#clearly this was an excellent use of time

[rahuratna]

All right, to start with, I'm always a sucker for great world building and alternate settings, and this piece reflects exactly that. Before I get into the meat of the story, a couple of things:

This story is written in such a way that each paragraph feels like a cog in a larger timepiece, ticking inexorably to its passionate conclusion. I'm not sure how you managed that, but it contributes so much to the development of sexual tension between them, and the reader is placed on a little clockwork cart and pitched along at the pace you set. This control you exert over the pacing is just excellent.

Second, I love stories that transport you to a place of almost isolation, where descriptions of people and places are so vivid, but intentionally slip by you by like scenery on a journey, because the electricity between the main characters is your destination, what you're fixed upon. It's reflective of that true passion between lovers, where love becomes a cocoon and the world patters against the outside, never breaking the spell you cast upon one another.

As someone who worked in a lab, and moved to a profession where I'm pretty much surrounded by large numbers of people daily, I feel Nanami, lol. I would also love the quiet refuge of a place where I dedicate myself to my work. The evolution of the attraction between him and the Reader feels almost inevitable from the time she passes his test. The solution she finds is direct, breaking down a problem that seems complex into simpler parts to achieve an end,  the very essence of creating timepieces.

The sexual tension is also drawn into this theme of elaborate dance, precision and timing. Kento's hands using the Reader's to 'perform miracles', the intimacy of such a position made necessary by work, the way his presence is so strong but never overbearing, all captures the essence of Kento as a romantic/sexual partner.

Also, I LOVE the way the references to the time period make it very clear where and when we are, without ever needing to be explicitly stated. The mention of the lamplighter, of Spring Heeled Jack, were all exactly the thing I needed on this rainy afternoon. For atmosphere. Yes. Lol. I mean, yes, I too would give Reader a piece of my mind for wandering around after dark, especially after an allusion to the Whitechapel murders are made.

Please don't kill me for this: She wanted to deliver the package, but ended up with a bigger one LMAO. At least the man is self aware, he knows he's no size for a first timer. The descriptions of the undressing as an act by itself is so telling. It's such a contrast to the order and mechanical rhythm of their day to day interaction, a loss of that fine veneer of gentility, a reveal of the 'animal' beneath that Kento speaks of. The loss of clockwork to the primacy of passion, unwrapped one layer at a time, is the best backdrop for the explicit nature of what happens between them.

The action of wetting his fingers with her saliva to put out the candle is so inspired. It's almost thoughtless in execution, a tell for how much he's been fantasizing about this.

I think my favourite part of this, strangely, was the way you wrote how they approached the bed. The description of how he knows the lay of the corridor between their rooms so well, because of the number of times he's paced it, his room, a place of peace and order about to be transformed into something so much more, your description of him 'stalking' her slowly up the bed as a continuation of the theme of a beast dressed in 'fine tailoring' was what really stood out for me.

The sex scene itself was such a great juxtaposition to the charade of proper conduct they carry out in the workshop each day, and the Reader character's direct nature, seen in the way she discovers her own sexual freedom through him, is reflected so well here too.

Another thing I've picked up is that although Nanami is clearly the dominant and leading partner to begin with, and it's reflected in what he says, his actions give her agency and the ability to explore what gives her pleasure, and there's nothing hotter than that. The idea of her falling pregnant doesn't seem an unnaturally conceived notion at all, because it comes through very clearly that she knows what she wants, and she always has. It's what drew him to her in the first place.

Finally, the conversation between them after passion has spent itself; while it seems on the surface that he's returning to his clockwork self, that's not it at all. That's who he always has been, he's just allowed the Reader to take him apart, expertly with pleasure, to see his innermost workings, and put him back together after. For someone like Kento, in this fic, that's such a declaration of deep trust and love. It expands on the title even further, one watchmaker recognises another in the art and synchronicity that builds between them, and in that, finds a complete masterwork.

Thank you for this atmospheric and beautiful read on a rainy afternoon, Haitch.

The Watchmaker

Newly employed as the assistant to a renowned watchmaker, you soon discover how deeply his obsessions run.

Warnings: 18+, boss/assistant relationship, mutual longing, loss of virginity, fingering (f!receiving), nipple play, hand job (m!receiving), creampie, gentle manhandling (consensual), breeding hints, gentle period-drama Nanami snippety-snaps and becomes unhinged, two desperate people getting far too sexy over timepieces and pots of tea

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It was unusual for a lone young woman to be lodged and apprenticed by a single man; and, yet, it came to be, when you alone passed the Watchmaker's interview.

You approached on dry cobblestones, to a handsome, deep shop, with glossy black and gold railings and doors. Your corset felt heavy with the city's summer humidity; the river held the heat like a simmering pan, and its heady stench threatened to consume you. You were used to being without a chaperone, but your modest dress and poor accompaniment drew more wayward glances in this part of the city.

You hurried into the shop, a brass bell above the door tinkling your arrival. Nobody came to greet you. You followed the voices to the back, the eyes of many timepieces following you, their ticking as whispers and gossip in your wake. You came, in time, down tiled steps to a workshop, warm and bright and full of men...naturally.

A single, cursive note graced a sign before the only remaining workbench.

Repair the clock.

Such meagre instructions for a sought-after job. In golden lamplight, a pile of cogs and a loose-handed clock face glimmered like dragon hoard. You cast your eyes, stroking your corset and heavy skirts. You nodded once, and reassured yourself, only once.

"You can do this."

The Watchmaker, a tall man whose broad shoulders and thick hands did not suggest one with a delicate touch, neither agreed nor disagreed; he simply watched, silently observing you like the many faces of his timepieces. You set to work before your audience. The Watchmaker came and went, seeking to observe the half-dozen men competing alongside you.

And, in time, half a dozen sweating young men failed one, by one, by one. The Watchmaker's disgust was apparent, and his sneers soured one, by one, by one, until the last young hopeful curdled like milk before him.

When the Watchmaker came to you, you and your box of gold were not at your station. He frowned, kept company only by muted ticks and tocks. He followed your trail, out to his walled garden.

The test would have been considered a 'trick' only by those who were angry that their lack of respect for precision and accuracy had been identified. You, who could not fathom such sloppiness, found an honest solution.

"A sundial?" The Watchmaker rumbled. You felt a rush of heat from fingertips to toes, untouched by such a voice before. Smoothing your skirts again, and finishing your adjustments to hide the heat in your cheeks, you nodded.

You had fashioned your clock face and myriad small clock pieces to form a glimmering sundial. You had positioned it just so, and confirmed its position with the time shown on your own, battered pocket watch.

The Watchmaker circled you, with narrow eyes that may contain humour were they not so scrutinising. He was impeccably tailored, you noted; a high, crisp collar and rolled back white sleeves revealed enough throat and forearm to make you sweat. An exquisite navy waistcoat nipped his waist only marginally more than his tied apron, and he hummed at your sundial.

"Not what I'd call accurate."

"I disagree. While it may not be very precise, it is accurate. The cogs for the clock couldn't be set in such a way as to make the seconds correct. They were always just out. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He almost smiled; his eyes certainly did. Nodding, and not one for hyperbolic praise, he bowed, instead.

"Nanami Kento. I would be privileged to offer you the role as my apprentice."

The earth formed a springboard, launching you to heaven, and it wrenched the breath from your lungs on the way. Checking yourself before you babbled over with incredulous tears, you choked out an answer on a sloppy curtsey.

"Even though-- even though I'm a woman?"

A scoff. "I don't see how that's relevant."

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Mr.Nanami sought your constant presence.

A natural timekeeper, himself, he sought the company of those like him, who would not expect him to partake in social niceties and small-talk. It was no wonder, then, that he became a Watchmaker, whose many-natured friends had the same face but twice a day.

While Nanami Kento was normally at peace in ticking solitude, the many hands and ceaseless seconds had eventually, as the years went by, begun to grind into an aching loneliness.

You felt it, as summer crisped to autumn, and frosted to winter-- his desire for your company. The way his obsession bloomed to include you alongside his timepieces. The way he lingered in doorways while you handled the customers' repairs. The way he seemed breathless when your smile sent another happy patron on their way. The way he would flinch if you brushed past him.

And god, how it burned you. Eyes downcast in reverence could not remain so for long, so magnetised were they to him. His silences were rarely cold, but rather, simply those of one who held his tongue until he had something to say; a far cry from the men you knew, who sought to usurp the monarchial peace through vocal domination.

Learning such craft at Mr.Nanami's thick, calloused hands, required intimate proximity; he would have to lean around you, at points, with his chest to your back. He moved your hands within his, teaching you the dexterity needed to repair a tiny watch with surgical precision. He leaned like this around you now. You could barely breathe.

"You were not wrong. Though not strictly right, either," he murmured in your ear, his breath grazing over your cheek. His hands held the tools in yours, using your body to perform miracles. You felt faint, flushed, hot against his body, and breathed a shaking breath, quiet in your frustration so as not to disturb the sleeping cogs.

"I want to be perfect, I-- I need it--"

An amused hum, used to your angry tiny mechanics. "You are perfect, thank you. Now let us make the pocket watch match."

As your hands worked in tandem, and another impossibly tiny cog found its home, you gasped in delight, relieved, and not thinking.

"Ah, yes, Kento, we--"

Mr.Nanami stiffened behind you. You backpedaled.

"Ah-- I mean, Mr.Nanami-- I'm so sorry--"

He did not seem upset, though his ears reddened as he stepped away from you. He murmured again, unused to being perceived.

"No, no-- it's quite alright-- I use your given name, after all."

With his face flat but his eyes alight, when you looked up at him in wary apology, he sought to reassure you with a smile.

"Really, please-- please do call me Kento."

"It feels...wrong."

"I...would not seek to make you uncomfortable. It is entirely of your preference."

Your heart drowned out the whispering whirrs of the room. You heard the tap of Mr.Nanami's feet as he ascended the workshop stairs, and blurted out.

"--Kento, I'll...I'll call you Kento. Please."

A pause. Another silence. Kento's voice tightened with something altogether more intimate.

"I fear I shall get used to it far too quickly."

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Too long were you lingering in your respective doorways, before bed. Too sweet, were the shared evenings in a firecrackle sitting room. Too electrifying, were the hands that met to pour just one more cup. Too intentional were the slim-eyed stares that burned down to the very bones of you.

If you died, and committed your body to science, the ghost of you would be unsurprised if a surgeon found Nanami Kento's name scored across your ribs; for nobody else could access that cage to your heart and soul.

Nobody else could warm you, during Winter fairs on the frozen river.

Nobody else could take your hand, to help you down the stairs at the Timepiece Exhibition.

Nobody else could still you with a look, or teach you with such few words, and this was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

Your peak hit you in a burst of static. You clasped your hand over your own mouth, as if it would sell you out for your filthy crimes. Still, you arched in your bed, your toes curling against the sheets, bucking up into nothing in waves. Clarity did not hit you after, for it had already hit you during, and had done nothing to still your fingers.

Rolling over, and pressing your face into your pillow after the ecstasy had passed, you held your breath. It was too quiet.

Your eyes sprung open. The muffled bustling you had heard from the bedroom next door, had stopped. You weren't sure when. The silence was deafening...until movement started again, more clipped than it had been before. You could feel him, moving with irritation, a prowling beast in a cage.

It was over an hour before Kento's own hand travelled down his belly, to grasp himself with whispered curses and pleas of your name. Long enough, he hoped, for you to be asleep. Long enough, he hoped, that he could hide this rampant obsession that was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

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"I should think I'll be home for tea. Inspector Aberline's grandfather clock again. It has stage fright, I fear, for how often the Inspector stares at it."

Kento's words, from hours before, rolled through your mind again and again. The smile you had sent your final patron of the day on his way with, slipped away, for you saw the lamplighter beginning his rounds on the cobbles outside. The sun had already set; he was late, tonight. You'd have offered him a lantern, but without Kento beside you, you felt you would need its warmth and light more.

Your eyes flickered to a package on the desk. It was imperative, Kento had said, that this was delivered to the customer today. 'Today', as a concept, was growing increasingly more abstract as it threatened to expire.

You saw the deep, dark circles under Kento's eyes, in your mind's eye. He had not been sleeping well. He needed the rest. You could not bear to see him overburdened.

Taking a deep breath, and undoing your apron to replace it for your heavy coat and gloves, you tucked the package under your arm, locked up to the tune of the tinkling bell, and stole away through the night like a thief in the dark.

Clacking across cobblestones, and trying to diminish the noise of your boots upon them, you walked for what felt like miles. Though you were sure you were safe, in this part of the city, the darkness turned shadows into beasts of great renown.

Spring-Heeled Jack stalked you from the shadows. You clutched the package closer, walking faster, breathing harder--

"What the hell are you doing out here, at this time of night?"

You squealed, and flattened against a red brick wall. Kento, imperious and huge in a heavy brown overcoat, glowered down at you with unbridled rage.

"The package," you squeaked, brandishing it as a shield, "you said-- said it needed to be delivered--"

"And it is not your place to take it upon yourself to do so. Returning to find you gone, out delivering a bloody package, while there's a killer on the loose? Extraordinary." The coldness that Kento reserved only for others, now directed at you, was a bitter sting.

Still; Kento held out his arm, stiff. His lip curled when you did not immediately take it. He grew frosty as he waited, and you slipped your arm into his, to a mollified grumble.

"Come," Kento rumbled, arresting you in a hold so intimate against his side, "let us not waste a journey. The customer isn't far from here. It shall give you time to think about your foolish choices."

You felt furious tears prickle behind your eyes. Like a dog with a bone, Kento struggled to let his anger go, and you snapped up at him, "Give it a rest. You're not my husband--"

"--yet, if it would allow me any sort of say over your safety, perhaps I should be your husband." Kento had frozen, looming over you. Your belly twisted, your face hot. You turned aside, chastised like a child.

"I'm no girl," you whispered, venomous, "I can take care of myself--"

"In a world that places no value on women, why should you ever feel safe? Out here, instead of in my--"

It was Kento's turn to redden. His jaw clenched. His fingers tapped upon the package. You felt righteous anger bubbling over, and rolled the dice, in a stabbing final gambit.

"In your what, sir? In your workshop? In your arms? Or in your bed?"

Kento's stony impassivity was tested, but remained steadfast even against your snapping. But you knew him, now; you saw how his chest hitched, heard his knuckles crack, and caught the faintest flare of his nostrils. Ducking his head for a moment, and dramatised by lamplit shadow, he stepped in just once to whisper above your ear.

"You forget yourself. I am your mentor, and you are my assistant, and--"

"--and I've had enough of you pretending that's all we are--"

"--and it's hard enough not bursting into your room at night when I hear your fingers drag my name from your mouth, so if you will be so kind as to cease and desist, I will not have to press you against this damn wall to hold your tongue with my own."

His hissing reproach doused the argument with ice water. Numb-footed and stunned, you walked through treacle, as Kento dragged you to deliver the package. Your chest was still thickened by mortification by the time you approached the Watchmakers' familiar iron railings.

You found yourself pressed inside, hearing the door bolted with force. Kento's hands softened as they removed your coat from your shoulders.

"Bed," he snapped. Kento turned his back to you to light a waxdrip candle. White shirtsleeves billowed from the shoulders of his waistcoat, and he checked his pocket watch as if it would give him the answer. You reached one hand out, to bunch in the back of his waistcoat, as if a child, and he snapped again.

"Alone."

You flinched. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You swallowed hard, rolling the dice again.

"I hear you, too. In your room at night. The walls are thin."

"So is my patience, young lady, I will not tolerate--"

"You treat me like a girl to distance yourself from me, but pleasure yourself to my name? Please. You can make a fool of yourself but don't make a fool out of me--"

Kento spun with a growl, lifting you by the waist to drop you upon the counter. You squeaked, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself when he closed the gap between you.

"Do not act as if you know," Kento whispered, low and slow, "what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring. Do not act as if you know what it means to be reduced so, that I must spill myself onto my belly every night, to preserve your virtue.

I do not blame you, naturally-- it's my burden entirely-- but if you add one more ounce to my shoulders with that incorrigible little mouth of yours, I'm afraid your virtue shall be...under threat."

You couldn't deny the heat pooling between your thighs, now, trapped as it was by Kento's taut body. You couldn't deny your craving for such fabled bliss.

"How does it feel," you whispered, your hand creeping up the buttons of his waistcoat to stroke the silk of his cravat, "Kento? How does it feel? Do you use your hand, or--"

An agonal little choke broke past Kento's high collar. His eyes begged you to stop him. You felt his long fingers twitch on your waist.

"Do not ask me--"

"Please," you whispered again, just as desperate as him, "please, I need to know, I can't keep living life in the dark--"

"My hand," Kento choked out, his chest barrelling with the weight of his breaths, "I use my hand. But even in the dark, I can't seem to convince myself that it-- that it's--"

You felt him falter, and you begged him, your tugging loosening his cravat enough to see his throat bob behind it. Kento whined, begging in kind. His face twisted, as if the thuds of pleasure lengthening his cock were hurting him. The torture was sweet; you felt it, too.

"Don't make me say it," Kento pleaded, nose to nose and nuzzling from side to side, "I can't take it--"

"You can-- you can take me--"

"--you don't know what you're saying--"

"--I do, Kento, please--"

"--don't know what you're sacrificing--"

"--you wouldn't," you pressed, feeling his hands moving against his wishes to unbutton the back of your dress, "you wouldn't sacrifice me, I know, so just--"

Kento groaned, a sound so sinful, just to feel your dress release and slip down over your shoulders. Pinching the ends of your sleeves, with his fingertips grazing your palms and inner wrists until you shivered, he pulled. A gossamer shift of white ghosted over your skin.

"So many layers, upon a lady," Kento murmured against your lips, "like unwrapping a gift."

He sounded drunk, and the honeyrich pools of his eyes had darkened. You couldn't pinpoint the moment his resolve had crumbled, but crumble it did, with the tick-tocking eyes of many upon you. Kento grazed his fingers against your lips, ordering in a whisper.

"Open." You didn't have to, your jaw already slack as promise burned you at the edges. Kento swiped his thumb and forefinger across your tongue with a groan, and reached out, snuffing the candle between them.

What dim light there had been, died. None that breathed would hold court or witness to what Kento was about to do to your virtue.

"This will not happen only once," Kento murmured against your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you until you mewled. He cursed to hear it, becoming more unhinged by the minute. "I will take your maidenhood as a lover, but take your hand as my wife. You cannot refuse."

You could refuse-- you knew you could, in absolute safety, but such refusal would take his mouth from you with immediate effect. His hands would cease their insistent glide up, and up, beneath your skirts. He would stop rutting forwards against nothing, with each whimper that left your lips. He would no longer drag your bodice down with his teeth, to suckle at the plump swell of your breasts.

You nodded, breathless, your hands shaking against the buttons of Kento's waistcoat. He grunted as it fell open, and your hands settled upon his waist. His graze against your neck was more insistent, now, and sloppier; hungry, open mouthed kisses that suckled the salt from your skin. Occasionally, you heard him murmur, begging to you, or to his god, or to himself, for any sort of release.

Overtaken by need, you finished unbuttoning his trousers, and tangled your fingers in his hair, instead.

"Don't know what you're doing," Kento mumbled, drunker by the minute, "going to ruin you, I-- I'll ruin you-- I'm no sensible size for a virgin--"

"So you suggest I find some other man?" You panted, "You suggest I find someone smaller--"

"They don't fucking deserve you," Kento spat, forcing the last of your skirts up to grind himself at your core until you whined. With your corset untied, Kento tossed it to the floor behind him with disdain, and yanked the final layer down to free your breasts.

Shuddering, he gripped his cock to restrain himself.

"Divine," Kento whispered, ducking to nuzzle against the tips of your breasts, "I have to-- please allow me to--"

Without waiting for an answer, Kento lapped your nipple into his mouth with a groan. Suckling until you pleaded his name, with hot bursts of pleasure to your core, Kento's hands reached the crest of your thighs, and groaned to find more layers in the way.

"Buy you some more," he grunted against your breasts, gripping the fabric between strong fingers to shred it apart, "my apologies-- now, just-- oh, fuck, I--"

His fingers had slipped between your folds to glide through them. Needing to see you arch against the sudden intrusion, Kento pressed you back until you were lying on the counter, and loomed over you. You caught sight of him for the first time in minutes.

Kento was utterly dishevelled, unabashed, and too far gone. With his cravat and waistcoat hanging loose, and a long, thick swell beneath what remained of his unbuttoned trousers, he looked more debauched than your wildest fantasies. He twitched with the spurt of pre-cum that left his cock, to see you spread out before him.

Sniffing, and dragging one hand back through his parted hair, Kento scoffed at your look of glassy-eyed wonderment. His fingers curled through your lips until that sought-after arch graced his eyes, and you mewled again, your thighs clamping around his hips

"More than one of us can be reduced to a beast," he growled, circling your clit with calloused fingertips, "as you have insisted. I've taught you with these fingers before. Let us teach you something new; how it feels to peak upon the hands of a man."

"--o-oh god, oh god oh god--"

A bark of laughter, "--he won't help you now--"

"--oh, sir--"

"Try again."

"K-Kento!" You chastised through blinding pleasure. Kento chuckled again, intoxicated and made ruthless by it, and holding you flat by the belly as his hands worked miracles on your core.

