#they’ve done them every period all week this week

[winged-bat]

a short thing of random thoughty thoughts

• Damian uses tone indicators (the /j, /srs, /g thing) bc he needs people to know his threats are legit, also he has a hard time with emotions and telling them apart so it’s helpful for him and he sometimes has a hard time getting things across in the right way so it makes it easier for him to be understood

• Tim has so many overdue school library books in his room that they have essentially become his, he doesn’t even remember checking them out but they’re there

• Most places/teachers always have music playing in the background and Damian always tries to fine a taping pattern that goes along with the beats of the song/instruments playing

• Damian has a pin collection of just ones he finds cool, he had some of his school backpack once but one of them fell off once and someone almost took it so he keeps them safely in his room now

• Bruce uses military time bc alfred does and he got used to it, this in turn leads to them only using that so everyone else grows used to that time system and its the only one they can work with and that makes sense to them

[justagalwhowrites]

Undone

After a stressful week at the office, Joel knows just how to take care of his wife. AKA Joel Miller doms the stress out of you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: No Outbreak AU. Established relationship, husband and wife. Dom!Joel x Sub!Reader (light). Tiny little age gap (like 5 years? I'm picturing Joel at 44 and reader at 39?) Unprotected P in V sex. Oral sex, F receiving. Creampie. Overstimulation. Aftercare.

Length: 5.4k

A/N: This is totally self indulgent. It's also like... entirely smut. Sorry. But not really. OK love you bye!

Joel knew what you were after the minute you kicked the door closed. 

It was Friday and it had been a hell of a week for you. Joel had done his best to support you through it - he’d finished up one big job on Tuesday and didn’t start the next one until Monday - so he’d taken the lead on keeping the household running while you put in extra hours and came home frustrated and exhausted every night. 

He knew it wasn’t going to magically be better just because it was Friday, so he’d spent the day trying to make the end to your work week as good as he could. He went to the HEB and got your favorite snacks, picked out flowers for the kitchen table, even went by the liquor store on the way home to get everything you’d need to unwind at the end of your day. He started smoking ribs early that afternoon and was outside to sauce them when he heard the door slam behind you. 

Joel didn’t need to see what happened, he knew from the sound that you’d thrown the door open and then kicked it shut behind you. He’d bet the check from his next job that you’d be face down on the couch, your shoes and briefcase a little trail from the front door to the living room. He shook his head, taking a swig of Shiner before closing the smoker and heading inside to find his wife. 

You were exactly where he thought you’d be, taking up almost the entire length of the couch, flat on your stomach, blazer still on but your heels and bags scattered between you and the front door. 

“Aw baby,” he said sympathetically. “That great a day, hm?” 

You made a sound that was caught somewhere between a grunt and a groan. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You made the sound again and Joel tried not to laugh at it. 

“Here,” he said, coming and adjusting your legs so he could sit beside you on the couch. You groaned as he did but he guided you from lying on your stomach to sitting up to leaning on him, your face in his chest. He put his arm around you and gave you a squeeze. “Tell me what melted down.” 

“We have our quarterly earnings release going out in less than two weeks,” you sighed. “And it’s a shit show. Legal’s been reviewing that shit for what feels like an eternity and I need to issue the goddamn release announcing the date of the full release but I can’t do that until I actually know that legal and financial are going to have stuff sorted in time and the CEO has emailed me twice a day about it the whole week because sure, the legal team definitely falls under my department…” 

Joel held the still mostly full bottle of beer in front of you and you took it from him, your fingers brushing his and you were quiet for a moment as you took a sip before handing it back. 

“Also, HR is going to be the death of me,” you continued, on a tear now. “I swear, it shouldn’t be that hard to find a qualified entry level candidate but here we are, still short staffed 10 weeks after I got the OK to hire. They’ve sent me two resumes, Joel. Two. I called them today to ask how many they’d received and they’ve had 226 candidates apply and they’ve sent me fucking two! I refuse to believe that just one percent of applicants were remotely qualified so I asked them to forward me all the applications since, apparently, recruiting can’t do their damn jobs so I’m going to have to do it for them…” 

Joel nodded along, handing you the beer periodically when he felt you getting too worked up. He found himself, not for the first time, awed by what you did for a living. He didn’t understand much of it, really, and he was thankful he didn’t need to. He wasn’t cut out for that kind of shit. You, on the other hand, had jumped in with both feet when you’d started at your company seven years ago when the two of you had just started dating, You’d risen up the ranks quickly and you now had a team of several dozen people reporting up to you. As gentle and sweet as Joel knew you to be at your core, he knew you were also unflinchingly driven at work. During the COVID shut down, he’d gotten a glimpse of it, listening to you take people - mostly men who seemed to think you weren’t as capable as you clearly were - to task and get things done. He was eternally grateful that, when the two of you fought, you didn’t take him down the way you did people who crossed you in the office. Though that stood in sharp contrast to how Joel heard you talk to the people who reported up to you, with you seemingly always happy to lend an ear or provide guidance or take the heat if they fucked something up that was going outside your department. 

Unfortunately, that meant you had weeks like this one, where plenty went wrong and you had no one to pass the buck to. And he knew as well as you did that you wouldn’t just let something fall apart, not if there was a damn thing you could do about it. Even if that meant working yourself into the ground. 

After a while you just deflated against him and he handed you the beer again. You took a long drink, emptying the bottle, and Joel took it from you to set on the side table. 

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, his nose brushing your hair. 

“Kind of,” you sighed, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“Somethin’ more I can do?” He asked, trying to make sure that he wasn’t nudging you in the direction he was hoping this would go. 

“Yeah,” you said, something shifting in your tone when you said it. No longer frustrated and fed up, instead needy and wanting. You sat up from him and looked at him through your eyelashes, practically pouting. “Turn my brain off for a bit?” 

Joel’s heart picked up, heat and tension already gathering low in him. 

“Aw, my baby need me to fuck her stupid?” He asked, reaching out to cup your face in his hand. His thumb traced along the arch of your cheekbone as his eyes locked on your blown pupils. “You need me to make that big brain of yours slow down for a while, that it?” 

“Yes please,” you breathed. He could feel your skin getting warmer below his touch. 

“Please what?” 

“Please sir,” you said, holding your hands up with your wrists together, like an offering. “Please fuck me stupid. Please sir.” 

He quirked his jaw before he smiled, dark and low.

“Good girl,” he growled. He got up and closed his large hands around your wrists before pulling you sharply to your feet, looking you up and down as he did. There was something that drove him wild, seeing you like this. Dressed in your armor of the business world, a place where lesser men had to go to you for permission to do a goddamn thing, and you came home to him, begging him to strip you down to something small and vulnerable and easily consumed. 

He wasn’t sure why you’d picked him of all people. When you’d met almost eight years earlier, his first thought was that you were way out of his fucking league. A friend of Tommy’s then girlfriend now wife, you were a few years younger than him but had clearly kept your life on the right fucking track the whole time instead of driving it into the ground for a while first. You’d gone to college, built a damn impressive career, had goals and dreams and plans for yourself. You were beautiful and smart and funny and kind and the first time he’d taken your clothes off he was still not entirely sure why you were letting him do it. 

He’d been even more surprised the first time you’d shared with him that you wanted him to take control in the way he was now. 

“I just have to make decisions all the time,” you’d said, folded into a corner of his couch with a glass of wine in your hands. “I just really want to have someone else take over for a while, you know? Not have to make any plans or take care of anybody else, just enjoy and be enjoyed.” 

That, Joel had thought, he could give you. 

It wasn’t something the two of you always indulged in but there were days like this one where you seemed to crave it. Maybe even a step beyond that - you needed it. You needed the safety of Joel’s guidance, the comfort of his control, the ease of his pleasure. He liked to give you those things. More than liked it, sometimes he lived for it. 

Today was one of those days. 

He led you to the bedroom and stood you at the foot of the bed, your wrists still firmly in his hands as his eyes searched yours. 

“You just want to be my little doll, is that it?” He asked, his thumbs brushing the inside of your wrists. Your pulse was heavy and hard. “Want me to take control so all you have to do is feel what I let you feel?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. 

“Yes what.” 

“Yes sir,” you were practically squirming. 

“What are your colors,” he said more than asked. 

“Green, yellow, red,” you answered quickly. 

“Where are you now?” 

“Green.” 

“Good girl,” he guided your hands so they hung at your sides. “Don’t move until I tell you.” 

He watched you resist the urge to nod and he slipped his hands below the lapels of your jacket, running his hands over your skin for a moment before shoving the sleeves down your arms and leaving the blazer in a pile on the floor. He watched you swallow, your throat working and he tried not to think about making you kneel and taking his cock into that pretty throat of yours. He knew just how good it would feel while you sucked him, how fucking good it would feel to come down your throat. 

Maybe later. Right now, he needed to take care of you. And that’s exactly what he was going to do. 

*** 

When Joel touched you like this, it was like something unspooled inside yourself. There had been a knot in your stomach for days at least - maybe longer - and nothing had worked to untangle it. Not crossing things off your to do list at the office, not the yoga class you’d skipped lunch to take, not the iced latte your assistant had ducked out to grab you that afternoon. But Joel’s hands on your skin as they slipped the slender straps of your satin top down your arms were better than anything else, especially when your mind wasn’t going a mile a minute thinking of ways to please him in return. You watched as he moved to undress you, his eyes heavy and hot and hungry as your top pooled around your hips. He reached around your body to unhook your bra, casting it aside before cupping your breasts in his large palms, groaning as he did. 

“You feel so good,” his thumbs brushed your nipples. “My soft, pretty fuckin’ girl.” 

“Joel,” you whimpered, clenching your hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. He’d told you to stay still and you had to obey. If you didn’t, you knew he’d drag out your first orgasm for what felt like an eternity, bringing you just to the edge of it but never letting you fall into your climax until you were a desperate, dripping, squirming mess. 

“What, baby?” He almost cooed at you, just a hint of a teasing edge to his tone. “What’s my baby need?” 

“More,” you whined. “I need more, please, I need…” 

He took his hands off you then and looked you in the eye and you almost reached for him before you caught yourself. 

“Who decides what you need right now,” he said. You moaned and he ignored you. “Who. Tell me, pretty girl.” 

“You,” you said. 

“That’s right,” he nodded. “And I’ll give you more when I decide you need more and I decide I’m done enjoyin’ the parts of you I’m enjoyin’ right now. So. You stand still like a good little doll and we’ll see when I’ll let you have more. Got it?” 

“Yes,” you said. 

He took your chin in his fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. 

“Yes what.” 

“Yes sir.” 

His crooked smile dimpled his cheek. 

“Good girl.” 

He returned to touching you, running his large and callused hands over your shoulders to your chest, holding and massaging your breasts and you could tell he was taking his time less for himself and more because he knew what it was doing to you. That it was making you achy and desperate and the thoughts that had been weighing on you all day at the office were slipping out of your mind, drifting far away into the ether. 

“Think I remember you sayin’ something about more?” Joel said, his voice low and gravelly as his hand slipped over your stomach, below the bunched fabric of your shirt, below the waistband of your pants until his fingertips were brushing your bare mound inside your panties. You whimpered. “How about I give you some more, hm?” 

His index finger reached out and brushed the top of your clit, sending a shiver through you, all the heat you had inside yourself pooling low in your stomach. 

Joel chuckled. 

“Think she likes it.” 

He pressed a little lower, a little firmer, working your sensitive nub in slow, languid circles. 

“She like this too?” 

You nodded frantically. 

“Thought I told you not to move,” Joel said, stern. 

“But…” 

“No buts,” he cut you off. “You wanted to give me control so you give me control. Otherwise, you won’t get what you want. Got it?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“You’re lucky,” he said as he went to open your pants. “Got me all worked up, too. Too worked up to draw this out the way you deserve, squirmin’ the way you are.” 

He got on his knees in front of you and gathered the fabric of your shirt, pants and underwear in his hands and pulled them all down in one go, the sudden exposure of your skin to the air making you gasp and goosebumps scatter over you in sharp little pin pricks. 

“Fuck, there you are,” he groaned, his hands coming to grip the thick swell of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of you as he pressed a kiss to your stomach just below your belly button. You moaned, wanting nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his curls. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms, acutely aware of where he was touching you because of the absence of him everywhere else. 

He trailed his mouth down to your slit, his tongue dipping into you there, brushing against your clit, the heat of his mouth in sharp contrast to the cold air against your wetness. His hands slipped up your back, finding your waist before Joel stood, his still clothed body so close to your naked one. 

“Lie down for me,” he said, a little breathless. “Middle of the bed.” 

You rushed to obey and watched hungrily as Joel undressed himself, his black t-shirt coming up and over his head, his jeans opening to reveal his tight boxer briefs with his thick, hard cock straining the fabric. He took off everything before crawling up the bed over you and, for half a moment, you thought he really was going to give into you that quickly, give you exactly what you wanted that fast. But instead of settling between your thighs with his heavy length brushing against your slit and his mouth on yours, he fell to the side of you, the weight of him jostling the mattress. You turned your head to look at him, confused, and he laughed, dark and low. 

“You didn’t think you were gonna make me give in that fast, did you?” He asked. He slid one arm below your ribs, his hand coming up and around the back of you to hold your breast while his other hand teased a feather light path down from your throat, over your chest, your stomach to your slit. “No, not done with this yet.” 

“But…” 

“You just lie still and let me worship you,” he said, his palm cupping your mound, his middle finger settling between your lower lips as he put gentle pressure against your clit. The tip of his finger circled your dripping entrance but didn’t slip inside where you were aching and desperate for him. “Want to enjoy you for a while.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to protest, his mouth finding just the right spot on your throat at the same moment he added pressure to your clit, grinding his hand against your most tender place and making your back arch below his touch. 

Joel kissed and licked and sucked along your neck, your collarbone, your breast, his cock brushing against your thigh as he manipulated your body and you could feel his precome on your skin when it did and you were desperate to touch him there, to feel just how hard you’d made him, make him start to unravel the way he was doing to you. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, a finger sliding inside of you, making you groan. 

“But I want…” 

He pulled back from you to look in your eyes and you could tell from the glassy look on his face that you probably already looked like a fucked out mess. 

“You tryin’ to make me feel good or you want it for yourself?” He asked, brows raised. You tried to find the words but couldn’t. He nodded. “S’what I thought, you sit still like I fuckin’ told you. You try to touch me and I won’t let you come, got it? This is about you, not me so you’re gonna lay there and take it, understand?” 

“Yes sir,” you whimpered. 

He went back to working you over, adjusting so that he could fully kiss down your body until his head was between your thighs, two fingers buried inside of you as he looked up your body to your face. 

“New rules,” he said, pressing his lips to your clit for a moment and sucking it into his mouth before continuing. “Want you to come and I want you to come hard. You’re allowed to touch my head to put me where you need but you do anything else with those hands and we’re startin’ over. Understood?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

He practically dove into your pussy, his thumb working your clit, his tongue licking deep into your channel. The fire in your belly burned brighter and it was like you could feel all the blood in your body pulling into the center of you. Your hands flew to his head, the thick of his hair and the heat of his scalp almost sharp against your fingers after having felt nothing but your own palms for what felt like forever. You rocked your hips against his face as he ate at you, a finger slipping into you alongside his tongue, working the inside of you deftly so that you were never empty but never lacking the friction of him moving in you. His fingertip curled into the soft, sensitive place inside of you that he found so easily now, adding the perfect amount of pressure as his thumb and nose worked your clit and you felt your pussy get so tight and hot you worried, for half a second, that it would hurt him before every worry flew out of your head entirely, your entire body flooded with waves of pleasure as you came on his tongue. 

Joel worked you through your orgasm, never letting up as you moaned and panted, your grip on his hair easing as your body started to go limp. Your pussy was so sensitive when your climax eased but Joel didn’t pay your little whimpers any mind. He pulled his mouth from you but added another finger, fucking into you with his hand and adjusting so his palm was grinding against your clit as he did. 

“There you go,” he panted, wiping your slick from his mouth before taking his cock in his hand and working himself with it. “That what you needed, pretty girl?” 

“Yes sir,” you whimpered. 

“Good,” he said, his eyes ranging over you, dark and hot. “Because now it’s my turn.” 

He pulled his fingers from you and spread your thighs a little wider, lining his cock up with your still weakly grasping hole for half a moment before thrusting deep into you in one devastating go. You gasped at the stretch of him filling you like that, the inside of you still soft and tender from your orgasm. Your fingers scrambled at the blanket below you, your back arched and taut and you tried to hold onto something - anything - in your head beside how he was splitting you open. 

“I say you could use your hands like that?” He asked, his fingers finding your wrists and clamping around them. He pressed deep inside you and folded over you, bringing your hands with him, pressing your wrists down into the mattress over your head. “Didn’t think so. You’re my little doll right now, ain’t you? Mine to do what I want with and I want you to take it.” 

“Joel,” you whimpered. 

“That ain’t my name right now, is it?” 

“Sir,” you corrected, resisting the urge to rock your hips up against him. “Please!” 

“Please what?” 

You couldn’t put words to what you wanted to ask for and Joel just smirked before releasing your wrists and sitting up, looking down over your body to where he disappeared inside of it. 

“What I thought,” he said, his hands pressing your thighs wide before his thumb trailed over where you were split open on him to your clit, teasing you in a slow circle that made you jerk involuntarily below him. He took it away, his hand on the soft flesh of your thigh again. “You leave those hands there and take it. You can take it, pretty girl. Know you can.” 

With that, he pulled back, slow and aching, before fucking back into you, hard and fast with a forceful grunt. You watched him fuck you, his cock slamming into you with enough force that it jerked your body up and down the bed. You were lost in it, the way you could see his muscles flex, the way his eyes ranged over you - watching the place he was spreading you open and the way your tits bounced for him and up to your face to meet your eyes and back again. It was almost hypnotic, like there was nothing else in the world that existed outside of him. He was controlling you totally, fucking into you with enough force that you couldn’t even breathe out of sync with his thrusts, your body just something he could manipulate and pleasure and use however he saw fit. 

You weren’t sure how long he fucked you like that before his hands ran over your thighs to your core, his thumbs brushing along your clit, pressing into you there and working you in hard little circles as your channel started to tighten around him again. 

“There we go,” he panted. “Got another one right there don’t you? You’re gonna give it to me, aren’t you pretty girl. Gonna give me everything, ain’t you?”

“Yes sir,” you whined, your fingernails digging into your palms as you fought to keep your hands still. 

“Good girl,” he pressed himself deep as he worked your clit and returned to his same punishing rhythm, the head of him finding the place inside you he’d claimed for himself. He left one thumb on your clit, his other hand stretching up and over your stomach, fingers splaying wide on you until it was in the middle of your chest where you knew he could feel how your heart was pounding behind your ribs. The feel of him everywhere was overwhelming, the tight spool of pleasure that had never fully relaxed after your first orgasm already wound unbearably tight again. 

“Want you to come for me,” he said, voice needy. “Want you to be a good girl and come. Give it all to me, baby, want you to just let go and give it all to me, let it all go, c’mon and come for me, make me fuckin’ feel it…” 

You cried out as you obeyed, your channel fluttering over his cock as he kept fucking you deep and hard. You could feel your orgasm in the very center of you, in every muscle and every nerve, your climax taking hold of you so firmly that you felt a gush of liquid rush out of you. 

“Fuck, there you go,” he said, not letting up. “Fuck baby, love when you squirt for me, such a good fuckin’ girl…” 

The wet snap of his hips into you was obscene and, as your orgasm eased, your body was already drawing tight again. Your heart raced and you could feel everything, everything, so sharp and harsh and overwhelming. Your head swam, your skin prickled. 

“Love feeling you come for me,” Joel was still fucking into you, hard and bruising like he was trying to climb inside your skin and claim a place for himself there. “Love when you get all tight and desperate, love making you all needy…” 

You let out a fucked out little whimper, tears pricking at your eyes, not able to see straight through the haze of your already building orgasm. Joel leaned over you, his cock buried deep but going still. 

“You with me, pretty girl?” He asked, his hands sliding up your arms to find your wrists, holding you gently in place. You couldn’t seem to find the words to answer, too overstimulated to think of anything beyond how he was filling you and surrounding you. “Gimme a color, baby.” 

“Yellow,” you managed. 

 He took your limp wrists in his large palms and guided your hands to his skin, resting them on his broad shoulders. 

“That help?” He asked. “You can nod.” 

You nodded quickly, your breathing evening out, body still tight and strung out. 

“Color?” 

“Green,” you said, the tears that were in your eyes slipping down your cheeks but not being replaced by new ones. 

“Good,” he shifted inside you, pulling back a little before thrusting in again. “Because I ain’t done with you yet. You keep those hands right where I put ‘em and just focus on coming one more time for me, need you to milk me dry, baby.” 

But his pace eased, less frantic and more desperate, working you slow and firm from within. He buried his face into your neck, his mouth finding that place that sent shocks of pleasure through your whole body. His hands ranged over you, fingers hungry and grasping at your skin, his hips working against your clit as his cock found its home deep within you. 

“Know you’re close,” he said against your skin, lips still close enough to brush against you as he spoke. He kissed along your neck, nose teasing along your throat. “You got one more in you, baby, I know you do.” 

“Sir,” you whimpered, pleading, not sure if you wanted to come or wanted to just dissolve. 

“You can come,” he fucked you slow and deep. His public bone pressed against your clit and your back arched. “Want you to come, want to feel you come. Make me feel you, baby. Be a good girl and make me feel you.” 

You dared to let yourself move, just enough that you could rock your hips up against him, working yourself with his body as you felt him grow impossibly thicker and harder inside you. Or, maybe, you were just tightening further around him, body clinging to him in one last desperate push for closeness as your climax hit again. You cried out with it and you couldn’t just leave your hands on Joel’s shoulders, instead latching onto his hair and sliding down his back, pulling him flush against your body so the only thing left in the world was him and his skin and the thick of his cock as he started to pulse inside of you. 

Your orgasm almost hurt it was so intense. You could feel every inch of Joel’s cock in you, the heat and softness of his skin against you, every muscle in your body going rigid and tense for a moment before relaxing. Your vision went spotty and you got light headed and you lost track of time. 

The next thing you knew, you were in Joel’s arms, cradled against his chest, his fingers trailing a gentle path along the edge of your hairline and jaw, thumb brushing the plush of your lips. 

“There you are,” he said softly and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his large hand coming to rest against your cheek as you turned your head to look at him. His eyes were soft and warm and there was a gentle smile on his face. “How are you feelin’ love?” 

You took stock of your body for a moment, everything feeling light and airy. 

“I’m good,” you smiled a little. 

“Yeah?” He said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Take a deep breath for me, OK?” 

You nodded a little and did as you were told, only realizing then just how little your lungs had been inflating before. 

“How’s that feelin’?” He asked. “Good?” 

You just nodded, still smiling. 

“How about this for the night,” he said, going back to tracing an easy trail over your skin with his fingertips. “In a few minutes, I get up and get you water and a cocktail while you put on that pretty little swimsuit of yours. You float in the water while I look at ya and finish those ribs in the smoker…” 

“You’re making me ribs?” You almost pouted, your brows going up. 

Joel chuckled. 

“Yeah, that OK?” 

“That’s my favorite,” you said, feeling like you might be about to cry. 

“I know it is, baby,” he said, kissing your temple again. “S’why I made ‘em. Got that potato salad you like, green beans, cornbread too. Even got that chocolate cake you like so much…” 

“The Oreo one?” You sniffed, tearing up. 

“The Oreo one,” he brushed your hair back. “You still with me there baby?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, crying a little. You weren’t entirely sure why, just every emotion you’d had over the past week seeming to bubble up at once. “I think so…” 

“You’re OK,” Joel said, pulling you closer, his lips gentle on your skin. “I’ve got you.” 

You just nodded against him and focused on how his skin felt on yours, his warmth and strength grounding while your mind was still swimming. 

“What about after dinner?” You sniffed. 

“We can watch one of those movies you like so much,” he said. “I know the ones that’ve been on your list, you don’t gotta pick unless you want to. Sound good?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “But… can we just stay here for a little while first? Please?” 

“Course baby,” he said. “Whatever you need. I’ll take care of you.” 

You nuzzled into his skin and breathed deep and you didn’t really know why you’d been so stressed when you got home to begin with. You just knew that you had Joel and that, as long as he was there, everything else would be OK.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

[itsclydebitches]

The narrative H/C potential of switching Cazador and Orin’s kidnappings is just delicious to me. Instead of Astarion’s siblings waking him up and giving the party the chance to defend him, the player arrives back at camp (or finishes a long rest if Astarion is currently in your party) to discover that he’s just gone. No note, no sign of a struggle, nothing. Insert any hand wave-y means of abducting Astarion quietly here. The point is that this would wreck him.

