#Hazel's Cleaning Services

[hazelscleaningsvcs]

Hazel's Cleaning Services sets the standard for cleaning and strives to provide a cleaner, healthier life for our customers. Whether it is a professional maid service for your residence or a janitorial service for your offices. Our team of experts offers top-notch regular, deep, and specialized cleaning services to maintain your property's appearance and prevent health hazards.

Hazel's Cleaning Services

Dallas, Texas, United States

254-458-0990

hazelscleaningsvcs.com/

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[mr-bas00nist]

hey daddy, could I get a subby nanami fic with some gentle sex? Maybe it's the reader and his anniversary night? with lots of praise, riding, and nanami as a pretty pillow prince plzzz <33

Love Of My Life

✮❁•°♛°•❁✮- lmao, of course

✮❁•°♛°•❁✮- Nanami Kento x Male Reader

✮❁•°♛°•❁✮-Cw: mention of daddy kink but it’s used once, creampie, overstimulation, praise, anal, fingering and blowjobs

Being Kento’s husband was an easy task. He was the definition of a perfect man. All the acts of service he did for you really sealed the deal. Whether it would be climbing Mount Everest for you all the way to cleaning the dishes for you, he would do it with all the same effort.

It was currently your two’s anniversary night and Kento made it clear there would be no overtime tonight. He decided to stop at the bakery to pick up the cake he ordered for you two as he then got into his car and drove home. Everyone wondered where that sweet man was going in such a hurry so happily, and he didn’t say much.

“Just going home to my husband, it’s our anniversary.” He’d say in his usual tenor tone but with a small smile on his lips. Though, they really didn’t know the 7:3 sorcerer how you did. They didn’t know every time he excused himself to the bathroom he was fingering the life out of himself while sending you photos of the aftermath.

Pictures of a messy disheveled suit, dazed hazel eyes and blonde locks slipping down to his face. The more lewder ones consisted of pictures of his leaking cock, pre cum slipping down the shaft all the way to his full balls. Then the ones of his slick fingers shining with spit, plump ass spread so you could see his toyed-with hole. No one knew that about Kento, and no one would know except you.

He finally pulled into the garage as he kicked off his shoes and set the cake on the counter. He then set up the rose petals so you’d see them whenever you came home. He quickly showered so he smelled fresh, more delectable for you. He sat on the satin sheets waiting with his cock standing in attention as he played with himself teasingly.

╔══════✮❁•°♛°•❁✮ ══════╗

You smiled to yourself as you entered the house to see the royally decorated cake. As you took your shoes off you couldn’t help but notice the smell of roses alongside the hot temperature of the house. You glanced over to the thermostat and saw the degrees were higher then usual making you feel all bothered. You walked over to the stairs pausing at the rose petals.

You smirked to yourself realizing what this was as you began walking up the stairs. Head getting cloudier after every step. When you made it to the bedroom you saw Kento on the bed with a silk robe loosely hanging on his body. He stood up as he immediately buried his face into your neck with a shaky inhale.

“Miss me prince?” You smiled teasingly as Kento led you to the bed before slipping between your legs. He immediately unbuckled your slacks as he pull out your hard cock. Mouth enveloping your shaft with sloppy precision.

“Shit- someone’s eager.” You spoke with a breathless chuckle as he slurped at your length. Head bobbing up and down. Kento was a patient man, but this blowjob was anything but it. He usually had so much technique when it went about pleasuring you.

Now, he was just going at it with no care in the world except making you cum. It was so pleasing to see how such a reserved and calm man could lose his patience when it came to you. You slipped your hands up to his blonde locks as you begin ramming yourself into his mouth. He gagged loudly, tears welling up on pretty long lashes.

“Shhhh, breathe through the nose. Doing so good… let me use you baby.” You praised, contrasting with the harsh treatment of his body. He gripped your thighs as his eyes crossed when he peered up at you. Your orgasm quickly washed over you at the sight of his fucked out face as you brought him down to the hilt.

He inhaled the scent of you as he swallowed every drop you so graciously gave him. You pulled out slowly as he let out a small choked out noise. Throat no longer bulging with your cock lodged down it. You smiled softly at him as his swollen spit covered lips quivered in anticipation.

He climbed atop the bed as you slipped your fingers down to his hole seeing already prepped. “Guess you weren’t joking with those videos you sent huh?” You questioned with a teasing tone as he nodded. “Needed you.. couldn’t even cum.”

He spoke in a frustrated tone as you cooed. “Couldn’t hit deep enough huh sweetie?” You spoke with a smirk as you slid two fingers inside with ease, feeling around his walls. He threw his head back as he almost came on the spot. You began scissoring him as you kept hitting his prostate.

“Sweetheart… need more of you…” He pleaded as he grabbed your arm. You tilted your head. “What would that be honey?” You asked with a sickly sweet tone. A tone of mock and smugness. Kento was a good boy, when you asked for answer, he’d give it.

“Need your d-dick… been thinking about it all day.” He spoke softly to which you kissed him passionately. You looked into his eyes before you hummed. “Okay then.” You lay down on the bed, back against the pillows as he looked over confusedly.

“Ride me. It’s only fair since you made me so hard at work today because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” You retorted as he was reminded of his desperate display. He mentally cursed himself now for sending those videos, he didn’t want to ride you! He wanted to be pampered with his face shoved into the pillows while you fucked him!

But, he knew better then to disobey you. He slid his leg over you as he straddled you. He leaned up on his knees as he put your cock against his hole. With slow calculated movements he slowly began to slide down on your shaft.

When he bottomed out you two both let out content moans. You gave a smack to his ass as you smirked. “Well? Ride.” You retorted as he put his hands up onto your chest with a desperate look. He began rocking his hips back and forth with needy movements, letting out wanting moans as you shuffled around his guts.

Slow and steady grinding movements is what Kento did. You looked up at him with a soft smile, the sight of your husband so desperate, so needy, was adorable. You tracked your eyes from his face, down to his body as you observed with a noise of interest. You then put your hands on his soft hips as you looked up at him.

“Go faster.” You demanded as he let out a whine. His thighs burned as he tried to pick up the speed. The feeling of your cock impaling his prostate with every slow drag of his hips. He was already so close while you were telling him to go faster.

“I- ah, hmmmphhhh…” He bit his lip as his eyes rolled back. You let out a grunt as you felt his walls vice your cock making you almost whine. You glanced down to see his flushed cock dripping onto your stomach, painting it in his fluid. You raised a soft eyebrow as a small smile graced your face at the pathetic display.

“Oh gosh- honey, I’m so sorry.. I-I, you were just hitting me so deep and I hah-“ he let out a noise of surprise as you slipped out, turning him over to lay on the fluffy pillows. You immediately saw the apologetic look slip out as his hazel eyes glazed over. He lost all train of thought as you smiled softly.

“Well, daddy’s gotta cum right? And although it was so hot to see how you rode him… he needs to feel you deeper and faster okay baby boy?” You asked softly as you slipped back into him with ease, toes curling as he wrapped his long legs around your torso.

You wasted no time pounding your beloved into the mattress, and he wasted no time as his eyes rolled back and he began crying and whining. Kento was always such a baby when it came to being pampered. You leaned in as you kissed his tears away before leaning down to kiss him fervently. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him by biting his tongue just a bit.

You pulled back as you let out a groan, a telltale sign you were close. And by the way Kento’s eyes were rolled back into his head and the feeling of his walls twitched, so was he. You slid a hand down as you squeezed his shaft as you began stroking. You felt him tighten as you pulsed.

“Cum for me love..” you spoke into his ear as he let out a sob of pleasure. He painted your stomach and chest once more with his cum as you painted his insides with your own. You lay on top of him for a moment as you caught your breath. Kento shakily breathed as you slipped out of him, you replaced yourself with your fingers in hope to prevent the sheets from getting soaked with your fluids.

Eventually you lay beside him as you both caught your breath. “Happy anniversary baby.” You smiled softly kissing his cheek. He glanced over to you with heavy lidded eyes as a soft smile graced his face. “Happy anniversary…” He repeated as he wrapped his arms around you.

A/n: Thank yall so much for the upcoming requests AND 1000 FOLLOWERS WOOOO!!!! That’s been my goal for a while and I love all you❤️. This was a really fun one to write since it was pretty versatile lol. Anyways, requests are one as usual, feel free to send as many as you all want! I’m doing my best to get them out pretty much every day. Peace! ✌🏽

[nayaesworld]

Law and Order

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Thick black woman!OC

Warnings: (18+) Mature content, Cursing,Smut,Fluff

Word count: 3k+

I’m rusty yall bare with me, I hope yall enjoy!

The only time she truly lived was when she was at his service. She kissed the ground he walked on, cooked for him, cleaned for him, praised him, and in the end like the good slut she was, she’d let him dominate her. He’d breathe life back into her emptied lungs just to siphon it all out again.

“Open your mouth.” With his hand wrapped tightly around her slender throat, she obeyed and allowed him to spit into her wanting mouth.

“Mmm sir please use me, I’m begging.” She mewed on her knees, she knew he hated to be rushed, but he loved to see her beg even more. His blue eyes stared down at her as he undressed himself, pulling her up to her feet to place sloppy open mouth kisses along her naked body.

“You pleased me, you did as I asked. Now give me my pussy.” Falling onto their shared bed she opened her shapely thighs and brought them up to her chest, hooking her arms underneath them for support.

Dropping down to his knees he loosened his tie and slid off his jacket. Eyeing her he began to loosen his belt and slid his navy blue slacks off.

“Daddy is so stressed mama, I had a long day in court. I just need to use this body baby.” He crooned as he kissed her soft brown thighs. Moving her hands he hooked his own arms under her thighs, anchoring her and daring her to move.

Starting with open mouth kisses his thick pink tongue slithered from his perfect pink lips and lapped at the sweet liquid that seeped from her hole.

Reaching out to rub his shorts curls she moaned lowly, immediately being taken to another plane.

“Papa you make me feel gooodd ahh.” Throwing her head back she realeased her ginger curls from the satin scrunchie and ran her hands through her hair, needing something, anything to ground her to this place.

“Tell me you love me, tell daddy how much you like this sweet pussy demolished.” He groaned into her pussy ignoring the growing erection and priming his thick fingers to dig out her perfect kitty.

“I love you papa, nobody else matters just you.. oh I lov-.”

Her loud speech of adoration for him was cut off by the addition of his finger, he hooked it into her tight hole at a slow pace, sending her into a daze.

“Daddy faster please, I can’t take this please unh.. make me cum please i'll do anything.” Chuckling at her he sped up his finger slowly adding his second, while simultaneously lapping at the creamy mess she produced.

She wouldn’t last long and she felt it deep in her tummy, gripping his short hair she rocked her hips faster onto his fingers. His growls and low moans pushing her over the edge, she let out a scream and a spurt of liquid released from her.

Rubbing her pussy back and forth at a quicker pace Terry leaned closer with a open mouth. “Mhmh that’s it mama squirt for daddy, show daddy how good this shit feels.” Bria’s thick dark arched brows scrunched together and her breath was caught in her throat, she had to squirt again.

The second stream from her excited Terry more as he dove face first back into her. Hungrily lapping at her he looked up into her eyes, his now hazel ones bright with arousal. Standing to his full height, he pulled down his slacks and stepped out of them and did away with the rest of his suit.

“Come gimme a kiss baby, come taste yourself.” Leaning up to meet him he tangled his large veined hands into her curls and took her plump bottom lip into his mouth, he let her suck on his tongue, tasting her sweet essence.

Giggling into the kiss she reached down to stroke his fat dick. “Mmm I taste so good, I see why you always rush to tear me up.” The two shared laughs as he smirked agreeing with her.

“Daddy I want this dick, and I want it rough. Can you fuck me tonight?” She mewled into his ears, sucking them into her hot mouth. Grabbing her by the legs he pulled her thick body towards the edge of the bed. Leaning towards her to suck and kiss her fat titties, his hands roamed her body.

“You gonna run from me? Or you gonna let daddy actually pound this puss tonight.” She nodded her head at him, seemingly speechless all of a sudden.

Terry reached between his legs grabbing his heavy dick and began tapping it on her sweet puss, sliding it down and lining it with her wet hole he pushed slightly into her.

“ Fuckkk, this tight as pussy, imma put you through the bed mama I can’t help it… I got so much pent up…”

“I don’t care daddy… I need you, she needs you..” Patting her juicy kitty Bria pulled him closer, sealing her fate.

Bending into a push up position, Terry started pumping into Bria’s sopping pussy getting lost in the vacuum effect her tight little snatch provided. Dipping his head into her neck he hid his face squeezing his eyes together tightly holding off his impending nut.

“Goddamn this sweet ass pussy got me ready to nut..pretty fuckin’ bitch with tight ass pussy… you just don’t know.” He grunted roughly into her ear sliding his hand up to choke her.

Bria was dazed, getting slutted out by her daddy was the best. She’d take him any way he came and vice versa, her pussy began to convulse and her short french tip nails dug into his toned back.

“Please fuck meee… I need you baby, please nut in me..”

Bria had a baddd breeding kink and she knew her daddy did too, no matter how many times she begged to be flooded with his nut he always came so damn hard, lost in the idea of impregnating her and watching her pregnant belly grow.

“You want this nut mama.. hmm? You want my babies inside you!” Terry couldn’t contain himself his hips snapped forward quicker, the bed squeaking underneath them damn near on its last leg.

“Fuckkk baby fuck… I’m finna nut… I’m finna nut inside my pussy!” His brows shot up and she felt the instant pumping of his heavy dick into her pussy.

Bria’s pretty brown eyes crossed and her toes curled as she wrapped her legs tightly around Terry’s back, she wanted every last drop.

“Yesss I want it so bad…give it to me!”

His head near her ear he groaned out and nipped at her slender neck as he flooded her needy cunt with his warm cum, it just wouldn’t stop coming out and he was stuck anyway, stuck in her, stuck on her, and had no plans of ever coming off her… literally and figuratively.

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

Terry and Bria were married and in their fifth year of loving each other. I didn’t take Terry long to decide that Bria was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, mostly because he wasn't a man that passed up the great things in life in hopes of them being there later, he’d seen that far too often in life and wasn’t a fan of repeating others mistakes.

Two years into their relationship he proposed, and ten months after they got married. Both solidified in their respective careers they figured why wait, neither wanted too. Bria was and still is his dream woman, he loved her, a tall thick southern girl with a spicy tongue that didn’t hold back who was both independent and beautiful. He loved how she wasn’t afraid to correct him when he was wrong, and how fiercely she had fought for him at some of his lowest times.

Bria felt the same tenfold. If you’d told her a few years back that she’d be married to her dream man, bought their dream house together, and was doing what she loved for work, she’d probably give you the meanest mug. Men weren’t good for her at one point, relationships didn’t last and she felt lost half the damn time, but sorry ass niggas would be just that. She was content, peaceful hell if anybody tried to come between them her mama would get a call from the county jail and she would be cheesing showing all thirty-two teeth in the mugshot. That was her man, her fine hard working and loving man.

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

Terry was the first to wake up the next morning still driven by an internal alarm clock that woke him every morning at six A.M. sharp, courtesy of the Marines. Swiping his long legs onto the floor he stretched his bulky arms over his head and yawned lowly, turning around to peck Bria on her cheek as he walked toward their bathroom to relieve himself. After peeing he washed his hands and moved on to his face care routine that Bria helped formulate for him. Each product picked perfectly for his skin needs, Terry had combination skin, which was oily and dry. So he’d opt for an oil based cleanser and finish with a foaming wash afterwards.

Turning his naked top towards he observed the scratches along his back and sides, smirking to himself he moved to start the shower. His baby would turn into a cat when he was deep inside her and he loved the pain.

Exiting the shower he used a fluffy white towel to dry his head then wrapped it around his waist to head to your shared bedroom. Bria still layed passed out on her stomach with her hands under her chin, snoring softly into the firm pillows. She didn’t get up until after eight on her off days and definitely wasn’t a stranger to a good nap or two. Dressing himself in a black beater with gray Nike sweats after lotioning himself up, Terry slipped long white socks onto his feet.

Grabbing his phone and laptop he headed to his office down the hallway to get briefed on a new client of his. He was a criminal defense attorney, and everytime he thought he represented the worst out there another came knocking. It amazed him the shit people could get themselves into nowadays and he didn’t put anything past nobody, all these motherfuckers was crazy if it was up to him.

Bria had a less stressful job, and her love for children landed her in a career as a teacher. She had been teaching second graders for two and a half years now and it never got old for her. She loved the look on their little faces when they got something right or how excited they were to see her every day for five days straight. She never got burnt out and she never felt in over her head, this truly was her dream job.

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

By nine-thirty Bria’s slumber had unfortunately come to and end, the Texas sun shining through the sheer curtains of the windows just wouldn’t let her be great, she’d have to go to the store later for blackout ones because Terry had picked up the wrong kind. Looking into the mirror across from their bed she slapped her hand over her mouth and laughed loudly at her appearance. She looked like she’d seen hell and back in the last twelve hours.

Rolling out of bed she rushed to the bathroom to relieve her bladder and shower. Tying her curls into a loose bun onto her head she stepped into the steamy shower sighing in relief. The aches reminded her of last night and she smiled to herself, chile she wasn’t playing with that man tonight, he was indeed a slayer of the cooch and she was spent.

Stepping out the shower she grabbed her shower robe and tended to her skincare after brushing her teeth. She had a new rosewater spray that was supposed to give a dewy look without clogging her pores and that was what she looked for in skincare. She rubbed a scented body oil on her supple skin after putting on her favorite shea butter lotion and stepped into their room to put on her moomoo.

Immediately hearing her man's country ass laugh from down the hall she skipped her ass right into his office, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from the back.

“Good morninggg papa!” She smothered the his cheeks and necks in kisses, acting just like the freshly fucked wifey she was.