"That's it-- good girl--"

The way he praised you had always brought you to a blush, but how he growled his praises while he fingered you to completion was another entity entirely.

Your hips rolled up, trying to fill the emptiness that his fingers alone couldn't. Your body was rendered base with pleasure, and nature's insistence that such passiveness should be used to leave your belly full of seed.

You could see that, too, in his eyes; an urge; a hunger that belied his gentle nature. In sudden clarity, you understood his cry of agony, from mere minutes before: 'Do not act as if you know what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring.'

"--K-Kento, I-- I don't know if I'll-- it's too much, aches-- augh--"

Your approaching peak threatened to overwhelm you, and you squirmed and begged, though you knew not what for. Kento pinned you, with one splayed hand on your belly, and whispered you on.

"That's it-- don't be afraid...shhh, now. Good girl-- that's it-- beautiful--"

You came with thigh-clamping bursts of ecstasy, so sharp and static by the hands of another, that your belly ached and cramped with the force of the spasms. Kento's fingers slowed, massaging the pleasure out of you at length, though you could feel his body growing heavy with the weight of self-restraint.

You felt yourself twitching, crunching forwards involuntarily, with little more than broken whimpers and cries as he talked you down. Though, as clarity dawned in supple bliss, you felt he may be trying to talk himself down.

"...good...that's good, that's enough, I...I am satisfied, I..."

Kento lied to himself so exquisitely, as if he didn't palm his cock with one trembling hand. As if he hadn't pulled his shirt off to relieve the prickling heat of his skin. As if he couldn't kiss you because that, oddly, would be the intimacy that broke the dam.

You broke it for him, sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck so he couldn't rear away from you. He tried, at first, with a grunt of surprise, gripping you by the waist. Feeling your lips against his rendered him dumb again, feral and nuzzling his nose to yours, like an addict in a field of poppies.

"Please-- I'm afraid I won't-- won't be gentle--"

"Bed," you whispered against his lips, "not alone."

Kento groaned again, cupping his hands beneath your thighs to lift you, and carry you up the narrow wooden staircase. He knew every shoeworn step in the dark; knew where the corridor dipped; knew the amount of steps between his bedroom door and yours, so many times had he paced between the two.

With his curtains un-drawn, only the cold winter moonlight lit the room. Meticulous, uniform possessions left meticulous, uniform shadows. The whole room smelled of Kento; of soft wax, leather and musk. In his room, in his arms as one leg flicked the door deftly closed behind him, felt like being brought home.

"If I show you how," Kento whispered, laying you on his bed, just to stalk you slowly up to his pillows, "will you...can I..."

You'd have said yes to anything. Without knowing exactly what Kento asked for, you nodded. He saw the absolute trust in your eyes, and stiffened, his eyes darkening with something more profound than need.

"Do you know what physical love entails?" He rumbled, nosing against your neck again, and depriving you of the first kiss you so desperately craved. "Do you know what it is, to be taken?"

You swallowed hard, feeling lead weights in your still twitching belly. You cursed the society that had sought your submission through ignorance.

"We...are supposed to fit together," you whispered, to Kento's satisfied rumble. Stil, it was not enough; you knew he would not continue past his insistent suckling of your throat, if you showed true ignorance, so you mumbled past your blushes.

"You...press yourself inside me, until...until you..."

"...go on."

"Until...you finish, like--like--"

"...like you did, on my fingers. Except, your completion simply fills my soul...metaphorically speaking. My completion fills you literally."

Your hand had trailed down his bare chest, reverent at his form, so different to your own and witnessed before only in fine art and statues. He didn't stop you as your hand trailed lower. He simply fixed you with a stare, that was half hope and half despair.

With rising breaths, you looked down between your bodies as you freed him. Animalistic relief twitched across Kento's shoulders, for the release from his confines. He groaned into your throat, husky in a way that made you throb. You longed to see his pleasure as he had seen yours.

Tentative, you grazed his length with the barest fingertips. Rigid, woody, hot, velvety, wet at the tip and so long and--

"Oh," you breathed, gripping him and feeling his heartbeat through his sex, and utterly unsure what you had expected, "feels...good--"

Kento breathed harshly, and had dropped onto his elbows above you, his face twisted in agony. He panted, fractious.

"Don't-- do not--"

Your hand flinched away, horrified for having hurt him, and he cursed, rolling off you to sit, strewn and messy and barely dressed, against the head of the bed. Your eyes fixed again on his manhood, heavy and twitching against his belly.

"I won't touch-- I'm sorry--"

"Don't stop," Kento emphasised, breathless, "don't...dont stop."

With a flush of heat in your cheeks, you understood the nature of Kento's agony, and it only made you hungrier. Crawling over him in the barest white undergown, to straddle his thighs and sit upon them, you reached out to grip him with one trembling hand again. Kento arched, moaning that rusty, desperate moan again.

"Show me? Like you do in...in the workshop."

"God, your hand is so sweet--" With his own hand, big enough to engulf yours, he wrapped around your grip to his length. Slowly, deliberately, and watching where your hands clasped around him with sweat on his brow, Kento used your hand to pump himself.

Feeling the glide of silk on iron made your core wetten and clench. Watching how Kento moaned, bucking into your joined fists and reaching up behind him to grip the pillows, was hypnotic. Within seconds, your hand had begun to move independently of his, stroking him with raw determination to witnessq his unravelling.

Kento groaned in time with your rhythmic strokes. His newly freed fist bunched, instead, at your hip, having rucked your slip aside to dimple shaking fingertips in the plush of your curves. You began to squeeze a little tighter at the tip, twisting a little, and making Kento see stars.

"Hah--haaaaah-- don't-- don'tstop-- better than any dream-- good girl, please, please--"

Your thumb swiped without warning across a bead of wetness that had seeped from the slit in his tip, and Kento swore, bucking hard enough to make you chirp and grip his thighs for purchase.

"--wait--wait-- I'll spill in your hand, wait--"

This didn't deter you; if anything, it spurred you on to faster and faster strokes. Kento writhed, sweating and gripping, and you watched the heavy balls beneath his length tighten up, and--

"--ungh--coming--don'tstop...unh--"

Kento's whole body tensed. His face fixed in divine ecstasy. You watched his length jerk in your fist with thick, warm glugs of sticky white seed. You stared, your new obsession making you want to stroke Kento's release between your folds, but you held him instead, feeling him rut into your fist to chase his high.

After what felt like a lifetime, Kento came back to earth, with a heavy chest. While lax, for now, something in the way he looked at you, kneeling above him and examining the way his release dripped down your forearm, told you he was barely sated.

"Always were a...a fast learner."

"Well, you always wrote me off as a child--"

"I did not," Kento huffed, a mortified, angry flush colouring his cheekbones, "I knew exactly the woman you were. I do not lust after girls. If I didn't separate you, I knew I would...I knew we would..."

You nodded. You had both fought to convince yourself against such inevitability. Pondering, and curiously disappointed in the aftermath of Kento's pleasure, you stroked his slippery length in your hand again.

"You're...still hard."

Kento's eyes flicked down, that animalistic hunger taking seed in his eyes again. When he spoke, it was low, and barely measured.

"It would not usually, but-- but feeling you above me, so close that I could flip you over and trap you beneath me, I--"

You felt your breath leaves your lungs at once. Kento winced, disgusted with himself, but you snatched it away before it could take root.

"Please-- I want that, please--"

"With all this seed, and more to come after I bury myself inside you, you will be with child within days," Kento spat, gripping your cum-slick wrists to stop you stroking another orgasm out of him. Kento froze; having been about to throw you off, he saw the look in your eyes. The look of willingness. That sheer determination that had taken you as his apprentice in the first place.

"You like that," he mused aloud, enraptured as you lifted your undergown away to reveal yourself in your entirety. With your wrists gripped in one broad hand, the other stroked down between your breasts, to settle, stroking, on the soft plush of belly just above your mound.

"You...like that? The thought of a part of me, growing inside you? The thought of me spilling myself so deep, it has nowhere to go but your belly?"

The thought made you lightheaded. Why? Why was the thought of the same sticky release that coated your hands, inside you instead, so alluring? Beast in fine tailoring a beast in fine tailoring a beast--

Kento rolled you over. The strength you always knew he had, carefully restrained by waistcoat and pocket chains, bore down upon you now. He kicked away his trousers, desperate to be as bare as you, and brought his sheets over his hips to bury you both in a warm little den. You shivered to feel his length rest on your belly and mound, so close to where you wanted him.

Kento shook his head, trying to see logic, "If I finish inside you-- you really will be in danger of bearing my child, you..."

His voice had faded, gobsmacked as you stroked your seed covered fingers between your folds, mulish and clipped.

"There," you snipped, "I've already covered myself in you, so that's that--"

"You are utterly feral, this is what I get for bringing a guttersnipe into my workshop--"

"--so you might as well just finish the deed, sir, because--"

Kento laughed, overjoyed by your fearless audacity. His lip curled, and he reached down again to stroke his sticky seed between your folds.

"You think that's what I meant by inside?" He pressed, so close to the entrance you had never sought to penetrate, "You think I meant here? No, my love...I meant here."

You squeaked to feel Kento press one thick finger at your entrance. You felt the briefest sting of resistance, felt yourself clench and buck. Kento stopped, and pressed a first kiss to your lips, so sweet that you rushed through a wildflower meadow in summer.

He stroked circles just inside your entrance, loosening you with the slick of his seed, and kissing you with an intimacy that felt so much more than all the sordid deeds you had stolen from each other so far.

"And when I say 'here'," Kento continued, his breathing getting heavier, "I meant deeper. Much deeper than my fingers could reach. In truth, I would rather break your maidenhood with my cock, than my fingers. Some...filthy little part of me, I think. I loathe it. But, since we are well past being dishonest with each other..."

"Want that, please--" you babbled, squeaking with the promise of being filled with the rod you felt dragging on your belly, "--please, do it, I need to know, need you--"

"You beg like you mean to corrupt," Kento grumbled, pressing a little harder against your entrance and shivering as you squeaked, "I was a good man before this...I think. Shhhh, shh shh...that's it...soften you up...good girl."

"Not a girl," you gasped, your voice breaking and your nails digging into Kento's shoulders. He laughed, a full, rich, deep laugh of genuine delight. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as his fingers were replaced by his cockhead.

"You are right," he rumbled, nuzzling his nose to yours again, "you're certainly not. At least...you won't be, in a moment." Nose to nose with you, and whispering into your mouth, Kento pressed insistently forwards, "Hold onto me."

You did, feeling a brief sting, and stretched and stretched and stretched and--...full. You whimpered, bringing your legs around Kento to embrace all of him to you. He grunted, and gasped, pulled to bottom out within you, when he had meant to take you slowly. You clung him inside you as he moved to pull out, and begged, afraid it was already over.

"Nonono-- don't come out-- stay--"

Kento bucked into you involuntarily, and groaned a godless sound, arching up and gripping the headboard, white-knuckled.

"Got to-- got to move, to-- to finish...but at this rate--Christ, you'll kill me-- god, can't-- can't finish straight away like a boy--"

If the pleasure of being locked into the warm, wet drag of your pussy hadn't almost taken Kento to the edge, the way you looked up at him with glassy adoration would. He moaned again, another certain stepping stone to damnation.

One more glance at you had Kento planting one forearm above your head, and plaiting his fingers with yours upon the pillow. He gasped, trying not to take you too roughly, and finally, whispered again.

"Hold onto me."

Smooth, and fluid, and with the barest scraps of self control, you saw stars to feel Kento drag his cock back to your entrance, only to fill you again. You felt the thickfriction drag, and its bursts of belly-deep pleasure than rendered you oddly submissive. You revelled in it; drugged, and sighing, your eyes slipping closed.

The drunken animal in Kento had returned in force.

"...feels...weird...good--- don't stop, Ken--"

"--sh-shit, won't last-- I'm sorry--"

Kento watched you in wonderment. Whatever pleasure your ripe core gave him, could not compare to that given to him by your face; your mewls, and sighs, and whispers.

You couldn't seem to whisper his name, though; it tasted so sweet upon your tongue, that you could not bear to let it go.

You could feel Kento losing his ragged self-control. Watching your face, the plush bounce of your breasts, and the way your thighs spread against your belly every time he fucked into you, was an otherworldly delight. You took it; gladly. Your pleasure built strangely-- deeper, and more powerful, and yet not quite enough.

Your fingers sauntered down your belly. In your addled, fucked-into state, you barely noticed what you were doing. Kento noticed, though, and growled, a droplet of sweat dropping from his forehead between your breasts. His thrusts deepened, harder and faster and desperate for orgasm.

"F-fuck...just like that...just like you do at night-- my name--"

"Ke...Ken--"

"My name."

"Kento," you half-sobbed, lost in his promise to fill you with the sticky cum that had dropped down your hand, "please--pleasepleaseplease--"

"--the begging, fuck, I'm-- I'm done, I'm-- ungh, fuck--"

You knew Kento must be finishing. You felt him twitching, and jerking, within the snug gripping heat of your cunt, ruined by him as per his promise. You felt the curious warm spill somewhere deep inside you.

You knew the look of bliss upon his face. Your fingers, still rolling the remnants of his seed around your clit, moved faster and faster and faster--

You arched, seconds after Kento's own peak had begun, into your own. You heard the headboard crack under Kento's grip, heard the rhythmic, fractured moans that may have been his and may have been yours, too lost were you both in oblivion.

The world may have completed one full turn. Struggling to hold himself up, Kento shook, dopey and half-asleep after filling you as he had threatened. You locked him within you, and held him like a lead blanket, nuzzling into his throat.

"Just...stay there. Stay. I like it."

"That feels...indecent," Kento mumbled into your neck. His uncharacteristic colloquialism was winding back again, and you felt the clipped man in the waistcoat and pocket chain returning to earth. You whispered, to his devilish laugh.

"How are we supposed to make watches together after that?"

"Carefully. Very, very carefully. As husband and wife."

"...oh."

[kiidwritings]

🐾 weird quirks cat hybrid! 141 + könig do

word count; 4744. tags/warnings; cat!hybrid 141. maybe ooc. KONIG IS NOT PART OF 141 but he is here for funsies lol. konig is fat both in human form and cat i dont make the rules. failed attempts at writing a scottish accent sorry 😿. no beta read. possible grammatical errors. lmk if anything else!

a/n: (rewriting this cuz tumblr is a bitch, dont tell me "draft saved!" when it clearly fucking didn't) anyways I LOVE HYBRID AUS I WISH I WAS PART ANIMAL RAAAHHH!! i forgot when i started this but it was definitely way after i discovered hallohello's cat cafe au on ao3. i see a lot of silly cat tiktoks on my fyp, so each character (except price, sorry peepaw ;-;) has a video linked) i did extensive research (not rlly lol) into what type of cat they'd all be cuz im insane and love cats meow :3 edit 12/24/24: holy fuck uhh hi. school started when i was like 70% finished the art for this and so im just now posting it here. im no longer fixated on cod so this'll probably be my last cod writing ough. plz enjoy anyways

pawprint divider by @/saradika-graphics. banner art by me! inspired by @/i-am-hungry-24-7 's cod cat cafe au

pairing(s): poly! cat hybrid! 141 + konig x gn!reader, platonic cat!hybrid price + reader

READ ON AO3!!

Price

If they were wolves, Price’d be the alpha no doubt

He’s the dominate male of 141 (duh, he’s the captain), not only keeping the boys in line, but also you

Just like an actual father, he gives you disappointed looks in both human and cat form when you do something even slightly against his wishes

Woke up late for work? Disappointed sigh

Fell for Soap’s pleads for more treats? A disappointed glance

He’s favorite way of spending time with you outside of going out to eat or maybe a shopping trip together was by sitting with you whenever you do work. Whether it's on your lap (which actually helps with your posture), behind your laptop, or even the majority of the time, watching the screen as you type away at some document.

Its both a blessing and a curse because he keeps you focused…even when you just wanna scroll on your phone for five minutes, he’s putting a paw on ur hand and giving you that disappointed cat dad look

You had a backload of documents and work related to the cafe that you’d been putting off but the guilt was eating away at you like a child quickly makes do with a candy bar, so instead of snuggling with Soap and Gaz on the couch to binge watch a show that took you forever to finally start up, you were sat at your desk, fingers flying across your keyboard as you inputted this month’s numbers into an excel sheet. Price, layed with his chin against his chest next to you, his ginormous and fluffy body splayed out upon the darkened wood and some extra papers you’d have to shimmy out from under him later. (Being that big made it hard to fit into places thinner cats usually could.)

You had been working for sometime now, making sure to stretch and take water breaks in between…but, all the numbers and math on your laptop screen were blurring in your head and your eyes were straining! You needed more than 5 minutes away from your screen.

With a groan, you crack your joints and lean back against the cushions of your chair. Price’s ear swiveled in your direction and he cracked an eye open. His bushy tail flicked and he left out a yawn, showing off his great fangs before shuffling around more comfortably, slowly morphing into a loaf.

You smiled and gave him a scratch behind the ear, which was met with a low rumble of purring and a tilt of his head. With your other hand, you grabbed your phone (which had been on do not disturb) and read through any notifications you got within the last three hours.

You took your hand away from Price and began to reply back to a text. He fully opened his eyes and glanced over at you. With your phone in hand, you were now hunched a bit using your elbows to keep you propped up on the desk.

Price let out a small sigh and stretched himself, back arching upwards.

Your text message conversation was obstructed by a large brown paw placing itself on your screen. You looked up and Price was staring at you with his brown eyes, pupils expanding and his ears swerving to the sides. He lets out a crunchy meow, a warning.

“What? I’ve been working for like three hours straight, don’t I deserve an actual break?” You huffed. His paw stayed and he squinted his eyes at you, before giving a slow blink. You slowly blinked back.

You knew he was just being the father figure that he was, watching out for the ones he loves, but you wanted to doomscroll dammit!...just as a little treat.

Price finally removed his paw before jumping down from the desk (his tail brushing against your nose and causing you to sputter). He looked back at you as you stared from your desk chair. You knew what that meant- he wanted you to follow him. With a sigh and a small smile, you got up from your chair, feeling how heavy your limbs got from sitting still for all that time. 

With a pleased mreow, he led you into the living room before stretching himself up to the twine pole on the cat tree. Ah, he wanted you to stretch too!

Remembering some warmups from your Sunday yoga class, you felt your joints pop and muscles strain as you stretched your achy body.

Once satisfied, he jumps atop the couch and slow-blinks at you again. You join him, lying down and staring up at him. He continues to purr as he lets his tail slump down and brush against your nose again, causing you to erupt with giggles.

Soap

Out of all five cats, Soap had to be the most chaotic one.

Whether it was failing to jump from one perch to another and pouting about it, getting bopped in the head by Ghost, or his meows that lasted so long you’d wonder how strong his little kitty lungs were, he was definitely the one who got the most attention for his silly antics at the cafe

He was like this even in his human form, he’s following you around the apartment, chatting away or always keeping a hand on your figure (it was no doubt his love language was physical affection, you had so many pictures of him all snuggled up with the others)

Whenever you found something that triggered a silly response, you would milk it till it became a new normal 

But one thing that’ll never get old is his reaction to butt scratches... 

When the weather was bad, the cafe was usually pretty quiet. Few customers came in and the cats were rather calm. Price took his usual spot upon the highest wall perch, Gaz was grooming himself and purring at people’s feet, Ghost was helping in the back, König would occasionally stick his head out from his little hiding box, and Soap was unusually sleepy. He’d let himself get fonded over, meow a bit, try and rile up the other, but he mostly lounged around. You could see in his little cat face that something was up. 

He slacked a bit when it came to helping clean up after closing and upon returning to the apartment, flopped down on your bed. With his face fully engulfed in the pillow, he seemed dead to the world. Kyle made a teasing remark which was only met with an exaggerated groan and a sad flick of his tail.

Everyone else had gone to do their own things; Price went home, Kyle and Ghost were on the couch watching TV with König (still in his cat form) lounging on the latter’s lap, purring up a storm.

“You haven’t been yourself today, Johnny. What’s wrong?” You ask, slipping into some lightweight sweatpants and sitting next to his figure on the bed. His cat ears flick up and towards you and he let out another groan and turned his head towards you. Johnny’s got that look on his face, it's different from his pleading pouts- which never falls you make you fold for him. 

No, this look is exhaustion, like he’s been drained of all his usual boyish enthusiasm. Like he can’t find a reason to get out of bed. There’s no usual purr resounding from his chest or a mischievous glint in his eyes, in fact, they looked clouded with depression like the sky outside, focused on nothing in particular.

Your heart ached from him. Seasonal depression was a bitch. When the seasons shifted and the clouds lingered in the sky more than you would like, it made the world seem less enjoyable. Constant rain made you want to sit in bed all day and binge eat and when the snow fell from the sky like flour through a sifter, you couldn’t even bring yourself to open the blinds, knowing the sight of the powdery white clinging to buildings would send your mind spiraling.

Not only that, but the dreary weather caused his knee to act up, like the joints were stuck together no matter what stretches he did.

You climbed into bed behind Johnny and wrapped your limbs around him, giving him a squeeze. His tail snaked around your leg and you felt his body relax. The added warmth was what you and Johnny needed to fend off the mysterious draft flowing through the flat.