Not just because he’s now back in the clutches of Cazador (though that’s obvious), but because you’re not coming for him. See, having Orin as your kidnapper is actually one of the more reassuring options, despite her murder-happy disposition. Even if she nabs a struggling character like Gale who might believe they’re unworthy of rescue for any number of reasons, Orin is one of the few baddies you simply have to engage with. Significantly, knowledge of that necessity is baked into the actual story-world. We see fighting her as a gameplay mechanic—defeat three mini bosses to reach the final boss—but that structure still exists as a Save The World quest for your party. No stone, no victory. No Orin, no stone. Ergo, they’re fighting Orin. So whoever is kidnapped knows that the party will show up eventually, even if it’s not for them. That’s it’s own wonderful, angsty assumption—“You came because it was the right thing to do, not because you care about me. My rescue was always a byproduct of saving the people who truly deserve it”—but at least there’s still reassurance in knowing you’ll see them again. All the kidnapped member has to do is not piss off Orin in the meantime and hope the party doesn’t die along the way. Not stellar odds, admittedly, but are they really any worse than what they’ve been dealing with all along?

Getting kidnapped by Cazador on the other hand... oh boy. He’s a missable boss, both mechanically and narratively. Who’s worried about him when there’s a fucking Netherbrain threatening all of Faerûn? Sure, sure, your Tav might have spent their journey helping every idiot with suitably convincing puppy-dog eyes, but Astarion is very much not a refugee tiefling/snake-threatened child/shadow-cursed hero/etc. He’s a chaotic, caustic bitch whose trauma is expressed more through biting fury than soft bouts of crying. Not only is he (in his own mind) not the sort of person people go out of their way to save, but would you even know where to begin? Depending on your approval rating you might still be iffy about Astarion’s past, as well as this upcoming ritual. Has Tav met any of the siblings yet? Do they know that Cazador’s Ascension would pose a threat to all of Baldur’s Gate? Do they have any means of finding the entrance to his palace without a former resident in the party (or convenient map marker)? Now, toss in the fact that, depending on how many long rests you’ve done, the party has only been traveling together for a matter of days/weeks. They know one another deeply (yay trauma bonding) but once separated that timeframe feels pretty insignificant, particularly to someone who has existed for over 200 years. Even if you’re romancing Astarion and he has more reason to believe that this short period of time was emotionally meaningful, he’s still admitted to manipulating you, to molding your emotions to best ensure his protection... but protection never extended to this.

Besides, Astarion has literally been here before. No heroes rescued him across two centuries of enslavement. Why would they rescue him now?

Except, it’s far worse this time around, isn’t it? Cazador isn’t merely his abuser, he’s now set to become an all-powerful vampire whose hold will truly be unbreakable. Astarion isn’t merely a slave to one individual, he’s now got a ticking time bomb in the form of a parasite set to enslave him to another. (And isn’t that something to chew on: him cursing the fact that the artifact’s protection still extends to him. At least as a Mind Flayer he wouldn’t feel anymore, would have a chance to fight back.) This time around Astarion isn’t just another beloved “child” of Cazador’s, he’s uniquely gifted in his ability to walk in the sun and resist commands. The hells only know what Cazador will make him do with that newfound power if he survives the ritual— or how Cazador will ensure Astarion’s continued “loyalty” while he does it. Worst of all though... now Astarion has had a chance to see what life could be like. Freedom. Agency. People who love him despite all the reasons they shouldn’t. Whoever said, “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” was a fucking fool. It’s so much worse to go backwards, to have lost not merely the life you dreamed of, but also the ability to pretend you never needed it in the first place.

Imagine that Astarion. Picture how broken he would be.

Now imagine the party kicking down Cazador’s door. The look on Astarion’s face when he realizes that despite the danger, the practical hurtles, the bigger stakes at play, the fact that it’s him... they came anyway.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 21: Because You’re Mine, I Walk the Line

Summary: Arthur treats you to a stay in a hotel in the new town and promises to be on his best behavior.

Warnings: 18+ please. Minors - DNI; NSFW

*This beautiful moodboard is graciously provided by @namesaretomainstream

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The gang has proceeded to move south to a secure area outside of a town called Blackwater. Winter will be upon the region soon and hopefully it will be a bit warmer by moving away from the mountains. The gang as a whole has not been in this area before, although Hosea worked a few jobs around here many years ago. Arthur and John went on ahead to scout while the rest of you pack up the camp. 

The brothers have been gone for over a week before they meet you all along the trail to lead you to where they deem safe and out of the way. At first, you cringed a bit at the thought of Arthur and John being alone together for any extended period of time without any sort of buffer between them. They’ve been arguing a lot lately. While John has been trying to make an attempt at making his relationship with Abigail and Jack work (albeit a sometimes feeble attempt), Arthur is still quick to be irritable and impatient with him. You have to bite your tongue to refrain from reminding Arthur that he himself had a hard time coping with fatherhood when it was first thrust upon him. That is certainly a fight that you just do not want to have with him.

But on a positive note, the whole camp is excited with the new opportunity. A new area means new towns, new people, new goods available. And new jobs. But with that also comes more attention. The pressure of the local law is constantly present upon the gang and seemingly increasing of late. But Dutch seems to think he can continue to stay one step ahead. It’s a good thing for everyone that the Devil himself doesn’t have the confidence that Dutch Van Der Linde has. Otherwise the entire world and heaven above would be in trouble.

After getting everything settled with the new camp, Arthur decides that it’s time to pamper you a little. While out scouting the nearest little town he gets the idea to treat you to a stay at the local hotel for a hot bath, a real bed, and some private time alone for just the two of you. The town of Trimble is new and quaint. When Arthur tells you that he’s already told Dutch that the two of you will be out of camp for the next few days, your squeal of excitement is reward enough. 

You are so looking forward to being alone in a hotel with Arthur for the first time. To be away from the prying eyes of camp and to not be interrupted every five minutes for one thing or another. 

It's cloudy and overcast the morning that you are to leave. Although the temperature is brisk, you are warm with excitement. You are sure to clean yourself up and fix your hair to look pretty. You want everything to be perfect. You've always been a bit self-conscious of your appearance, but you’ve always managed to put yourself together well. Corsets help, of course. The belief has always been that if you were done up with curled hair and a bit of rouge on your cheeks, it would distract from the way your curves are hidden within a pretty dress. As you stand in your tent and finish pulling at the lavender-colored cotton of your sleeves, you hear a slow whistle behind you. 

“Look at you! Pretty like a meadow flower. Ain’t I a lucky man.” Looking over your shoulder, Arthur stands at the opening of your shared tent, one arm slung up to hang from the top of the tent support pole, the other hand tucked lazily into his belt. A grin of approval sits upon his handsome face as his eyes float up and down over your frame.

“Why, thank you,” you giggle, blushing slightly. “Don’t forget to give yourself time to clean up, too, before we go.”

“What?” His face quickly turns to a pout like a confused child. 

“Hey, I spent a lot of time getting myself put together for you,” you playfully scold him. Arthur’s eyes follow your nimble fingers as they adjust the delicate earring you are popping into your ear. Thoughts of his teeth nibbling on that same earlobe last night skitter distractedly through his mind. 

“That’s your own fault,” he teases, refocusing on the conversation at hand. “I think you look perfect the way you were.”

Oh, how your heart does a somersault at his genuine flattery. No one has ever spoken to you the way that Arthur does. “I’m sure you do. But listen, I want to look nice for you, okay? And, besides, I can’t be the only good-looking one walking around.”

“Sweetheart, that’s going to be the case regardless of what I manage to put together with this.” He waves at himself dismissively. You take notice of the dried mud stains on his faded brown shirt and vest and make a mental note that his threadbare jacket needs mending yet again. 

“Shut it, that’s my man you’re talking about.” You shoot Arthur an impish glare as you walk over to him, placing your hand along his ribs. “Now wash yourself up or I’ll be forced to do it for you.” You grab his chin and pull him down for a quick peck on the lips.

Arthur playfully raises an eyebrow at you. “You flirtin’ with me already?” 

Your laugh carries through the air as you walk past him out of the tent and head over to where Mary-Beth and Tilly sit. They promised to help you set your hair before you leave. 

He grumbles about it, but Arthur concedes to the task, knowing how excited you are for your little holiday. He washes his face in the basin you set out for him in the tent, noting how the dirty water runs over his fingers and cringes at how you were right as usual. He even goes so far as to shave for you. Not too clean, but keeping the beard stubble to the length that you prefer. He wipes his chin with his shaving towel, observing you as you flit about the camp, preparing for your departure. You are absolutely giddy, giggling and whispering with the other girls as they offer to help you primp and prepare for your romantic stay. He smiles to himself, glad that he made that decision to get you out for a bit. 

Arthur feels as if he’s finally met his match with you, the one person who is brave enough to love him as he is, and strong enough to handle all of him, even the broken parts. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t want the world, you just want to feel safe and secure in his world. You have made him that one promise that he’s ever needed to hear in his life and that is to never give up on him. And he wants to do whatever he can to make that an easier choice for you. 

As you pack your saddle bags and get the horses ready for the ride, Hosea strides over to give the two of you a quick reminder to behave and be mindful. The gang is new to the area and still getting its bearings. You all need to lay low until you know what you’re dealing with. 

“Now remember, no fighting. No stealing. No riots. I don’t need to be making a house-call to the local jailhouse to bail you out so soon.” As he speaks, you watch the smoke rise from Hosea’s cigarette and circle his head like a crown, his eyes squinting slightly at the burn.

“We’ll be fine.” Arthur rolls his eyes dismissively at the older man as he finishes tying up Buck’s saddle.

“I’m talkin’ about you specifically,” Hosea stresses, poking his finger into Arthur’s chest. “I’m not worried about Y/N acting like a fool.”

“Calm down. I’ll have her along with me.” Arthur waves his hand towards you. “She’ll keep me straight and make me tow the line.”

“I hope so. But you’re also a bull in a china shop when it comes to her.” Hosea tips his head in your direction. “Just keep your head about you, would you?”

“I got this, ‘sea.” You flash a smile and give the man a kiss on the cheek right below his graying temple. “I’ll make sure Arthur stays in line.” 

Hosea’s scowl at Arthur turns to a loving grin at you. “I’m sure you will, my dear. Because you’re the only one with any damn sense around here.” He affectionately pats your hand.

“Hey!” whines Arthur, defensively. Hosea waves him off, giving one last “be careful”, and walks back towards his chair. Arthur turns back to you and swats your arm. “Kiss-ass.” 

You can only roll your eyes with a short laugh as you finish packing Blue’s saddlebags.

————————————

The ride to Trimble doesn’t take too long, only about thirty minutes on horseback. The sun is still fighting to break the clouds and the wind kicks up, churning the last remnants of fall leaves on the ground at your horses’ feet. It’s late morning by the time you arrive and the townspeople are already bustling about. Arthur was right, the town is quaint and charming. 

As you lead your horses down the street, you look up excitedly at the approaching hotel sign. The two of you get your horses hitched to the post outside just as an idea comes to you and you search the street to see what is around. 

You point at the general store which is a couple of doors down. “Before we head to the room, I want to make a quick stop.” 

“For what?” asks Arthur as he follows you next door, his gaze lingering on the hotel instead. He is anxious to get to your room and begin your stay together. 

“I want to get a few things. Some food, things like that.” 

“They have food at the hotel, you know,” he huffs. You can hear Arthur’s boots scrape against the wood of the boardwalk behind you as he slightly drags his feet, reluctant to be side-tracked with any errands.

Pausing just outside the door of the store, you turn with a smirk. You press yourself up against him, purposely pushing your cleavage against his hard chest. “I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of even being dressed, let alone leaving that room for the next two days, mister.”

Arthur’s eyes roll shut, head tilting back for a moment with a groan at the very thought of being blissfully naked for two full days. When he looks down into your beautiful face again, his sapphire eyes sparkle with mischief. 

“Woman, I’m gonna make you sing like the angel you are,” he growls out. 

“Such things you say, Mr. Morgan,” you purr back with the most unladylike smile. 

“I’m trying my best to be a gentleman right now, Y/N. But if you keep lookin’ at me like that with the devil in your eye…we’re fucking on the closest thing I can find to bend you over on.”

Your legs actually quiver at the thought. You know you shouldn’t be excited by such vulgarity. But then again, you can’t help but be tempted to tease this theory of his as he leans over you so close that you can feel the heat beginning to radiate off of him, even in the chilly air. 

“I have to warn you, Arthur, I may scratch and I may bite.” Your fingertip runs down his cheek and along his jawline. 

“You’ll crawl and beg, too, when I’m done with you,” he promises.

A sultry giggle erupts from your lips as you reach up to place a short, yet heated kiss upon his plump lips. Arthur then dips in closer to place a quick love bite along your neck, drawing a quick little yelp from you. 

Your focus is broken when you hear an annoyed tsk from somewhere next to you and you catch the disapproving glances from an older couple who are passing along on the street. You quickly clear your throat, tapping Arthur’s shoulder to indicate that he needs to stop this little scene. You blush, hiding your face into your hands, and lean into his chest with an embarrassed little groan. 

“C’mon” chuckles Arthur as he places a kiss to the top of your head, “Let’s get this little errand of yours done so we can get started. Looks like we’re on borrowed time.”

It is a quick shopping trip inside the store for you. The little shop is kept neat and well-stocked, with natural light pouring in through the windows along the front. Dried herbs and woven baskets hang from the ceiling and barrels of various items line the walls. The store has everything from grains to produce, from ropes and hammers to books and socks. 

Arthur leans against the sales counter as you walk about the store to grab a few things, such as some fruit, dried meats, a loaf of bread, a small brick of cheese and a bottle of cheap wine. In and out within a few minutes and then you and Arthur head back towards the hotel.

Walking into the establishment, it is warm and cheerful. It is a fairly large open area with the front desk centered along the back wall. To the left is what seems to be a small restaurant-cafe with a mixture of aromas drifting through the enclosed space, and to the right is a sitting room where some of the guests are playing checkers while sipping on coffee. The woodwork is white-washed and simple paintings adorn the walls.

Behind the desk is a short, plump woman, looking to be about in her 50’s. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, with streaks of gray ribboning through it. She sets down the book she is reading and peers over her spectacles when she hears the bell above the door ring as you and Arthur come through the threshold. 

“Afternoon, folks,” she greets you with a wide, toothy smile. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur strides up to the desk, placing his hands upon the smoothly painted wood. “The lady and I need a room. We’ve been on the road for a bit, so we’d like some privacy, if you don’t mind,” he stresses. “Peace and quiet, that sort of thing.” He fills out the ledger she pushes towards him on the counter. 

“Of course, Mr…Callahan.” She nods as she reads the name scrawled in his handwriting. “Well, I have the room at the far end of the hall that’s empty. No one else on that side.” She points up the stairs and to the right. “It’s the smallest room I got, but it’s going to be the quietest.”

“We don’t need big. We need private,” Arthur says, rather short and curt in his demeanor and the woman gives him a curious look.

“Newly weds”, you quickly interject as if answering the woman’s unasked question with a radiant smile on your lips as your nose wrinkles with excitement. You lace your arms around Arthur’s as you lay your head against his shoulder, playing up the act. Arthur looks over at you with a smirk. 

“Oh!” She smiles back. “How sweet.” But her face drops a bit when she looks at your hand. She looks puzzled as you follow her gaze.

“I don’t wear my ring when we travel.” You flutter your fingers for emphasis. “A lot of questionable folks in this area. You understand.”

She smiles again and nods. “Of course. I don’t blame you, Miss. Enjoy your stay.” She slides the room key to Arthur, pointing in the general direction you need to head. You both thank her for her kindness and quickly make for the staircase to head upstairs.

As you walk down the hallway, Arthur leans down to your ear. “‘Questionable folks’? If only she knew.” 

“Shh! Don’t worry about that now,” your voice floats with a wispy tone. “We’re not outlaws for the next two days. We’re just-“

“Newly weds.” He smiles down at you. 

“That’s right. Newly weds.” You grin ear to ear back at him. “And I think we have some ‘consummating’ to do.” 

You come to the end of the hall, arriving at Number 6. Twisting the key into the slightly stubborn iron lock, Arthur pushes the door open for you. You step into the room and survey your temporary lodging. Your mouth gapes slightly, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. It's adorable. 

The room is in fact small, but offers enough space to move about comfortably. It’s painted a simple white, bright and airy, to match the lobby with little pitchers of dried flowers on the one small table in the room and on the one dresser that is available. White eyelet curtains swag across the two small windows that flank the bed that sits in the middle of the wall. A beautiful mauve comforter adorns the mattress with a metal frame securing it. You smile wickedly as you have plans for that headboard. 

Arthur steps in behind you as he closes the door and heads over to the small fireplace to get a fire going. You set your few things on the small table and make your way to the bed. Your hand runs along the soft bedding, gliding along the surface as if trailing your fingertips through water. It’s been awhile since you've experienced such finery, such as it is. Slowly lowering yourself down onto the bed, you lay backwards, letting the muscles of your back unknot themselves as you take a deep calming breath. The feeling of the fluffy quilt envelops you as if you are floating on a cloud as you sink back, the scent of clean linen wafting in the air. 

“Oh, I almost forgot what a real bed feels like.” A deep and lazy sigh exhales from your chest, making the bodice of your dress float. When you open your eyes, you see Arthur watching you intently. “Are you going to join me?”

Arthur’s only answer is a grin as he proceeds to take off his gun belt, laying it across the table next to your bags with a slight thud and strides over to you, his vivid eyes shining. As he approaches the bed, you roll to sit up on your knees, wrapping your arms around his neck with a giggle and sweetly kiss him. His large, warm hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer to him as he smiles into your mouth in return. Suddenly, you stop, pulling back to look at him. 

“Do you hear that?” you whisper. 

Startled, Arthur’s eyes narrow as he tries to listen. His body stiffens slightly as a defensive reflex.

“Silence”, you breathe even lower. “There’s no one. No Dutch. No Susan. No Sean. And -” you pause for emphasis- “no Micah. Just you and me.” Your eyes gleam ecstatically as you collect his face into your gentle hands.

A huge smile slowly blooms across Arthur’s face as reality has fully hit him now. ‘Just you and me.’ It’s a beautiful little sentiment, isn’t it?

“Well, let’s not waste a single minute of it, then,” he says. He gently forces you back down to the bed as he lays himself over top of you. You giggle as your arms wrap around Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him to you. After a few tender moments of soft kisses, Arthur rolls to lay along your side and his hand splays across your stomach, sliding down to knead the tender skin there. You rotate your hips to press against him, your leg coming up to slot with his. When your hand comes to rest over his heart, Arthur places his own over top of it, holding it there. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get lost in your own little universe. Arthur’s hands begin to move faster, just as his lips do. The kisses become more passionate, the moaning and heavy breathing escalates. Grasping and pinching takes hold of your extremities. 

The world outside the walls of this tiny rented room ceases to exist and fades away. The only things that matter are you and Arthur. You do not hear the horses and chatter from the street below. You do not smell the dinner being prepared in the kitchen of the hotel. You can only feel the soft bed beneath you and the hot skin of the person you are entwined with. And you only see the loving face that hovers in front of you. 

Arthur suddenly stands up to unbutton his shirt and pull his trousers off. While he is occupied, you quickly whip off your blouse and your underclothes along with it. You grab a hold of the strings of your skirt when he abruptly stops you. 

“Hold on,” Arthur murmurs, holding his hand out over your fingers. He gets that lustful look in his eyes that you know all too well. “Do it real slow-like. I don’t want to miss a thing.” 

Your eyelashes flutter as a crimson-blush floats across the apple of your cheeks. But you oblige, of course, coyly pulling at the strings, your fingers daintily raised in emphasis. 

Once the skirt is gone, Arthur tenderly reaches down and lifts your legs one at a time to take off your boots, leaving each foot resting on his abdomen. You curl your toes and flirtatiously extend your legs up to hook them under the collar of his union suit. Deftly using your feet, you push the sides of the fabric down over his muscled arms to expose his chest and effectively spread your legs wide for him in the process. 

He pauses at the sight, eyes dark and carnal. He swallows thickly before he even attempts to speak. “Just be warned, I’m about to break you in half, woman.” His fingers trail over your calves in anticipation. 

You smile mischievously and run your foot along the front of his thigh. “Oh, I surely hope so, mister. I was counting on it.”

The way Arthur makes you feel about yourself is unparalleled. He makes you feel beautiful and loved. Never in your life have you ever felt so wanted and desired. He is a man who has little in this tumultuous world so he values the things that he does have. And the idea that Arthur treasures you above all things sets your heart to flutter. He is strong and unyielding. And yet, you, simply you, have captured his heart to hold him hostage. While you calm his restless soul, he in turn makes you feel vibrant and alive. 

Before you can say or do anything more, Arthur grabs your legs, yanking you closer to him as a squeal escapes from your lips until your rear sits at the edge of the bed. He kneels down in front of you, tossing your legs over his broad shoulders as your thighs slowly fall open for him.

Arthur cradles your leg to him as he places languid kisses along your plush limbs. Starting from your knee, his hot tongue darts in and out as his lips travel along the soft skin to your plump thighs, creeping his way towards your heat. He moves agonizingly slow, but the sheer feeling of it makes time stand still. 

You sit up on your elbows and watch him work, delighted in how much he revels in the experience. Arthur fully plans on indulging himself and taking complete advantage of the situation. No interruptions, no nosy eyes and ears. The comfort and warmth of a proper shelter lending to the tender atmosphere. Arthur will covet every little thing and every single moment that he has with you for the next two days. 

His strong hands float across the skin of your thighs to meet where his mouth is, coming together at the apex between your legs. Your breath hitches as his thick fingertips gently graze over the tender folds of skin. Your mouth gapes slightly at the incredible sensation. Arthur’s head tilts slightly to the side as he assesses the treasure before him. A quick look up to catch your loving gaze before he dips down, his tongue dragging along the slit of your heat. Your eyes instantly flutter with a staggered breath ghosting from your lips. He begins to wag his tongue back and forth, basking in your taste. Before long, he slides his finger up along the skin, sliding in and out, covered in your wetness. 

The two techniques in conjunction cause you to moan loudly. Your head falls back between your shoulder blades causing your breasts to angle up higher for his viewing pleasure. But you bite your lip to try to stifle yourself out of habit, afraid someone will hear. 

“Go ahead and make all the pretty little noises you want, Darlin’. Ain’t no one gonna hear ya,” Arthur smirks. He runs his palm over your mound, gently massaging the flesh there. 

“We’re not alone in this building, you know,” you pant, trying to catch your breath already. “Someone will eventually hear.”

“No one I care about.” He gives you that wicked wink.

You shoot him a kittenish look as he sets about his work again as if determined to prove his point. His mouth works you over with more force this time, completely encompassing your heat, as a second thick finger is added. Your arms give out as you drop to the mattress. You mewl and moan as you completely give in, and the sounds coming from your panting mouth only encourage Arthur to go faster and deeper. He tightly wraps his arm around your leg, pulling your hips open even more to give him access to your core. His tongue flicks over that sensitive bud, sucking and releasing while his fingers push and retract, curling as they move along the velvety walls inside you. 

The muscles in your abdomen tighten as your orgasm explodes within you. You practically scream as your hands fist the blanket under you until your knuckles turn white, your whole body spasming under Arthur’s arms as he holds you in place. But instead of leaving you spent, it makes you crave even more. 

“Arthur?” Your voice is breathless and shaky. 

“Hmm?” He asks smugly, going back to leaving slow kisses along your thighs again. The feeling of his beard prickling your sensitive skin makes you shudder. 

“I’m positive that this is only the beginning of what you have in mind. So whatever you’re going to do next, you had better get started. Because I can’t wait much longer to feel you inside me properly.”

His eyes meet your half-lidded ones, which are lust-drunk and captivating. “You got me wrapped around your pretty little fingers, you know that?”

“You got it all wrong, my love. It’s gonna be me wrapped around you. Now get over here.” You lift your leg to use it to pull him up to you.  

The little term of endearment melts his heart and Arthur quickly stands to pull off the rest of his clothing in a hurry before he climbs over you, the muscles of his back rippling as he hurriedly moves to meet your lips. Your hands greedily run into his hair and then fan-out over his broad shoulders. Your legs wrap around his lower half as he sinks down over you. You can feel his hard cock rub against you and you groan into his mouth. He’s hard as a rock, his tip hot to the touch. God, you want him so badly right now. You impatiently reach between you to wrap your soft hand around his member, pumping and stroking him and he hisses in your ear in response, biting on your neck. 

Arthur sits up on the bed, resting back on his heels so that he can get a full view of you. Your body writhes lying beneath him, your arms extended to run your hands along his thick thighs and across his lower abdomen. The tips of your fingers trail through the hair that makes its way towards the “v” of his groin. 

Arthur teases your opening with his cock, watching as your eyes roll back. Once he’s graced the entrance, he grabs your knees and pushes his hips forward, sliding himself into your warm cunt. You clench around him as if to trap him inside of you, never to let him leave. He is entranced by the way your back arches backwards, practically bent in half, as he pushes inch by heavenly inch, in order to achieve the greatest reach. 

“C’mon, baby, dance for me,” he utters.

Arthur studies the beauty of your eyes as he begins to thrust into you. He knows every line of your face from watching you from afar and viewing you up close. Leaning over you, he caresses your cheek. You close your eyes and lean into his calloused hand even more. He cherishes you as he holds your face in his palm. You are totally, and absolutely, his. Sighing deeply with such affection, he gathers your hair in his fist, sliding his fingers back into your locks to pull your head back. 

