#just look at my baby with apple juice from happy meal

[salmonchan]

TinyTim™ was with Jason's gang for a single day and already became new king

#this au is so silly #I'm in love with it #just look at my baby with apple juice from happy meal #he is living his best life #btw they're holding him on a pizza box #dc fanart #batfam #batbros #art #dc #jason todd #tim drake #tim drake fanart #jason todd fanart #jason and tim #tiny tim #tinytim™

[baby-dr1ver]

pairing: dad!lando x mom!reader

warnings: so much fluff, tooth rotting

a/n: hello all! thank you guys for your endless support and request I've been getting! I promise I haven't forgotten your fics, I'm working on them I swear. here's a fic I wrote a couple of weeks ago while you wait! btw this literally happened in a dream of mine so I feel like I just HAD to write it.

It was an early morning in Monaco, the sun had just risen, there were faint snores coming from beside you. You could make one out to be your husband having just got home from a long race weekend, and your little boy, Atticus. When Lando got home from a race weekend, he made it a habit to put him in our bed to sleep.

You watch the identical faces for just a moment more before jumping out the bed. You loved days after a race, everything felt like it was finally in place again. You especially loved the morning after, you and Lando created a routine that started before your little one was born. You’d wake up before him and run to the little breakfast nook at the end of the block to grab his favorite. 

After dressing, brushing your teeth, yada yada, you set off. You had a pep in your step, bouncing a little with each stride, feeling lighter and lighter knowing your other half was waiting for you at home, snuggled up with your little creation. You giggled to yourself, realizing how crazy you must have looked to the people passing by. 

 The bell rang above the door as you eagerly pushed it open. The owner saw you and smiled, knowing exactly what was coming. “The usual I assume?” She asked cheekily. You blushed and nodded, “Can you add some tater tots and an apple juice please? Atticus has been in a phase lately.” The owner simply nodded as you paid as she got to work.

As you sat in a small table in the corner, you could see a small group of girls looking your way, trying ti be subtle on the fact that they recognized you. You smiled and shyly waved causing the girls to walk over slowly. “Hi! Are you Y/N?” One of the girls asked. “I am! How are you guys this morning?” You were happy to make conversation with them, feeling better at the fact most of Lando’s fans didn’t despise you. After a few minutes of talking about the recent race, what they were excited to see, they asked for a photo. You had one of the workers take it before handing you the food. You waved goodbye to the small group of girls, smiling to yourself at the softhearted interaction. 

You couldn’t contain yourself as you worked your way through the door. You sat everything out on the counter and prepared it like it was a five star meal. You set Lando’s burrito out, eggs, bacon, cheese, on a plate. You scooped some tater tots in a bowl and poured the juice in a small sippy cup for the little one. 

Just as you finished, Lando came trudging down the stairs. He was dressed in gray sweats, no shirt and his hair sticking up in different directions with that sleepy look in his eyes. “Hi baby, welcome home.” You quietly whispered. He came around the counter to where you were standing and latched onto you. 

You stood there completely at ease with him in your arms, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, his warm tan skin, the smell of his cologne-everything about him made your heart sing. He started placing small kisses on your cheek and jaw, no hidden intention behind it, just wanted to feel your skin under his lips. He pulls away with a groan, “I forgot the babe upstairs.” I giggled and pushed up towards the stairs, and watch him lumber up to your room to grab Atticus. 

You tuned back to the food for a moment before setting it on the island so everyone could reach it easily. Lando came down the stairs holding your baby boy, dressed the same, with identical looks of tiredness and you audibly cooed. “Hi my little star,” You grabbed a tot from his bowl, hid it behind your back, and walked closer to softly pinched the babes cheek. “did daddy dress you the same?” Atticus pulled his gummy smile, only a couple of teeth in the front, and rubbed his bright green eyes. Lando placed his hand around your waist to pull you closer to him. “It’s kind of unfair that I carried you for nine months but you’re a carbon copy of your dad.” You ruffled his curly hair. Lan huffed, “Could be worse.” You nodded in agreement and pulled the tot from behind your back and offered it to Atticus. His eyes lit up seeing his favorite food. His chubby fingers reached out and snatched it from your hand and tried to put the whole thing in his mouth. You and Lan laughed before he gently pulled it away. “My little duckling, you can’t just shove it like that, you’ve got to bite.” Lando tried to imitate a bite so Atty could do the same. Instead, he started to laugh and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. 

“Yeah, that’s your son love” Lando looked down at you with a disgruntled look, making you join in on the laughter. You lay your head on his shoulder and like it was a reflex, softly kissed your forehead. Atticus leaned down, sticky hand out to lay on your cheek, and tried to kiss your forehead just like his father did moments before. It ended up leaving a wet mark on your forehead, it’s not like he knew had to give his mom a kiss, he was just trying to copy his dad. 

You heard Lando take a big breath in, and without looking away from Atticus, 

“Let’s have another one.”

“Lando!”

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #mclaren #formula one #formula 1

[konigsblog]

MY DARLING I VOTE FOR using the word cunny a lil EXTRA now because these entitled imbeciles dont like it :((

like what? gonna whine about it somemore? wah wah wah i dont like it and that means you cant do it!! like do you guys want apple juice or milk in your sippy cups? are you upset because you pooped your pants? does baby need to be changed?? toddlers complain and whine less than some of these anons i stg. we are ADULTS. its a WORD. if youre truly that offended by a five letter word i think maybe you should rethink getting on the internet in the first place. the block button is there for a reason. ORLA IS GIVING US HER WORK FOR FREE. this is not where you get to make demands and ffs dont act like any writers owe you anything. leave my girl alone and go touch grass PLEASE. you are not the most important person in the world, youre not special, despite what your parents told you champ!

orla everything you do is wonderful and perfect please never let these assholes take that from you. hope you have a lovely meal today and get some good rest :) drink water and buy yourself something pretty, you deserve it gf.

i'm so sorry for not being able to answer this, requests have been flooded and everything (around 180.. 😮‍💨)

but, i was going through request, and saw this and thought it would be a good thing to answer !!! thank you for your sweet words and understanding, that makes me so happy to see that people actually listen :'( you're such a sweet, kind soul and it makes me happy to know you're on my blog, thank you for being so helpful!!! 🌷🌟 i write because it's a hobby, cod is an interest i just love!! i love you grr :( 💐💐💐

if anyone's still confused, its not origin. it doesn't originate from lolicon, and i feel like people wouldn't know that it was used by lolicon writers unless they look at that stuff. i've heard it through tumblr and i've never heard of it ONLY being used by lolicon writers. if a lolicon creator turned around and starting using ‘pussy' do you think the entire world would stop using it just because a certain fandom uses it? they wouldn't, because the word doesn't associate with lolicon, its a popular word used and nothing more than a word.

#not bringing back the cunny discourse #but it's something i wanna talk about because people are confused 🙁

[mama-bun]

chocolate chip dino waffles and eggs

“MOMMMMYYYY!” i hear him whine as he pads over to my desk, “inside voices, sweetpea. inside voices.” i remind him. he whines again and stomps a bit, “hungry. hungry. mommy i hungry.” he tugs at my dress to make sure he knows he was one serious boy. i look at him and smile, “buggy is hungry, i see, i see… what would the little boy like to eat?”

and that little mischievous look on his face said it all, “candy.”

“absolutely not, honeybear. that’s a treat, not a meal or snackie.” i hum and tap my chin, “how about… waffles and eggs?” i suggest happily.

his eyes light up and he squeals as he tugs more on my dress, “chocolate! chocolate!” he said loudly, and i gently ruffle his hair, “a little quieter baby, inside voices.” i remind him once more, after all, he is just a tiny tot.

“okay… chocolate chip waffles with eggs… but… how about dinosaur shaped ones?” i ask as i take his hand and lead him to the kitchen, but not before grabbing up his teether and clipping it to his overalls, “there you go.” he was happy with that for sure, chewing on the teether happily as i guided him to the kitchen to help me make our yummy lunch.

“mmm… nnn… mama…” he whines softly as i let go of his hand, “mm… hold.” he mumbles as he grabs my hand again, “oh… sweetheart, mommy needs both of her hands to make our food, how about you hold onto my dress instead? we need to make sure i have both hands baby bug.”

he shakes his head and instead sits on the floor and opens a cabinet, digging through the plates and finding a sectioned plate with sharks on it and a green spoon, “want… use…” he holds it up over his head, “egg.” he pointed to the smaller section of the plate, “mhm, you want your eggs in that part of the plate? okay, little beetle, mama will make sure they go in that one.” i smile.

he giggles and closes the cabinet, and opens it again, and closes it once more, i laugh softly and quickly grab a little fidget board off the counter, “here honey… noises.” i smile, turning one of the knobs to make it click. and his eyes lit up as he snatched it from my hands, “be gentle… take gently.” i remind him.

little ones needed reminders, he was just a baby after all.

as i make the waffles and his eggs, he sat quietly staring up at me and occasionally shaking a rattle he had grabbed.

he was such a little cutie!

“okay little one, let’s sit at the table. no toys at the table while we eat.” i say as i grab his sippy cup and fill it with apple juice and water it down. i carry his plate to the table and set it in front of him with his sippy, “Here you go… and some sliced banana.” i point to the other section of the plate next to the eggs.

he nods happily and smiles. “eat up baby bug.”

“love you mommy. thank you.”

“i love you too sweet boy.”

#age regression caregiver #agere #agere blog #agere community #noncom agere #safe agere #sfw age regression #sfw interaction only #sfw little community #sfw littlespace #agere concept

[imaginedreamwrite]

My ex Bucky ask was based on your drabble you did on them, I was asking if maybe we could get one where he regrets everything and realises he's still in love with her?

While the original drabble will bleed into a story about them being divorced and Bucky being a complete ass, this is like an au of that drabble where he’s happy

He misses you. He realizes this when he’s picking up your daughter and he watches you in the rear view mirror.

He misses you. He misses you picking flicking through the radio to find the song you want, and flipping to another station when its over.

Bucky misses you, he misses you making him coffee in the morning because you are just the right amount of sugar and no matter how hard Bucky tries, he can’t get it right.

He finds himself thinking of you more often than not, and he tracks you down on social media after his therapist told him to move on. He can’t help himself, he can’t help but look at pictures of you and Hope baking. He wishes more than anything to be on the other end of the camera, watching the moment unfold like he had a year ago.

He doesn’t even remember why he pushed for divorce. He doesn’t remember why he walked away because you are his whole god damn world and he can’t breathe without you.

“Daddy,” Hope calls from the backseat, her legs kicking as she crossed her arms over her chest, “did you hurt mama?”

“Yes,” he breathes shakily and squeezes the steering wheel, “I did hurt mama. I…don’t know why I did.”

“Are you and mama gonna live together again?” Hope asked her father, staring at him with eyes you had given her.

“I hope so, baby.” He feels the tightness in his chest when he thinks of you and your gentle nature that he once would’ve died for.

And then he gave you divorce papers. And then the fucking broke your heart.

“Mama’s friend is trying to get mama to date-“

“-but she hates first dates.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, reminiscing about your first date.

“Its always so awkward.”

“Good thing its our second date.” Bucky had played along, he acted like the first date had come and gone.

“Second date…” you agreed, your anxieties slowly disappearing. “The first was good?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Bucky got Hope home and settled at the table with her happy meal and apple juice, and then he settled himself into the living room. He dug his phone from his pocket and tapped the side, debating whether or not he could or should call you.

He was still in love with you, and he was an idiot.

Bucky sighed and rest his hand upon his forehead, his eyes screwing shut.

He loved you, he should have never divorced you.

Bucky’s eyes opened again when his phone dinged, and he looked at the screen to find a message from you.

It was great seeing you, Hope’s school has a fundraiser next week. She’s sleeping over at a friends house, and I volunteered. Any chance you’d wanna come with me? - Y/N

Bucky’s grin was boyish; hopeful.

Try and keep me away. It’ll make a good third date - B

[honeybeewhereartthee]

Madness Mansion of Helter Spider 19

꒷꒦˚︶꒦Previous꒷︶꒷꒦˚Chapter nineteen꒷꒦˚︶꒦Next꒷︶꒷꒦˚

"hmm, does MC want some food? :3< I have some food that shiina pack up for me. It's enough to live off for decades. " Kuma softly place you on top of a flat rock after he heard your stomach grumbling.

"ehh but you don't have any food with you through. (◕દ◕)" You don't see him carrying food at all. So how come?

"well, I can summon it for you. :3< " he wave his paws and marinated sardines appear before you. "See~? Like magic. ♡(ӦｖӦ｡)" He pats your head when he saw how bewailed you are.

"My oniichan gives me all his powers as well his space to pack up all I need. " He mumble as he wave his hand and plate of food aopear in front of Lio and Cheshire cat.

"Shiina especially told me that I still need to eat while I travel." He yawns as he too summon his own plate and start to eat, you happily eat your first meal in this world and it's super delicious!

"waah. Kuma! This dish is so good!" Lio happily digs in to the food. "Hmm. The chef would love to hear that compliment. I'll till him when I'm back." He and others enjoy such happy meal, before you four sleep for the night. Through Cheshire cat said he would be awake for guard duty.

.

.

.

"it seems that there's a pest I have to deal with..." In certain madness Mansion, the master of the estate who's seated on his chair realize that the one his waiting to come running have not appeared at all. Even how they should be in greater pain, it seems they have disconnected from the law of the world.

"waaah. Where's kitty??? (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) blue thought blood said, kitty would be home today... Blue want to play with kitty! Kitty!!! " Baby blue cried out in the floor as he realize the one they were waiting for have not arrive yet.

"sir mad hatter... What shall we do...?" Blue picks up his younger brother who's throwing tantrum in the floor for the lack of playmate. "That person will order us soon to get rid of the intruder as well... Should we move before that?" He added.

"hmm...." Blood stared at the poisonous apple. Such beautiful apple, like ruby. There's no smile on his face as his in deep thoughts. "Ah... Since that stupid cat want to play outside, let them be... A hope is still a hope... And each hope is fun to crumble to pieces when it's it's highest... Kokoko... Oh kitty I hope you give me a good show~" he takes a bit of the apple yet he was not poisoned. He will never be poisoned.

"if not..." His purple eyes covered with boredom and madness. The apple in his hand crash and instead of apple juice it's red thick liquid.

"we just have to fix our toy."

In that room, five spiders eyes glows in the dark before the scene change.

.

.

.

"Kuma, Kuma..." You walk toward the black cat with your little paws. "Why did you said I don't belong here. (◕દ◕)I mean I know I'm not originally from twisted wonderland it self since I come here after burning the book. " You whisper to him.

"hmm? Oh I don't mean that as this twisted world, I mean this whole au. You don't belong here." He give you a side glance yet he smile.

"eh... But I lived here all my life?" Your eyes widen at his words.

"hmm? You do know memories could be confusing. What if it's what your mind is telling you so?" He pause and seated on the spot. " Don't worry, MC. I can still see the link you have to your real world. I will escort you back to your place. Maybe this time you find your family. " He smile at you as he pats your head.

"..." You look at him at daze. You wonder if all the things you learn are nothing but lies.

"hey you two! You walk too fast! >:3<" Lio who's on the back of Cheshire cat complain.

"Lio, you should have not stop to draw something on the floor. You could easily catch up on them." Cheshire cat easily tells what's really up. And Lio pouts when he was discovered for his tardiness have a reason.

"hmmp! Mamamcat is not supposed to say that!! =3=" lio.

"ahahaha. My bad! My bad!" -mamamcat.

#twisted Wonderland AU: madness mansion! Helter Spider!! #ensemble stars #ensemble stars x reader #enstar x reader #enstar #kohaku oukawa x reader

[actuallysaiyan]

My Personal Love Story: Shikamaru

Request: "Hey! So just wanted to inquire about the event! If possible I would like it to be me and shikamaru :) Small blurb- I am a person who loves nature and is very introverted. I feel like I am definitely shy and that I get embarrassed easily (I have autism). I also love cozy things! Love language and personality- I am totally a sensitive romantic. I get very attached to my s/o and I get my feelings hurt pretty easily. I love to take care of my s/o and spoil them. I also crave affection to a fault. I am super sensitive and I do have severe anxiety so having a partner who is understanding and supportive is a must. I love being dominated when it comes to intimacy. But I also adore aftercare. Star sign~ aquarius ♒ Dates I like~ I love things like nature walks, museums, cuddling with movies, getting takeout, and going to the arcade Fav music info~ my fav genre is definitely kpop and my fav band is BTS. My favorite artist is Joji" @jmtzthehokage

Your Song: Lovesong- The Cure

Headcanons:

When Shikamaru first met you, he was a little taken aback. You were so shy and cute, but his heart was pounding in his chest, and he was seven at the time, and he didn’t like girls. But he did, and you were the apple of his eye.

As you both grew up and trained together, Shikamaru became so attached and so protective of you. Both of you had feelings for one another, but it always became so hard to confess. You were so shy and Shikamaru got so nervous when he even just thought about telling you how he felt.

Eventually, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and he kissed you. When you didn’t kiss back at first, Shikamaru pulled away and studied your face. You were a little in shock and you were blushing profusely. He tries to stammer an apology but you were already running away from him.

A few days went by, and finally you both just came to terms with how you felt and you went on a cute first date. Shikamaru took you to dinner and you had a lovely time. It was like being kids all over again, except you were so deeply in love with another.

Shikamaru is so protective of you, even though you know how to defend yourself more than adequately. He just hates the idea of anyone hurting you, either physically or emotionally. He will defend you tooth and nail, especially if Naruto decides to make some sort of stupid remark about you.

LOTS of cuddles. So much alone time together while cuddling, and lots of cloud watching on beautiful days. Shikamaru will build blanket forts in the sunshine so you both can take long cat naps together. He loves to give you soft kisses while you’re both napping, maybe even when you’re both snacking as well.

Shikamaru will always do something special for your anniversary. He always plans the best things, like ordering some take-out and watching a fun movie with you. He loves to get any time alone with you since he is a busy man, but anniversaries become so much more special.

Even though he is a very busy man, Shikamaru makes time to come home and have dinner with you every night. It’s his favorite thing to do with you on a daily basis and he loves whenever you cook him his favorite meal. You both get the opportunity to talk about your day and enjoy each other’s company.

Shikamaru loves it when you bring him lunch at his job. He can barely take a moment to think for himself some days, so he absolutely melts every time you bring him a home cooked meal. It means so much to him, and he’d be too embarrassed to tell you sometimes, but it’s what makes his day sometimes.

He is so happy that you and his two best friends got along. Ino is like a big sister to you, very protective but she gossips with you all the time. Choji is your snacking partner, but he would never ever let anyone hurt you. He’s also very protective of you. The four of you go to dinner often together and of course, Choji fights anyone for the last piece of meat.

His First Time Going Down On You:

Shikamaru looks deeply in your eyes as he removes your panties. You sigh in relief as you feel his fingers slowly spread your wet folds. He grunts when he feels how aroused you are, and he can’t help but smirk slightly. After all, he’s the one who’s made you feel this wet. He can smell your arousal and his cock stirs in his pants.

“Shika, please.” You pant as he teases you with soft touches and caresses to your clit and wet lips.

“I want to taste you,” He admits, leaning down to kiss you from your stomach down to your thighs.

He takes his time, making you so impatient to finally feel his ministrations. When his tongue first makes contact with your pussy, you can feel your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut. Shikamaru groans as he tastes you, his tongue lapping up at your juices. He grabs you by the hips, pulling you in closer so he can taste you even more.

“Baby, you taste so damn good. I could lick your pussy forever…”you can hear the sincerity in his voice, but the subject matter is so naughty it makes you blush.

His tongue swirls around your clit before he sucks on it lightly. You buck up, your face even more red now. Shikamaru just chuckles softly, caressing your thighs softly.

“It’s okay baby, you can ride my face a little bit if you’d like to.”

You start to gain some confidence as Shikamaru continues devouring you. You truly get lost in the pleasure of it all, barely noticing his fingers prodding and teasing your warm and wet hole. His name falls from your lips in mewls and pants, making his cock ache in his pants. He wants to fuck you, but he knows he wants to make you cum on his tongue first.

“Good girl,” Shikamaru mutters between slurps. You whine as he pumps two of his fingers deep within you. He watches your reaction and allows you to adjust to his size.

“Who knows, maybe I could make you squirt all over my face?”

#actuallysaiyan's 1k followers event #bacon's 1k followers event #1k followers #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x you #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru nara x y/n #shikamaru smut #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto smut

[infinitegalahad]

GENERATION KILL: COMFORTING THERE PARTNER

"This is just me formally submitting a request for that gk boys offering their own forms of comfort fic/ headcanon/ thoughts wtevr. Lol just as a reminder. 😀"@theboardwalkbody

Gif Credit: @ymagor

A/N: You're wish is my command, homes❣️ Here's a little change of pace! @theboardwalkbody inspired this post (and asked it!), so thanks for the Inspo friend! 🤩 I'm doing this for BoB and TP because I'm going through a slight writer's block and instead of thinking about long descriptions, I just wanna so head canons that get a little out of hand. I hope this isn't too ooc😔 Reader has *inserted mental illness* btw, it's up for interpretation! ALSO GN! READER! Enjoy!

Taglist: @theboardwalkbody @contrabandhothead

Masterlist

NATE FICK-

Nate's a calculated person. He can see the patterns in people, things, etc. Like how his father's eyebrows wrinkle when he's excited, or when his mother likes to prep a meal from vegetables to the main course. So when you're happy, sad, whatever-he knows it, and you don't even have to tell him.

He'll come home and see you. He knows that you've heard him calling you're name, but you don't move. He looks all over the house and finds you inside of your tub, just sitting there with no response. The water is running, and your clothes and hair are soaked.

So in an attempt to not disrupt your peace, Nate climbs in and sits next to you. You look over and he's stares at you. Just as your about to speak, he beats you to it.

"I'll get you a towel and some clothes."

And then, he just leaves. You hear the door quietly shut, and you blink for a few seconds. What the hell just happened? It snapped you out of your depressive trance. Now instead of feeling sad-you just were confused.

