♡ Summary: It has been nearly a year since you started writing anonymous letters to Jungkook, giving him words of encouragement behind the thin mask of a paper. He never considered you as a possible suspect behind these letters, because you were nothing more than a best friend. And you couldn’t put all the blame on him either, after all, you were too afraid to confess in fear of tarnishing your precious friendship.
Summary: We follow Bucky as he describes the three times in his life where he has ‘lost it’ with you.
Characters: Bucky Barnes x reader (from Bucky’s POV)
Warnings: bumbling Bucky, none for this part, fluff?… idk reader beware
Word Count: 1,000ish
A/N: So, instead of quitting, I’m gonna to post instead. This is tiny, little, mini-series to dip my toes back into the water. I’d LOVE to get some feedback and be re-inspired to create once again. Gonna try to finish the next two parts in the next day or so.
I must’ve missed the ignition ten times from how bad my hands were trembling. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. It was time. I just couldn’t have her as my girlfriend anymore. So, dinner was planned —somewhere very public— a handkerchief folded neatly in my pocket, and every move I made felt surreal. The last five years had flown by.
they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have
the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how
it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media
attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath
the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy
Ramsey, was it worth it?
ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he
thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask
like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his
plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room
full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call
crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.
it worth it?
never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no
escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow
motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago,
living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in
took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each
others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a
city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and
kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm
themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and
eventually they must fall.
after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve
poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as
retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained
their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los
Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when
their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members
of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own
reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the
ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is
going out bloody.
by god, did they go out bloody.
Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking
inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least,
were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of
glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to
go out at all.
wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and
public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the
crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with
in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were
finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that
came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the
wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality
the whole damn city was taken by surprise.
they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted,
out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up
with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they
aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls,
of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible
victories, the FAHC finally lost.
lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves,
to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every
body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless,
lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had,
throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It
the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The
scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire
fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d
fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near
indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and
women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence
while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even
look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.
messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was
laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed
himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family,
drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And
god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that
just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for
anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved
was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out
in the end.
the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath,
in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in
circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem
capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask
and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so
calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though
he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And
still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.
it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down
for you, would you do it all again? Every
damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like
baby, who says it’s over?
comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too
many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was
tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line,
and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty
they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly
minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so
far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy,
couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game
this long without signing up for devastation.
How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is
without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss
will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any
they’d experienced before.
thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after
endless weeks of stress eventually leads to the discussion they
never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their
lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they
could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of
this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their
oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time
terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.
you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d
have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and
down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a
bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It
still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully
appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s
harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and
consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it
takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming
more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have
started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown.
Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep
their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping
up on them all.
Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won,
got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality
isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left
behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough
to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so
a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of
alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d
all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous,
unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea
nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still
assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it
up all the same, running through all the possibilities.
would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much
wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply
too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the
vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come
looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track,
would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in
the one place no one could ever reach them.
are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right
contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to
trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a
time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses,
there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course
with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far
in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths
to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow,
someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse
from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life
too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has
to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more
than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d
die for. The boss they will die for.
don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be
happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to
rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get
a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point
they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their
free time to organise their affairs.
one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long
meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s
spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way
Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english,
clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their
money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy
collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting
the layout of the police station, the morgue.
all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but
eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just
about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy
smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone
even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision
to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All
they’ve got left to do is die.
the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original
elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something
else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full
blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost
members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal
familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was
seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself
will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own
mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the
Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the
Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not
the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know
Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the
LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back.
It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To
believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at
the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose
thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.
paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report
that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin
arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like
he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He
disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the
seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing,
inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is
if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could
believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with
the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run
his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however
it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can
live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had
been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.
Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The
seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the
death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years
never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most
devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their
throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest,
original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind
without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill
their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of
support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces
are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their
enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the
absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no
betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds,
somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely
restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key
members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it
the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere
else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it
home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up
everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into
legend, would it be worth it?
yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises,
throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with
everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every
goddamn time without fail, yes.
out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private
beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no
weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a
woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same;
golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark
relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At
the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other
nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little
boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.
single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and
chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal
humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment
of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an
American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal
organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into
a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and
screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the
In which Draco keeps disappearing into the Room of Requirement, but not to fix that dumb Vanishing Cabinet. So what is he doing in there? That’s what Harry would like to know!
He watches Draco, day after day, making his way to the Room of Requirement, carrying a bag. It drives Harry mad. He knows he can’t get in there, while Draco is in the room, so he waits after Draco has slipped out again. Harry stares at the wall and concentrates hard.
“Show me the room you become when Draco Malfoy goes in there.”
At first, he doesn’t think it’s working. But then, a door appears, and Harry’s heart beats faster. He yanks the door open impatiently and steps into… the Room of Hidden Things. Is Malfoy hiding something in here? Harry spends hours walking around, trying to find something that would look suspicious, until he finally gives up. He heads for the door again, when something catches his eye - his own name. It’s an article from the Daily Prophet, that’s peeking out from a big trunk.
Frowning, Harry opens the trunk. There’s not only one article in there, more like a hundred. There’s also lots of pictures of him, a stuffed teddy bear that has a lightning scar stitched on its forehead, some old quills and… is that a Remembrall? And is that a Gryffindor scarf? Harry remembers, he lost a scarf in fourth year, but… that can’t possibly be this scarf, can it? Except… there’s an old shirt Harry has been looking for for ages.
Heart pounding, Harry hurries out of the Room of Requirement. He has no idea what to make of this. He knows some people are obsessed with him, but this? This is a bit much! And he still hasn’t figured out what Malfoy is doing in there!
