#five below holiday hours

[gutsby]

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version): Future IV

Aggie Beever-Jones x Putellas!Reader

Summary: You and your 'new friend' in Mallorca

There's a soft pad of feet outside the cabana and you peak an eye open.

Your partner for this holiday approaches, fresh from the ocean and your open eye tracks her progress towards the towel that she uses to dry off.

"I don't think I've ever been to a better beach."

"I told you." You sit up, rolling your shoulders. "Everything is better in Spain."

Aggie sits on the edge of your sunbed, fingers slowly walking up your bare leg until they rest on the curve of your knee. "Well, you've certainly shown me that."

You sip at your drink.

It's gone kind of warm in the hot summer sun but it's still drinkable, still full of flavour that gives you that nice buzz in your veins.

"Well," You say, your quiet voice carrying across the air like a secret," I do try."

Aggie's hand climbs up to your thigh, rubbing your skin lightly as she shuffles closer.

"You've done a very good job at it."

You move closer as well until there's barely a centimetre between you.

"Isn't it so nice that this cabana is private?" You drawl, fluttering your eyelashes as you press as close as you can without actually touching your lips against hers.

"Just us," You continue," So far away from anyone else. Just me and you."

"It's perfect," Aggie husks and you finally connecting your lips, grabbing at the back of her neck to deepen it.

She allows you that control at least.

Aggie's fallen into this role fairly well. She knows this isn't going to end in a relationship and, frankly, she doesn't care at all. Straight out of a relationship herself, she's completely fine with this just being a friends with benefits situation.

Your hand pulls at Aggie's neck and she grins into the kiss, finally taking control of it.

You lay back against your sun lounger, grinning as well when Aggie hovers over you.

She's panting, glancing around. "How long until you think that waiter guy's coming back?"

"Forty five minutes? An hour?" You say," He came by a few minutes before you came back."

"Excellent," Aggies says," That leaves us plenty of time."

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in red and pink and blue.

You sip at your drink, eyeing Aggie over the top of her menu.

"What?" She says," Is there something on my face?"

"Nothing," You laugh," You look very pretty tonight."

"Flatterer."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"You're in a sappy mood today."

You lift up your drink. "Must be the alcohol."

You both laugh and you relax easily into small talk.

"This trip has been lovely," Aggie says suddenly as the evening winds down," Thanks for inviting me."

"Thank you for not being intimidated by my mother."

That match when you first met, Aggie had nearly been caught on the wrong side of Alexia's wrath after absolutely clattering one of the Barcelona players two minutes into the second half.

"I won't say she's not scary," Aggie says," But I know how to stand my ground."

"I'm glad and pray you never have to meet her in her own house," You tease.

Aggie winks. "Good thing I'm not your girlfriend. God help whoever meets your mother as your girlfriend."

"I can drink to that."

[loulovingho]

The Dinner

This is going to end up being a 4 part series on Meeting the Parents, where each part can be read individually. You can read on ao3, or continue below.

It was a few months after the wedding before Margaret and Phillip could get back to Los Angeles for another visit. They arrived two days before Halloween, wanting to go around the neighborhood trick or treating with Jee. It was the first year she'd really understand the holiday, and they were excited to experience it with her.

On their first night in town, Tommy and Buck were coming over for dinner.

While Tommy had briefly met them at the wedding, it wasn't more than a handshake and a hello before Jee was pulling her grandparents in one direction, and Evan was pulling him in another.

And now Buck was playing with Jee in the living room while Tommy helped plate the rolls.

“How do you feel about officially meeting the Buckley parents, Thomas?” Chimney asked, leaning against the counter.

“I was fine until Evan woke me up with a powerpoint presentation on what to and not to do.”

Maddie, who was fiddling at the table, looked over at Buck. “He's joking, right?”

Buck shook his head. “You can never be too prepared.”

Maddie rolled her eyes before turning to Tommy, a smile on her face. “Don't worry about it, Tommy. They've mellowed a lot over the past few years. Not perfect, obviously, but better.”

“Is that why you've reset the table five times?” Chimney asked, grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge.

“Hush.” She tilted her head, staring at the centerpiece before moving it slightly to the left. “Seriously, Tommy. You'll be fine.”

There was a knock, and Jee squealed as she jumped up and ran to the door.

Everyone trailed after her, Tommy moving to Buck's side.

After a prolonged hello to Jee, they greeted Maddie and Howie before moving on to Buck.

“Hi Mom, Dad,” he said, a hug for his mom and handshake for his dad. “You remember-”

“Thomas,” Tommy interrupted, holding out his hand to Margaret first. “Nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.”

Buck but at his lip, trying to prevent himself from bursting into laughter. It was so interesting seeing Tommy like this. He was usually so calm, cool, and collected. His nerves very rarely appeared, so it was like a special treat when they did.

“Oh, come here,” Margaret said, bypassing his hand and wrapping him in a hug.

Tommy returned it, looking at Chimney with wide eyes.

Chimney himself looked surprised too, which felt like a good sign.

Once Margaret was finished, Phillip shook Tommy's hand. “Good to see you too, Thomas.”

They settled in and Tommy took what felt like the first breath since this morning. Maddie grinned at him with two thumbs up, which made him feel even more relaxed.

He'd never been so anxious to meet the parents of someone he was with before. Honestly, he'd only done it a couple of times. Once in high school, when he met the parents of the girl he took to prom. She ended up ditching him for her friends about halfway through the dance, so he never had to see them again.

Then there was Joey's parents. A guy he'd dated on and off after he first came out. They were... not a good match, but he just so happened to be at Joey's house when his mom showed up out of the blue. One awkward brunch later, he and Joey broke up for good a few minutes after she walked out the door.

Maybe that's why he was so nervous. The two times he'd met someone's parents, it ended in a breakup.

He couldn't think like that right now though.

Everything would be fine. He could do this.

*****

Dinner went surprisingly smooth. Most of the attention had been on Jee during dinner, but she got bored before dessert and headed into her bedroom to play.

That's when the questions started coming in.

“So, Thomas, Ev- Buck mentioned you also work for the fire department,” Margaret began, “but at a different station?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes, Ma'am. I'm a pilot at Harbor Station. It's about twenty minutes from the 118... or an hour with the traffic,” he added, getting a laugh from both Buckley parents.

“Dangerous job,” Phillip noted. “Rewarding though, I'm sure.”

“Oh, yes, Sir. Very rewarding.”

“So, you and Buck don't ever really get to see each other at work?” Margaret asked.

“Sometimes. I work ground ops every once in a while and we'll see each other. But when I am in the air, Evan likes to take pictures and send them to me,” he added, smiling over at Buck.

Margaret and Phillip shared a glance. Even out of the corner of Buck's eye, he could see his parents looking at one another. He knew they were silently discussing the fact that Tommy gets away with calling him by his given name. Something he'd steadfastly reminded them not to do.

He waited, heartbeat rising, for them to bring it up.

Instead, Margaret smiled. “So, how'd you two meet?”

"He flew us through a hurricane to rescue Cap and Athena."

"Buck." Maddie eyed him, a silent why would you say that?

He knew how protective his parents were. How they hated to think of him in danger. How saying something like that could cause tension between all of them, especially with Tommy.

Buck simply shrugged. "It's true."

"It's alright," Margaret reassured them. "Phillip and I are learning to come to terms with the fact that the job Buck has is a dangerous one. But life's a risk, right? We- We know you're taking every precaution to be safe."

Tommy reached out and rested his hand on Buck's thigh. "Yes," he agreed. "And technically we didn't fly through the hurricane, we flew through the outskirts of a hurricane."

"And Tommy's overly qualified," Chimney chimed in, for good measure. "That's why I asked him to take us. It's also why I claim to be matchmaker."

"Well, seeing as you're all in one piece," Phillip said, folding his hands on the table. "Why don't you tell us more about this helicopter-matchmaking adventure?"

The conversation continued for a while. It wasn't all focused on Tommy, thankfully. They went around the table swapping stories and sharing anecdotes. They never even batted an eye when Tommy moved his hand to Evan's back, rubbing softly. He did it almost unconsciously, nearly freezing up when he realized it. He had been told that the Buckley's weren't homophobic. But it was one thing to not care with other people, and another to not care with your own kid. However, their reaction, or lack thereof, was the final confirmation that Tommy needed to know everything was okay and they truly didn't mind.

*****

When it was time for Jee to head to bed, she demanded Uncle Tommy fly her to the room like a “helichopter” so, of course, he did. Then she demanded her mommy, daddy, and Uncle Buck read her a story together, so Tommy headed back out to the living room with the Buckley's to sit and chat.

“She calls you Uncle Tommy,” Margaret said, nearly beaming.

Tommy smiled. “Yeah, that started a couple months ago. I think she knows it's a surefire way to get me to say yes to whatever she asks. Evan jokes me about it all the time.”

“Okay, I have to ask-”

“Margaret,” Phillip warned.

She waved him off. “I'm just asking.” She leaned in close, almost like she was about to reveal some deep, dark secret.

Tommy sure hoped that wasn't it. He'd heard all about their last deep, dark secret.

“He lets you call him Evan. How'd you manage that?”

Tommy fought to hide his grin. “That's how he introduced himself when we met,” he explained. “Once I realized no one else ever called him that, I tried calling him Buck, but he gave me a funny look and told me to stick with Evan.”

Tommy knew Evan didn't hate his name. Knew others called him by it sometimes. He also knew that his parents calling him Buck was important to him. A way to show they were finally listening to what he wanted, and they were respecting him.

Tommy almost expected this to be where the trouble came in. Maybe this is where the Buckley's stuck up their nose and asked what made him so special? Evan had warned him about it during the presentation that morning.

They didn't do that though. Instead they looked... happy? Excited even.

“You a basketball fan?” Phillip asked, opting for a change of subject.

“Yes, Sir. Love it.”

“Professional or college?”

“I prefer professional, but I watch both.”

“I've been wanting to go to a game for years, but it's a little boring to go alone. We're coming back in a couple months for another visit. You and I should find a game.”

“I'd love that.” Tommy couldn't seem to agree fast enough. The fact that his boyfriend's dad actually wanted to hang out and spend time with him made him feel like he was in a dream world. “I think the Lakers usually play in Vegas that time of year. I could fly us out for a game,” he offered with a shrug. “I go there pretty regularly.”

“Uh oh,” Margaret joked. “Wrong thing to say. He'll be taking you up on those offers all the time.”

“That's fine with me,” Tommy assured her. “I love to fly. Evan and I go on little trips every time we have a few days off together. He's always finding new places for us to go within a couple hours of here.”

“Tell you what,” Phillip said, tipping his beer toward Tommy, “you fly us there, the tickets are on me.”

“Oh, you don't-”

“No, no. I insist.”

“Just nod and say okay,” Margaret faux-whispered.

Tommy laughed, but nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good. Now, if you'll excuse me,” Phillip said, setting his beer on the coffee table before he went to stand. “I need to use the restroom. Be right back.”

Once Phillip had rounded the corner to head down the hall, Margaret scooted closer to Tommy, a smile playing on her face. “You don't go by Thomas, do you?”

Tommy let out a breathy laugh. “No, Ma'am. No, I don't.”

She nodded. “I figured. Tommy, then, right?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Thomas is fine though, if you prefer it.”

She reached over and patted him on the arm. “No, Tommy is what you go by, Tommy is what you'll be called. And please, call me Margaret, and my husband Phillip. No need for formalities.”

“Yes, Ma'- Margaret.”

“You're a good man, Tommy,” she said, her face serious but sincere. “You're good for Buck.”

Tommy could feel his heart swell. “I'd argue he's good for me.”

“You're good for each other,” she compromised. “I've never seen him so happy, so settled. He may think I don't know him, and maybe I don't as well as I should, but I know that.” A happy blush rose on her cheeks. “I have a funny feeling you'll be calling us Mom and Dad sometime soon.”

Tommy felt overwhelmed. He'd never expected her to say anything like that, but he loved the sound of it. He was right near having to blink back tears as Buck walked out into the living room. “Jee caught Dad on his way out from the bathroom,” he said to his mom. “She's asking for you now.”

“Off I go,” Margaret said with a giggle, giving Tommy another pat before she got up and left.

Buck sat down beside Tommy, tilting his head when he saw the dazed expression on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, wrapping Tommy's arm up in his.

Tommy smiled at him, then leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“Mm,” Buck moaned in surprise, the kiss ending with a pop. “What was that for?”

“I just... I've had a really good night. And I love you.”

Buck snuggled closer to him, laying his head on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

As he rested there, Buck went over the night in his head. There had been no awkward moments. No moments where Buck felt embarrassed or upset.

Tommy never had to defend him or himself.

They had even managed to be alone with Tommy for an extended period and Tommy seemed... happy about it?

His parents actually got along with Tommy really well.

Buck was glad.

He was glad his parents liked Tommy.

There was no problem.

He wasn't jealous at all.

Honest.

[heartseungs-archive]

going below zero | l.dh

genre ❄ coworker au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst pairings ❄ attorney!donghyuck x attorney!reader word count ❄  10.2k synopsis ❄ Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out. warnings ❄ mentions of alcohol info ❄ merry christmas everyone!!! i hope you enjoy this small present and hava a very warm holiday wherever you are  <3 (it's currently below freezing in seoul and I'm typing this barely half-alive in my hotel room at 1.50am after returning from gocheok sky dome)

You enjoy your job. Mostly.

Besides the long hours, gruelling paperwork, inefficient district judiciary, and shitty coffee, of course. It’s all bearable, especially if you think about the multiple zero digits in your annual salary and the occasional bonus. And of course, you’ve developed a certain fondness for your office, which gives you a lovely view of the palaces and Seoul’s skyline.

“Y/N. Your coffee.” Karina passes you one of two mugs, specifically the one with daisies on it. Everyone working on your floor has made a deliberate effort to get distinct coffee mugs out of disdain for sharing, and you’re all the more grateful for it, especially on days like this. You take a tentative sip, and barely prevent yourself from spitting it out.

Maybe the burnt espresso will be the tipping point for your resignation after all.

“I still can’t believe the tenth floor shares their cups communally. Renjun would flay us if we tried suggesting it,” Karina mutters. She’s dressed in a form-fitting suit today, blouse slightly untucked. It’s been two years since she joined as a paralegal, and you’ll miss having her careful eye to look over your documents. Still, if there’s anyone deserving of becoming an associate, it’s her.

“It’s what happens when you have a floor that’s ninety-per cent men. Especially with people like him.” Your voice narrows to a sharp point, and Karina already knows who you’re talking about.

“I still don’t know what’s up with the both of you,” she muses, and you shrug. “It’s a long story. One that I’ll tell if I’m drunk and tired. Unfortunately, it’s currently-” you steal a glance at your watch, “-nine-thirty on a Monday morning, so wrong time.”

She gives a nod of acceptance, grimacing at the harrowed expression on your face. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be outside.”

“Wait. Karina,” you call out, and the girl halts, arching an eyebrow at you. “Where’s the case that we were working on last week? The medical negligence one.”

There’s a nervous expression on her face when she takes in your words, and you don’t have a good feeling about what she’s going to say next.

“Karina. What is it.”

She smiles sheepishly, and that’s when you really start getting scared.

“Haechan…said he could take over because you were busy with your current ones and Mr Kim agreed. It happened when you were on leave last Friday. I thought he emailed you.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Karina tries to flash a smile, but it comes out more like a pained cringe as she watches you close your eyes, and then take a deep inhale. You’re deathly quiet, and it’s slightly terrifying. “I’ll be back,” you force out, and she turns, alarmed, as you stride out of the office.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

Haechan gives it approximately five minutes before you reach his office. It takes three minutes for you to take the lift up, and it’s about twenty metres from the lobby to his personal office.

If you’re particularly enraged, however, your pace might be a little faster, so he accounts for that too.

“Three…two…” he counts down to himself, before the sharp knocks come.

“One.” The last word leaves his mouth with a note of finality, before you’re standing in front of him, eyes alight with indignation. It’s one of his favourite expressions on you. “Lee Haechan!” You shout, and he jumps a little at the loudness of your voice.

“You know, if you’re going to come in before I even allow it, you might as well not bother knocking,” he comments, turning his chair to face you.

“If you hadn’t taken my case, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Medical negligence isn’t even your specialty. Go back to whatever you’re doing in real estate.” You wave a cursory hand in the general direction of his desk to emphasise your point.

“But I think it’s interesting. And Mr Kim said he wants the lawyers at his firm to be versatile.” Haechan looks at you innocently as he says it, but the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth betrays his real intentions.

If this was anyone else, you might have believed them. But Haechan never genuinely wants to help you, not unless he gets something out of it. Sometimes, he just wants to get on your nerves. It’s like some sort of twisted stress relief therapy for him, finding new ways to torment you.

“Look.” You run a hand through your hair, as if it’ll do something to calm your emotions. “Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone and we can live our perfectly happy lives. Doesn’t that sound good?”

For a second, he looks to be deep in thought, genuinely considering your suggestion. Until a smirk creeps up onto his face, and you mentally sink to your feet in dread.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun,” he says while gazing at you innocently, lips settling into a soft pout, and you feel a sharp tick of annoyance.

You’re going to kill him one day. You’re sure of it.

“So, are you drunk and tired enough yet to tell us what your deal with Haechan is? I’m curious, and so is Ningning.” You narrow your eyes at the two girls sitting opposite you, identical stone-faced expressions resting on their faces. “Was that your entire scheme by dragging me out on a Saturday night?”

Karina grins. “Maybe.”

You look to Seulgi for support, but she only shrugs. “I kind of want to know too.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” You ask, and Ningning shakes her head, pouring another shot of soju for you to down. You take it gratefully, relishing the cold burn as the alcohol makes its way into your system. Where do you start?

“I’ve known Lee Haechan since high school, if you have to know.” There’s a soft murmur of surprise from Karina at that piece of information, but you ignore it and continue.

“We’ve been competing over everything since we were teenagers. Think student council presidency, valedictorian, and best speaker at debate club sessions. When we got to university, it was the dean’s list and travel scholarships.”

Seulgi hums in thought. “And now that you’re both in the same company, it was the promotion to associate.” You nod. She’s quick to catch on, but you’re not finished.

“It wouldn’t be that bad if he was just a competitor. But of course, with my shitty luck, that man just so happens to be the devil’s incarnate,” you mutter venomously, and Ningning raises her hand. “But I think he’s got a good sense of humor.”

When no one responds, she coughs awkwardly. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely wrong, of course. Haechan’s funny in the way an internet video is, when you see someone getting pranked and laugh at them for not figuring it out sooner. However, it’s a bit harder to find joy in it when you’re on the receiving end.

“Have you considered…being friends? Maybe he’s just trying to get closer to you,” Seulgi suggests, and you shake your head vehemently. Her statement is a bizarre one in itself. If Haechan wanted to make amends, there were hundreds of better, other ways that he could have gone about it, instead of making you want to tear your hair out at every turn.

“Not happening. We’re way past that now,” you decide, and she looks at you doubtfully, as if she wants to say something. Before she can open her mouth, however, Ningning sits up in alarm, temporarily sober as she looks directly at you.

