#I stayed up to finish joan

[pawzofchaos]

when the clones get high or something but they’re fucking furries

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 84

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

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Friday, July 1st; 8:30 AM – Ona and Lucy's apartment.

I hum while cooking my pancakes in the pan. It's early, but I couldn't sleep anymore. Instead of waking Lucy, who was peacefully sleeping, I decided to make myself useful. So, here I am, in front of the stove. After several mornings of Lucy teaching me how to make pancakes, I finally decided to try it on my own. It was the perfect time while everyone else was still asleep. At least I knew no one would disturb me or offer their help, thinking I wouldn’t succeed. For once, I wanted to do it all by myself. This solitary moment is deeply relaxing for me. I feel good, with only the sounds of cooking and the TV in the background. The music coming from it puts me in a good mood. I sing along, swaying my body to the rhythm. When my pancake is ready, I remove it and start on the next one. That's when two arms gently wrap around me.

"What a lovely sight this early in the morning," I hear Lucy whisper in my ear.

I smile and stop moving my hips to feel her press against my back.

"Good morning," I murmur.

"So, how dare you leave me alone in bed?"

She takes advantage of my hair being tied up in a messy bun to plant a kiss on my exposed neck. A shiver runs through me, but it's a delightful way to start the day.

"And you have the nerve to complain? You don't think twice about leaving me alone when you go for your runs."

She laughs, tightening her grip around me. My stomach flutters in response. Yeah, I could definitely get used to this kind of morning.

"You're right. Forgive me for putting you through that."

"I’m adapting. You’ve got to make some sacrifices if I want to enjoy my girlfriend’s athletic body."

Lucy laughs again and kisses my cheek. Then she steps aside to lean against the counter with her arms crossed.

"True."

"So, where’s my kiss?"

She smiles and leans in to meet my lips. I close my eyes to savor our first kiss of the day. These tender moments between us mean a lot. They're spontaneous, which makes our relationship even more special. I sincerely hope they will continue and help our love last.

"Are you satisfied now, princess?"

"More than ever."

"You make me so happy. But why didn’t you wake me?"

"You were sleeping so deeply. I didn’t want to disturb you, especially since you so rarely sleep in. Besides, I wanted to use the time to make breakfast by myself."

"I see. It smells delicious."

"Thanks."

I blush softly. She runs her hand along the back of my neck as she straightens up, glancing at my plate full of pancakes, ready to be eaten.

"I suppose I can’t have a taste yet?"

"No," I giggle. "We’re all waiting for my mom and Joan to wake up."

She pouts, but I stand firm.

"Alright, but you should at least cover them," she says as I add another pancake to the pile. "They’ll get cold by then."

"Can you do it for me, please?"

"Hmm."

Her hand slides down my back before her touch fades away. She covers the plate and starts setting the table. She knows I’m not in my usual state. In an hour and a half, I’ll finally find out the result of my exam. I’m grateful that she’s not pressing me about it. I finish the last pancakes, and just in time for my mom and Joan to make their appearance. Lucy has also finished her tasks. She’s prepared freshly squeezed orange juice and is getting the hot drinks ready.

"Good morning, girls."

"Hey. Did you sleep well?" I ask them.

"As well as ever. I could get used to this place, especially if we’re treated this nicely every day."

"Uh… I like you, but no thanks."

"Ona!" Lucy scolds me.

My mom chuckles. Even though things have mostly been patched up, if I leave home, it won’t be so she can stay here.

"No, Lucy, she's right. The two of us under one roof, it’d be fireworks."

"Maybe, but that’s no excuse."

"It’s fine, I’m just joking."

I stick my tongue out as I place the plate on the table, where everyone is already seated.

"Well, this is quite a feast."

"Ona made it," Lucy points out.

"Really?"

I nod, visibly embarrassed. Lucy, sitting next to me, places her hand on my thigh as I take my seat.

"You're barely showing any signs of stress," she teases me.

"I knew something was off—I hadn't heard a single jab from you yet."

"Oh, don’t take it like that, honey."

My mom chuckles as she serves us, while Joan makes it clear he's hungry. They’ve been here for almost a week, and it seems like they've settled in. Their return to Barcelona later this afternoon is going to feel strange to them. One thing's for sure, I’m glad my mom finally got to see my life here. I'm not the rebellious kid I was when I left Barcelona. She can see I’m building my life successfully. She loves our apartment and, of course, has fully embraced Lucy into our family since our commitment to each other. She’s kept the promise she made at her wedding, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon. At least, I hope not. Lucy has helped me understand the importance of family, and even though I no longer have my father, I still have my mom.

"I can finally have a taste!" my girlfriend rejoices when her plate is served.

I’m nervous about her reaction. In fact, I haven’t even told her that I didn’t taste them myself. They look good, but we all know appearances can be deceiving. Lucy, however, seems completely unbothered. She’s totally calm as she takes the first bite. The tension rises in me as she chews slowly. Everyone waits for her reaction, which doesn’t take long. A hum escapes her soft lips.

"Hmm... not bad at all, my love."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "You’re not just saying that to be nice?"

She laughs, shaking her head. I relax as she takes another bite. I’m happy to know it's at least edible.

"No, really, it's good. You didn’t even try it beforehand?"

"No," I admit, embarrassed. "I was scared of the result."

"Well, go ahead, taste it."

She cuts a piece and holds the fork out to me. I accept it without hesitation. My mom and sister have also started eating. I take my time to savor all the flavors of the dish, and I have to admit it turned out pretty well. For a first try, I did really well. They’re not as good as Lucy's yet, but I managed to make something. Just a few days ago, I was redoing the batter three times over, so I guess I’ve improved.

"It’s not bad at all, actually."

"I never imagined I'd eat one of your dishes one day," my mom confirms.

"Well, thanks!" I giggle.

"Oh no, it's a compliment. I never took the time to learn how to cook. That’s why I have Samuel at home."

I laugh, nodding. Indeed, I remember her as a walking disaster in the kitchen. Since she worked a lot, it was rare for her to cook for me, and yet, I vividly remember her burnt meals when she did. I was always relieved when my dad or grandmother stepped in to save the day. And if neither of them was around, I knew Nick's mom, our neighbor, would gladly serve me food discreetly after my mom’s meal. I focus on Joan, who also seems to be enjoying the food. He confirms this by asking for seconds twice before being refused a third helping.

"What time do we need to be at school?"

"The results are posted at ten," Lucy responds. "So, a bit earlier would be good."

"What about Mapi and Ingrid? Are they meeting us here?"

"Yes, that’s the plan," I confirm. "Have you heard from them?" I ask Lucy.

"They just left their place. They should be here soon."

"Okay," I reply with a shared smile.

Mapi came back with us a week ago. It feels really strange having her so close now, but I’m not complaining. For now, she seems to be enjoying her life here. We’re all on vacation, so we see each other regularly. Ingrid and she are helping out at the gym, where we’ll all start working next week. Jenni finished her contract at her previous job and will be wrapping up the major renovations. This summer is going to be intense as we try to finish everything before the start of September. There are six of us helping now, including the rest of our friends. I have no doubt we’ll get it done.

"Go get ready. We’ll take care of cleaning up."

"Are you sure?" Lucy asks.

After several months, she’s finally comfortable enough to use informal speech with my mom, although you can still tell she’s not entirely at ease with it.

"Of course. Your friends are arriving soon, and we’re already ready. We don’t want to be late."

"Alright."

I wasn’t going to argue since she was offering her help. Lucy shoots me a look, but I just take her hand, ignoring it.

"See you later."

I lead her with me to our room, which is still a bit of a mess. My mom had brought over a few more things I had packed up at their place before I left. Since we’ve been out with them all week, I haven’t had time to sort it all out.

"We could’ve helped first."

"Stop complaining. We’ve been serving them all week. They can clean the kitchen for once."

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything else. I start changing into the clothes I’d laid out the night before. Lucy smiles when she sees my school jacket.

"Already missing it?"

"Hey, I’ve always said I liked it," I defend myself.

"That’s true. It does suit you."

She winks, and I laugh. Once we’re both changed and have made the bed, we head to the bathroom to do our makeup. When we return to the living room, Mapi and Ingrid have arrived. We heard the doorbell ring earlier, but didn’t pay much attention since my mom and Joan were already in the living room.

"Good morning!" I greet them as we walk in.

"Ah, there you are. You look less stressed than what we were just told," Mapi teases.

"That’s because she cooked for the first time on her own this morning," Lucy announces from behind me.

"Hey!"

"Yeah, she’s not quite herself today," my best friend jokes.

I’m about to respond, but Lucy gets there first, turning me around and kissing me.

"We’re just teasing, love. It’s okay."

"Hmm..."

"Anyway, it’s time to go."

"Yeah..."

"Let’s head down," Ingrid says.

Lucy nods. They head out since they’re already ready. I sit on the couch to put on my shoes. Lucy, having slipped on hers quickly, crouches down in front of me.

"Everything’s going to be fine, okay?"

"What are we going to do if I didn’t pass?"

I feel a knot in my stomach just thinking about it. Lucy smiles, lifting my hand to her lips to kiss it.

"Well, you’ll repeat the year, and we’ll push back your art school plans to the following year. Grace said she’d wait for you, though she’d be a bit disappointed."

I nod, looking down. She strokes my cheek.

"Come on, babe. We don’t know anything yet. What matters most is that you gave it your best."

I smile softly and nod again. I then lift my head to meet her loving gaze.

"I was just wondering how you wanted to handle things once we’re there. Do you still want to introduce me to your friends tonight?"

I take a deep breath and shrug. I’m not sure, really. Lucy has officially left her job as an instructor, so I know we could go together. I had thought it would be more intimate to do it with just a small group. The other students don’t need to know about our relationship.

"I guess," I mumble.

She chuckles and stands up, kissing my forehead.

"I’ll probably meet up with my colleagues who will likely be there. I suggest we go separately at first, and we’ll figure it out if needed?"

This idea lightens my heavy heart. To be honest, I was mostly worried about keeping it together if I passed my exam.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Alright. Then I’ll ride with Ingrid. You can take my car if you want."

"You’re letting me drive?" I ask, surprised.

"Well, yeah. You’ve been driving it these past few days."

My smile widens as I take her keys. It’s true she’s given me the opportunity to drive her car. Lucy wants me to get used to driving again before we buy a car for me next year. It’s been great practice. Plus, it’s little gestures like this that boost my confidence. I’m starting to become independent, and it feels good.

"Thank you."

We kiss one last time before leaving the apartment. We stick to our plan and each drive separately. In front of us, Ingrid leads the way, though I know the route well by now, having done it many times with Lucy. She only lives a few blocks away. As we get closer, it’s clear today is a special day. There are so many cars parked outside. The street has never been this full. I take my time parking the car, just like Lucy taught me, in the first available spot. Then we step out. From a distance, I can see Lucy and Ingrid walking toward the entrance of the building.

"They’re not waiting for us?" Mapi asks.

"No. They’re going to see their colleagues first, and we’ll catch up with them later."

"I see."

She gives me a look that clearly shows she’s teasing me.

"What?"

"You know you won’t be able to hold it together, right?"

"Shut up."

She laughs heartily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Come on, I’ll escort you then."

I smile and nod. That works for me. With my free hand, I grab Joan’s, and we head toward the entrance. Unlike the first time I came here, the gate is wide open, although there are people there to greet us. In fact, it’s Wiegman herself, along with several professors I didn’t have.

"Abby! What a surprise to see you here!" she says as we approach.

"Well, I couldn’t miss my daughter’s results, could I?"

They exchange a friendly hug before she shakes all of our hands.

"Is this your youngest?" she asks, noticing Joan.

My brother immediately hides behind me, making me smile.

"Yes, this is Joan."

"He’s grown so much!"

"Oh, yes."

"Let’s hope we don’t see him here."

"We’ll make sure of that."

"And how’s Marcus doing?"

Not wanting to get caught in a long conversation, I quickly say:

"We’re going to head off without you, if you don’t mind. My friends are probably waiting for me."

"Oh, sure, no problem," my mom replies. "We’ll meet up later. Are you taking Joan with you?"

I glance at my brother, who nods eagerly. I chuckle and nod as well.

"Yeah, I’ll take him. He can stay with Mapi."

After agreeing, we continue. The anxiety rises as we walk down the path.

"Come on, relax."

"I’d like to see you in my shoes. If I don’t pass this exam, I don’t know what I’ll do."

"Lucy said it’s not the end of the world."

"No, it’s not, but it would push back a lot of plans between us."

"I’m sure you’ll pass."

That’s not even the question. I *have* to pass. It’s crucial. As we reach the end of the path, we finally arrive at the central building. It’s packed. We can’t even see the entrance. Luckily, it’s a beautiful day. There’s a light breeze, but it’s not bothersome.

"Wow. This place is huge. So this is where you spent your year?"

"Yeah," I reply with a small smile. "You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll check with Lucy if we can take a tour later."

"That’d be cool! Is that where you did those famous laps?" she asks, pointing to our left.

I chuckle, nodding.

"Yeah, I know those pretty well, if you want to know."

"I bet you do," she teases.

- Over there, those are the classroom buildings, I said, pointing them out to her.

- And next to the fields?

- The gym. That, I said, pointing to the building in front of us, is the administration building. And the two buildings you see on the right are the dormitories.

- Wow. Which one was yours?

- The one in front. We were on the first floor. There's also the cafeteria behind it, but according to what Lucy told me, there will be a snack bar there soon. You'll get to see it.

She nodded with a smile. I could tell she was excited to be here. I understood her. After everything I'd told her, I'd have been in the same state. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. I did the same, but mostly to find my friends. There were so many people. I was surprised to see how many had come with someone. Lucy was probably right. It's an experience that marks the students, and they're proud to show where they were. That's how I felt with Mapi. My eyes eventually landed on Alexia, who was waving wildly until she reached us.

- You’re finally here. I saw Lucy and Ingrid arrive without you, and I was starting to wonder.

- Ona doesn't want to be seen with her just yet.

- For how long? Alexia giggled.

I rolled my eyes as they laughed together. Those two were getting along just a little too well.

- Where are they anyway?

- What, you want to join them already? Mapi teased.

- No. Just testing the waters. So?

Alexia smiled and nodded her head toward something behind me. I turned around to see Lucy with her former colleagues, and even Jenni was there.

- She ended up coming with you?

- Thankfully. She wasn’t too thrilled, but I didn’t give her a choice.

- Poor girl, Mapi teased.

I laughed softly and nodded. I got it, but I also understood Alexia perfectly. I felt the same way. I turned back to them, but this time I saw Lucy looking right at us. The others around her were deep in conversation, but she was fully focused on me. We exchanged a smile. I would’ve given anything to be by her side, but it wasn’t time yet.

- The others are over there if you want to join, Alexia said, grabbing my attention again.

- Yeah, good idea, I replied. I’m happy to finally see everyone again.

- They’re excited to see you too. Honestly, we were just waiting for you.

- Well, here we are.

We followed Alexia as she led us to the others. I ended up carrying Joan since he got shy around my friends. I couldn’t blame him. It was a lot of people, after all. It was the first time I’d been surrounded by so many people, but I wasn’t complaining. I liked my friends, and I planned to keep them close now that I was staying here.

- Ah! We were wondering if you’d come over, Alba greeted us.

- As if I’d ignore you, I chuckled. Hi, everyone.

- Well, you never know. You didn’t want to be friends with us at first, so we were wondering if you’d still talk to us now that classes are over, they teased.

- Fair point, but times have changed.

- That’s true.

I took the time to greet everyone individually. Mapi did the same, following behind me. She might have only met them once before, but she was so at ease with everyone.

- How did you accept your sister’s girlfriend? I teased.

- You knew? She seemed surprised.

- Like She wouldn’t? Alexia responded.

- Wait, so you know her?

- Well, yeah, I chuckled.

- Whatever, that’s not what’s important, Patri interrupted.

- Oh really?

I tilted my head as she nodded.

- We heard this is Bronze' last year. Since you were always with her, maybe you know something?

- Where did you hear that? I asked, frowning.

It was true, of course, but I was supposed to be the only one who knew. As far as I knew, I hadn’t told anyone. Did someone overhear us, or worse, see us together? Well, at this point, I guess it didn’t matter much anymore. Lucy wasn’t my supervisor anymore. She was just my fiancée now.

- Well, people came up to us thinking you were already here, Claudia continued. They saw her packing up on the last day, so now there are rumors.

- Oh, um...

I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, just then, a commotion started around us. Everyone rushed toward the notice board where the exam results were being posted.

- Oh! They’re putting up the results! Alba announced.

- Finally, her sister replied.

It had been a while since I’d felt this anxious. I felt sick to my stomach. Even back in high school, I hadn’t felt this way. Most of my friends rushed over to get a front-row view. Only Mapi, Alexia, and Leah and Alessia stayed with me.

- I feel sick, I confessed.

Leah burst out laughing.

- Come on, princess. It’s all done now anyway.

She was right, but I couldn’t help it.

- Well, I’m going, Alexia announced.

She led the way, and everyone followed. I turned to Mapi, who was happily playing with Joan, who I put down.

- Go ahead. We’ll wait here for you.

I smiled softly and followed the others at a slow pace. People were already reacting—some were exploding with joy, while others were crying. I didn’t know where to look, feeling completely lost. My eyes scanned the crowd, and I realized I was unconsciously searching for Lucy until our eyes locked. I relaxed instantly when I saw her walking toward me with a reassuring smile.

- Don’t be scared. I’ll go with you, she said as she reached my side.

- Thanks.

I bit my lip and let her guide me with her hand resting on my lower back. We walked together to my section, where I saw Alessia, Leah, and even Lotte screaming with joy. I figured everyone had passed. I would feel so awful if I was the only one who didn’t. We made our way to the front of the list as most people had already seen their results, making it easier to approach. I grabbed Lucy’s hand, squeezing it as hard as I could as I scanned the list for my name. I could feel my heart pounding, and finally, I spotted my name. I shifted my eyes slightly to the right, and as soon as I saw the result, I started to cry.

- I can’t believe it... I whispered.

- So? Lucy asked beside me.

- I... I passed! Oh my God, Lucy, I did it!

I literally jumped on Lucy, who wasn’t expecting it at all. She laughed as she caught me as best she could. Without thinking and not giving her time to react, I kissed her passionately. At first, she was so taken aback that she didn’t kiss me back. I almost regretted it, but she eventually responded, wrapping her arms around me. I hugged her back, burying my face in her neck.

- Oh my God. I can’t believe it. It’s all thanks to you!

- I wasn’t the one taking the tests.

- No, but without you, I wouldn’t have come this far, I said, pulling back to look at her. Thanks to you, I can now chase my dream and get into art school. And also, we can finally start our life together. I never imagined ending the school year like this.

Lucy smiled and kissed me again. I was sure everyone was watching, but I didn’t care. I was so happy that all that mattered was the two of us. It had always been like that from the beginning. Lucy took my hand and led me out of the crowd. Everyone was staring at us. At first, I felt a little self-conscious, which made Lucy laugh.

