#anyway time to sleep xox

[evansbuck-ley]

another day, another snippet

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it. But just so you know, I am here for you. And so is Chim. So don’t think you can ghost us, because Chimney has a secret weapon and he is not afraid to use it.” Tommy let out a weak chuckle.

“Dare I even ask?”

“Nope.” They fell back into comfortable silence for a moment. Tommy chewed on his bottom lip before he began to speak again.

“He told me how much he admired me, looking at me with his big blue eyes filled with…love. And all I could think about was all of the shitty things I’ve done in my life and how I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this kind of love.”

“Everybody deserves to be loved, Tommy.” Eddie said quietly. Tommy’s head snapped to stare at the man beside him again. Eddie looked back at him and shrugged before drinking more of his beer.

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa. 

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM. 

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths. 

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case. 

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers. 

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther. 

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee. 

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.  

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."  But you were well used to it by now. 

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma? 

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be. 

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger. 

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction. 

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet. 

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. 

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

 Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip,  voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark. 

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?" 

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second. 

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension. 

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

🏷️: @back2thebasics , @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove, @kbear8863

If you'd like to join my tagged list and be notified whenever I post new content, click ->-> HERE<-<-, instructions will follow.

->->masterlist<-<-

[brotherwtf]

sorry to send this onto you lol but i have nowhere else to express it.

there’s some recent pics of callum out with dua where he’s paying for their meal which makes me laughhh because she defo has more money than him but he’s insisting on being chivalrous 👹🤌🏻

i just think this is totally a reasonable HC for clegen like john would totally find any excuse to be chivalrous with gale which gale finds bewildering and wants to be offended but absolutely can’t find it within him and it makes him so flustered

please take this prompt and put it out into the world i would love to hear your thoughts xox

Callum and Dua you will always be famous, God I want what they have

btw and also never feel like your asks are a burden or annoying, I literally love and cherish every single one of them 💕💕

but OH MY GOD: CLEGAN AND STUPID CHIVALROUS ACTS is a thing I can get behind definitely

he would definitely literally bend over backwards so that Gale doesn't have to lift a finger while they're on dates together, would run from the driver's side of the car so that Gale wouldn't have to open to it himself, would put his jacket down on a puddle so Gale wouldn't get his shoes wet

John would definitely be those tiktoks where the guy climbs out of the window and jumps over the car to open the door for Gale, Gale would just laugh into his hand the whole time

literally yanks the bill out of his hands so he can pay for it, even when it pisses Gale off he won't let him pay the bill if he's still alive

have a funny hc where maybe it rains and Gales wearing some nice shoes, says they can just wait inside until it's done, but John says NO I'm gonna get you through this storm alive and Gales just like "babe we're fine" but he's already being lifted by John. anyway John carries him bridal style back to their car so his shoes don't get wet, only makes him carry the umbrella for them

Gale of course gets frustrated by this sometimes, he also wants to spoil John and be all chivalrous, so when John doesn't let him pay for the bill he makes a big stink about it. Sometimes threatens that John will sleep on the couch if he doesn't hand over the damn bill. John doesn't even listen though

so Gale also has to forcefully sit John down and let him do some things, sometimes he'll open the door for John or pay for dinner, which makes John smile brightly but still boils inside bcs he can't spoil his Gale

anyway they're both so stupid and in love Jesus Christ when will they be normal

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 6 | 'We just need a lead.'

masterlist ✨

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

HA! it's been two and a half years. On we move. I've done this trek. It's a killer. oh! also! someone sent me an ask about what Scott looks like in my head but i accidentally deleted it!! I kind of see... Adam Martin from Yellowjackets, but with sliiiightly lighter hair. Hehe. Enjoy xox

CW: none - just bad language and poor writing skill as per x

Word count: 4.2k

Sam is no stranger to a sleepless night. His mind is far too practised at dredging up the past when he least wants it.

It usually takes hours of distraction - thumbing through a dog-eared old book, nursing a bottle, researching an obscure lead - just to dull the edges enough to finally let his guard down.

Tonight, though, none of that seems to be working. It’s a frustrating complication that he’s not prepared to deal with.

He paces by the window a few times, peeling back the blinds now and then to stare out at the quiet pool where they'd been just an hour before.

At one point, he lingers longer.

His eyes travel up a few floors to a balcony above, where he spots a figure. A man, alone, perched on a cheap plastic chair and staring down at his phone screen, his face faintly illuminated by its bluish glare. There’s something familiar in the man’s posture - the way he slouches over his screen, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s waiting for something, tapping his thumb impatiently against it.

Sam feels an odd flicker of relief. He’s not the only one unable to sleep tonight, pacing through quiet unrest. The man raises his head, and Sam watches him scan the pool, his expression unreadable, though his gaze seems to linger on the spot where they'd been sat earlier. Sam watches, noticing the man’s hand twitch as he slips his phone into his pocket and rises, crossing to the open door with measured steps.

But then the man’s stare shifts down, as if sensing he’s being watched, and for the briefest moment, Sam is certain he catches his eye. The guy stiffens, his expression hardening, and then he quickly turns away, vanishing back into the shadowed interior of his room.

The movement draws Sam’s curiosity - maybe even suspicion. He frowns. He’s just a man, standing on a balcony in the middle of the night. And Sam's exhausted. It's probably just a case of sleepless paranoia, he tells himself.

Still, the nagging feeling remains, scratching at the edges of Sam’s awareness as he draws the blinds and steps back from the window.

The air in his room feels stifling, despite the low hum of the aircon coming from above him.

His eyes drift to his open cigarette packet lying nearby, though he doesn’t reach for it. Sam’s jaw clenches.

The laptop on the dressing table glows back to life as he resumes his half-hearted research, skimming through what he can find on Karam Sadir and the Petra excavation records. The icy screen hurts his eyes. 

He squints with a tut.

It’s already at its lowest brightness setting. Nathan told him how to put some weird orangey filter over it once that made his eyes sting less but he can’t remember how to do it.

With a resigned huff, he slumps back in his chair, eyes tracing the waves of moonlight stretching across the ceiling.

It's a big place, and they're yet to find a starting point. This is the sort of work he’d normally sink his teeth right into, let it pull him away from whatever anxieties were clawing at him - but right now, it’s all blurred words and faded images. A distraction, just enough to keep his mind occupied, but annoyingly not enough to pull him away from the nagging ache that's been festering in his gut for the past sixty minutes or so.

He glances down at the last line he highlighted on the Sadir’s contributions to Petra and any sites surrounding, but the words bleed together, slipping through his tired brain. Not that they matter much, anyway - he’s hardly taking any of it in.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters to no one but himself.

The heel of his hand rubs up and down his bare chest, before his fingers dig into his shoulder. He instinctively glances down, wincing at the tightness of his muscles.

He finds himself drifting again as he massages out a knot, thoughts pulled back to that playful glint she always seems to have when she’s testing his patience. It hasn’t taken her long to develop a knack for it. It’s all just fun and games, surely. Her shit-eating grin as she poked his star tattoo - she’d dug her nail in - for a second, it hurt. The slight pause after he’d joked about ‘getting with each other’. The way her weight felt in his arms, just in those fleeting seconds, warm and soft and... The knot pops and he rubs his temples, frustrated at his own wandering mind, forcing himself back to the screen.

He’s been down this road before, the signs all too familiar. It starts innocently enough, with a look or a laugh, but then it starts to unravel and tug at something more… convoluted. And he’d thought he’d kept it buried this time, told himself he was too old for this. That he wasn’t about to go entertaining thoughts he’s got no business having. Idiot.

With a muttered curse, Sam slams the laptop shut.

She’s young, lively, with a way of seeing the world that he’s not sure he ever had despite it being his everything . And it’s precisely that, he tells himself, that has him so twisted up. He admires her optimism. That’s it.

He pushes his way into the bathroom and flips on the faucet, splashing water onto his face. The cold shock helps. Not.

He stares at himself in the mirror, and runs a hand over his stubbled jaw, flexing it as if it might somehow make him look a decade younger.

Sam’s hardly insecure by nature, but the way Scott had shown up, caught her eye, confident and unruffled, pressed on him, subtly but surely. Add in the difference in age, and suddenly it feels like he’s staring straight at every wasted year that’s passed since his twenties, when he could count on his face and body without thinking twice. For the first time in... well, ever... he feels a small, nibbling urge to check, as if hoping he’d find some sign of that guy looking back at him.

He scoffs, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before grabbing his toothbrush.

What the hell does it matter anyway? He knows who he is, what he’s been through, and has always been good at not letting those old doubts about himself creep in. So what’s changed?

He squeezes a splodge of toothpaste onto the dampened bristles and brushes, the motions automatic, almost meditative, as if a rinse and scrub will clear out the doubt creeping up from whatever strange feelings he’s caught himself having. He spits, rinses, then finally flips off the light.

Flopping onto the mattress, Sam knows full-well he won’t sleep much, though lying in the dark feels a little more forgiving.

By the time his alarm chimes, he’s showered and dressed, already stubbing out a cigarette on the patio, glancing back to the balcony he saw the man on last night. He swishes his mouth out again, tossing his things together and glancing out the window, trying to shake off the strange mix of anticipation and unease lodged in his chest.

Pushing the feeling down as deep as possible, he shoulders his small backpack, resolving to keep things... professional. Whatever had lingered from last night was just that - last night . He had work to do, and so did she, and Sam’s nothing if not a pro at compartmentalising.

The sound of her door opening beside his quickly followed by soft humming of what he thinks is ' What's Up ' by 4 Non Blondes is his cue.

He stands, cracking his neck as he tries to shake off the drowsy weight clinging to him. 