A few days later, Harry gets his answer. He’s under his invisibility cloak again, following Malfoy and Zabini. They’re chatting about something Pansy did yesterday. Apparently, it was rather scandalous. Harry’s heart stops, when Zabini suddenly says,
“So, you finally got rid of all your wanking material?”
Malfoy rolls his eyes.
“Shut up, Blaise.”
“Does this mean you’re finally done talking about him?”
Malfoy elbows him and Zabini snickers.
“One more thing, then everything will be locked away and gone for good,” Malfoy mutters and tells Zabini to go to the Great Hall without him.
Harry’s mind reels as he finally realises it’s Malfoy’s collection he discovered in the Room of Requirement. But why is he getting rid of it?
Harry’s brows knit together at his own thoughts. He has been worrying for days about the person who that collection belongs to. But now that he knows it’s Malfoy… it doesn’t feel that weird and creepy anymore. The only thing that concerns him, is why Malfoy is dumping this stuff in the Room of Hidden things.
Not thinking about consequences, Harry runs after Malfoy, pulls off his invisibility cloak and grabs his wrist. Malfoy startles and turns around. Gasping, he lets go of his bag, the contents spilling all over the floor. Harry can’t believe his eyes when his gaze falls upon several drawings. Of him.
“You drew me,” Harry says flatly. Malfoy doesn’t say anything. His wrist twitches in Harry’s grip.
“Why are you getting rid of it?” Harry murmurs, his eyes locking with Malfoy’s.
“What do you care?” Malfoy counters.
Harry thinks about it for a moment. Yes, why does he care? He can’t really find an answer and he doesn’t exactly understand it, he just… does.
“The Remembrall in there, it’s not… I mean… is it-”
“The one Longbottom thought he lost in first year?” Malfoy finishes for him.
Draco lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.
“Yes, it is.”
Harry is pretty sure he should feel creeped out and weird again, but he feels excited instead.
“Why did you keep it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy mutters.
Harry steps closer to him and puts a finger under his chin. Malfoy gasps at the touch and blinks. Harry is overwhelmed by his own boldness, but it’s like his body is acting on its own.
“Tell me why you’re getting rid of all this stuff,” he whispers. Malfoy shudders and his eyes flick to Harry’s lips. His breathing is heavy and Harry faintly feels his pulse racing, as he moves his finger down Malfoy’s neck.
“What do you care?” Malfoy repeats. His gaze is still fixed on Harry’s lips, which sends weird little jolts down Harry’s chest.
“I don’t know,” Harry breathes. “I just… don’t want you to.”
Without warning, Malfoy closes the gap between them, his lips brushing over Harry’s. A shiver runs down Harry’s spine and his gut clenches. When he feels Malfoy’s arms circle his waist, he throws his own arms around Malfoy’s neck.
Harry doesn’t know how long they’re standing there and who starts making these obscene noises first. He is, however, rather irritated when they get interrupted by a loud groan.
“Potter,” somebody whines. Harry blinks and sees Zabini standing a few feet away from them. “I thought this whole thing would finally be over! Why did you have to go and snog him? Now he will never shut up about you!”
Malfoy blushes furiously as Harry’s booming laughter echoes off the walls.
“You know,” he says with a little smirk, “I think I’m rather good at shutting him up.” He winks at Zabini, before gripping onto Malfoy more tightly and giving him the snog of his life.
Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?
Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Fluff, humor, probably some angst
Warnings: Strong language at times, maybe some slight smut eventually
You looked up from the files you were re-organizing for Yoongi to see Namjoon standing in front of you with a smile. He had been the one to hire you, but you hadn’t seen him since, and you had to admit it was good to see him. You hadn’t realized it when he interviewed you, but he seemed a lot more sane and normal than any of the other people there.
“Yeah, so far so good.” You returned his smile, bending the truth slightly. It wasn’t like you had expected this to be a dream-job, but also hadn’t realized what a pain everyone else who worked there would be.
“Yoongi hasn’t been too horrible, then?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow, sitting down across from you.
You shrugged. “I’m sure running such an important, large company puts a lot of stress on him.” You said rather than answer his question.
“In other words, he’s crazy, but you can handle him.” Namjoon laughed, and you couldn’t help but join in. Min Yoongi was crazy. Not even a half-hour ago, he had started screaming that someone stole his checkbook, only for you to walk in and tell him it was in the top right drawer of his desk (you had seen him put it there the previous day).
“Maybe a bit. But I can certainly handle him.” You agreed.
“I have a good feeling about you.” Namjoon said suddenly. “I’ve hired people from all over the place, from amazing schools or with years of experience… But there’s something about you. I really think this is going to work.” You were relieved for a moment, thankful that someone believed in you. But then Jimin wandered over, flicking Namjoons shoulder.
“You’ve said that shit before.” He said with a sigh.
“Have not.” Namjoon replied indignantly.
“Have too.” Jimin snorted. “Remember Mike? You were positive he was perfect for the job. And Melissa? You said there was no way for it to go wrong. And then there was Kevin…”
“Okay, stop.” Namjoon said, obviously flustered. You tried not to be disappointed. The only person who believed in you apparently believed in every other employee who had failed.
“Face it, Namjoon. You’re a terrible judge of character.” Jimin said, patting Namjoon shoulder sympathetically before walking away. Namjoon turned back to you looking rather guilty.
“I really do have a good feeling about you. And I talked to Yoongi yesterday, he doesn’t seem to mind you.” He was trying to make up for what Jimin had said, but you really wanted the conversation to end.