At one point, you try to push him over to take control, but he isn’t having it. Arthur is too lost in his own lust to give up control now. When he feels you push against his chest, he collects your wrists into his much larger hand to pin them over your head into the mattress. He grabs your leg and hooks his powerful arm under it to keep you exactly where he wants you as his thrusts pick up speed and force. 

Up until now, you and Arthur have been heated, but nothing like this. He looks down at you, taken in at how you need him just as much as he needs you. He is speechless and suddenly greedy for more. He suddenly pulls himself out of you, and you gasp in disappointment at the sudden emptiness. Your eyes shoot wide open, eyebrows furrowed and questioning his motives. But he acts quickly. Arthur’s hands wrap around your sides as he abruptly flips you over on the mattress and pulls you up on all fours by your hips. 

He reaches around and rakes his fingers over your heat, gathering some of your wetness to lubricate himself. Taking himself in hand, Arthur places his throbbing tip against your heat again, but this time from behind, rubbing back and forth to nestle between the sensitive folds. The mewl that drops from your lips is both animalistic and divine as your eyes screw shut as you take him again. He pushes himself into you, a loud grunt of his own filling the air. 

You’ve never done it like this before. This was something you’ve heard whispered but never experienced yourself.

With this angle, Arthur’s cock drags along the roof of your cunt, dragging across nerves that are being teased in a whole new way. The upward diagonal direction of his grinding feels different, yet exponentially amazing. He’s trying to be mindful to see if you are okay with this new “experiment”, not wanting to cross a line, but he quickly loses himself. His head is spinning and he shoves himself into you, hips snapping sharply.

Stars begin to cloud your vision as your senses become overwhelmed. You feel him everywhere, inside you and all around you. You feel as if you could burst into flames right now. You’re not sure where your head is at, probably lost in oblivion, but you turn your chin to your shoulder. And watching Arthur’s face contorted in pleasure sets you off on a whole new level of desire. In a surprising act of boldness, with a breathy little whimper, you simply mutter the word “harder”.

Silly girl that you are.

Recognition flashes in Arthur’s eyes as his fingertips dig into your hips. There’s a quick smack to your ass-cheek as if sending his horse into a gallop and he’s off. 

Arthur begins to pound into you relentlessly now, knowing that you are enjoying this as much as he is, sending your skin shuttering with each blow. He begins to grunt loudly as his hips snap at an increasingly faster pace. You can feel the bed itself shifting under you from his force. 

With the unabated jarring of his pelvis, you lose your balance and your arms give out. Your forehead drops, digging into your forearms, but it also raises your hips even more, adding to the heavenly sensation. 

Arthur eventually wraps his arm under your rib cage and pulls you up to hold you against his broad chest. The burly arm wraps around your shoulders while the other snakes down your front to fondle the delicate skin of your heat again. His mouth latches onto your neck, his forehead digging into your temple. In an attempt to grasp onto something to anchor yourself to this planet, your own arm reaches behind you to wrap around behind Arthur’s head, your fingers clenching the thick waves of sandy-blonde hair as you cry out his name. It always sends him into a heated frenzy to hear you say his name laced with such wanton desire. Sometimes, you’ll even simply whisper his name into his ear when you are just sitting by the fire, innocently nestled in his lap. 

The air is filled with the scent of sweat, leather, and cigarette smoke, coupled with the rose-water you washed your hair with. Your moaning and Arthur's lustful grunts echo loudly within the small space, the sound bouncing off of the walls like a sinful orchestra.

Arthur’s powerful arms wrap around you like a large jungle snake, restrictive and making it hard to catch your breath. He holds you as if afraid to let go, afraid that you could be taken from him. Or worse yet, leave of your own accord. This whole thing is still so new to him. As wonderful as you are, there is still that sliver, that crack in his black, broken heart, that this is all too good to be true. He is still waiting for that hammer to fall and crush his fragile dream. And yet still, Arthur keeps barreling forward with his cock buried inside of you, hips bucking, until your head snaps back with your second orgasm.

Once you’re spent, your body goes limp in Arthur’s arms. His own pace sputters as he reaches his own climax shortly after you and he pulls himself out to finish on the back of your legs. 

Panting heavily, you are lightheaded and collapse onto the bed under you, thankful for the cushioning that catches you.

Arthur slowly leans over you as his chest tries to recapture air into his lungs. His hands rest on either side of your body, allowing his forehead to rest between your shoulder blades. Eventually you can feel his lips leaving soft little kisses along your back.

“Good Lord, Arthur,” you chuckle, you back arching like a cat in response to his lips scattering across your skin.

“I did warn you.”

“That you did.” A satisfied hum leaves your trembling lips as you flip back over and catch him between your legs, trapping him between your thighs. His face and chest glisten with a thin sheen of sweat, even in the chilled room. “Just remember, Arthur, payback is a bitch.” And the look of absolute adoration fills his eyes at your statement. 

You find the energy to sit up, propping yourself up on one elbow with the other arm slung around his shoulders. Foreheads affectionately touch together while you both catch your breath. You pepper Arthur’s face with kisses, causing the most adorable chuckle to spring from his mouth.

“This was such a good idea,” you sigh. 

“Probably one of my better ones, for sure,” he agrees.

“You realize this is where we live now, right?”

“If only that were true.” Arthur gives you a sweet but sad smile before nudging your nose with his. You’ve noticed that it’s a gesture of affection that he often does with you, one that you know is meant to say ‘I love you’ without having to say it out loud. 

“Well, then let’s make the most of the time we have,” you whisper. You gently pull him over you like a blanket, wrapping your arms and legs around him, your lips pressed to his. He sinks into you again with pleasure. 

You spend the rest of the evening lying naked upon the bed, staring into each other’s eyes. You talk about different things, snickering and laughing, and just simply enjoy each other’s presence. You make love two more times before falling blissfully asleep in each other’s arms at some point into the very-early morning while the stars still shine in the sky, completely exhausted. 

The next morning, as the sun needles its way into your windows, you roll over and bury your face into your billowy pillow. It was a late night and the idea of sleeping-in with no one hollering for you to begin work is so satisfying. You stretch your legs, wiggling a bit into the sheets and blankets. The fabric is soft wrapped around your bare body. 

When Arthur’s arm enfolds you from behind, pulling you back and tucking you against him, you begin to smile softly. His much larger frame presses against the entire length of yours, making you feel safe and comforted. If heaven on Earth exists, it is right here in this tiny room, nestled quietly within this little hotel.

And it is in this blissful moment that the overwhelming realization washes over you. That there is so much more to life than simply surviving it. There is Arthur. There’s the two of you, planning and building a life together. 

—---------------------------------------

After a day and a half of being holed-up in the hotel room, you and Arthur decide to head out to the saloon for a change of scenery. The fresh air and sunlight will do you both some good. 

The last several hours have been spent alternating passionate love-making and catching up on much-needed rest, with Arthur taking some time to work in his journal while you relaxed and read a new novel that Mary-Beth loaned you. 

You take your time in getting dressed, with no urgency to be anywhere. You have to keep swatting Arthur’s hand away when he keeps trying to undo the strings of your clothing the minute you have them tied. But eventually, you manage to get yourselves together and head downstairs. 

The same woman who checked you in yesterday is sweeping the floor of the lobby and upon hearing footsteps from above, she looks up. But when she recognizes who is coming down, she shyly avoids eye contact, her face red as she sees the two of you descend the stairs. She goes back to her task, dragging the broom across the floorboards at a faster pace to avoid any awkward conversations. At first you don’t understand the behavior, but it quickly dawns on you that she must have heard your amorous activities last night. 

“Whoops,” you whisper to yourself under your breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you walk through the lobby. 

“Huh?” Arthur looks at you confused. 

“Nevermind, just keep walking,” you chuckle, grabbing his arm and pushing him ahead of you and out the front door. 

The saloon isn’t too far down, just about a five minute walk. With your arm linked with Arthur’s, you walk into the bar and look around excitedly. Arthur, however, is immediately on high-alert. He notices several heads turn upon your entrance, not to watch him for once, but to curiously eye-up the woman beside him. You are radiant. Your eyes are bright and cheeks flushed with color. You have a natural glow about you due to the past thirty-six hours in your hotel room.

Naturally you don’t notice the lingering eyes of the drunken patrons, but Arthur certainly does. He stiffens a bit in reaction to the gawking stares. But as soon as you wrap your arms around his bicep and lean in to whisper something in his ear, everyone knows who’s arm you’ll be on tonight.  

Arthur knows it’s selfish, but for once, he is the envy of everyone. And his chest proudly puffs out a bit as he escorts you with a swagger in his step through the room to a table. 

A waitress brings you and Arthur drinks and you sit comfortably in the corner, nuzzling up on each other, minding your own business. But it doesn’t take long for your privacy to be intruded upon. 

“Hey, Arthur! Y/N!” You hear John’s raspy voice cut through the noise of the saloon. Looking up, you see him and Abigail making their way to your table. “See? Told you they’d be here,” he says to Abigail. 

You and Arthur are a bit speechless at first, not expecting to see anyone you know tonight. “What are you two doin’ here?” Arthur asks.

“Needed to get Abigail out of camp before she plants a knife in someone,” snickers John as he pulls a chair out for the woman to sit before pulling out a second one for himself and tossing his lean leg over it to settle in next to her. 

“Damn idiots, being stupid!” she hisses as she plunks down onto the hard wooden chair. You nod in acknowledgement with a sigh, as you completely understand Abigail’s frustration. And although you are disappointed that your time with Arthur is being interrupted, you are happy to see that John and Abigail are trying to spend a little time together, too and you all proceed to have a drink together. 

And soon enough, the doors swing open and in walks Sean, Karen, Lenny, and Charles as well.

Arthur’s head turns when he sees them and you are quick to catch his groan and eye-roll. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. 

With a sigh of resignation, you lean your shoulder into his. “I suppose you’re right, you could never leave the gang and go off on your own. Everywhere you go, they follow.” You nudge your chin in their direction with a slight laugh. 

“Oh no, don’t blame me on this. They follow you around just as much as me now,” he teases. “And besides, it’s ‘we’ - we couldn’t go off on our own. It’s you and me, remember?”

“That’s right.” You smile brightly and lift your beer bottle to clink to his in a toast.  

“Ah, well would ya look who it is!” exclaims Sean as he wraps his arm around Karen’s shoulders and saunters over to your corner to join the four of you. And before you know it, Lenny and Charles grab a nearby table, dragging it closer to yours and the lot of you settle in for a good time. 

The night carries on, with singing, dancing and many drinks to be passed amongst your friends. Lively music fills the air as the amber glow of the oil lamps begins to push back against the encroaching shadows of the setting sun. And all the while, you sit in the corner curled up to Arthur all night. 

Abigail observes the two of you together throughout the evening and smiles to herself. She notices that it is the subtle things about the two of you that are so endearing. Arthur comes up behind you, his arm gliding around your waist as you lean back into him. Occasionally his head lowers closer to your cheek and you turn upward, your hand coming up to cup his face as you smile at him. Arthur doesn’t possessively plant kisses all over you in public, but just the slightest turn of his lips towards your temple as you speak. Or it’s his hand on the small of your back as you walk about. Even when he simply pulls your chair out and holds your arm to help you to sit, it is the simplest of loving actions that stand out. 

Abigail’s smile widens as her chin sits in her hand. She is so happy for you both, but especially Arthur. He’s been through so much and has been so lonely for so long. She marvels at how different Arthur is now, at how time has changed him. John tries to show his affection in his own way, but nothing as soft and romantic as Arthur. Ironic how Arthur is the larger, more brutish of the two men, yet he is actually the softer of them. 

Noticing that more drinks are needed, you head over to the bar to secure another round for your group. You lean on the wooden surface, patiently waiting for the barkeep’s attention when you sense a presence out of the corner of your eye. A man sidles up next to you, standing a little too close for comfort. You can’t help but to notice how his beady eyes rake over you, the smell of whiskey emanating off of him like a cloud. 

“Evenin’!” Casting your gaze briefly to your right towards the scraggly voice, you notice the man is greasy and lean. His dark hair is combed back under his hat and he carries himself with a cocky air about him. 

You give him a polite but quick, “Good evening.”

“Couldn't help but notice a pretty thing like you in a place like this. You must be new. How much you cost?”

Your lips pull inward, trying not to be offensive in your answer as you feel your face start to burn hot. “I’m not for sale. And even if I was, you couldn’t afford my rate.”

The man’s face drops a bit of its smugness, shifting his weight from hip to hip. “Oh, you’re one of those stuck-up girls, are you?”

“No. Just spoken for, is all.”

“Real shame. I could show you a good time.” The man licks his lips in a disgusting gesture, making your skin crawl. Even Micah is better behaved than this man.

A slow and measured sigh escapes your lips. “I’m already having a good time. With someone else.” Although your words are nice enough, the tone is laced with annoyance. 

Meanwhile, Arthur’s eyes never leave you as he is watching very closely how this scene is playing out at the bar. He tunes-out the nonsensical blabbering of Sean sitting next to him as his hand tightens down around the bottle he is holding. 

But you’ve decided you've had enough of the cretin’s advances and try to push past the idiot to return to your friends, and more importantly, to Arthur. But the man lays his hand on your shoulder, preventing you from leaving. “Now wait a minute, I ain’t done with you.” 

“Oh, but I am done with you.” Your eyebrows raise to accentuate your point. “Now if you will excuse me.”

But he quickly grabs your arm, squeezing harshly. “I said-” 

In this split second, time stands still and Arthur’s perception of things slows to a crawl as his vision sees red when your face twists up in pain from the harsh grab of this fool. Arthur springs up from his chair, tossing it backward with the force and a speed that belies his size, and he bolts over to the two of you.

Arthur clamps his massive hand around the man’s wrist with a crushing force, halting him in his tracks and peeling the drunk’s dirty fingers from your arm as he protectively moves you behind him.

“That’s enough. The lady said she ain’t for you.” Arthur steps menacingly toward the man, fists balled and his arm pulls back ready to launch, but he stops short when you place your hand on his forearm as a reminder that you are not supposed to be causing a ruckus while in town. The feeling of your fingers on his skin instantly grounds him, distracting Arthur from the sinister thoughts rolling around in his head. 

Reluctantly, Arthur tries his best to calm down before he does something that he’ll regret. “Now you best leave it at that and walk away,” Arthur says, taking a breath.

“She belongs to you?!” the man sneers out as if in surprise.

“She don’t belong to no one, least of all you.”

“Well, if that’s the case, this doesn’t concern you, then. This is between me and the lady.” He waves his hand at you. “So you be the one leave it.”

Arthur takes a deep breath in, Hosea’s warning echoing in his head. “Right now, I need to see the back of your head getting smaller and smaller. Keep in mind that I can make that happen several ways.” 

“Arthur, don’t,” you warn. “Don’t waste your time on this stupid fool.” You tug gently on his arm, hoping he will come back to the table with you without incident.

The drunk looks indignantly at you. “Who you callin’ a stupid fool, missy?” He keeps his eyes on you as he addresses Arthur. “You better get your little whore there under control,” lifting his chin in your direction. “Or I’ll have to do it for you.”

That is what lights Arthur’s fuse. “What the hell did you just say to her?” His eyes narrow as he takes another menacing step closer to the man, his shoulders squaring up.

You warily wrap your arm around his waist as another, more pressing physical reminder. “Arthur, you promised.” 

“Better listen to the little lady, mister,” the drunk keeps pushing, taunting Arthur even further. “And besides, I’m sure I can take care of her better than you anyway…old man.” 

Your eyes widen in shock and the room suddenly goes silent.

“Ah, shit,” John mutters from somewhere behind you. With a sigh, John snuffs out his cigarette and starts to roll up his sleeves. He knows exactly what’s coming next. So much for a relaxing night out.  

Arthur’s jaw tightens as his teeth grit painfully together. And yet still, he’s struggling internally not to cross that line. For you. 

You are impressed with Arthur’s self-control right now, as he did promise to behave himself tonight. But, you are not going to let anyone talk to Arthur like that. 

With a slight nod of acceptance, you lovingly pat Arthur’s chest and carefully withdraw your arm from his waist and take a slow and very pronounced step back from him, effectively releasing your beast upon the saloon. 

A menacing smile crosses Arthur’s lips as he realizes that like a once-caged animal, he is now free. The drunk’s face flashes confusion for only a second before Arthur’s fist flies, crashing into his jaw. The man’s body crumples haplessly to the floor, but Arthur is quick to grab him by the collar, landing another crushing blow to his face. And then yet another, causing blood to spatter through the air. 

There is a sudden explosion of action all around you. You take several staggering steps backwards out of the way until your back collides with a solid wall of muscle. You gasp in a brief panic. But as you turn, you see that it’s Charles. And he is quick to grab you by the hips and lifts you up to sit on the bar, safely out of the way before heading to Arthur’s side. John is already at the ready, smiling cheekily as he throws punches at anyone that gets into his way. 

The saloon quickly erupts into an all-out brawl. Chairs get tossed through the air and tables flip over as angry shouting erupts into the atmosphere. Arthur has already beaten the first idiot senseless and has since taken on two more that ineptly tried to jump him in their friend’s defense. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch Arthur’s bloodied knuckles land into yet another man’s ribs, lifting his body clean off the ground with the force of the blow. The poor man’s face contorts as if he is about to throw-up a lung. But he doesn’t have time to, as Arthur quickly heaves the man up and then slams him flat on his back to the floor, knocking him out cold. But Arthur quickly recovers to deliver an upper-cut punch to another approaching brawler, filling the air with the disgusting, gut-wrenching sound of bone cracking. 

You cast a quick glance to the corner to check on the safety of your friends to find Lenny and Sean already in the thick of the fight as well. Karen is standing on a chair, cackling and hollering, encouraging the fight, while Abigail has tucked herself safely into a corner. 

“Come on, Arthur! Knock his lights out!” hollers Karen, waving her beer bottle towards the surging mob. 

While you are preoccupied with your friends’ safety, you are startled back to the action in front of you when a drunk gets thrown into you, his head landing in your lap. You yelp in surprise as you look down and immediately grab a bottle from behind the bar, smashing it on his head. The man is knocked senseless and drops to the floor at your feet. 

After about twenty minutes of chaos, the fight ends just as quickly as it began. Arthur stands in the middle of the room, his chest heaving, with men sprawled out in unconscious heaps at his feet. He looks down at his knuckles, annoyed at the cuts and mess, and spits out a bit of blood from his cut lip onto the floor. He and John exchange a grin, an unspoken check that the other one is okay. Arthur then scans the room for Charles and catches sight of him just as he tosses some dimwit to the floor. Sean and Lenny stand next to each other, congratulating the other on a job well-done. All are accounted for and alive. A few new bruises, but thankfully none are worse for wear. 

Finally, Arthur’s eyes search for you. He finds you still perched upon the bar. Your eyes are wide in astonishment and your chest rises and falls to catch your panicked breath. Arthur’s lips draw inward in guilt, realizing that he’s broken his promise to you. Shame begins to take hold of him, beating about within his rib cage like a bird in flight.

You are not blind nor indifferent to Arthur’s violent tendencies, but you are always so taken aback when you see it first-hand. He is always so mindful and careful with you. But with others, not so much. Arthur is one of those people where if he likes you, he loves you. If he hates you, heaven help you. And his sheer strength and volatility is a wondrous thing to behold. 

Blood thunders in your ears as you stare at him, dumbfounded. Your heart races. And it beats for Arthur. It would bleed for him, too. 

And then Arthur witnesses a most incredible thing happening. A smirk begins to blossom across your lips as you hold his gaze. Instead of turning in repulsion from what he’s done, you cock an eyebrow at him as you silently hold your arms out, reaching for him. 

Without a word, Arthur walks through the minefield of bodies, stepping over arms and legs that are bent at odd angles. He sets his bruised hands upon your waist and gently lifts you down until your small feet touch the dusty floor. You smile up at him, lifting your thumb to gently swipe away the bit of blood that stains his bruised face.

“Let’s go,” you whisper to him as you tuck your arm around his. He doesn’t say anything, only gives you a slight smile and nods, leading you towards the door. 

And as you make your way through the crowd, you pause to stand over that first drunk, the one that started this whole mess. He is still sprawled out unconscious on the floor in a deep crimson pool of his own blood. You look down with a frown and promptly kick him in the ribs before heading to the doors. 

As soon as you get outside, the cold air hits you in the face with an exhilarating jolt. Rushing down the few steps of the saloon, you abruptly spin into Arthur’s chest, reaching up to grab fistfuls of his hair as you pull him down to your lips. You hungrily kiss him, your tongue thrust into his mouth and trying to ignore how the taste of his blood from his busted lip excites you even more. When you pry yourself from his face, your bosom heaving with desire, you lock eyes with him. You have never been so riled up in your life. 

“We need to get back to our room. Now.”

It only takes a second for Arthur to register the idea. “Right.” And he snatches your hand up into his, dragging you across the dirt street, your feet skipping to keep up with his long strides. 

The moment you enter the hotel lobby, you sprint ahead of him, pulling him up the stairs behind you. The two of you bounce off of the walls of the hallway, knocking into meticulously placed picture frames as arms and hands grasp at each other. Lips desperately try to find and land on a patch of skin, any patch will do, in the process. 

Reaching the door to your room, Arthur’s attention momentarily leaves you to fumble with the key to the lock, the last obstacle between you and sweet ecstasy. A childish pout graces your face at the loss of his lips on yours, and you are quick to reach up and latch your own to his neck, teeth grazing his beard-stubbled flesh. The moment your teeth sink into his neck, Arthur almost drops the key, a lustful groan involuntarily crossing his lips. His hips reflexively push you against the door for a moment, grinding in an effort to find the sought-after friction he needs. He tastes salty from working up a sweat during the bar fight. And you’ll be working him into a froth before the night is over, for sure. A mumbled chain of expletives drops from his mouth until he can get his fingers to work properly to fit the key into the lock.

He finally manages to free the heavy wooden door from its confines and barrels through the entryway, dragging you with him. You bumble ungracefully into the room which is still warm with the remnants of a fire burning in the small fireplace. 

Your lips remain heatedly locked together as your hands make quick work of the buttons of Arthur’s shirt, roughly shoving the fabric back off his shoulders to expose his tanned skin. Your fingertips are already at the buttons of his pants while he is still fumbling with the strings of your dress, his large fingers unable to handle the small knots. Frustrated, Arthur grabs the seams, about ready to pull the damn thing apart and rip it off you when you abruptly stop, pulling back from him and grabbing his face. His eyes shoot open in surprise. 

“Don’t you dare rip this dress, Arthur Morgan!” You snap sharply “You already owe me a new dress from the last one you ripped.”

He gives you a frustrated snort, like a bull about to charge, and a scowl of impatience on his handsome face. 

A sultry smirk of empathy quickly floats along your face. With your hands placed on his chest, you push Arthur backwards, nibbling on his lips as you do, until his legs touch the edge of the bed. You sweep your foot against his, making him lose his balance as you aggressively push him over. His hat tumbles to the floor as his hands thread behind his head to watch you. 

You step back and begin to untie the strings of your dress. You accentuate your movements as the ties become undone and you pull the fabric from your shoulders. You shake your hips a little with a dance as the rest of the dress falls from your supple hips to gather on the floor. Unable to look away from your little show, Arthur draws his hand over his mouth in anticipation. He is literally salivating at the idea of you. 

Within moments you are bare as the day you were born and on display for him to take in the view. You pull at the pins holding your hair up and the thick waves tumble down around your graceful shoulders, the tips of the curls dancing across the smooth skin of your breasts. Arthur’s whole body actually shudders, making you smile at the control you have right now. 

You stealthily climb over him like a cat stalking its prey, leaving kisses along his abdomen as you crawl along his muscled body. When he runs the back of his knuckles across your cheek, you take a hold of his hand, pausing briefly to assess the damage before placing your delicate lips to the cuts and bruises. You look into his eyes, beholding him with such love and affection. 

“Now that you’ve seen what I really am, do you think you'll still keep lovin’ me?” Arthur asks. His question is said both in jest and in earnest. 

“I’ve always known what you are, Arthur. I just didn’t realize that you were this beautiful.”

Tears would flood his eyes if he had the time to process what you’ve said. But you quickly pounce before his mind can spiral on you as you place one more heated and deep kiss on his mouth, your teeth pulling on his lips, before you backtrack to hover over his pelvis. He is rock-hard at this point, clearly visible under the denim of his jeans. You fish your hand under the fabric to pull out his large and swollen cock. Caressing it in your hand, you give a few quick pumps before your hot mouth envelops him. 

Arthur’s eyes never leave you, raptly watching as you work. The sight of you handling him, of your mouth bobbing around his cock, is the most amazing thing to witness. His mouth falls open and his eyes roll back at the sweet pressure of your lips on his most delicate area, a euphoric mixture of pleasure and pain. Arthur flops back onto the bed, arms wobbly and unable to hold himself up anymore. His large hand comes up to grab a fistful of your soft hair, his palm working open and closed in an effort to pace himself. 