His ear twitches as your breath fanned over it, “Why don’t you shift and we can snuggle, hmm suds?” You whisper to him and give him a soft smile.

He mumbles something at the nickname but compiles, slipping off his clothes and shifting into a brown Scottish fold, his blue eyes still shining. Johnny plops himself on your chest and makes some soft biscuits, his purr rattling your chest. He looks so much more relaxed now- he was your living weighted doll.

Johnny begins to settle down enough to doze off while you scroll on your phone. You scratch behind his ear a little and he tilts his head at maximum relaxation. Your hand slowly moved down his body- you went from his chin, to his back, poking his tummy a bit, then to the base of his tail. It twitches, swishing a bit against your hand but when you start scratching, Johnny’s butt lifts and his eyes crack open.

You giggled at his enjoyment of simple butt scratches, but this was the beginning. You shape your hand into a claw and scratch a bit more intensely. His purring increases and he lifts his head in pleasure, arching his back. Johnny let out a long meow followed by what can only be described as ‘wah wah wah wah wah’.

Nevermind the fact that his claws were digging into your chest, you both were enjoying the moment. His tail was practically wagging and he looked blissed out from butt scratches. Unable to control yourself, you burst into laughter and stopped scratching. His body went back to its relaxed state and he stared at you, his little blue eyes wide.

Johnny turned away with the best equivalent to a pout a cat could give. “Feel good, suds?” You asked through a laugh and all he responded back with was a ‘mrow’ of embarrassment.

Kyle

Kyle was the certified pretty boy, both in the group and according to the cafe’s customers

Every video or picture with him on the cafe’s socials gets a shit ton of likes

(you most popular post is gaz licking soap’s head while soap licks ghost’s head, who seem rather calm with everything and König watching from the side, wanting to join in)

He’d sit and flaunt himself in little cat outfits, or meow sweetly at the customers who couldn’t help and coddle him, like mind control, and even using that boyish charm on you and the others (he’s been found snuggled up to Ghost on more than one occasion, the pair’s tail tangled together and occasionally chirping at each other)

Kyle enjoyed watching you cook both as a human or cat. he was also one of the only ones who could be trusted up there; Soap and König stole food, Ghost couldn’t care less and when he did, he would knock things over (and although Price doesn’t live with you all, he got a bit sneezy around all the spices and seasonings)

Tonight’s dinner was chicken parmesan and spaghetti, so after Kyle helped with a bit of prep (being the gentleman he is), he shifted and hopped onto his little spot on the counter

After breading the chicken breasts, you popped the first patch into the air fryer. You set a big pot upon the stove, turning the flame to medium and drizzling some oil into it. Kyle sat loafed, observing you move around the kitchen, gathering ingredients, keeping an eye on the chicken, as well as having to shoo some mischievous kitties out the kitchen.

Once the water begins to bubble, causing Kyle’s ears to swivel in its direction, you slide the noodles into the water. You stir them around before opening up the air fryer. Steam poured out along with a wave of heat and the delicious smell of chicken.

“Oh man, I can’t remember the last time I had chicken parm.” If you were in a cartoon, you’d be comically salivating at the sight of the crispening chicken. Kyle seemed just as interested because he stretched his neck out a bit and you could see his little pink nose wiggling.

You started flipping each piece over, allowing for equal crisp on both sides, when you held up a smaller piece. “Want a sniff, pretty boy? I can trust you not to snatch this away from me.” You cooed at him, lowering the chicken to his nose. He instantly began to sniff, his tail swishing a bit. His pupils expanded and his mouth became ajar, and he started huffing like his nose was clogged or something.

You snorted as he turned away, mouth still agape and his eyes wide. Was this some weird cat quirk? None of the others did this and Kyle has had chicken before, but damn if this wasn’t cute!

He could get away with almost anything if he flashed his big brown eyes at you. (When he scratched your hand up after König tipped over the catnip jar, he just rubbed his little kitty face against your bandages and gave you a small meow. Or when he’d eaten the last brownies you were looking forward to after a long and hard day, he kissed along your neck and face before whispering sweetened apologies in your ear.)

“Smell yummy, hmm, Kyle? Never seen you do this before.” You giggled as he licked his lips and closed his mouth. He meowed back before stretching his front limbs, going into Sphinx-pose.

After a couple moments, you move onto the pasta, taking a noodle out and blowing before nibbling on it. ‘Needs more time…’ you thought as you looked over at Kyle, who’s eyes were closed and his tail flicked momentarily. You smirk as you grab another noodle and shimmy over to him. His ears swivel towards you and he cracks one eye open. 

“Give this a smell?” You asked as you held the noodle in front of him. Like clockwork, his mouth parted as he huffed and sniffled at the semi limb pasta.

You laughed as he even squinted his eyes, as if in deep concentration over the smell of this bland noodle.

And just like a cat, he reacted faster than you, jumping back at Johnny jumped on the counter and snatched the noodle out from between you two fingers, skidding out the kitchen and under the cat tree.

“NO! Dammit Johnny! You’re so greedy!” You fumed as you went to scold him. Gaz’s eyes closed in satisfaction and he went back to lounging.

Ghost

You’re still finding out things about simon

Not that there isn’t some level of trust between you two, but he’s just an enigma to everyone

It took him almost 6 months for him to finally agree to sit in at the cafe as a cat and not just help in the back

Unlike most black cats online, he doesn’t really have any of those quirks

Sure he likes to knock things over, bat at the other’s (mainly soap and König) when he was annoyed, and hit your legs whenever you walk by, but those were normal cat things

He spent more time in his human form (unless he needed his alone time, then he snuggled himself into his cat cubby), so when he was shifted, you enjoyed spending as much time observing him like he was his more bigger counterpart- the black panther

Simon was overall a pretty normal cat

You’d learnt all his favorite scratching spots, his favorite football (im so american RAAAAGHHH) team, his designated spot on the bed, and exactly how he enjoyed his tea

He was never really as vocal as a human or cat. If he wanted something, he’d either stare you down or bat at you. If someone was annoying him, he had a hardy hiss that got anyone backing off (he’s only ever growled at price, having too much respect for the man)

When out, Simon was protective; walking on the outer part of the sidewalk, opening doors for you, making sure you were always walking in front of him, even when snuggling he’d hiss at the others so you two can be alone 

Who said Simon Riley wasn’t a softie under all that eye-black and classic skull balaclava?

Spring was finally here, long gone the days of constant clouds hanging over the city and random cold fronts. The city planters had bedded tulips around the neighborhood flower beds, people were out and about during the weeks, outside tables at diners and cafes finally being occupied, and the sun warming up your apartment and your heart.

The cafe was busy today, groups enjoying pastries and drinks while the cats ran around.

Gaz and Soap were playing around, slipping under tables and playing with the customers. König even let a few people pet him (which caused him to chirp and get even more pets). Price was helping in the back (people always complimented the drinks when he made them, so you let him handle those to help boost his ego), and Ghost sat on a high perch attached to the window, too high for anyone ton reach him, but in a good spot to catch some of the breeze that came through the screen door.

You came over to check on him and all he did was swish his tail and slow blink at you. You could hear people coo at his bright pink beans as he stretches before rolling back over. It was nice to see Simon out and about during busy hours, he’d usually hide away from everyone, including Soap and König who loved his personal space. (Out of the two, Soap has gotten the most bats to the head while König has been nipped twice.)

You’re chatting with some customers, Gaz sits proudly in the lap of one of them when there’s a clattering outside and you see someone passing by has knocked over the black board outside. You roll your eyes a bit, excusing yourself and exiting the cafe to pick it up back.

“Some people…jeez.” You grumble as you straighten it back up. As you're crouched down, a shadow casts above you and when you look up, there’s a brunet giving you an apologetic smile. His hair is sleek and he’s wearing a cool gray office suit. 

“Ah, sorry about that, sweets.” The unnecessary pet name has your nose wrinkling, but you keep your displeasure masked. 

“It’s ok, nothing’s broken.” You say as you brush off your knees and straighten up. He’s average height and build, nothing to gawk over but not bad looking. He’s got a glint in his eye and before you can turn away, he’s opening his mouth. 

“I pass here everyday and I’ve seen you hustling around, like a cute little maid. You own this place, eh?” The more he talks, the more you get the urge to spit at his feet- those obnoxiously shiny loafers. You just grit your teeth and force a polite smile.

“Mhmm, yup. I’ve got some order to make so I’ll be-.” 

“I never liked cats, too hairy and mean, but I’d come here for you.~ You should be the main face of this cafe instead of those...pets, sales would be booming if you just flashed a pretty little smile.” He flashes his pearly whites and you suddenly feel exposed under his sultry gaze. 

“I, uhh, appreciate it but I have to go-.” He takes a step towards you, his hand ready to grasp onto your arm when there’s a clunk against the window behind you. 

Ghost, with big eyes and his body fluffed up like a sea urchin stood on his hind legs, body pressing against the glass like if he tried hard enough, he could phase through and slice the bastard's face into flesh ribbons. His claws scratch at the glass and he lets out a hiss that sounds loud even through the window. Customers and the other cats look over at the scene and the office man wrinkles his nose. Ghost keeps hissing and presses himself more into the glass, definitely leaving marks where his nose and paws were pressing.

In human form, you were blessed if you never at the receiving end of Ghost's intimidation, but as a cat, seeing him before a black puff ball of rage was certainly cute.

“You keep feral cats in your cafe?!” The man asks, disgusted by Ghost's actions of pure rage. You’ve never seen Ghost get so aggressive, but in this moment, you’re thankful.

“Yep, so maybe it’s best you don’t stop by!” You huff at him and turn curtly back into the cafe, ignoring his grumbles and curses at Ghost as he continues to stare down the sleazeball. 

Even after the man has gone down the street, Ghost is still seething. He stills alert in his window perch and watches the people go by. Some stop to coo at him through the glass despite his deadly glare so he goes to his hiding spot to brood. 

Once the last group leaves and everyone shifts back to help clean up, Ghost peeks his little head out. You squat down and give him a smile. He just glares.

“Thank you, Si. I appreciate the backup.” You boop his nose and he growls before batting at your hand. You just laugh and coo at him more. 

“Seems like you have a little katze bodyguard.” König teases as he wipes down some tables. Ghost hisses and slinks out of hiding, making his way to the back area to get dressed and wash dishes.

König

being raised in a poor household with just his mutter and oma, he struggled but was also spoiled, wanting to be given the best life they could provide for him

His mom would sometimes not eat just to provide her growing boy a full meal

And man did he grow…

At age 13, Anton was 5’11 and 145 lbs. And according to his doctor, he wasn’t done growing yet!

He was outcasted by his peers, bullied and teased for how his second hand clothes never truly fit over his stomach or how his shoes were slowly falling apart

Over his years of being in the military, a balanced diet, and an intense workout routine, some of that fat turned to muscle but his body was still plump

His stomach hadn’t formed any abs, his thighs spread when he sat, and his arms if not flexed jiggled

He’d gotten better with his body issues, and with the help of loving partners and therapy he didn’t scowl looking in the mirror

He’d still grow flustered when you’d playfully pat his stomach or when soap’d tease about getting him into something more revealing to show off his fat ass, his creamy white skin blooming a bright red which ensued even more teasing

Add onto being a maine coon hybrid, his cat form was also a bit chubby under all that fur

When he ran, his pouch swung side to side and he had trouble fitting into smaller perches kitties like soap and gaz lounged on with ease

Each of the cats had a specific level of the cat tree dedicated to them. König’s favorite spot was a little perch in the center of the cat tree that had a small hole in the middle. It was meant for cats to stick their heads through and play with each other, but with his large physique, he took over that whole platform

Sundays were usually when you tried to get everything done before the work week started back up again. Groceries were dwindling and Price wasn’t gonna let you eat take out anymore (you’d accidently let slip on the phone that you got the same delivery drive twice in a row and he pressured the rest out of you).

Kyle had just ventured to the bedroom to receive some clothes, wanting to spend some time with his Captain and his partner, Simon and Johnny opted to stay home, and König…you actually hadn’t heard from him in a while.

Pulling a shirt over your head, you headed into the living room. The TV was playing a rerun while Johnny splayed his legs over Simon’s, who didn’t seem bothered. Entering the living room, you pass by the couch and to the cat tree, where a big mass of dusty orange fur sat, front legs dangling off the edge.

You poke his back, and the skin jumps as he lets out a ‘merr!’ and lifts his head. König yawns, sticking his pink tongue out and you boop the tip. He snaps his mouth shut and gives another chirp. His long ear flicks and he licks his lips as you speak.

“You thinking about joining us, we’re heading to the store. We might need your muscles carrying the bags, big boy.” You stroke his back and you feel him arch up a bit.

König seems to be thinking in his little kitty mind before laying his head back down with a small and dainty, “Maow!” 

You giggle, he’s always had a high pitched voice. He was another silent kitty next to Ghost, only using his meow at home or occasional chirps in the public eye of cafe customers. (This didn’t stop them from cooing at his squeaky voice and he’d grow embarrassed.)

“D’aww, ok. You can stay home with the lovebirds, König.” You scratch his back some more, before you see a mound hanging down from the platform’s underside.

“Oh? What’s this?” You tease as you squat down. You knew what it was, you were just feeling a bit cheeky today. König chirped and his tail swished and he watched you gaze at his belly.

It was round and a nice cream color compared to the rest of his fur. It was also weirdly the softest part of him. You grinned as you poked it, running your hands along it like feeling a baby bump. König chirped again, it sounded like a whine, but that didn’t stop you.

“So chubby, no wonder even Ghost has trouble picking you up. At least we know you’re eating well! I like my partners' big boned and my cats chonky.” You jiggled and played with his stomach more before König let out a meow of annoyance, but it was too cute for you to take offense to!

You straightened back up to give him some deserved chin scratches for putting up with your antics. But with a huff, König stood up and turns away, making sure to smack your face with his tail before jumping down and off to the bedroom, pouch swaying as he trotted off. (You heard Kyle give a kiss to the gentle giant and offer him the same deal, to which he agreed to! So cheeky!)

“Ya’ gotta quit bullyin’ the lad! No wonder he ‘as a new favorite!” Johnny says as his eyes were now on you, but his gaze focused elsewhere but your eyes. You stammered to defend yourself. König truly didn’t mind, you’d talk about it before but you always kept it to light teasing and never any insults. He’d tease you back, despite how reserved he was, his hooked nose would scrunch when he made a remark that had you gawking and pouting at him. 

“I-I wasn’t bullying König! Also you saw his stomach, it’s like this when he walks!” You mimic the motion by making a side to side motion with your hands, feeling flushed now having been called out.

Johnny just smirked as Simon spoke up, “Unless you plan on shopping in your knickers, I’d suggest you finish dressing.”

As if on queue, a breeze ruffled the satin curtains and tickled your bare legs, skin erupting with goosebumps. You blush harder and stomp past the couch, not without receiving a swat on the butt from Johnny, who can only laugh as you swear back at him.

(With each trip that issued carrying groceries, you were left struggling, hands burning from the strain, while König chivalrously took bags from Kyle's hands, them both throwing you smug smirks.)

[earthlyangelbby]

Truth or Dare

Part 1

4.7k words

CW: lots of flirting/tension, college!Eddie, roomate!Eddie, kissing, fingering, orgasming, premature orgasm, tickling

Summary: After being treated to pizza, wine coolers, and The Princess Bride by Eddie as an attempt to cheer you up after your breakup. You boldly ask to play truth or dare. Silly dares turn into more intense encounters as Eddie and you explore what all the tension is about.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his signature grin flickering to life at your mischievous tone. “This is your night, sweetheart. What rules are we playing with?”

You tilted your head, a spark of confidence lighting up your expression. “Truth or dare. But—” you paused, smirking, “Nothing illegal, and we each get one skip.”

Eddie leaned back against the headboard, taking a swig of his wine cooler like he was settling in for the main event. “Alright, but don’t blame me when you regret making this deal.”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling lighter from the night’s laughter. “You’re stalling. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he answered immediately, the challenge clear in his tone.

You leaned forward, considering him for a moment. “Okay, I dare you to... do your best impression of Westley’s ‘As You Wish’ without sounding like an idiot.”

Eddie sat up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I've so got this.” He cleared his throat, adopting an exaggerated posh accent. “As... you... wish,” he said, drawing out each word like he was auditioning for a soap opera.

You burst out laughing, clutching your sides. “Oh my God, that was terrible! Westley would be horrified.”

Eddie grinned, unbothered. “You didn’t say it had to be good. Alright, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said, settling back into your pillow.

He tapped his chin, clearly debating. “Alright. Be honest when was the exact moment you realized you were too good for Brian?”

Your smile faded briefly, but it wasn’t pain that lingered—it was relief. “Probably when he started canceling plans to meet halfway without a real excuse,” you admitted. “I think I was just holding on to the idea of what we used to be, not what we were.”

Eddie nodded, his gaze steady. “Good answer. And hey, for what it’s worth, he was never on your level anyway.”

“Flattery won’t save you from my next dare,” you shot back, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said without hesitation.

You grinned. “I dare you to serenade me with the cheesiest love song you can think of. Right now.”

Eddie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“You asked for this!” you teased, pulling a pillow into your lap.

After a moment of thought, Eddie sat up, cleared his throat, and launched into an off-key rendition of I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic flourishes. His voice cracked on the high notes, and you were doubled over laughing before he even hit the chorus.

“You’re insane,” you managed between giggles.

“And yet,” he said, flopping back onto the bed, “you’re loving every second of it.”

“Fine, maybe I am,” you admitted, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “Okay, your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” he asked, smirking.

“Dare,” you challenged, sitting up straighter.

“Alright, this one is a challenge. Time for the happy dance!” He bolts up.

“You’re so on!” You both get up and do the silliest dances you can think of. Sticking your tongues out, twisting your hips, and doing peace signs, you dance until you both get a little tired. Eddie grabs you, pulling you close and into a sway-like dance. He’s panting from laughing and dancing. “You so win princess buttercup.” He says with a wink and a grin.

“Oh, dread pirate Roberts, thank you for saving me from being so sad with your excellent dance skills!” you snort a real genuine laugh, throwing your head back. He spins you around and bows. He had a way of making everything fun. Both of you make your way back to your bed. You smile, sighing out a breath. “Arg, truth or dare, dread pirate?”

Eddie balances himself on his hands and shakes his hair back before looking at you. “Let’s do a truth this time, buttercup.”

“Have you ever been in love before?” you looked at him so intently searching for the feeling on his face.

Eddie looked off to the side blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Yeah. Or at least I think I was. There was a girl who I had an amazing summer with, but she wasn’t from Hawkings, and she went back home. She wanted me to follow her, but I couldn't because too much shit was going on and I didn’t have the money, so we fought over the phone, and that was that.” Eddie sat up crisscrossed in front of you.

Your expression softened, and you touched his hands. “I had no idea, Eddie. I’m so sorry.”

A smile tugged the corner of his lips and he turned his hand over to cup yours. “Sweetheart, that happened years ago. I don't dwell on it anymore. Now truth or dare?”

Your thumb rubbed against his hand absently. “I think I’ll go dare this time Eddie.”

“I dare you to tell me something that you have never told anyone else before.”

Your cheeks tingle in embarrassment. “Okay, but you have to close your eyes, and I’ll whisper it to you.”

A wide grin formed on his face and his eyes lit up. “Oh sweetheart this must be good. I’ll close my eyes I promise.” his eyes squeezed shut.

You shuffled on your knees, leaned over to his ear, and whispered, “While I was at summer camp when I was 15, I wrote these ridiculous, sexy love confessions to my counselor and left them in his bunk secretly. I know they were found because word spreads fast at summer camp. The girl counselors swore it was this one girl counselor and then she was fired because it was so inappropriate. I was so mortified that all the counselors and the camp owner read it. I couldn’t admit to it and you’re the only person besides me that knows the truth.” You leaned back sitting in front of him.

Eddie's mouth is hung open, and their eyes are wide, “Oh my god, your horniness got someone fired. Sweetheart that’s crazy! I have to know what it said.”

“No way Eddie! I can’t say that right now!” you pushed at him. “Now your turn. Truth or dare Munson?”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in close to your face. “Dare me.”

You smirked, feeling bold. “Alright, Eddie. I dare you to put on my red shorts and walk out wearing just that. They’re in the top right of my closet.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, then narrowed with playful defiance. “Your shorts? The ones that are basically a crime against fabric?”

“That’s the dare. Take it or skip it. You get one skip.” you challenged, crossing your arms.

“As you wish sweetheart,” he said, sauntering toward your closet, “you have no idea what you just started.” he huffed.

He disappeared behind the door, and you could hear the rustling of fabric, followed by a few exaggerated grunts and muttered curses. “These are tiny! I feel like I’m in a speedo!” he yelled.

Eddie emerged from the closet wearing your red running shorts, and the sight nearly knocked you off the bed. You'd seen him shirtless but now you're really looking. His body is covered in tattoos. The shorts were comically tight, the hem barely reaching the tops of his thighs, and the bold color made the entire situation even more absurd. He strutted out like he was on a catwalk, hands on his hips and a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“Is it all you ever imagined?” " he quipped, twirling for effect.

Your eyes go immediately to his bulge, clutching a pillow to your chest as you try to seem like you aren't staring. You attempt to cover your intrigue with a giggle. “Wow. I mean, Oh my God, Eddie. You look like a camp counselor!” you teased.