So you hear the door lightly open again and then close. After a few more minutes of soaking, you get out and see a towel and a set of clothes that are most certainly not yours. It's Nate's Dartmouth Lacrosse sweater and a pair of underwear-he knows you too well.

So you exit the bathroom and you see Nate, putting two cups down of you're favorite tea

And he's got that face. You know the face were he's like ☹️

"Hey, c'mere."

The two of you climb into bed with eachtoher. He throws one of those ugg blankets over you. You rest his head in his chest and he pats your head. There's a silence, until Nate says, "Do you wanna walk about it."

Normally, you'd say no and he'd read you a book you're reading or hold you as you cry, but this time, it's different.

"Yeah, I do. You won't judge, right?"

Nate tilts you chin up, and he's got a tired smile on his face.

"Why would I?"

BRAD COLBERT-

Brad may appear horrible with emotions and reading the room...in which he isn’t

Okay, scratch that. He tries to understand them, it’s just hard for him to give advice and use words to comfort you. He feels like he’s walking on glass, But sometimes, you just need him psychically more then anything.

When you storm out of a room when Chaffin makes a comment on your weight, Brad takes a few minutes to think what he should do.

Normally, he’d just leave you be, but he’s gotta do something. Getting up, he follows you down the hallway. You’re not far, and he’s calling you’re name.

You stop in the hallway, wiping the tears coming down toye face. Brad turns you around with his hands on your shoulder. He’s got a blank face on as he looks at you, seeing your red face and the tears.

While you sob and stutter, he fixes the collar of your shirt, tucks your hair behind your ear, which is normal. He likes to neaten you up to make you feel better.

But he starts to use his thumb, wiping the tears coming down your face. You shocked as he cups your face, making you look into those icy cold eyes. He looks like the Iceman, cold and emotionless, but what he says very Brad.

“You’re beautiful.”

Then he pulls you into a tight grasp. He’s a whole foot taller then you, and you like the way he snakes his hands around his waist and slightly lifts off you your feet. His sheer presence is intimating, but for you; comforting. 

RAY PERSON-

THIS MAN. although a hick with a big mouth, he does know when to shut up and can read you’re emotions like the back of his hand.

He can just see the sadness swelling in your eyes and the way you pick at the foot at your plate and avoid all of needs for cuddles in bed. Heck, it’s making Ray sad.

So he does what he does best-not shutting up, well-about things he likes about you.

“Man! Look at my hot girlfriend/wife! There reading books by the liberal media, total smartie here! Oh! And they have a degree from-“

Ray will also beg for to your attention and follows you around like a puppy. Like you’ll be sitting on the couch and he’ll come rest his head on your lap. You ignore him, but he starts to twist and quote random movies so you finally give in.

Is Ray annoying? Yes. But did he make you smile? Also yes.

Also Ray is a cook, and knows all of your favorite meals. Of course, he sets the table, lights a few Mantown candles (yes there real google them), and comes to serve your meal with two plates.

“The most beautiful man/woman I have ever seen, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the Avril to my Bizzy D-you’re hot pockets.”

It makes you laugh, which makes Ray happy. He feeds off of that attention. You sit in Ray’s lap, eating hot pockets, and watching The Best Damn Tour. You lean on Ray’s shoulder, and he leans right back.

POKE ESPERA-

Alexa play Whatta Man’ by Salt-N-Peppa BECAUSE! WHAT! A! MAN!

Poke is one tough mofo. He embodies the meme of “Good morning to my beautiful wife/husband and child everybody else get fucked”.

But like every baddie; baddie’s gotta have soft spots for there bitches. He has two; you and his daughter. And oh god he’s love the two of more then anything in the world.

Poke knows you and his daughter well enough. His daughter first notices that your not as enthusiastic and bubbly, and then she tells Poke. But Poke already knows because he’s observant and very in touch with his emotions.

So when he’s a work; he thinks and does a lot of self reflection. He wonders why you’re upset. Did he cause it? What can he do to make it better? He asks all the guys for advice, and even his own daughter.

An idea strikes! Poke’s got a lot of anger, so his therapist told him to express his emotions by journalling. But Poke learns that it helps him get everything out of system, so he’s a secret writer. Heck, he even likes poetry; and would kill anyone if they’d find out.

While off at work, small letters start to appear across you’re house. Some are long, some are short, but there sweet and make you’re day.

“I held the stars in my arms wen I held you”

“I can’t wait to kiss you.”

“Your eyes stole all of my words away”

And the covers of the notes are done by Poke’s daughter, covered in glitter and Lisa Frank stickers.

You confront Poke about this “mysterious pen pal” and Poke is like “I mean, your lips do sound tempting”

You know it’s Poke, and he knows it, but there’s something about the mystery that is very romantic.

WALT HASSER-

Here comes our favourie country pumpkin

Now let me say. This man LOVES you more then anything the world

Doesn’t wanna show you off (but he does)

So when you’re the slightest bit sad, Walt is even sadder then you are

Walt is someone that lives to receive attention, and also he’s someone that likes to give it. Especially to the love of his life!

Walt gives you things you actually need, and nothing that is materialistic. Growing up, his parents had a healthy relationship, and the apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Waits on you hand and foot. A back massage? Done. A fuzzy blanket? Right on it! A specific burger from a joint that is thirty minutes away at three in the morning? Walt’s driving like a manic just for you. You have the man’s undivided attention.

“Walt?”

He stops whatever he’s doing and runs over, getting on his knees, “Yeah, what’s up baby?”

“Can you sing the song? Y’know, our song?”

Walt nods his head, now an eager puppy, and gets his gutair to play the song he wrote especially for you. And this is making me realize how painfully single I am oh my

RUDY REYES-

Rudy has an iv of respect woman/men juice. He always understands the assignment-and desires extra credit.

So whenever you’re down in the dumps, Rudy will drop everything and drag you into the car to go walk on his favorite trail. It’s ten miles long, but Rudy is a fitness freak.

First, you hate doing it. But the more you talk these long walks, the more you begin to enjoy it.

Sometimes there silence. Rudy won’t speak force you to talk. Talking is stressful, and Rudy will wait until you’re ready. The two of you holds hands, and Rudy has such a calming presence. It’s really hard to get angry at him.

You finally speak and tell Rudy you’re problems, and he listens and doesn’t interrupt. He’s got a hand on you’re lower back, or on your thigh. He’s basically you’re emotional support teddy bear and will always be a lending ear, or a total cuddle monster.

Rudy has the best advice as well. It’s always some yoga shit, but damn, those breathing  exercises do actually help.

EVAN “Q-TIP” STAFFORD-

Oh Q-Tip. My feral goblin son😭

I love him, but sometimes-things can fly over his head.

But when you start to ignore him and hide away from him, he begins to notice. And he HATES IT.

Like Christianson will ask him if he’s okay and he’ll literally quote a 2pac song and be like,

“I would drop all my girls for you, Walk barefoot 'round the world for you, Fly around like the birds for you, Thats why I wrote these words for you..”

Lilley is like “Brah we gotta help a homie out”

So the three stooges create Lovegate. The mission? to make Q-Tip’s partner happier.

Q-Tip is very artistically inclined. So with Christenson’s editing skills and Lilley’s camera, Q-Tip writes you a song and does a whole music video.

The man rents out a movie theatre venue just to show you. Of course, you’re blown away. It’s horrible and you can taste the autotone, BUT IT’S THE EFFORT THAT COUNTS. and q-tip has that smile on. you know what i’m talking about!

Doc Bryan walks in on the two of you making out and is pissed since all he wanted to do was see the re-screening of Bridemaids but NO, Q-Tip just had to rent out a theatre to show his partner a music video about them and then make out.

He see’s Lilley, who’s recording and asks to interview what Doc’s opinion on the music video, and this is what he’s says.

“I think my ears bled, but thank fuck those two aren’t acting like emo’s.”

DOC BRYAN-

The gif has a purpose. Trust me. SPEAKING OF THE MAN OF THE HOUR

Bryan, like Poke, is a very observant guy. He’s an angry motherfucker, and even a little insensitive, but ever since dating you; he’s tried to change.

He hates the world. People are shitty, and it makes him feel shitty that you’re sad because when you feel shitty, he’s in a shitter mood then he’s usually in

Knowing that his words might sound a little harsh, Byran knows how to distract you. Without words. After all, he didn’t work out for nothing.

Long hugs are you’re thing. The two of you will run into eachother, find a private place, and he’ll just wrap his arms around you. His big arms are protective, and he’s warm, and you just sink into him.

Sometimes, you’ll fall asleep. Byran sometimes will fall asleep with you, other times he’ll gently lay you down and put a blanket with a gentle forehead kiss.

When you cry in his arms, he’ll wipe the tears away. He can feel them against his arm, and he doesn’t know what to do. Crying girls/guys are not his speciality.

But when you squeeze his arm back, to let you know what your there and that you love him, Byran will freeze. He has no idea what to next with words. He’ll put his hand over yours, and turns out; it works well.

After this is all over, he’ll check up on you and ask you simply if you’re okay. You respond with a smile. Byran isn’t one for smiles, but for you, he shows a subtle smile back. Just to let you know.

#carrie writes #carrie’s headcanons #generation kill #nate fick #brad colbert #ray person #poke espera #walt hassar #rudy reyes #evan stafford #doc bryan #generation kill x reader #generation kill headcanons #generation kill imagine #hbo war

[astranva]

Dream With Me

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Some explicit language? Not really though.

Category: Pure fluff!

Summary: One thing Harry loves about his girlfriend is her ability to make up the most interesting bedtime stories for him every night. How does it make her feel when he narrates one of her own to the world?

Or

The one where Y/N makes up bedtime stories for Harry and he records one for the world to listen to.

        When you tour the world, sing and prance on stages, write, model, play the guitar and piano, get interviewed, have people follow you everywhere, it’s safe to say that the best time to relax and let loose is when you sleep.

Harry enjoyed staying home with his girlfriend more than anything. Relaxed, chill days were his favorite; days when she’d be on the couch reading or on her laptop playing whatever video game she decided to try with people from online, he’d be lounging lazily beside her, his breath steady and calm when she’d run her fingers through his hair momentarily or when he’d be subconsciously playing with hers.

Days when their apartment would smell like pastries after she’d try baking something she saw on the television, or when it would smell like her favorite homecooked meal that Harry’s eyes would almost glimmer with happiness when she’d sneak and steal from the food he was cooking, watching her closing her eyes and a smile making its way to her face the moment she does, and he’d know that he has done a good job this time, again.

Harry loved the domestic life as much as he loved his job as an artist and entertainer. The euphoria he got the moment the crowd sang back to him, is one that he felt he achieved as well when he was with his girlfriend of 2 years when she’d be dancing to his songs in his clothes. The happiness he felt when someone would hug him and tell him that he means so much to them, is one he feels within just her smile in mornings or the soft, random kisses she’d give him. The bashfulness that would engulf him when someone would tell him that he’s good looking, was one that he felt when his girlfriend would tease him by wolf-whistling when he’d show her a new outfit or suit or just going anywhere really.

Don’t even get him started on how he feels with every single “I love you” she promises him because he was sure there would be no feeling close to what he feels when he hears those words from her, and especially her.

But there was something else about her, too, that nobody could give him but her – her stories.

Touring the world and doing what he does is hectic, of course, it is. It can be stressful, pressuring, and just plain tiring. So when he goes back home later than her after her job, and he goes straight into her arms, she knows he’s going to need a story to sleep better.

He’d nuzzle his head in her neck, smelling the scent of her shampoo with a whiff of her bodywash, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck, her hands moving to gently and lightly scratch his scalp.

“How was your day?” Harry would mumble, closing his eyes and letting her softly sway them in their place.

“Was alright,” she’d answer softly, “How was yours?”

And the sigh he’d release would be enough of an answer – tiring.

“Take a quick shower, yeah? Are you hungry?” She’d pull back to look at him, a soft smile on her lips as she asks him.

Harry would shake his head, “No, still feel too full from lunch.”

“Let me grab you an apple though. Lunch was a long time ago.” She’d pat his chest, “Go. How do we feel tonight? Do we feel like rescuing dwarfs or ending capitalism?” She’d grin, and it would instantly make him grin.

“Anything is fine. Just want to sleep with you beside me.”

On some days, they’d lie on their bed and she’d make up a story about how there were 3 dwarfs who lived in a mansion with everything miniature-sized and would climb each other and wear a coat and a fedora whilst outside. Why? “You can’t tell me you never wanted to try that, Harry!”

Then on other days, she’d tell a story about a boy named Harry with a rapidly growing fish in his backpack. Ring any bell? She remembers starting that series a long time ago with him, adding twists, comedy, and metaphors along the way until Harry decided to surprise her one day with an idea for his music video;

“Hey, baby, remember the fish in my backpack? We’re using that in Adore You! See you soon! Love you xx” he had texted.

Other days she’d make him think with the most random questions and assumptions.

“History is biased, Harry. When will the world stop considering Christopher Columbus a discoverer and instead take accountability for what he did to the natives of the land? What if Christopher never happened?”

And he’d be looking at her as she talked, one of her hands playing with his hair while the other moved all over the place for emphasis and to show how absolutely wonderful and amusing that mess of her mind was.

Some days, she’d be too tired. Drained from a day at her work, she’d be lazily playing with hair as her story was told in some sort of slurs.

“And then-And then they held hands, got on their horses and- no, they got on their skateboards,” she’d chuckle sleepily, “And they ran away. They didn’t have children because they didn’t want children and figured that the world was too ugly for that right now, so they adopted a blind dog and a deaf cat, and lived happily ever after.” She’d be out the moment she finishes, and Harry would be smiling at that and his heart thumping with love for her and love for how hard she has been trying to keep the ritual of a bedtime story alive, even when she was too sleepy and tired. It could be a 1-minute story and he’d feel better, and lighter.

It was one day when Harry went back home, turmoil evident and clear on his face. She noticed how tense his body was, how he clenched his jaw and saw him rubbing his temple as he took off his cardigan and was proven right when she put her laptop on the couch beside her and Harry took a breath before letting her know what happened;

“Fucking paparazzi. Do they think that’s an actual job?”

That day, he had showered and changed into one of her oversized hoodies (he was sure it used to belong to him) and shorts before joining her in their living room to find a tuna club sandwich waiting for him with a small cup of orange juice, his girlfriend under a blanket which she had retrieved when he was showering.

He told her all about the drama he faced that day over his tuna sandwich, giving her “thank you!”s every single time she agreed with him on how annoying they were.

“I get that people are different and that the economy is shit and everybody’s doing anything to get money but trying to trip me so they could get a photo? Why?” He rhetorically asked, shrugging.

“I agree, like,” her eyebrows furrowed as one of her arms reached out as if she was talking to somebody else but him, “Treat people with kindness, you assholes!”

And then there was a pause before Harry began to giggle, all the way to a loud laugh and struggling to catch his breath. She joined him, choosing to tackle him in a hug, hugging his head close to her chest before kissing his forehead, “Nobody is allowed to make you mad, you hear me, Styles? Now finish up, I think I know what to say tonight.”

She had taken a seat on Harry’s piano right after she uttered her last word, Harry turning his body around as he watched her with excitement and amusement. She cleared her throat, “This next song is dedicated to my mans,” Harry laughed, taking his phone in his hand and recording her as a keepsake, “It’s a song I worked very hard on. Stayed up all day and night.” She played offkey notes on the piano, “Harry, love,” she said slowly as she turned her head around to look at him, laughing when she found him recording her with the biggest grin on his face, “This one is for you.”

He had taught her how to play the Happy Birthday theme song on the piano when she joined him on tour once and began laughing when he heard her playing exactly that but with her own lyrics.

“Y/N makes me good stories, Y/N makes me good stories, Y/N makes me good stories,” she pressed the wrong key, letting out a tiny “oop” before continuing, “And she will make me sleep better toooonight.”

After, what she called a “skit”, they both brushed their teeth, did their night-time skincare routine, and were finally in bed.

Taking their usual position, Harry was on his side, looking at her with one arm draped around her waist. She was on her side, looking at him, one hand playing with his hair.

“Let’s try something different,” she suggested softly. “Close your eyes.”

Harry smiled at her, squinting teasingly which caused her to chuckle softly.

“Close your eyes, you baboon.”

So he did.

“Follow my instructions. Take a deep breath in,” she instructed, watching and hearing him follow her, “And then out. In.” He did as was said, “And out.”

Harry felt like almost sleeping from just how soft and gentle she was being, with the couple of deep breaths that he took, it felt like he could really feel how soothing the setting was; his hair played with, on clean sheets that smelled like the vanilla detergent they both loved mixed with her own scent, her presence beside him. It felt like heaven.

“Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep?” She rhetorically asked, “Where you go, and what you feel; the places that you seek. When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book,” she paused, “That writes itself then fades away before you wake to look.”

Harry almost swooned at what she said, embracing the calmness her words, voice, and overall presence radiated.

“Tonight, we’re going to think about anything you’d like.”

His mind instantly flashed to a scene that he had been dreaming and thinking too much about. The beach, him and his Y/N, wet with water and laughing before 3 kids were squealing and running around them. Call him a sap, but he saw a future with her and he loved kids.

“But let’s visualize some scenes. Clear your mind, love.” The hand which played with his hair stopped momentarily before he felt her knuckles softly caressing his temple and down to his cheek, making his reflexively smile which instantly put a smile on her face. “Let’s head to places more celestial.” She whispered.

“Imagine you’re there beneath the stars, which when you pause to think about it, actually, you are.” A sweet, gentle kiss followed her statement on his nose, watching him scrunch it with a wide smile and a hot face with a blush.

“You are, too.” He whispered, inching closer to her.

“Hush.” She said jokingly but blushed, before continuing the story which she had actually been thinking about for a while but saved for the right time.

She went on, describing sceneries for him and watching his lips tug into smiles as he listened to her, his face showing her different emotions despite having his eyes closed.

“Travel with me to moonlit valleys, blanketed with heather, the kind of landscape you and I could dream about forever.”

Harry was sure that if he wasn’t so sleepy, he’d be grabbing his journal to jot down everything she was saying and make it into a song, but he couldn’t cut their moment short. He didn’t have the heart to.

His Y/N continued, letting him relax more and more with every word she said.

He probably smiled the widest and felt like his heart would beat its way out of chest when she spelled out the word “love” to him, pecking different parts on his face with a kiss as she did.

“L,” she pecked his nose, “O,” she pecked one of his eyes and giggled when his face scrunched up in surprise, “V,” she pecked his temple, “E,” she pecked his cheek, “Love.” She kissed him softly and quickly.

And when she told him to think of “the ones he cherishes the most”, Harry couldn’t help but let out a low sigh of contentment as he imagined a garden with his family, friends and in between them, right under a spotlight, stood his Y/N in a flowy white floral dress, smiling so lovingly at him.

That night, Y/N watched Harry’s body get more relaxed by the minute, breath getting steadier until she realized that he had fallen asleep, his arm limp on her waist and his leg draped over hers.

“Goodnight.” She whispered.

He woke up before her the following morning, with a smile that proved that he, in fact, had a good and peaceful night's sleep. When he woke up, he realized that she was spooning him; one of her arms holding him tight, her leg over him, her head leaning against the back of his as he held her hand which was draped on his stomach.

Harry had to pause and reflect. Yesterday’s bedtime stories were probably one of her best and he was sure that if his Y/N decided to take that to the next level and write it down and read it to help ease those with a difficulty sleeping or anxiety, she would be helping out more people than she would imagine.

He stayed in his place for a while, scrolling through his phone and watching the previous night’s video without sound so that he wouldn’t disturb her. He watched how she laughed in that video, how domestically free and shamelessly herself she was, how she effortlessly managed to carry the weight of that day’s burdens off of his shoulders and throw it away.

Y/N woke up not long after and Harry felt it when he heard her let out a groan before she stretched, him instantly turning around to see her. “Good morning, beastie.” He joked as he always did to her in the morning.

“Morning, beauty.” She replied sleepily with a smile. “How was your sleep?”

“I’m certain that you’re a magician, Y/N. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh shoot. Caught.” She teased, wrapping herself around him by climbing and lying on top of him, feeling his arms wrap around her. “But really, how was it?”

“It was amazing. What was that last night?” He asked gently.

“What? You didn’t like it?”

“Like-Y/N, I loved it. That was some therapeutic shit right there.” His chest vibrated with chuckles, “Seriously. I think I want you to record that.”

Her eyebrows rose up and as did her head as she looked at him, “Really?”

“Yes!” He nodded eagerly.

“Wait, I have to show you something now that you mentioned it.” She grinned before climbing off of him and getting out of bed and walking towards her bedside table, mumbling about how she could’ve “shifted closer and gotten it without having to get out of bed.” She opened her drawer, taking out the notebook Mitch had gifted her for some reason last Christmas. It was a medium-sized notebook which had koalas on it with the title being “I’m 100% koalafied to become president!”

She sat beside Harry, who sat up and looked at her with both confusion and excitement as she shuffled through the pages.

“Here,” she stopped at one page, “That’s like, an outline? I don’t know what you call it. But I decided I’d write a bedtime story for you and that’s what I read to you yesterday.” She looked like a kid who had just won first place at a spelling-bee competition as she gave Harry her notebook.

His eyes fell on the title, “Dream with me.” He said softly.

“It’s cliché I know, forget about it.” She said bashfully, waving her hands around.

“No, it’s not,” Harry shook his head, “I did dream with you. Darling, this is incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” Harry laughed excitedly, putting the notebook aside, “Write more, will you?” He asked softly as he opened his arms, letting her move to place herself on his lap and wrap her arms around him.

“Don’t treat me as if I’m a professional. You’re overfeeding my ego.” She joked.

“And why not? You are the best bedtime storyteller I have ever seen.” He said lowly.

“You think too highly of me, Harry.”

“Not too high,” He shook his head with a smug smile, “Just enough to appreciate how bloody talented you are.”

And that began a new ritual. It then became usual for Harry to find his girlfriend perched up anywhere, her koala notebook supported on a cushion on her lap as she wrote away stories which she told him every night, deciding on the perfect ones according to different times and moods.