You hum as your mouth bobs up and down his shaft and the gentle vibration travels through his skin like electricity, causing him to hiss and groan. Giving Arthur a taste of his own medicine, you pull along his cock faster, tightening the muscles of your mouth to squeeze a bit more, making him harder than ever. Your hand then reaches down to cup his testicles, rolling them gently amongst your soft fingers. Arthur’s breathing becomes increasingly sporadic as his mind is pushed to the limit and about to explode. 

When you get to the point where you just can’t prolong your own release any longer, you pull his cock from your mouth with one last lick to the underside of his tip. You walk yourself up on your knees until your hips line up with his. With a wanton little whimper, you lower down onto him, his thick cock filling you to the point where he hits the back wall of your cunt. Your chin dips to your chest as your breath gets sucked in at the ever-tight fit. Likewise, Arthur lets out a hissing groan as his hands shoot upward to grip your thighs tightly.

You pause a moment to collect yourself and then slowly lift your lashes to meet his heated gaze. The outlaw sees his own lustful expression staring back at him in your shimmering eyes and his heart skips a beat because of it. A slow hiss from the back of your throat falls from your shaking lips as you take a moment to try to form coherent words.

Finally, you are able to focus long enough to string together only one thought out loud, which comes out in a husky whisper:  

“I am going to ride you like a stolen horse, cowboy.”

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

[alwaysonf1]

oopsy?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: Canadian NHL team shit talking. Middle fingers.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

As much as Iman doesn’t mind and is one hundred percent on board for all the filming and hanging out with the drivers, she's happy that it’s not an every day of the week and every class kind of thing. There’s a level of mental capacity it takes to deal with the people around her while doing this that she can’t maintain every day.

But today isn’t one of those days. Today they’re at a track and that’s one of her favorite places to be no matter where it is.

NOLA Motorsports Park hasn’t seen any real IndyCar action since twenty fifteen, but it’s still a place that some teams use when they want to test and practice in a place where it wouldn’t really be expected. Though there were times they did open the public stuff and in about a month there would be a McLaren sponsored karting tournament for kids already in and new to the world of motorsport. 

Iman looks forward to that day because she enjoys helping the kids with their races and even more so helping them understand how their karts work. She was even going to be in charge of a more informational segment that she knows is going to be boring as hell, but hopefully insightful for kids and their parents.

The sport can be hard enough getting into it and she wanted to make it easier for them. Even if she felt a little like a fraud speaking as her path hasn’t really been from the ground up like half the kids there.

But at the moment what she’s most happy about is that she isn’t the one making the drive to the track. The place is over an hour from her apartment and though it rarely feels that long it’s nice to have someone else to do it. 

Though she could do without being sandwiched between her brother and her new frenemy, Lance.

“It’s a Canadian sport. And they are original, how could you dislike them? They have more championships than Seattle has in years playing. I mean I like them too, but come on, Iman.”

The entire rant is funny and it’s the same argument they’ve had twice now after he found out that she enjoys hockey. They’ve talked a little about football too, but the moment she enacted her duty of humbling a Canadian it’s been a back and forth of him being flustered over her dislike of almost all the Canadian teams in the NHL. Most of it being due to her disdain for certain players - most of which for petty reasons and some because they’re assholes.

She reaches out and pats his leg, giving him a soft and kind look that’s only playfully condescending.

“How about we pick this back up when a Canadian team breaks their thirty year streak of not winning the Stanley Cup. Something multiple players in Seattle have done in that time period.”

“You went there?”

“I went there.”

Lance huffs and puffs. He tries to say something, but every time his mouth opens he closes it again. If I didn’t notice the way he wanted to laugh and the resignation in his expression I would fear I’d genuinely offended him, but I know I hadn’t. Poor man knew it was the truth, even if it was a painful one.

“It’s their year.”

“Who’s year?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. One of them.”

“Leafs?”

At that he makes a face that can only be read as disgust.

“You’re mad at me and you don’t even like them.”

“I’m obligated.”

“I get it.”

Because she does. That conditionally and sometimes fake patriotism got the best of her too.

She opens her mouth to bring them back to common ground by shitting on Vegas, but for the tenth time there’s a pull at some strands of hair at the back of her head. Eyes narrowed she turns her head to look at her brother. Who doesn’t even bother to look away or remove his hand.

“Why?”

Lewis shrugs.

Rolling her eyes she reaches up and pulls on one of his braids, earning a swat to her hand.

“Don’t pull my hair,” he says.

“Then don’t pull mine.”

And he does it again.

Like the child she sometimes is, she goes to retaliate, but the van rolls to a stop and she settles for glaring at him.

“Ha.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With the last word she follows the others out of the van, “accidentally” kicking Lewis on her way out. By the time he’s out and able to get her back she’s already standing at the front of everyone barely suppressing a gleeful smile. He joins the group and flips her off in a covert way and she does the same.

Not them doing that on the low mattered since the cameras weren’t focused on the group yet. Every camera person is huddled together talking amongst themselves.

“Is that a McLaren indycar?” Alex asks.

“Sure is.”

Daniel raises his hand, a broad smile on his face. “Are we going to get in it?” 

“Maybe.”

That seems to shock everyone, but there is some giddiness to it. One would think that a group of men who raced for a living and who would be back to doing it in about a week wouldn’t be so eager to get into a car. But then again that’s the driving force of why some of them do it for a living.

Before anyone can say anything else Anne walks up and the camera surrounds them. Anne gestures to Iman and she takes her cue.

Iman hitches her thumb backward. “This is where I do a lot of my internship work during the school year. Though it’s not often used for pro-racing, it is used for testing. And that’s what McLaren’s Indycar team is doing here for the next month or so. And today you’ll be helping me with work. 

“All of you know there is some level of secrecy going on with this stuff, but everything you see and hear today will be things that are known to the public or that no one cares about anyone else knowing. Plus, this testing is for this past season's car, not the coming one.

“We’re going to get a tour of the place and then get to work. Any questions before we get things going?”

The group is quiet and after a few seconds Iman nods and then turns. She leads the group up to the pit lane where McLaren mechanics await them. There are greetings and then another explanation of what they’re doing there. Then they’re led off on a tour of the spaces. They field questions from the drivers and to round out the tour they end up back in front of where they started.

“Okay, so we’re trying to figure out what went wrong with this engine during one of the races this season. We had to replace the whole thing and it didn’t become a priority to take it apart and find out, so that’s what we’re doing now to see if there’s anything we need to change in the future,” the head mechanic says.

He looks around at everyone in the way one does when ensuring that they have a listening audience.

“Okay, so you’ll see what Iman and our team do to figure that out. I know this could be more exciting, but we decided this is a good glimpse to really show what she does and in a way we’re comfortable showing. You’ll pair off and our people will explain what’s going on. Feel free to ask questions and point out any oddities you see, we need all the eyes on this that we can get. It’s all preliminary, so they won’t be at it for long and then that’s where the fun begins.”

He shares a mischievous smile with Iman and by the looks of everyone it makes them a bit unsettled.

“What does that mean?” Lance asks.

Iman shrugs. “You’ll see. Now go get changed.”

They do what she says even though she could see the questions they want to ask. 

About ten minutes later everyone returns in coveralls. Iman is already dressed in the clothes she works in so she’s sitting on a rolling chair when they return.

“Ready?” she asks.

They nod.

“Okay, I’m not going to treat this like a class room so everyone in groups of two and then you’ll be with one of us.”

Much like all Iman’s years of school, all the drivers freeze. Then they all scramble toward their chosen person. Despite the small group - or because of how small it was - some end up losing out. It takes all of her not to burst into laughter when Carlos goes for Charles and Lewis snatches up the Monégasque. Which means Carlos is with Daniel. The man pouts while Daniel grins ear to ear, but you could tell it was more playful. 

Lewis and Charles laugh at their antics and Iman knows that those two groups are going to be a chaotic mess.

And because she’s so busy holding back giggles at their nonsense, she misses the chance to grab a group that doesn’t contain her brother. She knows that part of this whole thing is wanting them to be together, but she would be a bad little sister if she didn’t act indignant about it.

“I guess I’m stuck with you too,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Lewis grins. “Yes, you are. You’ll love it. Won’t she Charles?”

Both men turn their heads to face each other and they share similar grins. Then they turn to her and she sees devious intentions in their eyes. Iman feels like they’re plotting against her and she doesn’t like that.

“Of course. We are a delight,” Charles says.

Now she really knows they’re going to be a handful. Though she hopes putting them to work will help.

“Sure, you will be. How about using that delightfulness to help me disassemble this.”

She gestures to the problem engine. She’s to take care of that one while the others look at two others. Both of them cling to their little creep show and then finally nod and help her disassemble the thing. Lewis is a little competent in it because she always talked about it and forced him to learn, but Charles is a little surprising to her. But it’s nice to only have to give a little guidance and get to focus on her work.

Of course she gets so into it that she forgets that she should probably talk to them a little after Charles clears his throat. By the sounds of it he’d been trying to get her attention for a little while.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“You work for McLaren?” he asks.

“This year.”

“Only this year? They seem very okay with this for such a short time.”

“Once before, but for a shorter amount of time then. I’ve done about four internships, two of them with them. One in Nascar and another for a different IndyCar team.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How do you find the time?”

“I don’t. Just chaos twenty-four seven.” She laughs. “But to be fair, the first IndyCar was when I was a senior in high school. They were doing a program for kids of that age to get them interested and I was a test subject. Since my mother worked for them it was more likely they’d get better feedback versus the kids who might be scared saying anything could get them blacklisted.”

“Really?”

Iman smiles. “Really. There weren’t many issues and nothing major though, so it was fine.”

“No, I mean in high school?”

“Yup. It’s what happens when you tell the people in your life what you want to do for a living and they have the connections. The moment my mom knew I was serious she had me applying everywhere and brought me in to shadow her and anyone else she could have agree. I was annoying, but good enough that they didn’t tell her to stop.”

Talking with Charles is easy and the conversation is one that helps her focus on the task of disassembling the unnecessarily greasy mess that is her side of the engine. Something is peaceful about it too. Nice even.

When she looks up and past Charles to her brother Iman sees a weird expression on Lewis' face. It’s one he wears when he knows something or thinks he knows something and a weird smile. She wants to question it, but thinks better of it. Knowing Lewis it will irritate her and there is a part of her brain that is sure she knows what that look is for and she refuses to address it.

Not stepping into that shit show. Nope.

“Okay, what happened?” Lewis asks.

“It stopped the car completely and then when we went to check it there was a small-ish fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was the furthest from the fire, Lew.”

There’s some grumbling, but his expression and body language mellows out. Not much though. For some reason Iman looks to Charles for support, but instead she’s on the receiving end of a look that gives off mild anger and a silver of disappointment. Of course she doesn’t know Charles well enough for her to fully understand his expressions, but she’s familiar with the reactions of siblings.

Iman groans. “Oh come on. Not you too.”

“I’d be mad at my brothers for it as well,” Charles says.

Lewis fist bumps the man and they both stare Iman down as if expecting something like an apology from her. One that she isn’t willing to give, because while she gets the worry and is appreciative of it - especially when Charles barely knows her - this is her job. She’s made a career choice and these kinds of situations are the kind of shitty parts that she expects and that need to be expected. Especially from people who’ve seen their fair share of chaos and tragedy in the world of motorsport. She knows that that’s probably why they’re worse about it. But Iman also knows that there’s something more to it.

Instead of indulging them she rolls her eyes and focuses on the engine. They join in after a couple seconds and she guides them through it, telling them the running theory on what they think caused the fire and answering the questions they have about all the ways their hypothesis could be true.

The help feels nice. They don’t slow her down at all and even if they did she realizes that she wouldn’t mind it. Their interest makes it enjoyable.

By the time they finish they’ve mostly ruled out what it wasn’t but have no confirmation on if what McLarens mechanics think went wrong did. It’s frustrating, but Iman knew enough about the job to know that eliminating possibilities was sometimes better than finding the answer right away. In this case it meant she could catch anything that was also an issue, but didn’t get its chance to show out. And there were at least two of those issues she had to document.

Iman follows the other mechanics to give a report and compare notes and she returns changed into clothes she brought with her. When she emerges on the track the drivers are also back in their clothes and standing in front of some of the newest cars from their respective brands or the creators of the engines their F1 car uses.

Lance is looking at her with a raised brow as she enters their field of view and the others appear curious.

“What’s happening here?” Daniel asks, though with how giddy he is Iman knows he knows.

“Friendly race.”

As if they weren’t professional drivers that did this multiple times a year an electric kind of excitement filled the circle. It’s classic teenage boy behavior as they nudge each other and talk shit.

Anne steps in and grabs everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to have a friendly race. Everyone will be paired up and though there is only one tandem here, you can’t be paired with your teammate.” There is some groaning from the Ferrari boys. “And, because we have a McLaren IndyCar driver here waiting around, Pato O’Ward, will be joining in on the fun.”

Pato appears the moment his name is mentioned. He wears a wide smile and shyly waves to the group.

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind me crashing this.”

“Dibs!” Daniel yells.

Everyone startles, but then it’s a bunch of eye rolling and some bashfulness from Pato.

“That’s fine, Daniel. I was going to choose who gets who, but it's free for all. So pick yo…”

Before Anne can finish what she’s saying everyone scrambles and Iman crosses paths with Lewis. She knocks into him, sending him a little off kilter and with enough force that he ends up next to Carlos and her next to Charles. 

“Hey!” he shouts.

Iman waves. “Hi.”

“You know what.. How dare… Why?”

“I haven’t caused you suffering in a while, which I’m obligated as a little sister to do. Also I’ve driven many Mercedes. I want to try out a Ferrari. Plus, even if I didn’t go for Charles the odds of me reaching Carlos before Lance chooses between him and Albon were low. Shit end of the stick, Lew.”

Everyone laughs as they watch a series of emotions play on the man’s face. He huffs and puffs as he tries to find the words.

Realization dawns on Lewis’ face.

“Wait. No. You’re not racing. You can’t… This isn’t… No.”

Every sentence he starts is clearly going to lead to the interaction turning from funny to a little more serious, so Iman lets him work through finding his words.

“Then you shouldn’t have taught me how. I’m not the one who got grounded at his big age for letting me race a car by a woman who is not their mother.”

Alex snickers. “Wait. He did?”

“Yup. Of course she couldn’t make it stick, but she was trying hard to figure out all the ways she could.”

Lewis winces, probably remembering it. Then he rolls his eyes and sulks. “Fine.”

With a much gentler smile Iman walks over and places a kiss on Lewis’ cheek and ruffles his braids, then retakes her spot next to Charles. Though he fights against it she watches the sulking stop

“Okay, just don’t cry to her or dad when I kick your ass.”

“Bring it.”

Anne retakes control of the conversation and directs everyone to their cars. They’re all given helmets, because this is hot lap adjacent. 

“Everyone will get one lap, then you’ll swap. This is about speed and I know that every one of you is capable of doing this in this type of vehicle, but I’m reminding you all to be safe. Nothing crazy unless you’re sure you can execute it without risk to yourself and everyone else. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement.

They all discuss who is going first, but Iman just directs Charles to the driver’s side. He looks at her with a brow raised in question, but then he follows her gaze and sees that Carlos is taking this lap. He smiles and nods.

Once in the car they strap in and Charles takes a few deep breaths. They’re given the signal to get into place and they get into a formation that works for them. Charles looks at her, a smirk on his lips that is equal parts cocky and confident.

“Ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

He extends his arm, his hand in a fist. Iman bumps it without question. Then they both turn forward and wait for the go ahead.

Despite seeing it at the same time as Charles and preparing herself, Iman's heart drops to her ass once he hits the gas. It takes a few seconds for her to chill out and by then they’re on the first turn. 

Charles drives seamlessly and despite the blur of their surroundings Iman doesn't feel like she’s going terribly fast. Then a Mercedes sails by and then another. Without having to think about what’s happening. He is pushing it, but he’s holding back. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t let loose Charlie.”

He barely glances at her, probably to gauge if she means it, and then he pushes it. In about ten seconds he’s passed one of the cars in front of them and is fighting off the other. The others behind them catch up and it’s a battle back there, but it’s irrelevant to the one in front of them.

At every instance he tries to get around the Mercedes she knows Carlos is driving, but despite almost getting past he misses the mark by half a second. Before they know it they’re crossing the finish line barely behind the Mercedes. There’s a three way tie for the others about two seconds later.

And then everyone exits their cars. There’s some bragging and arguing. As Charles and Iman change sides he lightly bumps into Carlos with a frown on his face. He’s trying to seem upset, but the smile he’s wearing is wide.

“What about being comrades?” Charles jokes.

Carlos laughs. “Not here.”

Iman slides into the driver’s seat and takes a few deep breaths as her fingers trace the steering wheel. Nerves creep in, but they leave her the moment she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Charles looking at her with a bit of concern.

“Are you okay?”

“A little bit of nerves. Nothing I won’t shake as I put them behind us.”

That brings back the smirk that he wore when he was behind the wheel. There was obviously going to be some uncertainty about her being the only non-driver in the race, but as she smiles back at Charles she realizes he didn’t bring that up or seem bothered when she snatched him up from someone who he’d seen do this for a living. It was a nice reassurance. Even if she knew damn well she could hang with the big boys. At least in this kind of situation, behind an F1 car was another thing entirely.

A muffled shout interrupts the moment and Charles puts down his window, revealing Lewis with his own down. He’s smiling, but it’s that stupid lazy one he puts on when he’s feeling himself. 

Annoying man.

“Ready to lose, Immy?”

Of course he uses that nickname while being annoying.

“You should be asking yourself that, LuLu.”

“Well, I am a seven time…”

Iman flips him off and he shuts up, looking appalled. Charles puts the window back up while laughing, but she catches Lewis’ returning the gesture.

Again Charles reaches out and they bump fists. Then it’s lights out and away they go.

In comparison Iman’s take off is delayed, but despite the few inches everyone has in front of her when she does get going, she closes and surpasses it. She puts her speed over one hundred and keeps it there on the first turn. Lewis pulls ahead and so does Lance, but she manages to evade being boxed out and puts a little over a second between them. 

The next turn has her losing speed a little, but she regains it and keeps herself next to Lance and Daniel for the straight and then on the next turn, she guns it. With ease she ends up in front of Lance and then she’s next to the Mercedes. Lewis increases speed, but it doesn’t beat her out. In the final turn she does what she did in the last one and pushes the car to its limits. The last few feet before the end of the track are a close race, but at the last second she pushes further.

With her speed the car goes past the finish, but it’s a second or two before her brother crosses the line. Everyone else trails by a second or more and then they all leave the car. Iman is shaking from the speed and the excitement. Charles rushes over and pulls her into a hug she happily returns. 

“That was great. No, excellent. You crushed it,” Charles says.

“Thank you.”

There’s some shit talking, but they all praise her.

Lewis is pouting, but it’s not fooling her at all. He’s the last to pull her into a hug and it’s tight. 

“You did fucking phenomenal, Immy. I didn’t expect that. You blew away all expectations,” he says.

As he pulls away he kisses the top of her head and refuses to let her go. Pride shines on his face and she feels even more proud of herself. She feels like she’s the shit. There are no delusions of grandeur on the level they’re at, but she beat multiple professional racers at something adjacent to their own game and that’s good enough.

“I did learn some things from the best,” she says.

He laughs, throwing his head back a little and then pulls her into another hug. They pull away and Pato walks up, patting her arm.

“Maybe you should be in Nascar, that was better than your IndyCar test,” Pato says.

“Her what? You’re what?” Lewis moves so fast to look at Pato and Iman that he should have whiplash.

“Uh…”

Pato winces. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Iman Marie Hamilton. You’re what?”

He moves toward her just as she ducks behind Charles. With how serious - but not in a bodily harm way - he looks she’s sure Charles is going to move out of her brother’s war path, but he reaches a hand around and takes hold of her shirt. As Lewis tries to get around him he moves with her, using the shirt to leverage her.

“Maybe we should forget this and go to dinner.”

Sweet Charles is trying to de-escalate, but it’s not working and that’s in part because he can’t stop himself from giggling. Which turns Lewis ire from just  Iman to both of them.

“LeClerc. Is this the war you want?”

Everyone holds their breath and seconds tick by.

“Yes.”

And without a word Iman breaks into a sprint with Charles following suit. Carlos has chosen Lewis' side so he goes for his teammate. Pato and Lance run interference for Iman while Alex and Daniel join in the sport of being the first to get to Charles. It’s chaos and it dissolves into laughter and labored breathing so quickly. Yet none of them stop.

You’d think they were all a bunch of children and not very much grown adults. But it’s so funny that Anne puts the camera people to work chasing them down for all the actions.

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 11/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015

2016 – Jake

                Jake hasn’t exactly reconciled with his family. But at his grandmother’s funeral his sister had found him and forced her number into his phone, and now he exchanges phone calls with her every week or so. He always waits for her to call him, gives her a window of time that he’s available to take her call. He knows she keeps it quiet with their parents that she’s in contact with him, but he doesn’t care, she wants to talk to him and thinks their parents are in the wrong. He now gets to know what his nieces are doing, gets to see videos of first steps and words, silly little day-to-day things which he has clearly missed from his older niece. He gets to talk to his sister, and through her hear about his family, even if it hurts.

                He’s turning thirty this year, and he guesses his sister at least feels like a decade of almost no-contact is finally too much. Like somehow not having anything to do with his family would magically change anything. Like he’d somehow choose to be gay when all it’s done is made him feel like an outsider and jeopardized his career. Or her world view has just slowly started shifting and she’s trying to make up for not being there for nearly a third of his life. Part of him feels ashamed for letting her back into his life so easily, with only the barest hint of an apology. That he feels so desperate for some semblance of his family that he never stopped missing is finally back and still has so much power to hurt him.

                He knows Javy doesn’t like it, frowns every time he takes a call he knows is from Susie. Maybe one-day he’ll get to introduce them, when he thinks Javy won’t end up needing to be bailed out of jail for assault, his protective streak ten-miles wide. He hasn’t said anything to Nick either, doesn’t want to bring up the fact that he has a small bit of his family back in his life when he knows Nick can never have that. Death is a lot more permanent for a start, and while Jake doesn’t ever expect to see his parents again, he knows that they’re still alive. They might come around one day, there are always those miracles that happen.

                And thinking of miracles he’s certain it’s going to take one for him and Nick to actually meet. They’ve decided to try and stop planning to meet up, every time they plan it something happens. Instead they’ve shared their deployment dates, intentionally not making plans for anything during their periods of leave. In addition to that they’ll both turn their location on when they’re on leave, no matter how short, whether it’s shore leave or extended leave, they’ll try and find their way to each other. So while it means not making plans with anyone else Javy at least understands his desire to finally meet Nick and is happy to run interference with his family about Jake’s apparent lack of commitment to coming to stay when he’s on leave. They’ve reviewed their schedules for the next few months, there’s not any time they’re both on leave for the first few months, but there are times later in the year, so he’s just got them in his schedule with Nick??? and hopes for the best.

…            …            …

                He next sees Bradshaw at a ceremony where they’re both being awarded an Inherent Resolve Campaign medal, and if anything the asshole looks even better and Jake appreciates it while also hating it a little. Sometimes life just isn’t fair. Why couldn’t his face have erupted in boils or something. He’s talking to Admiral Kazansky, and Jake can’t help following him with his eyes, hates just how comfortable he looks talking to one the highest-ranking members of brass in the room. Of course Bradshaw is confident in every setting.

                Jake still hasn’t figured out what he said or did to cause Bradshaw to not like him, the guy has got the fucking biggest chip on his shoulder and Jake is baffled as to why a guy everyone else has generally spoken of with warm regards seems to have it out for him since they met. Jake knows he’s not the best at making the best first impression, but he hadn’t been awful that he can remember. Not enough to make someone act toward him like he’s not even worth the time of day. He lets out a breath, realizes maybe he’s being a little harsh, because Bradshaw hadn’t seemed quite as annoyed with him the last time they were deployed together. Not that Jake will ever thank him for his callsign, but he’d asked how Jake was, may have even cared if Jake had admitted to not being okay. He’ll never know.

                “Lieutenant Seresin.”

                Jake does a double take, because as if thinking about the other man has made him appear from across the room. Also that tone isn’t cutting or annoyed, instead it’s almost… smooth. Not sweet, not friendly, but it’s definitely something, and it holds the promise of more.

                “Bradshaw.”

                There’s not quite a question at the end, and as he shifts to face him he catches the quick sweep of his body that Bradshaw gives him, gives his body, before dipping to his lips and holy shit, Bradshaw just checked him out. It’s not quite a sharp one-eighty from a few years ago, but he guesses they’re on equal footing now, no difference in positions or ranks, there’s no DADT, there’s nothing that he can think of. Then he remembers Javy saying Bradshaw had something going with someone. Something serious. His conscience pricks a little, but it’s not his person that he’s cheating on. He wonders if they know, that Bradshaw goes around making eyes at people and then… well. He hasn’t done anything to Jake yet but for the first time he thinks that something might actually be happening.

                “You have any plans for the rest of the night?”

                As if the blatant up-down look wasn’t enough, he’s outright asking Jake and it’s taking his brain a little to catch up, wants to come out with a quip, wishes he could seriously think of rejecting him just to give him a taste of what it had felt like. Instead he’s shaking his head, ignoring the fact that he does in fact have plans with Javy to go out for a drink and bowling.