“Yeah I heard you like those.” he teased back.

Your heart was pounding a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “I was just saying since those are mine from camp. I was a counselor for a couple of summers.” You stammered around it but seeing him like this made you flustered.

But you can’t help it; you eye him up and down, covering the bottom half of your face with your pillow. That would make him not notice you noticing him right?

Eddie smirked, clearly loving the attention. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s your turn.” His grin turned wicked. “I dare you to put on that red lace lingerie in your closet and keep it on for the game.”

Instantly your smile faded, replaced by a stunned look. “What? No way.”

“Fair’s fair, sweetheart. I mean you can always pass,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “You dared me into these bad boys,” he gestured at the shorts, “and I’m keeping them on. So you have to do the same.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, standing and grabbing the hanger from the closet. “You better not laugh.”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up three fingers. But the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

A few minutes later, you stepped out in the red lace lingerie, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. The set was elegant but undeniably sexy, with all delicate straps and sheer panels. It hugged you in your hips and under your bust. You felt completely exposed but were determined not to let Eddie see you squirm.

His reaction was immediate. The smug grin on his face faded, replaced by wide eyes and a rare moment of silence. He blinked, his gaze flickering between your face and the lingerie. “Woah,” he finally muttered, his voice lower than before. “You look… a-amazing.”

Your cheeks burned, but you rolled your eyes to hide your nerves. “You’re just saying that because you dared me, Eds.”

“No, not even close,” he said, his grin slowly returning. “But I think I won.”

You sat back down on the bed, crossing your legs and pretending like this was totally normal. “Alright, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Eddie said immediately, still grinning.

You tilted your head, thinking. “I dare you to go outside and do a lap around the house in those shorts.”

He laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “Nice try, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Pass.”

“Coward,” you teased.

“Call it what you want,” he said with a shrug. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said, keeping your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

He tapped his chin, clearly savoring the moment. “Why’d you agree to wear that? Was it just to win the dare, or… something else?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The room felt warmer all of a sudden, the air heavier. “Maybe… a little bit of both,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

His grin softened into something warmer, his eyes lingering on yours. “Fair enough.”

Wanting the air to find its way back into your lungs, you inhale and sigh out, “Uh alright….truth or dare”? Your voice is higher than you meant.

Eddie pursed his lips and looked around making it seem like he really thought about it.

“Give me a dare.”

“mmmh- uhh, okay I dare you to go through the process of kissing me without act-”

He interrupts with a big grin, “I got ya, sweetheart.”

Eddie slowly leaned in cupping your face and pushing your hair behind your ear, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat from his breath hitting your lips. Which made them feel tingly.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you felt the heat between you intensify, the playful atmosphere shifting into something else entirely. The way his presence made your heart race a little faster, the moment stretched in anticipation.

“Just so you know, I'm a real good kisser,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed so lightly against yours, just a ghost of a touch. It was enough to send a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, all the teasing felt real, too real.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you couldn’t decide whether to pull away or lean in closer. His eyes were soft now, and there was something in them, a quiet sincerity mixed with that signature teasing streak, but it was enough to make your pulse spike.

You both stayed there, close enough to feel the heat, but just out of reach. "Eddie..." you whispered, your voice shaking just a little.

He smiled, a little too knowingly, and pulled back and kissed your forehead, his gaze soft but still playful. "Your turn, sweetheart," he said, voice almost too smooth, leaving you breathless and your heart still pounding in your chest.

The air between you was different now, charged with a deeper tension. “Dare!” it came out fast. Your heart beats out of your chest.

Eddie clapped his hands together with a devilish grin, his laughter filling the room. "Here's the dare," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Let me trace my fingers wherever I want, and you have to stay still. I'll stop the moment you say you can't handle it anymore. Sound fair?"

Your eyebrows shot up, heat rushing to your cheeks. "W-wherever you want?" you stammered, your voice faltering under the weight of his gaze. “That's... a bit much, don't you think?"

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Only if you overthink it," he said with a wink. "What's the matter? Scared you can't handle a little tickling?"

You huffed out a breath, pushing down the nervous flutter in your chest. Feeling emboldened, you crossed your arms. "I'm not scared of being tickled, Eddie. Do your worst."

His grin widened, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. He leaned forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch.

"Good," he murmured. "Just lay back for me. Close your eyes and trust me."

You lay back hesitantly, but his steady presence made you feel safer than you'd expected. When his fingers glide lightly over your collarbones, an involuntary shiver rippled through you. The sensation was electric, subtle, and far more intense than you'd

anticipated.

"Reacting already?” Eddie said, his voice low and amused.

You twitched slightly, unable to suppress your body's reaction, but you bit back a reply. His fingers moved deliberately, trailing up the sides of your neck and across your shoulders. The touch was maddeningly light, and every nerve seemed to awaken under his hands.

"You're holding up better than I thought," he mused, his tone a mixture of teasing and admiration. "But how much more can you take this? Getting to be too much, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, tilting your chin defiantly. "I can handle it," you said, though your voice betrayed the slightest tremor. His grin turned almost predatory as his fingers drifted down your arms, tracing the delicate lines of your wrist and elbow. The strokes were slow and deliberate, lulling and igniting you at the same time. When your eyes fluttered open, you caught him watching you, his expression softer but still filled with an intense focus. "Most people would've given up by now,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I think you actually like it."

Your throat tightened, and you

swallowed hard, your words catching in your throat. "You're not... done yet, are you?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted closer, lying on his side as his hand rested lightly on your ribs. "Not if you don't want me to be," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.

The words left your lips before you could stop them. "I don't want you to stop," you admitted, your gaze locking with his. "I dare you to keep going."

"As you wish sweetheart," Eddie murmured, his grin deepening. His fingers continued their exploration, tracing down your ribs to your stomach. The touches were light, deliberate, and agonizingly slow, stopping just above the waistband of your panties before gliding back up. A soft moan escaped you, unbidden, and your body reacted instinctively, your breath hitching as your nipples hardened against the fabric of your bra. "I knew you liked it," he teased, his voice laced with triumph.

His fingers traveled lower, ghosting along the curve of your hips, down your thighs, and slowly inwards. The teasing lightness of his touch made your body jerk involuntarily, the tension building with every motion. His fingers brushed faintly over your mound, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, and he stilled for a moment, his gaze meeting yours again.

"I don't want to rush this," he said, his voice husky and filled with want. "I'm going to kiss you now. Is that okay?"

Your heart raced as you nodded, your voice coming out in a desperate whisper. "Please."

He leaned in, studying your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin as he closed the gap between you. Eddie’s lips brushed against yours, his kiss soft but deliberate, testing your response. His hand moved slowly, tracing the curve of your waist, and the sensation sent a shiver through you. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as his dark eyes searched your face.

He is a good kisser.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice steady but hinting with something vulnerable, like he needed to hear your answer.

You nodded, your breath catching as his thumb brushed a slow circle against your hip. “I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice wavered slightly. “Better than fine.”

His grin returned, small but genuine, and his hand resumed its gentle exploration

His lips met yours in a kiss that was wild and unrestrained, a sharp contrast to the gentleness of his touch earlier. The taste of him-faintly sweet from the wine coolers with a lingering hint of smoke-flooded your senses. His tongue brushed against yours, and you welcomed it, your breaths mingling as the kiss deepened. His other hand continued its slow exploration, tracing along the seam of your panties and then up your abdomen, skimming the edge of your bra. You break the kiss for a moment, voice sultry "Are you trying to drive me crazy?" you tease, your eyes dancing with mischief. He smirks, the corner of his mouth curving upward, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he replies, that same playful glint in his eyes. You can feel the heat radiating between you, igniting a fire that is impossible to ignore.

He leans in again, capturing your lips with his, the kiss pulling you deeper into the moment. Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling as you pull him closer, wanting to lose yourself in him entirely.

Slowly, he pulls back, his gaze searching yours, a mix of desire and tenderness shining through. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. You can feel your heart racing, anticipation and excitement swirling within you as you consider how to respond.

“I want you Eddie,” you whisper. His eyes widen slightly at your boldness and he grins down at you.

He laughs not at you directly but at how suddenly shy you have gotten. “I want you too. I really do. Just tell me if you want to stop at any point. Alright, sweetheart?”

You nod up at him looking into his eyes. “Mmhmm.” Your heart raced. His words, “I want to feel everything, Eddie.” You brushed your fingers against his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingertips. “I want to feel you.”

Eddie‘s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his 5 fingers are now more firm, rubbing circles at your opening through the fabric. “Tell me what you want or I’ll stop,” he murmured

“Take them off. I wanna feel you!” you cried out. He grabbed the hem on each side and pulled them off of you much less gently than with your bra. Returning his fingers to your slit and finding your sensitive clit. With his other hand working at your opening. He pushed two fingers into you. It felt so good to finally have his hands on you like this. He worked his fingers nice and slow while his other hand focused on your clit. Your body reacted with little jerks.

“Like that? Is that what you wanted? Is that what you like?” he grunted out.

You breathed out little whimpers and moans, trying to find words to say back to him, and finally, you stuttered out. “Yes! Just like that” you arched and tightened.

“God you're so tight around my fingers”

He curled his fingers inside you and found the spot. He pressed into it and rubbed circles on your clit. The static inside you was growing even more. “I like the way your body jerks under my touch.” Eddie leaned down in between your legs and started licking swipes on your clit. His fingers pumped into you slow and deep. The static is all-consuming in your body. You can feel it even down in your toes.

“You’re so good” is all you can say.

Eddie's pace quickened at your words, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm with the static building in you. He looked up for a moment, locking eyes with you as if he wanted to drink in every detail of your pleasure. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver down your spine. “Let it go.”

Your body was already responding, the pressure coiling tighter within you as you held onto the sheets. “Let it happen,” he encouraged, his eyes dark and full of desire as he worked you through your climax. You cried out, the sound of your voice mixing with his groans of appreciation as your body seized and tightened around his fingers. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, and the world around you melted away.

As Eddie continued to work his fingers inside you, the warmth and wetness enveloped him. It sparked something deep within him it was a mix of desire and pleasure that was almost overwhelming. Your body responded to his every movement, tightening around his fingers as the waves of your high pulsed, and it ignited a fire inside him that he hadn’t anticipated. “Eddie! Feels so good Eddieee. You're so good! Please don’t stop” you begged.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, his voice strained with effort. “You’re so—so tight.” The way you surrendered to pleasure was intoxicating, and the sight of your bliss brought him dangerously close to the edge of his control.

When your body began to tremble and your breath hitched, Eddie felt the pressure coiling within him, nearly overwhelming as your walls clenched around his fingers. “Please. Please, don’t stop,” you gasped, driving him wild with need.

“I won't,” he gasped out, his heart racing. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your skin, savoring every second of this moment as his fingers continued finally finding the perfect rhythm. But the combination of your moans and the way you tightened around him was becoming too much.

“I’m cumming! Oh god! Eddie I’m-“ you broke off into moans grinding back down onto his fingers, he felt it…the wave of pleasure crashing over you, and in the tide of your release, he lost control too.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie gasped, his own body responding involuntarily. A pulse of heat shot through him, and he felt himself teetering dangerously close to the edge. He was still seated between your legs, his fingers buried deep inside you, and the sensations were so intense that he couldn’t hold back. Without warning, he found himself succumbing as waves of pleasure washed over him too.

His fingers stilled inside you, but the sensation of your body still clenching around him sent shockwaves of pleasure cascading through him. “Oh, damn it!” he exclaimed, the pleasure mingling with surprise as he felt himself spill over, his body trembling from the intensity of it all.

You opened your eyes wide, your high fading momentarily as Eddie’s reaction hit you. “Eddie?!”

He cursed under his breath, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering bliss. “I—I didn’t mean to! You just felt so good, and…”

“Did seeing me really make you?” You cut him off, intrigued.

He met your eyes with a soft smile, “Honestly? Yeah,” Eddie said, voice low and sincere. “Seeing you like that, feeling you, hearing you… it was something else.”

“I- just haven't ever really felt like I was sexy like that. Like the type of sexy to make a guy cum without touching him. That’s like reserved for ultra ethereal beauties.” Your cheeks burned.

Eddie leans in slightly, “Well, maybe I think you’re an ultra ethereal beauty.”

You chuckled, the warmth of his compliment mixing with your lingering embarrassment. “I honestly didn't expect any of this but I'm glad it happened”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Believe me, I definitely didn’t expect this to happen. I mean, I’ve been trying not to trip over my words around you for months, and here I am, making a spectacle of myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his candidness. “At least I wasn’t the only one surprised then. It’s kind of funny, honestly. We’ve been roommates for a year, and I didn’t think we’d ever cross this line.”

He leaned back, slightly bashful, and you could see that familiar pink hue still lingering on his cheeks. “Yeah, but seriously, that was… wow. I didn’t know just looking at you could do that. There’s definitely something about you.”

With a teasing roll of your eyes, you nudged him playfully. “Well, I guess all those times I walked around in my pajamas and you casually told me I looked nice. I guess that wasn’t just roommate kindness, huh?”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, you caught me. I might have had more than a few moments where I thought, ‘Wow, my roommate is hot.’ But I didn’t want to make things weird. I mean you had a boyfriend.”

Your heart fluttered at his admission. “Wait, so you actually think I’m cute?”

“Cute? You’re more than cute. You’re absolutely captivating,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “And honestly, after tonight, I kind of want to see where this goes beyond just being roommates.”

Your heart raced at his words, and you sensed the tension between you shifting into something softer yet full of potential. “You really mean that?”

“Yeah, I do,” he confessed, his gaze steady on yours. “I’d love to take you out on a proper date. We can still have all the fun we just had, trust me I had lots of fun. I learned a lot about you. But I wanna know more.”

You felt a rush of warmth inside, excitement bubbling as you processed his offer. “That sounds… amazing. I’d really like that.”

Eddie smiled back, relief evident on his face. “Good. Because I’m still kind of embarrassed about everything, but I’m really happy it happened.”

“Same,” you admitted, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I didn’t think I could feel that way, let alone with you, of all people.”

“Yeah? It feels kind of unreal, doesn’t it?” He laughed softly, the tension easing as you both began to gather your clothes. “But I’m glad it happened. Just… wow.”

As you both started to clean up, playful banter filled the air between you, your laughter echoing around the room while you both recounted some of the sillier dares and the ones that shook you to your cores. Once you finished freshening up and were back in cozy pajamas.

Eddie grabbed at your hand pulling you into his room and you followed without question. “Since we kinda messed up all of your sheets, do you wanna sleep in my room with me? We can plan that date out before we fall asleep,” Eddie looked down at you sweetly.

Your heart felt fuzzy. “I'd love too Eddie”

You both slipped under the blankets. Eddie laid on his back and lifted his arm up inviting you to cuddle. You shuffled over to him and laid your head on his chest. As he ran his fingers through your hair he whispered

“I thought about our date and I want to take you to the Planetarium?” His heart beating out of his chest.

“That sounds perfect Eddie” you could hear his heart steady. “Goodnight”

“Goodnight buttercup,” Eddie murmured.

Tag list: @avalon-wolf

[supercap2319]

"Alright, listen up. The spell requires three things: the blood of a witch, the blood of a vampire, and the blood of a werewolf." Silas addressed the Scooby Doo gang of Mystic Falls. Silas knew of a way to bring Bonnie back from the Other Side, but it was not without consequences.

Grayson nods. "We can get you blood from a werewolf. I already have blood of a witch and vampire running through my veins."

Silas nods approvingly, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Excellent. With your unique lineage providing the witch and vampire components, we're nearly set." He glances about the group, settling on Damon. "Damon, I presume you can handle securing the werewolf blood?"

"Yeah. I think wolf boy Tyler Lockwood can help." Damon grumbles with a frown. Silas smirks at Damon's response, clearly amused by his attitude. He nods, satisfied with the plan. "Good. Once we have all the necessary components, we'll begin the ritual. And with Grayson's... unique abilities, we'll have more than enough power to bring our little witch back."

Grayson nods and walks with Elena to the side. "Elena? I don't trust Silas. He's going to screw us over."Elena nods in agreement, her brow furrowed with worry as she watches Silas conversing with himself. She turns to Grayson, her voice low. "I know. But what choice do we have? We need to get Bonnie back, no matter the cost."

"Look, the moment something goes South, you take Jeremy, and you get out of town. You understand me?" Elena nods slowly. "I understand." Casually, Silas approaches the pair, having overheard enough of their conversation to know Grayson's protectiveness extends beyond just Elena. "Sweet of you to look out for sister dear Elena and baby brother Jeremy. But tell me..." Silas's voice carries a dangerous edge as he moves closer.

"What?" Grayson asked.

"What happens if I decide to double-cross you all? You seem to have a backup plan for Elena and Jeremy, but what about you, Grayson?" He chuckles darkly.

"If I die, then I'm taking you with me. You may look like Stefan, but you are not a good person." Grayson said.

A sharp, dangerous laugh escapes Silas's lips. "Ooh, how... predictable. The hybrid threatens the villain. I've heard it all before." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper."Tell me, Grayson... What exactly are you willing to sacrifice for your friends and family?"

The hybrid leans closer to Silas. "Everything." Silas holds Grayson's gaze, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, he nods slowly, a grudging respect flickering in his ancient eyes. "Everything, hm? Now, that's what I call dedication." He straightens up, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Grayson nods. "How did you get like this? According to textbooks, you were supposed to marry Qetsiyah. What happened?" Silas's expression darkens briefly at the mention of Qetsiyah, a flash of annoyance crossing his features before he masks it with that familiar smirk, though it seems a bit forced this time. "Well, that's a story for another time, isn't it?"

"You're damn right it is."

[galactichoneybee92]

Helluva Boss Season 3 Predictions

So now that I've spent the past week or so recovering from Sinsmas, I'd like to take some time to think about what's coming in the next season. Strap in: This post got WAY longer than anticipated. Spoiler warning for absolutely everything.

We are going to have ample time to concoct theories since Vivzie already confirmed that there will be a considerable wait for the new season. However, she did also confirm that we will be getting more shorts to hold us over and also that the extended wait time is in order to facilitate a more regular update schedule once season 3 premiers. We haven't gotten any further information on what that schedule might look like but I'm hoping for weekly releases instead of monthly so, you know, fingers crossed.

While season 2 was incredibly heavy on the Stolitz arc, Vivzie has stated that season 3 will be more focused on exploring some of the other characters. I'm sure Stolitz isn't going to disappear and that some of the episodes will still be focused on the progression of their relationship (I've seen some people saying that the Stolitz arc is over and like...respectfully...no? They're not even officially together? They have so much ground left to cover) but it would be nice to flesh out the rest of the characters in this universe.

One of the big plot points will of course be Millie's pregnancy. Now let me just say now, I'm already so incredibly sick of the "Millie cheated" theory. As if that's the only reason that a woman could be nervous about an unplanned pregnancy. Be so fucking for real. As for how I think they'll handle it, I think there could be some interesting juxtaposition happening between Stolas losing his child and the M&Ms gaining theirs. Millie is clearly very anxious about the pregnancy and I would personally love if there was an episode devoted to her trying to find ways to talk to Moxxie or Blitz about it but never quite finding the words, and in the end it winds up being Stolas who is able to help her. Out of all of IMP, he's the only one who has not only raised a baby, but did so while he was very young and probably very apprehensive about it. For all that he loves his daughter, Octavia was very much conceived out of obligation rather than either he or Stella feeling ready to bring a child into the world and I just think that it could be a good bonding moment for the two of them.

Right now IMP very much feels like the gang + Stolas, and I desperately need there to be more time devoted to Stolas getting to know the rest of IMP better. I think bonding with Millie could be an excellent first step (Step 2: Him and Moxxie bond over musical theater. Millie and Blitz are always trying to pawn Moxxie off on each other when it comes to watching musicals with him and I think it would be really great if he could have a musical theater bestie who actually enjoys them. And lets be real- There's no way you can watch Stolas's entire little musical production in Mastermind and come out thinking that that dramatic little fuck wouldn't love a good musical)

Speaking of Octavia, I would love to explore her character more. I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on her that I will probably explore in another post but while she does frustrate me, I do love her. Additionally, I'm very interested in what Stella and Andrealphus have planned now. They succeeded in getting Stolas out of the picture, his titles have passed to Andrealphus until Octavia is of age, but that has to be soon, right? Octavia was 17 in season 1 and while I'm not sure how much time has passed she has to be coming up on 18. 18 was the age that Loona was going to age out of the foster system so it's apparently the age of majority in Hell, the same as on Earth, so that would be the age that she would inherit her father's titles and estate. What are their plans for her then?

I think it's very possible that they will continue with their plan to have Stolas killed now that they no longer need him. Would they go as far as to try and kill Octavia too? What would happen if they did? What is the line of succession? Octavia clearly doesn't have any children so would Andrealphus get to keep everything?

Stolas and Stella were engaged as children, but so far we haven't seen anything about an arranged marriage for Octavia. If Stolas had to marry in order to secure a "precautionary heir", wouldn't Octavia need to do the same now that she has inherited everything? I wonder if we will get either a birthday episode (Octavia dealing with having her 18th birthday without her father- Stolas dealing with missing his daughter's 18th birthday) or an arranged marriage plotline (Maybe Stella announces her daughter's engagement on her 18th birthday?)