Turning in his swivel office chair Terry met her lips with his and pulled her to straddle his lap.

“Good morning wifey, I like this lil mood you in… daddy did that?” Smirking to himself he laughed at her rolling her eyes, those pretty ass brown eyes. She could ask for the world and he would serve it right up to her fine ass, she deserved it all..

“You like asking questions you already know the answer to huh?” She sassed back getting a small pop to her ass.

“I’m kidding but yess it’s all you baby, you can have anything bae… you want a new truck or sum? I am well fucked!” He laughed at his goofy ass wife and kissed her exposed cleavage.

“No baby I’m all good, you all the gift I need.. lil sexy ass. You want breakfast? You know daddy make a mean pot of shrimp and grits..” Her eyes got big as saucers and she ran to the kitchen to wait at the island.

“I’ll be waiting for you and I’ll make the mimosas!” She yelled from the kitchen pulling out a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of champagne.

Laughing to himself he looked over the legal documents in his laptop triple checking he’d read through it all before closing it and heading to the kitchen to cook for his baby.

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

After their savory and filling breakfast the two laid snuggled up on their cloud couch under a thick throw blanket watching reruns of Martin. Placing her hand on his chest she leaned up and looked into his eyes.

“Are things bad again at work… I mean I know they’re always stressful because of what you do but, you know I worry about you, these people are insane and I know these cases are heavy on you.” Air loudly left his nostrils and he rubbed up and down her back, pecking her on her forehead as he sat up.

“Yeah baby it is… you know I tell you what I can but I can’t always go into the intricate details of these cases, I’m stressed like a motherfucker right now but I’ll be aight… this is the reality of lawyering, you never know who the fuck you repping next.” She frowned to herself, she hated when things got like this for him at the firm because in a way seeing him like this made her stressed too.

“No I understand the confidentiality of the cases, it’s just I don’t want you feeling like you can’t tell me about your days, hell I don’t care if it’s about a judge you aren’t fond of… you know I’ll listen to anything you say.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck she threw her legs over his and intertwined herself with him.

“Take time for yourself papa… I know how you have to be in the courtroom and those offices, but here you unwind and leave all that shit at the door. You looked so worn out yesterday I don’t like that shit for you… promise to talk to me more papa.. I love you.”

Linking their pinky fingers together he brought them to his lips to seal the promise.

“I promise mama I will.. I just never wanna put all that heavy shit on you.. you’re my everything and you being just as stressed as me ain’t good for neither of us, you know you a drama queen.”

Smacking her lips she plucked his ear and laughed with him, turning back toward the tv.

“Speaking of jobs.. I can tell you I am not looking forward to this school week… they switched the curriculum again right after my students caught on to the last… they annoy me with that shit. It's hard on the kids and it’s bad on us, but that’s Texas for you.” She nibbled on her bottom lip just imagining the reconstruction of her yearly plan for her class, that was no joke and it often came with a boatload of parental complaints.

“Ugh those parents are gonna be on my ass and it isn’t even my fault! Hell I would love it if it stayed the same too.” Looking towards his wife Terry listened intently, having his own questions and thoughts.

“Why the hell are they changing it so often? The whole point of a curriculum is for the kids to grasp the learning material and pass to the next grade… are they trying to see low test numbers… that’s some odd shit.”

Puffing out a sigh Bria shrugged. “Baby I couldn’t tell you, but we shall see come Monday, I know I’m not tripping too bad over it I know that much hell.”

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

By five PM the couple were dressed and headed out to pick up some takeout from their favorite soul food spot. Bria’s stomach grabbed and Terry laughed from the driver seat of his truck.

“Ouu my stomach is literally touching my back… papa you mind driving a little faster?” Bria whined to Terry reaching over to rub his ear.

Looking forward into the Houston traffic Terry mumbled to himself. “Yeah yeah I’m trying mama..”

They knew they’d get hit by the five o’clock Houston traffic but the food would make the trip worth the while. Neither wanted to cook after spending an hour in the supermarket stocking up on groceries, so they opted for placing a Togo order at their favorite spot instead.

Finally making it home to dig in Terry ripped open the white plastic bag immediately being hit with the steam and aroma of that good ole southern food. He handed Bria hers first since she was starving to death and took his out next. Terry had decided on smothered chicken and gravy with rice and red beans and a slice of cornbread , while Bria opted for smothered cabbage, fried chicken with mac and cheese.

Tucking into their plate lunches Bria had something weighing on her mind, something she’d been excited to bring up to her husband.

A week ago she had taken three pregnancy tests, all showing the infamous double lines indicating what she had been thinking for the last month. Her doctor confirmed it that past Tuesday and today finally felt like the perfect day to tell her husband.

“Papa I have a surprise for you… but I need to run to our room to get it.” Terry looked up into her nervous eyes and dropped his fork, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of water he gave her his full attention.

“A surprise for me mama… what you been hiding from me? Matter of fact let me turn my back and close my eyes… and it bet not be that damn cat that been walking all over my truck either, you know you always on some ASPCA shit” He goofily yelled at her retreating form oh so curious as to what she could be hiding now.

Inside their room Bria grabbed the cute white gift box, inside sat the three pregnancy test along with a little baby bib that read “Daddy’s #1 Fan” Bria breathed in and out, she knew Terry would be ecstatic, hell he would scream it for the whole Houston to know, being a dad was his wish and she was happy to make it come true.

Hearing Bria pad back into the living area, she revealed a white gift box to him and sat him down on the couch. Urging him to open it Terry jokingly untied the ribbons slow as a turtle.

A megawatt smile hit his face and instantly he engulfed Bria into a crushing hug, thanking her over and over, this shit was better than anything he’d accomplished in life and the woman sitting to his right went half with him on that.

Perching his hand on her still flat stomach he got on his knees, lifted her shirt, and pecked her belly.

“Thank you so much mama… I can’t even thank you enough for this right now… this me and you for life for real, we really got a baby on the way girl?? We finna be John and Kate plus eight… ain’t no way we gone be a one and done typa family.”

The two shared laughs and shed tears together, because this was something truly special… something they went half on made with all the love they had to give and more.

“You are so welcome baby… anything for you, I’ll have ten of your babies fuck it why not.. I’m not going nowhere anyways… I have sooo many nursery ideas I was hiding on my iPad!”

Terry lifted her onto her feet and grabbed her face to plant a kiss on her lips, his girl, his wife, his child's mother.. he couldn't wait for all the stages, hell he was finna call her job Monday and tell them she wasn’t coming back, he didn’t want her working while pregnant anyways, but he knew she’d work until the doctor said otherwise.

They had nine whole months to prepare and nosy ass friends and family to fend off until they broke the news but, they wouldn’t trade it for the world.

.*.*.*.*.***.**********************************************

A/N: This may or may not be a multi part thing chile I don’t know, this idea was bugging me all day long so I was like why not knock the dust off google docs and type something up… no seriously shout out to Aaron Pierre he got the community up right now and I love everything I read and come across, hell he even got me writing again. I appreciate anybody who comes across this I really hope yall like it 🫶🏾I’m also open to constructive criticism💜!

Taglist: @keyaho @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[mxltifxnd0m]

acts of service ~ s. winchester

summary: sam loves doing the little things for you

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader

requested: yes/no by: @ohsc for my celebration my angels event! thanks for sending this in blondie!! i had sm fun writing this <33

word count: 916

warnings: none, no use of 'y/n', fluff

a/n: i won't lie, i had severe writer's block when i tried writing this blurb but im glad that i got over it, but apologies for taking so long with this!

please reblog and comment<3 it helps out and i love seeing your feedback on my fics!!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You didn’t notice it at first, but Sam loved to do things for you. Whether it be small gestures or big ones, he did them. At first, before you started to date (to Dean’s relief, he was sick of the two of you pining after each other), Sam would get you coffee/tea (either making it for you perfectly or getting your order right every time), bring your bags inside the motel room when you jokingly complained about your bags being heavy, always jumping at the chance to patch your wounds and being gentle as he could when he did. 

But after you guys started dating and when you moved into the bunker, you began to notice him doing even more little deeds for you. Sam would clean up the dishes if you had cooked for him and Dean, running you a bath if you felt stressed, bringing you breakfast in bed since he always woke up before you, comb his hands through your hair when your head was in his lap during a movie night the two of you would have, and if you fell asleep on the couch in the “Dean Cave,” you always found yourself cuddled up next to Sam in the morning. Hell, he’d even get on his knees to tie up one of your boots if the shoelaces were untied. 

It had finally clicked that one of Sam’s love languages was acts of service after he had surprised you with a “spa day” (Sam had run you a bath and pampered you all day) when he saw how tired you were since you guys had been going on hunts non-stop and you guys finally had a day off for once. You looked at Sam like he hung the moon for you as he washed your hair, and your heart swelled with love for the man that you’re lucky to call yours as his warm hands kneaded at the knots in your shoulders and wrapped his arms around as you fell asleep in the calming bubbled he created in your shared room.

Tonight was no different. Sam was washing up from the meal you had cooked for the three of you, and you leaned on the doorway of the kitchen as you smiled to yourself, watching how his back muscles shifted underneath the white t-shirt he was wearing, having stripped off his flannel in preparation to wash the dishes.

Sam was drying off one of the last dishes when you kicked off from the doorway and made your way to Sam. He was toweling off the last dish as you wrapped your arms around his trim waist, and you hugged him from behind. You could feel him chuckle in amusement as he put down the dish on the rack near the sink. 

Your grip was loose enough that he was able to turn around in your hold, and a soft smile was on his face as he looked down at you, mirth glittering in his hazel eyes.

You mirrored his smile. “Thank you.” You said as you unwrapped your arms from his waist to rest your hands on his shoulders. 

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, his smile turning into a confused one. He tilted his head slightly, making him resemble a puppy, his hair falling with the movement. 

“But what for exactly?” Sam moved his damp hands to rest on your waist as he pulled you in his body.

“Just for being the best boyfriend.” You told him as you shrugged. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you in response. 

“What? Can I not complement my incredibly thoughtful, sweet, kind, and not to mention drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend?” You had a shit-eating grin on your face as you saw Sam’s face flush with heat, a bashful smile on his lips. 

Sam leaned forward and drew into a sweet kiss that you melted into. One of his hands left your waist to cup your cheek as he kissed you softly, his lips moving against yours slowly, drawing it out as it filled your chest with warmth.

Sam started to walk you backward as the kiss grew more passionate until your back hit the wood of the kitchen table, his tongue swiping at the seam of your lips. You gave him entrance, and a soft moan left the back of your throat as he tasted you. 

You broke away from the kiss, unfortunately needing to take a breath. You looked at Sam’s slightly swollen pink lips before trailing up to his blown-out eyes. The hazel of his eyes was practically nonexistent, considering how dilated his pupil was.

The two of you smiled at each other, staring at each other for a moment before you leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on Sam’s lips. Sam kept this kiss soft, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek before pulling away and trailing a kiss on your opposite cheek and then your forehead. 

When he pulled away, Sam had a gentle smile on his face as he studied your blissed-out features. Your eyes were lidded as you looked at him with a love-filled gaze.  

Sam rested his forehead against yours. “I love you.” He whispered, Sam’s lips grazing yours as he spoke. 

You smiled. “I love you too, honey.” 

The two of you stayed in the kitchen, fitted against each other like puzzle pieces, and you found solace in the silence that settled between you and Sam, breathing in each other's scents, which you knew to be home. 

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Head Over Heels - Pete Mitchell x Reader

A/N: I've watched the OG so many times over the last month I felt inspired to write a little 1980s set piece for baby Mav. It's roughly set in 1983 (obvs. I wasn't born yet so I'm going purely off my obsession with 80s shit bare with me ok).

pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x reader

warnings/content: fluff, set in the 1980s, Maverick hits on you in a bar while you're working, brief mention of Goose & Carole if you squint.

word count: 2.2k

“You're a rich girl, and you've gone too far, ‘cause you know it don't matter anyway…”

The sounds of Hall and Oates’ Rich Girl rang out from the jukebox that sat opposite from the bar, a few off-key voices attempting to sing the words in slurred tones, incoherent to anyone other than themselves. It was a typical Friday night, with a few people seated on the red vinyl booths that encircled the bar counter, empty beer glasses in front of them as they waited anxiously for a top up. 

You didn’t love your job here - you only did it to put yourself through school, and even then, it wasn’t as though you needed to - your parents had offered you financial assistance on more than one occasion, almost scandalized at the thought of their precious daughter working in a dive bar on weekends to put herself through college, but you were determined. You wanted to earn this degree on your own merit, without your parents holding the loan of a few thousand dollars over your head and without the feeling that you were some spoiled little rich kid that others should despise or envy. 

As you wiped a table clean in the far corner of the bar, you took note of two young men in bomber jackets coming through the entrance. The shorter of the two, a dark-haired man with intriguing eyes - were they hazel, blue or green? It was nearly impossible to tell. - laughed as he looked back to his friend, a tall blonde haired man with a mustache, who looked incredibly unimpressed about the choice of bar that his buddy had. You couldn’t say you blamed him - the food was decent, but that was about it. You weren’t exactly known for being the Ritz Carlton of dive bars. 

The two men sidled up to a booth, and you sighed to yourself, knowing that it meant they’d become your responsibility, whether they were aware of that fact or not. You finished cleaning the table off and retreated behind the bar to find two menus - not that they seemed like the type who were here for food - you knew the younger men that came in usually only came for one thing, cheap beer. You approached their table, plastering your customer service smile on your face as you sauntered over. You handed them each a menu and greeted them with your normally joyful voice, and you couldn’t help but feel like you came off as someone deranged for being so cheerful. 

“Hi! What can I get you both?”

“I’ll have whatever’s on tap, thanks,” the blonde replied with a polite head nod towards you. 

The brunette started eyeing you up, a grin plastered on his face as he took in the sight of you. Your outfit was hardly anything worth looking at, you thought to yourself. Fitted high-waisted jeans and a t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo emblazoned on the back, the baggier fitting shirt tucked into your jeans to accentuate the fact that, despite how the t-shirt might come off, you did in fact have hips. His grin was playful - not the kind you were used to from men who saw you at work. He didn’t give you the impression he was only interested in taking you to bed with him, although you weren’t entirely convinced that wasn’t his motive. His hazel eyes lit up as he looked at you, his thousand-watt grin almost distracting.

“What do you recommend? I’ve never been here before.” He charmed, still smiling up at you.

“Well, our wings are pretty popular, I personally like them dressed in Kansas City sauce, it’s a bit spicier but it’s not too overpowering, and for a drink, I usually go for a rye and coke, but if you’re more of a beer guy, I recommend pairing it with a Budweiser. You can never go wrong there.”

“Perfect, I’ll have that, please. With a side of coleslaw.”

“Alright, two beers, an order of KC wings and a side of coleslaw? You got it.”

You disappeared behind the counter with their order and returned a few moments later with their drinks in hand. The brunette was leaning in towards his friend, whispering in a hushed tone that you could barely make out, but it was evident that your presence wasn’t known. You set the drinks down on the table and both men sat straighter in their seats. The blonde one looked at you with a charming smile, the kind you’d give a teacher who’d walked in on you doing something you weren’t supposed to at school. He cleared his throat and laughed slightly as he took a sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the cardboard coaster you’d brought over. 

“I’m so sorry, but my friend here, he’s a little shy. He thinks you’re really pretty though. Not that I don’t, I’m just engaged.” The blonde babbled, seemingly nervous, as if he was afraid you’d throw his drink over him. 

“Does he? Why doesn’t he tell me so himself?” You teased, looking over to the brunette, who was now blushing and grinning like an absolute idiot - the most attractive idiot you’d ever seen.

“He is afraid of women. Sort of, anyways. I never say the right thing.” He explained matter of factly. 

His eyes squinted to read the name tag on your shirt, saying it slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it correctly before giving you another smile. “Beautiful name,” he added. 

“Well, now this seems unfair - you know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“Right! Right. I’m Maverick. This here’s my buddy, Goose.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, Navy callsigns. I’m Pete. He’s Nick.”

“Goose is fine,” the blonde interjected, shaking his head as he held up a hand to stop Pete from talking further, “Only my mom calls me Nick. And usually it’s if I’m in shit for something.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete. Goose.” 

You politely excused yourself from the table with a laugh before continuing with your other duties that night - waiting the few surrounding tables with  patrons, cleaning and restocking napkins and cutlery around the bar. You noticed at one point that Pete had approached the jukebox. He flipped through the available songs, selecting one seemingly at random, bringing Vacation by The Go-Gos to an abrupt end as his choice of song began playing. The opening bars of Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply began to fill the room, and Pete gave you a beaming grin as he retreated back to his seat. He began singing along to song with Goose, the two carrying on in an off-key harmonic ensemble that, admittedly, had you fighting the urge to sing along. 

As you approached the table once more, a playful smirk gracing your lips at Pete's rendition of the song, you couldn't deny the infectious energy he exuded. His performance, though not flawless, carried a certain charm that captivated your attention. As you deftly cleared away their empty dishes, Pete's gaze met yours once again, but this time with a smile that held a hint of mischief, a smile that could easily disarm even the most composed.

"Are you finishing up soon?" His voice was casual, but there was an underlying eagerness in his tone. Checking his watch briefly before locking eyes with you again, he continued, "I don’t have to be back on base until tomorrow morning. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to do something after work."

You couldn't help but grin at his forwardness, though you made a show of feigning reluctance. "I don’t accept dates from guys who ask me out at my workplace," you teased, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

Pete's response was quick, his charm effortlessly slipping through the cracks of your defenses. "Ok, that’s understandable. What time are you off work?"

"In ten minutes," you replied, a mixture of amusement and surprise coloring your tone as you realized the clever loophole he had found in your earlier rejection.