God, he's tired.

He’ll grab a coffee on their walk down to the site - it's strong here - maybe he'll squeeze in another smoke before they arrive. At least a few hours in the ancient city might give him some clarity, the search giving his mind something concrete to focus on.

He gives himself a final shake, swallowing down the emotions rattling in his chest, and steps out into the hallway.

//

The dust, the heat, the people - it all feels like a heady swirl as you make your way through Petra’s narrow gorges and carefully excavated ruins. You’re somewhere between awe and disbelief, taking photos of every angle, every shadowed crevice and sunlit crack in the rocks and ruins. It feels like the focal point of a pilgrimage, history seeping into your every pore, and you’re so immersed in it all that you’ve been unable to stop yourself from grinning all morning.

You glance back at Sam, who walks with his usual sturdy, slightly impatient stride, his gaze occasionally shifting to the flood of tourists around you. Scott’s beside him, a good-natured, half-smirk on his face as he points out details along the route.

You can’t deny Scott’s enthusiasm - it’s infectious, and he’s been a more-than-capable guide. Occasionally, you notice him stopping to examine a detail, his fingers brushing over the carvings with practised ease, as though he’s been here a dozen times.

You catch sight of Sam a few paces back, his expression shaded by his sunglasses and a slight frown as he stops to read an information plaque. It’s not that he’s being rude exactly - he’s just, well… he’s quieter than usual today. And you can’t quite tell if it’s the heat, the crowds, or something else. His eye line flickers between you and Scott, his mouth pressing into a thin line before he looks away.

“He’s not much of a tourist spot guy, is he?” you murmur to Scott as the three of you veer closer to the start of the steep, winding staircase to the second Treasury.

Scott chuckles. "Eh, I suppose it’s not for everyone,” he says diplomatically. “Probably thinks he’s already seen it all.”

You hum in acknowledgement, and Scott gives you a sympathetic look, before heading a few steps ahead to read another plaque, leaving you and Sam to walk in silence. His stride is relaxed, unhurried, almost apathetic. You want to talk to him, find a way to draw him out of whatever mood he’s in, but every attempt to catch his eye seems to come up short.

A touch of irritation prickles at the back of your mind. Maybe you’ve been a little too enthusiastic, but so what? You give Sam a brief wave as he pulls away from another frame of text with a slight pout, hoping to draw him in, but he only nods, keeping his pace slow and steady.

Fuck it. God loves a trier.

“So,” You say, keeping your voice as light, but not sickeningly upbeat as you make it impossible for him to ignore you. “I take it you didn’t sleep much, either in the end?”

It’s silent for a few seconds before he speaks - he bristles slightly, like you’ve - rightfully - called him out for being weird. 

“Could ya tell?” he says, a touch gruffly, but there’s a hint of something softer in his tone. You shrug, tucking your phone into the pocket of your shorts. “Just… one of those nights, y’know? Too much running through my head.”

It’s hardly a revelation, but there’s an openness to it that he usually keeps under tighter wraps. You nod, shooting him a look of understanding. “Yuck. Those are the worst. All the thinking that gets you nowhere.”

His mouth quirks slightly, almost a smile, but it’s tinged with something closer to defeat. “Right. Problem is, you’d think after all these years, I’d have some sort of trick to shut it all off.”

You let that hang for a moment, the two of you sidestepping a cluster of tourists crowded around a camel sitting, unbothered on the sand. It’s surprisingly… nice, to be let into his world, even if only a crack. He’s always felt so solid, so sure, but there’s something about seeing him unsettled that makes him feel oddly more human. The faint vulnerability catches you off guard, but hell, you'd be lying if you didn't appreciate it. Want it, even.

“Maybe you need more than a trick,” you offer gently, risking a small smile. “Like a change of scenery, or… I dunno, a bit of fresh motivation?”

He glances at you, expression unreadable behind the sunglasses, but there’s a tilt of his head as if he’s sizing you up. “That right?”

“Yeah,” you say, undeterred. “Might be why you’re here. This whole Sadir thing - maybe it’s not just a job. Maybe it’s something more. We just need a lead.” You shrug, trying not to seem too invested, but Sam’s brow furrows, and there’s something searching in his eyes now.

“Hmm.” he hums, a little quieter, his shoulders jostling as if he's chuckling to himself. You're not sure about mirth, though.

He seems about to say something more, but then he pulls himself away, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

"Well, if all else fails, maybe I can arrange a swift frying pan to the back of the head so you can get a good bit of shut-eye."

He actually laughs at this, but before he can respond, Scott calls out to you both from a few steps ahead, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Hey, are we climbing these steps or chatting the whole day?”

You roll your eyes playfully and turn back to Sam, who gives a resigned shake of his head.

Onto the Monastery Trail. Just under one-thousand craggy rock steps making up a two-plus mile uphill climb. You're not fit. But you hope your enthusiasm will keep it tolerable.

"Cardio time, baby." You say with a click of the fingers, adjusting your backpack straps.

About ten minutes later, you're still motivated but, unfortunately, painfully aware you're nowhere near as fit as the men you're with.

Sam throws a glance back, raising an eyebrow at your silence. “You know, it’s weird hearing you so quiet,” he teases, his tone light but pointed. “What, savin' your breath?” He bares his teeth in a smirk.

“I’m sooo sorry that I’m not... a mountain goat,” you huff, voice drenched in almost as much sarcasm as your forehead is with sweat.

Scott's chuckle that follows is immediate, warm and a bit smug.

The two continue their chatter as they walk, their words punctuated by Sam’s occasional mutter of “show-off” whenever Scott throws in some tidbit about the ancient Nabateans or Petra’s construction. You listen to them as you trail behind, using their conversation to keep your mind off of your burning thighs and sore lungs - ugh the steps are definitely getting steeper.

“So how’d you pick up Arabic? I know Chloe said you both studied for a bit over in... Oman, was it?” Sam asks Scott, curiosity laced with a hint of begrudging respect.

“Yep. Picked it up a little more colloquially while working with a few archaeological digs near Jerash once I'd graduated. Came in handy since most of the crew spoke it. Nailed the basics, then took some proper classes,” Scott replies with a shrug, looking completely at ease as he hikes up the jagged steps. “I find it helps a lot with locals when I can talk to them in their language. Makes people… open up a bit more, you know?”

Sam scoffs lightly. “Gotta say, I'm - Arabic's one I could never get my head 'round.”

“Yeah, I mean my grandfather was stationed out this way in the forties too, so his stories gave me the enthusiasm from childhood.” Scott grins, then glances back at you, still valiantly pressing forward. “Speaking of enthusiasm, how are you holding up, darl'?" He teases, knowing the answer full-well.

You give him an exaggerated glare, wiping your brow. “Stop taking the piss while I can't defend myself.” Great. That sentence alone halved your lung capacity.

Sam just laughs, enjoying your persistence, you hope. “We're almost halfway there. You're doin' fine.”

“Oh, that’s encouraging.” you reply dryly, though she’s oddly glad he’s checking in.

After a long and exhausting climb, you finally reach the top. Well, almost. Just ahead of you, at a ledge overlooking the expanse of Petra, you spot another brief set of steps - the highest viewpoint, accompanied by one of the many Bedouin vendors with a small table set up. A kettle sits in the centre, steam rising into the air, and a small group of tourists huddles around.

You’re drawn to it immediately.

“Gents, this has been… horrible.” You sigh, your heart slowly becoming more steady as you take off your baseball cap and fan your face with it. “I’m gonna grab some tea,” You remove your backpack and take out your little notebook, “read up on a few things, and take in the view. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and come and find you when I can breathe properly… See you in a few?”

//

Sam stands a few paces away with Scott near the stone-hewn monastery, a local tour guide gesturing energetically to a group of tourists they've managed to integrate themselves into (three cheers for the unassuming baseball cap!), prattling facts about Petra’s history. But Sam’s mind isn’t entirely there. He keeps glancing around, his eyes skimming over the thinning crowd, half-listening as Scott peppers the guide with questions about excavation sites and artefacts.

“…so, nothing significant has been found here in recent years?” Scott’s voice is smooth, with that confident tone that always seems to get people to open up. Something about the Australian accent seems to give people who have it an instant boost to charisma. Sam notes the way the tour guide leans toward Scott, clearly charmed and eager to impress.

“No, no. No treasures have been found here in centuries.” The guide’s words are tinged with disappointment, but Scott doesn’t miss a beat, nudging him with another line of enquiry about restricted areas and less-documented sites.

But Sam’s focus wavers as he catches sight of a figure standing further off, hovering by the edge of a ruin. He squints. The person looks familiar, and it takes him a second before recognition dawns - the same guy from the balcony last night.

The man isn’t close enough to be eavesdropping, but he’s angled just enough to appear like he’s watching them, hands stuffed casually into his pockets as he leans against a stone column.

Scott catches Sam’s distant expression and steps closer, brows knitting together in concern. "Hey, mate. You with us?"

Sam’s eyes dart back to him, and he forces a smirk to cover his momentary lapse. "Yeah, yeah, I’m here," he replies, crossing his arms in a show of nonchalance. "Just… thought I saw someone I recognised."

Scott raises an eyebrow, glancing around before shrugging, his usual easy charm returning. He gestures back to the tour guide, who is wrapping up his explanation with an apologetic shrug, obviously not the wealth of information they’d been hoping for.

"So no dice on the inheritance?" Sam asks, slightly relieved to shift his focus back to their original purpose.

"Nah. Just the standard spiel." Scott sighs, offering the tour guide a polite smile before turning back to Sam. "Guess we’ll have to keep digging."