This next theory is really out there but bear with me here and remember that they're strongly based on European royalty: What if Andrealphus tries to marry Octavia to secure the title for him and his sister.

Overall, I think an arranged marriage arc could really do a lot for Octavia's character in regard to her perspective on Stolas. Right now she only really views Stolas as her father, not as person in his own right, independent of his relationship to her. She only sees the ways in which he's failed her and not any of his own personal struggles. Furthermore, she had the quote from Sinsmas, 'You don't love mother and you don't love me- You love him." Which seems to imply that she thought her parents loved each other??? Stolas has mentioned on several occasions that he did his best to give her a normal life and I wonder if that included hiding the fact that he and Stella hated each other. It leads me to believe that maybe she thinks that they were happily in love until he met Blitz and then that was the catalyst for their marriage falling apart instead of their marriage having always been rotten at the core.

But what does that have to do with Octavia having an arranged marriage? Well I could see Octavia being very against it and Stella saying something like "Oh please, I had an arranged marriage when I was your age" and Octavia discovering the truth of the matter. She expressed surprise that her parents didn't marry for love and then Stella is like "Me? Love Stolas? Don't be ridiculous."

I mean naturally the wedding never happens- Stolas and IMP are able to interfere and save her from going through with it and maybe in the process repair her relationship with Stolas. Maybe they could steal her away and if she's staying with them she might be able to see all of the ways in which Blitz isn't some evil father-stealer like she's imagined him being. It sets it up for her to see them being soft with each other and maybe compare it to her memories of her parents and how they were never affectionate like that. Maybe Stolas will do something dorky that Stella would usually mock him for but instead Blitz will just roll his eyes and think it's cute and they might laugh about it together. And then Blitz would definitely make her smiley face pancakes in the morning (because he's nothing if not a girl-dad) and I could definitely see him remembering that one time in Sinsmas that Stolas mentioned that rats were Octavia's favorite snack and being sure to hunt some down for her.

Other unrelated small things I would like to see:

Blitz gets Stolas a little plant for the apartment.

Blitz gets some glow in the dark stars for the ceiling.

I'd love to explore Loona's character some more. How old was she when she went into foster care? Why was she there? Was she surrendered as a baby? Was she taken by whatever passes as CPS in Hell? Did she have any other foster families before Blitz? Why didn't they work out? Was she returned for behavioral issues or something? What's the story there? We got a little bit in Seeing Stars but not nearly enough and I would love to flesh out her backstory.

What about Loona's love life? She clearly had a crush on Vortex in season 1 and was disappointed to find out that not only did he already have a girlfriend but that that girlfriend was Bee- one of the seven deadly sins. Not someone she could compete with. Now me personally? I think that Bee has 2 hands and is the god of gluttony- she could definitely handle a 3-way polyamorous relationship. But that's just me. I don't actually have any sort of canon evidence to back that theory up, it's just more like a fun head canon: Let Loona Have a Boyfriend AND a Girlfriend 2025. (But if they introduce a new love interest for her? That's fine too. I just want my girl to be happy)

Finally, there has to be more about Barbie in season 3. Now I'm not super in love with her character like some of y'all are (This fandom has the unique ability to see a character with 30 seconds of screen time and LATCH ON like no one's business. See: Vasago) but she's an important part of Blitz's past. I think that a Barbie episode could be a good opportunity for Stolas (And Millie? And Moxxie? And Loona even? How much does IMP even know about Blitz's past???) to learn more about Blitz's past and trauma while also fleshing Barbie out as a character.

I feel that there are 3 major relationships that Blitz has to resolve in one way or another before he can properly heal from the events of the fire: Fizz, Barbie, and Cash. Him and Fizz have worked through their issues and are back on good terms and I feel like Barbie is next since we have actually met her in present day. Alternatively, we have no clue what Cash has been up to since the fire or even where he is now which leads me to believe that Blitz will probably be confronting him last, if at all.

That's all I've got so far but please, if you've read this far, drop a comment or a reblog with you own thoughts and opinions. Tell me what you think of my theories and share your own in return! We've got a long wait until the next season so we might as well scream about it together :)

[vaguelyaperson]

the more i think about it, the more i like that izuku becomes a teacher as a quirkless adult, and that he supposedly never takes on full-time hero work

... it just wouldn't feel like such an odd ending if it wasn't such a sharp turn from the themes of the story.

it would beat a dead horse to get into such themes: the insistence that izuku could be a [pro] hero too, save to win win to save (implication of bkdk as hero duo), go beyond to achieve your dreams, ect. others have commented on this eloquently enough. i want to contemplate how 430/431 are a valid ending... if the story matched the conclusion.

bnha has themes that could've been developed to make 430/431 make more sense. there's the excellent theme that average citizens can be heroes through 'mundane' actions, and a suggestion that an ideal future would be one where heroes have too much free time (ie, pro heroes overall would be a defunded profession). i personally adore these themes, and was disappointed that the ending didn't explore more of what a better quirk culture should look like beyond 'uraraka reforms quirk education classes.' those themes (plus the commentary on villains) suggested an eventual overhaul of the current quirk culture - which we didn't get. which sucks. because these themes, properly developed, would make PERFECT sense of a protagonist who decides to be an 'average citizen.'

yet these ideas weren't quite attributed to izuku's character. he's the protagonist. he was set up for the big flashy future, right? which is why it feels like such a sudden slap to so many fans that he was supposedly content working as a teacher for eight years, that he wouldn't jump at the opportunity to become a full time hero.

now, a good bit of this can be attributed to story medium. bnha was skewed in the beginning to function as a standard shounen (boy has powers, boy works hard, boy achieves big dreams), and that it wasn't until about the last hundred chapters or so that horikoshi dug his heels in about writing the story he wants to write. so clearly if the story's endgoal changed in his mind (which stories often do, and manga is extremely restrictive in that an author can't rewrite the full story to make the plot consistent), then he only had so much leeway to lead to the eventual ending of a quirkless citizen izuku without taking the hardest turn from the standard shounen tone at the beginning.

but even then. even then, that's about a hundred chapters that bnha could've introduced the idea that IZUKU could be a hero in ways unrelated to professional heroism. that it's so unhealthy for this kid to sacrifice so much of himself that it would actually be better for him to pursue a different career.* or that it was even a valid career path for someone who initially dreamed of being a pro hero.

like, take lemillion; izuku's literal mirror. the story could've kept togata functionally quirkless, could've explored the full grief of such a big dream lost, could've explored the sheer injustice that this KID was put on the front-line and thus his quirk and dream were snatched from him... and then introduced a way that togata could use his skills to help people in a different career.

or take all might; izuku's mentor and cautionary tale. maybe have all might talk to izuku about grappling with being quirkless again. maybe have him find who he is beyond being of service to others (which is clearly these two born-quirkless fuckers dealing with massive self-worth issues, trying to justify their existence with heroics), and find relief in that. maybe have him wonder aloud if it might have been better for him to choose such a profession outright from the beginning, rather than repeatedly almost DIE as a pro-hero. maybe have the two revisit that conversation from the first episode, that being a [quirkless] hero IS dangerous, but that there is genuine fulfillment in other work - as all might has found in teaching.

then when it happens to izuku, it wouldn't be such a shock to the audience. and even if we don't see him change over those eight years of the epilogue, it wouldn't be such a shock that he turns down full-time hero work. we'd get it.

*because continuing off this point: the story very much established that izuku CAN'T be trusted 'unsupervised' as a pro hero. that ofa is almost a curse. how many fuckin fanworks reference an adult izuku who never stops putting himself into harms way, who keeps nearly fuckin dying (or does die) cause he never thinks of himself? the story could've EASILY built on this to the point that it would feel like a blessing that izuku loses ofa and can't become a pro-hero.

(instead of it being played in this.... extremely weird.... grieved not grieved, katsuki's sobbing but izuku 'started out quirkless' so it's fine??? like??? the tone??? is in shambles???)

instead, the story said "you don't have to fight alone, izuku, cause your friends are here." most especially that katsuki inserted himself as izuku's primary protector and competitor. that katsuki developed a whole ass power-up that could MATCH ALL FOR ONE'S power, that he CAUGHT UP to izuku as a hero. at large, class a showed the fuck up, more than once, to throw down on izuku's behalf. the story said, yes izuku is recklessly selfless, and ofa only exasperates this, but his friends are so determined to work hard to make sure there's always someone at his back. this will be the new generation of heroes.

... which... should've led to a completely different story conclusion. one that would've been just as valid as 'izuku finds more stability and meaning in being a teacher.' it would just need to be an ending that would have fit the established themes. i would've loved that ending too.

in conclusion! there's more to being a hero than flashy heroic acts. izuku is a selfless maniac who's probably safer in the classroom tbh. manga is a restrictive medium that can't be rewritten into a more consistent plot. nevertheless, given the amount of chapters horikoshi had to play with the story he wanted to tell, there was time to develop pre-existing themes that would better anticipate the conclusion we got. 430 and gods 431 especially - despite being arguably a valid ending for the characters - didn't have to feel like such sharp left turns.

... and despite learning to appreciate izuku turning down katsuki's agency offer, i still don't like 431. lmao

[vigilante24ish]

A Thorn By Thy Side

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1998

Chapter 3:

You had partially expected Agatha to leave you in that basement/lair of hers until she had grown tired of you. So, it came to you as a surprise when she headed for the stairs leading up, and her magic kept you levitated, following after her.

So here you were, positioned on a chair, legs and hands bound in front of you with thin purple magic threads. Now that you were away from the lair and those runes, you could handle her attacks, but something told you that she was not a woman who had fallen for the same trick twice.

Your eyes followed her as she moved easily in this urban little house, masked outside by faking the image of a simple wooden cabin. It made you wonder whom Agatha could be running from to go to such extremes as hiding the true image of a house.

Then again, she might just wish not to be bothered by any passersby or hikers? Honestly, you could not tell for sure, but you knew it had a deeper meaning, and she let it be.

A mug of warm coffee was suddenly in your field of vision, putting a halt to any thoughts you had for the moment. Blinking, you looked up at the holder of the mug, and you were surprised to find Agatha.

Yet, you did not accept it right away.

Instead, you eyed the mug carefully and then her, silently showing her that you did not trust her or whatever she might have put in there.

She seemed to catch up with it, for she rolled her beautiful blue eyes at your drama.

“You don’t trust me?” she questioned, though the answer was pretty obvious to you.

You narrowed your eyes in defiance, not letting your bound position or the fact that you were a prisoner actually break you. “Should I?” you snapped back.

She pressed her tongue behind her teeth, leaving a quick ‘Tch’ sound, clearly unhappy with your drama. “If I wanted to kill you, I assure you I wouldn’t take the long way of actually poisoning you.”

You thought about her argument momentarily, and you realized that she had made a point. Of course, she could also poison you just enough to torture you, hoping if you were close to death, you would open your mouth and confess whatever the fuck she wanted to know.

Ultimately, your dry lips and the fact that you had no liquid for a while won over your internal conspiracies. Thanks to the magic binds, you opened your palms as much as you were allowed and let her hand you the mug, the coffee inside still warm.

It was unknown to you what time of the day was or how long you had been out. However, considering you had tried to capture her in the early afternoon, you figured it was past nightfall.

Unfortunately for you, the small living room you were currently in had blackout curtains drawn, making it impossible for you to see outside for any signs of daylight. There was no clock anywhere, and you wondered how she knew what time of the day it was.

You brought the mug to your lips and slowly took a sip, surprised by the sweetness in your coffee. You had a knack for sweet things, whether pastries, chocolates or just a lot of sugar in your morning coffee.

After you felt the hot liquid go down your throat, you lowered the mug and focused on Agatha, who got comfy on an armchair, positioned to look at you.

Agatha was studying you just as you studied her. A playful smirk on her lips drew your attention.

“Sweet enough for you?” she asked, and like the prideful peacock she was, she was ready to flash her fancy tale at the fact that she had figured you out.

You chose not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right. “How did you know?”

Her smirk remained. “What can I say? I am an excellent judge of character,” she answered, moving one hand to emphasize her flare.

Eventually, you would come to notice that she used her hands a lot, elegant long fingers dramatically joining her sharp comments as the faintest traces of magic could be seen by their blackened edges.

It was your turn to roll your eyes at her drama and merely suppress any unwelcome comments by drowning them with hot coffee.

“Why am I here?” you finally questioned after a full minute of just pure silence between the two of you.

“Would you prefer to go back to the lair? Because I can arrange that.”

If you were anyone else, you would have immediately reacted and argued against being sent back to the lair, back to the place that truly made you vulnerable. But you were not just anyone else.

Years of training in the Academy and multiple missions beneath your belt made you a veteran in such situations. Even your poker face had been worked on to the point that any mortal could not read your thoughts.

Now, as for magical beings went... that remained to be seen.

“You know what I meant,” you commented, showing her that she was not going to have the upper hand in this conversation.

Something sparkled within her blue eyes at your defiance, at your unbroken spirit. It was not every day that Agatha met someone like you, so stubborn and untamed. This was what made you interesting but also challenged her to find a way and get what she wanted from you, one way or another.

“Thought you would like to be treated a little more like a human being,” she pointed out the obvious, and yet your look did not change. “Fine. You have something within you, and I am interested in what it is. Now I can find a way and drag it out of you, or...” There it was, that sparkle again. “We can find ourselves on more common ground.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing her—at least not truly. She could be trying to present herself as a better person to gain your trust, and perhaps, had your first meeting been different, it would have worked.

But you were too sceptical, too careful with everything, to just drop your guard around her.

Suddenly, Agatha pressed two fingers against her temple. “My god, are you always so paranoid?” she asked, rubbing her temples as she felt a throbbing weak pain making an entrance.

You blinked, once, twice... then you frowned, trying to understand what she meant... and then it dawned on you. That sparkle you swore you saw in her eyes, the way she seemed to know how sweet you took your coffee...

“You have been reading my mind?” you asked, though it felt more like a statement than a question. “All this time?”

Agatha sighed. “Well, I have been trying. But you have so many inner monologues, I feel as if I am watching a boring biography turned into a documentary.”

“I am surprised you know what any of those things mean,” you scoffed before you could process what you just said.

To your surprise, Agatha smirked. “Clever. Perhaps the cleverest thing you had said in a while.”

You pressed your lips until they formed a thin line, clearly not liking her well-targeted comments that were meant to draw a reaction out of you. To battle it, you chose to change the topic and hope you could get something out of this as well.

“If you can read my mind, why not just take what you need? Why keep me here, playing all nice?”

“I told you, hon. You interest me. You have something more, and I am not planning to let that go so quickly.”

Her cryptic words started to irk you. “What the fuck do I have then? Except for those stupid symbols on my arms?”

Agatha took joy in hearing you snap slowly, the rising tone of your voice a personal success. That was the first step she needed from you. She needs you to react, speak before your mind can stop you, and expose what you subconsciously held under lock and key.

She could always force it out of you, use her magic, but where was the fun in that?

Slowly, the powerful witch showed up. Every move she made and every step she took radiated pure confidence, and you could not help but silently admire her for that. The way she held herself without fear, without a single care in the world.

She knew she held the power at the moment, and she made sure to remind you every second of it.

And surprisingly, a part of you actually liked it. You found a weak voice at the back of your head admiring her confidence and what a dominant figure she could be even in such a simple, silent room.

“Oh, but you see...” Agatha started slowly. “Those pesky little symbols on you, they do not work just on anyone. Imagine the world if any useless being tattooed a rune on them,” she scoffed, amused by such a crazy idea.

This caught your attention. “So, what makes me special to make those runes work?”

“Now we are on the same page,” Agatha said. “But you shouldn’t be asking me that question. It is you who have those answers.”

Once again, her cryptic answers irked you. This time, you could not hold back the sarcasm. “If you are so confident that I have the answers, why don’t you show me, huh? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be an all-powerful witch?”

The idea settled in Agatha’s mind faster than you expected, and it was too late to take back your words, as you were already regretting the idea.

“If you are so willing,” she smirked and headed towards you.

“No, no, no,” you repeated, trying to push yourself harder against the wooden back of the chair as if you could somehow magically phase through it and escape her.

“Relax, hon. I am not going to harm you.”

“Your words are not very reassuring.” You argued.

Agatha came to a halt in front of you, a hand on her waist. She looked down at you, dark curls framing her face to a perfect angle while her bright blue eyes locked on your form.

For a moment, you breathed in, muscles tensing in anticipation of what might come. Yet nothing did happen, and you were left staring back at her, trapped in that chair.

“Aren’t you a bit curious?” Agatha suddenly asked. “Don’t you want to know why you have those runes on you? Why do they work the way they do?”

You thought for a moment, and you dared to break the eye contact, for the shade of her blue eyes was not helping you think.

Truthfully, you were curious. You had them as long as you could remember their origin, a blurry memory that never made sense to you. Perhaps this might be the only way and the only chance you could have to find out.

In the end, you sighed in defeat. “Fine. Help me learn,” you said as you looked up at her. “But no mind tricks whatsoever.”

Agatha dramatically dragged a black-tipped finger across her heart, forming an invisible cross on her clothes. “Cross my heart.”

“And hope you die?” you continued for her, earning an eye-roll from her.

“Funny. Now, sit properly if we are to do things right.”

[thatswhatsushesaid]

i actually love so many titles available through the “choice of games” app and have amassed a small library of them over the last couple of years, so if you are looking for text-based games to play knowing that your dollars will go directly towards supporting the artists who created them, i have some excellent game suggestions for you:

this is probably my number one favourite game available through the app, strictly in terms of the quality of the writing, the creative means of having your character interact with the world, varied and diverse roleplay opportunities, and a satisfying ending. do you like vampires, particularly vampire: the masquerade? are you prepared to care about cars like you never cared about them before? kyle marquis knocks it out of the park.

if you’ve ever found yourself craving a roleplay experience clearly inspired by jeeves and wooster and the absurdity of “the importance of being earnest,” this is the game for you. i truly don’t want to say much more because it is SUCH a delightful journey to experience this game without too many spoilers, but if you want a sweet romance game that will still leave you in stitches from laughter, you have to pick this one up. and, good news—there’s a sequel!

so while i really enjoyed tally ho, i have to say that it’s in jolly good that kreg segall really gets to stretch his writing, character, and game design chops; it is a much larger story in that there are over 1.2 million words spanning so many different narrative paths that i still haven’t found them all. and! you can select your key choices from the previous game, including the name of the valet/maid and who they romanced. you aren’t playing the same character, which is a good thing imho, but a lot of favourites from the first game make a reappearance in this one, always to delightful effect. and fitzie!! oh, where to start with fitzie. anyway it’s quite clear by the time you complete this game that segall has created something truly special for us to enjoy, so i do hope that he returns to writing these games one day.

these are my three favourites!! i do have some others to add but i also lost track of time while throwing this together lol gotta run some errands now.

[thydungeongal]

I've been going through your d&dposting with great interest and your posts about dungeoncrawling reminded me of my first dungeoncrawl experience and how much radically better it was than my first two campaigns in 5e. My first campaign in 5e was an urban adventure using the Waterdeep Dragon Heist module and it was sooo much prep that I ended up using very little of even after almost 10 sessions. My next campaign was a kind of Dragonlance-y style overland adventure that was much more successful but also super stressful cause I was pretty much improvising new setpieces and destinations for the PCs in real time.

Then, like a year later, I ran a dungeoncrawl in Into the Odd and it was maybe the best RPG experience I've had, no stress and virtually no prep for me whatsoever. Dungeoncrawls are awesome because there's a clear gameplay loop for both the players and the GM, which goes a long way to preventing that frustration where the player's expectations for what choices they can make differ from what the GM has prepared (i.e. "railroading"). And that's because a dungeon is a delimited network of finite nodes with obvious ways of navigating between nodes. After that game, it made it so much clearer to me why dungeoncrawls were the origin of TTRPGs and how much a lot of trad games lack an understanding of the importance of having a defined gameplay loop compared to the OSR or storygame movements.

Yeaaaah! :) and to be clear, dungeon crawls are not the end-all-be-all of tabletop RPGs, but they pretty much are what D&D and its surrounding games excel at! As you said, there are plenty of games out there that have clearly defined gameplay goals and as such are not a headache to facilitate, because the facilitating player knows what the game expects them to do! With D&D, once you move outside of the dungeon crawl genre, the game itself gives you absolute dick fuck all!

Anyway, I'm glad you've found my posting interesting! I love dungeons! We should send all the boys into dungeons! With luck they'll come back no longer boys!

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

How mysterious with not telling us the ships that come with the Titels for your WIPs 😂💜 Love it.

I Bet "Anatomy lesson" is with Law?? 👀 Please Tell us more

@daydreamer-in-training yessss! It's so much more fun this way! 😅 and you are right! It is a Law x Fem!Reader story. It's part of my birthday requests with the prompt: "What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?"