- I would’ve preferred to spare you this, but now we’ve got to own it.

- The last thing I’d ever be ashamed of is you, my love.

She turned with a smirk. I stopped in step and eagerly accepted her next kiss. She knew those words meant everything coming from me. A few months ago, I couldn’t even fully accept myself. When we finally made it out of the crowd, we rejoined Mapi and my sister, who had found Ingrid and Jenni. I left my girlfriend to jump into my best friend’s arms.

- "Guess who got their diploma, guys?!"

- "Yeah! Now that's some great news!" she exclaims.

I laugh with relief in her arms. All the pressure has finally eased away, making room for joy. I still can't believe it.

- "You really surprised everyone. People haven't stopped staring at us," Ingrid giggles.

Indeed, the stares don't stop. Not just from students, but even the staff. No one knew, but Lucy doesn’t seem bothered. She just shrugs.

- "As far as I know, we’re in the clear. I’m no longer part of this school."

I nod and savor a final hug from Mapi, which she surprises me with. She whispers in my ear:

- "I’m so happy for you, darling. You really deserve this."

- "Thank you," I whisper back.

Before I can fully part from Mapi, Alexia jumps on me next. I see our friends following, but for now, I’m waiting for her reaction.

- "We all made it!" she shouts. "We're going to have a blast tonight!"

She keeps screaming with joy as she runs over to Jenni, who struggles to catch her. And she, too, doesn’t hold back, kissing her girlfriend in front of everyone. After all, school’s over now, and nothing else matters. I also turn back to Lucy and kiss her again.

- "About time you two made it official," Leah teases. "Now we can finally get to know the commander for real."

- "You knew?" Alba says, surprised.

- "Come on, Alba, it was so obvious, »Misa tell her . "They were practically eating each other up with their eyes every chance they got."

I chuckle at her shocked expression while still clinging to Lucy’s neck. I exchange a knowing smile with Misa. I kind of suspected she had figured it out. In the end, not many people hadn’t. From what I can see, it’s only Alba and Patri who didn’t see it coming.

- "Maybe we weren’t as discreet as we thought," Lucy comments, noticing the same thing I did.

Everyone laughs because, honestly, I think by the end, we really weren’t. Still, when I went to see her in her office, it was genuinely to study. I worked my butt off, and it looks like all my effort paid off.

- "So, she’s the girlfriend you’ve had these past months?" Alba asks, still in shock.

- "Indeed. I said I’d come with someone tonight to introduce you all, but… well, I couldn’t hold back."

- "We called it! Mapi and I saw this coming ages ago," Alexia teases.

- "You’re dating Bronze. I can’t believe it. That’s insane!"

- "I’m not your instructor anymore. You can call me Lucy after all, we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other."

- "Oh my God..."

I burst into laughter at her reaction.

- "What’s with all of you dating instructors?"

- "Hey, they’re pretty sexy," Mapi chimes in.

- "Wait, you too?" Patri exclaims, seeing my best friend hanging on Ingrid.

- "Yep. But I was never part of this school," she giggles.

I smile as Lucy kisses my forehead. I’ve finally introduced her. It was about time. She doesn’t seem as nervous as she thought she’d be. I imagine the situation feels strange for her, but thanks to Jenni and Ingrid, she’s surrounded by her friends.

- "What about the rumor going around?" Claudia asks. "Is it true you won’t be here next year?"

- "Yes, it’s true."

- "Really?" Leah says, surprised. "Did Wiegman find out?"

- "Yes, but that’s not why I’m leaving. I’m opening a gym with Jenni. And by the way, thank you, Alba, for your help. It was invaluable."

Poor Alba doesn’t know what to say. She’s just come to terms with Jenni and her sister, so I imagine it’ll take her some time to accept Bronze and me as well. But I have to admit, they’ve done a great job with Jenni. The kitchen was installed in the break room, but they’ve made the most progress in the locker rooms. They’ve revamped everything, installing new tiles, new shower cabins, and changing areas.

- "You’re opening it with Jenni?"

- "Yes," she replies with amusement. "So, if you really plan to lend a hand this summer, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me."

She’d been pestering Jenni to help, but from the look on her face, I sense he might change her mind soon. I can understand her reaction. Lucy is known to be intimidating here. At first, it won’t be easy for her to be accepted as my girlfriend. Or maybe... She finally smiles.

- "Well, at least I know my sister was in good hands all along... I guess I owe you a lot, too."

Lucy chuckles softly.

- "No, you’ve got it wrong. I hated your sister for a long time because of Jenni’s dismissal. It’s my relationship with Ona that made us friends, since they’re so close. But I can assure you Jenni takes great care of her. You have nothing to worry about."

She nods appreciatively, then looks at all six of us. I think she’s realized her sister is in good company now. She finally looks at me with a small smile.

- "You really don’t do things halfway when it comes to making changes. Making the commander bend, seriously."

I laugh, shrugging.

- "We both bent to each other. What can I say?" I reply, snuggling into my girlfriend. "I’m just glad you’re all okay with it."

- "Of course, princess. But now it’s time to let us into your little bubble."

- "No problem with that," Lucy responds. "We’ll start with tonight’s party."

They nod eagerly. In the end, everything turned out great. I’m so happy. Well, they don’t know yet that they’re now tied to Lucy for life after our engagement, but that’s a story for another time. They don’t need to know just yet. Lucy and I haven’t even picked a wedding date. Ideally, it would be next year, but with all the current projects, it might get pushed back. Neither of us wants to rush into it. What mattered was the commitment we made to each other. We wanted to make it official because we know we complete each other, and there’s no question of looking elsewhere. For now, the most important thing is to enjoy this moment together. We still need to pick up our transcripts, then grab a drink in the cafeteria to celebrate. After that, it’s time to unwind at tonight’s party at Leah house, but more importantly, to celebrate the beginning of our new life—life after Camp Wiegman. It’s clear everyone’s excited about it. I know I am. I can’t wait to live out my dreams alongside the love of my life. 

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .5

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Size difference; Size kink; One sad horny old man; Angst!!!! that will continue just FYI no abusing poor little vic for enjoying the suffering of others :) it’s not my fault :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: peep the cameo!!!!!! :) 

Word Count: 6.1K

Read on AO3

.5

Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what the frailty is, I know what the fear is. The fear is not for what is lost. What is lost is already in the wall. What is lost is already behind the locked doors. The fear is for what is still to be lost. You may see nothing still to be lost. Yet there is no day in her life on which I do not see her.

Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Weeks pass after that night in his truck. He calls, many times, but you never answer. And it makes you feel like the worst sort of liar, but you can’t. You can’t hear the sound of his voice, it’ll ruin you, destroy your resolve, force you to your knees at his feet, which is, if you’re being honest, the only place you really want to be. It is, perhaps, the greatest struggle of your entire life, to hold on by the skin of your teeth to this idea you have of what it is he and his marriage should remain as, and what you and he should be and should not be. 

It’s Gerri’s birthday, and Tommy and her sister had decided to throw her a party at her house. Big surgeon money makes for a big fancy house, and Gerri was over the moon, filled with happiness and laughter and that wonderful brand of Gerri specific infectious glee that forces even your miserable, morose self to pull your butt out of bed and get ready to go celebrate her. She knows you’re sad, missing him, even if she doesn’t know it’s him specifically. Although, you suspect she might have an idea of it. 

She’d begged you to come during class at the start of the week, planting her stubborn butt on a stool to stare you down while the rest of your students finished up their work and then put away their materials. Please’s and threats of tears and bodily harm and promises of copious amounts of alcohol, and if you’re feeling up to it, I could even hook you up with someone – an accompanying waggle of her eyebrows. What about a surgeon? My sister knows the perfect, sexy doctor for you. You’d profusely, profusely refused that. You could not even consider another man right now, the idea was almost repulsive to you. As she begged and pleaded and whined, another one of your students had come up, eavesdropping on the pathetic display of supplication, “Come on, teach. Don’t be a sour puss, put her outta her misery, and go to the fucking party with her,” she’d laughed. One of your best students – she had the most gorgeous tattoo on the inside of her forearm of two overlapping ferns with an intricately detailed moth at the head. She’d told you once she’d sketched it herself. You’d rolled your eyes at them, sour puss, my ass. But you knew you had to get out of this hole you’d dug yourself into, and so, their teasing had gotten to you in the end – forced you to agree to the party out of sheer preservation for your reputation. Gerri’d taken to calling you the boring barnacle… yeah, and she’d never stop if you didn’t agree – would probably force all your other students into making fun of you for the rest of the semester, as well. Annoying little shit, it was very aggravating that you loved her so much. 

-

The house is stunning – big surgeon money indeed. All shining glass, sleek wood and modern edges. A huge infinity pool in the backyard, flanked by an impressively sized guest house that Gerri said she and Tommy stayed in sometimes when they got too drunk to drive home. 

There was, after all, a doctor from Andrea’s work waiting for you at their undesired and annoyingly meddlesome behest. He was nice, handsome, boring. Not tall enough, not broad enough, hair blonde and straight and kind of straw-like – no dark, silver streaked curls and deep, warm eyes. He kind of reminds you of a shiny scarecrow, if you’re being honest and not very kind. Not Joel enough. But he was nice, and seemingly interested and he’d gotten you a drink and stayed by your side all night, attentive and polite. 

You feel miserable and made out of plastic. Your smile, fake, forced, terrible. Something has to be done about this. Perhaps, electrotherapy, a lobotomy, an exorcism. Anything to get him out of your head. 

The shiny, blonde scarecrow – doctor – is telling you about his shiny, blonde family and their fancy skiing trips now, and oh, do you ski? No? I bet you’d love it – maybe I can take you one day? Never mind that you’d been born without a single athletic bone in your entire body, when, suddenly, you hear your name being barked, rough and angry, from behind you, and then a large, searing hot palm circling your bicep on one side while his other palm slides along the span of the small of your back to grip you at the bend of your waist. Fuck. 

“Joel–”

“Hi, sweetheart.” He does not look at you as he says it, but his grip on your waist tightens for one second. He’s staring down the shiny scarecrow, murder in his eyes. Oh, that look is very scary. 

“What are you doing here?” He turns the scary look on you at that, and nope, nope, it’s even scarier pointed in your direction.

“Tommy told me you were here.”

“Wh– what? Why would he tell you?” He gives you a pointed look, and you glance at the scarecrow, nervous. “You told Tommy?” you whisper back at Joel. 

Poor doctor man looks at a loss, gaze swinging back and forth between the two of you. “I’m so sorry, can you give us a minute?” you say, embarrassed. He takes one look at Joel’s terrifying face and scampers away.

-

Moron, he thinks, sour gaze following the fucker as he tucks tail and runs. He turns back to you, answering your question, “Didn’t have to, baby. He figured it out on his own. Don’t think we’ve been what one could call discreet if you’re really paying attention.”

You shut your eyes tight, bring up a shaky hand up to rub at the delicate wing of your brow. He desperately wants to smooth out the tiny frown marring the space between your eyes. 

“N– no– but,” you stutter. 

He takes the drink you’re holding out of your hand, takes a sip of it – something sweet and way too strong for your light-weight little butt. “Mm, he get that for you?”

You scrunch your nose up at him, and he knows he’s meant to take it as a sign of your annoyance, but all he can think is that you’re too adorable for your own good. “Wh– I– you overbearing, ridiculous – give that back!” you frown up at him as he holds it out of your reach. He sets the glass on a table behind you.

“Hmm–” His big hands span the width of your waist, can’t help himself, you’re so small compared to him. It makes his cock so hard. “Let me talk to you, please. Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t care that he’s not supposed to be here, that he shouldn’t be bothering you, he’s reached the end of his rope. 

“No – go away. It’s– it’s Gerri’s birthday.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he pulls you further into his chest. “I’m supposed to be having fun. She said she’d be mad if I didn’t have fun.” There are already overwhelmed tears in your eyes, and if he wasn’t so fucking desperate to see you, to talk to you after all these weeks of you ignoring him, he’d run away. Far, far away, where he can never make you cry again. 

“Just for a little bit, please,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, causing the little wisps of hair there to flutter. 

You shiver. “Where– where’s Sarah?” You bring your small hand up to clutch at his beard, cup his jaw, and scratch your nails gently down the side of his cheek, and fuck, he’s ready to burst, just with that, even as your other hand feebly tries to push at his chest. He slides a hand low on your back to press your pelvis into his. 

“Baby-sitter.” Hearing you ask after his daughter has that soft spot behind his ribs where you live now, burn and pinch painfully. 

“And–” 

He cuts you off, doesn’t want to hear you talking about her. “Gone for the weekend – work conference.” Not that he believed that.

You open your eyes again, the tears lining your lashes make them almost glow in your skull. He can’t help himself, he bends to press a soft kiss over your eye, feels the whispering, wet flutter of your long lashes against his mouth. You let out a broken mewl for him – full of all your matched wanting. “F– fine. We’ll– we’ll just talk.”

Just talk, just talk, just talk. 

He can feel the pulse of his blood beat through the line of his erection against his thigh. He wraps his hand around yours and starts leading you through the house, spots Tommy at the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter talking to someone. His brother takes in the two of you together, gives him a subtle nod, inclines his head towards the backyard – the guest house where Joel was headed. Tommy had known, since that day so long ago when Joel had tried to discreetly tag along to the college – hoping to get a glimpse of you, he’d known there was something. Nothing discreet about your half assed excuses, reeked’a desperation, he’d said. His brother wanted him to be happy, to have a good, fulfilling relationship. He’d been telling Joel to get a lawyer for months, had been the first to tell him to not get married. He’d help him now, give the two of you time to sort this out. He knows just how insane Joel had been these past few weeks, like a caged animal, pacing and hissing at not being able to get at you. 

He steps out the back door and pulls you towards the guest house. He’d been here once, months ago, helping Gerri’s sister out with a repair she’d needed. The two of you would have privacy there to talk, for you to finally stop avoiding him. He needs to speak to you, touch you, smell you. He was going out of his goddamn mind thinking about you, dreaming about you. His cock, constantly at half mast and leaking, at all hours of the day, just at your memory. Desperate, that’s what he is, he’s desperate for you. 

“Who was that guy?”

“Who?” Your voice is anxious, breath hitching. He knows you’re twisting yourself up in knots, and he turns to pull you into his arms now, in the privacy of the dark room, lit only by the light of the moon spilling through the large bay windows. 

“The one you were talking to.” He draws his palm slowly up and down the line of your spine, feelings the little bumps and jitters of your trembling form. Skittish little rabbit. He rubs his mouth over the line of your hair, baby soft wisps tickling his nose and mouth. You smell so good, he wants to rub himself all over you like some sort of animal – mark his territory.

“Wh– I– You cannot be serious right now.” You push at him, turn to move away, but he catches you around the bend of your elbow, tugging you back forcefully into his chest. He presses his front along the line of your back, grips your hip to bring your ass into the hard line of his cock. 

“Does this feel serious to you?” He’s hard as stone, throbbing beneath his jeans. 

“Oh God, Joel–”

“Don’t want you talkin’ to other men, thinking about any other men. I know it sounds insane – can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

“I– I don’t think about anyone else but you,” you whimper. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, brings one large hand up to cradle the weight of your breast and squeeze. He can feel the stiff little furl of your nipple through your dress. He feels a little unhinged right now, overwhelmed by the feel and scent of you. “I miss you,” he whispers. “Have you missed me?” He presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear that has a violent shiver jerking down your vertebrae, you grind your ass harder into him, give him the sweetest little moan. “All I do is think about you.”

“I did, I did– I miss you so much. I wanted to talk to you, I did,” you whimper, “But– but we shouldn’t, Joel,” you say at the same time as your hand comes up and around to twist into the curls at the back of his head. He turns your head with his hand wrapped around your jaw, his entire palm cups around your neck to your cheek, thumb pressing harshly into the corner of your mouth to angle you exactly how he wants you, and then he’s tasting behind your teeth, the wet lick of his tongue into yours sends a bolt of lust straight through him, almost bringing him to his knees. He moans, deep and rumbling into your panting mouth, and your answering keen has the dribble of his precum sliding down his thigh. He needs to be closer, he needs to be inside. Fuck, he’s in danger of coming just from this, just from the sweet taste of you, your little moans, all for him. 

“Did you like that boy? Think he was nice, hmm?”

“Wha– No– no, Joel. I don’t even know him.” Brow scrunching into the most adorable little frown he’s ever seen. You blink your lashes at him, eyes glassy and slightly dazed. 

He snakes his other hand down the front of your dress and under the lace of your panties, cupping the entirety of your mound in his palm. Fuck, you’re soaked and he’s touching you, finally, finally, he’s touching you here. 

“Is all this wet for him or for me?” he says softly, dipping a single finger into your seam, a ghost of a touch over the bud of your clit. Fuck, you’re soft. Soft and swollen and soaking wet. He never wants to see you near another man again, it’s unreasonable, insane, he knows this. But the dilemma of having seen you, tasted you, felt you, but only by half measures, not really having you, well… it sets the stage for insanity. This he cannot help. 

“For you, for you– please, Joel. Just–”

“She’s drooling for me, baby.”

“Don’t be mean,” you cry.

“Will you let me make you feel good, sweet girl? Please, I just want to make you feel good.” He presses wet kisses over your cheek, down your neck to lick into the hollow of your collarbone. Your hips hitch in little grinds trying to gain more purchase against his palm, and he circles your clit slowly. You’re fucking dripping, and he moves down to press over your entrance, gives you the slightest hint of everything else he’d like to give you. 

“Oh, please–” He slides two of his fingers into the last knuckle then, to the hilt. You’re so wet, there’s no resistance at all. Your cunt swallows his fingers whole, and the both of you let out ragged moans in tandem. You’re fucking tight, and he needs to feel you around his cock, he has to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’ll die.

“We– we were supposed t– to talk,” you stutter, little cunt grinding down as hard as you can on his thrusting fingers. The wet squelch is deafening and obscene in the quiet of the guest house, and he can almost feel the steam of your lust and embarrassment at the sound rolling off of your skin like heat waves. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby. We’ll talk in a second.” He licks a long wet swipe along the edge of your jaw, bites down harshly, and he can feel the tight clench of your cunt at the small hurt. He pulls his fingers from you, and you let out a protesting mewl, but then he’s spinning you in his arms and kissing you. Something savage and uncontrolled rising up inside of him. He half carries, half drags you down the hall to the bedroom he knows is at the back of the house, pulls the neckline of your dress down to get at your tits, sucking and nipping as much of the soft flesh he can get at. All the previous moments of restraint, of not touching, of just watching, have turned him into this uncontrolled beast. He can feel your little feel dangling off the ground, over his boots. He almost stumbles as you lose one of your sandals, stepping over your shoe, and gripping the back of your thigh to hoist you up higher, grinding you against his length. 