“I overheard Mr Kim saying he was looking to promote one of our senior associates to a partner next year. But doesn’t that mean….”

You stiffen at her words, the grip on your cup growing impossibly tighter. There’s a mental list of the senior associates in your firm that you quickly run through, but they’re all eliminated for various reasons here and there, until you’re left with two options.

You grit your teeth.

“Oh dear,” Karina mutters as she looks at your expression, as if already aware of what’s about to happen. Seulgi instinctively reaches a hand out to comfort you, but you barely register it.

Compared to the trivialities of freshman year, this is vastly different. Being a partner at the firm means a stake in the company, a concrete role and title that will cement your position. It’s every associate’s dream, and something that you’ve wanted since you first walked through the shiny glass doors of your office building. You’ll be damned if Haechan takes it away from you now, when your dreams are so close in reach.

There’s nothing much you can do now, however, besides crossing your fingers and waiting. You’re not sure if anyone’s keeping a tally of the cases that you or Haechan have won so far, but if there is, it’s likely neck-and-neck. Still, you hope your clean record and stellar performance count for something, even if you lack the natural charisma that he’s brimming with.

If you’re lucky enough, Mr Kim might select you for the diversity representation, just to even out the gender statistics in the company’s annual report. It’s not a fair or honourable way to win, but it’s a win nonetheless.

“On the bright side, there’s only a week until our Christmas break. You won’t need to see Haechan in office at all for a month at least.”

Seulgi’s good at saying the right things in the right situations, and you feel a sigh of relief escape you at the thought of being free of his presence for a good amount of time.

Until you realise she’s dead wrong.

At your guttural groan, Ningning looks over in alarm. “Are you sick? You should have listened to me when I told you not to drink so much alcohol-” She’s cut off by Karina placing a gentle hand on her arm, and waiting for you to respond. “Y/N, is there something wrong?”

It’s a few too many moments before your head comes back up, hair dishevelled and expression pale. “Remember when I said Haechan and I went to the same high school?” It’s a rhetorical question. Of course they remember. You swallow thickly, gaze roaming over the three girls in front of you as they patiently wait for you to continue.

“I may have forgotten to mention that our parents have been best friends for the past two decades.”

There was one clear memory of Haechan that you had from your childhood, and it involved crying. A lot of it. You had an irrational fear of sunflowers and subsequently bees, perhaps because there were always swarms of that exact insect around them.

It only took two days of Haechan finding out about this before he snuck sunflower seeds into your lunchbox, and told you that eating them would cause said flower to grow in you. Your teacher had found tears streaming down your cheeks once the bell rang, and Haechan ran off to tell everyone about how easily you had believed him, how gullible you seemed.

The relationship between the both of you never quite seemed to repair properly after that incident, even as your parents made hopeless attempts to make the two of you playmates.

You would have assumed that the animosity between both of you would mellow out once you turned older. After all, it was nothing but a foolish stunt pulled by a mischievous child.

Yet, the awkwardness devolved into competition and mutual dislike, especially when you realised that the both of you were constantly fighting for the same opportunities. And then he became wittier, always saying the right comments to make anger creep up the back of your neck.

Your parents might have saved a lot of effort if they knew the state of things between the both of you now.

“Well, isn’t someone looking cheerful today.” The familiar cadence of his voice grates at your ears. Haechan had been an avid member of the choir in his younger years, and you can still recall him winning district singing competitions. You would enjoy his voice more if it was disembodied and separate from the man himself.

“I rather walk than sit in your car,” you retort, but you know you’re lying through your teeth. Even then, he won’t abandon you, considering how his mother was very firm about the both of you showing up together and giving her regular updates. You wouldn’t put it beyond Mrs Lee to facetime the both of you at any time, just to check.

Haechan’s car is comfortable, and it seems to be the one thing he splurges on, besides his apartment in downtown Seoul. The leather seats are plush behind your back, and there’s a faint lavender smell that lingers inside. You’re not sure why you can recall those exact bits of information, considering you can’t remember the last time he drove you somewhere. Two years ago, he still had an old Toyota Camry, and the both of you would usually just take the train.

There were a few good things about the pandemic, and one of them was getting to work from home. The second was that you didn’t have these yearly trips back with Haechan, established as a tradition after the both of you relocated to Seoul for university.

Still, you’ll endure it, if it means getting home to spend Christmas with your family. The holiday has always evoked a sense of homesickness in you, and it’s likely due to the amount of effort your parents put into celebrating it. They weren’t religious, but they made sure there was always plenty of presents and hot chocolate.

It was fun, even if you were sent over every Christmas morning as an eight-year-old to wish the Lees a merry Christmas and endure Haechan’s teasing.

“I can’t believe you still listen to Michael Jackson.” The song that plays through the speakers is something you haven’t heard in years, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“It’s good music. I’m not sure why you dislike him so much.”

“I would enjoy his music a lot more if you hadn’t blasted it at two in the morning during finals season,” you say bitterly, and Haechan lets out a low chuckle. The both of you are stuck in traffic, and the silence that settles in the car is painfully awkward. You and Haechan don’t have much to say to each other, besides sharp words, and you’re starting to regret it a little.

You can feel Haechan’s eyes on you when he turns his head, fingers drumming on the wheel. However, you refuse to afford him the pleasure of meeting his gaze, your eyes resolutely fixed on the car in front of you.

His throat bobs slightly, nervously. “Look, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I rather it not be in silence. Let’s just pretend the company doesn’t exist. Truce?” He asks, and you try not to make the relief too obvious on your face. At your nod, Haechan breaks out into a brilliant smile, one that makes his features irk you less.

He should smile more instead of that smirk that he has all the time, you think. You would prefer it more.

“Now, what song do you want to queue? I’ll let you have music rights for the next three hours.”

The house looks exactly as you remember. Even then, the colours are brighter, more saturated in your eyes, tinted with the unmistakable nostalgia of childhood. You step carefully onto the robin’s egg-blue porch, luggage behind you as you ring the doorbell.

It’s like both your and Haechan’s movements are in sync, likely looking identical from the back.

You had forgotten to mention to the three girls that the two of you happened to be next-door neighbours as well.

There’s the pitter-patter of footsteps against wood before the door flies open, and your mother is in front of you and hugging you tightly. She feels so much smaller than you, so different from the imposing figure of your childhood. There’s weathered lines across her face, but the brightness in her eyes is still identical to your memories.

You smile. “Hey, mom.”

“Look who’s here,” the low timbre of your father’s voice rings out before you see him, and your smile grows inexplicably wider. “How was the trip here? Haechan drove safely, didn’t he? I should buy something for them later. Gas is expensive these days, you know.”

“He was going to make the trip anyways. Besides, doesn’t it save more gas if we travel together?” You question, and your mother rolls her eyes. “I forgot about that mouth of yours. It’s only become worse since you’ve become a lawyer,” she sighs out, but her eyes are full of mirth.

Your luggage is deposited in your room by your father before you can even offer to help, and you realise that your family hasn’t made any effort to redecorate the empty space, instead leaving everything as it is. Some of your vinyls still sit on the shelf, along with photographs and trophies from different competitions. If you dig hard enough, you might be able to find your old clothes as well.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t unpack yet. Help me bring this over to the Lees,” she hands you a cooler bag, and you peer inside to find banchan neatly packed into tupperware and freshly-baked cookies. “Don’t you want to deliver these yourself?” you ask hopefully, but immediately sink back down when she shakes her head. “It’ll be good for Mr and Mrs Lee to see you. Now go.”

It’s a small consolation of sorts that Mrs Lee is the one opening the door when you knock, and Haechan is nowhere to be found.

“I feel like I say this every time I see you, but you’ve grown so much.” The warm smile on her face elicits one from you too, and you wonder why the apple fell so far from the tree. As you go past the hallway, you can’t help but feel like you’re transported back to childhood. The house is as familiar to you as your own, even if most of your time here was spent bickering with him.

Once you reach the kitchen, you unpack the lunchboxes, tiptoeing to reach the fridge drawer. “I think these are good to be refrigerated for two weeks. Where should I put it?”

“Anywhere on the top shelf is fine. Do you want coffee?”

A latte isn’t usually your drink of choice, but you’re grateful for any caffeine hit after the long ride. Along the way, you had decided to take a nap, and Haechan had woken you up by blasting a song in your ear at full volume.

“Mom, did you see my winter coat- Oh, it’s you,” Haechan says when he steps into the kitchen, and you muster a polite smile on your face. Mrs Lee frowns slightly. “That’s no way to speak to our guest. And it’s on the uppermost shelf of your cabinet. Why don’t you walk Y/N out?”

“It’s fine, Mrs Lee, I live right opposite-”

“Sure,” Haechan cuts in nonchalantly, and you widen your eyes at him, a silent question. He deliberately ignores your heavy gaze and loops his arm in yours. “Well, come on. Let’s go.”

“Why are you looking for your winter coat? It’s not that cold yet,” you ask curiously, and Haechan halts in his steps, a puzzled expression on his face.

You’re shifting uncomfortably now, tense as Haechan continues staring at you. “What?”

Until the confusion on his face fades to a certain sort of mischief, and he leans down until his face is inches away from yours. You step back abruptly, putting some distance between the both of you, but the smug smile doesn’t leave Haechan’s face.

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re going to a ski resort. You and me.”

There’s a light in Haechan’s eyes as he says it, one that seems to spell death and doom. You’re too stunned to speak, everything tuned out save for his face in front of yours.

At least now you know why your mother stopped you from unpacking your luggage.

There’s something about the airport that makes you feel like you’re dreaming. It’s the hallways that seem to stretch on endlessly, and the way you lose track of time save for the numbers displayed in bright red on the large digital clock.

It’s one of your favourite places in the world. Planes, however, not so much. The dry air, cramped seats, loud noises, and the fact that you’re tens of thousands of feet above solid ground serve no purpose other than making you uneasy. Even though the improvement in Haechan’s and your salaries mean that your families can escape sitting in economy, you still can’t ignore the fact that the only thing saving you from falling to your death is a hunk of floating metal.

“Any drinks for you?” The air stewardess in front of you is bright-eyed, absent of the anxiety swirling in your stomach. “Just apple juice, please,” you mumble, setting the cup down in the holder in front of you. You probably won’t drink it anyways.

When takeoff begins, you try your best to ignore the rumbling of the plane, instead choosing to lean back and close your eyes. The sooner you fall asleep, the better.

Until the plane jerks violently, and your eyelids fling open. You can faintly hear the pilot apologising for the upcoming turbulence, but it barely registers, fading into background noise in favour of your thundering heartbeat. It seems sleep will be far out of reach today.

“Hey, you okay?”

You’re tempted to ignore Haechan, but he doesn’t sound teasing, instead genuinely concerned. You’re quite sure your face is twenty different shades of pale, but having him see you like this brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you force out, and wonder if you can request to change seats. 

It’s been a long time since you last got on a plane, and when you were young, you would be sandwiched between your parents. You’re wishing now that you had insisted on sitting with one of them, but it was obvious that this was some sort of double-date arrangement between your families, with you and Haechan as collateral.

You’re an adult, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

Your knuckles are bone-white from how hard you’re gripping the armrest, and Haechan, perceptive as ever, quickly figures out what’s wrong. “You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

You screw your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. “Shut up, Lee. I can’t do this right now.” He falls silent, and you think he might have temporarily retreated from teasing you for the moment.

The feeling of someone’s hand over yours quickly catches your attention, however, and you’re temporarily pulled away from your fear to look down, bewildered. “I used to have a younger cousin who was scared of flying.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You hate to admit it, but the warmth of his hands provides a welcome respite from your unease. When the plane jolts again, your grip tightens momentarily, and you expect Haechan to have some sort of teasing quip at how easily you jump. Contrary to your expectations, he simply smooths his thumb over your hand, a calming, repetitive motion that makes it easier for you to breathe.

Even when the seatbelt sign flickers off, Haechan doesn’t make any motion to move away. “Feeling better?” He asks, and you nod slowly. There’s a grin on his face at your response, one that is surprisingly genuine.

It takes a few seconds of Haechan staring at you before you cough awkwardly, immediately extricating your palm. It makes you feel slightly foolish, realising that he must have wanted you to let go of your own accord so he wouldn’t feel bad. He almost looks disappointed, but you’re convinced the fear has induced a hallucination of sorts.

You’re feeling fine now, or at least that’s what you think.

Until hours later, when the pilot announces descent, and your heart rate picks back up. Haechan doesn’t wait for you to ask this time, immediately slotting his fingers between yours.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this,” you say thickly, strangely grateful for the man sitting next to you. Despite his endless teasing, he seems to know how to help at the right times. Maybe Ningning’s right, that he’s not all that bad. You suppose you’ve demonized the boy to an extent, driven by years of childish retorts.

In reality, you don’t hate him as much as you make it out to be. There’s just a feeling of walking on eggshells at his presence, a certain way that Haechan makes you feel off-kilter from never being able to predict what his next actions will be.

“You know, if you just wanted to hold my hand, you could have said so.” Haechan’s words make your cheeks burn, and you whip your head to the side to stare the boy down.

“I take it back. You’re the most infuriating person I know.” His forehead wrinkles slightly at that, and you realise he had not been privy to your previous thoughts. “Take what back?” He asks, and you ignore him. The apple juice is conveniently placed in front of you, and you gulp heavily from it. Anything to avoid telling Haechan what exactly you were thinking.

He moves closer, and you choke slightly at his proximity. At this distance, you can see your wide-eyed expression reflected clearly in his eyes. He scrunches his eyebrows in thought, and you can’t help but think he looks almost…adorable. Until you give yourself a violent kick mentally.

“You said that you wanted to take it back…you don’t think I’m infuriating?” There’s a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that makes your heart stumble at an unfamiliar pace. “Perhaps….even endearing?” He muses, unable to hide his smirk now. You’re lost for words, cheeks painted scarlet as you stare at the boy.

The buzzing of the overhead intercom jolts you out of whatever trance Haechan has put you in, the clicking of seatbelts filtering into your ears. You shove him away lightly, enough to put much-needed distance between the both of you but not enough to wound him. A breath escapes Haechan as he falls back into his seat ungracefully, but his eyes remain fixed on your figure as you hurriedly get up to take your overhead bag.

Until you tiptoe, fingers scrabbling at empty space, and decide that whatever higher powers up there must really have it out for you. The familiar black duffel bag is just out of reach, likely having shifted backwards during the course of the flight. You’re prepared to admit defeat and ask your father to help, when there’s the feeling of someone’s back against yours, warm and solid. You jerk your head around in alarm, only to see Haechan easily grabbing the bag and holding it in front of you.

He’s too close. Much too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” you demand, but it comes out more as a high-pitched stutter, betraying your nerves. “You seemed to need some help. You know, I didn’t realise how short you were without your heels,” he comments, and you’re left unable to reply, too distracted by the way he’s still pressed close to you. It suddenly feels difficult to get enough oxygen, and your heart is going a mile a minute. There’s an exhale of relief that escapes when he finally moves away to make way for another passenger.

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you even as you stride quickly down the aisle to join your parents, and a flush creeps at the back of your neck.

This holiday is going to drive you mad.

“So, how’s the trip going? With Y/N, no less,” Renjun asks, unable to hide his grin. Haechan hums in thought, settling on a pillow as he decides on a response. “Not bad. We’re making progress.”

“Progress as in…she’s less interested in homicide and more towards assault?” Haechan genuinely considers it for a second, before he nods in assent. The look on Renjun’s face is a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

“Lee Haechan, you’re hopeless.” He sits up indignantly at that statement, glaring at Renjun even through the grainy screen. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if Y/N even reciprocates your feelings. For a successful attorney, you sure are an idiot.”

The lack of faith is disappointing to Haechan, but no matter. Getting you to like him back has been at the top of his wishlist since junior year, and he’s not about to give up now.

The memory of you walking into the club room with your school blouse neatly tucked in and hair tied back still remains fresh in Haechan’s mind. You had been a model student, but not in a way that felt too overbearing. Maybe sometimes you would frown at his bright Converse shoes, or loose tie. But they technically weren’t against school rules, so Haechan continued to tiptoe the fine line between dress code and responsibility as vice-president of Student Council.

Originally, the boy was happy enough to be the chairperson of the debate club, until Jaemin, his labmate, had very cleverly pointed out that the both of you would get to head the annual prom together.

And so he decided to campaign, effectively providing one of the most stressful experiences of your high school years.

Those were some of the best memories of his final year, sitting in the classroom with you and ironing out details for hours. It was obviously something that you were passionate about, giving up so many sleepless nights just to research the exact decorations.

It was one of the things he liked most about you, that spark in your gaze when you saw something you liked, or fixed your mind on something. On occasion, it would appear when he teased you, though it was often accompanied by anger. Still, he craved it. Haechan liked having your eyes on him, even if they were narrowed with exasperation.

And when finals had ended, the invisible heavy burden on your shoulders had seemed to lift, and you laughed easier, smiled more. Even when he pestered you, there would only be an indulgent smile on your face. Prom was barely a week away, and he thought that would be it. That he would ask you to be his date, and maybe, finally you’d see him in a new light, beyond the boy who always seemed to be competing with you.

And then you disappeared from school without any information whatsoever, right up until the day itself. He had even asked Ryujin, the secretary of student council. Everyone was clueless.

The next time Haechan saw you was in the university lecture hall, and his shoulders had sunk in relief at the sight of your face.

Now, seven years later, Haechan was still playing a game of catch-and-toss for your heart, but he didn’t mind.

The boy had been feigning an expression of nonchalance when he offered his hand to you in the plane, but when you didn’t pull away, Haechan was quite convinced that his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

He’s not sure if you’ll let him hold your hand again, but a man can dream. The doorbell rings then, jolting Haechan out of his thoughts. “Give me a second, Jun,” he mutters as he sets the phone down, slippers thudding softly against the carpeted floor.

When he flings the door open, the last person he’s expecting to see is the one that’s been taking up his thoughts.

You’re swamped in an oversize hoodie and leggings, hair dishevelled and reading glasses balanced on the tip of your nose. It’s obvious you’ve woken up recently, and he steals a glance at the clock before focusing back on you.

You look different. But a good different.

“Weren’t you going down with them to the village?” He asks, and you smile sheepishly. “Overslept.”

The ski resort the both of you were in was located high up in the mountains, and there was a shuttle bus going down to the winter village twice a day. Your parents had suggested going down for dinner, but Haechan had work to clear up and decided to stay back.

It seems fate has a funny way of leaving the two of you together, Haechan thinks as he looks at you, still slightly drowsy. “Wanna go get dinner?” There’s an involuntary grumble of your stomach at his words, and Haechan chuckles slightly. He presses the end call button without a second thought, before grabbing his leather jacket.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He tries to hold back his smile when he feels your footsteps behind his.

The first thing you realise is that the restaurant is full of couples. You’ve only seen one family so far, the rest of the patrons seating in tables of two. You chalk it down to pure coincidence, even as the waiter hands you a menu that’s awfully thin.

