#Bourbon gift set

[taphousebourbon1]

Bourbon Whiskey

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[valjosz]

Whiskey Stones Set

[nenayaquisieras]

Simon has always been confused on why you gift him toys. Sure, most of the gifts you gave him were some of the things he liked. Bourbon, masks, gloves, make up for him to smudge his eyes with, some daggers and knives. Things that we're useful for him, just him. But later, you gifted him a toy airplane. He makes a comment about it, saying he is not a child anymore and you were better off giving it to Johnny instead.

"No, this is specifically for you, take it."

When he gets to him room, he walks toward his trash can, opening it with the tip of his boot. He gives one more look at the toy, his mood souring before throwing it into the trash. He goes on about his day, training, signing paper work, drills. Doing anything to ignore the pain stinging memories that the toy brought back. Emotions that were buried thousands of feet deep it could reach hell itself. Later, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, avoiding looking at the cylinder shape that's calling for him in his peripheral.

Fuck.

He pulls the covers off vigorously and stomps over to the trash can. He is standing over it like he's trying to intimidate it, as if it was an enemy he's trying to get rid of in battle. To anyone else, the scene would look comical.

He sighs to himself and reaches down to take out the toy he so cruelly threw away. He sets it on his desk and quickly walks toward his bed, facing away from his desk.

The next day, he wakes up feeling different. He swears he sees his room more vibrant, more lively. That energy follows him through out the day, having his other teammates notice his rather bright mood.

You catch him in the hallway. Pulling him aside to ask him about the paper work you left at his desk this morning. Of course, he notices the way you smile brightly, more so than usual. But he notices that you're not looking at him. More like looking at something next to him.

"What's got you so cheery?"

You turn to look up at him, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I just..." You take a quick glance at the spot next to him, before bringing your eyes back upon his.

"I just hope you liked your gift." The same bright smile appearing on your face.

He stares at you, examining your words. Your expression.

You think you see his eyes crinkle a bit.

"Yea,"

"I liked it."

[syoddeye]

finger

kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.

Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.

You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”

A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”

It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.

Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.

Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.

Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.

Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights. 

“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”

“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”

Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”

The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.

She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”

The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.

She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”

“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.

“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”

The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway. 

You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.” 

“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.

You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings. 

To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.

Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.

Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.

You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other. 

“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”

The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”

She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.

Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.

You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.

“You still want more?”

Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.

You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.

“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.

“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases. 

Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet. 

“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”

Yes ma'am.

Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit. 

The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.

“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.” 

Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that. 

You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.

“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.

A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move. 

It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.

“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”

You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.

Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.

Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation. 

You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.

“Yes?”

“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”

Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”

A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it. 

Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her. 

“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”

“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts. 

Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”

Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.

Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”

Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—

She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun. 

Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.

“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”

With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.

Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers. 

If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise. 

With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.

Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words. 

She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”

“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”

Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”

You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side. 

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.

“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate. 

“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.

Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate

You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear. 

>> Miss me already, kid?

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: NSFW, smut, vaginal fingering, p in v, but all of it's really fluffy

a/n: was originally gonna make this request more of a headshot typa deal but ended up writing 2.7k of fluffy sex with Simon and autistic/virgin reader, so i hope you enjoy anon, and i'm so sorry for the long wait <3

Simon knew you like the back of his hand. He knew every little quirk, even the ones you weren’t even aware about.

He kept you afloat amongst an unpredictable sea that threatened to consume you and pull you down under. Your head could be its own raging storm, cracking with jolts of thunder that shook your state of mind, yet Simon was the gleam of sunshine poking through the clouds.

That’s how it had been up until this point. Your relationship was a sweet one, filled with fields of flowers and the buzz of bees. It was soft and supple, but lately, there’d been a brewing cloud looming over your colorful paradise,hiding away the rays of light your flowers needed in order to blossom.

Sex. It was the most complex form of intimacy in your mind, and it was why you’d avoided ever doing it like the plague. The turmoil that the mere thought of sex brought you was nerve wracking, nearly throwing you into overdrive.

Simon never asked for it. He seemed perfectly content with the way things were – staying up late to hear your enthusiastic passion that poured from your lips like his favorite bourbon, encouraging your interests with subtle gifts he’d give you when he’d happen to see it passing by, holding you when your mind wasn’t a whirlpool of spitfire that threatened to lash out at you.

He never asked, nor did he seem keen on asking. And that was the issue.

You were curious.

Simon had allowed you to positively be you in all forms. He didn’t define you by your autism, it was simply a chapter in the book about you, while the rest of your story was much more special in his eyes. It wasn’t a setback, nor was it a concern – it was there, and meant to stay.

No matter how supportive he was towards your individuality and your comfort, it didn’t settle the unease of wanting to take the next step, but not knowing how to ask for it.

It festered your mind like a flu until it began to worsen into a burning fever. You kept it bottled up, the feeling of keeping it locked away making your body feel as if it were going to combust.

It didn’t take Simon long to notice. Of course it didn’t. Like said previously, he knew you better than you knew yourself.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, sweetheart?” he asked you when he finally had the chance to sit you down in his room.

The curtains were shut to keep the light out, knowing they irritated you and too much brightness made your eyes squint to the point of an ache. It was quiet apart from the subtle background noise of his TV, plastered with a show you enjoyed watching on nights alone with him. Bits of you were neatly placed around the room, like your journal placed on his desk with your favorite pen carefully set on top of it, or your clothes folded in a tidy pile on one of his shelves he had reserved for you.

“Nothing,” you responded, though Simon knew you enough to detect the lie, even from just one small word.

“You know you can’t hold it in, so talk to me,” he urged, taking a seat next to you from where you sat on the edge of his bed with your hands in your lap. You were picking at the skin around your nails, and like he’d always done, he picked them up into his own hands, soothing his thumbs along the back.

You blinked at him, mouth remaining shut. But the fever was becoming unbearable in your head, scorching you from the insides. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid asking him any longer.

“Why don’t we have sex?” you asked, blunt and to the point. His eyebrows raised from beneath his mask, one that he had yet to take off during your relationship. You never pushed since he never pushed you. Both of you had your own oddities, and for him, the mask was it.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he confessed, tone remaining calm and soft as he continued to encourage you to speak your mind. “I didn’t want to ask you, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know why you found yourself frowning, but you did, feeling a bit stumped from his answer. He had a point. You’d made no indications on wanting to be more intimate, and Simon’s only ever considered you in your best interest.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he rushed to say. “I meant – do you want to?”

You did. The longer you found yourself thinking about it, the more you grew a need to try it. You trusted Simon entirely.

“I’ve never done it.” You felt embarrassed, though unsure why. This was Simon, after all.

“That’s okay,” he assured, giving your hands a squeeze. “Then we don’t have to, yeah?”

“But I want to,” you protested, frowning at him. He huffed out a quiet laugh, fiddling with one of your fingers affectionately.

“That’s okay, too.”

“Is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, because I won’t be good, and I’m scared it’ll be too much, then I’ll ruin it by getting overwhelmed, and–”

“Hey,” Simon called out, lifting one of his hands off of yours to cradle your face. You sucked in a breath, exhausted from the rushed flow of panicked words that spilled out, allowing yourself to breathe. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? We’ll do everything at your pace, and the moment you say stop, we stop, no questions asked. I won’t be upset with you, sweetheart, and you certainly wouldn’t ruin it.”

You stared at him while he stared back at you, eyes filled with fondness and love that was only ever reserved for you. They were understanding, assuring, like deep pools of serenity you could float in forever.

“Promise?” you asked, and he laughed again.

“Promise.”

Simon continued to stare at you for a long moment, taking you in, before his hand lifted the bottom of his mask and tugged it over his head, showcasing the entirety of the very man who’d given his all to you. Since it would be your first time making a new step in your relationship, he figured he’d do the same by completely stripping himself of the very thing he wore to hide away.

Rugged and scarred, but beautiful, and you admired it until you surged forward to initiate the first move, like he’d always waited for you to do. He melted into you, cradling your face with tender emotion, pulling you in and calming the nasty sea that flooded your being.

Simon knew exactly how to make you feel safe, while also enjoying yourself. This wasn’t about him, it was about you, and he was absolutely determined to ensure that your first time was comfortable.

He covered the bed in your favorite blanket he kept just for you, soft and fuzzy, much more comfortable than the cotton sheet that always felt a bit too scratchy, even on his own skin. He laid it out for you, encouraging you to take your place.

His fingers were careful as they undressed you, and with every fabric he pulled off of your body, he took off of his own so the state of nudity was matched and you didn’t feel too exposed in comparison to him. He spoke to you with coated sweetness, telling you how proud he was that you told him of your needs, how honored he was that you trusted him to be the one to take you.

Simon took his time. He made no rush or fervent motion, and he allowed you the time to gather yourself if his hands became too much when they mapped out every inch of your skin. Soft and soothing, thumbs brushing along your hips as he waited patiently for you to assure him to continue.

When you were fully exposed to him, he smiled at you fondly, eyes lighting with nothing short of love. He was seeing you for everything you were now, and though for brief moments it was overwhelming to you, he was quick to wash the burden of it away with gentle guides of his hands.

The first finger was uncomfortable, even if he remained careful and slow when prodding you. Your face had mushed up into one of discomfort, and his eyes never left sight of you so he could watch for any indication that it was too much.

You, on the other hand, were both on a cloud of praise from the way he handled you so cautiously, while also free falling from the sky in anxious turmoil. The TV was echoing in your mind, the sounds of chatter causing you to lose focus. Combined with the intimate touches he filled your body with, it was already starting to become too much. You just didn’t know how to express it.

“Hey,” Simon called out to you, easing his finger out of you and instead placing his hand on your hip. “Tell me. What is it? Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You shook your head, letting out an exhale you were holding. “No, just– can you turn off the TV? I can’t– I can’t focus.”

Simon smiled warmly at you, moving without hesitation to shut the television off. The room was quiet now, and you breathed a sigh of relief, your mind finally calming.

“Better?” he asked, and you nodded. “Do you want me to continue, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.”

Simon gave your hip a comforting squeeze before resuming his previous notions, sliding the pad of his finger along your slit before easing back inside once again. It was only when Simon was sure you could take it that he pressed in a second one, keeping his pace slow and controlled.

Discomfort was turning into pleasure, the feeling so new to you, so foreign. It wasn’t as overstimulating as you thought it would be thus far, but you had Simon there to assure it wouldn’t be.

The feeling of his fingers moving at a steady rhythm, back and forth with the occasional curl of the pads pressing up against your gummy walls, quickly spiraled into something good, something you didn’t hate.

Simon watched you the entire time, and when you gathered the courage to open your eyes and look at him, his smile nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“You’re doin’ good, sweetheart,” he praised, and a whimper left your mouth, causing you to squirm shamefully. “No, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet around me, you know that, don’t you? Love hearin’ you, always love hearin’ your voice.”

His words caused your breath to quicken at the same time his fingers did, a spark of piping desire and need erupting inside of you, like lava spilling out of a volcano. It filled you to the brim, threatening to explode.

“That’s it, sweet girl. There you go,” he cooed, further urging you to let out any noises you had been holding back.

Before you could revel in the newfound fulfillment, his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you to whine at the loss. He smiled softly at your pout, lifting his clean hand to smoothen the furrow in your brow.

“I want to be inside you when you cum for the first time,” he explained, and you scrunched your nose up at his choice of words. They were unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, and clearly he found it amusing, judging from the snort that exhaled through his nose. “You tell me if it gets too much. Promise.”

You released a shaky breath, peering up at him from where he hovered over you, his hand tracing the lines on your face.

“I promise.”

That was all he needed to line himself up with you, gently easing the tip of him inside. It was an uncomfortable stretch, one that had you whimpering in disturbance. Simon shushed you, cradling his hand over your cheek and placing a warm kiss on your nose.

“I know, sweetheart. Tell me to stop. I will.”

You shook your head in protest despite the clear fluster of your emotions. He could see the inner workings of your mind driving themselves into exhaustion, so he grabbed one of your hands that were fisting the tufts of your blanket in a death grip, gently guiding it to the span of his bare shoulder.

“Dig your nails in if you have to, pretty girl. I don’t mind, hm?”

He knew when you were stimulated, you needed something to grasp and claim as yours. It was the reason you picked at your fingers the way you did, or gnawed on your lip until it was bloodied and raw. Now, he was encouraging you to release that tension, but at his own expense instead. He wanted you to express yourself comfortably.

You did as he said the more he pressed into you. Your nails created sharp indents into his scarred skin, threatening to break and pierce into him. His face showed no discomfort of his own from the sting, instead focused on your own, eyes gazing into yours the entirety of him sheathing himself fully.

Every time your face twitched, he leaned down to kiss it, showering you with his encouragement and pride for you.

When his hips were flush with yours, he stayed still, giving you all the time you needed to adjust.

Your entire body was more full than ever before, and you began to take in that feeling. It was like the world came to a stop and was waiting for your return, remaining patient and kind while you gave in to the fresh feeling of intimacy to its fullest.

“Still good, sweetheart?” he asked, and his voice brushed all the worries away.

“Mhm.”

“Doin’ amazing, sweet girl. M’gonna move now, okay?”

Another nod and he began to guide his hips back, dragging along the inside of your walls before promptly pressing back forward. It left your mind in a frenzy, and the only thing you could do was blink up at him and gasp every time he pushed and pulled in a game of tug of war.

Simon smothered you in affection while he continued to thrust into you, pressing along the spongy spot in your core that had your mind blanking. The blanket beneath you was soft against your skin, and you squirmed against it cozily whenever his thrusts had your body slightly shifting every time his hips slapped into yours, thankful he knew you well enough that he recognized what you needed to feel content.

Pleasure wracked your body, becoming overwhelming hot under the flesh of your skin. It flushed you a sheen a pink, layering you were evidence of your enjoyment, and he pressed daft kisses against the warmth.

The chord was unraveling, and the more it threatened to snap, the more Simon whispered you praises.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Doin’ so well, it feels good, yeah? You can let go, you can do it.”

With a loud cry, you did, the thin chord breaking in half and snapping, leaving you to burn with unfamiliar euphoria that took over every part of your bloodstream. It warmed you from the inside and out, and when you came down from it, Simon had pulled out, finishing himself off into his hand. When you gave him a confused and rather ruffled look, he smiled.

“Don’t think you’ll like the feelin', sweetheart,” he noted.