He sets you down on the bed, pushing you back to lay across it as he tugs the soft cups of your bra down to get at your bare tits, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth and pulling hard on the tip. So fucking beautiful. He swirls his tongue around your softness, kisses the underside of it, nips at the full, round side, switches to give the other one the same attention. You’re whining and crying out for him, almost sobbing. So sensitive, so sensitive – little fingers twisted in his hair to pull him closer, but he’s moving down, pulling away from your searching mouth and lifting the hem of your dress. He bends to bury his face in the soft apex of your thighs and breathes deep – satisfaction, hunger, rumbling through his chest. You smell so fucking good. He sticks his tongue out to lick at your slit over the lace of your soft, pink panties, sweet, little bow adorning the front of them. 

“Hush, lemme kiss your pussy for a little bit,” he soothes, “Don’t cry,” and you’re spreading your legs immediately at that. Good girl. 

He hooks his fingers under the soaking wet center plaque of your panties to pull it aside and drags the flat of his tongue right through your seam. Fuck, fuck. He shuts your legs to rip the fabric down your legs and then rips them open again to get at your cunt. Your back arches, curved tight like a bow string, and you spread your legs wider for him, tug on his hair to urge him closer. He settles between the space you’ve made for him – thinks that he just might like to live here for the rest of his life. He sucks your clit into his mouth and starts to press a single finger inside, giving you something to bear down on.

“God, Joel–” your gasps are wet, on the verge of overwhelmed tears, or already there, perhaps, “Feels so– so good.”

“Taste so fucking good–” He starts to fuck you with his finger, adding another, giving you more to stretch around. You’re so wet, leaking down to pool in his palm, and he focuses on your sensitive little nub, licking and sucking and kissing it, all while he watches the heave and tremble of your breasts, back arched so that you can rock into his ministrations. 

“Oh, I’m– I’m gonna come.” Yes, already, “I’m gonna–” He can feel the ripple and throb of your inner muscles working around his thrusting fingers, he hooks them against the deep, spongy spot at the front of your walls and sucks on your clit. Everything goes tight and liquid inside of you. The rapid flutter of your muscles trying to suck his fingers deeper, as you gush into his mouth, has all the blood rushing from his head to his dick so quickly he feels slightly faint. He licks you through it, gentling the thrust of his fingers but not stopping. Your restless legs shift around him, too much, and then he’s shifting back up to you, a bite to your nipple, a kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, and he’s pulling you down the bed so your ass is right at the edge and tugging at his zipper, pulling his boxers down to free his aching cock and heavy balls. Fist clenched tight around himself, he jacks it once, twice and then presses the angry, red head to your clit, slides the underside of it through your cleft to feel the heat and wetness. Shit, your skin is scorching hot, soaked, and he can see the slight clench of your hole, begging to be filled. 

“Joel, please I– I want–”

“Fuck – will you let me– will you let me put it in? Just a little bit?” He’s thrusting against the slick red of you, palm pressed against the shaft to create friction on either side. On every pull back his head catches the smallest bit at your entrance, and fuck, fuck, it would be so easy, so good, “Just– just for a second, baby, please? Just the tip?”

“I – I don’t– I–” The head catches more fully, the wide tip of it giving you just the first slight stretch of it. “Oh, please–” Please, please, please. 

He feeds you the first inch – eyes glued to the way your little hole stretches obscenely around his fat girth, “Shit,” he snarls. He fucks you just like that, with just the tip and you try and arch even more, impossible, you’re already pulled tight as an arc, trying to take him deeper, and then your knee is hitching against his hip and pressing him in closer. He slides all the way inside, to the very end of you, in one smooth, devastating go. He feels his tip bump against the mouth of your womb, and your shared moan is pained and ragged. Your fluttering lids springing all the way open, eyes wide, almost shocked. The look shared between the two of you – incredulous, as if neither of you knew – had ever occurred to you – that something in this world could ever feel this good. 

He buries his face in your neck, shuts his eyes tight. Fuck, he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come. Your gasping moans, the lush press of your breasts to his chest, the fluttering of your cunt around him – nothing in all his life has ever felt like this. There’s a pain, deep in his chest, in a place he didn’t even know existed. This is like nothing else that has ever existed in this world. He’ll never be able to let you go after this, never, never. 

He wraps his hand around your throat, tries to settle you. “Don’t– don’t move, don’t make a sound–”

“I can’t– I can’t– You’re so deep.” Your legs kick restlessly around him.

“Baby, shut up, please,” he begs, he cannot come yet, he cannot. This is the first time in over three years he’s been inside of a woman, the first time he’s been inside of you. He cannot ruin it with a happy trigger finger. You’re clawing at his back, gasping and crying for him to move, to fuck you, please, please, please, fuck me. He slides a hand under your butt and lifts you slightly off the bed to bring you closer to him, grinds his cock deep, deep, right at your cervix so that you’re crying for real now. 

“Too much, too much,” you clutch tightly at his bicep, going back and forth between trying to push him away and pull him closer. He can feel the wet press of your tears sliding along his cheek, over his mouth, and he licks his lips to taste them, has his eyes rolling to the back of his head at their saltiness. He hitches you more firmly in his grasp and starts to fuck you. His thrusts, deep and devastating, punching all air, voice, thought out of you, heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass.

“You can take it, you can take it. You can take anything I give you. You’re my pretty, perfect girl,” he grits, pulls himself up so he can stare at the place where you’re taking him, puffy, red cunt stretched obscenely around his slick base. 

“You feel so good– I can’t, I can’t– What are we going to do? What are we going to do? It feels so good.” You’re crying, incoherent, fucked out look in your eyes as you claw at his shirt, little nails scraping over his belly and chest. He grips you under one knee to pull your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You come again, instantly, just at the change, the deepening of the angle, the head of his cock battering savagely against that deep, soft spot inside you.

“Fuck, yeah. Let me feel that cunt get wet, little girl.” Your mewls are high pitched, supplicant, and you gush around him. He feels it soak his pelvis, drip down his balls.

No one’s ever been this deep, nothing’s ever felt like this, you say, over and over again. 

He plants one knee on the bed and hunches over you, ankle still dangling limply over his shoulder and pounds into you. The feel of your cunt rippling around him, sucking him deeper is too much. He wishes he could last longer, feel you come around him again. What if you never let him do this again? What if you never want him again after this? What if it’s just a one time thing? He’ll never get over this, he’ll never be able to move on from this. He can’t hold back, he starts to fill you, hot thick spurts coating your insides, and you moan again at the searing heat of him, right at the mouth of your womb, grinds deep, deeper, as deep as he can, the contractions of your inner muscles pulling him in. He wishes he could crawl beneath your skin, live inside of you, make a home for himself behind the safe cage of your ribs, and he thinks that you’re right, nothing has ever felt like this, nothing will ever feel like this again. 

He’s ruined now. You’ve ruined him

He collapses on top of you, wants to crush you with his heavy weight, meld your chests together so that you’ll have to be with him forever after this. He presses wet, breathless kisses to the vulnerable underside of your jaw, behind your ear where your scent is the most concentrated, breathes you in deeply. You wrap your arms and legs around him, and he can feel the clench of your inner muscles around his softening cock. He hasn’t done this in a long time, he wonders what his refractory period is now, if he’ll be able to go again soon, if you’ll let him. 

“I wanted that so badly,” you whisper, nuzzle your nose into his hair. 

“Me too, sweetheart.” 

“I’m scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of. I would never hurt you,” he promises because it’s the truth. He’d never do anything to purposely hurt you. 

“I’m scared of what I feel for you,” you say quietly, “I– I don’t–”

He slides his hand under you to press you closer. “I know, sweet girl. Me too.” He angles your head to give himself access to your mouth, starts his kiss out soft and gentle, slotting your full upper lip between both of his to pepper soft little pecks and sucks to it, then tilts his head to get a deeper angle and lick into you. 

You’re completely relaxed beneath him. Soft and warm and wet, entirely pliant. So sweet. It’s one of the things he loves most about you, how sweet you are. Sweet and kind and earnest – tenderhearted. You’re right, in a way, this is something to be afraid of. The things he feels for you – the depth of it, it’s not something he was expecting, not prepared for, but he’s certain there isn’t a way of stopping it now. This is what it is, will go where it was always going to go, from the first moment he saw you, touched you, tasted you. 

“What are we going to do?”

“I want to tell her.” It’s the only truth, the only road he wants to go down. He wants to be with you, he wants this out in the open. “You aren’t a secret to be kept or hidden. You deserve to be cherished out in the open.”

Your tears spill harder at that, “Joel–”

“Baby,” he lifts up slightly to look at you, “This is it.”

You turn to look away and he feels dread coil in his gut. If you pull away from him now he’ll lose his mind. He isn’t prepared for this, he isn’t the type of man who’s ever had to deal with this type of feeling. “I – I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I– I don’t want–”

“You don’t want what?” he brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face, runs the tip of his finger along the arch of your brow, down the slope of your nose. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he says, because it’s the truth. In this moment, he thinks he’d do anything at all you’d ask of him. Open his very veins for you. You have him speared by the heart, eating out of the palm of your small hand. 

“I don’t want to be the reason your marriage ends,” your brow crumples, “I told you. I– I can’t be. I couldn’t live with that.”

“My marriage never really began to start with. I told you that.” He moves to pull out, both of you groaning softly at the sensitive slide of his cock slipping out of you, the slick gush that follows. He sits back on his heels, grips both of your knees to keep you spread and enjoy the sight of the viscous drip of his spend out of your messy hole. He wants to bend to eat his own come out of you. You’ve turned him into some sort of beast, subjugated to the scent and sound and feel of your body. But instead he turns to sit at the edge of the bed, tucks himself back into his jeans. He leans forward, elbows resting against his spread knees, and drags his palm over his face, rubs the scruff of his beard. He feels you turn to curve around him, your hand snaking up the back of his shirt to press your palm against his hot skin, your knees curling into his lap around his waist. “It was never – it was never– I don’t even know. Never a real marriage, I suppose. Or never something either of us wanted for the right reasons. I – I felt like it was the right thing to do, at the time, for Sarah. I told you this. But– but it was never how it should’ve been. I worry now, sometimes, if we haven’t just done more damage to her, built a foundation that’s so rotten, so broken, that she’ll be able to feel it for the rest of her life.”

“Joel,” you whisper, dragging your fingers softly up and down his back. 

“She was born into a broken home – how can I ever– how can I ever make that up to her?” He turns back to look at you then, “A home where her parents never loved each other – barely even tolerated each other. What is that gonna do to her? What will that teach her about love and relationships?” He grips you around the bend of your knee, anchors himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his rough palm. 

“I think that, from– from experience, that it will be enough for her to know that she has you, that you love her, that you’ll always be there for her. You’re a good father, Joel. A– a wonderful father. She’s so, so lucky to have you.” And the look in your eyes as you say this to him is so earnest, so sincere and kind that he knows, in that very instant, that he’s falling in love with you, that he is already in love with you. He folds over to press his face into your belly, hug you tight to himself. “Your love for her will teach her what love is supposed to be. Honest, forgiving, patient. She doesn’t need any other example than that. That’s enough for a little girl, trust me.” You drag your nails gently along his scalp. 

He presses a kiss to your belly, another to your still bared breast. He rests his cheek on your chest to look up at you. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” What he really wants to say is, thank you for existing, thank you for finding me, thank you for being magic, thank you for letting me touch you. Please, let me keep even one small piece of you, I’ll take such good care of it for the rest of my life, I promise.

“But you– you can’t tell your wife about this, can’t– can’t leave her for me. That isn’t– that isn’t ever what I wanted, or– or set out to do. I told you why, I explained this to you.” He watches a bright flush flood your cheeks, brow folding into a frown as you stutter out the words. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“What’s left of this marriage is going to end either way. It’s only a matter of time.”

“But not for me. Not because of me, or for you to run straight to me. I can’t– I couldn’t live knowing I’d done that.”

“You haven’t done anything. This was done a long time ago, the foundation was damaged from the start.”

“N– no, still. I can’t.” You shift away from him, sit up to right your clothes. There is a part of you that hums the sounds of uncertainty, he can hear it in your voice, but it is so quiet in the face of everything else. The echo of your screeching guilt and fear so loud, it overwhelms everything else. 

“So, then what? This was just a one time thing? You want nothing more from this? From me?” He spits, hurt. He knows he should be gentle, not get angry, but the thought of you taking yourself away from him now makes panic climb like fire up his chest and throat. 

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, face still turned away from him. “I– I can’t tell you that right now. But I do know that I don’t want you to tell your wife, or to leave her for me.”

“So you think I should stay with her? Even though we’re both miserable. Even though all I want is to be with you. That’s what you want me to do?”

You let out a hoarse, anguished little sound at that, but then: “That’s not for me to say.” Your voice sounds broken, jagged, lacerating. “That isn’t my business,” you say so quietly, almost like you’re afraid to utter the words out loud, know what a lie they are. But he hears it. Loud and clear, like a slap to the face. 

“Not your business?”

“I should get back.” You stand to right your dress, he watches your shaking knees knock together, and he reaches out to catch you if you need him, but you steady yourself on your own. When you finally turn back to look at him, there are tears streaming down your face. In some sick, twisted way, the sight of them is a comfort. They tell him that this isn’t what you really want, that your words hurt you too. In a way, they help him understand you better, as well. You’re trying to do what you think is the right thing, as wrong as it is for all of you involved. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, wringing your hands together. He only nods. You go to clean yourself up in the restroom, shutting the door quietly behind you.

-

When you step back out into the bedroom, he’s already gone, but there’s a glass of water left waiting for you on the bedside table. 

Chapter .6

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[diyasgarden]

Part 1

Somewhere in Ohio, 2013

"You know I expected bad writing, but not whatever it was," Tashi says the minute you sit down in front of her at the restaurant. Straight to the point. No introductions. Not formalities. It makes you like her even more. You barely have a spare moment to process her presence. She was pretty in all the videos you watched and pictures you saw during the research, but in front of you she's like a goddess.

"You thought my writing would be bad?" you ask back way to quickly. You've just met her and you're desperate for her approval.

Tashi just shrugs in response, as she takes a sip of her wine. "It's a small local paper. Didn't expect some amateur Joan Didion to be writing articles."

"Well everyone starts somewhere," you say again. Once again it comes out quickly. Too eager. You're being too eager. You mentally chastise yourself for this.

Tashi looks at you for a moment as if processing your words. For a moment you think she's going to laugh in your face, but then slowly gives you a small smile. You feel like a student who just gave the the right answer in class. You have physically bite back a sigh of relief as she does so by chewing on the inside of the cheek.

"No you're definitely a gifted writer that's for sure," with a little nod, she takes another sip of wine. You want to lift up the glass and lick the mark her lipstick leaves on it. Get a grip.

"Thanks," is all you manage to say as you take the glass of water in front of you and sip on it to maintain composure.

Tashi looks at you for a moment, as if mulling over her next words. "It's a shame you're writing for a paper only people in this sad town care about."

Oh. Okay so she wasn't wrong. You only wrote here because this is your town. It's where you grew up, but not even you could deny that it was irrelevant.

"My husband is from this state," she adds with a shrug. "That's why he was excited for the article."

You know it wasn't a nice article about Art, but you can't help but ask "Did he like it?"

Tashi slowly nods in response. Oh. Not the answer you were expecting. Then she goes, "He agrees."

Your eyebrows furrow. Agreed about what? That he was only good because of Tashi?

"That you're a good writer," she then says with eye contact that you think may actually be piercing into your soul.

"Oh," is all that slips out of your mouth.

"And that your talent is probably wasted here."

You have no response to that. A part of you feels a thrill at the fact that someone so talented, can identify talent within you. The other part feels ashamed that she thinks its wasted.

Before you can put together something to say in response Tashi stands up. You watch her with a frown. She was leaving?

She stands there for a moment, just looking at you. She then lists out couple of numbers, and it takes you a moment before you realize she's saying her phone number.

"Got that?" she asks. You nod, and you both know you've already committed to memory. "Text me when you realize you could do more than this."

You just watch as she picks up the purse and slings it onto her shoulder in the most graceful way you've seen anyone do it before.

"You're not staying to eat?" the disappointment a little too apparent in your voice.

Tashi just lets out a little laugh in response as she walks away from you. You watch her retreating figure before turning back to the table she left you at.

You look at the little wine left in her glass. Without a second thought you reach over the table to finish it off, placing your lips over the mark her lipstick left.

You send her that message as soon as you get home.

[acewritesfics]

Meeting the Family | Tommy Shelby 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: None

Warnings: None

Word Count: 535

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“How am I more anxious than you are? It's my own parents,” Y/N asks looking at Tommy as she finishes getting ready for dinner with her parents. Anxiety burned through her body while Tommy stood there without a care in the world. “Are you not worried at all?” 

Tommy removes the cigarette he’s smoking from his lips and blows out the smoke before answering her. “Meeting your parents isn't on my list of things to be worried about, love.”  

"Are you expecting to charm them with your nonchalant demeanor?" she asks him. 

"I charmed you, didn't I?" he asks, a small teasing smirk makes it's way on to his lips. 

"You know you're not as charming as you think," she says going along with his teasing. "You're lucky my parents are easier to charm than I was." 

"Then what are you worried about?" he questions moving to stand behind her and putting the necklace he bought her a few weeks ago around her neck and clasping it together. 

"As ridiculous as it sounds, I'm afraid that they'll love you more than me," she sighs voicing her silly concerns. 

"Not possible, my love," he tells her kissing the top of her head. "Just like me, they could never love anyone more than you." 

"How is it that you two met," Y/N's mother asks the younger couple before taking a bite of her food. 

"She didn't tell you?" Tommy asks looking between Y/N and her mother.  

"She was vague about it and never went into detail," she tells him. It was true.  

Y/N talks about Tommy a lot but only the details she wants her parents to know. They live outside of Birmingham so they haven't heard of the Peaky Blinders and all the trouble that followed them, especially Tommy. If they found out, she knew they wouldn't approve of him.  

"What did she tell you?" Tommy asks Y/N's mother. 

"That you two met when she was walking home from work." 

"That's how we did meet," he tells her. "It was dark when I noticed her walking alone, something told me that I should walk her home. It's not safe to walk home in the dark alone," He continues with his charming tone.  

Y/N could see her mother was easily falling under his spell though her father is a little apprehensive. "So what is it that you do, Mr. Shelby?" 

"I own a family run company with my brothers," He tells him the legal side of things that he does. "We run a betting den, own a few business around Small Heath and have an import/export business." 

"You must be a busy man," Y/N's father seems astonished and intrigued by his answer. 

"Hopefully not too busy for our sweet girl," her mother butts in. 

"I'm never too busy for her," he gives them a reassuring smile and looks across from him to Y/N.  

"That's good to hear," her mother smiles and stands up and starts clearing the table. "I've made a cake, will you two be staying for some?"  

"Of course, Mrs L/N," Tommy assures her. 

"Oh please, call me Joan," she tells him as Y/N stands up to help her. "After all you'll be family soon." 

[got-ticket-to-ride]

hi sorry but do you have any soft mclennon moments to share too :') the post you made about 22 seconds of longing hurt oh my god

Sorry for the delay in reply anon. I'm actually just a corporate collar acting my way as a temporary secretary every hard day's night, jobbing like a dog, 8 days a week in an English garden to afford a tan in the rain.

