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[totowlff]

le temps fera les choses

➝ request: you could write a story where toto and reader are divorced [...] drunk toto calls reader and just rambles about life and how he misses her and everything, or if you wanna go further

➝ word count: 8,5k

➝ warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, an overprotective reader and a lot of real life references

➝ author’s note: well, working with the idea of divorced!toto turned some gears in my head and this one shot was born. it was inspired, in a way, by the song le temps fera les choses, by angèle, and the text even has some references to the lyrics, so don't be surprised. toto's aunt is actually called elisabeth, and given my commitment to reality, i kept it that way (a happy coincidence, i won't deny it). hope you enjoy!

Looking at the man on the seat in front of you, part of yourself refused to believe you were doing this. “This is insanity”, you could hear your mother's trademark accusatory tone of voice telling you. You know she was right, even as a voice inside your head, but there you were, sitting across from your ex-husband, watching him completely absorbed in that day’s edition of the Financial Times, as you sat on his private jet, en route to Sardinia.

Your story with Toto began in the fall of the year 2000, at the gala opening of an exhibition at an art gallery in the center of Vienna. You had earned your Masters in Art History, and had always been enchanted by antiquities, and had done extensive research on the history of antiquarians in Vienna. Your research led to an invitation given personally by Elisabeth Sturm, daughter of Czesław Bednarczyk, one of the most prominent antique dealers in Vienna, and the subject of a paper you were writing for your PhD.

You just had no idea that what she invited you to discuss wasn’t your paper, or the pieces on exhibit.

— You know, Y/N, my son also recently graduated in contemporary art and has a great interest in post-war pieces, just like you — she said, as she led you through the multitude of guests with a wide smile on her face.

After passing by a couple she seemed acquainted with, and greeting a friend of many years, Elisabeth finally found who she was looking for. Nodding toward two men holding champagne flutes, you walked over to them with her. The words of the specialist in eighteenth century pieces became distant murmurs in your head as your eyes were fixed on one of them, who seemed to be looking at you with curiosity.

— Alex, honey, I want to introduce you to Y/N Y/L/N. She's doing a doctorate in Art and Economics at Die Angewandte, so she’s doing some research on the city's antique shops — Elisabeth said, smiling — Y/N, this is my son, Alexander. He is working on his masters’ at the University of Vienna in contemporary art, but I am sure that you will find a lot to talk about.

You forced a smile, offering your hand for a handshake. He was the same height as his mother, with carefully combed-back brown hair and stern dark eyes.

— It's a pleasure — you said.

— The pleasure is all mine — he said.

Then, your gaze returned to the man who had caught your attention. He was much taller than Alexander, but had dark hair and dark eyes that were similar to Alexander’s. The two of them definitely looked related, but there was something tender about the way he was looking at you.

— And this is Torger, my sister’s son, who just arrived back in Vienna from the United States. California, right?

— That's right — he replied, his deep voice flowing through you in a warm wave — San Francisco.

—  Remind me, what you were doing there again, Torger?

— Learning about the business side of the technology industry — he said, smiling — By the way, you can call me Toto. Nobody calls me Torger.

— Your dziadek calls you Torger — Elisabeth muttered, something bitter in her voice.

— Good to know that dada still remembers me — Toto muttered, before taking a sip of champagne — Even though it's probably just to call me ungrateful because of the fucking tuition he paid when I was 12...

— Well, is he wrong? — Elisabeth growled, before looking at her son, who seemed to be silently begging her to control herself — And it's no use looking at me like that, Alex, you know it's true.

— We don't need to discuss this here, mom.

— No, no, your mother should speak her mind, Alex — Toto said, giving his aunt a challenging smile — I don’t mind at all.

— You should be much more grateful to your dziadek, Torger. If it weren't for him, you would never have finished school, much less...

— Gotten that internship at the bank, I’ve heard all of this before, auntie — he replied — But that doesn't change the fact that he was an asshole who disowned my mother for marrying my father.

Elisabeth took a step forward, one finger raised.

— Be more careful with your words, Torger — she said through clenched teeth.

— Mom, please — Alex said, placing himself between Elisabeth and his nephew — Let's get you something to drink.

After some protest on her part, the woman finally agreed to accompany her son, who apologized before taking Elisabeth away from them. Alone beside Toto, the silence between the two of you stretched for a few seconds before your gaze met.

— Are your family gatherings always like this? — you asked, making him smile.

— They're usually worse — Toto replied, making you laugh.

It was the first of many times that night that he would make you laugh.

You didn't see any more of Elisabeth or Alexander that night, and you didn't want to. You only had eyes and ears for Toto, listening to him talk about his trip to San Francisco and the investment he had made in SMS.AT, the country's most-visited website, as well as asking you about your background and life in general.

— Do you have a boyfriend? — he asked you.

You both stopped in front of a sculpture of a woman on her knees with bitter tears in her eyes, you suddenly felt nervous.

— What do you think?

— I can’t imagine someone as intelligent and beautiful as you being single.

You chuckled weakly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

— I'm sorry to say that I am. Not everyone is willing to spend hours listening to me talk about old things sold by old people.

— Well, I am — he said immediately, in an almost boyish rush to demonstrate that he was, in fact, interested in what you had to say. And it was at that moment that you were sure that what you were feeling was not simple anxiety or infatuation.

You were falling in love with that man.

— Find something interesting? — someone said, bringing you back to the present, your gaze meeting the same pair of mischievous brown eyes from that night at the exhibition.

— There’s an article about an exhibition of Yayoi period artifacts from Japan — you replied, making Toto turn the cover of the newspaper to find the article you were glancing at.

— Asian art? I thought your interests were more in Europe — he said, the corners of his lips curling up mischievously.

— Nothing wrong with learning all I can, Toto — you replied, turning your face away when you heard the sound of someone shifting in one of the other seats. Sleeping with her head against the window was the most important person in your life.

Magdalena. Your daughter with Toto.

Born just over four years after that night at the exhibition, she was the tangible symbol of the love you felt for each other at one time. She had your nose and her father's charming smile. Lena, as you called her, was a girl with a strong personality. She was incredibly intelligent and particularly observant. Nothing went unnoticed by her brown eyes, not even your indecision in participating in that trip.

You took off your seat belt and walked over to your daughter to check on her. After putting a blanket over her and taking the book she was reading before falling asleep from her hands, taking care to mark the page she had stopped on, you took a few seconds to watch her.

There had been many times when you had felt that you didn't have the strength to continue wearing the many hats you did: university professor, gallery curator, private consultant for antique dealers and private collectors. However, Lena was your motivation to keep going. She was the reason that you got up early and went to bed late, after correcting piles of academic papers. She was the reason you signed on the bottom line of a legal document to put an end to yours and Toto’s marriage on a gray winter day so many years ago.

— You don't have to watch her like you did when she was a baby — Toto murmured behind you. When you turned around, you saw that he had folded up his newspaper and that it was sitting in his lap. 

— I'm just making sure she's okay — you replied, running a hand through her hair before returning to your seat — After all, we're here because of her.

Toto smiled.

— Indeed. Always for her.

That trip wasn’t planned very far in advance, but it was the result of Lena's excitement at having achieved excellent grades in the Reifeprüfung, the end-of-school exams that students in Austria took to graduate.

 Sardinia was her favorite place in the world and she wanted nothing more than to go and enjoy the sun and the sea with the two people she loved most in the world. You hesitated, after all, it had been years since you had gone there with her and Toto.

You were capable of giving up anything for Lena, even your own promise of never flying anywhere with your ex-husband again. There was nothing you wouldn't do for your daughter's happiness.

The rest of the flight was quiet, with Lena waking up near the end of it. Her messy hair earned her a good-natured jab from Toto, which his daughter returned to him in kind. The interaction made you smile, after all, it was just another proof of how similar your daughter was to her father, even though she hadn't had his constant presence since she was five.

“Genetics are impressive”, you thought to yourself as the captain of the jet asked over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts in preparation for landing in Olbia, in the north of the Italian island. However, contrary to what you thought, Toto had not chosen to book suites in a nearby hotel, but in a more distant location. It was all to preserve the privacy he had lost when he decided to dive headlong into the world of Formula 1.

His passion for motorsport wasn’t ever a surprise for you, after all, since the first night you’d met him, Toto had been talking about how he competed in junior formula racing, just for fun. However, nobody could have predicted that buying some shares in a Formula 1 team that seemed  to be on the brink of bankruptcy would lead to him being the team principal and part-owner of one of the largest, most prestigious teams in the sport, almost a celebrity in his own right.

However, the attention brought him unwanted problems, especially with the paparazzi, who insisted on photographing him in private moments during his rest days, even more so when he was with Lena. In the end, the further away from the hustle and bustle of the island's busiest cities, the better.

He and Lena had chosen a resort in Valle dell'Erica, which had a small network of luxury villas connected to the main building by stone paths traveled by golf carts. After settling into a golf cart with your daughter, Toto sat in the driver's seat, asking the concierge to ride the front cart with the bags.

— Are you taking us camping? — Lena asked, after a few minutes of meandering through the compound's tree-lined paths.

— No, I'm not, though I think a few days away from your cell phone wouldn't hurt you, would they? — he replied, laughing — We're going to one of the villas that’s the furthest out, to make sure we don’t get a repeat of last time.

— You mean when my classmates saw your pictures on the yacht and started asking if you were still single? — she murmured, forcing you to try and hold in a laugh. You would never forget the way Lena recounted, indignant, the way her schoolmates were talking about her father.

It was useless to deny that Toto was a handsome man. With his piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and imposing height, you'd been drawn to him since the first time you'd seen him in the gallery. And as much as you wanted to deny it, the power he wielded over you hadn't diminished with the divorce.

If you were honest with yourself, it had only grown.

— I'm not to blame for anything, mon bébé...

— Just don't walk around… Dressed like that — she replied.

— Like that?

— With only a pair of shorts on, especially those shorts — Lena said, making her father laugh.

— Bébé, it's just a pair of shorts...

— They were pink! They’re way too flashy for someone your age!

— You’re talking as if I’m just some decrepit old man, Lena.

— Maybe not decrepit, but definitely an old man who shouldn’t be wearing pink shorts.

He brought the cart to a stop as the concierge, in front of them, opened a red gate.

— I bet your mom likes my flashy shorts — Toto murmured, glancing at you and you just rolled your eyes.

— I don't care about your shorts, Torger.

— You used to  — he replied, revving the cart again.

— But I don't anymore. And honestly, you shouldn't care either, Lena. Your father is probably just going through a midlife crisis like every man has at some point. Don't be surprised if he shows up one day with your name tattooed on his arm, or riding a Harley-Davidson.

The statement made your daughter burst out laughing, while Toto shook his head, as if disapproving of your idea of him during a midlife crisis.

Well, a second midlife crisis.

Toto stopped the golf cart just behind the concierge, who was unloading your bags with the help of another employee. After you disembarked, the man invited the three of you to join him as he showed you your villa. With a living room richly decorated with colorful paintings and vases made by local artisans, three suites and spacious balconies overlooking the private pool, as well as the sea in the distance, the place felt like something out of a dream.

— Anything you need, we're here for you.

— Thanks — you replied, smiling.

Finally alone in the living room, the three of you looked at each other silently, as if waiting for someone to say something. Then, after looking at his watch and running a hand through his dark hair, Toto cleared his throat.

— So, what do you ladies want to do first? — he asked.

Looking at the orange tones that took over the sky, you smiled.

— I think we can start by figuring out where everyone will sleep.

— Dad can have the exterior room, right? — your daughter said.

— Why do I have to stay in that room? — Toto asked, his voice full of faux-outrage.

— Because mom and I are girls — Lena replied, linking her arm with yours — And girls always stay together on trips.

Your ex-husband couldn't hold his feigned disappointment for long.

— Okay, you can stay together. Just don't bring any boys here — he said, as he grabbed the handle of his bags and turned toward the door.

— What about men? — you asked, defiant. As he looked over his shoulder, something inscrutable flashed in his eyes.

— No men either, Y/N — he said as he left the villa’s main hall.

Giggling with laughter, you planted a kiss on Lena's forehead before telling her to go and put her bags in her room. After seeing her going through her bedroom’s door, it was your turn to make your way to your quarters, dragging your well-used suitcases noisily behind you. After setting them down in front of the small wooden cupboard, you allowed yourself to slump onto the soft mattress, closing your eyes.

The fact that you were on this trip was crazy.

The days dragged on at an excruciating pace, even though you were on vacation. As much as seeing Lena happy to be together with her father and mother on a trip after years was satisfying, but something was making you feel set on edge.

You couldn't say what it was, but you were sure it was related to how Toto was treating you. Unlike the interactions the two of you usually had, filled with sarcasm and acidity, the way your ex-husband was speaking to you was almost… sweet, delicate. He had even asked you to dance during a dinner in Porto Cervo, when the musicians started to play the music that had played during your first dance as husband and wife.

— I remember that night like it was yesterday — he murmured.

— Do you? — you asked quietly, as you felt his hand firmly hold yours — I thought you had too much on your mind to remember that.

He smiled.

— I could never forget the day my life changed, Y/N.

You should have guessed that this was just a strategy, a way to get you to drop your guard to deliver the final blow the next night, over dinner at one of the resort's restaurants. Silently, Toto, who was wearing one of his white monogrammed shirts and comfortable linen shorts, placed his silverware on the plate of ricotta ravioli and looked at Lena.

— Mon bébé, I know we're here to celebrate but I can't help but ask you about your plans — he said, with a serious expression — Have you chosen what you're going to study yet?

Your daughter wiped her mouth with her napkin, as she finished chewing.

— Well, I was talking to mom these days about it and I would really like to work on something related to international studies. You know, diplomacy.

— Diplomacy?

— You know, I learned how to be a mediator at home — Lena murmured, giving you a mischievous little smile. In a way, she wasn't wrong, after all, Lena had always been the person that balanced you and Toto, putting out the fires you started, especially because of her upbringing.

— And have you researched universities, bébé? — Toto asked, before taking a sip of wine.

— Mom gave me the contact information of some professors in the Political Science and Philosophy departments at the University of Vienna to schedule a visit and learn about them — she replied — Why?

— Well, I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted to, you could apply to a university outside of Austria.

You swallowed hard, the hands that held the cutlery going cold.

— Do you mean — your daughter babbled.

— Well, you know that I live in Oxford and there is a university of international prestige there, which has formed dozens of important figures in world history. American presidents, British prime ministers, kings, Nobel Prize winners. Perhaps you could…

— Study there? — Lena completed, looking impressed by the offer. Toto smiled.

— Exactly.

— But, I would need a place to stay…

— Magdalena, don't be ridiculous, you know you can live with me there. In fact, I would be very happy if you would move in with me while you're in Oxford. What do you think?

Your heart was racing in your chest, the cutlery clenched in your fists. You felt like you were going to explode with rage at any moment, jaw clenched. You couldn't believe your ex-husband had been capable of such a dirty move. But, you weren't going to let him win, not that night.

— Bullshit — you said, before Lena could process the question — That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard, Torger.

— I was talking to Lena.

— She doesn't need to bother answering — you said, gruffly — She's not going to England.

— Mom — your daughter said, in a warning tone.

— What? Do you really think this is a good idea?

— Of course it's a good idea, Y/N, Oxford is a great — Toto began to argue.

— I don't care if Oxford is a good university, Lena won't go to England — you interrupted him, in a cold tone — And that's not open to discussion.

— But, mom...

— No buts, you're not going, Magdalena.

— Why not? — asked Toto.

— Because I will not let my daughter go to a foreign country alone, without any help or support…

Toto snorted.

— Y/N, did you really think Lena would be alone? Did you forget that I live there?

It was your turn to laugh.

— You live — you said, making air quotes with your fingers — Let's not be naive, you spend more time traveling than in that slum of yours in Oxford.

— Mom!

— For your information, my house is in one of the best areas of Oxford and has more than enough space for me and Lena — Toto spat.

— It’s not about space, Torger, I won't let her be alone there while you’re gallivanting around the world, playing with your cars!

— Would you rather she be left alone in Vienna while you play with your ancient junk collection? — he returned, venom dripping from his voice.

That sent a hot wave of anger up the back of your neck, your jaw clenched. Everything you had done had been for Lena. All the hours of work, all of the writing, research, assistant teaching, grading, earning your PhD, and working your way up in the university to be a respected, tenured professor, it had all been to provide for the life you two led in Vienna, as had been agreed upon during the divorce proceedings. Of course, the workload eventually took you and Lena apart physically, but that didn't lessen the love you felt for your daughter.

In fact, it only made it grow. And it was that love that made you get up, dropping your cloth napkin on the floor, jabbing your finger at your ex-husband.

— You watch your mouth talking about my work, you son of a bitch! — you snarled, causing several pairs of eyes to turn towards your table.

— Mom, for God's sake! — Lena exclaimed, trying to lower her hand — Everyone's looking at us!

— Let them look, Magdalena! — you spat — Let them know I'm not going to let this idiot say whatever he wants about my job!

— I just was repeating what you said, Y/N — Toto replied in an ironic tone.

— Dad! — your daughter growled, before looking back at you — Please, mom, calm down. Sit, please.

Annoyed, you settled back into your chair, your jaw set in anger. Your ex-husband looked at you with a certain cynicism in his eyes, as if he knew he had touched your most sensitive point. Beside you, Lena let out a sigh, as if trying to collect her thoughts.

— Is it really that hard for you not to fight like two kids? — she asked seriously.

— Lena — you stammered.

— No, mom — she said coldly — You promised that you wouldn't fight with dad on this trip, that you'd be nice. You promised me, mom.

— Bébé, please — Toto tried to interfere.

— Don’t bébé me, dad! — Lena exclaimed — You also have your share of blame. I asked you to be polite to my mother, not to make comments like that, to be understanding…

— I am being understanding, Lena!

— Being understanding is calling her work a joke? That’s your idea of being polite? — she asked, before turning to you, as if anticipating you were going to say something — And that goes for you too, mom. You two are acting like fucking children!

You thought of scolding her for her language, but you weren't able to, especially when you noticed that her eyes were wet.

— I just wanted that we could be a family, without these stupid fights over stupid things. You think about me so much that you forget that I think too, that I also have wishes and desires — Lena continued — It never crossed your minds that I don't want the same thing as you? That I don't want to stay in Vienna or go to England?

Your eyes met Toto's, guilt filling your chest. You always wanted Lena to have the freedom to do whatever she wanted, to fly even higher than you and your ex-husband. However, in your eagerness to provide a life full of experiences, you had forgotten the main thing, which was Lena herself.

— Lena — you said, watching her wipe away a tear that had trickled down her face.

— I just wanted you to stop thinking about yourselves and think about me — she spoke in a choked voice — That you would consider my opinion before deciding things for me.

— But we'll always consider your opinion — Toto said, reaching out a hand toward your daughter, who shrank away.

— Then why did you say you were going to take me to England?

— I — he hesitated, looking at you and then at Lena — I wanted to offer you a different experience, in a different country, in a different culture. I didn't think your mom would be so dramatic about it…

— I’m not being dramatic, Torger — you snapped.

Suddenly, Lena stood up, throwing her cloth napkin over the dish of spaghetti and shrimp she'd ordered, letting out a frustrated grunt.

— I give up on you two — she said, while picking up the bag that was hanging on the back of the chair — I give up!

You tried to protest, but didn't have time before you saw your daughter marching out of the restaurant, not looking back. A few seconds of hesitation later, you followed after her, not minding leaving the plate of pasta, that was already cold by that point.

— Lena! — you shouted, as you saw her walk towards one of the carts, sitting behind the wheel and throwing her purse on the seat next to it — Wait! My dear, please!

Your pleadings were of no avail as she stomped off the cart's accelerator, disappearing into the dark of the night and leaving you standing halfway on the dirt road with tears in your eyes.

Arriving back at the villa, after generous help from one of the staff who knew how to drive the cart, you went to Lena's bedroom door, placing a hand on the handle. However, when you turned it over, you found that it was locked.

— Lena, my love — you said, knocking lightly on the door.

— Go away! — she replied, the words hitting you like a knife.

— Lena, please, my daughter, open the door, let's talk...

— I don't want to talk to anyone! — she yelled — Go away!

You sighed in defeat, letting go of the handle and backing away from the door. Hearing Lena sobbing softly broke his heart into a thousand pieces. This was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, not sadness and tears.

— Is Lena in the room? — you heard Toto ask. Looking towards the entrance, he was standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, a worried expression on his face.

— Yeah.

— Were you able to speak to her?

— No — you replied, realizing he was walking towards the door — And I doubt she'll talk to you.

Toto stopped suddenly, turning towards you slowly.

— You think you know everything about Lena, don't you?

— I'm her mother, Torger — you said, crossing your arms.

— And I'm her father, Y/N.

— And that changes the fact that you know anything about her?

— She is my only daughter — he began to say.

— Which is a miracle — you muttered, being solemnly ignored by him.

— So, I’d like to think I know her pretty well.

You laughed mockingly.

— So tell me, Torger, what's her favorite color? Who is her favorite singer? What is her favorite dish? If you know your daughter, you should know this.

Toto let out a sigh.

— This is pathetic, Y/N.

—The only thing that’s pathetic is you playing dirty — you snapped — Pathetic for you to want to take my daughter away from me! My only daughter!

You expected an equally aggressive response to yours coming from Toto. He had always been hot-headed, which, along with your short temper, was a recipe for disaster. However, your ex-husband just shook his head, heading towards the bar in the corner of the large living room.

— Whiskey? — he asked, as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

You blinked, shocked.

— You can't be thinking about drinking in this situation...

Toto took the bottle and poured a generous dose. Then, glass in hand and leaning against the bar, he sighed.

— And is there anything else we can do considering our daughter is locked in her room and isn’t going to talk to either of us? — he asked, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing — Ugh, this needs some ice.

As your ex-husband turned back to the bar, you walked slowly over to the couch and sat down, heaving a frustrated sigh. The feeling you had was that you had completely failed, not just with Lena, who had high expectations for that trip, but with yourself, for not being able to control your own feelings towards your daughter and Toto.

— Want some? — he asked, holding the drink out to you. Staring at the amber liquid for a few seconds, you were sure this was a very bad idea. “Fuck it”, you thought, picking up the glass and taking a generous swig of whiskey.

— Ugh — you growled, as the alcohol burned in your throat. Sitting beside you, Toto smiled at your grimace.

— Bad, isn't it?

— Terrible — you replied — I thought there was only good stuff here.

— Me too — Toto said, chuckling — Even that Ottakringer we drank on the way back from the Hockenheimring that one day tasted better.

You laughed at the memory, the watery taste of the beer being a funny reminder of the years when you still looked at each other with something other than anger and resentment.

— Indeed — you muttered, taking another sip before returning the glass.

The silence stretched for long seconds, the only sound in there being the ice clinking on the crystal as Toto poured another shot. After taking a sip, he handed the cup back to you.

— Y/N?

— Hm? — you murmured, before drinking some more whiskey.

— I would never take Magdalena away from you.

Lowering your glass to rest on your thigh, your eyes met Toto's, which were filled with a sadness that was clearly not part of the drink's effect.

— You wouldn’t? — you asked softly.

— I would never be able to take her away from you, Y/N.

— So — you hesitated for a few seconds, pressing your lips together — Why do you want to take her to England?

Toto let out a long sigh.

— Because I feel like it’s the only way to try and fix some of my mistakes, Y/N — he said, his gaze locked on some middle point in the distance.

— Your mistakes?

— I always promised myself that I wouldn't be like my father, that I would do everything I could do right by my — Toto hesitated before correcting himself — By our children. And when Lena was born, I told myself I would do anything to make sure she had a happy life with us and… I screwed up.

You swallowed hard.

— I screwed up when I got in that car at the Nürburgring and insisted on making that lap record attempt. Niki was right, it was idiotic, and nobody cared about some silly GT car lap record. Honestly, I don't blame you for asking for a divorce after that, I would have done the same if it were me — he continued, running a hand through his hair — But it hurt, Y/N. It hurt to see you leaving with all that pain in your eyes. But, I accepted your decision and did exactly what my father did before he died…

— You mean, you becoming distant?

He nodded.

— I thought it would be best for you and Lena to be away from my sadness, my depression, but in the end, it wasn’t. She needed her dad, too, just like I needed mine.

You took another sip of whiskey, feeling your eyes sting with tears. Asking for a divorce had been the hardest decision you had ever made in your life, but you were convinced that you didn't belong there anymore. However, the truth is that you wanted to insist on Toto, insist on your love.

After all, your love for him was still there, sleeping inside your chest, but alive, begging you to let it out.

— So, your way of fixing your mistakes is by asking Lena to come live in England with you?

He took the glass of whiskey and drank the rest of the liquid.

— Not all of them, but some. I know I'll never be able to fix my mistakes with you.

— Have you tried, Toto? — you asked without hesitation.

— Tried what?

— Tried to fix your mistakes with me.

He set the glass down on the coffee table before looking at you.

— Do you want me to try, Y/N?

Your heart was beating heavily, pounding against the front of your chest.

— It's what I want most — you whispered.