Sam nods, but he can’t shake the feeling that they’re being... watched. He catches a glimpse of the man again, just on the edge of his peripheral vision, standing with his arms folded, half-hidden by a weathered stone column. This time, Sam’s certain it’s the same guy.

"You okay, man?" Scott’s voice cuts through again, sharper this time, his eyes steady and probing.

They're staying in one of the cheapest hotels closest to one of the world's most famous heritage sites. They're bound to come across the same people during their stay. Snap out of it.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just - long night. Didn’t get much sleep."

Scott studies him a beat longer, and Sam feels a flash of irritation at being read so closely. Scott’s perceptiveness borders on uncanny, the kind of thing that usually annoys him when it’s turned his way. But Scott’s well-meaning smile disarms him.

The silence between them breaks as the missing part of the trio skids to a stop beside them, her energy lifting the tension immediately. She’s practically glowing, a wide grin plastered on her face, notebook in hand, the edges dog-eared and a little torn from use.

“Alright,” she pants, catching her breath as she waves the notebook with an eager grin. "Umm ar-Rasas."

Sam’s lips twitch, grateful for the distraction, while Scott’s face lights up, already leaning in, genuinely interested. 

"Umm ar what ?" Sam asks with a lopsided grin.

She pauses, looking between them both. "Wait - what have you two found?"

"Jack shit." Scott huffs, scratching his neat beard, "Go on, then. Umm ar-"

"Rasas. Yes. The Bedouin bloke was saying-"

Sam’s head whips around, a frown deepening. “You told him we’re looking for something?”

He watches her bristle a little, feeling the bit of accusation he'd thrown at her. “Not exactly. I didn’t spill everything, if that’s what you’re worried about. He saw the name at the top of my page. Got enthusiastic. That's all.”

"So he saw your damn notes?" He asks, sceptically.

She sighs. "Fuck sake, Sam, the word 'Sadir' in green bubble writing hardly told him we're disturbing the peace. A quick mention of my dissertation convinced him to spill."

Sam bites his lip, narrowing his eyes a little. He nods, though he's inexplicably on edge. She clears her throat.

"They're old Roman city ruins - a couple hours from here. Karam had a hand in the start of its excavation. Apparently..." She stops to go over her notes, "him and his wife -"

"Emaan's parents?" Scott interjects, arms folded in interest.

"Yep - they put in a bid for it when official funding for the excavation stopped in favour of Petra. He was convinced there was more there to be found, and wanted to fund it himself."

"So the Sadirs... owned this site?" 

"That's what I've surmised. Yeah. Could’ve used it for anything."

Scott nods, pouting in a way that reads 'not bad'. She lights up. Sam lowers his sunglasses again just in time to roll his eyes.

"I'm going to presume that's our next stop then?" He asks.

"Thought you weren't convinced." She glouts, raising her brows up at him, head tilted.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "You're right." He sniffs, nodding. "It's more than we've found."

She gives him a relieved half-smile. It's laced with what he thinks is some sort of sympathy.

"Alright, well," Scott says, thumping them both on the back as he begins to walk ahead of them both, "I'm off to act like a tourist for the rest of the day. We can suss out next steps tonight."

As Scott strides off, blatantly giddy, Sam watches him disappear into the crowd, feeling a momentary pang of relief. But that comfort is short-lived as he glances back at her. She’s still looking up at him, brow slightly raised, waiting for him to say something. It's awkward, but she's unrelenting. A London thing, perhaps? He shifts uncomfortably, a bit too aware of her proximity and the glint of expectation in her crinkled brows. Oh, she's ballsy.

He sighs. “Look, I wasn’t-” He stops himself, catching the slightest hint of frustration flickering across her face. He doesn’t want to make this into a whole thing, doesn’t want to admit outright he might’ve overreacted or sounded harsh. “Just… good work.” he mutters instead, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking off to the horizon. He can feel the moment teeter on the edge of unresolved tension, and he isn’t quite sure how to balance it.

But she only drops her shoulders and smiles, that same easy, understanding smile that somehow always makes him feel like the asshole in the room. “Don’t worry,” she says, amusement softening her voice. “I didn’t tell him we’re planning to raid his ancestors’ graves. Yet.”

“Glad to know you can keep it subtle,” he mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

The awkward moment stretches, her expression softening as she tilts her head. “Maybe next time you’ll trust me to handle things without…” She trails off, and he braces himself for the jab that never quite lands. Instead, she holds up her phone, grinning, tonguing her teeth. “Actually, if you’re serious about making it up to me, then maybe I’ll settle for a picture.”

He scoffs, shifting his weight. “You serious?”

Her smile is downright playful. “Oh, come on. You owe me at least one nice memory from this godforsaken climb. Besides,” she taps his arm teasingly, “think of it as evidence of the fact that we actually get on very well when you haven't got a pole rammed up your arse.”

Before he can protest, she nudges up beside him, raising her phone, her arm hooked around his shoulders as she leans in. He barely has time to force a smile, but she catches him off-guard - leaning up, she presses her lips to his cheek as the shutter clicks.

The instant it registers, his bravado turns to dust. She steps back, grinning, scrolling through the photo while he’s left blinking, thrown off by the sudden, chaste affection.

“Perfect,” she chirps, giving him a quick wink. “Now, let’s get down from here before I succumb to altitude sickness.”

She heads off, leaving Sam standing there, blinking after her, mind spinning with the confusion of that sudden kiss and how effortlessly she brushed it off. A corner of his mouth twitches as he watches her go.

Ah, shit.

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

hi bestie pls write Nikolai comforting you after having a nightmare thanks xox

You think you're so slick, babe.

No Rest For The Wicked - Nikolai Lantsov

Content Warnings: Nightmare Content. Reference To Trauma, Death, Loss And Fear. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy

You're not dying, no that would be too easy.

Dying would almost be kinder, no you're not dying, you're watching everything else fall apart.

Nikolai's face should be a reassurance, Nikolai's voice in the dark would normally make you feel better. But right now, in this darkness, seeing his eyes is a new kind of pain. Knowing that he is only here, to be taken from you. Like everything is always taken from you. And you know there is nothing you can do to stop it.

You feel his grip on your arm, his blood on your hands, his skin turning cold, and his voice fading.

But you hear him saying your name, over and over, like a prayer, or a quiet wish.

You're not sure exactly when it stopped being a voice in your dream and when you started to wake to Nikolai sat beside your bed, hand gently placed on your arm, calling your name in the softest tone he can. His hair is still rustled and messy from sleep, and his eyes still not fully awake but so soft on you.

"You awake?" He whispers, his eyes roaming over you. "You're shaking."

"I dreamt about you," you say, the hitch in your breath more noticeable than you'd like in the quiet.

"Well love I would normally be flattered, but you don't seem to have had a good dream," he says. You laugh, it hurts your throat but you laugh anyway. You feel safer knowing he is here, you're glad here is here. You would've never gone to find him, but you're so glad he found you. He pulled you from your worst fears, he has a way of doing that.

"That's not your fault," you tell him. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Good, because if I had to fight a dream version of myself I am not entirely confident I would win, but I would never admit that," he cocks his head to the side, seeing the way your breath is still shuddering out of you. "I am sorry, can I do anything?"

"Tell me what's real," you say, gathering the energy to sit up.

"Well if you're getting all philosophical on me," he says.

"Kolya," you whisper a warning. He looks at you, softer again somehow. But now could he deny you, all shaken and half awake, his name in your mouth. He couldn't deny you anything.

"It's nearly morning," he says. "I heard you, you sounded scared and I came as fast as I could."

"Nikolai, always the hero," you say. "It's nearly morning?" He nods. "Just in time to watch the sunrise. Do you want to watch the sunrise?"

"I guess you could say I am, right now," he says, edges of his lips curling up. You give him a tiny shove.

"You cannot turn down an opportunity to flirt can you?"

"You wanted a reminder of what's real, what is more real than that?" He asks. You nod, agreeing with him. "The sun will be rising soon, I can get you my coat if you want to watch."

You nod, pulling your knees to your chest. "Yeah, I would like that."

"I'll get you that coat."

"I'll be waiting."

[lady-bess]

Birthday Wishes

Joel Miller x F!Reader Teen/ 13+ (References to sex - all implied) 1.7k words Notable tags: Fluff, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Surprise, Kisses, Soft Joel, Reader is Joel's wife, Use of Pet Names.

A/N: For my dear friend, Mrs. Miller herself, @joels-darlin 💕 I hope you have a wonderful birthday 🥰 Consider this just a small thank you for putting up with me!

Lots of love,

LadyBess xox

Tumblr Masterlist | A03 Link

“Darlin’?” Joel called out into your bedroom, the light from the hallway shining through as he gently cracked open the door.

You stirred in bed, rousing yourself from slumber slowly, letting the warm glow from the hallway lamp gently seep in behind heavy eyelids. Inhaling sharply, you grunted softly as you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand, ridding them of sleep.

“Joel?” you questioned, not awake enough to know if you were actually conscious, or if you were just dreaming about your husband. But the chuckle that emanated from the tall, broad figure which strode towards you helped you see that you were very much awake.

“It’s only me, sweet thing. Woke you from quite a slumber here, haven’t I?” he said, heading towards the bed so that he could perch on the edge of it. You smiled up at him, your vision now focusing in on him at last. His dark brown hair, curled towards the end of his locks, was still mussed up from sleep. His facial hair, patchy in parts, was slowly starting to grow back in and take form as a proper beard rather than the usual scruff he donned. But his eyes - warm, golden brown, and shining in the light - they were what you focused on the most.

“Yeah, I was out cold,” you chuckled, “What time is it, anyway?”.

“Time the birthday girl woke up,” Joel teased, leaning forward and catching your lips in a tender kiss. You smiled against his lips as you kissed him back, but whined playfully when he pulled away.