Hope this finds you well! Here are 22 McLennon moments as compensation for Johnny's 22 agonizing seconds in the pining video.

1.) "I'm Happy Just to Dance with You" scene when they both looked at each other at the same time. And the director had to pan out the scene because it would've been too straight. I know dilated pupils when I see it.

2.) Inviting your favorite boy to a solo trip to Spain but you stayed in Paris because it was so romantic, sharing a bed, picking out clothes for each other, slurping all the banana shakes, you know normal roommate things according to historians.

3.) Getting a solo invitation from a hot photographer and bringing along your best boy because you are attached to the hip and can't be separated.

4.) Their need to constantly touch each other

5.) Scene in Help (1965), where John is using all his strength to carry George and Ringo's weight and not crush Paul (because boyfriend things)

6.) Holding hands for mental support during a recording. (John is needy, please forgive him)

7.) Walking Martha like a couple in 1967 - outfits coordinated and all

8.) Impressions by people who met them:

"[John and Paul] sort of had their own way of communicating. Hardly anything was spoken, they just knew what the other wanted or was getting at and they had the most amazing talent."

"He was like a different animal with Lennon. When they were together they became something else, more than just the two of them together. That communication was incredible. It was like two high-speed computers just fizzing between each other."

9.) John is hiding his cigarette behind him, because he doesn't want to bother Paul with the smoke. (You know, boyfriend things).

10.) A portrait, king and princess up front. John's thigh just casually resting on Paul's (yet again).

11.) The spider fingers during a press conference, because they are actually both 12

12.) That very flirty jam session in Austria in 1965 that was cut short, but they probably continued after anyway

13.) The way they talk about the day they met sounds like "how I met the love of my life" Happy Honeymoon <3

14.) Quote from Emerick

The lights in the studio were turned off to set the mood; the sole source of illumination was a table lamp next to the wall. The two beatles, lifelong friends and collaborators, sat on high stools, facing each other, studying each other’s lips intently for phrasing.

15.) When they answer each other's songs

Paul in Can't Buy Me Love: "If it makes you feel alright?"

John: "I Feel Fine"

17.) “I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight’ was met with the reply, ‘Sod off, Lennon.’” — Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964

18.) Paul looking at John like he wants to eat him later after finishing with "I'm a Loser"

19.) Giving instructions on how John's hair needs to "look"

20.) Paul acting as John's walking stick

21.) Paul's heart eyes during this 1966 conference (also that lip bite... eat you later?):

22.) John the worried boyfriend who checks on Paul in the middle of an interview and doesn't believe him when he just says : "oh, yeah..."

John internally: "come on now, why aren't you laughing at my joke babe? You're unwell!!!"

The Bottles over and out.

Thank you for this ask. This was quite fun! Would love to hear your thoughts too <3

[as-is-above-so-below]

i would physically break my bones if you wrote a little thing about simon waking up with joanie in the night 🥹

Thunder

I take your Simon waking up with Joanie, and raise you Mama Freyja waking up with her :D (p.s. Simon holds his babies like this, and you can't tell me otherwise) << Previous | Next >>

Freyja flinched at the sharp cry as the monitor on her nightstand crackled to life following a loud boom of thunder. She stayed still momentarily, waiting to see if Joan would lull herself back to sleep as she patted Arthur’s back.

After a brief break, assumingly where Joanie allowed herself to take a breath, the wailing presumed.

Simon’s hand trailed up her thigh, his thumb dragging across her hip. He was awake, as always during nighttime feedings, but had been laying down while she fed and burped their son. “Do you want me to get her?” he asked, leaning into her shoulder and nuzzling her neck now that he had pushed himself up.

She smiled softly at the gentle kisses against her throat, pressing into them. “No, I’ll handle it. Take Artie?”

“I’ll finish with ‘im downstairs.” Simon shifted Art from her lap, laying the baby, stomach down, across his forearm with his head up toward his elbow. His feet landed on either side of his big hand, engulfing one of his chunky little thighs. “Alright, pup, time for a little father-son bonding,” he whispered, and his footsteps disappeared out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Freyja followed shortly after, her slippers scuffing as she barely picked up her tired feet. Joanie’s nursery was right next to theirs, making the walk short. When the door creaked open at her presence, the toddler’s sobbing softened but continued as she reached over the wall of her crib, little fingers making grabby hands in Frey’s direction.

“Mumma!”

“Hi baby,” she whispered, smiling softly as she approached the bed. “What happened? Did the thunder wake you up?”

She carefully drew her fingers through the baby’s delicate curls, taking care to detangle any knots she found. Frey had noticed that her once tight ringlets were losing their body, and starting to melt into loose waves. She had a sneaking suspicion that their daughter’s hair would eventually forgo all of its texture and end up pin-straight. At least then, it would be more manageable.

Joan jerked her head away with a whine, pouty lip jutting out as she bounced with her knees. The frustrated display and the look on her chubby little face would’ve been funny if Freyja weren’t so tired. She pointed outside of her bed, “Gaz frug.”

Gazzy was Joan’s beloved stuffed frog, clad with a baseball cap with a Union Jack patch on the front. One could take a wild guess at who Gazzy the frog came from. And there he was, just next to Freyja’s feet. She bent down with a soft hum, plucking her lovie off the floor. “You kicked Gazzy out! What happened?” she asked, bopping the toddler with it. 

Even with her friend returned, Joanie pouted again and held her arms up, making grabby fingers with her free hand. “Up, Mumma,” she whimpered, her big brown eyes pleading.

Not very eager to deny a request at three o’clock in the morning, Freyja grabbed her soft felt blanket (courtesy of Mrs. MacTavish) from the bottom of her crib and draped it around her daughter. Joan automatically wrapped her arms around her mum’s neck as she lifted the baby to her chest, one arm under her and the other hand guiding her head to her shoulder.

Her hair still smelt like her baby shampoo from her bedtime bath. Frey inhaled the scent, placing gentle kisses against her baby’s temple at the same time. Neither she nor Simon had a tendency to get annoyed with their babies waking up throughout the night. Freyja was thrilled every instance she was able to comfort her children. She always told herself that every time Joan or Artie cried for them was a reminder of how loved and needed they were.

And if that meant getting up at three o’clock in the morning just to hold her daughter, then so be it.

“I love you, baby.”

“I lub you, Mumma.”

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“(Don’t) Hurry Down The Chimney Tonight” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Christmas (Holiday) Smut, Red Ribbons, Candy Canes, Peppermint Sensations, Sleigh Bells, Sexy Santa References, Dean is Tied Up, Edging, Oral Sex, 69, Vaginal Sex, Reader is a Naughty Little Vixen, Dean deserves a proper (sexy) Christmas.

Word Count: 2700

Summary: Dean saved Reader from the supernatural on Christmas Eve years ago. Every Christmas since, she has always found a way to show her unending appreciation.

Notes: This smutty little fic is a holiday gift for @jessjad for the 2023 SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy the reader’s sexy times with Dean.

Big thanks to @sam-is-my-safeword and runawaydr3amer (AO3) for reading the first draft and helping with a great many awesome smut ideas. Additional thanks to runawaydr3amer, who also beta’d this fic and packaged it up nice and shiny. 

Merry holidays!

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo, and this part will fill my "Edging" square.

Resources:

Collage created in Canva

Pic found on Google (Fanpop)

Song Reference: Santa Baby by Joan Javits and Philip Springer (listen/watch this version sung by Eartha Kitt)

Dean sinks those pearly whites into the flesh of his bottom lip. His top lip pulls up and back into a painful sneer. The usual rosy, pillowy fullness of that mouth is instead taut, whitening under the capture. You laser focus onto the pointy canine denting into the mouth you have debated sitting on since you began this teasing challenge.

jingle

You finish fashioning a sweet little bow with the ribbon. It’s ruby red and velvety soft.

“Well, I think that’s about the prettiest package I ever did wrap.”

jingle

“What do you think, Mr. Claus?” you ask, your voice as innocent and demure as you can manage.

Dean opens his mouth and expels a slow gasp. jingle “Fuck, sweetheart. You aren’t playin’ fair.”

“That’s the whole point.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and take in the entire scene. It’s magnificent. 

He’s magnificent.

Dean is lying atop the forest green comforter of your bed. Naked. Well, not totally naked. A red ribbon - adorned with one single sleigh bell - binds his wrists together and anchors him to the headboard. His arms, jutting out and bent to create a diamond-shaped frame around his face, give you a prime ticket to the gun show. Biceps flex and tendons raise under the skin as he tries to remain as motionless as possible.

jingle

You aren’t a complete heathen. He’s got a fluffy pillow, the same deep green color as the comforter, to rest his head atop. Dean is anything but sleepy. He’s wound up. He stares back at you, the green of his irises electric and flaming with intensity.

You anticipate how sublime it will feel to strum the cords of his neck. Tickle your fingertips down that chest. You imagine Dean ring-a-ding-dinging and cursing himself if you take the time to trace the outline of his tattoo. Circle those perky nipples. Dip into his belly button and follow his treasure trail of baby-fine hair.

You marvel again at the other ribbon that you tied. You’d purchased a couple yards of red velvet at the craft store weeks ago with this in mind. With him in mind. You were ecstatic it had been enough to criss-cross around the crease below that fine ass. It wraps over a slight vee along his waist. The makeshift holiday jockstrap has Dean’s beautiful, now fully erect, cock sporting a bow.

Dean sighs. “Are you done decking my balls?” jingle

You giggle and fiddle with the belt of your robe. It’s red as well, but made of silk. “As we discussed, the end result of all of this is all up to you. Santa.” You flip a switch to turn off the ceiling light. The sconces stay on above the headboard. Two halos figure eight over Dean’s beautiful body, awash in a warm amber glow.

He’s a full print ad of holiday cheer and sinful debauchery.

“You’re being very naughty, (jingle) Mrs. Claus.” Dean licks his top lip—your core clenches at the deep timbre of his scolding. 

You’ve been wet since you both finished Christmas dinner. Since you told him you had one more gift for him waiting upstairs. Since you left him in the bedroom with orders to strip while you changed in the bathroom. Since you pulled out the ribbons. Since you explained that if he was good and could keep his jingling down to a minimum through what you had planned, you’d fuck him into the New Year.

You inhale and shrug, then begrudgingly turn your back to the sight. It takes a few taps on your phone for you to get to the song. You stifle another giggle at the little jingles Dean can’t help as he waits. 

Once you tap the play button, the festive and recognizable melody begins. A barbershop quartet bah-bums a bit before the sultry and smooth vocals of Eartha Kitt take the lead.

You look back over your shoulder at Dean and whisper along with Eartha.

You peel the silky robe off one shoulder then the other. Dean groans when the layer slips down to the floor. jingle

“Shit.” He moans and you grin in satisfaction at the hoped for reaction.

You turn back to face him, adding a dramatic hair flip. You're wearing a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit. It’s a red velvet dress with a scandalously high skirt and a low-cut halter. White fur lines both the top and bottom. It’s all cinched nice and tight around your waist with a black belt and a gold buckle.

You bend at the knees and lean forward, shoulders folding in and hands resting on your thighs. It gives Dean the perfect vantage to ogle your cleavage. You purr along with the next line and modify the lyrics a smidge.

“Man, I must have been a really good boy this year.” Dean stares in awe, not even caring how much he’s jingling with his squirms atop the bed.

You let it slide for the time being, thrilled at the kid in a candy store grin plastered on his face and the way the bow sways with every twitch of his cock.  

Dean tilts his head to the side. His gaze begins at your red-glitter heels and canvases every inch of skin from ankles to thighs. He pauses, stopping to stare at the hint of flesh under the skirt hem. jin-jingle jingle jin-jingle He pants out, “Mrs. Claus forgot her panties, huh?”

You lift a finger and wiggle it back and forth in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. Remember, really good boys stay still if they want their present.”

The bell jangles no matter how carefully he attempts to reposition himself. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles and you laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good,” he whispers soft and sweet.

The heels tap across the hardwood as you walk over to settle beside Dean. You adjust your skirt to let the scant amount of fabric fan over your naughty bits. Being so close to him makes you forget the lyrics to sing along with Eartha.

You rest a hand on his chest. Through clenched teeth, Dean inhales at the touch, the rest of him frozen in place. The bell is silent. Your other hand grabs one of the candy canes you had left on the bedside table. For reasons.

Watching him fight every urge he has to reach out and touch you is fascinating. And the power you have over him gives you a head rush. You continue the tease, twirling the candy between your fingers, then laving the cane’s hook with your mouth and tongue. Dean garners some pity from you as he whines, brows downturned, eyes attentive to your every swirl and suck. You swing the cane close to his mouth. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows. “Wanna taste you,” he states, the hint of hope escaping around the edges of a soft moan.

The thrill of his need quickens your pulse. No other man has loved and adored you as thoroughly and exuberantly as Dean Winchester. You nod. “You will. But, first,” you rub the wet-slick candy cane over his bottom lip, “show me what that mouth wants to do.”

“You know what this mouth can do,” he reminds with a little sass, letting the candy cane tap against his bottom teeth. 

But soon enough, he indulges you. He slips the hook between his lips. His tongue slides out under the curve of peppermint, lapping at the sticky sweet. Again and again. Your breath hitches into your open mouth as you watch, enthralled at the ministrations of that thick and powerful muscle. He sucks the confection in a little farther, pursing his lips. The sounds he’s making, enjoying the treat, are downright pornographic and send any extraneous bell ringing to the back of your hearing queue. The red food coloring coats them like lip gloss by the time you break from the spell of his show. You guess it’s been minutes since Eartha finished her rendition of ‘Santa, Baby.’ The rest of the playlist you created has soft and dreamy instrumentals.

“My turn,” you cajole. You tug on the cane. He relinquishes, but not without some resistance. A little pop escapes his mouth once the hook is freed. You marvel at the progress he made. The hook end is substantially shorter and thinner than when he began.

He sniffs and tilts his chin up in pride. jingle “Your turn with that, or my turn with you?”

The cane slips back into your mouth, your fingers sticky from all the handling. You stand, kick off your heels, and climb back onto the bed on your knees. You grin as you suck on the candy.

His eyes soften. “Be careful, baby. Don’t want you to choke. Well, at least not on that.” He smirks.

He’s right. Safety first. You toss the candy onto the bedside table.

“You are so (jingle) fucking hot in that (jingle) outfit.” He grins and waggles eyebrows in anticipation. “Gonna let me down your chimney, Mrs. Claus?” jingle jingle jingle

The actions in the next few seconds are a blur. You wonder if Dean has some sort of Jedi mind control ability. Because even though you are supposed to be the one making decisions this evening, his seductively god-awful puns find you sitting on his face, reverse cowgirl. 

“You might get the golden ticket to all my secret places if you’re lucky.” Your fingers tip-toe down his chest like a grinch about to steal someone else’s presents. 

jingle jingle jingle

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean murmurs under your skirt. Hot breath bathes your inner thighs and other areas you hope will soon be explored.

Your hands rest in the little divots created by his pelvic bones while you take his body in and plan your method of attack. You pull on the ribbon and release his cock of the bow. Then, you’re deep throating him like he’s your last meal.

Not one to be outdone at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dean’s entire face gets in on the feast as well. Nerves respond to the tingling sensation of the residual peppermint on Dean’s lips and tongue. You shiver at the gloriously heightened sensitivity when he pulls back to blow on your pussy. “This is so much better than milk and cookies.” He moans and groans and jingles all the way. 

As much as you’re loving the taste of his precome, the velvet texture against your tongue, and the way the tip triggers a tiny gag reflex at the base of your throat, it’s time to remind him of the consequences of all that noise he’s making. You release the hard length from your mouth and try to concentrate on your own breathing during the absolute virtuoso way he’s eating you out. As much as you’d love his fingers to get in on the action, you know you’d have no control over the situation. You sigh in relief that he’s trying to adhere to some parts of the game. The pitiful, half-hearted ribbon shackling of his hands to the headboard is no match for Dean Winchester.

You steady yourself on wobbly knees and one shaky elbow. A firm grip around the base of his cock makes Dean gasp. He stills after that. In your mind’s eye, you picture the beauty of that mouth and how his luscious pink lips were slick with peppermint. You imagine how slick they are with you now. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs and you feel him settle back onto the pillow. “I’ll be as quiet as I can. Can you blame me, though? Here I am, under your sweet little skirt, in the dark (jingle)... shit, sorry. But, you can’t drop a five-course meal in front of a starving (jingle) man and not expect him to wanna little taste.”

You squeeze his cock. “That’s part of the challenge.”

“I’m always up for a challenge. You always make me feel so good.”

You groan at the praise he bestows. Without releasing your hold, you shimmy off his chest. Channeling the prim and delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Claus, you crawl along the comforter and settle between nutcracker bow legs. With knees tucked under you and sat atop bare feet you accept him in your mouth again and get to work. 

You take in the sight of Dean inventorying your every action. He’s gripping the top of the headboard with both hands to steady his upper body. You clock that the little stinker has also managed to palm the sleigh ball in an effort to silence or, at the very least, muffle it. You consider that move cheating. But he feels so sublime that you can’t bear to part with him to voice your irritation. He’s also whispering the sweetest filth to you while he watches.

“Damn. Yeah. Those lips of yours feel so good around my cock. You take it so good, baby. Wish I could fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, but I’d definitely jingle-jangle way too much.” A tongue swipe over his top lip accentuates the glossy look of his ruby-tinted mouth in the warm light. “You really are too good to me. You give the best Christmas presents.” He stiffens further with each downstroke. “Aw, yeah. Suck it.” Your rhythm increases. “So pretty. Wanna touch you so bad.” He gasps. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ close.” jingle jingle   

You clamp around the base again and squeeze, freeze mid-swallow - your lips around the tip - as soon as he rings.

Dean squirms and grumbles.

You continue to bring him to the edge of orgasm, then halt. Your jaw is aching along with the rest of your body as time passes.

You’ve fucked Dean up in the best way possible. He’s blissed out, wound up tighter than a spring. You’ve got him begging. But his words grow into admonishments with each successive denial. “You can’t keep doing this, baby. There’s gonna be consequences. Santa’s gonna for real put you on his naughty list. Nothing but coal in your stocking,” he huffs.

You give your mouth a reprieve and stroke him. “Is that all that happens to naughty girls?”

He gnaws at his bottom lip before offering, “You really wanna find out?”

You nod.

The ribbon binding Dean to the headboard shreds with one mighty tug. He pitches the sleigh bell in the air. It jingles as it pinballs around the room. 

You gasp as he cinches those hands under your armpits and drags you up his body. He crushes his lips into yours, tastes you with his tongue. The mixture of your arousal and a hint of peppermint melts you in his arms. Then, a sudden and swift rollover pins you beneath him.

He hovers, tosses your skirt up to your chest, and wedges between your legs. His hard, heavy cock slips into your folds and glides through your wetness. “I could drag this out. Or.” It’s his turn to tease. He notches snug against your entrance. You’re surprised your muscles haven’t pulled him into you of their own accord the way your entire body spasms with need. He whispers in your ear, “Let me be your Santa, baby.”