Toto's hand slid towards your face, lightly caressing your cheek. With your eyes fixed on his, you matched the gesture by taking your hand to the back of his neck, while your mind took you to the night of your first kiss. On that occasion, the kiss had been calm, almost hesitant, the taste of wine dancing on your tongue as his scent invited you to dive deeper into him.

Facing him again, 15 years since the last time you had shared a kiss, the impression you had was that nothing had changed. The smell was the same. The man was the same. The invitation was the same.

And you accepted.

The first touch brought back memories of your other kisses. The happy kiss at the altar after being declared man and wife. The emotional kiss after you told him you were pregnant. The kiss that took place, with your daughter in your arms, after long and exhausting hours of childbirth. In all of them, the warmth that filled your chest was comforting and familiar, like approaching a campfire after a long time wandering in the cold.

It felt like coming home.

His fingers slid into your hair, tangling in the strands, while his tongue sought passage through your lips. Scratching the back of Toto's neck with your fingernails, you allowed him to savor you, the taste of him mixed with the resort's particularly bad whiskey. However, that was a minor detail at that moment.

What mattered was that you had finally found each other again.

— Y/N — Toto whispered, pulling away slightly from your face, breathing heavily — I…

Your fingers touched his lips in a silent request for him to not say anything. There was no reason to say anything more or hesitate any longer, not when you’d imagined this for so long.

This was inevitable, after so many times imagining what it would be like to try again every time you went to pick Lena up from the apartment Toto had moved into after the divorce, your gaze meeting the resignation in his expression every time you asked your daughter to say goodbye. It was inevitable to think of the sweet words he would whisper in your ear while watching his interviews on television, as well as the affectionate touch when you saw him gesticulating with his hands, while explaining something to the reporter.

As Toto leaned over your body, you allowed yourself to slide your hands under his linen shirt, feeling the firm muscles he had developed in the years after the divorce. Pulling the fabric up his torso, you quickly tried to undress him, which made him smile against your lips.

— You're still the same anxious little thing you always have been — Toto muttered, before slouching off his shirt and discarding it on the floor.

Then he dove towards your neck, nibbling ravenously at your skin, causing involuntary gasps to leave your lips, your body asking for more than just kisses and a well-positioned knee between your legs. You needed him like you were drowning and he was the surface.

However, when his fingers slid down the sides of your thighs, beneath your light summer dress, Toto pulled back, glancing back before meeting your inquiring gaze.

— What’s wrong? — you whispered.

— I thought I heard a door open — he replied softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes — And I don't know how good it would be for our daughter to see her divorced parents making out on a couch like two teenagers.

You smiled, bringing your hand to his face.

— You’re right. Besides, I think we're a bit too old for making out on the couch.

Toto laughed.

— Do you want to go to your room, then?

— Yes — you whispered.

Toto helped you to your feet and the two of you tiptoed to your suite. As Toto closed the door behind you, you busied yourself with undoing the knot of fabric at the back of your neck and sliding your dress down your body, bringing your panties with it. When Toto turned around and found you completely naked in front of him, he smiled. He walked toward you in slow steps as his eyes roamed over your skin like he was taking in all of the changes of your decade apart.

— It feels like our first time — he murmured, placing his hands on your hips.

You gave a small smile, as your mind transported you to that night in his apartment, where, after a few glasses of wine, you gave yourself to each other for the first time. It had been slow and romantic, with Toto insisting on learning every detail of your body to give you the pleasure you deserved.

However, you knew that statement was not entirely true. Since that night, your body had changed drastically, being pushed to the limit to bring your daughter into the world. You were no longer that young girl, but a mature woman, whose skin bore the marks of motherhood on your breasts, belly and hips.

— Well, the only difference is me.

He raised an eyebrow.

— You?

— I'm not the same person I was that night — you murmured, taking a hand to your belly. Then, with your finger, you traced the path of one of the faded stretch marks that seemed to glow against your skin, watching as his eyes were fixed on the movement of your hand — I've changed a lot since I had Lena… 

Bringing one hand to your chin, he lifted your face so you could meet his warm, gentle gaze.

— And yet you're still beautiful. Do you know why?

— Why?

— Because those are marks of love, Y/N. Marks of our love, which gave us our beautiful daughter. And I love every single one of them — Toto said, before bringing your lips to his. The kiss was delicate, as were the steps he took towards the bed, his hands caressing your skin, as if he wanted to assure you that his words were true and that he, in fact, loved each of one of those marks, even if they made you feel old and inadequate at times.

When you felt your back land on the soft duvet, you opened your eyes again to find Toto still standing on the edge of the bed, quickly taking off his shorts. Seeing him stark naked in front of you made you allow an anxious gasp to escape your lips.

— All good? — he asked as he positioned himself between your legs, one hand busy pumping his own cock.

— Yes — you replied, your eyes fixed on the movement of his hand and the anticipation of feeling him inside you. Following his gaze, Toto seemed to remember something.

— Do you want to use a condom?

— Do you think we need it? — you asked, almost innocently. In a normal context of casual sex, you wouldn't go without some sort of protection. However, that wasn't just a casual fuck, but a reunion.

— Well, I didn’t bring any. Did you?

— No…

— Great — he murmured — I also had a vasectomy a few years ago, so I don't think we’re going to get in any trouble, or anything.

— I wouldn’t mind if we got into some trouble — you said quietly. Something about the idea of having another child with him made your skin tingle. Lena had always asked for a brother and you had always said no, stating that having one copy of Toto at home was enough for you. However, at that moment, you wished that you had a few more of him.

— I wouldn't mind either, Y/N — he whispered, as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing your clit lightly — Not at all.

The pressure that accompanied the low growl that came out of Toto's throat had you rolling your eyes as a strangled groan escaped your lips. A warm wave ran over your skin, your nails digging into his skin as his dick settled inside you.

— Fuck — Toto said through clenched teeth, eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

You wanted to speak, but at the same time, no words came out of your parted lips. Raising your hands to his face, you pulled him against you, your lips against his in a slow, wanting kiss. That moment encouraged Toto to move his hips against yours, savoring the pleasure that coursed through your bodies.

The rhythm built almost instinctively, the strength of your fingers making him accelerate his thrusts against your pussy, the sound of your wetness joining your moans.

— Yes, yes, yes, Toto — you muttered under your breath, encouraging him to continue at that pace, feeling your muscles tense.

— I missed you so much, liebes — he growled, as he took his hand to one of your legs and pulled it higher, slightly changing the angle of your hips — So, so, so much…

— Me too, me too — you replied in a low voice, while pressing your heel against the base of Toto's spine. Your body begged for more, much more than just the pleasure he was giving you. You wanted his anger, his pride, his joy and his love. You wanted to become a part of him, the same way you wanted him to become a part of you.

As you felt his fingertips brush against your clit, you felt your whole body tense, your lips tightening in an attempt to stifle your moans. It was so much that your eyes filled with tears, but something inside you said that they weren't limited to that effort.

It wasn't just lust or lust anymore.

It was love. Pure, simple, and finally awake after so long.

It was with that thought and eyes finally open again, locked on Toto's, that you felt your body finally reach its climax, your lips letting out a groan before he kissed you, muffling the sound. Your legs shook as your nails dug into his shoulders as he took his last thrusts.

— Y/N, fuck — Toto growled before he came, followed by a primal growl, as if this was his way of claiming you for himself. And with the heat of his pleasure inside you, the certainty that you were his only grew. You had always been his.

Pulling his cock out of your pussy, your ex-husband collapsed next to you on the bed, breathing heavily. Staring at the ceiling in silence, something inside you wanted to feel guilt, while your muscles were still shaking with the aftershocks. However, you didn't feel any remorse or regret.

— Are you okay? — Toto asked you. Looking in his direction, you smiled.

— Yeah… You? — you whispered.

— I feel better than I have in a long time — he said, making you laugh — What?

— You sound like you haven't had sex in years.

— Well, it has been years since I've had sex with someone I loved, so…

The phrase made you turn your body towards Toto, resting your head on his shoulder. Something in the way he looked at you filled your chest with something completely different from anything you had felt until then.

Hope.

— Do you love me? — you asked softly.

— I never stopped loving you, liebes. Not even when I wanted to hate you for leaving. I can only love you. I don’t know how to do anything but love you — he replied, before kissing your forehead tenderly. And it was there, nestled in his chest, that you fell into a serene and, in a way, happy sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of knocking on your bedroom door.

— Mom? — Lena's muffled voice asked — Are you there?

Rubbing your eyes, you were about to respond when you realized you hadn't slept alone. The sound of the shower coming from the bathroom indicated that Toto had already woken up and, probably, that was what made your daughter knock.

— Yes, honey, I'm here — you replied, in an uncertain tone.

— Can I come in?

Suddenly your eyes widened, adrenaline rushing through your body as you scrambled to your feet, quickly looking for something to wear.

— No, I'm getting dressed!

— But you never…

— Wait a minute, my love — you shouted towards the entrance of the room, while picking up a robe that was hanging on one of the armchairs. Clutching the terry cloth against your body, you went to the door and opened a small crack — Hi, honey.

Lena was looking at you with a serious expression, her eyes still swollen from the tears she had shed the night before.

— Good morning, mom.

— Are you okay?

— Yeah, I am — she replied — I wanted to talk to you. Actually, I wanted to talk to you and dad, but I don’t know where he is.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. She definitely couldn't even imagine Toto was right next door, washing the remnants of sex and sweat from his skin in your bathroom.

— He must have gone to the gym or taken a walk on the beach — you tried to dismiss, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

— I don't know, mom, the living room is a mess — she said, looking at the room next door — There's a bottle of whiskey, some empty glasses, dad’s shirt is on the floor...

“Fucking hell, Torger, of all the times to not be so uptight about cleaning”, you thought.

— He must be hungover, like that time in Abu Dhabi — you said, causing Lena to smirk.

— That was terrible — she muttered.

— Indeed.

You stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

— Well, I'll let you finish your shower and then we'll see what to do. Do you want me to order breakfast?

— Yes, that would be great. Thank you — you replied, before smiling and closing the door, letting out a sigh of relief. Your daughter definitely didn't need to know that you had just slept with her dad, especially after almost 15 years since your divorce.

It was an unnecessary shock for that moment.

Opening the bathroom door, you saw Toto's silhouette through the fogged glass, his fingers buried in his dark hair as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. You crept toward the shower, opening the door a crack to watch him, savoring the way the water ran down his body with your lower lip between your teeth.

Then, he opened his eyes.

— Good morning, liebes — Toto said, with a smile.

— Good morning.

— Was that Lena at the door?

— Yeah. She wants to talk to us, but she couldn't find you anywhere.

— I can't imagine why — he murmured, making you smile — Want to come in with me? I can wash your hair if you want.

Nodding, you took off your robe and stepped into the shower with Toto, feeling his warm, wet hands wrap around your waist. Smiling, you couldn't resist giving him a kiss, while the drops of hot water fell on your body.

— I love you, liebes — he said softly, his lips brushing yours.

— I love you too, darling.

He washed your hair practically silently, only speaking to ask you to step under the jet of hot water. While you were drying off, Toto asked you if you had any plans to get him out of your room without being seen by Lena. After a few minutes of discussion, you opted to split up, with you distracting her while he went back to his own suite to get dressed and pretend nothing had happened.

It looked perfect.

With your hair still damp, you left your room trying to ignore the tightness in your stomach. Quickly scanning the room, you found your daughter leaning against the glass railing of the balcony, her gaze lost on the horizon. Approaching slowly, you were thinking of asking about her plans for the day when she spoke up.

— I already ordered breakfast — Lena said, not looking at you.

— Oh, good — you replied — Thank you, darling.

More silence. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

— Look, my love, I...

— You're going to apologize for yesterday, aren't you?

— Yeah. I shouldn’t have acted like that, and ruined your night…

— Mom — Lena said, looking at you — It wasn't about ruining my night. The problem there was that you did exactly the opposite of what I asked you to do before we left home.

You pursed your lips.

— I know you hate each other and that you wish the other didn't exist, but you can't change the past, much less the fact that you had a daughter together.

— I know, my love…

— Then why did you make that whole scene at the restaurant?

— Because I don't want to lose you, Magdalena — you replied, in a low voice — You are my only daughter, the person I love most in the world and...

— Mom, you won't lose me.

— Are you sure? — you asked her, your voice cracking.

— Yes, I am. But, you have to understand that I grew up and that I can make my own choices, without you or dad deciding for me — Lena said, her tone of voice making her sound much older than she really was.

— And what did you decide? — a deep voice asked. Looking back, you found Toto standing at the balcony door, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

Lena smiled.

— I've decided I'm not going to decide anything here — she said — I'll go over my options when I get home, alone, without either of you two putting pressure on me.

— You know you don't have to…

— Mom — Lena interrupted you — I need to do this alone. I know you want to help me, just like dad does, but I have to decide things for myself, no matter how difficult they are.

Looking at Lena, you finally realized that you were no longer in front of the same little girl that you had put on your lap and taken away from the apartment where you lived with Toto, back in 2009. You were in front of a woman, who, in addition to love, you also deeply admired.

— It's okay, bébé — Toto finally spoke — It's always your decision. But, know that we will always be by your side, supporting you no matter what choice you make. Isn't that right, Y/N?

You hesitated, looking at your daughter with a tight lump in your throat. “Does it have to be that hard?”, you asked yourself.

— Mom?

— You know I'll always support you, Lena — you finally managed to speak — Even though it's terrible to think about being away from you, not being able to hug you, kiss you and tell you how much I love you whenever I want. I'm always by your side, my love.

She smiled, advancing towards the two of you and enveloping you in a tight hug. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to savor that moment, feeling the warmth of your daughter's arms and of Toto, who had run a hand down your back to bring you both closer to him.

Feeling him kiss your hair, you smiled.

You were home. Finally home.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9204 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, top Hob, bottom Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, Hob matches his freak, Bossy Dream, Agreeable Hob, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiatic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, rimming, anal sex, felching-adjacent, inconsequential ingestion of lube, effusive endearments, dirty talk, overstimulation, anal fingering, help my hookup is growing feelings

Notes: Third in the Turbo Lover series (Customer Service and Every Nerve Alive on Tumblr, if AO3 is down). This one happened because Dream was insistent on getting properly fucked in the garage and I refuse to be the author who uses engine grease or motor oil for lube. This fills the free space (B2) on my @dreamlingbingo card, and is also the longest Sandman fic I've written to date.

Summary: Dream comes back to Matthew's Motor Repairs the next day and Hob gives him everything he asks for

On AO3 Hob re-locks the door as soon as he's ducked inside the shop the next morning; he's not opening for people today.

He has other obligations, after all.

He first makes a thorough job of cleaning and sweeping the floor around the Porsche. Whatever the plan today entails, he doesn't want to wind up kneeling on a bit of gravel or taking a stray hex nut to the arse cheek while he's fucking his rich admirer. Granted he may need to do a quick spot-sweep when Dream shows up—if Dream shows up—since he'll be working on the car in the meantime, but doing it now will make that faster.

…Of course Dream's going to show up, Hob's not worried. Guy was thirsty as fuck yesterday, he'll be back. He's got a car to pick up, after all, and speaking of, Hob had best make sure it's ready.

He strips out of his clothes and dons his coveralls nude, leaves them unzipped to the waist, not even bothering to keep his underwear today. It's cooler than yesterday but still plenty warm, and this will make things faster once Dream shows up. He's pretty sure Dream will appreciate the aesthetic, also.

Hob whistles to himself working under Dream's Porsche, finishing up the clutch replacement that he hadn't quite been able to focus on after Dream left yesterday. It's quick work to wrap it up and he makes sure to let grease smears accumulate on his arms and maybe he deliberately puts a couple of artistically-placed smudges on his chest, for fun.

With the clutch done, he moves on to changing the oil, flushing and refilling the other fluids, and giving the car a general tuneup. The Porsche is a beautiful machine and Hob's thrilled to have the chance to work on her.

He's thrilled to have the chance to work on her owner, too.

When the shop bell rings, Hob's heart leaps. He's just got the car all closed up and down from the ramps and done another quick sweep so assuming that's Dream, and it should be, his timing is perfect. He winds his way to the front, zipping up his coveralls just in case and opening the door.

Dream is there on the other side, as breathtakingly gorgeous as Hob remembers. "Am I the 'special circumstances'?" he asks, coy and smouldering as he taps the handwritten sign Hob had pasted in the window—Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances; ring if you have an appointment.

"The specialist of circumstances," Hob agrees, effervescent joy and lust bubbling up inside him, spilling into his smile. "Closed up so I'm all yours. Entirely at your service."

"Wonderful," Dream purrs, stepping through the door. "For I am desperately in need of the services of a good mechanic."

Hob pulls the door closed after him, ensures it's latched in and that it's still locked, then turns with a grin. "You've come to the right place then, love. I'm at your disposal, one hundred percent, and I will personally see to your complete satisfaction. Guaranteed." He winks.

Dream steps in closer, tilts his head just enough to gaze up heatedly from beneath his lashes, toys with the tab of the zipper at Hob's collarbone. "Do you offer such comprehensive personal service to all your customers?" He's slowly drawing the zip down as he speaks.

Hob's heartrate picks up and his breath goes a bit short. "Oh no, this comes special with our uh, our loyalty rewards program," he manages, with his best charm-the-customer smile. The dainty fingertips unzipping his coveralls are very distracting.

Dream stops once he's exposed Hob's chest hair, rakes his nails through it lightly, skirting the grease smeared above it. "But this is the first time I have brought my patronage to your shop," he counters, with the prettiest little pout.

Hob shakes his head. "See I count twice; you tried out my services yesterday and found them satisfactory enough to come back today. And I'm very sure, if I meet your exacting standards, I can earn your repeat business. So I'll opt you in, because I have that much confidence in the quality of my work."

He's mixing his references clumsily, the car repairs and the sex getting muddled together, but Dream is smiling all the same. "Let us hope your confidence is not misplaced, then," he says, voice dipping lower in that way that makes Hob's stomach tighten delightfully. "I should hate to be granted such privilege unduly."

With that, Dream draws the zipper down more, then turns and steps away, casting a come-hither glance over his shoulder as he sashays toward the door into the garage. Hob, unzipped to the waist and hard already, is hot to follow, but first—

He tears the sign from the window, hangs the normal 'Closed' sign in its place, double-checks the lock and throws the deadbolt for good measure. He rounds the reception desk and logs into the phone system, makes sure the auto-answer is set to the 'closed unexpectedly' option, and sets the ringer to after-hours so it'll go straight to messages instead of ringing through. Not that he'd be stopping in the middle of whatever they're about to be doing to answer the phone, but this way they're guaranteed no distractions, no interruptions. Then he hurries after Dream.

Dream is completely naked when he gets back to the garage, leaning pale and pretty and barefoot against the side of his Porsche with his arms loosely folded and his cock hanging ready, half-hard, beautiful.

"Well hello, gorgeous," Hob says, unabashedly enthusiastic as he approaches, wondering if he's meant to just dive in or wait for a cue, if he's allowed to pull Dream into his arms and start with a kiss. His gaze falls to the delicate arches of Dream's feet, the soft pale curves of his toes (with black-painted nails!), and he's really glad he swept up first.

"You occupy my thoughts incessantly, Hob Gadling," Dream says, pushing off the car and stepping close to Hob again, hands reaching to toy with the open edges of his coveralls.

"Do I, now?" Hob decides on a caution-to-the-wind approach and snakes an arm around Dream's waist, raises a dirt-stained thumb to brush over his cheek. Dream hadn't hesitated yesterday to say what he did and didn't want; Hob will trust him to do the same today. "They're good thoughts, I hope?"

"Very," Dream breathes, gripping the coveralls, tugging marginally; his eyes are dark, his pale cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, his pretty pink lips slightly parted, and Hob sees no reason to resist the temptation presented.

The noise Dream makes when Hob kisses him is soft, eager, encouraging, and Hob presses closer, lets both hands play over Dream's bare skin, up and down his spine. Dream is kissing back, heated and insistent; he slips both hands inside Hob's coveralls, around his waist and down to grasp his arse cheeks, squeeze appreciatively, pull him closer.

Hob breaks away with a gasp, delighted and impossibly turned on; Dream squeezes again, nips at the scruff on his chin. "You are not wearing any underwear today, Hob," he murmurs, in a tone of pleased discovery, and Hob can't help grinning.

"Thought you might appreciate it," he says, breathless, hands stroking up and down Dream's biceps, leaving faint smudges behind. "Makes things a bit faster, easier—"

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

"Only for you," he answers, which is truer than it would have been two weeks ago. "God, you smell good today—" He really does, floral-herbal freshness wafting from his hair, faint notes of soap and a light cologne lingering on his skin; Hob lets instinct shape his words. "So clean and pretty, too; come down to the garage to get properly dirty, have we?"

The way Dream shivers against him tells him that was indeed the right thing to say.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, and squeezes Hob's arse again. "I very much appreciate your wardrobe choices, in that regard." He brings his hands around front, one dipping to cup Hob's dick while the other draws the zipper all the way down underneath.

"Thought you might," Hob manages, while Dream's slender fingertips touch his balls, stroke with gentle pressure, and then Dream is moving, grasping at the shoulders of Hob's coveralls and pushing them off.

"I would feel you, bare, against me," is what he says, which sounds like a fine idea to Hob. He struggles briefly with the rolled-up sleeves but as soon as his arms are free Dream is in them, pressing up against him, kissing him fiercely and completely derailing any attempt at getting the coveralls all the way off.

Fuck it, Hob decides, letting them just fall around his legs as he wraps Dream close and kisses him back, hungry and insistent to match Dream's fervor. He backs him up a step, two, until Dream's narrow arse hits the Porsche again and he squirms prettily, his cock nudging up against Hob's as they break the kiss, panting.

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

Dream shakes his head, an effortlessly imperious little gesture. "I wish to ride you, first." He gestures to the creeper. "Please."

Clearly, clearly Dream's got some very specific fantasies about cars and mechanics and Hob is delighted that he gets to help make them happen. "Absolutely," he grins, shuffling down into position on the board.

Dream grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from where he'd stashed them between the windscreen and the bonnet and drops next to Hob. Which is just as well since Hob's supplies are with his clothes in the locker on the other side of the garage; he leans back on his elbows as Dream tears open the condom and rolls it onto him.

"You've got such pretty hands," he breathes, shivering at the glide of Dream's touch along his shaft, and doesn't miss the breath Dream sucks in at the compliment. "Gonna show me how you use those fingers to open yourself up? Or do I get to do that for you, hm?"

"Neither," Dream answers, rising and turning to lean over the side of the bonnet, which confuses Hob for half a second until he speaks again.

"Spread me open," he directs, and Hob is only to happy to sit up and comply, to see the greasy smudge of his fingerprints smeared on Dream's lily-white arse—

Dream is wearing a plug.

Hob's libido, already cranked to eleven, ratchets up another notch. "Oh, fuck," he breathes reverently, wide-eyed. Dream had put that in at home, had come here sitting on it, walking with it inside him, just to be ready for Hob's cock?

Christ, but that's hot.

He watches raptly as Dream's slender fingers grip the wide base and start pulling; he takes his time and Hob gets to just hold him open and watch as Dream's hole slowly stretches around the flare of the thing, bigger and bigger until it finally passes the widest point and slides the rest of the way free, and the hungry little sound of relief Dream makes as it comes out makes Hob's dick ache.

He desperately wants to slip his tongue in there, wriggle it into the shrinking gape and let Dream's body close to grip snugly around him, but Dream is a man on a mission, and that mission is getting Hob's prick inside him. He straightens up, turns and straddles Hob, fingertips to Hob's chest pressing him down as Dream squats over his lap. He drops the plug aside, reaches behind to take Hob's slicked-up rubber-wrapped cock and guide it into his body as he comes down, and the sound he makes plus the tight warm sheath of his arse have Hob absolutely riveted.

Dream lifts himself, thighs straining and hand firmly on Hob's chest now, fucks himself up and down on Hob's prick while hovering over it, letting out the most decadent moans each time he sinks onto it. He'd said he wanted to ride Hob but he's only made it as far as squatting, like he's so desperate for Hob's cock he can't even wait to get all the way into proper position for it and Hob (and his dick) definitely feel some kind of way about it. Dream's own prick bobs stiff and eager in front of him, a little drop of fluid glistening at the tip already, and Hob almost wishes he was enough of a contortionist to get it in his mouth. Later, perhaps. Right now he's got this gorgeous creature pistoning eagerly on his cock and well on his way to losing his mind, from the sound of it.

Hob spreads both hands over the tops of Dream's thighs, feeling how they tremble with exertion, and finally draws them down, forward, coaxing Dream out of his squat and into a proper kneeling position. He shifts his grip to Dream's hips and pulls him onto his cock at the same time, all the way down until he's buried deep up inside and Dream is panting the breathiest little 'yes, yes, yes's as he bottoms out, eyes wide and glazed. His hand is still planted on Hob's chest and Hob takes it up carefully, draws it to his mouth and kisses Dream's fingertips; Dream whines, gaze sharpening and honing in on Hob's actions. Hob's lips brush the pads of those fingers as he speaks.

"Did you still want to ride me, darling? Or should I hold you still and start fucking up into that pretty little hole?"