Law is inexperienced in this one, but he is an excelent doctor and knows his anatomy very well! 😏 He'll want to try out some theory on you, hence this will be very NSFW... here's a snippet:

“Captain.” You murmured, trying to sound alluring and cursing at the wicked croak that left your lips.  Law lifted his gaze and turned his chair slightly to the side, so you used the opportunity to lean on his desk. He tilted his head, clearly curious as to what you were doing. You then leaned forward, lips inches away from him, and the strong scent of disinfectant and pine soothed you. It was his scent. “What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?” This time your words came out in a sultry whisper, your breath kissing his lips in a soft promise. Law locked eyes with you, something dark passing through them and your breath hitched as he raised his hand to eye level. You prepared yourself for the surge of shock when he pressed his lips against yours, his hand already near your cheek… then he opened his lips and… “Room. Shambles.”  With a soft plop you were sitting in your own bed. No Law, no kiss, no confession, just you, in a time-out. “What the fuck?”

[angstywaifu]

Hidden Feelings - Brennan Sorrengail.

Request: brennan sorrengail x reader where the reader is Violet's age/grew up being besties with her and Dain. Growing up she always had a crush on brennan but tried to suppress those feelings as best she could. She was going to go into the healer's quadrant but changed her mind when she found out about Violet becoming a rider. She refuses to leave Violet's side which results in her going to Athebyne and Aretia and learning Brennan was actually alive. When she does find out she's hella mad at him/gets into an argument and ends up admitting her feelings for him - @thatredheadwithglasses

Warnings: Mentions of death.

Masterlist | Support Me

619 AU - Unnamed War Camp

I clutch onto my fathers hand as he leads me through the camp. The camp is so noisy. People yelling to each other, the sound of metal hitting metal as soldiers and riders train in the various areas around us, whimpers of pain coming from the healers tent as we pass. Till recently we had been stationed at an outpost where there was far less noise than this. But now with my fathers promotion, we were now required out in the camps.

”You said there would be kids for me to make friends with.” I say as he drags me past more and more tents.

He chuckles and looks down at me, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “There are, I promise.”

I huff, “I don’t see any.”

”Just be patient.” He tells me with another laugh, shaking his head at me.

We round a corner, father dragging me towards a section of tents further away from the chaos of the tent. These tents looked far nicer than the ones I had seen so far. Clearly meant for leadership. Would we be staying in these ones?

One of the tents opens, a young boy walking through the open flap. His eyes scan his surroundings before landing on us, a warm smile spreading across his face. I can’t help but feel at ease instantly. Everything about him seems warm and opening, safe even. Even the colour of his hair and eyes gives off a warm appearance.

”Colonel Piarta?” He asks, walking towards us.

My father smiles and nods at him, holding his hand out to the boy. “Yes, and you must be Colonel Sorrengail’s son Brennan?”

He takes my fathers hand and shakes it. “I am indeed sir. Meaning you must be Y/N?” His attention shifting from my father to me.

I nod up at him, Brennan smiling down at me. It was clear the boy wasn’t a soldier or rider, his clothing nothing like the others around me. But he was definitely older than me by quite a few years, probably a few years off joining one of the Quadrants at Basgiath.

He squats down in front of me, resting his arms against his knees as he clasps his hands together. “How would you like to come meet my sister and her friend Dain? They’re very excited to meet you.”

I can’t help but smile at his words, quickly letting go of my fathers hand and stepping towards the boy as I nod in response, Brennan smiling even more at me.

”Are they my age?” I ask Brennan.

He nods. “They are indeed. Dain is a year older, but Violet is the same age as you. You’re going to love her.”

”You going to be ok if I leave you with Brennan to take you to your new friends?” My father asks, placing a hand on my shoulder to get my attenion.

I look up at him and nod, walking over to stand next to Brennan as he stands back up.

”She’ll be safe with me Colonel.” He tells my father with a firm nod.

”Excellent. I’ll come get you later Y/N.” He says before walking past us to the tent where Brennan had walked out from earlier.

As my father walks through the tent, Brennan reaches down and grasps my hand in his, his hand dwarfing mine immediately. He tugs on my hand leading me towards a gap in the tents, where I can see two kids, a boy and a girl running around amongst some trees. Despite being excited to meet them, I don’t want my time with the boy next to me to end.

624 AU - Basgiath

The door to Violets room bangs open, revealing a very out of breath Brennan, bandages clutched in his hands. His eyes drop to me kneeling on the floor in front of Violet, bandages already in hand as I wrap her joints. She’d been unable to find Brennan this morning and had sought me out to help her wrap her knees. Dain, Violet and I had been running around town yesterday, meaning Violet was a bit banged up today.

”Seems I’m not needed anymore.” He teases as he kicks the door closed before walking over and sitting next to Violet on her bed.

”I always need you.” Violet says softly as she leans her head against Brennan’s shoulder.

I don’t have to look up to see the sadness in her eyes. In a few days time Brennan would be crossing the parapet to join the Riders Quadrant now he was twenty. And just like Violet, I was sad at him no longer being around. Violet and Dain were my best friends, had been since the day Brennan had taken my hand and lead me to the clearing they were playing in. But something always dragged me to the oldest Sorrengail whenever I could. He provided a comfort no one else could provide me. There was just something different about him that drew me in. And the idea of losing that in a few days honestly didn’t sit well with me.

”Clearly not, looks like Y/N here has got this all under control. Maybe you should be a healer.” He tells me, his eyes focusing on me as I wrap Violet’s knee.

I look up at him and smile, my breath catching in my throat as I meet his amber eyes. “I think my father might kill me if I don’t cross that parapet.” I joke, causing the other two to laugh.

All of us were children of riders, and even though our parents would probably support whatever Quadrant we went into, there was definitely an unspoken pressure and rule to pick the same as them. Riders were the top of the chain in military, with nearly all the leadership positions held by dragon riders.

”Maybe, but you’ve always been going at looking after others. And you seem to have a talent for it. You should think about it.” He tells me with a crooked smile.

I drop my gaze, trying to hide the blush as I smile at his words. “I’ll think about it.”

628 AU - A few days before the Battle of Aretia

People are rushing everywhere, every one on high alert as the call goes out. The rebellion had met it’s peek, and all military were being called to battle. Even the third years at the college who were deemed ready were being called out to help. Essentially if you were ready, you were fighting for Navarre.

I push through the crowd, trying to make it in time before he leaves. I have to see him before he leaves. I hadn’t seen him since the day he’d left for the Riders Quadrant as he’d been sent out to his posting immediately. I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. But he’d been sent back to help prepare for the battle. This was my only chance to see him before he left again.

I barrel down the stairs, surprisingly not tripping on my way down. I round the corner into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief as I see him standing there hugging Violet. Even from here I can see he’s changed. He’s still Brennan, but he’s bigger and stronger than I last saw him. His body far more muscular from all the training and dragon riding he’d done over the years.

As if sensing my presence, his eyes open and meet mine, a soft smile spreading on his face as he sees me. He lets go of Violet, who goes to protest, but she turns and sees me standing at the end of the hallway. Violet knew I found comfort in Brennan, knew I felt safe around him since the day I’d met him. I rush forward, barrelling into Brennan’s open and waiting arms as he hugs me tightly as I sob into his chest. He must hear my sobs or feel me shaking in his arms, his hands rubbing up and down my arm as he hold me to him.

I should be happy at seeing him for the first time in nearly four years, but this more of a goodbye than a reunion. In a few hours he would be heading off to war, none of us knowing if we would be seeing each other again. And the thought has me terrified.

”It’s going to be ok.” He tells me as he loosens his grip on me, crouching down in front of me as he holds my hands.

I shake my head, more tears rolling down my cheeks. “You don’t know that.” I sob out.

He smiles up at me, “I thought out of anyone you’d have more faith in me.”

I can’t help but laugh at his words and his attempt at making me feel better. He was incredibly talented. I often heard General Sorrengail and his father gushing about how well he was doing in the Riders Quadrant or at his posting. One of the best riders they’d seen in the Quadrant. Mira had some tough shoes to fill, but I knew she was having no trouble in living up to it from what I’d heard. He was going to be fine.

”I know, but anything could happen.” I say softly.

”I know, but I promise I’ll come back to you. Ok?” He tells me as he squeezes my hand.

At his words, a weight feels like it’s been lifted off my shoulders. He would get through this. He would come back.

634 AU - Aretia

Everything I knew was a damn lie. In a matter of days everything I knew had been flipped upside down on me. Venin were real. Not some fairytale made up to scare us as kids. The rebellion was not what I thought it was. And below me, pretty much intact was Aretia and the Riorson House. Though as it was mostly made of stone, I was unsure why anyone who had been here believed it had been burnt to the ground.

Below us I can see a group of people rushing towards the clearing we’re heading for. Clearly they don’t see us as a threat, no weapons or infantry in sight. This must be where the rebellion was hiding and running out of. I land at the back of the group, slowly sliding off my dragon as Xaden and Garrick rush to get Violet off the back of Sgaeyl.

”What the hell are you doing here?” Someone calls out, clearly angry at our arrival.

This was reckless, for all of us. If someone from Navarre had been following us, we just led them to the rebellion. But I knew Xaden would have been on the lookout for that. And I’m sure I saw a few of the others fly out of formation to check for anyone following us here.

”I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t come here she would died.” Xaden growls out.

”V-Violet? Shit.” A familiar voice dragging me out of my thoughts.

That voice, I knew that voice. I knew that voice all too well. But there was no way. No way that voice belonged to who I thought it belonged to. I shove Imogen and Bodhi to the side as I push through to the front of our group, stopping in my tracks immediately as my eyes lock onto them. Their head whips towards me, eyes widening as they take me in.

There was no way. He can’t be alive. I had mourned him, grieved him. Hell, sometimes I still cried myself to sleep over him after reading the letter he’d handed to me before he left. This had to be some sick joke or my brain playing tricks on me.

Xaden furrows his brow as he looks between Brennan and I, probably realising I knew Brennan and this was me finding out he was alive. No, he can’t be alive. “Brennan, she needs help. Now.” He growls out, snapping Brennan out of it.

Brennan nods before gesturing for Xaden who holds Violet in his arms to follow him, Garrick close behind him, leaving the rest of us to stand in the clearing and watch them go.

”You ok?” Bodhi asks after a few moments.

”Is there somewhere I can freshen up?” I ask him, completely avoiding my question.

I don’t miss the look he gives Imogen before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll take you to one of the guest rooms.”

Hours later I sit alone in the room Bodhi had shown me to, sitting on the ledge of the window looking out over Riorson house. I hadn’t been game to leave the room after I’d washed up and changed into some cleaner clothes Imogen had given to me. I was still in denial over seeing him in that clearing, and I was scared I’d run into him and I wasn’t sure how I’d react if I did see him.

For six years I thought he was dead. Six years since I’d been told him and my father had died in the Battle of Aretia. And somehow the news of Brennan dying had destroyed me more than the news of my father. Though since his promotion all those years ago, I’d barely had anything to do with him. Violet, Dain and Brennan becoming what I needed over the years.

The door to the room creaks open, and I already know who it is without turning my head. The familiar calming presence that always followed him settling over me. Gods how I missed that feeling. I had craved it over the years. But feeling it now almost felt wrong. I never thought I would feel it again.

”A dragon rider? What happened to becoming a healer?” He asks me, trying to make an effort to make this feel like a normal every day conversation.

”I changed my mind when I found out Violet was being forced into the Riders Quadrant. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to loose the only people I had left. Or thought I had left.” I tell him sternly, still not turning to look at him. I hear the awkward shuffle of his feet, clearly picking up the hidden meaning of my words. “Is my father actually dead? Or is that another lie I’ve been fed all these years?”

”Y/N, I’m s-”

”Sorry?” I snap, finally turning to look at him as I push off the ledge, taking a few steps towards him. Brennan stands there in shock as he looks at me. The last time I’d seen him I was fourteen. Back then I would never have spoken to him like this. But after a year in the Rider’s Quadrant and the loss of him, I had definitely changed. “Sorry is all you have to say after all these years?”

”If I could have told you and Violet I would have. I wanted nothing more in the world to tell you I was alive. But it was too risky. I know it would have been hard losing your father and I are the same time.”

”No.” I say, cutting him off again before he can continue. “Losing him was easy. I barely knew him by the time he died. But you…. Losing you was hard. Losing you was the hardest thing I will ever have to go through, because I lost me as well. Losing you changed me. It broke me.” He slowly nods, a sadness setting in his eyes at my words. He can tell I’ve changed because of his death. A lot would be different if he hadn’t died. “And because of that I’m too scared to get close to anyone. Too scared to let anyone in. Too scared to let myself fall for someone again.”

His eyes widen at my words, and I realise what I’ve said. Shit. All those years ago I had a crush on him. A stupid crush for someone I shouldn’t have had feelings for. But I did. Feeling that somehow never left even when he died. They somehow got stronger.

”Y-you liked me?” He stutters out, clearly shocked by my sudden confession.

I panic, going to rush past him to the door, but his hand reaches out and grasps my arm, turning me around to face him, his amber eyes meeting mine. His eyes somehow widen more as he meets mine, as if seeing the intense emotions in my eyes. Not just hurt and anger in them. Feelings way stronger than just a stupid childhood crush. I use the shock to tear my arm from his grip before running from the room, pushing my legs as fast as I can, putting as much distance between us as I can.

[superbat-lmao]

Scene 5

Robin sees two shady figures on a roof. They aren’t speaking, but they move in perfect timing. Handing each other items out of bags, dodging playful swipes. It’s clear they’re surveilling someone/something but not who they work for. Most goons are pretty obvious, these guys are non descript but don’t signal like league. Robin starts to tail them and see what he can get.

Jason is secretly laughing at Tim because he can tell the kid wants to fanboy so hard at getting to see the original robin in action but knows he can’t say anything to him. It’s why they went silent once they spotted him. They’d have left altogether if the lead they were following wasn’t at the top of their list. So now they’re stuck with the kid until his shadow shows up and they’re distracted long enough to make a break for it. Until then Jason keeps huffing a laugh for every one of Tim’s sighs in frustration. Batman, and his non-civilian associates, are to be avoided at all costs. Basically anyone with the training to recognize their training. They have to be careful how they disguise themselves because they don’t want to give off league vibes but also don’t want Batman to assume any one criminal center of activity has two, new, major league players at their disposal. It would increase their threat level by a wide margin, so they’re mostly sticking to uninteresting moves and silence. Things that used to bore Dick to tears when he had recon shifts.

It took them longer than they wanted to admit that Dick was so easy to spot because he didn’t want them to notice Batgirl. But then Jason really had to stop Tim from giving himself away because the absolute joy that passed over him and then immediate frustration at not getting to see them in action, to test himself against them, was palpable.

When their target moved, they moved. It wasn’t simple recon, so Jason and Tim took different routes and convened in an agreed upon spot. It went flawlessly, both of them getting the intel they were looking for.

When they turned around, they were face to face with Robin and Batgirl. They smiled under their masks.

”Who do you work for?”

Robin’s question went unanswered.

(Need to add more chatter from Robin/Batgirl)

Tim got his way, in the end. The fight against Robin and Batgirl was fun, in its own way. It was interesting to see Dick’s moves in action before they were all polished. When he used certain combos that he’d changed as he got older or added in some flair in his flips. The fact that Tim could counter all his moves was throwing him off.

Jason’s fight against Batgirl was going similarly. He was having the time of his life seeing Babs in action, but clearly knew her skill set and its counters. It was oddly nostalgic.

They didn’t incapacitate them, but did restrain them, only after being sure Dick has triggered his emergency beacon.

“Seriously, who are you guys?”

Jason snorted before cocking his head at Tim. Tim titled his head back before giving a small nod.

”Look. It was a good fight. You clearly need to work on (chaining one move instead of a different one) and Batgirl, you did excellent though if you (other minor form correction) you’d have an easier time switching between moves. Your babysitter will be here soon, so we’ve gotta bounce, but really, thanks for the opportunity. Don’t forget the samples.”

The last comment was to Tim, who leaned over and disabled some of the security measures on their costumes in order to retrieve hair samples the vigilantes and tried to stealthily conceal. There was a tone shift then, at how easily the unknowns accessed their suits.

It went from playing up their struggling for info gathering into tense, considering silence.

”How did you know how to access Robin’s suit?”

Batgirl has always been talented at maintaining an even tone in tense situations. It’s what made her excel at bing Oracle.

”Lucky guess.”

Then, between one blink and the next, the pair bolted off the roof, dropping down to street level and taking off. It would be bad to showcase their grappling skills, especially after the familiarity with the suit.

Batman appeared 3 minutes later, releasing the vigilantes from their bindings.

Robin explained everything, including about his gear being compromised.

Batman told him to hand it over for inspection and found another flash drive in its pocket.

Making it the third unexplained drive. And officially tying the two spotted tonight to his newest foster children.

Outtakes below!

“Yeah but you got to fight the both of them!”

“Which is exactly why we can’t engineer more situations like that!”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Look, I already took care of the Joker, you’ll have a chance to fight Batgirl some other time. For now just be happy you got to fight Robin.”

“Did you see their costumes?”

“Glorified lycra. Seriously, what was B thinking? They look more like a high school costume department than vigilantes.”

“Oh and you would know, huh?”

“Screw you kid, I died before getting to participate in my high school play.”

“I am not a kid! And yeah yeah, join a community college this time around and go live it up. Seriously though, should we be including fabric information on the flash drives? I don’t know how they’re running around like that.”

“Well the real answer is that they didn’t keep running around like that. They got hurt a lot and B tried to bench them. I don’t know if we want to tip our hands even more about their suit constructions. But I also don’t want them to get shot. Jesus, there is no padding in any of that!”

“I think it’s better they’re safe than giving hints about ourselves.”

“You say that now, but wait until we have Big Blue on our doorstep.”

“I have contingencies for that.”

“Speaking of, how is the clone front looking?”

“What?”

“That friend of yours? I was kinda fucked up for a while there but I know you’ve got info on Luthor. How long do you have to wait for him?”

“A few years.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I will need your help with some of the security for that one.”

“Hacking is more your area.”

“I meant leveling what’s left of it afterwards so it can’t be reconstructed.”

“Now that’s more my speed.”

Tim and Jason AU

Scene 1

Jason makes it look like he’s doing something shady on a nearby roof, something that Tim thinks the Bats would want to hear about. And only Tim notices. He wants to be useful.

He starts to follow Jason and there are some mechanical closets on the top of the roof, and Jason is being very obvious in his direction, so when Tim turns a corner he isn’t expecting Jason to be behind him suddenly.

He’s not dressed in any sort of identifiable style, definitely not League or gang affiliated and not a mask. Tim doesn’t scream and Jason picks him up by his jacket and shakes him in minor frustration.

“I swear you had better instincts than this. Seriously kid, tell me you’re not this reckless. I’m surprised the Bats haven’t already had to clean you off pavement.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Bzzt, wrong question. Actually, no questions, you shouldn’t be up here and following a shady guy in the dark.”

“What’s the right question?”

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Tim freezes, maybe sinking in a bit how stupid that was but the guys seems to be asking himself more than telling Tim that was the question.

“That’s the right question?”

“What? Yes, if your cover’s blown it’s important to assess how you’ll be appraised and know what the person will do with you. Also called a secondary cover or ploy. Always make sure you have a plausible reason for where being somewhere you shouldn’t be. And if you can’t, have a quick escape.”

“Why would you tell me that?”

“Second tip kid, the questions you ask a suspect inform on what information you have. Don’t get too close to the topic you’re most interested in or you’ll give yourself away.”

“A suspect?”

“How else would you describe me?”

The guy’s grip changes and Tim feels something sharp prick his neck. He feels true panic and hears vaguely, “control your response next time because adrenaline makes your heart spread a sedative in your blood stream faster if you’re panicked. You’ll thank me later, kid.”

When Tim wakes up, it’s to two gloved fingers pressed beneath his jaw. Checking his pulse He can’t get his eyes open yet, but he can hear voices.

(Jason tied Tim up, lit the batsignal, and left a flash drive pinned to Tim’s chest. It explains his home situation, how long he’s been following the Bats, and that he knows their identities.)

*Scenes from a fic I’ll probably never write. Mostly just notes app things. Outtakes below the cut.

“Seriously?! The Batsignal?!

“It was that or leave you in the cave for Alfred, and the Batsignal was less confrontational.”

“And lazy, what, you couldn’t wipe the feed?”

“I can wipe the batcomputer faster than you, I’ve been hiding shit from Bruce since before you were in spandex. But tipping our hand that early? You’re not usually this stupid, Timmy.”

“Just shocked by your self control by not picking the most nuclear option.”

“The most nuclear option would have been holding you hostage and having a good ol’ fashioned stand off with the Bat. Maybe mail him your spleen as motivation.”

“Fuck you. I already took care of Ra’s - he’ll keep his spleen this time.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

[nobodysdaydreams]

Giving a complicated tragic childhood backstory to your favorite character is all fun and games, until you realize you need to account for how old all the other adult characters would have been at the time and realize that scenes that would work perfectly if one character was twenty three and the other was fourteen stop working when you need other characters who are played by adult actors clearly younger than they are to be in college at the same time so your story beats line up thematically.

