on his lap. You yelp in surprise, your hands flying up to his broad shoulders. He smashes his lips onto yours, messy with tongue and teeth and a moan escapes you when you taste the sweet alcohol on his tongue. His warm hands roam all over your body, deftly pulling up the hem of your short dress so he can run his hands up your thighs and grope your plump behind. "Been staring at your ass all night, who said you could wear a dress like this?" he growls against your lips, squeezing the flesh tightly to prove his point.

You weakly push him away, and he stares at you, offended that you don't seem to want him, when you're usually so pliant and obedient for him. "I don't think we should do this, sir, you're not thinking straight," you stutter. Jaehyun barks out a laugh, startling you. "Am I? I'm not drunk, kitten, I only spoke and acted like that so we could get out of that damned party. And maybe I'm not thinking straight, because all I've been thinking about the whole time is ripping that fucking dress off your body, you fucking minx," he snarls, grabbing you again and manhandling you to straddle his lap, sounding completely clear and level-headed. He had everyone fooled; even you, and a crushing disappointment engulfs your heart.

You don't get to feel sorry for yourself though, because Jaehyun is pulling you close, grinding the obvious bulge in his slacks against your clothed pussy as he makes out with you again. You let him run his hands all over you, feeling his lips trail down the side of your lips and down your neck, smudging your lipstick everywhere. Jaehyun doesn't care, clearly, he just wants to make a mess out of you, and you gladly let him, both of you so absorbed in each other that you didn't feel the car roll to a stop. You hadn't even noticed the opaque partition had been pulled up until you heard the electronic buzz of it being lowered, and the indifferent voice of the chauffeur came through. "We've arrived at your destination, sir and miss."

Without so much as a thank you, Jaehyun flings the door open and tugs you into the building's lobby. He owns the whole building obviously, but he lives in the penthouse suite, swiping his keycard to unlock his private elevator. He wastes no time attaching his lips to the back of your neck as he presses you up against the walls of the elevator, grinding on your ass the whole way up. He leaves you panting when the doors open, and he goes to punch in his keycode. The lock beeps, and Jaehyun snarls when he's halfway through the door and you're still lagging behind, knees too wobbly to walk properly thanks to his earlier ministrations. "What are you waiting for kitten?" You shake your head, embarrassed that sloppy make-outs and grinding like lovesick teenagers is enough to make your head spin.

Jaehyun strides towards the bedroom, stripping his expensive clothes as he went, but instead of making a right turn to the master bedroom as he usually does, he makes a left to the guest bedroom. You don't have time to ponder, because he's pulling you in and shoving you onto the bed, dark eyes staring you down as he fumbles with his belt. The intensity of his gaze makes you tremble. Is it from fear, excitement, or a morbid combination of both? He finally gets all his clothes off, and his hard cock is swinging heavily with every step he takes towards the bed. He prowls, like a predator, and you're too petrified to even strip or prepare yourself, but apparently that didn't matter to him.

"You still on the pill?" Jaehyun demands, and you nod feverishly. "Good." And with that he rips your lacy panties off in one fluid motion, and hikes your dress up to bunch up around your waist. You hear the material rip, but before you could bemoan the hefty price tag, Jaehyun slides his throbbing cock inside you, making you arch your back as you moan loudly at the intrusion. He gives you barely any time to adjust, knowing how much you like taking it raw, and starts thrusting harshly. You can't help but moan loudly, almost going cross-eyed from the mixture of pain and pleasure. You clamp a hand over your mouth when a particularly shrill moan slips from your lips, but Jaehyun tugs it away, wanting to hear how good he makes you feel. It's nothing more than an ego boost for him, but you comply.

Jaehyun gets sick of missionary fairly quickly. He does enjoy seeing your pretty face contort with pleasure, and watch your makeup run. But he likes fucking you from the back even more, loves the way you get on all fours for him, loves the way your ass jiggles when he spanks you, and loves how your legs give way when he's done making you see stars. He pulls out for a moment, flipping you over onto your hands and knees easily, ignoring the surprised gasp you make when he shoves his cock back into you. He picks up the pace, hitting your g-spot dead-on with this new angle. He wraps a hand around your throat, the expensive gold bands adorning his fingers pressing delightfully into your windpipe. He squeezes lightly as he slams into your core, and you scream, climaxing without warning.

The sudden clench around Jaehyun's dick has him swearing lowly. "Did I say you could cum, kitten? You know you have to ask for permission," he grunts, fucking you through your orgasm, maintaining his relentless pace. Your head is foggy, and you try to apologize, but every sharp thrust Jaehyun makes cuts your words off. He doesn't let up, using you to chase his own climax, slightly aggravated by yours. He presses down the middle of your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the sheets so you're not holding yourself up with your hands anymore. You're grateful, because you can barely support yourself anymore, and you need a break. Except he doesn't give you one, hoisting you up by the hips to pummel even faster and harder into you, and your upper half is practically dragging along the sheets with every snap of his hips.

The delightfully torturous graze of silk sheets against your raw nipples, and the rough pads of Jaehyun's fingers relentlessly abusing your swollen clit sends you teteering close to the edge again. You can't cum, no, you won't cum until he tells you to. You want to be good for him, even though you're so close to climax again that it hurts. You hold out, gripping the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white, when a particularly hard press against your clit and a low growl of "Cum for me now, kitten" sends you screaming once more, vision turning white as your searing-hot orgasm rips through your body.

You barely register Jaehyun's groan as he continues grinding into your g-spot, your pussy clenching almost painfully tightly around him, milking his cock dry as he blows his load deep into your warmth. You collapse forward onto the bed, trembling from exhaustion, chest heaving desperately to replenish your lungs with oxygen. Your whole body is sore and you know it's probably going to be worse tomorrow, and dark fingerprints are going to decorate your skin too. Above you, Jaehyun is still holding your hips up, pulling out of you with a grunt, cock hanging limply as he pants harshly. He watches idly as his cum drips out of your abused cunt, trickling down your legs, and drops your legs unceremoniously.

He stretches his legs, and gathers his sweat-drenched, possibly cum-stained designer clothing off the floor as he walks towards the door. "Clean yourself up, you know where everything is. I need you in the office early tomorrow morning." Jaehyun utters without so much as a glance back at your naked body, and the door shuts behind him with a loud click that echoes through the suddenly cold room. You hear him humming to himself and drawing a bath, and you shut your eyes, trying to suppress a sob at how horrible you feel, both physically and emotionally. Sex with Jaehyun was always hot, rough and mind-blowing, but recently you realize you always felt empty afterwards. Because he'll immediately turn cold once he's gotten his fix, leaving you to clean up after yourself and sometimes even make you hail a cab to go home afterwards. At least tonight he let you stay over, even though it's in the cum-stained bed in the guest room, without any post-coital care.

As you lay there, fresh hot tears stream down your cheeks, and you wonder if all the alcohol in the world could wash away the pain you felt of being used as Jaehyun's personal fucktoy; manipulating you into catering to his every whim and then carelessly throwing you aside once he's done.

#achlys: tbz imagines #hyunjae #lee jaehyun #the boyz hyunjae #hyunjae smut #the boyz smut #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios

[sammininoofthelord]

Last chapter of the 5+1 "5 times Aziraphale shielded Crowley from the rain, and one time he didn't."!

Can't believe is over!

Collab with @zeckarin-blaise

It is Crowley's last day as Nanny Ashtoreth, and she needs to break the news to Aziraphale.

You can read it on Ao3 by Zeckarin or bellow

**

Until a few minutes ago, the garden had been a true haven of peace. Crowley sighed in her coffee cup, wondering for the third time if she should close the kitchen’s window or not.

Eavesdropping was important, but she liked to drink her coffee in peace.

The Antichrist’s furious yelling started again, so loud Crowley wondered if he was unknowingly using some part of his powers to reach such volume.

“ I don’t want to go to Scotland!” screamed Warlock at the top of his lungs.

“ This is an important occasion for your father, and you will come with us,” answered his mother, only slightly lower.

“ Scotland sucks !” yelled the boy, stomping his feet on the ground and effectively squashing two tulips in the process.