You laid there with an overwhelming flood of satisfaction when he went to clean himself up. When he returned, he had a warm washcloth that he used to carefully clean you up as well, knowing that if the wet, sticky feeling lingered, you’d grow agitated and uncomfortable.

Simon wrapped you up in his arms when all was said and done, making sure to brush away the stray hairs that tickled your forehead and instead tucking them behind your ears. Your mind was on mute, the consistent buzz that always lingered settling into nothingness. Simon tucked you into him, swaddling you with the fuzzy blanket and tugging it up over your ears just the way you liked, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and softly playing with your hair until you were consumed by your own sleepiness.

[archesa]

So... @celestialalpacaron 's Overlord Husk AU has lived rent free in my head for a week, and I woke up with a fucken flu and chose violence wrote something! Enjoy!

Spiked cosmopolitan

[tw : implied past rape/non-con, past substance abuse, attempted rape/non con, canon-typical violence, we're dealing with Angel Dust's trauma so... Valentino is its own warning, really...]

He could tell when his drink was spiked. The distinct and nauseatingly familiar taste of pheromones ruining what would otherwise be a perfectly good cosmopolitan.

It was part of his job to entertain the guests of the casino, to play the flirt or the lucky-charm and keep the gamblers at the table as long as their wallets allowed – sometimes longer, but that was on them. And a stray hand or a lewd remark was nothing out of the ordinary, but the dizziness invading him - choking him almost - after he downed his glass was new.

How much of a dose did that fucker spill in his drink? Or had the month he'd been working for Husk – and being mostly clean – ruined his resistance?

He caught a glimpse of the bartender reaching for a phone when he reeled and knocked over his glass, the expensive crystal shattering on the mahogany floor, but the shark – figurative and literal – he'd been baiting all night caught his arm and guided him away, to a more secluded area of the club.

"Weren't much of a lucky charm tonight, were you, whorebug. But perhaps you can still turn it around and get me a win."

"Get off me, fucka!", Angel warned, another pair of arms sprouting off him to push the asshole away.

"Playing fucking hard to get, now?"

Fog invaded his vision, red smoke and suffocating memories, as the guise of playful roughness slid and the fish faced bastard slammed him in the nearest wall. He fumbled to unsheathe the 'chastity dagger' he had been almost jokingly gifted on his first week on the job from his thigh but the 'no weapons behind this door' rule seemed to have slipped the bastard's mind and Angel froze, another wave of hardly repressed memories drowning him at the sight of the rhinestones set butt of a gun in the shark's breast pocket and cold steel suddenly pressed under his chin burned his last figment of resistance.

It should be easy, really.

Dissociate.

Disappear.

Drown as the delusion of freedom is stripped away from you.

The contact of the canon vanished and he barely heard the gunshot, splinters and wood dust raining on him, the scent of brimstone and powder overwhelming for a mere second as he slid to the floor, his aggressor turning away from him just long enough for the cane that had plummeted on his arm and broken his grasp to shatter his skull.

Feathers and fur invaded his vision. Blood and shadows. And the sound of bones breaking, repeatedly, as the shark had the guts – guts soon spilled on the floor – to turn his weapon on Husk.

A hand. An arm. A ribcage. A jaw.

Each hit of his ornamented cane was followed by a blood curling scream. Until finally, the shark went limp.

"Drag that pile o' shit in the alley and finish him.", the Overlord ordered, two hell-hounds in elegant tux executing his command right away.

The world faded, darkness chasing the red mist and the stench of fish and roofies with a strong scent of age-old bourbon and cologne.

'If anyone treats you like an ass, I'll have 'em shot.'

[lionlena]

Unforgivable mistake (JoelMillerxreader) Part 12

Summary: Reader is much younger than Joel and is in love with  him. One night, after arguing with Tess and getting drunk, Joel spends  the night with a reader, but in the morning he breaks her heart…  She  runs away from Boston hoping that she will never meet this cold bastard  again in her life. But almost six years later, she unexpectedly sees  Joel in Jackson. She decides to hide herself and her little secret from  this asshole.

Warnings: age gap (reader is about 28 years, Joel 58),  strong language, swearing, past trauma, bullying, attempted rape, memories of sexual abuse, unprotect p in v,  dom!Joel, Joel is asshole, ANGST, hurt, sadness and heartbreaking, sexual harassment, women abuse, violence, injury, sickness, misunderstanding, breakdown

A/N: So, these were your decisions:

However, for people who still do not want to read the sex scene, the text will be marked in red.

Part 12

You always liked Christmas. You liked the Christmas atmosphere and searching and making gifts. Your heart always swelled with joy as you decorated the Christmas tree with your little boy. You were happy when you visited Anna and Toby just before or a few days after Christmas and they greeted you with sweet treats. And now it seemed like the holidays were going to be even better after Joel and Ellie joined your family. Not to mention that the Christmas holidays also took on new colors for Teddy. You saw him whispering with Ellie and Joel and you suspected it was about a gift for you. It was so sweet.

You had also started exchanging other things for gifts a few weeks earlier because that's how it worked in Jackson. People traded things for other items or small services.

You managed to get new colorful books for Teddy, one of them presented different breeds of horses in a humorous way. You found a hunting knife for Ellie. You knew Joel wouldn't be happy about this, but in the end, what mattered was her happiness. You made a warm scarf for Claudia in her favorite color. And you found new leather gloves for Joel. You knew it was something he would definitely come in handy on patrols.

But before Christmas, you realized that maybe you would be able to give him one more gift… Something more intimate.

It was like an epiphany. The kids decorated the Christmas tree with Joel. Teddy was in a mischievous mood and started wrapping his dad in Christmas chains. Joel laughed and started joking about being immobilized. And you just stood in the doorway with your eyes wide open. It was a missing piece that suddenly fell into place.

"Honey, help, please!" Joel's voice broke you out of your trance and you joined in their fun with a smile, but the sight of Joel tied up did not disappear from your mind.

A few days later, on Christmas morning, everyone got their presents. You were happy to see the joy on the faces of your loved ones. You haven't been forgotten either. The kids gave you horse-shaped cookies and a colorful bracelet, and Joel gave you a necklace with a horseshoe pendant. You were touched by their efforts.

The whole day passed in a joyful atmosphere. You went for a walk with the kids and took part in a big snowball fight in the middle of the city. To your surprise, even Joel joined. And of course, he was targeting Tommy and Ellie. It was adorable because he suddenly looked 20 years younger and you knew you would remember this sight forever.

In the evening you ate a delicious dinner, and when Teddy went to bed and Ellie was busy reading a book in her room, you finally decided to give a special gift to Joel.

He was sitting on the couch with a steaming mug of tea with honey and bourbon. You sat down next to him, holding your mug and the rectangular box in your hand. Joel raised his eyebrows.

"What's that?"

You set your mug on the coffee table and placed the box on his lap.

"Gift."

Joel followed you and set his cup down as well.

"I already got a gift from you and I am very pleased with it."

"I know but… it's something different… something special and I don't know if you'll agree to it."

You waked his curiosity and he couldn't help himself anymore and he opened the box. The contents of the box surprised him. Inside was a rope, a wide dark ribbon, and a key. Joel looked at you with a surprised puppy face.

"Sorry, baby, but I don't really know what to do with this. It's… really… interesting but…"

His attempts not to offend you were amusing. You couldn't help but peck him on the cheek.

"I'm already explaining everything to you. I accidentally realized what could help me break through my trauma and make love with you."

Joel gasped and sat up straight. You had his full attention.

"Oh…"

"You know, I'm most afraid of losing control… being vulnerable again… I know you've changed and I believe you won't take advantage of it, but it's stronger than me."

Joel grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingers.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I know I deserved this lack of trust… And I'm grateful to you for giving me a second chance."

He looked at the contents of the box again and slowly began to guess what you wanted to do.

"So, do you want to tie me up?"

When he said this, you couldn't help but blush.

"Only hands…"

"Okay. And this." He ran his fingers along the navy blue ribbon.

"To cover your eyes."

A smirk appeared on his face.

"This is getting interesting. And the key?"

"To an old house on the outskirts of town. I was borrowing it from Tommy. I told him we wanted to see the house because it was bigger and see if you could renovate it… But what I really wanted was for us to have a quiet place where we could hide out during the day "

Joel smiled widely and pulled you into his lap. You squealed in surprise but didn't mind. You sat up facing him and placed your hands on his strong shoulders.

"You have thought of everything, my Angel."

You smiled and felt his strong hands caress your hips.

"So you agree to this?" you asked shyly.

You weren't really sure if Joel would agree to give up his dominance. But looking at his satisfied face, you slowly gained hope.

"Of course, I agree. If it's something that will help you get over trauma, I agree with everything. It's something new for me but… I'm 100% for it."

You sighed in relief and leaned against his body. Joel kissed your temple and whispered:

"But remember, I don't want you to put pressure on yourself. I still stand by what I said. I love you whether we have sex or not."

His words filled you with peace. You leaned down and pressed your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent.

"I love you," you whispered and felt Joel hug you tighter.

Two days later, you and Joel agreed to meet at the old house at noon. Teddy was supposed to be with Claudia, Emily, and Rose until the evening, and Ellie would go about her business.

Joel had gone to the old house earlier, lit a fire in the living room, and spread blankets on the floor. He didn't want to tell you this so as not to upset you, but he felt as anxious as a teenager.

You were nervous too. Your heart was beating like crazy as you crossed the threshold and locked the door. You knew no one would disturb you there, but you wanted to be sure.

Joel immediately greeted you with a smile and walked over to you. He kissed your lips and helped you take off your jacket. He grabbed your hand and led you toward the fireplace.

You sat down on the blanket and took a deep breath.

"So, how do we start?"

Joel placed his large hand on your cheek.

"Slow down, Sweetheart. We have a few hours. Let's take our time."

Joel squeezed your hand comfortingly and murmured,

"I got the wine."

You smiled and nodded. You were glad that Joel was being responsible this time and he wasn't rushing to anything.

You sat next to each other on the floor, leaning on the couch. Joel handed you a glass of wine and kissed your temple.

"Is it warm enough?"

"Yes," you replied and took a sip of wine. The alcohol warmed you up even more.

The whole house was cold, but you were warm enough when you were this close to the fireplace.

After some time, you felt Joel's hand caressing your thigh. He did it gently and slowly and focused his full attention on your reaction.

Despite your initial tension, you slowly started to relax. Joel leaned down and started nibbling on your neck, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. Joel smiled and tightened his grip on your thigh.

"Is everything okay, Honey?"

You nodded even though you felt a little anxious and took a shaky breath. Joel sensed it immediately and moved his hand away.

"Do you want to tie my hands now?"

You were surprised by how willing he was to give you the power. You smiled and stroked his hair. You set your wine glasses aside.

"Can you lie on your back?"

Joel immediately obeyed your command as if you had some magical power over him.

You reached for the box that was still lying on the couch. Joel prepared everything. You pulled out the rope and Joel folded his hands over his chest.

He looked at you with excitement. He really liked your idea and that gave you confidence. You moved closer to him and tied his wrists together.

"Not too tight?" you asked with concern.

You didn't want your comfort to be discomfort for him. You believed that wasn't what love was about. You also didn't want to take revenge on him for what happened in Boston. This wasn't what your relationship was supposed to be built on.

"It's perfect, Darling," Joel replied with a smile to encourage you. "Continue…"

You smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt. You pulled the fabric up and kissed his belly. Joel growled quietly.

"God…"

You giggled quietly and did it again, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to tease him a little. Joel tensed his abdominal muscles and looked at you in awe.

His eyes were shining and for a moment you even regretted that you were going to cover them. You reached for a blindfold and wrapped it around his head.

You kissed his forehead and then whispered:

"Do you see anything?"

A shiver ran through his body as he felt your breath on his ear.

"Nothing…" He managed to croak out.

You smiled and looked at his pants, which already showed a bulge. Apparently, you've discovered some forgotten Joel’s fetish.

"All right." you purred and sat on his legs, then unzipped his fly and looked at his face. You grabbed his pants and the waistband of his boxers.

"Can I?"

Joel lifted his hips, giving you a clear signal to pull the fabric down.

"I beg you."

You giggled and with his help, you pulled down his pants and boxers.

Your eyes locked on his semi-hard cock. You swallowed and touched him, causing him to hiss softly.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't really get a chance to look at him the first time.

Now you had plenty of time and full power, and that excited you. You felt yourself getting wet and you were filled with joy. Your plan worked. You felt no fear. You didn't panic. Joel was at your mercy and he liked it.

You supposed he could have freed his hands if he wanted to, but that was the point. Joel wanted your needs to be important, not his.

Before you could start touching him, you got up from his legs and took off your pants and panties.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"You're undressing… I heard the belt buckle… you know you have beautiful thighs…"

You rolled your eyes and you knelt by his hips. You grabbed his cock but he suddenly jumped.

"Wait!"

You looked at him in surprise and your heart skipped a beat. Has he changed his mind? He didn't want to give you control?

"You don't want to do this without preparation…"

You breathed a sigh of relief and your heart warmed with his concern.

"Don't worry… I'll get ready."

Joel groaned like a disgruntled puppy.

"Why should you do it alone when you have me…"

You frowned. Was Joel trying to change the rules of the game?

"Your hands are tied."

A deep chuckle escaped from his chest.

"But you didn't gag my mouth."

"What?"

If Joel wasn't wearing the blindfold, you'd see him looking at you with a look: Really?

"You don't mean to tell me that Steve has never eaten you."

At that moment, you were glad that Joel couldn't see your red face.

"He did, but never… in a position like this."

A sly smile appeared on his face.

"Then I'll do it even more willingly… come on, sweetie… don't be shy and sit on my face. You won't regret it."

His voice was dripping with lust and your breathing quickened. You felt that this way you would completely dominate him. It was too tempting not to take advantage of it.

Finally, you slowly knelt over his face with your knees on either side of his head. He placed his tied hands on your lower back and pushed you closer to him. You gasped at the moment his lips touched your slippery lips. His mouth immediately covered your pussy. His tongue began to circle your clit. You moaned softly and grabbed his hair. His stubble caused this burning, pleasant feeling on the inside of your thighs. Joel purred until you felt a vibration against your cunt. As his thick tongue pushed into you, you couldn't help but moan loudly. You began to move your hips, your clit rubbing against his curved nose that you had never been more grateful for. Joel devoured you like a hungry dog. Slurping sounds filled your ears.