Dream shivers, makes another needy little noise and draws himself up on Hob's cock, sinks back down, does it again, and again, faster, harder, until he's panting breathless moans on every pass. His hands are planted on Hob's chest, up near his shoulders next to the grease smeared beneath his collarbone, and Hob rests his hands at Dream's hips, ready to take up the slack if he's needed.

Dream rides like a pro, to be honest, finding his rhythm and moving steadily in pursuit of his pleasure. His arse is snug and hot and slick, his voice like a song as he glides so easily up and down on Hob's prick; he feels amazing, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe as it goes on and on, to keep a rein on his own pleasure until Dream's gotten everything he needs.

At last Dream's pace begins to falter, his panting moans stuttering into broken little whimpers as he flags in his feverish bouncing. "Hob," he whines, arse wriggling lower, his fingers clutching at Hob's chest hair. "You feel. So good, inside me—"

"Do I?" Hob breathes, fingertips brushing over Dream's flanks, and it's weak, so weak as far as dirty talk goes but he can't help it. He's enamoured, struck senseless by how into this Dream is, and words are failing him.

"Yes—" Dream squirms forward and back, circles his hips beneath Hob's attentive grease-stained hands, moans prettily. "Hob, please—"

He doesn't even have to specify, it's clear enough what he's after now, and Hob moves to grip him properly, to lift him just slightly. He clutches tight, fingertips digging in to what little meat there is on Dream's arse, plants his boots on the concrete floor and thrusts up into him.

Dream cries out, clenches his fists on Hob's shoulders and throws his head back, chest heaving. Hob draws out and thrusts again, full force, and again, and Dream shudders, gasping, delighted. "Hob—yes—yes—" He squeezes tight around Hob's prick and groans, drops his head to meet Hob's gaze with fever-bright eyes. "Fuck me—I want—"

"Tell me," Hob breathes, mesmerized, shifting his feet for better leverage and thrusting into him again, and Dream warbles beautifully.

"Faster. Deeper—as hard and as deep as you can, Hob—!"

"'Course, love," Hob gasps, hips moving to comply with barely a thought, and Dream's voice rises into a long keening wail as Hob gives him precisely what he's asked for.

"Yes—yes—yes—!" He tosses his head back again, the arch of his throat working beautifully as he chokes out 'yes' after 'yes', arms stiff and trembling, hands still braced tight on Hob's shoulders.

Hob grunts with exertion, pounding up into Dream with everything he's got, thighs damp and sticking slightly where they press against Dream's. He's transfixed by the rapture in Dream's face, the sheen of sweat on his neck and chest, the stream of noises coming out of his pretty mouth; he looks and sounds like having Hob's cock in him is the best thing ever, like it's everything he wanted, and Hob is fast falling in love with how expressive he is about sex.

Dangerous thoughts, those; he puts them far away, concentrates on pumping hard and fast and deep up into Dream's lovely arse to make him come. He's careful still not to come himself; Dream has clearly got plans and it's his job to stay hard as long as Dream needs his cock.

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

Hob squeezes Dream's arse, spreading his cheeks just a tiny bit more, and shifts the tempo down slightly, fucks up into him long and smooth, deep, steady. Dream wails, lost in the pleasure of it, and droops suddenly to lay over Hob's chest, a graceful fall into an open kiss interspersed with Dream's panting and whimpering. Hob shifts his hips to accommodate the changed angle and Dream sobs into his mouth, needy, desperate. His prick is nestled against Hob's belly, wet at the tip, hot and hard and Dream is moving helplessly as Hob fucks him, rutting through the hair on Hob's stomach in little jerks. He's tense in Hob's arms, trembling, skin damp with sweat all over and Hob thinks he could do this forever if he had to, fucking this gorgeous creature curled atop him but he doesn't have to, he knows, he can tell, Dream is nearly there—

Dream goes rigid abruptly, breath choking in his throat as his mouth opens wider, still meshed to Hob's. A high thin sound trickles out of his throat and Hob laps it up, fucks into him once, twice, again, and then Dream convulses with a wail, wet warmth blooming on Hob's belly. He buries himself as deep into Dream as he can and holds it there, flexes against the rhythmic clutching of Dream's arse around him, kisses Dream through the tremors and pulses of orgasm until he goes limp.

He spends a moment petting up and down Dream's spine then while Dream lies boneless atop him, catching his breath. He's still warm and tight around Hob's dick, perfect and tempting and—

And heavier than he looks, honestly; Hob shifts to take him by the shoulders, lifts him off his chest just a bit. Dream takes the cue, raises himself somewhat, blinks the haze from his eyes as he meets Hob's. The smile on his lips quickly sharpens to something simmering with heat, but Hob saw. He saw that glimpse of softness, the glow of bliss on Dream's face and he feels the way his heart trips, knows he's losing his battle.

There's a faint smudge of grease on Dream's forehead that probably came from Hob's collarbone and his dick twitches to see it. Dream shivers and squeezes around him and Hob sighs, a full and happy sound.

"You're pretty when you come," he says, gathering his wits about him again. He smears his hand through the mess on his stomach, picks up a little grease from just beside it, reaches to cradle Dream's face. "So, so pretty." He strokes his fingers back through Dream's hair, leaving a faint black smudge and sticky colorless smears on his cheekbone and more than a trace of filth in his hair.

"Only when I come?" It's a tease, accompanied by a gentle squeeze around him, and Hob shivers.

"'Course not," he murmurs, flexing his dick in response, delighted by the shiver that runs through Dream in turn. "You're pretty when you're bouncing on my cock, too. And when you tell me what you want me to do to you. And yesterday." He flexes again, warming to the topic. "You looked so pretty yesterday, with grease smeared on your face and my prick in your mouth."

Dream makes a pleased sound, squeezes his arse around Hob again, and Hob is more than ready to carry on, if Dream is. He strokes his thumb over the tacky mess on Dream's cheek. "Can I dirty you up some more, beautiful? Make you come for me again?"

"I should be very disappointed if you did not, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, and there's that imperious little smirk again, the one Hob is already too attached to.

He'll give this man whatever he wants, and love every second of it.

"What next, then, sweetheart?" He's slowly pulsing up into Dream now in unhurried rhythm, too leisurely to be called fucking but ready to pick up the pace in a heartbeat. "Keep going like this?" The creeper is getting a bit uncomfortable, truth be told, and he wouldn't mind getting up off the floor but if Dream's not done yet he'll tough it out.

"No." Thankfully Dream sits all the way up, wriggles deliciously on Hob's cock, bottomed out and heavy-eyed with the pleasure of having it so deep inside him. "Next, I would have you—ahh—" He squirms, back arching, mouth falling open as Hob gives in to the temptation of dragging the rough grease-stained pad of his thumb over one pristine petal pink nipple. "Bend—bend me over the bonnet. Fuck me until I scream—Hob—!" He's panting as Hob caresses the tender little bud of flesh, writhing as if he could take Hob any deeper.

Hob shivers. "Fuck. Alright. As you wish, you precious beautiful man—" He lifts Dream's hips, lifts Dream off his cock as he sits up, then wraps one arm under Dream's narrow arse and heaves them both up with a grunt of exertion, his other hand braced on the car for support. It's awkward as fuck with his coveralls still wadded about his ankles and he can tell already his back and thighs are going to hate him for it tomorrow, but it's entirely worth it for the arousal that flares in Dream's widened eyes, the way he clings and wraps his legs around Hob, the way he surges in to kiss Hob again.

Hob shuffles round the front of the car using his one hand for guidance while Dream devours his mouth, and carefully lowers Dream onto the bonnet. He knows it's not the position Dream was looking for but he can't help slipping his cock back into him like this, when Dream is still wrapped around him and ripe for the plowing.

Dream breaks the kiss with a reedy little whining noise as Hob nudges inside him and sinks deep; he claws at Hob's shoulders and draws his legs back, open and practically begging and alright, okay, Hob can give him a good minute like this first, fucks into him in soft smooth rhythm. Dream's pretty pink cock is stiffening up again already, laying thick and half-filled against his belly and jolting with every thrust; he's panting open-mouthed, the sweetest little sounds falling out of him each time Hob pushes in.

"You're gorgeous like this too," Hob gets out, needing the talk to divide his focus, to keep himself going without risk of finishing. "So eager, so open, so fuckable—" Dream shudders, biting off a deep whine at the word, leaned back and still hanging onto Hob's shoulders for support, feet braced on his hips, and Hob zeroes in on his advantage. "Has no one ever called you that before, sweetheart? Fuckable?"

"None I would care to hear it from," Dream moans, pulling himself up closer, disrupting Hob's rhythm. "But. From your lips. It sounds like a benediction—" He kisses Hob, tongue plunging into his mouth, arms wrapping tight behind Hob's neck. His legs shift also, wrapping back around Hob's waist and he pulls himself close, up off the car as Hob gets his arms quickly underneath to support him.

"Give a bloke an ego, talking like that," he gasps, when Dream lets him up for air.

"It's well-deserved," Dream counters, nipping at his lower lip and shifting his weight so that Hob steps back to keep them balanced. "You are exquisite, and talented with your dick, and I wish to be so deeply and thoroughly fucked over my car that I will still feel you inside me tomorrow." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's mouth and unlocks his legs from around him, lets Hob set him back on his feet.

"Do you need a refresh on your lube first?" Hob gasps, mindful of what they've already done and what Dream still wants from him and the serviceable life of water-based lube.

Dream pauses, considering. "Perhaps," he says, with the restlessness of someone eager to get back into action but recognizing the wisdom of the question regardless.

Hob leans around him and reaches, snags the lube off the bonnet. "Let me slick you up a bit more just to be safe." He glances at his hands, perpetually stained and still dirty enough to leave smudges on Dream's skin. "Or you can, since your hands are cleaner?"

"Yes," Dream agrees, taking the bottle and squirting some out. He reaches behind himself and Hob gets to watch his face flicker through half a dozen little expressions; he's clearly moving for function over pleasure but there's enjoyment to be had all the same, from the look of it.

"There." Dream straightens as he finishes, eyes Hob with new heat in his gaze. "Are you clean."

"What?"

Dream narrows his eyes, clearly conveying both horniness and impatience in equal measure. "I am clean; I test regularly. I want your come inside me. Are. You. Clean."

Hob's libido flares, wildly. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, okay." Caution to the wind, and all that.

Dream reaches down and removes Hob's condom, drops it aside and picks up the lube again. He slicks up Hob's cock, kisses him fiercely while doing so, then turns and drapes himself over the bonnet of his Porsche and lifts up on his toes, arse presented. "Fuck me," he demands over his shoulder, breathless and eager like he hadn't just come bouncing on Hob's cock not ten minutes ago. Insatiable. "Hold me down with your work-dirtied hands and fuck me—"

Hob doesn't need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes in, bare slick and easy, all the way to the hilt. Dream makes the most appreciative and desperate little moan, wriggling backwards; Hob grabs his hip with one grease-stained hand, plants his other in the middle of Dream's narrow back and fucks.

Dream cries out, high gasping breaths punched from his lungs with every thrust and Hob just revels in it, moving in sure and steady rhythm. It's easy, so easy, smooth and slick and so good, and Dream's enthusiastic response is—it's heady, to have someone react to him this way, to want him this much, and he'll do everything he can to give Dream what he wants, to make it worth it. It's no hardship, far from it.

"Your arse is so hot," Hob pants, "so tight, absolutely perfect. Can't believe you wore that glass plug here so you'd be ready to get plowed." He grinds his hips deep in emphasis, draws out a little and relishes the way Dream whimpers when he slams back in. "Sweet of you, though. Did it turn you on, sitting on it in the cab? Feeling it move inside you when you walked? Were you horny and eager the whole way here, darling, stuffed full with your toy and imagining my prick in its place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dream cries, as much an answer as it is interjection. He's thrusting backward as best he can in Hob's hold, eager and desperate, and Hob keeps fucking, keeps talking.

"I loved watching you take it out. Your beautiful hole stretching bigger and bigger around it, how open you were after. Wanted to stick my tongue in there, sweetheart, wanted to eat you out, make you squirm."

Dream is gasping, wailing, trembling where Hob pins him to the car, head tossing, breath heaving under Hob's steady hand. His cock is surely leaking a mess all over the bonnet; Hob'll have to clean it for him again when they're done.

"You've got the prettiest little hole I've ever seen," Hob continues, steady and unflagging in his rhythm. He leans back, drags both hands to Dream's arse cheeks and squeezes, spreads them so he can easily see himself sinking in, his naked prick pushing and pulling at the puffy pink rim of Dream's hole again and again. He slows, savoring the sight, and Dream whines, clenches around him as he presses back in. "Absolutely beautiful," Hob breathes, thumb moving to stroke over the delicate skin stretched tight around the girth of his prick. "Exquisite. I'm so lucky I get to ravish it."

He knows on one hand he sounds ridiculous as he picks up the pace again, but on the other it's doing the trick on both counts—distracting him from his own pleasure to draw it out, and driving Dream higher at the same time.

And Dream is absolutely being driven to the heights of pleasured madness, that much is clear. He's writhing on the bonnet under Hob's steady pounding, fingers clutching futilely at the glossy surface, skin flushed and sweat-damp and sticking to the car, ribs heaving. And the sounds coming out of his mouth? Good god, he's noisy, so fucking loud and it's not like Hob doesn't love it, not like there's anyone around to hear or any other reason to hold back. It does great things for his ego, the way Dream's wailing like he's never been railed this good in his life, but Hob's got an idea and his instincts say it's spot-on, so he goes for it.

He claps his hand—still grimy from the tune-up, still a little tacky with Dream's come—he claps it gently over Dream's mouth, stifling his volume, and Dream jolts, then goes wild. His head goes all the way back, giving Hob easier coverage; his breath comes short and sharp through his nose, faster and faster in time with his cries that go higher and shriller, muffled by Hob's not-exactly-clean hand. His body has gone tense, trembling, hips thrusting back against Hob's with mounting desperation and god, but Hob is in love. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me again," he murmurs breathlessly, bending close to Dream's ear and the dried mess on his cheek and squeezing his hip, flexing the hand that covers his mouth. "Take your fill of my cock, shoot your load all over your car—I'll clean it again for you, don't worry—"

Dream stills abruptly, shaking, voice a strangled muffled shriek as he comes; Hob thrusts deep into his pulsing clenching arse and holds, intending to let Dream ride out his orgasm. But Dream wriggles, wrenches his head free of Hob's hand, gasping.

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

He straightens up and sets both hands back on Dream's hips, fucks eagerly into him, quickly re-establishing his rhythm and speeding up. "Good?" he grunts, sweat dripping down his temple, and Dream warbles out an affirmative.

"Harder—Hob—use me, claim me, fill me—!" His voice shakes; his hands are spasming against the bonnet, his arms trembling, and his arse is so tight and slick and hot, clenches so beautifully around him, Hob isn't going to last but another moment.

"Use your pretty little hole for my own pleasure?" he gets out, pounding into it now with everything he's got, spiraling up to the horizon, and Dream sobs.

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

"Claim it for myself?" Hob gasps, grinding deep, slamming into him again and again. "Fill you up with my come—ahh—here it is—Dream!"

Dream wails, and Hob comes, gasping, grunting, the euphoria sweeping through his veins in a warm rush. His hips jerk involuntarily, shoving deep, emptying himself thoroughly into Dream's clutching arse.

"Fuck," he pants, pulse pounding in his ears, "oh, fuck—"

It's good, so damn good, feels like it goes on forever, everything in his body alight with pleasure and pouring out through his dick, until at long last it subsides and he collapses, barely catching himself before he crushes Dream. He takes a minute, just panting above him, and then pulls out carefully—still wet and messy, regardless—with a groan. Dream whimpers, a sound of abject loss, but does not move from where he has gone limp on the car.

Hob turns carefully to perch beside him, resting his arse on the bonnet, catching his breath.

"Alright there, Dream?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mmh," is the only reply, and Hob takes a moment to just look at him, gaze sweeping over the lines of his body and the grey-black smudges he himself has left on that pristine pale skin. He lingers over the curves (such as they are) of Dream's arse, leans far enough to see where there's a mess of lube and semen dribbling down Dream's perineum to his balls, a glistening runnel of it trickling down his inner thigh—Hob shivers, arousal sparking despite the remains of orgasm still simmering in his blood.

"Christ, you look beautiful like this," he can't help saying. "Fucked out across the bonnet of your Porsche with your legs spread, and my come dripping out of your arse…"

"Silver tongue." Dream does not move from where he sprawls, languid and heavy-lidded, spread-eagled on the car, even as Hob levers himself up, moves to stand behind Dream again.

"Mmyes, that's right. Said something about having a use in mind for it, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps' he says," Hob drawls, grinning, but the idea's back in his head now and oh, he would like to get his tongue in Dream's arse, lube or no lube. He saw the bottle, it's water-based, it's not going to kill him to lick a bit of it up. "Why don't you tell me if this is what you had in mind, then."

He drops into a squat and flicks the tip of his tongue around the puffy rim of Dream's messy and very-pink hole, circling it with a light touch, and the sound that Dream makes is nothing but encouraging. His own come is no particular delicacy but just like the lube, he doesn't mind that he's getting a taste in the course of eating out this beautiful man. Dream's hole is swollen with use and sensitive and Hob kisses it softly, wets his tongue and wriggles it in, gently at first with slurping licks in between but with increasing enthusiasm until Dream is squirming against his face and he's as deep as he can get, grease-stained hands gripping those milk-white cheeks and spreading them wide.

The keening noise Dream makes urges him on and he delves back in again and again, breathless and eager, feasting until his face is sticky and his jaw aches. Finally he draws back, panting, senses filled with the smell and the taste of this man and still, Dream remains insatiable.

"More. Hob, I want more, do not send me on my way so unsated—"

He has come twice, surely he is not sincere when he says 'unsated', and yet. Here he is, pleading for more, as needy and eager as he's been the whole time. And god, but Hob wants to give him everything, is itching to finger him out but he's not doing that when his hands are still dirty, he's just not. Nor is he going to make Dream wait while he scrubs down with the Swarfega. He casts about, thinking, tongue lapping soothingly around Dream's sloppy hole all the while; there's the plug Dream was wearing but it's been sitting on the shop floor so no; it's shaped for stretching more than fucking anyway. His fingers really would be best—

"Did you bring more than just the one condom?"

"Mmh?" Dream sounds keyed up and hazy, blissed out on the attentions of Hob's tongue and Hob smiles, plants a kiss over his hole.

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

"And where did your trousers escape to?" He kisses again, flicks his fatigued tongue inside in a teasing lick.

"Front seat." Dream wriggles, needy, restless and wanting.

"Brilliant. Hang on, got an idea—" He scrambles up and around and finds the clothes rumpled in the Porsche's driver seat, rifles through the pockets for the promised condom and tears it open, slips it over his first two fingers as he shuffles round the front of the car again, coveralls still tangled in his boots. Dream is a vision sprawled face down and spread-legged on the bonnet, eyes tracking Hob's return, and Hob won't leave him waiting another instant.

"Here we are," he murmurs, condom-clad fingers sliding down the cleft of Dream's grease-smudged arse and slipping deftly into his hole still slick with lube and Hob's jizz, Hob's spit. Hob pushes deep, curves his touch down and massages, and Dream cries out, going rigid.

Grinning, Hob leans over the bonnet beside him, fingers working deep and steady, and watches Dream's prettily-dirtied face as he comes apart. He's mewling, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping; he's come twice already and his insides are swollen and sensitive, his pleasure easy to stoke to trembling heights. Hob shifts briefly to drizzle more lube in for good measure and then gives him no quarter, fingers steady and relentless in their attentions until Dream is shaking, sobbing, tears leaking from his eyes and saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He pushes up on trembling arms, collapses back to his elbows, head hanging low between his shoulders. "Hob—aah—Hob, please!" It's unclear if he's begging for more or begging for mercy, but the way he flexes up on his toes and pushes back on Hob's hand is telling enough.

"Shh," Hob soothes, leaning close enough to brush his mouth across Dream's bicep in an open kiss, and then, because he can't help being just a touch evil: "Do you want to come again? Or did you need me to stop?"

"Do not stop," he manages, and it is very much an order despite his gasping breathless delivery. "Your hands are exquisite, Hob—!"

"You say the sweetest things," Hob murmurs, kissing his arm again and rubbing particularly hard with both fingers.

Dream wails, head tossing, trembling, helpless, and Hob draws his fingers partway out only to drive them back in, again and again and again, curving his touch to hit that spot on every thrust. He twists his hand as he goes, employing every expert technique he's honed in his time to bring Dream up to the edge again.

God, he loves this, having another person trust him with their pleasure and being able to give them everything they want and then some. It's heady, addictive to have this beautiful man sobbing in delight because of him, shaking apart, because of him; he desperately wants for this to not be the last time. Predictably, his mouth starts running again, pleading his case.

"You can have this anytime you like, love, I'd be delighted to take care of you again. Your pretty mouth, your pretty cock, this pretty perfect eager little hole—" He twists his fingers just so, curls and presses.

Dream warbles out a wet, broken sound that may or may not be Hob's name, bends trembling knees to widen his stance just a little, letting Hob that much deeper inside him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

"Come see me anytime you just need a good hard fuck, mmh? Whenever you want a fun and filthy seeing-too from your handsome bit of rough down at the garage?" He pauses with his fingers buried deep, strokes them fast and firm over exactly the right spot again and again and Dream wails, a high thin keening noise deep in his throat that rises into a proper scream as he comes at last. His body spasms, clenches hard on Hob's fingers in pulsing rhythm and Hob doesn't let up for a long moment, milks him relentlessly through it until he collapses onto the bonnet, boneless and panting.

Hob stills his fingers at that point but doesn't yet pull them out, savoring the snug warmth they're nestled in and the beautiful picture Dream makes like this.

He did that. He made Dream come three times, worked this posh pretty thing into a limp fucked-out mess sprawled across his expensive car.

God, but he wants to do it again.

"Do you think you've got one more in you?" He can't help it; he's always been greedy.

Dream groans, a low sound that stirs something deep in Hob's stomach. "Three times, Hob. I am spent." Yet he makes no move to rise from the car or pull off from Hob's hand, which he could easily do.

Greatly daring, tempted beyond reason by this ravenous marvelous creature, Hob twitches his fingers where they're still pressed against Dream's prostate.

Dream jerks, a shudder running through him, then squeaks when Hob does it again. "Hob—!" His eyes fly open, shining beneath his wet lashes.

"I'll stop if you say so," Hob hastens to assure him. "But you did chide me to not send you home unsated and I just want to make sure I've given you everything"—he presses again—"you need."

Dream whines through his teeth, sucks in a great gasping breath as Hob lets up and cries out when Hob's fingers curl mercilessly within him again, and again, and again. He scrabbles uselessly at the bonnet and lifts his head, mouth open, muscles straining, body trembling as Hob starts taking him apart again before he's even pulled himself back together from the last orgasm.

Hob's good with his hands, in this as well as his work, and he's quite certain he can make Dream come again in fairly short order given how sensitized and overstimulated he is. Hob is also quite certain he can draw this out just a bit longer, work him up even more before pushing him over the edge again and quite frankly, that sounds like more fun.

"Stay with me sweetheart," he murmurs in between Dream's cries, shifting his hand to stave off the cramp that wants to start. He strokes Dream's insides with both fingers, together at first and then one after the other; the condom and the grip of Dream's body restrict his range of movement somewhat but not so much that he can't do his job well.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he breathes, fingers still moving steadily, and kisses his way softly up Dream's arm. "You're beautiful, perfect, so pretty and so hungry and so eager—" He's planting kisses across Dream's shoulders and back between words, moving down his spine next. "And you let me touch you, worship your body, get you off again and again and again—" He bends over Dream's arse, draws his fingers partway free and spreads them as wide as the condom allows, stretching open Dream's swollen well-used hole. He dips close, slides his tongue into the gap he's created and Dream moans, gasping, trembling. Hob takes a good minute with his tongue before pulling back and sinking his fingers deep again. "This hole, this perfect hungry insatiable hole, you let me fill it as I please, with my cock and my come and my fingers—so lucky, I am. Would you let me fill you with toys, too, sweetheart? I'll bet you've got a drawerful at home; I'd love to try them with you one by one, learn the best ways to play with each, to make you scream and sob and shake—" He's massaging Dream's prostate again, thorough and unhurried and Dream is indeed sobbing, incoherent. He moves, suddenly, draws up one knee beneath him on the bonnet and then the other as Hob moves with him. He's up on all fours briefly and then sinks down, folded double on his knees with his arms stretched out to grip where the bonnet meets the windscreen and his arse opened wide, letting Hob's fingers sink as deep as possible.

"Finish me, Hob," he begs, gripping weakly around Hob's diligent fingers, voice hoarse and shaky, "make me—make me—fuck, I can't—I can't—" He sobs, trembling, and Hob. Well. He's neither a cruel man, nor strong in the face of temptation, and his hand is ready to give out as well. So he buries his fingers to the hilt, seeks out that spot and gives it his all, strokes it quick and steady and firm, both fingers together, then one after the other, together again and Dream's knees spread wide, his spent prick pressing soft against the bonnet. He's making one long sound now, low and thin and straining in his throat, interspersed with gasping gulps of breath. His body trembles, jolts every time Hob presses harder at his prostate, and Hob leans back over beside him, softly kisses the curve of his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart, we're almost there," he breathes, fingering relentlessly. "Is it still good?"