You gasp, “And hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He groans in victory and slides in, balls deep. He thrusts. One massive hand gathers your wrists together on the pillow above your head to anchor you in place. Fingers of his other hand grip the top of the headboard. Every sway in and out of you gets more frenetic. You’re screaming his name and he’s cursing yours. 

“Good girls do what they’re told,” he states, out of breath, face reddening. His gaze locks with yours. He slows down. Releases your hands. Finds your clit amid the white fur and red velvet. Strums. Angles and hits your sweet spot deep within you with a harsh abandon. “Come.”

Minutes later, after you’ve both orgasmed, you’re curled into his chest. “That was…” you manage between heavy exhales.

“Yeah, that was awesome.” He kisses your forehead. “Every year, since I saved you from that ghost on Christmas Eve, you find a way to outdo yourself with the holiday cheer.”

“Well, you deserve it. I’m glad you can get away for a little while and get a special treat.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t have to feel obligated to…”

You rest a finger atop his lips. “How I see it. Guy saves your life one time, you owe him the rest of yours.”

He smiles and pulls you in. “How about we just focus on tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[wardenparker]

At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria. 

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak. 

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo. 

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead. 

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light. 

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach. 

Tonight you fear it might be you. 

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way. 

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you. 

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky. 

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man. 

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo

Alan Tags: @nrthernsong @inept-the-magnificent @trulybetty @justcallmebirdie @jefferson-in-the-tardis @thesluttylittleknee @munsonownsmyass @laurfilijames @hudson-bay-girl @ruflirtingwithme @rhoorl @scorpio-marionette @absurdthirst

My Masterlist!

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part iv, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // For fear that you'll find out, how I'm imagining you

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, cursed dinner party, toxic family dynamics, Targaryen men being the worst

Words: 5700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3. And I made a Series Playlist :)

Over the last two months, finishing her thesis, taking exams, sending off masters applications and keeping track of a boyfriend has left little room in her mind for Aemond Targaryen.

For the last month or so she’s hardly even seen him. On the weekdays she gets up early and spends all day in the library. On the weekends she goes to Cregan’s place in central. He goes to the gym with Jace on Saturday morning and on Sundays he usually has a rugby match. Between that they watch movies in his room, go for drinks with his friends and sometimes she drags him around her favourite museums. 

The sex is good. For a bulky guy with a nose piercing and sleeve tattoos of wolves and weirwood trees, Cregan is surprisingly gentle. He makes her cum on his tongue, then he leans over to fuck her with his hands pressed into the mattress, looking between her eyes and the space where their bodies meet. He doesn’t say much, a few strained “oh Gods” and a grunted “fuck” when he comes. When they’re done he falls into the bed beside her, throwing an arm around her while he rambles about whatever happens to be on his mind, exams, internships, summer plans…

She’s happy to rest her head against him, listening to the humming of his chest as he speaks, letting it lull her as she slips into her own mind. Sometimes she still feels a little empty when it’s over and doesn’t have the energy to go for another round. She puts it down to stress. Or hormones. Or something. 

Now, being on the other side of everything she realises time is passing too quickly for her liking. 

Joan Jett blasts through the car speakers while Alys and Cregan go on about the season finale of some drama series she’s not kept up with.

Alys loves Cregan. Everyone loves Cregan because he’s a people person. He speaks to everyone he meets like they’re already lifelong friends and he has a remarkable talent for finding common interests. If she were cynical she would say he’s palatable.

The weather has been perfect so far, bright and sunny but with enough of a breeze that the heat isn’t unbearable. Ideal for the graduation ceremony.

She looks through the recent photos in her phone. She took a few nice ones of the Sept, the nave lined with columns and towering statues of the Seven watching over the cohort of students in red and black robes. She keeps swiping through photos of her and some of her classmates on the front steps tossing their hats in the air, a few of her and Joanna, one of her and Cregan, and one of her and Alys. 

Sometimes she thinks she looks nothing like her mother, but when they smile they look strikingly similar.

Everything had paid off in the end, the study dates with Joanna, the all-nighters, the last minute breakdowns crying over the kitchen counter with Alys. But she’s proud that she did it all on her own. Especially given how helpful Aemond had been last year. Just thinking about it makes her heart sink.

He’d been living with them for a few months by then. They were comfortable with each other, existing in the same spaces, eating dinner and watching movies together when Alys was out or working late. 

Sometimes he’d put his arm around the back of the sofa, letting her lean into him while they watched 90s thrillers, leaning into her every so often to make a joke or a profound observation. They could analyse movies forever, staying up late until their eyes were tired, leaning in closer and closer and never really realising it.

And then when exams came around, the stress just got to her. “It’s half the suffering,” Alys insisted, “you’re not doing yourself any favours, so don’t do it.” Easier said than done. 

There was one particular module on Conflicts in the Modern Era that was chipping away at her sanity. It was her last exam of the year and every time she went over her notes she just felt hopeless.

Aemond offered to help her study. He had loads of notes and old assignments on his laptop from his undergrad and his masters. They spent hours in the dining room, going over readings and practice questions.

He would sit next to her, leaning over every so often to read through what she was working on. Every hand on her shoulder, every reassuring “hmm,” or utterance of “good girl,” when she got something right sent shivers down her spine.

She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t exactly want it to stop.

The exam ended up going a lot better than she anticipated. She opened the paper and instantly saw that, by some miracle, there were a few questions similar to the ones she had done with Aemond.

She came home ecstatic. Alys was at work but Aemond was home, loitering in the kitchen. She practically leapt into his arms when she saw him, telling him every detail she could think of with a huge smile on her face.

Aemond’s hands settled on her waist. He leaned into her until all she could see were his bright, blue eyes. “I’m so proud of you baby,” he said in a voice that made her breathless.

He leaned in further until his lips were on hers, soft and warm, kissing her tentatively. She thought it might be over quickly, until she reached up, teasing her fingertips over the nape of his neck while his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

When they pulled away, both a little breathless, he rested his forehead against her and smiled. She smiled back.

But she snaps out of that trance when she realises they’re pulling into the driveway.

She looks across at Alys for a moment, laughing at something Cregan just said.

Her chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all, but time presses on and things seem to be moving forward for the better. She’s happy with Cregan. Who wouldn’t be? He’s funny, smart, maybe a little over confident at times but she can forgive that. And she’s got the whole summer before she starts her masters. With Cregan in the picture she figured she might as well stay at KLU. He’s been trying to convince her to move in the flat with him. There’s no reason not to, it’s close to campus, his flatmates are nice and they seem to keep the place clean. She keeps saying she’ll think about it.

He reaches for her hand as Alys leads them through the front door.

The house looks immaculate and it fills her with dread. 

Alys has decided to use her graduation as an opportunity to host a family dinner. Maybe she’s intending it to be a grand offering of peace, maybe she just wants to show off, or maybe she’s just lost her mind because putting two halves of a warring family in the same room seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Not to mention she’ll have to introduce everyone to Cregan. 

The dreamy rhythm of a Mazzy Star song drifts from the kitchen. Aemond is leaning over the counter, in a black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, prepping a rack of lamb. She tries not to look at his hands as he takes pinches of salt, pepper and spices between his fingers.

Alys heads straight for the vodka, offering a round of martinis before the dreaded guests arrive.

She and Cregan both decline politely, and when Alys turns to Aemond he purses his lips. “I don’t drink vodka martinis.”

Alys rolls her eyes. “Thinks he’s so sophisticated,” she says to Cregan. 

Cregan chuckles and plants a light kiss to her cheek, muttering about taking a shower and disappears down the hall.

Her eyes meet Aemond’s for a moment. He smiles sincerely. He’s playing one of her favourite songs.

She tells her mother she’s going to get dressed, and feels Aemond’s eyes following her as she heads upstairs.

When she gets to her room she puts her graduation robes on a hanger and lies on the bed in the black slip dress she wore underneath. Something’s pressing awkwardly into her back, Cregan’s jeans and t-shirt. She tosses them across the room and falls back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the hum of the shower.

Is it unfair to hate someone for listening to a song? Did he remember it was her favourite or was it a lucky guess? Maybe he was trying to tease her, or else it could have just been a coincidence, but that doesn’t seem like him. Aemond rarely does anything accidentally.

Cregan saunters in with a towel around his hips. He looks down at his clothes on the floor in front of the door. “Not where I left them,” he mutters.

She pretends not to hear him.

He gets dressed quickly, all he has to do is put on his jeans and clean white shirt. 

“How many people are coming tonight?” He asks, spraying some perfume on his pulse points.

She keeps her eyes on the ceiling. “Viserys, Alicent, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Aegon and Helaena.” Luke and Rhaena were going to stay home with Joffrey, and Daeron would still be in Sunspear until the end of the month. Just as well, there would already be too many people to keep track of.

“I hear some of the family stuff from Jace,” Cregan says, “sounds like a mess.”

She hums to herself. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She takes her hair out of its low bun and fixes it into a more casual look, leaving it mostly loose but out of her face. Her makeup has managed to survive the day pretty well. She touches up her blush and wipes away her lipstick, applying a sweet tasting cherry lipbalm instead.

When they reappear in the kitchen Alys is nowhere to be found but Aegon and Helaena have already arrived. 

Aegon and Cregan pair up nicely, swigging bottles of beer while Aemond pours out three gin and tonics.

She compliments Helaena’s patterned skirt and red boots. In return she admires her dress. “You two are matching,” she says, as Aemond hands them both their drinks.

He raises his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth are tight. “Happy coincidence.”

“Black’s not exactly a fashion statement,” she adds, taking a sip. 

Aemond hums in agreement.

She takes a breath to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asks Helaena, “didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you at the wedding.”

Helaena’s doing a PhD in Etymology at Highgarden, between that and her various art projects she seems happy, but something’s off. She’s never exactly been outgoing but she seems particularly timid, wide eyes darting constantly to Aemond and Aegon. She’s nervous, but in all fairness they all are. Or they should be.

While Helaena goes on about species of butterflies, she finds her attention almost completely on Aemond, his hand gripping his glass in the corner of her eye, the sound of his breath, those well timed hums and the smell of his aftershave. She takes another sip of her drink to steady her nerves, hoping neither of them notice her hand trembling as she brings the glass to her lips. 

Eventually Alys waltzes in with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Baela and Jace following behind her. That seems like a good opportunity to escape. She goes to hug Jace and Baela, and follows them when they go to stand with Aegon and Cregan. 

The tension is palpable, Alys having a stiff conversation with Rhaenyra, Daemon lurking at the edge of the room with a glass of whisky, and Jace stealing glances over her shoulder, at Aemond and Helaena.

She catches whispers of their conversation but nothing tangible. 

“What’s your problem?” Baela hisses to Jace. 

He tuts. “He’s staring daggers at me, fuck’s sake.”

Aegon’s lips thin. He excuses himself curtly and joins his siblings by the glass doors to the garden. 

Their little group falls to an uneasy silence. 

“Well done, dickhead,” Baela says, rolling her eyes.

Cregan gives her a confused look. She puts her hand on his shoulder and comes onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I’ll show you the powerpoint presentation later.”

Somehow the mood only gets colder when Viserys and Alicent walk through the door. It’s almost pitiful, watching Rhaenyra and Daemon trying to win his attention while Alicent keeps her hand on her husband’s shoulder, muttering into his ear whenever she can.

Not speaking to Aemond has meant she’s mostly been out of the loop, but she can guess they’ve not moved past the dispute over Viserys’ will.

Helaena and Aegon both go to greet their parents. It’s cordial at best, light hugs and pecks on the cheek, and Viserys shakes Aegon’s hand like this is the first time they’ve met. Aemond doesn’t go near them.

The lack of warmth is only more noticeable when Viserys greets Jace and Baela with open arms and a pleasant smile. He hugs her too, congratulating her— after all that is why they’re here— and shakes Cregan’s hand firmly.

She catches Aegon’s eye over his father’s shoulder. He frowns, almost comically and goes to find another bottle of beer.

Before long Alys ushers them all into the dining room.

Alys and Viserys sit at the two heads of the table and the others fill in around them. When they see Alicent has taken the seat to Viserys’ right, Rhaenyra and Daemon move to the other end of the table. Helaena sits next to her dad and they both smile vaguely. Aemond, rather diplomatically, takes a central seat between Aegon and Rhaenyra. 

In an attempt to avoid sitting across from either of his uncles, Jace settles next to Alys, and once Cregan sits next to him, the only free seat is directly opposite Aemond. She sits down without a fuss.

Once everyone is a bit more settled, Aemond and Alys go back to the kitchen to bring in small plates of salad and seared tuna.

It starts off with smalltalk. Cregan and Jace are muttering to each other on her left, while Baela and Helaena have a friendly catch up to her right, leaving her to prod at her starter, waiting for an appetite to appear.

She doesn’t dare to look up past the space in front of her plate, or the pair of eyes she can feel burning into her.

Once they’re finished, the plates are whisked away and Aemond presents them with lamb chops, fondant potatoes and summer greens, while Alys pours out glasses of red wine. 

Viserys’ knife scratches against his plate as he carves into the meat. “Really excellent lamb, Alys.”

“Aemond did the food,” she says.

He pauses, looks down at his plate and carries on eating.

She hears Jace whispering something into Cregan’s ear and they both grunt in amusement.

“Something funny?” Aegon asks sharply, reaching for his glass.

She finally looks across the table. Aegon’s face is a dangerous mix of anger and anticipation.

“Just admiring Aemond’s culinary skills,” Jace muses, spearing a cut of lamb on his fork, “didn’t realise he’d gone domestic.”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra hisses.

Aegon huffs but keeps his mouth shut with a stern look from Aemond.

Viserys’ attention suddenly latches onto his grandson. The rest of the table falls quiet while he asks Jace about his exam results. 65 average. Just a few marks off a first.

Aegon nudges his brother but Aemond doesn’t react. 

Their father seems to notice. “Jacaerys is shadowing me for the summer,” he says pointedly. 

Aegon finishes off his glass and immediately refills it.

“Not coming to Dragonstone, then?” Helaena pipes up in a brighter tone, leaning to look at Jace.

The ancestral home of the Targaryen family, a beautiful estate along the coast outside the city. It’s more of a castle than a house really, passed down the generations over centuries. They use it as a holiday home now.

She went with the Strongs one summer. Ten weeks of beach trips, reading by the pool and fresh seafood for dinner every evening. It was the first time she really remembers meeting the Targaryen siblings. Aemond seemed so quiet then, always with his nose in a book. It feels like a lifetime ago now. 

Cregan’s voice in her ear takes her by surprise. “You alright?” He asks, stroking his hand along the silky black fabric on her thigh. “You looked a bit lost there for a moment.”

She can see Aemond looking at her in the corner of her eye. “I’m fine,” she says, pushing Cregan’s hand away.

“We’re just a little busy at the moment,” Rhaenyra says, “work is… hectic.”

Alicent visibly bristles. 

“Might make it down for a few weeks, if the boss lets me off,” Jace says.

“I’m excited to have you,” Viserys says, “good to get him used to the order of things nice and early.”

“Yeah, amazing what you can do when you have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter,” Aegon says, casually taking a long draw from his glass.

Alicent and Rhaenyra look horrified. Daemon and Viserys are both clenching their fists. 

“He says as if Otto Hightower didn’t have to buy him a place at KLU,” Jace retorts.

Aegon shrugs. “So what if he did? Got the degree, didn’t I?”

“And what have you done with it?” Viserys says in a scathing voice, “bought a flat with my money. Drank and screwed your way through life with no concern for your career or your family.”

Aegon tuts. “The fuck does that mean, family?”

“Leave it,” Aemond mutters and the table settles into an uncomfortable quiet.

“At least Jace has some direction,” Viserys says, breaking the silence. For a moment his eyes dart to his wife.

Alicent’s brown eyes are wide and glassy. “And my children don’t?”

She watches Aemond’s lips flicker into a sneer before he composes himself and goes back to staring vacantly at his untouched glass.

“That’s not what I meant, love–”

Daemon chuckles quietly. “And yet…”

Alicent slams her knife against the table with a jarring clatter. “Maybe they would have amounted to something more if you had shown even the slightest bit of interest in your own children!”

A chair scrapes against the floor and Helaena’s silver hair billows behind her as she leaves the dining room.

Baela grabs her wrist and pulls her to stand. “Excuse us,” she says sweetly. Not that anyone will hear her over the shouting match brewing between Alicent and Daemon.

They find Helaena in the lounge, on the sofa, picking at her nails.

“Hey,” Baela whispers, coming to hold her hands so she stops.

Helaena looks up at them with glistening blue eyes and a trembling lip. It’s the first time she’s really seen the resemblance between her and Alicent.

Raised voices echo from down the hall. By the sounds of things Aegon and Viserys have joined in too.

Helaena releases her hands from Baela’s and presses her palms to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking a few shallow gasps. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Baela hums in agreement.

Tears start to trickle from her eyes. “I used to love hanging out with you and Jace and everyone. I don’t understand… what did we do wrong?”

She isn’t sure what to do. She feels so helpless just watching Helaena as she starts to cry. Baela sits next to her and puts her arm around her shoulders.

And while the arguing persists, Helaena eventually starts to calm down a little, wiping her tears on her sleeve and leaning into Baela. “We missed dessert,” she sighs.

“We have ice-cream in the freezer,” she says, “strawberry or vanilla?”

And just like that her face lights up. “Both.”

“Noted. Baela?”

Baela smiles sympathetically. “Strawberry please.”

She catches fragments of the insults being thrown around the dining room as she walks past. “Hightower leech”, “spoiled cunt”.

She sees a figure in a black shirt through the frosted glass door to the kitchen. She holds her breath as she opens the door.

Aemond is leaning over the counter, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes. He looks up as soon as he hears the door. She lets it close behind her and leans against it.

He stares at her with a tight jaw, a sad little pout on his lips and a slight scrunch in his nose. Despite everything she can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

She tuts to herself and goes to place two bowls and two spoons on the counter, avoiding Aemond’s gaze.

Not my problem.

She goes towards the freezer and hears Aemond sigh heavily behind her. She hovers her hand over the handle.

Not my problem. Not my problem. Not my problem.

“Is it stupid of me to ask if you’re alright?” She asks, turning to fave him.

One of his wide plams is pressed against the counter, his legs crossed casually at the ankle. “No.” 

“And are you alright?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow breath. “I told her this would be a bad idea,” he says, tapping the box against the counter. “But what do I know, it’s only my fucking family.”

The way the light shines on his face makes the scar over his left eye seem like a shadow. She’s never asked about the details of what happened, but then he doesn’t like to talk about it. 

Two months ago she would have held his hand or pulled him into her arms when he was this anxious.

But things have changed now.

“Aemond, I–”

“Babe?”

She whips her head round to see Cregan and Jace standing in the doorway. Guilt twinges in her chest and she doesn’t know why. A conversation is nothing to be ashamed of, surely? She hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Baela and Helaena are in the lounge, right?” Cregan asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They both glare at Aemond before they leave. When she turns to face him, he’s looking back with a cold indifference.