"Ah… Joel… Joel!"

You arched your back, your thighs trembling, and your orgasm hit you with such force that you were afraid you were going to collapse all your weight on his face.

Joel smiled and slowly pulled his tongue out of you. He licked up your juices and kissed your thighs before helping you move aside.

You were so delighted that you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, tasting yourself. His hands tangled in your hair.

"Now… Now you're ready." he purred, not hiding the satisfaction in his voice.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, but you finally sat on his legs and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard, thick cock, and started stroking it, exploring every vein with your fingertips.

He squirmed and moaned. His cock was now standing proud and Joel hissed.

"Baby…" his voice was hoarse. "I don't want to spoil your fun, but if you don't stop… In a moment I won't be at your disposal anymore."

You giggled and hovered over him.

"I see. You've been waiting for this for a long time."

You slowly sat on his cock. You hissed, feeling that familiar burning sensation as he stretched you. You never forgot it… Although that memory was obviously negative. It was different now. Then in Boston, he was drunk and didn't care about your feelings or comfort. Now you were partners, two people with a strong bond.

Joel gasped and brushed his hands against your thighs.

"Ahhh… Baby… You're wonderful. You're the most wonderful woman in the whole damn world."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. Your hips moved up and down. You weren't in a hurry, you didn't have to. You were in complete control of everything and Joel didn't complain. You heard his deep growls and saw his breathing quicken. At that moment you felt something new… A new chapter in your relationship has opened. You trusted him.

When you felt yourself getting closer to your second orgasm, you moaned loudly and quickened your pace even more. Joel grabbed your thigh with his tied hands as much as he could. His grunts became even deeper. But at some point, he bit his lip, he was getting closer to coming, but he didn't want to do it before you… He couldn't.

But you didn't hold back. You reached between your legs with one hand and started rubbing your clit. Your moans became even louder.

"Ahhh! Ahhh… Honey!"

And so you reached your second climax. You collapsed onto his chest and Joel groaned softly.

"Y/n… Baby… I'm too close…"

Joel started moving his hips and you heeded his warning. The lack of condoms in the post-pandemic world sucked. You hadn't talked about this part of your relationship, but you both seemed to realize that it was too early to think about having a second child.

You slowly pulled out of him and laid down next to him. You decided to help him and grabbed his swollen, throbbing cock with your hand. Joel made an almost animalistic, primal sound. After fasting for so long, he didn't need much. Just a few movements of your hand was enough and he came, and gushing sperm covered his belly and reached his shirt.

While Joel was still breathing heavily, you couldn't help but start licking his skin.

"Jesus!"

His flaccid cock twitched even though there was no chance of it getting hard again.

You giggled and pulled away, once you had licked most of the semen off you looked at him with affection and started to untie his hands.

When his hands were finally free, Joel immediately removed the blindfold. His eyes had to get used to the light again, but he still looked at you with admiration and devotion.

"Hi…" he croaked and brushed his hand against your cheek. "I missed your beautiful face."

You smiled and placed your head on his chest. His hand started stroking your back.

"Did you like it?" you asked and looked into his eyes.

You didn't need a verbal response. It was enough for his lips to curve into a wide smile and his eyes to sparkle.

"That was amazing…" His hand started caressing your hip. "But the more important question is, did you like it? Was everything okay?"

You snuggled closer to his body. His concern only proved to you how much he had changed since Boston.

"Yes. I'm fine. I feel very good… Do you think we can do it this way for now?"

You felt a little uneasy asking about it again. You didn't know if Joel would consider tying his hands a one-time thing.

Joel nodded and kissed your head.

"Of course, Sweetheart. I'm proud of you for fighting your trauma… We will do everything slowly. At your pace and on your terms."

His words were like a soothing balm for your soul.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

"Maybe next time we'll try without the blindfold?"

Joel also closed his eyes and smiled. He pulled you closer to him.

"Whatever you want. With or without a blindfold. It doesn't matter to me as long as you feel safe and comfortable with me."

You took a deep breath and felt sleepy. The fire was still burning in the fireplace, Joel's body was warm, and his voice sounded like a lullaby. You yawned and murmured sleepily:

"Can we take a nap?"

Joel chuckled quietly. He found you so cute when you were sleepy.

"I'd love to take advantage of this opportunity. We still have a few hours."

Joel covered you both with a blanket and buried his face in your hair. It wasn't long before you were both dozing off. *

The next day, when you were driving together to Anna and Toby, you had a blissful smile on your faces. You kept glancing at each other. Whenever your horse rode next to Joel's horse, he immediately placed his hand on your thigh.

You two heard a long groan behind you.

"There are children here."

Joel laughed and rolled his eyes. He looked at Ellie, who was riding with Teddy.

"You keep saying you're an adult. So just one kid and…" Joel smirked and placed his hand on your hip. "We're just showing affection. It's nothing bad."

Ellie snorted.

"Yeah, right… That's why you've been so happy since yesterday. Find a room."

Teddy started laughing happily.

"Ellie, Daddy, and Mommy have their own room at Grandpa's."

Ellie patted his head.

"You'll understand when you get older."

You looked at them and smiled. You loved the little fights between the teenage girl and Joel and the way Ellie took care of Teddy.

Suddenly Joel stopped your horses and you looked at him in surprise. You were practically at Anna and Toby's house. But when you realized what it was about, your heart trembled. From a distance, it was obvious that something was wrong. There was a trail of blood in the snow leading to an open door. The front windows were broken.

You didn't think much, your instincts just kicked in. You jumped off your horse and shouted:

"Anna, Tob…"

Joel was equally fast. He grabbed you from behind and pressed his hand to your mouth.

"Shhh…" he growled. "We don't know who is there."

You looked at him with tears in your eyes. You realized he was right. Your behavior was irrational. You nodded and he released you.

Meanwhile, Ellie was hugging the worried little boy. Joel walked up to her and gave her the reins of his horse.

"Hide among the trees."

Teddy looked at him and whimpered.

"Where are the grandparents?"

Joel wanted to hug him, but instead, he rubbed his shoulder soothingly and said sympathetically,

"Don't worry, 'bear cub'. Me and mom will check everything."

Joel tried to stay calm even though he suspected the worst.

He walked up to you and handed you his handgun while he took the shotgun.

"You're following me. If something goes wrong, you jump on your horse and you all run back to Jackson. Without turning back. You understand!"

His voice was so stern and commanding that all you could do was nod and hold back the tears that wanted to escape from your eyes.

Joel sighed, he didn't want to be so hard on you. He cupped your head in one hand and kissed your forehead.

"Okay. Let's go."

Slowly, tense, and focused, you approached the house. The surroundings seemed deserted. You felt your heart in your throat. You glanced at the open door and the trail of blood leading into the house. You heard Joel's voice:

"I'll check the house…"

When he disappeared into the house, you had the impression that time stopped. You felt fear and despair wash over you. Anna and Toby were like parents to you. You couldn't lose them like this. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

Finally, Joel left. He still looked focused and ready to fight.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"What?" you croaked.

Joel stepped closer and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

"No one is there. There are no bodies… Someone must have been there… The house looks ransacked, but… Anna and Toby may still be alive."

You felt the world spinning around you. You didn't know if it was all real or if you were stuck in some nightmare.

"What happened here?"

Your question hung unanswered in the frosty air.

Taglist: @casa-boiardi @noisynightmarepoetry @ihavetwoholesforareason @sloanexx @creedslove @orcasoul @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @i-workwithpens @milla-frenchy @liatome @jojo-munson @pascalislove @goldenhxurs @elliaze @aestheticangel612 @cheyxfu @prestinalove @stevengmybeloved @faith-alons26 @harriedandharassed @this--is--music @joeldjarin @elliaze @ajeff855 @anislabonis-love @quality-lust @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @misshoneypaper @simplyreading96 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @softstarlite @missladym1981 @heartpascalispunk @brujademente @littleshadow17 @emmathetrash

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

Yes, I know, this cliffhanger is… Ugh… But I promise that this time the next chapter will appear much faster so I won't leave you in suspense for a long time.

Part 11

Part 13

[certifiedfreec]

neighbor!simon, the man that you are…

(reader is a baker… just for these few minutes 😭🙏)

🏘️ you’re finally settled into your new home, located in a quaint neighborhood not terribly far from your old one. it’s got a huge kitchen- exactly what you need for your small baking business! with all your supplies in their proper place, you’re finally ready to tackle all those orders after temporarily halting your services while you moved. you start prepping for a client’s son’s birthday cake, gathering all your ingredients, and you plug in your mixer…

🏘️ bright sparks fly for a second, making you fear for a house fire, and in seconds your mixer is deemed inoperable. must’ve gotten banged up during the move, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been using it for years :/ this puts you in a tight situation, as the lady’s supposed to pick the cake up this evening! there’s not enough time to go out and get a new one- but it’s not like you could afford one anyway with the lack of business over the past few weeks. sigh. you don’t even know any of your neighbors yet, but at this point they’re your only option.

🏘️ you set your ingredients aside before you reluctantly venture out of your house, starting with your neighbor to the left. a friendly old woman answers, but after asking for help you learn that she mixes “the ol’-fashioned way.” well, she’s not making a complicated triple-layer cake for some grimy kid, so that’s not exactly an option, judith. you thank her anyway and head over to the house across from yours, only to get no answer. must not be home. shit. you’re losing your last glimmer of hope as you trudge over to the house to your right, knocking on the door and already feeling a wave of regret crash into you. however, the tide changes when the door opens after a moment…

🏘️ you’re met by a hulking, broad man who barely fits in his doorframe, dressed in a black hoodie and blue jeans. he’s got some sort of balaclava covering his face- unconventional for sure, but that doesn’t dissuade you from nearly ogling at his size. he’s at least 6 feet tall, and all you can see are his eyes. shiny, warm, and honey-brown, but they watch you with some sort of guarded interest. almost like he’s staring through you. you can’t tell if you’ve already pissed him off, but then you hear his voice.

🏘️ “‘ello?” he’s not just british, he’s super british, with a voice so low and throaty that you want him to read you bedtime stories. you’re a little dumbfounded at the haunting beauty of the man whose doorstep you’re invading, but you’re so desperate to finish that goddamn birthday cake that you nervously blurt out some meek elevator pitch: hi, i’m a new neighbor next door, i have a baking business from home and my mixer just exploded on me. i have to make an annoyingly elaborate cake by tonight, would you by chance happen to have a mixer?

🏘️ the man chuckles. like, actually chuckles, and it’s the most beautiful sound ever. he must be used to having that effect on people; you hope he can’t hear your heartbeat skyrocketing. you see a faint smile through that skull-printed mask thing, and he gives you a quick nod before suddenly disappearing into his home. from the halfway-open door, it looks like it’s minimally decorated. you see some ambient lighting and hear some rock music playing somewhere-why are you paying attention to these things right now??

🏘️ the massive man emerges again, handling a beautiful high-end mixer that’s still in the box, and it makes your heart still. you’re fucking kidding. it was nicer than the one you were previously using before it combusted. that wave of regret from earlier ebbs into one of relief as he clutches it in his bear-paw-like hands, telling you briefly that he’s “been tryna get rid of the bloody thing” since he doesn’t bake much anyway. says he got it as a white elephant gift and was pissed about it, because he’d originally gotten some great bottles of bourbon that were inevitably stolen from him. he seems to warm up the slightest bit when he tells you, “keep it. it’s been collectin’ dust here.”

🏘️ you can’t get clear a read from him through all this, maybe because of his menacing appearance and stoic expression... yet he’s fairly relaxed when he talks to you. it’s actually kind of endearing! he’s giving you major “scary dog privilege” vibes, and you’ve always liked an intimidating- looking man who turns out to be a softie <3 you tell him you’d be happy to pay him for the gorgeous mixer he’s bestowing upon you, and he only shakes his head, as he has something else in mind. “i got one condition.” yeah, he’s not letting you go that easily. he’d be silly to, he thinks.

🏘️ you wait for this huge stranger’s request with bated breath, hoping he doesn’t say anything off-kilter though you’d probably do anything he asked since he’s so freakin’ attractive even without seeing at his face. you notice that faint smile again through the mask fabric before he says simply, “a lil’ bit of whatever you’re bakin’.”

🏘️ that’s all? you laugh, which to him is more pleasing to the ear than the music he’s playing throughout his house. it’s a surprisingly lighthearted ask and you happily oblige. an excuse to see this hunk again? sign me up!! he introduces himself as simon, and you assure him you’ll save him a little piece of your project because he just saved your whole damn business. pretty sweet deal. you thank him again with the expensive mixer in your grasp, feeling like the universe is entirely on your side today as you walk back to your house just 50 feet away. he’s feeling the exact same, and this man has never trusted the universe before.

🏘️ no surprise here, but the mixer works like a charm! it’s almost happy to no longer be sitting in the purgatory of simon’s kitchen cabinet. what was supposed to be a one-time deal turns into a routine of bringing over various cookies, pies, and cake slices to neighbor!simon, which is also the perfect excuse to see him without his face covering on <3 he’s hesitant about this at first, but now that gorgeous face is always on display so he can try whatever you’re fixing. oh, and you’re surprised to find that he’s more than comfortable with critiquing your baking, the cocky bastard. one time you brought over a wedge of lemon meringue pie, and upon biting into it he immediately told you “there’s not enough lemon zest.” you told him you thought he never baked; his self assured reply was “said i couldn’t bake, not couldn’t taste.”

🏘️ from that point on, you trust neighbor!simon’s judgment. he’s brutally honest, no sugarcoating (though he thought your peanut butter cookies could’ve used some of that). the only logical thing to do was appoint him as your official taste-tester, which he of course accepted! someone’s gotta do it, right? soon after his “promotion,” he’s sat in your kitchen to sample little bits of your work, letting you know what he thinks is missing and trying his hardest not to imagine dragging you back to your bedroom. he actually thinks you’re an incredible baker- he just likes to get all the portions that are reserved for him only!! if only he could sample you sometime :( he has this insatiable need to be even closer, so now he’s up helping you reach things in your higher cabinets and putting away used ingredients so your space is kept tidy. this makes your heart and something else swoon- yeah, you could definitely get used to having him as a business partner :’)

🏘️ neighbor!simon likes to study you whenever he’s over “on the clock”- his steady gaze picks up on all the details you don’t even notice about yourself. how tightly you hold your spatula when you’re stirring ingredients, how your tongue darts out when you’re reading through a recipe, how your cute little cheeks flush red when you vent about high-maintenance clients. you’re just so passionate that it’s almost maddening! a darker part of him can’t help but want to disrupt you, break your focus (and your back too hehe) and make you forget about your job for a little. you’re just so overworked, so eager to please your clientele, poor thing :( if only he could help you relieve your stress!!