“Joel, you know I said I don’t want you making a fuss about my birthday,” you said. You’d hated your birthday for years, seeing it as nothing more than a reminder that you were getting older, and that it had been another year since the world went to shit. But, in spite of all what could get you down if you chose to lament on it, Joel was one bright spark in everything. Life in Jackson was entirely different with him by your side - and for all the best reasons.

“Yeah, I know whatcha said; but that don’t mean I’m gonna listen now, does it?” he said, chuckling to himself as he got to his feet. He turned on his heels, facing you to lean down, his arm outstretched towards you. With a hand open, you grinned, and decided you’d indulge in whatever Joel had insisted on spoiling you with.

“Fine,” you giggled, taking his hand and letting him guide you out of bed.

“Good girl,” he said, squeezing your hand as you rose to stand by his side. You shuddered slightly at the praise, the phrase usually being something only reserved for when the two of you would get caught up with each other in the sheets - something that did not pass Joel by, as he smirked at the visible redness you felt creep onto your cheeks.

“Come on now,” he said, and with that he led you out the bedroom and downstairs towards your lounge.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, somewhat suspicious that there was a distinct silence in the house. She’d inadvertently become your adopted daughter since you and Joel had begun dating, but you took to each other almost overnight. For as much as you’d curse her the mornings she had you up early even after a late night on patrol, you loved her to the end of the earth, and with a single sweet smile she could undo any annoyance you held.

“Never you mind that,” Joel chuckled, “Gosh darn it, you are just so impatient aren’t ya?” he asked.

“It’s not that! I’m just not used to a quiet house,” you giggled.

“Alright, you got me there. I ain’t never met a teenager who can be so rowdy,” he said, still clutching your hand as the two of you reached the bottom of your staircase.

“Should have met me in my hay-day,” you teased, smirking at Joel. His eyes went wide at you, a childish grin creeping onto his face.

“Oh, sugar, I can imagine you causing all sortsa trouble,” he said, stopping in his tracks briefly to pull you in for a kiss. You smiled as you wrapped your arms around his torso, holding his broad frame close to yours, enveloping yourself in his warmth as your lips melded together. His tongue gently lapped at the seam of your lips, almost begging for entry. But before you could grant it, he pulled away.

“How about you be on your best behaviour today, and as a little birthday treat I’ll let you misbehave with me tonight, yeah?” he murmured between your lips, his breath hot against your skin, his words sending another shiver down your spine. All you could do was purse your lips together, nodding slowly as arousal surged through you.

“Atta girl,” he said, landing a gentle spank to your ass before going back to take your hand.

This man, you thought to yourself.

“Come on, onwards we go!” he said, starting to walk you along the hallway and down towards the lounge.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” you said, ignoring the playful eyebrow raise Joel gave you for the euphemism.

You both reached the door to your lounge, and Joel stopped in his tracks. He let go of your hand but turned to face you.

“Okay, close your eyes,” he said.

“What?” you asked.

“I said close your eyes, fool!” he chuckled, then moved to stand behind you. He pulled your body flush into his, his hands landing on your hips and a kiss planted itself on your earlobe.

“What if I don’t want to?” you teased. Joel groaned to himself, squeezing your hips gently as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“It’s a good job I love you some days,” he chuckled, then raised his hands up towards your head by skimming them up your body. The rough pads of calloused fingers, evidence of a life lived hard, now gently caressed the material of your nightwear, a stark contrast to the man you first met. What was once a stoic, rough outer shell, had given way to a soft and tender core.

“I’m gonna cover your eyes, sugar. Got a surprise waiting for you in there,” he said. You were about to protest, tell him how unnecessary this all was, and that you could just walk straight in. But it was like Joel somehow knew those cogs were whirring away in your head, and with a soft kiss to your jaw, the thoughts ceased entirely.

“And I won’t take no for an answer. Got it?” he asked. You nodded, deciding you were going to allow him this one.

Joel raised his hands and gently covered your eyes with the palms of his hands. You smiled as he did, reaching up to hold his wrists for a little stability now that you were essentially blinded.

“Okay, take two steps forward, then the door handle is on the left,” he said, and the two of you shuffled forward closer to the door. You reached forward to find the cold metal of the handle, smiling to yourself as you did.

“I know where the handle is to my own lounge door, Joel,” you teased, sarcasm laced in your voice. But before he could quip back, the metal clunk of the handle sounded, and slowly the door began to creak open in front of you.

“Alright, smart ass, just a few more steps for me,” Joel said, and you both continued to gently step forward, his body still firmly pressing into yours. Even without sight, Joel’s presence behind you gave you a stability you so adored - something he had provided since your first meeting, without even realising it.

“Okay, I’m gonna take my hands off now. Are you ready?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” you said, letting go of Joel’s wrists.

“Alright. Three, two, one,” he began, and light flooded through behind your eyes as Joel’s hands lifted off your eyes. You opened them slowly, only to be greeted with a sea of smiling faces.

“Happy birthday!” was cheered from the voices of all those in Jackson you loved the most. Joel, Tommy, and Ellie were the loudest, as to be expected. But there were also your friends and neighbours, notably Elizabeth and Brianna, whom you’d worked alongside since arriving in Jackson.

Your heart swelled with love and adoration as you looked out at everyone in the room, all happily together in a room filled with handmade presents wrapped in brown paper, and platters of delicious looking food out on the table in front of you. A small tear crept into the corner of your eye, taken back by the kindness and selflessness of all these people you loved so dearly. Joel’s hands on your waist was the only thing that brought you hurtling back to reality.

“You alright, doll?” he said. You nodded, smiling out at everyone before turning to him.

“I am, yes,” you said. “Thank you for this, Joel.”

“Don’t thank me. You’ve got Ellie, Bess, and Bri to thank for this,” he said, “I was just the ring leader who told everyone what time you slept in until,” he chuckled.

“Hey, no fair! This was my idea!” Ellie proudly exclaimed, folding her arms over her puffed out chest, pleased as punch for how this morning had turned out. You laughed with her, stepping away from Joel and heading over to her, pulling her in for a hug.

“Thank you, Ellie. Thank you, everyone,” you said.

The day was spent unwrapping delicately made gifts, eating an ungodly amount of food, and laughing and joking with everyone you loved most in the world. You’d had such a good time that you’d almost forgotten that today was meant to be for your birthday, a day you often resented. But, just as with most things in your life, Joel had found a way to bring some sunshine into it.

Even at the end of the world, there was hope littered throughout, in moments like these. On days like today, it was easy to forget the torment you’d all endured, and that you’d had to fight tooth and nail just to survive for this long. In a way, this felt like a well deserved reward for making it so long.

But for you, the real prize was the man who took you to bed that night, keeping to his promise to let you misbehave, and keeping you up until the early morning seeing stars.

Tumblr Masterlist | A03 Profile

[bukunmiakintola20]

why are u black girls always so fucking loud about being in college/ or being a med student, it's normal, u want an award or something for it? congrats bud anyways

Thanks so much for this comment💖 I am proud to be a medical student and it’s not just me. All medical students literally never shut up about how they are medical students. It’s because once you are in medicine, it consumes your life. This is because it is an intensive course. Probably one of the most intense you can take. All your time is devoted to your degree. You eat, breath, sleep medicine. Even humour becomes medical based. You are right that I’m not unique, down to the fact that I openly state and talk about being a medical student.

But I mainly talk about fashion and my life in general here. Perhaps, you’re jealous? Or frustrated with yourself? Everyone takes life at their own pace, and if you put your mind and energy to it, you can achieve what you want achieve. It’s never too late and it’s always okay to fail. And if you are successful, congrats. I’m sure you’ve earned it as well. Xox pumpkin 💓

From your favourite Nigerian,

[student-in-nightraven]

hii, could i rq a matchup with anyone from obey me, twst or kamisama kiss? ☆⌒ヽ(*'､^*)

im a bi girl, 5'3, intp-t 4w5 + aquarius, id say im some kind of ambiverted like 60% awkward-reserved-anti-social introvert and 40% chaotic, rambly, all over the place, once i start i dont stop extrovert?? depends on my mood i think (˘∀˘) for some random traits i'm erratic, eccentric, conscientious, creative, empathetic, unserious, sarcastic, not a team player and definitely come across as strange to literally anyone not used to me

hmmmm some hobbies i have are baking, writing, editing and arts + crafts (drawing, painting, making my own random stuff like candles, soap, stickers) - very practical very fun 🧝‍♀️ i also like gaming when i have time which is basically always bc im lazy and hate work, i leave everything last minute and procrastinate so much bc i and i'd rather be doing what i want instead of boring stuff 😒👎 it all ends up rushed and low effort unless im passionate abt it. probably why i'm also never on time but that's also bc i love sleeping

if i had to pick a label for whatever my style's supposed to be {bc i just dress in whatever looks good tbh} i'd say a hybrid of grunge and indie maybe💪😘 i take pride in my dress sense actually i think its gojus (μ_μ)

i have collections/mini collections of a couple things - plushies, crystals, stickers, bracelets and i keep anything and everything people might give me, i've done it as long as i can remember, like not even gifts just if someone gives me a rock or a piece of stationery or origami etc it'll be in my possession forever i'm too sentimental to get rid of anything, i have so much scattered everywhere it's unfunny 🧍‍♀️ i think my love languages are physical affection bc i love closeness altho im crap with emotional stuff but words of affirmation and mushy fluffy stuff can be pretty neat {even if it's embarrassing and awkward xox} + gifts bc i love buying myself stuff and receiving presents, i also like giving them but i feel like i'm spending too little or too much or compare it to what they give back to me and feel like it's not good enough or what they'd want bc i'm usually either too stingy or spend too much and think too much + feel bad when it feels like i don't give back to people as much as they give to me in any sense?? | (• -•)|

i love purple, literature, rock/pop/dance/techno music, space, halloween, history, things that smell nice/scented stuff, philosophy, nature, horror, psychology, fantasy, sweet/sour/salty foods, and animals {especially my bunnies ofc, my pride and joy <3} so im working towards becoming a vet bc im good w science and i'd definitely rather look after them than humans bc i am not a people person i'd fail miserably xox

i don't like ppl who are ignorant or inconsiderate bc they're annoying and punchable, my family, the ocean bc it's scary and doing embarrassing stuff which tbh is basically everything smh

anyways i tried to condense whatever i could think of LMAO but i cba to do anymore 💀💌 thank u!!