“He seems nice,” Aemond says once they're gone. “Palatable.”

She starts to drag her teeth over her bottom lip but stops herself. Aemond’s eyes are so intense, glaring from across the room with a dangerous look of fury and sadness. That’s exactly how he looked at her, the night of the wedding, when they were in her hotel room. When he asked her about Cregan then she liked how it made him jealous. 

Her blood starts to simmer, a feeling that cuts deeper and hurts more than hate. “Is this it then?” She says.

His brows scrunch into a frown, but his wide eyes seem more bewildered than anything. “What do you mean?”

It’s like a switch clicks in her brain and something in her heart dies. These last few weeks, even with things going so well with Cregan, she’s carried Aemond with her, hoping that one day she’d wake up and things would have worked out differently. It’s what she’s been doing for the last year anyway, she just never managed to break the habit.

It has to end somewhere, the lying, the guilt, and the naivety that she meant something more to him than a pretty face and a convenient fuck. 

She needs to let go and she’s known that for a long time.

“Forget it. You’ve made your side of things clear,” she says, her voice starting to tremble. “This was never going to end well and I should have thought about that before I led myself on.”

She takes a step towards the door but he’s in front of her, keeping her between the freezer and the counter.

“Do you love him?” Aemond mutters, quickly and quietly.

She can feel her heart beating in her throat.

“Do I… what?”

He takes advantage of her hesitation. His hand clamps around her wrist as he moves to the door. It takes a few moments to realise he’s dragging her with him.

The door to the lounge is shut. She hears Cregan’s booming laugh on the other side as Aemond leads her further along the hallway.

And suddenly they’re in the downstairs bathroom. She stands in front of the sink, staring at her own reflection as the lock clicks.

She watches Aemond in the mirror. The room is small and narrow, even when he’s standing by the door he’s close. Then he starts to close the distance between them with slow, taunting steps until he’s standing over her.

She can feel him and smell his aftershave, the bitterness of gin and the sweetness of red wine.

There’s that dark look in his eye again, determined, and hungry.

“Did you really think I’d let you keep up this pathetic little act?” He murmurs, eyes fixed on hers through the glass.

“What act?” 

She lets out a little gasp when he places a hand on her hip and pushes his hips against her, grinding a growing hardness against her so subtly he might not be moving at all.

He leans into her but no part of him makes contact with her skin. She shudders at the heat of his breath running over her ear, neck and shoulders. “I said you were needy, didn’t I?”

Her shoulders flinch when a single fingertip touches the nape of her neck. He draws it gradually along her spine as she desperately resists the urge to cry out at the tingling sensation it brings, arching against him because her body has nowhere else to go.

“And so sensitive,” he says and stops just as he reaches her lower back. “It was all for me, wasn’t it? The crop tops, the staring, even Stark, you just wanted a reaction.”

She’s always been a good liar but when she opens her mouth to reply she finds she just can’t do it. She doesn’t want to, not when he places his hand on her side and traces over the curves of her waist, her hips, the pouch of her stomach and her thighs. It’s been so long since they’ve been this close, and it’s not close enough.

“You stopped wanting me,” she breathes.

“Stupid little slut,” he says, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He starts dragging both hands down her thighs, taking the hem of her dress with him as he moves back up. “How could I ever stop wanting you?” His voice is harsh and hypnotic all at once. Cold and unforgiving. It sets her skin alight and leaves her wanting more.

But it doesn’t make sense. He was the one who left the hotel room. 

“I don’t understand… this isn’t fair.”

“But you and I both know you don’t like to play fair,” he rasps, tracing circles over the tops of her thighs, occasionally brushing over the hem of her panties.“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She bites down on her lip to stop herself whimpering at his touch.

He groans as his head falls against her neck, hands still pawing at her legs and the dress hitched around her waist. “Let me fuck you,” he utters in that low voice that means it’s taking every ounce of effort to hold himself back. “I know what you need. Just be a good girl and let me fuck you.”

Anticipation floods her body. She can feel her self-control slipping. She can’t think straight, can’t think past him or a world beyond this moment.

She wants it too much to feel guilty, for now at least.

“Please,” she utters.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

Suddenly his soft touches are gone and he yanks her panties down to her knees. One hand slides between her legs, prying them open enough so he can circle her clit with the pads of his fingers. The other snakes up her body and takes a gentle hold of her throat.

He finally brings his lips to her cheek. They graze over her skin as he mutters, “you said something to me, that night. What was it?”

She scoffs. “You’re such a cunt.” She can hear how weak her voice is as she says it.

“Mouth on you, baby,” he coos, “come on, I know you remember.”

She shakes her head fervently, hoping she can focus on the movements of his fingers, the pleasure building and building inside her. 

“I want to hear you say it, baby.”

She lets herself melt against him, clinging desperately on his arms, breathless but defiant as she meets his eyes in the mirror.

With a short huff he withdraws his hand, but keeps her against him by her neck. He easily undoes the buckle on his belt, bringing his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

She bucks her hips on instinct as he slides the tip through her folds, gathering her wetness, and smiling when he realises responsive she is to him.

“Have you always been this restless? Or have you just missed me?”

Her head hangs slightly as he teases between her entrance and her clit. She can feel how thick his cock is, how hard he is and she already knows it’s going to make her feel so fucking good.

The grip on her neck becomes firmer, demanding her attention back to the mirror. He holds her gaze as he slides into her tight, slick cunt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, “look at how well you take that.”

He’s right. The sight of her pleading face and parted lips as he holds her and pushes deeper inside of her only adds to her arousal. 

He fucks her slowly, precisely, placing a hand on her stomach and pressing into her while the impact of his thrusts are muffled by fabric. 

“Can you feel that?” He whispers, “can you feel how tight you are? Can you feel how deep that is?”

“Ah— fuck, yes…” she chokes, savouring the burn and the stretch of his cock as he drags through her walls and hits her sweet spot. When his fingers come back to circle her clit it all becomes so light and perfect and deliciously overwhelming.

“I knew you still wanted me,” he pants between the gentle kisses to her cheek. “Say it.”

“No,” she manages to whimper.

“Say it.”

Her orgasm comes as a sudden burst of warmth and Aemond isn’t far behind, suppressing a grunt as his hips still and his cock throbs inside her.

A few moments pass and he turns her head towards him, keeping his eyes on her lips. He leans in to kiss her and she twists her head to the other side.

“Fucking brat.” 

Suddenly he brings her to face him fully, effortlessly lifting her by her thighs to rest her against the edge of the sink. 

There’s no teasing this time, no pretence, just need. He pushes himself into her in one cruel snap of his hips.

He’s too impatient to give her time to adjust before he starts to fuck her, fiercely and without mercy, hands digging into the flesh of her rear, pulling her in over and over again. He brings his forehead against hers, glaring into her eyes like he hates her.

But like this she can wrap her arms around his neck, hold him even closer and lose herself in just him.

“All you need to remember is you’re mine. You’re fucking mine and you know it.”

Tears well in her eyes and she can only take what he gives her. “Fuck… Aemond...”

Her climax builds until it’s almost excruciating, and then it tears through her, a release unlike anything she’s known for months. She keeps her arms tight around him, burying her face into his neck as her thighs shake and her whole body tenses and trembles.

Aemond doesn’t stop, fucking her through it until she’s writhing with the overstimulation.

“Too much,” she whines, “fuck it’s too much!”

He clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her protest, dangerously echoing on the tiled walls and floors. He comes again, gnawing at his lip to keep himself quiet and spilling deep inside her as tears stream from her cheeks.

He admires the mess they’ve made as he pulls out, her cream on his cock and his cum leaking from her quivering cunt. His eyes flicker back to her face, his expression softening and his lips curling into a half smile.

Dazed and still desperate she leans into him, but her lips barely get to  graze his before he pulls away.

“Oh now you want to kiss me?”

She frowns, which only seems to amuse him.

By the way he grabs her jaw she doesn’t need to be told what to do. She offers him her tongue and swallows when he spits into her mouth.

A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest and her belly flutters in anticipation, as if he hasn’t just made her come twice, as if she can’t feel his spend starting to drip down her thighs.

He slips her off the sink and kneels down to pull her panties up her legs. Then he fixes her skirt, smoothing down the fabric with his palms.

“You’re going to be civil,” he murmurs, one of his hands coming to fix her hair. “You’re going to go back out there, kiss your boyfriend on the cheek, but I want you to think about me. Think about how good I make you feel. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“Words, baby,” he says as his hand comes to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says softly, leaning in to plant an almost chaste kiss to her lips.

She tries for more but he steps away, eyes roaming over her to make sure she’s presentable.

With a vague “hmm,” he carefully unlocks the door and slowly steps out. He shoots her a quick wink before he closes the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway back towards the kitchen.

Her legs almost give out underneath her and she clutches the sink to keep herself standing. 

That certainly wasn’t how she was expecting this evening to go.

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to show her face and go about pretending like nothing’s happened in front of their families. Maybe she’ll rediscover her ability to lie, kiss Cregan on the cheek and play the part of the sweet girlfriend, but what kind of person will that make her?

She looks at her reflection, at the glimmer of blissful tears and sweat on her face. 

A familiar laugh drifts down the hall.

How is she ever going to look her mother in the eye again?

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3

[goddesspharo]

people I'd like to get to know better

Thanks for the tag, @annasvinyl!

Last song: Terrible Love (Live in Rome) by The National. This entire Rome album is SO good!

Last book: I finally read Curtis Sittenfeld's Rodham last week and I still need to know HOW Sittenfeld convinced Random House to publish her shitty RPF! It was largely terrible (the smutty stuff with Bill was SO AWKWARDLY WRITTEN...who asked for this?) except for the middle third where it starts to become an AU and borderline okay, only for the novel to end on such a weird Pollyanna note of you can be a girlboss and gatekeep and gaslight yourself into thinking it's all good but in an extremely disingenuous way. Currently in the middle of reading a couple of other things (Ed Ashton's Mickey 7, suffering through the email chapters in Sally Rooney's Beautiful World, Where Are You, etc).

Last movie: I literally just finished watching Martha, R.J. Cutler's new Netflix documentary on Martha Stewart, because Joan Didion and I have both always known that Martha will always be the moment. She was unapologetic as always but also HILARIOUS. (The stuff about making out with a rando on her extended honeymoon when she went to the Duomo on Easter Eve and her husband stayed in the hotel! Her telling the audience that if your husband is a piece of shit who is cheating on you, you should leave and then the filmmaker being like, "But wait, didn't you have an affair when you were working on Wall Street?" and Martha being like, "Oh, but that didn't count because it was not serious and very short and wouldn't have ruined a marriage." LOL. I wanted more of that and her prison friendships and less about the trial that we all saw play out as it was happening.)

Last tv show: God, do I even watch TV anymore? The latest episode of The Penguin, probably.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Depends on what I'm craving, but I'm more inclined to choose savory most of the time.

Relationship status: Single and not mad about it.

Last thing googled: "Mini yacht" - I was working on the Positano chapter of that on and off again (and on again), not looking to buy a yacht. Prior to that, I think I looked up Todd Phillips' filmography after suffering through Joker: Folie à Deux and deciding that we should stop letting that man make movies. (Joaquin Phoenix bailed on the wrong movie helmed by a Todd!!!!)

Current obsession: The World Series, obviously.

Looking forward to: See above - losing my mind over Game 5 in half an hour! Making these pumpkin spice latte bars sometime this week!

No pressure tags: @dlea203, @halestrom, @earnmysong, @pearly--rose, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 16

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

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Friday, November 13; 11:45 AM - Room Ona and Alexia.

I'm just finishing packing my suitcase. Bronze told me this morning that she managed, after a long battle with Wiegman, to get my permission for this weekend. I was so happy that I jumped on her. Since Monday's incident, I've managed to stay calm. I'm not necessarily listening in class yet, but at least I've stopped responding to provocations. My flight is in just over two hours. I took the same one as last time. So, I will land in Barcelona in the evening. Bronze organized all my travels since everything had to be arranged at the last minute. For the rest, I took care of it. I called Sam to let Hector know to pick me up. Joan is still unaware of my return. It will be a surprise, his weekend. I'm about to leave. I'm happy but anxious at the same time. I dread my mother's reception. Bronze reassured me about my fears, but I already anticipate my mother's hurtful words. I turn to Alexia, who is on her bed. She’s waiting for her sister, as usual. I place my headphones around my neck just as there's a knock on the door. Bronze enters the room.

- Hey Bronze.

- Are you ready?

- Yep, I was just about to head down.

- How many times do I have to remind you about those headphones? You know they're not allowed outside the room.

- Yeah, yeah...

I take them off unconvincingly. Now is not the time to provoke her before my departure. I move toward Ale to hug her.

- We'll write to each other.

- Of course, I replied. See you Sunday evening! Have a good weekend.

- Thanks, you too.

I smile at her and grab my suitcase. Bronze greets Alexia before we leave the room. I drag my suitcase and tighten the strap of my backpack. I'm a bit nervous. I watch Bronze, who seems to want to accompany me to the exit.

- Anything planned for your first free weekend, Bronze?

- Well... Returning stuff to my ex and a night out with my friends, and you?

- No idea, I shrugged. I’m going to enjoy it as much as possible with Joan and try to see Mapi, I guess... I'll also have to confront my mother face-to-face.

She smiles softly, nodding. She knows I dread this moment. We've talked about it enough. Maybe she has calmed down in two weeks. We quickly reach the gate. I frown, not seeing any taxi.

- I thought you had everything planned?

The last thing I need is to be late and miss my flight! I start to panic. I definitely don't want to miss my flight.

- Relax. Come, follow me.

- And my taxi?

She gestures for me to pass through the gate. I walk out apprehensively, not understanding where she's taking me. She makes me walk to the adjacent street. I slow down when I recognize her car parked on the street. I look at her, waiting for an explanation.

- I’ll be your driver this time. I was planning to go downtown, so it would have been silly to call you a taxi.

My smile widens to the point of showing my teeth. If I expected that! The news delights me. It's certainly more pleasant to share the ride with a familiar face.

- And you had to park your car two streets away from the establishment for that?

- I didn't want to risk being seen together. People might think I'm showing favoritism.

- Isn't that the case?

- No, she giggles. I'm just more demanding with you.

I lose my smile, creating hers.

- Sure, I mumbled.

I get in the car after placing my suitcase next to hers in the trunk. It was the fastest trip I’ve ever had. I cleared my mind by humming along to the songs playing on the radio. I often got the lyrics wrong, making Bronze laugh. I was almost disappointed we arrived so quickly. The atmosphere was pleasant. She took a completely different route than my usual taxis. She avoided all the traffic jams. You might almost think they deliberately take the traffic to waste our time in their old cars. I'm surprised when Bronze parks her car in the airport parking lot and accompanies me inside. She could have just dropped me off, but I’m glad she’s coming with me. At least the wait will be shorter.

- What time do you land over there? Around eleven o'clock, right?

- That's right. I hope to sleep a bit more this weekend. I need to catch up.

- You'll see.

We've just checked in my luggage. Now we can wait in front of the boarding gate. We don't wait long before the intercom announces the gate is open. I tense up at the news. Deep down, I'm reluctant to go back. I'm afraid to face my mother, but I can't avoid her forever.

- It's time, says Bronze.

She stands up first. Thinking we won’t see each other for two days feels strange. We've been together every day since I came back. She’s been watching over me since my detox. Plus, she convinced me to continue my morning runs with her and to catch up on my classes in her office. Sometimes, I even start my homework there now that I’ve made good progress. I like her supervision. At least I know I’m working. I never had that before. I was always dependent on my classes and homework before she came into my life. It’s good she forces me to work in front of her. It makes me impose a regular rhythm on myself, unlike before. Concentration is hard to find with Alexia, who rarely leaves me alone. Sometimes Engen also bothers me, but Bronze quickly puts her in her place. They're so funny to watch together.

- Hand me your phone.

- Why? Are you going to confiscate it?

- No, she giggles. Trust me and give it to me.

I hand it to her, making sure to unlock it as she asked. I frown, watching her type on my screen before giving it back. I immediately check what she did, but she closed everything.

- I hope you won't give it to everyone. Write to me when you arrive or if you have any trouble this weekend.

- You added your number? I understand.

- Have a good weekend, Ona, she replies with a silly smile. Try to enjoy it and don’t forget our deal. I don't want to lecture you again; we've talked about it enough.

- Thanks for everything.

I hug her and kiss her cheek without really realizing what I'm doing. I just needed to show my gratitude. I wanted to pull away out of embarrassment, but she reacted first, wrapping her arms around my back. I let myself enjoy the moment.

- Have a good weekend, Lucy, I murmur before stepping back.

- Thanks. I'll come to pick you up myself Sunday evening. Make sure to come back in one piece this time.

- I'll try, I tease her. See you Sunday then.

I walk away to go through the boarding checks. I turn around one last time to make sure she’s still there. I feel a strange sensation seeing that she is. I give her a little wave, which she returns before I disappear into the corridor leading to the plane. I'm still happy to go home, even if it's not the same excitement as the first time. Seattle will miss me this weekend. It’s strange to think that after fighting tooth and nail to leave for almost a month. I still feel a little knot of anxiety in my stomach. I remember my last flight didn't go well, considering the stewardess who took care of me. I force myself to smile at her. She seems to recognize me too because she doesn’t give me the professional smile she just gave to the other passengers before me.

- Hello! How are you?

- Much better, thank you. Thanks also for what you did last time... I didn't get the chance to say it.

- No problem, she smiles warmly. Have a good flight.

I give her one last smile before moving forward. I find my seat and make myself comfortable by putting on my headphones and phone. I don't know where I get the courage to do a two-hour flight each weekend. It's probably the idea of seeing Joan again that motivates me. I decide to buckle up and lean against the window to find some restorative sleep.

Friday, November 13 - On the plane.

I groan as someone gently shakes me. I blink at the young stewardess. I remove one earphone to hear her say that landing is imminent. I stretch slowly while nodding. She gives me a smile as I fasten my seatbelt before continuing down the aisle. I amuse myself by looking out the window where it is now pitch black. The illuminated city is beautiful from above. I spent my flight sleeping again. Well, at least the two hours passed quickly. I smile softly, realizing I’m finally home. The landing goes smoothly. We're allowed to stand only once the plane is stabilized. I follow the crowd to the exit with just my Eastpak bag. I lower my headphones around my neck when I reach the end of the corridor. I look around. I have no trouble finding who’s waiting for me with a big smile and waving hands. He’s alone this time. No sign of Mapi. I told her about my return, but she must be busy with her girlfriend. I take a deep breath before approaching him. Let's not forget I sneaked out of Barcelona...

- Good evening Ona, I hope you had a good trip.

- Hey... I say timidly. It was fine. I slept

the whole way, so I guess it was good. How are you?

- Good, and you?

- Glad to see everyone again... Is Mom still very angry with me? I ask, biting my lower lip.

I prefer to know what awaits me before setting foot at home. I must have left quite a mess. Bronze said they were informed of the situation and that Wiegman regularly updated them on my condition.