🏘️ eventually he gets called in for an operation with his job, and he tells you he’s gonna be on assignment for a little over a month. you’re surprised at how sad you are when he’s not around to pull your cakes out of the oven and make his snarky comments about your demanding clients :/ he admittedly can’t stop thinking about you while he’s gone, how pretty you look when you’re concentrating on your pastry art, how he wants to rip that apron right off of you. he tries to distance himself with his work, reasoning that you’ll forget about him eventually since you’re just neighbors anyway. however, this is all thrown out the window when he returns home and sees that you’ve made him a huge banoffee pie, a favorite treat of his that he mentioned offhandedly one afternoon <3

🏘️ neighbor!simon has no words that can convey his appreciation- you really are the sweetest thing that’s happened to him! he immediately takes a bite, and it’s something he wants for every single occasion now. the combination of the kind gesture and the extensive time spent away from you inspires him to show you how grateful he is- in other words, he’s got you perched on your counter beside all your baking supplies, holding your legs over his shoulders while he devours your pussy like it’s one of your famed desserts. he laps and sucks at your oversensitive clit while you’re left to tug on his dark blond hair, and he thinks that your sweet slick is so much better than anything you’ve baked (no offense!! <3).

🏘️ and the best part? you feel just as good as you taste! after making you cum on his warm tongue and long fingers too many times to count, he’s mercilessly pounding into your cunt, holding your thighs up as he fills you with his ridiculously thick cock :’) one of his massive hands is cradling the back of your head, making you watch his length repeatedly sink into you and cause that bulge in your lower tummy. if that wasn’t enough to have you singing his praises, he’s telling you everything you’d ever wanted to hear from him with that low, husky voice of his: “y’look so pretty all split open for me,” “see that? takin’ me so good, angel,” “lemme have it, wanna feel you cum…”

🏘️ you’re sure the rest of your neighbors can hear you as your voice grows hoarse from crying out neighbor!simon’s name so much, but your brain is so fried from all the intense orgasms that you really don’t care!! with few more hard thrusts he finally pumps his hot load of cum into you, rendering you too sexed out to finish the rest of your clients’ orders that day. good thing he’s watched you so closely since he started coming over, because now he knows exactly what to do to get them prepped while you nap. he carries you to your bed, and all you can focus on as you drift to sleep is what else you can bake for him to get him to fuck you like that again. really though, he’d do it absolutely anytime- you’re his new favorite dessert anyway <3

[faellain]

The Accidental Baby Trap Incident

Summary: About four years after the events of First Class, Erik arrives at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with two little twins who he didn't know existed. Thinking he doesn't know what to do, he runs to Charles, not knowing the state his old friend is in.

Snippet 2

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they head to the study in stark silence. the mansion is eerie covered in cobwebs and without noise. sean's laughter wasn't echoing in the halls. there was no thudding of alex with a punching bag. no raven to whisper the secrets of this old house. no surprised yelps from hank as he dealt with some miscalculation or another in his lab. no moira fussing nearby. just creaks and the whistling wind keeps them company. he doubts even the kitchen feels the same.

the study is in even more disarray than the rest of the house. charles' precious books, always stacked precariously high ("i will get to them at some point, erik."), have been shoved off, laying in a heap on the floor. other books from the shelves have been left in messy piles around the room. little statuettes lay covered in dust.

charles goes straight to the cabinet he kept, taking out two wide glasses. he pours one for himself and downs it like a shot. it is nothing erik hasn't seen before. charles was always an impressive drinker— one night he and alex had gone toe to toe on tequila shots. yet now he only gets a terrible sinking feeling, like when he had tried to hold on to shaw's submarine the night they met.

after he smacks down the glass, he pours them both a drink. from the bottle, erik can tell it is a decadent bourbon. he sets the glass down for erik and plops himself down on the couch.

"you could have told me you were coming."

"and have you leave?" asks erik, picking up the glass, "in truth, i panicked. when i realized i had two twins with mutant abilities. i didn't know where else to go."

"you? panic?" charles asks with no small amount of skepticism.

erik sighs heavily, taking a sip from his glass, "believe it or not it can happen. i don't have the helmet. look into my mind. you'll see nothing but the truth."

"i can't."

erik pauses, looking up at the telepath from where he is tiredly leaning, "you can't?"

charles frowns, downs his drink, gets up and grabs the entire bottle of bourbon. he pours himself another glass before setting it down between them, the liquor sloshing around like liquid bronze. erik finds his heart pounding in his chest. charles made no move to explain himself.

"…did you lose your powers somehow?"

charles downs another half of his drink and erik wants to slap it from his hand.

"hank uses a serum to control his transformation. i use it to numb the pain in my spine, but it costs me most of my power," charles explains, "but in this state i have the ability solely to use telepathy on my own body."

"you gave up your powers so you could walk?"

charles chokes on a broken laugh, "i gave up my power so i could sleep." he tries to cut himself off on the last word, it becoming nothing more than a whisper.

downs the drink. pours another.

"the school is closed. i can't help your twins."

"charles. i don't know how to take care of children," erik insists.

"so you want me to take care of them for you?" he snaps, "i'm in no state to care for children."

"clearly," erik finally acknowledges it, "you aren't caring for yourself. why?"

as soon as he says it, he regrets it. betrayal and anger streak across charles' face. he tosses the drink at erik, soaking him in the thick bourbon until he smells as as bad as charles' breath.

"fuck off," charles hisses, "get out of my house."

he gets up fiercely, letting the glass roll along the carpet, forgotten. charles throws open the door to the study. erik only has moments to grab charles by the wrist to drag him back.

"let go of me!"

erik pulls him close, staring at the death of those crystalline eyes. they are drained of their life. he is staring at a phantom of his closest friend.

"what has happened to you?"

charles actually laughs, loud and broken, "you."

"i regret what happened to you. i would do anything to undo it," erik said, not trying to plead, just trying to be honest.

"this has nothing to do with that."

"i don't understand!" snaps erik, growing frustrated, "if you don't forgive me, fine, but—"

"you abandoned me!" charles practically roars, "you took her and you abandoned me!"

"and where have you been?!" erik grabs him by both shoulders, metal knick knacks flying, the house's metal shaking, "our people are being hunted and you abandoned us! to what? give up everything?"

how can he describe that riptide is missing? he is not someone that charles knew beyond a name. all he had been to charles was an enemy. erik had sent him on a mission to investigate any hidden mutants in the government when he'd disappeared overnight.

while he was the only member of erik's brotherhood that had gone missing, emma had found that he was hardly the only one that had gone MIA since their reveal on the beach.

and through it all charles was not at his side. a hole was left next to erik, one mystique could not fill in the way it needed to be. they both knew it. they were not the merging labyrinth he and charles made. mystique was an excellent right hand, but she was not charles.

"we were supposed to do this together," charles replies.

"you gave that up. you chose to side with them."

charles' nose wrinkles as he glares, cruel, mirthless smile breaking through his face, "you didn't leave me a choice."

"there is always a choice," erik huffs.

"not with you," charles replies, "you accept your way or nothing. which means i'll be strong armed into caring for your children while you run off elsewhere."

"i'm worried about my children's safety with me but i don't want to abandon them."

charles shoves him away, "but you will won't you?" his voice is tired and cruel, "just like everyone else who loves you."

erik stands stunned while charles storms off. never in his life had he heard such cruelty from charles. it was as bad as a knife to his heart. there was something broken in his charles. the brilliant man he knew was fading into a monster.

he goes to the kitchen where the kids are enjoying a feast of milk and chocolate chip cookies. briefly, erik wonders if magda had them eating kosher, realizing he doesn't know. they're old enough to tell him or hank. he can question them on it later.

hank looks up at erik, "didn't go well?"

"an understatement."

hank sighs as he pulls over a washrag and hands it to pietro who's fingers are a chocolate mess, "i'll set you guys up in some rooms."

"charles made it pretty clear i'm unwanted," erik replies ruefully.

"but your kids need this place," hank says and picks up a cookie, "these were snickerdoodle when i bought them."

"wanda," erik sighs. does his daughter have one power or many?

"i wanted chocolate chip!"

pietro and wanda are borderline conjoined at the hip so erik and hank set them up in the room next to the one erik plans to take. the one charles had given to him before. variously through the sleepless night, he hears shuffling around the house. part of him is tempted to get up and stop whatever charles is doing, but he can't bring himself to.

does he abandon all the people who ever loved him?

erik rolls over, hand clutching the pillow. part of him can't help but think of charles' study, trashed to high heaven. he knows he should sleep, but instead he gets up and traipses to the study.

the rest of his night is spent putting the books and knick knacks back into some semblance of order. he cleans the used glasses and puts the liquor away. part of him is tempted to crunch the handles to destroy any access to it, but he's already made himself unwelcome. the last thing he wants is to jeopardize his children's ability to stay here.

eventually, he crawls back into bed only for pietro to join him a few minutes later. he puts an arm around the boy, who is trying not to sniffle.

"nightmare?"

"you weren't here earlier. i thought you left us," pietro admits bitterly.

erik feels part of his heart break, "i will never leave you. i promise."

"don't make promises you can't keep."

"i don't."

pietro burrows his head into erik's chest, "the drunk guy said you left him."

erik sighs, "so you were running to eavesdrop every time hank's back was turned?"

"maybe," the little speedster mutters.

erik presses a kiss to his head. he is only guessing at what he's supposed to be doing. he is all these two darling children have in the world now. the only thing he can hope is to show them the same love his own parents had given to him. whether that love remained inside his jaded heart or just in the confines of his feeble memories remains to be seen.

"i'll let it slide this once, but it's impolite."

"you sound like mom."

"good," erik replies with no amount of amusement.

"…you left her too."

erik runs a hand over his son's head, letting the soft white hair muss beneath his fingers, "your mother and i parted…" amicably would be the wrong word, "understanding each other. charles and i— that was different. and you and wanda? you are my children. had i known you existed nothing would have kept me from you."

pietro snorts dismissively, "yeah, right."

erik sighs, "believe me or not, it's your choice." this boy is smart mouthed and too witty for his own good, but he is far more jaded than he lets on as well. life has already hurt him so he has clearly decided to hurt life back. such a young fighter… erik's heart aches.

[ragingbookdragon]

She had, of course, wracked her brain for months before his birthday trying to decide what to get him. The team had all shown the gifts they’d bought Ghost, nick-nacks here and there, a few new knives, gun oil, even a handy knew set of leather lined gloves. She on the other hand had gone through every option before finally deciding on something rather…small.

At the end of the party—and it wasn’t really a party, Ghost wasn’t big on those—everyone had said their goodbyes and slowly trickled from the room and back to their quarters until it was just the two of them left, bourbon glasses half-empty, the bottle still between them.

She glanced at the set of gifts on the side table. “Quite a few this year, hmm?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, finger tapping against the glass. “The knives are nice. Not my usual, but Johnny did decent.”

“Ease up on him,” she smiled. “He’s doing his best to be your friend.”

“I don’t need those.”

“Well that sounds like you don’t want me around then,” she joked, gazing at him and he met her eyes.

“You’re not a friend, love.”

She lowered her gaze to the dog tags on his chest, a warmth somewhere deep in her own. “I didn’t know what to get you,” she said. “Everything I found just…didn’t feel like enough.”

Ghost snorted, sipping from his glass. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I did too,” she retorted and he rolled his eyes at her as she reached into her jacket pocket. “I couldn’t find anything, but I hope this is sufficient.” Handing him the piece of paper, he took it from her and opened it, hidden eyes scanning the sheet.

“What is this?” he asked and she crossed a leg over the other.

“A list of people you’ve saved over the years. Friendlies and civilians.” She tapped the bottom of the list. “Read that.”

He did as she said, eyes, only for a moment softening as he read over silently, Proof that Simon Riley has always been a good man. “…Thank you, love,” he murmured and she simply smiled, raising her glass.

“To you, Simon.”

He said nothing, but tapped her glass with his, carefully folding the sheet and stowing it in his breast pocket, right above his heart.

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast & Crew; Rhys Darby; Con O'Neil; Kristian Nairn; Samba Schutte; Wee John Wondays; LubeAsACrew; Stats/Trends; Fan Spotlight; Engagement Prompts; LoveNotes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Hey All, today's been an off day for me, so please let me know if I've missed something. Hope you all had fun!

= Cast & Crew Sightings =

== Rhys Darby ==

Well, our goofball of a captain is back with more Red Dead Redemption II, check out Part 2 below:

Rhys also did comedy at Bourbon Room Hollywood last week, and = tmiddendorfphoto on IG captured quite a lot of photos of his set. Feel free to visit them:

== Con O ' Neill ==

Whoops! I had this prepped for yesterday then completely forgot, sorry Con! Con was out seeing BettyRules in NYC!

== Wee John Wonday ==

Kristian had Samba on WJW Today! Lots of cool stuff they chatted above! If you're unable to watch right now, there's a small breakdown of various high points below:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Highlights/Things We Learned:

Samba baby's name is Ocean

Samba was kind enough to stand in for WJW when someone else had to drop off for work.

Samba loves giving Kristian middle names: Kristian Victoria Nairn / Kristian Alexander Nairn / Kristian Valaria Nairn, Kristian Venereal Disease Nairn / Kristian Damien Nairn / Kristian Nicholas Nairn / Kristian Tabitha Nairn

There were live doves that would shit on you on set, and they shat on Samson

Kristian was a professional Chef

Samba wants to do Cryptic Factor w/Rhys

Samba is big into ufo's and cryptids

Kristian is also into paranormal stuff

Kristian - In New Zealand saw weird things on the lawn of his rental place (weird creatures focused on the balcony of his room)

David Fane - ate all the cheese in Calypso's Birthday

They really appreciate all the fans trying to save OFMD and would LOVE to get a season 3, even if only for 2 hours.

Samba would like ot do a bts/blooper combo but has to get permission first

For the wrap party, the cast members got each other gifts:

Samson got everyone crocs

EDIT: David Fane gave them Samoan necklaces (ty @denizbevan)!