                “You want to get out of here?”

                “Yeah,” Jake says, and god he wishes his voice didn’t sound quite so breathy. He coughs and clears it, hopes that covers it, although the way Bradshaw is smirking at him he doesn’t think it did.

                “You have a place?”

                “I’ve got a hotel room.”

                “Perfect.”

…            …            …

                It’s about a fifteen minute walk, and neither of them speak, a few people giving them respectively nods as they pass, which is normal considering they’re both in full dress uniform. Jake feels attuned to the mere inches between them as they walk, taking the elevator up to his room and then both taking their shoes off at the door like it’s someone’s home.

                “You done this before?” Bradshaw asks and Jake rolls his eyes, because while it’s not like he broadcasts the fact he’s gay, he’s over thirty and in the Navy, and DADT was repealed five years ago now.

                “Yeah, don’t need to go easy on me or anything.”

                “Oh, I was never going to be easy…” Bradshaw says, and Jake doesn’t have time to ask what he means before he’s being pressed back against the door and kissed, Bradshaw’s leg slotting between his, hips grinding against him and Bradshaw already feels half-hard. He’s efficient at undressing, his fingers working at the buttons on Jake’s jacket while his mouth sucks at Jake’s bottom lip and he can’t help the little gasp as Bradshaw’s moustache scrapes over his jaw line.

                “You got any special requests?” Bradshaw asks, and he seems like he’s a guy who enjoys sex. Laughs with his partner in bed. For the first time since they met Jake’s getting to see the friendly side of Bradshaw that everyone else gets normally. He wonders if he’ll get it when he’s not about to suck his dick. Yeah. That is what he wants now.

                “I want to suck your dick,” Jake says, arousal making his tongue thick in his mouth, the words slurring together.

                “Be my guest. I’ll take real good care of you after…”

                He can feel Bradshaw’s smile against his neck, his lips moving as he talks, his tongue licking at the tendon in Jake’s neck and he shivers as Bradshaw pushes his jacket off his shoulders, taking his own jacket off and carefully hanging them both up, grin a little sardonic as he shrugs.

                “Pretty sure neither of us want to iron them again anytime soon. Come on, pants off too. You can’t kneel in those…”

                Jake doesn’t need to be told twice, doesn’t kick them off in his haste, they are his dress blues after all, again watches as Bradshaw takes time to carefully lay them over the back of the little sofa. The way Bradshaw is watching him makes him feel self-conscious so he tries to feel confident. Obviously Bradshaw likes something he sees, because he’s here after all, and his cock is definitely outlined in his briefs and Jake’s mouth waters a little.

                He’s not even aware that he's licking his lips before Bradshaw is kissing him again, hands running over the bare skin of his arms, tugging at his undershirt and Jake strips it off and drops it to the ground, presses Bradshaw back against the wall and then drops to his knees and runs his nose up the length of his dick. It is definitely firm, maybe not quite all the way hard, but considering he’s not even got his mouth on him yet it’s gratifying that he’s maybe the reason he’s so turned on already. Then Bradshaw is pushing him away and Jake frowns up at him, wants to ask what he’s doing.

                “Condom. Safety gear’s important…”

                Of course he’d say that, and Jake doesn’t disagree. He watches as Bradshaw grabs a few condoms from his pocket, god, how many are they going to need? Watches as he strips off his socks, briefs and undershirt and he’s just as gorgeous naked as he is fully clothed; confident in his own skin and yeah, Nick was right, it is attractive. Fuck him. He watches Bradshaw watch him as he strokes his cock to full hardness and then tears the wrapper, rolls the condom down his cock, eyes hooded as he watches Jake instead of needing to watch what he’s doing. It’s hot for a variety of reasons, not least because Jake seems to hold his whole attention.

                Then Bradshaw’s stepping past, leaning against the wall looking relaxed, like he has all the time in the world, smiling down at Jake and one eyebrow raised like he’s asking a question. Jake’s isn’t going to hazard a guess as to what the question might be, just licks his lips again and wraps his mouth over the head of Bradshaw’s cock, one hand on his thigh while the other settles near the base of Bradshaw’s dick, brushing over the pubic hair. He’s never grown accustomed to the taste or texture of latex, but this is… maybe not latex? He pulls back.

                “You got your own fancy brand of condoms you carry around with you Bradshaw?”

                “Latex allergy, pays to be prepared.”

                Of course he fucking does. He wonders how he figured that one out. Wonders exactly how bad it is but he’s not making friends with Bradshaw, he’s here to get off and get Bradshaw off. So he sets about giving Bradshaw a blowjob, and he’s better at it than he used to be, uses his hands and alternates between sucking him down and licking everywhere, gently sucking on each of Bradshaw’s balls before returning to do hard and fast sucks on the head with longer bobs down to take more of him in.

                His jaw aches a little, out of practice but Bradshaw doesn’t seem to notice or care, his fingers gentle in Jake’s hair, like he doesn’t want to scare him off and Jake has to tamp down on his feeling of competitiveness. He doesn’t need Bradshaw fucking holding back from tugging on his hair so reaches a hand to cover his, curls his fingers and catches some of his hair between his fingers and Bradshaw’s and then tugs. His groan echoes Bradshaw’s, and the jerk of Bradshaw’s hips is nice too, catching him a little unaware and he gags a little which seems to turn Bradshaw on even more.

                His own cock is hard in his briefs and he lets go of Bradshaw’s hand to rub at his own cock briefly before bringing his hand to cup Bradshaw’s balls, fondles them and they’re damp with his spit from when he was sucking on them; he tugs them gently, feels Bradshaw’s entire body shudder, a wave centered on his cock moving outward.

                “Jesus Seresin… fuck…”

                Then he’s just mumbling under his breath, so good, god, your mouth, gorgeous and Jake lets himself soak it all in, likes that Bradshaw is vocal enough to let him know he’s enjoying it. Then he feels nails scraping over his scalp before Bradshaw’s entire body goes taut and Jake is feeling Bradshaw’s body jerk as he comes and the moan he makes seems linked directly to Jake’s own cock, making it throb. God he’s glad Bradshaw has already promised to reciprocate, really hopes he’s at least halfway decent.

                Bradshaw is pulling him to standing, kissing him with bruising hardness and Jake lets himself kiss back, a little breathless and more surprised. Most guys he’s hooked up don’t kiss a lot, especially not after a blowjob; usually saying they don’t like the taste, which Jake has always found a little odd considering some of the tastes of other parts of the body. Each to their own he guesses, enjoys Bradshaw kissing him and walking him backward to the bed, his hand already palming Jake’s erection through the fabric of his briefs.

                Then Bradshaw is guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed, then he’s kneeling between Jake’s spread legs, his eyes intent on Jake’s face like he’s waiting for Jake to say something but he can’t. Can’t think of anything to say that he won’t wish he said differently later so he just raises an eyebrow and makes a get on with it gesture with his hand, hopes that says enough. It seems to do the trick, Bradshaw huffing in amusement but then he’s mouthing Jake’s cock through his underwear, the warmth from his mouth seems to intensify the heat around his cock and why does that feel so good.

                “Lie back if you want…”

                “No. Want to watch…” Jake says, then Bradshaw is standing again, leaning down to kiss him and cupping his face carefully like this isn’t just a hookup and Jake wonders if he’s like this with all his hookups. Doesn’t let himself wonder about how he might be with anyone who might not just be a hookup.

                “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back. You got any lube?”

                Jake nods, makes a grabby hand gesture toward his toiletry bag like a fucking toddler and tries not to be mortified by the whole thing, mainly the grabby hands or his apparent eagerness for any and all activities that require lube. Bradshaw either ignores him or doesn’t notice, unzips it and pulls out the little pump bottle, inspecting it before nodding like its passed inspection. He grabs a towel from the bathroom and then he’s back, grabbing the pillows and making a little pile so Jake can lie back and also watch.

                “Art of compromise…” Bradshaw says with a smirk and Jake rolls his eyes but lets Bradshaw gently push him back, kissing a trail down Jake’s body, licking and sucking over his neck, down his chest, flicking his nipples with the tip of his tongue, one after the other. Then his hands are working the band of Jake’s underwear, working them down and Jake raises his hips to help. The air of the room feels cool on his cock, then he feels the condom getting rolled down, doesn’t stop himself from thrusting into the circle of Bradshaw’s fist, although kind of wants to knee him in the side of the head when he huffs with amusement again.

                Then he thinks he could forgive Bradshaw anything, his mouth tight and hot and just all the fucking way down like he doesn’t need to work up to it. Jake definitely snaps something out, but has no idea what it is, his brain not offering anything other than the black and white static. Bradshaw has definitely had more practice than Jake, or maybe just has natural talent, and Jake can’t help the little jerks of his hips as Bradshaw sucks him down again. He meets Bradshaw’s eyes, and it feels weirdly intense so he closes his eyes, suddenly feeling too exposed.

                Then he feels the fingers, Bradshaw’s fingers, slippery with lube and Jake didn’t even notice when that happened. They’re not pressing, just rubbing between his ass cheeks, pressing gently on his perinium. Then there’s a more obvious press against his asshole and Bradshaw is pulling off his cock.

                “Seresin… yes or no?”

                “Yes. Fuck yes. Come on…”

                “Feel free to tell me to stop.”

                “I’m not going to tell you to fucking stop.”

                “You can also tell me to go harder, or faster, or… just use your words and let me know what you want. Never stopped you before, hmm?”

                “Fuck you. Get on with it.”

                Fortunately Bradshaw does return to sucking his cock, but he’s now massaging Jake’s  perinium with a thumb, another finger is rubbing circles around his hole, slowly increasing in pressure and he wonders if Bradshaw’s just being cautious or…

                “Just put you fucking finger in my ass Bradshaw, for fucks sake…”

                “Just had to ask.”

                Jake thumps his head back on the pile of pillows, and his annoyance is immediately overwritten by Bradshaw no longer wasting any more time and going directly for the kill, brushing over his prostate and Jake hates how his precision in a plane is apparently a transferable fucking skill. Bradshaw’s got a hand tight around the base of his cock, like he doesn’t want Jake to come too soon. Then there are two fingers, long fingers, pressing up inside him, not gentle brushes, direct pressure and his spine feels like it’s a sparkler, sparks hitting his body all over and he arches into it.

                “Holy shit…”

                “Yeah, there we go. Come on. Want to take you apart.”

                Jake can’t tell him no. Doesn’t want to. Just gives in to the overwhelming sensations of someone intent on bringing him as much pleasure as possible. He’s never had someone seem so focused on giving him a blowjob before, although he guesses Bradshaw has already come so isn’t in any rush to get off himself. Combined with the anal play he’s quivering on the edge of coming. Bradshaw is somehow calm and collected even adding a third and fourth finger and Jake can feel himself shaking with the need to keep control. Jake wants to see Bradshaw lose it a little, but doubts if he will.

                Bradshaw wants to make him fall apart, and Jake is pretty sure he’s more than capable of making that happen now and he doesn’t have to hold back or pretend, not right now. He can let himself go, not be so careful of what Bradshaw might think. It’s sex, and Bradshaw already doesn’t like him very much, being… well, being a little bit more open and exposed is normal during sex. He can let himself have this, will let himself have this. He’s allowed to want this. Lets the pleasurable sensation of Bradshaw’s mouth and tongue on his cock wash over him, the feeling of his fingers, both on him and in him, the press of their skin together in other places where Bradshaw’s touching him. It feels increasingly overwhelming, all of his senses feel glutted; the sight of Bradshaw sucking him down and not pausing for breath or a break. The smell of their combined bodies, sweaty, the sound of his own breathing, rough in his ears. Bradshaw’s little pleased throat sounds and groans. And overlaying it all the sense of touch and he feels like Bradshaw is everywhere, in, on, over, under, around him. He let’s out a high pitched whine, can feel his orgasm cresting, about to wash over him any second.

                “Close. Oh fuck… so close. Shit. Yeah…”

                He says other things he’s sure, but Bradshaw doesn’t stop, just keeps sucking him and Jake jerks and shudders, thrusts a little into Bradshaw’s mouth before Bradshaw’s pulling himself off and peppering the skin around Jake’s thighs and groin with little butterfly kisses, fingers slowly easing out. Jake lies there, sucking in lungful’s of air as oxygen returns to his brain and Bradshaw is up and doing something… washing his hands in the bathroom apparently. Then he’s back, carefully removing the condom and tying it off before using a warm wet facecloth to wipe Jake clean. He bets Bradshaw is the type that would lick his partner clean.

                Then he feels Bradshaw straddle him, ass resting on his thighs, then he’s placing more little kisses down Jake’s neck and then around to the other side, like it’s a necklace. His moustache tickles at the same time it kind of turns him on, like he wants to squirm away and press into it at the same time. Then it hits him. Bradshaw has a moustache. He closes his eyes and imagines what it might feel like if this was Nick’s mouth on him. He knows it’s not great etiquette to be in bed with one person and imagine another, but Bradshaw will never know.

                That’s when he notices Bradshaw’s cock is hard again and he doesn’t know what to say, what Bradshaw wants to happen here. The realization that Bradshaw got hard again while blowing him makes his own cock twitch and god, he’s not even gone a little bit soft. What the hell. Bradshaw is grinding their cocks together, except it’s too light to be considered a grind, is more like the little butterfly kisses, just little touching glances before moving away and it’s a little maddening, and he wants to press into it all, both the kisses and his cock.

                “Want to fuck you. That something you’d want?” Bradshaw asks, voice low against his neck and then he’s sucking Jake’s earlobe, the pulse in his neck where he’s certain Bradshaw can feel how fast his heart is racing. Jake doesn’t open his mouth, just reaches to place one hand in Bradshaw’s hair, and letting the other grab an ass cheek, pulling Bradshaw down into him as he pushes up and their cocks and hips press against each other almost painfully and Jake just gasps. Then Bradshaw is moving, body coming to cover his and he’s so glad for it, feels anchored to the world.

                “Yeah, yeah. Fuck me.”

                “You sure? Not too sensitive?”

                “Fucking come on,” Jake mutters, breaking his silence and a flash of something passes over Bradshaw’s feature, too fast to identify. He’s already relaxed and stretched from the blowjob, shifts onto all fours so he can avoid looking at Bradshaw in the eyes while they fuck. Doesn’t want to think about why he doesn’t want that too much. Doesn’t need to watch as Bradshaw puts another condom on and slicks Jake up with more lube. When Bradshaw presses into him it’s firm and slow, unyielding and Jake groans into it, breath hitching a little, wants him to move the alleviate the discomfort and at the same time wants him to never move, to somehow press himself further in.

                “C’mon, move.”

                “Nope. Not yet…” Bradshaw mutters, and Jake doesn’t know if he’s just being difficult or if he has a reason for not moving. Bradshaw’s moving his hips in a tiny incremental grind, he can feel his balls brushing him. “You feel good Seresin. Let me enjoy it.”

                Jake doesn’t say anything, because it’s not totally a bad thing that Bradshaw isn’t moving, he’d just thought he’d want to get on with it. He can feel himself relaxing around the intrusion, can feel himself starting to grind back slightly and it seems to be whatever signal Bradshaw was waiting for maybe as he pulls back a little before grinding back in, repeating the slow short thrusts. He’s never been fucked after he’s already come, never realized this was maybe a thing that could happen, but he likes the way it’s making him feel.

                “Can you come again?”

                “I… I don’t know,” Jake answers honestly, because this is all new territory, the fact that his cock is still hard, never really went away after he came the first time.

                “Let’s find out hmm?”

                “Oh fuck…” Jake breathes, his words hot and damp against the skin of his arm as he parses exactly what Bradshaw means by that. Fuck. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

                He’s not sure what else might be part of the plan, but Bradshaw seems curious as to what will make Jake squirm, shout, gasp, swear and everything in between. He shifts with no pattern or direction between slow grinds of his hips, pulling Jake up a little and working his cock in his hand, then longer, deeper thrusts while he sucks bruising kisses to his neck and shoulders, to a fast-punishing pace, hips snapping in and out all while his fingertips dig into Jake’s hips. All of it is good in its own way, he doesn’t have a favorite although he can tell Bradshaw seems intent on figuring it out.

                Bradshaw’s body is slick with sweat, he can feel the odd drop of it hit the overheated skin of his back where it offers a little flash of coolness for a brief moment. The sheets are damp with his own sweat, he’s panting, fingers grasping desperately at the sheets as he pushes back. God. He had no idea it could be this good. Wants to comes, knows he can definitely come, but never wants it to end all at the same time. It’s when Bradshaw presses himself along the length of Jake’s back, circles his hand around Jake’s cock and starts jerking him off that he knows.

                “Think you can come again Seresin?”

                “Yes… fucking yes…” Jake hisses between clenched teeth.

                “Good. You going to come for me then?”

                “You first…” Jake gasps out, holding back through some sheer force of will and good luck.

                “Oh fuck…” Bradshaw grunts, and Jake feels him jerk, his hand on Jake’s cock stilling briefly before it goes back to stroking and then Bradshaw is murmuring your turn under his breath and Jake’s orgasm is intense, like the first one of the night never happened, his whole body arching to be closer and he slumps down, uncaring if Bradshaw falls with him. Holy shit his brain provides and Jake grins stupidly against his arm, because his brain has the right idea and he closes his eye briefly. He must doze off for a moment or two, because when he opens them again Bradshaw is almost completely dressed, just his pants and undershirt, jacket carefully folded inside out, tapping at his phone with his other hand.

                “Hey. You’re back with me,” Bradshaw says, and he’s fucking smug but Jake guesses he kind of deserves to be. Holy shit his brain repeats, and his body definitely echoes the sentiment. He’s going to jerk off remembering this. “You good?”

                “I’m good. So good.”

                “Hmm. Good. Catch you around Seresin.”

…            …            …

                He falls asleep, his body feeling well worked over and achy in the best possible way. Like a good run in warm sunshine followed by a really good jerk of session in the shower. But better. So much better. When he wakes up he still can’t believe that it was Bradshaw in his bed last night.

                Fucking Bradshaw.

                Literally fucking Bradshaw.

                He’s a little annoyed with himself. Can’t believe he’s had sex with a guy that is kind of an asshole and it was good. He wanted so badly for it to be absolute shit, to be able to tar Rooster with the same selfish-asshole brush as the very few guys he’s slept with previously. He’d taken what Nick said to heart, not pushed himself too early, but he’s had decent sex now. What he’d thought was good sex. And now he knows it was barely decent. The fact that the best sex he’s had is with someone who seems to hate him for some unknown reason is galling, but he tries not to care about it.

                God. Imagining sex like that with someone he actually likes? It’ll be amazing. He rolls over and grabs his phone, plugs it in, has to wait for it to charge up; a little distracted last night to plug it in so it’s gone dead. He probably needs to buy a new one. He goes and has a shower, brushes his teeth and pulls a face at the marks on his chest, back and hips. Ah well. Nothing to be done about any of that now. He pads back into the room and picks up his phone, looks at the new photos Susie has sent him and then goes to open Grindr.

                Nine notifications.

                Shit.

>>You around?

>>I think we could meet?

>>Same city right now?

>>Jas?

>>Guess you must be busy.

>>Damn it.

>>Seriously thought fates were finally on our side.

>>I’m out on an early flight.

>>Hope you had a good night.

                Jake feels like throwing his phone across the room but resists, clenches his jaw and swallows down the disappointment. Fucking Bradshaw.

>>I am so sorry!

>>I had my phone on silent.

>>And then it must have died.

>>Shit.

>>I’m really sorry to have missed you.

>>Pretty sure you don’t want the Grindr notification sounds coming through your phone.

>>Why do you think it was on silent?

…            …            …

                He’s glad his phone had died, that he doesn’t have to lie. Feels odd telling Nick that he didn’t check his phone because he was busy having sex. Feels worse thinking that sex is the reason he missed meeting him. He both wants to share with Nick just how good of an experience he had, but it being the reason he missed meeting him feels rude. Not that it was intentional at all, but he still feels awful, because they were obviously so close and he realizes then that Nick may have been at the award ceremony. It was a large one, with many different factions of the Navy present and he doesn’t know if Nick has figured out that they’re both in the Navy. He could ask. Or he could just drop it into the conversation and he wonders if that’s what Nick did, can’t remember exactly how Nick mentioned it now, but he knows it’s true.

                He keeps it to himself for a couple of weeks, not ready to share it. Not ready to talk about it. Still processing his own emotions, not really sure how he feels or how he’s meant to feel. How he feels about Bradshaw is all mixed in and he has to try and separate the Bradshaw he had sex with from the Bradshaw that he works with in a professional capacity. Isn’t sure how they’ll interact the next time they see each other, knows he could get Bradshaw’s number if he really wanted to, but doesn’t want to… seem interested. He’s not. He doesn’t think he is anyway. But he can’t talk to Nick about it. Not yet.

…            …            …

                A couple of weeks pass and with the pass of time he feels like maybe he’s imagining just how good it was with Bradshaw. His memory is pretty good though and after he jerks off to the memory, changing the man to Nick even if he still looks annoyingly too similar to Bradshaw because of that fucking moustache he snaps a picture of his spent cock lying against his stomach and sends it through to Nick.

>>Gorgeous as always.

>>Any particular reason I get a treat without any prompting?

>>Definitely not complaining, just wondering what brought it on, see if I can make it happen again.

                Jake laughs a little out loud, reaches for tissues and wipes himself off.

>>Nothing you did sorry, although was your name on my lips when I came…

>>Jesus Jas. You trying to get me hard? I’m meant to be going out with friends.

>>I’m not stopping you.

>>Just. I finally had good sex.

>>I mean.

>>Best sex to date.

>>Pretty sure the guy hates me but fucking hell. I can understand the hype a little more now.

>>Yeah? Jesus.

>>Ten years is a long fucking time to wait before you have a decent fuck. You going to see him again?

>>Hahahaha.

>>No.

>>Did you miss what I just said about him hating me?

>>Think we might kill each other.

>>Hate sex can be hot right?

>>Ouch. That kind of sucks.

>>Yeah. Not exactly a great romance or what I was hoping for, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

>>Kind of annoyed that he was so good. Makes me hate him a little bit more.

>>Hate?

>>What did he do?

>>Hate me first? I don’t even know.

>>Just seemed to take one look at me and decided not to like me.

>>Trying to not care about it.

>>Is he hot?

                Jake groans, trust Nick to cut right to the center of Jake’s whole conundrum.

>>So hot.

>>Annoyingly so. Cocky.

>>But makes him more attractive. Asshole.

>>Oh yeah. I know the type.

>>Pretty sure they are my type actually.

                Jake feels a pang then, that Nick has a type, knows enough about himself to have developed a type.

>>Yeah? You like cocky assholes?

>>Sometimes. And sometimes I want to put them in their place.

>> Put them on their knees and make them beg for it.

                For a moment Jake thinks about Bradshaw, putting him on his knees to suck him off and his brain melts a little thinking about it. He understands the appeal more now, from both sides.

>>I think I need a connection to make the sex good.

>>Yeah? What makes you think that?

>>Well, while I haven’t exactly got a positive connection with the guy, it’s still a connection. We work together. Have similar life experiences I guess.

>>He’s in the military as well?

>>Yeah.

>>Bad idea huh?

>>Well, I can’t talk. I’ve had my fair number of hook ups, both before and after DADT.

>>Just be careful okay?

>>Yeah. Of course.

…            …            …

                He’s in the middle of the Pacific Ocean when he hears about the Pulse shooting and he immediately needs to send a message to Nick to check in, knows Nick is on leave in Florida and just has to hope Nick didn’t go out clubbing to pick anyone up. He gets back an almost immediate I’m okay.

…            …            …

                It’s happening.

                It’s finally fucking happening.

                They’re both coming here, a busy and popular pool hall filled with dozens of people clearly in the military and on leave. Jake’s been here before, a few years ago, and picked up an unmemorable blowjob in the bathroom. He’s early. Over an hour early, but he doesn’t care, he wants to see Nick walk through that door. He’d said Jake wouldn’t be able to miss him and Jake has no fucking clue what that means but he’ll trust him. He’s reaching for a cue bridge when he feels someone come and stand behind him, too close to be a stranger.

                “Seresin… fancy seeing you here.”

                Then Bradshaw is pressed against his back, lips brushing against his neck and Jake presses back automatically before stiffening and pulling away. He’s here to meet Nick, not fall back into bed with Bradshaw.

                “Bradshaw. As I live and breathe,” Jake replies, voice tight.

                “You look good… want a game?”

                Jake glances at his watch, then checks his phone as well before nodding. Bradshaw shrugs off his jacket and whatever button-down shirt he had on, leaves them carefully draped over one of the bar stools. Then Bradshaw racks the balls and offers Jake the break. He can feel Bradshaw’s eyes on him like a weight, wonders if he’s imagining or projecting as he watches the way Bradshaw’s fingers stroke his cue. Knows he’s not imagining it when Bradshaw keeps brushing against him, fingers brushing his when he passes him the chalk cube. When Jake reaches to take the cue bridge from Bradshaw, he holds on to it, steps in close.

                “Winner gets a blow job?”