From her vantage point, Crowley scowled. She did teach the boy to ground the world under his heels, but the poor flowers had been doing their best and were, as the rest of the garden, flawless. She would have to have a word with her charge when he came back.

With a pang, she remembered there would be no word to be had upon Warlock’s return.

Blessed social conventions, decreeing that a boy of nine wasn’t in need of a nanny anymore. The next two years would be critical in shaping Warlock’s mind, and the role would befall another demon.

What kind of stupid fake name was ‘Harrison’ anyway?

With a low growl, she finished her cup, looking at the coffee machine. She needed more, but it would have to wait. There was a much more pressing matter to take care of.

Where was that stupid angel when she needed to see him? He usually spent half of his mornings here in the kitchen, chatting and drinking tea with the cook, who had a soft spot for ‘ that nice Mr Francis’ , and always used him as her personal taster*.

*Not that the angel complained. Mrs. Griffiths was a wonderful cook, and had been the recipient of many small blessings in the last four years.

 

A movement in the gardens caught her eyes, and she blinked in surprise.

What was Aziraphale doing trimming the edge? In all his time as a gardener, he had always miracled them neat every few weeks.

Tilting her head, she focused on her old nemesis. Was that… sweat on his forehead?

“ What in Manchester is going on?” she mumbled, putting her empty cup down and heading to the door.

“ Hiya, angel.”

Aziraphale started, the movement making him snap his clippers. He watched in fascinated horror as the top of the bush fell to the ground.

“ Trying a new style?” asked Crowley with a chuckle. “I’m not sure Harriet is very keen on modern art, you know.”

“ Crowley!” chided Aziraphale in a hushed voice, “How many times will I have to ask you not to sneak up on me!”

“ I’m a demon and a snake, sneaking is my thing , angel. The question is why are you here, working your arse off like a real gardener?”

Aziraphale straightened himself haughtily. “I am a real gardener! And I am taking my work seriously!”

“ Ha!” scoffed Crowley, summoning all of Nanny Ashtoreth’s poise and sense of decorum to stop herself from laughing out loud, “You haven’t cut a single leaf of grass in four years, you lazy bastard! If you want to lie to me, make it at least a little more plausible.”

For a moment, the angel seemed like he was about to answer with outrage, but something shifted in his look and he deflated visibly.

Crowley squinted. “ What ?” she snapped.

Aziraphale shrugged, picking up his clippers. “Nothing. I… may have had a visit from Gabriel this morning.”

Crowley hissed through her teeth. “What did that wanker say this time? Let me guess: too many frivolous miracles? Is that why you’re butchering those poor boxwoods?”

She unfolded her black umbrella in angry motions and held it over her friend with pursed lips. Stupid wanker Gabriel, forcing her angel to work in the blazing sun like this. Typical.

The angel mumbled something unintelligible.

“ I am afraid I didn’t quite catch your meaning, Brother Francis,” said Crowley dryly.

“ I said he ordered me to quit!” cried the angel in anguish.

“ He WHOT?”

“ Not so loud!” pleaded Aziraphale, looking up at the sky. “He asked me to quit my position here. Apparently there is a lack of angelic intervention in Soho, and I am needed there.”

“ That… doesn’t make sense,” said Crowley, frowning. “Do you reckon they’re afraid you’ll succeed?”

Aziraphale blinked, and another perfectly trimmed bush lost its head. “Why would they want that? I am trying to avoid the end of the world, of course they approve of it!”

“ Why else would they want you out, angel?” Crowley gasped in realisation. “Oh! Are they replacing you too?”

Aziraphale suddenly got very still. “Replacing?” he asked cautiously. “What do you mean? Is Hell replacing you?”

Crowley shrugged, her perfectly coiffed hair not moving one millimetre. “Yeah, they’re sending another demon tomorrow to take over.”

“WHAT?” yelled Aziraphale, throwing the clippers away so hard they sank into the ground to the handle. “How DARE they? I will not let this happen, Crowley, I swear to you! I will smite them the instant they put a foot on Earth, and every other after them if I need to!”

Crowley reached out in a hurry, grabbed her friend’s shoulders and shook furiously until the Heavenly light dimmed around him.

“ Not replacing me on Earth ! Here! With Warlock! They’re sending someone to take my place here !” she said urgently, waving around.

“ Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Maybe you should have started with that.”

“ Honestly, angel, don’t you think I would have looked a little more stressed if they’d called me back to Hell ?”

Aziraphale pouted, looking away. “Well… possibly,” he admitted.

“ Possibly,” mimicked Crowley, rolling her eyes. “Really, you’re unbelievable. Here you are, keeping a low profile and not using miracles so Heaven doesn't know you stayed and disobeyed them, and you go and try to summon Heavenly Grace directly from the source!”

“ Ah, yes. Thank you for stopping me, dear girl. It was not the most discreet endeavour.”

“ Tell you what? Let’s go back to London together tomorrow. I’ll give you a ride. We did our best here anyway.”

“ But… what about Warlock? He needs positive influences in his life!”

“ Angel… there’s a new demon arriving here tomorrow. They’ll spot you, it’s way too dangerous. We will find a way to keep an eye on Warlock,” she added, seeing the angel’s resolution weakening.

“ All right, then. If you are sure it is the right thing to do,” conceded Aziraphale.

“ You won’t be able to stop the Apocalypse if you’re dead, angel,” grumbled Crowley.

“ Quite right.”

Aziraphale looked around, made a face at the massacred edges, and sighed. “Well. Better start packing!” he said, clapping his hands to get rid of the dirt.

“ You’re going to leave it that way, right?” asked Crowley with a knowing smirk.

“ I am sure the next gardener will have no trouble taking care of it,” lied her friend, walking towards the house.

Crowley followed him, feeling both proud and impressed.

#good omens #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfic #digital drawing

[batgurl1989]

A Wolf in Toussaint Chapter Four

Summary: Geralt and You meet with the Duchess and go shopping in Beauclair

Word Count: 2828

Warnings: spoilers

A/N: this has not been proofread, so all the mistakes are my own. Tag list is open.

Taglist: @rmtndew @djinny-djin-djin @seanh-boredom @princesssterek @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @daddys-littlewhitegirl @diegos-butt @lharrietg

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

When you had arrived at the palace, an attendant had shown you and Geralt to a wide balcony where lunch had been set up on a table. The Duchess was waiting, drumming her fingers on the table, a look of displeasure marring her face.

You had tried to be respectful and hurry over to the table, but your gaze got caught on the stunning view. From this height, Toussaint stretched out before you, the sun dappled the vineyard covered slopes. The sparkling rivers and lakes dazzled like gems tucked into the green blanket. It was such a contrast to Velen, and you found you couldn't stop staring.

Geralt's hand felt warm on your lower back as he guided you to the table. Your eyes snapped to the Duchess when you found yourself standing before her. A blush crept up your neck, painting your cheeks red. You weren't usually like this. You took in the Duchess and her elegant dress. Her chestnut hair was coiffed with a tiny tiara perched atop her head. You shuffled your feet, feeling underdressed for this meeting. You hadn't had time after being in awe of the city to stop for new boots, so you had to keep wearing your old ones. You were positive that your outfit screamed you had been on the road for many days.

"Duchess Anna Henrietta, this is Younin of Velen." Geralt covered for you. You were never comfortable giving people of great authority your full title as it raised more questions than you were willing to answer. Only a select few outside the Lodge knew your title, and you planned to keep it that way.

"You cannot stay here, Geralt." The Duchess practically growled from her seat across the table. Sitting back, she took a deep breath, fighting to be calm. She clenched and un-clenched her fists, resting her hands on the table. "I'm sorry, Geralt. But you being here has raised too many alarms."

"What alarms?" Geralt took the liberty of sitting in one of the chairs at the table. He gestured for you to sit as well, but didn't take his eyes off the Duchess.

"Word has followed you here from Novigrad." The Duchess aggressively slathered her bread in a pat of butter. Her eyes flicked to you before she turned her full attention back to the Witcher. "The King of Beggars is searching for Younin, and there is a hefty reward for information about her."

Your body jolted at this piece of news. So much had happened since the Vegelbud wedding, and even though you had questions, you thought you were safe in Toussaint while you recovered. Luck did not seem to be on your side, though, if the Duchess's word was to be trusted. At least you knew the news was shocking for Geralt as you watched his knuckles go white as he gripped his armrest tightly.