"Perfect. I’ll meet you outside in ten."

True to his word, ten minutes later found you standing outside, Goose offering a polite wave as he departed. Pete's smile was infectious as he approached you, his demeanor exuding a newfound confidence. He gestured towards you, his grin widening as he spoke.

"You said no because I asked you out inside, but now?"

A playful glint danced in your eyes as you played along. "Now, I suppose I can say yes. You’re no longer a creepy guy asking me out at work."

"Exactly, now I’m a creepy guy asking you out outside of your work. Much better," he quipped, a chuckle escaping him as he extended his arm towards you.

You couldn't help but laugh at his remark, the tension between you dissipating as you fell into an easy banter. As he introduced himself, the warmth in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself drawn in despite your initial reservations.

Pete shook his head, a self-amused chuckle escaping him before he gallantly extended his arm towards you. His cheeks took on a charming shade of pink, adding a subtle glow to his already handsome features. It was then that the disparity in height between the two of you became apparent, your gaze meeting his from a slightly elevated position. A grin played at his lips as he ran a hand through his dark locks, his eyes squinting ever so slightly as he regarded you with a mix of earnestness and intrigue.

"Sorry, I’m relatively new to this," he confessed with a sheepish grin. "My success rate’s not the highest unless I’m in uniform, and even then."

"Uniform?" you echoed, curiosity lacing your tone.

Straightening up, Pete cleared his throat before executing a mock salute with a touch of playful flair. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Peter Mitchell, United States Naval Air Force, currently stationed over at North Island, just across the bay," he announced with a subtle gesture toward the distant island.

"Peter, huh?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Did you think my parents just put Pete on the birth certificate and called it a day?"

"Actually," you quipped back, "earlier before you clarified, I thought they put Maverick on there and called it a day - Pete didn’t seem like too far of a stretch."

"I suppose you’re right," he conceded with a grin. "I don’t think I’ve been called by my full name since school, and even then, it was back when Peter from The Brady Bunch was still cool. I liked it then, all the girls liked him anyways."

"I was more of a Greg girl, actually," you teased, raising an eyebrow in playful defiance as you pretended to inspect your manicure.

"Of course you were," he chuckled, his tone teasing yet affectionate. "You’re one of the first girls I’ve met to not care about the military thing. Most girls are all over that."

"It’s impressive, don’t get me wrong," you interjected with a shrug. "I’ve just dated military guys before."

"Have you?" Pete's interest was piqued, his gaze locked onto yours with a newfound curiosity.

"Well, one," you admitted. "My first boyfriend when I moved down to San Diego from Oakland."

"You’re from Oakland?! I’m from San Francisco!"

"Small world, isn't it?" Pete's eyes lit up with a spark of excitement, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he realized the unexpected connection between your hometowns. "I guess that makes us Bay Area neighbors, in a sense."

You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a sense of warmth in the shared familiarity of your origins. "Seems like it," you agreed, the playful banter easing any remaining tension between you.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, a comfortable silence settled, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the bustling pier. In that moment, standing on the threshold of possibility, you couldn't ignore the magnetic pull drawing you closer to Pete.

"So," he began, breaking the silence with a gentle tone, "any chance I could persuade you to show a newcomer around San Diego? I'm afraid my knowledge of the city is limited to the base and a few local hotspots."

The invitation hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. With a playful glint in your eyes, you considered his request, allowing yourself to entertain the idea of exploring the city with him.

"I suppose I could be persuaded," you teased, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "But only if you promise to keep up with this newfound charm of yours, Lieutenant Mitchell."

Pete's laughter echoed against the backdrop of the bay, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "Consider it a deal, Miss Oakland," he replied, extending his arm once more in a silent invitation to embark on this newfound adventure together.

As you linked your arm with his, a sense of anticipation tingled in the air, the promise of new beginnings lingering on the horizon. With each step forward, you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected encounter would lead, but one thing was certain: with Pete by your side, the journey promised to be anything but ordinary.

[greenwitchcrafts]

February 2024 witch guide

Full moon: February 24th

New moon: February 9th

Sabbats: Imbolc-February 1st

February Snow Moon

Known as: Eagle Moon, Horning Moon, Solmonath Moon, Bear moon, Ice Moon, Wild Moon, Raccoon Moon, Big Winter Moon, Groundhog Moon, Quickening Moon, Storm Moon, Goose Moon, Hungry Moon & Red/Cleansing Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Aquarius & Pisces

Nature spirits: House Faeries

Deities: Aphrodite, Brigid & Nut

Animals: Otter & Unicorn

Birds: Chickadee & Eagle

Trees: Cedar, laurel, myrtle & rowan

Herbs: Balm of Gilead, hyssop, myrrh, sage & spikenard

Flowers: Primrose

Scents: Heliotrope & wisteria

Stones: Amethyst, jasper, moonstone, obsidian, onyx , rose quartz, topaz & red zircon

Colors: Light blue & violet

Energy:  Astral travel, banishing, beginnings, breaking bad habits, creativity expressiveness, empowerment, energy working to the surface, fertility, forgiveness, freedom, friendships, future plans, growth, healing, problem solving, purification, responsibility & science

February’s full Moon is a “Micromoon” this year. Think of this term as the opposite of a “Supermoon.” It simply means that the full Moon is at its farthest point from Earth (not the nearest point).

The explanation behind February’s full Moon name is a fairly straightforward one: it’s known as the Snow Moon due to the typically heavy snowfall that occurs in February. On average, February is the United States’ snowiest month, according to data from the National Weather Service. In the 1760s, Captain Jonathan Carver, who had visited with the Naudowessie(Dakota), wrote that the name used for this period was the Snow Moon, “because more snow commonly falls during this month than any other in the winter.” 

Imbolc

Known as: Feast of Torches, Feast of Waxing Light, Oimele & Brigid's Day

Season: Winter

Symbols: Besoms, Brighid's crosses, candles, candle wheels, fertility symbols, fire, ploughs, priapic wands & white flowers

Colors: Black, brown, Earth tones, lavender, light green, orange, pink, red, white & yellow

Oils/Incense: Apricot, basil, bay, carnation, chamomile, cinnamon, dragon's blood, frankincense, heather, jasmine, myrrh, neroli, red sandalwood, sage, vanilla, violet & wisteria

Animals: Badger, cow, deer,groudhog, robin, sheep, snake, & swan

Mythical: Dragon

Stones: Amethyst, bloodstone, citrine, clear quartz, garnet, green tourmaline, hematite, iron, lodestone, onyx, red zircon, rose quartz, ruby, turquoise, yellow tourmaline

Food: Breads, chives, curries, dairy products, grains, garlic, herbal teas, honey cakes, lamb, muffins, onions, peppers, poppy seed cakes, pork, poultry, pumpkin seeds, raisins, scones, spiced wines & sunflower seeeds

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, ashleaf, balsam, basil, bay laurel, benzoin, blackberry, clover, coltsfoot, coriander, dragon's blood, garlic, heather, lemon, myrrh, rosemary, sage, vervain, wheat & witch hazel

Flowers: Celandine, chamomile, iris, rose hips, snowdrop, sunflower, tansy, violets, white flowers & yellow flowers

Goddesses: Anu, Aradia, Arianrhod, Artio, Athena, Branwen, Brigid, Danu, Februa, Gaia, Inanna, Juno, Selene, Sirona & Vesta

Gods: Aegus Mac Og, Bragi, Cupid, Dian Cecht, Dumuzi, Eros, Februus & Pax

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Activation/awakening, animals, beginnings, fertility, healing, hope, illumination, inspiration, light, pregnancy/childbirth, prophecy, transformation, well-being & youth

Spellwork: Air magick, banishings, candle spells, divination, fertility spells, prosperity & purification

Activities:

• Make & light white candles

• Clean/decorate your altar & consecrate your  altar tools

• Go on a walk in nature & look for signs of spring

• Make a Brigid's Cross

• Have a feast with your family/friends

• Give thanks & leave offerings to the Earth

• Set intentions, reflect & look deeper into your goals for spring

• Start a bonfire

• Find Imboloc prayers & devotionals that bid farewell to the winter months, honor the goddess Brigid, as well as seasonal blessings for your meals, hearth, & home.

• Pepare plans for your upcoming garden

• Craft a priapic wand

• Spend time with children celebrating Imbolc by making crafts & or baking

• Practice divination & fire scrying

• Draw a cleansing ritual bath for yourself

• Meditate, reflect & say your farewells to winter

• Cleanse & clean your house to prepare for spring

• Create a Brídeóg: a doll of Brigid made of straw

• Make Bride's bouquet satchets & exchange as symbols of good luck and fertility

• Set aside food & or drinks as an offering to Brigid to invite her in your home

Imbolc is a Gaelic festival marking the beginning of spring. Most commonly it is held on January 31 – February 1, or halfway between the winter solstice & the spring equinox. The holiday is a festival of the hearth, home, a celebration of the lengthening days & the early signs of spring. 

The word "imbolc" means "in the belly" and refers to the pregnancy of ewes at this time of year. The term "oimelc" means ewe's milk. Around this time of year, many herd animals give birth to their first offspring of the year or are heavily pregnant & as a result, they are producing milk. This creation of life’s milk is a part of the symbolic hope for spring.

Imbolc is mentioned in some of the earliest Irish literature and it is associated with important events in Irish mythology. It has been suggested that it was originally a pagan festival associated with the goddess Brigid and that it was Christianized as a festival of Saint Brigid, who herself is thought to be a Christianization of the goddess.

Some use Imbolc to celebrate the longer days which herald the return of Spring & The Goddess's recovery from giving birth to The Sun (The God) at Yule. The God & The Goddess are children symbolizing new life, new beginnings & new resurrections.

Related festivals:

• Groundhog Day-  Is a tradition observed in the United States & Canada on February 2 of every year. It derives from the Pennsylvania Dutch superstition that if a groundhog emerges from its burrow on this day & sees its shadow, it will retreat to its den & winter will go on for six more weeks; if it does not see its shadow, spring will arrive early.

While the tradition remains popular in the 21st century, studies have found no consistent association between a groundhog seeing its shadow & the subsequent arrival time of spring-like weather.

•St. Brigid's Day- 1 February. It was originally Imbolc, the first day of spring in Irish tradition. Because Saint Brigid has been theorised as linked to the goddess Brigid, some associate the festival of Imbolc with the goddess. St. Brigid is the patroness saint (or 'mother saint') of Ireland. She is patroness of many things, including poetry, learning, healing, protection, blacksmithing, livestock & dairy production. In her honour, a perpetual fire was kept burning at Kildare for centuries.

A recent campaign successfully established her feast day as a national holiday in 2023.

• Chinese New Year- (February 10th) the festival that celebrates the beginning of a new year on the traditional lunisolar Chinese calendar. In Chinese, the festival is commonly referred to as the Spring Festival,- marking the end of winter and the beginning of the spring season. Observances traditionally take place from Chinese New Year's Eve, the evening preceding the first day of the year, to the Lantern Festival, held on the 15th day of the year. The first day of Chinese New Year begins on the new moon that appears between January 21st & February 20th.

The Chinese New Year is associated with several myths and customs. The festival was traditionally a time to honour deities as well as ancestors. Within China, regional customs and traditions concerning the celebration of the New Year vary widely & the evening preceding the New Year's Day is frequently regarded as an occasion for Chinese families to gather for the annual reunion dinner.

It is also a tradition for every family to thoroughly clean their house, in order to sweep away any ill fortune & to make way for incoming good luck. Another custom is the decoration of windows & doors with red paper-cuts and couplets. Popular themes among these paper-cuts and couplets include good fortune or happiness, wealth & longevity. Other activities include lighting firecrackers  & giving money in red envelopes.

•  Candlemas- is a Christian feast day on February 2nd commemorating the presentation of Jesus at the Temple. It is based upon the account of the presentation of Jesus in Luke 2:22-40. 

While it is customary for Christians in some countries to remove their Christmas decorations on Twelfth Night, those in other Christian countries historically remove them after Candlemas.On Candlemas, many Christians also take their candles to their local church, where they are blessed and then used for the rest of the year.

•Setsubun- (February 3rd) Is the day before the beginning of spring in the old calendar in Japan. The name literally means 'seasonal division', referring to the day just before the first day of spring.

Both Setsubun & Risshun are celebrated yearly as part of the Spring Festival (Haru matsuri ) in Japan. In its association with the Lunar New Year, Setsubun, though not the official New Year, was thought of as similar in its ritual & cultural associations of 'cleansing' the previous year as the beginning of the new season of spring. Setsubun was accompanied by a number of rituals & traditions held at various levels to drive away the previous year's bad fortunes & evil spirits for the year to come.

Other Celebrations:

• Lupercalia-

In ancient Rome, this festival was conducted annually on February 13th through 15th under the superintendence of a corporation of priests called Luperci. The origins of the festival are obscure, although the likely derivation of its name from lupus (Latin: “wolf”) has variously suggested connection with an ancient deity who protected herds from wolves and with the legendary she-wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus. As a fertility rite, the festival is also associated with the god Faunus.

to purify the city, promoting health & fertility.

Each Lupercalia began with the sacrifice by the Luperci of goats and a dog, after which two of the Luperci were led to the altar, their foreheads were touched with a bloody knife & the blood was wiped off with wool dipped in milk; the ritual required that the two young men laugh. The sacrificial feast followed, after which the Luperci cut thongs from the skins of the sacrificial animals & ran in two bands around the Palatine hill, striking with the thongs at any woman who came near them. A blow from the thong was supposed to render a woman fertile.

In 494 CE the Christian church under Pope Gelasius I forbade participation in the festival. Tradition holds that he appropriated the form of the rite as the Feast of the Purification (Candlemas), celebrated on February 2, but it is likely that the Christian feast was established in the previous century. It has also been alternately suggested that Pope Gelasius I replaced Lupercalia with St. Valentine’s Day, celebrated on February 14th, but the origin of that holiday was likely much later.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[azsazz]

Burrow

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Nesting. Preferably with Cassian but I'm not picky.

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.

Word Count: 929

_________________________________________

“No,” you cry desperately, throwing your arm out to try and stop Cassian from entering the bed. Your alpha stares down at you, eyebrow raised. Swallowing harshly, you duck your head as your cheeks heat a sheepish crimson. “What if you ruin it?”

Cassian's face softens as he tries to bite back the teasing grin threatening to expose itself. You are the most adorable omega he’s ever seen, all bundled up in one of his thick sweaters that drowns you with his pillows and blankets stacked tightly around you in the nest that had taken you ages to perfect.

“Sweetheart, you do know that all of those things smell like me, right?”

You huff, burrowing your flaring face into one of the pillows, breathing the lingering scent of him he’d left behind. “I know, it’s stupid.”

Cassian hushes you softly, abandoning the side of the bed that was your usual spot and sweeping around the edge to where you’d built up your nest on his side of the luxurious bed.

You’d rolled into the divet he’d left after he’d kissed you goodbye before slipping out of the room for training early this morning. It had been awfully warm and you couldn’t resist pressing your face into his pillow to breathe in the scent of the alpha that had claimed you as his.

Cassian catches your chin in a soft hold, thumb stroking over your cheek before it slides down your neck and across the mark on your neck in a soothing motion. Your heart stutters in your chest at his touch upon your most proud brand, gifted to you by him. He tilts your head to look his way, keenly aware of what’s going on with you. As both your alpha and your mate he knows you better than himself. He hadn’t seen you all morning, and when he’d run into the wraiths after a hearty breakfast with his brothers and heard that you had refused their services, he’d immediately known you were nearing your heat and had begun nesting.

You’re very particular about things when your heat is approaching. With your sharpened senses you didn’t want the smell of anyone else ruining the heady scent of Cassian’s throughout the room. You didn’t want the wraiths to come in and clean his clothes or ruin the delicious sandalwood scents smothering every inch of the space. You picked through the haphazardly thrown items on the floors and chests to find the perfect ones to fit in your nest – nothing too dirty but with enough of the alphas scent that it calmed your itchy bond.

When he’d finally made it back to the room his heart stumbled at the sight of you burrowing deeply into the mass of the nest you made up on his side of the bed. A brief but calculating glance had Cassian recognizing more than a few of his favorite shirts and sweaters, pillows and blankets stacked in a precise manner that had his bond humming in his chest. A bunch of his hair ties hang loose around your wrists, one holding your hair back from your pretty face. He’d even caught sight of his beloved sword, nestled in its century worn leather holster that smells strongly of him.

“It’s not stupid at all.” His mesmerizing hazel gaze holds yours, voice set in a way to show you that he means nothing but the truth. “You know that I will do anything to keep you safe and comfortable, right mate?”

Your eyes turn glassy, heart aching in such a wonderful way. You love this male and have for as long as you can remember, and everything he’s done has shown you just how much he reciprocates your feelings. The mark under his gentle touch throbs and warmth fills your chest.

“Yes, alpha,” you sigh, relaxing in his grip. 

“Good girl,” he hums and your nostrils flare, torn between wanting to keep your nest in its near perfect arrangement or wanting to tug your alpha into bed for a romp. His stare shines with a heated glint, the air in the room thickening with the heavy eye contact.

“Keep looking at me like that, little omega, and I’ll completely ravish you.”

In a quick motion you’re flipping the covers off of yourself and gesturing to him in. “Get in here, mate, but don’t touch anything.”

Laughter rumbles in Cassian’s chest at your response, carefully toeing off his boots and leathers to slip into your nest with you. It’s a tight fit, considering how large of a male he is, but he makes it work, scooping you up into his arms and silencing your whimper with a soft kiss as he settles between the hills of items circled on the duvet, you clutched tightly to his chest.

As soon as he’s manhandled you into a comfortable position with you pressed flush to his front and the thick blankets pulled up to your shoulders, you immediately scent your mate, writhing against his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck to take a deep inhale of his musky scent – salt and sandalwood. It nearly makes your head spin.