The Kamisama requests always make me happy:')

I match you with..

..

...Mizuki!

The most gentle and sweet lover in the whole world.

He matches you like CRAZY, soulmates real;

Loves being chaotic with you, getting caught up in shenanigans and being lovey dovey with you;

He just randomly snuggles up to you whether it's in his snake form or human form, if snake form let's out occasional cute bloops that you die for, he also does the cute snake yawn, he knows it's cute and he's doing it on PURPOSE;

I hc that mizuki is great at portraits and has painting sessions with you in which you 2 paint in peace and show eachother the piece;

You teach him how to properly bake so that he doesn't drop lizards in almost everything you bake-

"but-but it's for good luck:("

"Mizuki, no"

He encourages you not wanting to work and lazes off with you, if for no reason Tomoe comes over he annoyingly comments on how as your familiar mizuki shouldn't encourage this but who listens to him;

Spends mornings sleeping in with you, if you have to go to school he'll just transform into his snake form and accompany you there!

Loves your collection of crystals and other things, so he finds the most beautiful crystals just for you♡

Loves your bunnies and cradles them in his hands, your basically a family, your bunnies have a dad now;

So in all he's the perfect match for you, the most peaceful and loveable relationship ♡⁠˖

Thank you for the request dear annon! May you have a wonderful week<3

[phdmama]

For the ask game, may I prompt either 12 (things you said when you thought I was asleep) or 14 (things you said after we kissed), whichever speaks to you, for Drarry please? 💜

You absolutely can, pal! (Hopefully you won't be offended by the smut!) (Also this isn't quite SOOC (straight out of the camera) but it's pretty darn close!) I hope you enjoy it!! xox

For 14: things you said after we kissed

Drarry, ~1570 words, Explicit

Potter talks in his sleep.

This fact is less astounding than the one that accompanies it — that is, the fact that it’s Draco Malfoy who knows this.

Oh, Draco’s not the only one, he’s well-aware. Granger knows, obviously. Even though they don’t ever talk about it, somehow the entire school is completely aware of the story of the Golden Trio’s heroic journey seeking Horcruxes, including Granger and Potter bunking together in close quarters for months. Weasley must know as well, given that he’s shared a room with Potter off and on for years, even after the Final Battle. Probably all those Gryffindors do. Maybe Potter’s had bed partners who’ve been privy to those moments, though Draco’s heard the rumours that Potter never allows anyone into his home and never, ever spends the night.

So how has Draco come to be privy to this information? For the last year and then some, Potter and Malfoy have been the unlikeliest of roommates at University.  They were paired together by Oxford’s version of the Sorting Hat (it’s far less dramatic — the magic is tied to your acceptance letter, so that when you show up on Move-In Day, you’ve been assigned to room with your most compatible classmate). When Draco had stepped into their first year dorm room, his heart had dropped at the sight of Potter stretched out on the bed furthest from the door, but Potter had simply stood up and held out his hand with a cool “Malfoy,” and that, as they say, had been that. 

At first they had just sort of existed in parallel planes in the room, side by side but never intersecting, but it turns out, the sheer fact of spending that much time in close proximity to one another had ended up…  not erasing the past but somehow allowing it to fade into the distance. Once you’ve seen a man drooling toothpaste down his chin as he rants about his fucking psychopotionology professor, or stumbling around with the most astonishing bedhead imaginable before coffee and an early class, or averted your eyes from his morning wood during said stumbling, well. It’s hard to keep one’s distance, is all. Things had gone so well that they’d signed up to room together again this year.

Anyway, all this is to say, yes, Potter talks in his sleep and Draco knows about it. Potter had mentioned it diffidently as Draco had unpacked his things that first day, and Draco had somehow failed to remind Potter of the fact that they’re both wizards and certainly capable of spells that might solve the concern of Potter bothering Draco. Draco hadn’t said anything other than “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

It turns out, Draco was completely wrong about this, but not for the reasons you might think. It’s a problem not because Potter is loud, he’s actually quite soft-spoken in his sleep, and it’s not that Potter is keeping Draco from sleeping, because Draco doesn’t sleep well.

No, it’s a problem because of what Potter says. Some nights it’s just incomprehensible mumbling, with maybe one or two words distinguishable amongst the gibberish. That’s not so bad. Some nights it’s awful, muffled whimpers and pleas, where Potter whispers Weasley’s name, or Granger’s, anguished and defeated. It’s all Draco can do to keep from bridging the divide between their two beds to try and offer some simple human comfort. Some nights it’s hilarious, and the next morning Potter will invariably say, “I had the craziest dream last night,” and tell Draco a story about being a prize-winning cheese rolling down a hill or being able to talk to sheep or whatever. 

Tonight, though, it’s clear Potter is having a vivid dream, but not one of the hilarious ones. No, this is the worst kind of night because Potter is… well, there’s no other way to put it. Potter is having a sex dream and the noises he makes are almost too much for Draco to bear. These dreams hadn’t started until several months into their first year, and they were rare enough at first that Draco could bolt to the ensuite and wait it out. 

But apparently, Potter came back from summer hols horny, because the dreams have been happening more and more frequently, to the point where Draco is about to either hire Potter an escort or just suck his dick, which, if Draco’s being honest, is something he’d love to do even if he weren’t up at night listening to Potter moaning. Like, tonight for example. Potter’s been getting louder than usual for the last several minutes, groaning into his pillow as his hips rock against the mattress. 

Draco has resolutely turned his back to Potter and pulled his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to block out the noise, but he can hear the way Potter’s movements are speeding up, the way Potter chants yeah yeah fuck like that yeah but then something happens that has not happened before. 

Potter sucks in his breath on a gasp and says, oh yeah fuck, like that Draco, just like that, and comes.

Draco feels every muscle in his body lock up and he bites his tongue to keep from shouting.

Did that. What. That was. Potter just said Draco’s name. In his sleep. During a sex dream.

As he was coming.

Draco carefully lifts the pillow from his head and rolls quietly onto his back. In the other bed, Potter is unmoving now, and Draco can hear the way Potter’s breath is slowing down and evening out, until soon, Potter is quiet and, one supposes, dreamless in the aftermath of a really good orgasm. At least, Draco assumes it was good.

It sounded good.

But Draco is not sleeping, dreamless or otherwise. No, Draco’s eyes are wide open and staring at the ceiling he can’t even see. His heart is racing and his mouth is dry and. Well. 

His cock is hard. Like, really hard. Draco heroically battles against the urge to reach into his loose, cotton, sleep pants and wrap a hand around himself, instead holding himself still in the dark, listening intently for any indication that Potter is anything but deeply asleep. There’s nothing, just Potter’s slow breathing and occasionally snuffles. Draco swallows. 

It’s not that he’s never wanked with Potter in the room but there’s a kind of etiquette to it, and getting off because your roommate just got off while asleep feels somewhat not on. But times are dire and needs must, so after giving it another minute, Draco gives in, shoves the duvet down below his waist.

He starts slow, inhaling as he reaches deep within himself to call his Lubrico, trying not to make a sound at how good it feels as the warm and fragrant oil coats his palm, easing the glide of his hand. The familiar scent, spicy and citrus, reaches his nose and for a moment he wonders if Potter will smell it in the morning. He imagines Potter waking up to sticky sleep pants and the scent of Draco’s Lubrico, wonders if that would turn him on.

The thing is, there have been some moments of late, where there’s been… this feeling. Draco can’t really explain it but it feels like there’s something drawing them towards each other, kindling laid on a hearth, just waiting for the match. There’ve been late nights where they’ve been the last ones in the common room, pressed up against one another even though there’s plenty of room to spread out on the couch. Running into each other on campus and talking until they’re both late for lecture, reluctant to let the other go. Their eyes meeting in the mirror of the bathroom as they get ready for bed and it feels like all Draco would need to do would be to take one step closer.

There’s more, the way Potter’s smile changes of late when he sees Draco in the dining hall, the way he always waits for Draco in the  morning so they can go get coffee before lab, the way Potter’s gaze feels, heavy and hopeful as Draco slides into the booth next to him for pub night. All this flows through Draco as he arches up into his own fist, hand moving faster now.

He imagines what it would be like, leaning in on one of those late nights. It’s not just the thought of Potter on his knees in front of him, though. It’s picturing a kiss as they part ways after lunch, holding hands at the cinema every Friday, or legs tangled together as they study. It’s sliding into Potter’s bed to wrap his body around Potter’s on the bad nights. It’s nothing special and everything all at once that takes Draco over the edge, and he can’t help the way he murmurs Potter’s name as he comes, trying to be as quiet as he can, but the words filling his heart have to overflow somewhere.

Draco collapses back onto the pillows, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he catches his breath, checking in to make sure everything is still quiet over on Potter’s side of the room. He wipes his hand off on his t-shirt, and rolls over, lets himself finally rest. 

Draco is almost asleep when Potter stirs and begins to talk.