Kristian said his "Gifts got stolen"

Samba gave them pictures / BTS videos

Q: Who was most elusive in regards to BTS?

Joel - also Ewan

Q: Favorite Soup?

Sambas favorite Soup - Chicken Noodle (chicken soup)

Kristian's favorite Soup - Cream of Tomato

Q: Did anything change with Roach in S2?

Yes, he became softer / trusting

Q: Lots of great energy and hanging out between crew members and family, (not something often seen) what do you think led to that?

Casting director Alison Jones - awesome at casting

Energy on set was positive and acceptance from the get go that helped

Sailing training, stunt training, sword fighting together helped bonding

Everyone on the cast was odd, and people moved out together so lots of small found family situations

Long hours together

Note: Stede's story time everyone is actually asleep, cause they've been up for like 18 hrs

Q: What's your favourite dessert, that you could live off forever?

Roach - Chocolate Mousse, really fluffy and airy

Kristian - Black Forest Cake

Q: What was best part of working in New Zealand?

8 hr days instead of 18 hrs days

Nature was gorgeous

Maori Elders did a land blessing

Q: Roach played a lot of roles, what do you think was his main role?

Cook, Doctor, therapist in that order.

Q: Would Aamba release a cookbook?

If enough interest, Yes - OFMD Cast Favorite Cookbook

And Mac and cheese recipe

Cakes and desserts

Q: What's it like being a new dad?

Amazing , no time to catch breath, feeling a lot of protectiveness and excitement and energy to step up and take care of the kiddo So fulfilling, Sambas a great dad.

Original Script / Deleted Scene Stuff:

In original script: Roach was going to end up with the crew of revenge, but then changed the script cause Samba would look like a kid who stole his dads jacket, so Frenchie was cap

Originally Zheng called the crew "beta" instead of "tender" but they changed it.

Innkeeper deleted scenes:

Everyone's eating soup on deck, roach was supposed to be serving people soup, and Fang says "Ah, Leroy, I'm so glad you're alive?" and Lucius goes "I'm sorry do you think my name is Leroy?"

Oluwande was crying, Jim asks if he was, he says no he gets that thing when he's around grass, and Jim says "A yeah lots of grass around here"

Other deleted scene:

Kristian saying "its sizest" doing big guy stuff

And roach says he's stuck doing tall skinnhy guy stuff

Pete asks if he's stuck doing bald guy stuff

More Deleted scenes:

Ewan zip lines over first and yells: "I was born to fly"

Roach zip line screams quietly cause they tell him to be quiet, and then he lands and says, "why its so sticky I wanna go back", and he tries to get back on the rope but Frenchie flys in and knocks him over.

Another Delete scene:

Wee John was going to dress up as cupid, would have encouraged Stede and Ed, who would have danced to "At Last" and then when and boned.

== Samba BTS ==

In honor of Wee John Wonday's, Samba added some more BTS starring Kristian, and shared the video he talked about in WJW regarding Kristian's birthday.

== Lube As A Crew ==

Astroglide sent @Seven_Sugars a carepackage for a lovely review!

== Stats Stats Stats / Trends ==

Thank you @meowzawowza_ as usual for the awesome insight!

Trends! Thank you @merryfinches and @debphotog for catching these!

== Fan Spotlight ==

For those of you not on twitter, you may not have seen @wndrngnomad's collage's she's been doing each day for the cast members! They go back quite a while so I'll add them all to the repo, but they kind enough to give me permission to share them with the everyone outside of twitter!

== Engagement Prompts ==

Over on Instagram @saveofmdcrewmates have some engagement prompts for tomorrow: #CrossoverCruesday. Time to switch it up! What is your fantasy crossover beween another show and OFMD? Crossover AU anyone?

== Articles ==

Special thanks to @heide79728 on Twitter for sharing all these international headlines!

HBO MAX "praised the loyal audience that engaged with the series and contributed to building an interactive community around it." - Article in Arabic

"14 Recommended Series-fans are already deeply engaged in a massive campaign to encourage another network to buy the rights and produce another season to give the story the ending it deserves" - Article in Hebrew

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies.

Have you had any water lately? Did you get to go outside and take a walk? Please remember that you need breaks sometimes, even if they're only a few minutes here or there.

You deserve rest-- and when things get rough, your brain needs a couple minutes to reset. Remember to take care of yourself and practice some self-care.

Self care means fun too!

Do something you enjoy that makes you smile. I'm not a fan of sticker/sticky things-- but I know a lot of people who love googly-eyes so I figured this was appropriate.

Anyway, gnight/gday crew, have a lovely one.

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

I think I've done this Darby one on these recaps before, but I needed to have a theme tonight, and the them is well, I think you know. Yes that is Taika in the stash, from "Boy".

[oletusfragments]

— I SMILE A LOT WHEN I'M IN FRONT OF YOU ; I FEEL LOVE, AFFECTION

⋄ Surprising each other on Valentine's Day

Characters: Andrew Kreiss, Demi Bourbon, Norton Campbell

▭ self indulg. ▭ genderneutral ▭ fluff ▭ not proofread ▭

— ANDREW

Being with you feels like a dream. Andrew hadn't realized that it's almost Valentine's day.

Just kidding, he's actually been thinking about it since December. What? You're so special to him. It's only right he does something special for you too.

He noted every small detail that gives a clue about what you're fond of. And despite his dislike for social situations, he approached Emma to help him set up a gift for you.

Actually, he tried to approach her. It was the gardener that confronted him after she noticed that he's been following her while staring at her as if wanting to ask her something. Much to the grave keeper's relief, Emma was happy to help.

But he can't help but get worried. The gardener kept giggling and snickering whenever he was with you. She might give away the surprise! But for some reason, you were also fidgety. Do you already know? Maybe you don't like it? Oh god, he's even more uneasy now.

He thought of dropping the surprise but then that means he won't have anything for you at valentine's day. No, he loves you. And he trusts you.

The day of the much awaited Valentine's day finally arrived. After lunchtime, he planned to ask you to meet him in the garden while trying not to be obvious as possible.

"Can you meet me at the garden later, dear? I-it's nothing serious. I just...have something to show you."

"What? That's funny, I was going to ask you the same thing." You said to him.

What a coincidence, he merely thought.

Meanwhile, you were feeling antsy. Andrew did say that it's nothing serious. But you hoped it wouldn't ruin what you want to do for him today.

After you both parted, Andrew immediately went to his room to quickly get his presents and arrive first at the garden. It'd be ugly if he arrived last, he thought.

The albino waits at the garden with trepidation, as he stands there holding your presents—a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and a present wrapped in a wrapper of your favorite color.

"Ah! Andrew, you're already here..."

He hears your voice and footsteps approach him. But why do you sound slightly disappointed? Oh no. No, it's too late to back out!

He feels your figure behind him and he preps himself. His hands slightly trembling from nervousness. He inhales, gathering up courage before turning around to face you, almost losing his balance.

"Y/N, Happy Valentine's Day!" Andrew shouts. Oh Lord, he didn't mean to be that loud. The grave keeper flushes in embarrassment while hanging his head low, and his eyes closed.

"Oh...I..."

He knew it. You're embarrassed for him, aren't you? He trembles in his stance, scared of what you'll say next.

But only your laughter was heard.

Andrew gulped. Were you making fun of him now? He looked up at you, confused and mortified.

But there you were in front of him, bathed in the sunlight peeking from the clouds. You were holding a bouquet of his favorite purple irises wrapped in a light pink wrapper and a gift wrapped Ina wrapper with heart patterns. You were laughing heartily.

To him, you looked breathtaking. It doesn't matter if you say you look like a mess or you're only wearing casual clothes. You looked beautiful.

"Ahaha! I was planning to surprise you first."

His mouth falls agape in shock and his blush deepens. What? "I–...those are for me?"

"Of course! Did you think I wasn't going to do anything for you today?" You asked, walking closer to him.

"I didn't think...well..." The grave keeper fumbles over his words.

You take the present you were carrying to your other arm so you could caress his cheek.

"Andrew, you mean the world to me. And I'd do anything to prove to you just how special you are." You say before pulling him down/tilting his head up to meet your lips–taking him in a sweet kiss.

The two of you part, breathless.

"I love you."

— DEMI

February 14th isn't just about Valentine's Day, it's also Demi's birthday! It's twice the celebration!

That is why you've been wracking up your brain trying to think of something to do for the lovely barmaid of the manor.

Perhaps you've been too stressed trying to come up with something since Demi kept trying to ask you what was wrong despite telling her that you're fine.

"You sure? Don't work yourself up too much, okay?" Demi says, combing her fingers through your hair.

If you didn't stop yourself, you might've fallen asleep from the gesture with the help of her voice that sounded like a lullaby to you after going through a frustration.

Really, what can you do for this beautiful woman?

What can you do?

That question never left you. Even as you wrote a newfound idea. The reason why your mind stays awake even though your eyes wanted to close that night.

The day after that, you started planning and preparing furiously. It almost intimidated the others around you. It was like you had grown another pair of arms as they witnessed you feverishly prepare something in the kitchen.

Demi had taught you how to mix drinks before. She was so passionate about teaching it to you that she even expressed that she anticipates your progress. In fact, in the future, once the both of you find Demi's brother, you plan to set up a bar run by Demi and you.

So you thought, why not mix a drink to show her how much you've improved? Paired up with a romantic dinner or lunch (whatever you prefer) date, prepared by your own hands.

That is what you've been trying to achieve in the kitchen. A mix that you could impress her with.

You felt giddy and nervous while making it. And those feelings never leave you even as you look at your own work on the special day.

A white table embroidered with floral patterns, two seats–that you made sure was comfortable to sit on, in front of it are the meals you've prepared, and in the middle of the table was a vase containing a few roses. The drink you've especially made was lying in your hands. You were still unsure, even after the million taste tests you did. It tasted fine but will it be good enough?

Demi was going to arrive here sooner or later. There's no time to panic or to alter things. You'll just have to make sure it goes well, and if it doesn't–you leave it up to date and hope for the best.

"Well, my. Is this all for me?"

You almost jumped out of your skin. The bottle in your hands almost shattered from your grip. But the presence behind you merely laughed.

"Yes–! Demi! Happy Birthday! …And Happy Valentine's day too!" You greeted, facing her sheepishly.

The barmaid chuckled once again. How precious you are, she thinks.

"And what's that?"She points at the porcelain bottle in your hands.

"Ah, well...I made it for you. It's a mix I made on my own. I hope you like it."

Demi grins wider. She rushed up to hug you and kissed your cheek. "Aw, geez. You've certainly outdone yourself. How can my present be as amazing as yours?"

What? You break away from her embrace. "What do you mean?"

Demi pulls a small red box adorned with a white ribbon from her pockets. You could smell the faint scent of chocolates and roses from it.

"I have something for you too." She says while handing it to you.

You shook your head, "But Demi, it's your special day today! You shouldn't have…"

"Ha! That's right. It's my birthday and I get to do what I want. And I chose to give you a gift." She declared, urging you to take the gift.

Her eyes narrowed and she gave you a sly grin, "You'll do anything for the birthday girl, right?"

You could only sigh as you gave up attempting to argue with her. Cradling the bottle on one of your arms carefully while you use your vacant hand to take her gift.

"Now let's dine in! I can't wait to try what you've made!" Demi grabbed your arm and pulled you with her as she rushed to the table.

"Ah–hold on!" You exclaim.

The rest of the time was filled with smiles and laughter as the two of you enjoyed your time together.

— NORTON

Look, he's broke. That is no secret. He would have never thought that a holiday, something he hardly think about, turns into a day he'll stress himself out on.

Everyone could see that the prospector is working harder to earn money than usual. That says a lot, because Norton has always been a hardworking individual. Others regarded this change as just desperation to conquer poverty quick.

Perhaps the said motive still stays true. It's what the prospector claims to the few people that asked him to atleast take a break. But what he's not telling is that it's always you that appears in his head as he works. How badly he wants to use his money to get you the riches you deserve to be pampered with. But dear, he needs that money to eat, that's why he's trying to earn more.

Actually, You and Norton aren't a thing yet. He's planning to confess to you this valentine's day—as cheesy as that may sound.

He wish he could give you more, really. But he hopes that these three red roses and chocolates in a heart shaped box is enough. It was the most popular gifts—and the cheapest.

Beneath the moody exterior that shouts "I don't care!" Is a heart that is nervous and wishing to love. He does in fact care, he does in fact love you.

Norton may not be able to afford certain things, but he could prove to you that he can give you all the love in the world. He just hopes that you'd give this poor man a chance.

Please? The plead repeats on his head as the pen writes an invitation for you to meet him at the garden on the day of valentine's.

Please? The word repeats on his head, his heart starts to beat faster as he approaches you with the gifts at hand.

"...I love you. I mean it." Please. Let me love you.

In front of him, you stand surprised. But what you did next shocked him even more.

You pulled your very own gifts and a love letter addressed to him from behind you.

You smiled warmly at him, something that felt like a comforting blanket after being in the cold for too long.

"I wanted to tell you the same thing! I–...I love you too." You confess, face flushing.

Norton stands, face blank but cheeks turning noticeably red. His eyes softened, and he let out an eased sigh.

"I have one more thing to give to you, actually." He says, moving closer to you.

"Wha–really? Norton that's–" You couldn't finish your sentence. Taken aback when he took your hands in his and put it in his chest. Where you could feel his heart racing despite his unbothered expression.

"My heart. It's yours." He says and captured your lips in his.

[ Happy Valentine's Day, Everyone! (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡ ]

[theic-manic]

Hellenic polytheism tip: ask Hermes to guide your shopping

Hermes will help you purchase things either for now or later.

Before I devoted myself to Apollo and was still casually worshipping him, I found a shirt at a thrift store that I wouldn't normally buy or wear anywhere but I felt drawn to it.

So I started wearing it initially to attract wealth and abundance, wearing it on warm sunny weekends and this was right before last year's solar eclipse in the northern hemisphere.

(Synchronicity penny just dropped: last weekend I watched a horror movie featuring a Solar Eclipse & Apollo showed me an online shopping page... I'll link below.)

Anyway once I established myself as Apollo's devotee rather than worshipper, I started wearing this shirt on Sundays as a devotional act for him.

The shirt:

(I'm tired so please excuse my face)

Last year while thrift shopping I found some cute cherub tea light candle holders, which isn't something I typically get either.