"Yes—fuck—fuck—Hob!" Dream scrabbles one hand down in Hob's direction and Hob seizes it, laces their fingers together; Dream is sobbing, breathless, utterly wrecked and Hob's hand is giving out but he refuses to stop, to quit, not until—

Dream's body stiffens, convulses, bearing down on Hob's stuttering fingers in tremulous pulses and his voice has gone high, whistle-thin, and then he is gasping, tension falling out of him in a rush as he goes limp, breathing hard and heavy against the bonnet. Hob stills his aching hand at last, draws it out carefully and peels off the condom with his teeth, flings it aside. He'll clean up later. He stretches the cramping sensation from his hand and settles it lightly on Dream's still-heaving ribs, unable to keep from touching him even now that they're done.

"Alright, dove?" Hob asks, gently stroking up Dream's spine. "Can you move?" He gives a soft squeeze to their still-joined hands and is gratified to feel brief pressure in return. Dream turns his head, lifts it slightly; his eyes are wet, his hair sticking damply to his forehead and the grease smudge there; his mouth is open, a bit of drool still in the corner and Hob is helpless, gone, so fucking besotted and far too deeply attached for what this is. He dips in, kisses Dream with every soft emotion squirming captive in his chest and Dream just kisses him back, quiet, exhausted, willing.

"C'mere," Hob murmurs, straightening up, sitting back, leaning on the bonnet. He draws Dream after him, tucks him awkwardly up against his side and Dream allows it, nestles underneath his arm, still catching his breath.

This is the drawback to sex in the garage, Hob decides wryly; there is nowhere really suitable or comfortable for post-coital cuddles. He's seriously considering whether he can slide into the passenger seat of the Porsche with Dream in his lap when finally Dream stirs, lifts his head, shivers all over as he straightens and graces Hob with a small smile.

"I believe I will make use of your shop for all my future service needs," he says, primly, with a playful note underneath the exhaustion.

Hob laughs, hearty and full-bodied and joyous. "Glad to hear it," he says, when the laughter subsides. He's so utterly gone on this man, no matter how unlikely a pair they make, and he feels far too good right now to care about the future heartbreak he'll inevitably have to deal with.

He helps Dream down from the car then, steadies him on his feet and sees him around to the driver's seat where Dream first downs half the bottle of water he brought with him and then proceeds with re-dressing. Hob makes to get his coveralls pulled back up into place at that point but Dream stops him. "You promised to clean my spend off my car, I believe," he says, with that tone in his voice that makes Hob's insides go warm despite himself.

"Absolutely," he confirms, waiting, because there was clearly more forthcoming.

"I should like to see you with your trousers around your ankles and your arse on display while you do so." Dream blinks at him, all coquettish charm that is somehow enhanced by his disheveled and dirtied and half-dressed state. "If you are amenable, of course."

"I can do that for you," Hob agrees, delighted, even as he feels his face heat. It's not at all what he's used to but being ogled, being objectified—especially by his beautiful Dream—is no hardship, whatever his reason.

He finds a rag and the polish while Dream finishes putting himself back together and comes round the front of the Porsche again, and then Hob cleans up the bodily fluids on the bonnet, sweat and semen and lube and anything else, coveralls still around his ankles as requested. He wiggles his arse just a bit, since Dream is watching, and when that gets a pleased little sound out of Dream he does it a bit more, putting his whole body into the cleaning motions, bending at the waist and letting his hips swing in wide suggestive arcs.

"There," he says, finished, tossing the rag aside, and his arms are full of Dream as soon as he turns.

"Magnificent," Dream breathes against his mouth, and kisses him, warm and wet and thorough. Hob gives back as good as he gets, threads his hands into Dream's hair, and Dream's hands skate down his bare sides, around his hips and lower, seizing his arse cheeks and squeezing. His fingernails comb through the hair there and Hob squeaks, delighted, dick twitching with interest.

Dream breaks the kiss after only a few seconds. "There is so much more I want to do with you," he murmurs, kneading Hob's arse in slow sensual motions, "but I am spent. Well used. Sated, despite my lingering desires." He releases one cheek, moves to draw a fingertip along the slit of Hob's mostly-soft cock, where he surely encounters the tacky lube-laced remains of Hob's earlier orgasm. He brings that finger to his mouth, makes a show of licking it delicately before slipping it into his mouth to suck properly, and Hob whimpers.

"Dream, love, I meant what I said. Pop by anytime you need, I'll take care of you—"

"I believe you. After all, you have opted me into your loyalty program, yes? I must be sure to claim all of my associated benefits." He steps back, pulling out his phone and handing it to Hob with the contacts open. "Your number, please."

Hob types it in gladly, hits save, hands the phone back.

Dream cradles it close, a look on his face like he's savoring the addition of Hob's number, and glances up at Hob through his lashes. "I look forward to employing your services again, Hob Gadling. You are very much worth the trip."

"You just like me for my rugged filthiness," Hob says, a tease to keep his head in the right place—there's still no sense getting sentimental, after all, no matter the elated cartwheels his ego is doing at those words.

Dream regards him haughtily, one eyebrow lifting; the grease stains do nothing to diminish the expression. "I am quite certain I would enjoy you equally as much cleaned up and dressed up, that I might wine and dine you, take you home to my bed for an evening."

Hob almost, almost detects a hint of vulnerability threading the words and grins, a little pang of tenderness tugging helplessly behind his chest. "Think so, do you?"

"Would you like to test my theory?" There is something both hesitant and eager underneath his casual tone, and Hob's heart trips a little as that tug grows stronger.

"Why, Mr. Atelíotes, are you asking me out? On a proper date?"

"Perhaps." It's equal parts caginess and coy teasing, and Hob is forced to admit—again—that he's smitten despite himself.

"Well." He grins, dialing it up to his most charming. "Rumor has it I'm excellent company whether my dick's involved or not. And while a standard dinner date may not be as fantasy-worthy as getting plowed by the rough mechanic in his garage, I think we could still have a good time." He's showing his hand a bit, gently calling Dream on the fantasy fulfillment that has obviously been going on here, but what's life without a little risk? Especially when the potential reward is so very worth it?

"You are very confident of your own appeal," Dream replies, mouth turning up at one corner in a way that tips over from 'cautious' to 'amused'. And if Hob's not mistaken, there's a hint of pink blushing over his porcelain complexion under the filth clinging to his cheekbone.

He grins, spreads his arms, still stark naked with his coveralls around his ankles. "Am I wrong, though?"

"…No," Dream decides, after a long moment of deliberation, and Hob steps closer to him, dares to touch his face affectionately.

"Why don't you pick me up here at seven tomorrow night. Tell me exactly how posh I should dress, and we'll see where it goes?" He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dream's.

Dream hums into it, pleased, and palms his chest gently before pulling away. "Very well. Seven, tomorrow night. I will make us a reservation and text you the dress code."

Hob smiles, an effervescent sort of happiness bubbling up inside him. "Sounds perfect."

He finally puts his coveralls back in order after that, zipped just past the waist, and makes certain that the condoms are picked up and Dream gets his lube and his toy all collected before he shifts back into business mode. Dream is no more interested in cleaning his face before leaving today than he was yesterday so Hob moves on; he explains the repairs and runs Dream's credit card, then returns his keys and guides him in backing the Porsche out of the garage. Dream leans out the window once he's clear and Hob ducks down, delighted to get a final kiss.

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," he says, trying to temper the giddy anticipation he feels against the reality of their acquaintance, and Dream's soft smile turns sultry around the edges.

"I will be counting the hours until I see you again, Hob Gadling," he purrs, and drives off.

The way the Porsche jerks when he shifts after turning the corner makes Hob wince.

Maybe, if they do continue whatever this is beyond a single dinner date, maybe Hob can give him some tips on driving stick so he doesn't burn out the new clutch.

Then again, the more Dream abuses his poor car, the more excuse he'll have to invoke his 'loyalty rewards'.

And Hob doesn't think that's such a bad thing, in the end.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 9/17/24 Posted: 9/21/24

[buckrecs]

I was looking through your masterlist and I don’t think you’ve done this au….

Bartender bucky or tattoo artist bucky, honestly idc which one you choose to provide recommendations for(if you do)!:)<3

Tattoo Artist!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

I did tattoo artist!bucky this time, but if you send another req I am very willing to do bartender!bucky too😉😏

ONESHOT

Jacks and Sunshine by @rookthorne

You were the warmth and light to Bucky’s shadows and brooding nature – a match made in heaven, and it was a miracle that a certain someone realised as much.

Soft by @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant.

fingers by @buckycuddlebuddy

you couldn’t take your eyes off of his hands. 

Sting by @adrinktostopyourthirst

TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session.

tattoo parlor by @alisonsfics

the beautiful artwork and craftsmanship wasn’t the only thing that kept you coming back to bucky’s tattoo shop.

american tattoo by @seventven

steve and bucky run a tattoo shop together in brooklyn. y/n, a friend of steve’s, decides to get inked. only bucky is present at the shop and he’s about to close it for the night.

inked by @buckys-black-dress

A Little Cover-up by @butwhyduh

You get a tattoo.

make it count by @serpienten

It’s cold and rainy when Bucky sees her for the first time. Within three minutes, he’s under her spell.

Starstruck Beginnings by @rookthorne

Shopping in your favourite art store with Bucky brings back the memory of your first encounter, and after so much time has passed, it was with fondness that you looked back on just how starstruck you were in his presence.

SERIES

A Touch of Ink by @deamstellarus

After a breakup with your ex, you decided to move to the small town where your long-time friend Sam lives, hoping for a change of pace and starting a new chapter in your life. You were prepared for a slower paced lifestyle, quaint diners, and a change of scenery. However, you didn't expect to be swept off your feet by two stunning pairs of blue-grey eyes.

Paws and Pins by @matchamunson

In which Bucky runs into the owner of the animal shelter across the street from his shop. (Social Media AU)

Fight For You by @revengingbarnes

Brooklyn, New York. At the annual local boxing championship, Y/N is the leading medical specialist on call. It’s a whole new environment, and despite the drastic change, she loves it. Bucky Barnes is the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. Virtually undefeated, this tattoo artist by day, boxer by night is someone that is now fighting his way into Y/N’s head. And she’s helpless in front of his winning streak.

Skin on Skin by @navybrat817

Hottie and Sugar

[reveluving]

I have another ideaaaa 👀 I imagine Santi and Benny being very flamboyant when it comes to showing their admiration for someone. Imagine Rick bringing lunch to reader’s unexpectedly just to see Santi bringing her flowers and Benny giving her the heart eyes. My poor flag baby might have a stroke just from the scene in front of hiiimmm!!

a/n: Aria, baby. it’s been a long ass time ✋🏼😔 BUT THE FIXATION IS BACK (kinda. largely because I’ve been reading fics after fics of Oscar & Pedro chars. RAAAAAH). so we’re here baby, after 1 ½? 2 years later???? ENJOY

warnings: humour & fluff; poor Rick just wants to love you in peace.

j.k. m.list (series under 'rick flag vs the triple frontier boys'), or check out my full m.list!

Oh, you know Rick’s eyes are TWITCHING. The paper bag in his hand, packed with lunch from your favourite stop, crumpling in his grasp, almost tearing at the top. Not the food though, he’s not trying to ruin his wife’s favourite. 

But he’s chill. Absolutely chill. He swears. 

Benny and Santi just had to stop by the same time he came home from work, both leaning against the white porch railing while you sat prettily on the bench. 

Benny was expressive in whatever he was talking about, likely his last boxing match from the way he was holding the air in a headlock before the three of you shared a laugh. As much of a troublemaker they were, they were your friends, after all. He’d chase them off his property or warn them with a glare any day if it meant cutting off any form of ‘allegiances’ with that horrible past, both yours and his.

Just when you were about to reply to God knows what they asked, you noticed Rick lingering by the mailbox. Your eyes lit up, and it didn’t take the duo any other hints to know that he was home.

“Rick!” You enthusiastically waved at your husband, beckoning him to sit on the bench next to you. Rick couldn’t help but smile back at you, walking over and ignoring the two until he reached the top step of the stairs.

“Boys.” He greeted them, going over to shake Santiago’s hand before Benny’s, flexing his hands as they shook to see if the other would break. None did, as usual, pulling away and somewhat putting the tension on hold in favour of you. Rick took a seat next to you, passing you the bag of food and a soft ‘there y’go, baby’ (but not really, he made sure the two would hear it). 

It took a few seconds, making sure he greeted you with a kiss before stretching his arm to lay on the backrest behind you.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

“The boys just came over to say hi. Gave me these flowers from the flower shop nearby,” You raised the calla lilies that were resting on your lap. Now, Rick was no flower specialist, but he has been to the shop countless times to buy you your own fix. 

And if he remembered correctly, they generally represented beauty.

Well played.

“And Santi was just telling me about this new Cuban restaurant just outside the neighbourhood.” You continued, turning to Santiago with an encouraging smile so he could tell Rick about it.

“Cuban restaurant, huh?” 

Santiago curtly nodded to his curiosity. 

“The best. Might even be your new favourite once you both try it.” He explained, only to glance at the paper bag Rick was holding—a look that was almost… Judgemental? Critical? All of the above? All Rick knew that the man before him was silently scoffing at his choice. 

And, well, Santi wouldn’t exactly deny that claim, either. 

Rick didn’t hide the scoff, only to pair it with a faux smile so you could take it as nothing more than a harmless banter, “Gotta be real good then. ‘Cause this here,” He cocked his head in the paper bag’s direction, “Is my wife’s favourite place. Our favourite place.”

Rick not only had to watch out for the bold claim Santi was making, but he also had to bear in mind the sight of Benny openly looking at you like a lovestruck puppy. The promising boxer didn’t even care about the passive-aggressive argument going on around him. He was just appreciating the beaut in front of him.

(Man’s just doesn’t give a shit atm).

“Hey, I’m not here to burst your bubble,” Santi huffed in amusement, raising his hands in a defensive way, “But I’m not trying to give the pretty girl any mediocre recommendations either. C’mon Flag, you, of all people, should know that we want the best for her.”

“Aw, Santi, you’re too kind.” You were touched and it showed, and Rick couldn’t argue with the statement. Without a doubt, he wants what was best for you, be it food, comfortable clothes, gourmet treats for the fucking neighbourhood cat you adore—anything. 

In the midst of their silent argument, you reached for Rick’s hand, holding his larger ones in between yours, “I’m sure Rick and I will enjoy it,” He mirrored the warm smile as you stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, only to break when you addressed the two, “And if it’s as good as you said it is, we might as well have a get together.”

Oh. 

You were growing concerned of the two’s silence, eyes darting back and forth and almost—almost asking what was wrong until Benny, as if snapped out of his trance, finally, spoke up. 

“Absolutely.” Benny raised his hand in a manner that a believer would in church. 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» gorgeous rose divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics ♡

[ladamedusoif]

My Kiss, Only For You

The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader - One Shot

Pairing: The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); theft (I mean, obviously); smut; did I mention theft; strong language

Summary: You've noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on a favourite exhibit.

Notes: I keep on getting sent to horny jail by @lunapascal and @julesonrecord. (P would be very disappointed in you two insisting on incarcerating me all the time.)

This time, for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about, I was sentenced to 'double jail' and have two punishment pieces to write to get myself free. This first one, chosen by @julesonrecord, involves The Thief (from the wine ads) and the prompt "stealing a kiss".

Please enjoy my first foray into writing smut about a (very sexy) man from an ad campaign.

I wrote this at like, 1am and am still worried there are sections I thought I wrote but that were actually happening in a dream. Bear that in mind as you read.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“And we finish with the jewel - if you’ll permit me a little pun - of the collection, the remarkable Katarzyna’s Kiss ruby.”

The afternoon’s tour group is mostly teenagers on a school trip, and they couldn’t be less interested in the bright red gemstone illuminated in the case behind you if they tried. One of them lazily lifts their phone to snap a photo, apparently of the display. It’s only when you see them pouting for a selfie that you realise they’ve had a BeReal notification.

You keep going with the standard tour script, putting your heart into it as always. You notice a familiar face at the back of the group, listening attentively: a handsome, dark-eyed man you guess must be in his mid to late forties, who is a regular attendee of your tours in the museum. He seems to be particularly interested in the gemstones and jewellery collections, always turning up for those tours with a notebook and a random, specialist text on the subject. 

“The story behind this gemstone and its unusual name is that a seventeenth-century Polish princess supposedly fell in love with the apprentice to the court jeweller. Now, as you can imagine, in those days an apprentice jeweller would never be considered an appropriate match for a princess, and their love was doomed from the start.”

The handsome man smiles at you, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. You offer a little smile in return, noticing how the museum lighting catches the attractive patches of grey in his sparse beard.

“The poor young apprentice had never kissed his princess, and not because he didn’t want to - they were afraid they would be caught in the carefully-monitored world of the court.” Your expression turns sad as you move to the next part. 

“One day, the young jeweller heard that his beloved was to be married - the next day, in fact. He was distraught. But when the princess woke on her wedding day, equally heartbroken, she found this ruby - so the story goes - in a gorgeous, handmade silver box, engraved with the words ‘My kiss, only for you’”.

One of the teenagers at the front yawns dramatically, setting the others off into fits of giggles. You sigh. “And that brings our tour to an end, I guess. Gift shop that way, toilets over there, if you want to find out more about the collections you can purchase a guidebook…”

Your voice trails as the group rapidly disperses. Only your handsome regular is left. You hadn’t noticed before how nicely dressed he is - not showy, not in the least, but his clothes have that unmistakable air of quality and expense. Today he’s wearing a dark green, beautifully cut casual jacket with a Nehru collar, combined with dark jeans and a pristine white grandfather shirt. 

“Thank you for a wonderful tour, as usual.” His voice is warm and low, a pleasing sound in the near-empty gallery. 

“Thank you,” you return the compliment. “You’re one of our regulars, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. You notice he’s holding a small green notebook in one hand, and a pen in the other. “I must admit, though, that I prefer to go on your tours. You are a natural - truly, a joy to listen to. So knowledgeable!” He turns and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “And, if you’ll forgive me for being forward, even lovelier to look at than Katarzyna’s Kiss.”

You raise your eyebrows. The closest thing to flirting you’d experienced in your time as a guide was when elderly men would corner you near the military history displays and wax lyrical at you about nineteenth-century battleships.

The man has moved closer, now, to you and to the display case. He appraises the ruby at close range. “I’d like to talk to you a little more about this beautiful thing - I’m fascinated by the story.” He turns and looks at you over the top of his glasses. “Would dinner tonight be a good time to talk about this kiss?”

To your surprise, he’d booked a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city. Dinner had been a delight, swapping stories of rare jewels and favourite galleries and museums around the world. 

He had changed since this afternoon, and arrived dressed in an exquisite green and black check suit with a black shirt and tie. He was attractive, there was no way around it - but you preferred to keep your guard up a little longer.

You were about to order a cab when you realised you didn’t have your phone.

“Shit. I must have left it in the office.” 

“It’s not too far away, is it?” He is the picture of concern. “I’ll gladly accompany you back to the museum.”

So he does, offering you his arm at one point like a man in an old movie. You huff a laugh at the gesture until you realise he’s serious. 

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.”

He keeps his arm out, offered to you, and smiles at you with an eyebrow raised. “Chivalry isn’t quite dead yet, ma chérie.”

Maybe it’s the sneaking into the museum after hours, with its connotations of illicit shenanigans, maybe it’s the whiskey you had after dinner, or maybe it’s just the way his suit sits so perfectly over his broad frame, as if it’s begging to be touched and clung to. 

Whatever it is, you’ve barely entered your small office when you’re pushing him against the wall and kissing him like your life depends on it. He groans into your mouth and it goes straight to your pussy. 

He guides you back onto the desk and sits you on the edge, lowering you down carefully as he stands above you. He trails a long, thick finger across the neckline of your dress, slipping his fingertip under the fabric to trace the outline of your breasts.

You whine in pleasure and frustration as he kisses your body. 

“Tell me more about Katarzyna’s Kiss, beautiful. Do you believe the story?”

He keeps kissing as you talk, through the fabric of your dress down to your thighs, where he hitches up the skirt and encourages you to open your legs a little wider. You moan as you feel his fingers tracing up the inside of your thighs.

“I want to kiss you, mi amor, but I will only do so if you say the word.”

You nod frantically, all thoughts of the bright red ruby forgotten. 

He brings his torso down to meet yours, placing a soft, wet kiss to your lips. You hear the zipper of his pants come down and you know that he has taken his cock in his hand. With the other, he reaches past the top of your head, stretching his hand out along the desk and resting his fingers on the marass of papers and, you judge by the clicks going on behind you, your computer keyboard.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me again?” Your voice is heavy, confused. He’s kept one hand behind you, still resting on the keyboard, as he intersperses caressing and kissing your breasts with giving his cock a quick stroke.

“I am, chérie, be patient. The kiss I plan to steal now is more valuable than any ruby - tastes better, too.”

He drops to his knees and pulls your legs apart, dragging your panties down over your soft thighs and knees. He begins by literally kissing your cunt, placing soft, delicate kisses to the wet folds before his broad tongue strokes its way from your opening all the way to your clit. It elicits a muffled scream from you.

“You can’t be there already, beautiful thing.” You aren’t, but the way he’s ‘kissing’ your pussy, then driving his fingers inside you, is getting you very close.

When he begins to suck your clit you feel the pressure building, and soon your slick is coating his perfect nose, his mouth, his face - and his beard. It glistens in the soft light of your desk lamp. 

“Fuck me,” you murmur quietly. 

“Not tonight, dear one,” he says as he returns to standing, zipping back up his pants. “Stay put, I’ll get something to clean you up. Where are the bathrooms?”

You point him towards them, unable to stand up just yet. He’s made you feel completely boneless, fucked out with just his mouth and fingers on your own desk. It had been a while since anyone made you come at all, let alone like that.

You realise you don’t even know his name.

And soon, you realise he’s been gone a rather long time.

The museum’s back corridors are unsettling at night. You wander up and down, calling quietly into the darkness to see if you can find him.

The wail of the siren is deafening as you race back to your office, frantically trying to log back in to check where the alarm has been triggered. You try to contact the night security team, but there’s no response. The screen eventually lights up and you see it: the Kiss ruby. That’s what they’re after.

Security arrives in the exhibition gallery a few minutes after you, leaving it to you to reveal the carefully opened case and the empty plastic clasp that once held the ruby on display.

Where was he? Did he get stuck in part of the building and panic when the alarm went off?

You reach into your pocket to find your phone before you remember you don’t even have his number. 

You find a crisp, folded piece of paper in your dress pocket. It had definitely not been there earlier.

You sneak off behind another display to open the note, before police arrived to question you. The handwriting is fanciful, rendered in pen and ink:

I have helped myself to Katarzyna’s, I’m afraid, but remember that the kiss I gave you tonight - my kiss - is only for you.

Adieu, chérie!

Your Gentleman Thief

[fanatic-writers]

Lunch "Dates"

Part Two Here!

A/n: Look at me actually following through with writing. I'm trying to fall back in love with it again but please be patient with me. I am thinking about making this a series or just maybe making it a general universe and having some random one-shots that all kinda connect. Anyway, I hope yall like it. I didn't really edit it all that much tbh... -G

Word Count: 2,032

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader

Warnings: None, just fluff for the most part

Summary: You work as a conservator at the museum Steven works at, regularly sneaking him in on your shared lunch breaks so he can see the artifacts he’s so fond of and occasionally get his help on things (even if you still have to call in a “professional”). But what happens when Steven gets fired and then goes missing? Who’s supposed to accompany you on your lunches? And why do you miss him so damn much?

Life in the conservation lab was never boring. Just as a project seemed to become mundane, you’d find something hidden under the dirt and grime of centuries past that peeked your interest. Either that or you’d finished your current project and it was time to embark on a new one. The collections for the museum had recently received a rather large donation of Egyptian papyrus and you were currently working on cleaning them. While dabbing the delicate plant-based paper with a sponge seemed boring to most you enjoyed the satisfaction of uncovering the secrets found beneath the grime. You’d cleaned off a decent section of the mostly intact papyrus when your watch buzzed, letting you know it was time for lunch. You smiled to yourself as you put things away, leaving the artifact out since you knew you’d be back in a moment anyway.

As you removed and disposed of your gloves you gave a small wave to your co-workers, letting them know you’d be back in a moment. You made your way down the stairs to the main level and stopped in one of the many gift shops the museum had to offer, waiting for a certain gift-shoppist to finish with a customer. When the father and daughter in front of you left you gave Steven a warm smile before leaning onto the counter. “So, you know how we got some new stuff in from Cairo? Well, I’ve been working on a papyrus, and it would be super helpful if I had a translator.”