Your eyes shut in bliss and your pleased sigh against his throat sends shivers up his spine, his arms tightening around you in response. His heart beats a strong beat in his chest, reacting to you cuddled in his arms, where you always should be.

Having him here is so much better than being surrounded only by his things. 

And to think…you almost didn’t let him back in bed.

[matchingbatbites]

Love Grows - Part 2

More teen dad Steve! This shaping up to be around 8-9 parts, so keep an eye out for more!

Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 3

March '85

Steve gets more comfortable bringing Rosemary to school. Twice a week he brings the 6 month old along as he goes to class, and when Eddie asks him about it one day, Steve just shrugs. "I used to pay for a sitter on those days, because the usual one can't watch her, but I'd rather have her with me since everyone knows anyway." And yeah, that makes sense.

Eddie starts taking her during Steve's free period, so the guy has a chance to do some schoolwork without worrying about keeping an eye on his kid. He enjoys it, the time he gets with Rosie one-on-one, but he really enjoys lunch on those days, because Steve will bring her out to Eddie's van - which Eddie scrubbed clean before offering the first time - and they'll eat lunch and talk while Rosie stretches out in the soft blankets laid out in the back.

He gets some weird looks, including the occasional piercing stare from Nancy Wheeler that he pointedly ignores, as well as his own share of whispers whenever he goes around with Rosie. He’s grateful that the years of acting out, of perfectly honing his loud, unruly persona has left him immune to the chatter. All that matters is Rosie, and Steve, and making sure they’re both taken care of.

The first time Steve asks him to watch Rosie outside school hours, he is visibly stressed. Apparently there's a big basketball game this Friday night and Steve's usual sitter is unavailable, and is there any way he could watch Rosie for a couple of hours? Please?

There's a little voice in the back of Eddie’s mind that screams about it being a Hellfire night, and a baby would be too distracting, would just get in the way. The tantrum is quickly silenced when Steve shoots him those pleading, hazel puppy eyes, and fuck, Eddie’s resolve falls like a house of cards. On Friday he finds himself taking Rosie's carrier and diaper bag as Steve rambles on a little, clearly nervous. 

"I fed her like an hour ago, so she should be okay until after the game. She should stay asleep the entire time, but if she wakes up, just hold her- And you know what you're doing, I don't know why I'm going on about this." 

Eddie can't help the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches out to pat Steve's shoulder. "It's fine, man. You're worried about the game and you're projecting. It'll be okay." 

Steve nods and takes a breath. "Do you want me to meet you back here after the game? Or I can come to wherever you are to get her, if that's easier." 

Eddie hoists the diaper bag higher on his shoulder. "I’m actually going to be hanging around for a little while. There's a room back behind the drama department, you can meet me there to pick her up." 

“Yeah, I can do that,” he says, hands twisting nervously in the strap of his own bag, and Eddie leans over, nudges Steve with his elbow. “You’re gonna do great, Stevie. You’ll have to tell me all about it when you pick up Rosie.”

Steve seems to appreciate the encouragement, gives Eddie a soft “Sure thing,” as they walk into the school together, and the younger waves before they split up and head their separate ways. 

Eddie's friends are baffled when they see Rosie, her carrier placed in a spare seat so he can see her easier, and yeah, Eddie gets it. They know that he watches her sometimes, have seen him around with her, but he’s never brought her into their circle before.

Gareth is the first to actually comment on it with a curious "Hey, Eddie? Why do you have Harrington's baby?"

"Because, Gareth, I'm an excellent babysitter, and my services were needed." 

He sends Gareth a blinding smile and the younger rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to say something but is cut off when Andy smacks his hand on the table.

"Listen, Eddie. I know you've got your whole, whatever the fuck, going on with Harrington, but Hellfire is sacred, man! You can’t just bring in a fucking baby because King Steve asked you to!" 

The room goes quiet at the outburst, and Eddie takes a breath, places his hands on the table and leans forward as he levels a look at the guy. "Steve is raising this baby by himself, and when he needed a hand he came to me because he trusts me, and I agreed because he’s my friend. If you have a problem with me helping out a friend, Andy, then you can fucking leave."

There’s a beat as Eddie stares him down, dares him to say something else before Andy looks away, and Eddie nods firmly as he relaxes a bit, satisfied that there won’t be any more objections about Rosie being there. He starts the session soon after, and the interaction slips to the back of his mind as they all focus on the game

Despite Steve's assurances, Rosie wakes up after about an hour, but before Eddie can reach over to shush her, Gareth is on his feet. He pulls her from the carrier and cradles her in his arms, and when Eddie shoots him a look he just shrugs. 

"I haven't been able to do this since Maggie was a baby, let me have this, man." 

Right, Eddie forgot about the fucking eleven year gap between Gareth and his little sister. The guy probably has more baby experience than Eddie and Steve combined, and that's the only reason Eddie allows it to happen, not because Gareth looks so quietly happy to be holding a baby again. He almost says something when Matt takes her a little while later, but Gareth shows him how to hold her, how to make sure she's comfortable, and Eddie settles down, keeping an eye out while still running the game.

Over the next hour, Rosie gets passed around the table. When someone's arms get tired, she goes on to the next person, although Chris pointedly passes over Andy and hands her directly to Jeff. Eddie smirks at the slight disappointment on Andy's face, and the smug delight on Jeff’s as he cradles the sleeping baby close, shushes her gently when she lets out a weak cry.

The whole scene makes Eddie proud, proud that his boys aren’t afraid to show this level of care for a child they don’t even know, that belongs to someone they have a history of disliking. 

They're completely engrossed in the game when there's a knock on the door, and Eddie looks up to see Steve entering the room. He looks around and frowns, and Eddie feels a rush of - panic? resolve? - when he glances over to see Jeff still holding Rosie.

Steve makes his way over to Eddie, and the older braces himself for a rude comment, prepares to defend his flock, to the point that he’s surprised when instead, Steve says "You could have told me you already had plans for tonight, Eddie. I would have found someone else." 

The weight in Eddie's stomach lifts a little, and he scoffs as he steps over to take Rosie from his friend. “It’s fine, Steve. She’s been silent as a mouse, a perfect angel, honestly.” Steve hums skeptically, watches as Eddie straps Rosie back into her carrier before handing it and the bag over. 

Eddie motions to the door, follows Steve out and closes it behind them as he says "Listen, Steve, I'm sorry. I should have asked before I let anyone else hold her, but Gareth started it and he knows a lot about babies because of his sister, and then Matt took her from him before I could and-" 

He cuts himself off when he sees the amused smile on Steve's face, and he gives a confused "What?" 

Steve shakes his head. "I don't mind if your friends hold her, Eddie. She's pretty used to being held, and they seemed to be careful with her."

"You don't mind if everyone holds her?" Eddie asks, trying to be subtle, and Steve, beautiful, smart Steve, just smiles wider. 

"You know, when I got my face beat in by Billy Hargrove last year, it's because he was being a racist asshole towards one of my kids. I wasn't gonna stand for it, so I put myself between him and Lucas. He broke a plate over my head for it." He settles the diaper bag higher on his shoulder and takes a step back. "Your friends seem nice, Eddie. Maybe you can introduce me next time?"

Steve seems to be making a habit of surprising him, and Eddie can't stop the smile that spreads across his face as he nods. "Sure thing, Stevie. Get home safe, yeah?" 

"Will do. Night, Eddie," he says before walking off, and Eddie is alone in the hall when he responds with a soft "Night, sweetheart."

Tag list:

@luciana-rowan @bidisastersworld @little-gae-shit @thehumblefigtree @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcarin @estrellami-1 @shrimply-a-menace @anaibis @livelaughlexa @vampireinthesun @zerokrox-blog @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @idea-less-author @thegingerrapunzel @fantasyfr3ak @stevesbipanic @electrick-marionnett @tuesdaycats @seths-rogens @flustratedcas @qomrades @artiststarme @death-the-elf @stardustonpages @trensu @otaku-bell-livemotto @thev01dd @demolvr

If you asked to be tagged and you're not in this list, it means I tried to tag you and your name didn't come up! Feel free to ask again, and I'll try again on the next part.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Price Basic Info

Legal Name: John Price Call Sign: Bravo Six D.O.B: 6, April, [REDACTED] Rank: Captain  Nationality: British  Race: White Height: 188cm, 6’2 Eyes: Brown Hair color: Blue-Brown Hazel Pronouns: He/Him Notable features: Maintains a beard. Often wears a boonie hat.  Associations: SAS TF-141

Price joined the infantry at the age of sixteen and has served in the British Army for eighteen years. One of the youngest cadets to ever graduate the Royal Military Academy as a commissioned officer, he completed Special Service Commando selection and was 'badged' a member of the SAS. He was promoted to Captain in 2011.

With uncanny instincts and an unchecked determination, Captain Price is a relentless combat-tracker, doing best in a fluid and volatile environment. A seek-and-strike expert, Price is versed in a wide range of fieldcraft and tactical capabilities. From airborne shock-trooper to long-range reconnaissance operator, Captain Price is a skilled and adaptable saboteur. He has a honed talent for using goodwill and trust to develop and maintain links to valuable foreign fighters across the globe.

Price believes that the duty of every soldier is to fight for the greater good— "The rules of engagement don't change, but their justification does." Price always fights for what's right but he knows what's right isn't always what you're fighting for. He's often said, "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter." Sometimes unpredictable and unrestrained, John Price has a golden rule all his own: "We get dirty, and the world stays clean." 

Not above a rogue move or an unholy alliance in the name of getting the job done, John has a deep but often strained relationship with the system. He seems to hate being tied down by rules or procedures, and sometimes takes drastic actions on his own, often against orders.

His grandfather fought in World War II. 

Price enjoys smoking cigars. His favorite brand is Villa Clara’s.

(As always this is my personal canon, with influence from canon)

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[separatist-apologist]

Cowboy Like Me

Never thought I'd meet you here

Summary: When Nesta is stranded in rural Montana, she finds herself rescued by an unlikely pair.

Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet-Cute

Also, check out this art of Cowboy Cassian from @melphss

Read on AO3

Nesta was in hell. 

Who got married in Montana? Montana seemed like the sort of place you exiled people to die in lonely misery. She didn’t give a fuck about all the open sky, the clean air, or the nature that quite literally ambled up to her rental car looking for a snack. Nesta wasn’t built for this sort of life and maybe it said something about her that she couldn’t imagine anyone else who was.

She’d made a mistake, though. When she’d rented her airbnb, she’d just assumed it was an actual home, like the pictures had depicted, and not some ramshackle hovel with a literal hole in the ground for shitting.

For fifty dollars a night, she supposed she deserved that. Nesta thought that maybe she also deserved her twisted ankle. Heels on a gravel road had been an obvious mistake—was she supposed to go barefoot? She hadn’t brought anything else. Nesta emitted a soft scream of hatred for this new, cheerful place before propping herself up on the hood of her car to look at her swelling ankle.

All this for a wedding. The minute Nesta managed to get back into her car, she was going to book a flight home and block this friend forever. Why was she even trying to have friends outside of Gwyn and Emerie, besides? Nesta maneuvered her phone from her black skirt pocket only to find that of fucking course she didn’t have service.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large black horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny red sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six. 

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot-five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five-nine without heels, but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty. 

He swept his hat off his head and Nesta wished he hadn’t. Holding it against the blue and green flannel of his shirt, he was like something out of a magazine ad for country living. Warm brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders was a lethal combination on this man. His chiseled jaw, the stubble grazing his cheeks, and his rough features made Nesta think he had no trouble picking up women.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long-forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle. 

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle. 

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle, and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown. 

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”

His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied. 

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might, and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town.

“And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two-lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them. 

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb. 

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star-flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care. 

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her? 

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

He made some soft, noncommittal noise that was, honestly, a lot better than a lot of the finance men she dated. Cassian acknowledged he’d heard her without feeling the need to cut her down in service of his own ego. 

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t. 

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened. 

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck. She shivered, unintentionally leaning further into him. She was acting like a cat in heat over a man she’d known for fifteen minutes.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.”

Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a rule follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.”

A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope. 

She didn’t dare unpack that. Not as Cassian pulled off the road, steering his steady horse down another gravel path. Untouched grass stretched for miles in every direction until the sky met mountains in the distance. 

“Your friends will be down there,” Cassian told her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Accident, she swore, watching the point of his finger. “But we’ll be up here. I’ll walk you down for the wedding…keep you from wreckin’ that other pretty ankle of yours.”

“Does that work on the women around here? Your folksy charm, your aw shucks—”

Cassian laughed. “Are you askin’ if being nice gets me laid?”

“Does it?”

“My good looks get me laid, darlin’.  My folksy charm, as you so eloquently put it, is just called manners outside of the city. No need to pretend.”

“You’d be surprised,” she told him dryly. Cassian merely held her close, his eyes fixated on the two story ranch just in the distance. Nesta could have wept with relief. The saddle was rubbing against her inner thigh, chafing her delicate skin and the woodsy scent of smoke and pine coming off Cassian was threatening to throw all Nesta’s good sense out the window. 

His home sprawled against the Montana countryside. Built to look as if it was made of wood—and maybe it was, for all she knew—the house had to be worth a cool million in Nesta’s estimation. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him, though. Didn’t dare acknowledge she knew this man wasn’t the simple, rural cattle rancher he was trying to embody. 

And Nesta certainly didn’t let him see that she was weirdly relieved. She liked an ambitious man. And unlike all the men she’d been dating back home, Cassian wasn’t slick. Nesta would have put all the money she had on Cassian being the sort who had his heart on his sleeve for all to see. She had no business thinking about that.

This wasn’t a date.

Cassian swung off his horse and gently pulled her back into his arms.

“Don’t you go runnin’ off,” he warned Bryaxis.

“Will he?”

Cassian merely shrugged as he took her up a stone laid path towards his glass and wood front door.

“If he goes anywhere, it’ll be next door to his girlfriend.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Your horse has a girlfriend?”

“He’s a good-looking horse. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend. I catch him all the time down by the fence nuzzlin’ her with his nose.”

“Like you, then?”

Cassian chuckled. “I am very single, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she interrupted, breathless as he brought her inside. “The Miss makes me feel like someone’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Fine, Nesta. I, unlike my horse, am very single.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, wishing she sounded snide and not interested.

Cassian set her on a long, dark leather sofa, He swept his hat off his head as he knelt in front of her again. 

“You want to know why I’m single? Maybe I work too much,” he said softly, sliding her his hand up  and then back down her knee. “Maybe I’m a shitty kisser.”

“I’ll bet it’s the second,” she replied. Cassian’s hazel eyes met her own, a smirk curving over his sensual mouth.

“And you? Are you a shitty kisser?”

“Terribly deficient.”

“I figured,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to her swollen ankle. Cassian grabbed a red pillow from the corner of his couch to prop up her foot. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get us all set up, hm?”

“Okay.”

Cassian vanished long enough for Nesta to fire off several quiet texts and otherwise study his really nice home. The living room had a wall made of pointed windows, and though everything had that wood cabin aesthetic, it was cozy and cheerful and bright. She flipped through her work emails while she waited, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of the sofa over her lap. 

Was she insane for hanging out in a stranger's house? She would never have dared back home—her friends thought she was insane. And yet she was at the right place, and if Cassian wanted to hurt her, surely bandaging up her foot wasn’t necessary. She doubted his neighbors would have heard her scream if she stood outside and emptied her lungs of air.

Cassian returned nearly an hour later, balancing a glass of water and a plate in one massive hand, and her suitcase in the other.

“You got my things?” she asked him, surprised he’d bother. She’d assumed she’d have to hobble back out there for it.

“Of course, darlin’,” he replied, setting a nice sandwich and two ibuprofen down on the wood coffee table right in front of her. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that skirt the entire time? I don’t mind, but…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

He ducked his head. “Have somethin’ to eat before you take the medicine. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee today. Pain killers won’t settle well on an empty stomach and while you’re cute, you’re not cute enough to clean up puke.”

Nesta was rendered speechless. That was for the best. Everytime he casually said something nice about her, Nesta was far too tempted to crawl into his lap and repay him for his generosity in a different sort of way. Instead, Nesta remained perfectly still while Cassian wrapped up her ankle with a beige colored bandage and pressed a bag of frozen green beans against the aching bone. 

“Keep this elevated,” he insisted, taking a spot close enough that Nesta could have scooted forward and put her head in his lap. She was far too tempted. 

“Want to watch something?” she suggested. “Or are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” he teased, reaching for the remote. “How do you feel about history?”

Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Ancient Aliens.”

Cassian smiled with satisfaction. “Fuck yeah.”

They wasted the afternoon that way. Nesta inched closer and closer until her head was propped up against his thigh. Cassian kept his arm casual against the back of the couch, unconcerned as they giggled their way through each new show. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped low, bathing the room in shadow.

“Want to help me make dinner?” he asked, his voice gruffer than before. She looked up at him.

“No eating out?”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “Are you asking to be eaten out?”

She smacked at his stomach, heart racing all the same. “You don’t seem like the cooking type. Isn’t that something for your little wife?”

“Are you offerin’?” he joked. “I accept. C’mon, lazy bones. At least come talk to me.”

“Does anything bother you?” Nesta asked, unconcerned when Cassian lifted her back into the air. She winced at the jolt of pain lancing through her ankle, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ease with which he carried her through his house. Cassian was careful, setting her atop a granite kitchen island so she could watch over his attempts at cooking.

“So tell me, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta.”

“Nes,” he grinned. “Miss hot shot attorney. What do you think about my humble home?”

She looked around, pretending to survey with an arched eyebrow. “It’s a little rustic—”

Cassian’s fingers were between her ribs before she could stop him, tickling until she thrashed and gasped for a breath of air. 