"Do you know what he wants with me?" Your voice sounded small, and perhaps a little frightened. Since the end of the war, people left you alone for the most part. Certainly no one wanted your head anymore. So what could the King want?

"There was not a lot of information on the wanted poster I saw, but he is willing to pay quite a high price for your whereabouts." The Duchess looked at you, sympathy swirling in her eyes. "So again, you cannot stay here. I love my people, but who knows what one is willing to do when offered that kind of money? People cannot be trusted."

"Very true." You admitted with a nod. You looked down at your hands in your lap, picking at your cuticle. You hated knowing that you were causing trouble simply by being there. "Perhaps I should head back to Velen. Back to the Inn. I can hide there."

"Not an option." Geralt was shaking his head before I had finished. "You don't know that he won't be waiting for you at the Inn, and if I go with you, it would draw attention. If I don't go with you, you will be a sitting duck."

"I'm not powerless." Anger flashed through me. I hated that I was once a powerful sorceress in the Lodge, and now, because I was out of practice, I was seen as weak. I could only imagine how Yennefer saw me now. "What other option do we have right now? We can't hide here, we can't go to Novigrad or Velen. Where am I supposed to go? If the King can reach Toussaint, I have no doubt he can reach Skellige."

"I am sorry to do this to you. I wish Toussaint could hide you." The Duchess sounded genuine as she leaned forward, reaching for you to offer some comfort. "In a land full of knights-errant, you would think we could be trusted to keep a secret, but that is simply not the case."

"I understand." And you really did understand, but it sucked either way. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you mind ran through your vastly dwindling options. Your eyes met Geralt's. "Maybe we should head back to Corvo Bianco, and talk to Yen? She might know where I can hide until we figure out our next move."

"I insist you stay for lunch. It's the least I can do after kicking you out of Toussaint." The Duchess's demeanor changed as she flashed a beautiful smile at both you and Geralt. "After all, I did have the palace chef make this wonderful spread for us."

"We wouldn't want it to go to waste." Geralt gave in much to your surprise. If you had been anywhere else, he would have waved away the request and set off on the quest. Your eyes flicked between the Witcher and the Duchess, trying to figure out what hold she may have on him.

"You can regale me with your recent adventures." The Duchess seemed pleased as she began serving herself from the multitude of platters and dishes spread across the table between you. She paused, a sandwich inches from being placed on her plate. A distressed look flitted across her face. "I hope you haven't come across any vampires."

"None that I couldn't handle." Geralt assured her, placed his hand over her free one.

The gesture seemed innocent enough, but the flare of jealous that ignited in you was anything but. You forced yourself to look away as your magic automatically came to life in your palms. You weren't even sure what element you were drawing, and inviting that chaos into you was dangerous. To distract yourself, you got up from the table and wandered over to the railing. Looking out over the fantastical land seemed to calm you, and you felt you could breathe again.

Dimly, you were aware of Geralt giving a play by play of your journey here. The Duchess was fully enthralled with the fight, adding gasps at all the appropriate spots. If you didn't know any better, you would say she was acting, but looking at her, she seemed genuine.

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

"So next time we are going to meet with a Duchess, warn me if I need to dress up, please." You whispered as you left the palace. Your horses were waiting at the bottom of the steps to take you back to Corvo Bianco. As beautiful as everything was, you couldn't wait to leave the opulence behind.

"What do you mean?" Geralt's eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in your outfit. Your cheeks warmed as his gaze felt like a physical touch.

Clearing your throat, you mentally shook yourself. You were glad you had reached the horses, and busied yourself with adjusting the girth. Gathering the reins in one hand, you sprang into the saddle without the help the groom was offering you. It felt good to be back in the saddle again. You had felt extremely out of place in the palace, like your rightful place was on horseback.

"Younin." Geralt's low voice rumbled through the space between you. You knew what he was asking, but didn't know if you could explain in a way the Witcher would understand.

"I just wasn't dressed properly. Toussaint is a far cry from Velen and Novigrad. Even Skellige." You settled for the simplest form of what you were feeling. Geralt may not feel the same about meeting royalty, but you were sure he could at least see where you were coming from. "It just would have been nice to at been dressed like I belonged."

"But you don't belong here." Geralt's words cut through you. Seeing the hurt that flashed in your eyes, he pressed on. "Palaces aren't for people like you and me. If they were, you would still be at court working for a king or queen. You belong out in the world, not sequestered in some stuffy throne room."

His words warmed your heart. Court life had never been for you, that's why you left it behind for a life as an herbalist, pedaling your magic on the side. You offered Geralt a small smile, trying to convey what his words meant to you. The Witcher nodded, turning his horse on to the road out of the palace.

"I'm sorry your idea for hiding out here didn't work out." You wanted to reach for him, to offer him comfort. You had no idea what your next move was going to be. Unless you and Geralt stuck to the Path, and kept moving. But with how the King operated, you figured he would catch up to you eventually.

"Let's worry about getting you new boots before we worry about the King. Nothing can be decided before we get back to Corvo Bianco." Geralt offered you a quick, rare smile. It seemed like he was looking forward to buying you new things, but you knew that couldn't be right. This was Geralt.

"It's my own fault, really. I got so caught up in the wonders of this city, that we ran out of time." You mentally had been kicking yourself about it the whole lunch. On the flip side, you wouldn't have done anything different if given the chance. You adored the sights and sounds of this city, and couldn't wait to relish in them again.

"Come. I know exactly where we will get you boots." Geralt turned his horse down a side street. Up ahead you could hear the clamour of an outdoor market. Light music was playing, and you could hear people singing.

"Where are you taking me? To a fair or to a market?" You jested, but the atmosphere was getting to you again. A smile lit up your face as the music drew you in. The closer you got, the more elated you became.

"In Beauclair, they are one and the same." Geralt flashed you another smile. Something about this place was bringing out a side of him you didn't normally get to see.

When you reached the centre of Hauteville, you found all sorts of upper class citizens mingling about as artists and merchants sold their wares along the side of the street and out of store fronts. Geralt and you tied off your horses near a fountain, and began to wander. So many things caught your eye. You weren't one who normally like jewelry, but the pieces here made even your eye covetous.

"This way." Geralt guided you with a hand on your lower back toward a stain glassed store front. Through the coloured window, you could see shoes and boots on display. "After you."

Geralt pulled the door open for you, but the angle was awkward and you had to duck under his arm. Passing this close to his body only made you realize that it had been so long since you two had had a moment alone that you weren't rushing off somewhere or injured. A heat blazed in Geralt's golden depths, letting you know he was having similar thoughts. You bit your lower lip, trying to squash those thoughts since you were in public.

Once in side, the comforting scent of leather wafted around you. It reminded you of riding across Velen and Toussaint, of the scent Geralt had when he cleaned his armour. Closing your eyes briefly, you took a deep breath, letting the calm it brought wash over you. But then you opened your eyes, taking in all the beautiful footwear surrounding you.

"Are you sure these aren't art?" You gasped, whispering to Geralt. You didn't want to ruin someone's artwork with weeks on the road. Geralt laughed, but before he could say anything, the shop owner came bustling over.

"Ah, I see the lady has an appreciative eye. You humble me, my lady." The shopkeep gave you both a slight bow, a wide smile plastered on his face. If he noticed the state of your clothes and boots, he didn't let on, which you did appreciate.

"I seem to have wrecked my pair of boots, but I don't know if I can buy any of these. They are all too beautiful for what I need." You gestured to the shoes on the display nearest you.

"What is the point of a good shoe if it won't be worn?" The shopkeep waved away your concern, taking your hand in both of his to lead you to a padded stool. "Come. Come. Let me see if we can't find you something you will adore."

Geralt stood behind your shoulder, his arms crossed as he watched the shopkeep bring you pair after pair of shoes and ankle boots. None of them seems quite right to you, though. Every once in a while he would let out a sound you could only describe as a rumble, and you knew he agreed that they weren't the right shoes for you. All the shoes were ridiculously beautiful, but none of them would serve you well on the road.