“Thanks, I appreciate it–really, I do. But is there something that I can help you with? If not, I really do need to get this done and I have some phone calls to make…”
“Right, yeah, of course you do.” Namjoon stood abruptly, still looking embarrassed. “I actually need to speak with Yoongi for a minute, so if you’ll excuse me…” He nearly ran into Yoongi’s office door in his haste to get away, and you shook your head as you returned to your work. Somehow, you didn’t think Namjoon was actually going to be any help to you while you worked there.
“Let me guess, you missed the bus again?” Kim Taehyung said through the phone. Your day had dragged on for what felt like forever, your lunch break practically non-existent because Yoongi had decided that all of his filing cabinets needed to be reorganized (which they did, they were a total mess, but it was still tedious work that took a while). You had missed the bus again, but at least this time you weren’t soaking wet with a broken heel. “I’m not far, I’ll be there in a few.”
You might have been able to leave earlier if you had really pushed for it, but you were still hoping to somehow get on your bosses good side–though, you were starting to wonder if he even had one. After Namjoon was done talking to him, Yoongi had been in a significantly worse mood. He had complained about everything–his schedule, his coffee, the fact that he thought your shoes were ugly–before dumping piles upon piles of paper on your desk.
Missing the bus was also a good excuse to call the strange taxi-driver you had met the day before.
“So tell me, how exactly does one barely miss the bus two days in a row?” Taehyung asked when he pulled up, rolling the window down and greeting you with a smile.
“It’s a long story, but it’s just as well. I have some shopping I need to do anyway.” You said, not sure why you were telling the driver this. “Apparently my shoes are ugly, so I’m going to get some new ones at the mall…”
Taehyung twisted around in his seat so he could see your shoes for himself before he started driving. “They don’t look so bad to me.” He said thoughtfully. “And what do you mean, ‘apparently’ they’re ugly? Don’t you like them?” He pulled away from the curb as he spoke, glancing at you briefly in the rear-view.
You shrugged, looking down at your flats. You didn’t think they were ugly, but you weren’t sure you wanted to put up with another day of Jimin and Yoongi both criticizing them.
“I wouldn’t have bought them in the first place if I didn’t like them.” You sighed. “It’s other people who have a problem with them.”
Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “And you care what they think?”
“I mean, no, but–”
“But you’re going to replace perfectly good shoes because someone whose opinion you don’t care about says they’re ugly?” You weren’t sure how you felt about Taehyung-the-taxi-driver hinting that you were conforming to other peoples standards, and shifted slightly in your seat. Taehyung didn’t wait for you to answer, simply continued with another question. “Are they against your companies dress code or something?” You assumed he was referring to your shoes.
Taehyung seemed to be personally insulted that someone had a problem with your shoes, which was very odd. “So what difference does it make to you what other people think about your shoes?”
You wanted to argue that you didn’t want to give Jimin a reason to bully you, or for Yoongi to have another reason to hate you, but it sounded childish in your own mind. What did you care if Jimin said rude things to you? And if Yoongi fired you over your shoes, then maybe working for him wasn’t worth it after all. “It doesn’t really matter…” You agreed slowly, and Taehyung pulled over.
“Good, so I’m not driving you to the mall, right?” He looked at you in the mirror again, grinning so hard that his smile looked more like a box than anything else.
“I… Guess not? But…”
Taehyung blinked, then laughed. “So are you free the rest of tonight?”
You couldn’t believe this. Was your taxi driver asking you out? That was ridiculous. “I don’t know…” You started. You really should catch up on sleep, this job was draining and you needed to be alert in the morning.
“Nothing weird, I promise. There’s just something I’d like you to see.”
The last part could be taken in a number of ways, but there was something about Taehyung that made you think he meant it in the most innocent way possible. “Okay.” You agreed, not entirely sure why. There was no reason for you to go anywhere with him, unless it was to drive you home.
“Fantastic. I promise you won’t regret it.” Taehyung pulled back into the street quickly, before making a U-turn and driving the other way. He didn’t tell you where you were going, and you didn’t ask.
It was the summer break and everyone made plans to go on trips or to hang out with friends. Everyone except for Adrien. His father wouldn’t allow it, his father had other things in mind. More modeling. Adrien had the energy to burn, his fencing teacher took a trip to Spain and wouldn’t be back until the end of August. Adrien was bored out of his mind, there were less Akuma attacks in Paris around this time of year.
Adrien’s father was in a different city for two days along with Nathalie and their driver. Surprisingly Adrien’s father, Gabriel Agreste, allowed Adrien to stay home alone until he comes back. It wasn’t like Adrien could do anything, the house was on lockdown. If the front door were to ever be opened, Mr. Agreste would be alerted immediately and Adrien would never see the sun ever again. But luckily Chat Noir wasn’t on lockdown.
It was almost three in the morning and Adrien just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He walked around his house a couple of times, to tired himself out. Of course, Adrien just wanted to move more. He walked to the kitchen and looked around. Everything he found were raw food and Camembert. He sighed and leaned back on the counter. Then he had an idea. Quickly, Adrien ran to his room where Plagg was sleeping and transformed himself to Chat Noir.
“Wha-ahh!” Plagg cried before being sucked into Adrien’s ring.
Chat Noir scurried out the nearest window and untransformed in the empty streets. Adrien thought he would’ve been scared, but everything just felt, right. He wondered around the streets he walked in the daylight as Chat Noir, but now he’s just Adrien in the dark and alone. But he didn’t mind, for some reason he felt more himself at night.
Well, he thought he was the only person his age out walking around Paris. Across the street, he could see a familiar shop glowing bright and a big shadowy figure moving from the table to the stove. As Adrien approach closer, he realized it was Marinette’s father. Tom Dupain turned around and saw Adrien standing outside of his shop’s window.
Tom walked over and unlocked the door for him. “Come in, it’s cold out.” He told Adrien.
Adrien didn’t realize he was staring, but he also didn’t hesitate to go in. He took a seat at one of the very few tables they had. “Thanks.”