“Draco,” he says quietly, and then again, “Draco. Next time, Draco. Wait for me.”

Oh. Oh no.

Potter’s awake.

[foreverunfound]

January log + February goals

Hi guys! I know I've been kinda off the tumblr for the whole month but I didn't slack really. i've been focusing on my goals, did mass up a little bit so I got a whole 1 kg on plus. I was trying to improve my habits and my work was a little bit crazy-stressy for the whole month. I hope it's gonna stabilise slowly.

Anyway I need to get more consistent, so here are february goals:

Eat clean

Strenght training 3 times a week - lately I was having 2 times (but hardcore ones tho) and I would like to be more regular

Sleep better - i don't sleep enough so I guess that would improve my overall fitness

Drink more water

What are your goals for this month? xox

[mediawhorefics]

1, 18 and a wildcard of your choice for the behind the scenes ask, pls and thank youuuuu!! if those don’t spark joy, or you’ve already done them, feel free to swap them out for something else! xox

What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

written AND posted? one direction/hl. before that? i wrote some paragraphs of hp stuff back in the day. nothing i ever finished or ever posted anywhere. the 1d fandom was the first time i engaged in fandom as anything other than a reader/passive consumer.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

i'm really proud of this bit from for which no words exist.

Dean looks at his hands, soft on Castiel’s back. They’re strong sturdy hands, made for hard work and they have worked hard. They’ve killed and they’ve beaten; they’ve tortured and they’ve threatened; they’ve caused a lot of harm in the name of the family business. Carved by his father’s hands into his father’s hands. Dean can’t look at them without seeing his old man, fingers wrapped around a drink or a weapon. The older he’s gotten, the worst it is; the same calluses, the same veins, the same knuckles, the same wrinkles. Even the lines in the palms, unique to all, echo the one who taught him to tighten his hand into a fist and hit. Sometimes, irrationally, Dean envies Sam’s hands. They’re not Winchester hands. They’re Campbell’s or someone else’s up their line, but they’re not John Winchester’s, the fingers longer, the palm narrower… 

But maybe, Dean thinks as he very carefully, very tenderly, washes Cas’ back, his fingers barely a pressure on Cas’ skin, attentive to every tremor as he rinses the soap off, maybe they are Castiel’s hands too, remade by him bone by bone, tendon by tendon, pore by pore, infused with his grace, with his belief, when he raised Dean from hell. Not unlike Eve made from her lover’s ribs. Maybe, now that Chuck is gone, Dean can finally let his hands be good for this too. 

Maybe, when he looks down, he can stop seeing John Winchester’s hands. 

funnily enough, i wrote the bulk of this fic half asleep at like... 4am. i woke up inspired and kind just grabbed my phone and opened a note and most of the emotional bits of that story were written that way. maybe i should write sleep deprived more because i'm really proud of that one haha.

the inspiration for this passage is a bit weird and actually from my own life... i've always hated my hands, ever since i was little, and it wasn't until i realised that they were my grandfather's hands that i started loving them, esp. now that he's passed away. we were really close and while sometimes i do wish my body looked different, i have a real fondness for my hands now that i see them as a gift from someone i loved very much.

ofc this passage doesn't quite describe the same thing but i wanted to convey the idea of lineage, of what that can mean physically to have reminders of your lineage, and ofc the concept of reclaiming something and giving it new meaning. i don't think it's a secret that i'm a slut for hands imagery anyways and i've always liked the dichotomy of dean's character, both a very violent man but also a caretaker, so his hands in that story/that passage become a symbol of that. and then ofc there's a fair bit of comparison b/w dean and his father in spn, that whole dean spent so long imitating an angry man that he became one etc etc. so i used the idea of them having the same hands to illustrate that parallel, with the caveat that castiel has had a hand (wink wink) in remaking dean. and how through loving castiel he can then step away from the comparison and see his hands/himself as something else. idk why i'm explaining it, the metaphor is pretty self-explanatory but yeah shoutout to my grandad who was a weirdo who didn't care what anyone thought of him and who didn't give a crap about authority/hierarchy and saw everyone as on the same level. this passage IS dedicated to him.

[umichenginabroad]

Stockholm Week 5: Late Nights and Long Naps

Hej hej! This week was the longest week for me. It was less going out and more cooking than other weeks because I stayed in my room for a substantial period. I had multiple very late nights due to assignments, but hopefully it’ll get better soon :) 

2/12 Mon: Nap #1

I went on another ICA trip to see what groceries to buy. We ate almost everything in our fridge before Core Course Week and did not have anything to eat. 

I used the pre-made Thai curry sauce for lunch. 

Unfortunately, it was too coconut-y for me but my roommate liked it so it canceled out

A severe food coma hit me and my supposed 20-minute nap turned into a 3-hour nap… XoX

For the rest of the night, I focused on doing homework for my online Reactions class for my major. It was due on Valentine's Day (Professor quote-on-quote said the homework is due on Valentine’s Day but you are chemical engineers so you don’t have anything to do anyway, right?). I ended up sleeping at 4 am ;-;

2/13 Tue: The Chestnut Man

Snow covered Stockholm overnight. 

Subway view on my way to DIS building 

I was happy to see the snow again but nervous that I’d finally slip on the ice this time. I haven’t slipped yet and I want to keep it that way for the entire semester! 

In Crime Fiction class (my favorite so far), we watched episode 2 of the Netflix series The Chestnut Man. I recommend it to anyone who likes mystery and thrillers like me. Swedish culture is well integrated as the main theme of the series. The music and production of the film were spectacular in creating tension. 

There is some gore in it, but if you don’t like it you can cover your eyes for a bit. I’m a big scaredy cat myself so if I can manage it, then you can too. 

After classes, time flew by. It was 2 pm when I came back from another ICA run, 3 pm when I put in the laundry and cooked lunch, and 4:30 pm when I finished lunch and laundry. Day after day I am discovering how much time is needed for housework. 

I loved these heart-shaped containers - they really know how to sell things 

2/14 Wed: Swedish History Museum with Galentines on Top

My Swedish class had the first field trip to the Swedish History Museum, historiska museet. There were various exhibitions ranging from the Gold Room to the Viking World. 

We had fika before going around the exhibitions and this was a Valentine's Day-themed semla. Isn’t it so cute <3 

I also took part in raising the Valentine’s Day spirit by weaving a heart

I focused on the Prehistories exhibition with my assigned group. With some time left over, I ran to the Gold Room to see 52 kg of gold with my own eyes. I was fascinated by the intricacy of the handmade gold and silver accessories from hundreds and even thousands of years ago. 

We had a heated debate on what this is. At first, I thought it was a detachable crown but when I searched it up it was an agate bowl reliquary

When the museum visit ended at 12:30 pm, I headed back towards DIS for lunch. My friend and I went to Matchaya again.

Unadon and miso-based ramen were both good and fulfilling :)

As we always do, we had a tremendous amount of work to do (I don’t know why). Since only a couple of cafes stay open until the evenings, we went back to the DIS building to do work. She introduced me to reservable study rooms and we were surprisingly productive there. It definitely won’t be the last time I’m studying there. 

But of course, I gave in to a food coma and took a brief nap 

Three hours of intense studying passed and we managed to get back to our apartment for dinner. I did more homework until 10 pm when our friends gathered in our room to have a little Galentines party. We had a fun time talking and watching Pretty Woman. 

The aftermath, sugar rush, was the only bad thing 

2/15 Thu: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

I had a lazy morning thanks to my morning class getting canceled. After the three-hour core course, I came back home to meal prep for the next day.

My homework for Friday was to finish reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo for the Scandinavian Crime Fiction class. It turns out I really underestimated how long it’s going to take me to finish the book. I ended up finishing the book at 4 am. It was definitely not a quick read, but the storyline and the plot twists made it a very interesting read. I highly recommend it! 

2/16 Fri: Sandwich, French Toast, and Churros

When I came back home from school, I quickly made a sandwich so that I could take a nap asap. I knew I was going to have a big nap but did not know it’d be four hours. 

I am getting better at cooking. Can you tell?!

I woke up at 7:30 pm and some of my friends had gone to Gamla Stan to buy churros. A friend invited me to try her fried rice for dinner so I made French toast for her in return. 

By far the best French toast I made! 

I slept late again though, doing homework. As exams and papers and projects approach me, it is getting harder for me to let go/lower/put down pressure to get good grades. It’s my main area of improvement that I have to work more on. 

2/17 Sat: Guided Tour of Gripsholm

I got off the waitlist for a DIS-hosted guided tour of the 14th-century Swedish castle, Gripsholm! It is a castle owned by the Swedish Royal Family that is around 50 minutes away from Stockholm by bus. According to the guide, it was first built as a fortress but later turned into the royal court’s place of residence. Now, it serves as a museum open to the public. 

Touring the gigantic castle for 1.5 hours knocked out everyone on the bus ride home

On the way back to my apartment, I was craving sweets so I checked the app TooGoodToGo. It has a list of participating restaurants and bakeries that sell leftovers of the day for cheap prices. Customers like me can buy random surprise bags and sellers do not have to throw away food in perfectly fine conditions. 

I found a bakery in my subway station selling a cake for $9, so I gave it a try. I thought I’d get multiple cake pieces but no; I got an entire cake for $9! A couple was running the store and even gave me a chance to choose the type of cake I wanted. They suggested the chocolate cake so that’s what I ended up picking. After a small talk, they even offered me a Semla to take home :) 

The chocolate cake was really good; it was not too sweet, just as how I like it to be

For the rest of the night, I worked on this blog and studied for my online test on Sunday. 

2/18 Sun: Grind Grind Grind

Guess what! I pushed back my test to Wednesday.