This was during a period where Hermes was being his trickster self & larping as Hekate (the spider in my towel head wrap is such an obvious sign looking back) but I was like "odd, this doesn't feel like hekate" so I packed then away.

Recently, while reorganising my bedroom I took them out and had a closer look.

There's a Lyre on each candle holder.

I asked Apollo if he'd like them on his altar.

Yes.

Another time, while shopping with Hermes I asked Ares if he liked a bag Hermes helped me pick out.

Ares complimented it so then immediately Hermes found me a "War Collection" box for my Ares altar ☺️

So let Hermes guide your shopping (set a boundary that he doesn't send you broke because one weekend he kept showing me a bunch of antiques and I'm like MATE I AM NOT RICH... yet)

E.g. when Hermes had me spend my annual leave buying a bunch of LEDs and a damn Asus Rog Ally hand-held PC for his altar as a thank-you for him gifting me with a year's worth of free coffee + $10k AUD

Hermes altar, the hand-held gaming PC he had me dedicate to him and the smol llama plush that now lives on said altar... (I still think it needs a name other than "Lola")

The second-hand coral pink Nintendo Switch that Hermes and Apollo had me go and buy my disabled housemate to make their medical appointments easier after the aforementioned winnings + Hermes helping me make $500 profit after calling my phone company out on predatory sales tactics and threatening to drag them to the telecommunications ombudsman.

I included a case I no longer use and some games I no longer play, as well as an LED charging cable.

Hermes finding me a Hermes-coded bag and a war box for Ares

Apollo being real subtle showing me eclipse mints next to a certain book title after watching a horror movie about a solar eclipse

Warning:

Hermes is also the God of thievery (I was extremely good at shoplifting during my youth that I once stole a 2L bottle of bourbon while wearing nothing but a bikini and a sarong) and he did once make a shopkeeper forget to charge me for almost $200 worth of thrift store merchandise however Apollo will absolutely drag you for such acts and so if you work with Apollo or other justice inclined gods, steal at your own risk.

[talshiargirlfriend]

I wish you would write a fic with T'Pol's first attempt at making Trip a pecan pie for his birthday. ;)

I hope you enjoy this birthday treat!

T’Pol had researched and studied carefully, for this was an important assignment. She had compared recipes and watched instructional videos and enlisted Ensign Sato’s bartering skills (to obtain the necessary quantity of bourbon) and even risked the notoriously temperamental Chef’s capricious wrath by entering the kitchen. 

Her task complete, she inspected the results: one large pecan pie to be shared with friends following a dinner to celebrate Trip’s birthday, and one miniature version she intended to deliver personally to the man of honor. 

The small repaired tears in the crust did not detract significantly from the overall appearance of the dessert. The halved pecans on the surfaces were arranged neatly in symmetrical patterns. The color was pleasing, and the sweet aroma promised an appealing flavor. T’Pol determined it to be a satisfactory physical product. 

Chef had praised her efforts as “nice - passable for a first try” before telling her to get the hell out of his kitchen. 

The time for the true evaluation of her work was approaching. 

Physical and chemical reactions, ratios, melting points, things that could be measured and quantified, she understood well. 

Human social behavior? That remained an enigma. It was far more ambiguous, especially around mating. 

T’Pol had only herself to blame for being so thoroughly immersed in this world of emotion and nuance, and now she simply must navigate it to the best of her abilities. On reflection, perhaps she should also blame Trip. She suspected he would like that. 

With the tiny pastry and a single fork concealed in a lidded container, she approached Trip’s door.

Apprehension and doubt rose up like tiny biting insects to be swatted away. T’Pol blinked as she reached for the chime. That analogy certainly belonged to her human mate. 

“Come in!” Trip called through the door.

“Happy birthday,” she greeted him.

“It is now,” he smiled warmly as he raised his first two fingers to brush against hers. “I missed you at the movie last night.” 

“I’m sorry, but as I told you an important project required my attention.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to be sorry. It’s just more fun when you’re there. You know I like hearing your questions and observations.” He also liked teasing her and attempting to coax her into eating popcorn from his hands.

“Whatcha got there?” he cocked his head toward the small container she carried.

“It is a gift for you,” she explained as she placed it on the desk and lifted the lid. 

Trip leaned down and inhaled deeply. “Oh, that smells good! What kind of equipment upgrades did you have to bribe Chef with to get me my own little birthday pie? It’s so cute.” 

“I may have promised to mention the power supply to the auxiliary stasis units. He does not like sharing his kitchen.” T’Pol handed Trip the fork with an amused glance. 

He had lifted the first bite halfway to his mouth when he paused and looked at her with a hint of a frown. “Wait. Did you-? You made this?”

She nodded, “That’s correct.”

“I didn't know you liked baking.” His eyes roamed her face as if searching for something. 

“I have never attempted it before. It was not disagreeable.”

“High praise,” he teased, but he set the fork down and was blinking back some emotion. 

Vulcans do not get nervous, but T’Pol was slightly concerned that she had misread the situation. She had been so certain that something made with care and attention by her own hands, however inexpertly, would be seen as indicative of the care and devotion she felt toward him. Perhaps something else would have been a more appropriate gift. This was the first occasion they’d had to mark since agreeing to share a romantic relationship, and his guidance had been simply a whispered “surprise me.”

“Trip?”

“Sorry. Didn't mean to get all emotional on you.”

“Your emotions do not offend me,” she said softly.

”That’s good ‘cause I’m full of ‘em right now,” he huffed. 

“All those extra ‘lab hours’ this week - I bet you looked real cute with flour on the tip of your nose.”

T’Pol glared at him without any heat behind it. 

He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over it gently, “And I bet you hated getting it under your fingernails.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. 

He looked at her seriously for a moment. “Thank you, T’Pol. I love you, too.”

Now it was her turn to blink rapidly as his affection and understanding filled her with warmth, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. 

“I shoulda known you made this. I've never seen more perfectly spaced pecans in my entire life! Did you use a laser level?” She realized he was teasing her to allow the more overwhelming emotions to settle over them both. Her appreciation of him and the subtle ways he managed his feelings and hers only grew.  

“Perhaps you should actually taste it before thanking me,” she suggested.

He grinned and took a bite at last. “No, you’re right, I rescind my thanks. This is terrible.” 

He smirked at her around his second forkful. “Here, see for yourself,” he offered her the next bite. 

T’Pol found it pleasingly complex but slightly too sweet. 

“You open to constructive criticism?” he asked.

She had no plans to bake again in the near future, but she nodded just to hear his thoughts. 

“Maybe take it out of the oven a little sooner next time, so it doesn't set quite so firmly.” His gaze traveled over her body and became what could only be described as lascivious. “I like it with a little jiggle.” He licked his lips, looking very pleased with himself. 

“If I describe to you how I would ‘like it’, we will be late for dinner,” she responded in kind.

“I can’t believe you said that!” His mouth dropped open and he plunked the fork back down and laughed helplessly.

“You may consider it another birthday surprise if you wish.” It was very gratifying to provoke such joy in him. 

Once his laughter subsided, Trip leaned in close and planted a kiss on her jaw. “I say it’s worth the risk. Tell me how you’d like it,” he breathed against her ear. 

They were late for dinner. 

[pettyprocrastination]

Okay hear me out.

Ghost and Necro drunk shenanigans. Potential to be hilarious, smutty and heartbreaking.

I’m prepared to have my life ruined by you. It would be my greatest honour.

(Alexa, play “In the Arms of an Angel, by Sarah McLachlan”)

this became more angst than drunken foolishness so I apologize but I hope you enjoy notheless!!

an: I played very fast and loose with the COD lore in this one. Imagining that task force 141 has a local base they stay/operate at between deployments/missions which im assuming is not the case. also that some of them go to a big formal event which is kinda a military ball but also a chance for networking asking for money yadd yadda. anywhoo

-----

     Simon doesn't drink. Not to the point of utter inebriation anyways. 

    He likes to be in control of his body. When the team inevitably drags him to the pub or he finds himself in a meeting with some staunch official that toast with whiskey for a “Job well done” he limits himself to two drinks so that he can always be aware of his surroundings. 

    He calls it risk calculation. You know that it’s from a memory he has yet to share with you. 

   That’s why the bourbon you gifted him still hasn’t been opened. An expensive bottle you handed him one night in his room with a halfhearted shrug of “work has been shit lately, though this would be nice.” That meant more than you said but he knew words like that were hard for you to force out, so he took the bottle and kissed your cheek, tucking it in the cupboard of his room on base until the proper moment to share it with you. 

     You decided to make that decision for him, evidently. 

    Simon opens the door to his room to find you sprawled out on his bed. Dressed in a floor length gown with one shoe kicked off, nursing the cup in your hand. You look up at him and for a moment he wonders if he had forgotten something important. 

     “You didn’t show up.”

     Ah, that. 

     Simon clicks the door shut behind him and steps toward you.

   ” 'Told you I wasn’t going to.”

     The military ball. 

     You take another sip from the bourbon and nod. “Yeah I know.” Simon shuffles forward, shoulders hunching down as he sits on the foot of the bed. 

     “But Soap was hoping you’d change your mind.”

     He hums. “Was he now?”  

     “Yeah.” You draw out the word ever so slightly as you speak. “He was hoping to catch a dance with you. But I told him he shouldn’t hold his breath, y’know? Didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

     Simon smiles. God you’re drunk. 

     “That was very kind of you.” 

     With gentle hands he undoes the metal clasp around your ankle and tugs your foot free from the last heel before running a scarred palm up your calf, squeezing and rubbing the muscle and making you melt in the process. 

     You stretch out with a content sigh. Simon notices the slit in your dress, stretching up to the mid point of your thigh. 

    “This is a nice dress.” He massages the tattooed skin of your leg and watches you grow pliant under his hands. ‘Y’know, Necro. You're like a cat’ he had told you one night, when the pair of you were the only ones awake. ‘all i need to do is keep you fed and rub you the right ways and you get all sweet on me.’ 

    “How come you haven’t worn this for me before?” 

     ‘But you also might scratch me to hell if I piss you off.’

     In a flash, you rip your leg from his grasp and turn around, curling up into yourself and spitting out. “I did. Tonight.” 

     You’re angry at him. He knows it despite the fact that he told you he wasn’t going to go and you said ‘alright’ without a single complain but now you're a brooding ball of drunken mumbles and sad eyes that he can’t seem to understand. 

     “For what it’s worth, I would’ve been a shit date.” 

     No movement. 

     “Don’t even own a suit.”

     “Then rent one, cheap-ass.” 

     Simon snorts. “Alright, you’ve got me there.” He pulls himself onto the bed completely, slowly laying himself down behind you and setting a hand at your waist. 

     “Can’t dance to save my life though. You’d have to deal with these monstrous fucking feet crushing your toes all night, love.” 

     Your unwrap yourself and let your hand reach out and intertwine with his. 

     “Maybe that’s what I wanted.” 

     Simon grins. “Yeah? You wanted me to step on your feet all night? Doesn’t sound very fun to me.” 

     “I wanted you to be there with me, Simon.” 

     Your voice is small. One that has always been strong with a command or dry with banter was now wet and trembling as if on the verge of shattering completely. 

    Simon pulls you to his chest and takes a shaking breath against your neck. 

   “I know, love. I’m sorry.” 

     Simon Riley imagines you at the ball and his heart breaks. 

     You're all dolled up, looking like a fucking dream to anybody who lays eyes on you but nobody at your side. Nobody for you to put a hand on their arm and drink champagne with. You stayed close to the others, he bet. Soap and Price taking turns on the dance floor, Price had rhythm and a subtle charm that would have you laugh and for a moment, you’d stop watching the door in hopes that he would show up. 

     But the night goes on your hope dwindles into nothing. 

     The truth is, Simon wanted to go. God he wanted to be there more than anything in the fucking world. 

     He wanted to rent a suit that would probably be a touch too tight because his shoulders were too big and get a haircut the week of because Simon wants to put int he work for you. He wants to walk in by your side and ignore the whistles and hollers of his subordinates, hold your tiny purse or whatever the fuck its called when you get a drink and spend the night dancing with you, despite his lack of rhythm but you’d smile anyways. At some point you’d slap his chest with a harsh hiss of “Simon we are in public” Because he kissed you with a bit too much tongue to be appropriate in a public setting but the dress you're wearing hugs your body so perfectly its drawn wandering eyes and he needs them all to know you belong to the fucking Ghost of task force 141 just as much as he belongs to you. 

     But he’s scared. 

    Christ, he’s fucking terrified. 

     To love you in public. To go out with you at his side meant letting the whole world know that he loved you and needed you and that put a target on your back. 

     Just as it did for Tommy and Beth and sweet little Joseph. 

     He knows your strong. Christ, he’s seen it with his own two eyes. You have just as much blood staining your hands as him but Simon has learned what life is with you in it and he can’t fucking go back to one without you. 

     “I’m not-” You take a shaking breath and sniffle. Fuck, he hates himself for making you feel this way.

     “I’m not good at this, Simon.” 

     He presses his lips to the small of your neck. If you feel his tears drop onto you, you say nothing of it and he’s grateful. 

     “Neither am I.” 

[marblemoovt]

Christmas Present - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of hurt/comfort because of misunderstandings.

Summary:

After dating for three years, you get to finally spend a Christmas together with Simon. Things go sideways when he misunderstands your decision to grow your family.

------

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

Note:

Hello!! I am so happy I am finally done with this. I really wanted to get this finished in time for Christmas, but I failed to do that. Between work and procrastination, it's hard to get any writing done.

I hope this fluff heals all your souls as it did mine, consider it a belated holiday present :D

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Was it an impulsive decision? Completely. Was it more of a Christmas gift to yourself than to Simon? Definitely—but how could you resist those eyes?!?

Let’s backtrack a bit. It’s a few days before Christmas. You’re among the general population who do their shopping last minute. Simon isn’t due home until tomorrow, and you want to cook him something nice for dinner. The holiday season never fails to awaken your craving for cinnamon and sugar. You plan on making mince pies and gingerbread cookies for dessert. The cookies also double as a gift for a party that’s happening on Christmas. 

It’s a small party with his coworkers and their families. You practically pestered poor Simon until he gave into your whims, which didn’t take much effort. He grumbled about wanting to stay home to cuddle with you in front of the fireplace, but you pointed out that he could do that at the party. 

Simon will complain and exhibit his apparent allergy to large social settings, but you think he secretly enjoys it. He isn’t keen on interacting with people he’s unfamiliar with. But to exist in a room full of people he likes, who are having a good time… you always notice how his eyes soften. 