“You’re one of Marinette’s friends, right? Adrien?” Tom asked, taking off his apron. Adrien nodded. Tom got out two cups and started to make some hot cocoa. “So what are you doing out there in the middle of the night?” He asked, placing the hot drinks on the table.
“I just couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a walk.” Adrien gripped his cup, warming his hands from the cold air outside. “What are you doing still up at this hour?” Adrien asked Mr. Dupain.
Tom leaned back in his chair, “Oh, same as you. I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to bake a snack instead of walking around outside like you.” Adrien couldn’t help but laugh. He realized how stupid he had been. “How’s your summer break so far?” Tom asked, picking up his cup.
“Modeling and staying at home most of the time. How is yours?”
Tom sighed, “Baking and paying the bills.”
They both laughed.
The mini cookies were done. Tom got a plate and dumped the streaming hot goods on it. He placed the plate on the table. “Help yourself.” Tom offered. Adrien reached and grabbed one but quickly dropped it. Adrien attempted to catch it but accidentally slammed his hand on the table, and once again when he tried to lift his hand. He started blowing his hand, “Sorry.” They both laughed again.
Then the door started to slowly open. “Dad, it’s past three AM. Why are you still up and making so much noise? I sleep in the loft and I could hear you without any problems.” Marinette said, walking in as she rubbed her eyes to clear her vision.
“It’s the vents! I’m down here because I didn’t want to wake you.” Tom told her as he picks up the cookie Adrien dropped.
“Sorry, it was my fault. I slammed my hand on the table. Multiple times.” Adrien smiled.
Marinette rubbed her eyes again in disbelief. But Adrien was in her family’s bakery. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair. “Ahhh, A-Adrien! H-hi! Why are you here? In my dad’s bakery? At three-thirty? In the morning?”
“I found him outside in the cold and invited him in. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.” Tom told Marinette who was still stunned about Adrien being here.
Then the same door Marinette came through opened again. “What is all the fuss?” Marinette’s mother asked in her flowery robe. “Oh! We have a guest!”
“Why don’t you two grab a chair and join us for hot cocoa and freshly baked cookies?” Tom inviting them, holding two cups out to them.
Not long after the four of them were huddled around a small table laughing and talking. The cookies were finished in no time. Adrien hasn’t felt this warm fuzzy feeling inside of him in a long time. A little over four years to be exact.
I needed a good reason to sweep my house today, so I made some magical powder to inspire myself.
Just look at that totally real lens flare.
Dry coffee grounds. I work in coffee so this is an easy ingredient for me to come by. If you don’t have much to spare, use what you can, or substitute black tea. Dark roast is ideal for grounding and protection and usually cheaper. I used a blend called “Defense Against the Dark Arts” because I am a nerd & also I wasn’t crazy about it so I don’t mind utilizing it. Coffee has excellent energizing properties (even the smell of caffeine has been proven to make people more alert!), not to mention protective and dispelling magic.
Salt. As close to equal parts with the coffee as you can get. The two ingredients creating your base work together to protect and dispell negative energy, while encouraging positivity.
Whatever other herbs you have for protection/energy/harmony/whatever you are trying to invoke. I used cinnamon, clove, and black pepper for protection, also because fall. Lavender, peppermint cocoa, basil, paprika, and other kitchen spices work well, just do a little research to ensure that you aren’t putting anything dangerous on your floor, and so you know what effects to look for.
That’s it for ingredients, for real. Even if you only have coffee and/or salt, this is still effective! The idea is mindful cleaning.
I sprinkled a bit of the powder in one room at a time, starting from the furthest from my front door. You can do West to East, North to South, away from the door, in concentric circles, or whatever suits you. I recommend doing one room at a time to help you focus & to keep track of how much you’ve done.
As you’re sweeping, visualize sweeping up not only the powder, but all of the negative energy. Imagine it all settling on the floor like dirt, and you sweeping it all up together. You can sing, chant, or listen to music, whatever floats your boat. If you honor a household god/ess, now is a good time to pray to them. (Hestia really likes me to listen to Heart while I’m cleaning, idk why but she does) Sweep your powder and negativity into one pile per room.
After you’ve swept all the rooms that you wished to clean, sweep all the piles up, dump into its own baggie, and take it outside. If you have a paper bag or something else that will decompose, feel free to bury it if you want. If not, just toss it out somewhere responsibly, but not in your house! Go back inside without looking back at where you discarded your refuse.
When you get back inside, you can smoke cleanse or make tea or just lay down if you’re out of spoons. Enjoy the fresh energy of your space!
Me, An Idiot: Hm I should eat something but my stomach is being a lil bitch and nothing sounds good.
Dog: Food things might be happening! I will supervise you. By standing between you knees. So helpful.
Me, I’d like to stress the idiocy it’s after midnight and I can’t turn the lights on: Corn chips are good for stomach aches. But they’re super-bland and unappetizing. I’m still going to rummage through the unlit pantry in the dark with the dog at my knees, absolutely nothing can go wrong.
Me, after falling over the fucking dog and hitting my head on the table LIKE I FUCKING NEW I WOULD: What if I put seasoning on them?
Me, Continuing down the Path Of Madness:WHAT IF I JUST DUMPED A WHOLE BUNCH OF GOOD SHIT IN THERE I’M A FUCKING GENIUS??
Dog:*Is excite because corn chips are the one people food he gets to eat one (1) of, sometimes*
Me, now rummaging through the spice cabinet for various Good Shits ™ to dump in chip bag, fucking up and dropping something: fuck.
Bottle of Old Bay: AHA! TIME FOR MY DASTARDLY PLAN TO TAKE EFFECT!! *leaps out of cabinet, cap snaps off, dumps half of bottle into chip bag*
Me: … ok but still needs cayenne.