One day, an idea popped in her head.

Due to the pandemic and how they were both staying safe and going out only when absolutely necessary, Y/N knew how chaotic and sad the world was. She knew some chaos needed to happen, knew that some chaos was revolutionary which is why she decided against staying home and silent and was with Harry during the BLM protests, knowing that something had to be done and that something wasn’t to sit and mope.

But everyone deserved the breather. Everyone deserved to let out a breath and to catch a good night's sleep.

It was when she stumbled upon a video on YouTube that was a 39-minute video of just Harry talking with rain in the background and she saw the comments from fans that she gasped and almost sprinted to Harry.

Harry, sitting in his recording and music room, was sat on a chair with his guitar, strumming and humming when his girlfriend barged in and began to ramble. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock but it’s so important! There are so many people we can help, or like, you can, and it’s super easy, you already have the equipment and ev-“

“Y/N!” His eyes widened as he called for her and put his guitar aside, “Honey, calm down. It’s okay. Let’s talk. Come here.” He held his arm out.

She blushed and began laughing quietly at herself as she seated herself on his lap, brushing back her hair. “Sorry, sorry, too excited.”

Harry smiled, “And I absolutely love it but I’m having just a liiittle bit of hard time understanding.”

She laughed before taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, “Alright. You know how awful everything has been? How-How busy and noisy the world has been for a while?” She asked and Harry nodded, “Well do you know that your fans have a video of you on YouTube with many interviews in there because they love your voice? And they added rain and everything, reduced noise.”

“Oh, wow.” He tried to conceal his blush by laughing.

“I know! You know how good your voice is so why don’t you give the world a little something?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “I sing?”

“No, they know that. They have your songs and covers and everything but you talking?” She raised an eyebrow at him with a suggestive smile.

“Baby, I really don’t think I’m getting anything.”

“Read them something! A bedtime story.” She suggested with an excited smile and a gleeful tone.

“Like you do to me?” He asked, wanting to understand better.

“Yeah, exactly like that. You can upload it on your website or see if any app is willing to partner, whatever you want.”

“Do you think people would like that?” Harry asked again, wrapping his arms tighter around her to bring her closer as he looked up at her.

Y/N smiled and gently cupped his face, “They’ll absolutely adore it.”

Harry hummed, in thought. “Yeah well, I can’t do that on my own.”

She nodded, “You have connections. Jeff has connections, you can find a part-“

“No, love, I mean I can’t do it without you.” He grinned up at her, watching as her face then showed confusion, “Not without your beautiful, absolutely wonderful stories.”

Her eyes widened, her head tilted. “What? No. These are for you. Told you I’m no professional, Harry. I’m sure there are faaar better people.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Nonsense. We do this together or we let people have trouble sleeping.”

“You manipulative piece of shit.” She shook her head with a smile, leaning her head back, Harry chuckling.

“Dream with me.” He said after a moment, “I can read Dream With Me.”

She looked at him for a moment, her smile widening before she nodded, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. “I love you.”

Remember what I said about the indescribable feeling he got when she said those three words? It was there.

And she felt it, too, when he replied with a promise of his – “I love you, too. So much.”

---

Harry had contacted Jeff, who had contacted some people before finally landing on a partnership with Calm. There were two conditions in this work;

Harry would record from his home.

He would be reading his girlfriend’s story.

Now imagine owning a company of that sort as Calm and having Harry Styles contact you with these two conditions. Yes.

It took a couple of days. In the comfort of their own home, Harry and Y/N had him record then they would tweak some stuff then they would listen and try again. They were aware that music would be added, and Y/N was way too excited to listen to the final product.

In his denim hat, black t-shirt, striped cream-colored pants, using his Vans as slippers – which Y/N always cringed at and told him that it would ruin his shoes – and the script in his hand, Y/N stood on the side, admiring. He had allowed his scruff to grow, which she definitely wasn’t complaining about. A bracelet she made him when they were only friends years ago on his wrist, its colors washed out from when he’d shower or swim with it. Headphones were on his head, but she knew he could hear her if she said anything.

When she took her phone out to take a picture, Harry’s eyes moved to her before moving back to the script with a smile.

“Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight are all dreams now remembered or wishes in plain sight. No matter what, they’re with us now, for this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes, they’re yours and mine to treasure. Goodnight, and sleep well.”

Harry then turned to look at her, eyes gleaming with happiness and calmness, as her hands were clutched together against her chest, watching and listening.

“I love you.” He added.

913,746 likes.

yourinstagram: Goodnight❤

#wellbeafinelime #AAA FIRST ONE! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! #harry styles #dream with me #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles one shot #fluff one shot #harry styles dream with me #harry styles fluff one shot #fluffy #harry styles social media au #harry styles social media imagine #harry styles instagram #social media au

[trillian-anders]

four christmases

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  slight violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 2 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now,the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale. These are the four christmases you’ve spent with the thrombey/drysdale clan during your times of service. 

a/n: this story is brought to you by season 4 of schitt’s creek and maybe 12 cups of coffee. it felt like it took forever to write, but i’m happy to bring it to you. this is the follow up for my other ransom one-shot ‘the assistant’. i hope you guys like it! 

2018

What a fucking asshole. 

“You have to be there, it’s your job.” Ransom huffed indignantly. You rolled your eyes from the passenger seat of his beamer, tablet open in your lap as you scrolled through your sister’s amazon wishlist. 

“I have a family too Ransom. I can’t just abandon my own family on Christmas just because you can’t get along with yours.” His knuckles turned white against the gear shift. Nothing else mattered, only him it seemed, and his whining Mommy complex. 

“You were hired to assist me,” Ransom pulled into the drive of his house, tires crunching on the gavel, “So assist.” What a fucking tool. He quickly exited the car not looking behind him to see if you were following into the house, but leaving the front door wide open with the expectation that you were coming right behind. 

You had just hopped onto this assistant gig a few months ago. There you were minding your own business as fall began, working for a temp agency, when Linda Drysdale rang you up and asked you to come work for the family again. You had recently been tutoring one of the youngest of the clan, Meg, with her English coursework for her last school year. The pay was good and you were kind of let down when they opted not to keep you on after summer concluded. 

Babysitting Ransom paid well, better than it had been to help Meg out, but was it really worth the price? Ransom was a fucking child. You cooked his meals, washed his laundry, and were forced to tail him as he went about whatever business he deemed worthy of his days. Just until 9 pm, that’s all you had to do. Twelve hours a day, five days a week. Off Sundays and Mondays. 

It felt like too much and not worth the paycheck. Even if the trust-fund asshole spent his days flirting around from one party to the next. More often than not he found himself a body to bring home leaving you to get an uber back to his place just so you could get your car to go home, or worse yet having you sit awkwardly in the backseat of the car as whoever was in the passenger seat desperately tried to give him road head. 

He loved it. You know he did. Eyes flitting to yours in the rear-view mirror as a girl ten years younger than him fumbled with his belt. A fucking smirk on his face. You wanted to punch him, but your sister’s private school tuition held you back. 

You followed him into the house, one you had just spent the entire morning cleaning as Ransom slept off his hangover. The prick had dropped his coat on the floor adjacent to the coat hook, shoes haphazardly kicked off beside it, glaring at him as you picked them up while he drank orange juice straight from the carton. 

“I’ll pay you time and a half if you come.” He bartered. 

“You don’t pay me anything,” You scoffed. “Your Mom pays me.” 

“Exactly.” He tossed the carton back in the fridge, coming around the counter to get closer to you. He dropped his voice in what he probably thought was a seductive whisper. The fire it lit in your core would lead you to believe that it actually was a seductive whisper and you just fucking hated him. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He drug a finger down your cheek softly. It only caused you to roll your eyes, batting his finger away and stripping yourself of your coat you turned back to him, 

“I want triple.” 

Your sister was going to be pissed, but she’ll survive once she realizes you were able to get her a new laptop for school. A compromise. 

She cried. 

The Thrombey’s were probably the worst people you’ve ever met in your entire life. Harlan was prideful, pompous. He cared about his family, to an extent. He created them after all, his monsters. 

Linda was okay, but she was a lot like her father. She felt as though she was better than everyone else simply because she ‘built herself from the ground up’ yeah, if the ground was a million dollars gifted from Daddy. Her husband, Richard, was a glorified sugar baby, you were sure at one point he was a real estate broker, but Linda had the business, he just rode on her coattails. 

Walt was a whiny bastard. He was meek. He walked around with a cane and you weren’t sure he even needed it. It could totally be a ploy to try and gain more sympathy from his father. His wife was a drunk, you couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t talk to you anyway. You can’t talk if you always have your mouth wrapped around the lip of a martini glass. Their son, Jacob, was a little alt-right shit. Every comment that came out of his mouth was a dig on some less privileged 99% and if you didn’t need this job you’d shove his head in the toilet yourself.

That leads you to Joni and Meg. Joni and Ransom had both been given an allowance every month. That’s the way they were mostly the same. How they differed was that Joni was at least attempting to have some sort of entrepreneur business where she gained some income, but not enough to live the lifestyle she was accustomed to. She had Meg in this expensive ass private school that cost more than your salary a month and Meg found this group of liberal women and now she was becoming the extreme opposite of Jacob. They often bumped heads, with Meg slowly giving in. She always gave in. This was her family and as much as she wanted to fight for the 99% she never actually wanted to be one. 

But it was fine. 

It didn’t really matter. 

You just wanted to go home. 

Ransom hasn’t had an empty hand all day thanks to you. “If I’m ever without a drink,” He said on the way over, “You’re walking home.” So this is where you’re standing, with Marta and Fran, you sipping on a weak mimosa that Marta had compromised on, waiting for the day to be over. 

Ransom’s eyes met yours from across the room, hand raising his glass, the last little mouthful swishing against its side. You sighed and rolled your eyes, turning to grab the decanter behind you, walking over to fill his glass. “So I told him to shove it up his ass,” Linda was telling Harlan a story, “If you think for one moment I would give in to anything less than market price you’re out of your mind.” Please love me, she was saying, please see that I’m the best child you have. Harlan’s eyes were dazed, not looking at hers. Thinking. He was always thinking. 

The only time Ransom didn’t need you was when he disappeared into his Grandfather’s office. Presents were handed out just before, new iphones, apple watches, macbooks, cartier bracelets, rolexes, a couple of little bonus checks to their allowances, the spirit of Christmas was definitely lost on this family. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You had just filled Ransom’s glass before he entered the study and you knew he wouldn’t need you until some kind of argument broke out with his Grandfather and you had to be ready to leave the house at a moment’s notice. 

“How’s it goin’ kid?” Richard always kind of made you uncomfortable. He seemed normal, but you were uncomfortable in a ‘this is a rich older white man who liked to corner you alone’ kind of way. For the most part he’s been harmless. 

One time, this was early on when you first started to tutor Meg, he found you in a similar way. Alone, in the kitchen. This was one of the first times he had met you and he was sure to let you know, “You’ve got a really pretty face, you know that?” Ew. Thanks? He had gotten close, too close. “How’d a pretty girl like you end up as a tutor?” That’s worse. And cheesy. This looked like one of those times, except he’d been drinking since 8 am. 

“I’m fine thanks.” You had been trying to find a minute of peace. There was always someone talking in this house, during ‘debates’ there were usually three or four. This was supposed to be a break. Ransom having been passed off to another wet nurse he could suck off of while you got some rest, and maybe sneak a couple of those expensive chocolate artisanal cookies for good measure. Richard grinned at you, not in the way Ransom would when he was fucking with you, but something more predatory. He was feeling ambitious. 

“I just wanted to give you this,” He slipped an envelope across the counter to you, hand resting on it, waiting for you to take it. As your hand met the envelope, he did the fucking worst thing he could possibly do in this moment, and took your hand. Your heart was racing and you felt wildly uncomfortable. He held your hand, taking a step into your space, body crowding yours against the counter. You stared him down, please just let me go. Please just fucking let me go. “How’s my son treating you?” He asked. What exactly did he think you were doing for his son?

“Fine.” You swallowed harshly. Please just let me go. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, face coming closer to yours. 

“If you ever need anything…” Closer and closer. You wished you could pull back completely, get out of this situation, but the vice grip he currently had on your hand was making it difficult. 

“Y/N.” Your eyes snapped over to the doorway, Ransom. His jaw was clenched, face flushed from what you were sure was an argument with Harlan. “We’re leaving.” Richard turned and smiled at his son, releasing your hand. You quietly slipped the envelope into your jeans pocket, backing yourself away from him, and joining Ransom across the room where his eyes hadn’t yet left his father. It wasn’t until you made it to the front door, grabbing your coat from the coat rack did he stomp his way out of the house, digging his car keys from his pockets. 

“Ransom I don’t think you should be driving-” You started, but he turned to you, eyes wild. This scared you. 

“Get in the car.” He demanded. Fuck, he’s drunk.

“Ransom you’re drunk, you can’t drive right now.” His eyes looked behind you and you turned to look at his family, peeking out through the curtains to watch the show. He quickly grabbed your arm, tugging you to the passenger seat, wrenching the door open and shoving you in, slamming the door behind you to circle around to the drivers side. “Just let me drive.” You pleaded. He slammed his own car door, revving the engine and quickly whipping the car out of the driveway. 

He wasn’t saying anything and Ransom always had something to say. 

“Ransom-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His knuckles were white against the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead as he began gaining speed. 

60 mph,

65 mph,

70…

“Slow down!” He was scaring you, these roads were winding and dark, his high beams only did so much and you weren’t sure how many deer you’d be seeing tonight. His foot was heavy on the accelerator. 

75

80

85

“Ransom please!” You cried. His breathing was heavy. His eyes were moving wildly left to right as he moved the wheel to turn.

90

95

100

You were going to die. This was it, this was the end. The car hit the open road, the interstate, and to the left of the on ramp you had just flew through was a cop. Their lights started flashing, red and blue filling the car as Ransom kept accelerating. It wasn’t late at night, probably around nine or so. There were other cars here as Ransom kept gaining speed, swerving in and out of traffic. “You’ve got to pull over!” You yelled at him.

105

110

115

“Ransom for the love of god, fucking stop!” His eyes looked in the rearview, two cops now. It was then he began to slow down, moving over to the side of the road, your heart still racing in your chest. You relax your fingers which you didn’t even realize was gripping Ransom’s bicep in a steel grip. Both of you breathing heavily inside the car. It wasn’t until the cop heavily banged on the window that either of you even moved. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.” A bright flashlight in your face as you dug around for his registration and insurance in the glove box. Exiting the car and circling to the trunk as Ransom was handing the four cops bills from his money clip. Why the fuck did Ransom have a money clip full of hundreds? Ransom’s eyes met yours as he stuffed his money clip back in his coat pocket before tossing you the keys which you caught awkwardly. 

“Take me home.” 

You looked over at the cops who were getting back in their squad cars before quietly getting in the driver's seat and shutting the door. Your heart was still pounding and as the adrenaline began wearing off you suddenly grew very tired. 

“Drive.” You didn’t want to hear his voice. You never wanted to see his face again. You never even wanted to hear his name again. 

“You’re the fucking worst.” You could feel yourself crying. That was the most terrifying experience you’ve ever had in your life. 

“Well you’re fucking my father so,” He sunk down in his seat. “I think I have some competition.”

“I’m not fucking your father!” You exclaimed, hand hitting the steering wheel. You hear him scoff from the passenger seat.

“Not today since I walked in on you. Which is funny, you put on this whole show about not wanting to be around my family and what was it all for? A fucking ploy so I didn’t know.” Ransom didn’t fucking know how much of a goddamn idiot he was being right now. 

As the gravel crunched beneath the tires of the beamer, your argument continued. “I’m not fucking your father, I’ve never fucked your father, and I never will fuck your father.” He wasn’t hearing you. 

“Is this why Linda pays you so much?” He scoffed, exiting the car. He looked at you from over the roof and continued, “So you keep Richard out of her bed?” You hadn’t stopped crying. Still half going from fear and the other half from frustration. It was so goddamn cold out that the tears were freezing against your cheeks. 

“Ransom, I am not fucking your father!” You yelled, “The reason she pays me what she does is because the exact fucking thing you’re doing right now.” He rolled his eyes, walking up to the front door of his house, 

“Give me my keys.” 

“No.” You were still standing by the car, keys fisted in your hand. “You’re being a fucking asshole right now.” 

He clenched his fist, slamming it into the front door before turning back to you and yelling, “Give me my fucking keys Y/N.” You both looked at one another for a moment. 

You took a deep breath. “I have nothing to do with your father Ransom. My only job is to wait on you like a fucking servant and that is what I get paid to do. Not be your fucking punching bag when your family turns out to be a bunch of dicks-”

“Give me-”

“I’m not finished!” You screamed. Tears were still streaming heavily down your face and Ransom stood five feet away from you awkwardly letting you continue. “I don’t deserve this Ransom. I really fucking don’t. You literally almost just fucking killed me. So you’re going to say you’re sorry, you’re going to go into your fucking house, you’re going to give me what you promised me for even having to deal with this shit tonight, and you’re going to give me the rest of the week off.” 

It was silent for a moment. The two of you standing in the cold Massachusetts air in silence. Your face was starting to burn and as the silence stretched on you began to doubt everything you just said. Fuck this could cost you the job. The envelope Richard had handed you weighed heavily in your pocket. Hopefully it would be enough to hold you over until you could get back to the temp agency. 

Ransom let out a breath he had been holding, turning fully to you, and walking down the two steps of his porch. You flinched back away from him, looking at his knuckles that were split and bleeding from punching the door. His eyes met yours and he looked like he was debating something. 

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft and whispered, hand coming forward with an open palm, waiting for his keys. You gently gave them back to him. That soft, whispered, ‘I’m sorry’ stunned you. You didn’t expect your yelling to actually work. You expected to be fired. His keys jingled as he reached in his pocket and brought that money clip back out, extracting a bundle of hundreds and holding them out to you between two fingers. “Go home.” 

That was never spoken of again. The thing with Richard in the kitchen, being pulled over on 95, the screaming match that ensued, and nothing was ever said about the solid gold, $6,500 cartier bracelet that was by no doubt wrapped at the store that was waiting for you when you arrived back at work five days later. 

2019

“What did he do?” You were sweating. It was so fucking hot in here, but you were afraid to take off your coat. The fanfare in which the detectives had pulled up to your apartment complex was embarrassing, quickly bringing you down to the police station and shoving you in an interrogation room. 

“What did who do?” The man who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Elliot asked you. Shit. What the fuck did Ransom do? The death of Harlan Thrombey was sudden, right after his birthday just two weeks ago. It was unsettling, the suicide. The funeral was uncomfortable to say the least. Ransom told you to go and then didn’t go himself so you stood there like some weird interloper on the tails of everyone’s grief. 

You were going to throw up, you’ve never so much as gotten a speeding ticket but suddenly you had a kilo of coke on you and an unlicensed gun. “Where were you the night Harlan Thrombey committed suicide?” You picked at your fingernails. 

“I was at the party,” Your throat was so dry, you were afraid to touch the glass of water they had set before you, “I always feel strange around the family so unless Ransom needs me I try to hide out in the kitchen.” 

“You’re his assistant?” Elliot asked, “He doesn’t have a job, so what exactly do you assist with?”

“I’m pretty much his babysitter.” You explained, “I make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble…” It’s ironic right? You bit your bottom lip. “Why am I here exactly?” The other man in the room, Wagner, spoke up, 

“Hugh Drysdale has been arrested in the murder of Harlan Thrombey’s housekeeper.” Elliot gave him a dirty look. 

“Fran’s dead?” The shock was evident on your face. You leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair, discarding your coat and scarf and taking a large mouthful of water. 

“You seemed surprisingly absent from Hugh’s side throughout the aftermath of Harlan’s suicide, why is that?” The third man spoke up from his spot sitting in the corner of the room, the thick southern accent was almost comical. 

“Ransom gave me time off,” You recalled, voice trailing off as you finish your sentence, “He said I could go to my sister’s cello recital…”  Did he really kill her? “Why would he kill Fran?” It made no sense. “I mean, he’s an asshole, but murder?”

They played a recording. Ransom in his own, self-righteous, pompous voice. Fuck me. What a fucking idiot. “So tell us where you were on the dates in question, spare no details.”

You had thought it strange, Ransom had left you stranded at the Thrombey house and you were forced to find your own way back to his house to get your car. It wasn’t at all strange that when you got to his house his car wasn’t there. You’d just assumed he’d gone out. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go out after finding arguments with his family. But the next day when he suggested that you take the week off, spend time with your sister, go to that recital you didn’t know he knew about, you checked his forehead with your wrist.

“Are you sick?” You had asked. He gently pushed your wrist off of his forehead, giving you a terse look. 

“Harlan committed suicide last night, the funeral is tomorrow, but after that you should take some time. I need some time.” Your heart broke a bit. Yeah Ransom and Harlan butt heads all the time, but they were practically the same person so it made sense to you that they would fight. Both prideful assholes. 

“I’m so sorry Ransom.” Should you hug him? You didn’t know. You two didn’t have any physical contact really. You’d never seen him hug anyone. So no, no hugs. ���Is there anything I can do for you?” You opted to just gently lay your hand on his wrist. His eyes met yours for a moment, silence. 

“Just come to the funeral.” With that he stood up and walked away. 

That’s why it was so off-putting when the bastard didn’t even show up to the funeral and as you stood there with his sobbing family you figured next time you saw him you were going to spit in his coffee. 

“I haven’t seen him since the day before the funeral.” You admitted to the officers. “He asked me to go, and didn’t even show up.” 

“If we have any other questions we’ll let you know.” And you were released from questioning, but you had so many questions yourself. Arson? Fran? He attempted to murder Marta. Was this worth it? The fucking asshole never had to work for anything in his life, and even now as you stood in the courtroom waiting to see what bail would be set as so you could relay to Linda, you wanted to smack his pretty little face for being such a fucking idiot. 