That’s your take on it, anyway. Simon is difficult to read sometimes, especially when he’s spacing out. But you like staring into his eyes, deciphering the hidden meaning in their depths. You find the rich coffee colour gorgeous, and he always looks away when you remind him about it. It’s funny watching this giant man try to make himself appear small; he takes up too much space. 

Your lips spread into a fond smile, and you adjust your clothes, the oversized hoodie swallowing your figure. The faint scent of bourbon and cedar still clings to the fabric, and you inhale deeply. Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Then you’ll be reunited with the man you love. Oddly enough, this will be your first Christmas together despite dating for three years. Simon was away on a mission for the other two, and a bouquet was always delivered to your doorstep on Christmas morning. The first one consisted of blue salvias, lavender, and forget-me-nots. The second bouquet had red salvias and white carnations. You pressed a few to keep in a scrapbook and dried the rest. The preserved bouquets are in a box you keep in the closet to protect them from the sunlight.

You grab the last item on your shopping list and head to the checkout. Once everything is packed in your car, you decide to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate. There’s a cafe nearby within walking distance. There also happens to be an animal shelter on the way. Sometimes you just can’t resist looking at all the animals, and you often have to force yourself to leave empty-handed. 

But today feels different. Maybe it’s the holiday magic in the air, but when you reach the dog section, all the air is knocked from your lungs. In the first kennel is a small Doberman puppy. And her rich coffee eyes lock your limbs in place. 

A worker notices your interest and walks up to you. “That’s Phantom. All her brothers and sisters have already left for new homes. She’s the smallest of the litter, and that seems to be the main reason no one has adopted her yet.” The puppy wags her little tail at the mention of her name. Your heart melts under the gaze of her eyes, which appear too large for her head.

“Because she’s smaller than her siblings?” you ask. It sounds silly to not adopt a dog based on appearance. Health concerns you could understand, but colour and size? Heck, you would be ecstatic to just have a dog. Although size could be significant depending on your living situation. But still, to not adopt this sweet pup because she’s too little is ridiculous.

The worker’s lips twist into a sad smile. “There are many reasons why people will overlook an animal, and they don’t always make sense.”

Your attention remains fixed on Phantom. Her brown eyes never leave your figure, observing you silently. “How long has she been here?” you ask. She still looks relatively young. You don’t think she’s even half a year old yet.

The worker shuffles through a clipboard hanging next to Phantom’s kennel. “We rescued her mother while she was still pregnant. Her whole life, it seems. The entire litter wasn’t available for adoption until two months ago.” They pause and glance at Phantom with furrowed brows. “Puppies normally get adopted quickly, but she hasn’t been lucky” The sentence sends a hollow pang in your heart that settles heavily in your gut.

“Could I meet her?” you whisper, the words constricting in your throat. You wet your chapped lips and haul yourself out of the deep chocolate ocean.

“Sure.” The door to the kennel is unlatched, and the metal hinges swing with a creak. Phantom sits there and watches you. Afraid to make sudden movements, your remain still and quiet your breathing. She stands up and pads slowly towards you. You crouch down and leave one hand, palm facing up, in front of you. As Phantom draws near, her nose twitches. She eyes you and nudges your hand with her snout. You grin at the wet, ticklish sensation and bite back a laugh. Slowly, you scratch the underside of her chin before moving down to her chest and back.

There’s a gentle woosh of wind, and this time you can’t hold in your delight any longer. A chuckle rumbles through your chest, and the sound of wind grows louder. Phantom licks your fingers and barks. It’s more like a tiny yip, and you are screaming on the inside.

“I think you’re coming home with me,” you mumble and pause. “How am I going to explain this to Simon?” You can picture the disapproving look on his face.

You fill out the adoption papers and exit the shelter with a very excited puppy. Forgetting about hot chocolate, you go to the pet store and buy the basic necessities for Phantom. When you get home, you manage to carry everything into the house while holding onto the leash. Fortunately, Phantom isn’t a puller. She walks beside you nicely and even moves out of the way to avoid the bags of groceries and presents. With great difficulty, you unlock the door and push the handle down with your elbow. You set the bags down and slip off your shoes, shutting the door with your foot.

Phantom immediately begins sniffing around, circling and tangling you with the leash. You laugh at her enthusiasm and reach down to unclip the leash from her harness. With the sudden removal of weight, Phantom bounds across the floor, bumping into furniture and smelling anything she can reach. It’s funny because she’s sniffing so intently that it’s audibly heard—loud too. Her nose twitches, and she buries her snout into a heap of fabric on the ground. One of his shirts you keep on the sofa as a little Simon blanket for when you binge-watch. It must have fallen when you dozed off last night. You accidentally skipped two seasons because the autoplay didn’t stop.

“Let’s find a spot to put your bed.” You grab the circular, foam dog bed and head towards the bedroom. Phantom trails behind you with the shirt sleeve between her jaws. You chuckle and hold the rest so it doesn’t drag across the floor. She doesn’t let go, and it turns into a leash of sorts. The master bedroom has a King size bed. A big bed for your big man. Phantom could definitely fit on it, but you don’t want her to develop a habit of sleeping there until you check that Simon is ok with it. He doesn’t like to share, especially when he has to share you. You place the dog bed next to the bedside drawer. Close enough that Phantom won’t feel left out, but far away enough that she won’t get stepped on in the morning in case you or Simon forget. 

She tugs the shirt with her toward her new bed. You let go, and it falls in a heap and buries the puppy. “Simon blankets are comfortable, aren’t they?” you ask. She lets out a small ‘woof’ and wiggles her head out from underneath. Your smile stretches wide. “Let’s get the rest of your things sorted.” And so you spend the rest of the evening storing toys, placing bowls, everything you could think of when one adopts a puppy. Phantom keeps you company and entertains you with her silly antics. She’s already picked a favourite out of all the toys you bought her, and you silently squeal that night when she curls up in bed with it. You snap a picture, fingers itching to send it to Simon. But you’re not quite ready for his wrath yet. 

In the morning, you awake to scratching and whimpering. You bolt upwards, eyes darting around the room before landing on Phantom at the door. Stumbling out of bed, you rub your eyes and shuffle to the backyard door. Phantom trots outside and sniffs around before settling in a corner to pee. You lean against the doorway and watch as she continues to explore, wrapping your arms around yourself. The familiar cacophony of twitters and chirps starts up. Phantom pauses and tilts her head at the bird feeders set up in the old oak tree. She doesn’t bark but observes silently. 

“You’re a lot quieter than I was expecting,” you mumble. At your whistle, Phantom glances one more time at the birds before heading back inside. “Did you have fun?” Her tail thumps against your calves. You turn into the kitchen and measure out some puppy kibble for Phantom. 

Once she starts eating, you make breakfast for yourself. A simple toast with butter and a fried egg. As the egg is cooking, your phone buzzes against the counter. You jump a little, and even the crunching of kibble pauses for a few seconds before resuming. Glancing at the screen, you see the notification is a text message. The skull emoji sends you grappling for your phone. 

Simon💀: ETA 3 hours from now. Have you eaten yet, poppet?

You bite your lip and grin. Can’t he just say what he means? Your thumbs fly across the screen as you type your reply. 

Poppet🧸: I’m cooking breakfast now. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?

You hit send and attach a picture of the stovetop. The egg is nearly done, so you turn off the heat, and the toaster clicks a beat later. Your phone tickles your hand, and you eagerly read Simon’s response. 

Simon💀: You got the appetite of a mouse. And negative. I can take a taxi. 

You chuckle and make a mental note to look for the car keys later. 

Poppet🧸: Ok, I’ll pick you up in 3 hours. 

Then you put your phone in silent mode and place it on the counter screen-down. You grab a plate from the cupboards and transfer the finished egg. Rummaging through the fridge, you locate the butter and decide to treat yourself to some marmalade today. 

After eating, you still have 2 and a half hours until Simon’s plane lands. Which leaves you roughly an hour until you need to drive to the airport. With the spare time, you prepare the gingerbread dough since it needs time to chill in the fridge. You combine all the ingredients together and cover the dough in plastic wrap. When you shut the fridge door, Phantom is there beside you, staring at you with her big brown eyes. 

You end up googling a recipe for dog-friendly gingerbread cookies. 

You now have an hour left to get to the airport. Phantom is gnawing on a cookie when you leave her in the bedroom. You bought a kennel last night and didn’t set it up until earlier. Shutting the bedroom door, you grab the car keys off the counter and head outside. 

The weather is dreary as usual. It hardly snows in the winter, but the overcast skies look ready to cry any minute now. You drum on the steering wheel along to the song on the radio. The car hasn’t quite warmed up, and you tug your jacket sleeves down. Your phone goes off again, and you pull over to read the message.

Simon💀: Landing in half an hour.

You switch to the navigation app, and there’s no way you’ll get there on time with the current traffic conditions. Shifting gears, you apply more pressure to the gas pedal than is legally acceptable. Each time you glance at the digital clock in the car, your anxiety spikes. You still clutch onto the belief that you’ll make it on time. The second the next hour passes, the pool of dread in your stomach overflows into the rest of your body. Suddenly it’s too cold and too hot at the same time. You fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the radio, hoping Mariah Carey will drown your irrational thoughts. 

The road sign for the airport comes into view, and you lean back into your seat. Your knuckles regain colour as you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. Changing lanes, you head in the direction of the parking lot. After parking, your shoes thwap against the wet pavement. Walking through automated doors, the buzz of the airport fills your ears. Squeaky wheels from dragged luggage. Thousands of footsteps are accompanied by the indistinct chatter of an entire building of people. But all that noise fades to the background when you spot him. You’re well-trained in the art of Simon spotting, a skill his enemies would be envious of.

It’s hard to describe. When you know someone well—and utterly adore them—you can recognize them with just a glance. That’s how it is with Simon. He always blends into whatever environment he’s in, but that unmistakable warmth that blooms in your chest and pools comfortably in your stomach. It’s like your body has been trained to recognize him.

So when your heart flutters at the brooding, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, obscured by a potted plant, you know you’ve found him. Rich chocolate eyes meet yours, and they soften ever so slightly. You head to him, your feet stumbling over one another as they bicker over which pace to take. He opens an arm out, and you start running, flying across the ground until you crash into him. Simon steadies you with an arm around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he pulls you closer. Bourbon and cedar fill your senses, and you melt into his chest. 

“Been a while,” he murmurs into your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo.

You do your best to hug him back and squeeze with all your strength. “I missed you too.”

He pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, drinking in every line and curve. His thumb brushes against the slant of your smile, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. You lean in and peck where his mouth would be. His fingers tighten their hold, and he narrows his eyes at you. Someone drops their bags, and the loud thumps send his eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. He looks back at you, then around the airport, and releases your face. His hand drops and pinches your waist, and you know he’s smirking underneath the baklava. 

“Ordered a drink for you,” and he nods at the table beside him. “Got thirsty waiting and thought you could use one.” You pick up the cup and sniff the lid. The scent of chocolate and whipped cream fills your senses, and you catch the faintest whiff of cinnamon. Taking a sip, the hot chocolate coats your tastebuds with sugar and spices. A small groan escapes your lips, and your fingers curl around the warm paper cup.

“Traffic was terrible,” you say, thinking back to all the vehicles on the roads. It didn’t help that an accident occurred and slowed everybody down.

Simon glances at the watch on his wrist and taps its face. “Half an hour late. You would be terrible at evac,” he muses. There’s a lilt in his tone, so you roll your eyes and take another sip of hot chocolate. Another wave of sweetness rolls down your throat, and your stomach buzzes pleasantly with warmth. 

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucky I’m not in the military then.”

Simon stares at you and says, “What a blessing.”

Hot chocolate dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and you wipe it away with your sleeve. “Oh, shut up, Riley. I bet I would make a damn good soldier.” You straighten your spine and give him a mock salute.

His eyes never leave you, and the silence stretches for a minute or two. “I like the way things are. It’s dangerous out there; don’t need to be lookin’ out for you too.”

The curve of your smile flips. “What? You think I’d be dead weight?”

“Not what I meant,” and he reaches out a hand to you, but you shrug it off. 

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m not paying for another hour of parking. The airport prices are ridiculous.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate. There’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

The drive back home is silent. Neither of you bring up what happened earlier at the airport. The radio is on low volume. Instrumentals of classic Christmas carols play. There’s that feeling of being watched, but your eyes remain on the road. You focus on the nice saxophone solo and not on Simon. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to irk you a little. Still, no words are spoken.

His gaze continues to sear into your flesh, and just when you’re about to implode, Simon speaks first. “I’m sorry,” he says. You don’t respond, only turning off the radio. “What I meant was I don’t want to fear for your safety.” He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath. “I like knowin’ you’re safe—at least safer here than if you were out on the field.” You pull over the car and shut off the engine. You face him, mouth glued shut. His eyes are glassy, and his brows are drawn close together. “Poppet, I can’t lose you,” and a tear falls. You scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt, clambering over to the passenger seat. Straddling his lap, you pull him into a fierce hug.

The most powerful man you know is clinging to you like he’ll fall apart with a single blow. Like a boat in a storm, desperately trying to survive the waves battering against its hull. You pry your lips apart and force the words to claw out of your throat. “I’m sorry that I lashed out. I haven’t seen you in 3 months and 10 days, but who’s counting?” A watery chuckle gurgles in your throat. “The point is, I’ve been pining like a fool, and when I heard those words, it made me feel like you didn’t miss me at all.”

Simon shakes his head and pulls you closer to his chest. “I’ve seen you flay men alive with a single glare, never mind what you could be capable of with some proper training. But to think about you dyin’ on a mission? ‘specially when I could have saved you? It would ruin me.” He strokes your hair, and you stare into his deep, brown eyes. “And didn’t miss you? That’s a load of bollocks. Poppet, you are constantly with me here,” he points to his head, “and here.” He places your hand over his beating heart. The pulse beneath your palm is erratic. “You’re mine, and I can’t lose you; I refuse to. You’re not dyin’ before me, you understand?”

You exhale and stretch to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. There will be no death for either of us for a long time if I can help it.” His shoulders slacken, and you wipe away a stray tear from his eyes before it has a chance to fall. “I know it deep down in my bones, but it’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes. That you love me or miss me.”

“I missed you, poppet,” he murmurs into your hair.