                Jake doesn’t choke on his own breath but it’s close, because he’s already winning, but the way Bradshaw is looking at him makes him feel like he’d be doing Bradshaw a favor by letting him. Wonders if the blowjob would play out the same as last time. God he really wants to find out, his cock already starting to get hard and Bradshaw seems to know it, too. Smug fucker. He takes the cue bridge and lines up his shot, sinks his last stripe and then hands the cue bridge back to Bradshaw and pots the black without even looking away from him.

                “I’m actually waiting for someone, but I’ll take a raincheck…”

                “Hopefully somewhere we have access to a proper bed.”

                While Bradshaw sets the table up again Jake grabs his phone, can see the notification and he taps through to it.

>> I’m not going to be able to make it. Something’s come up.

                The message has a timestamp of about twenty minutes ago and he pushes down his disappointment, schools his face into one of indifference and pastes a smile on his face.

                “Seems like Javy got a better offer. Think I’ll take my rain check now.”

                “Double or nothing?” Bradshaw asks, his eyes amused and Jake lets the curl of arousal in his gut fully stretch out. He grins slowly, licks his lips, a little of his disappointment melting away. So he might not get to meet Nick tonight after all, but at least he can have a good time with Bradshaw.

2017 - Bradley

[superawesome40]

Imagine this:

It starts with Bobby John. Dean can't let the baby go, he reminds him too much of Sam, way back when Sam was this age, and Daddy was always sad (or drunk), and when Dean tried to speak the words got stuck, and he could not make a sound. He can't let the baby go, so he doesn't.

Over time, they gather more. Bobby John, Ben, Joe and Ryan, Emma, Alex, Krissy and Aiden and Josephine, Magda, Claire, Jack. They find Jesse again, 16 years old and alone and scared of himself. They find Charlie and Kevin, and even though they aren't quite their kids, they treat them with the same care.

Somewhere in between the always rising tide of children, they find the Bunker. It's perfect - dozens of rooms for everyone to spread out, to have their own space. Bobby doesn't die, but he does move to the bunker "To keep an eye on ya' idjits,”. The modifications they make to the Bunker for his wheelchair are worth it to see the pride in his eyes. Linda Tran moves in, and she and Dean have an ongoing war over who's in control of the kitchen.

Of course, things aren't perfect. Chuck is still a problem, and eventually he must be dealt with. They win, but the cost is heavy. Cas and Jack are gone, and Dean... well he's as good as gone. He never leaves his room anymore, except to get a drink. Their dysfunctional family is mourning, both for those who they've lost and for themselves. Disappearing and coming back is much more traumatic than you'd expect.

Eventually, in an attempt to cheer him up, they convince him to go on a hunt. Just a small thing, a nest of vamps. They've killed a man and mutilated his wife, as well as taken their kids, two small boys. Someone (later, no one will remember exactly who) jokes that they can take in the boys. Sam and Dean leave, looking more cheerful than they’ve been in weeks.

They get the call a few hours later. Sam tells them over the phone, barely understandable through his tears, that Dean was hurt in the fight and that the doctors aren’t sure if he’ll pull through. Using the variety of cars in the bunker, they break a handful of laws and probably the sound barrier on their way to the hospital. Bobby pulls Sam aside and he explains, in detail, what happened. They wait for hours before a doctor finally enters the waiting room, asking for the family of Dean Fletcher* (Millie Winchester’s maiden name).

Dean survives, barely. Recovery is an uphill battle, and the damage done to his spine, muscles, and nerves leave him wheelchair-bound and in near-constant pain. Eventually, he’s able to move around for short periods of time using forearm crutches and leg braces, but it’s only after a few years and a lot of physical therapy. At the very least, the Bunker needs no new changes to accommodate him, having been updated for Bobby ages ago.

A year passes. The two boys from the vamp hunt are moved into the Bunker after their mother succumbs to her injuries in the hospital, and quickly adjust and thrive in the new location. Sam and Eileen quit hunting, permanently. They move to town, only fifteen minutes away, and visit every Saturday for family dinner. When they get married, Sam Winchester becomes Sam Leahy. Jody retires, and moves her hoard to the Bunker. They’ve got the room, after all. Donna follows not too long after. Miracle is officially trained as a service animal, to help Dean with his panic attacks.

One night, Dean can’t sleep. He hauls himself into his wheelchair and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He stops at the sight of three people sitting at the table.

The reunion is a tearful one. Dean cries from relief, and guilt, and of course the burning pain that rips through his back as a result of him temporarily forgetting he can’t stand and launching himself out of his chair. Cas also cries, sobbing apologies into Dean’s hair from where they are curled on the floor. Jack, pressed between the two of them and both overwhelmed and overstimulated, can only beg for Dean’s forgiveness. His dads wipe away his tears and press kisses to his cheeks, assuring him that he has nothing to apologize for.

The only one who doesn’t cry is Adam, sitting slightly stony faced at the table. Later, once the commotion of the reunion has died and Sam has been woken and summoned to the Bunker, the three sit down to chat.

Adam tells them that he’s not angry anymore, and begs them to explain everything to him, starting from the beginning. He is especially curious about their father, and realizes through their stories that John badly mistreated them. Dean invites Adam to stay in the Bunker, but Adam declines. He says that there’s a lot he needs to do, but hesitantly suggests that they stay in touch. Their relationship is tentative at first, but eventually he becomes a permanent fixture in the family.

Cas and Jack are filled in on what they missed. Dean pulls them each aside and apologizes privately for the things he said and did before the end. He assures Jack that he is part of the family, and always will be. He tells him he’s willing to be Jack’s dad, if that’s what Jack wants. Jack enthusiastically agrees.

He can’t quite bring himself to say “I love you” to Cas, but he says something along the lines of “maybe one day.” He also implies to Cas that John was extremely homophobic, and the combination of that and the sexual trauma he has experienced through his life (getting money for food/rent as a teen, Hell, Lydia) makes him hesitant now to form romantic relationships. Cas, understanding as always, agrees and comments on how he has improved at opening up, to which Dean replies that there wasn’t much else to do when he was trapped in bed and couldn’t escape Sam and his relentless therapy-talks.

Jack tells them as a group that he has decided there doesn’t need to be a God, and has stepped down after reforming Heaven. He says that he used his power for the last time to bring back Castile and find Adam. He confesses to his parents that the power is not gone, and likely never will be. He also says that he would like to grow up as human as possible, and promptly shrinks to the size of a toddler, much to the bewildered amusement of his parents. They discover that he no longer has his memories, and Bobby suggests that they may come back when he’s older, and that forgetting is his young mind's way of protecting itself.

As time passes, Cas and Dean open the Bunker to other hunters as a research facility and safe space to stay for a few nights. Neither of them hunt anymore, but they offer support and badly needed organization. With Charlie and Kevin’s help, they set up a system like the one Sam originally had.

When Eileen and Sam announce they are expecting, Dean is ecstatic. When they reveal the baby is a boy and that they are naming him “Dean II”, he cries for a solid hour. He’s the first, outside of Sam and Eileen, to hold the baby, who he affectionately nicknames “Junior”.

In the end, they are happy. They live together peacefully.

Would anyone be interested in reading this on ao3? I miiiight be planning to write this… also any suggestions/question/concerns are welcome! Also, if I missed any kiddos (canon only, please), feel free to tell me! I’m perfectly open to expanding their hoard.

Also, I cannot take complete credit for this story. Quite a few elements are inspired by foolondahill17’s stories, Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans), and the miracles ‘verse by the same author. Both are absolutely amazing stories, and I highly recommend.

*According to the Supernatural Wiki, Adam Glass wanted the actress Louise Fletcher to play Millie Winchester should she appear on screen.

[tealfloyd]

A COSTUME-SHIFTING HALLOWEEN

"MC's first Halloween ended up being disastrous a marvelous one~!"

SUMMARY: During the last day of Halloween, MC encounters a singular ghost who drags her to a confusing situation... (Everyone x Fem!Reader)

WARNINGS: Death mentions at the end, jealousy (?)

CONTENT: I didn't have any ideas for Ortho :( The ghost has a sad backstory, and, uh— That's it, I think. WORDS: 7K+

A/N: Okay, I know Halloween has already passed, but I got an excuse since this is a repost, so bear with me here :)

Some costumes were hard to describe, but I think they're not that bad. They're acceptable tier, I guess.

After this fic, everything else published will be the requests I've saved, so I ask for some time before starting to work on the new ones!

Now onto the fic~

Halloween was just around the corner, and you’re still trying to figure out what is happening.

It was a strange surprise when Grim and you returned to your dorm, not expecting to see it covered with paper and cloth; somehow looking a lot like a Ghost Festival entrance.

Lilia was on charge of the decoration placements, and while you were okay with it (it actually made the Ramshackle dorm look good), Grim was demanding an explanation for this.

After he got it, you wondered if everyone was doing the same thing, and now that you think about it, you haven’t seen any of the first years after class during the recent days; most likely preparing everything for the arrival of the spooky season.

It wasn’t till the next day that you got a more detailed explanation of how Halloween was celebrated here; your troublemaker friends being overly excited for this event, and you had to admit that the joy was contagious.

And you may be wondering: “will this finally be the event where the only requisite is to enjoy it and not engage in any unusual thing?”

And to answer that question, I must ask: “MC, are you really attending NRC if not?”

8 DAYS FOR HALLOWEEN

A week before Halloween arrived, a steering committee session was scheduled so everyone could show the work they’ve done so far, talking about the venue decoration and the costume related to it.

Since a stamp rally was going to be held, everything had to be in perfect condition for when the guests would come to visit.

You got to see every dorm’s venue location and costume, amazed by the amount of work and effort they’ve put into it.

Vil tried to make you a costume, but you declined, stating that you were okay without a one. He really wanted you to have one, fuming slightly when you refused again, the response being that you didn’t want to take advantage of him. At the end, he reluctantly agreed to it, understanding your position.

However, that idea changed (non-voluntary) when the last day of the Halloween week started.

THE LAST DAY OF THE HALLOWEEN WEEK

Before I narrate the occurrences that happened the last day, first I must narrate what happened through the entire celebration.

You visited every dorm’s venue periodically, just wanting to have a fun time with your friends and talking about how cool their costumes were, along with some compliments of your own costume, the one that the ghosts gifted you in spirit of Halloween.

Everyone was trying to beat everyone, non-literally, of course (well, most of them). More like they were trying to show off in front of you, looking to gain your attention and appreciation.

It didn’t work at the end because they were all your friends, and you genuinely appreciated every performance they’ve put since that meant they were trying their hardest, and as much as they love your thoughtfulness, they wished you could have chosen their dorm.

Overall, everything went great. You were surprised at the way some of them interacted with children, finding it cute as you continued to stroll with Grim, the little creature receiving a lot of attention because of the viral picture the ghosts posted some days ago, leaving you to wait aside. This, shockingly enough, made you feel at ease, since now you weren’t the only girl roaming in the campus, which was now filled with children and their parents and/or brothers.

However, you weren’t invisible to a certain ghost, who decided to approach after seeing you for some time.

“Why are we here again? We’re missing all the fun!” Whined Grim, his little paws making it difficult for him to catch up with your fast pace.

“We won’t be here for long, but if you really don’t want to be with me then I guess you can go and—“ He didn’t let you finish as he ran away, excited to be once again the centre of attention. “—Leave me alone… Just when you think they’re going to listen."

You shocked your head in disbelief, returning your gaze to the pond, looking for something.

“Hey, little fishes~ Where are you~?” You called, gaze tracing the water to see if they were hiding. “It’s me, so there’s no need to hide—"

“I see you’ve grown quite fond of these creatures."

The unknown voice startled you, and you backed away in surprise, almost falling into the water.

“Oh, thank the Sevens…” Exhaling in relief, you exclaimed. “You scared me!"

“Isn’t that the purpose of this event?”

It didn’t come off as a surprise to be spooked by a ghost; you’ve grown accustomed to it since it was Halloween, yet it did seem weird that this one was the one spooking you, thinking that it took advantage of your unawareness.

“Can I help you with something? I don’t have candy right now but if you wait, I can bring you some," you said, hoping that your words convinced her.

“Oh dear, I’m not looking for candy," you turned your head, furrowing your brows. “I was looking for you”.

Baffled, you pointed at yourself. “Me?”

“Indeed, I’ve noticed that you are the only female student here," she floated closer to you. “I wonder why~”

You sighed. “It’s a large story, but that doesn’t explain why you’re looking for me."

“Aren’t you afraid of me?”.

“If I’m being honest ma’am, I’m more scared of Lilia’s cooking than your presence."

“Well, that works for me~," she chuckled at your response, seemingly thinking about something. “Where did you get that Halloween costume?”

“This?” You signalled the costume. “My ghost friends made it for me, since Grim and I were the only ones without one."

“I see~” She inspected it, humming in disapproval as she checked every detail. “Some of the seams are incomplete, and the colour palette can be better…”

“Hey, what are you doing—"

“I’ve decided!” The abrupt yell caught you by surprise, looking at her in shock. “You’re going to be my new muse, and your friend’s designs are the perfect way to start!”

Now you’re confused, completely and utterly confused, because you can’t comprehend what this ghost is talking about.

“Muse? I… I’m afraid I don’t understand…" You said, tone hesitant. “You shall not worry, dear! You will get it pretty soon!”

And with that final note, you seemed to have no other option than to let this ghost drag you outside the outings of the campus, floating towards Diasomnia’s location.

FIRST PARADE, DIASOMNIA: RAMSHACKLE DORM – A MIGHTY “LOONG”

The costume didn’t have any major changes on it; most of the original design was kept untouched, but what differentiated Diasomnia’s costume from this one is that it had a golden necklace, and in the centre of it was a shiny chrome diopside, the green gem contrasting with the solid colours of the entire outfit. But what did change was the head accessory, the hat being replaced by a golden crown, vaguely resembling a dragon.

“What are we doing here…?” You asked, seeing how everyone was walking around the intricate decorations.

“Now, stay still…” And just like she was using a magic wand, she started swinging her hand with grace and after some seconds and several sparks, she proudly smiled. “Done! Now tell me what you think!”

You looked down, surprised to see that your old costume was replaced with Diasomnia’s one, feeling somewhat conflicted. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

She took this as a good sign, happily exclaiming that she did an excelling job, attracting the attention of the visitors.

“Woah, look! It’s a ghost!”

“Is that girl part of the presentation? Her costume is so elegant~”

“She’s so pretty! Is she supposed to be an empress? The head ornament is really cool~!”

And with that, the people who were previously taking photos of the decorations now are asking to take photos with you.

The commotion being heard by the Diasomnia students, who approached to confirm everything was right.

Malleus is baffled. At first, he doesn’t know why you have a Diasomnia costume, but that thought is quickly forgotten as he steps closer to you, complimenting you in his unique way, accidentally making the visitors think that you were a couple. He doesn’t do anything to deny those claims, sighing sadly when you explain that you’re not, feeling slightly betrayed at that. He knows that you’re beautiful, and he understands the people who think the same, but he can’t help but apart you from anyone even the ghost that he thinks is too close, hiding you behind his intimidating form, leading you to calm him down so he wouldn’t scare the customers off. Sometimes, he wishes he could keep you safe in a tower. Just sometimes.

Lilia is enjoying the whole situation. He notices the female ghost that’s part of the “main show," and he guesses that maybe she could be the reason why you’re using his dorm’s costume he likes to play detective. He’s delighted with the design, saying some strange compliments that only Lilia would say, expressing his endearing feelings for you in a… Complicated manner, one that rivals Rook. He’s the first one that poses with you, happy to see your cute attempts as your fingers try to adopt a scary pose. He had to restrain Malleus at some point from hissing at a customer because he tried to flirt with you. He gets it, but he can’t let him hiss at anyone that tries to flirt with you!

Silver is the only normal person here, but in everyone’s defence, he’s the only person there. He compliments you too, yet it ends up sounding a bit… Frigid? He doesn’t mean it that way, you caught him, the normally collected Silver, off guard showing up with his dorm’s costume. His mind wanders from helping Lilia control Malleus, to you. He knows he shouldn’t be glancing at you; his priority is the sovereign of Briar Valley, but he supposes he can let himself be distracted when the life of his master is not in danger.

Sebek is yelling at you because “you didn’t get permission to use and change Diasomnia’s costume!” Shutting up after some seconds of this because of his master’s ominous glare. He doesn’t mean to appear so rude and the fact that he made Malleus angry is something that he would never forget, but how do you expect him to react after seeing you so… Empress-like? The royal aura you’re emanating makes him want to bow down before you and patiently wait for your orders, so that’s another bodyguard for you. He also sets aside anyone that is near you, accidentally blurting a: “haven’t you learn that royalty doesn’t interact with commoners!?” and now he’s a blushing mess, screaming: “I was talking about Lord Malleus, not you, human!”

Thanks to their unrequited actions, everyone mistook the scene as a comedy skit, fortunately helping their image because right now they’re a disaster.

They didn’t really ask about the ghost beside you, maybe a ‘why?’ and ‘what?’, but they’re pretty chill about it. Yes, even Sebek.

Lilia suggested that you all should take a selfie, and since Lilia’s the shortest he took it while floating, sending it to the group chat, most likely to annoy the other students.

As you were about to be engaged in another exhausting photoshoot with the visitors, the ghost decided that it was enough for you… In this costume.

She holds your hand, and you bid your Diasomnia friends goodbye as she leads you to the next location.

SECOND PARADE, HEARTSLABYUL: BOTANICAL GARDEN – A SKELETON GOTH LADY

The top was tight, the laces on it being identical as the original ones, while the cuffs were a bit more open. The pants were changed for a torn-up skirt, a little bit higher than the knee. Black stockings covered your legs, having a bone pattern so it would match with the skeleton concept. You didn’t had gloves, some white chains replacing them as they attached themselves to rings on every finger. Instead of a hat, you wore a skull pin on the side of your hair, a bit of black tulle added to it.

“The botanical garden, great… Why’re we here again?” You asked, a bit nervous because of the attention your costume was getting.

“My, haven’t you noticed? To change your costume, of course!” That easy going attitude wasn’t wearing off, and much less now that she’s got to see you as a source of “inspiration."

“My costume? Why? I thought it looked nice…”.

“It does! But my creativity has reached levels that I cannot ignore, so we will be changing your attire a few times today~," you couldn’t even have time to protest as she started doing the magic wand trick again, sighing at the lack of communication.

Once the magic was over, you looked down, seeing the new costume that resembled Heartslabyul’s skeleton idea.

“And…? What do you think~?” She asked, impatient for your answer.

“It’s—"

“Woah, look there! They’re holding a magic demonstration!”

“That’s such a cute costume! But I thought the students were the only ones using them?”

“I’ve heard that there’s a girl studying here, and to top it off she’s very pretty~”

“Oh no…” Indeed, here comes the photoshoot session again.

Riddle doesn’t even know where to start. He wants to scold everyone that it’s crossing your boundaries, and then he realises why it’s that. His face becomes redder than his hair, and he’s conflicted with his feelings because on one side, you look beautiful (he doesn’t understand why you’re using a Heartslabyul’s costume, but he guesses he can set it aside for now), and on the other side, some teenagers are getting too close to you, much to his and your like. He steps in, trying to be a good friend that helps another friend romantic interest, but he’s mistaken as a, and I quote, “loyal skeleton husband," Don’t worry MC, Cater’s been recording since the start of the interaction so you wouldn’t miss his flushed face. He ends up getting collared for that.

Trey chuckles, and you can’t help but think that Jade’s mannerisms had finally stuck to him. In reality, he’s doing it as a way to cover up his bashfulness, thankful of the veil covering his face. But that doesn’t mean he won’t tease you about it, saying some funny compliments in order to hide his flushed state. He’s the calmest out of the five when it comes to people approaching you, asking them to not invade your personal boundaries, his high figure making it easier for them to listen to him. He hears a comment that has him coughing out of the shock, stating that they wished they had such a gentle partner. You pat his back, completely worried because, Trey? Why’s your face so red?

Cater doesn’t know where to start; by the fact that you’re slaying in that costume or the fact that you’re using his dorm’s costume in the first place. He decides that is not important because the only relevant thing here is that you are using his dorm’s costume. He feels so proud as he announces that he was the one that came up with the original idea; not exactly this, but you know what he means. He’s the one that teaches you how to pose for photos with the visitors, snapping some quick selfies of you both and the rest of the students because it’s necessary, and no, he’s not taking any criticism. He posts it immediately, adding some fun captions and hashtags as he continues the photoshoot.

Ace remains quiet for five seconds, and you’re scared because you think he may mock you for using this. So, imagine your surprise when he muttered that you looked good in an unusual shy tone. The Ace Trappola complimenting you directly and with no teasing involved? It seems too good to be true, and it was as soon as you were about to say something nice too, he reverted to his normal personality and stated that it was because the costume itself made everyone look good. As some say, all good things must come to an end, so prepare yourself, because he’s going to tease you non-stop during your entire stance in the venue.

Deuce stays still, mind trying to elaborate the sentence he’s been meaning to say to you since some minutes ago. He’s so nervous that he ends up saying: “you look MC, beautiful." You laughed so hard that your stomach started to hurt, and the same thing happened to everyone else; even the visitors let out a chuckle at his innocent comment. He quickly tries to retract himself, blabbering that he didn’t mean it that way. He knows he just made the situation worse for him as you continue to laugh your ass off. Once you recover from the accidental joke, you tell him that’s fine, you understand what he meant by that. He’s relieved, but also concerned because he knows that Ace and his upperclassman are going to use this against him.

The whole scene seemed like a stand-up comedy show, the unintended funny comments made everyone think that it was a special performance since it was the last day.

Too bad for Deuce, now he’ll never hear the end of it because everything was recorded from start to finish. Don’t let him know that people are posting this, he’s not prepared.

Contrary to Diasomnia, they did ask about why you had a ghost accompanying you. You tried to explain them the situation, confusing them further. At the end you gave up because you didn’t understand it either, so you just dropped the topic.

After a few more photos, Cater took a surprise selfie, posing while everyone else was distracted. He also sent it to the group chat, with the captions: “Look who decided to join us~!”.

Not for long though, the ghost lady dragging you off to the following place while they were attending some customer, making them sad skeleton boys upon realisation.

THIRD PARADE, OCTAVINELLE: LABORATORY – A MUMMIFIED YOUNG RULER

Instead of the black shirt underneath the white button-up one, it had a crop top; a black harness belts covering it. An oversized white dress shirt was tucked into the skirt, some loose bandages wrapped around your waist, along with some leather belts to secure it. Your nails were painted black, and a boater hat was placed on top of your head, slightly tilted to one side.

“Are we visiting every venue because of your inspiration stroke?” You said, already getting tired of being dragged off.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it!” She exclaimed, stopping in front of the laboratory. “It’s time to change, aren’t you curious about my next work?”

“I would be lying if I said that I’m not."

She did her magic, and in a couple of seconds your costume had drastically changed; Octavinelle’s concept, you guessed.

“Do you feel comfortable in it? I don’t know if you like the top…”

“It’s fine, it’s not usually what I would wear but it’s comfy." Relieved, she exhaled, as if she could breathe for starters.

You were wondering if nobody saw you, and that thought vanished as you heard the now expected comments of the customers.

“Is that a ghost? She looks so cool!”

“And that girl over there, is she using a mummy costume?”

“Maybe she’s the female student everyone’s talking about!”

Both of you entered the laboratory, and that did nothing to soothe the stares and whispers; if something, it enhanced them.

Azul mind’s is multitasking. One part is processing the fact that you showed up, out of the blue, with a ghost and an Octavinelle costume; this is not something he can ignore, although he can’t ignore anything that has to do with you. And the other part is thinking of possible promotions for the Mostro Lounge with you on the cover; a businessman never stops being a businessman after all. He salutes you as always, cordially asking what brings you and your ghost companion there. Azul can be a great actor when the time requires it, and this is the time that really requires it; if he embarrasses himself in front of these amount of people, the tweels and you… Be certain he isn’t leaving his octopot anytime soon.

Jade knows that when something involves you, there’s always a twist, and what a charming twist you’ve made today. He’s entertained by this scene, softly chuckling as he puts on his best smile, greeting you with his gentlemanly demeanour. He’s checking your reactions at his planned compliments, finding all of them utterly adorable. The laboratory had a fair amount of people before you arrived, but since you showed up the visitors have been doing the same; and for this situation he has a subtle way to make the customers apart from you, and by subtle I mean scaring them off with “discreet” threats and a sinister close-lipped smile.

Floyd’s mood is constantly changing from happy to hostile. Happy because of you appearing with his dorm’s costume on and with a ghost; just when he thought his Shrimpy wouldn’t get more interesting! He’s stuck to you like a koala to a bamboo tree, happily talking until someone asks for a picture, and that’s when the hostile mood comes; he can’t stand anyone that comes near you in a ‘flirtatious’ manner, ominously looking down at them. You have to distract him with funny comments so he wouldn’t squeeze anyone, but there’s definitely an unspoken condition there: he’s going to appear in every picture taken, no complaints.

They’re lucky you visited two dorms before theirs, because if not people would start to suspect that maybe anything of this wasn’t planned at all.