A bailiff read out the case number and in walked Ransom. You’d never seen him in any outfit that cost less than your rent and here the bastard was, walking in with a black and white striped jumpsuit, the county jail logo stamped in red on the back.  You were the only person that showed up for him. Linda was half waiting for you to text her a dollar amount so she could pay his bail, the other half of her was debating on whether to leave him there or not. At least, that’s what she told you anyway. 

You could only imagine what you looked like to him. Your eyes were puffy and red from just crying in the parking lot for an hour in between getting questioned and coming to his hearing. Before that the detectives had taken you practically from your bed. But you were here, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, coat pulled over the ratty thing, and snow boots on your feet. It started snowing this morning. 

His eyes caught yours as soon as he entered, but he quickly looked away. It was like a goddamn movie, his wrists cuffed to his waist, a chain leading down to the cuffs around his ankles. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

A chill went down your spine, “Bail set at a million dollars.” And a gavel. Cameras clicking behind you. Thirty minutes later you were waiting for his release. You handed a dry cleaning bag with clothes to the officer at the front desk. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

It wasn’t long before the secure, thick, metal door behind the metal detectors opened and Ransom was walking through it back to you. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, quickly circling to the desk to get his phone, wallet, and keys back. The garment bag was shoved back in your hands containing the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested, and then he was out the doors of the county jail, speed walking to your car. His was taken in as evidence. 

You used your key fob to unlock the car, Ransom wordlessly climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him as you settled in the driver’s. This was uncomfortable. You drove in silence for a minute, awkwardly leaning over to turn on the radio. The song only played for a second before Ransom leaned over, smacking the button to turn it off again. 

“Just say it.” He spat out at you. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“Say what, Ransom?” You were scared of him now and he could tell. He breathed harshly through his nose. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? Why I did it? Yell at me for being a fucking idiot?” He threw his hands up in frustration. There was a beat of silence more, “Say something.” 

“I don’t know what to say!” You really didn’t. What do you even say? You’ve been cursing him for a while. In your head. Cursing him since you left the interrogation earlier. You didn’t know what any of this meant for your job, if you’ll be able to keep your sister in school, if you’ll be able to even afford the apartment you two live in right now. And all because Ransom wasn’t getting anymore fucking money from his Grandfather the fucking prick. 

“Anything. Fucking say…” He leaned over in his seat, growing close to you. “Are you scared of me?” He smirked. Not in his, I’m playing with you and getting my way, smirk. And not in his, I’m making you weirdly uncomfortable and it really gets me off, smirk. But some sick sinister type of smirk that made your stomach roll. 

“You fucking murdered someone Ransom.” You said between clenched teeth. He studied you for a minute before settling back in his seat. Silence took over until you made it to the front door of his house. Lawyers should be coming by in about an hour to start working on his case, his parents should be here soon as well seeing as they were backing all of this. 

“You think I would hurt you?” Ransom asked as he stripped himself of his coat, purposefully letting it fall to the floor just so you’d have to pick it up. You left it there. He turned to look at you, still in the doorway of his house. “I killed Fran because I had to.” He spat. “It was for the bigger fucking picture. You want to be paid don’t you? You like having money right?”

“Your Mom pays me Ransom.” You stated calmly. His voice was escalating in volume as he continued.

“So fucking what? Who bought you that fucking coat, huh?” He was talking about the expensive wool coat you are currently wearing. He bought it for you after seeing that your old bubble coat had stuffing pouring out of the right pocket. You didn’t ask for it. “Who pays for your fucking phone, huh?” You had a month-by-month plan before. Ransom gifted you and your sister iphones sometime in the spring, saying that he needed to be able to reach you without having every call get dropped due to bad reception. Your sister’s was just because they were buy-one-get-one, or so he said. You didn’t ask for it. “And that fucking bracelet on your wrist too? Is my Mom buying you jewelry? Or just me and my fucking Dad?” He was still under the impression that something had gone on between you and his father apparently. 

“That’s it! I’m done.” You yelled back at him. “I fucking quit.”  You stripped the coat off your shoulders and tossed  it on the floor beside his watching his mouth snap shut. You wiggled the bracelet off your wrist and threw that down on top of it before slipping your phone out of the side pocket of your yoga pants and throwing that on the pile. “I’ll mail Julia’s phone back to you.” You still hadn’t stepped foot inside the house, turning to walk back to your car when Ransom’s thundering footsteps could be heard behind you. 

Fuck he was going to kill you. 

It had continued to snow throughout the morning, the soft white stuff still falling heavily from the sky as you rushed to your car, you had to get away. You didn’t make it far before Ransom’s arms wrapped around your body from behind, tugging you tightly to his chest. You let out a loud scream before he covered your mouth with his hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered quickly into your ear. “Please stop, I’m sorry.” His large body was bent over your back as you were crouched over trying to get him to release you, both of you breathing heavily as you settled against him. “Y/N I’m sorry.” He slowly started walking the two of you back toward the house, “I’m not gonna hurt you!” He shouted as you tried to bite his hand. He uncovered your mouth, arms loosening. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” He repeated a little more calmly. 

He brought you back into the house, shutting the door softly behind him. You wanted to leave, eyes tearing up. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? Ransom stood for a moment with his back against the door before peeling the wet socks off of his feet. You hadn’t realized that he took his shoes off when he originally came in. His feet were bright red from the cold. You glanced to your left at the knife block there, slowly backing away. 

“No, no, no, I’m not going to hurt you.” He sunk down to his knees. He looked like a fucking idiot, face flushed from the cold, kneeling in front of the door. He slowly made his way over to you, not rising from his knees, shuffling forward with his hands open and facing you. Your heart was racing as he stopped at your feet, slowly moving his arms to wrap around your waist, burying his face in your ratty old college sweatshirt. 

He was hugging you. Actually hugging you, on his knees, face turned into your belly. You could have sworn he whispered, “Please don’t go.” But you couldn’t be sure. 

A pot of coffee was made, coats picked up, and floor mopped before the lawyers and his parents arrived. The only evidence of your earlier fight was the absence of the cartier bracelet you refused to put back on. It sat heavily in Ransom’s pants pocket. Their discussion was loud in the living room and no one looked up as you lay the coffee and finger foods on the coffee table, Ransom’s cup unmade for him out of spite. As you turned to make your way back to the kitchen, Richard’s hand shot out to grab you harm, halting your movements, 

“Grab me some Macallan for me, would you sweetheart?” Your eyes flit over to Ransom, who’s jaw twitched, sharing a look with you before looking back to his lawyers and mother. 

This was none of your business, but you needed to know what your future was going to look like. Were you out of a job? If Ransom went to prison there would be no one to babysit. So yeah, you would be. He admitted on tape to arson and murder. Pre-meditated arson was minimum of 10 years, Murder was 30 years. He’s looking at at least 40 years in prison. He would be an old man before he was even allowed parole. 

The group grew silent, or you couldn’t hear them as you started dinner for that evening. You were sure the four of them would be staying. “Y’N, would you come here please?” That was Linda. 

You made your way over to the group, shuffling nervously in your wool socks. “Yes Mrs. Drysdale?” Linda smiled, 

“It’s back to Thrombey now, but that’s another issue.” Hmmm. “If I was willing to pay you…. Say four times what you’re making now, would you take Ransom’s house arrest? That is, if we are able to work the judge down to that.” 

“House arrest?” You looked to Ransom confused, he wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Murder and Arson-”

“The only proof they have is the recording, the only thing they’re going to be able to pin on Mr. Drysdale here would be the attempted murder of the nurse.” A chill went down your spine, 

“You tried to kill Marta too?” You asked Ransom, incredulously. He didn’t respond, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. His lawyers made you uncomfortable, they were definitely sleazy and you knew money could get you far in the justice system. If that recording was 75% of the evidence against Ransom and it was suddenly and accidentally destroyed, they would only have what was actually witnessed. 

“Well, would you?” Linda asked again. 

“I uhm… I have a sister who lives with me, I can’t just-”

“I’m sure there’s someone else who can take care of her. How long would it be for?” She looked to the lawyers, “Two or three years?” This was impossible. You couldn’t. Linda looked back at you. “How about this…” She leaned over and clasped your hands softly. “We will pay for your sister’s school, her housing, everything she needs while you’re doing this for us, and you’ll still get paid what I originally offered.”

“If Ransom gets house arrest?” You asked. 

“Yes ‘if’.” She was selling it hard. Julia could stay with your aunt. She didn’t live far from where the two of you currently reside. The majority of your income went to her school, books, clothes, rent, and groceries. Having all of that taken care of would mean you’d be getting four times your current salary and not having to spend any of it. Just for a couple years. 

“If Ransom gets house arrest,” you looked over at him, his eyes briefly meeting yours, studying you it felt like, “If he does, I will do what you need me to do. But I don’t even know how-” Linda’s hands quickly released yours. 

“We will figure that out when the time comes,” Linda has a shit eating grin on her face, “Write up a contract.” Directed at the lawyers, “Now, how are we going to get our hands on that recording?” That’s it. You were dismissed until they needed you again. 

“Why would you do that?” Ransom asked you. Everyone had left a little bit ago, you were busy washing the dishes, knowing as soon as this task was finished you’d be able to go home and this day from hell would be over. 

“Do what?” There was a piece of cheese melted on the side of the casserole dish that wouldn’t fucking come off. 

“Agree to take my punishment?” You paused in your scrubbing, 

“That’s if they actually settle on house arrest.” You finally unwedged the cheese, rinsing off the casserole dish and placing it in the dishwasher. 

“Hmpf.” Ransom had been cold and distant since he burrowed his head into your belly. Has to make up for his extreme weakness then. “But why?” He asked again.

You turned to him, eyes staring directly into his. You watched him fiddling with the gold bracelet you had taken off earlier, it was in his hand down by his side. “It’s what you said earlier right?” You scoffed, removing the rubber gloves from your hands and throwing them in the sink. You walked closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “Because I need the fucking money.” 

The two of you didn’t talk for the rest of the weekend. Usually there was texting here and there, ‘Where are my grey socks, the ones I usually wear with the navy Ralph Lauren slacks?’ or ‘Next week when you meal prep for my weekend can you make me this?’ with a link to a recipe. ‘Pick me up a pack of magnums on your way in.’ Fuck you. 

You got him regular Trojans. 

Monday was Christmas luckily enough, and you knew you weren’t going in. Ransom didn’t even text you to see where you were. His account was rapidly depleting funds, you checked every once in a while. 

234.72 ETRN-STD

523.50 DRNK

435.62 HAWTHNE

The list went on. Multiple spots a day over the weekend. That’s who he was going to be now, the old fucking white dude who sits at a bar all day hitting on girls uncomfortably too young. How many giggling 18 year olds would you kick out crying and screaming the next day? Disgusting.  

“Do you have them?” Them meaning the cookies that were currently at the bottom of your reusable Aldi bag. Your sister, Julia, was off to your right, setting a pot with water on the stove to boil. It was Christmas, just the two of you, and with the aftermath of everything that was going on with the Thrombey/Drysdale clan, you were happy to get some time off to relax. You might even push it so that you wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. We’ll see if Ransom texts you. 

“Of course I do.” This bag has been in your closet all weekend. There’s a bakery near your apartment that your Mom would take you to all the time, every time you got an A, won a game, gotten an award. Everything they made reminded you of her, and it was something you craved more than anything. Every Christmas they would make these fresh baked cookie packs with all kinds, chocolate chip, double chocolate chunk, snicker doodle, gingerbread, white chocolate macadamia, chocolate and peanut butter. 

Every Christmas, after dinner, you and your sister would slouch in front of the TV with scalding hot cups of hot chocolate and devour almost the whole box. Every year except last year when at the time your sister was home alone watching The Grinch you were in a car with Ransom going over a hundred miles an hour and scared for your life. This Christmas, Ransom would not be getting between the two of you, food was cooking, lights in the living room were dimmed. The tree was all lit up and the presents you had exchanged earlier that morning sat unwrapped beneath it. 

Christmas music was playing softly on the tv as you heard someone knock on your front door. 

“Coming!” You yelled. It wasn’t uncommon for a neighbor to have forgotten something, sugar, butter, milk, that they needed for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for you to answer your door without looking through the peephole. What was uncommon was Ransom Drysdale standing sheepishly on the other side. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were red. The cheeks and nose from the cold, the eyes probably from the alcohol you could smell on him. You sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on, “What are you doing here?” 

“Bar called me an uber and I didn’t want to go home.” He explained quickly, words slurring slightly. 

“Your parents-”

“Fuck my parents!” He yelled, you quickly shushed him, looking down the halls to see if anyone was peeking out into the hallway. “Fuck my parents.” He said quietly. 

“Ransom…” You sighed, stepping out into the hall, closing the door softly behind you. “What do you want?” His eyes were glazed, he shrugged dumbly, swaying forward. “Okay big guy,” I guess this is happening, “Come on.” You quietly ushered him inside, shutting the door softly behind you. 

“Who is it? Oh, woah.” Julia’s eyes bugged out of her head, shifting over to you. ‘Murderer’ she mouthed. 

“Go set the table.” You ushered Ransom over to the small table that could barely seat the two of you let alone a third, quickly brewing a pot of coffee and keeping an eye on your sister who was scared to get to close to him. “He’s harmless Julia.” You reassured her, or were you reassuring yourself so that you didn’t feel like such a bad guardian, letting a murderer into your home. He was past angry drunk Ransom, which is probably why the bar kicked him out, he was sad Ransom right now. You’d never seen him cry but this was probably the closest you were going to get to it. He was quiet, sat in the chair just staring as you and your sister finished dinner. 

You poured him a cup of coffee and a glass of water, hoping to sober him up enough that you could safely send him home later on. The three of you sat down to eat. Ransom staring listlessly out the window. You made him a plate and told him to eat. And he did. You told him to finish his water. And he did. You told him to finish his coffee. And he did. This was almost terrifying. He hadn’t said anything since ‘fuck my parents’, and he looked dead on his feet. 

“Send him home,” Your sister pleaded. The man hadn’t moved. Cleanup had already started and finished, he was still nursing the third glass of water you’d given him. Cookies were warming in the oven. His eyes were less glassy now. He was slowly sobering up. The large helping of mashed potatoes and three bread rolls he ate didn’t hurt either. 

“He’s my boss, I can’t really kick him out.” You explained, “Let me get him sober enough that I know he’s okay and then he’ll go home.” She rolled her eyes at you, stirring the pot of hot chocolate on the stove, adding more chunks of chocolate to melt. Ransom, still unspeaking, didn’t protest when you moved him into the living room, setting him up in the recliner with his own cup of hot chocolate and three cookies, before snuggling down with your sister and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You moved only once when he tapped the mug against your arm. 

More.

“I’ve never done anything.” He said. “Never went to college, barely graduated high school.” He was rambling to himself, maybe to you? “I’ve spent the entirety of my adult years inside someone’s cunt.” 

“Alright, Julia. Time for bed.” You ignored her whining protests. The movie wasn’t over yet. “Please?” You begged her. She hated Ransom. You knew this. She knows you know this. ‘All he does is take you from me.’ is what she once said to you. Just to treat you like shit. 

“I have no money.” Ransom’s eyes met yours. “None.” 

“I know Ransom.” He scoffed. 

“I’m no better off than you now.” 

“You still have your house. I’d say you are still better off.” You started cleaning up around him, letting the asshole sit in his self-pity. 

“C’mere.” It was a quiet request. The Grinch was packing up his sleigh in the background. You dropped the two mugs you were holding onto the counter, circling back to the recliner. Ransom’s hand came out soft, wrapping around your forearm and gently guiding you to sit in his lap.

“Ransom, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You tried to pull away, heartbeat beginning to pick up. His still bloodshot eyes raised to meet yours. 

“Please hold me.” Fuck. What were you supposed to do with that? Heart melting you sunk into his lap, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in tight. It was quiet for a while. Sitting with the credits rolling, Ransom’s arms wrapped around your waist while yours were wrapped around his shoulders. Comforting him from whatever crisis he was currently going through. 

“Marta ruined everything” He whispered into your neck. 

“No Ransom, you did.” 

2020

The trial, fuck me, the trial. The whole fucking family showed to watch Ransom crash and burn and get exactly what he deserved. Well that and to stare down Marta Cabrera who sat with the prosecution in some shiny new digs, a stunning gold cartier bracelet on her wrist. That was familiar. Ransom’s cheap bought apology. There was a tension there, you knew. He always had a thing for ‘the help’. You wondered if that’s where he had been this past week. But it’s strange isn’t it? This whole situation. It was unsettling and for some reason you felt irreversibly used.  

“I knew the knife was a prop.” And that was that. Audio recording gone, attempted murder charge whittled down to aggravated assault. A slap on the wrist. Two years of house arrest. And here you were, in Ransom’s home with a fucking house arrest bracelet making your ankle itch. Unfucking believable. Ransom had sat in the courtroom, head raised, armani suit, legs crossed and body relaxed. He knew he was getting out of this from the minute he walked in. 

The Thrombey trial that was supposedly going to last three months only lasted a week. You still had a job, and in a remarkable turn of events Linda Drysdale and their legal team got exactly what they predicted. 

“I’m going out.” Was the first thing Ransom told you as you unpacked your clothes. He had half thought to buy you a bed and a small dresser that he haphazardly got someone to shove between his Pam Anderson Baywatch poster and the unplugged Space Invaders original arcade console. This was a 90s teenage boy’s dream bedroom. And now it was yours. He didn’t give you much time to respond and he was gone. 

They say that you never really know someone until you live with them. And you’ve never felt that saying more true. Ransom was a fucking asshole. 

During your previous employment schedule you would come in at 9 am with breakfast and let him know of anything he needed to do that day, if his Mom needed him for whatever reason, events his was scheduled to go to, dates he promised he’d keep. He’d let you know what to cancel and what he would get ready for, and then you were off. Cleaning and maintaining the home to the best of your ability, binge watching tv shows, trying new recipes from pinterest. 

Ransom was disgusting. 

Clothes discarded all over his floor, bedroom, living room, hallways. Beard trimmings all over the sink and what you would hopefully assume were more beard trimmings lining the bottom of his shower. You really didn’t want to think about Ransom’s pubic hair situation. He would do things like take his coffee mugs into his room or into the study and leave like a sip left in each one, letting it sit there until the milk began to curdle. Wet towels shoved into corners and every morning when you went in to make his bed it was like he was running in his sleep, loose and fitted scrunched in the corner of the foot board, duvet thrown off and pillows with half off shams. 

He was doing this shit on purpose. 

And you hated him for it. 

It wasn’t long after the trial that he began a steady routine. Gym, breakfast, some puttering around the house, making plans and then he would go out. And that’s when we come to this, 

“He said he would be back and we would have breakfast together.” The girl was pretty, but her voice was annoying. 

“I’m one hundred percent sure he did not say that.” You stood with arms crossed in the doorway, watching her fix her face in the mirror propped against his bedroom wall. An old antique thing that didn’t match with the decor of the house at all. 

“Hmpf.” She glared at you, “Fine, when he gets back, we’ll see who is right.” This was before you became practiced at this kind of thing. 

You felt your phone buzz in the pocket of your jeans, 

Is she gone yet? 

Fucking prick. 

“I’ll have him call you when he gets in,” You explained, “He has a lot to do today, I’m sure if he said you’ll go out for breakfast it’ll probably be another day.” 

“I said.” She stepped up to you, “I’m staying.” Fuck. You rolled your eyes and walked past her into the room, 

Not leaving, come deal with her yourself

He had been waiting down the street like a psycho, waiting to see her leave so he can come back home, but it’s not really working out in his favor. You could feel her eyes on you as you made the bed and picked his laundry up from the floor, tossing them two feet away into the laundry basket you left in his bathroom in hopes he would actually use it. The socks left discarded beside it was a clear message of disregard, a ‘fuck you’ from a petulant child. 

You could hear the door slam downstairs. Great, you looked at the girl who was scrolling through her phone curled up in the reading chair in the corner of his room, he’s pissed. You could hear his stomping feet climb the stairs and the girl looked up from her phone hopeful towards the door. 

“Alright, time to go.” He huffed, coming into view. The girl stood from the chair, shifting over towards him and trying to wrap her arms around his neck. “Nope. Let’s go, your uber is here.” 

“But, I-” She began, you could see tears welling up in her eyes and you began to feel bad for her. 

You were never one to have one night stands. You had one serious boyfriend when you were in college, but when your Mom got sick you had ended it and moved back home. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone else since. You just didn’t have the time. That being said, this girl honestly thought Ransom had a heart. She was naive and young, younger than you. Your heart hurt for her, but honestly, no one should be with Ransom anyway. 

His birthday dinner had soon come and gone. Linda and Richard sat around the dinner table eating Ransom’s favorite foods you’d spent the day cooking for him. Drinking whiskey and wine, Ransom’s glass never empty. You’d had a few glasses yourself with the tapas style dinner you’d put together. A beautifully iced spice cake sitting on the counter with unlit candles for dessert. 

This was the night that Ransom blew up on you for the last time. The night he cried into your neck, drunk and unstable. Clutching desperately at your body for comfort, burying himself against you all touch starved and needy. This was more intense than last Christmas where his dry eyed stare begged you to hold him in an uncommon moment of weakness. 

He was so hard to read sometimes and you were never quite sure where you stood. You knew you really hated him sometimes, other times… not so much. The more you knew his parents, the more you understood why Ransom was an ungrateful shit to begin with. You almost couldn’t blame him for how he turned out.

Almost. 

“Help me with this.” He stood in the doorway to the small office he never used. It was pretty much just for show. A large wooden ornate desk, his macbook, and a bookshelf full of books you know he probably never read. Including the ones penned by his own Grandfather. 

There were beginnings here. Multi-colored post its lined the desk, laptop left on the seat of one of the chairs in the room. 

“What is this?” You asked him, fingers plucking a post-it from the desk,

Crime of Passion?

He had been watching a lot of true crime documentaries lately. It didn’t help but creep you out. This man, a murderer, suddenly extremely into serial killers and murder itself. 

“I’m going to write a book.” He explained. His face was in a grin, almost giddy. 