Dog, upon being offered New Spicy Crab Chips: *Sniff, followed by loud retching noise, then aggravated growling* What. How Dare. Wretched, awful 0/10 heck you mother why would you do this to my chips, i’m beyond disgusted… *curls up on other end of couch, sulking, occasionally getting up to stretch/give me stinkeye over this*
It was when Fred was incredibly solemn upon his return to the Gryffindor Common Room one night that George figured that something was wrong with him. He had never seen Fred in a mood as bad as the one he was in, he was not interacting with anybody and struggled to smile; he even told George to “grow up” after he suggested pranking somebody. George needed to know why he was so upset and down in the dumps, so he took his brother to the Quidditch stands and sat in the stalls with him, just the two of them, and spoke to him.
When @speedmagick and I were on vacation we (jokingly?) talked about rating our favorite appearances/designs of the twins, and since he made good on it I’m here to do the same .
Asguardian: too many belts, appropriates Aesir culture? looks great for smth a 15 year old made by hand 6/10
Wiccan (2005) wears all black, hasn’t brushed hair in weeks, cape recycled from Vincent Valentine cosplay, SHORT (check out those wedge heels). Hot Topic Freshman 8/10
Young Avengers Special Nancy from The Craft, meetings with ur birth mom, “I don’t give a Three Fold Fuck” 10/10 the most witchy
Civil War “hit by a car and dumped in the trash, this pigeon isn’t giving up” 6/10 cute face weird anatomy/clothing
Young Avengers Presents lowkey my favorite- he looks young, gangly, and a little unkempt. love the nose & brows lol 9/10 im deadass i love this issue
Secret Invasion TINY. ANIME. CANT GET HIS FULL COSTUME TOGETHER 3/10 a Mess
Dark Reign some characters looked good in this comic but Billy was not one of them 0/10 why is your suit blue???
“The most relatable character in Mean Girls was Janice” listen Billy is a grunge/emo gay 5/10 please buy a hairbrush
“I got BANGZzzzuhhh!!” this is the same style just updated for the 2010s 6/10 you got a hairbrush
Startorialist definitely got a tumblr. glowy eyes mean business. pastel goth. Strike a pose! 5/10 needs more black and the cape should be tattered !!!
“You’re perfect you’re beautiful you look like Wanda Maximoff you’re a model… Did you stone those tights?” 10/10 Billy your smile is a beauuuutiful
New Avengers (Sandoval) this is the least-ugly Sandoval drawing i could find. Anime hair, weirdly super buf), cape is practically a tent. Details never consistent. 1/10 that’s a pretty good sasuke wig tho
New Avengers (Paco Medina and Marcus To) really small, cute baby face, fluffy hair, starting to wear black again, calls his mom, 8/10 best versions of this design so far
House of M (2015) Wiccan & Speed Team-Up! The same suit but Edgier and more Red 9/10 i actually like this better than the original
Avengers Fairytales dead inside, that mug is full of liquor, big ears better to hear u talking shit, gets rekt regularly by his gigantic boytoy 10/10 bunny baby, this outfit is too fuckign cute and his face iss… killing me
What's net neutrality and what's up with your icon? Have you been hacked?
Net Neutrality: the principle that Internet service providers should enable access to all content and applications regardless of the source, and without favoring or blocking particular products or websites.
No I haven’t been hacked just participating in the movement protesting the possibility of the end of net neutrality. (If you turned off adblock or looked on mobile, Tumblr is also participating) If you don’t live in the USA or haven’t really seen the news, but around 3 years, the us government had a debate about internet providers and something the internet providers wanted to do. Internet Providers or IPs wanted to throttle certain websites, or give some websites worse connections to their customers. For example, Comcast could potentially make online video sites such as netflix, hulu or even youtube to become slow, or not even work, so that the customer will use the cable tv they probably bundled with the internet service. But right now they can’t do this, as the law prevents them currently. Watching the videos I’ve posted and the others that will be linked, you can learn more about this and why this issue is coming up again. But overall, net neutrality is good, I am protesting the threat to net neutrality.
Painting a room and things end up in a paint fight
Between the seven of them, the Voltron team was incredibly busy. There was always training to be done, the castle to fix and clean, information to absorb, machines to build, fights to prepare for- easily two dozen people’s worth of effort split between less than ten.
However, once in a blue moon, certain conditions struck.
Projects were on pause until proper supplies could be found. Repairs were holding for the moment. There were no local distress signals, no messages from their allies. No immediate battles to fight, nothing they knew to prepare for.
There was always something to be done, but those tasks weren’t always the most pressing.
“This whole room?” Lance asked in dismay. He held the handle of his paint roller in one hand, the other sulkily pushed into the pocket of his jacket.
It was hard to argue the room didn’t need a good layer of paint. The previous coat was cracked and faded, giving the whole area a shabby feel. While nearly all of the castle was bare-walled, relying instead on the inlayed lights for decorations, this seemed to be some sort of fancy meeting hall.
It was the sort of place that hadn’t need to be touched up when they were only fighting for their lives. As they gained allies and prestige and took part in more political battles, well..
One time at school this couple a year above me was fighting, and the guy said “Say one good reason why I shouldn’t dump you” and the girl grabbed his arm, pulled him close, and said “Because I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition!” And the guy was quiet for a second before saying “Son of a bitch.”
A/N: I needed some fluff before I write some angst. So here’s something for your sweet tooth. Inspired by something from this set of prompts: “Give me more humming in the kitchen, making brownies at 3 AM for no reason at all.” Hope you guys enjoy!
Saeyoung drifted in the realm of consciousness when the comfortable warmth around his legs became unbearable heat. Groggily, he cracked open his eyes and adjusted his glasses. He rubbed the sore spot on his face where the edge of them had indented his skin.