"Do you have anything in a knee high?" You ventured to ask after turning down what felt like the twentieth pair of shoes. You didn't like feeling like a burden, but with each pair you dismissed, the guilt formed a larger ball in the pit of your stomach.

"Ah! I have just the thing!" The shopkeep announced after thinking for a moment. The elation on his face eased the guilt a bit, and you hoped this pair was going to be it.

Your eyes lit up when he brought you a pair of knee high boots. The leather had been tanned an unique reddish brown. The fur lining let you know that they would be warm, which was perfect for the road, especially up North. You stroked the laces that ran up the whole length of the boot. As beautiful as these boots were, you weren't afraid to wear them on the road.

"They are perfect." Your eyes traced over them again. You watched as the shopkeep undid the laces before handing them to you. You slide your feet into them, tightening the laces. They fit perfectly. "These are the boots."

"How much?" Geralt directed his question to the shopkeep before you could ask. You opened your mouth to protest, but a stern look from Geralt kept you silent.

You looked down at your new boots to hide the blushing smile on your face. A warm feeling stretched out from your chest, filling your limbs all the way to your fingers and toes. It felt strange to have Geralt buy things for you when you were perfectly capable of buying them yourself. It was a nice feeling, but you weren't accustomed to being doted on. You began to think of ways you could pay him back.

"Ready?" Geralt laid a warm hand on your shoulder, grabbing your attention. He shifted his hand off of you so he was offering it to you. You looked up at him as took his hand.

"Absolutely." You grinned as he twined his fingers with yours, leading you out of the shop. You waved over your shoulder to the shopkeep, who was beaming at the both of you. "Thank you for all your help."

"My pleasure, dear." The shopkeep waved as the door closed behind you.

"Well?" Geralt looked down at you, a small genuine smile curving his lips. When you didn't answer, he gestured down to your boots. "What do you think?"

"I adore them." You stood on your tiptoes, steadying yourself with a hand in his shoulder. You leaned in close as he turned his head, his gold eyes searching your face. "Best gift a guy has ever gotten me."

You brought your lips to his, enjoying the brief feel of him. It was a quick kiss, and did not even come close to conveying your feelings. But it would have to do since you were in public. The ride back to the vineyard was going to be long, but you couldn't wait to show him how you truly felt.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt fanfic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #geralt x ofc

[littledarlinwrites]

Ocean Eyes - Chapter 1

Burning Cities & Napalm Skies

Boxer!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1459

Author's note: this is written for @saiyanprincessswanie, I hope you like it dear, and thank you so very much for being so patient! Also, shout out to my sweet alliebeans (@all1e23) for being my beta! I honestly don't know what I would do with you.

Warnings: abusive relationship. Yelling, cursing, degrading remark this is about 2 paragraphs long towards the end, if you need to skip this it's outlined with ~ at the beginning and end of those two paragraphs so you can skip that bit if needed. Bucky is barely in this chapter, however, he will be in the next, gotta set things up and all that jazz.

Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. The sparring match with Steve lasting longer than most, until he saw a pretty girl walk in that caught his eye. Unfortunately, that was also the moment Steve's fist did too. 

"Oh shit, Buck? You okay?" Steve cursed. 

"Language Rogers," Bucky managed to chuckle out as Steve went to get him a bag of ice. He could tell even from a distance the girl was quiet, reserved, almost shy and meek. She was out of element, but also had an excitement sparkling in her eyes. Then he saw Rumlow wrap his arm around her waist. A sickening smirk sent Bucky's way. His eyes dropping back down to the mat beneath his feet until his trainers feet enter his line of sight.

"Time to call it a night. Pierce is here to train Rumlow. Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Nah man, I'm not hungry." Bucky said as his stomach soured. He didn't like either man. Rumlow always was a macho alpha male, and Pierce was a slimy bastard who hasn't gotten caught working two opposing gyms, yet. Bucky had lost his appetite. 

****

You walked into the gym with your boyfriend. You were nervous, but the excitement that your boyfriend held was contagious, not to mention you hadn't stepped foot near a boxing ring since your dad passed away ten years ago. Boxing wasn't the same without him, and it always brought a bit of pain to your heart, but you swallowed it down to accompany your boyfriend to his practice session he demanded you attended. You felt his fingers grip nearly painfully into your waist, and you were sure you couldn't completely hide the grimace gracing your face. When Brock released you to go sit on one of the aluminum chairs there were set up around the ring. Your shoulder brushing the man leaving that caught your eye when you entered. He was focused, took a hit as well as he gave them, and his blue eyes were captivating. You caught his eyes once again as he apologized, his touch to you arm to steady you making your heart skip a beat, and it was gone in that same measure, almost causing it to falter.

You blinked and made your way to the chair beside a blonde man sitting with an open sketch book in his lap. The trainer that was working with the brunette that seems to have captivated you quickly. You sit down beside him, arms around yourself as you watched Brock train with Pierce. You couldn't help but glance at the sketchpad his pencil scratched against. The sketch, only half done, was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. It was of a woman, hair perfectly coiffed, captivating eyes, and the man was sketching out the makings of a smirk on her face. You couldn't help but gasp at the beautiful image.

"I hope that was a good thing." The man says with a smirk, but the brief glimpse at his eyes showed vulnerability. 

"Oh, sorry. It was. A good thing that is. It's beautiful."

"Ya think so?"

"Definitely. How long have you been working on it?"

"Started it last night after our third date. She's a helluva dame. She wants to see my artwork sometime soon. Just nervous about it."

"You shouldn't be. It's beautiful."

"Thanks. Ya know, I've seen you around here, but I don't think I've ever caught your name. I'm Steve Rogers, by the way."

"Y/N Y/L/N." You say, your trembling hand reaching his. His grasp was soft, gentle. Something you didn't realize could come from a man of his stature, let alone a boxer.

"It's nice to meet you. You Rumlow's girl?" Steve asks as he continues his sketch, his eyes glancing up every once and a while to show he was still engaged in the conversation.

"Uh, yeah." You responded, glancing up at Brock. The ferocious look on his face as he continued to practice sending a shiver down your spine.

"How long have you guys been together?"

"About three years."

"Wow, that's a while."

"Yeah. We met at a bar while I was out with the girls. Some guy spilled his drink all over me and then tried 'helping' to clean it up. Brock stepped in and the rest is history."

"Huh, didn't realize he was such a white knight. Then again he's on the other team that we usually spare against. Not like we all hang out drinking beers together after."

You and Steve continued chatting until Brock stood beside you with his hand gripping your shoulder.

"Time to go Y/N, I have an early morning." His tone left no room for argument. You stood with your eyes downcast, simply raising your hand to steve in a shy wave and began walking beside Brock into the cold night air.

That wasn't the last time you ran into Steve, you'd find him in the same spot with the same sketchpad most nights that Brock was training. You quickly learned that the nights he wasn't there were the nights that him and his friend which was also his boxer, Bucky, had a match. There was one fateful night, the night before Brock's match against Bucky, that Steve was there sketching. Your whole body was tense. You weren't sure how long you could keep doing this. Steve must have noticed since he slipped you a piece of paper with his number and a note which read, "in case you need anything." You left the gym that night with Brock as always, however, you could feel the anger radiating from him the entire way home. 

You jumped at the same of every door in your shared apartment, the sound of every heavy footfall. You knew the yelling was coming after the second slam of the fridge door. Brock must have been on his third or fourth drink by now.

You quietly left the bathroom to your shared bedroom. You dreaded it every night. Crawling into the same bed with the man you used to love, but now all you do is fear.

Surprisingly you were able to fall asleep quickly, and stay that way through the night. When you woke you could hear Brock in the kitchen. You saw his empty gym bag at the foot of the bed and decided to start packing it for him. You were almost finished when he walked into the bedroom. 

"Hey baby." He whispers in your ear as his hands run across the still tender flesh of your arms. 

"Hey." You stammer out breathlessly. You feel like caged prey, but you also can't help but relax into his embrace, one that could be loving when he wanted to be, like now. You pull out his red shorts, folding them so they wouldn't wrinkle in his bag.