I studied the whole day today (like 10 hours) but did not reach the point I wanted to be at with my knowledge. I knew that taking the test without being fully prepared was going to bother me so I gave up trying to finish it this weekend. 

I will update you all with more interesting events next week! Sneak peek - I am traveling to London over the weekend to meet my beloved UMich friends who are on their spring break <3

Thank you for reading this long long blog! Hope to see you again :) 

Tack så mycket, 

Jiwoo Kim 

Chemical Engineering

DIS Study Abroad in Stockholm, Sweden

[crockettmarcel]

pretty sure my dad’s on a mission to piss me off as much as possible...

yesterday he said “little women like you don’t become bus drivers” (I’m 5′1), and today when I told him that I was in so much pain last night that I didn’t get to sleep until almost 2am he told me to spend less time on my phone before bed??

great suggestion dad, but only if the reason I couldn’t sleep was because I was on my phone! unfortunately, it was because I had severe pain going from my knees down to my feet and I didn’t have any painkillers :)

[wordsablaze]

this isn't even nearly enough fics for such a beautiful, deserving film and i'm incredibly tempted to help increase the number...

[bxcketbarnes]

Reality Check

Pairing: Jefferson x Reader

Words: 3800+

Author’s Note: So, I really really love Jefferson. Even though he’s a bit psychotic, he’s a softie. Such a cutie. Ugh, love him to pieces. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this idea and how it played out. I had a fun time writing it and will possibly write a part two to it! Let me know what you think! Much love! xox

"So, what exactly am I doing here?" You ask your sister, your fingers tapping against the passenger door of her vehicle.

Emma sighs and runs a hand through her blonde hair, taking a quick glance towards you. "One of my friends was convicted for a crime she didn't commit and now she's gone missing. I need to find her before her arraignment tomorrow," she explains quickly and you let out an ah.

"Okay, still doesn't explain why I'm here?" You laugh while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I was perfectly fine sleeping in my bed at home, but no."

The blonde glares at you and you release a sigh. "Look, I get it. This isn't what you want to do in the middle of the night, but I figured since we haven't seen each other in years that I couldn't hurt to hang out," Emma mentions and you rest your head against the seat.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm sorry, I'm just… a little crabby. Jesse broke up with me the other day," you tell her, your thoughts being filled with the man who cheated on you. "Five fucking years down the drain."

Emma frowns as you find yourself looking out the passenger window, swallowing the lump that's now embedded in your throat. "I'm sorry, Y/N," she whispers and you let out a dry laugh.

"It's fine. I wasn't happy for a while, so it's for the best," you reassure her, glancing over at her with a fake smile.

She's about to speak when her eyes widen, seeing a figure walking along the side of the dirt road and swerving her vehicle out of the way. You notice the man jumping out of the way before he tumbles down a hill, a gasp leaving your lips.

"Oh my god!" Both of you exclaim at the same time before the two of you exit the vehicle.

"A-Are you okay?" You ask the man, a bit stunned by his beauty when he looks up at you.

The brunette lets out a short laugh as you help him up the hill, your hand wrapped around his bicep. "I'm fine," he mumbles as Emma runs up to the two of you.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," she apologizes and the man raises his hand, letting her know that it was alright.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stealthily check out the man in front of you. He's so cute. You think to yourself as you take in his blue eyes, pink lips, a bit of stubble encasing the lower half of his face.

The man tucks his hands into his pockets and you snap yourself out of your thoughts, missing the entire conversation the two of them had. He begins to walk away when both you and your sister notice him limping.

"I thought you said you were fine?"

"You are hurt!"

A giggle leaves your lips as you both speak, the man in front of you stopping in his tracks before glancing down at his foot. "Ah, I just twisted my ankle, I think," he chuckles and motions his head further down the gloomy path. "I live just a mile down the road. I think I'll make it okay."

"Nonsense!" You pipe up and take a step towards him. "My sister can drive you right, Em?"

"I insist," your sister agrees and the brunette smiles brightly, your insides melting a smudge at it.

His eyes meet yours while walking towards the vehicle and holds his hand out. "I'm Jefferson," he introduces, and you grin, taking his hand in yours. Jefferson. Cute.

"I'm Y/N and this is Emma," you inform him, feeling your cheeks flush as his hand is still holding onto yours.

You clear your throat before dropping it, allowing Jefferson to take the front seat while you squeeze into the back.

It doesn't take long for your sister to reach his place, your eyes widening upon seeing the large house. "Holy shit," you whisper as Emma comes to a stop.

Jefferson opens up his door and you find yourself getting out of the car, seeing him struggle a bit to get out as well. "Let me help," you offer with a small smile, the man looking down at you.

"Thank you, doll," Jefferson grins and your cheeks blush, feeling your heart pound against your chest.

You drag your fingertips along the piano keys as Emma stands by the fireplace. Jefferson limps back into the room along with a tray of tea. "I thought you might want to warm up for your search. It's cold out there," he mentions while setting the tray onto the coffee table.

He pours two cups before handing one to Emma. "That's kind of you, but I think we should get back to it," she states while taking the cup.

"I know. That's why I brought this," Jefferson tells her while offering you some. You shake your head and politely decline, mentioning that you're not very fond of tea.

"Can I use the restroom?" You suddenly ask as the cute man places a large map of the area onto the piano.

Jefferson looks your way and smiles softly. "Yeah, it's the third door on the right," he mumbles and you nod your head before walking out of the room.

You walk around the massive place, a grin on your lips as you find the art Jefferson has on his wall appealing. You manage to find the bathroom step inside before using it. When you come back out after washing your hands you jump in your spot, seeing Jefferson standing in front of the door.

"I-Hey," you stutter and glance towards the room he was in before you left. "Everything okay? Where's Emma?"

Jefferson doesn't say anything as he takes a step closer to you. Your breath hitches in your throat when he brings his hand up to your face, fingers grazing against your cheek.

"J-Jeffer-" you cut yourself off as you take a couple of steps back, noticing the man not limping anymore as he stalks closer to you.

Your back meets the wall of the bathroom, your heart pounding wildly as a sinister smile comes to Jefferson's lips. "I'm sorry, love. I wish I didn't have to do this," he sighs and you go to ask what he means when a blunt object hits the side of your head.

-

The sound of scraping can be heard as your eyes flutter open. A groan leaves your lips and slowly brings a hand up to your head. "Where-" you cut yourself off as Jefferson glances down at you, a pair of chrome scissors in his hands. "Jefferson?"

"Welcome back, Y/N. I hate to have to hurt you, but I need your sister's help," he sighs while crouching down beside you.

You furrow your brows together while pushing yourself off the floor, becoming light-headed for a moment. "W-With what?" You ask and the brunette reaches his free hand out towards your face, his blue eyes staring at the wound on the side of your head.

"I need to go home," he whispers loud enough for you to hear and you stare at him with a confused expression. "And she can help with that."

"I-I can't?" You mumble, beginning to feel a bit useless and Jefferson gives you a small smile before shaking his head.

You push some hair out of your face and fully get up before leaning against the wall, your head pounding. "But, you can help me convince her… if you're up for it," he mentions while taking a step closer to you. You can see his eyes softening as they stare into yours, Jefferson's fingers gently grazing your cheek. "It feels like we've met before."

Your eyes flutter shut when his thumb moves to your bottom lip, feeling it drag across the slightly chapped skin. You release a ragged breath, your heart beating a million miles per minute. "J-Jefferson…" you trail off as the man reduces the distance between the two of you.

"You can feel it, right?" He whispers, his breath fanning your lips.

You nod your head and look up at him through your lashes, his fingers moving down towards your chin before lifting your head. The sound of the floorboards creaking outside the room you two are in piques both of your interests.

"Someone's awake," he mumbles and pulls away from you. Jefferson glances back towards you before pulling a gun from behind him. "I need your help, Y/N."

You swallow the lump in your throat as fear begins to build, your eyes moving from him towards the gun in his hand. "You won't hurt me, right?" You whisper and the man shakes his head.

"As long as she cooperates. I don't want to hurt you again," he softly tells you and you press your lips together.

"O-Okay, I'll help you."

Jefferson gently grabs a hold of your arm before leading you into the hallway, not seeing your sister anywhere. You can feel yourself become nervous as he moves into the corner of the hall before whipping you around.

You stiffen as you can hear hushed voices coming from the door in front of you, wondering if she even planned to see if you were okay. Jefferson's hand runs down your side and you take a glance over your shoulder, seeing his blue eyes set on you.

The door to the room opens and you whip your head around, watching your sister and another girl sneak out as their gaze is fixed down the hall. Jefferson cocks the gun in his hand before pointing it into your back when Emma notices.

"I see you found Spot!" He says enthusiastically as your sister's eyes fill with worry.

"I've already called for backup. They'll be here in any second," she lies while you press your lips together, feeling Jefferson's chin lean against your shoulder.

"You haven't called anybody," he starts as his eyes glance towards the woman besides your sister, "for the same reason you didn't tell me about her. You don't want anyone to know that you're here. Which means that nobody does."

A gasp leaves your lips and you narrow your eyes at your sister. "No one knows we're out here?!" You whisper-yell and the blonde gives you a sorry look.

You let out a huff of breath as Jefferson tells your sister to tie the woman back up. "You won't hurt her, right?" Emma asks, her eyes moving back and forth between you and Jefferson.

"Not if you cooperate."

You can still feel the gun in your back as you and Jefferson watch Emma restrain the girl. You chew on the inside of your cheek, noticing the two whispering to each other and you've never felt more out of the loop.

She usually tells me everything… You let out a tiny sigh as your sister turns back around to face the two of you. "Your telescope. You've been watching me. Why?" She asks and Jefferson lets go of you before walking towards the blonde.