- Let's say it could have been worse. She had time to calm down, but she’s waiting to have a serious discussion with you.

- Yes, I figured, I sighed.

- Everything will be fine, he tries to reassure me.

- We’ll see.

He smiles at me sadly. We both know that won't be the case. We retrieve my suitcase and head to the parking lot. There's a slight temperature change. Here, the sky is clear, and I feel the extra degrees. This change in temperature is strange. In Manchester, snow is threatening to fall soon.(in my universe its snowing in Manchester). Maybe there will be some when I return. I sit in the front since Mapi isn't here. The ride is calm. It's soothing. We talk about trivial matters. I appreciate Hector because he never brings up touchy subjects, like whether I’ve fully recovered from my detox. I finally take out my phone, remembering I have messages to send. I smile stupidly, thinking about my departure. I never imagined she would give me her personal number. It's touching and reassuring at the same time. I know I can contact her at any problem. I first text Mapi to let her know I've arrived, then reply to Alexia that I arrived safely. I then open a new message and look for Bronze's number. I frown when I can't find her in my contacts. I was starting to despair until I saw "Commander" in my contacts. I fiddle with my thumbs, not knowing how to start my message.

Me - 11:39 PM: Hey Luce! Nice to see your name in my contacts 😂 I just landed 30 minutes ago and I'm on my way home :) I hope you have a good evening and/or a good night...

I read my message several times before hitting send. I hope I wasn't too friendly for her... I leave my phone on my lap, waiting for a response from anyone. It doesn't take long to vibrate.

Commander - 11:41 PM: It's past midnight in Manchester, so it will be good night for me 😉 Sleep well :)

Me - 11:42 PM: At least let me get home before sending me to bed!! Anyway, I slept the whole trip... 🙄 What are you doing still awake ?

Commander - 11:43 PM: Too curious, Ona. Unprofessional 😉 And it's not a reason not to go to bed when you get home!

Me - 11:44 PM: You're no fun! It's nothing personal 😓 Well, I'm not sleepy anymore 🙁

- Did you make any friends? Hector asks.

- Huh? Oh, uh yes. A few.

- It's been a long time since I've seen you so happy just answering a message.

I raise an eyebrow at his implication. His smile makes me believe he doesn't think I'm writing to friends.

- I have no one in my life if that's what you're wondering, I chuckle.

- I didn't say anything... Why do you think of that right away?

I laugh, shaking my head. I can't help it if my instructor makes me smile. She keeps giving me orders from afar. It's quite strange to communicate with her by message, even though there's not much difference in her words. It's like I can hear her voice.

- I'm glad you're doing better since you've been at this school.

Am I better? Now that he says it, he's probably right. School isn't the worst thing that's happened to me in my life. I'm surrounded by wonderful people. Bronze, Alexia, and the others help me feel better. I'll never forget what I've been through, but I'm starting to accept myself and learn to live with my past. I feel less eaten up inside, and it makes me smile again. I wasn't happy here. The only time I pretended everything was fine was in front of Joan. I didn't want him to find out what a lousy big sister he had. I wanted to be the role model he deserves. The vibrations of my phone pull me out of my thoughts.

Commander - 11:49 PM: It's personal. Anyway, you already know what I'm doing. Go to bed, order from your instructor !

I already know? I furrow my brow, thinking. Oh, I think I remember. She mentioned she was going to have a drink with friends. The second part of the message makes me laugh even more. She'll never stop.

Me - 11:50 PM: Stop giving me orders from km away!!!

Commander - 11:51 PM: Sleep well, Ona :)

Me - 11:51 PM: Tsss! You're boring! Hope you don't come home too late!!!

Commander - 11:55 PM: That's not for you to decide 😉 Now stop writing to me. I'm already regretting giving you my number!

Me - 11:52 PM: Mpf... 😒 Stay reasonable at least! Well, you're lucky, I'm almost home! I'll listen to you and go to bed.

Commander - 12:00 AM: Very good initiative :) See you tomorrow.

I smile at her last message, received just as we stop in front of the gate. I'm happy to be able to text her from here. I feel she'll be a great support if needed. I watch the gate open at a snail's pace. Reality hits me hard when I see my residence standing proudly before us. No lights are on, at least. The confrontation will be tomorrow then. Hector pulls the car into the garage before cutting everything off. We get out, and he insists on handling my suitcase now. I let him go ahead and carry it upstairs. I take off my shoes in the hall before following him up. I thank him for everything once we reach my bedroom door. We wish each other good night before he disappears down the stairs. When I enter my room, I see a small lump in my bed. It seems Joan has taken to sleeping in my bed every night. I smile at the thought. I'll gather information tomorrow morning. For now, I make as little noise as possible with my suitcase. I leave it in a corner of the room, then retrieve pajamas from my closet. I give him a gentle kiss on the forehead before locking myself in the bathroom to brush my teeth and undress. I keep only my underwear and complement it with an old T-shirt of my father's that reaches mid-thigh. I love this kind of pajamas. I had to get used to wearing shorts at school because I'm not alone, but I'm much more comfortable like this. I leave the bathroom and finally slip under the covers of my bed. It's a real pleasure to finally sleep in my big bed.

Saturday, November 14; 10:35 AM - Ona's Room.

-ONA !

I jump as I feel a bundle on top of me. Oh my God. I groan at this wake-up call I'm no longer used to. I barely have time to sit up before two arms squeeze me in a hug. I return the hug with one arm while rubbing my eyes with the other.

- Hey hermano, I whisper softly.

- You didn't tell me you were coming back!

- It's better to have a surprise, isn't it?

- No! I'd rather know in advance.

I smile as he moves away, crossing his arms and making an adorable pout. I stretch properly before letting myself fall back on the bed. I'm way too lazy to get up right away.

- Is that your school jacket?

I follow his finger pointing to my desk chair. Indeed, my military jacket is hanging there. It's so loose and easy to wear that I've gotten used to wearing it all the time. Nothing forbids wearing it outside. Bronze didn't say anything when she saw me leaving with it yesterday. She just let me finish my outfit.

- Yes, that's the one.

- Will you lend it to me sometime?

- You'll have to grow a bit first, I chuckle. I missed you, you know.

- I missed you too!

- Oh yeah? A lot a lot?

- A lot a lot! Will you have breakfast with me?

- Yes, just give me a moment to put on some jogging pants.

I barely have time to respond before I see him already leaving. I guess it wasn't a real question... I finally get out of bed to look for joggers in my suitcase. I quickly put them on and step into the hallway to see that he's waited for me. I smile as he reaches out his arms. I don't hesitate for a second to pick him up and go downstairs with him in my arms.

- Mom and your dad aren't here?

- I think they're working.

- Hmm.

I'm relieved to learn that I still have some time to come up with arguments against my mom. I enter the kitchen where I find Sofia and Samuel. I set my brother on a high chair.

- Hey guys, I greet them with a hug each.

- Hey you.

- How are you?

I smile as Sofia closely examines me. I haven't seen them since my rehab, after all. I know she was already worried during my first stint here. She was the one who mostly took care of me. I'm really glad I didn't put her through a second one.

- Much better, don't worry. They took good care of me. How did my mom take it?

- Angry... Very angry. She wanted to send you to rehab again, Sam admits. She changed her mind after a long heated discussion with your director.

- Yeah, I know. Actually, my boss did the blockade. Wiegman handled the negotiations.

- Oh, we weren't aware of that, Sofia admits.

- My mom probably wasn't either. Bronze insisted on taking care of me personally. I stayed in her room for a week.

- She was brave...

- Yeah, I chuckle. I don't know how she managed to put up with me.

If only she knew that the crises she saw were nothing compared to the ones at the camp... She's always taken such good care of me since I got back home. I wouldn't want to upset her for no reason.

- What are they talking about, Ona?

- Nothing, don't worry.

- Did you relapse ?

I close my eyes at his words. Fortunately, he's behind me. How can a six-year-old understand this kind of thing? I showed him too much for his young age, it seems. I gather my courage to turn around

- It’s settled, I assure you.

- You told me you wouldn’t leave again because of this!

- I’m not leaving again because of this.

- You’re lying!

- I’m not lying to you, Joan. If I leave, it’s to go to school, I promise.

- That’s not what they just said!

- I had a slip-up, but it wasn’t my fault, okay? I promise the issue has been resolved at my school. I even promised my supervisor not to do it again.

- You promised me the same thing, and you did it again.

I sigh as I see him on the verge of tears. I feel extremely guilty. It’s hard for someone as young as him to understand.

- I made a compromise with this person, Joan. If I touch it again, I’ll lose a lot. She’s going to help me get out of this, I promise.

- Really? She’s going to help you...?

I’ve just realized the weight of my words. It seems we say things we truly believe under pressure. I release the pressure from my body.

- I... Yeah... She’s going to help me.

I need to face the truth. Bronze is the one who can help me the most. She’s already done a lot. Joan finally lets me get closer. I take the opportunity to hug him. I don’t like seeing him so upset because of me. I lift him to sit him on my lap, then I thank Sam who has just placed our breakfasts on the counter. I smile at him to reassure him of the visible concern in his expression.

- What compromise did she impose on you? he asks.

- I’m not allowed to return in withdrawal, otherwise, she’ll ban me from leaving the camp until the end of the year.

- What do you mean, no leaving?

- No permissions, no field trips... Basically, no outings.

- Oh...

- Yeah, oh, I repeat. I don’t have the right to make mistakes.

- Your supervisor is very strict... comments Sofia.

- Hmm, but very effective.

- Anyway, I like her, Joan chimes in.

- Oh yeah? I laugh.

- Yes! Just talking about her makes you smile when you usually don’t. Plus, you just said she’s going to help you, so I like her even more.

I’m stunned by his arguments. This kid continues to amaze me every time. He’s far from being dumb. He knows I don’t smile much except with him, Sam, Sofia, and sometimes Mapi.

- Oh... I reply in surprise. She would be pleased to hear that.

- Can I see her one day?

- That might be complicated.

The idea quickly fades as he starts telling me what he’s learning at school. He’s just entered the first grade, so he’s starting to learn to read and write.

- So, what do you want to do today?

- Do I get to choose what I want?

- Yep. It’s your day. We’ll do whatever you want.

- I want to go to the ice rink then!

- Alright, I laugh at his enthusiasm. We’ll go to the ice rink.

I’m not even surprised. I got him used to the ice rink at a very young age before I fell into drugs. I used to love that place. It’s been ages since I last went there. I promised him we’d go back once, and I think now is the right time. I finish my breakfast and leave Joan with Sofia while I take a shower. I give myself a bit of time to get ready before going back downstairs. I deserve a little moment for myself. They’ve become rare. Once I’m all ready, I have some time left before lunch. So I join Joan in front of the TV. It’s nice to be able to sit on a couch. Even if it’s cartoons, it’s so much better to enjoy a screen alone. The only place we have a TV at the camp is in the common room, so watching it there isn’t pleasant. I take this time to check my phone, which I haven’t touched since yesterday. Mapi replied saying that I need to reserve my evening for her and that I can’t refuse. I guess I’ll go. At least I’ll have seen everyone this weekend. She could have left me out because of her girlfriend, but she didn’t. People are always different when they’re in a relationship, but not Mapi. The only thing that distances us is my move to Manchester because we don’t see each other as much. She’s my best friend for a reason. Once the message is sent, I go to Bronze’s chat. My thumbs hover hesitantly over the keys. I draft a message that I’m afraid to send. I don’t want to bother her and make her truly regret giving me her number. Also, it’s noon there. It’s not even certain that she’s awake since she was out last night. I take a deep breath and press send without thinking.

Me - 11:27 AM: Hey sleepyhead. Still in bed?

Commander - 11:35 AM: Sleepyhead? I thought you knew me better than that! I bet it’s you who just woke up.

She replied. She replied!!! I really thought I was going to bother her, but it doesn’t seem like it.

Me - 11:36 AM: No, but I slept until 10:30! And you? Do you ever sleep?

Commander - 11:38 AM: Haha! I’m still human, Ona. I just have my habits.

Me - 11:38 AM: Like what?

Commander - 11:40 AM: Running?

Me - 11:44 AM: At noon ? On a Saturday morning?!

Commander - 11:45 AM: At 7:30, my dear 😉

Me - 11:45 AM: I maintain what I think: You’re not normal.

Commander - 11:46 AM: Might as well stay fit if you can’t spend your morning in bed with someone, haha.

Me - 11:46 AM: OK... I was not at all prepared for that kind of response... Now I’m imagining you with a girl...

Commander - 11:49 AM: Get that image out of your head right now! I wasn’t talking about that 😐

Me - 11:50 AM: Too late! I didn’t think of you like that 😂😂😂

Commander - 11:52 AM: You’re really silly! I was just thinking about enjoying the company of someone. Anyway, let’s move on. Is Joan happy to have you back?

Me - 11:54 AM: What a topic change! Oh dear, and I’m the coward! He woke me up this morning by jumping on me. He’s just as sweet as you if you know what I mean 😂

Commander - 11:55 AM: I hope so, you shouldn’t lose the habit of animated wake-ups 😉 At least someone’s happy :) I hope you’re taking care of him this weekend.

Me - 11:56 AM: Of course! We’re going to the ice rink this afternoon :) And I’m seeing Mapi tonight.

Commander - 11:58 AM: Cool. And your parents? Did everything go well?

I sigh as I read the last message. I was about to reply when Sam calls us for lunch. Exactly noon, it’s noon sharp here!

Me - 12:00 PM: My mom is working. I haven’t seen her yet. I’m not going to avoid my scolding according to others. I’m going to eat now, we can talk later if you don’t mind.

Commander - 12:01 PM: That’s normal, but it’ll be fine, don’t worry. Enjoy your meal :)

I smile at her last message. Always words to reassure me. In the end, I don’t think I disturbed her given the way she conversed with me. I put my phone away and head to the kitchen with Joan. He won’t let go. He’s practically glued to me, as if he’s afraid I’ll leave. Maybe he is, since that’s what I did last time. I’m lucky I didn’t hear any reproaches from him. They would have hurt me more than my mother’s. In the meantime, I sense that Sunday night’s departure will be very painful for him. As for me, I almost feel like I belong more in the boarding school than in this house. If my friends and Joan weren’t here, I wouldn’t set foot in it again. For now, I’m enjoying the time I have. I’m lucky to be surrounded by people like them. I’m only realizing their importance now and I plan to make the most of them this weekend..

[toni-peperoni]

I am begging you to share more of your mechanic alex vision

Okay so: We know that Alex actually wanted to be a mechanic for Marc rather than a rider himself, but Marc pushed him to at least try.

And Alex subbed in in Moto3 for the first time in 2012 and then did the entire season of 2013 and for this we have to pretend it didn't go as well as it actually did, so he decided to stop, focus on school and pursue his dream of becoming a mechanic.

I'm not very familiar (at all) with the Spanish school system, but it would probably mean, he'd finish school in 2014 and after that find a university to study remotely at. Finishing the school in Spain had meant almost a year of barely seeing his brother and that just wasn't something either could or would choose (love my codependent babes), but it would also lead to Alex being a little less dependent, because he knows basic life can work without Marc there, though for Marc basic life was racing and Alex was still present at every European race if possible.

The public would of course know Alex as Marc's brother and very rarely bring up that he used to race too, but they would know them more in the way Carola is known as Pecco's sister rather than Luca is known as Vale's brother, if that makes sense?

He'd start his apprenticeship at a racing team shortly there after, spending his first year learning with the Moto3 bikes, but his talents didn't go unnoticed, so he was moved up to learn about the difference of the 250cm³ and 765cm³ engines.

He finished his apprenticeship there in 2017 having made some appearances in the Repsol Honda factory already, seeing as he also needs to learn about the 1000cm³ bikes after all. That meant he had lots of experience with racing and working under pressure already and without hesitation, he was signed as one of Marc's mechanics at the beginning of the 2018 season.

They won two championships together and Marc knew no matter what, no matter how shit something went, he could always return to the garage and have his brother's support no matter how often he crashed, how much pain the bike caused him, his brother was there in and out of the garage.

There's two ways to go from here:

1. They became even more codependent and Marc leaving Honda was like a slap to the face for both of them.

2. They drifted apart a bit always aware, that they could rely on eachother for everything and have someone to talk to no matter, but Marc learned through seeing his brother work through the night on the bike, that he wasn't doing it only for Marc, but also for his love of bikes and Alex learned, that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted it, he couldn't always make his brother happy.

Either way, there were long discussions held and many tears fell, while Marc thought about whether he should leave or not.

In the end Marc left and Alex stayed. Why? Because he basically had only worked with Hondas for his entire life, there was no set up, no aero, no engine, he knew as well as the Honda. He lived for that bike.

While Marc's crew chief switched over to the other side of the box, now working with Joan, Alex stayed on his side of the garage and started to work with the new guy. Luca.

He knew Luca, of course he did, well at least by name and from the few stories Marc had told, when he and Vale were still okay.

He had even raced against Luca, one single race in 2013, when Alex did his one and only podium in Misano in the Moto3, Luca had subbed in for an injured rider.

But it wasn't Alex to bring that info to the table. It was actually Luca, who after Alex had introduced himself with the rest of the crew had told him that little fact. Alex would have forgotten about it.

That was the first encounter Alex had with Luca's very observant nature, leading to him noticing the smallest details about people's habits and making positive remarks about those.

Away from the track Luca was kind, gentle and always in for a laugh, but on the track, he was just as fierce as everyone else. Despite the Honda being... well the bike that it currently is, he never once tried to blame his mechanics, rather giving feedback about the bike, than telling them in a condescending voice how shit it was. That would have been very understandable and Alex had been rarely actually mad, when riders had done that, he understood the emotions and knew that most riders would come around to apologize later, because it had been a heat of the moment thing.

They were working very close together, going over data until late at night, because Luca was as determined to make that bike work again as Alex was. So it became natural to them to spend time together and they were starting to become friends and eventually more...

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #10

Full Moon 🌕 / Containment Breach ☢️ (both-ish!)

Because nothing is ever private in a small town, the word that Ethan’s bad knee is acting up again ahead of the full moon spreads quickly. Maybe this means I’ll make it through a shift without stretching my stomach out for the next week, he’d joked to Vanessa, but lo and behold, she’s sitting at the cafe counter on a Friday evening when Mrs. Spier bustles in with a deep ceramic dish covered in foil and wrapped in a dish towel, and she watches Ethan’s face freeze in grim recognition.

“Ethan, dear, we heard about your knee,” says Mrs. Spier, reaching over the counter to pat his face sympathetically. “Don’t tax yourself, sweetheart. Just stay in and we’ll make sure you’re plenty well-fed.”

Ethan approximates something like a smile. Vanessa grips the edges of her barstool. 

“Thank you,” he says, because Ethan is a good boy who was raised — well, politely, at least. From what Vanessa’s heard about his father, the jury’s still out on right. “I’ll be all right, Mrs. Spier, but I do appreciate it.”

She pats his hand. “Of course, dear. Any time. Mrs. Thomas and I are always happy to provide.”