At this point, everyone saw the two videos that went viral on Magicam, Lilia and Cater’s courtesy, which had the only female student at NRC magically changing her costumes with the help of a friendly ghost.

The three of them had seen the photos sent to the group chat, but Floyd was the one that spoke out loud, placing the phone real high, kind of not giving time for you to pose appropriately.

He sent it immediately, bragging off about the fact that they had the coolest selfie, creating a discussion under his message, giving start to a selfie war,

The ghost lady noticed the behaviour of the sly students, and so she took the advantage when they were distracted to drag you off there to continue her inspiration spree.

Less to say that they weren’t very happy about this.

FOURTH PARADE, SCARABIA: SAM’S SHOP – AN ARABIAN WEREWOLF PRINCESS

The main thing that differentiated this costume from the original is the top, which was red with some golden patterns on it, a translucent material covering your belly, same thing with the long sleeves. The pants were still baggy and white, a golden chain wrapped around your waist. You had a water drop head chain, making it easier for you to wear the wolf ears, while the clawed gloves were replaced with long, black nails.

“We shouldn’t have done that, now they’re going to look for us," you sighed, already thinking about the outcome.

“Don’t be silly, it would take a while for them to find us in this crowd," she seemed accustomed to it, and you don’t know if you should feel relieved or scared.

“I got lost in the mall once while shopping with Jade and Floyd, and they found me two minutes later. Two!"

“I know a thing or two when it comes to escaping~" Scared, that’s how you feel right now.

“I—" You thought for a second before re-doing your sentence. “What do you have planned for Scarabia?”

“I’m sure you would love this one!” She spoke with so much confidence that you were getting excited about this, staying still for the transformation.

Once it occurred, you were happy with the outcome, speaking your thoughts of it before she even asked. “This one’s great! How do you make these costumes?”

“You can say it’s my speciality~”

“Did they invite a princess?”

“I think she’s the female student of the videos; her werewolf costume is so cute!”

“MC!”

Oh, that was a different one.

Kalim acts like a puppy every time he sees you, all giddy and if he had a tail, it would be wagging. He was surprised to see you appearing in a different costume, and he happily complimented you, not realising at first that it was based off his dorm’s costume and not one of your ideas. You present him to your fashion ghost, who instantly loved his carefree personality, stretching hands with big smiles on their faces. It was cute, and that was a common sentiment as everyone asked for a photo; the supposedly ‘scary’ expressions only gained more attention, making Jamil act as a guardian for you both.

Speaking of Jamil, you thought he was mad at you for something since he didn’t say anything from the moment you arrived. He’s perceptive, so he probably knew this from the concerned look you unconsciously sent at him, muttering a small: ‘It suits you’ after. You don’t get to see his face since he’s hiding it, but you don’t mind, glad that you didn’t make him mad. As if you could make him mad in the first place; if anything, your presence makes him feel at ease, and he would’ve said something else if it weren’t because of the fact that you were dressed like an Arabian werewolf princess and the amount of people surrounding you right now.

Kalim already attracted the people, his cuteness being the cause of it. So, add to the formula you, the dress-shifter with a stylish ghost, and that equals: More people.

Jamil literally acted like a bodyguard, trying to control the crowd as you both posed for more pictures.

At some point, Kalim gave his phone to a girl and kindly asked her if she could take a picture of you three. She complied, shuttering a few photos until she was satisfied with the last one.

It was the typical best friend group photo; the lively Kalim, the annoyed Jamil and the one that’s in the middle, you.

Everything was fine until you heard a loud yell, which screamed: “Shrimpy~!” And that was the moment the ghost knew it was time to go.

FIFTH PARADE, SAVANACLAW: COLOSSEUM – A SOPHISTICATED CAPTAIN

The coat was larger than the original one, almost touching the floor; the ends were a bit thorn, but it was considered more elegant than the boy's version. You wore a fancy shirt, which was under a leather, black vest; you also wore the same pants, just a little higher and tighter. You wore several silver rings, and high leather boots. You didn't have an eyepatch though; what you did have was a pirate hat, with golden feathers neatly placed on it.

“Hey— Wait! You’ll make them angry!” You could barely stand by how fast she was floating, and you swore you were floating too because you couldn’t feel the ground.

“We are short on time; we don’t have time to worry about them!”

“But they’re 6’2! And Floyd can do parkour. It’s a matter of time before they find us!” Without context, it would seem like you both were escaping from the mafia; and with context… It’s the same, but for different reasons.

“You’re right!” She abruptly stopped, leaving you to fall face first on the sand of the colosseum. “This is the perfect situation for the next costume!”

“That’s what you’re thinking about? My personal space's on the line here!” You yelled, spitting the sand that got in your mouth.

“Shhh!” Shushing you, she helped you get up, doing once again the costume transformation. “There! Aren’t you the prettiest pirate here~”

“It does fit the context, though—”

“I didn’t know the Savanaclaw dorm had pretty girls~”

“I don’t think they do, maybe she’s the student from the videos.”

“She’s such a cool pirate~ I’m going to ask for a picture!”

“When will this end…?“

Leona was napping inside the boat in a secluded place, but he got up after hearing the commotion outside. He tried to sleep again, but the noise was too much for his sensitive audition, so he went to investigate the source of it. Less to say that he froze in place after seeing you; ‘why are you using a pirate costume’ and ‘what is a ghost doing beside you’ are some of his questions. He walked up to you, asking why you are wearing that, an unconscious smirk travelling up his features. He didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just his way to express interest, and you seem to get it because you thanked him. You drop the topic and explain the situation, and he’s baffled because he doesn’t get how you understand his actions yet don’t realise he’s in love with you, like, how does that even work?

Ruggie chokes. He was drinking water since his throat was starting to get dry after so much talking, and that’s when he saw you. He makes enough noise for you to notice, so you try to help him, unintentionally making it worse. Once he’s done with the coughing, he asks why you’re using his dorm’s costume; he didn’t understand the explanation, maybe because he was busy staring at you. He knows he has to say something, so he compliments you; not directly though, saying that the costume looked good. You agreed, toying with the golden buttons of the coat, failing to see his flushed face. Good, because if you did, he would have to lie, and his mind can’t elaborate a lie right now.

Jack was absent for the majority of your stay, returning from Sam’s because Ruggie asked him to bring some snacks. He did hear something about a female student changing costumes, but he didn’t imagine it was you at first, thinking that maybe a girl was taking advantage of the rumours. Now he knows that he was wrong. You spoke to him first, even retrieving his bags so you can place them aside, all while people still ask you for pictures. He only begins to move when they start to cross the line, hiding you behind him so you could take a breath from the sudden fame like a good friend would do, and not a boyfriend like the customers think- Wait, a boyfriend, your boyfriend? All the efforts he made to not blush go out of the window as his tail wags and his cheeks become red.

The visitors in Savanaclaw were more controlled than those in the other dorms since you had three scary beastmen by your side Ruggie can be scary, I’m sure of it, literally, and that reduced their shoving and overall craziness.

The idea of taking the photo was from your ghost companion, seeing that none of them brought it up.

It ended up being a pretty funny photo. A boy snuck behind you all, and before he could even pose, Leona grabbed him by the collar. Jack tried to set free the poor teenager, Ruggie was laughing, and you still stood there in the middle, smiling to the camera.

There wasn’t a second chance, she liked it too much to delete it, instead sending it to the group chat.

She decided it was enough fun for this venue and continued to the next one.

SIXTH PARADE, IGNIYHDE: LIBRARY – A MYSTERIOUS PUMPKIN DAME

Ignihyde's costume wasn’t changes in the slightest, it was the same black and neon blue armour, just that yours was adjusted so it would fit you. But instead of the greenish pumpkin head that Idia had, you had an orange one. The face in this one also changed, with mischievous eyes and sharp teeth forming a terrifying smile.

“Can I ask you a question?” You said, tilting your head to look at her.

“But of course, dear! What do you want to know?”

“Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not really an interesting person, and I’m sure there are a lot of people who are more befitting of these clothes than me."

“I see… Well, that is a topic I would discuss later, when I depart, but you were my only option for this, and I sincerely mean it," instead of the cheerful tone she always spoke with, she had a nostalgic one replacing it.

“Okay…” You both didn’t talk for a few minutes, only conversing again when you arrived to the library, a crowd of people inspecting the place. “Are you going to turn me into a knight?”

“Not a knight, dear. A dame!” She made her magic, and soon enough you had a new, shiny armour and a pumpkin helmet, unaware of how scary it looked. “How does it feel? Replicating that boy’s technology is extremely difficult, so I tried to make it as light as possible”

“It’s not too heavy, but this thing surely is suffocating me," removing it from your head, you organized your hair, a bit squashed because of the sudden pressure.

That movement was enough to get you a whole fan club.

“Kyah! Who’s she? She’s so cool~!”

“Right? She must be the girl that’s trending on Magicam, she’s prettier in person~”

“Who needs a prince? I want this girl to rescue me.”

“Wow, they’re getting more creative."

Idia first thought that a devoted fan of “Pumpkin Hollow” appreciated his work and decided to show up as the character to show his respect. He didn’t expect to see you out of all people but consider him a part of your fan club with that hair movement. His hair becomes pink, and he tries to deviate the conversation from your costume to the movie. To be honest, he felt betrayed when he knew that you didn’t watch the movie at first, yet he knows he can’t blame you because you were isekai’d into this world, so he asked you if you wanted to watch it. He thinks you loved the movie just as much as him, but when you told him that your new ghost friend made it for you he deflated a little. Not for long when you told him that you did like the movie, already planning a marathon for you and Ortho to watch.

Going to Ignihyde was fun from the start. I mean, sure, some of the people were annoying, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

At some point, you acted a bit, reciting a few lines of the movie that you remembered, making the visitors intrigued about the movie, muttering that they were definitely going to watch it Idia thinks he’s in love with you.

For the selfie, you took two: one with the helmet and one without the helmet. Idia wanted to delete the helmet-less one, but you pressed send before he could finish the sentence plead.

It was getting late, and you knew that the next location was going to be the last one, so you took the initiative and told the ghost (that suddenly became more thoughtful) that it was time to move, and so you both exited the library.

SEVENTH PARADE, POMEFIORE: MIRROR CHAMBER – AN ENCHANTING VAMPIRE COUNTESS

The Pomefiore costume really had major changes; you wore a Victorian dress, which had the same pattern and colours as the original, a black sash covering your waist. The cape had the same design, a bit larger so it could embellish the shape of the dress. You didn't have any accessories besides your black gloves. Your makeup was also done; a dark eyeshadow and lipstick complimenting your skin.

She did the transformation with no funny puns and old-styled jokes, and you thought something was… Off.

“Are you okay?” You said, calmly walking towards the mirror chamber.

“Of course, I’m okay. Why the sudden question, dear?” She replied, a forced smile making her way past her lips.

“You seem a bit… Sad." She widened her eyes at this, lips forming a gentle smile after a couple of seconds.

“It’s nothing to worry about, dear. This will be over soon."

“Huh—?”.

The usual three comments you got used to were replaced by the voices of your distressed (except Rook) friends, looking for an explanation as soon as you arrived.

“Potato! What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ma chérie, I’m glad you’re finally here!”

“I can’t believe we were your last choice…”

Vil felt offended and outraged. How can you decline him making you a costume, but you so gladly accept the same offer from an unknown ghost? He does realise he shouldn’t be mad at you; he doesn’t know if you gladly accepted after all, but he can’t help but feel betrayed. And you didn’t come visit them first; you know he’s a beauty guru, why would you hide this from him? He found out when checking his Magicam, the trending topic being: “NRC female student magically changes costumes with the help of a friendly ghost!” He calms down, not wanting to get a pimple out of stress; he does think the costume is great, sure, there are a few errors here and there, but nothing he cannot fix.

Rook is delighted. This man would praise you if you used a trash bag as a dress, so imagine the amount of compliments you’re getting from him using his magnifique dorm’s costume! He found out too when he was asking Vil something, strangely zoned out, so he decided to see whatever had him so mesmerized; but if isn’t his belle prefect! Of course Roi du Poison would be enchanted by this! He patiently waits for you to come visit, hopefully with a new costume based off his dorm, and he sure wasn’t disappointed! He even thanks the ghost at some point for enhancing your effortless beauty, and then he just straight up starts confessing in French. He knows you don’t know French, but he enjoys seeing you so confused as you try to decipher what the hell he just said.

Epel is also offended. MC! You’re one of his best friends and romantic interest and you decide to visit him last? How could you? He starts lightly scolding you, and in the middle of it, he shuts up, noting that you were indeed using your own version of his dorm’s costume. He becomes so red that he’s not a vampire anymore, he’s a tomato. Because of this, he lets you be, uttering a small compliment while looking away, not wanting you to see his blushing face. You get distracted by Rook, and he silently thanks him as he organises the stand; the gratefulness doesn’t last long because, well, it’s Rook, and Vil also added himself to the conversation, fixing a few details of your costume. He groans, discreetly commenting something so you would talk to him too.

The Mirror Chamber didn’t have any customer, and you felt a sense of relief washing over you. People would start calling you names if they noticed that you were friends with Vil, and you didn’t need that right now.

Since this was the last venue, you stayed with them until they finished cleaning, helping a little as you couldn’t really move freely in the dress.

You all went out, taking a break before returning to their respective dorms to prepare for the upcoming party, clearly taking a selfie before it which ended up winning the contest because Vil was the one who took it.

You were almost spotted by the tweels, but manage to hide before they saw you, carefully running with your friend towards your dorm.

Once you got there, she made her magic again, transforming the dress into a simpler one, white with some flowers on it, all while a heavy sigh leaving her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, now concerned because of this.

“MC, you know why I chose you for being my muse?” The sudden question caught you off guard, and you shook your head in response. “I had a daughter, just like you: young, beautiful, and had this charisma that made every head in the room turn into her direction. Truly a charm."

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. “I was a fashion designer when I was alive; I rarely saw my daughter, maybe once or twice in the week, and that if I had time."

“She got sick one day. I thought it was sudden, but the doctor said that it had been going for months, and that she had only a few ones to live. It turned out, it wasn’t like that."

“One week later I was rushing to the hospital, carrying her in my arms because she collapsed."

You guessed the end, but that didn’t stop the feeling of dread. “She died that day, and I couldn’t even tell her that I loved her…”

“I’m sorry…" You muttered, not knowing what else to say.

“When I saw you, I saw her; smiling and living contently with no worries, as if she was fine and healthy," she stopped to look at you in the eyes, and asked one more question. “Do you know why I’m a ghost?”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you shook your head again. “I promised her I would dress her with beautiful clothes; I promised her that I would be there …”

“Do… Do you mean that—"

“I think that this day may have given me the chance to encounter her again… That you gave me the chance to encounter her again."

“I…” You stopped for a brief moment, a warm smile forming on your lips. “Thanks for today. I really hope you can meet your daughter again."

She chuckled, slowly vanishing as she stroked your hair affectionately. “You’re such a kind girl. Those boys are lucky to have you."

And with that, she disappeared completely, white sparks fading as silence invaded the room.

You felt something wet on your cheek, only realising after touching it that you were crying.

“Henchman! Ace told me the party’s already starting! We better get there before they run out of food!“ Grim said, abruptly yelling as he passed the opened door.

“Yeah, sure, just, uh— Give me a minute…" Hurriedly wiping your tears, he stood there dumbfounded and concerned.

“Are you crying?” He asked, frowning in confusion.

“I’m okay, it’s just that… I remembered something” You smiled in order to ease him up, knowing that down deep his egoistic façade, he was worried about you.

And it worked, since he scoffed, quickly changing the topic as you two walked towards the location of the party.

There was one thing that she was right about, they were very lucky to have you, but you were just as lucky as them.

THE END~

DON'T REPOST.

EVERY CHARACTER BELONGS TO DISNEY AND YANA TOBOSO AND I DON'T TAKE CREDIT FOR THEM.

[waywardstation]

One last store update! After this I will begin sending emails to a subscriber list.

You can input your email of choice for my shop newsletter into this google form here.

A quick summary of some things:

I was unable to finish orders by printing their shipping labels by today, despite what I said last week, because of health issues that had to be addressed instead.

More of my product order was messed up, had enough items to fulfill every order but I’ve been left with ZERO extra stock on a couple items to put into my shop after.

I got enough interest in the Halloween keychains and stickers so I will be making them.

Full explanations below ^^

I have now packed every single order and reviewed all of their contents. However I was unable to send them out today as at some point last week I became very unwell. I’ve been going downhill for a while but it has never gotten to this degree this fast before. I still don’t really know what caused it and so I had been unable to pack over the weekend and couldn’t get all the shipping labels printed for them today.

I will be printing these labels out and taking chunks of the orders to the post office over the next few days.

But the more I’d packed the more I’d realized more of my product order had been messed up. I had ordered extras of everything and yet some of the products that I ordered just BARELY fulfilled every order — I had to use some of the initial samples to fulfill every order but rest assured they are the exact same as the products in size and quality. I have exactly ZERO of some products left over for shop stock when I’d ordered 10-15 extra of every item (as well as TOO MANY of some less popular products that didn’t need all these extras) which sadly means a few items will not be in stock when I open the store back up. I may put discounts on the unwanted extras I received because of this.

While I would expect by default to receive the products in the quantity that I ordered, I also understand that I ordered hundreds of products all in one order, and that is only one order that is being fulfilled out of the many other orders they get daily. I myself did not count out every single product to check because of the sheer amount of everything that was ordered — I had ordered over 500 keychains alone to fulfill the preorders and the entire order has taken up a full room when all spread out. But I still did not count beforehand and would only find out once I’d run out of a certain product, so I accept this is partly my responsibility too. This should not happen again as I never expect to make an order this big again, I had only done this for shop startup, and I will be making another order to restock these products. But it’s still sad it happened.

I apologize for this and I appreciate all of your patience once again. I am explaining all of this as I believe you are owed information about what is going on seeing as you’ve put money into this, and I myself said they would all be sent out by Monday. I just want to be transparent ^^

And one last thing — many of you wanted Halloween merchandise, so I will be moving forward with that! (I’ve decided they will not be glow in the dark though, as I’d have to make every vibrant color instead transparent for the glow to come through, and I believe the designs would suffer too much without these colors)

I have ordered from this manufacturer multiple times before over the years and they’ve always gotten it right with more reasonably-sized orders, so I am confident these will not have the same problems as this preorders period has.

Thank you again very much for your support and understanding up to this point!! <3

[colleybri]

It’s not what it looks like!

Well, ok - it kind of is but it also kind of isn’t.

I didn’t watch Andor when it came out but apparently this scene (link at the end) caused a bit of a stir at the time as the ‘first sex scene in Star Wars’. Hmm. Well, you don’t actually see the sex bit so it’s more accurate to say that it’s a scene where sex is ‘very heavily implied to be about to happen’ as someone put it, a little demurely, on X.

So yes, in that sense - it’s exactly what it looks like. But there’s so much more to it than that, because this scene is absolutely packed with story-telling richness in a way that just can’t be appreciated from seeing it out of context. Which is why I am kind of promising myself that I’m no longer going to try and predict anything about Season 2 based on trailers etc.

The storytelling richness turns a ‘sex scene’ into something so much more, and this explains why it’s here at all - Tony Gilroy seems to be the last person to indulge in ‘fan-service’ of this kind. It’s all about what it’s telling us about these characters and this situation. Two things feed into that - the background information that we’ve gathered so far and what’s actually unfolding in the narrative.

Background: Timm and Bix are co-workers, but she’s his boss. They’ve been dating for an unspecified period of time, but it’s implied to be pretty recent: they have apparently agreed to do something together ‘one night a week’ and Timm earlier suggested ‘starting the week tonight’ with dinner in a way that almost implies that they haven’t gone further than that. More speculatively, this very cautious approach seems to come entirely from Bix and suggests a cautiousness about committing too hard, too soon. Meanwhile, Bix has a secretive working arrangement with Cassian, a man who is one of her oldest friends, a kind of sibling figure and also - crucially - something of a serial ex. Gilroy tells us that she’s ‘done with him’ by this time because he’s ‘burned every last bridge’ even though they’re ‘meant to be together’. Cassian turns up to conduct some kind of business with Bix (and we know it’s about providing stolen parts for her to sell on to contacts such as Luthen) from which Timm is deliberately and pointedly excluded. We don’t know if Timm and Bix have even discussed it, but what we do is that Timm is both jealous and suspicious, noticing that Bix “seems upset…” and that this “always seems to happen whenever you come around”. Add to all that, Cassian seems to have a low opinion of Timm anyway, as revealed by their brief confrontation in Ep1 (‘you need to find yourself a less complicated woman… good luck with that!’ - all adding to the shady-ex vibe). Cassian also has a reputation as a womaniser, with a particular predilection for those already in a relationship (Bix’s quip about his ‘fall’ being on a ‘jealous husband’).

Timm thinks his suspicion is justified as soon as he sees what Bix had been reading

Then there’s the actual plot as it stands at this stage. Cassian, desperate to get enough credits to flee from Ferrix, meets up with Bix in a bar. She’s done him yet another huge favour, and has called Luthen ahead of her usual schedule. By this time, the Pre-Mor bulletin asking for information on a ‘Kenari Human Male’ has been issued and Bix knows Cassian is yet again a wanted man. She doesn’t know when or if she will ever see him again, even if he manages to get safely away. In gratitude, he puts his hand on hers. Timm, drinking hard and spying on them, sees this and jumps to a final conclusion. We will find out in the next episode that Bix had told him Cassian was born on Kenari.

Just after Timm leaves, Bix pushes Cassian’s hand from her own. Perfect ironic timing.

If only he’d stayed in the bar another ten seconds… bad timing, Timm With Two Ms :(

Timm betrays Cassian - and by extension Bix - by calling PreMor. He then goes home, sits in moody silence and broods. Bix apparently continues drinking for a while offscreen and then comes to Timm’s door.

So to the sex scene. The obvious immediate point is that as soon as he sees her Timm must on some level realise his mistake. In his typical love of irony, Gilroy even has Bix say “Is it too late?”… oh boy, yes it certainly is for Timm. And he obviously knows it. He knows the relationship is doomed. The end result of that is that he looks so unenthusiastic at the sight of her that Bix picks up on it immediately and looks hurt and depressed at a perceived rejection. ‘No it’s just … I’m surprised!’ Timm tries to cover. Which is also true, but not in the way he wants her to take it.

The obvious irony is that he’s probably been dreaming about this moment for weeks, maybe months, but it’s all just so … disappointing, because of what he’s just done to betray her trust. As for Bix, she doesn’t want sex for the ‘usual’ reasons. And she’s not particularly enthusiastic about Timm or making any real effort here to make him feel genuinely like he’s the man for her. Her whole attitude smacks of ‘having to make do with the consolation prize’ in combination with ‘looking for comfort’. In other words, Bix seems to be using Timm to ease her depressed mood in a way that’s genuinely unusual in these gender roles.

Yikes. Really not what you want to see when you wake up… your lover fully dressed and staring at you.

So it’s a sex scene that is not particularly sexy, beyond the obvious visual image of Adria Arjona starting to undress. OK, yeah, that’s kind of attractive by default I suppose if she floats your boat, but if you’ve seen her in ‘Hit Man’ you’ll know what she’s capable of when her characters choose to really crank up the sensuality dial. Honestly, there’s absolutely no chemistry between Bix and Timm at all in this scene. Her two conversations thus far with Cassian were about a stolen piece of equipment but there was so much sexual tension and angsty subtext between them I vaguely remember indulging my occasional childish habit of yelling ‘Get a room!’ at the screen the first time I watched them.

In summary, it’s a very unsexy sex scene, where ‘going through the motions’ barely begins to cover it. But the broader point is - there’s absolutely nothing on the screen in this series that is not there for a meaningful story-telling purpose. And I will try and keep that promise not to attempt to glean anything from Season 2 trailers. Yeah, I know - ‘good luck with that’.

[bigfathoe4you]

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Preface:

My zombies are not dead, they are infected with a disease which makes them hungry, they are not decomposing or mindless, they are driven insane by the pain of hunger and the things they’ve done so in a sense they die. They are loosely based on a book called ashes by Ilsa J. Bick, a very good angsty zombie book with very little romance.

This fic is set in the north west of England, to make it plausible for the MC to stumble upon the 141. Being Scottish myself I would love to make the MC Scottish and move the fic to the highlands, but I want some feedback on that.

TW: Death of a friend/sister, skinny reader (she fattens up), a lot of gross descriptions of zombies and death, angst lots, smut in later chapters.

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If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from living 6 years in a zombie apocalypse it’s “waste not, want not.” That was the thought that kept me from gagging at the smell of the jacket that I shook rotten skin off of. Rising I looked down at the skinny, pale ‘woman’ I’d pried it from. had she done the same? How many people have died in this jacket? Would I die in the cold, spend years wandering, Killing others, feeling a deep painful unending hunger?

I looked down at her failing body, before the fall of humanity these jeans would have been 2 sizes too small, the shirt about 3 or 4. I’d lost all shape, hadn’t had a period in years, my skin looked a shade darker thanks to the many layers of dirt that clung to me. I once took pride in my appearance, now my crowning achievement was surviving for this long by myself.