“Stop it, stop—”

“Rustic,” he chuckled, pulling out a nice creuset pot and setting it atop the range. “You’ll have to work on your insults.”

“I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me,” Nesta replied. Cassian smiled.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman is waitin’ for me on the side of the road.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I was stuck.”

He shrugged. “Sure felt like you were waitin’ for me.”

“Maybe you were waiting on me.”

“Almost certainly,” Cassian agreed cheerfully. “Do you eat pasta?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Nesta agreed. Cassian nodded.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And God, but Nesta wanted to find out if that was true. Cassian had a box of recipes he’d inherited from his mother that he’d been more than happy to show her. While Nesta pulled the cards out one by one, Cassian made his own tomato sauce. She knew it shouldn’t have impressed her and still it did. 

He was nearly done when his cat, Cheddar, slunk into the room. Three black and orange kittens flopped just behind her, the third tumbling face first over the threshold from the hall to the tile. Nesta gasped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Where are the other four, mama?” Cassian asked his cat as she wound her way through his legs to rub against him. “What are those little demons up to?”

Nesta carefully hopped off the counter so she could scoop up one of the babies.

“Probably peeing in my boot,” Cassian grumbled, stirring his sauce with a wooden spoon. 

“Babies,” Nesta breathed, delighted when the three that had ambled in with their mother immediately bounded towards her. Her favorite, for no reason at all, was the one with the split black and orange face. She had the brightest blue eyes and when Nesta lifted her up to really look at her, the small creature meowed loudly. 

“Well now you’ve done it,” Cassian teased as Cheddar trotted over to see what the fuss was. “Be careful–mama cat has claws.”

Nesta scratched behind her ears. “Maybe for you.”

“I suppose like calls to like,” he grumbled. While he plated their food, Nesta played with the kittens until there was a snag in her skirt. Cassian offered Nesta a hand and when he pulled her up to her feet, balancing on one foot, he yanked just hard enough that she fell into his chest.

Into his lips. 

“Oh,” she whispered, unsure what to do. Cassian kept her steady with one arm, the kiss polite and chaste and just enough to make her want much, much more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair off her face. “Probably shouldn’t kiss the woman rentin’ one of my rooms, but…”

“It’s alright,” Nesta assured him, letting him lead her to the blocky table just outside the kitchen. It might have been awkward had Cassian not been so charming. So laid back and nice. He’d made her spaghetti and didn’t care when his cat spent the entirety of the meal winding her lithe, orange body through his feet and purring so loud Nesta felt like she was competing for his attention. 

Cassian kept the conversation going as if nothing had happened, but Nesta couldn’t get the feel of his mouth against hers out of her mind. He’d smelled crisp and clean and when her hands had pressed against his chest, he’d been all hard, toned muscle. 

“Why don’t I clean up down here, and you can get settled in your room?” Cassian suggested when Nesta had been silent a little too long. She was undressing him in her mind, and when she looked up at him, the little smile on his face made her wonder if he wasn’t aware. 

“Sure,” she agreed, if only to get out of helping with the dishes.

“I’ll carry you up,” he added, his eyes flashing. Nesta shook her head, her pride unable to stand being taken up and down the stairs.

“I can do it myself.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked, rising to his feet. Cassian was a big man. Nesta had never felt small in comparison, had never once looked at a prospective lover and thought herself little. Cassian, though. Cassian exuded strength. In another life, he might have been a warrior prince worshiped by the masses. 

Nesta offered him a feline smile. “Maybe.” Back home, that refusal to yield would have earned her nothing good. With Cassian, though? A slow smile spread over his rugged face.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t, I suppose. Go on then, Miss Nesta. Yell if you need me…I’ll come runnin’.”

Nesta suppressed a shiver at his sensual tone. “Is that a promise?”

He looked her up and down, his expression suddenly ravenous. If Nesta had less pride, she might have hopped over to him, pressed her hands to his chest, and let him finish what he’d started. 

“It is,” he said simply, those hazel eyes finding her face again. 

It was shree will that made her turn. As if she had something to prove. And Nesta made it all of four little hops before Cassian was coming behind her and sweeping her up off her feet. Nesta gasped, unprepared to be so close to him again.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding her like she was something delicate.

Something fragile.

And no one thought that about her. Nesta swallowed hard, biting back the urge to snap at him. He didn’t know what she was like and maybe that was a blessing, because Nesta didn’t have to put on a show for him. She could press her head against his chest and sigh, “Thank you,” without needing to scowl, to stare him down so he knew not to ever try such a thing again.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he drawled softly, taking that first wooden step. “But I’ve got the feelin’ that back home, you’re somethin’ of a ball buster.”

Nesta tightened, her hackles raised. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’s just…I’m thinkin’ that most of those men up there don’t know how to act right when it comes to you. And because they can’t make hide or hair of you, they treat you bad. Try and break you, make you small? So you’ve gotta be real tough, don’t you baby?”

Nesta swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said crisply, careful to enunciate every single syllable which she knew only proved his point. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said softly, taking her upstairs. Nesta didn’t want him to let her go. I was a strange thing, to be so seen. To be laid bare by this man she didn’t even know. 

“Don’t get mad at me for sayin’ this, but you remind me of Bryaxis—”

“Your horse?”

“He was mistreated too,” Cassian explained. “Screamed at, whipped…you name it, he endured it. But all he needed was a soft hand. A little patience. I figure you probably aren’t too different.”

“Where are you taking me?” 

Cassian had opened a bedroom door that absolutely belonged to him. The dark masculine reds and blacks of the bed were a dead giveaway, along with the half-full glass of water on a wood bedside table and a stack of books dog-eared haphazardly. A leather jacket was hung from a chair near the open closet door, and though it was dark, Nesta could see an adjoining bathroom at the far end of the room.

“Where, I think, you want to be tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong—I’ll put you somewhere else.”

“This is your room, Cassian.”

She could see he was trying not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tell him he’s stupid. Tell him he’s wrong. Demand he put you back in your own room and—

“Okay,” she whispered before she could talk herself out of it.

Relief all but crumpled over his features. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Thank the good lord, and set her atop his neatly made bedspread.

Nerves shocked through Nesta, rendering her silent for a moment. Cassian, for his part, seemed to have realized that he, too, had her in his bed and didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I ah…why don’t I wash up the dishes and you can take a shower?”

“That sounds good, Cassian.”

It sounded better than good, and though Nesta swore she wasn’t going to say so, she called, “Unless you think I need help in the shower?”

Cassian froze. For all his bravado, it was obvious he’d never thought he’d get this far. Nesta crawled toward the end of his bed with exaggerated slowness, holding his stare. He took a slow breath, those eyes of his darkening to almost black.

“Is it safe for me alone in there?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. “I reckon it’s not, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she reminded him, rising up on her knees so she could touch the hard planes of his stomach. “Do you think you could call me that, Cassian?”

“I…” his voice trailed off when her fingers found his belt and tugged. 

“You know,” Nesta continued with far more bravado than she felt, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today.”

“You..” he cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary. I—Nes—”

“That’s better,” she crooned, having undone the button of his jeans. A lump was forming—hard and thick and Nesta was desperate to see what the cowboy had hidden in those black pair of briefs. 

“Nes,” he tried again, his hands resting on her shoulder. He wasn’t stopping her, and given the way his fingers curled against her, she thought he was trying very, very hard to be a gentleman.

That wouldn’t do. 

“I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t thank you,” she said, slipping past the waistband of his underwear. Nesta gasped when she curled around him—or, tried to. As she pulled Cassian out, she realized she’d need to rethink her plan to thank him with her tongue. Cassian was enormous, both thick and long. Hardly a grower, given he was still stiffening in her curled hand.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each waiting for the other to do something. Deciding he was erect enough, she pumped him. Her fingers just barely fit around his shaft, and even with two hands she couldn’t have fully covered him. Nesta certainly wasn’t going to be able to fit him all in her throat.

But god she wanted to try. 

He exhaled a breath when she stroked him again, earning a chuckle from Nesta. “Tell me how you like it,” she murmured, softening her grip. Nesta had to hope that the cowboy liked it rough, because she wanted him to fuck her within an inch of her life. 

“Nice and slow?” she tried, making a sweet pass over that large cock of his.

Cassian shook his head, his dark tresses, whispering against his broad shoulders. What was he like out of control? 

“What about this?” she tried, pumping him harder, squeezing tighter. He shook his head again, allowing her to make a third, rougher pass. Nesta twisted her wrist against his head, her nails grazing the sensitive vein trailing his now very erect cock jutting from between two powerful legs.

“That's what I thought,” Nesta murmured, looking up through dark lashes. “Just like me.”

“Nes—” 

Nesta silenced him by taking him into her mouth. She had to use her hand to make up the difference and she didn’t care. A soft, strangled noise escaped Cassian as his fingers plunged into her hair. 

Yes.

This was what she needed. Nesta took him until she gagged, and then she took a little more, teeth grazing his sensitive skin, hand punishingly tight. Cassian moaned, tugging at her hair. Nesta sucked again, trying so hard to communicate that she could take it. He was holding back, practically shaking from the effort. 

Nesta took more of him, widening her jaw in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. That was all it took. Cassian made a rough, snarling sound, pushing her off him.

“You’re a lady,” he panted, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. 

Finally.

“And in my house, ladies come first,” he continued, eyes flashing as he shrugged out of that shirt. Nesta swore softly at the sight of all that gleaming, corded muscle. Nesta had never seen someone so effortlessly toned, so big.

Powerful.

“I seem to recall something about eating out,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard when Cassian prowled toward her.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’,” he promised, hovering over her with his unbuttoned jeans and a smile that made Nesta’s heart race. “But first, I think I’m owed a kiss.”

“Just one?” she asked as his lips ghosted over her own.

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of her head. Nesta had only her ripped dress between them, which provided no protection against Cassian when he pressed the weight of his body against her. 

In another life, she might have kissed him nice and slow—teasing it out, exploring him thoroughly. Right then, though, Nesta thought she might explode if she didn’t have his mouth directly on her, his tongue stroking, thrusting, tasting. He was just as excited, grinding himself into her while she pulled at the strands of his hair.

He tasted like snow kissed wind, somehow. Like the crackling of a fire and a frosted window—like some memory she’d long forgotten. Nesta dug her nails down the back of his neck and against his shoulder blades until he bucked into her, wild and nearly unrestrained. Nesta could not remember the last time she’d wanted someone the way she wanted him.

“Off—get this—off,” Cassian panted between messy, hungry kisses. He was pawing at her dress, trying to figure out how to take it off. Nesta arched her back into his chest, earning matching moans from them both as she yanked down the zipper

Nesta would never know how she managed to get that dress off her body given Cassian never stopped his frantic kissing. Nor did she figure out how her bra joined her clothes on the floor. She only realized she was nearly naked when Cassian licked down the column of her neck before burying his face between her breasts.

“Fuck, Nes,” he breathed, both hands covering them entirely—no easy feat, given how large they were. Cassian massaged them, callused thumbs dragging over her aching nipples until Nesta was certain she was making a mess all over his bedding. 

His mouth latched around her and Nesta was lost, ripping at his hair as her body bowed off the bed.

“Responsive,” he teased, his tongue tracing around the sensitive bud. “I wonder…”

“Cass—” she gasped when his hand made its way between her legs. Nesta writhed when he began drawing circles on her clit, teasing touches that weren’t even close to what she needed, even as he switched between her breasts, sucking and licking. She could feel it all in her pussy, like every nerve in her body was intimately connected.

She could have come from that—for the first time in god knew how long. At least, without her own hand, without assistance from a toy. Nesta couldn’t recall the last time a man had pleased her so easily, so effortlessly.

Cassian pulled back, wild and impossibly sexy. Holding her gaze, he nipped his way down her body until he found the red pair of panties still clinging to her hips.

“Aw, for me?” he teased, kissing against the fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

Nesta pushed herself against his face, but Cassian was still licking against the lace. 

“I’ll bet you could come just like this. Couldn’t you?”

If he was doing it? Probably. Nesta merely whined, arching when he hooked his fingers into her underwear and peeled them off her.

He whistled softly. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Do you know that? I feel sick at the sight of you.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Cassian’s tongue slid down the center of her, rendering speech impossible. Nesta reached for something to hold on to, and found his hair for purchase. Cassian groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Her thighs tightened around his face, earning another groan of pleasure. 

Cassian’s tongue was everything. She realized, after a lifetime of thinking she was just difficult to get off—too fussy, too particular, too exacting—that what she really needed was someone who knew what they were doing. Cassian had her spread apart, licking and sucking her clit with the sort of expert precision that told Nesta he liked what he was doing. 

She regretted not sucking him more. Nesta was going to come apart in record time and she knew she was going to beg him to do this again in a few hours. All weekend.

For fucking ever. 

Release was gathering on her spine, burning hotly through her blood until Nesta didn’t recognize the noises coming from her throat. Cassian, too, was rolling his hips into the mattress, trying to alleviate his own arousal. Nesta nearly stopped him, if only to have that long, thick length in her body.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cassian pushed one of his fingers into her. Nesta tightened around him and Cassian swore at whatever he felt, though he didn’t stop. He fucked and sucked in time, working her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. Nesta built up, up, up, until she was fucking his hand, rolling all over his face like a wild animal. 

Nesta broke apart with a scream she couldn’t control, bucking against him as she shattered into fractals of starlight. Cassian didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave with clear, obvious excitement. It was only when pleasure became edged with pain that Nesta released the grip her thighs had around his face and Cassian came up for a deep breath of air.

“Fuck,” he said, his lips gleaming from her arousal. “Fuck, Nes—”

“Come here, come here,” she panted, scrabbling for his shoulders. Cassian obliged, kissing her frantically. His tongue was coated in the taste of her, pushed against her own. Nesta liked it, wanted more of him.

“Condom,” he breathed, finally shucking his jeans to trip over to his dresser. Nesta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, admiring his firm ass as he went. Cassian was quick about it, rolling the condom onto his cock with what she swore were shaking hands. His eyes shone, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Cassian could not believe his good luck. 

“You sure?” he asked, hesitating at the end of the bed. Nesta nearly laughed, given she was spread out and still trembling from his mouth. Any other man would have jumped on her, would already be balls deep buried in her.

He was sweet, she decided.

She wanted to keep him, though she had no idea how. She’d figure it out later. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said with another heart stopping smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Sure you do,” she offered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. “You’d have gone into the bathroom and used your hand.”

“That was my plan to start,” he agreed, settling between the cradle of her thighs. “But this is much better. Have I said how pretty you are?”

“Once, at least.”

“Well.” He pushed himself an inch or so into her. Nesta gasped loudly. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.”

He’d punched all the air from her lungs. Nesta didn’t think she’d ever been stretched against anything half as large as Cassian. It was the sweetest pain that, with each shallow stroke inching him in deeper, became wholly pleasure. By the time Cassian had fully seated himself within her, a bead of sweat was trailing down his temple from the effort it took to go slow.

“Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, gripping the back of his neck for a kiss. “Cass?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m not fragile. You can fuck me, if you like.”

Cassian pulled himself out before snapping his hips so hard the headboard above them rattled. “Like that?” he grunted.

“Yes—yes, Cassian—”

He did it again, groaning loudly when she tightened involuntarily around him. This was Cassian unrestrained, his hair wild around his rugged, handsome face. His muscles bunched and shifted from the effort, held over her just enough that she could incline her had and watch his cock slide in and out of her body. 

He wasn’t finished, and Nesta already wanted to have him again. 

And again.

Cassian reached for her knees, bending them up by her shoulders to drive himself deeper. Nesta moaned, eyes rolling up into her head. The balls of her feet were pressed to his chest pushing him with each slide out, only for him to return with twice as much force. When she’d said she’d wanted it rough, well…this was exactly what she meant. 

“Nes, fuck—” he panted, eyes rolling up into his head as she came on his cock. Nesta arched hard, every muscle in her body going taut all at once. She clamped around him and Cassian came too, clearly unbidden and unprepared for the force of his own release. She wanted to drown herself in the noises he made, in the frantic thrusting of his body driving himself deeper on instinct. 

Cassian collapsed on top of her, dropping Nesta’s legs carelessly. She hissed when her bruised ankle hit the bed. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “And I’m not, at the same time. Nesta, I…”

“I know,” she agreed, because she was certain they were thinking the same thing. Something else had happened between them, something they couldn’t so easily walk away from.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, perhaps guessing those words were never going to come easy to Nesta. “I can hear you worryin’. Baby, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Nesta brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his face. “Promise?”

Cassian grinned. “I promise.”

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Prompt request: nesta breaks her washing machine and Cassian is the hot maintenance guy who comes to fix it 😏😏😏

Nesta using her sharp wits to purposefully break various home appliances totally counts for Day Two: Sharp of @nestaarcheronweek, right? Let's all just squint and pretend it does! Anyways! Thanks to the besties for helping me plot this (and for enabling me, let's be honest.... y'all know what you did), for sending this ask to remind me of, and of course, thanks to everyone who reads. I hope you enjoy :)

Read on AO3

Water.

There’s water, pools of it, covering the floor around her washing machine.

Nesta lets out a string of curses, quickly rushing to grab towels from the linen closet. She drops the towels to the ground, trying desperately to soak up as much of the water as she can before it starts to seep through the floor and into the apartment below her.

This is the last thing she needs this week, but of course, that’s just her luck. She supposes this is what she gets for putting off doing her laundry as long as she did. She hates having to do it, hates having to stop whatever she’s doing to switch loads, else she’ll be waiting for dry sheets until late into the night, hates having to fold everything afterwards. And now that she’s held it off until she’s down to her last pairs of clean underwear, her washing machine has decided to break.