“A book.” You looked at him incredulously. Your eyes drifted over to Harlan’s novels sitting stacked on another chair, spines finally cracked and pages thumbed through, sticky tabs stuck throughout the pages. You pointed to them, “A book?”

“Yeah,” He gestured around to the post-its, “What do you think?” It’ll keep him busy that’s for sure. You sighed, sticking the post-it back on the desk and looked at him. He was waiting, expectantly, why did he care what you thought about this?

“Is it gonna be about Fran?” You asked awkwardly, he scoffed,

“No, I’m gonna write books like my Grandfather wrote,” He plucked a post-it from the desk, showing you,

Wife murders husband?

“I’m gonna write a mystery novel.” 

He was good. You couldn’t lie about that. And you wouldn’t. This was a strange thing. The routine changed. Gym, breakfast, writing, lunch, writing, dinner, and then he would go out. His mind was moving faster than his fingers could and you were left reading a new chapter or two every night. You’d once loved Harlan’s novels. Your Mother was obsessed with them. It was partially why you had even taken the job tutoring Meg in the first place, but you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. 

Harlan was kind in some ways, funny, but proud. His pride is what eventually killed him you’ve found out. The medicine Ransom had switched wasn’t his cause of death, his refusal for help was. 

Ransom was as good as he was, better even. 

“He’s got a lot of me in him,” Harlan said to you once, “He could have everything I’ve ever had if he would pull his head out of his ass.” 

This was promising. 

You were honestly afraid when Ransom first said he would be writing a novel. What if he wasn’t a good writer? Could you really lie and try to support him even though it was absolute garbage? You supposed you would have to. You were relieved to find out that it was unnecessary. 

He slipped a red pen into your hand when handing you this last chapter, the book almost finished. “I want to see how you react to everything,” He explained, the book was coming to the climax, you were a chapter away from the big reveal and the aftermath, his hands gently massaged your shoulders before he bent at the waist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you sat on the sofa. “Do you like it?” His hot breath brushed against your ear, a tingle went down your spine. 

“Ransom,” Your hand came up to lay over his forearm, brushing the skin with your thumb, “It’s amazing.” You could almost feel the grin that stretched across his face, he turned, pressing his face into your hair where you could swear he laid a soft kiss before releasing you. 

“Of course it is,” Here we go, “I’m a fucking Thrombey.” His fucking smirk. That's what he left you with, returning to his office to pound out the last two chapters. 

It was a process. The editing, printing, shipping off to multiple publishers. He got replies after a month. 

Eager replies. 

Whatever Ransom wanted, Ransom got. The lucky bastard stayed lucky.

“Look Babe.” Ransom dropped a heavy box on the table in front of you, “Look at this shit.” He grabs a knife from the block on the counter, slipping it under the packing tape to open the box revealing glossy black covers. He first fucking novel. There. Printed. A picture of a fireplace, chair facing it, empty. A blood soaked carpet. He picked one from the box, opening it. And there in the forward, the dedication, Harlan’s name…

...and yours. 

“Don’t get all big headed about it kid.” He smirked. Your heart was racing in your chest. 

“Why would you…” Your fingers gently traced the letters of your name, there in print, as it would be on every copy sold. 

“Wouldn’t have been able to write it without you being chained to my house, only seems fair.” He shrugged. “We can call it even.” You scoffed,

“Dedicating your book to me hardly makes my doing your house arrest for you even Ransom.” He smirked again, flipping through the pages, seeing his words in bold print. 

“I think it’s plenty fair,” Okay, now you wanted to smack him, “You live here for free, you eat here for free, and you get paid pretty well to do so.” His devilish eyes met yours over the top of the book he was still thumbing through. “If anything you’re still ahead because you’re the kept woman of a bestselling author.” 

“A kept woman?” You dropped the book onto the table. “I’m not your fucking whore Ransom.” 

“Not yet.” Audibly you made noise of protest, internally your core thrummed with heat. 

“Never.” You packed up your tablet and the new book, attempting to walk around him to go sit out by the fire pit for a while. His large hand gently grabbed your upper arm, tugging you into his body, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your arms trapped between you.

“Tell me you’re proud of me.” He whispered into your hair, his voice suddenly soft, heartbreaking. 

“I am proud of you Ransom.” You shifted your belongings to your left hand, tugging your right from against his chest to wrap around his torso. “I’m very proud of you.” 

Book published, royalties rolling in, Ransom was making his own money now. He was more cocky than ever. Proud. The, I-don’t-need-you-anymore-mom, attitude. But can you still pay my babysitter? The girls came more easily than ever before, not that they didn’t come easy before the bestseller. 

Every. Night. 

Sometimes two girls were leaving in the morning, gently ushered out the door with promises of a phone call and a, “I’ll let him know.” It made you feel dirty, betraying almost. Like you were supposed to be on these girl’s side instead of cleaning up after Ransom’s mess. 

You could gag. The milky condoms, two of them, tossed haphazardly aside on the hardwood floor of Ransom’s bedroom. Disgusting. You could hear him laughing at you now. 

“It could be you,” He says, “Just say the word.” If you weren’t so irritated with Ransom for this very thing your panties would be dripping with the thought. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen island forking soft scrambled eggs into his mouth, cheesy with peppers and onions, the way he likes them, the way you made them, when you come downstairs. “You could at least throw the condoms in the fucking trash Ransom.” He looked up from his eggs to you, peeling off the latex gloves you’d just used, smirking. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Asshole. 

“You’re disgusting.” You begin on the dishes, taking a sip of your now lukewarm coffee. You hear the stool scoot back against the floor, “That wasn’t an invitation.” You said, hearing his approach. His arms wrapped around your middle as you began to scrub. His head rested on your shoulder. 

“You love me.” He slowly rocked your body side to side, “You love how disgusting I am.” You tried to shrug him off of you, but he held you tighter. Since last Christmas when you curled up in his lap and held him for two hours until he was sober enough to leave you he’d been slowly getting more and more affectionate with you. He was touch starved, hungry for it. The intimacy of holding and being held. 

You didn’t picture Linda as much of a hugger.

The house was decorated. It was the least he could do for you really. This was the first Christmas since your Mother died that you and your sister wouldn’t be completing your tradition, but you tried not to think about it. Ransom humored you just after Thanksgiving, bringing home a fake Christmas tree, ornaments and lights. You’d ordered a couple of extras online and three stockings were on the mantle, Christmas lights lined the windows giving the house a warm glow. 

“I’m sending everyone in my family a copy.” He told you, “a signed copy.” Of his book. Rubbing their noses in it. The book has firmly held the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller List for weeks. Already over a million copies have been sold. Whether its due to the fame of the not-murder trial or Harlan’s legacy you couldn’t be sure, but even without those things the book was incredibly good. 

Ransom could have made it on his own, a long time ago. 

“You don’t think that’s a little crass?” He released you long enough for you to finish loading the dishwasher, watching you place the pod of soap and shut it like he didn’t realize that’s actually what you’re supposed to do. 

“Fuck them,” He scoffed, “They’ve always hated me.” 

“To be fair,” You turned to the soft sweater clad man leaning against the kitchen island, “You’re an asshole.” 

He smirked, “Yeah, but that’s why I’m so charming.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

It could almost be domestic. The way things were now. So different from before. Yeah Ransom was still bringing a new girl home almost every night and sure you could hear them fuck from your bed on the other side of the wall, but for the most part it was always just the two of you. 

His parents never ventured out here much anymore, since his book was published he had a deadline for the next book that needed to be completed so he wrote almost every day now, sometimes for hours. You made his every meal, on the odd occasion you’d order out. Sometimes when he needed a break he would come sit on the sofa with you as you watched whatever show you were currently obsessed with. One time you walked in on him watching Love Island by himself and you hadn’t let him live it down yet, maybe not ever. 

He grew soft, sweet almost. A kiss against your palm. Hugs from behind as you worked at the stove. A snuggle of feet under his thigh as you watched Miracle on 34th Street by a crackling fire. Wordlessly anticipating each others needs. It spoke to a high level of intimacy. Something you both chose to ignore. 

It was nice. 

He didn’t go out on Christmas Eve. Not only because his usual bar was closing earlier than normal because of the holiday, he assured you, but because he wanted to stay in. Snow was falling thick outside, a foot of it already blanketed on the ground. To tell the truth you didn’t want him to go out in this weather anyway. You knew he was willing to drive a little drunk and he didn’t exactly obey speed limits. It was safer here. 

You were still reeling from the argument you had with your sister earlier in the night. You called her to see what she was doing, but she was at a friends house and wanted nothing to do with you. Since the house arrest you haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. She wasn’t Ransom’s biggest fan and didn’t really understand why you needed to do this. You could kind of blame it on yourself for her having no idea how much money you needed to keep her in school, her cello and lessons weren’t cheap and nor are the electronics she seemed so attached to. This two year sentence you were playing out for Ransom would put you in the green, far in the green, so far in the green that you were willing to put up with all his petty bullshit and be okay with your sister hating you if it meant your futures were secure. 

After all this was over, you might just be able to go back to school. 

“Are you hungry?” You removed your feet from their spot beneath his thigh, grabbing both of your now empty mugs, padding over to the kitchen. Your stomach had just begun to growl. The stew you had simmering on the stove was ready to eat. 

“Yeah,” Ransom replied, not turning away from the television. Santa’s trial had just began. It was a strange thing, having him watch classic Christmas movies, soft in sweats and a comical christmas sweater you jokingly bought him. “I look good in anything.” He said. He wasn’t lying. 

You poured two bowls full, bringing over a plate with some crusty bread he was kind enough to go out and grab for you earlier in the day. “Thank you,” He said softly as he took the bowl from your hands, eyes still not moving from the screen. He quickly spooned some into his mouth, 

“It’s hot.” You said, his only reaction being trying to rapidly cool it in his mouth, his tongue probably burned. He gave you a glare, before resting the bowl on the coffee table. This could almost be a relationship. The two of you together. In this oddly domestic moment. He was the only man in your life right now, it wasn’t like you had many options for seeking others. 

That’s why you would get so hot and bothered with him. And that’s the only reason. 

He had never seen A Miracle on 34th Street before. You’d think with how old fashioned Harlan was he would have at least seen it once or twice, but then again, any time spent together as a family was always strained and argumentative. 

Even when he was a kid though? He was the first grandchild. His mother was the first child of Harlan. You were sure when he was a child he was spoiled rotten, more toys than he could play with, never wanting for anything. But that wasn’t exactly true. The touch starved trust-fund baby didn’t get the one thing kids need the most, more than presents, toys, electronics. Real genuine love. 

His Mother loved him to an extent. It’s why you were the one on house arrest instead of him, but she thought loving him meant giving him whatever he wants. When we all know that’s not what kids want. They want to be told no, given structure, rules. How many times have you gotten into arguments with your sister because you didn’t allow her to go roam the streets at night without supervision or give her money for some stupid thing she wouldn’t be even bothered with in two weeks?

But you could also see how no one really knows how to raise a child and you just try your best. Having Harlan for a Father couldn’t have been easy. 

Under the tree that you’d decorated and in the stockings you’d hung were presents. Ransom had everything he’d ever wanted, but you couldn’t help but want him to have something to open tomorrow morning. Granted it wouldn’t be much, but it’s the thought that counts. In the fridge you already have most of what will go into tomorrow’s dinner made. Hopefully your sister thinks about your extended invitation and Ransom can go pick her up at some point tomorrow. You missed her, a lot. Your heart ached with wishes that she was here right now. 

Ransom’s eyes had gotten shifty. The movie was coming to an end and his bowl was empty. “Did you want more?” You asked him, thinking that would be the cause of his shiftiness, maybe indecisive? 

“No.” He cleared his throat, “I’m not going to be home for dinner tomorrow.” You weren’t sure you heard that properly.

“You’re not going to be home….” You started, picking his bowl up from the coffee table and standing, “For dinner on Christmas?” 

He was scared to tell you, that’s cute. Your body was bristling with anger as you took the stew off the stove to cool before you could properly store it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch. 

“My Mother wants me to go to this dinner with-” 

“So every other time your Mother wants you to do something it’s ‘fuck you’ and ‘eat shit’, but when we’ve already made plans for tomorrow and my sister-” You felt tears prickle in your eyes. “What the fuck Ransom?” His face was stoic from the couch. 

“Why does it matter?” He asked, “I stayed home tonight!”

“And that makes up for it?” You stood at the kitchen counter, staring across the room at him. “I already started on dinner, Ransom. You couldn’t have maybe said something while I was prepping all of this?” You gestured to the fridge. He shrugged. 

“I didn’t know that was all for tomorrow.” His face still betrayed no expression. 

“She can come here,” You offered, “We can have dinner here.” His eyes shifted away from yours to watch the rolling credits. 

“She doesn’t want to.” He stood from the couch, rounding towards the tree slowly, searching. 

“Why not?” He was being shady about this, the whole situation was strange. “I already have all of this food prepared and I can’t pick up Julia myself… Ransom?” 

“She doesn’t like being around you.” He stated honestly, he picked a box out among the presents under the tree, eyes meeting yours as he fumbled with it. 

“What?” You get it. She’s technically your employer. But she’s never had any issue dropping in for dinner or putting you to work on some task for herself. 

“Listen,” He came closer to where you still stood, your chest tightening. “Y/N, I hate my family-”

“Then why are you going to-”

“I have to do this.” His cheeks were flushed, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “My therapist… I don’t want to do this.” He slid the box across the counter top. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better about it?” You scoffed, picking up the gold wrapped box. His mouth opened and then quickly shut without speaking. You sighed heavily, a headache coming on. “I’ve got nothing, Ransom. All I wanted to do tomorrow was spend some time with my family and if you’re not going to be around…” 

“I know, I can maybe go pick your sister up in the morning?” He offered. Your eyes watery, staring at him. He doesn’t get it. Your heart was aching a bit. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You spat, leaving the present still wrapped in front of you, thumbing the thick wrapping paper. 

“I know.” He swallowed. 

“What does your therapist want you to do?” You never talked about what went on in his therapy sessions. He was too closed off after them, drank too heavily, lashed out too easily. You’d let him slowly work through his refractory period and let him cozy up to you once he was feeling better. 

Ransom felt awkward, you could feel it. He was uncomfortable. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” He asked. He was turning. He got too emotional. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do or where I have to do it. I said I would go pick Julia up, I’m giving you what you want.” 

“Fine.” You were staring each other down. “I’ll let her know you’ll be there to get her around noon and then you can go have dinner with the people you hate.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I don’t know what you think this is, Y/N.” He scoffed, “You still work for me, we’re not playing house here.” 

“Then stop making me.” You spat back at him, both of you in a similar stance, hands gripping the edge of the stone counter top. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” There was a rage growing in his eyes. 

“You are, Ransom. I take care of you like you’re my own fucking child. I clean up all of your messes, I cook all of your fucking food, I do everything for you.” 

“I don’t ask you to.”

“You don’t have to! You literally just expect it of me.” You yelled. 

“Because it’s your job.” He laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “I have no loyalty to you Y/N. None.” Fine.

Fine.

You hated him. You fucking hated him. You were doing all of this for him. And you’ve never felt more dumb in your life. The house arrest bracelet on your ankle felt heavier than ever. It itches like mad. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” You rounded the counter, moving towards the stairs when he grabbed your arm. 

“Take the gift.” He slapped the box into your hand. 

“I don’t want the fucking gift, Hugh.” He looked taken aback for a moment.

“Don’t call me that.” His hand fell from your arm, stepping closer to you. 

“That’s what you want, right?” You asked, “You want me to do all of these things for you and take care of you and fucking hold you when you need comfort but when I’m fucking trying to make things easier for you, you’re all the sudden ‘I have no loyalty to you.” 

“Wait a fucking minute,” He growled, “I take care of you too. Who the fuck buys all the shit you want on a fucking whim? You’re in the mood for curry, I get you curry. You make a comment about how you really want to decorate for Christmas and who fucking gets you everything you need to do that? You say that you really want to get into fucking knitting and who gets you all the fucking shit you need to fucking knit?” 

“Buying me things doesn’t mean you care about me Ransom.” You shook the box in your hand for emphasis. “All I wanted to know is what your therapist wants you to do tomorrow, you can go have dinner with your Mother. It’s fine. I just wanted you to fucking open up to me.” 

“I am open with you!” He yells, “You know more about me than anyone else in my fucking life, it’s hard for me okay? I can never escape you, you’re always fucking there. I don’t get to fucking-” He placed his hands on his hips, turning from you. He let out a heavy, slow breath. Calming himself down. “I don’t want to go tomorrow, trust me Y/N, I really don’t, but I have to.” His eyes met yours, softer this time. 

You felt like some part of you was being irrational. This dinner might help his growth. Whatever milestone he was reaching with his therapist, this could be really good for him. But you also felt a little selfish, you wanted him here, with you. You felt more like his family than anyone else. Or at least, he felt more like your family and he should be here to spend Christmas with his family. You knew he felt at least somewhat the same, if the gifts addressed to Julia under the tree from him were anything to go by. You wanted him here, but he wasn’t yours. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, the tears that were once threatening to spill, now did. “It’s fine.” Your head was pounding. “It’s fine.” 

“I know it’s not,” He said softly. “But we can maybe do presents and lunch before I go,” He gestured towards the tree. “I should be back in time for the Grinch.” You were shaking a bit as he approached you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his body. “I’m sorry baby.” He was so warm, a little sweaty from arguing, but warm. “I’ll make it up to you.” A soft whisper into your hair. 

The little gold box was soon opened, a new rose gold cartier bracelet slipped onto your wrist and Ransom left you and your sister the next day wearing the sweater you had so carefully knit for him. 

2021

Your breath hitched in your throat, back arching, a loud moan breaking from your lungs. How was he so good at this? Ransom’s tongue was at work between your thighs, large hands cradling your hips, burying his face in your moist heat. You were so close to cumming. And he knew it. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his face as you rode your orgasm until your body was too sensitive to continue, Ransom moving his attentions to press his lips sloppily against your thighs before making his way up your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your flushed cheeks and panting mouth, parting your thighs fully around his hips to tease your opening with the blunt head of his cock. “So fucking beautiful.” He moaned into your open mouth as he breeches you. 

He felt so fucking good. You’d never get over it, you were sure. Ransom was patient, biding his time. He wasn’t that guy who had to be as deep inside you as possible, chasing his orgasm by stabbing your cervix. Over time he mapped out the location of your g-spot, shifting his hips and cock to brush against the spot with every thrust, working you up and making your eyes roll back in your head. 

Those girls screamed with good reason. Just as you did now. Gushing wet around him as you came for the second time, looking up wantonly into his flushed face, lips swollen from first kissing and then pulling you apart with his tongue. Your fingers curled in his chest hair as he picked up pace, chasing his own release now, your hips lifting off the bed to aid him.

“So fucking good baby,” His eyes screwed shut as he moans, arms trembling, “You fuck me so good baby.” He sat back on his haunches, pulling your hips roughly to his, your sensitive clit grinding against his pubic bone almost bringing you over again as he cums. Hips stuttering into yours as you feel him empty himself into you. 

His head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes dropping to find you, hands still gripping your hips and as much of your ass as he can manage. “I love you.” 

It never gets old. 

He said those words to you ever chance he got. It was as if he was trying to make up for a lifetime without it. Love. 

Early morning sleepy soft kisses, I love you.

Silent breakfast with your feet in his lap, I love you.

Scratching his back as you peered over his shoulder while he was writing, I love you. 

Feet stuffed under his thigh watching Outlander and drinking hot tea, I love you.

Buried deep inside you, panting mouths a breath apart, bodies flushed and sweaty, sheets damp with cum, I love you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

It was intense. His love for you.

He tried hard. He didn’t know how it was supposed to work. A real relationship, a real honest to god loving relationship. But he was trying. 

The first few months of the relationship you gained a lot of new jewelry, a new iPad, clothes, shoes. “You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me, Ransom.” 

Then came flowers and lots of them. Sometimes just one, sometimes a bouquet. Regardless there were multiple vases that stayed filled throughout the house, always with fresh flowers never given time to fully wilt. 

After that was the touching. Always some sort of physical contact. Whether you were cuddling on the couch or a blink away from sleep with his ankle wrapped around yours, if you were in a room together there was always some sort of contact. 

Your house arrest bracelet was removed, and a gold anklet replaced it. You were free to leave, live on your own. Move out and back into that shitty apartment with your sister, but this was early days in the newfound relationship with Ransom. 

He’d bought you a house. 

He’s paying for your sisters school.

He’s paying you to still work for him.

It was a Victorian. The house. Not at all like his contemporary cube he knew you despised. A rich dark brown with a large porch. Much too big for just you and your sister, so 6 months after the two of you moved in, Ransom sold his house and moved in too. 

Julia was warming up to him. At first she wasn’t a fan. It took a long time, many dinners with Ransom, ‘family outings’, you hoped she could see the way he treated you now. The way he’s kind of always treated you. Her love was easily bought with the new house, her latest generation iPhone and the fact that she now had a monthly allowance. It didn’t stop you from making her get an after school job at the school library though. 

Now with a house of your own, you were doing something you’d always dreamed of. Watching Ransom try to hang Christmas lights. 

“I’ll just pay someone to do it,” He offered, looking skeptically at the boxes you had placed on the dining room table, “I’m not going up there to do it.” 

But there he was, up there doing it while you looked up at him from the bottom of the ladder. “This is the fucking worst.” He exclaimed, taking the light clips and attaching them to the roof. “Why are we doing this?” 

“Because you love me and you want to make me happy.” You laughed. He rolled his eyes, squinting against the sun. 

“I’m not so sure,” He attached a few more clips within reach before steadily climbing down the ladder. “I think you’re trying to kill me.” 

“I’m the beneficiary on your life insurance right?” You jokingly asked as his feet hit the ground. He laughed at your bad joke, 

“I think that’s in pretty poor taste, but…” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Yes.” 

“Julia should be home soon and then we can decorate the tree,” You wrapped your arms around his middle, capturing his lips with your own, “And make some cookies,” You kissed him again, 

“And have a drink.” He smirked against your lips. 