When she’s gone, Ethan lays his arms on the counter and dramatically drops his head onto them. “Why?” he asks, and Vanessa pets his hair soothingly. “Why is it always me? Can’t they send someone else casseroles for once?”

“Because you’re a nice boy,” says Vanessa. “And everyone likes seeing you fed. And they know you’re too much of a gentleman to say no.”

He groans, pulling himself upright and flicking a dishtowel across the counter. “Well, with the stuff from your friend, I’m not even supposed to shift tonight, right? So I can just stick it in the freezer.”

“You shouldn’t physically shift,” Vanessa corrects. “I have no idea whether you’ll have any of your other usual symptoms.”

The syrup is from Vanessa’s mentor Joan, who lives states away and deep in a forest without a postal address now but still managed to make a vial of aubergine liquid appear in Vanessa’s mailbox a few days ago. She promised that it would prevent Ethan from transforming to avoid any further damage to his knee, but her instructions neglected to mention any side effects and there wasn’t time to send a letter back and ask. But Vanessa trusts her, and Joan would have warned her if Ethan were going to spend the next eighteen hours as a human body with a dog’s brain.

“I’ll be over as soon as I finish dinner with Sir Malcolm,” she promises. “I’d invite you along, but —”

“But you can’t have a werewolf at the table,” says Ethan wryly. “Understood.”

“Not even a temporarily disabled one,” she apologizes. “Take care. Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone, please.”

She slips her bag over her shoulder, and Ethan meets her for a quick kiss. “I’ll try not to.”

As she leaves the cafe, she nearly collides with Mrs. Barrett and another casserole.

— 

Vanessa fidgets all through dinner with Malcolm and his chess-rival-slash-home health aide, Sembene. The meal is perfectly nice — Sembene is a gifted cook in addition to his other talents — and it’s lovely to speak with Mina again, even if it is mostly to relay her responses to her father’s questions. 

Sembene has just served dessert — a maple brown butter cheesecake that Vanessa can’t help thinking would go perfectly with her morning coffee — when her phone buzzes in her bag. Malcolm dislikes cell phones, especially when their usage flies in the face of the formal dinner etiquette he was brought up with and has yet to shake, but he’s in the midst of monologuing at the chair reserved for Mina’s spirit about a book he read on the Franklin expedition and doesn’t appear to be losing steam any time soon, so Vanessa throws caution to the wind and surreptitiously fishes her phone from her bag. 

Come over, says Ethan, and a tendril of heat runs through her. 

Eyes on Sir Malcolm, she types something that she hopes approximates What are you up to?

“Now, you know, at the time, there was much conjecture about the existence of some supposed Open Polar Sea,” Sir Malcolm is saying. Mina rolls her eyes at Vanessa, who stifles a grin. 

Gaining weight, Ethan replies with a picture of two casserole dishes scraped clean. Vanessa does everything in her power to keep a straight face, but something must betray her, because Mina snorts and stage-whispers, “Are you sexting your werewolf boyfriend at Friday night dinner?”

Which is incredibly rude, because Vanessa literally can’t reply to her without everyone else hearing, so she settles for narrowing her eyes reproachfully and moves her foot around under the table until she finds Mina’s cold mist and kicks her.

Malcolm’s book review lasts another half hour, and she passes along Mina’s bored interjections with increasing restlessness. Ethan is holed up in his apartment stuffing himself with casserole and instead of being there to help things along, Vanessa is learning more about a group of doomed Arctic explorers than she ever cared to know. 

“Will you stay for coffee, Vanessa?” asks Malcolm finally, and she seizes her opportunity to flee. 

“No, unfortunately. I’ve an engagement early tomorrow morning.”

“Ah,” says Malcolm, a gleam in his eye. “With your gentleman?”

Vanessa squirms. “Yes.”

“She’s sexting!” cries Mina, precisely because no one but Vanessa can hear her. “I saw Goody Ives sexting at the table!”

“Oh, hush, you,” she says to Mina, and Malcolm gives her a fond, sad smile that almost makes her wish she could stay a bit longer.

“You two were always teasing each other,” he says. “I expect she’s telling you to bring him around some Friday evening. We’d all like to meet him.”

“Yes,” Vanessa agrees as her phone vibrates again. “That’s what she’s saying.”

As she unlocks her bike in the moonlight and flips on the headlamp on her black helmet, she opens Ethan’s latest message: a picture of his swollen belly flopping out from his unbuttoned pants, shirt ridden up to the crest of his stomach, with the caption Containment breach.

— 

She uses the keys Ethan gave her for emergencies to let herself into his apartment and finds him spread out on the couch, a pillow behind his head and both hands cradling his overfull gut. He doesn’t look green, as she’d feared, but he’s definitely flushed, and he’s breathing is shallow, like his appetite might have crowded out his lungs. A third casserole dish sits on his coffee table, half-eaten. 

“Sorry, it took me forever to get out of dinner,” she says, draping her coat and bag over one of his two kitchen chairs. “How are you doing?”

He gives a pitiful groan, and she perches on the slice of free cushion near his knee and rests one hand against his hot, stretched skin. “God, that feels good,” he says in greeting. “Your bad circulation’s finally good for something.”

“Yes, you’re welcome. I take it that Joan’s potion had no bearing on your usual side effects?”

Ethan tries to stifle a belch in his fist but times it poorly. Vanessa pats his belly sympathetically. “Yeah,” he says, puffing out a long breath. “I’d say it didn’t. Only difference is the wolf's stomach is a lot bigger.”

“Oh, poor thing.” She strokes at his belly gently, and he lets out a soft sound that unlaces something inside her. “Look at you, at the mercy of your appetite. You must feel quite heavy.”

“You have no idea. I feel like I swallowed a bunch of wet cement. You probably couldn’t — urrp — even see it in that picture with my gut in the way, but the button on my jeans burst clean off. It’s over there somewhere.” He waves toward the half of the apartment that functions as his bedroom. “I was too full to get up and find it.”

Without meaning to, Vanessa’s hand slips down to grip the bottom of his stomach, where it’s just soft flab and stretch mark scars. “Of course you were. You ate two entire casseroles and part of a third. You ate yourself out of those pants, of course you couldn’t get up.”

He hiccups. “Those things weighed at least four pounds each. The old ladies aren’t fucking around.”

“And you still managed to finish so much of it,” purrs Vanessa, carefully maneuvering more of herself onto the couch without putting pressure on Ethan’s stomach. 

“Want to know the worst part?” he asks, chasing the words with a heavy belch. 

“Yes,” says Vanessa, kneading his stomach like a cat.

“I’m still hungry,” says Ethan, and it’s all she can do not to pounce.

“Do you want me to help you finish this one?” she asks, indicating the half-eaten casserole on the table.

Ethan slumps back against the arm of the couch. “No, I can’t do any more casserole. I don’t know if I should eat any more, anyway. I can barely move now.”

“Afraid your appetite will get the better of you?” she teases, grazing her fingertips over his distended stomach. “That you won’t be able to help yourself?”

“Yes,” whines Ethan. “I have no idea if my body even knows I haven’t transformed. For all I know my stomach will let me eat ’til I burst.”

“”Well,” she says, “I’ve got something for you, too, if you’ve got just a bit more room.”

Ethan winces. “Is it a potion that’ll let me go back in time and not make this decision?”

“No, sorry. It’s cheesecake.”

“Vanessa!” he groans.

“Not much cheesecake,” she amends. “Just a slice. Sembene sent it home with me for my breakfast, but I’d just as soon as let you have it. It’s maple brown butter, and it’s excellent.”

“Don’t tell me that!” says Ethan, curling one arm around his belly. “Christ, Vanessa, I think you want me to get stuck on this couch. What, so you can have the bed all to yourself?”

“Of course I’ll help you to bed,” Vanessa soothes, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “You’re nice and warm, and you’re not nearly so big that we couldn’t share it.”

“Sounds like there’s a yet there,” grumbles Ethan.

His stomach gurgles. Vanessa pats it gently. “Is that a yes on the cheesecake?”

Ethan shifts his weight and burps once, twice. “Yeah,” he says grudgingly. “I do want the cheesecake.”

“Well, now you’ve made some room,” she says, tousling his hair as she takes the casserole dish and brings it to the counter. She returns the battered tinfoil to the top of it and makes space in the fridge, then retrieves the cheesecake from her bag. She takes a plate from the cabinet near the sink, a fork from the drawer by the fridge, feeling a bit tender about knowing where to find everything in his apartment. The first time she’d checked on him after a shift, she’d felt so awful about having to bother him for every little thing — where was his first aid? his towels? his detergent?

“This is going to sound counterintuitive,” says Ethan, pushing himself up on his elbows, “but while you’re up, can you get me a beer?”

Vanessa shoots him a playful look. “You just want me to hear you belch all night.”

“You say the sweetest things,” he returns dryly. “I just wanna take the edge off a little. But I guess it’s not the end of the world if you get a little hot and bothered about it.”

He mirrors back her coy look, and she pops the top off his beer and swoops back to him, delighted. She helps him straighten up and nestles in beside him, bare feet tucked beneath her. He takes a long pull from the bottle and burps again, then sets it on the end table beside the couch. 

“All right,” he says. “Hit me with some cheesecake.”

“I promise it isn’t much,” says Vanessa, balancing the small plate on the crest of his belly. “Is that okay?”

He nods, and she slices off the first bite with the side of the fork. His eyes flutter closed as it lands on his tongue, and Vanessa watches, enchanted.

“Fuck,” he says through the mouthful. “That’s so fucking good.”

“Isn’t it?” She feeds him another bite, and one of his hands — maybe unconsciously — comes to rest on the side of his belly, as if bracing himself for what’s to come. She inhales sharply, and he grins at her.

“Oh, hot and bothered already? You haven’t even seen me waddle to bed yet.”

Now it’s Vanessa who closes her eyes, imagining how much he’s eaten and how badly it will affect his gait, his ability to move without wincing or grunting with discomfort. How she’ll have to help him into clothes he can sleep in, because his jeans and work shirt won’t do. How heavily he’ll fall into bed, the positions he’ll have to stay in so as not to upset his stomach. 

“Oh, god, I’ve killed her,” says Ethan, and she snaps back to herself to find him grinning. “You short out there for a second?”

“I can’t help it,” she says, feeding him another bite. “You’ve given me a lot to work with here.”

“Yeah, about that,” he says, slugging from his beer. “I was thinking — hic-urrrrp — earlier, shifting probably burns at least some of the calories I consume as a wolf, right? So even when I gorge myself —”

“Every time,” interjects Vanessa.

“— some of that is immediately getting used up when I shift back. But tonight I’m not shifting at all, so all those calories I’d normally burn off are just gonna pile up.” He pats his belly, and the lowest part, where his bloat gives way to soft fat, jiggles tantalizingly. “I’d say one casserole probably adds up to a few pounds on its own, never mind two and a half.”

Vanessa whines, pushing herself gently against his hip. “You’ll wake up tomorrow ten pounds heavier.”

“Mmm, then I’m gonna need someone on the other side of the bed to conduct some experiments to see which clothes still fit.” He swallows another forkful of cheesecake. “Strong possibility that none of my clothes are going to fit for the next week, regardless.”

“I think I may burn out some light bulbs this weekend,” says Vanessa. “Or perhaps my pipes will start leaking. Something that I’ll need to ask you to fix by reaching up over your head so I can have a little treat when your shirts ride up.”

“Oh, am I your little treat?” asks Ethan, amused.

She scoops the last bite of cheesecake onto her fork and brings it to his lips. “There,” she says softly. “Yes, you are. How do you feel?”

Ethan hiccups. “Stuffed,” he says. “Massively stuffed.”

“Poor little thing,” she murmurs, kissing the top of his head. “Can I help?”

He nods, tugging his shirt up over the tightest part of his stomach. “Work your magic, please.”

Vanessa prods and presses, massages and manhandles. Ethan belches from the exertion of her hands on his skin, his eyelids growing heavier as her touch grows gentler. He gulps the rest of his beer and lets Vanessa push out the residual air in his stomach, and she kisses his neck as he groans and rolls his hips, trying to find a modicum of comfort.

“All right,” she says softly, stroking his hair as his eyes begin to close again. “We should get you to bed.”

He belches once more, soft and airy, and lets her prop an arm across his shoulders. With effort, she heaves him up to standing, and he lets out a sharp exhale as his weight shifts. Vanessa reaches to brace his belly with her free hand. His breathing is harsh and shallow as they slowly make their way across the room to his bed, and by the time he drops onto his mattress, he’s panting, breath stolen by the tremendous glut in his stomach.

“Oh, god,” he groans, wrapping his arms around his hugely bloated belly. “I’m never eating again.”

“You say that now,” says Vanessa, helping him tug his shirt over his head. His gut sits heavily in his lap, rolling over the undone waistband of his jeans and onto his thighs, and she jerks a little, involuntarily, at how large he looks.

He helps her get his jeans off, and she fetches a fresh, oversized t-shirt for him to wear to bed. He struggles into it as she changes into the spare pair of pajamas she keeps in his bureau, and then she crawls into bed and pulls him to her.

“Oof, careful,” he gasps, and she loosens her grip. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmurs into his ear. “There’s just so much of you I want to hold.”

Ethan huffs. “Yeah, well, just wait until all this settles. There’ll be even more of me, and it’ll probably jiggle.”

“Oh, darling,” she teases, pulling the covers up over them both. “You say the sweetest things.”

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (31) Pride

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 31)

Summary: We get glimpses of Joanna Shirley's first year and an emotional trip to the countryside ensures that the circuit is closed.

Thirty-One Years Old

Some months after Joanna’s first birthday, we’re going to Sussex to spend a week with my parents. She has Timothy’s dark hair and my curls. Her eyes are violet-blue and radiant, her social skills are impeccable. Our daughter loves people. When we’re out in the park, at the shops, on the tube or the bus, she babbles to anyone who’s willing to listen. Most people are. During the Pride parade, that became quite evident. 

Molly had bought her a multi-coloured dress. In each hand she had a flag. The traditional rainbow flag in her right, and the bisexual one in her left. Every so often, people in the parade approached her to say hello, and she preened and had the time of her life. Timothy filmed the whole charade to show to our families later.

When she’s used up her charm…let’s just say; her bad temper is as untamed as her good mood…

“Just like her mother,” Dad often points out when I complain.

There’s no sympathy to get from Papa either.

“A tornado is calm compared to your tantrums as a child and teenager, Bee.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” I retort, but I know it’s true.

Having a strong will and principles can be good things, I guess.

***

Joanna has never seen Papa’s garden and beehives. The last time we visited, it poured down all weekend, so we stayed inside.

She has yet to have taken her first steps, but there have been other firsts. 

First trip inside the city: New Scotland Yard with uncle Greg so he could show her off to all his previous colleagues (he retired two years ago.)

First solid food: corn porridge (she detested oatmeal.)

First tooth: four months (she bit me when I breast fed her.)

First real trip: Sussex to Grandad and Lock. (She refuses to call Papa anything else.)

First BIG toy: an antique rocking horse from the granduncles. (Guess which one searched worldwide for the correct one, a replica from his and Papa’s childhood.)

***

The second Joanna sees her grandparents, she starts to wriggle in my arms, can’t get to them fast enough.

“Easy, my little octopus,” I mutter and hand her to Dad with a relieved sigh.

“Hey there, princess Shirley,” Dad coos and kisses her cheek.

“Da!” she exclaims and pats his shoulder, before turning eagerly to Papa, stretching out her arms.

“Hello, little Joan,” Papa rumbles, which make her giggle and shout: “Lock!”

“You’ve got to stop calling her that,” Dad protests half-heartedly.

“Nonsense,” Papa says mock serious. “Not until you stop calling her princess Shirley.”

Joanna points at herself when she hears Dad’s name for her.

“Yes, that’s you,” Papa agrees proudly. “My clever girl.”

***

After lunch and Joanna’s nap, Dad and Papa walk around the garden with her, safely in Dad’s arms to show her the different flowers, letting her smell and touch. Her dazzling smile, and the besotted looks on my fathers’ faces are caught on camera. I decide to get it enlarged and framed as a Christmas present.

Papa points out the beehives, but they stay at a distance lest Joanna’s waving arms disturb the bees. I stifle a sob when she turns and points a finger at me when Papa says the word “bee”.

“Yes, darling. That’s Mummy too,” I say in a choked voice.

“Well done, princess,” Dad praises.

“Cess,” Joanna manages and presses her palm against her chest.

***

A week later, as a farewell, Papa takes Joanna for another stroll in the garden, which she seemingly can’t get enough of. She took her first steps there two days ago, eager to get her hands on a bee that was resting on a flower petal. When the insect flew away, she turned questioningly at Papa, who had followed in her steps ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

After they’ve finished the circuit, Joanna starts to wail, but Papa’s excited voice and gesticulating hand, gets her attention.

“Let me tell you what I once told your mother when she and Granddad moved to Baker Street,” he starts, and goes through the different stages of human decay, the art of flagging down a taxi in London, and pissing off the likes of Philip Anderson.

Before he’s finished, Joanna has fallen asleep in his arms.

Also available on AO3

You can find the fic that inspired this one here

Here we are. At the end of an amazing month of prompts which have produced ficlets, limericks, heartbreakingly beautiful writing, hilarious new AUs and so much more. Tears have been shed, laughter has been shared, the fandom has shown endless support and love to everyone involved.

Thank you to the wonderful @calaisreno for instigating this marvellous event, and to everyone who has participated, commented, reblogged and cheered along the way.

(P.S There'll be no Rosie at the age of 106 as you requested early in the month @totallysilvergirl because that would ensure the demise of our OTP, and we both know that I don't do that...)

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[lolosaclone]

I just finished clone high season 3 and

I don't really know what to say at the moment, but to be honest, I loved watching it, I mean I've put my alarm at 6am and had to wait few more hours to finally have a chance to watch even the first ep, SO OF COURSE I HAD TO AT LEAST LIKE WATCHING IT,,, but at the end I did it so yay me, but yeah after waiting for what like felt forever (I was counting the days istg), I feel so happy,,, it's obv not the best thing on earth but it made my day and night

SPOILERS ‼️ BELOW THE CUT (screenshots n text)

cracked at this moment at the sudden singing

he's like me fr (pinky thing)

i cried when I saw this

LIKE

,,,

i just found joan pretty on this angle, makes me wanna draw her

jfk

christopher columbus

!random rant text (not following the episodes orders):

/I'll "probably" change this part of my post later, I'm just writing what I remember the most rn/

,,

almost forgot, the eyes thing. WOW,,,

Mary, Abe's gf, being Bloody Mary got me holy moly at the moment

I really didn't except joan and confucius to actually stay together, thought it would be for an ep only (thanks to the one who reposted my other post, if u see this hi :3) ,, and when I thought I was dreaming when the trailer dropped, turns out they're cute in my opinion, actually liked them 😭

frida and cleo breaking up got me devasted like 💔💔

Now the cliffhanger is KILLING me.

overall, Confucius became officially one of my fav with topher, lovely!

I finished watching the last ep and writing this post at 4am, don't except this post to make any sense yet, but, trust me, i'm invested. (in my head that is)