“I’m Jisung, and I’ll be your server for today. Our menu is a four-course set with seasonal ingredients designed for couples. Let me know whenever you’re ready to order.” The boy standing in front of your table looks awfully young to be working at a fine-dining establishment, but his voice is level as he arranges the silverware.

You suck in a nervous breath when you notice that the price isn’t even printed on the menu. It means that it’s expensive, and you’re not sure you want to know how much. You’re not one to splurge unnecessarily. “The food better be good,” you mumble, not noticing the way Haechan smiles softly at your comment.

“I’ll cover the bill,” he suggests, and at the resistance in your eyes, Haechan waves a dismissing hand. “I picked it anyways.” You don’t protest further.

Despite the steep price, you can’t help but admire the high ceilings of the restaurant, black marble walls offset by tasteful streaks of gold.

“Y/N.” At the mention of your name, your attention is pulled back to the man sitting opposite you. In the warm glow of the candlelight, his features are rounder, more delicate, and his hair somehow darker. It leaves you breathless, and you’re not sure if it’s the atmosphere around you, or the way that you’ve been feeling stranger and stranger around Haechan lately. Your eyes flit momentarily to the rings adorning his fingers, the ones that you’re used to seeing every day.

If there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with Haechan might just be the opposite. Having to interact in close proximity daily for the past two weeks has made him more tolerable somehow, an acquaintance rather than a nemesis. He seems to have lightened up on the taunts as well, instead replacing them with sarcastic quips that aren’t directed at you and that elicit a laugh more often than not.

It reminds you of senior year, when the both of you had been working so closely for the student council. Haechan had been your partner and your equal then, his competition more of a motivation than a threat. But university had been a rat race with thousands of other brilliant minds that sought to outdo and outlearn, so individualistic that the both of you never did quite talk about the almost-friendship that had formed.

“I assume you know about Mr Kim’s intentions to promote one of us to partner next year,” you start, unsure of what else to say. It’s been something that presses at the back of your mind, even as you go for hot chocolate runs with Haechan and sit in the lounge room together to clear last-minute emails. “I hope you know that I’m not intending to give up.”

Haechan smiles. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

“But…” you trail off slightly, and he leans forward, eyes curious. You decide just to bite the bullet, not leaving any room to reconsider.

“I think you’re good at what you do. And I think it would be easier for us to work together in the future if we weren’t constantly at each other’s necks.” Your voice gradually gets softer as you continue, but Haechan hears every word. He notices you worrying your lip and the faint set of your eyebrows, and realises that you’re nervous. It’s no secret that he finds certain habits of yours endearing, but this expression on you might be one of his favourites.

“Well, height-wise, you’re still at my neck.”

“You-”

“Kidding. So we’re friends now?” He has to bite back a laugh at your glare. You’re still so easy to rile up. “We can be anything you want to be,” you say nonchalantly.

Haechan knows that you don’t mean that literally, but he thinks about the possibilities anyways.

He wants to say more when Jisung appears, a bottle of red wine grasped in his hands. You look up from your bowl, confused. “Oh, we didn’t order red wine.”

At your protest, however, the boy smiles. “It’s on the house. Are the both of you celebrating anything? An anniversary or a birthday perhaps,” he suggests, and you shake your head. “We’re not…we’re not a couple.” You’re unsure why you stumble over your words, but Haechan seems to find it amusing from the way he’s coughing politely into his napkin.

Jisung blinks awkwardly, and you blink back. “Apologies for assuming. Enjoy your dinner,” he replies after a moment too long, rushing off after filling both of your glasses.

“I think we scared him off,” you say guiltily, and Haechan snickers. “He’ll be fine. To be fair, this is a dinner set for couples.”

“But we look nothing like a couple,” you interject, and there’s a flash of doubt that crosses Haechan’s face, before he quickly schools it into nothing. He takes a large gulp of the wine, before grinning at you.

“Of course. I’m too good-looking.”

It’s a blatant lie, of course. Haechan thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, even when you had your thick-rimmed glasses in second grade and the most obnoxious blue braces. He’ll never have the courage to admit that, however, and Haechan’s starting to fear that his feelings are going to go unspoken forever.

This time, you manage to not oversleep.

The alarm goes off two hours before dinner, reminding you that it’s time to get ready. Your presents are already prepared at the corner of the bed and neatly wrapped, even though you know that your parents aren’t the kind to require excessive formality, and neither are Mr and Mrs Lee. You’re not sure about Haechan, if he’s remembered to prepare gifts. When you asked him at breakfast, he had evaded the question, which meant that he either had something prepared or was too embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten.

You’ve been waiting to wear this dress for a long time, a blush pink satin that’s pretty but comfortable enough for you to move around in. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the luxury of taking your time to get ready, considering you’re always cutting it close to sneak in extra sleep before work.

Despite your early preparations, however, the clock seems to tick much too fast. You’re tugging on your heels when there’s a sharp knock at the door. “Coming!” you shout, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before you pull the handle open.

“Oh, wow. You look…nice,” you say absentmindedly, only realising the words are too far gone to take back when a glimmer of satisfaction shows up on Haechan’s face. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him wearing a suit- attorneys practically live in a blazer and slacks, after all- but this one is all-black, the top two buttons of his blouse unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones. It makes his features even sharper, fabric contrasted against his warm, honey-toned skin.

You try not to think about how it’s the same exact material as your dress, and that people- namely your parents, would have assumed the both of you planned it beforehand.

Haechan’s appraising gaze makes warmth creep up your neck, and you shift from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something. Anything. “You clean up pretty well too. Ready for dinner?”

The both of you are friends, Y/N. Friends can compliment each other, you assure yourself, even as your pulse flutters uncontrollably at his words. He offers an arm out to you like a perfect gentleman, and you exhale shakily through your nose.

This dinner may be more difficult that you expect.

The both of you are guided to your table by a different waiter this time, Jisung nowhere in sight. Thankfully, there’s a much wider menu to choose from now, and your parents are splitting, offering a respite to Haechan’s wallet.

“Oh, I wanted to pass you your present first,” you say, retrieving the gift and placing it in front of Haechan. There’s excitement bubbling in your chest as you watch him arch an eyebrow curiously. “Open it,” you encourage, and he lifts up the cover, a surprised laugh escaping him.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, and you crinkle your forehead slightly. “I ordered it online, and I was scared it wouldn’t get delivered in time because of the snowstorm. Take it as a present from one vinyl collector to another.” Haechan breaks out into a brilliant grin at your words, one that illuminates his entire face. The corners of his mouth quirk up, however, when he places a velvet box on the table.

“You actually remembered to get a present? From your reaction at breakfast today, I thought…”

“You think too lowly of me,” he complains, poking his tongue into his cheek. Your eyes are bright, however, as you take the box from him, only realising that it’s velvet once you smooth your fingers over it. “This isn’t something scary, is it?” You question doubtfully, and he shrugs.

“You gave me fake insects half a decade ago, so forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting-” you fall silent when the box clicks open, revealing a pearl choker that you immediately recognize.

“Haechan, this-”

He barely reacts to your wide-mouthed shock. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.” The wish is sincere, and the way he says it makes your heart stretch just a little wider.

You can’t believe he remembers.

For prom, you had suggested a vintage 1980s theme, and Haechan had seen the Vivienne Westwood necklace sitting in your online cart along with the decorations. You never did purchase it because of the hefty price tag, and it was gradually forgotten.

Seeing the three rows of pearls in front of you now, however, brings on a wave of nostalgia.

“You should try it on. It matches nicely with your dress.” he offers, and you pick up the necklace from where it’s resting, hands shaking slightly as you close the clasp around your neck. “How does it look?” you ask, swallowing nervously as you focus back on Haechan, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“Beautiful,” he mutters softly, but his eyes don’t dart down to your neck at all. You want to think that he’s lying. However, the way his eyes remain transfixed on your face as he says it has your pulse fluttering wildly.

There’s a lump in your throat as you fiddle with the necklace, feeling the cold of the pearls against your skin.

“I wanted to give it to you on the night of prom,” Haechan says then, a silent question in his eyes. The implication behind his words is heavy, considering that all you remember having with Haechan in senior year was a rivalry-turned-tentative-friendship by necessity.

Instead of the anger you expect it to provoke, the idea of him being the one fills you with a  certain nerve-wracking thrill, like the kind you get just before a rollercoaster drops.

“I wanted to go, you know. But something happened with my family, and I-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re still here now, aren’t we?”

His question isn’t one that you need to reply to, because you know the answer.

Haechan is one of the people you know best in this world, besides your family. He thinks you’re a little too uptight sometimes, but you find him too aloof. That you’re not particularly extroverted, preferring to stick to a close circle of friends, while Haechan can talk to almost anyone and everyone. Until you forced yourself to make it to parties and meetings in order to beat him out in garnering votes from the student body. And then gradually, it became easier.

He’s always pushed you out of your comfort zone effortlessly, and you hate to admit it, but you wouldn’t have done this much if he hadn’t been right in step behind you.

In the end, the both of you boiled down to one similarity- pure ambition, the kind that pushed you to endure long hours and sleepless nights in order to get what you wanted.

Currently, the both of you are teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice, steps away from tumbling into wildly unfamiliar territory. And what terrifies you the most is that you don’t particularly seem to mind the idea of falling. Haechan has always been able to provoke reactions so easily from you, split-second impulsivities that make you lose control of your emotions.

You and him are not polar opposites, as much as you would like to think. Haechan just covers his with a veneer of casual confidence, while you would rather not be in the spotlight unless necessary.

“Haechan, if-” you start, and the look in his eyes when he hears you speak is so hopeful, so full of anticipation that it causes you to stop abruptly. He’s beautiful, you think. The slant of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw- it’s no secret that Haechan is attractive by most conventional standards, but it’s the first time he’s rendering you speechless. You’ve never really been able to truly look at him, too focused on the imminent threat that his presence seemed to signify.

And now that it’s gone, you’re genuinely seeing Haechan for what he is. Your equal, and someone you’re hopelessly attracted to, for good reason.

Until the jolt of a chair yanks you out of whatever trance-like state you’re in, and you whip your head around to see Haechan’s father, along with the rest of your families.

“Sorry for the wait. What were you young people talking about?” He asks, and your mind blanks for a second.

How are you supposed to tell him that you think you might have feelings for his son, after fighting tooth-and-nail with him all these years?

You make eye contact with Haechan then, and there’s a silent promise in his gaze. The both of you will talk about whatever it is between you eventually. For now, you’re here to celebrate with the people you love most in the world.

Lee Haechan included, you suppose.

Hangovers are not a good look on Haechan.

At least, that’s his first thought when he wakes up, head heavy and throat dry. But he’s an adult now, and that means taking responsibility for his not-so-sober decisions.

By the time he takes a cold shower and brushes his teeth, it feels like some semblance of life has returned to him, and he uses the thought of breakfast as motivation to get dressed and head down. It’s a petty sort of consolation that everyone else will probably be feeling worse than him, you included.

He makes a direct beeline for the hot food, piling a plate with bacon and eggs. And then he reaches the drink section, pausing for a second. “What did she say she liked again?” he mutters, staring at the juices with two cups in hand.

When he reaches the table, there are soft ‘good mornings’ from everyone, and Haechan takes the seat opposite yours, smiling brightly. “Here. I wasn’t sure which one you might want, so I got both,” he says, setting the drinks down in front of you. One’s a cappuccino, and the other cranberry juice.

You blink tiredly, looking up at him in mild surprise. “Thank you,” you mumble softly, before returning to your food.

He frowns. Haechan’s seen you hungover before, and it’s usually not like this. And he’s quite sure you didn’t drink as much as him, considering you weren’t the hugest fan of alcohol. It would be wiser for Haechan to leave you alone to rest- after all, you did say thank you, so surely nothing’s wrong.

However, he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t get to the bottom of things.

“Are you feeling unwell? There’s hangover medicine in my luggage, I can pass you some-”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“How about ramen? We can make some later,” he prompts, watching your expression carefully. You shake your head, and Haechan tries not to look too shocked.

“But it’s ramen,” he continues, expectation evident in his gaze. Haechan knows you. You would never turn down an offer of your favourite food.

“I’ll pass this time,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. He falls silent, watching as you pick at the rest of your food.

When you stand up, the sound of the chair scraping seems a little bit too sharp. “I’ll head back first. I forgot about something,” you explain, turning on your heel. Haechan’s eyes dart to the untouched drinks, before they meet your mother’s gaze. He wipes the corner of his mouth hastily with the napkin, before rising as well. “I’ll go find Y/N,” he declares.

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t too crowded at this time, and he spots you just in time. When Haechan skids to a stop in front of you, your hands are around your jacket, pulling it tight around you.

“Hey,” he greets, breathless. You look taken aback, and Haechan runs a hand through his hair, pausing to collect his thoughts. “Are you…I might just be stupid, but are you okay? You seemed a little off at breakfast,” he points out, watching as the emotions on your face change from shock to doubt to…hurt?

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” You ask, a tremor in your voice as you peer at the boy.

Haechan frantically scans through his memories, heart dropping when it comes up empty. He was talking to his father about football, and then your mother brought up memories from when the both of you were in elementary, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

Anything that happened after the fourth cocktail was a blur.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts to focus on you, shaking his head. Haechan’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mutters, watching as you nibble on your lip nervously, before sighing. “Come with me,” you instruct, before grabbing Haechan’s wrist and dragging him to a quieter part of the lobby.

You’re standing in front of him, fiddling with your fingers, and Haechan can tell you’re thinking of what to say. “If I did something stupid, you can tell me,” he assures, and the glance you give him is disbelieving. However, the dark clouds in your expression have cleared a little.

“No, it wasn’t stupid, I just have no idea if it was some sort of joke or if you meant it-” you trail off, looking distraught. Haechan becomes alert at the mention of that, his heartbeat picking up slightly. “Y/N, what did I say?”

You’re never one to beat about the bush, and the way you keep hesitating has him nervous.

“You said you liked me,” you finally answer, and Haechan’s world stops.

The memories flood back into his brain a few moments too late. Your parents choosing to rest early, Haechan saying he wanted to stay on a little more-

Oh God.

“It’s three am, Donghyuck. You’re going to wake everyone up,” you scolded, but there was a grin on your face. He had been singing some ridiculous rendition of a carol at top volume, causing you to look away, embarrassed. The staff working the graveyard shift had barely even batted an eye at his antics.

“Huh. You’ve never called me Donghyuck before,” Haechan noticed, blinking slowly. The alcohol was really getting to his brain now, making it foggy. It’s nice, having you call him a name that’s solely reserved for close friends and family. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” you say, looking caught.

“Of course you can. We’re close.” Haechan tries not to coo when he sees your cheeks warm slightly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze, instead focusing on getting to the correct hotel room.

Just as you pull out the keycard, you feel someone come up right next to you, and you look up in alarm. “Is something wrong?” Haechan shakes his head, leaning down towards you. He’s not sure whether you’re one for physical affection, but he can’t help himself when he pinches your cheeks gently.

“Hae- Donghyuck, what are you doing?” You’re confused at his sudden movements, but you don’t pull away, even as he comes closer. Haechan blinks slowly, your face swimming in and out of his vision.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. But you’re also mean to me sometimes,” Haechan whines out, and you’re equal parts flustered and amused by him. “You- you really need to get to bed,” you say once you’ve collected your thoughts, pushing him in the direction of his room.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but there are words fighting to escape, and Haechan rather not think about the consequences when he has you in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. You look pretty like this, and you’ve never let him get this close to you before.

It makes him brave.

Which is why he presses his feet into the carpet to prevent himself from moving, turning around sharply to face you again. He’s determined now, looking at you with a certain sharpness in his eyes that makes your pulse unsteady.

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I’ve liked you for eight years, and I thought you would figure it out by now, or at least look my way, but-” he hiccups slightly, “you haven’t. Is it because I’m annoying?”

Haechan doesn’t remember what your answer was to that question because he might have fallen asleep on his feet then, and quite frankly, he’s terrified to find out.

“Oh.”

The statement makes it obvious that he remembers everything now, and your eyes widen in incredulity. “Is that all you have to say?” you ask, and Haechan feels like he’s at a crossroads.

Renjun would definitely laugh at him for this.

But Renjun would also tell him to be honest, considering the secret is already out. It’ll be awkward no matter what he does.

Haechan might as well give it a shot. He was too scared in senior year, but he’s less fearful now.

“I wasn’t joking,” he starts, swallowing nervously before looking at you.

“I liked you in junior year, so much that I joined the student council for you. And since then, I’ve just been waiting, and waiting, but I’m not sure how much longer I can go-”

Haechan gets cut off when the collar of his hoodie is jerked forward, allowing him to finally meet your height. There’s a look of exasperation on your face, and Haechan’s not entirely sure what that means in the context of him confessing his feelings. Maybe you’ve decided you’ve had enough of him, and you’re going to leave his dead body to be found once the snow melts.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

There’s relief that fills him at the lack of murderous intent in your voice, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before you’re tiptoeing and closing the distance between the both of you.

It takes Haechan a few moments too long to register that you’re kissing him before he reciprocates in equal measure. He feels like his heart might burst from the way you’re holding onto him, as if the both of you are the only ones existing at this moment.

When you finally let go of his hoodie, the plain disappointment on Haechan’s face causes you to let out a giggle.

He shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, before looking at you. “Can we do that again?” His question earns him a swat on the back, but you don’t resist when Haechan loops his arms around your waist.

It’s only his second time kissing you, but Haechan’s quite sure there aren’t many feelings that can compare to this.

He might just get hooked on it.

“I can’t believe the holiday’s over,” you sigh, sinking into the armchair. Your luggage is next to you, Haechan looking down with a bemused expression on his face. “Doesn’t this happen every year? Just wait another three hundred and sixty-five days.”

From where you’re seated, you’re not able to reach Haechan’s waist, so you settle for hitting him on the thigh. He looks at you indignantly, but whatever retort he has dies on his tongue when your father calls for the both of you to get into the car.

It’s only when the both of you are comfortably seated at the very back, that Haechan leans over, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re not going to get scared on the plane again, are you?” He asks, and you narrow your eyes.

As much as he jokes about it, Haechan was also the one who offered his hand to you on the flight here. “Whatever,” you mutter. “Just hold my hand now.”

You don’t give Haechan time to interject before you intertwine his fingers with yours, missing the way a blush settles at the back of his neck. He forgets that you’re occasionally imbued with bursts of confidence, allowing you to act in ways that have his heart thundering in his chest.

When he finally looks over again, you’re leaning against the side, appreciating the scenery that drifts by. A smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, and Haechan’s grip on your hand grows imperceptibly tighter.

You’re the best Christmas present he could have asked for.

[merrybloomwrites]

Spencer Agnew - 4th of July

Summary: You're nervous to spend the holiday trip with Spencer's friends, but with his encouragement, it goes better than either of you could have expected.

Word Count: 1.2K

CW: very very light smut (like, a lil bit of kissing)

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When Spencer asked you to join him and his friends for a Fourth of July Weekend away, you were a little unsure. In the months that you’ve been dating, you’ve hung out with his Smosh friends a few times. But it was always dinner out, or hanging at one of their homes. Always just a few hours. 