With towels covering her floor and hopefully helping keep the water damage to a minimum, Nesta grabs her phone, searching for handymen near her. She clicks the first place that Google spits out, Illyria Handymen Services. Thankfully, when she calls, they say they can send someone out for a consultation today. She lets out a breath of relief and hangs up, trudging back to her laundry unit and beginning the painstaking task of cleaning up the remaining water as best she can.

She’s not sure how much time has passed when there’s a knock at her apartment door. She clambers up to her feet to answer it, and when she pulls open her front door, she realizes that the Mother, the Cauldron, and every other deity are most definitely laughing at her. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun atop her head, strands already breaking free from her effort to clean up the water, she’s wearing an old, oversized tee that now has various water patches bleeding through the fabric, and there standing in front of her is probably the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen.

He’s tall, almost a whole head taller than her, and large, all broad shoulders and muscle under the blue work jumpsuit he’s currently sporting. Dark curls fall down to his shoulders, perfectly framing a strong cut jawline and bright hazel eyes. For a moment, Nesta is distracted by the scar cutting through his right eyebrow, but then the man smiles in greeting, a small dimple popping in his left cheek, and she swears her knees almost buckle.

“Hey, there,” the man says easily, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands… his large hands. “I’m Cassian with Illyria Handymen Services. You called about a washing machine?”

“Yeah,” Nesta answers, the breathless quality to her voice finally jarring her back to the present. She clears her throat and steps back, allowing Cassian to enter. “It’s this way.”

With a nod, Cassian steps inside her apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. He follows Nesta to where her laundry unit is, eying the array of towels still placed all around the washer. He steps closer and pulls a flashlight from his belt, shining it down into the washer to look.

“I was running a load, and when I came back to check if it was almost done, there was just water everywhere,” Nesta explains, trying and failing not to trace her eyes along the expanse of Cassian’s back, to follow the line of his spine down to his ass, while he leans over her washing machine. “I’m not really sure where it came from or what happened.”

“And was there any standing water in the washer?” Cassian asks, stepping back and crouching down in front of the machine.

“No. All my clothes were fine. It was like it had run the cycle as normal.”

Cassian hums in understanding, as he continues to examine the space around the washing machine. “There’s a lot of lint and dust back here.”

Nesta can feel a flush of embarrassment at the comment threatening to creep up her neck, and she crosses her arms in indignation even though Cassian can’t see her with his back turned. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of hard to clean back there with the way the unit’s built in.”

Cassian chuckles softly, and Nesta hates the way that small, simple sound has goosebumps skittering up her arms. She hates how warm and welcoming it is, quickly filling the space around them and wrapping around her limbs. She hates that she wants to hear it again, wants to hear him laugh for real.

“It’s a good thing actually,” Cassian explains, standing back to his full height. “If it was an issue with the washer’s drainage, you’d have standing water in the washer. An issue with the plumbing, with the water coming back up, that would have washed away all the lint and dust.”

“So then what’s the issue?”

“Could be the machine itself… is the dryer acting up too?” Cassian pulls open the dryer door to check, and Nesta winces as her clothes start to tumble out the opening. “Oh. Sorry.” Cassian quickly shoves her clothes back and closes the door again. “Was all that in the washer?”

“Yeah, I… I sort of put off doing laundry too long.”

“Well there’s your problem, sweetheart,” Cassian tells her, switching off his flashlight and turning around to face her again. “You can’t overstuff the washer. Otherwise, the water has nowhere to go and it can leak out the top, dripping down and flooding your floor.”

“Oh.”

“The good news is, your machine is fine, so you don’t need to repair or replace it.”

“That’s definitely good news.”

Cassian slides his flashlight back into his belt and pulls out his phone, offering her a sheepish smile. “It is still $45 for the consultation though. Sorry.”

Nesta waves him off with a hand, more than happy to just pay the consultation fee rather than needing to buy a whole new washing machine. She goes to grab her purse and digs out her credit card, handing it over for Cassian to slide through the card reader on his phone. She signs what needs to be signed on his clipboard, accepting her copy of the paperwork, and then she’s leading Cassian back to her front door.

“Thanks again for your help and the quick turnaround,” Nesta tells him, pulling the door open.

“No problem at all. And maybe next time, consider smaller loads.”

“Maybe I like large loads,” Nesta dares to remark, biting her lip suggestively and staring up at him.

The way the hazel of his eyes spark, a smirk tugging up the left side of his lips, has Nesta’s heart flipping over itself in her chest. “Then I guess you better make sure you keep plenty of towels on hand.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta can’t stop thinking about Cassian for the rest of the week. She tries to focus on her work, even goes out for drinks with Emerie and Gwyn Friday night, but every guy in the bar is too short, too small, too blonde, too lacking of hazel eyes and a cheeky grin and that damned dimple. The way he seems to haunt her is both infuriating and intoxicating.

By the time the next week rolls around, Nesta finds herself standing in her kitchen, tapping one of the screwdrivers from the simple toolkit Feyre gifted her when she moved in against her lips. She eyes the different appliances before settling on the microwave. She opens the door and looks inside, noticing the two screws near the door. She gets to work loosening them, and when she tries to close the door again, it doesn’t quite lock correctly. She steps as far back as she can, using her screwdriver to press the start button on the microwave and braces for the worst. It lights up for barely half a second before everything shuts off.

Perfect.

“We meet again,” Cassian greets when Nesta pulls open her door a few hours later. “I hope you’re not overstuffing your washing machine again.”

“Actually, it’s my microwave that’s acting up this time.”

Cassian hums and steps inside her apartment. His eyes sweep over her frame, and Nesta practically preens under the intensity of his gaze. She made sure she was presentable this time. Her hair is braided back and pinned in a crown around her head, two curls pulled free in the front and framing her face. She put on her tight, blue sweater, the v cut of the neckline just teasing enough and the color the perfect shade to bring out her eyes.

“So, where’s the problem then?” Cassian asks, his voice gruffer than she’s heard it and sending a shiver up her spine.

“This way,” Nesta offers, turning and leading him toward the kitchen.

She leans back against her counter while Cassian looks at her microwave. She can’t quite take her eyes off the way his fingers curl around his flashlight, of the peek of tattoos she gets when he pushes the sleeves of his work jumpsuit up to his elbows, of the veins and muscles of his forearms now on full display. And she especially can’t take her eyes off the way his lips curl into a smirk like he can feel her gaze on him.

“It looks like you just have some loose screws,” Cassian says, gesturing toward the screws like Nesta doesn’t know exactly which ones are loose. “When the door can’t close properly, the microwave shuts itself off as a fail safe, so I can just tighten these for you, and you’ll be good to go.”

“Oh, okay. That sounds good.”

“It was probably just wear and tear that caused them to loosen,” Cassian continues, pulling a screwdriver from his belt and turning back to tighten the screws. “Do you use your microwave a lot?”

“Yeah, I use it for most of my dinners unless I’m ordering takeaway. I was actually making dinner when it stopped working.” It’s a half truth at least.

“Didn’t feel like cooking?”

“Oh, I can’t cook.”

Cassian pauses, turning his head toward Nesta again. “At all? I mean everyone can at least make pasta. Boil some water, pour the box pasta in. Can even get those jar sauces.”

“Trust me, I’d burn a boiling pot of water.”

Cassian laughs, that same light and warm sound, and finishes the last screw, sliding his screwdriver back into place along his belt before leaning his hip against the counter and facing Nesta fully. “Well, if you ever want some pointers, not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m a pretty good cook myself.”

“Is that so?” Nesta asks, daring to move closer. “And what’s your specialty dish then?”

“Chili actually. I have my own recipe that I’ve perfected.”

“Perfect? Maybe you should enter it into the annual chili competition that the firehouse sponsors.”

“I’ve already placed every year, sweetheart,” Cassian shoots back, his smirk wide and his eyes turning almost molten with the way they glint under her kitchen lights. “Of course, you have to be able to handle the heat.”

“Don’t worry. I can handle the heat,” Nesta assures him, not even bothering to bite back the sultry, suggestive undertones to her voice, smirking herself.

“Good to know.”

~ * * * ~

It becomes a push and pull between them. Different appliances around Nesta’s apartment surreptitiously have issues or need repair, and each time, she calls Illyria Handymen Services. Her dishwasher not draining has Cassian finding bits of paper towel blocking the filter and drain at the bottom. Her toilet not flushing leads to Cassian rehooking the chain that somehow came loose.

Whenever he’s in her apartment, Cassian smiles and laughs and makes suggestive comments. Nesta gives as good as she gets, and she finds she looks forward to each repair, each interaction she gets with him. She looks forward to seeing those hazel eyes and that dimple. She looks forward to their teasing back and forth. She looks forward to the way his grin grows with each of her barbs, to the way her heart always stutters around him.

But despite their flirting, despite the way Nesta is sure that Cassian is as interested in her as she is in him, he’s yet to make a move any further. They got close with the last repair. Cassian had encouraged Nesta closer so he could show her exactly where the chain was meant to be in the toilet tank. She had to press closer in order to see, which had resulted in her getting a strong whiff of the woodsy, pine scent of him, had resulted in their faces being barely a breaths apart when they turned to make eye contact, had resulted in Cassian’s gaze dropping to Nesta’s lips for a moment.

And yet…

Nesta knows that she might need to up the game. Perhaps if the next repair is in her bedroom, Cassian will finally get the hint. She stands in her bedroom doorway and assesses her options. She doesn’t have much in the way of appliances that she can break. Her eyes land on her bed, tilting her head consideringly. Is it too on the nose? Probably. But sometimes, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.

Nesta makes sure that her screwdriver is well stashed away before the knock to her apartment door comes. When she pulls it open, Cassian is leaning against the door jamb, a smile pulling slowly across his face.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Nes,” Cassian greets, the twinkle in his eyes betraying the teasing nature of the words.

“Are you going to do the repairs or am I going to have to call another handymen service?”

“Just show me where the problem is, sweetheart.”

Nesta leads Cassian down the hallway and into her bedroom, gesturing toward her broken bed frame. Cassian hesitates in the doorway, his eyes dancing around the space, taking in the overflowing bookshelf, the polaroids on the wall, the navy bed sheets. He clears his throat and finally strides inside, kneeling down in front of the bed to examine the damage. Just that sight alone has Nesta biting her lip, and she knows it will fuel plenty of fantasies to come.

“It looks like there’s some screws missing here,” Cassian explains, gesturing toward the frame. “I have some spares that should fit no problem, so it’ll be an easy fix and your bed will be good as new.”

“That’s good. It’s important to have a fully functioning bed.”

Nesta can just spot his smirk as Cassian pulls out fresh screws and gets to work, knowing her suggestive comment hit its mark. “I have to admit this is the first bed I’ve ever had to repair. How exactly did you break it?”

Nesta is glad that Cassian can’t see her face, can’t see the heat that floods into her cheeks. A lump starts to form in her throat, the words drying up on her tongue. It’s the first time he’s directly asked about her many broken appliances and items around the apartment. What is she meant to say? I broke it myself because you’re hot and I wanted an excuse to get you in my bedroom?

“Well, how else does one break a bed?” Nesta shoots back, hoping her voice sounds sufficiently sultry and not at all panicked.

She expects Cassian to make a suggestive remark right back, hopes that maybe this time the back and forth and flirting will finally lead to them tumbling right onto the newly fixed bed. Maybe, even, they can break it for real. She would definitely not complain about that turn of events. But instead, Cassian’s hands pause where he was working on the new screws, his shoulders tensing.

A moment passes. And then two.

Then, Cassian merely clears his throat and goes back to the task at hand. The silence that settles in the bedroom is uncomfortable, stifling, and Nesta wonders if she should say something more, but she can see the frown Cassian now wears as he finishes up fixing her bed frame in record time.

“All finished,” Cassian declares, sliding his screwdriver back into his belt and standing up. He won’t quite meet Nesta’s eyes as he digs his phone from his pocket, jaw clenched. “It’s $100 for the repair.”

It’s Nesta’s turn to frown. For all her previous repairs, Cassian had only charged the consultation fee. She swallows hard and goes to grab her wallet, replaying the past few minutes over and over in her mind. She tries to figure out what’s changed, what’s gone wrong. It’s as if a switch has been flipped. Gone is the smiling, laughing man that flirted with her, and in his place is this man who looks almost annoyed, some emotion Nesta can’t quite place swimming in his hazel eyes.

“Here,” Nesta offers quietly, holding out her card for him.

Cassian is quick to swipe it through the card reader on his phone and hand it and her copy of the paperwork back. “Have a good day.”

Without a glance backwards, Cassian walks out of her bedroom and her apartment. The snick of the front door closing behind him echoes with finality all the way down to Nesta’s bones, leaving her standing there in her bedroom and still reeling from what just happened.

She lasts all of two days before she’s standing in her kitchen again, anger and determination steeling her spine. She eyes the different appliances before settling on her refrigerator. She tugs it away from the wall enough that she can shine the flashlight of her phone behind it. She spots a line of some kind going from her refrigerator to the wall, so she reaches and unscrews it from the wall. With a satisfied nod at her work, she focuses on her phone again, dialing an all too familiar number.

And now she waits…

Nesta all but sprints to her front door when the knock sounds. She yanks it open, but it’s a different pair of hazel eyes that greet her, a head of short dark hair rather than long, a thinner though still athletic build rather than the large, wide one she was expecting. The disappointment that settles in her gut feels like a stone weighing her down.

“Hello. I’m Azriel with Illyria Handymen Services. You called about a repair?”

“Where’s Cassian?” Nesta asks before she can stop herself.

Azriel starts to smirk, an almost knowing look passing across his face, before he schools his expression again. “On another job. Sorry. But I’m sure I can fix whatever the problem seems to be.”

“Fine,” Nesta clips, turning on her heel and leading the way to the kitchen. “It’s my refrigerator.”

Azriel nods and pulls the refrigerator out from the wall, shining his flashlight behind to examine it. “Your water line came unscrewed from the wall it looks like. I wonder how that could have happened.”

“Yeah, I wonder,” Nesta grumbles, crossing her arms. She can’t believe her plan didn’t work, can’t believe she has to deal with this man instead of Cassian. Annoyance is red hot where it sears through her veins. Now she’ll have to figure out another appliance she can break. Cassian already fixed her washing machine. Maybe she can try for the dryer tomorrow.

“Maybe the mysterious man that lives with you broke it,” Azriel continues, reattaching the water line to the wall.

“Mysterious man…?”

“The one who broke your bed.”

“I broke my bed,” Nesta corrects with a roll of her eyes before she thinks better of it.

Azriel lets out an amused snort, standing up and readjusting her refrigerator back to its original position. “My mistake then. I guess it was two men. Perhaps named Black and Decker?”

“How much for the repair?” Nesta scowls, narrowing her eyes at the blatant smirk Azriel is now shamelessly sporting.

“No charge,” Azriel explains, clicking his pen and scribbling on his clipboard. “We actually have a new deal going. Four fake repairs, get the fifth free.”

Nesta knows that he’s teasing her now, so she snatches the clipboard when he holds it out to her, quickly signing her name and handing it back. She expects him to leave now, but after tearing off her copy of the paperwork, he takes a moment to continue scribbling on the page. Finally, he folds the page in half and hands it over, offering Nesta a final smirk, a knowing glint to his hazel eyes, and heads for her front door.

When the door finally closes behind him, Nesta rolls her eyes at the whole exchange. She goes to crumble up her paperwork of the repair, ready to forget this ever happened, when writing in the bottom corner catches her eyes. Slowly, her heart beginning to stutter in her chest, Nesta unfolds the paper, taking in the ten digits scrawled there.

Next time, put down the screwdriver and just call the idiot personally

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

[manicplank]

The Color Pink (Part 12)

wow this has so many parts to it now

it's never gonna end

The Sleepover

As he waited for Hazel to show up, Theodore rushed to clean up around the house, especially the bedroom. He was in a panic. He cleaned up any clothes laying around. He hurried to change his sheets and blanket. He couldn't remember the last time he changed them... He was unsure what to do with the clean unfolded laundry. He didn't have time to fold it all and put it away, so he grabbed another hamper and shoved it all in. He darted his head around, looking for anything that might gross her out, but everything seemed fine. He texted her his address, and she texted back: I'm on my way!

He paced around as he waited for her. He was suddenly extremely nervous. What if she thinks I'm gross? What if she changes her mind about me? What if she thinks I'm too weird? What if... There was a knock on the door that interrupted his thoughts. He went over and opened the door. It was Hazel. She had a huge smile on her face. "Hi," she greeted.

"Hey," he replied, "come on in."

She walked in with her hands clasped together. Now that she was in his house, she was a bit timid. She had a small pink bag filled with clothes and small accessories. "I have to admit," she rubbed her arm, "now that I'm here, I am a bit nervous.

"Yeah, I get that. We can just take it easy."

"That'd be nice. I'm a little tired, honestly."

"We can go straight to bed if you want."

"You don't want to watch a movie or anything?"

"Oh, I have a TV in my room!"

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah! It has one of those built in CD players!"

"Oh, cool!" She reached into her bag. "Cause I brought a movie!" She pulled out a CD case. Princess Mononoke. "Have you ever heard of Studio Ghibli?"

"No, I haven't actually."

Hazel gasped. "What?! Their movies are so good! My Neighbor Totoro? Kiki's Delivery Service? Castle in the Sky?"

Theodore shrugged.

"Seriously?! Oh, my gosh, you'll love them!"

"Well, we can watch it out here or in the room."

"Mmmm... Let's go in the room! I've never had a TV in the bedroom! It sounds super comfy!"

"It is. I don't really watch it a lot. It's mostly for background noise while I sleep."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When I was a kid, my mom had a TV in her room. Whenever I had nightmares, I'd go into her room, and she'd put the TV on so I'd feel safe. It still helps me sleep sometimes."

"Aww! That's so cute!"

Theo shrugged and blushed. "Ehh, it's no big deal. Come on," he grabbed her hand, "my room is upstairs."