"Wait. You're packing my red shorts? Are you kidding me!" He spats as his grip tightens. "You know that's the other team's colors. I wear black for matches, you know that!" You quickly moved out of the way as he ripped the shorts from your hands and tossed them across the room. You sat down on your side of the bed with your knees to your chest.

~~~~~~~~~

"You're absolutely useless you know that?" He says as he begins repacking his bag. "You knew I had a match today yet here you were lazing about in bed all morning before you decided to drag your ass out of it to pack my bag. Couldn't make me breakfast, couldn't clean. You can't do anything right!" He says as he strides over to your side of the bed after zipping his bag closed. He grabbed your still bruised upper arms causing you to flinch, but you knew better than to fight back. 

"At least be ready to celebrate my win tonight, you've slept enough for it. Unless I need to go find someone who can at least fuck me right." He spat in your face before shoving you backwards, causing the back of your head the thump against the wall hard enough to cause spots to dance across your vision. You felt yourself being tossed around, handing mapping their way across your skin in the unloving manner you became accustomed to. You heard a voice shouting obscenities, degrading you, your worth. 

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

A while later your vision cleared as you heard the door slam. Brock had left the apartment. You struggled from your spot in the corner onto shakey and bruised legs. You made your way to the book you had stashed between the mattress and box spring, your fingers fumbling for the price of paper shoved between its pages.

"Steve, I need your help."

#bucky barnes x reader #boxer!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #boxer au #ocean eyes

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Yet another forgotten Lisa Snart Appreciation Week episode exploring if Barry and Lisa had a rapport. 

Lisa looked around the room. It's high ceilings sparkled with hanging lights made of thousands of diamonds, it floors gleamed with freshly waxed marble tiles, golden plaques on the wall thanking it's donators.

She wondered if she would visit this place every day if she were rich.

Probably not, the people here were beyond snobby and whined about how the caviar was grilled not slightly roasted. Maybe she would visit occasionally just for the novelty and the fact that she was rich enough to get into a country club legally.

Unlike now, she was under the name of Mrs. Smith-the most generic name ever- waiting for her husband, Mr. Smith aka the Flash.

Cisco had asked for her help with a mission of some sort against a Man in an Iron Mask. She had no idea who the hell he was and why he chose such a weird costume choice and why she should care, but he begged and then offered to turn the other way the next time the Rogues were on a stealing spree. Lenny would be furious about her helping them, but he would totally thank her for the pass on stealing sprees.

Plus how could she refused the opportunity to see who the Flash really was!

She stroke her blond wig, self-consciously and checked her compact mirror to make sure it was straight. You never knew when disguises started to go wonky in the middle of the plan.

A thin, Caucasian man with brown hair and sweet eyes approached the table, and looked for his place card. She recognized him as Cisco's friend that he always hanged out with at the bar and at the Lab. Barry something.

He was the Flash?

But but he was so, so not muscley or intimidating and he was a scientist. Well that explained how he was always able to understand everything Cisco and that doctor girl was saying.

"Hello sweetie, I think your place card is here next to me, your darling wife." Lisa purred, and waved the card with her fingers.

Barry's face morphed into one of confusion, then realization dawned on him and he hissed.

"What are you doing here, Snart?"

"Calm down Speedy. Cisco asked me to do this. Guess your uptight doctor wouldn't pretty enough to convince people she was rich. Can't blame you."

"Caitlin is very pretty and only couldn't do it because we need her at the base to set up the cameras. More importantly, why did Cisco asked you of all people?" Barry shook his head worriedly, "I swear I'm going to kill him if this fails." "What?" Lisa pouted, but with a sincerely offended tone "I'm an expert at these kind of things, you should be thankful I'm helping you."

"Hardly." Barry muttered, but he sighed and went to business mode.

"Here's the exact plan. You are only going to act like my wife and not make a big scene, while I look for the Iron Mask. Got it. Nothing else."

Lisa rolled her eyes. The Flash was almost as bad her brother. She wasn't going to ruin the mission. She meant what she said about being good at these kinds of cons. And she hated the fact that he thought just because she was who she was that she would be incapable of pulling off this kind of mission.

They sat next to each other, glancing around the room in silence when a elderly waiter approached them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Smith, in behalf of Central City's Wildhills Country Club I would like to congratulate you on your 10th year anniversary."

"Uh why I'm yeah thanks." Barry stammered.

"Yes thank you so much!" Lisa swooped in, clutching Barry's arm lovingly, "Barrykins and I are super happy we made it this far. Right sweetie-pie" Lisa grinned, devilishly at him as he looked at her in surprise

"Yes, snoopi-poo and I can't imagine our lives without each other." Barry chimed in, squeezing her tightly as she cringed at the name.

"When I hear her snore at night, it's the most musical sound in the world. It's like an orchestra" Barry he continued with an overly-perky voice.

"And when honey buns buns trips over the rug and breaks our Ming vase, I can't believe I married such a cute klutz" Lisa countered an even happier voice, then turned his face to nuzzle noses.

The waiter gave them a strange look, before saying "Good, good tell me when you've placed your order" and walked off. "Snoopi-poo!" Lisa cried, punching his shoulder.

"You started it! Barrykins really?" Barry snorted.  "We've been "married" for 10 years I was trying to make it convincing.” Lisa protested. 

They settled back to easy silence and ordered their food. Barry looking around the room, discreetly as Lisa eyed the jewelry on the patrons. The ruby necklace would look great with her pink peasant blouse that she got. Maybe if she could just accidentally trip her way.... Wait what was she thinking? This place is full of rich guys!

She could just flirt and adultery her way into getting a nice ring or two.

"Everybody! Everybody!" A man dressed in a tux, whom Lisa assumed was the manager, stood up clinking his glass.

"Since it's almost Valentine's Day I would like to call up some of our favorite couples to talk about their marriage. Mr and Mrs. Loomis, our golden couple reaching their 62 anniversary."

Lisa ignored the couples getting up to talk and she could Barry was getting increasingly bored and fidgety.

She looked around, she doubted that the man they were chasing would come with his Iron Mask on so what the hell was he looking around. The room was only filled with elderly WASPS, she swore they were the only couple under 60 there.

She leaned over to him, and whispered "I think we should check in the back rooms like storage. That's always wear Lenny, Mick and I go when we tried to infiltrate these kinds of things. No one notices extra stuff in storage." "That could work,” Barry mumbled.

"Mr. and Mrs. Smith!" The manager boomed "Come in up here!" Lisa and Barry looked at each other in panic. 

“Maybe it's another Smith couple. It's such a common name." Lisa gave a dry laugh.  But the whole room was staring at them. Of course. They shuffled slowly to the center of the room and plastered fake grins.

“What can I say about our marriage" Barry stalled "What can I say? Um it's been a struggle....uh yeah. But we always pull through." Lisa groaned under her breath, this was bad.

"What he means is that.." Lisa added, searching for something to say about love.

"We, we are always there for each other. When you're scared, you run, when you can't run you crawl. When you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you. That's my husband. If had I dare to choose, I'd choose him over all the men over all the planets the night sky could show me."

The crowd clapped, and Barry stared at her in shock.

"Thank you" he called too loudly into the microphone. She brushed past the manager and they ran offstage.

"Here you go" she handed him a set of keys she swiped from the manager. Lenny had taught her a long time ago how to pick pocket by just brushing past someone. Less conspicuous.

"Wow, that was fast" Barry said, looking over the keys as they existed the room. "Wait up" A voice called out, running behind them.

"Barry why are you pretending to be Mr. Smith," A Hispanic man asked, and she recognized him. Cisco's piano brother. Wait Cisco's brother!

He seemed to recognize her too "Why are you with Captain Cold's sister! Do you know she's Captain Cold's sister? I'm liable to call the police on you" He threatened.  

She placed a hand over his mouth "If you call the police, I might have to touch you on your special part" She whispered.  "What kind of threat is that?" Piano brother hissed, when she took off her hand. “Barry hand me your phone, no actually just dial 911 you have no idea what weapons she could be.." Lisa kneed him in the crotch.

He collapsed to the ground, she grabbed Barry's arm and ran out, after she stopped to get her coat and hobo bag that concealed her gun and he quickly changed to his costume.