[jukeboxhound]

send thoughts and prayers i'm gonna try convincing my teenage nephews that magic the gathering is very cool actually and they definitely want to learn how to play it immediately

[minne-cerbinna]

@humble-althemist Thank you for the delightful tags on the post about Yaevinn and Iorveth, I hope you don't mind me addressing them, but it's really just so interesting and engaging to me!! I was equally taken with Yaevinn and Geralt, but Yaevinn and Iorveth are also an interesting pair, I find, despite the fact that they never actually interact on screen. The subtext, though brief, is there, and it’s so very compelling to me. There was a relationship of some kind there, that much can be said for sure. No matter whether or not one takes it as romantic and/or sexual, I think it has to be accepted that there is at least respect and likely some degree of fondness there. Iorveth isn’t the type to mince words when he’s not fond of someone, as can be evidenced in some of his dialogues, but he’s actually quite careful with his word choice about Yaevinn, it would seem. He uses the descriptor “unrealistic”, yes, but it’s not for Yaevinn himself, and he never attacks Yaevinn directly with his criticism. He says that Yaevinn had beautiful dreams and just reasons, and that those reasons were as unrealistic as they were just. It is the world who has no place for this beautiful dreamer, not Iorveth who cannot accept him. Iorveth is in agreement with him, even, he just thinks that Yaevinn could not have rightly expected to fulfil these dreams of his.

There isn’t ever really any more contextualisation of the nature of the relationship that occurred between Yaevinn and Iorveth in the text of the games, just more subtext with which to play. Yaevinn is well-known enough a commander among the Scoia’tael to be deemed “legendary” in his citation in TW3, but he wasn’t a Vrihedd commander, Iorveth was. Additionally, while there are no canon ages given for either of them, it seems likely to me that Yaevinn is the elder of the two; I don’t remember if he confirms that he took part in Aelirenn’s rebellion, but I seem to have a memory of at least the implication of it when he tells Geralt of Aelirenn in the bank robbery sequence, which would put him at least over two hundred years old, with the specifics beyond that getting a little hazy, while Iorveth has been fighting humans for, I believe depending on the dialogue in TW2, either a century or over a century, so he is over a hundred for certain, and beyond that, the specific detail is unsure. Older and potentially more experienced in command, and yet he would have been Iorveth’s subordinate in the Vrihedd Brigade. Did they work closely at all? Did they know each other prior to this? How did they see each other? Yaevinn before his desperate attack at Vizima, Iorveth before he lost his eye, they’d be in quite different positions in the era of the Vrihedd Brigade, which is the last point that can be said for sure that they were both present.

 It’s hard to say with so little evidence to work with, how things were for them. I’m very partial to queer readings of both Yaevinn and Iorveth, and the potential for a relationship there is interesting, but it’s also very interesting to consider it as impartial or platonic, a political relationship, perhaps commander and advisor. There’s so little to be known for sure that one can just run wild with extrapolation.

And, well, with this bit of dialogue that is being examined, there’s some interesting material to work with for both of their characters. I really really like this point, it’s very compelling to me, because it’s absolutely right, it may be dialogue about Yaevinn but it is also very strong characterisation for Iorveth

And one of my favourite things about Iorveth is that he's a bit of a hypocrite? I say this with the utmost fondness, but there are a few different instances I could look at.

Yaevinn is unrealistic for considering combat and killing to be poetry, and Iorveth considers himself wholly logical and correct to take the very poetic stance that war is prose with no place for beauty.

Or like how he says to Geralt that the reason he's pursuing Roche so fervently is because he's going after the first commanders of the anti-elven special forces units across the north – in his own words, "Of the commanders first appointed to such units, he's the only one still alive”, but also in his own words, “"The Temerian Special Forces, created by Foltest to combat the Scoia'tael after the first war with Nilfgaard”, and "Vernon Roche! Special Forces Commander for the last four years". No matter whether one takes the book timeline or the modified timeline established in TW1 (the Battle of Brenna therefore being placed in 1265), Roche having been Special Forces Commander for the "last four years" would place him as making command rank in 1268 if Iorveth includes the current year in his count, and at the earliest 1267 if Iorveth does not include the current year, which is in both cases places him after or at least during the second war with Nilfgaard, which makes his point of referral very odd unless Roche is not the first commander after all.

Or how “our women are prepared to die” when he doesn’t want to risk turning back during the escape on the prison barge and risk the lives of the collective for a few, but what leads him to challenge his alliance with Letho and ultimately to capture the prison barge is Geralt referring to his right-hand man; in that moment of challenge, he risks it all for Ciaran’s sake, on Ciaran’s say-so.

Or how he insists Saskia is “different”, that she’s special, but she is not only the same as the others, her broad strokes are pretty well exactly the same as the one who came before her – a personally powerful but politically disadvantaged queen who had the Scoia’tael fight and die for her victory, and when she claimed the valley, she cast them aside. While there is certainly more nuance to each situation, it pretty neatly parallels with what Iorveth describes as having happened with Francesca Findabair and the Vrihedd Brigade when Saskia disparages Iorveth and his Scoia’tael as murderers and terrorists after they’re the ones who won the valley for her, fought and died in her name.

That’s his idealism speaking, the whole entanglement with Saskia is idealism – the fact that he is responsible for the tales of Saskia the Dragonslayer? He told the whole world of the woman that he loved, whether it was a romantic love or a platonic sort of adoration, and that love raised an army, it’s idealism in action, and it’s a powerful idealism. While it can certainly be said that allying oneself to a dragon is a good idea, that's not the source of Iorveth's attachment, it's evident in the way he speaks of her that it's more than that. It sort of begs the question that if Iorveth can do so much on his own, what could he have done if he had shared in Yaevinn’s dreams? If they’d been united, rather than apart?

(As an aside, it’s kind of funny to hold them in juxtaposition like this because, like, Iorveth is the one who gets called a terrorist for ultimately having a regimented and orderly combat with another military force, and Yaevinn is commemorated as a “legendary Scoia’tael commander” rather than a terrorist when he’s the one who basically burnt a city to the ground.)

But nevertheless, Iorveth’s perceived hypocrisy over the notion of idealism is also very interesting as far as his characterisation goes, because the point of the matter is determining what, exactly, is truthful and intentional. He expresses a pretty clear stance on most matters in which he opines, but he must be therefore scrutinised for these stances. As I can see it, the likely possibilities are that he is actually being hypocritical and contradicting himself, that he is lying to others to make a certain impression, or that he is lying to himself.

To apply this to the quandary of Yaevinn and these beautiful dreams, Iorveth might perhaps contradict himself because he wants to decry the perceived lack of realism behind Yaevinn’s reasoning despite being equally fanciful in his endeavours for Saskia. He might also perhaps lie about his stance to make himself seem more eminently practical and capable in front of an ally like Geralt; he isn’t chasing a dream, he has plans and strategies and resources, he has the tools for success. He might also state this aloud as though to affirm it to himself – Yaevinn was a dreamer, and had grandiose visions of a better future and all the right reasons behind him, but Yaevinn failed, and Iorveth is too practical and grounded to fall prey to the same fate.He wants to believe this, he needs to believe this, he cannot fail, and so he affirms it to someone else, as though that might make it real. 

It’s interesting to take this interpretation and juxtapose it with Yaevinn’s apparent disillusionment in TW1, the ways in which they react when the pressure is on. Yaevinn, who is just so tired of the fighting but pushing on anyway and ensuring that every necessary step is taken, to the point of being curt with his friends and companions, like his rather terse letter to Golan Vivaldi, cuts out the idealism of a free nation of elves or a future in which humans are driven into the sea and settles for simply clawing out some modicum of progress for the remaining generations, some small respect or accommodation or freedom hard-won from the humans. Iorveth, on the contrary, leans in more heavily to this idealism, to the idea that Saskia is their best and greatest hope for freedom in the north, that she will win, that she will make things better, she must, she simply has to, because otherwise Iorveth has staked his hopes on her for nothing. And it's also very interesting to have Geralt kind of mired in the centre of all this, an ally and object of affection for both of them, faced with their bravado and cynicism and idealism, as muted or misguided as it may end up being. Geralt is there, Geralt takes part in the battles, Geralt is asked to share in the beautiful dreams.

There's so much more that one could examine even just relating to this little sample, especially if one traverses adaptations and references multiple canons -- Yaevinn's book characterisation versus his game characterisation, for instance, or what Iorveth in the games borrows from Isengrim as a character and how that influences his structure as a character, the inclusion of other characters, like Toruviel, who is linked to Yaevinn and his long-standing rebellion, or Ciaran, the loyal adjutant at Iorveth's side, and what their interpersonal relationships mean to them in the context of their ideals and their motivations for continuing their battle against the oppressive humans. Something I find really intriguing in the context of this matter is the notion that Yaevinn expresses in TW1 that he did once live among humans for a time, and that also shaped his views of humanity and the rebellion, while Iorveth does not seem to have had that experience of intermingling. This is such a small little passage of dialogue and I really think about it a lot. There’s so much that can be extrapolated from so little.

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Oh, my heart - Russell, I love you, but you’re an uber-goober! So is he using Colter as a way to introduce him to his family, or could he genuinely not find her? Regardless, this is so intriguing!

“As he impatiently watched a set of doors once more, he pondered if he was still seeing things clearly or if his kooky mind was playing tricks on him. Adjusting to civilian life wasn’t always easy. What normal people would see as a perfectly nice, faithful woman picking up mail from the post office, Russell saw as a dead-drop pick-up. There was a construction crew about three hundred yards to his right that seemed to be on constant break by their lack of work ethic. They also took turns to watch the supermarket closely. Ever wondered why there was so much street construction seemingly everywhere and yet America’s roads were still full of potholes? Russell didn’t.”

“As he rounded the corner, he had to stifle a laugh once he saw his little brother down on the ground, straddled by your legs. Russell had found himself in similar positions with you, but they had been mostly out of pleasure.”

“Russell clicked his tongue and sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, he’s right. There wasn’t a plan. I just-… I had to see you. But once I did, well… here we are.” Full disclosure: There might have been a little bit of a plan. Just tiny, really. Not worth mentioning at all.”

“Well, alright, that was braggy. There was a lot more going on than that. Best night of his life, really. But Russell considered it classified.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, even if she had changed her entire life and personality, there’s no way she would have accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and savior. I mean, maybe if she suffered a traumatic brain injury…” Russell mused and then grinned. “Or if she got abducted by aliens!”

“Oh, you have to try the pie,” the pastor eagerly suggested and put an arm around your shoulders. “Our Nora here is an excellent baker. Her desserts are a real trend in our community. It is downright sinful. But shhhh, don’t tell the big man upstairs.”

“It’s a sin to lie, Colter,” Russ noted. His tone was serious, but the twinkle in his green eyes was impish.”

“You knew this day would come eventually. You knew he’d come back for you. Granted, you had expected him on your goddamn doorstep years ago, but he never showed. Sending divorce papers was a last resort in hopes he’d wake up then. That had been nine months ago.”

“A part of you thought this day would never come, so maybe Colter being here was indeed a show of good faith and Russell was finally, finally dealing with his shit.That man could easily fill the Denver airport with his baggage.”

“Knowing Russell, he probably figured he could push through the pain and be fine. But he had never really been fine since the day you met him – and he wasn’t this time either as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink the tears away, and turned his back to you with a hand clasped over his mouth.”

“He knew if he continued talking about what he’d missed, he wouldn’t make it out of that chicken coop for the next several hours, sobbing uncontrollably in the hay with the hens.”

I love your Russell, this makes me so happy!

The Exit Strategy – Part 2

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, minor injuries, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, a reunion, more secrets and revelations 😉

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Guess, the cat's outta the bag! Couldn't reveal too much about the reader beforehand without ruining the surprise now, could I? 🤓 Cozy up in your favorite chair with eggnog. Hope you have some lovely holidays, guys ❤️

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Part 2: This Is a Russell Mission

If Russell hated one thing in this world, it was playing The Waiting Game. The thought of being helplessly stuck inside a car with his hands metaphorically tied behind his back nearly wrecked his sanity. Well, whatever was left of it, anyways.

Colter had a point. Russell knew he could be a little paranoid sometimes, but considering everything he’d seen and done in his life, who could honestly blame him? It was only natural to feel a certain level of paranoia in his particular line of work. It kept him on his toes and, therefore, alive.

But maybe it had nothing to do with the job as he had always told himself. It might have been just a family trait he had inherited. And, well, he hated that fact even more than The Waiting Game.

As he impatiently watched a set of doors once more, he pondered if he was still seeing things clearly or if his kooky mind was playing tricks on him. Adjusting to civilian life wasn’t always easy.

What normal people would see as a perfectly nice, faithful woman picking up mail from the post office, Russell saw as a dead-drop pick-up.

There was a construction crew about three hundred yards to his right that seemed to be on constant break by their lack of work ethic. They also took turns to watch the supermarket closely. Ever wondered why there was so much street construction seemingly everywhere and yet America’s roads were still full of potholes? Russell didn’t.

And then, there was the cashier who handed you a flyer of some sort, which you accepted with a polite smile and stuffed in your purse. Live drop, Russell noted as he watched you walk out of the store hand in hand with your supposed husband.

It was all so abundantly clear to him, he almost couldn’t believe no one else could see it. It certainly worried him that Colter couldn’t.

What if…

What if he was in fact seeing things? Things that weren’t actually there. Ghosts of his past. No drops, live or dead. No secret surveillance in disguises. No fake husband – just a very real one.

Was that even legal? He figured it was under your new identity.

Russell shook the uncomfortable thought out of his mind and concentrated back on you. You stopped short by a row of shopping carts, exchanged a few words with your “husband”, and headed back inside. His little brother, of course, was hot on your tail, following you back in too.

That was when several alarm bells went off in Russell’s body. His head felt like the Liberty Bell on the Fourth of July. Experience told him: If it smelled like an ambush, it usually was.

Jumping into gear, Russell’s gaze snapped to your husband, who not only unloaded the groceries into the trunk of the car but also loaded a pistol and hid it underneath his sweater vest before heading toward the supermarket again.

Russell sprung into action rather quickly then, snatching his own semi-automatic from the glove compartment. Soon enough, he heard two familiar voices flowing out from a back alley behind the main building. There was no doubt in his mind that it was you and Colter.

As he rounded the corner, he had to stifle a laugh once he saw his little brother down on the ground, straddled by your legs. Russell had found himself in similar positions with you, but they had been mostly out of pleasure.

“If it helps, my name is Colter. Colter Sh–”

“Shaw.”

Russell watched as your hold on his brother swayed and shock claimed your expression.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he greeted your eyes with a cheeky smile as warmth spread through his heart.

Fuck, he had missed you.

“Russell?!”

Your jaw had fully dislodged itself as you slowly got back onto your feet and let go of your prisoner. But the shock of seeing your ex here of all places didn’t last long till it made way for your anger.

“Are you fucking insane?” You stormed towards him, shoving his chest. Whoa, broad! Shit, what had he done? Spent more time at the gym? “No, wait, don’t say anything. I already know the answer to that one!”

“I’ll second that,” Colter chimed in with a groan and dusted off his jeans. He stretched his sore muscles briefly before glaring at his older brother, who only offered him an apologetic smile and a half-assed shrug of one shoulder.

“Did you tell him to follow me?” you asked and pointed an accusatory finger at his younger brother while still glaring daggers at Russell. The similarity between them suddenly struck you, and you cursed yourself for not putting the puzzle pieces together sooner. “What was the plan here, huh?”

“Oh, trust me, he had no plan,” Colter muttered sourly, still recovering from your attack.

Russell clicked his tongue and sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, he’s right. There wasn’t a plan. I just-… I had to see you. But once I did, well… here we are.”

Full disclosure: There might have been a little bit of a plan. Just tiny, really. Not worth mentioning at all.

You scoffed and shook your head. “You, of all people, should know better. You could’ve blown our cover. Months of work down the drain…”

“I think your cover’s still good,” Russell assured you with that same old lazy grin of his that was scarily charming and glanced at your partner. “Might wanna call off the cavalry, though.”

You shared a look with Tom, your partner during this mission.

“I’ll signal them. Clean up here,” he said, unamused, and disappeared back to the parking lot.

“Road crew in front of the store?” was all Russell asked. You confirmed it with a simple nod. Internally, he celebrated his little win. His instincts were still intact.

You exhaled a deep breath and threw your hands up. You had been so incredibly relaxed before that menace of a man waltzed back into your life – with a goddamn wrecking ball, no less. Now, the tension was crawling back into your shoulders.

“Russ, what the hell?”

Your question wasn’t filled with anger, however. You were just exhausted by today’s surprising turn of events. The life of a spy…

And probably the life with Russell, too.

“I know. I know, okay?” Russell held up two placating hands. Large hands. Warm. “Can we just talk? Somewhere… I don’t know.”

With some reservations, you still nodded. “There’s a church picnic at First Presbyterian tomorrow. It starts at one. We can talk there.”

There had never been a day in your relationship where you had denied that man a thing – till that last day at least.

“Church picnic?” Russell cocked a brow but was only met with your glare.

“Don’t mock. Be there,” you told him firmly and walked back inside the building. You still had to buy that damn milk. Covers were complicated to maintain – much like relationships.

Once you were out of sight, Russell let out a long sigh of relief, followed by a laugh of happiness. Step One was done. Only when the high of his meeting with you subsided, did he notice his brother’s exasperation.

Colter threw his hands in the air and stared at his sibling with incredulous eyes. “What the hell, Russell? What was that, man?”

“Right, yeah.” Russell bobbed his head calmly, smacking his lips. He knew he owed Colter an explanation at this stage of the mission.

“So, I’m guessing she’s not an old Army buddy of yours,” the younger Shaw started.

“No, not quite. She’s in the CIA,” Russell explained at last. He couldn’t help the grin. He was sure Colter would laugh about it eventually, too. Well, here was to hoping he would. “We worked together when we were both stationed in Baghdad. You know how it goes. We met, and a couple of hours later, we were doing it on the kitchen island of some safe house.”

Well, alright, that was braggy. There was a lot more going on than that. Best night of his life, really. But Russell considered it classified.

“Romantic,” Colter scoffed with sarcasm lacing his voice. Honestly, a part of him was happy for Russell. Another part, though, was incredibly furious for obvious reasons. “But I’m sorry – you had me stalk a CIA operative? During, what I assume is, some elaborate undercover mission?”

“It’s actually not that elaborate,” Russell quipped with amusement. “You shoulda seen half the things I’ve seen her do, so…”

“Oh, hilarious!” Colter shook his head at his childish brother. “Are you nuts?!”

“I think we’ve already established that,” Russell chuckled.

“You know, if Reenie finds out about this, she’s gonna kill me,” Colter said, and Russell swore his brother seemed close to breaking into a sweat. “Oh, you think this is still funny, huh? Guess who she’s gonna kill right after? You.”

Russell rolled his eyes at the unnecessary theatrics. “She’s not gonna find out unless you tell her, brother.”

With pursed lips, Colter nodded in defeat. “Can’t say I like you a lot right now, Russell.”

His older brother only snorted a laugh in response. “Oh, c’mon!”

“You probably would find it less funny if you had been beaten up by a 5’4” woman,” Colter continued and pressed a hand to his ribcage, wincing. “Yeah, pretty sure she cracked a rib or two…”

“Don’t be a baby. Soldier up! You’re fine.” Russell patted his back roughly and inspected the swelling nose for good measure, causing Colter to groan in pain once more. “And by the way, pretty sure she’s only 5’3”.”

“What?! No! She’s at least… 5’4”, okay? Probably even 5’5”,” Colter argued, following Russell back to the truck.

Russell’s lips rose to a teasing smirk. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself whatever gets you to sleep at night, little brother.”

“I will, thank you,” Colter deadpanned and unlocked the car. “So, you’re gonna go to this church picnic thing tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, not just me. We are going to this church picnic thing tomorrow,” Russell said with a cheeky grin and slid into the passenger seat.

“Well, you know, technically, I’ve already… found her. This is usually where my job ends,” Colter said with a tight smile and popped the key into the ignition.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Russell replied, chuckling. “This ain’t a Colter mission. This is a Russell mission.”

“Oh, I got that, yeah. Thank you,” Colter said with a laugh that made his bruised ribs ache. “You know, you could’ve at least told me she was in the CIA.”

“Yeah, probably. But this was more fun,” Russell grinned.

“Did you know this whole time this was a clandestine operation?”

Russell sheepishly twitched his shoulders. “Well, not when we first got to town, but once I saw her in that outfit, I had a pretty strong inkling. I’m tellin’ ya, even if she had changed her entire life and personality, there’s no way she would have accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and savior. I mean, maybe if she suffered a traumatic brain injury…” Russell mused and then grinned. “Or if she got abducted by aliens!”

“Oh, not the UFOs again,” Colter sighed with a shake of his head.

“It’s UAP, man. U… A… P,” Russell corrected him once again and let the last letter pop from his lips for emphasis.

“Uh-huh… Did you even need me for this?” Colter leaned back against his seat and quirked an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah!” Russell assured eagerly before changing course. He dialed his enthusiasm back a little. “Well, honestly, I just needed your op analyst. I could’ve used one of my guys, but then that would’ve flagged it with someone upstairs, so… But c’mon! This was fun, right?”

“I don’t know, Russell. I usually prefer my fun to look a little different,” Colter deadpanned.

“With Reenie?” Russell wagged his eyebrows. The huge smirk on his face spoke volumes.

“Would you stop?!”

“‘Sides, this is nice, isn’t it? Us… hanging out?” Russell’s sly grin then morphed into a much softer and genuine smile.

“I guess, yeah,” Colter reluctantly agreed and shrugged his shoulders. But the tiny smile on his face wasn’t missed by Russell.