So the idea of staying in a house with them for four nights was a bit intimidating. But he looked so excited any time he brought it up that of course you said yes. The last thing you’d want is to disappoint him. Especially when he says things like, “I can’t wait to party with all my favorite people”. 

Each time he says that you can’t help but blush, loving that you’re considered one of his favorite people. 

You stay at his place the night before to celebrate his birthday. You make his favorite meal for dinner, as well as a couple of batches of cupcakes. You enjoy a couple that night and pack the rest to bring on the trip. 

The next morning you’re up early so you can pick up Erin and Heidi and get on the road before there’s too much traffic. You’re driving, leaving Spencer in charge of music. He immediately puts on Harry Styles, knowing the three of you like his music. It’s not Spencer’s favorite by any means, and you love how he wants to make sure everyone else is happy. 

When you finally arrive, Courtney shows you to the room you and Spencer will be sharing. You’re grateful to have a space to come to for a breather if everything gets overwhelming. 

“Shayne and I ordered sandwiches for lunch, they’ll be here in an hour or so,” Courtney says before walking out of the room leaving you and Spencer alone. 

“Look at this view,” you say as you stand in front of the window. Your room is at the back of the house overlooking the beach. You can’t wait to swim in the water, even if it’s freezing cold. 

Hands wrap around your waist from behind and you lean back into Spencer. “Oh this view is beautiful,” he says. You turn your head and see that he’s staring at you and you laugh before replying, “You’re such a sap!” 

“Couldn’t help it,” he states before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You get lost in the sensation as his lips move to your collarbone, then neck. When he kisses that spot just below your ear you practically melt, his arms holding you tighter to keep you from sliding as your knees go weak. 

He leads you to the bed laying you down before resting on top of you. Finally his lips meet yours in a heated kiss. It lasts a few moments before you hear the sounds of footsteps passing your door to go downstairs. 

Pulling away reluctantly you say, “We should probably go hang out with your friends.”

“Our friends will be here all weekend. We can hang with them in a minute,” Spencer replies before slotting his lips back to yours. 

And if one minute leads to five, well you’re not going to complain. 

The two of you finally break apart and unpack. After checking that neither of you are disheveled from your activities, Spencer takes your hand in his and leads you downstairs. It seems the rest of the group had arrived during your time in the bedroom, and the kitchen is now packed. 

“Lunch is almost here,” Courtney says. “Why don’t we all move out to the deck?”

The deck is just as big and lovely as the rest of the house, and you’re all enjoying lunch together when Shayne gets a text. He reads it and then says “ Uh oh.”

“What’s the problem?” Erin asks. 

“Brennen isn’t coming.”

“Is he okay?” Heidi questions. 

“Yea he’s good, said his cousins decided to surprise him with a visit. Well, looks like we’ll need a new grill master.”

“Y/N can do it,” Spencer says, casually volunteering you. 

“You grill?” Kiana asks from across the table. 

Suddenly all eyes are on you and you quickly answer, “Yea, I used to spend my summers working at the local pools snack bar. Flipped lots of hamburgers and hot dogs.”

“Sounds like you’re more than qualified,” Erin says. 

With that minor crisis now solved, you all finish lunch and head to the beach. The water is freezing, as to be expected, but it’s so hot out that it actually feels refreshing. At least, for a few minutes at a time. 

When the sun shifts to indicate evening is coming, everyone starts to make their way back to the house in pairs and small groups. You take a quick shower and while you’re finishing your hair Spencer walks in. 

“Hey babe,” he says. 

“Hi, you’re looking a little pink.”

“I just blush when I see you.”

“Oh so it’s not sunburn?” You ask teasingly. 

“Totally not sunburn. Not at all.”

“If you say so. There’s aloe in my makeup bag. In case your ‘blush’ starts to hurt.”

“Where are you going?” He asks as you start to walk out of the room. 

“Most people are back and getting hungry. I’m gonna start the grill,” you explain. 

“You really don’t need to cook for everyone. I didn’t mean to volunteer you like that,” he says, slightly embarrassed. 

“I don’t mind at all! I love grilling, I just, I really hope I don’t fuck it all up and ruin dinner.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not gonna happen. And even if the grill does catch fire and burn the food to a crisp then we just order pizza!” He says with a shrug. You smile, impressed at how easily he always cheers you up. 

He kisses you quickly before saying, “I’ll be down in a bit, you good without me until then?”

“I think I can hold my own,” you reply. 

Throughout the evening you find yourself talking with more of his friends than ever, and enjoying every conversation. People come up to you and hang out as you cook. They have nothing but compliments for everything you make, including the cupcakes you’d brought. 

And later that night there’s a knock on your bedroom door and Angela is quietly inviting you to join the girls for a late night swim. 

You quickly throw on a bathing suit and run down to the beach with the group. It’s nearly midnight, and the experience is exhilarating. 

When you finally wake up the next morning Spencer is bringing you a cup of tea, just like any morning you wake up together. 

“Late night,” he inquires and you tell him about what you’d gotten up to. He looks at you with an endeared smile on his face. 

“What?” You ask and he replies, “Nothing. It just makes me really happy to see you hanging out with my friends.” There’s a lot left unsaid there, but he doesn’t have to speak the words to know you’re on the same page. How this weekend away is hopefully the first of many in the future. The future that you plan to spend together. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Happy 4th to those who celebrate! Thanks for reading!

Next week will be an Ian story!

[sequinsmile-x]

Instincts

Five times Emily doesn't yell at her mother-in-law, and one time she does.

Part 1/6

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all doing as okay as possible <3

Usually, I do these 5+1 fics as a one shot but I'm doing it a little differently this time and this will be a multi chapter.

The final chapter, the one time Emily does yell, will be based on a prompt I received!

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: none for this chapter, pregnancy in later chapters

Words: 2.9k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The first time it happens, she doesn’t even get to meet Caroline Hotchner. 

It starts a few days before, when she can tell Aaron is nervous the moment he lets her into his apartment. She smiles curiously at her boyfriend as she steps past him, her lips catching his cheek as his hand skims her waist before he takes her bag from her, hooking it over his shoulder, “Waiting for me in the doorway kind of makes me having a key pointless.” 

He chuckles, but it’s not the laugh she loves. It doesn’t come from his chest, doesn’t light up the space between them like it usually does, and it makes concern spark low in her gut. She furrows her brow as he closes the door, his focus on locking it behind them and setting the alarm. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, smiling when he turns to look at her, “I was just excited to see you.”

Emily hums, narrowing her eyes at him as she crosses her arms over her chest, desperately trying to read him - to see what had changed since she’d left him in his office at work just a few hours ago. She’d only gone back to her place to get more clothes. Her apartment was just a place where she kept her things these days because home was wherever Aaron and Jack were. 

She’d considered breaking her lease and just moving in with Aaron. All of their friends made fun of them for it, playful smiles on their faces when they teased her for the fact she still had an exit strategy. It would upset her if she knew Aaron thought that way too, but she knew he didn’t, his defence of her always fierce even in the face of joking from their friends. The truth was, something that they were keeping between the two of them for now, that they recently started to look at a place to buy together. She loved sitting in bed with Aaron, her back against his chest, his legs bracketing hers and his chin on her shoulder whilst they looked through listings together. Their favourites either bookmarked on her laptop or circled in the paper. She hated moving, it reminded her too much of her childhood, so she didn’t want to do it twice in quick succession. So for now, she’d continue to occasionally go to her place to pick up some things, content to live in this in-between stage before she finally had everything she’d ever wanted. A home made of brick and mortar. A home made of the man she loves and the boy she loves as her own. 

It was a future she was looking forward to. One with him and Jack and whoever else might come along too - the idea of having more children with him enough to make her giddy. 

“I only went home to get some clothes, honey,” she says, trying to pull a smile out of him, the smile that belonged to her. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, his energy still nervous, and she sighs, “What’s going on?” 

He clears his throat and puts her bag on his couch, “My mother called.” 

She raises her eyebrows, her arms falling to her side, “Oh.” 

His relationship with his mother was tense at best. They only spoke now and again, they exchanged phone calls on birthdays and holidays and occasionally sent each other gifts. Emily had never met her, but she’d overheard them talking on the phone, her name thrown around like confetti by her boyfriend, his smile always soft just at the mention of her. 

“Yeah,” he says, walking towards her, his hands on her hips, “She’s in town.” 

Emily nods, her eyebrows raising even further, already knowing where this was going, “Oh.” 

“And she wants to meet you,” he says, squeezing her waist when she opens her mouth again, a third oh dying on her tongue, “Look, if you don’t want to meet her, I understand. I know my relationship with her is hard, and that you probably don’t have a lot of good feelings about her because of that-”

“Honey-” she says, finally breaking out of the slight stupor she’d fallen into. She smiles and cups his cheek, “You’re rambling. You don’t ramble,” she runs her thumb back and forth over his jaw, “It’s cute,” she smiles when he turns his head to kiss her palm,  “Of course, I’ll meet her.”

The relief in his eyes is palpable, and she sees the tension in his shoulders loosen, “Really?” 

She nods and leans forward to kiss him, her lips stamped against his, “Really,” she says, her nerves dampened a little by the relieved look on his face, the look in his eyes that makes him look like the little boy who never quite stopped looking for his mother’s approval, “She’ll be my mother-in-law one day,” she says, her arms snaking around his neck as he pulls her closer, “It would be awkward if the first time I met her is the wedding.” 

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss her, putting all of his love into it. He tightens his grip on her hips so he doesn’t run to the bedroom to grab the ring he’d hidden in his sock drawer, not wanting to ruin his very meticulously planned proposal, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she says, “So, when are we going to meet her? Are you going to invite her here?” 

“No,” he says, sounding more sure than he had since she’d walked through the door, and it makes her smile, “I learnt a long time ago a mutual ground is probably the right call. She likes Italian food. That new place opened up downtown but it’s almost impossible to get in.” 

She shakes her head, carding her fingers through his hair, “Impossible if you’re not the daughter of a well-respected US Ambassador,” she says, smiling at him, “If the Prentiss name is good for one thing in DC, it’s for getting reservations.” 

He sighs, shaking his head, knowing any favour she asked for from her mother never came for free, “Em, I know how difficult your mom can be, you don’t have to-”

“Hey, what good are my mommy issues if I can’t use them to help you with yours,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, “I’ll call my mom, she’ll get her assistant to get us a table and then she’ll passive-aggressively berate my life choices for 10 to 20 minutes. And you can pay me back in sexual favours.” 

He chuckles and kisses her before leaning his forehead against hers, “Deal.” 

___

She’s able to focus on his anxiety instead of her own. 

If she didn’t know him so well, it would concern her. Make her think that he was worried about her meeting his mother and not the other way around. There was no room for her to even consider that he was embarrassed by her, that he was anything less than proud to call her his. All the nervousness he was feeling, the way he was squeezing her knee like it was a stress ball, was all about his mother. The women he’d come from but couldn’t be more different than. 

If there was one thing Emily understood, it was that feeling. 

She places her hand over his on her knee as he parks up and she smiles, “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I think if you squeeze my knee any tighter the joint might pop,” she says, and he lets go. She grabs his hand before he can take it away, linking their fingers together and cutting him off so he doesn’t apologise, “It’s okay, honey. It’s dinner. We’ll eat, we’ll make conversation with your mother. And then we can go home and have sex.” 

He chuckles and tugs their joint hands towards him and kisses her knuckles, “Why does it feel like our roles have been reserved here?” 

She smiles, “Think about it this way,” she says, leaning across the centre console to kiss his cheek, “Your mom lives five states away. We don’t have to see her that often.” 

He laughs, “I’m sure I should be assuring you everything will be okay,” he shakes his head at himself, “You’re the one meeting her. I don’t want to paint a bad picture of her. She’s not a bad person. She had a bad set of circumstances. My father was…a bad person and a bad father. She’s not a bad person, but she…” 

“Wasn’t a very good mother,” she finishes for him, and he sighs and nods as she flashes a half smile at him, “I’m familiar with the concept,” she unhooks her seatbelt so she can turn to face him, her smile soft as she runs her fingers through his hair, “We can just go home you know. We can turn around. Jack is with Jess tonight so we could just get in the tub. Hang out. You could repay me for everything I went through for our cancelled reservation.”

He shakes his head and kisses her knuckles again, “No. I want her to meet you. To meet the woman I love,” he smiles, “You’re going to be my wife one day. The mother of my kids,” his smile gets wider when she blushes, “You should meet my mother.” 

She nods and kisses him, “In that case, we should get going. Otherwise, we’ll be late,” she turns to open her door but he stops her, and she turns to look at him, “You okay?” 

“I need you to promise me something.” 

“Anything, you know that.” 

“You know how you made me promise to not step in if I think your mom goes too far?” He asks, and she nods, her lips pressed together as she sighs, already knowing where he is going, “I need you to make me the same promise.” 

She clears her throat, “Is she going to make me wish I hadn’t made this promise?” 

“Probably.” 

She chuckles, “At least you’re honest,” she huffs out a breath, “Well, I’ve had over 40 years of experience dealing with my mother,” she winks at him, “I can handle one night with yours,” she’s grateful to get a smile out of him, “It will be okay, honey.” 

He holds her hand the moment they are out of the car, his palm warm against hers as they link their fingers together. She’d always loved holding his hand, found a comfort in it that she knew he found too. In the moments when she let herself be romantic about it, she tells herself they were made for each other. That the reason her hand fits so well in his, the reason their fingers link together perfectly, is because they were made with each other in mind. 

His phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket, frowning as he turns it to show her, the word Mom flashing across the screen. They come to a stop on the sidewalk, stepping out of the way of other people, and he answers. 

“Mom, hi, are you at the restaurant already, we’re just…” he drifts off, and Emily can hear the voice of the woman at the end of the phone, but not what she’s saying, “Oh, I see,” he says, looking at Emily, his lips pressed together and his eyes drifting shut, “I thought you wanted to meet Emily,” he adds, and she clenches her jaw as she runs her thumb back and forth over the heel of his hand, “Well, yeah you can do that next time you’re in town. Or maybe we’ll come and see you.” 

She can hear the disappointment in his voice, can see the irritation in his eyes, in the way he’s holding himself, and she gets as close as she can to him to provide the comfort he’d never ask for. She rests her head on his shoulder, and the extra height her heels give her means he can rest his cheek on top of her head as he finishes the call with his mom, exchanging goodbyes and see you soons in a way that’s so polite it makes her teeth ache. After he hangs up they stand in silence, still in their strange embrace with her head on his shoulder and both of her hands wrapped around one of his. 

“She’s not coming?” She asks, even though she knows the answer, and she looks up at him. He shakes his head and clears his throat. 

“No. She’s not.” 

“Did she say why?” 

“She bumped into an old friend. Went for dinner with her instead.” 

She scoffs, “Instead of meeting up with her son?” She clenches her jaw, “Want me to call her back? I can give her a…” she drifts off when he raises his eyebrow at her, a hint of amusement in his smile, “Right. My promise. Does it count even if I haven’t met her yet?” 

He chuckles wryly and kisses her forehead, “I’d say especially then,” he kisses her again, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she assures him, “It’s not your fault,” she squeezes his hand and hates the look in his eyes when they meet hers. He looks like a lost little boy, entirely too much like Jack, and it makes her want to steal his phone when he’s not looking and break her promise only minutes after she made it. She knows she won’t though, bound by a promise they’d now made each other about their mothers respectively, and she knew how annoyed and hurt she’d be if their roles were reversed, “Want to go home?” 

He shakes his head, “No, Em. You went to a lot of effort to get this table-”

“Honey, I don’t care,” she says, cupping his cheek, “I can handle my mother if she says anything about us not using the reservation. I’m worried about you,” she strokes her thumb back and forth over his cheek, “If you want to go in we can, or we can grab a pizza on our way home and I’ll eat in my underwear to try and cheer you up.” 

He laughs, the sound more real this time, more hers, and he smiles at her, “I do like the sound of the second option.”

“I know my audience,” she hums and leans forward, stamping her lips against his before she rests her forehead against his, “Home?” 

He nods, blowing out a slow breath, “Home.” 

She kisses him one more time before she steps back enough for them to walk to the car, both of her hands still wrapped around one of his, “I’m sorry your mom did this, Aaron.” 

He sighs and unlocks the car, “Me too. I was looking forward to the two of you meeting.” 

She slips in between him and the side of the car before he can open the door for her, “I know,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “And I was looking forward to meeting her too. Despite…everything, she still gave the world you. And that’s something I want to thank her for,” she says, worry sparking in her chest again when he tightens his hold on her, something she can’t name flashing in his eyes, “Baby, what is it?” 

Aaron shakes his head, “It’s nothing.” 

“You can tell me,” she says, reaching out for his hand, “You know that.”

He blows out a breath, “I guess I just wanted her to meet you before we start the next stage of everything. Not because I feel like I need her approval or anything. But she’s my mom,” he smiles sadly, “It would nice if she cared enough to meet the woman I’ve told her I’m going to marry one day soon.” 

It makes her angry again. The heat of it washing over her in a way she knows has her gripping his hand a little too tight, her knuckles briefly paper white before she lets go, swallowing the fury back down because it’s not what he needs from her. 

Not today. 

Despite everything, the mere mention of their still hypothetical wedding makes her smile and she squeezes his hand, “I understand that, but if she misses out on anything it’s on her. Not you. Okay?” 

He nods, “Okay.” 

She leans forward and kisses him, “Now,” she says, kissing him again, “Pizza. Then home.” 

“And you in your underwear,” he says, smiling as he steps away so he can open the car door for her, “I seem to remember that being part of the deal.” 

“A deal is a deal,” she says, winking at him as he closes her car door once she’s climbed in. She’s alone in the car for a matter of seconds before he joins her, the key in the ignition as soon as his door is shut. “I just thought of something.” 

He looks over and sees the vague look of horror on her face, the way she scrunches her nose up ever so slightly, “What, sweetheart?” 

“One day our mothers are going to have to meet.” 

[undertheorangetree]

Under the God's Eye

Chapter Five- The Dinner

Summary- A family dinner results in an unexpected rendezvous.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Titty sucking. Handjob. Vaginal fingering. Cunnilingus. Smut. Alcohol consumption. Allusions to drug abuse. Severe daddy issues. My bitter and intense hatred for Viserys Targaryen coming through in my writing. Discussions of bad childhood/neglectful parenting.

Author's Note- okay I’m done teasing now. Shout out to modern AUs for letting me use modern terms in smut without it sounding weird to me. Find the rest of this filth on AO3 link below!

Series masterlist

divider by firefly-graphics

She watches mildly distraught as Alicent flutters around the kitchen, murmuring to herself as she sets pots and pans on the stovetop, pulling out an absurd amounts of ingredients from the fridge.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" she asks for what she thinks is the fourth time, hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Alicent looks up at her, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face with a tired smile. "I'm sure, sweetheart. Don't worry, Rhaenyra should be here within the hour to help me. You're on vacation, go and do something fun. I can handle it."

"I don't mind helping, really. Even if it's only until Rhaenyra gets here."