“You have a therapy appointment today,” You walked over to the steps, “You’re not having anything to drink.” He rolled his eyes at you once more, shooing you into the house as he re-positioned the ladder to go back up and finish stringing the lights. 

You had to be proud of him. Court mandated therapy ended when your house arrest did, but he still went every week. At first it was due to a little pushing by you, but eventually he made the appointments on his own. He was getting better. Still a dick, but that was his nature. He wasn’t quick to anger anymore, his emotions took a more level head. And he was now publishing books twice a year. He’s got five books out now, and almost 100 million copies sold. Which is incredible. 

You started back to school, Ransom wanting to start his own publishing company, “I’m paying for you to go to business school as an investment in our future.” He claimed. Once you were done with school your job would be to then help him open his own publishing company where you’d overlook everything. A daunting task, but it was hard not to believe in yourself when Ransom made himself your own personal cheerleader. “You’re brilliant,” He would say, “You’re so smart, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand until now.” 

And now he was stacking that hand to the best of his ability. 

Finals had been last week and you still marveled at the fact that as you poured over your last assignments and studying, Ransom would make you coffee and massage your shoulders whereas you would usually do the same for him as he was finishing a book. 

You’d gone to a couple therapy sessions with him, the first time he’d invited you was strange and you didn’t know what would even be discussed, but as you sat in the session and he was finally completely bare to you, you couldn’t help but feel like it was his idea and not his therapist’s. 

That session changed the dynamic between the two of you for sure. 

After the dam broke, the two of you having sex for the first time and Ransom’s admission of love it wasn’t easy. He was still an asshole and as someone who had never been in a relationship before, this first real relationship, he didn’t really know how to behave. 

You had one session a month together and it was probably one of the best ideas Ransom ever had. 

He was a little sullen when he came home later that night, coming to curl himself around you as you placed the cookies you and Julia had baked earlier into the decorative metal tins you had just bought. 

Sometimes it was like this, sadness. His lips gently pressing themselves against your cheek, his body tightly pressed against yours trying to pull as much comfort as he possibly could. “I don’t want to talk about it,” He whispered softly, “Not yet.” 

“Okay.” You knew what he needed and what he needed was a little bit of time. You offered him a cookie, chocolate and peanut butter, still warm. He took it gently from your fingers, pulling away to go to his study, but not before pulling you into a soft lingering kiss. An apology for what you knew would be a distant night. A ‘I don’t know when I’ll be coming to bed’ night. You were sure you’d have three new chapters to go over in the morning.

You loved the snow. Almost a foot of it had fallen overnight, frosting the windows and giving your home a beautiful Christmas glow. It made your home feel cozy and well slept as you stretched your limbs out, hand coming to run across Ransom’s back. So he did come to bed after all. You rolled over to face him, laying on his belly, arms folded under his pillow facing you. 

God he is beautiful. 

You hated it about him. So handsome. You brushed his fallen hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his scrunched brow. He was letting his beard grow out for the winter. It made him even more attractive, the bastard. 

Julia was just getting up for school, standing in the kitchen in her uniform, eating toast and facetiming a friend. She was in a carpool, this house you lived in, while comfortably distanced from others, was in a neighborhood of other kids that went to her same school. Something you’re sure Ransom took into account when buying this house in the first place. You drove the kids to school on Friday when you didn’t have any classes. Today was a different parent’s turn. 

“Can I take some of these to school?” She asked, picking up a tin of cookies. 

“Yeah, but take the red one.” You popped a k-cup into the keurig. “Those haven’t touched any nuts.” 

“Mila’s Mom said we can go to the mall after school to go get presents for the pollyanna our class is having, is that okay?” She was such a good kid. Getting older now, she was almost ready to learn how to drive, something you’d been dreading, but for whatever reason Ransom was really looking forward to. 

“You have money still?” You asked, preparing a second cup of coffee for the sleeping bear upstairs. 

“I mean,” She smirked, “Unless you want to give me more…?” You rolled your eyes, turning towards your younger sibling. 

“What time will you be home?” The car had just pulled up outside, horn letting out a quick ‘honk’ to let her know they were here. 

Julia shrugged, hugging you, “We might get dinner, but probably no later than 8. I’ll text you.” She shrugged her coat on, opening the front door as you called behind her, 

“Text me when you get to the mall and when you’re on your way home!” 

“Okay!” She yelled back, trudging through the snow to the car.

“Keep your location on!” You could almost feel her roll her eyes at you, 

“Okay!” Annoyed this time.

“I love you!” You shouted as she got in the car, slamming the door behind her. Your phone chimed with reply, 

love you too

With that you went to rouse the sleeping man upstairs. 

He groaned unhappily when you woke him up, but it was quickly soothed by the coffee you’d supplied him with. 

Christmas was quickly approaching. The first Christmas you’d be spending together as a real, honest to god, family. In your own home, ready to begin your own traditions. The house was beautifully decorated and almost always smelled like cookies and a Christmas movie or music was always playing in the background. 

There was a truly sweet moment you’d wanted to commit to memory for the rest of your life. Julia rolling out cookie dough, Christmas music blaring obnoxiously loud and Ransom coming out from his study yelling, 

“I can’t write anything in a house this loud!” Walking over to the sound system and turning it down to a soft ambling. Your sister and you looking at him and laughing, the red faced lumberjack quickly losing steam as he realized he was wearing the hideous Christmas sweater you’d jokingly bought him last year. “It’s the warmest sweater I own.” He claimed. Sure. Sure it is. 

He turned the music back up a little louder, coming to a happy medium. His embarrassment waning as he looked at the two of you in the kitchen. A family that didn’t argue with every other word. People who genuinely loved each other. Something he never knew he wanted or needed. He came over to you, gently clasping your hands before tugging you into his body to ridiculously dance around to Jingle Bell Rock. The three of you peeling with laughter. Was this even real life anymore? With a soft parting kiss and a peak over your sisters shoulder to steal some cookie dough he was reluctantly walking back to his study, coming to join you twenty minutes later after finishing the chapter he’d been working on all day. 

The three of you spent the rest of the night in the living room, watching the cheesy A Christmas Prince series on Netflix and eating what was sure your body weight in popcorn. Cozy with your little family. 

“Do you think she’d like a puppy?” Ransom whispered into your neck one night. 

“Do not.” You were close to sleep, just about to drift off, when his question stirred you awake. 

“I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, fingers gently tugging your nipple. 

“I’ll be the one taking care of it,” You whimpered as his other hand sunk between your thighs, “Do not get her a puppy.” His lips met your shoulder and you turned in his arms, thighs parting as he lightly stroked your clit. 

“You’ll get there.” He pressed his lips against yours, teasing your entrance with his fingers, his now hard cock nudging against your thigh. “You’ll warm up to the idea.” 

“No…” You whined, his fingers beginning to stroke your g-spot, his body coming to lay over yours, his eyes half lidded and lips wet and red came to meet yours as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. “Fuck.” His fingers laced themselves through yours, pressing your hands against the sheets as he began to rock his hips slowly into yours. 

“You’re so sweet on me baby,” He mouthed against your lips, “So sweet on us.” He moaned. Your hips ground against his with every thrust. This slow love making that was making you gush around him, pussy making obscene sounds with every tilt of his hips, gently brushing the parts of you that make your legs shake. He chest close to yours, the begging in his eyes, 

“You’ll be such a good mother,” His hips met yours a little harder on that one causing you to gasp, pussy clenching around him. “Gonna give me what I want for Christmas?” He asked. He did this sometimes, knowing you were still on birth control and the actual relationship was still relatively new, the two of you had been together for almost a year now, you knew that he’d been toying with the idea of having a baby. You’d talked about it in therapy recently. 

“I love you,” He moaned, his hips build up a little speed as your legs came to wrap high around his waist. “I can’t wait,” He groaned, “So good to me.” His lips capturing yours passionately as his hips stalled, grinding himself against your g-spot, pubic bone rubbing your clit as you found your orgasm, pussy gushing wet dripping down his thighs onto the bed as you moaned into his mouth. 

“You’ll be such a good mother baby, such a good fucking mother.” His hips picked back up in pace, “I’d do anything for you baby. Anything.” He was chasing his release now, thrusting against your sensitive clit making you reel again before releasing your hands and grabbing your thighs, pushing them back high against the bed, just making you take it. You both had to try to be quiet here, your sister on the floor above you, your hand covered your mouth as you tried to muffle the loud obnoxious squealing that came uncontrollably as his hips slapped against your ass in this position. Sweat forming on his brow and head thrown back as he groans through his teeth, feeling him empty his seed deep against your cervix. 

In all the years you’d known him Ransom was never a kid person. He didn’t like small children, but he also didn’t come into contact with them often which is why it was so strange two months ago when he originally brought up the idea. “I think we would make pretty okay parents,” He said, “Better than mine definitely.” It made your heart flutter, thinking of a life with him. Knowing that he was also thinking about a life with you, but it’s just not the right time. 

What wasn’t surprising about any of this was on Christmas morning, after breakfast and the exchanging of handmade sweaters, new books to read, a couple new apple watches, and your sister and you receiving matching earrings, a gorgeous little blue nose pit bull puppy, one that reminded you of your childhood dog was brought out with a little pink bow around its neck. Ransom ignored your glare as he handed the sweet little thing to your sister, who was crying in happiness. 

He would remind you later on that he found you cooing to the sweet little thing only a few minutes after that, the puppy curled up in your arms, licking your fingers in earnest. 

“Don’t you have something else?” Julia asked him. 

“Julia this is plenty,” You scolded, “He’s gotten you enough.” She rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not for me.” She laughed. The little puppy sleeping in her arms and you scratched it behind it’s ears, turning to Ransom who shifted nervously to one knee, a ring box open in his hand. 

“Stop it.” Came out from a very watery smile. He licked his lips, tugging his bottom one between his teeth before starting, 

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

.

.

.

TAGLIST //

@littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia​ @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @deidrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah​ @sleepycvpid​ @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ @starlywars​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @rocknbasil​ @imnotelasticheart​ @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d​ @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa​  @bookish-shristi​ @auroussss​

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #Chris Evans

[uwuwriting]

Hawks w/ fem!reader who’s struggling to conceive

Request: If you're still accepting bnha requests, I was hoping you can write one for Hawks and his s/o (defs can be gender neutral, trans, etc.). I've become attached to the kiddos you have written for them and I'm wondering, what if they had trouble conceiving? From IVF to surrogacy, not everyone has an easy time making kids. Whatever route they take is up to you (whatever fits best), but I think it would be a sweet moment where they dont think they can ever have kids then BAM! Suddenly, twins. - @sykandron​ 

I’ve been reading some hc from other fandoms *cough* Haikyuu *cough* and I felt that it was about time to tackle this ask. Since I’m a 17 year old toddler you would assume that I know nothing about this. But I study biology and that doesn’t make this any easier bc I don’t know a single thing about this topic. So I did my research and I tried my best. Hope you like it. Love yaa. 💖💖💖

warnings: triggering content, trouble conceiving, some depressive thoughts. 

-Keigo and you have been together since high school and he married you last year. 

-Even though he’s a pro hero which is a very stressful and time consuming job, it doesn’t take him much time before he wants to start a family. 

-You are in love that’s for sure so a person made form your love is not hard to imagine but you are beyond concerned. 

-Keigo doesn’t have much time for himself and as much as you don’t mind not seeing him for long amounts of time but a child needs to see their father. 

-And you don’t believe that you can raise a child on your own. 

-Your relationship has been built on trust and communication, so you sit down and talk everything through him.

-If he’s being honest he has been concerned about the time he will get to spend with his child as well because he’s number 2....and that’s a handful.

-So you made an agreement.

-You would make a schedule that Keigo would have to follow unless something urgent came up and he would try to minimize his time spent at work. 

-You would give this schedule a try for a month and if he could keep it up you would begin to try for a baby. 

-Surprisingly he made it work and had to leave for an emergency only four times.

-So you got to baby making and you went at it for months. 

-When you got no results even after trying the “best” positions and eating specific foods that would make you more fertile, you started getting discouraged. 

-Keigo suggested going to the doctor to check if something was wrong, with both of you. 

-After your appointment you had to wait for some days before you could get your results back.

-And boy if they weren’t disappointing. 

-Turns out that you both had problems of your own, Keigo not having a strong enough seed and you having an overly hostile environment so conceiving would be a challenge. 

-To say your were devastated was an understatement. 

-You closed yourself off and for the first time in your relationship, there was no communication. 

-Keigo tried talking to you, tried to pull you out of your own thoughts, but to no avail. 

-Your brain was working against you and it showed. 

-You wouldn’t eat, you slept longer and became sloppy in the workplace. 

-He would find you bawling your eyes out in the bathroom and then coming out with a hollow look.

-It was killing him as much as it was killing you.

-So he did some research. 

-And when I say some I mean that he went to like 15 doctors and bought 50+ books about the issue and he came up with around 10 solutions to your problem. 

-Of course the last two on the list were the ones you wanted to avoid, adoption and sperm donation, not that you minded adopting but you wanted a small Keigo to be honest and the idea of donation was off the table. 

-You felt very uncomfortable with the idea. 

-So after he talked to you and convinced you to try what he found, you agreed to try for a year.

-If nothing came of it you would adopt.

-And that’s how it all started. 

-Vitamins and special pills, doctor appointments and hormonal treatments. 

-Nothing seemed to work and you were staring to get disappointed. 

-It was nearing the end of the deadline you had set when you started throwing up in the morning. 

-Your appetite changed and everything smelled awful, your feelings were all over the place and you couldn’t seem to control your tears. 

-Keigo was the logical one for once and took you to the doctor.

-When he came inside the room with the results of your tests with a smile so wide and bright that it blinded you, you knew something was up. 

- “I’m happy to announce that you made it! You are pregnant dear.”

-You swear that the whole clinic heard your squeals. 

-Keigo went full dad mode even though it would be some time before the baby could actually be seen on a sonogram.

-He changed his work schedule even more, staying home longer and minimizing his patrols. 

-Sure he was the number 2 hero but his baby is his top priority and you cannot change my mind. 

-When you got your first sonogram and saw them, Keigo had been called in for an emergency and try as he might he couldn’t avoid it. 

-You had to push him out of the clinic because he wouldn’t leave. 

- “The public is in danger you dumb bird!”

- “I AM NOT MISSING MY CHILD!”

-What in the world??

-You got home before him and you waited patiently, sonogram in hand and two champagne glasses one for actual champagne and one for some apple juice. 

-The moment he stepped through the door he rushed to you and would’ve tackled you if you weren’t pregnant. 

- “Are they healthy? Is everything alright? I don’t like that smile you’ve got. Is it the baby or because I ate your Doritos, I swear I’m going to buy you more!”

- “YOU ATE MY DORITOS????”

-When you raised your hands in the air he saw the pictures you were holding and he focused on that and that alone. 

-You followed his gaze and giggled, patting the space next to you and pecking him on the cheek. 

-He looked at the images in front of him and....was confused beyond belief. 

-Is..is that a baby? It looks like a shadow. Is it a shadow? Are all babies shadows? Shadow babies....

-Seeing the look on his face you let a hearty laugh before grabbing his hands and making them into fists. 

-You brought them together and traced one of them with one finger while your other hand was tracing one shadow on the sonogram. 

- “That’s one baby and that’s another baby.”

-He froze, looking at his fists with his brows furrowed until it hit him.

-Twins.

-He was having twins. 

-All this hard work for a baby and he had been blessed with two.

-He looked at you then, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as a smile made its way on his face. 

-He hugged you tightly, his tears wetting his your shirt and a string of ‘thank you’s and ‘I love you’s spilling from his mouth. 

-He was truly happy with his family.

-Just him, you and your two nuggies against the world. 

BONUS:

- “Weak sperm my ass I got you pregnant twice in one go.”

- “It doesn’t work that way you dumb KFC meal.”

- “Chicken nugget juniors disagree with you. Ain’t that right my little chicks??”

TAG TEAM AY: @brattyquirks​ , @the-arcana-fan-fic​

#my hero academia keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #bnha keigo #keigo x you #hawks x reader #mha hawks #domestic hawks #hawks #bnha

[scarletwinterxx]

Timeless Finale - Doyoung AU

First of all, I’m so sorry it took a while to finish this series. To be honest I struggled with writer’s block during this whole story, but those moments when ideas pop in my head I rush to my computer and get as much work done as possible so I hope you like it! Second, Resonance pt. 2 !! this whole era gave us so many memories, it’s a bit sad to think that it might take a while before we see all of the boys work together again but for now let’s enjoy and appreciate all of their efforts and hardwork 💚💚 

How about you lovelies, which track has been your favorite for this whole NCT 2020 era? Deja Vu is definitely up there for me. okay okay moving on. hope you enjoy this last chapter!!

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2020 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART TWO.5 || PART THREE || PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX || FINALE

“Doie, you’re going to be late”

The early morning sun peeking between the blinds, It’s probably a good time to get up but the bed is all warm and cozy it’s a literal struggle to get up. That and this whole human being currently laying on top of me

“Five more minutes” he answered, the same one he’s said about three times now. Then I felt a kiss on my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, and just about every part of me he could reach. After that he just nuzzled his face on the crook of my neck, my arms automatically hugging him closer to me 

I don’t have it in me to tell him to stop when he’s being this adorable, who knew the Kim Doyoung could be this adorable? I wanted nothing more than keep him here with me but I remembered he has a few important meetings to attend so the next kiss he was supposed to give me was blocked by my hand

“Yah, what are you doing?” He asked, swatting my hand away so now we’re face to face again. I smiled at the sight, he had this little pout on that makes him look like a cute little bunny

“I’d love to stay with you here all day, but you have meetings to go to”

“I’m the boss, I can cancel it” he said then went in for another kiss but this time I pushed him off me

“I’m sure you can but you won’t, we’re going to be responsible adults. We don’t want your dad thinking it’s a bad decision handing the company over to you”

“Maybe after this he won’t call me in, I can just spend the whole day in bed with you” he said, his arm pulling me to him so this time I was the one on top of him

“And what about your work?”

“You can just provide for me” I rolled my eyes at his answer knowing full well he’s just joking

“Come on, we can cuddle more later” I said then kissed him on the chin before pushing myself of him

“Cuddle and more later?” 

“You won’t find out unless we get on with our day” I called back to him as I make my way to the bathroom. 

That’s how our mornings usually starts. 

After everything that had happened and after getting back with Doyoung, we can finally say we’re on the same page. No more doubts, no more walls in between us, no more hidden glances and secrets. I can truly say that we’re happier this time. 

Of course we’ve talked about what happened: my reasons for running away, what I did in the past year, what he did in the past year. And now we’re here, a couple of months after I returned. 

We both feel more at ease after finally admitting our feelings, we decided not to jump back to being engaged. Like Doyoung said, it didn’t feel like a real relationship. Now we do things as we want, at our own pace.

“You’re all smiley this morning” I hear Doyoung say, looking up to see him leaning by the doorway

“Just thinking, you’re still making dinner for tonight right?”

“Mhm, don’t forget Jeno’s visiting this weekend” he told me while walking to where I was, picking up his own toothbrush from the shelf

“I didn’t forget, and that was one time”

“You forgot that your brother was visiting?”

“I was busy moving!” it was around the time I moved in my new apartment, which is pretty pointless now. I mostly stay over at Doyoung’s nowadays. Like last night when I said was going back at my place but he kept on insisting it was too late and I should just spend the night. 

He knows I can’t say no to him when he shows me the occasional cute pout, the one he’s reserved for times like that.  

After getting ready for the day we went our separate ways to work, It went as it normally would. I was happy with my decision of moving back here. I talked to my parents and they were just glad I was fine and happy. I couldn’t be more thankful of how supportive they are of me. 

Slowly but surely things were going back to normal, this time I know there’s no running away. 

“What do you mean I was the embarrassing sister? who said I couldn’t cheer you on your first basketball game?” I asked Jeno who was sheepishly smiling at me, his adorable eye smile on full display making him look all innocent

“It was a kid’s game. You almost fought another kid when they nudge me a bit too hard” he chuckled, meanwhile Doyoung was just looking back and forth between us with a fond smile on his face “You feel on the floor, he’s lucky he’s seven”

“Only you would fight a kid” Doyoung said making Jeno laugh

“I wasn’t going to let him do that to my baby brother!” 

“Noona” Jeno dragged on, he always cringes whenever I call him a baby.  It doesn’t matter if my little brother’s in college now, in my eyes he’s still my little baby

“You should hear about that time she went to my debate competition” Doyoung said with a little smirk on, the memory suddenly resurfaced making my cheeks turn red

“You didn’t say it was a debate! You just said you were competing in something so I showed up with a banner and all that” I justified, this time the two boys laughed at my reasoning

“I remember when you had a big crush on Doyoung hyung you would purposefully wake up early to get on the same bus as him” Jeno said, at this revelation Doyoung looked over at me. It was a story unknown to him, the look on my face said it all.

“Did she now?” “Don’t ask questions, you weren’t suppose to know about that. And you, eat your dinner” I said giving both of them pointed looks. 

For the rest of the night we just shared more stories, it’s always been a comforting sight to see Doyoung and Jeno when they’re together. Some would even think they’re actual siblings. I’m happy they get along well. 

It was pretty late so instead of going back to his place, Doyoung decided to stay over. More like I couldn’t stop the two from playing games so I let them hang out while I relax in the bedroom. Around midnight I finally hear the tv shut off, I hear the door of the guest room open and close before my bedroom door opened to show a sleepy looking bunny

“Tired?” I asked him 

“Not really, just a bit sleepy. We didn’t see the time” he said while walking towards the bed, throwing himself on his usual side of the bed. Immediately he hold his arms out for me making me chuckle at his cuteness

“You two looked like you were having fun” I mumbled as I rolled over to his side, laying my head on his chest. Immediately his arms wrap around me and mine rest across his chest. 

“It was a good day, wasn’t it?” I mumbled, my eyes already closing as I feel his fingers draw patterns on my hip underneath his hoodie I was currently wearing

“It was, mind telling me more stories about the time you had a crush on me?”