“Alright, let’s get some fuel,” Russell announced and playfully slapped his brother’s chest. “I’m starving. We also need to find a place where we can park that Airstream of yours. Maybe get a nice fire going, drink a few…”

“What is this? A sleepover? Did you just invite yourself?” Colter really wasn’t used to family members dropping in like this, but he couldn’t deny that it felt sort of nice, too.

“Yeah, I am. I mean, you didn’t offer. Would’ve been the polite thing, you know, considering I saved your ass last time,” Russell retorted puckishly.

Colter exhaled a humorous breath, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Alright, okay… Consider yourself invited.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Russell’s nerves leaped through the roof as he set foot onto the church grounds. A part of him expected his boot soles to leave burn marks in their wake on the perfectly green and trimmed lawn, considering his extensive list of sins.

Families, children, couples, and the elderly had all gathered in front of the church. There were picnic tables, blankets, even balloons and a banner. His green eyes, however, landed on the giant buffet, his mouth already beginning to water.

That’s also where he spotted you, handing out cupcakes and slices of pie with a pious smile on your face. Your hair was stuck behind your ears, a headband keeping it tightly in place. Your dress looked the same, only the flower pattern varied, with a tight cardigan around your shoulders that hid any naked skin.

Deceptively innocent, Russell thought, causing his mouth to water for a different reason.

“You okay? You nervous?” Colter checked with a curiously raised brow.

“Nervous? Me? No.” Russell gave a quick shake of his head, but his eyes were transfixed on you. “Gotta admit. That outfit’s doing something to me, though.”

Colter patted his shoulder blade. “Yeah, might wanna keep it in your pants, Russ. Pretty sure you get kicked out for impure thoughts.”

Russell snorted a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The Shaw brothers then made their way over to your stand. Russell’s heart thumped louder with every new step he took towards you. And once he was so close he could smell your irresistible perfume, his smile only widened.

You, on the other hand, played your role flawlessly and pretended you didn’t know either brother in front of you. Your brows knit in question, but your devout smile remained the same.

“Gentlemen, how can I help you? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” you said and subtly gestured your head to the pastor next to you.

Russell’s brow raised in understanding. He cleared his throat. “Oh, me and my brother just moved here. Looking for a new church. Heard this is the place,” he stated loud enough for the pastor to hear. “You know, we are very devout Christians. I mean, especially my brother here. If he doesn’t pray at least ten times a day, he gets real cranky.”

Colter threw him a look but decided to play along. “Oh, yeah, I just-… I hate that. Can’t pray enough, right?”

“Amen,” you said with all the sincerity you could muster. On the inside, however, you were bursting with laughter. Leave it to Russell to make you smile brighter than the sun.

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place,” the pastor chimed in with a cheerful smile that spelled kumbaya all the way through as he shook the brothers’ hands. “I’m Pastor Jeff. Welcome to our little congregation, folks.”

“God can never have enough sheep, am I right?” Russell quipped and wondered how long you’d already been undercover, playing your dutiful role as a Christian housewife. Five sentences in, and he already was at his limit.

“That’s right!” The pastor grinned broadly. “Please help yourselves to our delicious buffet.”

“Well, lookey, what do we have here.” Russell’s eyes zoned in on a plate of apple pie, rubbing his palms in delight.

“Oh, you have to try the pie,” the pastor eagerly suggested and put an arm around your shoulders. “Our Nora here is an excellent baker. Her desserts are a real trend in our community. It is downright sinful. But shhhh, don’t tell the big man upstairs.”

“Secret’s safe with me, pastor,” Russell grinned slyly before meeting your eyes for the briefest second. “Say, do you do marriage counseling too?”

The glare you shot him had enough power to kill him from afar. You might as well have ordered a missile strike on him.

“Oh, my, yes, of course!” the pastor eagerly replied, causing your frown to deepen. “Are you married? Having a little trouble with the missus?”

“You could say that,” Russell earnestly played along and propped up his hands on his hips. “Everything was going fine, you know? And then one morning, just whoosh, gone. No explanation, no letter, no anonymous call from a pay phone…”

“Wow…” The pastor was stunned and enthralled by Russell’s colorful storytelling at the same time. You weren’t, however.

“Well, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you feigned your sympathies with tight lips and a fierce glare at your former lover. “But you know what they say, the Lord giveth and he taketh away…”

“You know, Nora here is right. Our Lord does work in mysterious ways,” the pastor chimed in agreement.

“Amen, Pastor Jeff,” you said, smiling contentiously. “Do you have any idea why your wife left?”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s as mysterious as the Lord,” Russell replied.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you forced a tight smile. “I don’t mean to overstep, but it sounds like someone was having a little trouble with commitment.”

“It does,” Pastor Jeff agreed. “Why do you think that is?”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Russell’s head bobbed, his tongue poking the insides of his cheeks. He was definitely feeling a spotlight on him. Even Colter seemed to curiously lean in. Then, the oldest Shaw clicked his tongue. “Rough childhood.”

Amused, Colter scoffed under his breath behind him. “You could say that.”

“Oh no.” The pastor sent the brothers a pitying look and turned his attention to the younger Shaw. “And what do you do?”

“Oh, uh… Well, before I moved in with my brother here, I lived in a trailer and traveled all over the country.”

“Sounds… lonely,” Pastor Jeff stated worriedly.

“Yeah, this one is a big lone wolf. He has commitment issues too,” Russell replied, earning him a scolding look from his brother.

“Uh, I don’t think we need to overshare, Russ.” Colter gave an awkward smile, turning to you and Pastor Jeff. “He’s kidding. I don’t have commitment issues.”

“It’s a sin to lie, Colter,” Russ noted. His tone was serious, but the twinkle in his green eyes was impish.

“What happened to your face there?” The pastor cocked his head and inspected the younger Shaw’s injuries.

Oof, he looked rough. The skin under his eyes and bridge of his nose were swollen and bruised, ranging in color from blue, purple to black. A thin burgundy line also graced his throat. You had done quite a number on him.

You should kick Russell’s ass for setting you both up like this. Who would do this to their little brother?

“Uh, you know, moving boxes…” Colter stammered with a shift of his weight from one foot to the other, pursing his lips.

Russell was a better liar than him, you noted.

“Yup, walked straight into one of those wood planks,” Russell added, oozing just the right amount of charm and humor to wrap the pastor around his finger. “Tiny thing, honestly, but still got him good.”

Oh, he was so proud of that too, you could tell. He smirked right at you. Well, they were both terrible liars.

“Not that tiny. Big, big plank,” Colter corrected. Apparently, you had bruised his ego, too. “Lucky to be alive, really.”

Yeah, he really was.

“Well, speaking of taking things away, I still have to get the eggs from the chickens,” you said, segueing the conversation to an exit strategy. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, you have chickens here?” Russell enthusiastically slapped Colter’s arm. “Did you hear that? They have chickens.”

“Yeah, uh, very exciting,” Colter said, subtly clearing his throat.

“We’ve always wanted chickens,” Russell clarified for the pastor, joining you by your side as you rounded the table. It wasn’t true, though. The brothers actually had a chicken coop at the cabin when they were kids and hated it. The hens were noisy, the rooster was the worst, and it was always a mess to clean up. “I love those clucking little buggers. And now that we have a big backyard… Mind if I come along and check out your setup?”

“Not at all,” you replied with a friendly smile.

“Great. Be right back,” Russell told his brother, hurrying after you before he eloquently made a U-turn back to the stand and grabbed a plate of pie.

“Take your time,” Colter said through a pressed smile, although he wondered how long he’d be stuck here for with the pastor and your fake husband.

“Clear,” you said and held the creaking wooden door of the coop open for Russell to follow inside. As soon as it fell shut behind you two, you crossed your arms. “Okay, talk.”

“What? Here? Now?” With squinted eyes and a cocked brow, Russell looked around the small and dark space full of farm fowl, hay, and feathers.

You threw your arms up in exasperation. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk. What’s wrong with this place?”

“Nothing,” Russell said timidly and swallowed. He scratched the back of his neck. “You know, I just imagined this conversation a thousand times in my head, and it never happened in a chicken coop on church grounds.”

“Adorable,” you commented unamused, your brow knitting even more.

“All I’m sayin’ is, this just takes some time gettin’ used to…”

“Get used to it faster.”

Russell sighed. Then you did.

You softened your stance, crossed arms falling freely to your sides. “I’ve missed you,” you said earnestly and gifted him a small smile, taking in his changed appearance for the first time in detail.

He was hairier than you remembered. That you knew for sure. If you went back even further, he was also a lot broader, too. When you’d met, he was just a kid – as were you. It was only in the last few years of your relationship that he started to gain some serious muscle and really began to fill out his uniform. And all of a sudden, the tall and broad-shouldered soldier became more threatening – and more protective.

Now, clean-shaven, young, somewhat naive, and rule-following was replaced by a rebellious, midlife-crisis beard and the matching hair.

Ah, the t-shirt… Mötley Crüe. He found that thing eleven years ago at a thrift store in Arizona. It had a (bullet) hole on the left side of his lower back that you had patched – thrice. Once even with teething floss in a tent.

“How have you been?”

Russell’s head bobbed. He shrugged. “So-so.” Then he smiled. Soft and warm. The first few rays of sunshine on frozen winter skin. “I’ve missed you, too.” Then, the smile disappeared from his lips, replaced by contempt. “Got your divorce papers. Not signing them, by the way.”

“Good.” You smiled weakly. “I didn’t want you to sign them. I just sent them to get your attention.”

The relief that surged through Russell’s body was ineffable. For months, he thought he’d lost you – that you’d finally given up on him for good.

“How’s the new job working out?”

Russell’s lips drew a smirk, flirtatious charm glimmering in his forest green eyes. “What, you keeping tabs on me, sweetheart?”

You matched his expression. “Who do you think recommended you, huh?”

Russell stumped for a beat. His lips pursed, eyebrows drawing into a wondering v. “Well, they said someone did. Just didn’t think it was you.”

All this time, he’d believed you had crossed him out of your mind with a red pen as soon as you’d walked out the door that very morning.

“I told you. I’ll always look out for you,” you replied simply, a caring smile dancing on your lips. “So? Did it help? Are you any closer?”

“Yeah, guess so…” He paused for a moment, his gaze focused on the tips of his boots as he thought. “Not sure it was worth it, though. Actually, I’m fucking sure it wasn’t.”

You exhaled a long breath. You knew this day would come eventually. You knew he’d come back for you. Granted, you had expected him on your goddamn doorstep years ago, but he never showed. Sending divorce papers was a last resort in hopes he’d wake up then. That had been nine months ago.

“Why are you here, Russ?”

“Things have changed.”

Ah. That made things perfectly clear.

Lifting a brow, you crossed your arms again. “Is that why you brought your little brother along? As a show of good faith?”

“Kinda.”

“Poor Colter… How’s his nose?”

Russell wiped your sincere concerns away with a shrug. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. Just a scratch.”

Just a scratch…

“It’s weird… seeing you two together,” you said. For more than fifteen years, you had wondered. A part of you thought this day would never come, so maybe Colter being here was indeed a show of good faith and Russell was finally, finally dealing with his shit.

That man could easily fill the Denver airport with his baggage.

“You look good,” you noted. You were trained to control your heartbeat, but he had always made your job harder. “Different.”

His fingers brushed his beard as if to emphasize the newness. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Well, uhm, I don’t hate it,” you said rather coyly. Did you want to give him a win? No. But if he stepped any closer, you would falter. Your cheeks blushed as the tip of your shoe drew circles in the sandy ground. Why did your ears suddenly feel so hot?

Russell smiled as heat crept to his cheeks as well. “Your new look is somethin’, too.”

“God, shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re allowed to take the Lord’s name in vain here,” Russell teased. “Don’t let good Pastor Jeff hear ya.”

You laughed, scoffing. “I hate that man.”

“Pastor Jeff? I can tell,” Russell chuckled in amusement and finally stuffed his face with the first bite of pie, chewing a mouthful as he spoke. “But c’mon, he ain’t half bad.”

“Really? You don’t wanna shoot yourself after spending five minutes with him? ‘Cause I do. And it’s been months for me,” you said. “You don’t know what that man does in his office.”

“You bugged his office?”

“And the confession booth. Two words: game changer,” you said, wide-eyed. Russell whistled lowly. You narrowed your eyes at the half-eaten plate in his hands and the pie crumbs in his beard. You raised a scolding brow. “Did you really have to bring the pie?”

“Do you even know me at all? Of course I did.” Russell then shoved the last bite into his mouth to prove his petulant point. “Did you actually bake this?”

In expectant offense, you stepped back a little, crossing your arms again. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s good.”

“Do you even know me at all? What d’you think?”

“Thought so.” Russell gave a shrug of his shoulders. “The first bite of this didn’t give me immediate food poisoning.”

“Fuck you. I’m a great cook,” you huffed but couldn’t help the grin on your face. You had missed this – the bickering, the bantering, the fun. And Russell, the sly asshole, knew that, judging by his own smirk.

“There’s a lot of reasons why I love you, but your cooking skills ain’t one of ‘em, sweetheart,” he quipped.

“I’ll use you as shooting practice, Shaw,” you threatened playfully. Russell laughed, but it sounded more secretive than a laugh about a joke. “What?”

Russell’s eyes found yours. “Nothing. This is nice, right? We slid right back into it. Like the last three years never happened.”

“Russ…” You sighed, your heart hurting. For you, they happened.

“Just saying it was easy. That’s all,” he said with placating hands. “How’s the family? How’s your dad?”

That caused you to suck in a breath. You had wondered when he would finally dare to ask. You knew this was the real reason why he was here. “Dave finally married Jill last spring. It was a nice wedding. Florence, Italy. Got to wear a sun hat.”

“That’s good.” Russell smiled softly, although it stung that he wasn’t invited. He had always imagined he would be, once your brother popped the question to his longtime girlfriend. After all, Russell was the one who introduced the couple in the first place.

“They wanted to do it sooner, but because of the pandemic…”

“They shoulda done it ten years ago. I kept telling him to lock it down,” Russell quipped, the irony not entirely lost on him. He knew even if something was locked down, didn’t necessarily mean it would stay forever.

“You did,” you remembered with a fond smile. “They wanted you there,” you added, noticing his saddened expression. “It’s just-…”

“No, I know. Don’t worry about it,” Russell brushed it off with all the coolness he could muster at that moment.

“Russ…”

“I said it’s fine,” he repeated and forced another smile. “So, how’s the old man?”

Silently, you bit your lip and sent him a look that spoke volumes.

“Uh-oh. That bad, huh?”

“It’s the reason why I moved back here. To be closer… As close as I can be with this job. Figured it was best for everyone,” you explained. “In the beginning, he had a lot of good days, you know? Now they just all seem… bad.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry,” Russell replied, dumping his empty plate by the chickens. He stepped closer.

Uh-oh. Now, you were in trouble.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Russell’s brow jumped up. “What are you sorry for? It’s your dad.”

“I know. But… he kinda was yours too, right?” Russell’s green eyes meeting yours confirmed your statement. “He still talks about you on his good days. God knows you couldn’t throw a football before you met him.”

“Hey, that’s not true. I could throw the old pigskin around perfectly fine,” Russell defended.

You snorted. “You could not,” you argued with a teasing smile. “You knew how to kill sweet little forest critters and turn your pee into drinking water. But you did not know how to throw a damn ball.”

“You’re never letting the pee thing go, are you?”

You shrugged. “It was a very memorable trip.”

Russell laughed at that. Then the melancholic sadness returned to his face. “How’s-, uhm, how’s Lewis?”

He’d made it through the list of your relatives, finishing with the most important one. And it stung so unbearably much it broke your heart for him. But in the end, you knew he’d done it to himself.

Fighting the tears in your eyes, you forced a smile to your lips. “He’s good. He’s a sweet boy. Keeps asking questions about his daddy that I don’t know how to answer…” you scoffed humorlessly but decided to forgo the pettiness. It would be so easy to be mad at him, but not even on your darkest days could you do it. “He’s starting school this fall.”

“School, huh?” Russell huffed a devastating chuckle, the tears brimming in his eyes as the lump in his throat only grew. “Shit…”

It was getting to him, you could see, and he hadn’t expected that it would. Knowing Russell, he probably figured he could push through the pain and be fine. But he had never really been fine since the day you met him – and he wasn’t this time either as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink the tears away, and turned his back to you with a hand clasped over his mouth.

“Should I stop?”

It felt like you were torturing him with a cruel new method of some PsyOp. Even if you had cursed this man for the past three years, your heart refused to see him hurt.

But Russell shook his head, finding your eyes again. He offered you a weak smile. “No, uh, don’t. Just tell me something about him, okay? I’m fine. Please.”

Sighing, you nodded in acceptance. “When my dad was better, he and Dave would take him fishing a lot. He loved it. He’s in his ‘backyard adventures’ phase,” you said, giggling softly. “He’s catching frogs and releasing them in the house. Never imagined I’d wake up with an amphibian on my head. It’s been a delightful experience.”

Russell laughed, but it was feeble at best. “I can imagine…”

And I can’t imagine I missed it all, he thought self-punishingly. But the hard part still hadn’t come yet.

“And, uhm…” Russell wrung for words, taking a deep breath. “How’s the baby? Is it–”

“She,” you stated, watching him swallow upon your correction. “Her name’s Amelia. She turned two in April.”

“Huh, girl…” His heart beat faster, grew bigger, and painfully yearned. His feet trembled to get home, wherever that was, and see them, but he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t so easy, after all. “Guess I was right…” he said with a sad smile.

You had been sure you’d have another boy. However, Russell had bet you ten meatball subs – your craving at the time – that it wasn’t.

“What happened to Ann? Thought that’s the name we picked,” Russell teased in hopes of lightening the mood.

“Yeah, well, if you wanted a say, maybe you should’ve been there…” you retorted.

Russell should’ve known winning you over wouldn’t be as simple as spelling the ABC.

“You’re the one who left,” Russell muttered finger-pointing-ly under his breath.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why,” you bit glaringly.

Russell swallowed lightly, nodding. “You’re right. I do. I’m sorry.” Pausing, his eyes glanced around the coop before he gestured with a hand at your outfit, looking you up and down. “So, speaking of the kids, what’s going on here? Thought you were done with the deep-covers,” he changed the subject with a clear of his throat.

He knew if he continued talking about what he’d missed, he wouldn’t make it out of that chicken coop for the next several hours, sobbing uncontrollably in the hay with the hens.

“I was. Had a desk job. Kinda…” A desk job in the CIA still never really was a desk job. “I was station chief in Paris.”

“Paris, huh? Fancy,” Russell said, but the joke didn’t reach the crinkles around his eyes.

“It’s the job I took after I left. We only moved back to the States in the beginning of the year,” you explained. “The kids loved it there, though. Lewis still gets a craving for crêpes every once in a while.”

Russell chuckled, even though every story added another bruise to his heart.

“Anyways, I got a job at Langley. Desk. Bought a house not too far from here, actually. It’s nice. Got a big backyard. Even bigger oak tree,” you told him with a smile. “Lewis wants me to build him a treehouse, but I’m not sure I can swing it.”

“I could help,” Russell offered, trying to keep his eagerness at bay when truly all he wanted was to race there and build the damn thing now. “I mean, if I can come by sometime…”

Your heart sank. “You can always come home. You always could, Russ.”

Home.

That four-letter word filled him with so much warmth and longing it brought back the tears in his eyes.

“So, uhm, why are you here and not there then?” This time, he switched the topic because he would’ve kissed you if he hadn’t. “You running a sting on the pastor or…?”

“One of his sheep.”

“Ah.” Russell nodded. “Need any help?”

“From you and Colter?”

“Yeah.”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon, just lemme help. The faster you get this done and over with, the sooner you can stop clutching your fake pearls and get home to the kids,” Russell reasoned.

You sighed, knowing he was partially right. You did hate your disguise as much as you hated the annoyingly nosy pastor. Moreover, you missed your children a fucking lot. It had already been three months. Fall was coming soon, and you had promised your son you’d be home by his first day of school.

“C’mon, how did they lure you back in, huh? Who’s the naughty little sheep you’re working?”

“Can’t talk about this here,” you told him, automatically lowering your voice. It was hard to remember who you were right now, when what you were used to be was standing right in front of you.

Russell quirked a brow. “Did you bug the coop, too?”

“No, the pastor’s scared of the chickens, which is why I didn’t bother. But you never know if someone else isn’t listening. We’ve already shared too much. We shouldn’t do this here,” you insisted, and Russell nodded in agreement. He knew the dangers as well as you did.

“Then where?”

You exhaled a deep breath and thought for a moment. You wanted to see him again. You knew he didn’t just come find you to catch up and then leave again.

“Come by the house tonight. Make it look natural. I’ll invite you guys to dinner as a sort of friendly welcome wagon to the neighborhood. The pastor is gonna buy it in a heartbeat. Just give me a good reason to invite you over.”

Russell nodded in understanding. “Alright.”

Part 3: This Is a Heart-To-Heart – SOON 💚

Welp, seems like Russell omitted having a wife and two kids... 🙈😂

I'll post the next part in the beginning of the new year or straight after Polaris has finished. We'll see ☺️

Enjoy the rest of your holidays, loves! Can't wait to read your comments on this one 😉🤍

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