Steven beamed at you, knowing your whole translator thing was just an excuse to get him down there. He had been teaching you hieroglyphs and you had a specialist at your call when you would need them. “Of course!” He smiled “Let me just clock out for lunch and I’ll be right out, yeah?” You nodded in response and within minutes Steven was following you back up to the lab.

“This whole collection is amazing. A lot of it is in pretty good shape although I will definitely still have to make a lot of repairs. The one I’m working on now is the most intact piece in the collection.” You mused as you buzzed yourself into the lab, signed Steven in, and then made your way to your workstation. “Here she is” you hummed as you gestured to the large section of a scroll in front of you. “Still have to piece some parts together but that’ll be easier when its clean and I can see what I’m working with.” You explained.

Steven carefully leaned down over the papyrus; eyes wide as he took everything in “This is amazing.” He gushed. “I mean the size of the piece-“

“I know!” You interrupted excitedly, “usually we only get fragments from private donors, but this is insane.” As you spoke Steven grabbed a nearby notebook, eager to try and figure out what the uncovered hieroglyphs said. It was a bit choppy since some pieces were missing but he was able to transcribe most of it into your notebook. “I had something else I wanted to show you.” You hummed, watching as he worked. Steven perked up a bit as you grabbed a small box from one of the other tables in the lab and brought it over to him. You opened the box to reveal a shiny golden scarab inside. Steven’s eyes went wide as he looked to the golden artifact, his hand hovering over the box “What is it?” He asked. “We don’t know, but considering the shape it’s in it almost looks like whoever had it went through good measures to keep in nice and hidden away. We found this small box inside a puzzle box inside a lock box.” You explained. “They think it’s some sort of jewelry thing but that really doesn’t make sense because-“ You were cut off by a buzz on your wrist letting you know you only had a few minutes left of lunch. “We should actually eat something huh?” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly as you closed the box and put it back in its spot. You and Steven had your usual lunch of sandwiches on the steps of the museum, Steven brainstorming what the scarab could be between bites. The rest of the day went by, and it wasn’t long before you and Steven were saying your goodbyes on the street in front of the museum.

“See you Monday?” You asked as you pulled your keys from your bag, not having that much of a walk to get to your apartment. Steven nodded, giving you a small wave “Monday.” He confirmed “Laters gators.” He smiled at you as he began to move to his bus stop. You smiled to yourself as you walked the few blocks to your apartment in the other direction. --- Steven didn’t fully remember getting home that night. He remembered the butterflies in his stomach when you came to visit him, something he thought would’ve gone away by now. He remembered that he had a date the next day with Alex that he didn’t remember asking her out on. He’d liked the tour guide sure, but he liked you more. He shook the thought from his head, just happy that whatever the hell he had just experienced was a dream. Truth be told he was more focused on how Gus seemed to have two fins now rather than the fact that the same scarab you’d shown him had been a pretty big part of his dream. He never really had much time to think about that either, considering the date he was supposed to go on had been a complete and total failure. He almost tried to seek you out, to find some comfort in the madness of the day but he didn’t have your number or any other way to try and reach you. Instead, he settled on eating the chocolates he’d bought in his apartment and sharing the occasional sprinkle with Not Gus.

He was too distracted by the man from his dream not only being real but following him to work to even notice that you were waiting for him at the desk. Too focused on trying to get JP to actually do some semblance of security, to find safety somewhere to notice that you had taken the boxes Donna had practically dumped on him. Too distracted from, running away from the strange ma with the crocodile cane to notice that you had been waiting in the gift shop for him. “You alright?” Your voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, earning him a worried look from you. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He gave you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do much to quell your worries. “Just a long weekend.” He mumbled to himself. “I heard,” You sighed, and he looked up at you, curious “Alex isn’t exactly happy with you and she’s not being quiet about it.” You fill in the blanks for him before he can ask. “I tried to calm her down a bit, told her you get your days mixed up sometimes. I’m sorry Steven.” You shot him a small smile “I gotta go but I’ll see you at lunch yeah?”

Steven just nodded, watching as you left the gift shop. He sighed to himself and began to put things away and get the register sorted for customers. He just had to make it to lunch. Then maybe he’d have some semblance of normalcy, of safety in your company. He’d told you about his issues with sleeping in the past, with his dreams, explained how he’d lost days sometimes. You’d never judged him, instead doing everything you could to help him out. You knew there wasn’t much you could do but it did help to just know someone cared, that someone was listening. The day seemed to drag on until Steven saw you again for lunch.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a golden scarab lying around?” Your words made Steven freeze. He had in his maybe dream, maybe he shouldn’t tell you about it. What if you thought he stole it? Steven shook his head no and you sighed, figuring it would be the answer. “Jess probably just took it to cleaning and didn’t put it back. I told her she needs to actually fill out her sheets, so we know what she’d working on, but she never listens and now we’re missing an artifact.” You let out a small huff before shaking the negativity from your head. If Steven wasn’t so worried about what the hell happened to the scarab and what he had to do with it he’d think you were cute. Instead, his mind was racing with every possibility and what the hell was going on. He was zoned out for most of lunch, half listening to you talk about your weekend. You didn’t seem to notice and if you did you didn’t bring it up.

--- Steven was off all of Monday, it was easy to tell. You didn’t push him though, hearing enough about his weekend from Alex and knowing he was likely in a bad mood from missing the date. What you didn’t expect was to walk into work on Tuesday to a mess in the bathrooms and Steven and JP going over the security footage. “That’s not me mate” You heard Steven mumble under his breath, moments later he was called to HR. You heard he’d been walked out and that was that. There was no way for you to call him, to email him, hell you would’ve settled for knocking on the man’s door at this point. You knew there was no way in hell sweet little Steven would’ve been able to rip apart the bathroom the way it had been. It looked like the Hulk had gone through there, not Steven, Steven who wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone a whole bathroom. He’d left before your lunch, so you hadn’t known for sure till you saw Donna in the gift shop. The rest of the week dragged by with you hoping everyday that you’d see a familiar curly haired man in the gift shop, but he didn’t come back. Donna had made it pretty clear to you that if she had anything to say about it, he never would.

As the days passed on you realize just how much you had cared for Steven, just how much light he had brought to your workday. You missed your little lunch dates, your conversations about whatever was in the lab that day. You missed finding excuses to have him come up to the lab and show him what you’d been working on, not knowing many other people who had appreciated your work. You missed having a friend around. About a month had passed since Steven had been fired. You were walking up the stairs to work when you heard someone call out your name. You didn’t recognize the voice at first but as you looked around you spotted Steven at the bottom of the steps. You smiled wide and practically ran down them to meet him.

“Steven?” You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around him “Where the hell have you been?” The man stayed silent although his arms found their way around you. “Long story love, very long story.” He chuckled a bit. You pulled back and took him in, your heart racing slightly as you debated on if you should ask him to tell you about it over dinner, but he beat you to the punch. “Why don’t I meet you here after your shift? You’re still off at five, right?” Steven asked and you answered with a nod. “Great. It’s a date.”

You bid him goodbye quickly making your way back inside in hopes that he wouldn’t see just how excited the prospect of a date with him made you. You could’ve sworn you heard Steven mutter a curse under his breath, but you figured you could ask about it later on your date. Your date with Steven. You practically skipped to the lab, eager for the day to end.

[bonezone44]

'Get a Grip' (18+)

Watch Model!Joel Miller x Manicurist!Reader

Word Count: 3,8k

Summary: Joel Miller comes to your salon for a manicure, then he invites you to assist him during a photoshoot.

Tags: afab!Reader, hand kink, glove kink, finger sucking, fingering, p-in-v, creampie

a/n: this story came about during a brief discussion of Pedro’s watch modeling era a few weeks ago. Thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @iamasaddie for the inspo!

+++++++

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job.

Every once in a while someone will walk in with a nice set of digits and you admire them while they’re in front of you. While you push back their cuticles and clean beneath the nail. Add the acrylic and the polish. Then they’re out of your mind again as you wait for the next client to plop into the chair and request a full set or a simple repair. 

Your repeat clients usually want the nail art. That’s where you shine, to be honest. Delicately painted swirls. Boxes like Mondrian. Gold leaf. Rhinestones. Each nail a tiny little canvas for you to create something unique.

The male customers are different. The masculine ones, anyway.

They want simple hygienic maintenance. Maybe a massage. Maybe they just wanna flirt with a woman while she provides a service. And you appease them. It’s no bother to you.

It’s your job.

It’s just your job.

It’s the thing you do all the time every day and have done for years.

And yet no matter how many times you try to repeat those words in your head, you find yourself salivating over the man sitting across from you–with his playful baritone Texan voice and the beautiful steel and gold Cartier watch on his wrist. Not that you’re one to dig for gold. You simply admire fine craftsmanship.

Just like you admire the fineness of his hands.

The veins that rise on the top of his right hand, over his fingerbones, look like wandering rivers and you really wanna admire them with the tip of your tongue, tracing along their edges. His fingers themselves are long, thick rectangles that you wanna slip into your mouth one at a time.

In simple …admiration. 

“Not too smooth,” he says when you pull out your buffer. “They don’t want me lookin’ too clean.”

“Who’s that?” you ask, keeping your voice nice and even while your cheeks feel hot and your thoughts are a million miles away from ‘appropriate’.

“The… oh, whaddya call ‘em.” He hums. “The brand specialists, I guess.” He chuckles. “They hit me up about a month ago. Got a new line coming out that’s–get this–” he says with a flash of his eyebrows. “--’safari’ inspired.” He scoffs.

“Safari, huh?” You roll your eyes.  You can imagine the Cartier boardroom of pompous old Frenchmen glorifying the art and tales created during the French expansion of the 1800s—easily brushing past the eugenics-based mission of the violent nationalists. “Colonizers,” you mumble under your breath.

Joel laughs. “My daughter said the same thing.” He shrugs. “‘S no matter. I don’t mind takin’ their money if all I gotta do is have pretty hands.”

Your face burns immediately and keep your eyes and face focusing on the small nail at the end of his middle finger. “So, how’d you get started anyway?” You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the heat building between your legs. “No offense, I guess, but you don’t seem like the pretty boy-type.” Besides the watch on his wrist, he’s wearing plain Levi’s blue jeans and a black t-shirt that you can almost guarantee came from Target. You can tell his brown and grey curls don’t have any product in them and he’s got about two or three-week-old scruff on his face. 

He chuckles again and you glance up, watching the deep creases in his forehead soften. “Daughter’s the one to blame for it.” He shakes his head with a smile. “We were visiting Houston and she wanted to go shopping, so I let her pick the mall.” His brows go high. “This little 12 year-old picked a luxury mall and I didn’t realize it til we got outta the truck.” 

Your lips go between your teeth, imagining his embarrassment. 

“She was so excited, too. She hopped down out the truck and–fyoo!--took right off runnin.” He grins. “I had to chase her down and tell her not to touch anythin. I woulda had to take out a second mortgage to pay for it if she broke somethin.”

“I bet,” you smile. You finish buffing his nails and pull out the moisturizing oil. You begin to massage each of his fingers, one-by-one, rolling the flesh between your thumb and index finger, marveling at how long it takes you to get from base to tip. You were admiring the mathematics of it. 

The proportions. 

The number of fingers he might could get inside you.

“Next thing I know, she goes runnin into a Cartier store sayin that they can fix my watch ‘cause they got watches in the window.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I was tryin to politely escort her back out, when some big wig saw me and started talkin to me.” He shrugs again. “They took a couple polaroids and got my info. And now every once in a while, they’ll call me up for somethin.”

You stop massaging and stare at him with your eyes big and wide. “I know women who would literally murder to have that happen to them.”

He chuckles and it gets your body even warmer. “Yeeaahh, that’s what I hear.”

You shake your head in disbelief, returning to your task. You can believe his story, too. You’ve only been staring at his hands for a few minutes and you are enraptured by them. Is it the hands? Or is it him?

Or is it all of it together?

You’re not sure. You’re just enjoying the muscle you feel beneath the surface of his nearly square palm, the thick round meat between the web of his thumb and the end of his wrist. You can’t help but admire the basin in the center where the heart and head line lie parallel. Not that you were a palm reader. But you couldn’t help but know a thing or two about the intuitive art.

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job, afterall.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, because hands like his were used. Too thick not to be. They couldn’t just sit pretty all day.

“I’m a contractor.”

You blink. You look up at him with your brows high into your forehead. “These are not contractor hands,” you say, stroking along his palm. You don’t see a single cut or abrasion. The few calluses he had could barely be considered calluses at all. More like small rough spots.

“I wear special gloves,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a special kind of leather that fits around ‘em real tight.”

“Oh,” you answer, heat fully overtaking your chest and face. You imagine how nice his fingers must look wrapped in a second skin, smoothing over all his contours and lines, making each appendage even thicker and his hands even broader. You imagine what they would feel like, sliding up your bare calves and pulling you apart at the knees. You imagine the soft, conditioned leather moving back and forth across your clit, driving you mad ‘cause your aching for his skin and his touch and his heat.

“You know, I uhh… got a shoot coming up in a couple weeks. I’d love to see you again.”

Your heart races in your chest.

He smirks, his eyes soft and hazy. “You know, since you’re doin’ such a good job takin care o’ my hands right now.”

“Absolutely,” you try to temper your excitement. “Just give me the date, time, and place.” You shrug in a way that you’re sure is very nonchalant. “I mean, I-I-I can come to you if you need me to.” The Pope himself could have an appointment scheduled, and you would cancel it without regret if this man is implying what you are desperately hoping he is implying.

“Well, alright then.” He grins.

—------------

You’re pressed into the door of the hotel room–the one right next to where Joel just finished his photoshoot. He’s got one arm wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling your face into his. His kisses are heavy and fervent. His tongue licks into you in a way that makes you want it even deeper–makes you wanna swallow him whole and keep him inside you. One of his hands is gloved–in one of the ‘special gloves’ he told you about. It’s a camel-colored leather, hand-stitched and form-fitting. And it is definitely not one he uses for work. They fit tight around the heel of his palm, like driving gloves. Must have gotten a new pair from Cartier themselves. 

His gloved hand is under your shirt, sliding up your mid-section and grasping your breast. You gasp and moan into his mouth when he starts pinching and plucking your nipple. 

“Open up for me,” he says after pulling away from you. 

And when you do, he shoves two fingers between your lips, the rest of his hand resting on your cheek, your head still cradled by his arm.

“Good girl,” he coos with a smirk. “Good girl.” He grinds his hardness into your side.

You’re melting into the door behind you, into him, into your own body. You close your lips and suck, not quite sure what to do or how to turn him on. You curl your lips beneath your teeth and slowly bob your head back and forth.

“No no no. Not like that,” he chides you. “This ain’t no cock in your mouth.” He shakes his head. “They’re my fingers.” His eyes are wide and serious. “And I don’t want you thinkin ‘bout anythin else but that. Alright, darlin?” He’s nodding up and down, waiting for you to mirror him.

You nod back the best you can and adapt.  You press the two fingers into the roof of your mouth and suck hard, scraping them along your teeth as you pull your head back. Your lips are wrapped tight around them. You rub your tongue back and forth between them as you engulf them again. You watch him as he watches you through heavy eyelids.

“Good girl,” he says again and licks his lips. His gloved hand moves to your other breast, squeezing it with a rough grip. “Good fuckin girl. Suck those fingers,” he says and you can feel him wiggle them in your mouth. 

You go weak in the knees and you’re not sure how you’re able to stay upright. By the grace of god, you’re able to reach up and grab his hand. You pull his fingers out and then take only one finger back inside. 

He watches you, curious, twisting your nipple in his hand.

Then you add the second finger back in, sucking it. Wetting it. Drool pooling around the edges of your mouth.

You pull those two out and then you suck three fingers in–not as deep and they’re scraping against your teeth more, but you try to give that third finger some extra attention, tracing along the bottom of it with the tip of your tongue.

“You want it bad, huh?” He looks like he’s scowling, but he’s still grinding against you–hard as ever.

You nod.

“You want my hands all over you, baby?” He applies the smallest amount of pressure to his bare, wet fingers in your mouth, causing you to gag. 

Tears tumble out the edges of your eyes as you nod.

He pulls his hands away from you and steps back. “I need you on that bed. Naked. Now."

You rush to do as he says, removing all your clothes in a flurry. You barely register the low hum of the A/C and the cool temperature of the room. You’re too focused on the towering man walking towards you, your legs spreading of their own accord.

His lips are tight and he sucks in a deep breath. "That is one good lookin pussy." He unbuckles his belt and rips it from the loops of his jeans. His eyes roam over your body as he tosses it to the side, the buckle thudding against the carpet. He tugs his t-shirt up his stomach and over his head. "Can't wait to make it mine."

Once his jeans are off and he's just as bare as you (except for the glove on his hand), he waves for you to scoot back before joining you. 

Joel settles himself on his side, propped up on his elbow. He makes no move toward his hardened cock. Instead, the hand you were sucking on before finds your face again–cradling it. And this time, his thumb tucks itself between your lips. 

You suck on it like a straw. 

"How many o’ these you think you can fit in there?" He says. But he’s not referring to your mouth. His gloved hand has found its way between your legs and folds. One lone finger is prodding at your wet entrance. He squints and looks down as he pulls it back out–only having gone in an inch or two. The tip of his glove glistens in the warm glow of the room's lamps. He looks back at you with a grin, sliding his finger in deeper. "Wonder if I can fit em all." He bites his lip as he stares at yours, plunging his finger in and out. "Fuck you with my whole hand."

You close your eyes and moan.

"Yeah? That sound good to you?" He adds a second finger, pushing both into you slowly.

You open your eyes and nod eagerly–humming in agreement. His thumb tugs at your cheek from inside your mouth. 

Joel chuckles. "Nah, not this time." He licks his lips. His eyelids are heavy. “My cock’s too hungry for it.”

 You pull his thumb out of your mouth. You lick his palm, tracing the deep creases with your tongue. "Whatever you want."

He curses under his breath.

His two gloved fingers curl and stroke your inner walls and while the sensation is high-pitched and pleasing, you're more focused on properly worshiping his bare hand. 

Your tongue leaves his palm and you turn his hand over so you can suck the knuckles. Fulfilling one of the many fantasies you've had about Joel since first meeting him. You swirl your tongue around the hill of bone beneath the skin before lowering your mouth and suckling. 

Joel groans. "You love it that much, huh?" He curls his fingers, scraping against your inner clitoris muscle. "Love sucking on me?"

"Yeah," you whimper as your hips jump. 

"Fuck, that’s what I like to hear." Joel removes the two gloved fingers from inside you. He glides them up and around your folds, spreading your slick and teasing your clit. 

It feels …different–how the hard and thin seams of the glove create an added sensation. A starker tease alongside the languid movement of his hand. 

You look down in time to see Joel adding a third finger inside you, the pressure growing too slowly for your taste. But again, you have another task to attend to. 

You suck Joel's pinky in your mouth and bob your head a few times before releasing it.  You suck it right back in with his ring finger alongside it.

He grunts and moans, his three fingers jerking inside you. Your pussy is wet and squelching. His lips go tight as he watches his glove shine more and more with your slick. 

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and holds your head in place as he kisses you, biting and tugging on your lips. His tongue pushing in so deep, it feels like he's trying to drink you. 

"Fuck, that wet pussy sounds fuckin good. You gonna let me put my cock in there?" He speaks into your mouth. 

Your stomach swoops and your body is on fire. "Yes, please, Joel," you moan. "Please fill me up with your cock." 

He pulls his gloved fingers out of you. His eyes are big and wide. "You think you deserve it?"

"What?!" After everything? After all the sucking and fawning and–how? How could he deny you? You panic. 

"Please, Joel," you whine. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him up and down his neck. "I sucked your fingers so good. I sucked you so good." You're desperate. "I'm so wet for you." You kiss him down his chest. "Never been this wet."  You grab his cock, aiming to put it in your mouth. "Please-please-please!"

His gloved hand, covered in slick, wraps around your chin and jawbone, stopping you. "That's not the wet hole I want," he says and pushes you back, flat on the mattress. He quickly settles between your legs. There's no need for him to spit on his cock or glide it through your folds–your leaking arousal on the sheets. He uses his bare hand to guide it to your entrance. 

He groans and curses as he pushes in. 

"Thank you thank you thank you, Joel," you whisper and whimper as he sparks all your aching nerve endings. 

His forearms are on either side of you–his broad shoulders and body cage you in. “Fuck, this pussy is heaven, baby.”

The slow moving roll of his hips is the opposite of your panicked desperation, but it feels delicious. Turning all the glowing embers into full-blown fire. “So good, so good,” you mumble.

“Yeah? You like that cock, baby?” he asks with a smirk.

“Cock’s so good, Joel.”

He thrusts harder, his speed only slightly increased. Each heavy, steady flick of his hips sends a shock wave of pleasure through you. His bare thumb finds its way back into your mouth. “Suck on this ‘til you cum, baby.”

You nod. You can’t imagine what you look like. The lower half of your face feels wet with your spit. Your eyes are barely open, but you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man above you. His furrowed brows. His tight lips. His flared nostrils as he pounds into you faster and faster.

“Good girl,” he says as he tucks his head down and presses his cheek into yours. “Good girl, suckin me so good.” His arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls your body closer. “Knew you’d take good care o’ me. Knew this pussy’d be so wet.”

The heat inside you is building faster than you expected. You’re meeting his thrusts with your own–your thighs slapping into his hips. 

“Love suckin my fingers, don’t you, baby? Don’t you?” His lips find yours again and he kisses you with his thumb still in your mouth. 

His hips slow down and a desperate groan escapes your lungs, punched out by your diaphragm. You plead, but your words are intelligible.

He pulls his thumb from between your lips. “Whatchu need, baby?” He's rolling into you again, languid and rhythmic. 

“Make me come, Joel. Please make me come.”

“You need to come, baby?”

“Please, please,” you whine. 

“Alright, alright.” He leans back, his bare thumb back in your mouth and his gloved fingers on your clit. He doesn’t thrust any faster and it drives you crazy.

You try to shift his pace, fuck yourself on him til he gets the point–but instead he stops thrusting altogether.

“You got this, baby, come on,” he says with a smirk, making you do all the work. “Come on.”

Well, except for his hand rubbing circles on your clit. You writhe and squirm on his cock, chasing chasing chasing that fiery, burning heat. It’s there. It’s so close.

“Good girl, good li’l thumb-sucker,” he says and something twists inside your gut so hard you immediately come with a loud whimper. Body pulsing and pussy contracting around him. He grunts and curls his hips–as if he didn’t have a choice but to push himself deeper into your orgasm. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and strokes your chin with it. “Good fuckin girl, comin all over me.”

He falls back on top of you and wraps you up in his arms.

Your vision is blurry and you’re trying to catch your breath when he starts thrusting again–hard and fast.

“Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d be so fuckin wet.” 

Your body jerks and trembles from the stimulation, and you’re too blissed out to do anything but take it. 

“Knew you’d love suckin me.” He speaks through panting breaths. “Knew this pussy’d be so fuckin good.” He pushes himself up onto his hands. “You wanna come one more time, baby?” he asks.

You’re not sure, but you think the noise that comes out of you is one of agreement. You nod your head, whole body bouncing from his thrusts.

“‘M gonna fill you up,” he grunts with his brows pulled tight. “Come with me while I fill you up.” 

You want to, you really want to come one more time. And he’s pounding into you so hard, your bodies are slapping again. And his eyes and his voice and the determination on his face.

“Come with me, baby, come on,” he chokes out. Then he groans, heavy and low, and you can feel it–you can feel his milky release spurting out and filling you up. He stays above you, trying to catch his breath. “Didja come again?”

You smile. “No, but that’s okay,” you say. God, he’s beautiful. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges and how his beard frames his face.

“Like hell it is,” he murmurs and pulls out of you. He falls to your side again and two gloved fingers dip inside of you, his come spilling out. “You want my thumb again, baby?”

You nod and he gives it to you. You suck on it, pressing the pad of skin against your teeth. He pulls his fingers out and spreads his seed around your clit in circles, making a big mess of your folds.

You’re still dizzy and still over-stimulated, but his eyes are so big and sweet.

“I’ll stay here as long as it takes,” he says as he alternates between thrusting his fingers inside you and rubbing your clit. His brand-new gloves likely ruined.

You grab his wrist when you feel yourself getting close. When the heat hotter than fire starts to build inside of you again. You pant through your nose, your mouth glued to his thumb.

“Took such good care o’ me, baby.” He leans over you and presses his cheek to yours. His voice echoing through you. “Lemme take care o’ you. Lemme make you come, beautiful. Lemme make you come. Wantchu comin on my fingers every day with this pretty li’l pussy. So good for lettin me fill you up. You sucked me so good. Lemme take care o’ you, baby. Lemme make you come.”

It’s less powerful than your first, but the pulse of pleasure your orgasm sends through you is strong and satisfying. You moan and tug Joel’s hand away now that you're starkly overstimulated. “Oh my god,” you sigh, barely able to open your eyes.

Joel chuckles as his hand slides up your body. “Knew you’d be good for me.”

++++++

a/n: It’s been so long since I’ve written just-smut that I really don’t know how to end it. ‘And then they showered and took a nap!’ lol!

[shallowseeker]

The destruction of the family diner in SPN's 14x13 Lebanon:

So many family & Dean symbols

Zachariah appears in front of a GARAGE (Al's Automobile Garage - Automobile Repairing). The light spotlights closed wooden doors, a callback to Castiel's arrival.

Papers and wrappers blow in the wind. There's a shopping cart with a big tire in it. Shopping is another family motif.

Cas joins him from the side of the shopping cart. (Combat isn't Zach's strong suit, I'm guessing, so he needs a specialist with him at all times.)

The next shot includes more CHECKERBOARDED patterned papers, a call-forward to the family unit/family diner. They're restaurant wrappers, strewn about like garbage, the specter of the trampling of the family diner.

Zachariah is disgusted by it, shaking his foot like it's dog poop.

"Earth. You're always stepping in something."

///

Dean's family diner

Zachariah and Cas enter the diner. The triangular neon sign "PSYCHIC" is lit up behind them, its eye peering at the audience. (I think it's a callback to Pamela, anther one of Dean's first contacts with Cas.)

This family diner is a pizza parlor called Big Little B&E Palace Pizza & Pasta. (Or something like that; probably just B&E.) To quote Shaggy from Scoobynatural, it's "like, a great Italian pizza place."

Also B&E -> like "breaking and entering."

///

The menu's got something for everyone:

The Classic Italian, The Greek, the Bacon Double Cheeseburger (Dean), Deluxe Hawaiian (Jack), Garden Veggie (Sam), Super Supreme.

Next to the menu, there's a bronze Roman warrior bust.

On the wall, two coats hang among the mass of coats, touching -- a gray one reminiscent of Dean's dead guy robe and something khaki-tan like Cas's.

///

Cut to Cas, directly positioned in front of the menu and next to the warrior bust. Cas will be shot in view of this threatening bust for much of this scene.

Zach orders Cas to get ready to murder everyone. The lights above the cashier counter burst. We get a shot of Cas powering up that bears some resemblance to the shot of Godstiel at the end of season 6.

When he powers up the windows of the family pizza diner light up, garnering the attention of Sam and Dean, who happen to be RIGHT OUTSIDE 528 B & E.

///

Shot of Cas powered up and ready to kill. The Roman soldier bust remains in the shot.

Enter Sam and Dean.

When Dean calls for Cas, the bust drops from the shot, but only for a second. Instead, we see more of the family diner menu. However, when Dean pleads, "Cas, you know us!" Cas hardens.

"I don't know you." And suddenly, the bust is back in the shot.

Dean's expression is like whiplash. Ow.

"Kill them."

Warrior--pizza--Cas. It's a mockery of Dean's family.

///

The fight & destruction of Dean's family diner

Cas attacks Dean first--throws him into two silver serving trays.

Cut to Zachariah choking Sam...in front of sailboats from Italy, Lago di Garda. (Famously, Lake Garda has something for everyone with its colorful towns, majestic castles, ancient Roman ruins, sun-kissed beaches, vineyards, amusement parks, and historical sites.)

These paired sails bring to mind Mary & John. Or Dean & Cas.

Side note: Absolutely hilarious that Zach blames Sam for the disturbance. Dean is the one who made the wish.

///

Dean is on the defense, but whacking Cas with a silver platter is pretty much like hammering an unmovable wall. Cas just keeps coming. He backhands Dean face-first into a brick wall.

Side sidenote: I'm glad the boys' angel blades hadn't disappeared yet. A few minutes later and the timeline might've eaten them, leaving the boys defenseless.

Side side sidenote: Although Dean favors Cas with the blunt end of the angel blade, quickly getting disarmed in the process, Sam's not that nice. After dispatching Zach, he attacks Cas with the pointy end.

Cas punches Sam in the face...and then backhands Dean again. Sam comes for more, gets the vector of his blade blocked, and gets choked again.

Cas throws Sam into one of the family diner table, spilling the meal the three Lebanon friends had been enjoying. The destruction of the family meal. The tablecloth is the same checkerboard pattern than Zach trampled earlier.

Elbow to Dean's face. Dean gets thrown into the shelf of dishes. The glasses on the top shelf shatter. Both white mugs fall, too. Everything shatters, and Dean falls into the glass. The destruction of the metaphorical kitchen, the domestic space with coffee cups.

[avajanelms]

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[copperbadge]

I had a very successful and entertaining day today, as you guys can probably tell from the posts I made. There's a few more queued posts of stuff I didn't get to post in-situ, so enjoy that!

Some anecdotes I did not post about from today:

-- I can't remember the last time I queued for a museum. Mostly because if it's not one of "my" museums, like the Field or the Art Institute where I know the best ways in, I'm attending on a weekday deliberately so that I am not amongst the crowds. The line to get into the British Museum was a full block long, but to be fair it only took me ten minutes from opening to get inside. I was mostly amused by the people who a) didn't understand how museum entry works or b) didn't understand how to stand in a line without also blocking foot traffic on the rest of the sidewalk.

-- Almost got in a fight with someone, a definite first for me in a museum. I got salty with a guy who touched a sculpture when he knew he shouldn't, and he got up in my face, and I think genuinely the fact that I knew what the sculpture was called and he didn't confused him so badly he backed down. So if you're looking to defuse a situation via confusion, the phrase "Hey, don't fucking touch the Lamassu and we won't have a problem" worked for me.

-- The British Museum is great but among other issues (looted objects, weird relics of museum-specific imperialism, etc) it does suffer from poor display design in places. I'm okay with that, I kind of like old museums that are a little fucked up, even as I acknowledge that old fucked-up museums also have old fucked-up messaging. They appear to be trying on that front, but they could use a display placard overhaul. At one point I found an object in a case that appeared to be a carved human leg bone, and while I'm not a Bone Specialist there was also absolutely no placard about the bone at all. (I looked it up in the collection later using other objects in the case as reference, and it's just noted as "bone".)

-- I did have a great time overall; I saw most of the museum and then had a fancy meal, as documented. I was especially pleased to get to sample their coronation chicken since I collect tastings of coronation chicken, and I think they either used molasses in it or the bread had some, and either way it's grist for my mill as I start to develop The Chicken Salad War. After lunch I went on the hunt for a few last things, but I could feel myself getting tired and Becoming Unmedicated so I decided to leave a little early, which was the right choice, and gave me a little time to do some exploring.

-- @neil-gaiman did a post a while ago about stuff to see in London which I saved, and while I mostly planned my own journey, I did stop at Atlantis Books on his recommendation, which was well worth it. The woman working the till left me alone until I was ready to buy my book, then praised my choice (always a good move) and made a few minutes' small talk about my visit from America while she was ringing me up. Also I have never seen such a variety of Tarot decks for sale in my life. It was extremely impressive given the entire shop is roughly the size of my bedroom in Chicago.

All in all an excellent day out in London. Tomorrow I'm traveling to meet up with a friend, so probably fewer photos, but day after tomorrow I'm bound for Amsterdam so expect Rijksmuseum photos! I did not get into the Vermeer exhibit sadly, but I still want to see the museum and I'm on a quest for freshly made stroopwaffels and authentic gjetost, so I'm excited for the journey. I thought this trip might be one small anxiety after another -- would I be okay on the plane, would I get on the right trains, etc -- but I'm feeling more confident now, and I think between my early-bird tendencies and the ADHD meds I kicked the jet lag pretty quickly. I'm off to bed in a few, because tomorrow is an early day, so I guess we'll find out then how much I really kicked it....

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 2

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist 2. Jerrica

Steve's newest patient takes an unexpected turn for the worse when he hits heat

Omegas are people just like anyone else, but they have to fight so much harder just to have basic things, just to build lives for themselves that they can be happy with.

Steve’s seen how hard the world and their own biology come down on them time and again, no more so than in his own family. His mother had been a single omega parent and Steve spent his entire childhood watching her struggle to scrape together a good life for herself and her young son. The system wasn’t fair to people like his mother, and Steve is a firm believer that if you can help, you should.

That’s why he carries groceries up three flights for the single father who lives in 4b. It’s why he volunteers at the local shelter for battered and abused omegas, and helps at an organization for disabled omega mothers. It’s why he always makes an extra effort to be kind to his omega coworkers when he sees them struggling in an already demanding field. And it’s why, when Steve was seventeen and watched his mother die from a very preventable gynecological cancer, he made the decision to become an omega sexual and reproductive health practitioner.

There’s a poster Steve has in his living room; vintage, framed, cheerful advertising from a 1940’s housing company. “Give her the home she deserves to make,” it reads, showing a tall, strong alpha in his World War 2 dress uniform. He’s holding the hand of a smaller omega woman, the two of them smiling and walking towards a sparkling new house in the suburbs.

Steve’s mother always taught him that as an Alpha, he had a duty to take care of those weaker and more vulnerable than himself. He promised her that he’d always look out for the little guy. Then she’d died. He’d registered for college the following spring, beginning what would turn into almost a decade of education and training on how to help omegas who were experiencing trauma.

He’s never regretted any of it, because it allows him to help people. People like Bucky, and his neighbor in 4b, and the woman in 416 who doesn’t want the hysterectomy that she desperately needs. People like Amy Lewis.

Steve trails slowly through the store, carrying the shopping basket for the woman in front of him as she finds things off her list that she needs for her upcoming birth. They’re at Twig & Tuft, a store that caters to nesting, expectant and new mothers. Steve is helping Amy to do her shopping. Amy is omega, single, eight months pregnant, and she has an intellectual disability.

Steve feels guilty because even though it’s his second day off and all he’s supposed to be focused on is his weekend volunteer gig, he can’t help how his thoughts keep drifting back to the new patient in his ward: Bucky.

Steve can’t be at the hospital every day. Logically he knows this. He’d go insane or die from exhaustion if he did. But this is the first time in a while that he’s had two days off in a row and it’s the first time in even longer where he received a critical care patient on his last shift of the week. Steve had left detailed instructions with the ward staff, and he knows his team of nurses, therapists, techs and PAs (and hey, even sometimes the doctors, too) are very capable people. They can take care of Bucky. It’ll be fine.

He’s still found himself thinking about it almost all weekend though.

Amy stops halfway down the aisle, looking up at the shelves that are full of different baby formulas and feeding accessories. “Baby bottle,” she mumbles to herself, frowning as she sees the choices. There are all sorts of bottles in various materials, shapes and colors, all with different packaging proclaiming them: easy! clean! ergonomic! Preemie! or Silicone! Natural! or BPA-free!

“Oh man,” Amy says, flustering. “There’s too many.” She holds her list closer to her face, tongue working around in her mouth as she puzzles it out. “I dunno which one.”

Steve waits patiently as she figures it out. He’s only supposed to step in to help when she asks him, since it’s important that Amy be allowed to practice her decision making skills and build her self esteem. Steve’s biggest job being here is to intimidate anybody who might try to take advantage of her; financially, sexually, or otherwise.

He just wishes he’d been there to beat the ever loving crap out of the man responsible for getting her pregnant in the first place. All the caretakers at Amy’s group home know that it was someone employed at her old vocational school. Apparently the issue’s been “handled.” They won’t tell Steve the guy’s name. Probably smart.

Amy is a twenty-four year old woman who has Down syndrome. Steve first met her when her mother dragged her into the hospital’s free clinic, demanding an abortion. Amy hadn’t wanted it, and even when Steve explained the difficulties that would lie ahead for her, she’d been adamant: she wanted to keep her baby.

It’d caused quite the uproar amongst the clinic staff and OmCare social workers. Everybody had an opinion on it. The police couldn’t do anything without a statement from Amy, and all Amy did when asked who the father was, was cry. Amy’s mother hated Steve’s guts for giving her daughter’s wishes priority over her own.

ASHDOM, or alpha supports helping disabled omega mothers, is the charity that Steve got involved with after meeting Amy. They provide her with housing and anything else she needs to achieve her dream of being a parent.

Another visibly pregnant shopper approaches from the other end of the aisle, though it’s a male and he’s not as far along as Amy is. The man pauses and stares for a second when he spots them. Steve catches his eye and the man flushes and looks away, continuing down the aisle in their direction. He scans the shelves and quickly spots the items he needs—right in front of where Amy is looking.

Amy misses social cues that would have other shoppers smiling apologetically and stepping out of the way, so the man is forced to reach around her awkwardly to grab the items he wants. “Excuse me,” he says, sighing rudely when it becomes an effort. He puts the items in his basket and tries to move on past her, but Amy is distracted by her list and when she doesn’t move out of his way fast enough, he huffs and pointedly squeezes by, so close that their clothes brush together. “I said excuse me,” he grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry!” Amy says, smiling because she’s friendly and hasn’t picked up on the man’s attitude.

“Hey.” Steve glares at the guy as he passes. He turns and speaks quietly so that Amy can’t hear. “You don’t have to be so impatient. Not everybody is as fortunate as you.”

The man tenses at being called out on his rudeness. He keeps walking but looks back over his shoulder at them. His eyes flick from Steve to Amy and back to Steve, disapproving. Steve grinds his teeth together at the assumptions he can see the guy making. The man rounds the end of the aisle and walks out of sight, and Steve sighs.

“Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve makes sure to get the scowl off his face by the time he turns back around.

Amy is holding out a three pack of basic baby bottles and looking expectantly at him. “This one is good for my baby, right?”

Steve smiles and praises, “Yeah Ames. That’s a good pick.” He holds the basket out so she can drop them in. “What’s next on the list?”

She looks carefully at her paper. “Um, dipe … diapers!”

They move on to the diapers section.

Some days, Steve thinks he must take more showers than any other human being alive.

He works out, so that usually accounts for one of them per day, but then there’s his before shift shower, after shift shower, and usually one or two others between certain patients. Because he’s not just a nurse practitioner. Before he completed the schooling necessary for that, he’d gotten his certification as a registered therapeutic heat support, and then as a registered medical heat technician. It’d helped him pay for college, and most hospitals wanted at least one of the two additional certifications if they were going to pay for an alpha’s salary on the OOBGYN ward.

Steve still takes on the occasional heat partner. But it’s less common now that Mercy General upped their staffing budget and hired more dedicated heat specialists. Hell, with Odinson on staff, the patients who need partnered usually request him, once they get a look at his picture in the profile binder (there’s a running joke on the ward that Thor used to work as a romance novel cover model).

So yeah, Steve doesn’t get intimate with as many patients as he used to. But when you spend your days around (and sometimes inside of) sick, pregnant, birthing and/or heat-ripe omegas, you tend to develop a funk. And if there’s one thing you don’t want to do to upset a vulnerable omega patient, it’s to come into their room reeking of a different omega’s pheromones.

So Steve showers a lot.

He’s just finished drying his hair when he leaves the staff locker room and hears a commotion from down the hall. He’s come up to the OOBGYN ward to shower, but he’s actually scheduled for clinic duty downstairs. He just wanted to check on Bucky before the start of his shift.

He doesn’t get too alarmed at the yelling until he gets down the hall a bit and realizes where it’s coming from. He sees a male orderly rushing into Bucky’s room. He hurries after him and sees the orderly moving for the bed, Bucky cowering away, and a female nurse standing back with a sedative prepared. The room reeks of Bucky’s fear.

The orderly grabs for Bucky and Bucky yelps and scrambles out of the bed, crying out loudly in pain when his IV stand gets dragged along and scurrying backwards into the corner of the room with it. The orderly moves after him.

“Stop!” Steve yells, rushing forward. “Stop, stop it. Now just hold on!”

Bucky is crying, cowering in the corner, and when he sees Steve he practically throws himself at him. “Steve!”

“Whoa, hang on Honey.” Steve catches him. “Sh sh. Calm down, it’s okay.” He can’t do anything but hold him and pet his back to try and calm him down enough to make sense of the situation. “What the hell is going on?!” he demands angrily from the nurse.

Like most staff on ward, she’s beta, and she looks fed up with Bucky. “He won’t calm down.” She holds up the sedative meaningfully, and Steve smells another wave of acrid fear coming off the omega who’s clinging to him. “Omcare was just here, explaining his custody arrangement. He freaked out when we tried to go over his care plan.”

“You need to back off,” Steve growls at the nurse. He tells her and the orderly to clear the room while he gets Bucky back into his bed. The poor kid is clearly in pain as he climbs onto the bed and lies down. “What hurts?” Steve asks, and Bucky puts his hand on his lower belly. Steve instructs him to lie still for the moment. “Bucky,” he says, careful to keep his voice quiet and soothing. “Talk to me. What happened? What got you so scared?”

The omega won’t look Steve in the eye when he says, “The social worker guy came. He told me about … about what I’m gonna have to do.” He peeks up at Steve but quickly averts his eyes again, face pinched. “They said I don’t have a choice, cause the hospital has custody of me now. Is that true?”

“Yeah, Honey. It’s for your safety. So that you don’t have to go back to … to where you were living before.”

“They said I have to have a heat.” He says it like it’s the worst possible thing ever. “I don’t want to!”

Steve inhales and lets it out slowly. “I was hoping to get in here before they told you. So I could explain it to you.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh they explained it. Every shitty detail.”

Steve gently takes Bucky’s arm and examines the IV port for any damage. It looks fine, but the tape is all warped so he fetches another Tegaderm and tells the kid to hold still while he sterilizes the site and replaces the bandage. “I’m sorry they treated you like that,” he says quietly as he works. “I’ll talk to them, and I’ll make sure you’re assigned different nurses who won’t behave that way.” Bucky seems reassured by his promise, and his scent, while still upset, has at least calmed down from the panicked tone it'd had when Steve came in. “Tell me about your pain,” he says as he finishes up the IV. “Where is it and what number is it one through ten, one being none at all and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Bucky shrugs, tears in his eyes. He looks miserable. He points to his belly and pelvis, quickly removing his hand. “There and there. And I dunno. A five I guess. Sometimes a seven or eight when it gets really bad—Ah!” he gasps and grabs Steve’s wrist, grimacing for a second. “That,” he sighs, the pain obviously passing. “Like that.”

Steve pats his hand. “You said it’s a sharp pain?”

Bucky nods. “That time it was. It’ll be achy, usually, and then get real sharp for a second or two.”

Steve nods. “You’re cramping. We gave you a temporary heat suppressant to prevent you from withdrawing too quickly when you got here.” He hesitates, then says, “And an emergency contraceptive. Your body might be reacting to that.” He watches as Bucky pales and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “I hadn’t … I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You shouldn't worry though. Your IUD was placed correctly so there's little chance anything would've implanted anyway.”

Bucky sniffles, looking sour. "This really sucks."

Steve knows what the nurses and social workers told Bucky to get him so upset. Before Steve’s shower in the locker room, he’d stopped by the nurses’ station and read over the treatment plan that’d been handed down by the OmCare custody team over the weekend. Steve recommended half of it, but he’s still nervous about Bucky having to endure it all when he knows the boy was just raped.

He holds Bucky’s hand and says, “You’ve been through something really awful, Honey. And it honestly sucks, but I promise that they wouldn’t write your treatment plan this way if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Your body is really—”

“Screwed up,” Bucky says despondently.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. We really need to make sure that you don’t slip back into a dangerous place like you were when they brought you into the ER.”

Bucky looks up at him fearfully. “The nurse said that I could’ve died. Is that true?”

Steve grits his teeth and thinks about how he’s going to have to seriously lay out the new hire who obviously hasn’t finished her sensitivity training. “Yeah honey,” he tells Bucky gently. “We got you stabilized, but you were in pretty bad shape.” He feels Bucky’s hand shudder in his, and presses it back down on the bed. “I promise we’re not gonna let it get that bad again, okay? We’ll get you healthy. I’ve already seen your weekend test results and it looks like the antibiotics we’ve got you on are helping the infection to clear up fast. So that’s good news.”

Bucky makes a quiet whining sound in his chest. “But the things they said I have to do … Dr. Steve—”

“Just Steve,” Steve reminds gently. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Steve. Please. I don’t want to do it. I’m scared and … and embarrassed.” The tears that’ve been swimming in his eyes for so long finally break, rolling down each of his cheeks. He sniffles and hurriedly wipes them away. “I’m so fucking embarrassed, I can’t stand it.”

Steve’s heart is breaking all over again for this kid. It’s not often that he's presented with an omega who isn’t comfortable with their designation. Bucky really is an unfortunate combination of circumstances. “I know, Honey,” he tells him. “I understand. Some of the treatments you’re going to have to go through involve a lot of intimate touching and I know you’re embarrassed. But I just want you to remember that everybody who works here is very used to it all. It’s routine for us, and nobody is gonna judge you or think bad things about you. We just want to help you get healthy, okay?”

Bucky nods, but Steve can still smell his distress, can see the tension pulled throughout his body. “I have to have a heat,” he says—very quietly, like he doesn’t even want to say the words out loud.

“Yes,” Steve nods. “We’ll bring you into it slowly though, I promise. We’ll keep you very comfortable.” Bucky snorts derisively, like he doesn’t think the words ‘heat’ and ‘comfortable’ should go in a sentence together. “Hey,” Steve says softly. “Hey, so when we know that a patient’s been … hurt, like you have, we have special procedures in place. To try and make it easier on you.”

“... What are they?”

“We can assign you a support alpha,” he says. “Someone who’s trained for these situations. You’ll get a private room where you can nest and have all the things you want that make you feel safe, and nobody but you and your support will be allowed in there. The support will conduct all the procedures you need, so that they’ll be the only person who touches you.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that information in. He looks mortified, and Steve’s chest aches in sympathy for the kid. “It’ll make it all a lot more private for you,” he says softly, giving Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Does that sound good?”

“No,” Bucky says glumly, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve chews his lip, knowing that he can’t do any better for him. It’s a shit situation, but when you specialize in trauma OOBGYN, you wind up dealing with shit situations more often than not. It’s kind of in the job description. Steve just hates this case more than most. “We can also give you a counselor,” he offers gently. “Somebody who you can talk to.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Mm mn. No.”

“I really, really think you should have somebody to confide in,” Steve says. “We have all sorts of counselors. All designations, male and female, young and old. You can choose who you want.”

Bucky appears to be thinking about it at least, his face still pinked up in discomfort. “... Omega,” he decides quietly. “A guy, please. Somebody … I dunno. Not an old person.”

Steve nods, relieved that the kid is taking his advice. “Okay, good. I’ll make sure that’s what you get. They can come and talk to you today, and everything you talk about is completely private between the two of you.”

“Everything?” Bucky checks, peeking up warily at Steve.

“Unless you say you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, then yes.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that in, and is pleased when he doesn’t see any reaction that would indicate the omega had been thinking of self harm. “Okay,” he says, patting Bucky’s hand and standing. He’s probably going to be late for clinic duty now. “I’m gonna go yell at the nurse and orderly for you.” He sees Bucky’s lips quirk the barest bit, and feels about a hundred feet tall for it. “That won’t happen again. I’ll personally assign your new nurses and I’ll put in for a counselor to come in and see you this afternoon.”

“You’re still gonna be my doctor though, right?” Bucky asks, looking hopeful.

Steve nods kindly. “Yeah, Honey. Not a doctor though, just an NP. I’m your attending.”

“Attending. Right.”

He heads for the hallway but looks back when he's at the door. “Watch some tv and try to relax, okay? I’ll make sure nobody tries to implement anything until I’m back on shift up here.”

Bucky looks so vulnerable and sad sitting in the bed by himself, but Steve can see how he tries to put on a brave face. He nods. “Okay. Thanks Steve.”

“You’re welcome. Bucky.”

He finds the orderly and nurse at the nurses’ station. “You two,” he says sternly, pointing at the two betas who already look wary of him. “Grab his chart and walk with me down to clinic. We need to chat.”

Even though he just showered, Steve has to grab a bunch of scent wipes from the dispenser and wipe himself down after being in Bucky’s room when the kid was so upset, and he spends the whole time plus the trip downstairs chewing the two betas out. Thoroughly. He has the nurse scribble down the changes he wants made to Bucky’s chart, and warns her that she’s got sensitivity training in her near future. He makes it very clear that neither of them are to deal with Bucky again, and makes sure that a younger, male omega counselor familiar with rape cases and gender dysphoria will be in that afternoon to talk to him. “Go back to work,” he tells them once they reach the hallway outside the clinic. “I’ll be up later for my second shift.”

They both hightail it away from him and back toward the elevators. Steve sighs, then pushes in through the double glass doors to the hospital’s community clinic.

Steve has just managed to get two seconds to himself to take a piss and then try to shovel some food down. He’s crouched in front of the minifridge behind the clinic desk, half a burrito stuffed in his mouth, when a pair of electric blue Danskos step into view.

“Wow Rogers. You know some people’d consider that a marketable skill.”

Steve glares up at her. He rises to his full height. But she’s never intimidated by him. “Nebula,” he grumbles once he’s swallowed. She’s not one of his nurses, thank God. He only ever sees her in clinic. “What do you want?”

She shoves the chart she’s holding into his chest and he’s forced to grapple for it, his burrito smearing on the back of the clipboard. “Exam four,” she says, then goes to sit in front of one of the receptionists' computers.

Steve makes a face at her back, taking one more huge bite of his burrito before sticking the sad remainder back in the fridge. He glances at the clock: 4:10, Less than an hour to go with clinic duty, then he’s got a break for dinner, then he’s on the ward for first night shift. He glances down at the clipboard Neb had handed him. Intake apt. : Termination of pregnancy. He winces and goes to wash the smell of chorizo off his hands.

“Hi.” He’s still facing the door as he starts speaking in his overly friendly doctor’s voice. He can already smell pregnant omega, which means it’s not a first trimester abortion. Great. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP here at Mercy General. What’s brought you into the clinic today?” He turns around and sees who he’s dealing with, and forces himself not to visibly react.

A girl who can’t be older than fourteen years old is sitting on the exam table, in an examination gown and socks. A woman whom Steve assumes is her mother stands beside her, looking impatient. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour,” she complains.

“I’m sorry.” Steve goes and sits on the rolling stool, already knowing that this is going to be the low point of his shift. “It’s an open clinic, ma’am. Waits can be long, but we do our best.” He turns his attention to the girl. She’s got brown hair and a ruddy complexion and looks anything but happy to be there. “Hi,” he says gently, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

“Jerrica,” she says.

“Hi Jerrica. It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to tell me why you’re here today?”

“I’m sure that’s obvious,” her mother snaps, impatient and nodding at the clipboard Steve’s holding. “She’s hid it till now. I found the test in her bathroom trash.”

“Uh huh.” Steve can see how uncomfortable the daughter is as her mother angrily tells Steve about her personal business.

“She won’t tell us who did it. We think it was one of the construction workers.” When Steve raises an eyebrow, the mother explains, “We’ve been having the basement renovated. Her stupid father hired a bunch of college kids to do the work.”

Steve inhales deeply. ‘College kids’ means over eighteen, which means he has to notify OmCare. “Have the police gotten involved?” he asks.

“Of course. But there’s nothing they can do if she doesn’t tell them who it was.” She glares at her daughter, making it obvious they’ve already gone over this multiple times.

“Mom,” Jerrica complains. “Nobody raped me. I told you.”

“You are too young to be having sex, Jer! It’s called statutory rape.”

Steve gives the girl his attention. “Jerrica?” he says. “Would you like your mother to be here for this appointment?”

“Excuse me,” the mom says, angry. “I am her mother.”

“And this is a very sensitive situation where I want to make sure Jerrica feels heard,” Steve says pointedly. Normally he’d make more of an effort to be in everybody’s good graces, but he’s not very pleased with how the woman seems to be walking all over her daughter from the get-go. He looks to Jerrica for an answer, and she straightens up stubbornly.

“She can wait outside,” she says.

“Well I don’t care what you want. You’re not even in high school yet and look what you’ve gotten yourself into!”

It’s obvious the woman isn’t planning on respecting her daughter’s wishes, so Steve stands up and guides her to the door, using his size to intimidate her. “Ma’am. I’ll send the nurse out for you to re-join the discussion in a little bit.”

The mother turns when she’s just outside the door and whispers harshly at him, “She needs an abortion! You know that.”

Steve smiles tightly and sees Nebula walking by. “Nurse, please show this lady back to the waiting room while I talk with her daughter.” Nebula purses her lips at him, and Steve doesn’t wait to watch her deal with that. He closes the door and turns back to Jerrica with an apologetic wince. “Your mom seems very concerned,” he says, and Jerrica rolls her eyes.

“She’s a bitch.”

Steve sits back down on the rolling stool and nods at the girl’s stomach, sobering. “So, you’re pregnant.”

Jerrica nods, hands going to her stomach. “I don’t want an abortion,” she says. “I already thought about it. My friend Stacy was gonna take me to planned parenthood. But I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Steve is already having an unpleasant flashback to the time Amy's mother dragged her into the clinic, demanding the same exact thing. To focus himself, he glances down at his clipboard. It looks like the mother filled out the intake form. “Do you know who the father of the baby is?”

Jerrica huffs. “Yes. I’m not telling her though. She’ll just get him arrested.”

“Were you forced to have sex against your will?” Steve asks. He knows the law on statutory rape backwards and forwards, and this girl is practically a baby, but he’ll be much more concerned if anything was forced. “Jerrica? Were you raped?”

“No!” She scowls at him. “I wanted to have sex. It was my idea.”

Steve inwardly cringes. “Okay. Let’s talk about this baby then. Do you know how far along you are?”

Surprisingly, she nods. “We only did it one time. It was right after Thanksgiving. Like two days after or something. So that’s like three months ago.”

“About fourteen weeks, actually,” Steve says, marking it down on the chart. “I’ll do an exam to confirm. Abortion is only legal in New York up until twelve weeks.”

Jerrica starts to look gleeful.

“Unless there’s a medical need for termination. A concern for the mother’s health.”

“But I’m healthy. And I want to keep it.”

“I know, I know,” Steve tells her. “But I just want to give you all the facts, all of your options. If you did want an abortion at this time or later, I would consider you a medical risk due to your age. I’d approve the procedure for you.” When she just gapes at him, he explains, “Your body isn’t developed enough yet for childbearing. I can tell by looking at you. A woman’s pelvis has to widen and shift before a baby can safely pass through the birth canal.” She squirms and blushes at Steve discussing her anatomy, which is just another indicator of how horribly young she is. “How old are you, Honey?” he asks her.

“Thirteen.” She juts her chin out. “Almost fourteen.”

“Have you ever had a pap smear?” he asks her, rolling his stool over to the counter so that he can grab some gloves.

“A what?”

He sighs to himself. Fuck. “A pap smear,” he repeats, making sure to give her a friendly, neutral expression. “It’s when the doctor checks your vagina for irregularities.”

Her face goes bright red. “No,” she mumbles, tangling her hands in her lap. “Do I have to do that?”

“You don’t ‘have’ to do anything,” Steve tells her. “But it’s normal to do a prenatal exam when a patient is pregnant. And at this stage that would involve a pap smear and a transvaginal ultrasound.”

Jerrica won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do that,” she says quietly. She shakes her head and crosses her socked feet over each other. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s for the baby’s and your health. It’s important, but I’m not going to make you.”

“You can’t make me get an abortion either,” she asserts. “I Googled it.”

“That’s correct,” Steve says. “But Jerrica, can I level with you?” She nods cautiously at him and Steve says, “I can tell that your mom is bossy and that you two probably don’t always get along. Me? I’m just a nurse practitioner. I don’t know you and I don’t have any stake in what you decide to do or not do with your body, okay?” He waits for her to nod, then adds, “You are very young to have had sex with someone, especially someone who’s over the age of eighteen. Your mother’s right when she says that’s illegal.”

“But I wanted to!”

Steve shakes his head. “Even if you wanted to, it’s still legally considered rape on his part. Now, I’m not going to force you to tell me the father’s name, but I’m required to report this to our social services department.” When he sees Jerrica’s face fall in panic, he hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell them who the father is, either. You're not in trouble. But you will have to speak with a counselor and a social worker. My advice for you would be to take advantage of that. Talk it out with the counselor and really think hard about if you’re actually ready to have a baby. If you decide at any time that you do want to terminate, I’ll approve the procedure. And if you keep the pregnancy, then you’ll need to see a doctor at some point to be examined.”

Jerrica looks tense, but she doesn’t shake her head again or insist that she wants to keep the baby. She shrinks into herself, looking even smaller and younger than before. “... Do you think I should do it?” she asks, voice wavering.

Steve decides to be honest. “Personally? I think you should consider termination. You’re very young and the birth could be dangerous for you. You’d still have your whole life ahead of you to have a baby one day if you want, when you’re ready for one.”

Jerrica nods tearfully and scoots off the table. She hurriedly pulls on her jeans and then turns her back to Steve as she drops the hospital gown and yanks her shirt back on. She doesn’t look at him again as she turns for the door. “I’m gonna go find my mom,” she mumbles, and leaves the room.

Steve sighs, feeling wrong for having given her his opinion on what she should do. He’s really not supposed to do that, but this girl is so young. He wanted to at least give her some perspective. Figuring that his shift is pretty much over and he’ll soon be on break for dinner, he chucks the exam gloves in the trash and grabs the clipboard with Jerrica’s paperwork on it, heading out to go file the OmCare report.

He spends his break eating dinner in the cafeteria and then napping on an empty bed. His phone alarm wakes him up and he heads to the ward for his second shift. Clint’s walking down the hall in his civvies, backpack slung over his shoulder, and he greets Steve with a small wave. “I put my case notes in,” he says. “Sorry, Phil’s waiting in the car. We’ve got reservations for seven, otherwise I’d stay to go over—”

“I’ve got it,” Steve says, tossing his head in the direction of the elevators. “Go on. Have dinner with your husband, for once.”

Clint smiles tiredly, grateful as he continues on down the hall. “Thanks man.”

Sharon and Hope are on for the night. Steve has a quick meeting with them where they review ongoing cases and he gives them the run down on their newest patients. Hope agrees to spend some extra time with the woman in 416 who’s still refusing to have the hysterectomy that she definitely needs, Sharon makes the rounds with meds, and Steve grabs Bucky’s chart and heads to his room.

“Knock knock,” he says from the doorway, seeing the omega awake and sitting up in his bed. When Bucky sees him, he grabs the remote and mutes the room’s tv. Steve smiles and walks in. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky shrugs. “The counselor came. He was nice.”

“Who’d you get?” Steve knows just about everybody in OmCare, but turnover is high. “Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “He listens.”

Steve walks over and stands next to the bed. He sees the tray of food sitting on the bedside table: meatloaf and veggies that are barely touched, a half full glass of water, and an empty jello cup. “You didn’t eat much of your dinner,” he comments lightly.

Bucky glances over at the tray. “I haven’t been very hungry.”

Steve checks the kid’s chart, sees the notes that the day nurse wrote down in a messy scrawl:

Intravenous suppressants titrated down to 40mg/4 hrs at 12:00pm OmCare counseled patient 1:45pm–2:30pm 3:00pm–antibiotics dose administered Titrated intravenous suppressants down to 20mg/4 hrs at 4:00pm

Preheat symptoms observed. Agitation, low appetite, bellyache, cramps, elevated temperature. Patient reports mild vaginal bleeding but no pain, breast tenderness. Refuses exam. Patient has pain upon bearing down on pelvic floor. Ultrasound shows slick glands impacted with no improvement. Request form for on-ward heat suite submitted. Patient is resistant, refusing to select a support.

Steve finishes reviewing the notes and sets the clipboard aside so that he can take Bucky’s hand when he sits down on the side of the bed. “Bucky,” he says, keeping his voice coaxing and soft. “You’re getting close to your heat. Remember how we talked about getting you a support alpha?” Bucky shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Steve holds fast. “It’s important, Honey. Come on now. Do you think you’d prefer a male or a female support?”

“Male,” Bucky says automatically, but he’s still shaking his head in denial. “But I don’t want one. I don’t.”

“It’ll be much better for you if you go through this with a support,” Steve says. He’s got no intention of forcing Bucky to utilize the service, but he knows that in a case like this, it’ll be borderline dangerous not to bring an alpha in. “We’ve got a binder full of choices. Here, let me go grab it for you.” He hurries out to the nurses’ station and gets the binder. When he sits back on the bed, he opens it to the first profile and hands it to Bucky. “You can look through and pick someone you’re comfortable with,” he says kindly, though he can see the dubious look on Bucky’s face as the kid flips through a few of the pages.

“I’m not gonna be comfortable with anybody.”

“I know it’s hard, Buck. I promise we’ll do our best to get you whoever you want to—” Steve pauses when Bucky gives a little gasp and freezes in place. “What?”

“You,” Bucky says, staring at the page.

“Me?”

“It’s you.” He points at the page, and Steve looks over to see his own profile picture. Shit.

“Um, I can’t—”

“I want you,” Bucky says firmly, looking up with large, hopeful eyes. His mind is made up. “You. It has to be you.”

“I wish I could, Sweetheart, but that’s not how it works. I’m your attending, so I’ll still be watching over you, but your alpha support has to be someone else.” He sees how devastated Bucky is at this and he absolutely hates being the cause of it, so he quickly takes the binder and flips through the pages to try and find a profile that might tempt Bucky. “Um, let’s see here. We’ve got a guy named Thor who’s really nice, and—”

“No!” Bucky throws himself forward, hugging onto Steve and shaking his head in refusal. “No I don’t want anybody else. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me!” He begins keening, distressed and grasping onto Steve desperately, rubbing his face against his wrist. Steve stares, dismayed by this turn of events. He tries to calm him down, but each time he goes to pull away the boy cries out and tries to bite him.

“Bucky, stop! Stop it. You need to calm down.”

He doesn’t stop and he doesn’t calm down. He just gets less verbal and more frantic, shoving himself into Steve and scenting stronger and stronger, until it fills Steve’s nostrils and consumes his senses. He grabs Bucky’s shoulders to try and push him off, but the omega fights back with an unnatural strength and gets his face in Steve’s neck, and that puts Steve’s face in his neck, and—oh no.

Steve is instantly hard underneath his scrubs. He’d neglected to wear any blockers before starting his shift. He’s getting the full force of Bucky’s scent, the scent of a young omega on the cusp of heat, and now Bucky is surely smelling him, a fully–aroused alpha. It all comes to a head when Steve loses his composure for the barest of seconds, and a low growl starts up in his chest.

Bucky hears it and stiffens, and then he bursts out in tears, frantic, crying and moaning and scraping his teeth over Steve’s neck. He’s humping Steve’s leg and Steve gasps when he feels a gush of slick leak onto his scrub pants. “Nnnn!"

"Bucky,"

"Nuh! need it, you. Please, Alpha, it hurts. Steve, Steve, Alpha please!”

Steve realizes that he’s been backed into a corner. Refusing the kid now will only cause more harm than good. So, holding onto Bucky with one arm, he reaches for the call button with the other and presses it. “Nurse, I need a heat suite prepped now.” He gasps and jerks in pain as he feels Bucky bite into his neck, hard. “Fuck!” He grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes into his glands, forcing him into submission long enough to reach the call button again and bark out, “And bring a sedative!”

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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Tags: @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive, @sapphirebarnes, @kandis-mom, @juicyfruit-22, @bloodrosefuryao3

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, Chapter 2

Pairing: Platonic Steven Grant x Reader (for now)

Rating: T

Word count: ~2800

Story Summary: Steven meets a beautiful woman in the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum...

...Too bad she's his new boss.

Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent since Steven still works for the British Museum post-canon, No Jake Lockley, developing friendship

A/N: Here we are with chapter 2!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this (or any of my other writing), please let me know!

Title from the song of the same name by The Police.

“...Also, leave room for questions in between exhibits instead of just powering on through -- oh, who am I bloody kidding,” Steven said to himself as he went over his notes in the men’s room before his meetings with Dr. Y/L/N on Friday morning. “I can't do this. I can't. I never should have accepted this position. Is it too late to tell Dr. Y/L/N that I've changed my mind?”

“Hey, no, none of that,” Marc replied in his head. “You're gonna be great.”

Steven caught Marc’s reflection in the mirror. “You really think so?”

Marc nodded. “Your ideas are good. Besides, Dr. Y/L/N wouldn't have given you the job had she not believed you could do it.”

Steven took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Clearly she saw something in me, right?”

“Exactly. Now, go get ‘em.”

Steven squared his shoulders. “Okay, off I go.”

He exited the restroom and headed upstairs to the meeting room, knocking lightly on the door before entering.

He froze as he saw Dr. Y/L/N and the entire Curatorial team already seated. Oh, bollocks. Way to make a first impression. “Sorry, am I late?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up at him and smiled. “Ah, Steven! No, you're not late at all. Have a seat, I'm glad you could join us.”

Steven sat in an empty seat across from her.

Dr. Y/L/N shuffled some papers in front of her. “Okay, let's get started. First, I'd like to thank you all for making me feel so welcome during my first week as museum director. I know I have some big shoes to fill, but I truly think we have a wonderful team here and I'm looking forward to working with all of you to make the museum's collection the best it possibly can be.

“Second, I'm assuming you all know Steven Grant, who is currently one of our gift shop employees but as of this coming Monday will be our Visitor Engagement Specialist.”

Steven gave a small wave as six pairs of eyes turned towards him. “Er, hello.”

“Steven’s first task as our new VES will be to update the guided tours,” Dr. Y/L/N explained, “so I asked him to sit in on today's meeting so he can include our new artifacts in his planning. Christina, why don't you go ahead and tell us about them.”

Christina, the head of the Curatorial department, cleared her throat. “Yes, well, the Cairo Museum has very generously loaned us the coffin of Akhenaten as well as a rather extensive collection of funerary masks from various ancient Egyptian kings and queens. Steven, I can email the list of who they were made for to you this afternoon.”

Steven nodded. “That sounds brilliant, thanks.”

“We'll have to pull a couple of display cases from the basement to house the masks, but we should be able to fit everything with the rest of the Ancient Egyptian artifacts on the 3rd floor without having to take anything out or move too much around, so that area should only be closed for a few days while we get the new display set up.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Y/L/N made a few notes. “Is there anything else that we would want to add or rearrange in any of the other areas while we're at it, to sort of refresh the rest of the collection?”

“Actually, a member just donated their private collection of first-edition classic British novels,” James, another member of the Curatorial staff, said. “There’s several Dickens, a couple of Austens, and even copies of Dracula and Wuthering Heights .”

Dr. Y/L/N’s eyebrows raised. “Have they been authenticated?”

James shook his head. “Not all of them. We're working on getting that done now.”

“Please let me know as soon as you do. I'd like to have those out on display as soon as possible as well. Anything else?”

Steven cleared his throat. “Er, actually, if I may…”

Dr. Y/L/N turned to him. “Yes, Steven?”

“If I remember correctly, a few years ago there was a lovely collection of Grecian pottery on display, but it was removed and I believe put in storage in order to make room for a statue of Zeus.”

“Oh, I think I know which collection you mean,” Christina replied. “The one that included a scene of Hercules fighting the Nemean lion?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, that's the one. Do we still have that?”

Christina nodded as well. “Yeah, we still have them.”

“Perhaps we could put those back out?” Steven faltered when there was no immediate response. “Or not, I just thought…”

Christina shook her head. “No… no, you're right. We have the space for them, so there's no point in leaving them in storage.”

“Wonderful idea, Steven,” Dr. Y/L/N added. “Thank you. Any others?”

When no one else offered up any other ideas, she nodded. “Okay then, thank you everyone. I know sometimes things come to people after the fact or they don't feel comfortable sharing in a group setting, so if anyone has any other questions or ideas for sprucing up the displays my door is always open -- unless I'm in a meeting, of course, but in that case feel free to email me.”

As everyone began to stand and file out of the room, she looked over at Steven. “And speaking of meetings, instead of taking up the meeting room with just the two of us, how about you and I meet in my office instead, in say, 5 minutes or so? I need to stop off for some coffee first.”

Steven nodded, starting to get nervous again. Maybe I should brew myself a cup of tea while I'm at it. “Yes, ma’am.”

He headed downstairs to the staff kitchen, where Donna was sitting at a table eating a sandwich.

She glowered at him, but said nothing.

Steven caught Marc's reflection in the microwave. She doesn't look too pleased, Marc said with a smirk.

Steven bit back a smile as he filled the electric kettle with water then turned it on. Yeah, she's barely said two words to me ever since she had to apologize to me on Monday.

God, I wish I had been a fly on the wall for that meeting.

Steven grabbed a to-go cup and chose a tea bag before opening it and setting it in the cup. Me too, actually. It'd have been nice to see Donna get put in her place for once.

I just wish I'd have seen the look on her face when she found out that you were getting promoted to Visitor Engagement Specialist. I'm surprised she didn't quit in protest, especially since it meant she'd actually have to do inventory herself next week instead of pawning it off on you like she always did.

Steven shrugged slightly. I actually didn't really mind doing inventory. The stockroom was always quiet and it made the time pass by.

Once the kettle started boiling Steven poured the water for his tea into his cup and popped a lid on it. Alright, here I go.

He headed back upstairs to Dr. Y/L/N’s office and knocked on the open door. “Dr. Y/L/N?”

Dr. Y/L/N looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Hi. Come on in.”

She stood and walked behind Steven as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Have a seat.”

Steven sat in the same chair he had sat in on Monday when Dr. Y/L/N had offered him the VES position.

Dr. Y/L/N sat across from him and reached for a folder. “Alright, before we get started, I have the HR paperwork officially instating you into your new position ready for you to sign.”

She slid it over to him. “You can wait until Monday, of course, but I figured if you signed it today that'd be one less thing you'll have to worry about.”

“Oh, erm…” Steven opened the folder and quickly scanned the documents, still marveling at the massive (to him, anyway) raise that he would be receiving. “I can sign it today. That's not a problem.”

“Fantastic. Here you go then.” Dr. Y/L/N grabbed a pen and handed it to him. “By the way, I've scheduled a meeting with the rest of the Programming staff for first thing Monday morning to formally introduce you as the Visitor Engagement Specialist and to let them know that we'll be modifying the tours.”

Steven nodded and set his cup of tea down before signing the paperwork. “Oh, brilliant. Thanks.” 

“By the way, it was really a great idea to add that pottery collection back to the Ancient Greece display. Your clear knowledge and enthusiasm for history and your attention to details like that is why I know I made the right decision in offering you the Visitor Engagement Specialist position.”

Steven flushed at the praise. “I, er, I took a bit of a wander through each area while I was making notes for our meeting and since I always liked that collection I thought it might bring some fun and excitement to the tours to be able to kind of tell the story depicted on each piece.”

He bit his lip. “I hope I didn't step on any toes by suggesting that though. I know that I was mostly just there to observe.”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, I want to see collaboration between departments, especially between Programming and Curatorial. We're all part of the same team and are working together towards the same goal, so don't ever be afraid to make a suggestion.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Now, what else do you have in mind to improve the tours?”

“Well…” Steven pulled his notebook and a map of the museum out of his messenger bag. “First off, I think we're going about the tours themselves the wrong way.”

He pointed at the map. “Currently, we're starting on the ground floor and working our way up to the fifth, which means when visitors make their way back down after the tour is over they mostly tend to just leave rather than stopping by the gift shop or the bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N nodded. “So what do you think we should do?”

Steven moved his finger to the group entrance. “What I suggest is that we have tours meet on level 1 at the group entrance and head up to level 5 whilst whoever is leading the tour gives a general overview of the museum, then we work our way through the collection back down to level 0 and end our tour there with a gentle reminder to check out our gift shop and bookstore.”

Dr. Y/L/N hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Steven was encouraged by Dr. Y/L/N’s positive reception. “Also, I believe we're spending too much time on certain exhibits and not enough time on others. There needs to be a better balance so we're not rushing through the last few exhibits trying to squeeze everything in because we've spent 20 minutes lecturing on the Siege of Lachish.”

Dr. Y/L/N huffed out a laugh. “I agree. I noticed that as well.”

She made a few notes. “Anything else?”

“Just that I also think we should allow time for a few questions about the collection while we're in each area rather than wait until the end of the tour. Again, we frequently run out of time so there's usually not even a chance for visitors to ask questions anyway, or if there is time we've thrown so much information at them that they've likely forgotten what it is they wanted to ask.”

Dr. Y/L/N made another note. “Absolutely. These are all really great ideas, Steven. Think you can implement them into a sample tour for me?”

Steven nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I can have  something put together by Monday if you'd like. It won't include the new exhibits, of course, but it'll at least give you an idea of the direction I want to take the tours and give me a chance to retool them if necessary.”

“That would be wonderful.” Dr. Y/L/N reached for her coffee and took a sip. “By the way, how are things downstairs? Donna isn't still speaking disrespectfully to you, is she?”

Steven shook his head. “No, ma'am. Actually, she hasn't said much of anything at all to me since Monday.”

Dr. Y/L/N sighed. “Okay. I'll talk to her again.”

“No!” Steven cleared his throat. “Er, no. No, that's quite alright. I’d actually prefer it that way. Besides, it's not like I'll have to deal with her on a daily basis after today anyway, innit?”

Dr. Y/L/N took a sip of her coffee. “Regardless, I really am sorry that you’ve had to endure such treatment, especially for so long. No one should ever be spoken to with such blatant disrespect, especially by their supervisor.” 

Steven nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“If Donna does ever speak to you like that again, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven bit his lip. “If there's nothing else, I er, I should probably get back to the gift shop. Technically I'm still a clerk until Sunday.”

Dr. Y/L/N looked chagrined. “Oh my goodness, you're absolutely right. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn't have asked you to do anything pertaining to your new position just yet since you haven't officially started.”

Oh, bollocks, Steven thought. She thinks I'm complaining. “It's nothing like that, ma'am, it's just that I'm sure you're busy and I don't want to bother you by hovering, that's all.”

“Oh.” Dr. Y/L/N shook her head with a smile. “No, you're not bothering me at all. Most of what I've been doing all week is reading over museum policies and procedures and meeting with the board of trustees and various benefactors, so it's actually been nice to get a little break from that and talk to someone who actually works here.”

Ask her how she likes being here so far, Marc said in Steven's head.

Steven cleared his throat. “How has your first week as Director been otherwise?”

“It's been good. A lot to jump into, of course, but you and the rest of the staff have been incredibly kind and welcoming.” Dr. Y/L/N paused. “I wasn't quite sure how the staff would react to me, especially with me not being British.”

Steven shrugged. “Well, it's like you said, we're a team, right? That includes our team leader, no matter where you're from. Your qualifications speak for themselves.”

Dr. Y/L/N shot him a small smile. “I really appreciate that, thank you.”

Her office phone rang. “Sorry, one second.”

Steven waited as she pressed a button on the phone. “Yes?”

“Dr. Y/L/N, the Chairman from the Board of Trustees is on hold for you,” Helen, Dr. Y/L/N’s executive assistant, said through the speaker.

“Okay, one minute. I'm wrapping up a meeting.” Dr. Y/L/N sighed and picked up the receiver before covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “I'm sorry, Steven, I have to take this. If you happen to think of anything else you want to add to the tours or if you have any other questions or concerns, please let me know.”

“I will.” Steven put his notebook and map of the museum back in his messenger bag and stood. 

He picked up his cup of tea. “Want me to close your door on my way out?”

Dr. Y/L/N shook her head. “No, you can leave it open. Thank you.”

Steven stood and started to walk towards the door.

“Oh, Steven?” Dr. Y/L/N called out. “One more thing.”

Steven stopped and turned back around. “Yes, ma'am?”

“If I don't see you again before you leave today… have a nice weekend.”

Steven smiled. “You too, ma'am. See you on Monday.”

I told you she'd like your ideas, Marc said as Steven headed out of Dr. Y/L/N’s office. 

I really think I'm going to enjoy working with her, Steven replied. She seems really open to collaboration. 

Yeah, she seems great. 

Steven arrived at the elevator and pressed the button to go down. Maybe we can come back on Sunday when I'm off and do a trial run of the tour so I can double-check the timing. I want to be as prepared as I possibly can be.

I'm sure you'll impress the hell out of her.  

Steven waited for the elevator to arrive, then stepped on and pressed the button for level 0 . He had to admit that he not only wanted to impress Dr. Y/L/N professionally, but he also wanted to impress her personally as well. I certainly hope so.

[crystlizabeth]

At Last..

Paring: Joel Miller x Blackfem!reader

Summary: Joel has a crush on Jackson’s witch doctor a woman whose gift is making medicine. During a clean-up of Joel’s wounds, he gets the courage to ask her on a date.

Fluff, use of pet names, and curssing.

The earthy aroma hit Joel as he walked in the small medical shop, the fresh smell of herbs was welcoming. Joel often found himself here almost every day but not for medicine or a doctor. But for her, Jackson’s God give gift a medicine specialist, she was a welcoming woman who was very loved. Joel found himself feeling young again when he met her, he swooned over her. Her smile made his heart skip a beat, the way she looked up at him through her lashes could kill him truly. Even with her friendly aura, she was a strong managed woman, Joel had been on plenty of runs with her for certain herbs and supplies for her work.

As he stood in the doorway he could see over the counter, her with a baby and his mother. His mother held the little boy close he seemed to have an allergic reaction to something and he was in discomfort. She had a needle in her hand that held a clear liquid.

“I know baby you're in pain its gonna be okay..” her voice was gentle and soothing. The baby let out a cry as she stuck the needleI his thigh feeding his body an antidote. She threw the needle away quickly putting a bandaid on the infants thigh.

“See all better, look honey I'm all done.” her voice brightened in a way to make him feel better her hand softly creased the little boy's face. She looks up at his mom letting her know he's got to go, the other woman thanked her again taking her child and walking past Joel.

The doctor's eyes meet Joels, her face displaying a smile her eyes leaving his seeing the bloody spot on his shirt “Christ what did you do this time Miller...” she spoke her voice teasing but all out worried.

“Ran into a sharp piece of wood,” he stated simply he couldn't help but feel a little stupid because it was a branch that got him. She let out a laugh watching the man shake his head at his own thought.

“Alright then common over cowboy.” she said inviting him behind the counter to sit on a stool while she grabbed stuff to patch him up.

She stopped in front of him her eyes met his she looked at his shirt then back at him. He raised a brow not knowing what she was doing, was she checking him out?

She sighed “Oh my God,I need you to take your shirt off so I can get to your wound.”

“Oh!” he realized, she laughed at the man. As he quickly pulled it over his head.

Joel's muscles flex as the shirt came other his head the leg the shirt stay on his arms but it was off his body. And damn did he look good for a man his age her eyes wonders for too long but not long enough for him to notice she thinks. Snapping out of her thought she began to clean the wound. Dried blood covered the towel she was using; it was a deep cut but it didn't need stitches.

“How has your day been?” he asked his southern accent picking at the word ‘your’.

“It's been good, that lil’ baby that came in had a really bad reaction to avocado, luckily it's not a common thing so it will be easy to stay away from. But other than having to stab an infant with a needle it's been a good, all-out steady day.” she explained to him her eyes focused on his cut. She was gentle with her movements careful not to hurt him.

A small smile pulled at Joel's lips watching her concentrate she was so gentle with him. She finished cleaning properly she grabbed a jar a spread medicine to help the scar tissue build back quickly, she took some on her fingers putting it over the wound.

Joel winced at the sensation “Yeah it's gonna burn for a second but it's gonna do its job.” she spoke suddenly noticing him slightly move.

His eyes focused on her as she laid the bandage on his chest. Her hands so gentle gratefully moving along in chest. She was undeniably Gorgeous, her melanin skin that shined from the sunlight from the open windows, her fluffed curls that laid around her face even though her hair was tied back a bandana on the top of her head like a headband, her beautiful smile that could make anyones day better.

God did he want her. He was so in love but wasn’t sure for what she felt, yes she played along with his flirting but he never could tell if there was something there. Maybe he was just clueless, because how could she look at him like that he never knew how to describe it but it made his heart melt.

“Joel..?” She asked, the older man snapeed out of his hazed thought looking at her.

“Yes? Sorry i just zoned out apologies sweetheart…” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiled lightly tilting her head “well you’re all done now hun you can put your shirt on now.” She told him.

“Well if you insist..” he said, a small laugh came from the woman in front of him. Wow was all he could think there she went again making his stomach flutter nervously.

Joel took a deep breath while blowing out you could hear a small chuckle. He looked up at her watched as she began you cleaned up.

“What are you doing tonight..?” He asked his voice hesitant.

She turned around looking at the man “Nothing really going home to my cat thats about it really..” she spoke hugging the tray close to her body as she leaned on the counter.

“Oh, well.. would you happen to be interested in dinner? The bar is having a little party dinner dance you know.” He said his fingers playing with one another slightly being picked at a nervous habit you could say yet his eyes looked at her awaiting for her answer.

She smiled her head tilted slightly scanning the nervous gent in front of her “Are you asking me on a date Mr. Miller..?” She questioned her tone teasing.

He sat up straighter nodding “Yes Ma’am, I am.”

“Well i would Love too.”

“Really? Amazing, would 5:30 work i mean it 4 now so it just really depends when you off you could say.” Joel rambled and she shot up from the stool.

“Joel sweetie 5:30 sounds great ill have Maki come and finish up for the night.” She said reassuring the man. He nodded saying his goodbye for now and thanks.

As she got home she began to get ready, a date right? What would it hurt wearing that dress her neighbor made a while back for her for fun. It was a short summer dress it was loose and flowy, the sage color dress hugged under here breast the neckline in a u shape that landed on the out side of her collar bone it was slightly ruffled the sleeves where long and flow like a 70’s design, her cleavage could be seen due to the shape of the neckline but she didn’t mind it was flattering the dress looked damn good as-well.

“I’ll have to thank Kendra for this..” she mumbled to herself checking out the dress doing a spin in front of the mirror.

She stepped back grabbing her beat down cowboy boots finishing off the look just in time to hearing a knock on her apartment door. She walked over opening it to see joel and some flowers. He greeted her with a smile handing the flowers out to her a mixture of wild flowers like Wax Flower, chamomile, and forget-me-not from what you could make out at the moment. Joel was cleaned up a nice pair of wranglers that where held up by a buckled belt, a plain dark green button up and some squared shape cowboy boots toped off with a cowboy hat. Well hello Texas, its not like it wasn’t often to see gents in Jackson wear one but damn did it look good on him.

“Here come in, I wanna put these in a vase.” She spoke letting him in.

Joels eyes wandered around the apartment looking at all the plants some big some small. He loved it it was all her so nature like and truly welcoming. He looked back at her noticing how her hair was no longer pulled back like earlier but in it’s natural state with all the volume curls and frizz.

She finished up putting the flowers in a vase walking up to him “Im ready when you are cowboy.” She spoke flicking the hat he wore. He chuckled adjusting the hat following her out the door.

The two walked down the stress of Jackson the warm summer breeze hitting their faces as they followed the street’s lights to the bar. They both talked about how their life was before the out break, She explained she was an early graduate from high school and when to school for medicine. She also hinted she had a child of her own as well but Joel never pushed any further for he knew what it was like, to lose a child.

“I had a daughter..” Joel said his voice quiet. The woman looked over at him, she was interested but didn’t press for any more information, but Joel wanted her to feel comfortable speaking with him do he opened up it wasn’t easy for the man to tell her about his lost daughter. He just never explained how she died.

“She sounds lovely, It.. its hard to lose a child…” her voice spoke.

“My Son Elijah, he was 4 when the out break happened.. and he was one of the unfortunate ones.. He got infected.” She spoke her voice tender.

He reached out pulling her in a side hug as they walked her head rested against him ash he hugged him back taking in the warmth and comfort he offered to her. Pulling away linked her arm with his as they walked in the bar.

Walking in the bar it was lit up by old white Christmas lights, it was lively the sound of familiar music the stomping of shoes on the wooden floor as people dance.

Her and Joel walked up to Tommy and Maria greeting them at the bar.

“Y/n! Im glad you could make it!” Maria smiled at her opening her arms for a friendly hug.

The four of them continued to talk the night away Maria pulling Her away to join in the line dance of ‘Fake ID’ by Big & Rich from the 2011 footloose brought many people to the dance floor. The beating of the wood was heard as everyone danced in sync, even with all of the movement Joel never took his eyes of off her.

He watched as she danced next to Maria the two women laughing together as they got in the grove of the music, her movements where smooth never off beat or choppy. Joels head tilted to the side taking in her movement watching as she looked back giving him that smile that could kill a man. He smiles back softly not taking his eyes off her as she turned back around.

“Finally got the balls to ask her out huh?” Tommy said snapping his older brother back to reality.

He looked at his younger brother glaring at him softly causing Tommy to laugh. “Common bother you’ve been talking about and to her for months.. Im just happy seeing you with someone that can make you smile like that again, besides that kid Ellie.”

Joel nodded slightly understanding what his brother meant Joel was at his normal now he felt comfortable enough to finally let go of the past and let new people into his life.

“It is nice and im glad I did ask her out tonight, shes just wow Tommy..” Joel started his eyes looking back at her.

“Go on..” His little brother pushed, Tommy hasn’t seen him like this before so vulnerable, soft, so Lovestruck.

“Y/n shes, for starters she so Gentle and caring. Even in this day in time she’s caring to strangers, well as long as you dont try to kill her shes not frail she may appear that way but shes so strong ive seen her take town grown guys like us, younger even but; That woman is a god given gift a healer in a broken world, a world that needs repairing and shes doing just that..” Joel spoke, he watched Y/n as she messed around on the dance floor with some friends, her eye’s wandered over to him once in a while to see what he was doing.

“The only bad thing about this its what if, what if I lose her… I tried for months to push back the feeling i had for her the Love I have for her. I want to spend my last days with her now that i know i can have that with out have to worry to much, it will still linger luck runs out eventually. I want to be able to watch the sunsets from the porch with her next to me take her on adventures out side of the walls knowing i can bring her back safe and, damn it i will. Even in total darkness i would recognize her, her eyes , how here hair lays, the shape of her eyebrows, how her lips curve even if she was mute and i were deaf i would recognize her. Shes all i want, and even if she doesn’t feel the same love to me i will continue to stick by her side for whatever time to got left even as a friend it may kill me a little bit of the way but god knows i will never love like this again.”

Tommy just stared at his brother a small smile was on his face turning away from his brother he took the last drink of his drink putting the glass in the counter.

“Well Brother you better go get her before my wife takes her from ya’.” Tommy said pointing at the two women walking back to them.

The four finished off the night finally departing. Just him and her the summer night was calm the chilled summer air falling on her skin. A shiver going through her, Y/n wrapped her arm around Joels taking in his warmth. The walk was quite small conversation exchange here and there but they took their time. Sound to crickets and the running river filled their ears in the sleeping town.

“Thank you for tonight Joel, really i had fun it was nice to get out if my apartment.” She spoke softly, her face leaning on his arm.

“Of course, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He responded.

The pair finally made it to her apartment complex the only light came from the moon and a few windows from the complex.

“I could always walk you up..” Joel said watching as she pulled away from him stepping on the steps up to the main door.

“Its fine really..” she said, she didn’t want to say goodnight yet, but what else was there to do.

Just a kiss, a kiss standing in the moonlight. God. No she didn’t want to mess anything up she wanted to continue to see him every day. To come home to Joel, their shared home. It was only one date, know that if they gave this. Them, a little more time it would bring them closer.

She stepped down pulling him in closer, Just a kiss good night.

“Goodnight Cowboy..” she whispered pulling away her lips brushing against his.

“Goodnight Darlin’…” he said softly.

Letting her pull away watching her walking in to her complex giving him one last smile before closing the door behind her.

[anabdaniels]

Cowboytober Day 19- Praising

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 2.6k

Rating: 18+

Warning: The following work contains mentions of post-partum blues and frustration towards the needed mode of delivery (c-section).

Masterlist

A/N: I'm so sorry for how long this is, I got carried away by the backstory. This can be read as the part two of Flufftober Day 19.

If you were going to be honest, your expectations about the first months of your newborn were the worst possible. Turned out that it wasn’t that bad. Of course, the nights were still being animated, especially when the baby woke up with colic, but luckily, your handsome cowboy made an excellent husband and father.

In the first weeks, you were strictly forbidden to do anything but breastfeed the baby and walk a bit around the ranch, since it was a medical recommendation to help you recover from the c-section. Anything out of those two things would end up with Jack asking a hundred times if you were feeling okay and really didn’t prefer to let him do it. Sometimes you got close to getting irritated with him, but then you pondered for a moment and realized that he was just concerned about your well-being.

When your daughter was 4-months-old, things were starting to get calmer; her sleep was becoming more consistent, her episodes of colic were pretty rare, and, in a general aspect, Katherine was a pretty calm baby, only crying when her little tummy wasn’t that good was for some stuck gas or because she was hungry or when she remained too long without being snuggled by you or Jack.

But a peaceful baby didn’t mean that you didn’t have any problems to deal with.

Even after 4 months, you were still frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t have a natural delivery, even after all the times you and Jack talked about it and he reassured you endlessly that you shouldn’t martyrize yourself so much about something you had no control about, the subject was still living rent-free on your head. Such as your schism with the scar left from the c-section. There was nothing wrong with it, but to your paranoia, it didn’t matter, you’d always see it as a defect in you.

Jack had plenty of awareness of your mean thoughts about yourself and had spent a considerable time planning that night out in the city. You two had spent the last four months going out just for medical appointments and to do the groceries, a little time out without worries about diapers or a shopping list was a needed pause for both of you. Not surprising Jack at all, Ginger and Tequila didn’t even think twice before accepting to take care of their self-proclaimed niece.

“Are you two sure that you can handle it?” Jack asked while observing Ginger and Tequila absorbed watching Katherine sleeping on the baby stroller.

“You kidding? Have you forgotten I’m the older of three siblings? I’m a specialist on babies, Whiskey.” Tequila said in a convinced tone, still observing Katherine asleep.

“And I’m here to make sure he’ll not steal Katherine’s toys, so we’ll be fine.” Ginger completed calmly, also looking at Katherine.

“Something tells me that we’ll have some trouble to get our baby back.” You said observing the scene.

“Maybe you will.” Ginger turned to look at you “But what are you two still doing here?” she said while approaching you and Jack, guiding both of you to the door.

“Are we being kicked out of our own house?” Jack questioned raising one eyebrow.

“Yes.” Ginger answered naturally while opening the front door and gently putting you and Jack out “And you two better not show up here before the morning.” Before both of you even had the chance to answer, Ginger closed the door. You and Jack just looked at each other and laughed before going to the car.

---------------------

Safe to say that the night was running perfectly: a little walk around the city while talking about the most random things possible, a good dinner in a fancy restaurant, and the last stop was on a comfortable suite in a luxury hotel. Jack never failed to deliver amazing date nights.

“I have to give you the reason this time.” You said while playing with his hair, sitting sideways on his lap “We really needed to get out of home a little bit.”

“I thought you believed more in my observing skills.” Jack chuckled and kissed your shoulder, keeping his arms around your waist.

“I believe them.” You said calmly and looked away. Jack frowned and caressed your back.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked softly, making you look back at him.

“If I ask you something, can you give me an honest answer?” after he nodded, you took a deep breath before questioning “How bad is it?”

“You mean?” Jack asked with a confused look.

“My appearance since I gave birth.” You said calmly, looking away again “I mean, you haven’t made any move since I got cleared by the doctor to have sex again, not even tonight.” Your declaration for sure got Jack off guard, and Jack needed to ponder for a moment before answering.

“Honey, you’re turning this inside out.” He started calmly and kissed your cheek “First things first, don’t you think I don’t want you desperately because I do. The thing is, I know you’ve been dealing with a lot in the last few months. I know you still mulling over the fact that you had to go into a c-section and that the scar annoys you really much, so, the most I desire you, I’d never turn this into another thing to bother you, sugar.” Jack cupped your cheek with his hand, making you look at him “I’m fine with wait as long as it’s necessary. I want you to feel good about yourself and enjoy it, so, if you need four more months for that, I’ll wait. You’re the love of my life, the mother of my little princess, nothing is more important to me than your happiness.”

You couldn’t disguise your slight shock with all the information you received. You didn’t expect him to know so well what was going on in your mind, Jack for sure always had been a good observer, but you were sure that you had managed to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” You admitted with a surprised smile, settling better on his lap, getting mounted on his thighs, and resting your hands on his shoulders.

“C’mon, sugar, if you had taken a single look at your ass after you gave birth, I wouldn’t need to tell you all that.” You couldn’t hold back a hearty laugh, shaking your head.

“I hate you sometimes, Jack.” You said while still smiling, observing the smirk on his lips.

“Hate me as much as you want, but you can’t deny that my techniques are effective.” He answered in the cocky manner you loved so much and rested his hands on your thighs.

“You might have a point, but now back to business.” You said while settling better on his lap “I don’t think I’ll need four more months.”

“I’m seeing that, honey.” Jack raised his eyebrows, still smirking and moving his hands up on your body “Especially having your cleavage so close to my face.” He said while cupping your breasts softly.

“I didn’t hear your complaint about it.” You said with a sideways smile while undoing his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“I’d never be that crazy, mainly now with this whole breastfeeding thing doing wonders here.” He said quietly, leaning forward to kiss the skin of your breasts that was exposed on your cleavage.

“You had no single crumb of decency left.” You said in a chuckle “I like it.”

“I know you do.” He said looking up to you, moving one hand to the back of your neck, and kissing you passionately.

And it was more than enough for you to forget any possible concern left.

You allowed yourself to dive in on the moment, enjoying the feeling of Jack’s hands and body all over you. Without even realizing it, you kept what you were doing before, getting rid of his shirt and moving your hands down to undo his belt. Also, not wasting time, Jack moved one hand to the zipper of your dress, opening it and taking it off your body without a second thought, promptly doing the same with your underwear. You moaned quietly when he placed you lying on your back on the bed, caressing the sides of your body and looking at you with a wide smile.

“You’re so beautiful, honeybee. I love you so much.” He whispered close to your mouth, biting your bottom lip and moving forward to kiss your neck slowly, making you unable to do anything but grab his hair and sigh loudly.

Despite his growing desire, Jack held himself back, moving slowly down your body and touching your body gently, aware that you were still very sensitive, not only on the physical aspect. But that didn’t prevent him from savoring every inch of your skin, kissing and nibbling every place he could reach, making you squirm and moan quietly, pulling his hair without even noticing.

Once he reached your lower stomach, Jack couldn’t prevent himself from kissing the scar of your c-section as he always had been tempted to do, not only to remind you that there was nothing wrong with it or because it had been the solution for you and the baby to get out from the labor safely but because he genuinely found it beautiful. You could feel your heart racing a bit while feeling all his attention tuned to that spot you’ve tried to avoid so much the last months.

When Jack finally moved to where you desperately needed him, you couldn’t contain your reflex of squeezing his head between your thighs while whimpering audibly and pulling his hair. And, Jack being Jack, loved your genuine reaction and of course, he would do his best to make you react even more, turning all his attention to your sensitive throbbing clit, while letting his fingertips circle your wet entrance.

At that point you were all messed up, contorting on the bed, pulling his hair, arching your back, and unable to contain your moans. Being away from him on the sexual field for four months certainly hadn’t helped with your self-control, but Jack wasn’t being exactly cooperative while smoothly sliding his fingers inside you and curling them to hit that precise spot that never failed to make you lose your composure. And it wouldn’t be different that time.

You just focused on enjoying every feeling you could get from the moment, noticing your involuntary movements getting more intense but unable to control them. You tangled your fingers in Jack’s hair, pulling it hard and squeezing his head even more between your thighs as you got taken aback by that intense orgasm. Jack smiled satisfied seeing you melted on the bed with your breath out of rhythm.

Calmly, he moved on the bed to lay at your side, caressing your face softly. You opened your eyes slowly and looked at him with a satisfied smile.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re already pretty enough without making any effort.” He said quietly and kissed you softly, making you moan when you tasted yourself on his lips.

“I have a doubt.” You said quietly against his lips “Why haven’t you got rid of your vacuum-packed jeans yet?” he chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re getting way too audacious, little lady.” Jack said with a smirk but didn’t hesitate to get rid of his remaining clothes.

“You’re too well-behaved tonight for my taste.” You teased as he crawled on the bed, getting on top of you.

“Can you blame me? I have the most beautiful lady with me, of course, I’ll behave well.” He teased back with that charming smirk.

“You need to take it easy with your flirt.” You said while passing your arms around his neck.

“Now you’re asking for too much.” He said as if it was serious and leaned to kiss you.

You whimpered quietly as you felt him moving slowly inside you, and sank one hand on his hair, tightening your other arm around his neck even though your whole body relaxed with that amazing feeling.

“You’re okay, honey?” Jack asked quietly against your lips while caressing your waist. You just nodded and kissed him again, starting to get highly needy of him once more.

Jack for sure was caught off guard by your reaction, but followed your rhythm, kissing you passionately while caressing and groping every part of your body he could reach, feeling his heart racing considerably, not only for the physical effort, but because have you so relaxed into the moment after all the harsh moments you had been through could make Jack cry genuine happy tears if he thought too much about it.

If you had to say, you wouldn’t remember when you had hooked your legs on Jack’s hips, wanting him the closest possible from you. When both of you needed a moment to catch a breath, you for sure got slightly melted when Jack rested his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. Conscious about the emotional and psychological weight all of that had on you, Jack wouldn’t waste the chance to remind you of how much he loved and appreciated you.

“You’re so amazing, honeybee. I love you so much.” His velvety voice whispering that by itself was already enough to affect you, but with his warm brown gaze staring straight into your eyes, it for sure had hit you a hundred times harder, making you unconsciously pull him closer with your legs and arms.

Seeing you craving for him that much, Jack allowed himself to move slightly faster and move one of his hands over your skin more intensely, while the other moved down to between your legs, rubbing your clit at the same pace of his thrusts, turning you into a complete mess of moans, whimpers, and spasms, giving him an incredible opportunity of ruin your rationality even more.

“My pretty lady is enjoying herself so much.” Jack kept his low tone, aware of its effects on you “You look so beautiful like that, sweetheart, even more than you already usually do.” He moved his free hand to your face, gently holding your jaw to keep your face the closest possible of his, wanting all your attention just to push you even closer to your limit “You feel so good, sugar, and I love you so much, I could never ask for a better wife.”

That hit you harder than you could ever imagine.

The incredible feeling of finally having his body joined to yours again for itself was already more than you could bear, but that amount of praising was definitely more than you could deal with. You could only surrender to the incredible number of feelings, scratching the back of his neck and pulling his hair as you moaned loudly and closed your eyes hard, feeling your legs trembling slightly as you enjoyed your orgasm.

Jack was having a tough time trying to contain himself and, when he saw that astonishing vision of you moaning and contorting under his body, he just sank his face on the curve of your neck and groaned hoarsely against your skin as he came inside you.

After being able to recover his breath and rationality, Jack leaned to the side, pulling you close to his chest, kissing your forehead, and caressing your back. You still were boneless and lazy, so the most you could do was nestle against him and look at him with a soft and happy expression, sighing when he caressed your cheek.

“It’s so good to see this adorable look on your face again.” He said calmly, still caressing your cheek.

“I think you’ll need to plan a few more date nights for us.” You said while letting your fingers draw senseless forms on his skin.

“Trust me, sugar. I already have another twenty plans.” Jack winked at you with a smirk and pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

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