That earns her nothing but another thankful smile and a shake of her head before Alicent is ignoring her completely, mumbling about where she has left her biggest bowl. A part of her is worried that she's annoying Alicent but she still can't stop herself from asking. She looks frazzled, so much so that it is clear that she is not used to working in the kitchen like this. With her hair tangled in a messy red bun on the top of her head, she has a hard time imagining the Targaryen-Hightower household as a place known for nuclear family dinners. Not with the way Alicent seems absolutely wrought with anxiety.

"Oh, my love," Alicent calls out suddenly and she turns to find Helaena pausing on her way to the stairwell, an expensive looking Russian Blue cradled in her arms. Dreamfyre, she had learned the cat's name was, though she has only ever seen her in pictures on Helaena's phone. She is a reclusive little thing, spending most of her days basking in the sunlight in quieter rooms. Alicent waves Helaena over before jerking her head in her direction. "Take our dear friend here and tell her to enjoy being a guest. She's trying to be too helpful for a holiday."

Helaena huffs a laugh, adjusting her grip on her cat before holding her hand out to her, fingers grabbing at air like a child. "Come on then."

She's pulled out of the kitchen unceremoniously, obediently following behind Helaena, though she can't help but look back at Alicent once more, still feeling guilty.

"I don't know why she doesn't just bring some of the staff with her," Helaena laments as they begin climbing the stairs, still hand in hand. "She insists that she doesn't need them on holiday, but then she plans some big dinner like this and all it does is stress her out."

Out of all of Alicent's children, Helaena is the one she can most see herself befriending. The sweetest, the most down to earth, less obvious when it comes to her family's massive wealth. But it is moments like this where the blatant difference between them is abundantly clear. Her home had never had so much as a maid, much less a whole host of staff. She can do nothing but nod dumbly, agreeing with her as they make their way to the second floor.

"You lost this," Helaena says as she opens Aemond's door, smiling at them both and looking incredibly pleased with her own joke.

"You're so funny," Aemond says, voice completely deadpan, not so much as looking up from the book he has open on his desk. She doesn't have to look at the cover to know it's a textbook as her own copy is still sitting on her bedside table in her apartment.

She grins. "I know."

Helaena leaves and she has no choice but to make herself comfortable on their now shared bed, propping the pillows up against the headboard and sitting back against them. Aemond continues reading and she takes the opportunity to really look at him, uninterrupted by his own piercing gaze. The long sharp planes of his face, the strong jut of his nose, the line of his cheekbones. The ever present tilt of his lips, as if there is some secret or joke he’s struggling to hide. Even from here, she can see the way his eyelashes curl against his eyelids, the light blonde of them near translucent. His hair is the same almost silver blond and, fleetingly, she wonders how much effort he truly puts into it. She has heard the sound of the hairdryer when he locks himself in the bathroom but has never seen any of the products he may or may not be using. Nor has she ever been permitted to enter, the door locked tight since their post shower run in.

But it's his eye that truly catches her attention. She's sat on his sighted side and she can see the brilliant blue of his real eye even from there, admiring the way it catches the afternoon light. Only the dilation of his pupil sets it apart from the prosthetic and she realizes now how pretty they are when he’s not glaring at her or attempting to stare her into submission.

She nearly jumps when he speaks, pulling her harshly out of her thoughts. "You'll meet my father tonight. And Daemon."

Read the rest here

Taglist- @backyardfolklore @docmartinis @watercolorskyy @barbieaemond @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @aemondsbabygirl @randomdragonfires @at-a-rax-ia @violetletovi @launotfound @helaenaluvr @solisarium

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-02-01

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Johnathan Pine stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Andy & Liv by ladyfloriographist • 〔F᜶M〕 •

✑ Cleaning Up by thezombieprostitute • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: Something is budding between you and the new night manager at the hotel.

✑ Duty of Care by muddyorbsblr • 18+ • 〔A᜶C〕 •

Summary: "After Pine rescues you from a bloodthirsty mafia leader, he confesses his feelings for you while tending to your wounds."

✑ Holiday in Cario by iwillbeinmynest • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Your friend invites you on a trip overseas but when she all but [ditches you] you find yourself in a rather uncomfortable position. Lucky for you the hotel [night manager] comes to your rescue."

✑ I Won't Let Go by holdmytesseract • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: “Angela convinced Jonathan to attend a event - held by the Riverhouse, to take his mind off his lovesickness. Unbeknowst to him, you have a gig on exactly that event...”

✑ Leave Me Wanting More by the-purity-pen • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: Months of mutual pining finally culminate in a passionate encounter, but Jonathan makes sure to leave you wanting more…

✑ Mission Comes First, the by holymultiplefandomsbatman • 16+ • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 🚫 •

Summary: "Jonathan met you long before he came in contact with Angela Burr. When he goes undercover, you join him. Unfortunately, Roper catches and then tortures you to find out who sent you... while Jonathan has to stand by and watch, just like he promised you. The mission comes first, no matter what."

✑ Mr. Pine by sserpente • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Imagine surprising… your boyfriend at his workplace,… a fancy hotel in Switzerland and getting him all worked up by repeatedly calling him Mr. Pine.

✑ My Dearest Diamond by five-miles-over • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "After nearly two years… [you and Jonathan] rekindled your love via handwritten letters, until you [plan a] trip to London to see him. As he prepares [for your arrival], Jonathan reflects on his relationship with you …[carrying] out one last errand before you land."

✑ Paris by muddyorbsblr • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: "After spending the last few hours pretending to be a loving couple while on a mission in Paris, Jonathan decides to lose himself in the fantasy of having you to himself."

✑ Pine by devilbat • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: After rescuing you from kidnappers, your father hires Jonathan to be your bodyguard allowing the two of you to grow close. One night, he breaks into your room, asking you to trust him, and although the attack left you wary of the world, you know one thing for sure: Jonathan will always keep you safe.

✑ Saviour by sserpente • 〔E᜶F᜶A〕 •

Prompt(s): "Imagine Jonathan Pine saving your life after you end up going after the same target."

✑ Secrets￨Prt. II by strangerquinns • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

Prompt(s): "So desperate for it, aren't you? Well, if you want it so bad you'd better start taking it." + "Look at you, grinding against everything, you're really desperate for it. Aren't you?"

✑ Sleepy by thehiddlebums • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Prompt(s): "Your lover is snoring quietly and you can't help but giggle because it's so cute" + "Laughing at their messy hair in the morning."

✑ Slow Your Roll by ladyfluff • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Exhausted and confined to the house after surgery, Jonathan shows you unwavering care and support on your shared journey to recovery.

✑ Summer in Majorca by smolvenger • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "A trip to Spain alongside Roper and his crew had you cross paths with a man mysterious as he is kind and heroic as he is handsome. He goes by Thomas and then Andrew [but is] secretly named Jonathan. You find yourself blossoming feelings for him. [However,] it seems he has eyes for Jed and not you..."

✑ A Complete Surprise by wickednerdery •

✑ After Glow by holdmytesseract • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Buh-nana. by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Dirty Talk by fadingfics • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Good Enough to Eat

✑ Home Before You Know It￨Prt. II by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Life with You by lokispet-blog1 • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Not Alone by holdmytesseract • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Paper Hearts and Glitter Glue by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Photographic Evidence by ladyfluff • 〔A〕 • ♡ •

✑ Short and Sweet Fuse by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sneaking Around by anonymousfiction211 • 16+ • 〔E᜶A〕 •

✑ So Much More by five-miles-over • 〔F᜶M〕 •

✑ Step Outside by ladyfluff • 〔E᜶C〕 •

✑ Way You Look at Me, the by jewels2876 • 〔E〕 •

✑ Welcome to the World by holdmytesseract • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Will You Marry Me? by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Within the Strongbox of My Heart by frostbitten-written • 〔A〕 • ♡ •

✑ You by imagine-upon-a-star • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || Jonathan Pine Master Index

Authors: @anonymousfiction211 || @devilbat || @fadingfics || @five-miles-over || @frostbitten-written || @holdmytesseract || @holymultiplefandomsbatman || @imagine-upon-a-star || @iwillbeinmynest || @jewels2876 || @just-the-hiddles || @ladyfloriographist || @ladyfluff || @lokispet-blog1 || @muddyorbsblr || @smolvenger || @sserpente || @strangerquinns || @the-purity-pen || @thehiddlebums || @thezombieprostitute || @wickednerdery ||

[bananaofswifts]

Whether she's breaking records or breaking Ticketmaster, Taylor Swift has proven time and again that she's one of the most powerful figures in modern music — and the Eras Tour is a manifestation of that.

By TAYLOR WEATHERBY

But after witnessing it in person, it's clear that Swift is not just delivering the tour of the year — it's the tour of her generation.

Sure, Beyoncé fans can't wait for her tour this summer; Harry Styles is about to embark on the final leg of his highly successful Love On Tour trek; BLACKPINK sold out stadiums around the country too. Yet, it's hard to imagine that any other tour this year will have a cultural impact as big as the Eras Tour — something that's wildly apparent whether or not you were there.

Even before Swift hit the stage for her first night at Nashville's Nissan Stadium on May 5, her influence was felt. Practically every fan of the 70,000 in attendance (a record for the venue — more on that later) was wearing some sort of reference to their favorite Swift era: a beloved lyric, or an iconic performance or music video look. While that's not necessarily a new trend in the Swiftie world, seeing all 10 of her eras represented throughout a stadium-sized crowd was equal parts meaningful and remarkable.

As someone who has been to hundreds of tours and most of Swift's — including the Reputation Tour, which I naively referred to as "the peak of her career" — I didn't think this one would feel much different than a typical stadium show. But even when Swift was just a few songs in of her impressive three-and-a-half hour set, a feeling came over me like I wasn't just watching one of music's greats — I was part of music history.

Below, here are five reasons why the Eras Tour will go down as one of the most iconic of Swift's generation.

It's Treated Like A Holiday

In the week leading up to the shows and over the weekend, Nashville was abundant with special events in Swift's honor. From Taylor-themed trivia nights to pre- and post-show dance parties to wine lists transformed into "eras," practically every place you went was commemorating her return (she last performed in Nashville in 2018).

While it's unclear whether this kind of takeover is happening in every city — after all, she does consider Nashville a hometown, as she said on stage — it's rare to see an artist have such a ripple effect by simply just coming to town.

During her May 5 show, Swift added to the excitement by sharing the highly anticipated news that Speak Now (Taylor's Version) was coming on July 7. Upon the announcement, three of Nashville's monuments — the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge, the Tennessee State Capitol and the Alliance Bernstein building downtown — were illuminated in purple, the album's color.

It's Breaking Records Left And Right

Though Swift is no stranger to breaking records, she continues to do so with the Eras Tour. After setting the all-time attendance record at Nissan Stadium on night one of her Nashville run, Swift topped herself (something has become accustomed to on the charts as well) with another attendance record on night two.

And despite the controversial ticketing frenzy the tour caused, Swift also broke a Ticketmaster record with more than 2.4 million tickets sold — the most by an artist in a single day — in the presale alone. If Swift announces an international leg of the tour, Pollstar projects that the Eras Tour could surpass $1 billion, which would add yet another first to her ever-growing list.

It's Spawned Parking Lot Parties

As if history-making attendance and record-breaking ticket sales aren't indication enough of Swift's power, the Eras Tour is so highly in-demand that fans are sitting outside of the venue to still be part of the show. Fans crowded barricades and camped out in the parking lot of Nissan Stadium, ready to watch (and sing along) Swift on the big screen — something that has seemingly been happening in every city.

It Can't Be Stopped By The Elements

Adding to the magnitude of the Eras Tour, Swift performs 45 songs across three and a half hours. And to make her last night in Nashville even more momentous, she did almost all of that in pouring rain.

Swift didn't get to take the stage until after 10 p.m. on May 7 because of storms in the area (she normally goes on around 7:50 local time), but that didn't mean she'd be shortening her set. Carrying on until after 1:30 a.m. — even through the "element of slippiness happening," as she joked — Swift made it clear that she's determined to give each show her all regardless of the weather.

It's Simply A Feel-Good Celebration

Perhaps it was the five-year gap between the last time she toured. Perhaps it was the four new albums of material. Perhaps it was the celebratory nature of the show. Whatever inspired the vibe of the Eras Tour, I've never seen Taylor Swift or her fans so alive. The passion was tangible, the energy was magnetic.

Though Swift has always been known as an artist with a very loyal following, it was still mind-blowing to hear 70,000 people belt out every word for three hours straight. There aren't many artists whose catalogs are as equally beloved as they are extensive, especially one who hasn't even seen her 34th birthday. No matter how many albums and tours are in Swift's future, the Eras Tour captures a special moment in time — and celebrates a legend in her prime.

[walkawaytall]

Soooo…in interest of participating in @hanleiacelebration’s Han/Leia Appreciation week, I’m posting a WIP snippet that technically fits yesterday’s prompt (AU/Canon divergence). Y’all have seen some of this before, but not all of it. It’s the first chunk of that AU I’m planning on finishing after Purpose of Heritage wraps that is tentatively titled Dameron and Solo. And, like, yes, the story overall is meant to be about the boys, but it’s all very entwined with Han and Leia, and this first bit most definitely is more about them.

Anyway, enjoy this 1600-word preview I guess? Haha…I am sticking it below the cut because…1600 words.

Han Solo was hardly surprised to see the living room light on when he finally arrived home after a long, rough flight. It wasn’t uncommon for Leia to wait up for him when she knew he was on his way, working on something she considered mindless, a holodrama on in the background. Sometimes she fell asleep on the couch before he walked through the door, and he’d attempt to wake her gently before leading her back to their room.

Leia wasn’t on the couch, or even in the living room at all. Instead, Ben lay curled up in an armchair, fast asleep, a datapad on the floor next to the chair.

This was…odd, and Han was immediately concerned. Ben was only five; his bedtime should have been hours before. The only time he was ever out of bed this late was when he was sick, but if he was sick enough to be out of bed, Leia rarely went far.

Maybe she ran to the ‘fresher and he fell asleep, Han thought. He dropped his bag and listened for Ben’s quiet breathing before pressing a quick, light kiss to the top of his head that wasn’t likely to wake him, and going in search of Leia.

Their bedroom door was nearly closed, the crack between door and frame likely left more for Han’s benefit than hers or Ben’s. If Ben had needed her, Leia would have been able to feel it through their connection in the Force; she wouldn’t need the door open. She said she tried to keep out of his head, but if he was upset or in need of something, it was like being shouted at. There were times when Han felt somewhat left out of the family Force connection that Leia shared with both Ben and Luke, but knowing he was safe from inescapable mental screaming was some comfort.

He could hear her voice, muffled, tired, and flat beyond the door. She sounded like she was on her comm — Han couldn’t hear anyone else’s voice — and her answers to the other person’s questions were clipped, weary, and flat. “Yes…No, a week at least…No…No…I’m not sure. No one’s sure…”

Before Han could knock or find some other way to let Leia know he was there, she yanked the door open and looked him in the eye. She looked pale, worried. Han’s stomach twisted as he wondered what had her in a such a state. She still wore the earpiece that connected to her comm, but reached out and tugged on Han’s wrist, pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Yes, I’m aware, Mon…No, I’ll have more answers in a few days.”

Leia folded a tunic and added it to a neat stack of clothing in their largest suitcase, the one they used for family holidays. Han saw a shorter stack of Ben’s clothing, his sandals, and a pair of his boots piled next to Leia’s clothing in the case.

Are they…Where are they going?

It took a moment for Han to realize she had a pair of his own boots shoved in the case as well. With that information in mind, he corrected his thought.

Where are we going?

He looked at his wife. Leia was dressed in simple loungewear — clothing she never wore outside of the apartment, and never in front of anyone who wasn’t family or close to it. Her hair was half-down, but not in a way that appeared purposeful; it looked more like she had been in the middle of transitioning from whatever style she’d had it in all day to a loose sleeping braid and was interrupted.

Leia ended the comm with Mon Mothma and dropped her earpiece on the bed before looking at Han. “Shara died,” she said matter-of-factly.

Another twist in his stomach. Shara Bey, a friend of theirs from the Alliance, was only a few years older than Leia. She couldn’t be dead. She was too young. They had won the war. She and her husband, Kes Dameron, had settled down on Yavin IV with their kid Poe. He was only a few years older than Ben. He was too young to lose his mother.

Han sank down slowly on their bed, eyes zeroed in on Leia. Shara and Leia had been close during the war. The cool detachment he saw in his wife’s demeanor didn’t match the reality of the words she had spoken.

“How?” he finally asked.

“Bloodburn,” Leia said softly.

“Bloodburn?” Han shook his head. Bloodburn was a complication developed seemingly at random in some humans who spent a lot of time in space. Pilots were particularly susceptible because they tended to fly more often than passengers. It could be managed if caught early, but cases of the illness going unnoticed until it was terminal weren’t uncommon. Shara must have been one of those cases. Though, why she hadn’t told Leia that she was sick, Han couldn’t begin to guess. That was the sort of thing they seemed to share with one another.

Leia continued stacking folded clothing into the suitcase. “Kes—I told Kes we’d head out there as soon as you got home. He needs help with arrangements and…” She trailed off, freezing in place for a moment before focusing her eyes back on Han. She stepped toward him and wrapped her arms gently around his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask: how was your flight? Did you get any rest? I can fly if you need to sleep.”

“‘m awake enough to get us into a hyperspace lane, Princess,” he murmured, placing his hands on her waist. “Just can’t believe…How long did she have it?”

Leia shook her head mechanically, eyes clouding over. “They don’t know. If—If she knew, she didn’t tell anyone. She just…” Han felt her fingers stroke the nape of his neck absently. “Poe found her, Han,” she whispered.

Han swallowed hard, horror seeping under his skin. He had been younger than Ben when his own mother had died. His memories of trying to wake her were vivid, but a lot of other memories surrounding that time were mercifully spotty. Poe was eight; he would remember a lot more, likely for the rest of his life.

Han tugged Leia closer, intending to pull her down into his lap so he could hold her, anchor himself to her, but she resisted. She kissed his forehead for a long moment before turning her head, pressing her cheek to his skin. “I need to finish packing.”

“What can I do?”

Leia thought for a moment. “How are rations on the Falcon?”

Rations, Han thought with mild amusement. Like they were back in the war. “Need to restock if all three of us are goin’.”

“I just went to the market today,” Leia said. “If you could throw together food for the trip, get Ben tucked into his bunk on board, and start preflight checks, I’ll finish up here. That way we can leave soon. Do you need anything packed?”

Han shook his head and stood. “Ran my clothes through the autovalet on my trip back,” he said. “So my bag’s ready to go.”

Leia nodded and pulled a tunic from their closet. Han watched as she folded the top carefully, her expression solemn and determined. She was, he knew from over a decade of experience, focusing on the next thing rather than acknowledging whatever emotions were fighting to surface.

He stopped her on her way to their ‘fresher, placing gentle hands on her upper arms and meeting her gaze. After a moment of stubborn stoicism, a flicker of grief and sorrow passed over her face and Han pulled her into his arms. She pressed her face to his chest, muffling the couple of sobs that escaped before she was able to take a deep breath and pull herself back together.