I just smiled at his question because I know he was just teasing me, “Maybe one day”

“You know what  I’ve realized that you were there for most of my days and, holy shit, do I love it. I missed you so much when you weren’t there I was just too big of a coward to admit it” I hear him say, his words a bit muffled since his lips are pressed against my forehead

“It’s okay, we’re here now. I’m not going anywhere” “I know, I won’t let you go anyways” I feel a kiss on top of my head, then just like that we were both drifting off to sleep. The steady beat of his heart and his warmth lulling me into sleep like my favorite lullaby. 

Usually on the weekends, Doyoung and I try to avoid doing any work and spend some time together. From going to trips outside the city to the most mundane things like doing the grocery, watching shows and just relaxing. 

Sometimes we go out for date nights but I told him I prefer it when we’re just at home, the two of us with some good home cooked meal. After that it became a tradition. 

“I don’t think we need that much cookie dough” Doyoung said as he sees walking back from the freezer aisle to get some stuff, “Wrong, too much cookie isn’t a thing. Not in my household” I said then threw the bags on the cart

“Just don’t eat all of it in one sitting” he reminded me making me roll my eye at him “it was one time” I mumble, feeling his hand hold mine then pull me along with him as we continue with grocery shopping

“Can we get some apple juice?” I asked so we went to the drinks aisle next, while he picked the drinks up I look over at the family on the other end of the aisle. They looked like they were doing grocery errands to, the guy holding a tiny baby while the lady push the car. The smile on their faces got me smiling too

I didn’t notice that Doyoung is now ooking at me looking at them, making him look over where my attention was

“What are you smiling at?” He asked, 

“Them, they look so happy. And look, that baby looks so cute” I  cooed before looking over at him, his gaze already on me

“You want one?” 

“Want one?”

“A baby?” I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not so I pinched his side making him yelp

“I was just asking, no need to be mean” he said then took my hand in his, probably to stop me from pinching him again. I look over at him, imagining a tiny version of him running around. His tiny cute bunny smile on a little boy.

After paying for our groceries we went back to his car to drive back to his place, I was still about lost in thought. A little Doyoung not sounding bad at all.

“You’re in a good mood, you keep smiling” I hear him say,

“I’m just thinking about a tiny version of you and how cute he would be, just imagine our little boy in cute bunny pajamas” I said, it took me a quick second before realizing what I just said. When I did my eyes were as big as saucers. 

It’s not that we haven’t talked about having kids, we’ve discussed about the topic briefly. We both said we wanted kids, and we’re lucky enough to be financially stable to be able to support our future kids when that eventually happens. 

“So you do want one” he chuckled, “Only if they look like you” I answered, I can see the slight pink tint on his cheeks. Not being to help my self I leaned over to give his cheek a kiss,

“You’re so cute, Doie” I said making him laugh and jokingly push me away, taking my hand on his before giving my hand a peck

“We’d have to get married first, don’t you think?”

“I mean sure, we almost did that so we’re kind of experienced in that area” I joked “You’d have to propose first though”

“and I will, when you don’t expect it” I smile at his answer. 

I already know that with Doyoung there’s no need to rush. We already know we’ll spend the rest of our lives together, even if we’re not married yet. We both know that’s a stop along the way, there’s no need to rush this time. 

“Doie” I called out

“Mhm?”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest all of my days with you, I’m so excited to live more days like this. Talk about our future and be able to live it. I want to be happy and feel love like this for as long as we can” 

I can see the smile he had on, his hand giving mine a squeeze

“Me too, don’t worry we’ll take those steps together. I’ll hold your hand every step of the way”

“You can’t hold my hand when I walk down the aisle” I rebutted, I couldn’t help but joke around making him roll his eye. I just laughed before bringing our intertwined hands closer to me. Giving the back of his hand a kiss. 

“Okay apart from that time then”

“I’m just joking, I love you”

“I love you, and this will be the cheesiest thing I will ever say but you should know I love more than yesterday but less than tomorrow. Up to this day I honestly don’t know how you manage to make me fall in love with you more and more but you do” his revelation now got tears in my eyes

As we drive down the road I see the journey we still have yet to take, holding his hand in mine I know I wouldn’t mind how long it would take as long as I have him. 

#tags #story tags #series #kim doyoung #kim dongyoung #doyoung #nct doyoung #nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct 2020 #doyoung imagine #doyoung series #doyoung au #doyoung scenario #doyoung boyfriend #doyoung fluff #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct au #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 scenario #nct 127 fluff #nct fluff #nct doyoung imagine

[jjpmoans]

birthday morning | ijb

happy birthdayyy to my beloved, most favourite, neve letting your down person, VALENTINAAAA @defgyus​. I hope you like this, I made this in like 30 mins while I was talking to you. I wish you all the nicest things in the world. I’ll write your birthday wish laterr. but now, have your gift first!

You’re spent. Really you are not joking. You don’t feel your legs and your back screams when you turn in your bed, tossing around to find that specific human bolster that causes all numbness and depletion of your energy early in the morning. However with your eyes closed, you couldn’t find him. 

Has he fallen off the bed?

You peek an eye and find his side of the bed empty, the coldness of the sheet tells you that he’s been out of the bed for quite a long time, at least for more than five minutes. Jaebeom is not really a morning person, on weekend you mean. He’s more the type to sleep in because it's the weekend. Not to mention he spent almost five hours last night giving you a birthday gift-- he said that and you’re not complaining, but as he’s an old man, you doubt he still has energy to wake up early and do something after five hours of intense love making and only three hours of sleep.

You catch the first sizzling sound and your ears perks in attention, listening to more sounds from outside. There’s a sound of your electric boiler going off, signalling the water being boiled. There’s also a sound of clanking, perhaps something is being cooked.

Oh, you muse.

You carefully remove the blanket off your body, shivering as the cool air hits your naked body. You search around and spot Jaebeom’s shirt hanging off the table’s edge, courtesy of his indecent act last night, throwing his shirt mindlessly because he’s distracted with you. 

The first step on the cold floor had you wincing, the feeling of your bones coming together after being wrecked last night had you promising yourself not to let Jaebeom have his way with you again. After a few winces and curses, you made it to the door, turning the knob and peek curiously at what your husband had been up to.

You spot him behind the kitchen counter, shirtless and his shorts hungs dangerously below his navel, back facing you. He’s beating the egg, which you figured he would make it scrambled. Jaebeom has survival cooking skills like yours and you like it. You’re dumb together and none of you will have guts to criticise one’s meal because it’s very decent and common, enough to pass a cooking evaluation.

You walk slowly past the sofa, to the countertop where Jaebeom is busy cooking, sitting on the high chair. As he turns around, ready to pour the beaten egg into the sizzling pan, he spots you, sitting and admiring the breakfast he made.

“Good morning baby.” he smiles, pouring the egg into the pan. The sizzling sound makes you calm, you don’t know why, it just has effects on you. “How are you feeling?”

You wince at his ask, grimacing as you feel the numbness of your legs and your soreness lining up. “Awful.”

At your answer his laugh echoes, loud and clear. You don’t know what is funny to him but oh, his laugh. You loved his laugh. You love when he laughs, it’s genuine and you feel so proud whenever you can make him laugh. Jaebeom, as he shows others, is not really a person who laughs freely. True he laughs with his friends but he came home with sad shoulders and has a very fragile mind. So when you make him laugh, you feel as proud as winning the best award.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.” 

Jaebeom snorts, scrambling the eggs expertly. He leaves you for a moment, putting two slices of bread in the toaster and coming back, still grinning. “I am well aware that you’ll regret your decision letting me have my way in the morning. But you can’t say you didn’t enjoy last night.”

“I don’t.” your quick reply had him laughing again, turning off the stove and placing the scrambled egg on two plates. Jaebeom then turns again to get the baked beans and opens the can to scoop a generous amount of beans into yours and a normal amount for him.

“Yeah you don’t. Someone else was screaming ‘oh god, Jaebeom’ over and over again last night. I see.” he moves towards the microwave, taking out two freshly heated croissants and and to the fridge, taking out a plate of sliced fruits. 

When he comes back to you, you’re scowling at him, embarrassed how he points out the obvious. “Wait, these all for me?”

Jaebeom nods, starting to arrange the food into two plates, his and yours. “Oh and it’s supposed to be breakfast in bed. Why don’t you run quickly to the bed and act like you just woke up and you’re surprised?”

His suggestion had you laughing, nonetheless you did make a quick return trip to your room -- no you can’t run, you’re still sore -- and hiding yourself under the blanket, feeling excited even though you literally had seen everything he cooked.

Jaebeom takes awfully long time to set up the plates because by the time he knocks the door out of courtesy, your stomach has been growling for at least two minutes. To your surprise-- yes you’re still surprised -- he enters with two tables, setting it down on the floor. 

“I know you’ll kill me if I stain the bed sheet with food so we’re eating on the floor.” Jaebeom says, placing the table down to set up his plates.

“Jaebeom, it’s not breakfast in bed anymore, it’s breakfast on the floor.” 

He rolls his eyes, saying, “Whatever. I just don’t want to be killed after this. You did a lot of nagging when you regret something and I don’t want to spoil the mood.”

“Coward.” you mutter under your breath. You’re sure Jaebeom heard it but he let it slide, still in the mood to serve you breakfast. After all, he still has a lot to surprise you with, breakfast is just the beginning.

Jaebeom starts bringing in foods he had prepared and when you said it’s a lot, it’s really a lot. He first brings in a plate of croissants with freshly sliced apples and grapes, a plate of toasts with scrambled eggs and baked beans, and a bowl of cereal. Approximately he did about three trips of going back and forth to bring all of them into the room and just as you thought it’s over, he brought a jar of milk, two cups of coffee, an orange juice and a cup of yogurt.

“Jaebeom.” your jaw hangs open at the sight of the breakfast in front of you, looking at him in disbelief. “These are a lot, Jaebeom! How am I supposed to eat all of them?”

“Well,” he sits down, giving you your utensils. “You have your husband right here to finish it.”

“Thank you.” you tell him, smiling as you reach for your croissant, munching on it happily. Jaebeom is amazing, you had that thought countless times. No matter how tired he is, if it makes you happy, then he’s all in for it.

You remember how selfless he is and how he has been by your side whenever you need him and it dawns on you, he’s the best gift you ever had.

“Happy birthday, baby.” he smiles, watching you eat his home cooked breakfast. It’s satisfying for him, to see you happy. And today is the most important day to make you smile, because today is the day he has been blessed with your existence. “And I should call your mom later.”

“Why?” you ask, your mouth full of the croissant. “Do you need anything?” 

Jaebeom only calls your mom when he needs something and amazingly, your mom seems to have everything he wants. 

“I need to thank her for bringing you to this world.”

writings by jjpmoans

#the moans writings #jaebeom fluff #jaebeom fanfic #got7 jaebeom #happy birthdaaaayyyy dadddd #my most beautiful valentinaaaa #happy birthdaaayyy #it's dad's daaaayy #birthday fic

[teacupfulofstarshine]

you are my dad (boogie woogie woogie)

summary: five times logan accidentally referred to virgil as his dad, and two times he purposefully referred to virgil as his dad

(OR: a birthday fic for the lovely @lovelylogans​ set in her STELLAR gilmore girls au!)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNALISE!!! if y'all haven't read the sideshire files you're missing out, it's so soft and good and wonderful and i promise you will love it

cw: illness, alcohol, drunkenness (but none of these are angsty, it's all fluff) 

wordcount: 2819

read it on ao3!

(occasion the first: the nineteenth month of logan’s life) 

“You can never tell anyone about this, kid. I’ve never done this in front of anyone and I never will again, you understand me?” Logan, strapped into his portable high chair, stares at Virgil while chewing on his Jupiter teething toy, not saying anything. Virgil assumes that it’s an agreement and slides the hair elastic off of his wrist. 

Carefully, he gathers all of his bangs into one hand and slips the elastic around them, twisting and sliding and twisting again until he has a little unicorn-horn ponytail sticking off his head and a clear line of sight. “Alrighty. What do you want for breakfast, Lo, huh?” 

Logan slobbers on his teething toy and kicks his little bare feet vigorously. He drops the teething toy on his tray and loudly declares, “BA!” 

“Bananas?” Virgil guesses. He’s never been as good at interpreting Logan’s variety of noises as Patton, but Logan waves his little arms and lets out a long string of baby nonsense, so Virgil assumes he must be at least somewhat on the right track. “Okay, kid. You get bananas now, and I’ll make us some chocolate-chip banana pancakes. Deal?” 

Logan slaps his tray and picks up his teething toy again. Virgil pulls open the fridge and carefully fills one of Logan’s sippy cups with apple juice, settling it into the cup holder slot. Logan immediately abandons his toy and begins to nom on the spout to get some juice. 

Virgil slices up bananas and sets a little plate onto Logan’s tray, along with a small plastic kiddie fork. Logan lowers the fork towards the slices of banana with the fierce determination of a child attempting to win a toy from a claw crane game. Virgil huffs out a soft laugh and returns to the kitchen counter. He moves through the motions of pancake batter, throwing in banana slices and chocolate chips, and he’s completely in the kitchen zone. Logan’s happy chewing noises and babbles become a soothing background noise. 

He’s jolted away from his pancake batter abruptly when he hears Logan wail. 

Virgil whirls around, whisk dropping on the floor and splattering pancake batter everywhere. Logan is crying, holding one hand out, and his little pointer finger is red. “Oh, you - did you bite your finger?” 

Logan sniffles and cries, holding his hand out. “Paaaaaaa!” 

Virgil winces. “No, kid, Papa’s not -”

Logan makes grabby hands at Virgil. “Pa! Paaaaa, papapapa, paaaa, paaaa!” 

Virgil freezes. “I - you - am I Papa?” 

“Paaaaaaaa!” 

Virgil carefully takes Logan’s tiny hand, leaning forward and carefully kissing his little red finger in the way he’s seen Patton do millions of times. “There we go, Logan. I - Papa kissed it better, so we’re okay, right?”

Logan sniffles. “Paaa . . .” 

Virgil carefully offers him a disk of banana. “You want some more banana?” Logan wipes at his little eyes, leans forward, and carefully takes the banana chunk in his mouth. “There we go. You’re okay. It’s okay, Logan.” 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the second: logan’s junior year of highschool) 

Virgil is really sick of walking into the Sanders house and discovering a sick Sanders (pun very much not intended, thank you, Patton). 

He nudges the front door open, arms laden with takeout containers of meal-prep for the week and bags of groceries to re-stock the kitchen and two cardboard drinks trays full of to-go cups. Patton’s not home, off at some kind of business conference, and he’d promised to take care of Logan. 

(Take care of our kid, Patton had said, and Virgil had been caught so off-guard by the pronoun our that he’d barely remembered to agree.) 

So he has lunches for Logan for every day of the week, groceries so that he can make his own dinners, and a stock of smoothies full of hidden nutrients for study breaks. Virgil kicks the door shut behind him, struggling to not drop any of the things he’s holding. 

“Logan, you wanna come help me with your meals and shit?” 

There’s no immediate answer, which isn’t worrying in and of itself; it is almost 7:30 AM on a Saturday, and Logan is a teenager. Virgil sets the drinks trays and takeout containers on the kitchen, drops the grocery bags on the floor, and goes to lock the door behind him. He hears footsteps behind him. “Sorry if I woke you, but -”

He turns to face Logan and almost drops the keys. Logan is wrapped up like a burrito in his thick quilt, dragging it along the kitchen floor like a cape. His eyes and nose are red, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair looks like Remus’s after a late night of partying. He sways in the doorway. 

“Logan?” Virgil asks, keeping his voice soft. 

“Virgil,” Logan rasps. “I . . . believe that I . . . may be ill.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Virgil says. Logan blinks at him, once, uncharacteristically slow. 

“Could you please stop the room from spinning? And - and perhaps you could - could do me the favor of - of catching -”

Logan pitches forward, and Virgil lunges to catch him. He feels Logan’s forehead and swears with how hot it is. “Alright, buddy, back into bed with you.”

“Y - you brought me . . . groceries,” Logan manages. “I . . . we have to -”

“You do not have to do anything except get your ass back in bed,” Virgil says. “I’m calling Jean and leaving her in charge for the day, she can handle it. I’m staying here with you.” 

“Y - no, you - go t’ work -”

“Over my dead body, kid. Come on, back to bed.” Logan takes a single step and his knees immediately buckle beneath him. Virgil doesn’t think twice before scooping the Logan burrito up into his arms, shifting so that Logan’s head rests in the curve of his shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

He maneuvers Logan back into bed, tucking him in and taking his temperature. It reads 101.1 - hot enough to warrant concern, but not so hot that he needs hospitalization. Good; Virgil’s had his fill of seeing Sanders boys in the hospital. He soaks a washcloth in ice-cold water, and Logan hisses when he lays it on his forehead, swiftly transitioning from a hiss of pain to a hiss of relief.  

“Stay here, kid. I’ll bring you something to drink in just a second, okay?” 

Logan makes a weak, pained noise from his bed. “Papa?” 

It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses not to bolt or flinch or scream or otherwise negatively react. He knows this is Logan’s fever-addled brain speaking, he knows it doesn’t mean anything. “Yeah?” 

“Papa, I don’ - I don’ feel so good,” Logan whimpers. “Papa, I - I think - I think ‘m sick, Papa.” 

“Yeah,” Virgil says, approaching the bed and gently brushing a hand against Logan’s cheek. “Yeah, you are, kid.” 

“Don’ like it, Papa.” “I know. It’s gonna be okay, Logan.”

“Papa, not - not gonna leave?” Logan sounds so small and fragile, and Virgil remembers the first time a tiny bundle of baby was placed in his arms and the first time he met those vibrant indigo eyes and the first time he knew that he would give anything in his life for this child and his happiness. 

“No, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” 

*~*~*~*~* 

(occasion the third: logan’s senior year of high school) 

“You Sanders men wouldn’t have a proper diet or a proper sleep schedule without me, would you?” Virgil sighs. He’d worked a late shift at the diner today; when Patton had picked up dinner for himself and Logan, Virgil had kissed him quickly and told him not to wait up. 

Now, carefully shutting the door behind him, he’s beginning to think that he should have told Patton to pass the message on to his son. 

It’s nearly midnight, and Logan is slumped across the kitchen table. The table is covered in a mountain of SAT prep books, all of them annotated in Logan’s cramped, increasingly sloppier handwriting. Logan has blue and black pen marks smeared all over his face, his tie is askew, and he’s creating a small puddle of drool as he breathes in and out. 

“Aw, geez,” Virgil sighs. He toes off his shoes and leaves them in the tray, carefully dropping his coat and apron into a heap. Logan makes a soft snuffling noise. “You gotta get sleep, kid. How are you supposed to take an exam if you can barely keep your eyes open, huh?” 

He carefully closes all of the books and piles them up neatly on the table, slides the pen from Logan’s hand and fills up his pencil case, piles the post-it notes in place. It takes some maneuvering, but Virgil finally manages to pick up Logan. He stirs in Virgil’s arms. “Whhmmmm?” 

“Hey, kid,” Virgil murmurs. “We’re getting you to bed, okay?” 

“Need t’study, Papa . . .” 

Virgil’s heart clenches as he carries Logan to his room. “You need to sleep. You won’t pass the exam if you fall asleep in the middle of it, will you?” 

“No, Papa . . .”

“Don’t burn yourself out. Take breaks, let your body recover. Isn’t it you who told me that the brain stores and processes information when you sleep?” 

“Ye, Papa . . .”

Virgil carefully settles Logan on his bed, pulling off his tie and belt and shoes and glasses. “Sorry, Papa,” Logan yawns, eyes still closed. Virgil pulls the folded blanket from the foot of Logan’s bed and tucks it around him. 

“Don’t apologize. Just sleep, okay?” 

Logan is asleep again before Virgil’s even left the room. 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fourth: the aftermath of logan’s twenty-first birthday)

“Who knew my boyfriend was a lightweight?” Roman laughs. His second beer of the night is half-finished in his hand, and there’s a barely-buzzed but very-drunk Logan curled in his lap and lazily kissing his face. Virgil, the designated driver and therefore sober, would be slightly offended that his basically-son is making out with his boyfriend in front of him, but it is Logan’s twenty-first birthday, and they’re all chaste kisses along Roman’s jawline. 

“I wasn’t expecting it, based on the stories Patton’s told me.” 

“Do tell!” Roman says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I will not,” Virgil says. “You need good healthy role models in your life, and if I tell you stories about shenanigans you’ll never take Patton seriously again.” 

He finally manages to pile two giggly drunk teenagers into the back of his car and pull away from the remnants of Logan’s party. They’re whispering conspiratorially in the back seat. Virgil turns on his music on a low volume and keeps his eyes on the road. 

It takes Roman approximately seven minutes to finally kiss Logan goodbye and stumble down the driveway to his house. (Logan does not make his job easier by clinging like a starfish and begging for “jus’ one more kiss, please?”) Virgil nods at Isadora when she opens the door, and she offers him a nod in return as she ushers Roman inside. 

“I - I love him,” Logan slurs, yawning and leaning forward so that his head bonks against the driver’s seat. 

“I know.” 

“No, you - I - I love him, Daddy. I love him.” 

Virgil adjusts his rearview mirror and laughs softly. “I know, Logan. I think all of Sideshire knows you love him.” 

“They do?” Logan hums. “Do - d’you think Roman knows I love him, Daddy?” 

“I’m sure Roman knows,” Virgil says. 

“I should tell ‘im more, Daddy.” 

“You can tell him everything you want tomorrow. Right now, we’re going home, and you’re drinking a bottle of water before you go to bed.” 

“The - the human body is seventy-five percent water, Daddy. Ex - except Roman’s body. His is just made of muscle and pretty.” 

Virgil barely manages to contain the laughter bubbling in his throat.

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fifth: logan’s sophomore year of college) 

You have: three new voicemail messages! 

First message: Saturday at 1:17 AM 

“Daddy - Daddy, ‘s me, ‘s Logan, an’ I think I’m jus’ a tiiiiiiiny bit drunk? I wanna make a - a - a snack , but not like Roman, cause he’s a snack but I don’t - uuuuuuuum . . . what . . . was I askin’ you? Dunno . . .” 