"You didn't have to kneed him there" Barry walked quickly as they tried to look for the back entrance that might lead to the storage room.

"Collateral damage besides Cisco told me about him. He sounds like an asshole" She muttered. 

"He may exhibit some asshole-like qualities but you just don't tell a guy you're going to touch his special place and then hit it." Barry protested.  "Maybe you don't.” Lisa grinned as Barry opened a door hidden behind a bunch of well-coiffed shrubs.

"And you watch Firefly?" Barry asked excitedly. Lisa froze. She chose those quotes for her impromptu anniversary speech because she didn't think anyone watched that show.

"Maybe?" Lisa stammered.  "I love that show! I can kill you.."

"With my mind." Lisa finished, and scowled at his enthusiastic, mocking grin. She couldn't believe she shared the same guilty pleasure as the Flash.

"I just enjoy it from time to time" Lisa defended herself "It's not like I dress up for Halloween or anything" She smirked at the sheepish look that crawled onto his face. "Oh Speedster," Lisa shook her head. 

Barry sparked back to life though, and started asking questions "What did you think of Walsh's death in the movie?"

"I don't consider the movie canon." Lisa replied.  "Yeah, I mean it was totally unnecessary. Oh and what is with River not wearing shoes?"

Lisa glared at him. 

"We're getting friendly, this is weird." Barry said "We should stop." Lisa muttered "Right now. Let's stop right now."

They scoured the back rooms of the country club and unlike the inside of the spacious place, it was dank and dark and musty as a cave. "Why would the Iron Mask be here anyway?" Lisa asked.  "Don't know his plan exactly, but Cisco heard from Dante that some guy found an Iron Mask under the piano one night here at the club so we figured we'd check out if he or anyone associated with him is hiding here.... You should probably go now."

Lisa sneered at him, and grabbed him by the collar. "Bar- Flashykins,” she growled between clenched teeth "I can help you so would you be a sweetheart and not act like a sexist version of Lenny. Cuz honey I am useful in this kind of thing" She shoved him forward and the two continued on marching.

Suddenly a man jumped in front of them.

"Halt!" he said, brandishing a boa staff.

The Flash sprang into action, speeding around him and throwing punches. Lisa wanted to help but with Barry moving around, she might shoot him instead. But Iron Mask had a trick up his sleeve. He produced a set of handcuffs and cuffed Barry to a near he pillar.

Leaving it between her and him. She didn't like the odds. Though she had fought quite a few big men, she always knew what to expect of those types with the added help of her brother and Mick. But this one she had no idea, and didn't know what other weapons he hid.

She the best trick she had always done, she fake-fainted.

Flash looked in absolute shock, "Lisa" he yelled.

The Iron Mask hardly seemed to notice but ran past her to the door. She turned around, aimed her gun and plastered his feet to the floor with the gold liquid

The with an easy swing she punched him to the ground.

She swung her hips lazily as she helped him get rid of the cuffs using her gun once more, and cracking the gold and cuff off of him.  Flash once more gaped at him. Yeah, she could get use to this face. "That was great!"

"And you thought you could do this without me" Lisa smiled herself at Scarlet's enthusiasm.

"Fine, I was wrong Snart. It takes more than one to deal with villains. There's no I in team." Barry grinned broadly at the cliche. 

"There maybe no I in Team but there's one in my name and that's the rule I go by" Lisa reminded him sensing the friendliness. "Speaking of I's. Here's a plan. You shove this guy into the car. I pick up Mr and Mrs. Smith's dinner, their complimentary coupons to the spa which are so going to be mine and that jewelry case that I saw being auctioned by the front desk"

"You do know there's no jewelry inside the jewelry case right?" "I know that" She snapped.  "Wait, as a "married" couple we should compromise about this" Barry smirked as he lifted Iron Mask into the trunk of the car.

Lisa stared at him, warily.

"I'm dropping you off and we are going to be comparing Firefly notes on the way there.”  Lisa smirked back, "Sure thing Barrykins"

#barry allen #lisa snart #the flash #golden glider #my fanfic #my fanfiction

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

On The Street Where You Live, Part 3

Last part guys. After this I will try and work on the main story. Hope you enjoyed this crazy AU!

***

Patience stared at the bathroom wall, tears welling in her eyes.

Her period always came like clockwork, every second of the month. It was the fourteenth, and she was late. This morning she had woken up nausea so severe she vomited in the toilet. And the nausea had struck again in gym class.

Someone rapped irritably on the bathroom door. "Are you done in there?"

"NO!" She burst out. 

She heaved silent sobs, burying her face in her hands. There was graffiti on the bottom of the door. EVAN AND BETH FOREVER surrounded by a heart.

She wondered who Evan and Beth were. They were probably a happy couple, waiting to graduate and marry. He would probably have a good job, and her parents would like him, not like Patience and Salvatore.

She pressed the heels of her wrists into her eyes and let her sobs overwhelm her.

***

It was a bright afternoom at the butcher shop, and for once, the only thing that was being chopped there was meat. A black-haired young man was taking inventory when the front door jangled and he looked up.

As soon as Salvatore saw who it was, he appeared frustrated. "What the hell are you doing here, Leo Angelino?"

The boy looked about as out-of-place in the butcher shop as a lion would on a Kansas farm, with his uniform and carefully coiffed hair. "I am not frequenting your lovely establishment for the charming array of services you offer. I am here to speak to a certain person, that person being you."

"You coulda just said 'I'm here to talk to you.'"

"Yes, but then I wouldn't be able to see the charming look on your face as you attempted to the decipher the big words in my speech."

"What the fuck do you want?"

He put his elbows on the counter and leaned forward until his nose nearly touched Salvatore's. "I hear you're dating Richard Winslow's daughter."

Salvatore looked disgrunted. "Well, I was for a while. Don't know where she's gotten to as of late."

Leonardo toyed with the edge of the frayed paper menu. "I think, for the good of you both, you should stop seeing her."

"That ain't none of business, you god damn faggot. What do you care?"

"Just look at you. You already have a criminal record, you work a dead-end job, you have no prospects. You're just a hooligan from the wrong side of the tracks."

He leaned closer, and Salvatore stood his ground, but his fists were clenched and trembling.

"She deserves so much better than you and you know it. That's probably why she's not seeing you anymore. She realized that you're no good, Salvatore. It would be best if you simply... moved on."

"SHUT UP!" 

He pushed Leonardo backwards. "If you ain't buying, you got no reason to be here. If you don't get out right now I'm gonna throw you out."

Leonardo held up his hands, backing away, but kept that irritating smile on his face. When the door swung shut, Salvatore turned and punched the wall, his fist crumpling the cheap wood.

His father barked at him to get back to work, and he did so slowly.

***

Leo was there. He was always there. She wanted to punch him as soon as he looked over at her and smiled.

"Patience honey, welcome home. There's a sandwich in the fridge for your lunch. I'm making pot roast tonight." Marilyn crossed one leg over the other, and Patience noted she wasn't wearing pantyhose. "Can you take the clothes out of the drier?" She flipped her hair ostentatiously, eyes on the young blond man beside her.

Tormented by her thoughts, she trudged down the basement. Her mind was whirring, caught in a circle like a broken toy, and she didn't notice someone enter in after her until the door clicked shut.

She whirled around. "What are you doing here?" Her blood pressure spiked as she recognized the golden-haired menace that had ruined her life.

 "Just here to help with laundry. I'm always around the house, so it's just natural that I help with chores."

The basement was really more of closet. There was enough room for a washer and dryer and that was about it. So he and Patience were stuck very close, so close they could not help but touch as they unloaded the drier. His hand skimmed her breasts, bottom and back, all under the pretense of accidence.

"Stop it!" She snapped. "Just--just hold the basket!"

After she was done loading the clothes, she turned to the door, he held it shut with his arm. He stood there, face an inch from her own, staring intently. He cocked it. "Patience."

For some reason she was afraid, even though he had no way of telling, that he had found out about her pregnancy. He's going to blackmail me. Just another way he has power over me.

"Why don't you like me?"

She started. It sounded like an honest question. Maybe it was. "Because you're sleeping with my mom and making her run around on my dad."

"Hmm. Well, maybe that can change." Leonardo hoped on top of the washing machine, staring down at her. "You really want me to stop fooling with your mother?"

"Yes, I do! Just leave her alone! Leave my whole family alone!"

"Well. Maybe we can come to an agreement." He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "How about this. I stop with your mother... and you take her place."