She turned her face, cheek pressed to Han’s shirt as she took a few more deep breaths. “I can’t keep an eye on Ben without him feeling what I’m feeling right now,” she said softly.

She meant keeping her Force connection with their son open, something she said she only did when a good reason presented itself. Leia had learned to shield herself before she even knew her lineage included Force users, before she really knew what she was doing. The skill had served her well on the Death Star and possibly even before. Once she knew how to fully control it, she said she maintained her shield unless there was a reason not to; something about maintaining privacy between other Force users that Han couldn’t say he fully understood, but he did support.

“He’s asleep,” Han said, tightening his hold on her.

“I know, but I think I infected his dreams earlier. I checked on him after Kes commed and he woke up…” She trailed off. “He wasn’t scared; he was…worried. Tried to comfort me. I don’t want my child to feel like he needs to bear that sort of burden.”

Han didn’t love the use of the word burden when it came to her emotions; Leia chose her words carefully, and she generally meant exactly what she said. He understood her concerns about Ben, though, and figured a discussion about semantics could happen some other time.

“You gonna let me?” he asked. That was the real question, anyway. Leia could consider her emotional state a burden all she wanted as long as Han was allowed to share it.

She was still for a moment before sniffing and nodding, her cheek never leaving his chest. “Yes. But we need to get going before I think about it too much.“

[television-overload]

Done! *passes out*

White Christmas

NCIS Christmas 2023 fic

Read on AO3

Summary: For Christmas 2023, the NCIS family makes their way to Alaska to celebrate all together for the first time in years.

WC: 7,963

Rating: G

-.-.-

"Daddy, Daddy! I can see the glaciers!” Tali announced excitedly, her face pressed up against the small airplane window.

Tony DiNozzo smiled and peeked over her head of wavy brown hair to catch a glimpse of the snow-covered Alaskan wilderness below. “You remember what you learned about glaciers in school?” he prompted.

“Uh-huh! They’re like frozen rivers that move down the mountains!”

“Something like that,” Tony chuckled. “You’d better sit down and buckle up, Tals, we’ll be landing soon.”

The nine-year-old obeyed, sitting back in her seat where her legs didn’t quite touch the ground—though the way she’d been growing lately, it wouldn’t be long.

“Can I have your phone to take pictures?” Tali asked once she was properly buckled, the seatbelt tightened by her father until he deemed it sufficient.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tony fished the device out of his back pocket and handed it over. “Don’t take too many, we need to save some space for pictures of all the other cool stuff we see.”

With his daughter occupied, Tony turned his attention to the woman sitting in the aisle seat beside him.

“Hey, you doing alright?” he asked in a low voice, placing a hand on her knee.

She had been shifting uncomfortably for the last hour or so of their flight, unable to get positioned in a way that took the pressure off her back. They had broken up their journey from Paris with a day’s respite in New York City, where they were able to catch up with some of Tony’s extended family. Tali, in particular, loved seeing the sights and stuffing her face with giant slices of pizza. But still, it put a lot of strain on Ziva’s body.

“I am starting to rethink what a good idea it was to travel so extensively while pregnant,” she spoke with a grimace, rubbing her rounded belly in comforting circles.

Tony hummed in sympathy, his fingers finding her lower back and massaging there as best as he could in such a confined space. She sighed in relief, her head falling against his shoulder and her eyes drooping shut.

“In our defense, when we planned this trip, we didn’t know you’d be five months pregnant,” he said softly with a teasing lilt to his voice.

It was true. They had almost given up on the prospect of having another child, promising that if it didn’t happen before Tali turned ten, they would stop trying. But finally, after years of negative tests, they got their positive, and Tony and Ziva were overjoyed. Tali, too, was looking forward to having a sibling. The high pitched squeal she had emitted when they first broke the news proved to them that she would be the best big sister a kid could ask for, and she had slept with a copy of the ultrasound in a frame beside her bed ever since.

But when they first started planning this trip almost a year ago, they had not planned on an additional passenger in utero, which definitely complicated things a little. After Gibbs visited them in Paris for the holidays the year prior, they knew they wanted to be with family. That had been the first time they’d seen him since Ziva had finally been reunited with Tony and Tali, and there was a lot of joy to go around. Tali had taken to calling him Grampa Gibbs, and in almost no time at all, they were like two peas in a pod.

“I can’t wait to see everyone,” Ziva murmured, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I hear Jimmy is bringing his girlfriend.”

“Agent Knight,” Tony said, remembering hearing about her from McGee on their weekly phone calls. “It will be nice to finally meet her. From what I hear, she's been good for him.”

Although the shape of their makeshift family had changed a lot over the years, love was still at the heart of it, that was the only thing that mattered. It broke their hearts to hear of the loss of Breena Palmer. It wasn't fair. As much as Tony had gone through since leaving NCIS, at least the end result was a happily-ever-after with Ziva. Jimmy wasn't so lucky. But the consensus was that this Jessica Knight was a great match for Jimmy, and Victoria apparently liked her too.

After a few more minutes, a voice came over the speaker instructing passengers to take their seats for landing, and Tony pressed a kiss to Ziva’s temple.

“You hear that?” he said, his lips brushing against her hair, “Only a little bit longer, hon.”

-.-.-

“I can’t see him!” Tali screeched far too loudly for a public place, while Ziva tried to wrestle her mussed-up hair into something presentable. She stood on her tippy toes, trying to look out through the crowd at the pickup lane outside, craning her neck for any sight of him.

“Tali, hold still,” Ziva said, brushing through the tangles, “He is not here yet, we only landed a few minutes ago. Your father is still getting the luggage.”

Tali squirmed, but luckily Ziva was finishing up with her hair, so soon she would be let loose.

“What kind of car do you think he drives?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know, probably something with big snow tires to get through all this snow,” Ziva answered.

Just then, Tony strolled up, dragging a cart stacked high with suitcases along with him.

“He here yet?” he asked.

Ziva let out an exasperated sigh.

“You and your daughter,” she said, shaking her head. “She just asked me the same thing.”

Tony lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “What can I say? Impatience must be genetic.”

Of course, in actuality, Tony was one of the most patient people to ever walk the earth, and Tali too. But in things like this—well, it was a good thing Tali’s birthday was in the summer. If she had to wait almost a whole year to open presents, she’d probably explode.

Through the glass doors, a dark pickup truck rolled its front window down and honked twice, drawing the DiNozzo family’s attention.

“There he is!” Tali squealed triumphantly, bounding out the doors to the waiting vehicle ahead of her parents.

“Tali, wait for us!” Ziva tried, before giving up and simply following behind, weighed down by their carry-ons, brush still in hand.

By the time she and Tony stepped out into the freezing weather, Tali was already leaping into the waiting arms of their old boss with a shout of “Grampa Gibbs!” He folded her into his embrace, murmuring his own welcome to her in that conspiratorial, hushed tone that only existed between a grandfather and his granddaughter.

Bringing the luggage trolley to a halt on the curb next to the truck, Tony wiped his palms against his pants before reaching out to shake Gibbs’ hand.

“Thanks for coming to pick us up,” he said, smiling as the older man pulled him in for a one-armed hug and pat on the back.

“That’s what family’s for.” He released his former senior field agent and turned to Ziva, who had finally set down the bags she was carrying. “Ziver.”

“Hello, Gibbs,” Ziva said, beaming at this man she saw as her father as he wrapped his arms around her. While her pregnancy wasn’t noticeable to the eye under the many layers of sweaters and coats she was wearing, it was unmistakable to the touch.

Just as she expected, Gibbs placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled back, his raised eyebrow contributing to the knowing look he sent her way.

“Surprise!” Tony said, looking as proud as could be. “We would have told you on our last call, but decided to save it. What do you think?”

The answering smile was so free and easy, it just showed how much Gibbs had benefited from his new life here in Alaska.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Gibbs said, “you deserve it.”

They stood for a moment longer, just enjoying being in each other’s presence again, before the car behind them honked impatiently.

“Well, hurry up, daylight won’t last much longer,” Gibbs said, grabbing the first of their bags and tossing it into the bed of the truck. “Everyone is waiting for you back at home.”

“It’s cold,” Tali said, her cheeks already pink despite the puffy, fur lined coat and thick woolen mittens she wore.

Gibbs chuckled, handing Tony the next bag.

“Then you’d better get in before you turn into an icicle,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the truck. With a toothy grin copied and pasted from her father, she bounded up to the open door and hoisted herself into the backseat with her mother’s help, and the two climbed into the vehicle.

-.-.-

The drive from the airport in Fairbanks to Gibbs’ place in an area known as Two Rivers took only about 30 minutes. The entire ride, Tali chattered away about the baby, and the big house out in the French countryside they were thinking of moving to. It looked like Gibbs’ lips were stuck in a permanent contented smile, and just as he had done many times for Tony and Ziva, he did what he did best: listened.

As they passed the occasional display of Christmas lights, Ziva would tap Tali’s shoulder to draw her attention, pointing out the window so she could see. Even though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, it was already getting dark, a phenomenon that Tony did his best to explain scientifically, giving up when it became clear that he was only confusing Tali more. Gibbs couldn’t help but chuckle at his expense. Little Johnny and Morgan McGee could probably explain it better than he could, but he kept that thought to himself.

At last, they pulled into a long driveway, recently plowed to clear it of snow. As they rounded the curve, the moderately-sized cabin came into view from behind the tall evergreen trees, its warmly-lit windows and snow-covered roof a vision of a picturesque Christmas.

Tony climbed out of the cab first, promptly opening the door behind him to help his pregnant wife out of the vehicle. On the other side of the truck, Tali jumped into Gibbs’ arms with a squeal of glee, and was carefully lowered to the ground.

While they stood gathering their things, they heard the front door open with a creak and snick shut, the motion-activated porch light illuminating with a glow.

“Look who the blizzard blew in,” came the voice of Timothy McGee. Tony turned in the direction of the sound and saw his best friend standing on the porch with a huge grin on his face. McGee immediately shoved his hands in his coat pockets and trotted down the front steps, quickly crossing the short distance to the new arrivals. Not a moment passed before he was enveloping Tony in a hug, patting him on the back to convey just how good it was to see him again.

“It's so good to see you all!” McGee spoke. “How was your flight?”

Tony shared a look with Ziva, and responded. “Better for some of us than others,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Ziva’s shoulders. McGee wasted no time in greeting her with a one-armed hug of his own, careful of the bags she was carrying.

“I saw a glacier!” Tali said excitedly, her arms wrapped around her stuffed dog Kelev.

McGee crouched down so he was on her level, his mouth widened in a smile. “I bet you did. Pretty cool, huh?”

Tali nodded emphatically, and Tim stood back to his full height, walking around to the back of the pickup where Gibbs was standing.

“Come on, let’s get you guys out of this cold,” he said, lending a hand by taking one of their suitcases with him. “The snow’s supposed to pick up in the next few hours. Should be quite a sight.”

They followed behind, carrying all their luggage with them as they approached the rustic-style house. McGee pulled the suitcase he was carrying up a wooden ramp, its wheels gliding smoothly up the incline to the porch.

“Gibbs built this for Delilah,” McGee explained proudly, glancing back at Tony and Ziva. “Got the slope of it right and everything, isn’t that great?”

Tony and Ziva joined in the praise, though it surprised no one that Gibbs had done his due diligence to make everything just right for his guests. Despite the snow, it looked like he’d done the work to make his place accessible for McGee’s wheelchair-using wife, and the craftsmanship was exactly what they’d come to expect from Gibbs’ woodworking projects. It blended seamlessly into the rest of the timber exterior, almost as if it had always been there.

“They’re here!” McGee called out as he pushed the door open with his foot, hefting the bag into the entryway.

Excited shrieks and rapidly approaching footsteps precluded the arrival of little Johnny and Morgan, who energetically hopped up and down right in front of the door, preventing the others from entering.

“Hey, hey—yes, I know we’re excited to see everyone, but—Johnny—Morg—"

“If your name is McGee and you are standing within 5 feet of the door, you need to back away right now and give everyone space,” Delilah spoke in a firm, warning tone as she wheeled into the vaulted entrance hall of the cabin. “Yes, that includes you, Tim,” she added, a glint of amusement betraying the kindness she hid underneath that commanding presence. She always was more effective at getting the twins to fall in line than their father was. As ordered, the two backed up until they were standing against the wall, hardly able to hold still for all the excitement they were feeling.

“Hey!” Tony called out as he entered. “There they are! How old are you now, mini-McGees?”

“SIX!” They answered, and Johnny (after double checking that he had it right) held up six fingers to show his Uncle Tony. Their birthday had been last month, just before Thanksgiving, and they’d spent most of their birthday phone call talking with Tali about all the things they hoped to do and see on their Christmas trip. Now, at last, the time had come. It had been years since the McGees came to visit during the summer holidays, and that was far too long for the little ones to be apart.

Ziva entered next, brushing snowflakes off her coat as she wiped her boots on the welcome mat. Her smile was easy and warm, marked by the introspective awareness of what a blessing this time with family was after everything she had been through. Delilah rolled up beside her and welcomed her with a hug, taking one of her carry-on bags off her hands and setting it in her lap.

“The kids wouldn’t stop talking about seeing Tali again,” she said with fond exasperation. “I hope she’s ready to be smothered by two clingy six-year-olds with a million questions.”

Ziva chuckled and followed Delilah into the house, setting her other bag on a wooden bench in the hallway as she passed. “She has been equally looking forward to it, I’d say,” Ziva answered. “Thankfully we have not yet reached the point where she thinks she is too cool to spend time with her family, though I am certainly not looking forward to that day.”

Delilah waved her hand in disbelief. “Pssh. If any kid could skip that phase, I’m confident it’s her,” she said, shaking her head. “She only just got you back, I’m sure she realizes how fortunate she is to have two parents who love her.”

It was a surprise to Ziva every time how little it hurt to hear things like that, these days. Those years of separation and constant anxiety were now in her past, and she had finally been able to move on. Of course, anxiety wasn’t something that went away for good, but she managed much better now than she had before. And she could talk about what had happened without breaking down, which was a huge step forward. Just another thing to be grateful for.

“TALI!” two twin voices screeched, and when Ziva turned to look at Tony, he had his finger in his ear, wiggling it around as if to test his hearing. She smirked, rolling her eyes a little.

Their daughter had been enveloped by the much shorter McGee twins, just as Delilah had predicted. She could vaguely make out a slew of questions being fired at the eldest child, about their trip to New York, whether she saw any polar bears from the plane, and the stuffed dog she carried. Tali seemed to be taking it in stride, only looking a little overwhelmed at the attention as she tried to make her way further into the house. Tucking Kelev under the crook of her arm, she grabbed Johnny and Morgan’s hands with each of her own, leading them into the next room.

Yes, she would be a good big sister. Ziva smiled as she watched them go off on their own.

“I know what that sound means,” came another voice, as he peeked around the corner into the entryway.

“Hey, Jimbo!” Tony greeted. “I think they broke the sound barrier that time. Probably scared off every wild animal in a 5-mile radius.”

Jimmy Palmer grinned, his eyes crinkling behind his rounded glasses. “Well, can you blame them? I’d be right there with them if it were socially acceptable, I’m so happy you guys could make it!”

Ziva placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We would not want to be anywhere else,” she said truthfully.

Glancing at each of them in turn, Palmer offered, “Can I take your coat? There’s a closet by the back door where the rest of us have ours stashed.”

Ziva sent a questioning glance back at Tony, and he shrugged and gave a tiny nod. It was times like these that their unspoken communication really came in handy.

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Ziva agreed, turning her back to him and allowing him to help her with the thick winter coat. It slipped down her shoulders, and as it did, she watched with great amusement the reactions of each of their friends the moment they noticed her rounded figure.

McGee’s jaw dropped in an awed and excited expression, and he immediately turned to look at his wife, who herself looked rather surprised and pleased.

Ziva turned expectantly to Palmer, who thus far had only seen their reactions and not what caused them.

“What are you—” he began to ask, then his eyes widened in disbelief. “What?! You guys! Finally!” He promptly pulled Ziva into a crushing hug, pulling back to look at her and then to Tony.

He knew how much this meant to his friend, after missing out on this incredible part of his daughter’s life the first time. He’d been something of a confidante to him for years, listening to him over the phone as he lamented all the things he missed as he learned how to be a father. This time, he knew, nothing could keep him from being involved every step of the way. Probably even more than Ziva would like at times, if he had to guess.

“How far along are you? Do you know what you're having?” Jimmy fired away with the questions, and Ziva couldn't help but think this is what she could have had the first time around, if she had chosen differently. A family to share this wonderful news with, and a partner by her side.

“20 weeks,” she answered with a glowing smile. “And–”

She turned to look expectantly at Tony.

“It's a boy,” he announced proudly, looking for all the world happier than he'd ever been. “We found out last week.”

Shouts of congratulations echoed the entryway, and McGee came up to shake his hand, offering him a clap on his back.

“Any thoughts on names?” Delilah asked next.

Ziva nodded, her eyes flicking in the direction of Gibbs before nervously trailing the walls and ceiling. “Actually, we have had one picked out for a while…”

Tony’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“Leroy Farragut DiNozzo,” he spoke in a bold voice, waving his hand in an arc in front of him for dramatic effect, which earned a host of politely repressed looks of concern by all their friends.

“Ah, jeez,” Gibbs spoke gruffly, shucking his own coat and hanging it on a nearby coat rack.

McGee, too, looked alarmed. “Oh–that's…”

But before anything else could be said, Tony doubled over laughing, and as much as Ziva tried not to, the corner of her lips quirked up involuntarily at her husband's latest antics. McGee breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay–okay, I'm kidding, we're not naming him Leroy,” Tony said with a wheeze.

“But,” Ziva said seriously, pulling back on the reins of this conversation, “We are naming him after you, Gibbs.”

The room fell silent, the only sign that Gibbs had heard being the tightening of his jaw and the way his adam’s apple bobbed. He never was an emotional one, their boss. He felt it, but rarely did it show.

“We're calling him A.J.,” Tony began, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.

Ziva nodded. “Anthony Jethro.”

Gibbs didn't hesitate to cross the short distance to Tony and Ziva, wrapping her first into a hug, and then him.

“I'm honored,” he spoke softly, ruffling Tony’s hair before pulling back. “You give me a call when that baby’s born, I want to come meet him.”

“Copy that, boss.”

“Perhaps you can come stay with us,” Ziva said. “We are hoping to have a house outside the city by then.”

Tony's face lit up. “Now there's an idea! NCIS Christmas in France next year, mark your calendars!”

“That sounds absolutely wonderful,” Jimmy said honestly, his eyes alight with joy. “Well, hey, Victoria is in the kitchen with Jess working on some hot cocoa and cider, if you want to come say hi. If you're serious about us coming next year, she'll flip. Vic’s always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, the details will need to be worked out, but we are very serious,” Ziva spoke, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist. “And I could use a cup of hot cocoa,” she added, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him. “Tony?”

“Let's go,” he said. Then louder, “Hey, Tali! Hot cocoa!”

“Where?!” came the answering shout.

“Kitchen. Come on!”