Second message: Saturday at 1:27 AM

“Daddy, ‘m sorry, got distracted cause - cause Roman is jus’ - jus’ so pretty - but I hada . . . a . . . question! Yeah, that’s the word. I wanna make those muffins you make, the ones with th’jam in the middle, an’ - but I don’ remember the recipe - how - how d’you put the jam in the muffins without cuttin’ ‘em in half? I don’ understand . . . I’ . . . call m’back, kay?” 

Third message: Saturday at 2:48 AM 

“Uh . . . Daddy . . . how d’you get batter stains outta y’r clothes . . .”

(“Virge? You okay?” 

“Logan leaves the weirdest drunk voicemails.”)

*~*~*~*~*

(plus one: the aftermath of logan’s graduation from chilton) 

“You really did that, huh, kid?” Virgil asks. Logan looks at him, mortar slightly askew, eyes bright and happy. He’s holding his diploma, and Virgil reaches over to ruffle his hair. He gently pulls Logan into a hug, and Logan holds on perhaps slightly tighter than normal. Virgil isn’t judging; he’s holding on tightly as well.

“Did what?” Logan asks. “Graduated? Were you expecting me not to?” 

“No, of course I knew you’d do that.” Virgil feels the lump creeping up his throat. “I - I just - aw, hell, Logan -”

“Are you crying?!” Logan asks incredulously.

“No, shut the fuck up,” Virgil hisses reflexively. Logan laughs, and he sounds watery too, so Virgil lets it go. “I just - you - I -” Logan waits patiently while he takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. “Good speech,” he finally settles on. 

“Oh,” Logan says, voice small. “That.” 

“You - you called me Dad.” 

“That I did.” 

“Was that on purpose?” Virgil asks. He holds his breath a little, not sure what he’ll do if Logan says no. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Logan says -

“Yes,” Logan says. “Of course it was. You may not have contributed to my genetic makeup, but - but you are my dad, Virgil. In every way that truly matters. You and Dad raised me, you kept me fed and healthy, the diner is my second home. You’re my - you’re my dad.” 

Virgil hugs Logan tightly, one hand gently gripping the back of Logan’s hair and the other squeezing around his waist. “You are my son,” he whispers into Logan’s hair. “In every way that matters, you are my son.” 

Logan takes a deep breath, and then, so quietly Virgil almost misses it, he whispers, “Eight, dad.” 

Virgil inhales, shakily, and exhales, “Sixteen, kid.”

*~*~*~*~*

(plus two: the aftermath of virgil asking logan’s permission to propose)

Virgil curls his hands into fists on his jeans, staring very intensely at Logan’s sneakers. “I promise,” he says lowly, “that I’m not trying to intrude on your life. I know how important Patton is to you, I know how important you are to him. And I know it’s archaic and kind of sexist to ask for someone’s hand in marriage as if I’m asking permission for someone’s property, but - but I - you’ve put up with so much instability in your life, with your shitbag of a sperm donor -”

Logan snorts at the reference to Christopher, and Virgil lets the corner of his lip quirk up into a smile before settling back into Serious Mode. “- and I would never want to make you feel like you have to accept me. I’m not trying to marry Patton because I think I have to, or because I think I deserve to marry him, or - or because he owes me something. I want to marry him because - because I’ve spent so long loving him, and so long being loved by him, and we’ve made a home together and a life together and - hell, we’ve raised a kid together - and i just -”

“I’m sure this is all just one big insurance scam,” Logan jokes. Virgil wheezes, and Logan reaches out to take his hand. 

“Virgil.” He pauses, and then, “Dad.” 

Virgil’s head jerks up, and Logan smiles softly at him. “I know that you would never propose if you weren’t completely serious. I appreciate you coming to make sure that I would be alright with this marriage, because I know someone asking you this question if you were in my shoes would help to ease your anxiety about the transition.”

“That was . . . very emotionally astute.” 

Logan smirks. “I know.”

“Brat,” Virgil laughs. He blinks, and suddenly his face is wet. 

“I appreciate this,” Logan repeats, “but Roman and I have literally been planning your marriage since we met. You do not need to worry about my opinion in this matter. If it will ease your mind, though, yes, Dad, you have my blessing to propose to Papa.” 

“You haven’t called him Papa in years,” Virgil says. 

“I haven’t had another parent to call ‘Dad’ in years, either.” 

Virgil couldn’t stop himself from hugging Logan if he tried. “Eight,” he says, and Logan hugs him tightly. 

“Sixteen, Dad.” 

#starshinewrites #annalise's birthday fic! #annalise tag! #platonic analogical #cw alcohol #cw illness

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Wedding Job

leverage 1.07

Nate: No. No, it's-it's not right. But, you know, uh, we're not detectives. And if you want to prove your husband's innocence, there are plenty of agencies I could recommend.

eliot and hardison share tired, annoyed looks and I felt that in my soul

- - - - - 

Teresa: I understand. Thank you. Where did my daughter go?

Hardison:I think she was with Parker.

(Parker is teaching the little girl how to pick locks)

Parker: Go! 

(they both begin to work on the locks, after a few seconds, the girl gets hers open)

Parker: 6 seconds! Give it up! Good job.

parker can be good with kids and it’s adorable

- - - - - 

Hardison: Just take the mob out of it.

Nate: What? Take the mob out of it?

Hardison: Hear me out. Isn't this just a breach of contract?

Eliot: These guys had a deal, right? And your boy, Ray, he lived up to his end, but Moscone didn't. And for that, there's not a court of law in this world this lady can go to.

Parker: Which is exactly the kind of case we take

the ot3 immediately jumping in to support sophie’s idea

- - - - - 

Hardison: We can't. That thing's a fortress, man. I clocked four armed guards, a Tikva security system. That thing's Israeli-Made. It's used to protect their military bases. It's unhackable. Oh, and then there's the FBI parked around the corner.

Parker: FBI? Where? (looking through camera lens)

Hardison: You see that crappy van that says "plumber"?

Sophie: Did you say "plumber"? That's their cover? Oh, that is so cute. It's like it's 1978 all over again

- - - - - 

Parker: I saw some rubber gloves. What do you do with those?

McSweeten: Oh, actually, we've just been kind of blowing them up and playing volleyball. But, uh, yeah, if we need to do any kind of investigation…

big boredom during quarantine mood

- - - - - 

eliot being proud of the one (1) thing he did on the computer 

- - - - - 

parker winked at mcsweeten that poor boy, I’d be smitten too

+

fic writers get on this, parker smells like jasmine

- - - - - 

Hardison: All you have to do is rip them on my flash drive and run.

[FBI Offices]

(Eliot closes the door)

Eliot: I don't have to type anything, right?

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: No, just plug it in. It does the rest.

Eliot: All right, 'cause you know I just learned the Photoshop thing you told me.

Hardison: I-I know. Baby steps.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: So I just plug it in.

(Eliot forces open a set of cabinet doors and they open, revealing stacks of cassette tapes. He looks at the flash drive in his hand)

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Now, audio files, they can take a little while to run, but, uh, the servers are pretty loud, so that should give you some cover.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: It's tapes.

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Wha-hold, wait. Did y-you just say "tapes"?

Eliot: I just said "tapes"!

Hardison: Cassette tapes?

[FBI Offices]

(Eliot picks up a cassette case and taps it with the flash drive)

Eliot: Your little thing, it's not gonna work.

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: But at least you ain't got to type nothing.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: Hardison, how am I supposed to get out of the FBI offices with a boxful of surveillance tapes, huh?

[Leverage Headquarters]

Hardison: Punch somebody.

[FBI Offices]

Eliot: Oh, I’m gonna punch somebody

- - - - - 

Nate: Can you break the codes?

Hardison: The codes? The codes to the Cayman Bank and Trust, where the Cali cartel and the African dictators keep all their dirty money? The ones that Moscone changes anytime he damn well pleases? Like, it's-c-come on. Dude, are you kidding me?

Nate: You know, you're-you're very negative lately. 

Eliot: Yeah. 

Nate: And the sass, it doesn't-doesn't help.

bruh lay off hardison

- - - - - 

[audio of mob family fighting playing off of hardison’s computer]

Sophie: It's a bit like an opera, isn't it?

Eliot: You mean 'cause I want to run away

- - - - - 

Nate: Sophie. Where are we at?

Sophie: Huh? I don't know, Nate. I think you need to ask yourself that question. You called me, remember? And now we're working together every day. I don't know what you want. And to ask me that dressed like a vicar? You're a very strange man.

Nate: No, no, no. I meant where are we at with finding the money?

Sophie: Oh.

chaotic sophienate 

- - - - - 

Nate: How are we doing? How's the search?

Eliot (chopping vegetables): I haven't started yet.

Nate: Okay, you know, I haven't gotten one answer I was looking for today. What is it that you're doing? What's going on?

Eliot: I'm cutting onion, deveining shrimp, uh, pan-searing some scallops. I've got 200 people I got to feed, all right? Back off.

Nate: Okay, okay. Hmm.

Eliot: What, you think the only thing I know how to do is bust heads?

Nate: No, well, yeah.

Eliot (demonstrating): Look, hold a knife like this, cuts through an onion. Hold a knife like this, cuts through, like, eight yakuza in 4 seconds. Screams, carnage. People are like knives. Everything is in context.

Heather (enters): Okay, hors d'oeuvres.

Eliot: Yes, ma'am. Stuffed mushrooms, pine nuts, kiss of basil, some sun-dried tomatoes, and the finishing touch, lemon juice. (gives her bite)

Heather (spits it out): Does this look like a food court? Does it? I want high-End food - High-End! What are you— (walks out)

(Eliot starts to go after her with the knife, Nate stops him)

Eliot: I know.

NEVER GET BETWEEN ELIOT AND HIS FOOD

also, eliot only becoming murderous when someone insults his food? iconic

- - - - - 

Sophie (to bridesmaid): You look lovely.

Cindy: You don't think it makes me look fat?

Parker: Oh, definitely. I mean, why do you think I had to let out the waist? To make you look less skinny?

Sophie: She... she didn't mean that.

Heather: Oh, suck it up, Cindy. You'll be fine.

if someone did this to me I would c r y and that’s the truth lmfao

- - - - - 

the ot3 eating pizza and laughing as nate verbally fucks himself over with sophie lmao

- - - - - 

Hardison: Yo. No way in hell I could ever imagine getting married. I mean, it's just - It's just a piece of paper.

(Eliot, eating an apple, looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I take it you've never been married.

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Ever come close?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: What was her name?

Eliot: It was a girl I grew up with. But anyway, she married somebody else, so...

Hardison: Hot-hot damn, what did you do?

Eliot: What did I do? I liberated Croatia. (leaves)

Hardison: Oh, see, now, me, I would have just got fat and started up a comic-Book shop. That's you and me right there.

relationship foreshadowing in s1 we love to see it

- - - - - 

Hardison: Now, I know that you're in charge of the bridesmaids' dresses, but why are you wearing one?

Parker: A bridesmaid's dress is like an all-access pass at a wedding. Plus, I kind of said something, and the maid of honor cried. And Sophie said I should make it up to her. 

Hardison: By looking much, much better in the same dress? Yeah, you let me know how that goes.

Parker: Hmm, you really think I look good?

Hardison (pinning flowers on her dress): And now you're perfect

they’re BABIES your honor

- - - - - 

(of course the trashy mom wears a sparkly white dress to her daughter’s wedding) 

- - - - - 

(Eliot walks up to the rest of the team)

Eliot: What is it? I got bacon on.

Parker: The Butcher is here.

Eliot: Does he have the baby lamb chops?

Hardison: No. The butcher of Kiev.

Nate: Think he'll recognize you?

[Flashback]

(flames surrounding them, the Butcher has Eliot by the neck and is trying to cut him with a meat cleaver. Eliot is barely holding him off)

Butcher: I kill you!

[Exterior House]

Eliot: Yeah, I think he'd remember me

I live for wacky eliot flashbacks

- - - - - 

Nate: You're staying? Sophie, Sophie, it's the Butcher of Kiev.

Hardison: Have you ever been to Kiev? The cake-maker of Kiev would whup all our ass. This is the butcher.

Sophie: Uh-Huh.

this isn’t that notable, but it’s funny

- - - - - 

parker smushed up against the glass door ,,, just imagine if anyone saw that lmao

- - - - - 

eliot using a frying pan to fight the butcher of kiev,,, iconique

- - - - - 

we need to start making a list of things that are Specifically Not Weapons™ that eliot uses as weapons:

for this episode, a frying pan, a whisk, an appetizer platter, the platter itself 

- - - - - 

Hardison (eating appetizer): This is pretty good, man.

Eliot: Thanks, man. I squeeze, like, fresh lemon juice on it.

Hardison: Cool. Cool.

(they follow Nate out of the kitchen)

eliot is so genuinely happy when someone finally appreciates his food, you can see it in his face ,,, he starts to love hardison just a little bit for that

- - - - - 

Nate: Did you clear out Moscone’s accounts?

Hardison: I left him five dollars for socks

we love the team being petty

- - - - - 

the girl immediately jumped into parker’s lap at the restaurant I’m soft

- - - - - 

soft chef eliot serving his -friends- family is everything 

- - - - - 

I understand that this was technically supposed to be the third episode, so this would have been their first meal as a family and I stan them so hard for it

#eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #leverage ot3 #leverage #leverage meta #nate ford #sophie deveraux #the wedding job #leverage 1.07 #leverage 1x07 #meta #leverage season 1 #season 1 #notable moments

[secret-rendezvous1d]

how about an alex first christmas home with his wife or gf? if your uncomfortable writing this prompt i completely understand

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020. A couple of days later than I promised, and I apologise for that, but here we are. 

Hopefully, the idea of how Blogmas 2020 is planned out will become a little clearer than how my very poor explanations explained it, haha.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox will be open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha. 

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy! 

A song to listen to throughout the second scene; Bing Crosby, I’ll Be Home For Christmas

“Look at the size of those toms,” Alex gushed in awe, rushing from his place at the kitchen cabinet, where the kettle was whistling on the stove, to grab the woven basket full of fresh garden vegetables from his wife’s arms, saving a couple of apples and pears from becoming bruised by the floor. “They’re massive.”

“There’s something in the soil, I think,” YN teased, wiping her soil-covered fingertips on the pink and white polka-dot apron tied around her waist. Traces of wet mud and dry soil clinging to the material, tiny specks falling to the floor but nothing bad enough that couldn’t be sweeped with the brush and pan. “You should see some of the runners growing in the corner. Nice and long, they are. Perfect for dinner tomorrow eve.”

“How are the potatoes coming along?”

“They’re good, I was going to dig them and the carrots up tonight before the nighttimes cold comes in,” she said softly, standing beside her husband as he unpacked the fruit and placed them in the empty fruit bowl. The kettle coming to a gentle boil, soon being warm enough for them to make a warm cup of tea to drink by the fire to warm themselves up.

The vegetables left in the basket - varying from cabbage and cauliflower to Brussels sprouts and onions - needed a good brush down and a wash under water but looked good enough to enjoy as part of their meal the next day. A meal that would be enjoyed by her parents, Alex’s parents and a couple of good friends who hadn’t had time to make it back home for Christmas, missing the last train out of London for a few days and unable to find a kind-hearted soul to take them two hours up north. It was also a meal that YN had been panicking over for almost the entire month of December… her first time cooking a Christmas dinner and she wanted it to be as perfect as possible to end a year that needed some cheer.

With the war coming to an end, for a second time, she felt safe and happy. Much safer and much happier than the last time a war was declared to have finished.

Maybe it was the fact that the four-year long terror of air raid sirens and bombings and unexpected blackouts had come to its end; maybe it was the fact that Britain had won the war and there was no more fear to live by; maybe it was the fact that her husband had been one of the lucky ones to come home safe and sound, able to celebrate Christmas as normal without worry that he was going to be called back to fight in the trenches and on the frontline; maybe it was the fact that everything was slowly going back to how it had been and life was on track to getting better.

“Dad’s always saying they taste and cook the best after a night in the cold,” Alex shrugged, taking a bite of an apple and feeling the juice trickle down his chin, something that YN’s thumb caught and wiped away, “I’ll go and dig them up tomorrow morning.”

“I wanted to start peeling and cutting them now,” she frowned, looking at him with furrowed brows, “go dig them up for now, please, darling?”

He mirrored her expression and folded his arms, half-bitten apple still in his hand, a smile toying his lips.

“Do I have to? It’s getting cold out there, I’ve got no jumper on and I’ve just put the kettle on,” he playfully whined, pouting his lips.

Her own eyebrows furrowed deeper on her browline, a silent plea for him to do what she said because she was stressing enough and didn’t want to be panicking so early tomorrow morning. All along he was going to do what she asked him to do, no word of a lie, but he found pure enjoyment in giving her the idea he had no intentions of helping. He placed his half-eaten apple on the kitchen counter and took a step towards her.

“Alright, as long as you do me the best cup of tea possible.”

“Of course, aren’t all my cups of tea the best?” To which he nodded and she grinned, squeezing his cheek and leaving a blush pink behind on his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you the most,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead, reaching around her to grab the basket and tuck it under his arm, “I’ll have a look at these nice, long runners you’ve been speaking so highly about, too.”

*

“Mum called earlier. She’s grown some strawberries and rhubarb and said she was making a pie for our dessert tomorrow. I told her that with how hard you’ve been working with the garden, on all the veggies, we won’t need a pudding to eat because we’ll be so full of Christmas dinner,” Alex chuckled, peering over the newspaper in his hands to catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, eyes still trained to the book she was reading in the gentle, almost, silence.

The radio crackled quietly in the background of the living room, playing a Christmas song that had a frequent place on the station they had programmed to work properly. Adding a sense of merriment to the room they were sat in; tinsel hanging on a scarce Christmas tree, with ornaments made from paper and cardboard, and Christmas cards on the windowsill from family and friends. There wasn’t much they could do but it was enough for them.

“Your mum makes a good pie though,” YN admitted, placing her finger between the pages she’d gotten to, “she didn’t have to do that though. She’s already done a lot for me this year and the last four so tomorrow is, kind of, all about giving back to her and your dad and my parents, too.”

Alex’s family had been a huge constant in her life during the wartime.

His mother had been non-stop on the phone with her about new gardening tips that her friends had told her about and seeds to share amongst themselves to grow a healthy batch of fruits to bake with - because they baked, a lot, and his mother had sent her back home with a brain full of new treats to bake and recipes to try out - and they took care of a flower patch in the front garden of Alex’s home, which seemed to pass the time. His father had been just as helpful to her, whenever he wasn’t in factories or working in machinery, coming by to put shelves up for her or to fix a hole in the roof that had begun to leak. Always popping by with a loaf of bread from the bakery and a tin of meat, that YN would put together as a sandwich and they’d eat until he knew his wife would be questioning his whereabouts. They allowed her to stay when she was feeling lonely, always looked out for her during the raids and insisted she stayed with them to wait it out, always insisting that she stayed with them until Alex was home so she wasn’t suffering with loneliness or panicking when blackouts occurred.

It had always been his mother cooking a Christmas dinner, promising she didn’t have to do anything but sit at the dining table and enjoy a healthy meal with family, with no worrying or getting upset that her own husband wasn’t there to enjoy the family festivities.

So it felt surreal when YN saw Alex dressed in his uniform, on the train station platform with a bag swung over his shoulder, in and amongst crowds of reunited families, knowing that they were about to have their life back on track. A Christmas together.

“My dad’s made a good sherry for us to have. Mum said he’s been working on it for almost a year now. Growing currants in the front garden and chasing kids away when he saw them picking at his bushes as they passed,” Yn giggled softly, because the image of her father chasing active youths down a street was rather amusing to her, reaching for her bookmark to keep her place in the book resting on her lap, “she says she’s barely seen him because he spends his time at the allotments, with his friends.”

Alex snuffled a laugh and folded his paper up, setting it on the floor beside the crackling fireplace.

“We should get an allotment. Could build a shed there to hide in when it rains, have you come and sit and watch me dig the veggies up, let you grow some flowers there. We’d be the best there,” he grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea, baby.”

“Christmases only get better from here,” he stood to his feet and wiggled his fingers in her direction, “let’s have a dance.”

She smiled shyly and stood to her feet, toes all toasty and warm from the fire, reaching for his hands as he twirled her under his arm and let her dress, all dark green and red (which she insisted was her most Christmas-y dress in her wardrobe) billow out at the knees. With the occasional step on his bare toes, and a trip over his own feet, they managed to move themselves around the room with such an elegant sway to their hips as the gentle voice of Bing Crosby filled the room, with the ever so delightful song that YN imagined must have felt so personal to so many around Britain. And she couldn’t help but think of how many others were dancing, singing and crying as the tune filled merry homes, both happy and sad.

And she didn’t want to let her mind wander to the agonising pain of not having a loved one, let alone a husband, arrive home safe for Christmas… but it was planted there and she never ever wanted an experience so heartbreaking.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he hummed and it was in that moment that he felt a dribble of tears against his neck, his feet coming to a stop as the music carried on behind them, “hey now. No crying, we said. This is a happy end to the year, eh? A happy one.”

“I know but,” she choked on a tear and pulled away to look at him, “I’m so lucky you came home to me. To us. But, some women, they never got to say goodbye to their husbands, their brothers, their fathers and grandfathers. They never got to see them for Christmas this year, last year and the years before that. They never knew what was coming,” she whispered with a hushed voice that felt like if she spoke too loud, she’d have the entire country hearing her, as if the music was bad enough to bring out the emotions.

“I promised you, didn’t I, baby?”

She nodded softly and his thumbs wiped away her tears, collecting moisture on the tips of his pads, their eyes locking for a brief second.

“I promised you I’d make it back to you and I did, safe and sound,” he held her face in his hands and brushed the tip of his nose to hers, his warm breath flushing over her face as she sniffled and sobbed, “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever. I promise, no selfish bastard is going to keep us apart, not even for Christmas.”

#alex!au #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts