#so pls try to accept these in a timely manner

[cassiaslair]

hey y’all!

i know some of you purchased my carrd templates prior to me moving them to the carrd marketplace.

please make sure you accept the transfer within 48 hours at the most, or i’ll be canceling the transfer and you’re going to have to ask me again!!

i will be a little honest and say it does get irritating waiting on people to accept a carrd site for three months ;w; if you request me to send it again, please make sure you accept it right away!!

please also make sure you’re giving me the correct e-mail address. i know some people have multiple carrd accounts to avoid paying for premium, so please double check all accounts for the transfer.

[gaytobymeres]

“Easy workout for beginners” why would you lie to me.

[amongemeraldclouds]

sweet dreams

It should have been simple: boy meets girl then falls in love. Except everything only happened in his dreams. Can Theodore Nott bridge the gap between fantasy and reality to get the girl of his dreams?

Inspired by Taylor Swift's song, Guilty as Sin?

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: Fluff, some smut so 18+ only MDNI, characters are aged up. Uses a magical concept that deviates from canon.

✿ Masterlist | 2.9k words

Prologue

The door creaked as you swung it open to leave The Three Broomsticks, eager to breathe in the cool evening air. You scrunched your note as smoke invaded the fresh air you hoped for and turned towards the culprit, Theodore Nott. You didn’t know him personally, but guys as popular as him did not need introduction.

He didn’t notice you as he took another puff and the streetlamp cast him in a soft halo. It was not fair how some people could look so effortlessly gorgeous. 

“Want one?” He reached out when he finally saw you staring, offering you his pack of cigarettes.

You huffed, “No thanks, I was hoping for some fresh air.”

He simply shrugged and turned the other way, smoking in a different direction and out of your way.

You hoped the cool air could return some of your sobriety, but nothing was as effective as a good ol’ near de*th experience. You looked up when you heard someone shrieking from the distance, growing louder and louder until you saw a broomstick zig zag across the sky that was quickly hurtling towards you and Theo.

Theo was quicker than you, holding his wand out and casting a spell just fast enough to redirect the impact to an open space. By the time you held your wand out, you had enough wits about you to cushion the witch’s fall.

You ran towards her to make sure she was fine. She laid on the ground as if she was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the accident. You crouched beside her, arm outstretched to wake her when-

“Oh bumbling broomstick!” She yelled out and sat upright. You yelped in surprise, yanking yourself back and landing on your bottom. Theo was there within seconds, offering you a hand.

You took it and it was unbelievably soft, his grip strong as he supported you back up from the ground. You registered the smell of alcohol and cigarettes with a subtle hint of expensive cologne. You wanted to take another whiff, but reminded yourself to focus.

“A - are you okay?” You turned back to strange woman, careful to keep your distance this time.

“That chap knows sod all about wizard engineering. Mixing magic and muggle work - ridiculous!” she spat in disdain, dusting off her dress.

She turned around, catching your worried look and Theo’s stoic expression, noticing you both for the first time. “Oh my, where are my manners?” She asked, straightening her back and introducing herself.

“I’m Miss Amelia Adams, thank you for rescuing me,” you shook hands and smiled at her politely, introducing yourselves in return.

Your eyebrows knit together as she fished around her bag, looking for something.

She beamed when she found it and held out a daisy for you. “To properly thank you, please accept this flower,” she then leaned in conspiratorially, “it grants a wish.”

She winked before gathering herself and her ‘bumbling broomstick’ as she called it. “Well, I’m off,” she declared, walking away as quickly as she had come before you had any chance to say goodbye.

You were stunned, holding the flower in your hand. You scoffed at the idea of wishes, the only way to get something is to go out there and take it. Hard work and strategy was far more effective than any wish. After a few moments of awkward silence, you turned to Theo. “That was…” you trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Odd,” he completed for you, just as stunned as you were.

“Are you okay?” You asked Theo. He grunts and you reassured him you’re fine in return.

“Have this flower, you saved us first. Thanks, by the way. You should get the wish,” you said casually, only half believing the mysterious Miss Amelia.

He accepted it and placed it in his coat, stoic expression still in place. When he said nothing else, you turned on your heels to go back to your friends in the pub.

You paused when Theo called after you as if saying goodbye as an afterthought. “See you at school?” He said. It seems he recognized you too.

You turned around and gave him a friendly grin, “in your dreams,” you said in a playful tone. Despite being school mates, you and Theo revolved around different orbits. You experienced just enough failed relationships to know better than to start a friendship with Mr. Emotionally Unavailable.

He just smirked and watched you go before returning to his cigarette. Had he held the flower in his hand, he would have noticed it glow before bursting into tiny glitters, a wish about to come true.

That night, Theo first dreamt of you.

Main story, months later

The booming party music faded when Theo heard the familiar sound of your laughter. He shifted in the Slytherin common room couch as his entire focus gravitated towards you like you were the sun his planet revolved around.

It was always disorienting, he thought, to hear and see you somewhere outside his dreams. Mostly because you never looked his way here but in his dreams, you’ve given him everything he ever needed and more.

He recalled the first words you ever said to him in his dream, “you again?”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asked with his boyish grin, amused. He wasn’t used to seeing this reaction from others except for his friends.

He no longer remembered the rest of that conversation, but one minute you two were laughing at something silly and the next, he was tucked comfortably in bed. It was then he realized it was all a dream he could just laugh off and forget about. It was no longer funny by the third night he kept seeing you. 

You both discussed how absurd this all was until you realized how fun it could also be. So you tested different ways you could take your power back and control the dream you found yourselves in. He discovered you were smart and funny, it warmed something in Theo’s heart that he did not care to examine.

Soon enough, he was flying with you through the sky, swerving through clouds as the stars blurred past like strings of fairy lights. You both flew like it was the most natural thing in the world, no broomsticks needed. He felt like a kid again, fearless and free.

One time, he went to a muggle amusement park you heard so many great things about. You rode on roller coasters and ferris wheels then ate candy floss. You would have gotten a fever the next day from all the sugar and shouting if not for the fact this all happened in your dreams. He had never felt happier.

On quiet nights, you laid on cool grassy hills enjoying the evening breeze. Sometimes, you watched sunsets on the beach while listening to the ocean waves. Those were his favorite days. You told him about your big plans and ambitions. He tried to stifle his smiles, but your energy was so infectious. The world felt bigger and brighter when he was around you. 

He’d tell you about his mother. How close they were before they were permanently separated. He said he kept her alive by remembering their happy moments that he’d tell you stories about. He also talked about his strained relationship with his father and how silly his friends were, but oh how he’d d*e for them.

He found himself spilling thoughts and secrets he could never tell anyone else. He stammered every now and then, not used to opening up, but you were so patient. He felt safe with you because you’re a good listener. Besides, wasn’t he basically just talking to a figment of his imagination? He tried not to overthink it.

Theo felt the couch beside him dip as the familiar smell of smoke and cologne announced Mattheo’s presence. “Want to go for a smoke?” He asked with a smirk as he flashed a joint.

“Later, okay?” Theo replied distracted, his focus still on you.

A student rose from the couch and moved away as Lorenzo approached. Thanks to their popularity, the boys always seemed to find a convenient seat when they needed it. He joined the two with a grin, drinks in hand. Mattheo took in Enzo’s disheveled hair and loose tie. He accepted the drink and gave him a high five knowing he already had his conquest for the night. Theo accepted the drink and just held it.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Mattheo asked, taking a swig from his cup.

Enzo blushed and took a sip of his drink. “You know I never kiss and tell.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes in response, “until you’re drunk enough.” He pushed Enzo’s cup back to his mouth. “Come on, drink up.”

Theo tuned out the conversation and he saw you dancing with your friends, your hips moving to the beat of the music. His eyes darkened as he remembered how those hips rocked into his. It didn’t take long before you first kissed him under the stars when the conversation died down, simply because there was nothing else to say.

All other thoughts and sentiments could only be expressed in the way your fingers gripped his wavy hair, when he bit your bottom lip and you moaned against him. Before he knew it, you were reciting his name like a prayer even though it felt anything but sacred when he slammed his hips into your dripping cunt. He savoured the way your nails scratched his back. He didn’t know until then how someone’s grip could make him feel so wanted.

He always made sure you knew he how much he appreciated you:

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well amore.” 

“I’ll make you feel so good principessa, I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re on your knees,” he’d say as he stuffed his hard length down your throat.

He memorized your shape and knew just where to touch you to be rewarded with your filthy moans and curses. He liked making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Loud screams, sheets gripped, chest heaving. He took delight in the way you came undone for him, your little whimpers were so cute he could not resist thrusting faster into you so he could feel you clench against his desperate cock again and again.

His favorite part was after he came inside you when you swiped your finger on your upper thigh and brought his spilled seed to your lips. You said you loved the way he tastes. He always said you could have as much as you want, he was all yours and you were his.

“Theo, mate?” Blaise called out to the unresponsive boy who gazed intently at the crowd.

He turned to Mattheo and narrowed his eyes, “how much weed did you give him?” Blaise couldn’t help but worry about his friends, it was exhausting really. Mattheo pushed Theo outside his comfort zone whereas Theo pulled Mattheo back in when he went to extremes. They always kept each other in check, but he was worried that balance could tip off at any moment. 

“Easy on the accusation, he’s a big boy. He can do what he wants,” Mattheo replies defensively. “Besides he hasn’t taken any green, he’s too high on that girl already. Been eye fucking her all night.” 

Mattheo’s harsh words finally cut through Theo’s daydreams and his jaw twitched in annoyance, “I’m not. You should talk about her more respectfully.”

Enzo chimed in, “you know I hate agreeing with Mattheo, but he’s right.” Ignoring Mattheo’s de*th glare, he continued, “there’s nothing respectful about the way you’ve been looking at that poor girl.”

Theo just rolled his eyes and groaned, not wanting to discuss this with his friends. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood up and said, “I’m going out for a smoke,” and walked away before anyone could protest or go with him.

As he walked, his thoughts returned to you. One day, you laughed because of his jokes. He laughed because he was in love with you.

It was all so ridiculous, but it had been months and he could no longer deny his feelings. He always thought love was overrated. How can others go out there declaring love like it’s a wild adventure you’re about to embark on? Love that you would fight and break for? He didn’t want an adventure nor a battlefield.

Then there was you and he realized everything he knew about love had only been one version of it. Being with you restored his breath and calmed the butterflies in his stomach. It’s a love that did not challenge him to be better, but instead told him he is already good enough. That he was always enough. It’s the kind of love that felt like home. It’s what he never knew he needed.

You haunted him even when he was awake. He was always tempted to approach you to see if the things he saw in his head could be real. His only clue was the way you wore ribbons in your hair and how it matched your mood to the stories you’d tell him.

He noticed you wore red when you were angry like the time you had to do a group project by yourself. You wore blue when you felt sad and green when you felt generally peaceful. His favorite was pink because it meant you were happy. He noticed how the closer you got, you wore the pink ribbon more often. But today, you wore a black ribbon. He had never seen it before and it worried him. Then again it was only a theory, maybe it didn’t mean anything.

So he always talked himself out of approaching you. Theodore Nott was used to broken things whereas everything with you and about you was perfect. He knew at the very least to leave it well enough alone.

His thoughts carried him to the Astronomy Tower where he lit his cigarette and stared at the evening sky.

“You always seem to be polluting the fresh air I go out for.” Something in his heart froze and then burned brightly. It was you. He heard the smile in your voice before he turned around to look at you. Salazar, you were so beautiful.

“You always seem to find me when you need fresh air. Are you sure you’re not just looking for me?” He teased, but nevertheless moved to extinguish his cigarette. 

You chuckled at Mr. Arrogant who always knew his way around girls. “I was joking, keep your cigarette though your lungs probably hate you.”

He scoffed, he already hated himself. But mostly, he hated how desperately he wanted to reach out and kiss you without being a total creep. “I’ll survive,” he replied, taking a final drag before snuffing it out. “What brings you here?”

“Aside from the not-so-fresh air?” You grinned before turning serious. “This is a nice place to think.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Salazar, he’s relentless. “I’m in an impossible situation and I’m starting to lose hope,” you admit. So that’s what the black is for, Theo realized.

He scrunched his nose as he thought twice about what he was about to say. It was so silly trying to hold back when he’d give you the moon and the stars if you asked for it. “Whatever it is, you shouldn’t lose hope.”

You laughed at him and let out an exaggerated gasp, “coming from Mr. Emotionally Unavailable?”

He laughed in return, “ah, my reputation precedes me.”

“Exactly, so don’t go around saying things like that. People might think you have a heart behind that big brain of yours.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” He leaned in conspiratorially.

“No, everyone would stare at you then.”

“You know it’s rude to stare.”

“Oh yeah? What should I do instead?” You challenged.

“Kiss me,” he said with a smirk, a half joke and a half plea.

You laughed and took a step back, placing distance between you. So this was how he got girls, you mused.

Salazar, he was losing you. If he was going to try, he had to be sincere. No charms, no masks. “Amore, I…” he began but grew self conscious at the nickname. “I mean, I wanted to…” he started then stopped. “I wonder if…” he tried again.

“I know,” you said, fire burning behind your eyes at recognition. This was the boy of your dreams. Awkward when he tries to be sincere and it was so adorable. It always made you feel special because you knew he had walls for the rest of the world. But with you, he was at home.

You closed the distance to meet his lips and the kiss said everything he needed to know. All those evenings together talking beneath starlit skies, exploring flesh and soul, falling in love. They were real.

His hands found the curve of your hips so naturally as he pulled you closer against him, just like he’s done countless times. He savoured the way your fingers made their way through his hair. Everything felt electric, at once new and familiar. It was better than anything you had dreamed of.

When you both broke for air, you found yourself blinking in disbelief. “How do we both have the same dreams?”

Theo just shook his head as if to say he didn’t know but then he remembered your first meeting. There was a witch with a bumbling broomstick and a flower. His eyes widened. “The flower from all those months ago.”

Your eyes lit up with remembrance, “the mysterious Miss Amelia!” You brought your hand to your lips, “I didn’t think it was real. I said you’d see me in your dreams.”

“And now you’re my dream come true, amore,” he said, pulling you in for a hug.

 You giggled at how sweet Mr. Not So Emotionally Unavailable could be. “And you’re mine. See you tonight then?”

He chuckled, “and then tomorrow I’ll take you on a real date?”

You scrunched your face, “but now we can’t fly through the stars anymore.”

“Oh, I have other ideas,” he whispered in your ear.

Your heart leapt to your throat and anticipation hummed in your veins. After all, some things were sweeter than dreams.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: I've mostly written for Enzo and Mattheo until now but when I thought of this plot, I just knew only Theo could do it justice. So this is how I wound up writing my first Theo fic. Hope you liked it!

[yeyinde]

in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm." 

(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)

part ii

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery

notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks. 

(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)

*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.

  It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another. 

Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival. 

It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges. 

He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to. 

So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin. 

Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:

Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass. 

Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!  

Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.

A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.

He does that, doesn't he? 

When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke. 

(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.) 

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.

It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still. 

You, uh, don't have to let me. 

His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs. 

S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much. 

You demure.

You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own. 

The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper. 

They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison. 

You don't shy away from anyone. 

Except him. 

Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight. 

Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands. 

You both love and hate these moments. 

When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner. 

Ghost, always Ghost.

His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think. 

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch. 

(You blame it on testosterone.)

One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm." 

The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen? 

You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast. 

It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using. 

It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one. 

Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into? 

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone. 

Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –

"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –

The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–

"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear. 

You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–

"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back." 

You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.

"And everyone else – get off the main channel." 

    Nervous would be an understatement. 

It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots. 

There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior. 

Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.

You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough. 

"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch. 

"Yeah," you agree. 

No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance. 

"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before." 

You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut. 

Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–

Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face. 

You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you – 

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin. 

Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–

"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse. 

Beside you, Soap huffs. 

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

    Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak. 

You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory. 

Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling. 

The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree. 

Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim. 

Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.

But now you wish you had.

The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot. 

You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits. 

On paper, anyway. 

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm. 

You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate. 

You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient. 

Ghost never asked that of you. 

He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face. 

"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving. 

All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum. 

Worthless. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier? 

Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier. 

You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything. 

His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk. 

Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out. 

"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team." 

The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break. 

You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots. 

And Ghost, too.

The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot. 

Up there, soldier.  

He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have. 

And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance. 

Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea. 

It's better this way, then. 

    The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position. 

Right. 

You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end. 

    You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched. 

"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder. 

You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type. 

But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask. 

"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical. 

"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have? 

"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"

You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong. 

It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture. 

"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"

"It's gettin' cold, now." 

Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is – 

Not good. 

Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat. 

"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.

"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"

His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"

And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter. 

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?" 

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible. 

"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."

If you want it. 

He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again. 

If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off? 

And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.

But could you just walk away from this? 

You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own. 

Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need. 

The choice is pretty obvious.

Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons. 

For once, your eyes never leave his. 

For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away. 

His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves. 

His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat. 

"Christ, Princess." 

You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about." 

His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then." 

"Is that an order?" 

"Affirmative, soldier."

With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound. 

"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you. 

The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you. 

They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply. 

His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want – 

His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges. 

"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you." 

You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved. 

"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold. 

"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs. 

His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt." 

Fuck–

Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs. 

"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?" 

"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him. 

He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh. 

"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?" 

You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole. 

Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you. 

He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves. 

One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid. 

He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you. 

You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head. 

"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering. 

It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue. 

You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out. 

You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer. 

He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.

His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him. 

There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart. 

Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips. 

It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue. 

You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit. 

You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you. 

Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too. 

"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt. 

"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.  

You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth. 

Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt. 

"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"

You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck – 

"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering. 

Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth. 

His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice. 

When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in. 

His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it. 

Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.

"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent. 

His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes. 

When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit. 

Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –

Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over. 

He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –

Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.

It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you. 

You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"

"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."

You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer. 

It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back. 

The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core. 

And his groans. 

God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years. 

It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole. 

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"

His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –

His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos. 

It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt. 

His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out. 

His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit. 

Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.

The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you. 

The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again. 

His mouth hasn't stopped. 

He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls. 

You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much. 

"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. 

His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more. 

It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs. 

He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough. 

You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause. 

Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band. 

He's touching himself. 

To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face. 

Fuck. Fuck –

You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears. 

He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist. 

"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"

He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him. 

He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants. 

He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly. 

But he doesn't. 

His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone. 

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot. 

The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more. 

It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach. 

You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts. 

He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him. 

Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.  

A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked. 

    He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum. 

You hate how enticing he looks.

You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth. 

The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough. 

He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care. 

You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day. 

He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours. 

There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back. 

Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified. 

It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them. 

But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir. 

He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need. 

It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him. 

You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles. 

"Y'alright?"

Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"

"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight. 

You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on. 

"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery. 

"Yeah?" 

He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –

Well. 

It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it. 

But it was there. You saw it in passing. 

His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant. 

"We move out tomorrow." 

You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless. 

Right. 

Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers. 

When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back. 

"Roger that, Lieutenant." 

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless. 

(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.) 

    A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful. 

You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet. 

You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning. 

It's a dance. 

The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. 

Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost. 

The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too. 

When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again. 

They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with. 

Sometimes, they mock you. 

Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut. 

"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"

And with that, it's over. Done. 

The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals. 

When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day. 

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty." 

"Roger." 

Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates. 

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression. 

"Alright, bonnie?"

The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time. 

A picture of what you do, what you are. 

Your head lists to the side. "I think so." 

His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms. 

"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate. 

"What?" 

"Before, you know… with Ghost." 

The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?" 

"Curious, is all."

There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense. 

In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting. 

You suck in a breath at the thought. 

It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–

You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.

Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed. 

But you catch it. 

"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission." 

Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage. 

Your breath shudders out of you. 

Mission, you think–

"Better know what you're gettin' into."

You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."  

    He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window. 

He never looks up. Never moves. 

You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family. 

It's an earned break. Deserved. 

You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag. 

Now, it's just another city on the list of many. 

His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight. 

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you. 

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close. 

Your fingers ache to find out. 

"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there. 

You have one, too. 

The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips. 

His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years. 

You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too. 

"Is this seat taken?" 

[pippytmi]

kacy au + a prompt from this list: "this is the first time I’m living on my own and my parents decided to spontaneously drop by in a few hours to see how I’m doing pls let me borrow some cleaning supplies and food so that my parents will believe I’m a functioning, responsible adult who totally cleans and doesn’t just have condiments and eggs in my fridge AU”

////////

“Hey! Hi, you’re—you're 8C, right?”

Kate nearly drops her bag at the sudden voice and its proximity, entirely unused to any kind of attention whatsoever. Embarrassingly, her first response is to reach for a gun that isn’t there, succeeding only in pulling out her keys as a makeshift weapon.

“Whoa,” the stranger before Kate says, raising both hands up. She looks vaguely familiar, dark eyes and curly hair and a short enough stature that Kate presumes she won’t be a real threat. “Is that a…key? No offense, but I don't think that would stab very well.” She squints up at Kate suddenly, almost like she’s trying to figure her out. “Please don't test that theory.”

Kate can only hurriedly lower said keys, feels her cheeks burn under the scrutiny. “Sorry,” she says. “I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

“It’s all good, I totally get it,” the stranger says cheerfully. “There’s not really a welcoming committee around these parts.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Kate asks slowly, cautiously on guard once more. She had first moved into this apartment two months ago, so it’s a little late for a welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of thing.

“It could be,” the woman says, and she holds out her hand. “I’m Lucy. You might know me better as 12B, I’m the one always throwing empty bottles at the landlord’s head.”

Kate just stares back, accepting the handshake a beat later than socially acceptable. “I…didn’t know anyone did that, actually.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Lucy’s quick to reassure her. “He hasn’t found out it’s me.”

“Okay.” Kate is still very, very confused as to what Lucy of 12B (who throws water bottles at people) could possibly want. Or why she has decided to introduce herself in such a strange manner.

“Sorry to bug you," Lucy says, “but you’re kind of my last hope. I’ve been trying to find one friendly neighbor in this shithole, and so far, everyone has been shutting their doors in my face. You’re kind of on another level since you tried to shank me, but I am completely willing to forget that if you can let me borrow some stuff.”

“I didn’t try to…” Kate trails off as Lucy gazes up at her with such a hopeful expression that her resolve immediately weakens. “What kind of stuff?”

“Nothing major,” Lucy says. “Long story short, my parents decided to drop in on me, and I basically have nothing in my place. Any chance you can lend me some cleaning supplies? And maybe some groceries? I will one hundred percent pay you back. I just need them to think I’m an actual functioning human being.”

“I guess I can see what I have,” Kate says reluctantly, gripping her groceries a little tighter to her chest. “Come in, I’ll get you everything you need.”

This is probably a bad idea. Scratch that—it is definitely a bad idea, and Curtis will actually kill her for this, but Kate invites this literal stranger into her (government-assigned) home and leaves Lucy alone in order to briefly dash into her room and lock up the gun kept in the bottom of her purse.

Lucy, at the very least, stays firmly in the living room where Kate left her, though her eyes obviously wander around the room. “I like the color,” she says, gesturing to Kate’s couch. “Funky.”

Kate grimaces. “It was the only one they had,” she says of that neon-green monstrosity.

“Well, I think it’s really cool,” Lucy says. With Kate back, she seems emboldened, takes a turn about the room with a curious half-smile. “Your place seems smaller than mine. How much are you paying? Because if it’s the same as mine, I can totally get the landlord with a bottle for you.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Kate says. “Um, I think I should have everything you need in the kitchen.” She ushers Lucy right over, gestures to the fridge and says, “You can pick whatever you want for food. I’ll get the cleaning supplies from under the sink.” Still on edge, she crouches down to retrieve everything while watching Lucy out of the corner of her eye.

If Lucy can feel Kate staring, she doesn’t show it; she happily accepts the invitation to rummage through the fridge, clanking of bottles and rustling of bags audible. Finally, Kate focuses on the task at hand, and packs the basics into a plastic bag: bleach, window cleaner, Lysol.

“Okay, this might be more unbelievable than having nothing in my house,” Lucy suddenly declares. “Do you have anything good to eat?”

Kate lifts her head. “What?”

“This is all health food and green juice, 8C,” Lucy says. Pauses. “Oh fuck. I never asked for your name.”

Honestly, Kate forgot she hadn’t, either. “It’s—”

“I really hope you’re not a serial killer,” Lucy continues, as if Kate isn’t even in the room and she is just musing aloud. “That probably should’ve been my first question. Can we start over? Here. 8C, are you a serial killer?”

Kate blinks. “No,” she says. “But I also don’t think serial killers would tell you if they were.”

“Fair enough,” Lucy says, and peculiarly enough, she doesn’t seem threatened at all by the possibility. Obviously she is not afraid to be in unfamiliar situations with unfamiliar people, and Kate wonders if she should rethink her assumption that Lucy is not a threat. “So what’s your name, then?”

“...Kate.”

“Kate,” Lucy repeats. “Hm. It’s not what I was expecting, but it fits.” With that information, she just turns around and…continues going through Kate’s fridge. “Are you single?”

Kate coughs. “W-what?”

“Single people always have those sad frozen meals, at least,” Lucy says. “I do too, normally, but I haven’t hit the grocery store in a while.” She opens the freezer and actually whoops at the sight of Marie Callender's finest. “Jackpot! I will take these off your hands.”

“And your parents will…be fine with that?” Kate decides that, overall, she is utterly confused by Lucy the neighbor from 12B. There's no other possible way to put it.

“Oh not at all, but it is what they expect,” Lucy says. “I’ll take some of your health foods too, I guess. Let them think I’m trying to stop bad habits.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, only if that’s fine with you.”

And something about that moment where Lucy becomes a little awkward—when she bashfully looks down at her feet, then looks back up at Kate from underneath her long eyelashes—it endears Kate completely. At the very least, it makes her relax, stomach twisting in itself in a tell-tale weakness for pretty girls in trouble. “Sure,” she says. “Do your parents like wine? You can take a bottle, I have a few.”

“I would never turn down wine,” Lucy says, brightening. “I don’t even care that I don’t have wine glasses. We can drink out of paper cups for all I care.”

Kate opens the liquor cabinet to make her selection: a nice red that had been a gift from her mother. (She’ll just have to email her later and say she loved it when her mother asks.) “I would offer to lend you some, but I also don’t have wine glasses,” she finds herself saying, then immediately regrets it, because Lucy obviously expects an explanation and all Kate seems to be able to do is make a fool out of herself today.

“Are you also a connoisseur of paper cups? Kate from 8C, I think we’re going to be friends,” Lucy says easily, and Kate’s lips twitch from the effort of biting back a smile.

“I actually like to drink wine out of mason jars,” Kate says. “I know it’s a little weird…”

Lucy has absolutely no qualms about smiling, and her smile lights up her whole face in a way Kate can’t look away from. “I think that’s cute,” she says, and Kate’s face burns so hot she knows that her status as this building’s number one gay disaster is 100% secured.

“Here,” Kate barely remembers to blurt out, handing off the wine bottle. “And let me get you a bag for the food too.”

After everything has been successfully squared away, Lucy is left with three large bags that will definitely require more than one trip. “Thank you,” she says. “Seriously. You’ve saved my life and I promise I will replace everything I’ve stolen today.”

“It’s no problem,” Kate says. “Do you need help taking it to your place?”

Lucy feigns a double-take, mouth falling open in an exaggerated gasp. “Already trying to invite yourself over? Wow, 8C. At least buy a girl dinner first.”

Kate’s mouth inevitably twists into that damned smile anyway. “Is that not what the frozen meals are? Technically, I did buy them.”

“Touché,” Lucy says, biting her lip. “You are…surprising.” She snags the smaller of the bags which contains the cleaning supplies, then swings it over her shoulder. “Alright, you can walk me home. But no funny business.”

“Okay,” Kate says with a laugh, taking the last two bags herself.

“But,” Lucy says as they walk outside, “you officially have a rain check.”

“For dinner?” Despite the circumstances of Kate’s arrival here—despite the looming undercover op that is about to consume her life—she feels light. Hopeful, even.

Lucy throws a wink over her shoulder. “For the funny business,” she says, all but skipping in the direction of her apartment.

Kate, meanwhile, freezes in place. Nevermind about Lucy being a threat to her life—she’s just going to be a threat to Kate's sanity.

(Which…may or may not be a bad thing. It’s to be determined, at any rate). 

[feyascorner]

NO BECAUSE I NEED TO TALK ABOUT ASCENDED ASTARION FOR A SECOND

I feel a lot of people think he just lost his soul when he went through with the ascension (myself included) but replaying for the third time (this time w/o rushing lol), it’s more obvious that he’s still him.

Of course, there’s a very obvious difference between spawn astarion and ascendant astarion in his dialogue, especially if you romance him. Ascendant astarion, in the state that he is immediately after ascension, is absolutely not a healthy representation of what a relationship should look like and should not be desired. Obviously some people think he’s hot but for the sake of the argument just go along w me here.

Regardless I don’t think the ascension changed him THAT much as a person. In fact I’d argue that NOT ascending changes him more (for the better). Ascending just made parts of him (the less forgiving traits) that much more prominent.

Looking back on Act 1 during the tiefling celebration (assuming you don’t side w the goblins), he clearly says he doesn’t revel in being a hero. And throughout the game he makes it very clear he’s willing to be selfish because he hasn’t been allowed to be selfish for the past 200 years.

And this selfishness manifests into him wanting power so he won’t face the same environment again. He’s always wanted power, and if he chooses not to ascend, he’s letting go of that part of himself. Not only does he go against what he’s believed for most of his life as a spawn, but accepts that being a spawn is okay with him. If he chooses to ascend, he’s amplifying that power hungry aspect of himself, putting act1/2 astarion’s personality in the basement, but he’s still there.

This applies to how possessive he is of Tav after the ascension too. He’s always been possessive, even if he doesn’t make it alarmingly obvious. Though rather than possessive I’d describe it more as a fear of being abandoned in act 1/2.

For example, when you drop the Githyanki Crèche on him he gets genuinely annoyed for a few seconds and then he thanks you for apologizing in a much softer tone, like he’s trying to repair any damage he might’ve done by getting mad at you. At the time, he still thinks of himself as weak, and therefore cannot bring himself to be possessive since he has no power to back it up. Instead, he manifests these feelings by doing everything in his power to please you even if it goes against his emotions. And while he doesn’t particularly love Tav going off with other people (as seen with the dialogue after you sleep with Mizora), he pretends that he’s okay with it just to keep you by his side. This tendency to please Tav in hopes they’ll stay is also seen in how he asks for your permission before he kills the Gur at the hag’s house.

Now, once he does ascend, he realizes he has the power to support all these darker emotions he feels. It turns twisted as a result, bringing us to the ascendant astarion we have today.

Spawn astarion, however, lets go of these emotions in a way, or displays them in a more healthy manner. It’s why his arc feels much more satisfying this way because ascendant astarion isn’t really changing, just adjusting. Spawn astarion goes through more raw character development which is also why I cannot bring myself to ascend him even in my evil durge play through!!

anyway yeah I made this account to do stuff like this hope you enjoyed my little rant🫶 this is just my personal opinion obviously but pls lmk if anyone thinks differently bg3 lore is so interesting

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter ten: a hidden gem, my own goldmine

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 10k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, ESTABLISHED relationship FINALLY, spanish cause joel is latino, fingering, unprotected p in v, dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft (and soft dom) joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression diagnosis and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of co-parenting, angst, MAJOR doubt! and a slumber party! yay!

a/n: thank you as always to the bestie/cousin/sister wife/sweet, sweet gf @northernbluess for beta-reading this chapter, seriously i can't write without you so you're stuck with me. also this chapter is a little heavier in spanish then before, so if there are any corrections needed, please comment or message me! i went through multiple translations to try to find the best/most common, but things are bound to slip through the cracks.

Joel’s been catching up with some chores around the house this evening after Sarah’s gone to bed: dishes are washed and put away, counters wiped down and floors mopped. He reset the living room after he put the laundry in the dryer, settling onto the couch with a long sigh. Hands rub at his tired eyes, muscles aching for his bed but he is determined to stay up until you text him that you’re back at your friend’s house safe.

A few of your friends from college ended up with jobs in Austin, and tonight you’d all arranged to go out downtown. You had, sweetly, invited Joel to tag along but when you mentioned that the only other guys there would be boyfriends of your friends that were your age, he politely declined. Well, he used his daughter as an excuse because he didn’t want to admit that he was a little insecure about the age difference, even still.

It’s not even a large one, you’re twenty-five  and he’s thirty-three, but with a nearly ten year old kid and his own business, he’s willing to bet he’s in a much different place in life than your friends' significant others. And if there isn’t a lot of common ground, Joel knows he’s not the most social or conversational.

Resting his eyes, his head rolls back onto the couch while the TV drones on about the latest Astros game. A short buzz from his phone in his pocket peels his eyes open, yawning quietly as he fishes the device out and flips it open.

FROM: Mariposa

Cn u pcik me up pLs????

While deciphering your drunk text, another couple are delivered and he keys down to see them as he chuckles at the antics. 

I miiss u

Eveynoe is w their BFs n I wnt mine 

Plesaseeeeeee J

Before he can type a response to you, an incoming call blocks out his screen, his thumb hitting the accept button quickly and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Feelin’ alright, Mari?”

A hiccup on the other line makes him laugh quietly again, your voice coming in over the music and people in the background, “No, not alright. M’sad.”

“Why’re you sad, sweet girl?”

“Cause you’re not here. Every—everybody’s…No I didn’t want a vodka water, gross! I wanna vodka soooooda with lime…Oops, sorry J. What was I saying?” A giggle from your end pulls a smile on his face, only slightly worried at your level of intoxication.

“You were telling me why you’re sad.”

“Right! M’sad cause all my friends have got their boy—” One hiccup. “Boyfriends here. And you’re aaaallllll the way at home.” Another hiccup. “I wanna be home with you.”

“I see. Well, I don’t want you to be sad, darlin’, so m’gonna come pick you up. How’s that sound?”

He hears a gasp into the phone and your voice gets quieter, imagining you holding the phone or turning your head away to a nearby friend.

“He’s coming! Jus’ to pick me up though, we gotta get back for Sar—Sarah…Yeah, she’s so cute…Well, yeah duh, he’s a DILF…I mean, to me I guess he’d be a DIAF…‘Dad I Am Fucking’…Oh, shit!” There’s a rustling as he laughs to himself overhearing your conversation, a smug smile on his face from you bragging to your friends. “M’sorry, J, god I totally forgot I was on the phone!” You punctuate your sentence with an incredulous laugh before quieting down to hear Joel.

“That’s alright, Mari. M’gonna drop Sarah with Tommy and then come and get you, okay? Can you tell me where you are?” Joel is already standing from the couch, grabbing his keys from the entryway before making his way upstairs to get Sarah into the car.

“Ummm…One sec!” The line rustles again while he stands at the top of the stairs. “Okay, we’re at that place on 11th, Nickel City.”

“Yeah, I know where that is, sweetheart. Be there soon, okay?”

“Okay. Tha—” One last hiccup. “—nks, J.”

“Anytime, amor. Anytime.”

With Sarah dropped off at Tommy’s, Joel goes into town to pick you up. It takes another twenty minutes from Tommy’s place, finding a parking spot not too far from the bar. He slips in the door and starts to comb his eyes over the crowd, most people stepping out of his way from his intimidating frame while he weaves through the masses.

Spotting you off to the side at a high-top table, some friends he recognizes from your photos dotted around the surface as well. You’re wrapped up in a conversation with the person next to you while you sit on a stool, Joel’s eyes finally landing on the person you’re talking to. It’s another man, about his height, maybe a few inches shorter. He’s got light hair, a clean-cut look with some fancy shirt on. Clearly, the guy is flirting with you, standing closer and leaning an arm around the back of your chair. Knowing how drunk you sounded over the phone, it occurs to him that you likely don’t even realize this guy’s body language, a primal possessiveness taking over his judgment. 

He’s waited years for you. There’s no way in hell he isn’t putting on a show for this guy to send him a message.

Joel rolls his shoulders back, chest raising with the corrective posture. He saunters over to the table, politely smiling and waving as your friends must recognize him and welcome him to the group. He walks right up to the other side of your chair, placing a hand on your lower back and brushing against the skin exposed by the tank top you’re wearing.

A small gasp exhales from you with the surprise contact, turning your head and beaming when you see him. The look makes the wings of his butterfly flap faster, beating in time with his heartbeat.

“You’re here! M’so happy to see you.” He matches your smile before he is crushed in a hug, your arms around his neck. Unraveling from each other, you turn back toward the other man, before one of your other friends comes over to tell you something, pulling you away but still within arm’s length for Joel to keep his hand on you.

Joel reaches his hand out toward the man,  “Nice to meet you…”

“Colton.”

“Nice to meet you, Colton. Are you one of the college friends?”

Colton gives a weak handshake to Joel, shaking his head with a laugh, “No, actually, never met any of ‘em until tonight. Well, except Taylor. M’relatively new to town, met Taylor through work, so you know how it is. Trying to make some connections.”

Joel has to hold back his eye roll, annoyance clear on his face at the skirting around that this Colton is doing. Joel’s heard it before from Tommy — going up to a girl and using the ‘new in town’ line to get a conversation started and to hopefully get them to leave with you to ‘show you around’.

Mine. You’re mine, he repeats to himself, the jealousy pumping in his veins.

“So’re you one of the college friends? Or an Austin friend?” Colton makes polite conversation while you turn in Joel’s arm and wrap your own around his back. Tugging on his t-shirt the fingers of one of your hands slip under the material and skim across his skin. Joel clears his throat, chuckling dryly as he keeps his gaze on Colton.

“Uh, not quite. M’the boyfriend.” His head nods to his side to you, a tight, smug smile on his face as he watches the gears in Colton’s head turn.

It’s not happening for him tonight. Or ever.

“Oh shit! You must be Joel! We’ve been waiting for you. I’ve just been making sure she’s had some water and didn’t wander off before you got here. She’s been talkin’ about you all night, made me think about how many times I’ve drunkenly ranted about my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Taylor’s my girlfriend — she’s the one with blonde hair right across the table.” Colton beams down the way as Taylor makes eye contact with him, waving to the woman as she smiles back at him.

The man is a golden retriever. And Joel thought he was some douchebag trying to hook up with his girlfriend. Joel opens his mouth to apologize for his cold behavior, but before he can your head pops up from his chest, grabbing his attention. Hands at his back scratch your nails against his skin, humming contently as you press a sloppy kiss to his jaw.

Colton considers his duties relieved and goes to find his girlfriend before Joel can thank him, leaving the two of you at the end of the table. Joel pulls his chin in to look down at you, smiling softly and moving a hand to the back of your neck.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, jus’ happy you’re here. Missed you.”

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and you hum again, swaying sleepily in his arms. “M’glad you called me, Mariposa.”

“Can we go home now please?”

“Yeah, Mari, ‘course we can. You want me to bring you to your house?” His hands move to your sides, running up and down against the fabric of your tank top. You hook your arms around his neck and shake your head, a tiny “humpf” accompanying it.

“No, home.”

“My house?”

“Yes! Home. Wanna sleep in your bed, s’comfier than mine.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I can bring you home.”

A warm stirring is felt in his chest, steadying you in your stance and keeping an arm around your waist. You say goodbye to your friends, all of them waving to you both as Joel steers you through the bar and to his truck outside.

Joel calls Tommy on the way home, his brother telling him that Sarah’s out cold and he can bring her back in the morning when she wakes up. He presses for an answer about why Joel had to drop Sarah off, but Joel ignores Tommy’s question again and hangs up.

Safely back at his house, he helps you out of the truck and inside, walking behind you on the stairs as you stumble. It’s like a baby deer learning to walk — he’s never seen you this drunk, tipsy, sure, but never at this level. A smile crosses his face as he imagines a moment like this in the future with you, maybe after a night out for the two of you or maybe even after your wedding.

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, tripping over your feet at the landing and recovering on your own. His hand hovers at your back, ready to break your fall if it happens.

“I’m alright, m’alright. Jus’ tripped a lil’.”

To be safe, Joel holds your hips the rest of the way up and into his room, sitting you on the edge of the mattress and gathering a t-shirt from his drawers for you to wear to bed.

“No, I want the funny one that I like,” you whine, waving a hand back at his dresser. Joel shakes his head to himself, chuckling about the fact that you still have a preference for sleep attire.

He grabs the shirt you’re talking about, a worn and washed one that he got as a joke from Tommy a few years ago. He normally wears it to sleep himself, if he wears one, or around the house if he knows he won’t be going out. It’s faded black now, yellow text that reads ‘I do know it all…I just can’t remember it all at once.’

Upon finding it in his drawer last week, you laughed hysterically and made him put it on for a Polaroid. You’ve also requested it every time you’ve stayed over since. 

In front of you again, with the correct shirt, he kneels down and pats the outside of your thighs. “Can you stand for me, sweetheart?”

Using his shoulders as support, you stand on sea legs, swaying back and forth as he looks up at you. “Can I take off your skirt, darlin’?”

“Yeah, you can, cutie.” You giggle and sway wider, playing with the curls at the top of his head, turning his head to your will as he unbuttons and unzips your denim skirt. “You got some grays mixed in here, mister.”

“M’getting old, Mari. No surprises there.” He chuckles and helps you lift each foot to step out of the tube of material completely, rubbing a hand on your calf before he stands in front of you again. He’s faced with a pout, brows knit together in anger.

“You’re not getting old. You’re literally in your thirties. Not old.”

“Say that to the gray hairs then, sweetheart.”

“Gray hairs—“ Hiccup. “Mean nothing ‘sides the fact that you’re gonna be a silver fox. My silver fox.”

A content smile, closed lips, pulls the corners of your mouth up. Heavy eyelids cover your irises halfway, the sight of you so drunkenly drowsy is utterly adorable to him. Fingers grip the bottom of your tank top, kissing your forehead.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Take it all off, bay-beeee.” Your swaying causes you to stumble again, Joel catching you before you fall back onto the bed. Once you’re steady, your own hands slip under his shirt, running over his tummy while you press sloppy kisses into his neck. “Mm, want you so bad, J.”

“I love you, darlin’, and you know I want you all the time, but not tonight. You need to get some water and go to sleep. For a while.” A defeated sigh blows against his skin, rocking back on your heels and Joel holding your weight to bring you to stand straight again. “Arms up, baby.”

You comply without another ask, lifting your arms as if they’re heavy weights, allowing Joel to tug the material over your head. With a slight slap sound, your arms drop back against your sides. Joel takes off your bra for you and gets you into his t-shirt, giving you a small kiss. He walks you to your side of the bed, tucking you in.

“Be right back, sweet girl. Gonna get you some water and then you can go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh, nesting into the sheets and duvet. Your eyes close, soft hums filling the room as he runs downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing ibuprofen to leave at your bedside for the morning.

Returning to his room, he coaxed you to sit up, having you drink half the glass. He changes for bed himself, stripping down to his boxers and slipping under the covers, pulling you closer with an arm around your waist.

“G’night, Mari.”

“Mm, night, J. Thanks for coming to get me and bringing me home. Like sleeping next to you lots more than a sleepover with my friends…”

“Like sleeping next to you too, Mari. Missed you all night. M’glad you’re home now.”

“Nightie night.”

“Nightie night, sweet girl. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He pinches your side playfully, breathing a laugh out of his nose at your yelp and squeezing you closer. With a kiss to the top of your head, he lulls you to sleep with his fingertips running up and down your spine, thoughts going right back to those flash images of a future with you.

“Love you, Mariposa.”

There’s an ache all over your body, eyes too sore and crusted over with sleep to peel open when you first wake up. Light peeks through the curtains, shining onto the bed and directly at your face, making you groan into the pillow and attempt to roll over.

Unfortunately, your body is telling you to get up, find water or pain meds or some coffee, you really wouldn’t be all too picky at this moment. Rolling over onto your back, you reach out to your side and feel bedding underneath your hand, pouting to yourself when you finally open your eyes and see Joel’s gone. As you sit up, you can hear the shower turn on in the bathroom attached to his bedroom and you can hear some quiet humming from the other side of the door. A smile crosses your face, the idea of a shower nestling itself in your mind and feeling like it would be the only thing to get rid of all of this hangover.

On the nightstand next to you, there are two burgundy-colored tablets and a half glass of water, vaguely remembering last night when Joel made you drink the other half before going to sleep. Washing down the ibuprofen with the entirety of the water, you start to recount what you can recall from the night before, cringing internally when you get to the point that Joel showed up to pick you up. You don’t really remember getting home, but looking down at the t-shirt you’re wearing clues you in that Joel must have done most of the work to get you into bed.

Slipping out from under the duvet, you set the empty glass back down and slink over to the bathroom, twisting the knob and opening the door. The squeak of the hinges breaks your sneaking attempt and Joel’s humming stops.

He speaks up over the sound of the water, “Mariposa? That you?”

“I sure hope no one else would be sneaking into the bathroom this morning. Unless you have another drunk girlfriend you had to pick up from the bar,” you laugh at the self-deprecating joke, picking up your toothbrush and squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste to clean your teeth. And to get rid of the taste of tequila lingering on your tongue.

The shower curtain slides back a bit and Joel’s head sticks out, goofy grin on his face with curls hanging on his forehead. “Nah, just got the one. How’re feeling this morning?”

“Like I got beat up by a bunch of vodka sodas and a couple of tequila shots.” Your words are muffled around the foamy toothpaste, leaning back against the counter facing him.

“Yeah, you were pretty drunk, darlin’. But it was honestly cute, you’re a funny drunk.”

Turning back toward the sink, you fold over the sink to spit out and rinse your mouth out, groaning softly, “God, please tell me I didn’t do or say anything embarrassing.”

“Nothin’ too bad, but there were some things that I will be committing to memory,” Joel laughs and winks, the noise getting louder as you groan again and roll your head back.

“This is the worst part about getting drunk. People holding stupid shit you said over your head.” Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you look at Joel across the few feet separating you and watch him shake his head and grin sweetly.

“I’ll tell you what you said, sweetheart, but I think you’re in too physically fragile of a state right now.”

“God, you are right about that,” you sigh and shake your head, propping yourself off the counter you were leaning on, crossing the tiles to be only a foot from Joel’s face, “Can I join you? A shower sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

He nods quickly, halfway through the question and you chuckle at the antics, pulling the t-shirt over your head and slipping off your panties to leave both in a heap with Joel’s clothes. He opens the curtain for you and steps back toward the other wall while you close the curtain and drag yourself under the stream of water.

A sigh relaxes your chest and shoulders, closing your eyes as you let the warm water run all over you. Joel’s hands brush across your skin, the feeling of his work-worn palms sending a tingle of excitement down your skin and chilling your body even under the hot water. His thumbs cup under your breasts while the rest of his fingers splay out on your ribcage, tips of them toward your back as he holds you closer to him.

“Mm, you’re so beautiful, d’you know that, mi Mariposa? La mujer más hermosa del mundo (The most beautiful woman in the world),” Joel mumbles against your skin when he nestles into the crook of your neck, curving his back to fit with you perfectly. His hands wander from your ribs, circling around your back and drifting down to the swell of your ass where they settle with a gentle squeeze.

“I think I’m getting better at Spanish 'cause I understood that. And it was very sweet, thank you, J. I think you’re the most beautiful man in the world.” You giggle and feel Joel exhale a chuckle against your neck, peppering slow and spaced kisses along your shoulder.

“You also told me something else about what you think of me last night. Well, it was to one of your friends but you were still on the phone with me so I heard,” he stretches to full height again with a smug smirk, squeezing your ass again as you sigh.

“Oh god, what did I say to you? Did I feed your massive ego?” you tease, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and lightly scratching your nails against his skin.

“I learned that I am a DILF last night. Or according to you, I am a DIAF to you. Dad I Am Fucking.” He can barely get the last sentence out around his loud laugh, your embarrassed reaction of wide eyes and jaw dropped egging him on more.

“Stop, I cannot believe I said that. And that you heard! You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. Not a chance,” Joel can’t wipe the giggly smile off of his face as he continues, “Oh, and you also were definitely really into me getting you into pajamas last night. I asked if I could take off your shirt and you said ‘Take it all off bay-beeee’. Which was very tempting.”

“Oh my god, if you don’t stop telling me all of this right now, I won’t take anything off for you again.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, both of you know it holds zero weight.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out as you turn toward the shelf in the shower, reaching for the body wash before Joel intercepts your hand, holding it in his and lowering it to your side. He presses his chest to your back, the contact also nudging his hard cock into the flesh of your ass.

“Y’know, I woke up this morning after you were all over me last night with a fucking hard on. Aching for you. And then you come in here and ask to join me in the shower, made it come right back…” he leans down, kissing your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear, “D’you still want me, Mariposa? Hm?”

One of his hands drifts to your inner thighs, coaxing your legs apart and swiping two fingers from your entrance to your clit. Your arousal coats his fingers, a quiet whimper leaving your lips in an exhale, eyes closing and head rolling back against his shoulder.

“You still want me, mi dulzura? Feels like you do,” his lips are against your ear, voice low and gravelly, and he slowly circles your clit as you continue to whimper and writhe in his arms, “Sounds like you do, too, mi amor. Y’know, we have the whole house to ourselves, Mariposa. I want you to be loud for me while I touch you. Understand?”

Lost in the sparks of pleasure slowly building, your words get caught in your throat as one of your arms reaches up to wrap around to the nape of his neck. At the lack of response to his question, Joel pinches your clit before pulling his hand away.

“No, no, no, please. I understand. I’ll be loud for you, J. Please touch me…”

You grip the curls at the back of his head, biting your lip and opening your eyes again to look at Joel’s head at your side. His hand comes back, his thumb rubbing your clit while his middle finger sinks into you until the first knuckle. He keeps his eyes on your face, slowly working the finger in and out of your cunt, never giving it to you fully.

“Fuck, don’t tease me, Joel. Please, pretty please, gimme more.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, his nose nudging at your cheek to turn your head straight toward the tiled wall, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

“You want more, Mariposa?”

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Mm, and are you going to be good? Give me all your pretty sounds that I love?” Joel pushes his entire middle finger into you now, holding it there, “If I give you what you want, you gotta be loud for me, pretty girl.”

“I will, I promise.” You wiggle your hips to get any more friction building, grumbling in frustration when Joel’s other arm tugs your hips back against him, strapping you to him like a seatbelt. The thumb against your clit leaves, and as you’re about to complain again, Joel adds another finger and starts to thrust them in and out frenetically, the heel of his palm rubbing the sensitive bud at the front of your folds.

A sinful moan rolls from your gut, bouncing off of the walls of the shower and drowning out the sound of the water for a few seconds. You can feel Joel’s satisfied smirk against your skin, his mouth dipping to the crook of your neck to suck at your pulse point and leave his mark. His hand continues its rapid pace, your legs bending as they start to give out the closer you reach to the edge. To attempt to hold your weight, you lean your arms against the tiles, feeling yourself being held up by Joel’s arm tightened across your hips.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good. Oh!” Your voice pitches up when his fingers graze that spot inside your walls, the sound catching in your throat. Joel pushes deeper with his fingers, hooking them to find that same spot and petting against it with small strokes of his fingers. The sounds coming from you are uncontrollable, head falling back against his shoulder as a mess of his name, lustful whimpers and whines, and wanton moans echo in the steaming shower.

“That’s it, pretty girl, I can feel how close you are. Nearly squeezing my fingers out of ya.” Joel’s small groan vibrates against your shoulder, his hard-on being pressed into your back and leaking pre-cum. You can feel yourself clench around his fingers, the edges of your vision blurring as you near your peak. “Gonna come for me, Mari? Gonna be a good girl and come all over my hand so you can be ready for my cock?”

His words are the final push, pleasure oozing around his fingers and dripping down your folds, warmth spreading in your body as your nerve endings tingle. You can hear yourself moaning his name, small encouragements spoken in your ear as Joel continues to fuck his fingers into you throughout your orgasm. When you’re fully present in your body again, Joel slips his fingers out of you slowly, turning your head and kissing you deeply.

“Need you so fucking bad, Mariposa,” he says against your lips, kissing you fervently before speaking again, “Wanna bend you over and make you take my cock, and you’ll tell me how good it feels filling you up. You want it, pretty girl?”

“Need it, J. Please, I need you so bad.” You kiss him this time, pressing your hips back and grinding against his cock, the rumble of a mouth muffled into your mouth as your tongues meld together. Joel pulls away and grips your hips, turning both of you so his back is facing the stream of water.

“Hands against the wall, amor, arch your back for me—” You follow his instructions with one of his large hands skimming along your spine, folded to an angle at your hips. “That’s it, baby. So good for me.”

Joel takes his cock in his hands, teasing his tip at your entrance and earning a whine from you. A dark laugh is heard faintly from behind you, an equally quiet sigh of relief when he gives you just the tip.

“Mm, fuck, Mari. Estás tan apretado, y húmedo, y cálido. Nunca me voy a cansar de este coño. (You’re so tight, and wet, and warm. I’m never going to get tired of this pussy.)” 

Before you can formulate any sort of response, despite not fully knowing what he said, Joel gives you a few more inches of his cock, stuttering out a moan from you before his hips set a rough, desperate pace. Grunts and groans, moans and whimpers fill the bathroom, your names exchanged back and forth as he fucks you from behind. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, digging in to surely form bruises to match the hickey at your collar, and to keep you from being rammed into the wall with how hard his thrusts are.

“More, fuck, gimme all of it, J. Want you to fill me up, make it hard to fucking walk straight.”

There’s a vibrating rumble that resonates in your own chest, Joel completely pulling out on the downstroke and heaving his chest up and down with shallow breaths.

“Fucking dirty girl. Mi chica sucia. Filthy, baby.” He runs his fingers down the line of your spine, still arched for him. You feel him lined up at your entrance again, whimpering for him and pressing your hips back to try to get him inside. Joel chuckles, shaking his head, “Mm, can’t get enough of my cock, can you, sweetheart? Greedy little thing.”

Your jaw drops open with a toe-curling moan, Joel’s hips thrusting his throbbing cock into your waiting cunt to fill you completely, the same rough and hard pace set as he makes you knock forward and brace against the wall with every movement.

“Take it, darlin’. Oh, fuck, aguantarla. Puedes aguantarla, mi dulzura. (Oh, fuck, take it. You can take it, my sweetness.)” Joel’s head rolls back with another guttural moan, tilting forward to watch his cock disappearing into your dripping hole. “Fuck, such a pretty pussy. And it’s all fucking mine, isn’t that right, Mariposa?”

“Y-Yes! Fuck yeah, it’s all yours, J. No one could ever fuck me like you,” you glance over your shoulder and he makes eye contact, a wide, knowing smile on his face. Your cunt clenches around his cock, his brutal pace hurtling you toward the edge. Just as you’re about to ask for that little bit more, he reads your mind and slips one of his hands around your front, errantly rubbing circles in your clit.

“Can feel you around me, Mari, know you’re close. You gonna let me fill you up with my come? Gonna milk my cock with your tight pussy?”

All you can do is nod, eyes shutting tightly as moans squeak out of you. One hand reaches back to grip his wrist as he keeps you right there at the edge.

“Say it, baby. Say it back to me and I’ll let you come. Give you just what you need.”

A deep breath brings enough air into your lungs to rasp out, “Please fill me up, Joel. Wanna milk your cock of everything you can give me, want you to be dripping out of me all day. Remind me of how only you can have my pussy.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Such a good girl.” Joel eyes that you have a hand bracing you still, letting go of your hip as he fucks you, rubbing your clit continuously. He reaches his free hand around to your mouth, prodding his thumb at your lips and humming when you take it into your mouth and suck. After a minute, he pops out his saliva covered digit and brings it back to your body, pushing into the tight ring of muscle facing him. The sensation of stimulation at all three places barrels you to your high, pussy gripping his cock as everything tenses and pleasure rocks your body and clears your mind.

With the tightness felt in both holes around him, Joel takes one, two, three more thirsts before he’s spilling into you, ropes of come coating your walls and lazy jerks of his hips fucking it deeper into you.

After a moment, Joel pulls out of you slowly, gathering all that dribbles out of you and pushing it back inside with his fingers, causing a shudder down your spine.

The two of you come down from your peaks, the water running cold now. Still needing to clean yourselves, Joel washes your body while you shampoo and condition his hair as he folds over to gently exfoliate your legs. The tasks get swapped, Joel washing your hair while you wash his body.

Stepping out, he grabs a towel for you, wrapping it around you tightly and giving you a sweet, chaste kiss. He gets another towel for himself, both of you drying off and heading back into his bedroom to get dressed again.

You sit on the edge of his bed in your clothes from last night, one of his shirts pulled over your tank top and tucked into your skirt. As you comb your fingers over your wet hair, you look at Joel as he pulls on a pair of jeans standing next to his closet.

“Hey, I have a question for you, actually.”

“Shoot, darlin’.”

“Am I remembering correctly that last night when you came to the bar, you were acting a little jealous toward Colton? Did you think he was flirting with me or something and you got all possessive?” you giggle quietly.

Joel blushes and shakes his head with an overexaggerated eye roll. “Pffft, no. Don’t remember it happening like that, probably a bit clouded in your memory.”

Laughing more, you stand up and cross over to him, hands splayed on his soft tummy and head tilted away from him.

“Oh, sure. Sure, J, we’ll go with that if it makes you feel better.” Reaching up you give his cheek a gentle pat and wink at him, giggling faintly before he gathers you up in his arms and gives you a kiss.

“Good, 'cause it does make me feel better. ‘Sides can you blame me for getting a little jealous? We’ve waited like three years to get this right with each other, m’not letting it go.”

“Me neither, which is why you don’t ever have to be jealous cause it’s only you, baby.” You send him a wink and a grin, giving him a kiss before you both hear the front door open, Tommy’s voice echoing upstairs as he calls out for Joel. He looks down at you, biting his lip.

“I didn’t think he’d be bringing Sarah home this early. Uh, d’you mind that he’s here or should I jus’ say…” he trails off awkwardly, waiting for your thoughts on how to broach the fact that you’re over here, in Joel’s shirt and clearly have stayed the night with your wet hair from the shower.

“If you’re fine with him knowing, we can tell him. That is if Sarah hasn’t spilled the beans already.” Joel laughs faintly and nods, running his hands up and down your arms.

“That is highly possible. But guess we’ll have to find out when we head downstairs. And I’m apologizing now for any stupid shit my brother says.”

“You act like I don’t know Tommy already.”

“You don’t know Tommy as my girlfriend. He’s going to give you some shit, and he’s going to give a lot to me for keeping it from him.”

“Think I can survive Tommy Miller. Now, c’mon, get a shirt on, and let’s go. I need some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joel descendsed the stairs ahead of you, rounding the corner into the kitchen and greeting his brother as Tommy pours himself a cup of coffee. Sarah is already at the table, cereal bowl in front her as she eats and reads her book. Joel grabs two mugs from the cabinet, earning a confused look from Tommy before you walk into the room, the confusion melting into mischief. His brother nudges at Joel’s arm and winks.

“Ah, así que esta es la razón de su aventura nocturna en la ciudad. Puedo ver por qué estabas tan desesperada por mi ayuda. (Oh, so this is the reason for your late-night adventure into the city. I can see why you were so desperate for my help.)”

Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head, “Cállate, Tommy. Necesitaba que la llevaran a casa, así que le di una. (Shut up, Tommy. She needed a ride home, so I gave her one.)”

“Claro, claro. Un paseo. (Sure, sure. A ride.)”

“Pendejo de mierda (Fucking dumbass).”

“¿Qué? No estoy diciendo que haya algo malo en ello. Estoy feliz de ver a su hijo si significa que usted consigue algunos. Finalmente. (What? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I am happy to watch your child if it means you getting some. Finally.)” He laughs when Joel glares at him, Tommy crossing over to the table and covering Sarah’s ears. “Además, ella está jodidamente caliente. No sé lo que ve en un viejo como tú. (Plus, she’s fucking hot. Don’t know what she sees in an old man like you.)”

“Yo tampoco. Y deja de hablar de ella así. (I don’t either. And stop talking about her like that.)” Joel’s voice grits out the last sentence, his short fuse being tested with Tommy’s teasing this morning.

“No, realmente, ella es casi diez años más joven y podría conseguir a quien quisiera, pero ¿eres tú? Mejor empieza a apostar por los caballos, hermano. (No, really, she’s almost ten years younger and could get anybody she wanted, but it’s you? Better start betting on the horses, brother.)” His younger brother comes back to stand next to him, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

“Déjalo. (Quit it.)” Joel sends him another glare, grabbing the milk out of the fridge to add some to your cup.

“Maldita sea, tal vez tengo que contratar a una niñera para Sarah cuando está en mi casa. O tal vez la contrate yo mismo. (Damn, maybe I gotta hire a nanny for Sarah when she’s at my house. Or maybe I’ll hire her myself.)”

When Joel looks back at Tommy, he sees him eyeing you as you talk to Sarah at the table, smacking him upside the back of his head.

“Tommy, si no te callas la mierda ahora mismo, lo juro por Dios. (Tommy, if you don’t shut the fuck right now, I swear to god.)”

“Qué? Ella tu novia ahora? (What? She your girlfriend now?)” The young Miller questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Sí, lo es. Así que deja de hablar de lo caliente que es mi novia. (Yeah, she is. So stop talking about how hot my girlfriend is.)” Joel states matter-of-factly, shutting the fridge after returning the jug of milk.

“I understood some of that actually,” you say with a proud smile on your face, one of eager mischief on Tommy’s across the room.

Joel whips his head to you, wide eyes, “What did you understand?”

“You called him an asshole. Something about Sarah. The word girlfriend was thrown in there.”

Joel sighs quietly in relief, picking up your prepared mug of coffee.

“Oh, and something about you being old. And that your brother thinks I’m hot. ” Tommy sputters on his drink as he starts to laugh loudly, a deep blush warming Joel’s cheeks. You walk over to him and take the mug out of his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Cause you’re not old and Tommy just wishes he wasn’t single at thirty years old.”

Joel laughs and Tommy waves your comment off, rolling his eyes before winking at you, “Oh please, you wish you found me before this old man.”

“Sure, Tommy. You can think that all you want, but I met you both on the same day.” Joel barks out a laugh, a smug grin on his face from you holding your own toward Tommy.

Joel looks at his brother, a smile growing on Tommy’s face, “Well, maybe you needed to get your eyes checked that day, Posey. Cause you’d have to be blind to not pick me over the decrepit ass.”

“Y’know, I’m happy to set you up with one of my friends. She likes the type of cute guys who think they’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny, Posey, so not sure if it’s gonna work out. But yes, I would like to be set up with this friend of yours, please…” You laugh and nod, sipping your coffee before answering.

“I’ll work some magic for ya, Tommy.”

“I like this one, Joel, better keep her around so she can be my wingman.”

“You say ‘this one’ as if there have been others,” Joel rolls his eyes and continues, “And I certainly don’t need your advice on that front Tommy. She’s got me as long as she wants me, but please dear god, you should not be his wingwoman. Don’t subject yourself to that torture, Mari.”

The three of you chat to catch up, Tommy genuinely asking about your time in Boston and telling you how glad he is that you’re back around to make his people happy again. The comment swells your heart before your attention is pulled to Sarah as she asks about having a sleepover with you.

“I would love to throw a sleepover with you, sweet pea. I’ll bring over all the goodies to your house and we can stay in your room and watch movies and paint our nails and do all the fun girly things.”

“Yes! And Daddy and Uncle Tommy aren’t allowed ‘cause no boys.” She points at the two of them, both of them frowning and sighing.

“Can I at least be at home, mija?” Joel jokes, and the three of you laugh as Sarah seriously considers her answer.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but you gotta leave us to do the sleepover things ourselves.”

“Deal, Bug. I can do that.”

“Oh yes! It’s all decided then, we’ll have a sleepover when your week at camp is over.” You clap your hands together and grin, already planning everything you need to do this week to prepare for it.

“Damn, Mari, you brought a lot of stuff for one night with Sarah.” Joel eyes you from head to toe, a duffle on your arm, and shopping bags in your hands. He takes the plastic bags from you, holding the back door open for you before following you over to the island to set down all of your purchases. “You do know it’s only Sarah, right, darlin’? None of her friends are coming. This is a practice run for a sleepover.”

“I know, but I wanted to make the first girly sleepover she has at her house fun. I loved having my friends stay over when I was younger, and I dunno, you’re a boy so you don’t get it.” Rustling around in the bags, you start to pull out snacks and candy, along with fun new nail polishes and nail stickers, new hair clips, some young-girl-friendly makeup, and new pajamas for Sarah and you.

“Sweetheart, this is all really nice, but let me give you some money for it all. This is a ton of stuff.” Joel glances at the counter covered in supplies, and before you can answer he’s walking to the front door to get his wallet from the entryway table.

You call out after him, “I’m not going to take it so don’t bother trying! It wasn’t even that much anyway.”

Popping back around the corner into the kitchen, cash in hand, he shakes his head with a mocking laugh, “You’re funny. Even if it was five dollars, I’m giving you ten. Now please take the cash.”

Joel stops in front of you, hand out with a hundred in his hand. A dry laugh leaves your chest, pushing his hand away as you continue to sort through everything from the shops, “Not happening. This was way less than a hundred dollars too, so definitely not accepting that. Go put it back in your wallet, Miller.”

“You’re so goddam stubborn sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re not?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I know I’m stubborn, that’s why this argument is happening. And why I am about to do this.” Joel steps behind you, slipping the bill into the back pocket of your shorts. You groan, fishing it out and shoving it back in his hand, pushing at his chest.

Joel rebuttals with another attempt, stepping toward you but you step back, backing around to the other side of the counter as he follows closely. You hold your arms out to keep space between the two of you, not being able to hold back a laugh as you start to pick up the pace in your cyclical chase.

“Joel! I’m not taking your damn money, leave it!”

“Mariposa, please, we both know I am way more stubborn than you and m’not gonna stop unless you take it.”

Shaking your head, you turn around to actually move into a speedwalk-jog kind of walk around the kitchen, serpentining your steps.

“Darlin’, I can still catch you if you walk like that.”

“Well, I’d like to see you try.”

Joel takes that statement as a challenge, suddenly catching up with you and wrapping his arms to your front, slipping the bill in the waistband of your shorts before letting you go, putting his hands up in the air.

Wordlessly, you snatch the money from your bottoms, throw it on the counter, and go back to the pile of purchases on the counter. After all of that, you start to unload the drinks in the fridge and open the pantry to throw the sweets and other snacks on one of the shelves. Joel stands and watches you, eyes going back and forth between following your movements to all of the things lying out, including the money.

A feeling kicks up in your chest, tightening your insides with a wring. Small moments send you back to feelings like these, unsupported by actual occurrences but your brain doesn’t care about what actually happens; it prefers the what-ifs. What if this doesn’t last, what if you’re too young, what if you’re too anxious, too broken, too much and it all comes crumbling from under you before you fully realize it? What if this is one of those moments you look back on as a sign? It’s taut and consuming, begging you to say something about it to release the corkscrew.

“If this is too much or if I’m overstepping a — I don’t know — a parental boundary 'cause she’s not my kid, and I know that, of course, but I wanted to do this for Sarah. M’not the nanny that you have to reimburse anymore, I just thought it would be fun to make it like how my sleepovers used to be as a kid…”

Joel’s brows stitch together with what looks like confusion or concern, rounding the kitchen island and standing next to you. A hand on your hip closest to him presses into the flesh there, turning you toward him as the other hand reaches up to tilt your chin to him. Your eyes avoid his, embarrassment heating your body with licks of flames.

“Can you look at me? Please?” His voice is unwavering but shy, boyish. You answer with a flick of up, meeting his own stare. “Mari, sweetheart, this isn’t about anything like that. I know you aren’t ‘the nanny’ anymore, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think you were ever just ‘the nanny’ to either of us. I was being pigheaded, and I didn’t want you to take on doin’ all of this yourself. It’s jus’ automatic for me to want to cover for Sarah, with any sort of activity. Not that I don’t want you to do all of this. I can’t even begin to explain how much it means to me that you care so much for Sarah. I’m just, I’m being her dad. And not giving you the means to do things for her yourself. M’sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, J. I should have better explained myself from the beginning. I want to be a part of your lives, I want to….I don’t know, I don’t want to take the place of her mom, obviously, but I want to be someone she can do girly things with if we’re gonna be together for a while—”

“Not if, Mari. I don’t plan on letting you go without a serious fight,” Joel’s thumb brushes against your cheek as he holds your gaze, “I am so grateful and so relieved that Sarah has someone like you in her life. ‘Specially right now with everything around her mom leavin’, you’re exactly what she needs. What we both need…I will take the money back. But next time we’re splitting it, and every time after that ‘til it’s time that it’s coming outta a joint account.”

When Sarah arrives home from her playdate, Joel retreats upstairs after ordering pizza for the two of you (and him, because he claimed he was gonna sneak down) to watch something on the small tv in his bedroom. You and Sarah changed into your new pajamas and got all of the snacks moved into the living room, trekking blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from her room and around the house to build a nest on the floor in front of the couch.

Sarah had chosen The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants out of the stack of movies you had rented, popping it in and sitting back with you while you had her pick out a color for her nails. The two of you talked about camp and the past school year, her confessing a crush she has on a boy in her camp group this year. There’s only a few details you get from her as you paint her nails, giggling with her when she gets shy and telling her about your first crush.

Sarah eventually is the one to paint your nails, turning out a bit messy and abstract during the process but nonetheless it was fun. As she’s finishing up a second coat on the last nail of yours, the doorbell rings for the pizza and Joel jogs downstairs a minute later to answer the door. Carrying the boxes over to the kitchen after he paid and tipped, he grins at you and nods to the set up.

“Is that every pillow in our house?”

“Well, no, you still have the ones on your bed cause you were sitting on ‘em,” you reply as you walk into the kitchen behind Sarah, fingers splayed apart, careful not to smudge. The younger Miller does the same, looking up at Joel when she stands next to the pizza box.

“Daddy, can you get the slices for me? I don’t want to mess up my nails that Posey painted for me. Look at them! They’re so pretty!” She raises her arms up to give Joel a look, his hand taking one of hers and inspecting it.

“Gosh, Bug, these are just gorgeous. Mari did a great job,” he grins at you, giving you a wink at the same time an idea pops into yours.

“I could do your nails, J. They could match Sarah’s!” Your suggestion is immediately supported by his daughter, her small stature jumping up and down in front of him.

“Yes, yes! You need to get your nails painted, Daddy!”

“Wasn’t this sleepover ‘no boys allowed’?” he arches a brow before he grabs a piece of pizza, plopping it on a plate for Sarah to take into the other room, “If I can stay for longer than it takes to paint my nails and hang out and eat your snacks, you can absolutely paint my nails.”

Sarah takes her plate from her dad, grinning ear-to-ear as she retreats back to the blanket nest. Joel makes a plate for you, carrying it out with his own and setting them on the coffee table. With a groan, he lowers himself to the ground, leaning his back against the couch and holding out his hands to you.

“Go for it, sweetheart.”

“D’you want the same thing as Sarah or something different?”

“Hmm, what d’you think, mija? Should we match?”

“I think you should give Daddy the color I gave you, Posey. It’s so pretty!” she leans back against you, using you as a backrest while she eats her pizza carefully with her wet nails, engrossed in the movie.

“Alright, guess it’s decided then. We’ll be matching,” you smile at him, taking one hand in yours to pull it closer, relaxing it against your thigh as you open the polish bottle. Concentrating on the tasks at hand, Joel wiggles his fingers when you aren’t in the midst of painting to get your attention, holding up a piece of pizza near your face.

“Eat, darlin’. Gotta fuel your artistic brain,” he winks and smiles sweetly at you, earning a quiet laugh before you lean in and take a bite chewing as you go back to painting. You switch hands after a few more bites, giving him a break to eat his own pizza and you yours while the three of you watch the movie. Once your job is done, you close the bottle tight and set it on the table, getting Sarah’s attention to look at it.

“How’d I do, Sare-Bear? Does your dad look pretty?” Her giggles pull some from all of you, nodding and clapping her hands together.

“Daddy, you need some of my pretty stickers and then Posey needs to take a picture with her camera.” Sarah stands and moves over to the pile of beauty supplies, grabbing the pack of nail stickers you bought and picking out a sheet. She sits next to Joel, stickering around his face as he closes his eyes and lets it all happen.

“Is this what happens all the time at girl sleepovers?” He peeks an eye open at you, getting a wide smile and shrug.

“Guess we’ll have to have some more for you to really find out.” Sarah steps back from her handiwork, and you pick up the Polaroid camera, lining up the shot from the side of Joel where there’s multiple star stickers clustered around his eyes. The shutter snaps when he looks at you, spitting out the image. You hand it to Sarah to watch it develop, showing you both quickly before going to hang it on the fridge along with a few other of your shots. You snap another of him looking at you directly, soft rounded eyes filled with affection.

Once you set the camera down, holding onto that photo for yourself, his hands find your thighs, running over the soft cotton of your PJ pants.

“Thank you for doin’ this for her, she hasn’t been this happy and giggly since before you left last summer.” Joel leans in, giving you a gentle, lingering kiss. “I love you. So, so much, Mari.”

Instead of answering, you give him another kiss before Sarah walks back in, settling between the two of you on the floor nest, cuddling up within your little unit of three to finish out the movie.

A few nights after your slumber party, you sneak over to Joel’s again before bed, using the key to the back door that he had made for you. He’s sitting on the couch, a line of sight to the door and a sleepy smile tugging at his lips when he sees you.

Padding your feet across the floors, you climb onto the couch next to him and curl your legs under you while you lean into his side. His arm wraps you up and his lips press against your forehead with a content sigh.

“Hi, Mari.”

“Hey, J.”

“How was your day, darlin’?” he asks as he turns off the TV, fingers ghosting up and down your bicep.

“Good, it was good. Babysat for the O’Connors today with the little baby. She’s so adorable, just a day full of baby giggles.” You grin and Joel smiles back at you, nodding along, “And then after that I drove to therapy and had that for an hour and then went home and waited to come see you.”

“M’very glad you’re here. Can’t sleep without you anymore,” he kisses your temple, “How was therapy, amor?”

“Today was a little hard. Talked more about maybe looking into medicine cause I feel like it isn’t fully there yet. But I do feel like I am happy. Like in my heart. My brain just can't keep up. Still have a lack of interest in things and not a lot of energy like I used to.”

Joel hums an acknowledgment, looking down at you on his shoulder, “M’here if you need to talk about anything, sweet girl.”

“I know. Thank you,” you give him a chaste kiss, smiling drowsily, “How was your day?”

“Pretty alright. Had to go fill in for someone who called in sick today at a job site so I’m exhausted from all the lifting and using machinery. But the framing is all done which means there’s something that looks like a house standing on the lot,” Joel chuckles softly and glances out the front window, “And then, uh, ran into your mom when I got home. She must’ve been running out for something but she stopped to talk and invited me and Sarah and Tommy to celebrate the Fourth with y’all.”

You sit up, grinning excitedly, “Really? Oh my gosh, that will be so fun. Our first official holiday together. Even though it’s just the Fourth of July. Kind of lame.”

Joel chuckles along with you, nodding his head and avoiding your eyes, “I mean, I told her yes ‘cause I didn’t think you’d mind. But the more I got to thinkin’, I guess, I just—I think I need some more time before we tell your parents about us.”

Your face falls before you can hide it, Joel’s hand immediately reaching to cup your cheek delicately, “M’sorry, sweet girl. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do it at a family event and maybe it might be best if we can sit them down sometime to talk about it all.”

A slow nod keeps you quiet, in your thoughts, rambling out an agreement as you bring your eyes to Joel’s again, “Yeah, yeah, I understand. I agree. Would be best to wait a little while longer.”

“Thank you, darlin’. M’so glad you agree. We’ll find the right time, eventually,” Joel gives you a tender kiss, lingering against your lips for a few more dopey exchanges. He pulls away, standing up and gathering you up with him, leading you to his bedroom and getting into bed with you, “Night, Mariposa. Love you.”

“Night, J,” you reply meekly, the small sound of your voice easily brushed off as fatigue. Joel keeps you close, spooning you with his front against your chest, falling asleep behind you quickly. You can’t rest, especially after that short and decided conversation.

Why did you agree so easily? And why was he even asking for more time? His daughter knows, his brother knows, your friends know. What’s any different about your family? Is he afraid that if he breaks your heart he’ll have to move? But why would he even think about that possibility when all he’s told you is how much he loves you, how he’ll be yours until you want nothing to do with him anymore?

Every reassurance that he’s given you is flooding your mind, those doubts and fears worming their way into the sweet memories and poisoning them with twisted words.

Every time he’s said he loves you, does he mean it? Or is he only saying it to say it, to placate your anxieties about the future of you two by committing in a way?

Is this push back about telling your family a response to you not being ready to say ‘I love you’ back? Is he getting fed up with waiting for it?

Are you too much too quickly? Weaving yourself too tightly into his life and his daughter’s life? Is he going to start to drift, to put off telling your parents until he can end it?

These thoughts cycle in an endless loop, keeping you up while Joel sleeps soundly beside you. Nausea stirs in your stomach, rapid heart beating from the spiraling of your mind keeping you wide awake until the early hours of the morning.

The only way you can manage to fall asleep is turning in Joel’s arms, cuddling into his chest and breathing in his scent to halt the carousel of negativity in your brain long enough for his even breaths to lull you to sleep.

One last question flashes to you before you’re finally asleep:

 What happens when Summer ends?

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @beee-haw @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @jupitre @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @livingdeadmaria @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost

[lexluvswriting]

ꔫ L'autunno.

ꔫ Ch: 5 [last page] [next page]

-> Pairing: Eris x ballet dancer!fem!reader.

-> (CW): x fem!reader (she/her), slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst on occasion, fluff, non-specified identity Summer Court!reader, no specific time in storyline except it's after Amarantha.

-> (TW): um… you guys now like each other ig. KIDDING! romance, pining, Eris opens up a bit, and so do you!! and you both kinda chill and it’s really fluffy.

W/C: 4.4k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: um… hey… me again. i promise i'll sincerely apologising for neglecting you all, but pls accept this fat, juicy peace offering <3 i love a male who has to yearn! as i always say: “to earn the puss, you must yearn the puss” (i only thought of this now, at 12:02 a.m.)

Your eyes widened, a laugh of disbelief leaving your lips as you shook your head, stepping back from him- to prevent from shaking him or kissing him again, you weren’t entirely sure.

“No. No! Absolutely not- Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?”

“Of course I have, and I meant everything I said- and did.” He tried to meet your gaze as you stubbornly looked away, trying to gather your bearings from what the hells had just occurred. He let out a breath, stepping forward with his palms exposed in what looked to be a placating gesture.

“You, my dear, are a radical.”

Your brow raised,

“A revolutionary,” He tried again.

“I don’t think that’s what it-”

His hand grabbed your face easily, as if it fit like a missing piece in his hand, and squished your cheeks to stifle your flat reply,

“Just… Listen to me. Brains like yours cannot be wasted in some- some shoddy little apartment complex. People like you- People with your sense of courage,” He amended after a not-so-silent silent look from you, “Are exactly what I need for when I become High Lord.”

“Huh?” Your eyes bugged out of your head as you finally pulled his hand away from your mouth, too distracted by his sudden shift of thought to even think of walloping him. Since when did you sign up to some lordling’s political campaign?

“You’d be absolutely perfect to meet the High Lord. Granted, your bedside manners need a bit of work, but you could really stir him up-” Eris kept pushing the topic, and your mind raced. 

“Eris! We- I… Alright, listen!” You held a hand up in case he wanted to interject, “Look, your strange, spontaneous agenda means nothing right now, not when you just- You just-” You gestured between you and him, and he rolled his eyes, as if you were the crazy one.

“Here we go.” He sighed, leaning against a nearby tree, watching you with a look that made you want to throttle him.

“Oh, ‘here I go’- You kissed me, Eris!”

“Darling, there are people dying-”

“With no warning?! No context?! Nothing!” And it was a damn good kiss too- weirdly enough.

“Yes, darling, I did. I don’t regret it currently, but I’m starting to think I should.” His tone was dry and amused, yet that same fire stayed in his eyes- like infant embers, waiting for more firewood. You faltered for a reply, before grabbing his arm and pulling him back to you as if he was some sort of doll.

“Hey!” Were you overreacting?! Were you just going insane? Yes, that must be it. Being with this absolute idiot must be making you lose your sanity- and you certainly told him as much. He simply snickered at your tangent, shaking his head.

“You almost had me beat, darling. I figured I’d find a way to settle the score.” The heir shrugged, making you growl softly as his trademark smugness surfaced again.

“No, Eris! It was strange! It was strange, and spontaneous and- You can’t just do that!” You argued, making the Vanserra male shake his head as he grabbed your face again with two hands to cup, looking into your eyes with a look that you swore held fondness amongst the blatant amusement.

“See what I mean? You work yourself up. You’re hardly a swan- more a headless chicken.” He mused, making you pause, looking up at him as you tried to decide whether to kiss him again or smack him- hard.

“Stop avoiding the subject-” You opted to grab his wrist, removing his grip on you, but keeping him close in case you changed your mind on not smacking him.

“First of all: I am meeting your father at the Equinox ball solely because you invited me to perform. End of discussion.” You affirmed, and Eris sighed in mock defeat, waving a hand dismissively.

“Next: are we going to talk about how you completely blacked out on me?”

At the mention of his flashback, he tensed slightly, jaw setting before shaking his head, wanting to pull away.

“It’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Your grip tightened around his hands stubbornly, “You looked unwell. Visibly. I couldn’t just ignore that-” You scolded like a worried parent almost, glaring up at him as you did so. He looked at you after you brought it up, his eyes narrowing slyly. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“And why, little swan, did you feel the need to be so kind? I thought you were supposed to have a severe ‘distaste’ for me.” He pushed it back on you, making you groan. Why did he have to be so wily and infuriating?

“Because I- I… Well, I’m not a bloody monster.” You replied hotly, cheeks warming as you glared at him, taking a moment to recompose before you fixed him with a stern scowl, squeezing his hands to prompt his attention.

“Look- I agreed to accompany you, and do whatever is required for the Equinox, yes. But we aren’t lovers, or casual bedtime partners for you to just use-”

“I have enough of those already, my dear, but thank you for the offer.” He flashed a canine in a smug grin, proud of his stupid humour, before your snarl made it fall back into a still smug smirk instead. You stepped into his personal space, grabbing him by the collar of his fancy shirt and pulling him to your eye level,

“I’m being serious! I am not some sort of toy you can reach for whenever you feel vulnerable, Eris.” 

You snapped, irritated at how badly that kiss had flustered you, rocking you off balance emotionally. His eyebrow raised at your assertion of the boundary, and he blinked slowly as if considering your blatant irritation, before his eyes trickled down to where your lips waited. Something must have flipped within when he kissed you, because you caught yourself wondering for a moment if he’d bridge the gap again.

Cauldron above, that kiss had practically ruined you.

That, or maybe, it was because you barely allowed yourself to get close to anyone beyond casual unions in the night, rendering you sorely touch-starved.

But you could not lie to yourself and deny that, in the moment, the way he held you- as if you were porcelain- the way his eyes softened- before kissing you so gently as if you were something sacred- hadn’t made you feel things you hadn’t felt in possibly ever.

“Get distracted, darling?” He caught the way you fell silent and hummed, before looking at the way you clutched the lapels of his jacket, reminding you that you were still holding onto him.

“You know, for someone so adamant on disliking me, you’re quite content to keep your hands on me.” 

“Yes, because you were- you are- acting like a damned child! I’m trying to talk to you about something important and you keep interrupting, or finding ways to distract me.”

Eris sighed, tilting his head to either side as he stretched his neck lazily, before smirking down at you.

“What a charming little wife you’d make. Nag in the morning, nag at night... How endearing. I pity the male who falls victim to you.” He hummed, prompting a soft huff as you rolled your eyes again.

“Oh, go off and fuck yourself-”

“Only when you’re watching, swan.” He winked, before adjusting his jacket and shirt once you stepped back to create a safer distance again, and sighed as you did not indulge him in more fiery banter.

“Fine, fine. I’ll address your concerns, since I do enjoy helping my citizens.” He drawled, catching your hand before it whacked him and tutting. He looked at you, as if he was trying to figure out how to handle you, before deciding to twirl you around and dip you, soliciting a squeak as your body aimlessly bent to his will.

“Number one: I kissed you because I wanted to. Granted, perhaps I should have asked, but I’d rather not have you bite my head off,”

You could feel blood rush around your body as your cheeks heated, and you became painfully aware of the way he held your wrist gently, and his other hand which had planted itself comfortably against the small of your back,

 “Number two: I… went ‘distant’, as you say, because I had a bitter memory of my father beating my mother the way he usually does, and I’ve realised it kills me a bit more each day I do not interfere. I mean, having the constant attention from everyone in the Court always being on you… having such high expectations placed? It’s utterly exhausting.” He huffed, as if he was talking about the weather, or the price of pumpkins at the markets. On the other hand, your eyes widened, your jaw dropped- bewildered by his casual delivery, but he shushed softly,

“Uh-uh, focus, darling,” He shook his auburn head, as if he didn’t want you to speak, “And number three: I am insisting on you meeting my father, because I-”

“Wait-”

“Because,” He tried again, “I do believe that, upon hearing of your unexpectedly high intelligence and combining that with your thorough contempt for him, it could mean that he will either get so offended at your criticisms and combust from the rage, or have a heart attack late in the night from stewing on your brazen audacity alone, which speeds up the process for me and makes my life easier.”

Your mind was convoluted with certain words of his that paralysed you with absolute shock- your eyes widening as you looked up at him with alarm, with shock- with concern.

“Hold on- I’m sorry-”

“Forgiven,”

“Did you just say the High Lord hits his wife?” A chill went through you as you asked it, already having your answer as he went rigid, eyes darkening for a split second, before he righted you on your own two feet with a scoff, adjusting his sleeves.

“Really? That was the part you paid attention to?”

“Eris?!” His only response to you was a sigh before he escorted you up the hill again.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

You two returned to where your picnic had been, where there had been tea waiting, and talking.

A lot of talking.

Eris Vanserra, pompous prick and heir to the Autumn Court, had come clean with a lot of information you thought you’d never become privy to. Yet what bewildered you more was how horrible you felt about it. All of it, including your treatment of him. Your expression had never changed from the slightly stunned one, from the moment he started talking to the moment he finished explaining, and he snickered half-heartedly at your gaping face.

“Careful, darling. If you look at me like that, it might lead me to believe you care.” His smile was wry, yet his eyes watched you with a careful understanding, like he was worried you might keel over, or combust. Good. He should worry. It was certainly a lot to take in, listening to him explain how brutal it had all been living with such a monster, how it had structured his relationship with his many other brothers, how he watched his own mother lose her light. You made the mistake of picturing a young, chubbier-faced version of Eris, which made your insides squirm.

“Sorry-” You corrected your expression, forcing yourself out of your stupor as you looked anywhere else, not wanting to outright patronise him with pity or offend him with your mortification, “I’m just… processing.”

“Understandable. It is quite the tale.”

“Yes… it is.” You both fell into a contemplative silence, back at the top of the hill overlooking a myriad of fiery leaves that rolled throughout the forest. Finally, in a softer tone, you broke it first.

“I’m sorry.” 

“For?”

You snorted in disbelief at his tone, which made his russet eyes flick to your face. It was a good question, you’d give him that. Certainly one you weren’t sure how to answer. But you figured he had earned himself a sliver of redemption, so you allowed your walls to shrink ever-so-slightly.

“Living through all of… that.”

He waved a hand, brushing you off with a huff, but you shook your head,

“No, no. I’m serious.” You pressed, glancing at him before looking out at the sky,

“Having that for a childhood… It’s... That’s a different kind of horrible. I mean, I told you about me-” You gestured to yourself, not noticing how attentively his eyes followed your hand, before focusing on your face.

“I can’t ever really imagine having parents, let alone parents who never truly… liked each other.” You tread carefully as you referred to his parents' situation, which he seemed to appreciate as he nodded for you to continue mentioning your own life.

“I mean, I guess my upbringing was a little less… turbulent than that, in a sense.” He nodded in amusement, before waving for you to continue, so you did.

“My earliest memories are… probably ‘little me’, being brought up in an orphanage where I was coined ‘the odd one’,” You elaborated, scoffing in bitter amusement at the deep memory, barely catching that his gaze softened slightly. You shook your head, not wanting to let his sympathy soften you- as if the last few hours hadn’t already.

“I mean, they weren’t wrong. Still aren’t.” You shrugged, yet he continued listening, sitting up slightly, “But I learnt to embrace what were supposed to be my ‘differences’. Figured it wasn’t fair that everyone else felt content in their appearance while I couldn’t love my own.”

He nodded at your words, and you looked back at him occasionally, feeling… appreciative at how he seemed to process every word while you told your own story, bare and raw and brutally honest, all for him to have. It felt a little intimidating, feeling how his gaze never left you for a moment, even as you looked away from him at times, but you grew accustomed very quickly. He was listening… listening to you.

“I suppose, what I’m attempting to say is that… as different as we are… I can understand some of it. The burden of carrying such memories… the-”

“The loneliness,” He murmured, and you raised an eyebrow, stopped mid-thought.

“The loneliness… of going through something you’re absolutely certain nobody else is going through.” He finished the thought for you, looking uncharacteristically docile when you glanced at him to make sure he wasn’t mocking you, before slowly nodding in agreement. Something in your stomach ached at the way he looked so small, sitting all quiet and contemplative. It almost unnerved you, really, having a conversation with him that didn’t include the haughty bravado he would usually put on, when he acted like the heir of the Autumn Court.

That’s how you’d define the change, you decided. And at the moment, you certainly preferred ‘Eris, a mother’s son’ to ‘Eris Vanserra, pompous prick and heir.’ 

“Yes… That.” Your mind was practically screaming, your heart racing in your chest. This… this newfound levelling ground- this… connection- it was too deep, too intimate- far too intimate for your liking. You weren’t sure why this made you more uncomfortable than when he was angry at you in the carriage, but your heart was absolutely restless in your chest. You cleared your throat, looking down at the cobblestone of the amphitheatre floor and tracing idle shapes with your fingertip as you decided to lighten the mood.

“I mean, that, and having to pretend like it doesn’t haunt you… putting on a brave face for all the people who scrutinise you from their shoddy little apartment complexes… I couldn’t possibly imagine.”

A ghost of a smile curled on your lips as you repeated his previous words, and he chuckled softly at it, which pulled a knowing smile from you.

“Ah, yes… Woe is me, having issues with my father in our luxurious Vanserra mansion with our  many acres of land… What will I do with myself?”

He asked so miserably, playing perfectly into the role you set up for him, and for the second time that day, you rewarded him with your unrestrained laughter. At that sound, his face watched you with interest before you groaned softly. His eyebrow quirked up as he watched expectantly, seeing you shaking your head in a sardonic fashion before clicking your tongue, 

“Damn it all…” Your palm hit the floor of the amphitheatre you’d be dancing on in a few days time as you spoke with faux disappointment,

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“What?”

“A civil conversation with you! It’s making you seem relatable, almost- as if you have the potential to be likeable… or something stupid like that.”

He snorted as you finished- snorted, like you were actually funny- before shaking his head as he rewarded you with a clear laugh of his own. You ended up chuckling too, watching as his smile grew- admiring it- while he thought over your words, before you realised your eyes were on each other again.

“[Y/N]... I’d like to start over.” He declared, making you tilt your head curiously.

“Perhaps there is something wonderful- dare I suggest, a friendship- to come from this.” He extended his hand, one you found yourself taking with a broad, wry smile of your own.

“Friendship, huh?” You raised your brow, watching him amusedly, like you were pretending to think about it. What kind of friends kissed each other, or despised each other the way you two did?

“If that’s the case, then I should apologise for the horrible presumptions I have for you, and the raspberry I ruined your shoes with, the day we first officially spoke.” You reflected on the bitterly comical encounter, both of you grinning at the image it planted, and your chest seemed to tug as you saw his smile.

“Ah, yes. Well, I forgive you. Please- forgive me for the horrible notions I have allowed the newsletters to fill your head with. I’d like to show you that I’m not just a callous, conniving bastard.”

“You missed heartless, womanising and cunning too.”

“I’d argue my cunning makes me lovable. And it’s not really womanising if females offer themselves willingly to me.” That damned smile made your chest tug again- your heart was doing pirouettes of its own- and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. I suppose I can try to be civil.”

“Cordial?” He suggested,

“Cordial.” You amended, and he nodded, satisfied with the correction.

“Perhaps we’ll also share a few kisses of our own on the night of the Ball- proper ones, I can assure you.”

“Don’t push your luck, lordling.” He laughed at that too, his voice smooth, warming; like a strong whiskey. It kept something of an endearing smile on your own face as you sighed contentedly.

“Now… about meeting your father for matters of a ‘political nature’…”

“Yes?” You sighed at his eager tone,

“Eris, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I… I can’t.” Your face fell as you shook your head, making him scoot closer to you. Immediately his mouth opened, ready to refute your claims, but you held up a hand that had him biting his tongue obediently- albeit impatiently- as you shook your head again.

“From what you’ve told me… your father is the lowest of lows. Mud in a puddle is more honourable than he is. What could I possibly bring to him? What could I possibly say- How could I possibly say it in a way that’s important enough- powerful enough- for him to even listen?”

You posed questions that made him hesitate- and rightly so- before he shook his head. He even grabbed your hand in his own, to reign in your focus and emphasise the seriousness he wielded as he looked at you. Also because he couldn’t help himself.

“For me to say these points, he would ignore it. To him, all I am is a puppet. Heir in his eyes is a means to an end. If I were to suddenly show a change of heart and advocate these things in the comfort of our manor, he would wave me off; he'd say I’m as flowery as my mother, and dismiss it. But you- For someone who is, as you point out to me,  not of this Court… if you say something, it puts him in a predicament, [Y/N].”

His points did make sense, but you thought about your little apartment, the royalties you were barely living off, and your loving neighbours. It wasn’t like you had nothing to lose.

“Eris, if I offend him, he can erase me like that,” You snapped your finger, “I have a life here- as… conditional as it is. As far as I know, I was born here, dumped on a doorstep here, therefore I live here. I know nothing about the Summer Court- I have no friends, no family, nothing. Where could I go, should he want my head on a stick? My passions are dance, and music. Sure, I know how to read and write and put words together but I’m not a prolific politician. Who would take me in?”

Eris stilled at this, handsome face falling as his brows pinched together thoughtfully, before he waved a hand, not understanding the implications in depth,

“My brother has friends, as he calls them. Friends who could happily help you-”

“Eris! I’m not leaving my fucking home because your father can’t handle being told how shit of a Lord he is!” You scolded, pulling your hand away, but his face lit up, a fanged smile flashing as he clapped. You felt a pull in your chest as he smiled so brightly, 

“There it is. That fire! That’s what Beron needs to see. That is what he needs to be exposed to.” He urged while you groaned softly, holding your head in your hands.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“We’re friends now, darling. My father will not touch you- not if he still wants his heir.”

You looked up at him, the expression on your face radiating ‘Bullshit’, yet you felt that strange pull yet again.

“So what? I get special treatment while your- while Beron’s men drag innocent people out of their homes in the dead of night still? No. That would make me no better than those who do nothing to help.” You shook your head stubbornly, sitting back as a servant came up to the Vanserra heir, murmuring something to him that made him sigh, before looking at you again.

“I wish you’d understand how brilliant your mind is, sweet swan.”

Your chest warmed at that, your heartstrings tying the endearment down, though your eyes drifted, unable to stay on him while your brain rattled at the cocktail of desperation and admiration his voice had spoken with.

“I know I’m brilliant, Eris,” 

Didn’t hurt to hear from him, though.

“Just… let me get the Equinox over and done with, before you try to get me killed off.” You negotiated, hating how convincing he could be, and how you felt yourself beginning to bend as the idea lingered longer in your mind.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’, darling. Oh, don’t give me that look- I’ll relent.” He stood up, taking the hands you stuck out for him to pull you along, and you nodded in thanks- enjoying the way he managed to make you feel like a ragdoll when you had relaxed completely. You both began to walk back to the carriage that had awaited you, not even realising how much time you two had spent together until the sun began to set, and your mind buzzed at a content frequency while you walked side by side, you hugging yourself from the mild autumn chill that developed in the sun’s absence.

“Excited to dance with me?” He nudged slyly, his cheeky smile pulling a chuckle from you. You almost hated how easy it was to laugh with him now that you had come to understand him. Strange, how easily perceptions changed with a simple conversation. Of course, he still had his moments like now, making you push his face away gently as you both walked, only for his hand to catch your outstretched wrist and pull you back, his other arm encircling your waist as he looked down at you, your bodies pressed flush together.

“That wasn’t an answer, partner.” He mused, the mere name making your breathing stop. You were helpless as you looked up into his eyes again, lips parting only for nothing helpful to slip out. Your own eyes shuttered before you turned your head away, as if to reduce the intimacy like you two hadn’t kissed already, and you huffed softly,

“What, am I excited for you to waltz me around like some little lady?”

“I’ve been told my footwork is magical. So magical, that it even strips ladies of their garments.” He hummed, full of confidence; confidence that made your stomach flutter. Truthfully, in the comfort of your private mind, you allowed yourself to admit that you felt aroused at the idea of being in a situation with him where he could strip you of your undergarments. But you saved face- refusing to let him have too much confidence- shaking your head with an amused glimmer in your eyes, voice full of mirth,

“There’s no possible way that line has actually worked on someone before.” You uttered, before giggling lightly, and his eyes narrowed playfully. For a moment, you thought he’d kiss you again, and pull you into that carriage as if to prove you wrong, but he twirled you around instead, letting you go as if to let you dance independently, and you laughed as you spun freely. After a moment, you slowed to a stop, the skirts of your dress fanning out before falling back against you while you watched him, tilting your head slightly.

“You plan on twirling me around like that all night?”

The way he looked at you in that moment felt like a manifestation of the tension that had slowly begun to accumulate, all of it gathering up in his eyes as his gaze followed you,

“If you smile, and sound like that after each spin, then yes.”

The words caught you off guard. You knew Eris Vanserra was a heartthrob- a complete and utter flirt, who could charm the pants off a statue if he wanted- but this look was new. This look was different. Deeper than he let on. There was no sly smirk, no cocky attitude, no cheeky banter to lessen the tension that settled, and your heart… your stomach, your core seemed to squeeze as he beheld you. Your gaze softened, your smile falling slowly as you swallowed, eyelids fluttering before you nodded, advancing towards the carriage again, though your gaze never left him.

“Right.”

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: friends... i am so sorry for being inactive for so long! it was an unexpected hiatus, i didn't do as well as i thought i would in my exams, i was severely burnt out and struggling with my adhd meds as well as a plethora of mental/other issues but i pinky swear i am back and ready to pump out fics!! i had a bit of writer's block with L'autunno but we are back in business, baby!! i have had loads of ideas that i wanna write n share with you all (across whatever fandoms i feel creative inspo for) but pls send requests bc they do actually motivate me to stay consistent! as always, pls let me know what you think, be it a dm, a reblog or a comment!! love always, Lex <3<3<3

[ch3rrywond3rland]

more eddie smut pls and make it spicy. do wtv you want go wild idc 😩🤭

u guys, bear with me, this is me trying something new. hope u enjoy!!!!!

Warnings: ....smut

NSFW alphabet

A- aftercare (what they're like after sex) :

•You guys... this man is the sleepiest after sex.

•He gets clingy, cuddly and all in between.

•If things weren't too messy, he'll just pull you into his embrace and you both will fall asleep to each other's heart beat.

•Now if it was intense... he'll make sure you're okay. Run you a bath, get food and water for you, help you clean yourself up. A gentleman.

B- body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's):

•He loves you whole tbh

•BUT if he had to pick one thing it would be your thighs.

•why, you wonder? they're just multifunctional. he loves biting them, he loves kissing them, he loves laying on them, he loves seeing them wrapped around his head.

•The man can't get enough.

•Now, his favorite body part would have to be his arms

•He doesn't really know why, but you seem to love them so he does, too.

C- cum (anything to do with cum, basically....cause we nasty):

•He's a responsible man

•That being said, he'd probably pull out most of the times.

•He LOVES, and i mean *goes absolutely feral* type of love, seeing his cum all over your stomach.

D- dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

•This man LOVES the risk and thrill

•...That being said, he would love to fuck you publicly, just so everyone could see who you belonged to.

•He is a tad possessive and jealous, what can I say?

•BUT, considering the above he also would never like anyone to see his girl like that, that state of yours is reserved for himself only.

E- experience (how experienced are they? do they now what they're doing?)

•This is a rockstar we're talking about...c'mon

•He has had his one night stands with several groupies, obviously.

•But it is different with you.

•Groupies were just sex, you aren't just sex. He loves you and he intends on demonstrating it in every way.

•So he does know his way around sex, but he is still learning how to put love into it. And you're more than happy to help.

F- favorite position (this goes without saying):

•He needs to see your face, 100%.

•Kinda basic, but missionary. Again, he loves seeing your face react to his dick reaching far inside you.

•Also, I feel he'd love fucking you in front of a mirror, because he is a little ass that would love for you to watch how your body reacts to him.

G- goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or more humorous?):

•I don't see him as the type to laugh or crack jokes in the middle of sex.

•He is pretty focused on you all the time, so anything funny or embarrassing that might happen will totally be drowned by his intoxication purely on the moment.

•He does enjoy teasing you, tho. I feel he'd laugh out of amusement to you, only.

•Not in a making fun of you manner, ofc. But in a cocky manner, because he is a cocky person, let's accept it.

H- hair (how well groomed are they?):

•He has always trimmed it, and he always will.

•It bothers him, and he's sure it makes your experience a hundred time better as it is, so he never let's it get too long.

I- intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspects...):

•Like I mentioned before, he loves to show his love for you through everything. Including sex.

•It doesn't matter how or where it is, he likes to make sure you feel good and loved.

J- jack off (masturbation headcanon):

•He doesn't feels like he needs it. He used to do it more often before you guys got together, but now you are more than enough.

•He might do it once in a while if you two are apart.

•OR sometimes you will be living life around the house and he'll just get horny out of nowhere because he loves you that much, and then he'll be embarrassed to admit it or just knows that you're not in the mood, so he'll sort himself out.

K- kink (one or more of their kinks):

•He absolutely adores and need praising in your sex life. Both giving and receiving.

•Again, he loves teasing the shit out of you, specially when you're having a shy day.

•Leaves marks all over your body just so everyone knows who you belong to.

•AND (he's yet to bring this one up) but he would love to see you tied to his bed. He is scared he'll freak you out, so he just keeps this one to himself.

L- location (favorite places to do it):

•The bed, cause he's s basic king.

•But he's up to fucking you anywhere, tbh

•The bus tour, backstage, against a random wall, the studio, a random party's bathroom, etc.

M- motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

•Again, you could be doing literally anything around anywhere and he will get horny all of the sudden.

•You are just to perfect for him not to.

•He does love to see you cheer for him like a fan during the shows. He is kinda narcissistic and loves to see you scream his name alongside the fangirls in the crowd.

•He also gets turned on whenever you show him how bad you want him. When you get needy and whiny for his attention, that just does it for him.

N- NO (something they wouldn't do, turn offs):

•Sharing. He would never. He is only yours and you are only his, and sharing your or his body wouldn't feel right.

•Hurting you. Even tho he can get a little kinky and aggressive when pushed enough, he will stop everything if your face or body show any signs of discomfort. Doesn't matter if you reassure you're fine, he isn't having it. It just doesn't work for him, and it is not something he would ever feel comfortable doing.

O- oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

•Honestly? No preference.

•He loves to see you in front of him, on your needs, ready to take him in. The way your moans come out muffled because his cock is stuffing your mouth, or how you are so eager to satisfy him.

•But, he also loves to feels your thighs squeezing against his head out of pure pleasure. His name falling from your lips and your hand grabbing his hair only to push him deeper inside you.

P- pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?):

•Really depends on the mood.

•If tou two have been teasing each other all night, he'll make sure to satisfy quickly and several times. Doesn't even let you have a rest before he's attacking your sore pussy again and again.

•Now, if he's been missing you or just wants to feel you, he will take his time. He makes sure you feel loved and satisfied, caring for every inch of your body.

Q- quickie (their opinion on quickies rather than sex, how often, etc.):

•Lowkey loves them.

•He knows neither of you have a lot of proper time very often, so he'll take any opportunity with you.

R- risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.):

•He's willing to try out anything you want.

•Unless it involves anything painful for any of you two, because he doesn't feel okay with that.

S- stamina (how many round can they go for, how long do they last):

•He either goes many rounds, short duration;

•or two looooooong rounds.

•Depends on the mood.

T- toy (do they own any? do they use them?):

•(Did they even had toys back then? idk)

•Anyways, he doesn't own any, he doesn't use any. It's probably something he wouldn't think of using, ever.

•He just feels better when it's him that makes you cum over and over again.

U- unfair (how much do they like to tease):

•He ADORES good teasing sex.

•Lives to see you underneath him, all flustered and begging for him to give you something, anything.

•Knows exactly what and how to tease you, he has mastered this art.

V- volume (how loud are they? what sounds they make?):

•The man is moaning and grunting like his life depended on it.

•He is not afraid of being loud. Like, at all.

W- wild card (random headcanon for the character):

•He loves seeing you undress for him. Don't get me wrong, he likes taking your clothes off your body...

•but there is just something about you stripping naked in front of him, about not having to do anything but watch you.

X- x-ray (let's see what's going on inside those pants, pictures or words):

•Thicker than he is longer, good 7 inches.

Y- yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

•He is ALWAYS down to fuck. Or make love, whatever you want.

•It is always somewhere in his mind, the man is obsessed with you and every inch of your body.

Z- zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

•Doesn't take long at all. He can be gone after 10 minutes, easily.

•Still, he waits for you to he asleep first, only wanting you to be comfortable and resting before he sleeps himself.

[yuimatsumatsuno]

This is very specific and i'm too tired to check the mistakes in my writing so pls ignore and forgive them 😞

I'm from a country well knowed for being too friendly and even shameless and i was wondering how would be the matsuno brothers reaction to it.

Things such as alot of bodycontact when they as barely know each others (like, yn is their new neigthboor and she just greet them with hugs and kisses on the cheek—its pretty common here at least in my state) she talking about private subjects like is nothing much while they are dumbfolded in shock

Hi Hi!! Sorry it took me so long to write, I really like your idea! Unfortunately, I’m afraid that I couldn’t accurately understand the traditions of your countries, but I hope that I was able to satisfy you :3

Matsuno brothers x fem!reader

Short headcanons

TW//CW: ???

At first Osomatsu won’t understand, and will fall into a wild stupor when you just hug him.  he'll make a joke like, "Ooohh shit, haha! you really like me, don't you?" but when you kiss him on the cheek, it won't be so easy for him. But when he learns about the traditions of your country, he will laugh awkwardly, scratching his nose with his index finger in a familiar gesture. but he will still be a little awkward to hug you and kiss you on the cheek, after all, he has never had such intimacy with beautiful girls like you.

Karamatsu will be taken by surprise, because he has never hugged strange girls! he will try to regain the look of a confident hot guy, but he will look like a red awkward virgin. Having learned that you are from another country, he will understand and try to get used to your unusual friendliness and will also begin to joyfully greet you with hugs. in fact, he likes this feature about you, yet he rarely gets to hug someone. (PLEASE HUG HIM OFTEN HE DESERVES BETTER)

Choromatsu is the worst option of all. He literally goes crazy with your every touch, which highlights the fact how much of a virgin he is. He will try to stop reacting this way when he learns about your country, but he still finds it difficult to accept your hugs and kisses sometimes.

For Ichimatsu, these would be the most awkward moments of his life. when an attractive girl hugs and kisses him, he feels cornered. he will also try to respond to hugs in a friendly manner, but at first he will most likely avoid you, hide, and simply be afraid. It will take a long time until he starts to get used to it.

for Jyushimatsu it... doesn't matter? Seriously, this guy is definitely up for hugs and friendly kisses himself. Of all the Matsunos, the 5th brother has the most normal reaction. You can tell that he will be delighted when he learns about your traditions and will begin to ask more. From the moment he learns this fact, Jyushimatsu hugs you in greeting more often, and this is the norm for both of you.

Todomatsu immediately knew this fact, after all, from the very first meeting, he scrolled through all your social networks, looked through all your photos and extracted every information from you, as usual, using the cute face of an innocent little devil. He will make the most of this fact, never missing a chance to hug you with an innocent giggle and smell your hair while the rest of his brothers glare at him and want to kill him. I do not advise trusting a Matsuno like Totty. he knows exactly what he's doing.

[messrmoonyy]

okay how about Tess and reader having a bet to see who can crack first without sex and reader cracks and begs Tess to fuck her? Thank you our lord and saviour messr 🙌🏻

Bet on it

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

A/n- hello. Thank you for the manners lmao it’s ben annoying me people don’t have the decency to be polite. ANYWAYS. I was really looking for an excuse to write about going down in Tess cause it’s been rattling around in my head for so long, so I took this as the excuse. Pls tess gimme one chance I beg tho I won’t lie I don’t like this one all that much but. Have it. What are you gonna do, ask me for a refund?

Warnings- 18+|| tess. Smut: mommy kink. Like it’s pretty strong, oral ( Tess receiving ) , fingering ( Tess and reader receiving sorta )

Word count- 3.7k

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated

It was all Joel’s fault.

Him and his stupid fucking mouth. And maybe Tess too. Either way, you refused to take any blame.

It wasn’t your fault you were… loud. It also wasn’t your fault the walls were paper fucking thin and he just so happened to live next door. The man was damn half deaf and 9 times out of 10 he was passed out anyway, some brain rotting concoction of pain killers and whiskey knocking him out for the count. So it’s not like you’d made any real attempts to be quiet anyway, you just assumed he couldn’t hear.

How were you supposed to be quiet when you had someone like fucking Tess between your legs. You’d like to see anyone keep their mouth shut with her fucking the life out of them. Well. You wouldn’t actually. But that was besides the point.

He was probably just pissed because his sex life was non existent.

‘ you can’t go a single day without goddamn jumpin each other. It’s like livin next to a pair of rabbits ‘ he’d said. Of course you being the stubborn fuck that you were, had said you absolutely could go a day. Joking that it was Tess who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. And she had scoffed at the mere thought of her being the needier of you two.

So that was how the bet had been born. To see who could last the longest. Who would crack first. You’d expected it to only last a couple of days at the most. Tess jumped your bones every chance she got normally, couldn’t keep her hands off of you. But now she was behaving like a fucking nun.

The first few days had been fine. But by day 3 you were regretting it. So by day 8 you’d had enough. You felt like an animal in heat, like you were going insane. She wasn’t even doing anything particularly alluring. Just her presence alone was enough to make you insane. Her voice. Her face. The way she held you when you slept. The confidence she oozed in any and all situations. You were head over heels for the woman, how were you supposed to behave any differently?

Bit knowing how stubborn she could be you’d almost immediately accepted that she wouldn’t break. It wouldn’t stop you trying though. You were trying your hardest to make her crack, from deciding walking around the apartment in your underwear was perfectly normal. To ‘accidentally’ brushing against her when you shared the rationed water in the shower. But other than the occasional glance up at you she wasn’t breaking. In fact when you’d tried another tactic of leaving your button up only half way done up. She’d simply stood and buttoned it right up to the collar for you, leaning in close to your ear and whispering ‘ nice try ‘

By day 10 you decided you didn’t give a fuck about honour or pride anymore. You were done.

You were sat at the table, fingers drumming against the wood as you watched her. She had the sleeves of her shirt rolled in a way that showed off her forearms, she fucking knew you had a thing for that. She was doing it on purpose, knowing you’d snap. You were sure.

You needed to touch her. Needed her to touch you.

You didn’t think it was actually humanly possible to be as desperate as you were. Before ending up in Boston you’d gone years without anything. And yet, now you weren’t even going to make it to 2 weeks. Were you that enthralled by her? That addicted? It was almost embarrassing.

Especially when she seemed as cool and collected as ever.

You tried to ignore her, looking back down at your rota of assignments for the week. But you could still see her from the corner of your eye, wetting the pads of her fingers to turn the page in her book more easily.

You didn’t know if you should be mildly offended or not. That she seemed to be doing much better than you were. Though she had always been the better of you both at masking her true emotions and feelings.

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Waking up every morning to soaked underwear because your dreams had been filled with nothing but her, missing the way her fingers felt on your skin, how her teeth felt nipping at your neck. You missed the hickeys, the bruises she always left on your hips when she was feeling particularly rough. The scratch marks you’d leave down her back in response.

You were done.

You got up from your spot at the table and made your way over to her in purposeful strides, plucking the book from her hands and climbing into her lap. She quirked at eyebrow at you, a smug smile already creeping it’s way onto her face.

“ I was reading that “ you shrugged running your hands down over her shoulders and arms, over her chest and grabbing at the collar of her shirt.

“ this bet is fuckin stupid. I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore “ you whispered, a whiny tone to your voice like some spoiled little kid that was being declined something they wanted. She simply scoffed

“ it was your fuckin idea “

“ I know I know. It was stupid. I’m stupid. Joel’s fuckin stupid “ you tested the waters lightly, pulling open her shirt where she already had the first couple buttons undone. Not revealing anything particularly scandalous, but still overjoyed just at the sight of more of her skin “ please. Please fuck me. Touch me. Let me touch you. Anything. Mommy please “ you whimpered the last part, pulling out every trick in the book to make her crack.

“ oh you’re begging now? “ you whispered a yes, nodding you head. You unbuttoned her shirt with haste, her hands still placed firmly on the fabric of the chair rather than you. You rolled your hips against her, pushing her shirt from her shoulders and tossing it carelessly behind you. But before you could touch her she grabbed the back of your neck, making you look at her.

“ this was your idea baby girl, and you want to end it? “ she looked far too smug and you hated her for it. But you were so desperately horny it was making your brain fuzzy. Your hands traveled down to her jeans, desperate to unbutton those too “ I know your tricks. You just want to win ”

“ I don’t care about winning, Fuck if you won’t touch me let me touch you “ you said, dropping your head to press kisses across her neck “ please mommy” her spare hand that was still on the armrest shifted slightly, still didn’t touch you anywhere you particularly wanted her. But moved. You were working her down “ please let me touch you. Let me taste. I’ll be so good I promise. You win. You win “

You hands trailed back to her chest, grabbing at her through the material of her bra, grabby hands groping at her with no shame.

“ you wanna make mommy feel good? “ the low, sultry, tone of her voice made butterflies explode in your chest. You lifted your head, nodding and not letting your hands stop their wandering.

“ please “ she looked entirely too smug and you knew you would never hear the end of it. She would hold the fact that she had won over you for the foreseeable. But you’d be pissed about that later, in that moment you didn’t give a fuck. The only thought whirring around in your brain was getting your mouth on her, you wanted to taste her on your tongue, wanted to make sure she’d never want to go so long without you again “ can I? Please “

She observed your face for a moment, then gave you a small nod and it was all the confirmation you needed. You slid down from her lap and onto your knees on the floor.

“ always look so pretty on your knees for me “ she mused as you grabbed at her jeans, tugging them down her legs as she lifted slightly so you could get them off “ just so we’re clear, you know this means I win and I’ll be tellin Joel that you lost and not me right? “ you nodded fervently, mildly surprised that she was actually letting you rid her of her clothes. Almost expecting the entire thing to be a joke, making you keep going with the stupid fucking bet until you actually exploded.

But clearly she was as desperate for it as you were. She was just better at controlling herself. She always had been.

“ I know. I don’t care “ the way she was already clearly wet when you tugged her underwear down her legs too, was proof enough that she was well and truly done with the bet too. You practically drooled at the sight, already anticipating the familiar taste of her in your mouth “ wanna taste you. Can I. Please mommy “ you begged and she reached down, lifting your chin and making you look up at her.

“ my poor baby, so desperate “ it was almost mocking. She was fucking loving the fact that she had won “ gonna show mommy just how desperate you are? Hmm? “ in response you ran your hands over her thighs, pushing them apart and tugging her closer “ show mommy what a good girl you are “

She took a sharp intake of breath as you buried your face between her legs, sighing blissfully as the taste of her flooded your tongue. You wanted to reach every part of her, your tongue dragging between her folds, devouring her. No desire in making it last, a burning primal desire to have her coming on your tongue the only thing you could think about.

You spread her with your fingers, lapping at her hole and not letting a drop of her arousal go anywhere but your tongue. Relishing in the small sounds it earned you.

“ that’s mommy’s good girl “ she sighed, her hand threading into your hair and tugging lightly so that your scalp prickled. You hummed a response, not slowing in your ministrations, tracing a pattern with your tongue from her entrance to her clit. Your chin and lips were slick with her. She filled all of your senses.

Your nose. Your eyes. Your mouth. The velvety feel of her walls when you dipped your tongue inside of her, the sounds of her quiet breathy moans and vulgar sounds of how wet she was. It’s what you had been yearning for for days, what your dreams had been filled with. A never ending stream of praise as you made her feel good. You moaned against her, the vibrations clearly doing her wonders.

You own cunt was flooding your underwear, your clit desperate to be touched. You were half tempted to reach down and touch yourself, but she deserved your undivided attention. So you settled with squeezing your thighs together.

“ makin mommy feel so good. Just like that baby “ her voice was breathier and you couldn’t help the smile that crept it’s way onto your face. It was no lie that she was a god when it came to making you feel good, she knew exactly how to pull you apart in minutes. But she was much more difficult to navigate, harder to read. She wasn’t like you. She often urged you to be loud, to make noise and be vocal. But she was the opposite.

For someone so rough and confident she was much more gentle and soft in her reactions. It was all in her breathing, the sharp intakes and the shuddering breaths, the quiet curses that never usually went much louder than a whisper, only getting anything else from her if you managed to get her completely relaxed.

And the near breathless commands and instructions she still gave you, keeping you in check. Keeping you exactly where she wanted you doing exactly as she wanted. And showering you in the praise she knew you so desperately craved from her.

And nothing made you feel better than watching her fall apart. Because of you.

The tight grip on your hair grew impossibly stronger when you slipped in a finger, adding a second when your first was met with no resistance, burying them inside her to the knuckle.

“ fuck “ she whispered under her breath, her eyes falling closed for a moment. You watched her face carefully as you worked her open on your fingers, scissoring and curling them in some attempt to touch as much of her as you could. Stretching and massaging her velvety soft walls with your fingers, honing in on one spot when you noticed her reactions change.

“ such a good girl doin so well for me baby “ the way she was clenching around your fingers told you she wasn’t going to last much longer. So you kept at the pace, fingers curling up and hitting the same spot over and over. Tongue and lips practically abusing her clit in a way that was making your jaw ache, not that you cared “ like makin mommy feel good? Huh? “ you hummed an answer against her that drew another heavenly sound from her throat.

Nothing brought you more joy than watching her fall apart above you, knowing that only you could get her like that. Only you got to see that blissful look on her face, her eyes closed and soft breathy moans leaving her throat and going straight to your cunt.

“ that’s my girl. Like that. Gonna make mommy come. Is that what you want baby? “ you nodded, detaching yourself from her with a mildly obscene wet sound.

“ Wanna feel you come on my tongue“ you practically whined, begging for the privilege of being the one the push her over the edge. To gift her with the same earth shattering orgasm she so often gave to you “ please mommy “

“ since you’ve been such a good girl for me “ you didn’t wait a second longer, withdrawing your fingers and replacing them with your tongue. You gripped at her thighs, holding her in place, your eyes fixed on her face so you could watch every second “ that’s it baby, make mommy come. That’s my good girl “ her tone was higher, breathes quickening the rise and fall of her chest.

You started to rub soft circles into her clit with your thumb, relishing in the way she was clearly losing her composure. Squirming slightly in the chair, pushing your face closer until she was all consuming in your mind.

It was becoming slightly difficult to breathe but you weren’t about to complain. If you were gonna die you figured that was pretty alright way to go out. The searing heat of her on your tongue was enough to make you forget every single other thing in your mind.

A few more thrusts of your tongue and she was gone, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut, heavenly sound after heavenly sound falling from her lips like music to your ears. You didn’t stop for a second. Lapping up every drop of creamy, sweet release she offered you.

You didn’t stop until she gently tugged your head back, your actions clearly bordering on being too much for her. You rested your head against her thigh, looking up at where she was running a hand through her hair and attempting to regain her composure.

“ you couldn’t have done that a week ago baby? Fuck “ a grin found its way onto your face, happy for the verbal confirmation that she had been struggling just as much as you had. She was just far better at hiding it.

“ I do good mommy? “ you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the silky soft skin of her thigh. She looked down at you with a soft smile and nodded.

“ so good baby. Come here. Up here “ you crawled back up into her lap, readily accepting her kisses when she pulled you in, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue “ seriously baby I needed that when you decided to walk around in your fuckin underwear “ she said when she pulled back, tucking her fingers under your chin.

She looked otherworldly. Her face flushed and glowing, the light sheen of sweat on her forehead and the hazy look in her eyes that could only come from having your lover between your thighs. It made you squirm a little in her lap, your panties completely soaked. You almost wondered if she could feel it.

“ I don’t know how I made it this long “ she laughed at that, her eyes flickering down to where you were wiggling around. She gave you an almost sympathetic smile, the backs of her fingers brushing along your jaw before pushing your hair away from your neck.

“ does my baby need some attention from mommy now? “ you almost sighed in relief, nodding your head “ you want mommy to fuck you? Hmm? “ her nose traced along your neck, lips brushing against the skin and making your cheeks flush and goosebumps follow in her wake.

Her hand came up, palming at your tit through the thin material of your T-shirt as she began working a deep purple bruise onto the tender skin of your neck.

“ mommy “ you whimpered, eyes falling closed as she marked you up in the way you adored most. It made warmth pool in your belly every time. Knowing she wanted to mark you. Brand you. You were hers. You belonged to her. Completely and utterly. And she wanted people to know it.

The friction of the cotton of your shirt against your nipple sent sparks straight to your cunt, your clit throbbing. Desperately wanting to be touched. You needed her fingers. Her mouth. Anything. You were so desperate you even wondered if you’d be able to get off just from the way she was grabbing at your chest.

“ please I can’t- “

“ it’s okay baby “ she cooed, soothing the last of her possessive marks with her tongue before lifting her head again “ tell mommy what you want. Use your words “

“ you. I. I want you. Anything just please- “ you cut yourself off with a pathetic mewl of a sound as she dipped her hand past the waistband of your sweats, fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your underwear.

“ holy shit “ she mumbled mostly to herself, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at just how wet you were for her. She hadn’t even touched you “ my baby’s so desperate huh? “ you nodded, dropping your face to her shoulder and hiding from her gaze “ my poor sweet baby “ she cooed, running a soft hand up and down your spine “ if only you weren’t so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this mess would you? Mommy could’ve been eating this perfect little pussy days ago “

Your face burned at her words, still squirming as she ran her finger lightly over your swollen clit through the soaked material of your underwear. It was too light to really do anything, but just enough pressure for you to know she was there. It was infuriating.

“ I need more. Please mommy I can’t take it anymore “ her spare hand gently nudged your face up from where you’d been hiding, cupping your cheek in her hand as her eyes scanned your features. You wondered if your desperation was evident on your face.

No. You knew it was.

“ can you do one thing for me? “

“ anything. I’ll do anything “ she smiled, clearly pleased with your willingness to obey without even knowing what she was going to ask. No questions. No second thoughts. Just complete obedience to her every command. She brushed her thumb across your bottom lip before pushing past and hooking it into your mouth. Her smile grew as you moaned softly, sucking without her even having to ask.

“ I wanna hear all those pretty noises you like to make for me. Can you do that? “ you nodded quickly, knowing there wasn’t even a remote chance you’d be able to keep yourself quiet. Not after 10 days of absolutely nothing from her “ that’s my good girl, mommy loves when you’re loud for her “

You rolled your hips, no patience left in you anymore. She took the hint, rubbing at your clit through your underwear with two fingers. The friction of the cotton, the pressure of her fingers, and the fact that you had been wanting to come for days, meant you were going to be done ridiculously fast.

“ I know baby, I got you “ she cooed as you whined in a frustrated desperation, fingers wrapping around her wrist as you rutted against her hand some more. Your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it “ I know you’re so desperate to come, don’t fight it baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you “ you closed your eyes, focussing solely on grinding into her hand, cheeks on fire at the crude squelching sounds your cunt was making as you moved.

“ mommy- “ you whined, biting down lightly on her thumb that was still in your mouth, not holding back a single moan. Letting them all tumble out of your throat without a care.

“ I know baby girl. Gonna show me how pretty you look when you come for me?” You nodded, increasing the pace that you rolled your hips, ignoring the way your legs were beginning to cramp up “ such pretty sounds “ she mused as your moans increased in pitch, your orgasm teetering on a ledge already.

Maybe you should’ve been a little embarrassed. She wasn’t even touching you properly, a barrier of cotton between her fingers and your cunt. But you weren’t at all. A Selfish desire to come being the only thing you could think about. You’d be embarrassed later.

Your climax was intense. 10 days of lusting after her with no release finally coming to a head. She praised you all the way through it, and only withdrew her hand from your sweats when you slumped against her with a content sigh.

She ran her hand up and down your back lightly, pressing kisses to the side of your head.

“ better? “ you hummed a response, trying to live in that afterglow for as long as you could. If you were being completely honest, it had been good to finally get… something. But you weren’t entirely satisfied. Thankfully Tess was rarely ready to call it a night without making you come at least twice. And was also as if she could read your mind.

“ don’t get too comfy baby. We have 10 days to make up for. Mommy’s not done with you yet “ you squealed as she stood up, taking you with her and carrying you over to the bed. You wrapped your arms and legs tightly around her as she lay you down, not wanting her to go anywhere “ now. Let’s teach that fucker next door a lesson shall we? “

[thegamingcatmom]

I came across your fic, the sisters on Ao3 and the writing? Amazing! I binge read it in one go and honestly can't wait for more of the story.

Had a thought on that, like we get the vibes that kate will probably push Tanya's buttons with having MC's attention. And then the thought came of would Tanya be annoyed if Kate stole an indirect kiss 👀

Like it's not a massive thing, but could you imagine: they're feeding her, and she's got a drink with a straw or whatever, and kate gets this idea just eyeing the MC drinking who has no idea what's going on and just assumes oh Kate's just thirsty or whatever

The offer of, "You want a sip?" A cheeky grin from kate as she realizes this takes it just for the sole purpose of getting an indirect kiss, not even a kiss, but like just to have that small bit she can gloat over her sister. The confusion on Tanya as Kate takes it even if she doesn't drink it before realizing

I-

This is-

But WHERE are my manners:

Hi! 👋

And THANK YOU for your lovely words! They just put a huge smile on my face, truly. 🙈❤️

Now, to the good stuff:

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Oh, Kate will push buttons alright, and not just Tanya´s probs. Girl lives for being a nuisance, so I think MC would be well-advised to stock up on those headache pills. 💊😅

As for your idea with that indirect kiss?? I mean-

YES PLS???

I love that omg!!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Like, you have NO idea-

Okay so...what I´m trying to say here is:

"...it´s not a massive thing" is RIGHT up my alley. THAT´S what I´m talking about. Like, yknow, all those subtle things, that between-the-lines stuff. Like, YKNOW?? 🫣

God, I sound so unhinged rn-

OKAY SO, in my humble opinion, less is more when it comes to building up that tension and creating an atmosphere that manages to keep you on the edge of your seat, even if there´s little to no "action" going on, if yknow what I mean. It´s the little things that make you go absolutely bonkers because you´ve been suffering forever and you just wanna scream at them to just-

But they won´t. Not now. Not for a loooong time. You hate it (and you hate that you love it). With every little interaction, the cup fills a bit more. The less action you put into those interactions, the faster the cup fills. (Yknow what I´m saying?) Until, at some point, a single drop would be enough to make the cup overflow. YKNOW WHAT I´M SAYING??

Ahhh, it´s just the little things, yknow? Idc about smut (I mean), GIMME THE TENSION. 😭

Also, can you imagine the LOOK MC´s gonna receive from Kate??? As she´s drinking from that straw??? Those lips??? Around that straw???

CAN U IMAGINE TANYA´S LOOK????

Pls. That´s literally them in that exact scenario. I AM WHEEZING.

Meanwhile, MC´s just there like-

YKNOW??

Like, poor thing´s confused af and so innocent, but also kinda used to all that weird shit by now and she´s literally just woken up, trying to enjoy her breakfast, and Tweedledum and Tweedledee are already using up all her energy for that day and-

Is one sane day in this house too much to ask for??

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If it hasn´t become clear enough by now: You have broken me with this. I can´t unthink this now. In fact, Imma go ahead and save that shit for later because there´s no way I´m NOT gonna use this at some point.

...Wait, can I? Like, is it okay if I use your lovely idea for my story?? Please?? 😭

If not, just lemme know. Send me another ask or dm me or whatever suits you best. ✌️😊

...If you fail to do so, however...

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Thank you so much for your ask! You´ve made my day (and my night) with this!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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EDIT:

😩🤌

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ANOTHER EDIT:

Okay but Tanya getting back at Kate by not only taking sip, but a whole BITE??? Despite knowing it'll have to get outta there at some point later again because vampires aren't made for human food??? And Kate just looks at her like-

challenge accepted

-and then it's basically just the two of them taking turns snatching something from MC's plate, trying their hardest to keep their faces somewhat neutral despite the horrid taste and, in the end, MC's plate is empty, she's still hungry because those two idiots have swallowed it all, and said idiots-

Well, looks like none of them is gonna get some now because 1) hooman's moody af because no food and 2) excuse them-

[tagsecretsanta]

From @gordonthegreatesttracy

From @gordonthegreatesttracy to Thunderfam

THE BACKFIRING CHRISTMAS PRANK

“It’s Christmas time

Alan’s on the wine

Scotty’s singing Frog on the Tyne

There’s logs on the fire

Johnny’s up the tree

Time to rejoice in the good that is me!”

“I swear his songs get worse every year” John says to the Mechanic with an eye roll, as he hangs a bauble on the top of the tree.

It is the day after Thanksgiving, and there is a twelve-foot Christmas tree in the lounge surrounded by boxes and boxes of decorations, John is up on the ladder on one side of the tree carefully placing baubles and tinsel and lights on the bright green branches, which the Mechanic is handing up to him.

“He does this every year?” The mechanic asks amused.

This is his first Christmas with the Tracys, having accepted Grandma’s invitation and come over to the Island to help decorate the villa.

“Yes he does, a few years ago it was Scotty Claus, drove Scott crazy then he gave him a music box that sung that song! I think he still has it somewhere” John replies.

“So it is a family tradition?” the Mechanic asks.

“YEP!” Gordon calls from his spot, hanging upside down from the railings above the seating area, while he wraps purple tinsel around the metal rails.

“Be careful up there” Scott calls over him. “I have tried to get rid of that box for years, I even put it in the old incinerator and it still turned up in its spot less than an hour later without a scratch, either Gordon made a million of them, or its cursed!”

John has taken on a supervisor role with Virgil and Jeff. The three of them are sitting on the sofa drinking coffee straight from the pot.

Jeff still can’t believe that he is home. And he is going to make sure that this is the greatest Christmas the boys have ever had, starting today, a whole month of celebrating. The Hood is in jail, the Chaos crew are too, the world is safe. The atmosphere is happy and relaxed as he rests his head against the back of the chair, this really is going to be the best Christmas ever!

*TB*

The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas flies by in a whirlwind of rescues, gift buying and wrapping, cake making, cookie baking fun and Alan wakes up on Christmas morning full of excitement. It is still dark outside as he pulls open his curtains and looks out at the jungle. This is going to be the best day ever! His father is home, and he has checked out the presents under the tree and there are hundreds with his name on!

Alan maybe a high school graduate with his own rocket ship, but he is still a child when it comes to Christmas! He jumps up from his favourite sleeping spot, and runs out the room, still in his pyjamas, down the hallway, stopping to bang on every door on the way, down the stairs and into the lounge, where even more gifts are now piled high!

“JACKPOT” he cries happily, wanting to dive right in, but something stops him and he is dragged away from his gifts by his eldest brother!

“Scotty!” He whines as he is pulled away.

“What are the rules?” Scott asks trying not to laugh.

“Wait for everyone to get here, eat breakfast, open gifts and have a wrapping paper ball fight with Gordon” Alan replies, poking his tongue out and trying to wriggle free so that he can get back to the gifts.

Scott doesn’t let go, picking Alan up and hoisting him over his shoulder he carries him down into the kitchen and deposits him on a chair.

“If you try and get back to the tree I am going to tie you to the chair!” Scott warns him, raising a wooden spoon in a semi-threatening manner.

“Wow, you look just like Grandma!” Alan tells him in awe, but the threat has the desired effect and Alan remains put!

Scott starts to make up pancake batter, letting Alan lick the bowl clean once he is done and then they carry the large stack of pancakes up to the lounge, where everyone is now awake and waiting for them.

The pancakes don’t last long and Alan soon has his attention turned back to the tree and those gifts, looking at Scott with large pleading eyes.

“Oh go on then!” Scott finally gives in and Alan dives for the tree.

He spots a gift with his name on, that the label says that it is from Gordon, and he should open it at his own risk!

He picks it up from the floor, and it explodes in a shower of liquid glittery gloop which goes all over him, and the tree, and the remaining presents.

Everyone apart from Alan are laughing, until the liquid gets into the lights, and there is a small explosion as the villa is plunged into darkness as the electric shorts.

“GORDON!” Alan screams, jumping to his feet and running to his brother. He is going to kill him!

“Not my fault, the warning label was on the gift” Gordon replies with a shrug.

Everyone is busy watching them argue, and they don’t notice the small smouldering fire that is starting to gain momentum at the bottom of the tree until it is too late.

Bright orange flames shoot up the tree, melting the plastic branches and consuming all the gifts in its bid to destroy Alan’s perfect Christmas, while they stand in shock. This is the worst thing Gordon has ever done!

Jeff puts the fire out with the fire extinguisher, but the damage is done. The gifts are gone, burnt and destroyed by the foam from the extinguisher and he turns to his fourth son in disgust. Gordon is an adult, but still pulling ridiculously childish pranks like this, and this time he has gone too far. Forgetting that he too laughed, he stands up to face Gordon, in the light from the torch he is carrying as it is still dark enough outside to need the lights on.

“You ruin everything Gordon, will you ever learn? All I wanted was one nice day. Just one! I didn’t ask you for a miracle, although maybe I did, as you don’t have the ability to actually behave, right now, you are making me wish that I had stayed in the Oort Cloud so I didn’t have to deal with you!” Jeff lectures.

Gordon is fighting back tears now. How could his father think that way? Does he really mean it? Do they all hate him as much as his father does?

“He is right” Scott adds. “You need to grow up Gordon.”

Gordon doesn’t need to hear any thing else as he runs from the room, upstairs to his room where he drags his suitcase out from the closet and starts to pack.

They don’t deserve Gordon, so they are not getting him!

He throws his suitcase onto the floor of Thunderbird 4 and he’s off, never to be seen again.

There are still tears in his eyes, as he docks Thunderbird 4 on the mainland and starts to walk to the house his father bought on the beach years ago so that they had a base on land for emergencies.

The world is still and peaceful this early on Christmas morning, as he watches the sun rise above the glittering ocean. His glistening tears spill out over his cheeks, and he doesn’t even see it coming a blinding pain in his back, as he falls to his knees before there is a sharp hit against his skull and he loses that last grasp of consciousness, his eyes firmly shut against the blur of the sun filled sky.

*TB*

“I can’t not believe that he ruined Christmas. Dad’s first Chritmsas back, and this happens. I should have expected it. He never changes. Where did he go anyway?” John asks.

“Upstairs” Virgil replies. “Probably sulking”

“This is the worst Christmas ever” Alan adds, sitting on the floor, leaning up against one of the seats and staring morosely at the ruined gifts.

The silence that falls among the group is awkward as they wait for Brains and the Mechanic to fix the electric.

“I-I-I am sorry, Mr T-T-Tracy. We need to rewire the main b-b-box” Brains confirms.

“We will need to go and get some stuff from the mainland; we will be a couple of hours” The Mechanic confirms.

“This is the worst Christmas ever” Alan declares again. No electric means no Christmas dinner, and no food means he is going to be hungry. Gordon is the worst brother in the world, and Alan wants nothing else to do with him.

“Come on, why don’t we go for a nice walk along the beach and watch the sun rise” Jeff suggests, heading out towards the pool. “Then we will all go over to the mainland and get everything we need for the rewiring and some lunch”.

“Nothing better to do” Alan says sulkily as they all walk out the lounge to take a walk in the early morning light.

“You know, this isn’t even the worst present Gordon has given someone!” Scott says with a face palm as they walk down the sandy stretch, Alan dipping his toes in the freezing water with a shudder.

“It isn’t?” he asks.

“Niblet?” Virgil asks, suddenly starting to laugh.

“Niblet” Scott confirms.

“Who is Niblet?” The mechanic asks, confused.

“Well…” Jeff starts.

SPECIAL PRESENT FOR MOTHER

“Hey Virgy” Gordon says running into the house from the yard where he has been playing for the last hour. The last of the autumn sunshine is fading fast into what looks like the perfect night for star-gazing. Crispy cold and clear.

Virgil is sitting on the sofa watching a documentary about Picasso with John and Scott while their mom is upstairs giving Alan a bath, with the promise that Gordon will be next!

“Yeah?” Virgil replies absent mindedly.

“You know what else I want for Christmas?” he asks.

“You mean the three sides of paper you have taped to the fridge is about to get even bigger?” John interrupts with a snort of laughter.

“You do know that the meaning of Christmas has nothing to do with what gifts you want? It is about giving, not receiving.” His father asks having joined the conversation from the kitchen where he has been checking on dinner.

“Duh!” Gordon replies, rolling his eyes. “Of course I do. Christmas is all about the birth of Santa. Bart Simpson said so!”

“Not quite!” Jeff corrects him gently. “Why don’t we go upstairs and you can have that bath you need and I will tell you all about the true meaning of Christmas.”

“Okay!” Gordon replies happily, sticking his dirty hand in his father’s and drags him towards the promised bubble bath. Gordon loves the bath almost as much as he loves getting dirty.

“Gordon! You’re filthy!” Jeff groans.

“I know, isn’t it great!” Gordon replies, running up the stairs and crashing into the bathroom where his baby brother is now in a clean sleepsuit, his head sleepily resting on his Momma’s shoulder as she leaves the room.

“He is all yours!” She confirms with a grin.

Gordon does not know, but they tossed a coin to see who gets to bath the water loving six-year-old and Jeff lost!

Gordon takes off his mud encrusted clothes and throws them on the floor, while Jeff adds the warm water to the tub and his chosen bubble bath, before Gordon dives in and splashes water everywhere.

Jeff lets him play “explore the bottom of the bathtub” for a few minutes before he remembers the conversation he promised him.

“Gordon, the real meaning of Christmas is your family, and finding them that special gift that you know they will love. Something that you have put your heart and soul into either searching for or even making. My favourite gift last year was the painting that you all did for me, can you remember?” Jeff says.

“The submarine full of fish playing the piano in space while watching top gun?” Gordon asks.

“That’s the one!” Jeff tells him.

The painting is in a frame in the living room above the fire place, and every time he walks past it, it never fails to make him smile, no matter how hard a day he is having.

“That was fun to do. Virgil let me paint the fish” Gordon tells him.

He is now sitting crossed legged in the middle of the tub hanging on his father’s every word. There are soap bubbles in his hair, but he is at least now clean!

“So what are you going to do this Christmas?” Jeff asks, hoping that his example worked.

“Get momma the most special present ever, she is going to be so happy” Gordon replies.

“Do you need help?” Jeff asks, thinking that they can go shopping together.

“Nope, I got this daddy!” Gordon confirms before he sinks back down below the surface of the water to rinse off his hair.

Jeff lets him play a while longer, before announcing that it is time for dinner and then bed.

He is anticipating a fight, and gets one as Gordon splashes him with warm soapy water and wriggles out of his grasp whenever he tries to grab him, giggling as he outsmarts his father over and over again, until Jeff plays the final card of his hand and pulls out the plug.

“DADDY!” Gordon wails in disgust.

“Come on!” Jeff tells him, helping him step out of the tub and into a clean, warm, fluffy towel and scrubbing him dry before he gets into his favourite finding nemo pyjamas and follows his father down the stairs for supper with his family.

He is still thinking about Christmas and what to get his momma an hour later as she puts him to bed.

“What do you want for Christmas Momma?” he asks sleepily as she settles him down with his cuddly squid and starts to read him a chapter from his current favourite book: The brave little fish.

“Something from the heart, whatever you will love, I will love” Lucy replies, resting her chin on top of his head as she cuddles him.

An idea is starting to form in Gordon’s mind now. Something that he loves that Momma would love. Something super special and what is more special than her very own pet?

Lucy is not even half way through the chapter when his quiet little snores reach her ears and she quietly leaves the room, switching off the main light and leaving only his fish shaped nightlight for illumination.

*TB*

Operation Momma’s special gift begins the following day at breakfast as he asks for extra strawberries on his cereal, which he hides in the pocket of his hoodie.

It is Sunday morning, and the sun is shining through the window. It is the perfect day to begin the search, and as soon as he is allowed he races for the small, wooded area behind the farm that he has been given permission to explore. He knows that he is not allowed to go past the end of the forked path, but he doesn’t need to, he is sure that the perfect gift is around here somewhere, he has seen it recently.

It takes him an hour of patience, something even he knows he is not very good at, but eventually his persistence pays off and a fluffy tailed grey squirrel comes down from its drey to give him a sniff.

He has never sat this still in his life, and the squirrel feels warm as it explores the new arrival, sticking his nose into Gordon’s pocket and helping himself to a strawberry and running away with it, burying it a short way away, then coming back for another. And another. And another. Until all of the strawberries are gone.

Once the food is gone, so is the squirrel!

Gordon jumps to his feet and starts to run back to the house for more supplies. Knowing that he needs to sneak them out without anyone getting suspicious and ruining his plan.

He gets lucky on his supply run as there is no one in the kitchen as he empties the rest of strawberries into his pocket and runs back out to the woods.

Where the squirrel is waiting for him, and Is a lot bolder now as he climbs up onto Gordon’s shoulder and allows him to hand feed him the strawberries.

Gordon stays and watches his Momma’s new pet all morning, only leaving when he starts to get hungry for his own lunch and goes back to the house.

There are ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch, which are a bit disappointing as there is nothing on the plate that the squirrel can eat. He doesn’t even know what else he can feed the squirrel and he needs to find out without anyone getting suspicious.

“Can I go back out now?” he asks after he has finished eating.

“No, we are going grocery shopping and then having dinner at Grandma’s” Lucy replies. “I need you to get changed into your good clothes!”

Gordon loves his grandma, but he has no idea why he has to get dressed up for it. His current outfit of torn jeans and a dirt-streaked hoodie is perfect for all occasions. Gordon also knows arguing with his Momma is not a good idea so does as he is told and goes up to his room to get changed.

His good shirt is hanging up on the back of the door and he pulls it on and does the buttons up. That with the plain black trousers and odd socks and he is done and goes back down stairs where his brothers are all dressed and ready to leave too.

“Daddy, can we get some bird seed?” Gordon asks, once he is strapped into his car seat in between Scott and Virgil in the back of car. Jeff is driving, with Lucy alongside and John and Alan are in the middle.

“Sure” Jeff replies, he loves feeding the birds in the garden.

“How long do they take to grow into real birds?” John asks sarcastically.

“Do they do that?” Gordon asks in awe.

“No! John stop it!” Lucy replies rolling her eyes. She has the job of stopping any fights from breaking out.

“Can we get food for other animals too? it is getting cold now and there isn’t as much food in the winter for the deers and the skunks and the gooses and the beavers and the spiders and squirrels and the snakes and all of the animals” Gordon pleads, adding lots of animals to his list.

“I don’t see why not” Lucy replies. Looking up different food for the various creatures that live in their yard.

Gordon piles in the food for all of the animals the minute they get to the supermarket barely leaving room for anything else!

The food shopping for a family of seven takes over an hour and a half while Jeff finds himself vetoing items and refereeing fights, and starts to wonder why he didn’t drop the kids off at his mother’s house before he went shopping!

Gordon gets everything he wants, and he can’t wait to get home from school tomorrow afternoon so he can really get started on project squirrel. His father was right, the best thing about Christmas is getting other people presents, and he doesn’t even want anything for himself.

*TB*

It is too late when they get back from Grandma’s to go and feed the squirrel, so Gordon takes the bag of walnuts from the cupboard when no body is watching and hides it under his bed before he goes to sleep for the night.

School on Monday morning drags, and he finds his mind wandering from the lessons about reading and writing and all the other stuff his parents insist he will need one day, but he finds unbearably boring.

They are working on the spelling small words today, stuff that he already knows as he has John for an older brother! He doesn’t need to sit here all day to learn how to spell cat. Everyone knows that it is K-A-T!  

Mrs Jones is even older than his Grandma and has a moustache, but he knows better than to mention it, as he tries not to get into trouble for the same thing twice!

She is droning on about the correct way to spell words, and he is just drifting off for a well-earned nap when she raps her wooden ruler on the table so hard the building shakes.

“Tracy, how do you spell dog?” She demands.

“D-O-G-E” Gordon replies, deliberately getting it wrong.

“Wrong! That is not how I spell it” Mrs Jones tells him.

“Yeah well, you asked me how I spell it! My way is a lot more interesting.” Gordon replies.

“It is not supposed to be interesting”, Mrs Jones has no idea how this reprobate is related to John. John was a pleasure to teach.

“You’re telling me. This is even more boring than it was last week” Gordon replies.

There is a suspenseful silence in the room as his classmates wait for Mrs Jones to explode and sent him to the principal again, and they are not disappointed!

Gordon is sentenced to no afternoon recess and a meeting with his Momma before he is allowed to go home.

“Oh Gordon, not again!” She says in exasperation. He has been in the first grade for three weeks now, and this is the fourth time she has been asked for a meeting with the principal and she has no idea what to do with him!

“It isn’t my fault Momma” he insists.

“It never is. You are grounded this evening. No going out when we get home, and no television. You are going to help me cook dinner and you are going to have an early night” Lucy tells him as they make the short walk home. John and Virgil taking Alan and letting her have Gordon all to herself.

Gordon needs to go out, he has a squirrel to feed!

“I am really sorry Momma, I won’t get into trouble ever again if I can go out when we get home.” Gordon gives her the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can managed as he looks up at her, full of repentance that even he isn’t buying!

“You promise?” she asks, trying not to laugh.

“I promise” Gordon insists.

“Okay then” Lucy relents, knowing that she is going to regret it as her fourth son doesn’t know how to behave.

Gordon hugs her around the legs then runs to catch up with his brothers, ignoring John’s comment about him being the family screw up, skipping alongside them, promise already forgotten as all he is thinking about is feeding his squirrel.

He needs to think up a name, he can’t just keep calling him the squirrel.

The squirrel is waiting for him when he gets to the woods, and Gordon obliges with the walnuts, watching with a smile on his face as the squirrel nibbles on the shell.

Which is how Gordon gives him his name. Niblet is the perfect name for his squirrel.

*TB*

As the weeks wear on, the weather gets steadily colder. There is frost on the ground in the mornings and an ever-increasing threat of snow, but Gordon bundles up every afternoon in a warm coat with scarf and gloves and goes to visit Niblet.

Niblet has started to follow him to the edge of the wood now, getting braver and more confident, just as Gordon wanted.

The mix of nuts and fresh fruits and vegetables have given his coat a healthy shine, as it thickens for the winter. Niblet is the most perfect gift ever and his Momma is going to love him as much as he does.

The beginning of December sees the first proper snow fall of the winter, and Gordon finds it hard to battle through the snow, his snow boots sinking into the snow with every step, but it is worth it as Niblet comes to meet him at the edge of the woods, running up his legs and onto his shoulder, sticking his nose into his ear in greeting which causes Gordon to giggle.

“Oh Niblet, you are so cute!” Gordon tells him, stroking him along the spine with his gloved hand.

Today is the day Niblet decides that he is going to see where the bringer of treats lives, and he stealthily follows Gordon home, stopping when he sees the house, as he is unsure what the big building is, and does not want to risk getting trapped, and goes back to his tree for the evening as it is starting to get dark and even more chilly, and he shudders with the cold as he wraps his tail around his nose and settles down for the night in his warm and cosy drey.

The month passes excruciatingly slowly for Gordon, as he wakes up every morning and it is still not Christmas Day yet. Every morning he wakes up, eats breakfast, struggles through another boring day with the delightful Mrs Jones. The only bright spots in his day are rehearsals for the class play, in which he is the star, and going to feed Niblet once he is home, even though the dark is falling ever earlier and he has less time before Momma makes him come inside.

Until the magical day his Momma announces that it is the final day before the holidays and he is free for three weeks!

The first day of the holiday he is up before the sun, and out the house before anyone else is even awake, as he needs to start moving Niblet into the house, and getting him ready for the big day.

Niblet now trusts him completely, and allows Gordon to carry him back to the house and into his bedroom which he explores in interest. This is definitely warmer than his tree, and he curls up on Gordon’s pillow for a nap.

Keeping Niblet a secret is easy, as every time someone knocks on Gurdon’s bedroom door, he scarpers for the safety of the closet, only coming back out when Gordon gives him the signal that it is all clear.

Niblet spends the nights asleep at the bottom of Gordon’s bed, and his days exploring the room, rapping his claws on the window when he needs to go out, and he is never out for long. Preferring his new drey to the tree in the woods!

Niblet is the perfect present, and Gordon can’t wait until the morning to give him to his Momma. Daddy was right, getting people gifts is even more fun than getting them himself.

It is Christmas Eve and Gordon finds Virgil sitting on the floor of his bedroom wrapping gifts.

“Hey Virg!” he says, letting himself into the room and plopping down on the rug.

“Yes” Virgil replies smiling. “How can I help you?”

“Can I borrow some of your art stuff?” he asks, not bothering with small talk.

“What for?” Virgil asks.

“Christmas decorations” Gordon replies.

“Yeah sure. Take whatever you need” Virgil tells him. “There is a box full in the bottom of the closet”.

“Thanks Virg” Gordon replies, jumping to his feet, diving into the closet and running from the room in one fluid motion, almost so quickly Virgil doesn’t even realise that he is gone!

Gordon returns to his own room where there is a plain cardboard box he found in the barn that he is going to decorate with pictures of squirrels, leaves, trees, nuts and strawberries. All of Niblet’s favourite things. He lines the box with Niblet’s favourite blanket so that he will not be too scared in the box in the morning and he is ready. His momma is going to get the most special present ever!

*TB*

There is more snowfall overnight and they wake to the white Christmas of Gordon’s dreams, and he can’t wait to get out there after breakfast to go sledding on the new sled that he asked Santa for! He leaps out of bed, startling Niblet who gives him a filthy look and goes back to sleep, and goes over to the window, where he throws open the curtains to find out the world turned white overnight.

“Look Niblet, isn’t it pretty!” He says to the still sleepy squirrel. “It is time to go in the box now and meet the rest of your family. They are going to love you as much as I do, trust me”.

Gordon places Niblet in the box and carefully places the lid on top before carrying him into his momma and daddy’s bedroom.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MOMMA AND DADDY!” Gordon cries, jumping onto the bed.

Jeff grumbles something about Lucy’s children under his breath, but doesn’t wake up.

“Daddy! Come on, it’s Christmas and I got Momma a present, just like you said. Here” he says to Lucy shoving the box into her arms.

Half asleep still Lucy is smiling when she takes the lid off the box and a startled Niblet leaps straight out and up the curtains where he sits on top of the curtain rail glaring at the new people.

“What on Earth?” GORDON!” Jeff yells. 

“You scared him” Gordon accuses his parents, looking up at Niblet with concern.

“What is that thing?” Jeff asks, giving his fourth son a facepalm in exasperation.

A hurt look flashes across Gordon’s face. That thing?

“Momma’s present.” Gordon replies. “His name is Niblet and he lives in my room”.

“It’s a squirrel, Jeff” Replies Lucy at the same time.

“Take it back where you got it from. You can not keep a squirrel, Gordon.” Jeff tells him.

“He isn’t for me, he’s for Momma” Gordon replies defiantly, refusing to give in easily.

“This is not up for discussion, you are not keeping the squirrel and that is final, now get it out of here before I get really angry” Jeff demands, his voice starting to show that impatience Gordon has come to associate with him getting sent to bed early!

Gordon flees the room, running down the stairs and out the door into the quickly forming blizzard. He stomps his way over to the barn and climbs up onto the roof, and sits down, drawing his knees up around his knees and starts to cry. The barn has a hayloft with a hatch in the roof, put in for John years ago so that he can climb up there in the summer and star-gaze.

He only wanted to do something nice for his Momma, just like he promised his Daddy he would, and he has ruined everything. Again. He is a screw up, just like John said so. He can’t do anything right.

*TB*

“A squirrel? What did you tell him?” Lucy asks, trying hard, and failing, not to laugh.

“Gifts come from the heart and that he should get people gifts that he has put a lot of thought and effort into.” Jeff replies. Now that the shock of having a wild animal dumped on him in what feels like the middle of the night is wearing off, Jeff can’t help it. He starts to laugh too.

“What did he say he named it?” Jeff asks.

“Niblet” Lucy replies.

Niblet is still sitting on the curtain rail glaring at them.

Jeff gets up and opens the window. “Go get him Niblet” he says to the squirrel as the animal jumps down from the rail and out the window, over to the barn and up onto the roof where he climbs up onto Gordon’s shoulder, while Lucy gets out of bed and starts to get dressed so that she can face the blizzard and bring home her son.

Gordon’s tears are frozen to his eyelashes, and he is freezing. His whole body is shivering, as he is out there in a blizzard in his pyjamas, with no shoes on.

“Come on inside. Both of you” Lucy says a few minutes later, having used the hatch in the roof to join him, and wrapping him up in her dressing gown. “You’re freezing” she tells him, as the three of them make their way back into the warmth of the barn.

“I Th-th-th-ought y-y-you would l-l-love him” he wails, his head buried into her shoulder as he sobs his heart out.

Niblet is sitting on her shoulder now, and she can’t deny that he is cute. She knows that he can’t stay though, as he is a wild animal, and would hate living in the house, especially in the summer, but that is not a conversation for right now.

“I do love him” she confirms, and she realises that it is true. “He came from you, so you know that I will love him.”

Gordon finally gets what his father was saying. The best gifts come from the heart, and they leave the sanctuary of the barn and back to the main house so that Gordon can introduce his squirrel to his brothers.

In the living room, Scott has started a fire, in the fireplace and Jeff is handing out a large bag of marshmallows for toasting as a breakfast treat. Virgil is sitting on the floor, with a drawing pad open in front of him and he is sketching out a design for a new project.

“What are you doing Virg?” Lucy asks, leaning over Jeff and grabbing a marshmallow, which Niblet tries to steal.

“No, Niblet.” Gordon tells him, handing over a strawberry instead.

“Designing a home for the squirrel. Dad said that we can build him his own tree house in the large oak tree in the yard that he can use in the summer, and a winter home too. Grandma said that we can get a cat flap put into the door so that he can come and go as he pleases. Look” Virgil replies, showing his initial design plans, which shows a large wooden box with a hole cut into it to use as a door.

The inside has a sketch of Gordon and Niblet for decoration, a large four poster bed, a bookcase, a climbing frame, a television, lights and a separate kitchen area with storage containers full of nuts and fruit.

“I don’t think he needs a television Virg!” Lucy tells him. it is an impressive design, and she knows that the boys will have great fun making it with Jeff over the next few weeks, and that Niblet has gotten himself the best ever family.

THE MECHANIC SPENDS CHRISTMAS WITH INTERNATIONAL RESCUE.

“Is that a true story?” the mechanic asks chuckling.

“Every word. Niblet lived with us for seven years until he died from old age. Gordon wasn’t the only one who was devastated, we all were.” Scott replies.

They are heading back to the house, having been for a walk along the beach as the sun rises, promising another Perfect day in paradise, with cloudless sunshine with a light breeze. Perfect for a beach barbecue. Who even needs electricity?

“Alan, go and get Gordon. We are off to the mainland as a family to get replacement presents, and the stuff Brains needs to fix the electric” Jeff demands, suddenly feeing a need to be with all of his children.

Alan is still angry, but does as he is told and jogs back to the house, where he finds Gordon’s room has been stripped bare, and that his brother has gone. Even Squid, Gordon’s battered old plushie toy has gone.

Alan runs back down the stairs and into straight into Virgil.

“S-S-Sorry Virg. Dad Gordon’s gone” Alan says, panting.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Jeff asks.

“Gone. Everything is gone.” Alan replies.

“Thunderbird 4 has gone too” Scott confirms. “John?”

John nods, opening up his comms unit and connecting to Thunderbird Five. “Eos? I need you to track Gordon and Thunderbird Four for me” he asks his sentient AI.

“Sure thing John. Give me a minute. Okay got them. Thunderbird Four is at the house on the main land” Eos confirms.

“Thanks Eos. Come on, let’s go and get your wayward sibling” Jeff replies resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You can fly Virgil” Scott says once they are settled in Thunderbird two.

“Gee, my own ship, thanks Scotty” Virgil replies, rehashing an old joke as they take the short hop from the island over to the house by the beach.

There is a small landing area at the rear of the house which is where the party of seven land.

Brains and the Mechanic leave the ship, and start to head in the direction of the hardware store, Jeff having arranged for the manager to let them in to collect everything that they need in exchange for a large tip for opening up on Christmas Day.

Jeff lets them into the house, which despite Eos’ claims that it is the location of his fourth son, the house is empty.

“Gordon where are you?” Jeff asks out loud with a frown. Eos has never been wrong before.

He gets a scream as a response and runs for the sound of his terrified youngest son.

“ALAN, WHAT IS IT?” Jeff yells, running through the front door, and up the path leading to the gate, where he finds Alan, Virgil, Scott and John bent over Gordon’s seemingly lifeless form. The small relief he found when he realised that Gordon is still breathing is extinguished faster than the fire on the island when he sees the blood. A slowly flowing river of sticky red liquid from his temple.

“What happened?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t know.” Alan replies desperately, as Virgil is running a medscan. Scott and John are returning from Thunderbird Two with a stretcher.

Virgil gasps in shock when the results ping through onto his phone.

There is a bullet in Gordon’s back.

His little brother has been shot.

Someone shot his brother.

Why?

“What is it?” Jeff asks.

Virgil can’t speak, he just shoves his phone at his father and points to the small metal ball lodged in Gordon’s back, near his spine.

“He was attacked?” Jeff asks, scarcely able to believe what he is saying.

“We have to get him home” Virgil says, lifting him up into his arms, and placing him on the waiting stretcher. “I will need to operate”.

“You can’t. We have no electricity, remember?” John replies, his eyes have not left Gordon’s chest, as he watches it slowly rise and fall, silently praying to anyone who will listen that Gordon keeps breathing.

This stops Virgil in his tracks, but inly briefly. “Hospital then” he says to John, as he starts to push the stretcher to the med bay in thunderbird two.

Scott doesn’t bother making the joke, letting Virgil take the controls while he sits with Gordon, John, Alan and Jeff in the med bay, keeping a silent vigil. Lost in his own thoughts, and vowing to catch whoever did this, and make sure that their suffering is a hundred times worse than his.

The hospital is busy, but any visit by international rescue always parts the sea of people, leaving a clear path for Virgil to take Gordon, and now there is nothing left to do other than sit.

And wait.

The wait seems to be indefinite. Every minute feels like ten and Virgil can’t sit still. The initial shock is starting to wear off, and now he is angry. There are a million questions fighting for space in his brain.

Why did Gordon leave?

Who did this to him?

Why did they do it to him?

Was he targeted, or was this a random attack?

He is pacing up and down the small private waiting room that the hospital provided. It is a plain room, with pale green walls, hard plastic chairs and a small table which is littered with cold half-drunk cups of coffee, and no one is talking.

This was supposed to be their best Christmas ever. They had their father back. The Hood was finally in a cage where he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. The mechanic was free from his control. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Virgil is still pacing silently, when the door opens, and Lady Penelope walks in.

To the outside world she looks as perfectly put together as always, but Virigl knows his brother’s girlfriend better than most. Her cool and calm persona is showing small signs of cracking. There is a hair out of place, and a small smudge of pink lip gloss by her upper lip, and her eyes are watery from where her mascara has run.

Brains and the mechanic are behind her, both carrying large bags of electrical equipment.

“How is he Jeff?” Penelope asks, not bothering with any small talk. This is her fault. If she hadn’t listened to Gordon, and cancelled her plans to spend Christmas with him, instead of that silly party her family organised, then he wouldn’t have left the island without her. They would have been safe.

“I don’t know?” Jeff replies, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

Jeff shakes his head sadly. There is nothing anyone can do other than wait. Waiting is the one thing none of them have ever been very good at.

“W-We could go b-b-back to the island” Brains suggests. “G-G-Get the electricity f-f-fixed for when you get h-h-home”.

Jeff nods, knowing the need to keep busy, almost wishing that he could go along and help, anything is better than this waiting.

“Parker will take you” Lady Penelope replies, offering up the services of her ever-loyal chauffeur.

With a nod of their heads the two men leave, and that small distraction which stopped Jeff having to think leaves with them and he starts to brood once more. He should never have said that he wished he had stayed in the Oort cloud. He pulls a photo wallet from his pocket where he keeps his family photos. All through his eight years in outer space this little piece of home is what kept him going.

The first photo is Lucy. As Jeff remembers her best. Smiling and happy, laughing at some joke one of the boys has just told her. Scott is next. His face serious as he poses for his first official rescue scouts uniform. His mini-me. Then Virgil, covered in paint sitting on top of the piano a paint bush behind one ear. The next page is John, lying on the top of the roof late at night watching the stars, which has always been his happy place. Then Gordon, his fish, about to cannon ball off the high diving board into the pool the first summer they spent on the island. Finally Alan. Fast asleep on the sofa with his gaming tablet on his chest. Looking at their childish innocence, Jeff determines to get justice for Gordon, no matter what the cost is.

*TB*

“What happened?” Jeff asks.

It is nearly morning, Jeff’s perfect Christmas is almost over, and it has been nothing like what he had planned, but he is just grateful that Gordon is going to make a full recovery.

“I don’t know” Gordon replies, trying hard not to cry. “I’m sorry. You were right, I ruin everything”.

“No, I am sorry. You know I never meant any of that. Almost everything we lost can be replaced, apart from you. You are my unique, talented, crazy, funny Squid, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Jeff replies, he has his hand clasped around Gordon’s and he ever wants to let it go.

“When can I go home?” Gordon asks.

“Tomorrow, but the doctors have ordered that you stay in bed and rest for at least ten days, and that you remain off duty for a month. Which will be enforced by both Virgil, myself, Penny and Grandma so there is no way you can even think about sneaking out. But just think, it gives you enough time to organise replacement presents for everyone!” Jeff replies with a grin. “No wild animals!”

“Really? It is about time the villa got a pet!” Gordon replies with a grin of his own.

One that makes Jeff’s heart soar. That one smile that means that everything is going to be okay. “NO!” Get some rest. I will be here to take you home in the morning.” Jeff tells him, leaving him to get some sleep.

Gordon stretches and yawns, the morphine drip in his arm doing its job as he drifts off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*TB*

Back on the island it is chaos. Brains and the Mechanic have gotten the electricity back up and running and are busy putting together a new inflammable tree! With Alan’s “help”.

Alan is covered in lights and tinsel. He is wearing baubles for earrings and he has been climbing up and down the ladder all day under the watch full eyes of the Mechanic and Brains.

“Are you sure this one won’t catch fire?” Alan asks.

“P-Positive. Almost” Brains replies.

“Almost?” Alan squeaks.

“Ninety-nine percent” Brains reassures him.

Alan nearly falls off the ladder he’s laughing so hard. He never knew that the mechanic had such a brilliant sense of humour, as they started out trying to stop him from destroying their entire family. He never thought the day he first came across him, that day with the earth-breaking machine, that one day he would be helping him decorate a Christmas tree.

Alan’s lights are battery operated, and he lights them up, while he is sitting on the top of the ladder. “Maybe I should stay here and be the other tree!” He suggests.

“That’s not a bad idea” Scott replies, having come up from the hangars carrying a bag full of freshly wrapped presents for the new tree.

“Ooh presents!” Alan declares, leaping from the top of the ladder onto the floor, and landing lightly on his feet. “gimme gimme gimme!” he says reaching out for the bag as Scott lightly slaps his hands away.

“No, these are not to be opened until everyone is home” Scott replies. “I have counted them, and if any are missing when I check later then I will let Gordon prank you again as long as he promises not to set the house on fire again you will be fair game!”

Alan knows that this is not an empty threat and he laughs before climbing back up the ladder.

“Yeah that’s better, stay up there!” Scott tells him before he retreats back down to the hangars.

*TB*

By the following morning, when Jeff returns with Gordon the house has been transformed. The mechanic has rigged up a contraption for indoor snow, and it is snowing lightly in the lounge. Covering the over decorated tree in a smattering of white flakes.

“Do I have to stay in bed?” Gordon asks.

“What did the doctor say?” Jeff asks amused.

“Yes” Gordon replies.

“So what do you think?” Virgil asks, also amused.

“No!” Gordon replies. “I am not tired, and it only hurts when I talk, move or breathe. I’m fine!” he insists.

“Okay, you can stay up for a bit” Jeff tells him, helping him into one of the chairs, watching him carefully as he grasps the arm of the chair trying to hide the sharp pains in his back, he wants to help but its time Gordon learned his own lessons from his own mistakes. Besides if he does bust his stitches Virgil can sew him back up again!

“When are we doing presents?” Alan asks. He has been trying hard to resist the ever-growing pile under the tree, which is now even bigger than the original pile as Lady Penelope has been adding her own in.

“After lunch, which Grandma has been cooking for the last forty-eight hours, so should be suitably cremated by now” Jeff replies with an evil grin, one that is usually found on Gordon’s face.

Alan is starting to doubt that he will ever get Christmas presents this year as it is now the day before New Years, any minute now his father will announce that he has to wait until his birthday for them! That is if Grandma hasn’t poisoned them all by then.

“Dinner is ready” Grandma announces, coming up from the kitchen an hour and a half later.

Gordon is asleep, using Virgil as a pillow. Alan is still sitting by the presents, which Scott sits next to him so that he doesn’t try and run away with them. John is sitting by Jeff’s desk with Jeff as they read through a report from the GDF regarding the rebuilding of the Hex prison to keep the Hood in, as far away from society they can get without banishing him to the Oort Cloud.

“Come on Squid, you need to eat to regain your strength” Virgil says, gently nudging him awake, and helping him down to the kitchen.

The main table has been set for eleven, with a small card on each plate with names on so that they know where to sit.

There is a silk table cloth which has been hand painted with little Christmas decorations. Lady Penelope has bought Christmas crackers over from England, and in no time at all everyone is wearing a paper hat and telling terrible jokes.

Alan’s favourite is:

What athlete is warmest during winter?

A long jumper.

Gordon’s is:

Who delivers presents to sharks at Christmas?

Santa Jaws.

Jeff’s is something that he wishes was a thing in real life!

What's a parent's favourite Christmas carol?

Silent Night!

Virgil’s is:

Who is Santa’s favourite singer?

Elf-is Presley

John tries not to find any of the jokes funny and sits in stoic silence, but even he starts to laugh at how bad the jokes are.

Which Christmas carol is about an animal with three legs?

Little Wonkey

Even though that’s not how you spell wonky, it still makes him laugh.

Scott’s is:

What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations?

Tinselitis.

Well he has spent most of his life trying to stop Alan from doing just that!

Once everyone has stopped telling jokes, Grandma brings out a large silver covered dish, and everyone takes a deep breath to prepare themselves for what is about to be unveiled. Grandma Tracy is a notoriously bad cook, so why she keeps doing it, nobody knows!

Jeff tentatively takes the lid off to reveal the charred remnants of the old tree.

“Well, it was already cooked so I thought I would save a lot of time and effort and just reheat it. Plastic is good for you” Grandma insists.

“Mom?” Jeff says, raising one eyebrow, and looking over at his mother. Surely she can’t be serious.

“Mrs Tracy?” the mechanic adds. He is laughing. This has been the most unconventional Christmas he has ever been a part off. Nothing that they spent months carefully planning worked out how they were expecting. So why try for a traditional Christmas dinner?

“Okay fine! Come with me, all of you?” Grandma replies starting up the stairs to the lounge and out the main doors by the pool.

Where a second equally beautifully laid table is waiting for them, this one has eleven plates of perfectly cooked food. All of their favourites. The table is straining with the weight of the nut roast, potatoes, carrots, peas, parsnips, broccoli, and boats of steaming gravy. There are several bottles of wine in ice buckets around the table, and in the middle is the centre piece the boys made years ago their last Christmas they had their mom for. Before that they made a new one every year, but once they lost her, it never felt right to keep on making a new one, knowing that she would never be able to see them.  

“When did you do this?” Gordon asks in awe.

“I didn’t” Grandma replies.

“I did” The mechanic replies. “I wanted to give something back to you all. You saved my life and helped me find a purpose. A real purpose. Because of you I am finally free”

“It looks to good to eat” Lady Penelope says with a smile.

“Speak for yourself, I’m starving!” Alan replies, picking up a potato with his fingers and shoving it whole into his mouth. “Argh! Hot! Hot! Hot!” he gags, trying to swallow the potato while he downs a small glass of wine.

“I am sorry, he is a work in progress!” Scott replies, kicking him under the table. Alan’s only reply is to poke his tongue out at Scott, but he does pick up his knife and fork and start to eat properly.

Eleven people make short work of the food and there is very little left over. Jeff can feel the buckle of his belt straining against his stomach, as he pats it appreciatively.

“This has been the weirdest ever Christmas, but I liked it” Virgil says, leaning back in his chair and letting the early afternoon sun warm his face.

They know soon that their vacation will be over, and that they will have back-to-back rescues once more and moments like this will feel like a distant memory.

“Is it really?” John replies. “Gordon caused chaos, and got hurt. Seems like a normal day in the life of international rescue to me!”

“Hey! I don’t always cause chaos!” Gordon replies indignantly.

“That’s true. Sometimes he’s asleep” Scott confirms.

Gordon throws a left-over roast potato at Scott, which misses and hits his father.

“Oh you are such a dead squid!” Jeff tells him with a malicious grin on his face, as he picks up his spoon and piles on left-over peas and launches them at Gordon.

“FOOD FIGHT!” Alan yells in delight.

In less than a minute, everyone is covered in food, and everyone is laughing. Lady Penelope and Gordon have teamed up with Virgil, Scott, the mechanic and Parker and are launching an attack on Alan, John and Jeff, Grandma and Brains.

Once all the remaining food has been consumed Virgil picks Alan up and dumps him in the pool. “Time for a bath Allie” He says with a grin.

“Ugh Virgil!” Alan splutters coming up for air.

Gordon, despite the pool ban by his doctor dives straight in after Alan, ignoring the pain and gently swimming a few laps.

“Come on in, the water’s lovely and warm” he insists.

So they do. All fully dressed. They jump in and join Alan and Gordon and the food fight becomes a water fight, until the sun starts to go down and the water gets chilly, then they retreat to the house for some clean, dry clothes.

Virgil and Grandma march Gordon to the infirmary to make sure that he has not caused any further damage to his back, and replace the soggy dressing with a new one and they gather once again in the living room.

“This has been the best Christmas ever, and I didn’t even open a single present” Alan announces.

The mechanic smiles. It has been his best ever Christmas too, and he hopes that they invite him next year too.

“Oh that’s good because the presents around the tree are empty boxes” Scott tells him.

“They are not, I checked” Alan replies.

“Did you now?” Jeff laughs.

“Erm. No” Alan replies, sheepishly.

Jeff puts him out of his misery and finally lets him open his gifts!

*TB*

There is only one left now, a small gift box, addressed to the whole family from the mechanic.

Alan opens the box and removes a piece of blank paper and looks at it with confusion.

“Other side Alan!” Gordon tells him.

“Oh that’s better!” Alan reads the carefully composed words in silence before he reads them aloud.

“During the years I spent in the Hood’s captivity, I never imagined that life could ever be this enjoyable. I finally feel like I have found a real family, and I love being a part of international rescue. I wanted to give something back, so I give you the gift that I have not given to anyone else. Hardly anyone knows this secret, but I bequeath it too you. I am going to tell you all my real name”.

“You mean it isn’t Mechanic?” Gordon interrupts.

“No it isn’t! Let me finish” Alan replies.

“Okay!” Gordon says.

“My real name is…”

“Hugh Jass” Gordon guesses.

“GORDON!” Jeff warns.

“Sorry, carry on Alan” Gordon replies.

“My real name is…”

“Chris P Bacon”

“GORDON!” Jeff warns again.

“Then tell him to stop pausing, he keeps lining it up, you can’t blame me for guessing. I thought we were playing a game” Gordon replies, utterly unrepentant.

“Are you sure this is the one you’re in love with?” Grandma asks Lady Penelope.

Lady Penelope nods indulgently. This is the one she is in love with!

“My real name is Paul” Alan finally says. “I like it” he says to the Mechanic.

“Yeah, me too” Scott confirms.

Virgil nods and takes the Mechanic’s Christmas stocking down and takes a post it note from his father’s desk, writing Paul on the note, and covering up “mechanic”.

“Welcome to the family Paul” Jeff says, as they all stand up for a group hug.

This really has been the best Christmas ever.

And next year will be even bigger and even better, thinks Lady Penelope, holding onto her very own secret, gently patting her belly with a small smile.

[fr4nkie0stein]

Idk if ur taking reqs atm but if you do can I req for a Ginger Breadhouse x Fem reader pls, reader was the first person who wasn't sacred of her they got close over time and at first reader was just a taste tester then she asked ginger to teach her how to bake, how would ginger react?

I love this sm anon, hope you like it ☺️

Sweet Success

Pairing: Ginger Breadhouse x fem reader

Summary: after being Ginger's taste tester for awhile, you ask her to teach you how to bake

Content warning(s): none that I'm aware of

××

You'd been friends with Ginger for quite some time, and you were often a taste tester for her whenever she baked something new. Most people couldn't believe you actually trusted the daughter of the Candy Witch enough to the point where you'd consume her baked goods, but you'd learned over time never to judge a book by its cover. Besides, someone that adorable couldn't be as "evil" as people claimed she was.

It was another normal day. You worked on a written assignment while Ginger baked, humming a quiet tune to herself as she placed a tray of cookies in the oven. You were so zoned out trying to think of what else to write, you hadn't even noticed how much time had gone by until you heard the time go off, snapping you out of the daze you were in almost immediately.

"Cookies are done!" Ginger announced proudly as she pulled them out of the oven, oversized oven mitts on both of her hands. It was then that you thought of an idea that you'd never even considered before.

"Hey, have you ever considered teaching anyone to bake before?" You asked suddenly, watching while she place the tray on the counter.

"Actually, I have a few times. But no one wants to learn how to bake from the daughter of the Candy Witch," she said with a sigh as she took off her oven mitts, setting them down on the counter beside the tray of cookies.

"Well, how about you teach me? I've actually been dying to learn how to cook, and it could be a fun experience for both of us!" You could tell by the look she gave you that she was feeling pretty skeptical about your offer.

"Do you really want to learn, or are you just saying that so you won't have to finish your homework?" She was only half joking, her eyebrow raised slightly as she questioned you.

"No, really, I'm serious! Your pastries are always so good, and if I'm going to learn from anyone, shouldn't it be from the very best baker around?"

Ginger felt her face heat up some at your compliment. "Well, I wouldn't call myself the very best..." She mumbled sheepishly, looking down.

"I would. Your baking is amazing, honestly," you reassured her in a genuine manner. "So, what do you say? Will you teach me?"

She thought it over for a moment before nodding her head. "You know what? Sure. I'd love to teach you," she accepted with a bright smile. "I'm actually honored that you're asking me of all people."

"Why wouldn't I ask you? You're the best baker I know," you reiterated your previous statement proudly, something that caused her become flustered once again.

The next several days were filled with several attempts of baking in her kitchen together. Not all of the batches of baked goods you made were edible, but Ginger was an excellent teacher. Anytime you made a mistake, she just started you on a new batch until you got it right.

Finally you were able to make several different kinds of pastries without burning them or accidentally switching the sugar with salt. You and Ginger celebrated, naturally, by eating the successful batch, talking and laughing with each other as you did so. Success really was sweet, you thought to yourself as you took another bite, savoring the freshly baked flavor. In more ways than just one.

Fin ××

♡ Send in more requests here ♡

[flirtyletters]

Hello, could you make Kikaku boyfriend headcanons pls

boyfriend headcanons

kikaku hanbee

gender neutral reader

kikaku is very considerate of you, always ending a conversation with "now now there's no need to be afraid of me" while trying to look a little less murderous than usual. he is self aware and knows well that stress can sometimes make him look scary or so the neighbourhood children tell him.

he is a cuddler once he gets comfortable with you. he likes to hold you while sleeping, and mumbles disturbing stuff in his dreams. why does it feel like he is the villain in his nightmares?!

he's good at giving advice. he may not look reliable but anytime you feel lost, he gives you his honest opinion and it sure helps. he is one responsible guy! he also speaks in a mature manner. if you value honesty about everything, kikaku is a gem. his "sense of humour", that is his dark mumbling, can be terrifying but digest it and you find truth in those. no sugarcoating allowed in his household!

he is very straightforward about how serious he is about his work. if his job demands, he will prioritise it. always. he needs you to be fine with it. he lays his cards before beginning the relationship. once he feels that it's getting serious, he doesn't run away, instead sticks around, telling you all about his past and plans for the future. there's no point beating around the bush if it's going to go in flames later. if you are serious about your career, he respects and admires you a lot, often complimenting you when he sees you working hard.

he's a guy who'd like to move in with you if possible. time is already scarce, might as well make the most of the free time that you two have. sharing household chores also greatly reduces the hassle so it's a win win.

he is not exactly romantic. gifts and specially planned dates aren't his forte but in the long run, he is a keeper. he is quite practical, accepting that everyone has flaws, keenly observing you and understanding how you function, protective of you, and ready to stand up for you whenever needed. he introduces you as his partner when you run into someone you know and takes care of you.

he keeps forgetting anniversaries. you'll just have to live with that.

if anybody flirts with you, he shows them the evil eye that screams murder. they run away really fast.

[the-travelling-witch]

HOLLY HOLLY CONGRATS ON UR 1K !! i saw ur event (which looks super good btw :o) and i cannot NOT request smth !!

i am here to present you with my request: 3 + you guessed it, alhaitham !! pls feel free to make it whatever genre u want <3

i finally finished this oml, it sat in my drafts for so long half-written smh, i hope you enjoy the result though!! ♡

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Snapshot ﾟ☾. ࿐

trope: taking photos [space nr. 20]

pairing: al-haitham x gn!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive at the end hehehe~

warnings: none except for al-haitham (i believe he should come with his own warning)

genshin masterlist

second constellation event masterlist

“Look at this flower, isn't it pretty?” you excitedly exclaimed, kamera in hand.

Somewhere in the depths of Avidya Forest, two scholars were documenting the flora and fauna there for their project. One highly motivated to get this over with, the other—

“Is it?” With his eyes barely glancing over to the flower, Al-Haitham merely shrugged. “It looks like a rather average specimen to me.”

“That’s probably because you wouldn't know true beauty even if it stared you right in the face,” you scoffed.

Sometimes you really wanted to kick him where the sun didn’t shine; once for being a pain in the ass to work with and twice for making you fall for him all the same.

And maybe once more for always leaving you guessing, just for good measure. One day, he’d barely give you the time of day to accept the papers you handed him, the next, he’d come and seek you out to have lunch with him.

Seriously, what was his problem? Make up your mind, you dumb—

“Oh yeah?” Al-Haitham’s tone was cocky, challenging even, as he crossed the space between you in long strides. Grabbing a hold of your chin between his thumb, index and middle finger, he effectively made you meet his eyes. “I know you though, don’t I?”

“I- What?” You spluttered, heat flooding between his fingers up your cheeks. Blinking up at him repeatedly, you were trying to gauge his reaction. “What are you trying to say here, Al-Haitham, it's not funny-”

“What am I trying to say? I’ve made it rather obvious, haven’t I?” Cocking an eyebrow at your reaction, you could see the infuriating ghost of a smirk dancing around the corner of his lips. “And I know you’re smart enough to pick up on it. So don’t disappoint me, (y/n), tell me which conclusion you came to based on all the evidence laid out in front of you."

In that particular moment, you had good mind to take a swing at his stupidly handsome face. He was really going to make you repeat that? This jerk, he was enjoying this more than he should have been. Normally, he should be the flustered one after proclaiming something like that!

“Well, do correct me if I’m wrong, Scribe, but it almost sounded as if you called me beautiful. It seems something about my research must have gone amiss, the results simply do not match the gathered information.” You did your best to maintain an even tone and mimic the snobbish speech mannerisms you and your peers mocked your superiors for. “If you’d be so kind as to enlighten me where I might have been led astray in my analysis, I believe your insight would be of utmost importance on this matter.”

“Perhaps you should review your gathered information again, I do believe it matches the presented results, wouldn’t you agree?” Studying your expression carefully, one large hand settled on your waist and you suddenly realised how small the gap between you two had become. „I‘ve been conducting a similar research as of late, all evidence pointing to an outcome not unlike yours; your thoughts on the matter?“

„I concur,“ you breathed out, lost in the depths of emerald and amber. „It seems there might be a correlation between our findings.“

„A most intriguing hypothesis indeed.“ Al-Haitham‘s voice was low, barely above a whisper, but from how he leant closer, you heard him perfectly fine. With your hands on the tight material spanning his solid pectorals, you put up no resistance whatsoever as you willingly let him guide your face closer to his, your noses barely brushing. „Tell me, (y/n), are you willing to put your theory to the test?“ 

„Only if I‘m working with a willing partner,“ you matched his tone as one of your hands slid up his shoulder and under the fabric of his cape. 

Meanwhile, his fingers left your chin in favour of cupping the back of your neck. Between half-lidded eyes, Al-Haitham still couldn’t tear his gaze away from your lips almost touching his. „Haven’t I made myself crystal clear? I wish to explore all possibilities of this experiment with you.“

A gentle tug was all it needed for him to connect your lips with his. At first, his movements were almost timid, cautious in a way you weren’t used to from him. When you pressed your chest closer to his, however, his actions grew bolder as well, stringing you along in a sensual dance. 

The heat radiating from both his front and the hand which had sneaked to the small of your back, holding you firmer against him, made your head spin. To combat the dizzying sensation, you dug your fingers into the grey strands in his nape, hoping to ground yourself as your heart soared.

Even as Al-Haitham pulled away until only his breath fanned your cheeks, your mouth stayed slightly parted, eyes fluttering open slowly. 

Then, you heard the shutter of a kamera go off as you blinked into the lens of Al-Haitham‘s device. You watched incredulously as he examined the image of your still dazed expression. When he saw you gaping at him, a smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

„A truly beautiful snapshot indeed,“ he mused. „Now, let’s finish up our task here.“

Wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, he pressed a fluttering kiss to the sensitive skin.

„After all, my roommate will be gone for quite some time and I have important research to conduct.“

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