She stood frozen, teeth gritted and body made of stone. "I--" and for a moment she thought, then Mom and Dad will stay together. I'm pregnant, he can't do anything to me like he was threatening to. Maybe just--just to keep him away from Mommy--

He took her by the arm and pulled her forward. "My father is very rich. I'm going to Yale next year. I'm an even an Altar Boy at The Church of the Holy Virgin

That boyfriend of yours is no-good and you know. I can buy you anything you want, get you a house, take you to Europe."

He sounded like he was giving her more of a sales pitch than asking her to be his lover. She studied him closely, at his fine, delicate features, his high cheekbones and arched nose and long eyelashes. Could she wake up beside him? 

She just focused on his features, trying to ignore everything else about the boy, all her memories of the way he had slammed her against the wall and forced his way into her, about how her mommy looked at him with adoring eyes, on the disgusting words he had whispered in her ears that fateful night, and just focused on those blue, blue eyes.

He leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away, and cupped her face. When his mouth was a fraction away from hers, and his breath was spilling over her lips, she yanked away, her gorge rising. 

"Get lost, Borghese. I'm never going to be your girl," she snarled resentfully, her bitterness taking over as she carried the basket of laundry out of the basement.

***

"Well, hey there, Pat. Haven't seen you around lately."

Jack Salandra was sitting outside the butcher shop in a folding chair, smoking a cigarette.

"Do you know where Salvatore is?"

"He's in the back talking to someone."

"I need to speak with him."

"He's busy. You should come back in an hour, I think he'll be closing up."

"No. You don't understand. I REALLY need to speak with him."

Something in her trembling voice gave him pause, and he put out his cigarette and stood up. "Give me a minute."

Soon after, Sal emerged, looking livid. His butcher's apron was stained with blood. "What the fuck is your problem? First we go to the prom together. Then you ghost me for a whole month, leaving me wondering what the hell happened to you. And now you're showing up at my door begging to talk to me?"

She swallowed hard and looked down the street. "It's... it's really, really important. Is there somewhere where we can be alone?"

He led her to an alleyway behind the butcher shop, occupied only by a dumpster where she assumed spoiled meat was dumped because of the smell.

She took a deep breath, skin prickling, and when she spoke the words, the shocked silence was so loud it buzzed in her ears.

"I'm pregnant."

Salvatore's face settled into a blank look of shock. His eyes were so wide around his black iris that it was ringed by white.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yeah. My mom had the same symptoms when she was pregnant with me. And it's--the timeline adds up. I know... it's yours, Salvatore."

Salva slowly sank to the ground, shaking. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Vaffanculo..." and he began to sob.

Him crying make her start to cry too, but she lashed back. "What are you crying for? You're not the one who's pregnant!"

He wiped his tears off with his bloody apron.

Patience felt the weight of despair crush her, a woman barely into her teens and saddled with the child of the last person she'd want to be pregnant by. How could she finish high school now? What would her parents say? Did she have to get married? She didn't want to marry Salvatore. She wanted to go to college and be a police officer like her father. How could she do that with a child, and married to someone she'd more likely arrest than not? He smoked. He skipped school. He hit her. That 'bad boy' image he gave off that had so charmed her at first now alienated her, disgusted her. How could she marry someone like that? 

Life was going too fast for her. She wanted this to be a nightmare she would wake up from.

"What are we gonna do, Salvatore?" 

"I gotta tell my mom. Fuck, she's gonna kill me. It's all over. You better tell your parents too."

The thought of introducing Sal as the father of her child made her feel sick. She often hated how long the walk back to her house from the butcher shop was, but this time, she wished it were longer. Every step she took was weighted down by concrete blocks.

When her two-story green townhome came in sight, her heart began to pound. When she pulled the door open, she saw her father in a sweater, reading the news, and her mom watching television.

When her father saw her, he got up to hug her. She hugged her father, inhaling his familiar smell. She never wanted to let go. 

"I'm sorry I've been away for so long, baby. Work's been rough. But the Chief is giving me some time off this week. What do you say you, your mom and I do something this weekend? Go to an amusement park? See a movie?"

Oh, daddy. If only you knew.

"That sounds good, Daddy." She kept the sob out of her voice, but it welled up again as she sat down beside her dad to watch TV. Harry Truman was giving a speech. Every single word out of his mouth might as well have been gibberish.

"Honey, have you been crying?" Mommy looked up. She was in her favorite dress, the red gingham one. Patience remembered her wearing it a lot as a child. Her apron was smeared, like she had just been cooking.

 "Are you all right? Did Mr. Oleson yell at you again? Tell your mommy."

"No." She wiped her eyes. "I--I--I need to, talk, to you. About something?"

"What is it, junebug?" Daddy looked down at her, worry knitting his brow. His green eyes, just like hers, were filled with concern as more tears streaked down her face.

"I'm--" her voice caught in her throat like a stone. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, all she heard was Harry Truman's voice crackling through the speakers.

Then two things happened.

Her father leaped up and started shouting, and her mother began to sob.

"You're fifteen years old! You are fifteen years old! How did you let this happen?"

"No, no, oh god, please no, Patience--"

"How could you ruin your life like this? You were going to college! You're on the honor roll! How, how could you be so--" Richard was shouting, red in the face, and he took her by her shoulders and shook her.

"How did it happen? Who did it? How old is he? Was he your teacher?" Mommy was still crying, but she got her questions rapid-fire.

"No," she managed to get out between sobs. "I-It wasn't. He--was--he's in my high school. He works at the butcher shop around the corner, the one on Franklin Lane. He--his name is S-Salvatore Mallozzi."

The room went silent again, the calm before a storm, and then the storm crashed down.

"SALVATORE MALLOZZI? I arrested that boy for assault and theft! He spat in my face! You're telling me that you let him--"  Richard was shaking hard, and Patience wondered whether he would collapse. He was gripping her shoulders so hard they erupted in pain.

Mommy had lapsed into crying again, except this time, more desperately. When she spoke again, her voice was a scream. She slapped her errant daughter so hard her face exploded with pain. "Why are you acting the whore? Where's your common sense? I thought you would have learned from your Aunt Minnie! A dago? Why did you let some FUCKING Italian--"

"You're one to talk!" She shouted back, holding her aching cheek. Her fury and agony was bursting, making her lash out. "What with you and Leonardo!"

The moment she let those words leave her lips, she regretted it more than anything in her life.

Her daddy loosened her arms, slowly, and turned to his wife. "Marilyn," he said, his voice sapped of emotion.

Mommy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I was going to tell you," she whispered.

He sat down, shaken and pale. "Why?" He asked simply. "Why Silvio's son?"

"You were never here," she said. "He was. He told me I was beautiful. He--" she stopped and looked away. "I know I can't explain it to you. I know nothing I can say would explain it. But it's so lonely without you."

Richard said nothing, but buried his face in his hands. 

Patience sat, frozen, aware distantly of her  life crumbling around her. She felt like she was floating above the room, looking down at a bunch of strangers.

"Richard," Mommy said, "I'm leaving you. And I'm taking Patience."

This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

Richard walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. He chugged his first few swallows straight from the bottle. Then he took a crystal glass and poured a generous amount in it.

Harry Truman was talking about the Soviet Union.

The three sat in absolute silence, the only sound the clinks of Daddy's glass and the occasional sniff of Mommy's.

How much time had passed, she did not know, but Daddy finally drained his glass and sat up before making his way purposefully to the door.

Patience jumped. "Daddy, where are you going?"

He did not answer, but she had a forboding feeling she knew, so she followed him out of the door.

Richard took step after step, and although he was staggering drunk, his mind was laser-focused on one thing. He ignored his daughter's pleas as he headed for the one place Patience feared--the butcher shop.

As soon as it came within sight she seized his arm, but he shook her off like a fly. One hundred and fifty pounds of Massachusetts rage bulled his way into the butcher shop.

Salvatore was sitting at a table, holding an icepack to his cheek. Opposite him was Malone, and a smattering of other undesirables. Richard marched up to the table and decked Salvatore.