She came running out of the living room at full speed, then proceeded to climb Tony like a tree, whispering something in his ear.

“Yes, you can have marshmallows.”

She grinned.

-.-.-

The kitchen was rustic, but large. Palmer led the way, regaling everyone with the story of the trip he, Jess, and Victoria had taken that morning to stock up on goodies at the only grocer in town. Apparently they had taken Gibbs’ snowmobile, or “snow machine” as they called it here, as it was much faster and probably safer than trying to maneuver a larger vehicle in this terrain.

The result of their labor was all the ingredients for warm drinks, smores, and a hearty Christmas dinner, which everyone was looking forward to.

Jimmy pushed open the door to the kitchen, and inside, Agent Knight turned, a smile on her face as she continued stirring the contents of a steaming pot on the stove. Victoria paused mid-conversation where she sat perched on the counter, her face breaking into a grin at the sight of her friend Tali.

“You're here!” she said excitedly, hopping down from the counter. “Want to come help us? You can put the whipped cream on top!”

Tali looked to her father for permission, then hurried over to Victoria, smiling brightly in return. Not quite a year younger than Tali, the two got along swimmingly. Though, like the rest of their NCIS family, they hadn't spent much time together in person, they kept up via video call as often as they could. Long-distance movie nights had become a regular occurrence–whenever they could get it to work with their different time zones.

“Jess, this is Tony and Ziva,” Jimmy said, standing beside her somewhat awkwardly.

Agent Knight nodded. “Hi! I–uh, I've heard a lot about you!” she spoke, reaching out to shake each of their hands in turn. “I see congratulations are in order,” she added, nodding in Ziva’s direction.

Ziva smiled warmly. “Thank you, it is great to meet you. We've heard good things.”

“How's the cocoa coming along?” Jimmy asked, turning to check on the girls whose faces hovered over the chocolatey concoction, taking turns stirring it.

“Almost ready, Daddy!” Victoria said. She nodded to Tali who held a bag full of mini marshmallows. “Just needs a few finishing touches.”

-.-.-

The cocoa and cider was enjoyed by the entire party, as they gathered around the blazing fireplace in Gibbs’ living room. Those who knew each other enjoyed getting caught up on each other's lives, while new friendships were quickly formed between Jessica and the others.

Agent Torres, Tony learned from Palmer, had unfortunately been unable to come for Christmas, citing some unspecified holiday plans that he was being oddly tight-lipped about. Tim, however, whispered his suspicion that the younger agent may, in fact, know the whereabouts of one Eleanor Bishop, and have gone to meet up with her for the holidays. Tony and Ziva shared a knowing look.

Meanwhile, they'd heard Abby had met up with Ducky in London, spending a nice quiet Christmas with him and some of his extended family in the British Isles. It sounded lovely.

As mugs of cocoa were emptied and marshmallows eaten, the children sprawled out on the floor with an array of board games and cards and a veritable mountain of couch pillows. They got along incredibly well for the most part, which their parents were endlessly thankful for.

With them occupied, Palmer took it upon himself to show Tony and Ziva to their room, assisting them with their luggage up the slightly cramped wooden staircase.

“You'll be up here, in the room next to Jess and I,” he spoke, pushing a heavy oak door open with his shoulder. Inside was a beautiful wooden bedframe that they immediately suspected to be handmade, with a mattress topped in a colorful quilt and matching pillows.

“This is lovely,” Ziva said, surveying the comfortable accommodations.

“Tim and Delilah are downstairs next to the living room, and Gibbs is just next to the kitchen.” Jimmy set their suitcases down in the corner, turning to smile at his two friends. “Get this: Gibbs made bunk beds for the kids. He's got the attic all decked out, I'm talking string lights, shag rugs, and the works. If there's not a blanket fort up there by the end of the week, I'll be shocked.”

Ziva felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, courtesy of the pregnancy hormones.

“Would you ever have guessed that one day, our boss would build a dream bedroom for our kid?” Tony asked, reaching out for Ziva's hand and threading his fingers into hers.

Ziva's lip wobbled, and Tony knowingly pulled her into his embrace, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back.

“It is pretty incredible, isn't it?” Jimmy agreed, an understanding smile pulling at his lips. “I'll go grab Tali's bag and take it up there. You guys get settled in.”

Tony thanked him, and soon it was just the two of them left breathing in the moment, in awe of all the twists and turns their lives had taken.

-.-.-

The ridiculously early sunset combined with jet-lag meant that the DiNozzos were scarcely able to make it past 19:00. The entire group gathered once more for an easy soup dinner before going their separate ways, either putting their finishing touches on gifts for Christmas day or calling it a night and curling up under warm blankets for some much-needed rest.

“I can't believe she’s still awake,” Ziva mumbled, laying on her side with Tony spooned up behind her.

Up in the attic, loud thumps and high-pitched squealing indicated that none of the children had gone to bed like they had been told to. The last time Tony had popped in to check on them, they had been jumping around into piles of pillows and blankets, and dancing to some music playing on an old radio they'd found, with far too much energy.

His hand splayed across her belly protectively, while he nestled his face into her voluminous hair.

“She's a monster of our own creation,” he murmured back, pulling her tighter. “A night owl like me, and an early bird like you.”

Ziva hummed, too exhausted to laugh.

“If they don't knock it off soon, though, I'm telling them Santa will put coal in their stockings,” Tony added, just as another thud sounded above them.

“They're just having fun,” Ziva said, her voice so soft that she had to be moments away from falling asleep. “S’good for her.”

Tony's lips curled up in a smile. He loved the lazy droll of Ziva's voice when she was half-asleep.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then, he pressed a kiss to her curl-covered head, and let sleep take him.

-.-.-

Tali's eyes blinked open slowly, only the light from the string lights illuminating the cozy attic hideaway. She rolled over and stretched, cuddling Kelev close before sitting up in the top bunk of the bed. Across from her, Victoria still slept soundly in her flannel pajamas. They had worn themselves out last night playing until Uncle Tim had come to scold them for staying up too late.

Tali inched herself over the edge of the bed and down the ladder, her bare feet cold on the wooden surface. It appeared the twins were still passed out too, and likely would be for a while. She was like her mother, in that way. Always early to rise, although her daddy explained that the baby made Ima sleepier now than she usually was.

As quietly as possible, she pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs and crept down the hallway, making her way to the first floor.

The sun was still far below the horizon, the sky as dark as ink. Only a few lamps lit the living room, but the smell of bacon and freshly-brewed black coffee wafted from the kitchen, which meant she wasn't the only one awake at the crack of dawn.

She pushed open the swinging door and saw Gibbs seated at the breakfast nook, sipping from an old coffee mug as he read the newspaper.

Tali plopped down across from him at the tableclothed table, wordlessly reaching for a piece of bacon and taking a bite. She leaned her head onto her arm and watched him, her eyes still blinking heavily in the dim light.

After several minutes of comfortable silence, marked only by the flip of a newspaper page or Tali’s munching of bacon, Gibbs asked, “Wanna come help me plow the snow?” His voice was gravelly from disuse, breaking the spell of the stillness of early morning.

Tali's cheeks pulled up in a smile and she nodded, following Gibbs to put on her heavy winter boots and coat over her pajamas.

He led her out to his truck, which was fitted with a plow out front for shoveling snow. “Hop up,” he said, patting his lap once he'd taken his seat in front of the wheel. Tali grinned and climbed up.

“Can I steer?” She asked, glancing back at Grampa Gibbs.

“After I clear the driveway and the road,” he answered, chuckling a little at the young girl's enthusiasm.

He took her around the house, pushing the freshly-fallen snow to the side as they drove. The headlights caused the white-blanketed landscape to sparkle, and it looked almost otherworldly with the mountains in the distance, barely visible. As they passed it, Gibbs pointed out the barn where his dogs lived, promising to bring her there later when it was light out and when her cousins were awake.

True to his word, once he'd cleared a section of the road and the driveway that encircled his house, he let Tali have the wheel while he controlled the pedals, keeping a hand close by in case she started to veer too far one way or the other off the gravel of his driveway. She giggled all the while, focusing intently on doing her job correctly.

“Looks like your old man's awake,” Gibbs said as they pulled back up to the house, catching sight of Tony through the window. He helped Tali down from the truck, setting her in the ankle deep snow. She trudged happily toward the house behind him, stepping only in Gibbs' footsteps for the short walk to the porch.

As they opened the door, her Abba was passing by with a glass of water in hand for Ima.

“Look at you, up an at ‘em,” he said, smirking down at his daughter. “Is Grampa Gibbs putting you to work?”

Tali nodded enthusiastically. “He letted me drive!” she said, earning an impressed look from Tony. 

“Well, in that case maybe you want to bring this up to Ima and give her some snuggles,” he said, handing the glass to Tali. “I'll help Grampa over here with breakfast.”

“Okay!” Tali nodded, and after kicking off her boots, she set off up the wooden staircase.

-.-.-

The occupants of the cabin slowly filtered downstairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes and attempting to smooth their sleep-mussed hair.

Little Johnny's stuck up in all directions as he padded down the steps with his sister in tow.

“Hey, buddy, you sleep well?” McGee asked, setting his cup of coffee down on the table. Johnny climbed onto his father's flannel pajama’d lap and laid his head against his chest, still half asleep.

“She snores,” he mumbled tiredly.

Tim chuckled. “Who does, bud?”

“Tali.”

McGee lifted his eyes knowingly to Tony. “Wonder where she gets that from?” he said, his tone jokingly accusing.

“Hey,” Tony said, raising his hands in surrender, “mine has been up since o' five-hundred, if he didn't sleep well, that's on him.”

“How did Ziva sleep?” Tim asked, making conversation.

“Like a very noisy rock,” Tony answered, “So, the usual.”

Tim smiled and took another sip of coffee, careful not to spill on the sleeping boy on his chest.

-.-.-

Once everyone had devoured a hearty breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and fruit salad, the sun finally began to rise on a lovely Christmas Eve day.

“What are your plans for the day?” Jimmy asked Tony and Tim. “Only a few hours of daylight, I'm sure there's plenty you want to see.”

Tony glanced over at Ziva, who was curled up on the couch with a cup of hot tea, chatting quietly with Tali.

“We were gonna go to these hot springs that are nearby, but Ziva can't go with the baby,” he said. “Chena Hot Springs. You should look it up, sounds like the perfect way to spend an hour or two before the snow starts up again.”

“You sure you don't want to go?” Tim asked, his eyebrows furrowing. “I can stay home and keep her company.”

Tony waved him off. “Nah, that's okay. We're gonna take it easy, she still gets this nauseous feeling sometimes, the doctor says just to rest and stay hydrated.”

“If you're sure…” McGee said. “It does sound really nice. Jimmy?”

“I'm in. Jess had something similar in mind, I think.”

“Daddy?”

The three men turned to see Tali standing in the doorway. She leaned close to Tony, and he instinctively bent down to listen to her.

“Grampa Gibbs said I could go see his puppies,” she whispered.

Tony leaned back to look in her eyes, and gave her a little smile.

“I think that's a great idea,” he said, “I bet Victoria and the twins would like to go too. Why don't you all go get your coats on?”

She ran off, and Tony turned back to the grown-ups.

“I can check in on them every once in a while if you guys want to go.”

McGee and Palmer shared a look, then shrugged.

“Well, I guess it's settled,” Jimmy said.

Tim nodded. “My dad always said never to look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that means.”

Tony chuckled, pushing his two friends through the doorway. “It means it's time for you two to go get your ladies and get your butts into nature's hot tub.”

“Alright, alright,” Tim laughed. “Thanks, Tony. I owe you one.”

-.-.-

By the time the two couples had left for the hot springs and the children were bundled up for their adventure with Gibbs, Ziva had fallen asleep curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Tony stopped in front of her and knelt down, setting the mug she still held on the side table. He traced a finger over her cheekbone, brushing back a stray strand of hair over her ear.

“Ziva,” he whispered, gently jostling her hand with his own.

“Hmm?”

“You wanna nap upstairs?”

Her eyes opened a crack and worked on focusing on the man in front of her.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, sitting up just a little. 

“Out making the most of the daylight,” he answered with a small smile.

“I'm sorry.”

She tried to sit up again but he stopped her with a soft touch on her shoulder.

“Hey, no, it's okay. I just wanna spend time with you. When's the last time we had an afternoon to ourselves? No Tali, no baby–” he leaned forward, placing a hand on her rounded belly, eyebrows raised. “–yet.”

She smiled a sleepy smile, covering his hand with one of her own.

“We could watch a movie,” she offered, shifting her feet to make space for him beside her.

“Now you're talking,” he said, flashing that trademark grin she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. 

He scooted onto the couch and pulled her to his side, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he did.

“I love you,” he spoke.

“I love you too.”

-.-.-

“It tickles!” Morgan giggled, the puppy in her arms licking her face relentlessly. Tali set down the one she was holding and picked up another from the bed of straw they had been sleeping in.

They stayed pretty warm in the barn they lived in, insulated by straw and plenty of blankets. Plus, these Alaskan huskies had more than enough thick fur to keep them comfortable through the winter. This was what they were built for, after all, and Gibbs loved looking after them.

“Sled's almost ready,” he spoke, busy tying up a series of ropes. He set the excess equipment aside on his workbench, where his woodworking tools were laid out. The fully grown team of dogs barked and jumped excitedly as they were attached individually to the sled. 

Gibbs opened the large main doors of the barn, propping them open with heavy bricks before returning to the kids.

Grandkids.

He'd thought his shot at having any of those was gone with Kelly. How wrong he had been.

“Alright, hop on, all of you sit in the front.”

Morgan gave the puppy she was holding a kiss on the forehead, then set it down to join her brother and friends with Gibbs.

“Can I stand in the back with you?” Tali asked, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, “you gotta hold on tight, though, you hear me?”

“Uh-huh!” 

Her little hands gripped the handlebar at the back of the sled, and Gibbs stepped on behind her, grabbing ahold of the reins.

With a simple command, the dogs took off over the snow. The kids squealed with glee, the cold wind blowing in their faces as the team of dogs happily pulled them along around the house and the perimeter of Gibbs’ property. 

“Go, go, go!” Johnny cheered, enjoying the ride.

They stayed out there until each of them had had a turn standing in the back with Gibbs.

-.-.-

The hot springs had been as relaxing and beautiful as advertised. And to be child-free for even a few hours during the school holidays was priceless. They really owed Gibbs and DiNozzo a favor.

When they arrived back at the house, it was suspiciously quiet. An old country western movie was playing on the TV in the living room, and both Tony and Ziva were fast asleep, curled up together under a blanket.

McGee smiled and reached for Delilah's hand, squeezing it once. He was so thankful to have Ziva back after all this time. He could only imagine how Tony felt. Every moment of peace he now enjoyed was earned a hundred fold. For both of them.

“Why don't you go check on the kids?” Delilah said quietly, careful not to wake them. Tim nodded and headed toward the stairs, while Delilah wheeled her way into the kitchen with the others.

Up in the attic, Gibbs lay on the floor beneath a ramshackle amalgamation of blankets and pillows. He'd be the last person to admit they'd worn him out between the dog sledding, snowman making, and fort building, but he wouldn't complain if they let him just lay here for a little bit longer. He hadn't taken everything with him when he moved to Alaska, but he did still have some of Kelly's old things, toys that Victoria, Tali, Johnny, and Morgan were now playing with.

“How's everyone doing up here?” Tim's voice called as he made his way up the stairs. “Woah, looks like you all had a fun afternoon.”

“We went on the dog sled!” Morgan announced loudly, her head popping out of the fort. Gibbs pushed one of the blankets aside and inched his way out.

“You good, boss?” Tim asked, an amused smile on his face.

“‘Course,” Gibbs answered with a nod, stretching his knees. “I'll get started on dinner. Steaks okay?”

“Great!” McGee answered. “I’ll come down and help in a bit.”

-.-.-

Dinner consisted of Gibbs’ signature cowboy steaks cooked over a fire. The kids regaled their parents with stories of their afternoon activities, while the adults discussed their hopes of seeing the northern lights that night.

A few hours later, they all stood bundled up on Gibbs’ back porch, disappointedly staring up at the cloudy sky.

“We'll try again tomorrow night,” McGee said, giving Johnny a consoling pat on the back. The clouds would prevent them from getting a view of the aurora tonight, but hopefully another time they would have more luck. Eventually they trudged back inside to warm up around the fire.

“Tateleh, have you set your shoes out for Père Noël?” Ziva asked.

Tali's eyes widened, and she ran off to grab a pair.

“What's she doing that for?” Victoria asked, looking up to her father.

“Père Noël is French for Father Christmas – Santa Claus,” Tony explained. “In France, he leaves presents in shoes instead of stockings."

“Can I leave my shoes out too?” Morgan asked, yanking on her dad's hand.

“Me too!” Johnny said. 

“Go get them,” Delilah spoke, nodding toward the stairs. Victoria followed, excited at the prospect of getting more candy and presents from Santa Claus.

-.-.-

Somewhere, a floorboard squeaked, drawing Tali out of her peaceful sleep. When she opened her eyes, Grampa Gibbs was standing beside the bunk bed wearing a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

He held a finger over his lips. 

“Follow me, I've got something to show ya,” he said in a whisper, bending to do the same for Morgan, then Victoria and Johnny. They each rubbed their eyes sleepily, allowing Gibbs to help them down from the bunk beds and into their slippers.

“Where are we going?” Morgan asked, her whisper not quite as soft as she was intending. They padded down the cold wooden stairs, like little ducks in a row as they followed their parents’ old boss.

“You'll see in a minute,” Gibbs promised, leading them through the living room to the back porch door.

Johnny glanced at the Christmas tree as they passed it. “Hey! Santa already came!” he said excitedly, his eyes widening at the sight of so many presents under the tree and filling their stockings and shoes.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Gibbs spoke, handing each of them their coats. “Look outside.”

Tali did, and she gasped at the sight of the sky alight with color. Stripes of green rippled across the black firmament above the Earth, like a flag waving in the wind. Surrounding it was a glittering field of stars, brighter than any Tali or the others had seen, living so close to the cities.

“The clouds cleared!” Victoria said, staring up at the sky in awe. Gibbs opened the door and let them outside, watching their faces instead of the natural wonder taking place above their heads. 

“So cool,” Johnny mouthed, his jaw hanging open. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

Morgan nodded in agreement.

This was pretty special. A moment the children would never forget.

-.-.-

Morning time brought presents and the kind of holiday cheer Ziva never thought she'd be lucky enough to experience again. The kids were delighted at their gifts, giggling at their success at getting chocolates put in their shoes by Santa Claus, just as Tali said would happen.

Victoria received a star projector as one of her presents, and she and Tali were already making plans to try it out in the fort they had built upstairs. Meanwhile, Ziva gave Tony an empty baby book, knowing it would mean the world to him to fill it with pictures and memories as their new baby grew.

Snow was again falling, a picturesque sight out the large cabin windows, especially with the sun beginning to rise over the horizon. Light wisps of pink and yellow mixed with faded blue over the top of the snow-capped mountains. A crystal clear morning.