You mute your chuckle with his shoulder, and he shudders from the vibrations. “It sounds disingenuous when you say it after I tell you to,” you say,

Simon huffs, “Bloody hell. I was tryin’ to be romantic.” Your fingers trail the edge of his baklava, and when he remains still, you roll the fabric up to expose his lips. He watches you with dark eyes. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him. It’s short and bittersweet. As much as you want to continue, you don’t want to stay on the side of the road any longer. If you’re unlucky, a concerned passerby might knock and ask if you need assistance. You would then proceed to die of embarrassment.

So instead, you pull away and whisper, “Are we ok?”

His eyes scan your face before lingering on your lips. “We are if you give me another kiss,” he replies. You lean in to kiss him again, and his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. Every time you draw in air, he finds a way to steal it from your lungs. Your head spins from the lack of oxygen, and you don’t even notice the little moans and whimpers you let out. His beard rubs against your skin, and his lips are addicting. Thick fingers dig into your waist. The hand on your head is removed, and you pull away, panting. He gazes at you through hooded lids, pupils swallowed by black.

“I can’t drive the car if you keep me in your lap,” and you wrap your fingers around his hands, prying their grip on you. He relents, and you climb over to the driver's seat. You turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon reaching a hand out to you. There’s gentle pressure on top of your head, and you realize that he’s smoothing out your hair. He doesn’t say anything but does one last pet that trails his hand down to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb before pulling away. Your face already feels cold with the absence of his touch.

Clearing your throat, you turn on the signal light and continue the drive home. As you get closer to your destination, you grow more nervous for multiple reasons. 1) You have no idea if Phantom destroyed anything while you were gone. 2) You don’t know how Simon will react to Phantom. 3) You don’t know how upset Simon will be if reason 1 turns out to be true.

When you arrive, Simon holds the door open for you. You thank him and head inside. He follows after you, and the wheels of his suitcase clack when they catch on the bottom of the doorframe. The house still has traces of cloves and nutmeg in the air, a reminder of the gingerbread dough chilling in the fridge. Simon shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the couch. Unable to hide it any longer, you decide to show him Phantom right away.

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

You sigh and place your child down, watching her sniff the jacket her father left behind on the couch. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you grab your phone. This is not how you wanted tonight to go. You send a few messages, but Simon doesn’t respond to a single one. Although you can see that he’s read them, which pisses you off. He couldn’t have gone far, and you still have the car keys. The closest place nearby that isn’t a house is the small market square, which contains a grocery store and several self-owned businesses. Your boots pound against the pavement,  and you dash through the streets. You reach the square and scan your surroundings. You spot him exiting a store and run up to him.

“Simon!” Your lungs burn, and your heart is rattling in your ribcage. Simon stares at you with wide eyes. His arms reach out to steady you.

“I’m sorry for leaving, poppet. When I heard, I knew I had to,” Simon says. He looks at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You pant, catching your breath as the winter air stings your throat. You lick your chapped lips and begin to speak. “Simon, I—”

He cuts you off. “But no matter what, I will always—”

You interrupt him because you need to clear up the misunderstanding now. “Simon, I—”

“It’s alright, poppet. I would never—”

Your frustration reaches a boiling point. “I ADOPTED A PUPPY!” Flames engulf your entire face, and you’re positive there’s steam rising off your head. A few passersby stop walking at your outburst, and you shrink beneath their stares. Simon shields your body with his large frame and smooths your wind-ruffled hair. “Simon, I adopted a puppy,” you repeat.

“A puppy?” he rumbles, low and soothing.

You nod and smile. “Yes, a puppy. The cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

He raises a brow. “Walks on four legs, barks, and has a little tail that wags?”

You chuckle. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Simon sighs and leans into you. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. We left the poor pup all alone,” and he holds your hand and leads you home. 

You struggle to keep up with his long strides. Simon slows down when he notices you falling behind. “She. She’s all alone,” you say.

“Did she come with a name?” he asks.

You answer with, “Phantom.” Simon gives you a deadpan stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not messing with you. That’s her name,” you insist. 

“So I suppose it’s all a coincidence?” he snorts. 

You tilt your head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Squeezing his hand, you chirp, “Then it was a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

“Poppet, the only miracle I’ll accept is when you walked into my life. Anything else is the harsh reality we live in.” You falter in your steps, stumbling forward when Simon doesn’t notice. He looks back at you, and time freezes. Deep brown eyes gaze upon you fondly, and a chill washes over your body. Behind the indifference is a tenderness reserved only for you. He brushes his thumb across your hand and tugs you into his side. His arm rests around your waist for the rest of the walk home.

You pause in front of the house and tug on his shirt. “I know you said you don’t like pets because they’re a big commitment, but I promise you’re going to love her,” you say.

His chuckle is hollow. “I think you overestimate my ability with animals. Not a bloody chance will she like me,” and you can hear the grimace in his tone.

You unlock the door, and Phantom greets you inside. She circles you and Simon, sniffing your pants. You grin and crouch down, accepting the sloppy kisses she gives you. Phantom races off to the living room, and you find her burrowed in a heap of Simon’s jacket. She must have pulled it off the couch after you left. Simon says nothing but watches the puppy with amusement.

“Go play with the puppy while I bake the gingerbread cookies,” you say, disappearing around the corner. 

Simon trails after you. “Barrin’ me from the kitchen already? I’m a great helper.”

You scoff and block him from entering further. “No. What you mean is you’re great at eating all my cookies before I get a chance to decorate them.” You wave your hands and push him out of the kitchen. His hulking frame budges with remarkable ease. “Now, shoo. I need enough for the party tomorrow.”

Simon raises his hands in surrender and plants a kiss on your head before heading to the living room. You take out the dough from the refrigerator and flour the counter. You roll the dough out until it’s about an inch thick before using cookie cutters in various holiday shapes. Lining a baking sheet with parchment paper, you transfer the cut cookies. You collect the scraps of dough and reroll it.

Simon’s head pops into the doorway. “Poppet, what’s this?” he asks. The plushie of a cartoon ghost with a skull mask looks microscopic in his large hands.

You gasp, “That’s Phantom’s favourite toy! The store was having a clearance sale on all their Halloween stock, and it reminded me of you. I have a picture of her cuddling with it in bed.” You move to grab your phone from your pocket, but your hands are covered in flour and dough. “I’ll send it to you after I clean up.”

Simon says nothing, cradling the ghost plushie to his chest with a newfound tenderness as he returns to the living room. Phantom’s excited yip greets his footfalls, and your smile nearly splits your face into two. You continue cutting out more cookies, ending up with multiple trays worth.

As you place a few trays into the oven, Simon passes by. His footsteps are silent when he typically stomps around to alert you of his presence. He stops when you catch him leaving.

“And where are you off to?” you ask, setting the timer on the oven, careful not to accidentally turn the heat off instead.

Simon shrugs and says, “On a walk,” with an air of indifference.

“Will you carry Phantom in your arms the entire time?” you ask. Phantom’s tail thumps against Simon’s lower abdomen. He’s carrying her like a baby, and she looks at you with her tongue lolling out. “She has a leash, Simon. Use it.” You point to the hooks on the wall where the jackets go, Phantom’s leash being the newest addition.

He looks at the leash, Phantom, then back at you. “Her little paws might get tired,” and he waves one of her paws. 

You shake your head, holding back a grin. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” You haven’t told Simon, but anyone with eyes can see that Phantom is small for her breed. 

There’s a glint in Simon’s eyes. “Yeah? Must take after you, then,” he comments. Phantom barks in agreement. You stick your tongue out when he turns his back to you. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” You feign ignorance. 

Simon grabs the leash and clips it onto Phantom’s harness. He looks at you and shakes his head at the Cheshire grin on your face. “Saw you bein’ a cheeky little thing.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” you say with a shrug. “Could you pick up some icing sugar on your walk? I’m running low.”

Simon nods and walks out the door, Phantom trotting dutifully by his side. You bite your lip and lean against the counter. God, you love watching him walk away. 

While the cookies bake, you pass the time by window shopping online. Specifically dog products. You’re in the middle of reading the product description for dog thongs—who invented these anyway??—when the front door unlocks. Your finger zeroes in on the little ‘x’ to delete the page from your phone. You check on the cookies. One batch is currently on the cooling rack, while another is in the oven.

Phantom zooms into the kitchen, snout turned upwards and twitching madly. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg fill the air. You can almost taste the spices on your tongue. Crouching down, you give Phantom little scritches behind her ear, and she tilts her head to give you easier access. Her hind leg twitches, and you chuckle. Heavy thumps and the creak of wood travel through the kitchen, and a shadow is cast over you. Glancing up, you see Simon holding a bouquet.

You stand up and accept the bundle of delicate red and white flowers. Bringing your face closer, you breathe in their sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your nose, and you resist the urge to sneeze.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Did you think I would forget?”

You rub the petals between your fingertips; they feel like satin. “I wasn’t expecting any since you’re home this year,” you confess. You assumed the bouquets were an apology for missing Christmas. The edelweiss and peonies will make a lovely addition to your collection. 

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t like ‘em?” And the low baritone of his voice pitches. 

A soft smile spreads across your face. You embrace Simon and rest your head against his chest. His heart races, rattling loud like a machine gun. “You silly man. I love everything you give me,” you reassure him, and the gunfire ceases. 

Your head rises and falls with each breath he draws. “Just makin’ sure,” he rasps, combing his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your waist and leave your body. You notice him inching towards the cooling rack on the counter. 

You smack his hand away and scold him. “Uh uh. Keep your hands away from my cookies. And don’t use your sneaky ninja skills to steal one. I will know if one of them goes missing.” Simon is not above using his military experience to snatch baked goods. He got away with it once, and you’ve made it a personal mission to never let it happen again.

“But there’s so many of ‘em. Nobody will complain if you show up with one less,” he grumbles.

You sigh, “Fine, but only because you won’t leave me alone until I give you a cookie.” He adjusts his baklava. There’s zero hesitation when he reaches over and amputates the arm of a gingerbread man. “Hey! You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a full mouth, brushing your hair gently.

You remain in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of bourbon mixed with his musk. Crunching fills the void of silence in the room. You look around and notice it’s only the two of you. “How’s Phantom?” you ask.

Simon glances in the direction of the living room. He hums, and the vibrations tickle you. “Out like a light. Walk must've tired her out,” he answers.

You plant a kiss on his chin, and his eyes soften. His fingers squeeze your hips. “I’m almost done. I’ll join you two in the living room soon,” you say.

He nuzzles the side of your head. “Don’t be too long,” he says, pulling away and caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. The crinkles around his eyes mirror yours. Simon nabs another cookie and darts out of the kitchen before you can stop him. You sigh and shake your head, looking for a vase to keep the flowers in.

Another twenty minutes pass before you’re done. You slide the last tray of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Remembering Simon, you pull off your oven mitts and check up on him and Phantom. You pause in the doorway, smiling to yourself at what you see. Simon is watching the tv, his eyelids drooping shut and snapping open every few seconds. He’s lying on the couch with Phantom curled up on his chest.

“I knew you would love her,” you whisper. Wide brown eyes lock onto your figure, and Simon sinks into the couch after seeing it’s you.

“A little help here?” he grunts. You stifle a chuckle at his current predicament. 

“Can’t move a puppy, Lieutenant?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes at you. “Haven’t you heard of the saying: let sleeping dogs lie?”

You scoop up Phantom, who barely stirs from her sleep. Simon scoots further in and turns onto his side, patting the empty space beside him. You lie next to him with Phantom sandwiched between the two of you. His strong arms lock around your waist and prevent you from rolling off the edge. 

The next few minutes are spent in silence, exchanging looks and gentle touches. Simon’s words catch you off guard. “Life without you is like the night sky without stars; empty and fuckin’ miserable to look at.” You drown in endless pools of black, seeing your reflection stare back with wide eyes. The silence amplifies the pounding in your ears. He speaks with such sincerity and conviction that you feel it with every fibre of your being. 

Your lips twist into a smile, and you say, “I love you too.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Merry Christmas, poppet.” His fingers draw random shapes on your back, eliciting a shudder from you.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whisper, lips grazing against the fabric of his mask. He makes a content hum and watches you with an affectionate gaze. The fireplace crackles and tiny snores come from Phantom. The scent of gingerbread wafts from the kitchen and infiltrates the living room. Cozy. You feel cozy.

Simon stretches and groans, “I’ll be back. Need to make a quick trip to the loo.” He crawls over you, careful not to wake Phantom. The puppy twitches but otherwise gives no other indicators of consciousness. You reach for the tv remote and browse for a show to watch, already missing the heat of his body.

Simon goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He tugs the baklava off and rubs a hand over his face. From his pocket, he fishes out a small, velvet-lined box. He rushed to pick up his order when he heard the news.

His phone chimes, and he opens a message from you. There are two pictures. The first is Phantom curled up in her dog bed with the ghost plushie. His lips quirk, and he swipes to view the second photo. His heart stutters, fingers clutching the phone tight. It’s a miracle the screen protector doesn’t shatter. The second photo is a selfie of you and Phantom cuddling where he left you. There’s a goofy smile on your face despite your worried eyes drifting toward the sleeping dog. He can see the slight furrow in your brows—fuck do you make him soft. Now there’s a new addition to your family, and the pup proved him wrong when he thought he couldn’t grow softer. A tightness overcomes his chest, and his vision swims. 

And suddenly, he’s scared. Because somehow, in this fucked up world, he found you. A random variable in his life that he has no control over. He’s terrified you’ll be ripped away from him like everyone else. That’s why he needs to do this. Needs to tie you to him forever so that there’s always a piece of you with him. Definitive proof that you are his. The night sky was a cheesy line, but he meant every word. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. To count down the days until the next deployment. To worry about what terrible thing comes next. To function in life on autopilot. 

Simon Riley is entirely aware of how much he loves you. And he’s terrified of how to prove it.

He exits the bathroom, one hand fidgeting with the box in his pocket. 

“Bloody fucking hell.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This thing honestly grew a lot bigger than I was expecting. The party mentioned above is definitely a party with the 141 and vaqueros, and I headcanon it to be the first official introduction between the reader and everyone. In that universe anyway.

Also, I totally did not plan on ending it with a possible proposal, it just kinda happened lol. Have fun imagining because I don't think I'll write it.

I do have an idea for a single-dad Price fic because we all know that would make such cute fluff. It was originally going to be for the holidays too, but I'll probably modify the story to work without it.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!