He looked down at his legs. His brother was sleeping on the opposite side of him on the couch, and a blanket had somehow made it’s way over the both of them. Only…the twins had a tendency to become living heaters when they fell asleep…thus the overwhelming heat.
Saeyoung disentangled his limbs from Saeran’s before taking in his surroundings. Right…he was at your apartment along with the rest of the RFA. You all had gathered to prepare for a fundraising event tomorrow afternoon. How and when the group had fallen asleep was unknown to him.
Jaehee was knocked out on the office chair–of course she could sleep like that. And Yoosung…he was on the floor next to the couch, mouth wide open and a few snores buzzing from his throat. Jumin and Zen were nowhere to be found, but most likely, they both went home before they crashed like the rest of them.
Nearly one hundred neatly packaged favors lay piled up on the coffee table, ready for guests and donors. Saeyoung scrunched his nose at them, his fingers aching at the memory of all the folding he did last night to make those boxes. Whose idea was it to make hand-made favors for the event anyway?
The thought brought his attention to the light coming from the kitchen. At his angle, he couldn’t see much but the edge of your sweater. Careful not to step on Yoosung, Saeyoung pushed himself off the couch and dragged his feet towards you.
A tiny smile unwound on his lips as you remained unaware of his presence. Your hair was held back by a headband with a huge bow on top, and your sweater was just a tad too big on you, resulting in scrunched sleeves and a slightly exposed shoulder.
As if he couldn’t find you any cuter, your tongue stuck out ever so slightly as you fixated your full attention on the back of some box. He tiptoed behind you, checking there was nothing in your hands, before grabbing your waist and attacking your bare shoulder with raspberries.
You let out a shrill cry in response, but Saeyoung quickly covered your mouth. “Shh,” he whispered in your ear, causing you to squirm even more. “You’ll wake everyone up.”
You said something, probably not so nice to him, but it was muffled against his hand. He removed it from your mouth and instead wrapped both arms around your middle and rocked you back and forth. He chuckled at your disgruntled sigh.
“I thought you were asleep,” you said before returning to the counter despite him still hanging on your torso.
“I was,” Saeyoung replied. The reminder elicited a yawn, and he squeezed you tighter when he was done. “Impromptu sleepover, I guess. And what are you doing instead of sleeping?”
He watched you as you opened the box you were reading earlier and dumped some white flour into a bowl. “I’m making brownies,” you explained. “Want to help?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “At three in the morning?”
“Why not?” you shrugged.
That was good enough for him. He released you from his grip and spun you around dramatically before pulling himself onto the counter. “What can your personal sous-chef help you with today?”
You placed the bowl in his hands and handed him a whisk. He obediently stirred while you were the one who added most of the ingredients. You took the bowl from him eventually and poured it into a larger pan before slipping it into the oven. Saeyoung took the opportunity to devour the remains of the raw batter while you busied yourself with cleaning the counter.
There was something incredibly soothing about the moment. You two hadn’t uttered a word, but somehow Saeyoung felt an intense contentment in the silence.
It was only broken when he caught you staring, your pink lips wearing a soft smile. His chest caved in at the sight. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the fact that you actually liked him.
“See something you like?” he said rather roguishly.
“Yeah,” you replied, your eyes fixated on his face, occasionally dipping to his lips. “He’s really cute, even with brownie batter smeared on his forehead. How did you even manage to do that?”
He stuck his face in the bowl to get a last lick of the chocolatey goodness. “Like this, probably,” he replied.
He placed the bowl to the side and slid off the counter. Your gaze still hadn’t left him. Undeterred by the warmth radiating off his cheeks, Saeyoung leaned both palms against the counter on either side of you, blocking your escape. Though…you didn’t seem to have any intentions to escape.
You gave him a wry smile. “You have a little something right here,” you said, gesturing to the edge of your mouth.
A smirk made its way to his lips. He lurched forward so your foreheads touched. You grimaced slightly at the batter that squished against your skin, but you didn’t move away. “Can you get it for me, sweetie?” he sung.
Your gaze once again flitted to his lips, and he prepared himself for something sweeter than chocolate. You lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and you whispered his name in the limited space between you. His breathing grew shallower as you inched closer…and closer…and finally…
Your thumb swept briskly across his bottom lip before you ducked under his arms and retreated to the other side of the kitchen. Dazedly, he turned and stared at you. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite the disappointment of not receiving a kiss, his heart still swelled with affection.
“You’re such a tease,” he snorted.
You laughed faintly, sticking your thumb in your mouth to wipe off the batter. Your lips parted, no doubt in preparation of another flirtatious comment, but soft music drifted into the kitchen, interrupting your conversation.
Both of you looked up at the source. You groaned and threw your head back with an annoyed huff. “My upstairs neighbors are always playing music at such odd hours.”
Saeyoung pursed his lips. The music wasn’t loud or obnoxious. The angelic strain of a violin became more prominent as the two settled into silence. Soon, the steady rhythm of “one, two, three” flowed into the atmosphere.
“They have a good idea, actually,” Saeyoung said. You tilted your head in confusion, and he grabbed your hand and yanked you into him. Resting both hands on your waist, he hummed along under his breath and swayed back and forth. Finally getting his idea, you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked down at your feet.
It was sloppy, he knew. You two were out of sync, and there was more laughter than music, but gosh, if he didn’t love the fact that he got to hold you so close. It was the middle of the night, and the entire world faded away as the two of you fumbled around the tiny little kitchen. Together you both surged into outer space, and it seemed as if nothing could penetrate the universe that exclusively belonged to you and him.
He looked up at you while your attention was still focused on trying to keep rhythm. Your eyes were crinkled in a smile. Your cheeks were flushed pink. Your breaths were uneven, getting lost in melodic giggles. The bittersweet fragrance of chocolate hung in the air, but Saeyoung was more intoxicated by your nearness.