The crack was louder than anything in the room, and Salvatore was flung backwards onto the floor. Richard was shouting drunkenly, drowning out the pleas of Malone.

"Winslow! Calm yourself! The boy's mother is crying in the next room!"

"YOU FUCKING DIRTY CRIMINAL WOPS--"

"Winslow! Winslow! The boy has agreed to marry the girl, there nothing to be upset about!"

"As if I would let my daughter marry one of you people! Patience is fifteen! I have my handcuffs here and I am arresting him and taking him to jail! I'm putting him away on statutory rape charges!"

Salvatore had scrambled back on his hands and knees and had his back against the wall, trembling with blood pouring down his face. Malone was in front of him, blocking him from Richard's wrath.

"Daddy," Patience pleaded, hanging onto him. "Please stop this, let's talk, please stop yelling--"

He shook her off, knocking her a few steps back. "My daughter," he snarled. "Is not marrying that boy. She is going to an unwed mother's home, and when the baby is adopted, she is coming back and she is finishing her education. Put the god damn handcuffs on!"

He lunged forward, and Malone pulled a bat out from behind the counter. They clashed with the thud of wood on skin.

Patience sat there, sobbing quietly as her father fought fiercely, throwing punches and shouts against weapons.

And as the other people in the butcher shop closed in, she didn't want to see her daddy beaten within an inch of his life, so she backed out of the butcher shop, her shoulders against the glass.

She ran home, the sky waning on her and the sky beginning to warm with orange on the horizon. Each thudding step she took jolted her to her brain.

The home she saw looked alien now--it held no comfort for her. When she pushed in, heaving her breaths, her mommy was on the phone. She heard the word Leo.

When she came inside, her mommy put down the phone and looked up. She opened her mouth to say something, but said nothing.

Patience stood there silently. 

Surveying the wreckage of her life and the ways it would go from now on, she made the wisest decision of her short life.

***

Patience shoved handfuls of her clothes into her suitcase, breaths trembling and frantic. She stopped by her parents' room and swept the emergency money in the bedside drawer into her suitcase.

She clicked the suitcase shut and ran downstairs, her shoes thudding on the steps. Her mother met her in the living roo, saw her suitcase, and she panicked. "Where are you going, Patience?"

"Away. I'm going away, mommy, I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back."

Marilyn seized her daughter's arm. "Don't do this, Patience! Don't do this! Please, come with me, don't leave me alone!"

"Why'd you do it, Mommy?" All Patience wanted to do was bury her face in her mother's skirt and cry. She wanted to be a little girl again, when her parents loved each other and her.

"You don't know what it's like. You know your daddy is never here. I had to raise you by myself. You think he's the hero? You know why he's gone so often? So he doesn't have to deal with the responsibility. I'm lonely, Patience. And I've been alone ever since I had you. I'm fed up with it."

"But why did it have to be him?"

Her mother said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes too, and an enormous unsaid weight between them.

Patience looked at the face that was so like hers, the tiny nose, the heart-shaped face, the pink lips. 

"I love you, Mommy. But you made your choice. And I can't stay here. I will not live with that man. I'm not going to an unwed mother's home. And I'm not marrying Salvatore, either."

She pushed past her mother, into the road, and chose a direction and started running, away from a broken home she would never return to.

***

Patience walked down the highway, thumb sticking out. Car after car passed her until a rattling sedan with a loose license plate slowed down. "Are you looking for a lift?" Called the driver.

The car was in such bad shape she almost refused, but the sun was going down and she needed a ride before nightfall. "Sure."

She put her suitcase in the backseat and hopped in the front seat. As soon as she slamed the door, the sedan was rattling off down the highway.

The driver was a young man in an ill-fitting gray suit and tie. He had slicked-back blond hair that was graying along the temples, despite his youth. "Where are you headed?" 

"Just outside of town. What about you?"

He laughed bitterly. "Garland City Courthouse. I'm divorcing my wife. You know what the real ironic thing is? I'm actually an attorney. A public defender. But because I don't know jack about divorce proceedings, I had to hire my own. And I really can't afford to spend the money."

The car coughed, like it was agreeing with him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Why did you split up?"

"Because she's not satisfied with the money I make. She always wants new fur coats, new pearls, new nights on the town. Women are never satisfied. It's always something with them."

Patience had a distinct feeling that that was only half the story, but did not pursue it.

"I understand. My parents are leaving each other, too."

"Is that why you're out here all alone?"

She looked ahead as rain began to speckle the windshield. "Yeah. Well, that, and--" she thought of Salvatore, and the baby, and instinctively cupped her stomach. "Other reasons."

"You should go back. I bet they're worried stiff. If my son disappeared on me, I'd lose my mind. Of course, he's only two, so there's not a lot of places he could go."

Patience thought of her mother, lost, staying up nights worrying desperately about her daughter. About her father, coming back to an empty home without his wife and daughter. She rubbed her eyes. I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Daddy.

I guess I was just too much of a coward to deal with this. So I ran away instead.

Then she thought of Salvatore, of what he would think, how he would wonder what happened to his child. Would he wonder? Or would he just be glad he didn't have deal with the trouble anymore?

The night was beginning to fall, turning the sky blue-black. Patience spotted a bus stop through the shield of rain, right besside the sign stating Robichaux National Forest. "Drop me off here. I'll catch a bus."

The man slowed down. She hopped out and took her briefcase.

The man propped up his elbow on the steering wheel. "Which way are you headed, kid?"

She shielded her eyes against the rain. The trees towered above her like black, watching sentinels.

"California," she said. "Yeah. California sounds good." Somewhere far, far away, as far as she could get. "Thanks a lot, mister. I never got your name."

"Charlie Sawyer." He shook her hand. "And you?"

On the spur of a moment, she chose a false name, one that, considering who she was talking to, spared her a lot of suffering. "Beth Evans."

"Well, Beth. Best of luck to you."

"Thanks. Best of luck to you too, Charlie."

Patience watched his blinking tail lights vanish into the darkness, and sat down in the sanctuary of the bus stop, waiting for the rain to stop.

She slid her hand underneath her shirt and held it there, as if she could feel the heartbeat of her unborn child.

It's just you and me now, baby. Just us, in this big bad world.

The rain poured down harder, as if it would never stop.

THE END

#bonus chapter

[lovemecharlie]

NEW YORK MINUTE

You chose: We can make this jump, Josephine. Mama ain't raise no bitch.

Leaping like a flying squirrel you jump out hitting your mark but you can't get a good grip or any footing. You can't hold on. Falling fast you have to think of something quick before you crack your hip and your skull.

"I should've actually paid attention in summoning class," you sigh accepting your fate. You relax pulling out your phone to play Candy Crush as you fall and wait for an impact.. and wait.. and wait.

"Why am I not dead yet," you turn, irritated at how long it's taking to hit the ground. Standing there is a dapperly dressed black man in a red and white suit with a light complexion, beard, and ginger red hair which is coiffed stylishly. Immediately your heart beats a bit faster because he's fine.

"Josephine Stevens-Udaku," he smirks.

Husband number two is who he could be.

"Or just Josephine. I'm not married to that last name if you know what I mean," you smile tugging on your raybans to give him The Eye.

"No loyalty," he balks. "Then you don't mind setting that mothafucka up so I can slit his greasy ass throat," he says looking like a shrimp dish.. beautiful and delicious.

"When you want him," you fawn as you gaze at him. Not only is he fine.. but he has POWERS. Gently, you're lowered to the small space of ground.

"One hour. Make sure he's alone." He snaps and you're at the house where your sisterwives are staying. You'll get to see Mr. Magic again you just have to make sure Erik is alone. In the meantime.. YOU'RE IRRITATED. You didn't even get what you went out for and you hate returning from an ingredients run empty handed. It's that red-haired niggas fault, you determine. Although you still want to marry him, suddenly you don't feel like helping him anymore.

"Nigga," you call waiting for Erik to turn around from talking to Bastion. He knows exactly which nigga you're talking to.

"Sup JoJo?"

Bastion waits, standing by so that they can finish their conversation.

"I'm supposed to get you alone in an hour so that this pretty magical nigga with powers can kill you, but he pissed me off so I'm telling you he's going to attack you. You're welcome."

Storming off, you call another uber and head to a seafood restaurant. Suddenly you were craving shrimp.

Mission Failed