He held her hand as he led her upstairs, where there was a couple rooms and a bathroom. He took her into his room, it was nicely decorated to suit his personality. There were a few band posters, a few family portraits, some Polaroid pictures of him with some other people. There was also a broken skateboard hung up on the wall. The TV was on a wooden dresser which matched his bed frame. His bed was made nice and neatly. On it was one single plush animal. Hazel picked it up.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Oh, that's Mr. PuppyDog! He was my first Build-A-Bear."

"Aw! He's so cute! I have so many Build-A-Bears, I can't tell you all of their names."

"I have a few other plushes. They're in storage, somewhere. Probably still at my mom's house."

Hazel put the plush back down on the bed. "This whole room is filled with your personality."

Theo shrugged. "Whatever that means."

"It means that your room is a lot like what you're like."

"I'm still confused."

She waved her hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about it. It's not a bad thing." She handed him the CD. "Here."

"Oh, right."

He went over to the TV and started to fuss with it. As he put the CD in, she continued to examine his room. She went to sit down on the right side of the bed, but she noticed something on the nightstand.

"Um... Theo?"

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Is this your ashtray?"

Oh shit... He forgot to hide that. "Um... Yeah..."

"I didn't know you were a smoker."

"Sorry, I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew."

"No, I... I didn't."

"..." Theo didn't know what to say.

"I have to admit..." She looked at him. "I wasn't expecting that. I'm a little disappointed."

"I'm ashamed, honestly. It's not my proudest habit. I've tried to quit a few times, but it's rough."

"I've heard about that. My dad used to be a smoker. He quit, but it took a while. He got really bad withdrawals."

"Yeah, so did I when I tried to quit. I was really moody and got sick a few times..."

She shrugged. "Would you be willing to try quitting again?"

"I could try."

"Please? For me?" She made a cute face.

He chuckled and rubbed her on the head. "Sure. For you."

"Good."

"I'll get rid of this." He took the ashtray and moved it into the other room. He came back in and grabbed the remote from the dresser.

"Before we start the movie, we should get in our PJ's!"

"Oh, uh... I usually just sleep in a t-shirt and underwear, but I can put on some shorts or something."

"That's fine! I mean, you're already in a hoodie and sweatpants."

"Yeah, I don't know why you got dressed to come to a sleepover."

"Shush! Be nice to me!"

He laughed. "You want me to leave the room real quick, give you some privacy?"

"If you don't mind."

Noise stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Hazel changed from her day clothes to a pair of cute pajamas. They were pink satin cami top and shorts with black polka dots scattered around. The ends were covered with black lace. She opened the door and poked her head out.

"I'm all good, now," she said cheerfully.

Theodore opened the door and entered the room again. His eyes grew wide and he blushed.

"What?" She tilted her head in confusion.

"Sorry," he chuckled nervously. "You look really pretty."

She went over and held his face with her hands. His eyes grew even wider and his face was red. She giggled and rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks. She tilted her head and kissed him softly. "Relax. It's okay."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm still working on that."

"I know you are. Now, come on," she went back over to the right side of the bed and sat down. "Let's watch the movie! It's such a good one!"

He walked over and crawled onto the left side of the bed. He propped up some pillows to make it comfortable to lean back. He handed her the remote since she was the one who brought the movie.

"Oh, wait," Theo blurted.

"What is it?"

"Um... There's another thing that you might not be too happy with."

Hazel gave him a look.

"It's not like the smoking, but... Can you reach into the drawer on my nightstand?"

"Why?"

"I need to take my meds before I forget. I usually keep them in there."

"Oh! Yeah, sure!" She reached into the drawer and grabbed an orange pill bottle. She handed it to him.

"There should be another one in there."

She looked again and found another. She handed that one to him, too. "What are those?"

"They're my meds."

"Yeah, I know, but what are they?"

"Oh! Well, one of them is an antidepressant and the other is for my bipolar."

"Theo... You have depression?"

"... You don't?"

"No."

"Sorry, I usually just assume everybody does until they tell me else wise."

"And bipolar?"

"Well, I mean, yeah."

"I had no idea."

"Ask anybody who works for me, they'll tell you all about it." He laughed. "I have to grab some water from the kitchen. You wanna come with? We can grab some snacks or something for the movie."

"Yeah! I could use a water, too."

"Okay, come on!"

The two went downstairs and into the kitchen. Theo grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge while Hazel opened the pantry. "Holy shit," she exclaimed. In the pantry was candy and snacks galore. There was every kind of chips and candy imaginable. Hazel almost felt overwhelmed by the amount of selection.

"Theodore," she said, "do you even have real food?"

"Um... kind of? I eat out a lot."

"There's so much..."

"Yep! Pick whatever you want!"

"Oh, geez, I don't know."

Theodore already knew what he wanted. He grabbed a pack of gummy bears and a pack of classic Pocky.

"Oh, I love Pocky! Do you-"

"Yes, I have the strawberry flavor."

Hazel squealed as he handed her a box of strawberry Pocky. Strawberry anything was her favorite flavor. Theo gave her a water bottle and grabbed her hand as he led her back upstairs. They went back into the bedroom and got in their previous spots on the bed. Hazel sat up with her legs criss crossed, Theo sat against the headboard. Hazel picked up the remote. Theo grabbed one of the pill bottles and took the medicine.

"I'll take the other one later," he said. "It makes me really tired. I want to stay awake for the movie."

"You're going to love it!"

As the movie started, Hazel scooted over and rested her head on Theo's shoulder. Noise suddenly grew anxious. He put his hands together and twiddled his thumbs. He tried to focus on the film, but his heart was racing. Hazel leaned into him more and wrapped her arm around his waist and rubbed his chest with her free hand. "Relax," she spoke softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." She kissed his neck a couple times then his cheek. He still stared wide-eyed at the TV, hardly focusing on the movie. "Let me help you out," Hazel grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her. Theo took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

Halfway through the movie, Hazel felt Theo's head leaned onto hers. At first she thought it was cute. "Finally relaxed, huh," she teased, but he didn't respond. "Theo?" Then she realized he was asleep. A huge smile grew onto her face. She did her best not to giggle. She pat his chest, but he didn't respond, so she pat his face. "Theo."

"Hmm..."

"Theo!"

"Wha-?! Huh?"

"You fell asleep." She chuckled.

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You had a long day. Do you just want to go to bed?"

"I guess so." He yawned. "I'm definitely tired."

"Okay, let's go to bed, then." She took the remote and turned off the movie and the TV.

She got up and reached into her bag. She pulled out a toothbrush and tooth paste.

"If you want to use the bathroom first," Theo spoke, "I'll grab you some pillows and an extra blanket. I'm sort of... a blanket hog."

She giggled at him. "Okay."

Hazel went into the bathroom and began brushing her teeth. There were little paper cups stacked next to the faucet. She filled one up and used it to rinse out her mouth. She forgot to grab her mouthwash, so she went back into the room to get it from her bag. As she walked back in, she saw Theo putting some fresh pillows and a folded up blanket on the bed. There was also a fleece pink blanket balled up on his side of the bed.

"Oh, hey," he looked at her. "Done already?"

"Almost. I forgot to get my mouthwash. I have a little mini one!" She grabbed it out of her bag and headed back to the bathroom. She filled the cap and swished it around her mouth for a minute before spitting it out into the sink. She went back into the room again. "Okay, your turn!"

Noise let out a small laugh and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth as well. Hazel fluffed up the pillows and crawled onto the bed. She got under the blanket that was on the bed instead of the one he gave to her. She felt the pink blanket that was on his side. It was incredibly soft. Theodore rinsed his mouth with water then swished a cap full of mouthwash and spit it out. He came back into the room to see Hazel nice and comfortable.

"I appreciate you bringing me an extra blanket," she smiled at him, "but I want to share a blanket with you."

"I don't mind. I only gave you the extra just in case I hog the blanket in the middle of the night." He walked up to the bed and took off his hoodie. He was wearing a yellow NTV t-shirt underneath.

"Self advertising, huh," she chuckled.

"Not really. Whenever we release merch, they give me a sample of some sort. I have a million of NTV t-shirts and hoodies." He went over to the dresser and opened one of the drawers. "I do want to find some shorts, though."

"You um... You don't have to."

"Nah, I get really warm at night. I don't want to sleep in sweatpants."

"You can sleep in your underwear if you're comfortable with it."

"I'm pretty sure I have some gym shorts around he-"

"..."

"..." Theodore was blushing. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'll be fine." She smiled. "We'll be under the blanket, anyways."

"I think I'd be more comfortable in some shorts."

"Whatever works for you."

He quickly slipped into some soft grey shorts as he still faced the dresser. He got into bed, but Hazel stopped him before he laid down.

"Don't forget to take your other pill!"

"Shit, right! Thanks for reminding me." He chuckled. "I totally would've forgot." He opened the other bottle and swallowed the pill with a mouthful of water.

"By the way, I wanted to ask you something."

"What's up?"

What's with the pink blanket? Was that one for me?"

"Oh, no that's um... That's... Well, that's my blankie. I, uh... I can't really sleep without it."

"Aww, Theo!"

"Shush!"

"No, no, it's cute!"

"Shuuush!" He pouted and blushed.

"Don't be embarrassed! It's fine! I'm not judging you."

"Alright, alright."

"One more question."

"Hm?"

"Can we cuddle? I wanna spoon." She smiled cutely.

Theo blushed even harder. "Um... Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"I call little spoon!" She plopped on to her right side and giggled.

(Tiniest suggestive warning. Nothing bad happens but there is a small mention.)

Theo nervously clicked the lamp off and snuggled up to her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned against her with his head on her neck. She put her arm on top of the one that wrapped around her and intertwined their fingers. Theo gulped and took a deep breath. Even though they were only cuddling, he found himself growing incredibly flustered... including down below. He moved his hips back and away from her. She noticed him move and picked her head up.

"Where ya goin'?"

"I, uh..." he spoke shakily.

"Get back here!" She threw her hips back at him, but jolted forward once she felt him. "Oh!"

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, I-"

She giggled. "Theo, relax. I take it as a compliment."

"Oh, my gosh, I just-"

"Theo! Calm down! Would it help if we switched and I was big spoon?"

"That... Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Come on," she flipped over and nudged him.

He rolled over, but he was still so embarrassed. He took a deep breath. Hazel snuggled up to him and played with his hair. He focused on his breathing as she gently scratched his scalp. With her other hand, she intertwined their fingers and held hands. Theodore felt his muscles relax. Before he knew it, he was zonked out. Hazel thought it was cute that he got so flustered. He was so cocky and brave when they first met, but now he was a nervous wreck. She knew it was going to take a while for him to settle, but in the meantime, she was going to help push him through it.

Eventually, Hazel had also fallen asleep and ended up rolling onto her back. She was sleeping soundly until she woke up freezing cold. Just as she was warned, The Noise was wrapped head to toe in the blanket. He was curled up in fetal position with the blanket over his ears. His pink "blankie" was even over his head. No wonder he gets so warm at night, she thought. She grabbed the extra blanket he had given her, unfolded it, and covered herself up. She let out a small groan as she snuggled up with the blanket.

Hazel woke up again around her usual time, around 5 in the morning. To her, that was "sleeping in". She looked over at Noise, who was still sleeping with his blankie over his head. She debated on waking him up, but she wasn't too keen on disturbing him. With the way the paparazzi treated him the day before, she thought he deserved to rest. She slowly crawled out of bed so she could brush her teeth, but she accidentally woke him up doing so. His eyes squinted as he moved the blanket off his head.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Mmmph..." He groaned. "It's okay..." He tiredly slurred his words.

"I was going to let you sleep. You seemed like you needed it."

He sat up and took a deep breath. "Yeah... I'll be fine. I can always take a nap later." He yawned and stretched. He let out a small chuckled once he saw that she used the other blanket. "I warned you that I'm a blanket hog."

She giggled. "You should've seen yourself. You were wrapped up like a burrito."

"Yeah, I've always slept like that."

"That's probably why you get so hot at night."

"I can't sleep any other way."

She booped him on the nose. "You wanna go out and get some food or somethin'?"

"Yeah, sure," he yawned again. "I could eat. I'm gonna brush my teeth, though."

"I was gonna-"

"You can go first. I can lay down a few more minutes." He smiled as he slid back down.

She chuckled softly as she headed over to the bathroom with her toothbrush, toothpaste, and this time, she remembered her mouthwash.

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life

(AU, MSR)

TW: This is an AU idea I’ve been playing with for years, and while this does not take place there, in light of the recent atrocities in the Middle East, the situations presented herein may cause discomfort for some readers. I’m posting a trigger warning for those who may want to stay away. There are mentions of violence in this work, though nothing graphic. I’m using an archive warning on AO3 out of an abundance of caution. Please take care of yourselves and each other.

1. When she’s shoved into the hotel room, it is on a scorching dump of adrenaline; dry-throat, sphincter-clenching, pure terror. She’s sure this is It. But the door closes behind her before she’s finished stumbling forward, and no one has followed her in.

The relief she feels is short-lived, as she looks up to see a man sitting on the floor opposite her, legs out straight, head propped lazily against the wall behind him, days worth of beard stubble growing unevenly over his jaw. He is holding a mid-century Nikon, which he slowly raises with one arm. A squint through the viewfinder. Click.

Ten floors down, on the street below, there is the rapid insect-chitter of gunfire. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but does lower his camera.

“Cable is out and room service hasn’t showed in over a week,” he says in an American accent. “The service here is terrible.”

Her producer Murray, who also acted as her translator, is dead. Mikey was shoved into a different van, along with his camera and the soft-sided bag of cables and equipment. That communication won’t be a struggle with what she now assumes is her new cell mate feels like a holy deliverance.

Before she can formulate a response, he introduces himself.

“Name’s Mulder,” he says, the distant fireworks-like concussion of an explosion punctuating his statement and rattling the room’s single window.

“Dana Scully,” she says, feeling an odd compulsion to cross the room and offer the man a handshake.

“Scully,” he repeats, her surname rolling off his tongue like honey out of a jar. “Welcome to the Hilton.”

2. He’d let her take the bed, which was pretty chivalrous, all things considered.

It was a queen, and had been shoved up against the wall on the far corner of the room, leaving a soft rectangle of plush, clean carpet upon which Mulder slept, surrounded by flattened, trodden paths of grime. The headboard was still affixed to the wall where the bed had previously sat, giving the room a tilting, off-kilter feel. As Scully exits the bathroom in the morning, she nearly stumbles from the vertigo.

There is still a trickle of water from the bathroom sink, and the toilet tank takes about an hour to properly fill, but Mulder informs her that he has yet had reason to use the slop bucket the militants have helpfully left just inside the door. She imagines the small relief she feels now will likely grow bigger as the days pass.

“Morning,” Mulder says, stretching elaborately, the soiled henley he’s wearing lifting up enough to show a few inches of lean muscle sprinkled with dark hair.

“Morning,” she greets him, wandering over to the window to peer out at the gray, post-dawn light. To the west, part of the city is burning, a dull orange glow on the horizon.

After a moment, she feels a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d stay away from the window,” Mulder says, and when she turns to him, she discovers that he’s tall, far taller than she is, and his hazel eyes are soft as he leads her away from the square of flat light. “There are snipers all over the city.”

She swallows, nods at him, and he gives her a soft smile as he turns to head into the bathroom for his own morning ablutions. She lowers herself to the bed, and looks to the shoes she kicked off before crawling under the covers. There is a spatter of blood covering the canvas upper of her left shoe, all that remains of Murray Underwood. She tries to feel something other than numbness, but nothing comes to the surface.

When Mulder comes out of the bathroom, he asks if she’s hungry, and produces a slender yellow box of crackers from somewhere in the room, pulling out a cellophane-wrapped column of pale disks dotted with black seeds that he hands over when she says she’s famished.

She has finished the sleeve before she thinks to offer him one, but he smiles and says he’s fine.

3. It has been three days since she was shoved unceremoniously into room 1055 and they have not seen so much as another human other than those darting between buildings on the war torn street below.

She has learned that Mulder is a freelance photojournalist from Massachusetts who has photographed conflicts everywhere from Burma to the Congo and that he was taken two days before she and her crew were ambushed and taken hostage themselves.

He does not have an apartment or permanent mailing address, traveling from conflict to conflict with only a backpack and his camera, and is far more comfortable with the disturbing noises outside the hotel than Scully ever will be, no matter how much she fancies herself a war reporter.

He has just gotten her to laugh for the first time since her arrival when the door to their room bursts open and three militants carrying assault rifles trample in, all three of them shouting words Scully can’t understand, their guns up as if they are about to shoot.

Mulder, who had been sitting on the bed next to her, is already up, spitting out words in rapid-fire French and positioning himself in between the gunmen and Scully. The militants either don’t understand him or don’t care and through a haze of adrenal tinnitus she can finally make out one thing they’re saying:

“CNN! CNN!”

She raises her hand meekly.

“I’m CNN,” she says, and the men shove Mulder aside and grab her by both arms, pulling her from the bed and shoving her up against the wall.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Mulder says, making a move to intervene, only to be cold-cocked by the butt of the third man’s rifle right in the face. He staggers to the side before he too is grabbed by the arms and shoved up against the wall next to Scully. All three men swing up their rifles and Scully is certain they’re about to be executed when a fourth man appears, dressed in an actual military uniform and shoves a newspaper into Scully’s hand, gripping her arm in annoyance when she turns it to stare at the headline, which is printed in a language she doesn’t understand.

The man barks something at her and yanks on her arms again, so that she’s holding the paper in front of her like a con holding up a booking ID in a mugshot. He whips up a beat-up disposable camera and takes a picture, the little flash blinding her.