Taking one last sweep of the shop I found a grey eyed boy, looked about 19, his cheeks sagged and the bags under his eyes were bulging, purply red. His pale cheeks were littered with peach fuzz and tear stained, his nose a pudgy red from his quiet sobs. He groaned in pain as he pulled a skinny rat apart, sucking on the small bones. He looked up at me from his crouched position and growled, his primitive brain deciding if he should run with his meal or if he could take me. He twitched his way to his feet dropping the rat at his feet.

Before his skinny legs could take him to me I’d pulled the gun from my waistband and shot a few small holes through his chest. He let out some muffled whimpers as he crumpled to the floor, I followed him to the floor. I had grown to feel very little but when they looked so young it hurt. I stroked his thinning hair and shushed him whilst he hacked up blood and shook.

The trek back to base was long but quiet, the marshy ground of the north west sucked my feet deep into the ground, the ‘suctiony’ sound that emitted from dragging my feet drowned out my own thoughts. As the base came into view my steps hurried, eager to get inside, it was tuesday (possibly) which meant it was my allotted bath day, due to the difficulty of moving the water from the various rain collectors and the calories it cost, I allowed myself a bath every two weeks. 

The hard metal door bit at my reddening fingers as I fumbled with the keys, reminding me I needed to organise them somehow. I huffed at the effort it took to pull the second interior door open and closed, it had been ripped off its hinges and now scratched across the cold linoleum as I dragged it about. When I finally got inside I relocked every door I walked through to get to the innermost rooms of the base. Whilst people were rare- some zombies in the early stages retained the ability to open and close doors. 

I went to the woodburner and warmed the deer from the outdoor freezer. Most livestock like cattle and sheep were almost hunted to extinction by the zombies but some animals like deer and rabbits remained too fast for zombies. But not me and my gun. I cooked the whole leg, I’d refreeze the tougher bits and keep them for on the go.

Whilst the deer cooked I used my pot to boil some water for my bath. It was more of a sponge bath really, getting fully naked and into a slippery tub was inviting trouble. I used some watered down fairy liquid and an old PT (psychical training, yeah I did cadets so I’m qualified to tell you all about it) shirt to scrub at my skin, one limb at a time.

I pulled one leg out of my jeans leaving the boot and jeans scrunched so I could haul them back up if I needed to. And it was a good thing I did as I was picking dirt out of my scabby skinned knee, I heard a scrapping. My blood ran cold and I almost wept at the sound. 

Scrambling to put my jeans and boots back on. With each creak of a door opening and closing and the low raspy voices of men my hands shook more. 

And when I heard the noise that I knew to be the particularly squeezy door to the room I’d claimed as my own, I almost turned the gun on myself. There were at least 2 men and they knew there was a woman living here.

Steeling myself and setting my footing I readied myself in the middle of the room, no hiding the only power I have is I am pointing my gun at the single door to this room.

The kitchen door moved to open easily and a silhouetted figure pulled every shadow from the room and they pooled at this man's feet, he stood easily a foot taller than myself. The imposing figure took up almost the entire doorway. Although there were no shadows, it was only him, he dressed all in black, tactical gear and a dark balaclava covered his entire being. This man may be death itself.

“Fuck off.” A man wriggled around ‘death’ “Nae way!” barreling towards me a man not as tall as ‘Death’ but just as large wrapped strong arms around me.

My plans crumbled and I lost any ability to remain calm or strong were lost to me. “Please! Please there are guns, ammo, food! If you leave me alone I- I’ll tell you where” the words were choked out of me and my sweaty hands shook looking for my gun. 

The man pulled back but I couldn’t see through the tears that blinded me “It’s- It’s me Johnny” the voice and name were familiar. Strong hands snaked up my arms and held me at my shoulders “oh, darlin’ we’d never hurt you” he put a hand on my cheek and slowly brought my eyes to him. I almost gagged on my tears looking at him, my best friend's older brother, I looked at him and saw her. Alex, my other half, our whole lives attached at the hip, her death had hurt more than any of the rest. 

“Oh Johnny, I’m so sorry” his excitement at seeing me faded to the most hollow I’d ever seen a man. We sank to our knees together, forgetting the man in the doorway. I pushed our brows together “It was quick, I did it” I whispered to him, as I saw the small tears slip down his cheek. 

xx

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Tags:

@audie-writes

[steddieas-shegoes]

how lovely to love them

for @strangerthingsocweek prompt 'love in every form'

rated t | 909 words | cw: mention of alcohol/being drunk | tags: side steddie, side platonic stobin, meg needs a break, meg gets a break, established relationship

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Meg looked at Gareth. Then Eddie.

“And you two thought you could just get away with that?”

They looked at each other and back at her.

They shrugged in sync.

“Getting drunk and flipping the furniture of the hotel room upside down.”

They shrugged again.

Meg had a migraine, a Corroded Coffin induced migraine.

“Where was Jeff?”

“His room.”

“That’s why he’s my favorite.”

“You’re lying. We all know Gare Bear here is your favorite,” Eddie said as he pulled Gareth into his side and rubbed his hair. “He just had a little too much tequila.”

“And your excuse?” Meg crossed her arms over her chest, raised an unimpressed brow.

“Steve abandoned me.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Him and Robin have platonic soulmate night every other Thursday night. You never do this shit. Try again.”

“I had bottom shelf vodka.”

Meg nodded, her worst fear confirmed. “And how did that happen? Who let that happen?”

“I’m not a kid! I just forgot to ask for the better stuff in my drinks and then it was too late,” Eddie protested. “We fixed it; Why are we still in trouble?”

“Because this kinda shit can’t happen again. It’s funny when it happens once, but then a rock band gets blacklisted from all the decent hotels because of what they’ve done in the past.” Meg rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, taking a deep breath. “This time it’s fine, but if it happens again, you’re on an alcohol ban until the tour is done. Period.”

“But-“

“No!” Meg pulled them both into hugs. “I know it was harmless and you were gonna fix it anyways. I know you guys rarely even drink or do stupid shit like this. But I love you guys and people are stupid about rockstar shit like that. I don’t want you to ruin your careers over something silly.”

Just when she started to pull away, Steve barreled through the door with Robin, Jeff, and Freak behind him.

“What happened?” He asked, rushing to Eddie, pulling him towards him and checking him over for any physical evidence of something being wrong. “I just saw the texts.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie kissed his nose. “Meg didn’t kill me.”

“Was that on the table?” Steve turned to look at Meg, who was busy whispering with Robin. “What did you do?”

As Eddie and Gareth explained their side of things, Robin pulled Meg further from the group.

“Sorry it took so long to get back here. We may have had a little too much wine ourselves,” Robin half-apologized, though there was no need for one. “I promise we came as soon as we got your texts.”

“It’s okay. I smoothed it over and everything’s fine,” Meg sighed, letting her head drop to Robin’s shoulder. “They’re gonna give me gray hairs. Will you still love me when I have to box dye my hair every four weeks?”

“I will love you even when you have wrinkles the size of a canyon on your face, my love,” Robin kissed the top of her head. “But I’d rather that not be at the very young age of 27. You need a break.”

“The tour-“

“The tour doesn’t need a break. You do,” Robin wrapped her arms around her, squeezing just above her waist the way she liked. “Steve agrees. He’s gonna cover for you while we take a few days off.”

“But-“

“I love you. They love you. That’s why you’re doing this. And when you’re back, the boys will be nice and behaved because Steve’s gonna make them regret they ever fucked up in the first place, right dingus?” Robin yelled across the room.

“Yeah. Community service hours in the form of helping me study for my midterms as punishment!” Steve knew they hated having to sit still and work on flash cards for hours. It was the perfect punishment.

Meg looked at Robin, then at her boys across the room. “So where are you taking me?”

“Lake Tahoe since we’re already close. You’re gonna shut off your phone and everything will go through me first. I’m like a pasta strainer,” Robin pointed at the boys. “They’re the noodles I’m holding back.”

“Okay, fine. But Steve has to promise to call if there’s a real emergency,” Meg agreed.

“I will!” Steve yelled from Eddie’s lap on the couch.

“And if there’s an emergency of someone’s creation, I’ll kill them. And then you.”

“I’m sure you will!” Steve was smiling at her, then turning back to Eddie with a serious face. “If you fuck this up, I’ll come back from her killing me just to kill you again, do you understand?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Eddie smirked at him before saluting at Meg.

“Alright losers. Come give me a hug,” Meg said. She’d never left them alone while on tour, or recording, or album release tours, or anything.

They piled into her one by one, hugging her and telling her to relax and have fun.

“I love all of you idiots,” she said fondly. “But if you bother me for anything less than someone dying or a show getting canceled, you will never see me again.”

***

As she walked with Robin to their Uber taking them to the airport, she reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“Isn’t it kinda nice to love so many people in so many ways?” She asked.

Robin squeezed her hand in response. “Yeah, we’re pretty lucky.”

[anony-man]

You’re in for a treat, anon! My good friend @siberat and I collaborated on this request, and they’ve produced gorgeous art to go with the story! Their art is at the bottom, and will be updated with a link once the post is up here on tumblr!

Chubformers drabble #86!

Character: Swoop (TFA)

Word count: 950

The comically large egg he now held while huddled in a nest of blankets and twigs felt impossible. It was impossible that after weeks of eating and brooding and sleeping that this was to be the result. And yet…

Primus help him. He was reverting back to his natural roots now, and there seemed to be nothing that could be done about it. Swoop reclined against the sharp barrier of sticks and sat the egg in his lap, his beak curled in a frown.

As he absentmindedly stroked the top of the egg—his egg, Swoop thought, the egg that he had produced—he found his servo drifting towards the soft flab of his belly.

It’d been quite a sight, getting fatter and fatter as the days went by with no real reason why. Swoop didn’t mind the egg so much now, especially not when it meant the massive dome of a belly he’d been stuck carrying had disappeared (or at least reduced some—he still had plenty of pudge to his frame that would be a killer to burn off).

It almost felt unreal, like he’d fallen into a deep recharge and woken with an egg in his lap and a nest for his bed. Swoop could still recall every waking moment that lead up to this though, if only in hazy detail. It was a new experience, having his processor become so easily overridden by natural instincts and a prehistoric drive.

There was nothing that could be done about it, he supposed. It happened, and it was over, and now he was left to deal with the aftermath.

Swoop shuddered at the memories clouding his processor. It’d felt so right in the moment, yet so wrong, but there was nothing that could be done to change it.

The egg was held close against his side, its shell kept warm by the pillows and blankets hoarded in the nest. Swoop held it closer still, a small smile twitching at the corners of his beak as he watched the curved surface melt into the pudge of his belly.

That egg had been inside him not long ago. It was his accomplishment, his egg, his offspring. The signs of his carrying remained, worn on Swoop’s frame in the form of fat thighs, jiggly hips, and a roomy belly. He was the perfect vessel for an egg, really, and he’d done something impressive.

It was just…

The Dinobot clicked his beak and hissed, a lingering feeling of guilt and dissatisfaction poking at the back of his small processor. It was infuriating, this back and forth between worry and pride. He’d done something amazing, after all. What was there to be ashamed of?

The nesting period itself, perhaps. Swoop was sure he must’ve looked rather ridiculous gathering up as much supplies as he could to build the perfect home for himself and his infertile offspring. He could still remember the shame of sneaking up on hoards of sleeping Dinobots, a cool and aloof bot such as him bloated with a belly a staggering on his pedes as he snatched up the nearest unoccupied blankets.

It wasn’t like him. None of this was like him. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop it, either.

They wouldn’t miss those, he reasoned with himself. He needed them more, especially now that he had company. If they could see him now, fat and glowing in the aftermath of producing something so perfect… they would understand. They wouldn’t miss the extra blankets and pillows.

Still, he thought nervously, drawing the egg closer to him. Blankets were one thing, but food was another.

It was hard to justify stealing scraps of another bot’s food when he looked like he’d already eaten ten times as much as he could normally stomach. In his defense, he was feeling peckish, and constantly so.

No matter how much he ate, it never seemed to be enough. Before long, Swoop had amassed a frame far too big for flight, and he was forced to sit in his nest and wait until the next bout of hunger pains came along. It was either that or doze off for a few hours, which… well, he did that a lot, too.

Nesting really was a mess when he wasn’t prepared for it, that much he was certain of. Swoop shuddered at the thought, giving his helm a firm shake when the memory of his attempt at a mating dance for some confused bystanders started to creep up.

Even so, it was his first nesting experience. There was bound to have been some unfortunate happenings, especially when he’d been thrown in unprepared.

For not knowing a thing of what was going on inside his own frame, Swoop was sure he’d done a pretty good job at preparing for the worst. The egg had been quite the surprise when it finally came out, but seeing that shiny pink shell had immediately put all thoughts and fears to rest inside his helm.

With a sigh, Swoop nuzzled the egg close and settled down against the pillows. He still had plenty to process, but for right now, the only thing he wanted to do was snuggle with his egg and sleep.

The pillows were perfect against his frame, a soft cushion for aching parts that soothed his processor and relieved him of his worries. Infertile or no, he’d done something incredible. The egg was held close in his arms, warmed by the cozy nest and the heat from Swoop’s fat frame.

He was long overdue for a bit of a rest, the Dinobot decided. Everything else could be figured out when he awoke. For now, it was time to sleep.

(Art by @siberat! Link to their post: https://www.tumblr.com/siberat/759087338956767232/illustration-for-mr-miss-anonymous-story-my-fav)

[imaginespazzi]

Finallyyyyy, chapter 7. I was dying waiting for it and now I'm already dying waiting for the next so I guess this week will be filled with rereading and rereading the whole fic until chapter 8 comes. Anyways here we go, thoughts on this one:

-Drew. Oh boy. I'm assuming we won't see him in chapter 8 since it'll probably be composed mostly of the day at the bar. The morning, then the bar itself, who ends up in whose bed; and you'll most likely add a lil flashback to something somehow relevant since you've done that for every chapter except 4. But so reunion in chapter 9? or 10? I don't know but I wanna see him reunite with Azzi and meet Stephie. Apparently he was irritated at Paige's decision to go to the GSV, the Drew from 6 years ago probably would've loved and encouraged the idea, if he hadn't come up with it himself. I feel like the fact it irritated him instead shows he's learnt to live without Azzi and the Fudds now, but like Paige wonders if he has, might've still not fully forgiven her and Azzi for taking that away from him. As in, I think it took him a lot of time to adapt and if he's angry at Azzi, it's really only cause he spent so much time missing her, if that makes sense. So if/when we get their reunion scene, I'm expecting him to first be angry, maybe throwing certain questions at Azzi before breaking down. I wonder if Stephie knows who Drew is? That picture is on the stairwell clearly, but maybe she's never really noticed him. If not, I'm really excited to see her reaction to a boy she has no clue about, hugging and possibly crying in the arms of the woman who's probably a sort of sister/mother to him, her mother. Basically, I really want some Drew, Paige and Azzi scenes and Stephie's reaction to the dynamic of the 3; and some Drew and Stephie scenes.

-"But she doesn’t quite know this place, couldn’t tell you where to find the sugar or where the utensils were kept" this was just written beautifully in my opinion idk, just wanted to show some appreciation for it.

-"“They’ve all missed you, you know,” Tallulah says softly, “they try not to do it too much around Azzi but it’s always ‘oh Paige would’ve loved this’ or ‘did you catch that bucket Paige made last night’." They try not to do it too much around Azzi. I just wanted to add this because I think it sorta confirms my suspicions that they might however do it around Stephie. The first time I sent in some of my thoughts on this fic I mentioned how I don't think it's a coincidence Paige and Stephie share so much in common. Though I did say it's Azzi probably passing Paige-like things onto her daughter, I think Stephie's simply grown up in environments that scream "Paige". I think it's beautiful how much her and Azzi have affected everyone around them, not just eachother. But it's also scary because it is about the 2 of them at the end of the day and if they start living separate lives they take away a person important in others' lives too, as we see with Drew, or the Fudds like Tallulah pointed out. I just hope Stephie doesn't have to lose Paige, I know we're guaranteed a happy ending (or maybe that's what you want us to think) but I hope there's never even a small period of time where Stephie thinks she's lost Miss Buecks.

-"“you’re thinking about her mother huh?”" "“your daughter has you wrapped around her little finger huh?”" I'm just a bit shocked that Ruthie guessed she was thinking about the girl's mother, not father. I feel like people's first assumption is that you're straight, the majority of the world is, does Ruthie know Azzi and Stephie? Or does she know Paige? Was just wondering, I don't know, maybe her gaydar's just on point.

-"“No,” Azzi says at the same time as a profound “yes” leaves Paige’s mouth." Ok so nvm my past predictions Paige is still pulling and Azzi is still slightly pushing.

-"Olivia’s livid at Paige and Paige is livid at the stupid #Clézzi tag on tiktok." If they ended up breaking up but confirmed they were a thing you bet your ass you could never get me to use some other ship's #. "until suddenly she stumbles on a video captioned 'and at the end of the day she’ll still always be looking at her'." that's my video, future me posted that.

-"And she knows that if it was Azzi -she hates herself for even thinking this way- she wouldn’t walk away." it's giving me the same vibes as when she was telling Azzi how whilst on her date she kept thinking how Azzi wouldn't order what the girl ordered off the menu, how she would swat her hand away when she tried stealing something from her plate and end up giving it to her anyways, how they'd get yelled at at the movies for giggling too much, and how at the end she would've kissed her. Unfortunately for everyone else, I just think no one stands a chance, she's wrapped around Azzi's finger.

-"even if they were barely a shadow of what they used to be, it's only right that Azzi is still here." but it surprises me that on every flashback after their breakup they still seemed on completely good terms all these years, like why did they break up??? Just cause Azzi wasn't ready for marriage? I feel like something else happened in between but maybe not.

-"“we’re gonna do it together next time okay. You and me, we’re gonna be golden together.”" soo 2032 Olympics? Did they do it??? A year ago from the "present day" I feel like you plan on showing us a flashback in a future chapter but I'm dying to know!!!

Okk that's it thank you for blessing us with another amazing chapter as always and see how quick I was this time? -🪐

Please don't die friend I'd miss you :)

-Drew appearance soon but I'm not fully sure exactly when because idk if y'all have caught onto this yet, but I actually don't outline the whole story beyond just the beginning - middle - end, everything else is just ideas that I fit in when it feels right. The Drew from 6 years ago was a little boy who still held onto hope for his favorite love story. But with time, hope turned into irritation and missing Azzi turned into being angry at Azzi because sometimes that's the only way to deal with the hate. I'm very excited to write both Azzi-Drew and ofc Stephie-Drew.

-I remember that ask! Paige is so entwined into the Fudd's and Azzi's life that even 8 years later, you can still see the remnants of her in their life and that's what Stephie has grown up seeing so really it's not surprising that some of that imprinted onto her as she has a little bit of Paige in her.

-See this is my lovely fantasy world where straight isn't just the normal and I have no other explanation for it. Ruthie does not know Stephie or Azzi lol. I'd like to think 2033 we can avoid straight as the default lol

-I'm never shipping them with other people but as evidenced by some tweets in the last few days, I think other people absolute would ship clézzi lmao but pazzi truthers are still alive in 2033 despite the break up lol

-Unfortunately for everyone else, I just think no one stands a chance, she's wrapped around Azzi's finger. - yep exactly!

-I do love my flashbacks!

I'm very proud of you for how quick you were lmao!

[daebraeksan]

Scared to talk to Bachira about him hurting your feelings (but then you do it and he apologizes and you forgive him)

Genre: comfort, established relationship, pro player Bachira

Contents: anxiety, insecurity, implied trauma, trust issues, fear of confrontation

Wc: 1289

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

You’re in a little bit of a catastrophic spiral. You feel really tender and sensitive and like anything could send you over the edge. You feel like you’ve done everything wrong (what specifically? Everything. What more explanation could you possibly want?) and you feel like everything is going to be taken away from you.

You get like this sometimes. You try not to. But it’s hard to outrun a childhood. And you aren’t really trying to outrun it. You just want to be happy despite it.

Having Bachira in your life is one thing you have tried to remove from the list of things you have periodic freak outs about. You want to work on your trust issues, and you have, and you know Bachira is trustworthy. He has never done anything to prove otherwise. Logic doesn’t really help your anxieties or insecurities but you still feel the need to point out the facts.

You’ve been off kilter for a few days in a row, situations not going your way, some major, some minor, and you hate it. You hate that you can’t just coping-strategy all of this away—all of these feelings away. You pace around your house. You sit down at the dining table and rock yourself. You curl up on the couch in an incredibly uncomfortable position and don’t move. 

Normally, you are pretty good at feeling secure in your relationships with people. You’ve worked hard to get to this point. You don’t have to second guess their motives, when you’ve known them for a long time, and they’ve demonstrated nothing but respect and kindness towards you. But this week has been crazy for Bachira, too, or something—regardless of the reason, you felt ignored one too many times, felt like you were snapped at, and felt like you were expendable. You don’t blame him at all since it’s your interpretation but at the same time you know from experience that invalidating your emotions isn’t going to make any of this go away.

And then you’ve gone and wrapped yourself up in your old habits of being afraid to talk about something. Your classic fear rears its head: you’re too much trouble, way more trouble than you’re worth, and everyone is going to leave you.

Bachira comes home, drops his stuff off haphazardly in the front doorway, and makes a beeline straight towards you. He ruffles your hair and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I’m home,” he sings.

You smile at him, but you feel crazy. He must notice something is off—how could he not?—because he cups your cheek. It has the intended effect—you indeed feel soothed. You nuzzle your cheek into his palm. You want to be completely engulfed in his touch. You hate everything you’re feeling right now. It’s too hard. 

“What do you want to do tonight?”

You know sometimes he asks this as a formality. He always likes having something to do—but he is content to “compromise” with you and create an “event” for something very normal and calm and low-key that you also want to do (at home. Definitely at home.) (You hate that word because it still feels like both people lose something but whatever the word is for both people are happy with the outcome lol.) 

“I don’t know,” you half-lie—at the very least, you know you have to talk to him. The words coagulate like mucus in your throat. You’re so stupid. This shouldn't be that hard.  Bachira loves you and he’s going to listen to you and nothing is going to be wrong.

You can tell yourself these things. And it won’t help. But to be fair, being mean to yourself won’t help either, but. Yknow. You aren’t going to win every battle. Definitely not this one today.

Not that you want this conversation with  Bachira to seem like a battle. You don’t. 

He studies you for a bit. “We could…just relax together until we think of something?”

You like having a specifically-designated task, something delineated, and can make you feel like you aren’t a failure and aren’t causing a fuss or scene or trouble. You aren’t ruining everyone’s night, this still “counts” as “successful”—you give in to all your old habits, all your rigid, self-scaring habits. Why not? When it rains it pours, or whatever. Let the dam break. Etc. 

You hear him heating up food in the kitchen and he spreads everything out on the coffee table in the living room. You look at him adoringly. He knows you don't eat when you’re like this. That bastard. Loving you and taking care of you. 

How dare he?

You both start on your food, him digging in, and you nibbling. 

“Can we talk?” you ask. 

“Always,” he says, and a few pieces of rice fly out of his mouth onto the table. He picks them up and tries to feed them to you.

“No!” you bark jokingly as you twist your head away, scrunching up your face, trying not to laugh because then he will put the rice in your mouth.

“Don’t waste food!” he admonishes seriously.

“Stop!” you finally let out a giggle. He eats the rice himself and settles back down. 

You stare at him and he stares at you.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s your turn again.”

“Thank you,” you say. You figure you might as well ease yourself into it. You don’t have to accuse yourself of manipulation or lying or whatever—you just need to let yourself be. You’re trying your best. You start off with talking about some random topics that were bothering you this week to set the scene. You explain the headspace you’ve been in and how you’ve been feeling.

He puts down his food. “I’m sorry that happened,” he says. “Can I hug you?”

You nod. You put down your food just as he throws his arms around you and squeezes you tight. He kisses your cheek. “I don’t mean for those actions to make you feel those ways.  Is there anything I can do to show you that  I didn’t mean any of that, and that I love you so much?”

You are very embarrassed. You hate to ask for anything—even normal boring stuff, and now, this feels like you are being asked to ask for something extra special. Asking someone to make amends to you feels so wrong. It feels like you’re not supposed to cause other people trouble. But anything you say, Bachira probably has already done before, and is okay with it, and some, he’s even done on his own volition before, and you  might not have even known it was what you liked or wanted before him.

You make your requests of how you want to spend some time with him doing your favorite activities and he happily acquiesces.  

“I’ve been wanting that, too,” he says. He peppers kisses all over your face. “I’m sorry you had a bad week,” he says. “That’s so stupid.”

“It was really stupid,” you say sadly. 

He shakes you. “Do you want me to beat them up?” he asks in the most chipper tone.

You sigh and shake your head. “No. Let’s just watch tv.”

He grabs blankets, and you finish the rest of your food while watching your comfort show, snuggled up next to Bachira, who waits patiently until you’re done eating so he can hold your hand. 

Nothing can make the bad events of this week less bad—but you also don’t have to carry your insecure energy into next week. You know you can do what you need to do and you know it’s okay to feel this way sometimes. And if there’s anyone who believes in you the most, it’s Bachira.