Your head suddenly snapped up, and he realized his entire body had stilled.
“You stopped dancing,” you pouted.
Saeyoung took a deep breath to stop the dizzying sensation in his head. His hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your faces were barely centimeters apart. “I am so in love with you,” he whispered, every word dripping with deep conviction.
Though you didn’t say it in return, you smiled against his lips, and any breath in his lungs fled from his body.
A startled cry broke the moment and created a distance between you. Saeyoung turned to the source of the sound and found a horrified Yoosung covering his eyes. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he stammered. “I just smelled brownies, and I–”
An unbothered Saeran appeared from behind the blond and pushed past him into the kitchen. He didn’t spare you or Saeyoung a glance, and instead grabbed the oven mitts from the counter. “You get used to it,” he told Yoosung. “I find if you act like they’re not there with their faces smushed together, the awkwardness eventually goes away.”
You and Saeyoung shared a good-natured eye roll at the twin’s comment. But neither of you could deny the statement.
“O-oh,” Yoosung said with a nervous chuckle. “Are the brownies for us?”
You grinned and nodded. “There’s ice cream in the freezer if you want.”
You left his side to go help the two boys before they burned their fingers in hastiness. And, just like that, you two descended from your secluded universe and returned to earth.
Somehow in the chaos of the next few moments, a bowl with a brownie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream found its way into Saeyoung’s hands. As he took a bite and the warm sweetness spread across his tongue, his eyes drifted to you where he found you staring right back. No matter how much the rich taste of chocolate filled him with calm joy, he couldn’t help but feel spoiled after your small moment.
Even now, something hung at the edge of your lips…a secret…a promise…he wasn’t sure, but he knew it was reserved for him. He would find out eventually. Your saccharine smiles and tender touches were waiting for him in outer space, and he couldn’t wait for the next time you would travel there together.
I’ve been sitting on one of these for 3 years now. So I worked at a gas station/convenience store/pizza delivery place that is all over the midwest. Normally I’m the one making pizza because I’m good at it and I know how to do the spin thing with the pizza dough.
But they stick me on register for the day, which I know how to do but hate because anxiety. Anyway it’s a pretty normal day if a little slow. Then about halfway through my shift this woman comes in to pay for her gas. Why we don’t require prepaid I don’t know. But she comes in with what is clearly a sack of change and I feel my soul die.
Only when she dumps it on the counter it’s not quarters, or dollar coins. No, this woman had a bag full of tokens from the pizza place with the rat mascot.
I had to have stood there for a minute just staring at these non-currency coins with my mouth open before I remember to say something. “Ma'am we can’t accept those they’re not legal tender”
She immediately countered with “Well they’re worth a quarter a piece”
If my soul hadn’t already died before it was certainly dead now. “They have no value here, we cannot exchange them for real money”
“Well you have to take them because they’re what I brought to pay for my gas” she has me basically screwed at that point because it isn’t the customer that suffers for the drive off. Its me. I get canned.
“You’ve got to pay for your gas with real money or I will call the cops” is all I can say as I’m mentally constructing an explanation to my manager.
“Oh fine whatever, I’ll be calling corporate about you to let them know how you treated me” and then she just pulls out a card and swipes it. The transaction is completed and she takes her tokens and leaves the store. I spend the next five minutes staring into space only to be startled by the sound of her revving the engine and squealing her tires out of the parking lot.
Strangest day on that entire job.
Warnings: Violence, bad break up, overprotective big brothers
Request: Have you considered writing another sequel for Meeting the Family? Where Alex and the baby bond or going to the distant future where her big brothers beat up boys that flirt with her or the guy who broke her heart? Or both? It’s always up to you, but I would love to read it! -anon
A/N: I hope this is what you were looking for when you requested it! I honestly love writing about Gwash fam and maybe in the future I want to write about the hamilsquad being the most annoying teenagers that George can’t even handle lol. But I hope you guys like this one! I love y'all! Have a flipping incredible day!!😘
Over the years you and George had watched the boys and your little girl grow up. Before you knew it, Eleanor was in high school and had a boyfriend that she was head over heels for. The once loud house was now quiet as the boys now went to college or had a steady paying job and apartment. Time had passed much too quickly for your liking and you would sometimes wish to have the old days back when all 7 boys lived with you and George.
“(Y/N)!” George called, running into where you were reading your book in the living room.
“Yes?” You replied, not looking up from the book that was much too intriguing to put down.
“I just got 7 different phone calls from 7 different boys we know. Apparently, they all have decided to come down here for a weekend to take a break from school and work.” George smirked, waiting for your reaction.
“What? They are coming home?” You squealed, jumping up from your seat in excitement.
“Yes.” George chuckled, watching you dance around the room with joy.
“When will they be here?” You grinned, the thought of your boys coming home to see you making you be on cloud 9.
“They will be here Friday afternoon. I already told Eleanor and she is ecstatic to see them again. It’s been much too long since we last saw them.” George said, pulling you to his side and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “The whole family will be here again.”
“You’re still the best dad they could ever hope for.” You complimented, kissing him softly before running out of the room to get ready for the boys.
“All I get is one kiss?” George called after you.
“You can have more once the house is ready! Our boys are coming home!” You giggled, knowing George was left in the living room with a look of disbelief on his face.
Friday had come before you knew it. You and George were pacing the house waiting for the boys to arrive. Eleanor was yet to come home from school, having gone straight to her boyfriend’s house for a little bit. She said she would be home for dinner and would spend most of the weekend with her older brothers.
Breaking the tension of both George and you watching the clock, Hercules slammed open the door and ran at the two of you. Alex, John and Laf followed quickly after him.