By the time her vision clears, the room is once again empty but for she and Mulder and they are both breathing hard in the silence. Mulder is the first one to find his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he says, putting a hand on her arm. “They’re clearly after a ransom. They’ll keep us alive. Are you okay?” She turns to him dumbly, still holding the newspaper.

The sight of blood knocks her back into the present.

“Jesus, Mulder, you’re bleeding.”

There is a rivulet of blood running down his face from a laceration at his temple. He raises up a hand and touches it to the stream, looking down at the crimson smudge with a wince.

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

“Let me see,” she says, trying to get a closer look, but he gently swats her hand away.

“I’ll be fine.”

“That likely needs stitches,” she says, and he makes a face. She sighs. “I’m doctor, Mulder. Please let me take a look. Sit on the bed.”

He finally relents, lowering himself to sit and giving her a look askance. “I thought you were a reporter for CNN.”

“I contain multitudes,” she says, stepping in close and tilting his chin up with her finger.

He hasn’t showered in days, hasn’t done more than a few hasty washcloth seam cleans, she knows, but the smell of him up close, the smell of his skin – sun-warmed and woodsy – is so familiar to her that she has to blink a few times before she can refocus on the task at hand.

“It needs stitches,” she proclaims after a moment, saying it in a crisp, no-nonsense way that brooks no argument.

“It’s too bad we don’t have access to-”

“I saw a sewing kit in the bathroom,” she interrupts, and she can see the moment he resigns himself to her ministrations.

He complains loudly as she splashes the cut with the small bottle of complementary Listerine, but remains silent as she sutures his wound closed, leaning in close to bite off the thread when she finishes. As she pulls back, she can see a thought flit across his face, but he merely thanks her softly when she’s done and then stands to go clean up in the bathroom.

That night, she invites him to share the bed, and they sleep on opposite edges, though in the morning their fingers are only inches away from each other and her feet have found their way under the warm meat of his leg.

4. It was inevitable really, she says to herself; forced proximity, the bonding of shared peril, two healthy middle-aged sex drives… And it’s not like there’s anything else to do. She thinks of Ethan, probably losing his mind with worry back in the newsroom, but can only muster a finite amount of regret. After two weeks of carefully skirting around the issue, she pressed her body into Mulder’s side one night and it was as if a floodgate had opened, and they were all teeth and tongues and hands everywhere; the most lustful and sensual sex she has ever had in her life.

They have not been disturbed since the Proof of Life incident, other than food of some sort or another being shoved through a cracked door every few days, and so they have taken to not wearing much — their clothes mainly hanging up over the shower curtain in the bathroom, perpetually drying from their feeble attempts to wash them with a credit card-sized, ever-shrinking flat of generic soap that they also must use on their bodies.

Mulder is a generous lover, and affectionate, and now that he has carte blanche to touch her, it seems like it’s all he wants to do. If they’re not lazing away, curled up together in bed, he’ll find a reason to touch her arm, her back, tapping her with the back of his finger to get her attention. She has come to crave his touch, the physical manifestation of a pair-bond that grips them both so tightly it feels sometimes like a vice around her heart.

5. The fighting has moved to a different part of the city from where they are, and the sounds of the chaos seem almost a far-away afterthought. She is standing in the window, something she finally feels safe doing, when she hears a telltale click.

She turns to find Mulder propped up in the bed, bare chested, his beat-up Nikon held up to his eye. He reaches forward with his other hand to adjust the focus, and takes another snap.

Scully smiles at him shyly and he returns her grin.

“The light is perfect,” he says with bedroom eyes, using his thumb to advance the film. He has already gone through three rolls since she arrived, every picture he’s taken since day five all featuring her as the subject.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

She reaches up self-consciously to touch her hair. They are long-since out of shampoo, and it hangs in limp, greasy clumps. She is more embarrassed by this than by the state of her undress; she is not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Something tells me this isn’t the kind of picture Newsweek generally pays you for.”

“Fuck Newsweek,” he says. “You belong in the Louvre.”

She shakes her head at him as a sound they have not heard in a while begins to build from outside the building. They both pause and cock their heads, attuned now to the odd sounds of a city under siege. From the distance comes the deep tucka-tucka-tucka of a helicopter. They share a look.

The militants who control this part of the city do not have a helicopter amongst their resources, and now that the sound is getting closer, they can tell there’s more than one approaching.

Without a word they both make their way to the bathroom and quickly don their stiff clothing.

“Shoes too,” Mulder says, as Scully puts her arms through her slippery jacket — it still has a large patch on the back that says “PRESS.”

The helicopters are almost on top of them now, and they can hear shouts from the hallway outside their room and the muffled thump thump thump of boots running in both directions.

“Into the tub,” Mulder instructs, and she sees the sense in this, nodding at him, her pulse beating quick as a rabbit’s beneath her skin. “I’ll get in first, you lay flat on top of me, okay?”

“Should we grab the mattress?” Scully asks, thinking they could pull it on top of themselves like she’d seen covering tornado-stricken parts of the Midwest.

“I don’t think there’s time,” Mulder says, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a spate of gunfire erupts from several floors above them.

He lowers himself in and she scrambles in after him, pressing her face into his chest and listening to the tight thump of his heart. The tub isn’t really big enough for both of them — Mulder couldn’t even fit his long legs all the way inside of it — but she feels safer than she has in months, with Mulder’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and his voice softly mumbling words of comfort into her ear.

There is an awful CRACK! from very close to their room and then an eruption of noise and chaos as the door to their room is blown apart, shards of wood from it blowing into the bathroom. Her ears are ringing and voices are shouting, but all she can focus on is Mulder’s arms around her and the soft steady sound of his voice in her ear saying “I love you. I love you so much,” over and over and over.

And then Mulder’s camera bag is sliding off of her legs (because of course he’d brought it into the tub with them) as strong arms lift her up and out of the tub and the next thing she knows, she is being frogmarched between two black-clad militants up an emergency stairwell and all the while she is calling desperately for Mulder but her voice or his is eaten up by noise and confusion.

In a further burst of sound and light, she is pushed through a door and onto the roof of the hotel where two muscular helicopters sit, blades spinning, surrounded by operatives crouched and bristling with all the sophisticated military might of a first world nation. She pulls up short in surprise.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” It takes her a moment to register that the voice was coming from one of the soldiers holding her arms. She swings her head toward him, dumbfounded.

“Ma’am,” he goes on, having to shout above the cacophony of the rotor wash. “I’m with the United States Navy. We’re here to rescue you. I need you to board the aircraft immediately!”

Scully nods and then lets herself be swept along with the tide of soldiers surrounding her up and into the Blackhawk, where she is deposited onto a bench, buckled in, and handed a pair of bright orange foam earplugs which she is instructed to insert into her ear canals post haste.

Before she can think to ask a question, her chopper is airborne, tilting itself and veering south and the last sight she has of Mulder, for months and months, is the back of his body being hoisted into the other helicopter, his arms wrapped around his old camera bag as they’d been wrapped around her body not five minutes before.

[theladyheroine]

Types of Wizards! ✨

❥ This was just a fun idea since I’ve been reading lots of fantasy headcanons, I wanted to try! Plus I don’t see too many for magic-y stuff out there so this gave me a good idea!

❥ Also! Most of these are female centered but some of this can be for boys too! I just prefer the term wizard because it sounds cooler lol. But thank you! Enjoy!

Storybook Wizards 🤎

Usually has an owl or sparrows as a companion.

Quills are made from barn owl feathers.

Wands are made from cinnamomum trees, elm trees, or hazel trees.

Likes to feed the crickets that sing on the bookshelves. Some think it’s gross but they’re very nice!

Uses golden wax seals for nearly everything.

Collects old trinkets they find or receive from friends. They don’t work anymore or are just old, but has tried fixing them up.

Loves both books & scrolls, but thinks books are easier to hold onto. That one friend who decides to read one more chapter, but ends up reading all night.

Loves to wish on stars or dandelions but is too embarrassed to tell anyone.

Seems like a bit of a hermit, but is actually really friendly! Loves to interact with people & exchange different interests, quite talkative at times.

Either works at an archive or some kind of library, has a special little key that works only for them.

Weather Wizards 🌩️

Usually has a bird of prey as a companion, but don’t worry they’re friendly 😅🙏

Quills are made from crow feathers.

Wands are made from maple trees, pine trees, or baobab trees.

The ultimate bird parent!! Birds love them & they’re always putting out bird seed feeders or scraps of veggies.

Lives alone in a tall tower in the middle of the woods. Only goes to town when necessary & will turn into a grumpy pants if you knock on their door.

Sometimes storm clouds or rain will swirl around their house, usually due to spell testing or potions.

The weather is actually pretty nice when they’re around! Cool breezes, clear skies, warm sunny days; tries to deny it’s their work until the sunshine gets brighter.

Collects clean water in mason jars or glass bottles when it rains.

Likes to climb rooftops & chart the stars.

Can always sense when a storm is approaching, doesn’t matter what kind they’re spot on. Likely their job is to keep them at bay as a guardian or lookout.

Love Wizards 💝

Usually has a dove or a type of songbird as a companion.

Quills are made from white swan feathers.

Wands are made from cherry trees, camellia trees, or jasmine shrubs.

Has an easier time communicating with fauna.

Ladybugs are automatically attracted to them & will usually bring good luck to them throughout the day.

Stores their potions in old perfume bottles but will make perfume as a small side job. Has to label everything though.

Has a small rose bush growing outside of their window; likes to talk to it & believes plants have feelings.

Super affectionate! Either the mom friend or the cutsey clingy child friend.

Never forgets Valentine’s Day!! (I’m sorry I know it was last week!) Goes over the top every year & everyone either gets a bouquet or a little goodie bag. The size of the gift depends on who you are sometimes.

Business is a postal service for relationship problems but gets a lot of love letters to proofread. A bit embarrassed receiving one addressed to them.

Swamp Wizards 🐸

Usually has a crane or even a heron as a companion. But sometimes that makes it hard to get in them the house...

Quills are made from duck feathers.

Wands are made of mangrove trees, dogwood trees, or lilypad stems.

Defined as the oddballs of wizardry. They are known to travel a lot but usually live alone.

Uses an old timey ferry boat to get around, but has to use magic to get the paddle wheel moving. It’ll creak & stop like an old engine.

Probably the most experienced in floral/nature magic & their house is like an absolute jungle. Will even let moss grow out because “it wants to be there.”

Has tried more than once to kiss a frog & see if it’ll turn into their true love, but carries medicine around just in case.

Really loves milkweed flowers & will set up cute bundles in their home to make it smell good.

The best cook in the world but mostly uses magic to help.

Probably the friendliest person you’ll meet! Will tell all sorts of stories about their travels, the different kinds of people they’ve met, where to find the best berry bushes, how to care for tadpoles— It might be awhile before you can introduce yourself…

[marmie-noir]

Jealous 2.0

“Hey ya’ll, welcome in. I’m Sunny, I’ll be your server today.” I said my usual spiel, sliding a menu to each of the four men with a sweet smile, placing four sets of wrapped silverware in the middle of the circular table. “Ya’ll want me to start you with some waters or you have something a little more fun from the bar in mind?” I asked, clicking my pen and pulling out the little pad I took orders on, smiling at the men. 

They were handsome enough, middle aged so a little gray at the temples but each of them held themselves with a cool confidence that I didn’t even mind. The one on my left returned my smile, flashing a row of pearly whites. “Well Sunny girl, I think we’re going to start with a few pitchers of whatever is on tap, and an order of nachos?” He glanced at the others and they all nodded, plucking up the menus to look at them. “Sunny, that sure is a pretty name.” He added, chin tilted up as he met my eyes. He had hazel eyes, dark hair too, a tan that worked for him. 

“Thank you, but I can’t take credit for that. I’ll pass the praise on to my ma though.” I said, smile still in place as I clicked my pen, putting the pad in the server’s apron around my waist. “I’ll go get those beers.” 

I walked away, heading towards the POS system at the bar to type out to get the nachos going from the kitchen before grabbing a few plastic pitchers from the clean shelf, going to the taps. Mitch was pouring Pops another drink but glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. 

“How’s it going?” He asked, leaning on the bar as I filled the pitchers with the basic tap beer. 

“S’okay. How is the bar?” I asked, flashing him a smile, taking any opportunity to talk to Mitch during work. When we’d get back to the house at the end of the day Pops would take up his chair in the living room and I would usually grab the first shower before turning in for bed or sitting on the back porch reading until I got tired enough to lay down. We spoke, of course, but stealing little conversations at work felt a little more special for some reason. Maybe it was because Mitch had other options for conversation and still chose to come to me. God I was pathetic of this man. 

“S’not bad.” He said, blue eyes flicking over to my newest table, watching the men talk amongst themselves. 

I didn’t answer Mitch, grabbing the two pitchers in one hand and four glasses in the other, walking back to the table. Setting everything down I flashed my service smile, glancing between the four of them. “Ya’ll ready to order or need a few more minutes?” I asked. 

“You know sweetheart, the boys and I were just talking about how pretty you are.” The man with hazel eyes spoke, reaching out and patting at my arm. It was a safe spot so I didn’t pull away but I did tilt my head slightly, placing a hand on my hip. “How’d you end up in a place like this? Not that it isn’t nice, been comin here for years and just haven’t seen you around.” “Ah, I started a little over a month ago I think now.” I said with a small shrug, used to having the conversation with the regulars. “I like it here. I get to meet a lot of people, and who doesn’t like tips?” 

The men all smiled and nodded, hazel eyes letting out a little chuckle. “Fair enough. We need a few more minutes, but thank you Sunny.” I nodded, turning and walking away, unphased by the conversation. Moving behind the bar to see if there were any dishes I could snatch to take to the back when Mitch broke my concentration. 

“I need help behind the bar.” Mitch said, sidling up next to me. “Ann will be taking over your table so you can help me.” I frowned, glancing up at Mitch confused. “What, Mitch-” I frowned as I walked after him, his long legs easily outpacing me but we were in a small space behind the bar. He refilled a beer, popping the top off another one, serving the people that were coming up to the bar in waves. 

Mitch had never needed my help before, so why now? I huffed, not pleased at the idea of losing out on my tips for the night, bar tips were never as good. “Mitch-” “I’m the boss and I said I need your help Sunny. Listen.” He said sternly, looking down at me before moving past me to make another mixed drink at the end of the bar, flagging Ann over so she could take over my tables. 

I frowned but realized I couldn’t really do about the situation, setting my frustration on the back burner to focus on the group before me looking at me hopefully for a drink. “Hi all, what do you need?” I asked, slapping on a smile. 

The next few hours flew by. The bar was busy, and Mitch and I moved well together, but he certainly hadn’t needed my help. I’d seen him work busier crowds with ease, and the frustration at losing out on my tips really bothered me. Wiping off the bartop to clear it of spilled beer and condensation it had wound down enough for me to finally get answers from Mitch. 

“I need to talk to you.” I told him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the back office. Mitch didn’t stop me or stumble but he did gesture for one of the girls to get behind the bar, not wanting to leave it unattended. 

I opened the office door and pulled him through, closing the door as he moved to lean against his desk and face me. I don’t think I’d ever seen him actually sit behind the damn thing once. 

“What was that about?” I asked, stopping before him with my hands on my hips. 

Mitch had the audacity to fold his hands on his lap, looking relaxed as always. “What was what about, darlin?” He asked, voice smooth and low. 

I narrowed my eyes and pointed at him, index finger gently prodding at his chest. “Don’t you try that sweet cowboy bullshit with me now, Mitch Keller. Why did you pull me behind the bar? I’m not stupid, I’ve seen you handle bigger crowds with ease, so why did you pull me off tables. Tipping tables, mind you.” 

Mitch grabbed my hand that had been poking at him, warm fingers wrapping around my wrist, thumb brushing against the inside of it. “Just needed some help is all.” He said, pulling me a little closer. I went, curious as to what he was doing but not letting myself get distracted. As he spread his legs slightly to pull me between them to get me closer I met his eyes, telling him without words I wasn’t buying it. 

He huffed, glancing away for a moment with a little frown on his lips, free hand scratching along his jaw. “That man grabbed at you. Figured you’d wanna get away from him.” I paused, confused, thinking back to right before he pulled me behind the bar. Nothing out of the ordinary really happened, no one grabbed me like that one time, the memory of large fingers digging into my thigh painfully making me frown. Then it clicked. The four top of good looking men, the man touching my arm. 

I grinned, taking a step closer to Mitch, the burn of satisfaction warming me over from the inside out. “Mitch Keller, are you jealous?” I asked, crowding his space slightly. He huffed, rolling his eyes and adjusting his hat on his head, hand still wrapped loosely around my wrist. 

“Jealous? Darlin’, really?” He asked, flashing that good ol’ boy smile at me, chin tipping up to meet my eyes. I got flashbacks to the day in the cooler earlier last week, when he had accused me of the same thing. His free hand settled on my hip, pulling me closer, and I willingly leaned in with my own smile. “Oh, good. I’d hate for it to be weird when I call one of them. I got some numbers before I was snatched behind the bar so I figured…” I trailed off, giving a little shrug, feigning nonchalance as my hands settled on his broad shoulders. “Might take one of em up on the offer of a date in the next few weeks.” He tensed under my hands and I knew I had him. 

“Mm.” He said, hand tightening slightly on my wrist before releasing it. “Well it’s a shame that you’ll be busy that day. It’s busy season after all, I need you here.” “I never said what day, Mitch.” I said, stepping back as he stood, making me look up at him now. He paused, blue eyes flicking over my face before his lips set into a thin line. 

“You are doing doubles all next week.” 

“Wait- hey!” I gasped, chasing after him as he left the office. I caught Ann’s grin and returned it, chasing after my boss when he tried to hide behind the bar, fully intending to pester him into giving me at least an afternoon off. “Cowboy you get your tall self back here, I wasn’t done with you!”

Read more Sunny and Mitch here