"I need you to do something," he says while grabbing a hold of her upper arm, dragging her out of the room.

Emma lays a hand on you, keeping you close to her as you look back towards Jefferson. "Emma!" A muffled voice comes from the room as he goes to close the door, "don't hurt her!"

-

Jefferson pushes Emma into one of the rooms before allowing you to walk in. You give him a faint smile and step inside, your eyes looking towards the wall of hats. Hm. Cute. You think to yourself as Emma threatens the man if he hurts her friend.

"What about Y/N? Don't you care about her well-being?" He suddenly asks, his head tilted to the side. "I mean, I had her at gunpoint already and you didn't really seem to care that much."

Emma glances towards you as you stand in front of the telescope, pressing your lips together. "Of course I care about her! She's my sister," she answers and Jefferson scoffs.

"Well, if you cared. You would've told her the truth about going into the woods in the middle of the night," he mentions and you take a step towards the man, placing a hand on his arm.

"Jefferson," you call out softly, gaining the blue-eyed man's attention, "it's okay."

Emma looks between the two of you with a confused expression on her face. "Okay, wait-" she starts before quickly cutting herself off to run a hand through her hair. "What is going on between the two of you? Why are you so worried about her when you're the one who kidnapped us?"

"He didn't kidnap us," you point out while glancing back towards your sister, her eyes wide at what you said. "It's true. Sure, he deceived us, but he didn't kidnap us. We walked into this house on our own."

"Alright, I'm gonna need you to get away from him because apparently, he's brainwashing you," she states while grabbing your arm.

You slap her hand away and take a couple of steps back. "He's not brainwashing me, Emma! God. Yes, he knocked us out and captured the girl you're looking for but he hasn't doesn't anything to harm any of us," you exclaim, getting a bit frustrated.

Jefferson's eyes are on you as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a huff of breath. "Listen," he mumbles and Emma looks towards the blue-eyed man, "you may not believe this… but I feel like I know her from somewhere. This kind of connection."

"Enough of this! Why have you been spying on me?" Emma asks and Jefferson moves to walk past her, pointing the gun at her for a few seconds.

"Because for the past twenty-eight years I've been stuck in this house. Day after day. Always the same," he explains while walking around the table that sits in the middle of the room, your eyes following his figure. "Until one night, you and your little yellow bug roll into town. And the clock ticks and things start to change."

You furrow your brows as you listen to his words, your eyes drifting towards the telescope that sits beside you. You wet your lips before leaning down to look through it.

"You see," Jefferson states and licks his lips, glancing back towards your sister. "I know what you refuse to acknowledge, Emma."

Your breath hitches in your throat as you see a little girl standing in view. Your chest clenches as you take in her features. She looks… she kinda looks like me. You think to yourself as you pull yourself away.

"Jefferson," you call out to him, feeling tears fill your eyes and you look towards the brunette. "Who is she?"

Emma furrows her brows and walks over to you before looking through the telescope. Jefferson walks closer to you and reaches his hand out, wiping the tears that fall from your eyes. "That's… Grace. Here it's Paige," mumbles and you glance back towards the window.

"Here? What do you mean here?" You ask quietly and a sigh leaves the man's lips.

"I'm not from here. I'm from Wonderland," he states and Emma lets out a laugh, shaking her head at how ridiculous he sounds. "It's the truth. Despite what you believe."

You walk back towards the telescope and look through it again, seeing a lot of your facial features in her. "She…"

"Looks just like you," Jefferson finishes and you pull away to glance over at him. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his eyes stare into yours. "Can I just test something?"

Emma watches the two of you interact before glancing towards the door behind her. You nod your head and Jefferson takes a step closer to you, bringing his hand back to your face.

The space between the two of you diminishes as Jefferson leans down to capture his lips with yours. Your breath hitches in your throat as butterflies soar around your stomach. The blue-eyed man slides his hands down your sides, resting them against your hips as your arms wrap around his neck.

Jefferson pulls away after a minute, feeling an emotion he hasn't felt since Grace's mother suddenly disappeared. His forehead rests against yours, your fingers gliding through his hair as you keep your eyes closed. "You don't think I'm insane, do you?" Jefferson whispers and you shake your head.

"No, absolutely not," you grin and look up at him through your lashes.

You run your hands down his arms and Jefferson looks around the room to see it empty. "No…" he whispers and pulls away from you before rushing out of the room. You follow him quickly and stand in the doorway the mystery girl was in, seeing Emma and Jefferson fighting one another.

"Emma!" You call out as Jefferson tugs on her hair before tossing her against the chair in the room.

You move to intervene when Jefferson picks the gun up, aiming it at your sister. You notice the lines on his neck, curious as to what it was as he mumbles incoherently. Your eyes widen when the shorter woman picks up the mallet used for croquet before swinging it around the man.

He lets out a groan, turning to face her before she drop-kicks him in the chest. Your heart beats wildly as Jefferson falls out the window. "Jefferson!" You yell and push your way through the room, chest heaving rapidly as you lean out the now broken window.

No, no, no. You think to yourself as your sister grabs your arm. Your brows furrow when you don't see his body laying on the ground, swallowing the lump in your throat as Emma calls out your name.

"Y/N! We need to go now!" She states and you turn to face her.

"I'm not going anywhere," you mumble loud enough for her to hear and her eyes widen.

Your sister wets her lips before glancing towards the brunette beside her. "What do you mean you're not going anywhere? Y/N, he's insane and lonely! I'm not leaving you here with him!"

A dry laugh leaves your lips and runs a hand through your hair. "He's not insane, Emma. He may be lonely but that's because he lost his daughter. It's just like you with Henry. Why are you refusing to believe what's happening?!" You practically scream while moving past her, heading back into the room with the hats.

"This is nothing like the situation I have with Henry," she mentions, following you and you scoff.

You look through the telescope once more, your heart fluttering at the sight of Grace. You swallow thickly and pull away from the device, looking towards your sister. "You look at her and tell me she's not a spitting image of me," you mumble and she walks closer to you, resting a hand on your arm.

"She's not yours, Y/N. You've never met this man in your life," Emma mumbles and you shake your head.

"How do you know that?! Like he said, maybe you're just not acknowledging the fucking truth," you huff while prying her grip off of you. "I'm staying here. Now, go. I know how important it is for you to get her back."

-

You stare at the hat in front of you, chewing on your nails as you wait for Jefferson to stumble into the room. A sigh leaves your lips and you run your fingers through your hair. You stand back up from the chair, moving towards the telescope as you look for Grace, moving the device left and right before finding her.

I wish I could remember our time together… You think to yourself while pressing your lips together. Jefferson limps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table before noticing you standing towards the window.

"Y/N," he mumbles and you jump in your spot, turning your body to face him. "You're still here."

You swallow thickly as you take a step towards him, giving him a small smile. "I-I couldn't leave. Not after everything that's happened tonight," you mumble and Jefferson meets you halfway before resting his hands on your arms.

"I wish I could explain it to you," he sighs before pulling you into his chest. You rest your head against him, listening to his heartbeat. "I wish you could remember it all as I can."

"I can't believe I have a daughter," you mumble loud enough for him to hear, Jefferson's hands gliding up and down your back. "I can't believe there's more than one world."

A chuckle leaves your lips and you glance up at the blue-eyed man, feeling his hand moving to your face. "You're just as beautiful in this world as you are in the other…" he trails off before dipping his head down.

"What is it?" You ask, noticing the shift of emotion on his face.

"You were gone for almost 5 years when I decided to help the Queen. When I got fucked over by her," he explains, and your breath hitches. "I never found out what happened to you, and then I left Grace… I left our Grace behind."

Tears pool in your eyes as you clutch onto his shirt, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Jefferson," you start and lift his chin, having him look you in the eyes. "I doubt she blames you. I'm sure you helped the wretched Queen in hopes of giving her a better life."

Jefferson nods his head before leaning forward, hiding his face in your neck. You card your fingers through his hair and let out a sigh, feeling at ease being in his arms. "It's so nice to finally feel something other than pain," he mumbles against your skin, his lips peppering light kisses to your neck.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you pull his face away from your neck, looking into his ocean blue eyes. You stroke his cheekbone before pressing your lips to his. Jefferson lets out a muffled groan, his hands sliding around your waist before holding you against him.

You part your lips and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss between the two of you. "God, you're beautiful," Jefferson mutters into your mouth, feeling his hands gripping your sides.

A giggle escapes your lips as the brunette lowers himself to hoist you into his arms. A squeal leaves your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck, laughs leaving both of your lips. "Where are you taking me, mister?"

"My room," he breathes while kissing up your neck, biting down on your flushed skin gently. "I've got to make up for lost time, precious."

A shiver runs down your spine as your grip on him tightens, feeling your stomach flip at his words. Jefferson's eyes look up at you with a playful grin on his lips, your heart beginning to pound against your chest. "I'm all yours."

-

Taglist: @jessalyn-jpeg​ @queen-of-mischief​ @bumblebet-20​ @thewxntersoldier​

[widowbitessting]

hiiii for the smu i was wondering if there would be a time where they fought about something and then r just mindlessly suggested to end the contract between them? 👀

I feel like for this to ever happen, the Trio! and Reader would have to be in an intense argument and/or someone breaks one of the big No rules: ie, ignoring safe words or hard no's and boundaries - that would then crumble the relationship and cause Reader to end the contract.

As I see it, from the get go this isn't your typical Sugar Mommy/Sugar Baby contract, it's more of a poly relationship - so I'd say the MAIN thing that would cause the end of this is one of (or all) the Trio! sleeps with someone else.

But as far as I know - this won't happen. Not yet anyway!

Xox

❤️💋❤️💋