“I’ve missed you guys!” Hercules cried, squeezing both you and George tightly in his arms before the other three stole you and George away in hugs.
“We’ve missed you boys, too!” You laughed, all of them shoving each other out of the way to get another hug from both you and George.
“The favorite child is here!” Thomas announced, strutting through the door with James and Aaron on his heels.
“Boys! Welcome home!” You exclaimed, pulling all three of them into a tight hug.
After lot’s of hugs and kisses, it had finally settled down. Everyone was gathered around you and George in the living room, just like they always had when they were younger.
“Where’s Eleanor?” James asked, noticing that the girl was not in the house.
“She’s at her boyfriend’s house right now. She’ll be back for dinner.” George said, the boys faces all dropping the once wide grins they had.
“Boyfriend?” Aaron asked, his eyebrows furrowed in disgust. “She’s too young to have a boyfriend.”
“Aaron, most girls have a boyfriend in high school. It’s normal.” You shrugged, not really seeing the reason for concern.
“She’ll get hurt! They won’t be able to treat her right!” John exclaimed, his face filled with worry.
“No one’s good enough to be dating her! They probably don’t deserve her!” Lafayette yelled, the other boys nodding their heads in agreement.
“Boys, if we didn’t trust this boy we wouldn’t let her date him. You can talk to Eleanor about it tonight at dinner. She’s fallen hard for this boy, I doubt you could convince her not to date him.” George said, the boys scowling at the thought of a boy having control over their little sisters heart.
All of you were in the kitchen, talking and laughing as George and Laf cooked. Those two were always the chefs of the family. The sound of the front door slamming caught your attentions. As did the loud sniffles and hiccups of Eleanor crying.
“Eleanor?” You called, sprinting to find her, the following your lead.
You ran up the stairs to Eleanor’s room. The door was shut and her quiet crying had turned into loud sobs. She was muttering something you couldn’t understand under her breath. You knocked lightly on the door, hoping she would actually open it.
“Who is it?” She called, her voice raspy from all the crying she had been doing.
“It’s (mom/dad).” You said softly, hearing a squeak come from her mattress.
The door was flung open and Eleanor fell into your arms hiccuping. You held her gently, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.
“What happened?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“H-he dumped me! I loved him!” Eleanor sobbed, holding onto you for dear life.
You held your daughter close to your chest, trying to calm her down. While this was happening, the boys stood a couple feet away watching the two of you with a mix of sadness and rage. No one was allowed to break their baby sisters heart like that.
“Here’s the plan, me, Herc, and Thomas will beat the boy to a bloody pulp while you four go comfort her. Also, figure what he did to her and text it to one of us.” Alex growled, taking charge of the situation.
The boys nodded, splitting into the two groups. George watched them from the bottom of the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest. Alex, Herc and Thomas almost didn’t see him as they stumbled quickly down the stairs.
“Where are you three going?” George raised an eyebrow, the boys looking at each other in panic.
“We, uh, so you see…” Thomas started, racking his brain for a valid excuse.
“You do know that it’d be illegal for you three to attack this young boy right?” George asked, watching all three of them turn pale at his words. “Don’t doesn’t mean you can’t scare him though. I’m pretty sure his address is on a paper on the entry table, but I’m not sure. Someone must have left it lying around.”
“Thanks dad you’re the best!” Herc grinned brightly, as did Alex and Thomas.
“For what?” George asked, turning to walk up the stairs.
“For giving us the address.” Alex said, wondering why he had to remind his dad.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. In fact, I never saw you before you left.” George turned at the top of the stairs to give the three boys a stern look. “Understood?”
“Yes sir!” Thomas said, giving him a mock salute.
“Was I not good enough?” Eleanor asked, crying into Laf’s shoulder as James held one of her hands tightly.
“Honey, he wasn’t good enough for you!” John exclaimed, only making the girl cry harder.
“If I was too good for him, then why did he dump me?” Eleanor cried, turning to look at John with a glare. “Wouldn’t it have been the other way around then?”
“Ellie, none of these high school kids ever going to be enough for you. You’re amazing and all these kids will pretend to be enough and when they realize they aren’t the run away.” Aaron said, pulling your hair back from your face in a braid.
“Then why did he tell me I wasn’t pretty enough and that he was going to start dating this other girl at my school instead?” Eleanor sniffled, all the boys in the room stiffening at her words.
“He told you what?” George asked, his whole body tense and his jaw clenching.
“He told me I-I wasn’t pretty enough.” Eleanor repeated, her voice cracking from the dryness.
“I’ve never felt more of an urge to kill something.” James muttered under his breath, pulling Eleanor away from the others and into a tight hug. Behind him Laf was quickly typing a text to the others about what they just learned.
You were waiting by the door when Hercules, Alex and Thomas tiptoed inside.
“It’s past midnight, where have you three been?” You asked, watching them jump in shock.
“Sorry didn’t see you there.” Alex chuckled nervously.
“George won’t tell me where you three went. He’s acting like he knows nothing, but we all know he’s a terrible liar. What did you three do?” You asked, the three of them exchanging a silent conversation through nods.
“All you need to know is that we made sure that Eleanor got that apology text from her ex.” Thomas said, avoiding eye contact with you.
“Okay, as long as you boys didn’t hurt him that’s fine. Thank you for doing that, Eleanor did a lot better after he sent that text.” You smiled lightly, the three boys beaming at your praise.
“We did it cause we needed to. Who else is going to protect our baby sister?” Herc smiled.
The four of you didn’t notice, but Eleanor watched from the top of the stairs, smiling at the scene below her. Her big brothers were always going to be on her side and she couldn’t be more grateful. She loved all of them more than anything.
“Thank you.” She whispered, before going back to her room and not having a single thought of the boy that had broken her heart.