“Why don't you play for us,” Ziva whispered in Tony's ear, nodding to the piano that sat in the corner of the room, a remnant of the previous tenant, Gibbs had said.

Tony turned and looked down at her, a contented smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, holding there for a beat, then unfolded himself from the couch where they sat intertwined.

“Hey!” McGee said excitedly when he noticed where he was headed. The others looked up from their gifts and smiled in anticipation. Tali hopped to her feet and joined her Abba by the piano, her grin matching his.

“What song should I play?” he asked her. One look out the window, and she answered his question in his ear like a secret. “Good idea,” he said.

After testing the keys, making sure they were in working order, his fingers splayed across the instrument, beginning their rhythmic dance. Each chord was played beautifully, a warm sound that matched the feeling of sitting by the fire with family. 

“Sing with me, Tali,” Tony said, locking eyes with his daughter as he finished up his intro. She nodded eagerly and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning her head against him.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,

Just like the ones I used to know.

Where the treetops glisten,

And children listen,

To hear sleigh-bells in the snow.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,

With every Christmas card I write.

May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmases,

Be white.

-.-.-

Tag list: @artemisscabin @benedettabeby @earanemith @happygirl-0408 @hopeless-nostalgiac @loudlooks @nicolem194 @putthekettleon @slippery-soapbox @tivafanfic @tonysziva

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

PLEASE. PLEASE I NEED ECLIPSE TO CARVE A PUMPKIN IDC HOW IT HAPPENS JUST GET THEM A PUMPKIN PLEASE

Pumpkins - 969 words

“I need your biggest pumpkin.”

The pumpkin seller gave you the flat look of a woman who had been told the same statement at least five times before you’d shown up and she fully expected to keep hearing the same thing after you left. Letting out a long sigh, she gestured to the broad spread of pumpkin patch ahead of you.

“It’s self-service, you take what you can find,” she intoned. “Have a spooky blast finding your perfect pumpkin. The weighing scales are up by the entrance, we do not provide trolleys to transport from the harvest patch to your vehicle.”

“That’s okay, we came on foot! And we have plenty of hands.” 

Her eyes went from you to the dog by your side, unassuming. And then her gaze tracked slowly up and up behind you, and garnered that expression of surprise you were quickly getting used to. Even after putting him in your biggest hoodie, thick overcoat, and wrangling an extra long pair of cargos from an online shopping site, he still caught eyes wherever he went with you.

“He’s shy,” you said quietly as Sun raised a hand and waved. The seller waved back, stepping aside for the three of you to shuffle onto the pumpkin patch proper. 

It took about an hour for the three of you to find four good pumpkins. Sun was extremely excited for this, and you let him go running off freely to find his own personal pumpkin. Moon had already talked to you the night before about what sort of pumpkin he wanted, and you obliged to his wants, picking out a smaller one that easily fit into both of your hands. Montague would hop across the trails, sniffing around the pumpkins for any possible smell of rot, but otherwise keeping his distance - you two would share, as was the easiest way when one friend didn’t have opposable thumbs.

But you also had another to pick a pumpkin out for, and Eclipse specifically had asked to be surprised. Easy enough to do, since this was his first Halloween and not only was he excited but they had been decorating after finding your old stash from three years ago. 

It was nice, being genuinely excited about this holiday for the first time in a while.

Montague’s low whuff caught your attention. Hurrying around the end of one of the plots, you saw what he’d found and the glee in your chest warmed up into a bright grin.

“Oh. Oh yes,” you said softly. “He’s going to love this one.”

-

Three hours later, involving having Sun carry all your goods back to the train station, wobbling your quad bike back to the cabin, and an obscene amount of pumpkin disembowelment: it was time. 

“So, what did you guys carve?” You leaned over to glance at Sun and Eclipse’s pumpkins, sat proudly hollow on the newspaper-covered table. You’d done this outdoors just in case, but you didn’t know the extent of the splattering that would occur (and since you were going to be cleaning juice out of your hair tonight, the preparations had been underwhelming).

“I did a crescent moon!” Sun said proudly. “I don’t think the clouds were that good, I kept breaking pieces off.”

“Hey, it’s good for your first attempt.” Sure the moon was a bit wonky and, yes, bits of the clouds were more jagged than smooth. But you hadn’t expected masterpieces anyway, so the fact it was recognisable was all good.

“Is that a moon on your’s too?” Sun asked, leaning his head over to peek.

“Full moon! And a werewolf, kind of.”

“I modelled,” Montague chimed in from below, his tail thudding on the dirt ground at an ever increasing rate.

“And what about you?” You turned now to Eclipse, still licking bits of pumpkin scraps and juice from his claws. Smacking their feathery lips, they crouched down fully to grin alongside the pumpkin.

“Me,” they chirped. Sure enough, there were two pairs of eyes and a very wide, very jagged grin stretching right across the pumpkin that was at least twice the size of his head. Lots of surface area to work on, and they’d shredded most of it as snack food.

Laughing softly, you ruffled through Eclipse’s feather ruff, his head nuzzling hard into your hand as he hummed and they purred and you half expected them to bowl you over in their enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay. Help me clean up the insides, this will make at least a week’s worth of curry, maybe some muffins too,” you said, gesturing to the plastic bowls dotted around. You’d made sure to rig a few bowls with bucket handles for Montague to lift through too, but after carrying everything inside, you need to box it all for refrigeration. Thankfully many hands made light work, and you had many hands to help you out. 

An hour in and Moon was out, and the pair of you ducked outside with Moon’s pumpkin in his hands. Fireflies began to flit around the edge of the clearing as he carved away, with you sharing stories of the day and him sharing stories of Halloween at the Pizzaplex. No peace was yet left, as eventually Eclipse came bounding after you, full of energy and pumpkin seeds and intent on peppering you with the latter. Dew soaked into your jumper but nothing would drown the mood as the pair of you rolled over on the grass, Montague sitting next to Moon and the pair exchanging a quiet look. 

Soon, four pumpkins sat in the window of your cabin, while four figures bustled around your kitchen in the constant process of boxing and weighing crushed pumpkins and seeds. One a werewolf, one a demon, one a moon, and one a lonely blackbird in a night sky.

[pinknightsinmymind]

if you feel like it, could you write more headcanons about ellie? not full fic or one shot, but thoughts about her. like, the types of kisses she gives you or the kind of girlfriend she is

【 ellie williams as a gf hc's 】

a/n: yes yes yes yes 100% i think about ellie way too much for my own good and it rots my brain. since i wrote so much it'll be below the cut lol

she loves to see you in her clothes in fact she even encourages it its just something about it that drives her crazy

she's protective of you and always wants to take care of you and make sure you don't do any of the dangerous or stupid shit she does

i feel like ppl forget how much of a dork she is; she'd tell you all about space and the different facts she's learned, she'd explain the plots of her favorite comics, who the characters are, which ones are her favorites, why she thinks one arc was better than the other, and so on and so forth

i think she loves to chat your ear off about any and everything

she's probably afraid she's annoying, so sometimes you might need to reassure her a little bit

in a modern au she's the type to send you funny memes or videos she finds, probably browses tiktok and twitter a lot

definitely the type to send you a photo of two animals being cute or cuddling together and say "us" because she's just a sap like that

composes songs about you and acts all shy when she shows them to you

DRAWS YOU

you're one of her favorite subjects to draw, and she loves showing you every new piece of you she has

she'd send you song recs ALL the time

listens to lots of indie and shoegaze

pls pls pls for the love of god ask her to teach you how to play guitar bc she'd be so excited to show you and spend the time with you

i think her love languages are quality time, physical touch, and words of affirmation

forgets NOTHING

you know how dads do that thing where you tell them you liked something once and they never forget it? yeah she got that from joel it rubbed off on her

remembers what you wore on your first date, remembers your food orders, memorizes your favorite colors, bands, tv shows, movies, everything

so so caring and sweet

since one of her love languages are physical touch you can expect lots of affection from her

loves cuddling, holding your hand, having her arms around you, she just has to be touching you somehow

flirts a lot (but its not a bad thing) even after you two have started dating

loves kissing you all the time, and will make excuses for it

she needs her good morning kiss, her good night kiss, good luck kisses, goodbye kisses (even if she's only gonna be gone a few hours💀), one bc she missed you, a hello kiss, she will use ANY excuse just to kiss you

but sometimes she won't even bother creating one she'll ask to kiss you just bc

loves having sleep overs and nights in together where you can just cuddle and watch movies or play video games bc she's a huge introvert

the type who will do anything to make sure your comfort isn't disturbed

if you don't like the other side of the bed she switches with you, will let you sit in the last chair at an event (but not before asking if you'd just rather sit in her lap), helps guide you through anything making you scared or anxious

calls you pet names every five minutes. all of them.

love, babe, baby, babygirl, princess, darling, honey, whatever is your favorite she calls you the most

lives to spoil you; pays the bill, buys you gifts, drowns you in affection, you name it

celebrates your birthday like its a holiday

speaking of can you imagine her during the holiday season???

the two of you plan out a couple costume for halloween

the two of you are so cute together it's gross

you're always welcome to spend thanksgiving with her and joel

and christmas?? she gets even more sentimental than usual, and buys you an extremely meaningful gift

the most supporitve, soft, kind, humorous, and sweet gf imaginable just a dream come true

she feels like you really balance her out, and isn't afraid to tell you how much you mean to her or how much she loves you

she makes sure you feel loved and remember that you are loved

can't wait to move in with you and once you two do she feels like she's in heaven everyday

just loves you and cherishes you deeply

overall just THE gf you dream and pray for ugh this girl gets me in my feelings every time she's just so cute and sweet😭😭😭😭

[steveinscarlet]

Another vintage Kerrang article for your delectation. This one is loooong. Text below the cut...

THEY'RE ALL concerned and they all want answers. Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee, hauling ass down Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, in a sparkling silver Corvette, certainly does. So does Blackfoot mainspring Ricky Medlocke, a recent unexpected apparition within the Marquee's glistening vaults. So does just about everyone I've met in the course of recent field-trips. They're all wearing that 'there but for the grace of God' look and they all want to know. So do I...

"Every time you speak to Rick on the phone you come away with a big grin on your face because he's in such good spirits. He's handling it better than I thought he would. He's matured 10 years overnight. He's totally accepted the fact that he's only got one arm and he's being very realistic about coming back into Def Leppard. He's mad to go for it, though, and we're mad to let him try."

That drummer Rick Allen will try, however, isn't in doubt. He's adamant about it and Leppard vocalist Joe Elliott is equally adamant that the band will give him their unrestrained support. As they've said all along, the decision is totally his "We aren't trying to show off or get sympathy," spells out Joe, "it's just the way we are. Def Leppard is simply five lads - we could have been a football team, we could have been international bank robbers. Rick's a mate, and just because he's had an accident doesn't mean he can't still be in the band. If he physically can't do it then obviously there's going to be problems, but with the technology available today I don't see why he can't play snare drum with his left foot, say. And if he can do that, and maybe have tom tom fills already recorded on a trigger, then the kit would look exactly the same. "Bill Ludwig, who builds Rick's kits, actually got in touch with him as soon as it happened, and it seems that there's a lot of one-arm drummers, guys who came back from Vietnam, y'know. The thing is, they tend to play Holiday Inns and places that like that; it's a different approach to drumming. Rick has a very John Bonhamish style - I mean, the quy doesn't need monitors, he's ridiculously loud! - and he'd never be able to do with one hand what he did with two for an hour and three quarters. It would kill him! So he's gonna need the technology. It's just down to whether he can accept the fact that there are gonna be people in the crowd trying to peer through the cymbals to see a plastic arm. He'll have to wear a shirt now, whereas before he'd always go bare-topped..."

THE DETAILS of the car crash that removed 21- year-old Rick (temporarily at least) from the Leppard ranks have been pretty well documented, grabbing column inches in the Nationals and beyond. The bare facts seem plain enough: at 12.50pm on New Year's Eve, while driving his Corvette along the A57 from Sheffield to his parents home in Dronfield (Derbyshire), Rick was involved in an incident which sent his car spinning out of control, turning over several times, injuring his female passenger and removing his left arm in the process. He remembers what happened vividly, and really can count himself fortunate to be alive. When the debris from the accident was examined it was found that the top half of the steering wheel had been bent back, Rick's particular power clearly preventing the steering column and dashboard from crushing against his chest. But why did it happen?

Picking through the events with Elliott it soon becomes obvious that the whole story is a little more complex than yer typical life-in-the-fast-lane pile up. Think about it...

When you're young and successful, with a streamlined US car and a female companion to match, it can sometimes sting the nasal membrane of the folks you've abandoned to a dole queue existence in your humdrum hometown rut. People have been known to glow green with jealousy, and on New Year's Eve people have been known to take a drink. Sometimes even a life...

"Yeah," says Joe quietly. "There was another car involved in the accident."

Mucking Rick around, you mean?

"That's right. But the people have denied it and there's nothing we can do. The coppers have interviewed them but it's no good I'd love to go round and kill 'em!"

Joe takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then continues... "The arm was placed in a bucket of ice gathered from all the houses nearby and Rick was in hospital (the Royal Hallamshire) within 19 minutes, which is unbelievable. He underwent an 11-hour operation; his arm was back on by ten to one the following morning, but infection set in and after three days they had to take it off.

"His nerves are still alive, though. They've got them wrapped up like spaghetti, and it's possible to have them connected up in a way that can give movement to a prosthetic arm. So the Steve Austin 'Six Million Dollar Man' thing is not beyond the realms of possibility one day. Rick still feels his arm because of the nerves."

When did you hear what had happened?

"I heard at about ten to four the same afternoon and I couldn't believe it. I cried like a baby for about three hours - my face was hurting. Peter (Mensch, manager) rang and said, 'Rick's had an accident, his arm's off, but they've sown it back on'. I've heard of that working before but unfortunately it was torn off, not cut off, so everything snapped and stretched in different places, which made it more difficult."

How soon after the accident did you visit Rick in hospital?

"I saw him two days after it happened... it was the worst experience I've ever had... but he was walking a week earlier than expected and telling the nurses to f**k off after three days because he was fed up having his bandages changed. He sounds in fine form now and wants to get back; drumming's all he's ever done, and he's done it very well."

"It's just up to him if he can stand the strain. I mean, he's going to go through some crap. He's not had it yet, but he's gonna suffer from depression; bad depression. He's being very realistic about it, though. He said to me, 'When it comes, it comes.' He wants to come out here to Holland but he knows he can't."

Presumably he won't be ready to play a part on the forthcoming tour?

"No, and he knows that. Somebody will guest with us until we know the result of Rick's convalescence." Would you consider using two drummers on any subsequent tours?

"Possibly, yeah, and Rick could do specific bits. We've definitely thought about that, but he's got a lot to learn first. I mean, there's certain things that are now a fact of life. If Rick wants to wear baseball boots, for example, he's gonna have to wear Velcro ones. And he's probably gonna need press-stud trousers. He's got to learn to bath himself even..."

"The thing is, at the moment his right arm doesn't work. The ball is smashed so they've had to pin it. He's got a six inch pin as big as a poker in there. Imagine if your elbow was sown to your hip; well that's all the movement he's got. I guess he's a bit of a mess, though mentally he's the best he's ever been."

What would happen if Rick returned to the band yet clearly wasn't cutting it? Would you have to tell him? "No, because he'd know himself. He's said that to me on the phone. He's being realistic- if he can't do it he can't, but he's definitely gonna try. There'll come a time when Rick will say, I'm ready, and we'll get together in a rehearsal room for a month and see what he does. He'll either turn round and go

'Yes!' and we'll go 'Yes!', or else he'll say 'Sorry, I'm not coping with it.'

"The important thing is that he tries, otherwise he'll never know, and that would be awful. I know he'd rather fail than not try at all. Besides, it's no big secret that we use drum machines on the records so, whatever happens, he could still be involved on that side. We would just take a session drummer out on the road."

"At the moment, we're trying not to get too depressed about the whole situation, but we were mega-depressed at first. I was in a real state, like a zombie for five hours, and for quite a time after I just didn't want to get into a car. I know it's daft, but it's true

A BONHAM of the biscuit tins, a Titan of the tupperware, since the age of 11 Rick Allen has thought of little outside of drums and drumming. At the moment he's at home, probably watching Cheech & Chong videos on the new system bought for him by Phonogram Records. But chances are that his thoughts are elsewhere, no doubt wafting with the music around the booths and corridors of Wisseloord Studios near Amsterdam, Holland, where Leppard are recording their fourth, as yet untitled, LP. As always, he's with his colleagues 110 per cent (for now it can be in spirit only), a continued commitment that should spur him on through the tough weeks and numerous hospital visits ahead.

Prior to the accident, he'd laid the groundwork for eight backing tracks, and the remaining two songs on the album were always destined to feature a less human touch, the band specifically wanting a more clinical punch, so there's no problem on that front. As for his work on backing vocals, well, Elliott can easily deputise in that department, leaving Rick free to concentrate on the speediest recovery possible and, as Elliott puts it, "Learn to live again. He's having all these drums built and a special car designed, all sorts of stuff..."

All things considered, '84 certainly wasn't an easy year for Def Leppard, a rude awakening for an almost unbroken streak of good fortune. First longstanding associate 'Mutt' Lange proved unable to produce the new LP, likewise his replacement Jim Steinman (though for different reasons - read on!), and then came The Accident, which instantly eclipsed all previous hassles, reducing apparent mountains of doom and dismay to easily skirted molehills. But, if anything, adversity has caused the four active members of the Leppard clan to virtually graft respective beaks to the grindstone in a collective consummate effort to make their next album their best.

The band's first LP, 'On Through The Night', produced by (Colonel) Tom Allom, took a mere 18 days to record and remains something of an embarrassment in Elliott's eyes (someday he'd like to remix it and touch up a few of the vocal parts), while the second, 'High 'N' Dry', with Lange now at the helm, was laid down in three and a half months, including a month's pre-production, bang, bang, bang, 'Mutt' clearly wanting to capture the excitement generated by these 21-year-old 'let's go for its'. But 'Pyromania' now that was a different story, with band and producer (Lange again) making a conscious decision at the outset to pin back the ears of a generation with something of genuine lasting quality; an attempt to update the glories of Queen's 'Sheer Heart Attack' and 'Night At The Opera' LPs...

They went for it in a big way and 10 months later came up trumps, creating a slice of history that many have doubted they'll be able to top; an album that left the whole of the music industry wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and caused bands both big and small to almost instantly re-assess their directions and aims. A (hard) labour of love still selling around a thousand a week, it broke taboos and set fresh standards right down the line.

"Hopefully, it'll be an Heavy Metal 'Sergeant Pepper...'," says Elliott, "who knows, but we've got to do more. It'd be tragic if our best album was our third and we end up doing 17 LPs."

Whatever the next album sounds like, however, Joe's convinced that it's gonna be slated by the press. He's resigned himself to the fact (not having heard the record beyond a few notes ricocheting out of the studio doors, I really can't comment), but, along with bassist Rick Savage and guitarists Steve Clark/Phil Collen, he's ploughing on regardless, helping to create something different to 'Pyromania' in content yet as good, if not better, overall.

"Since 'Pyromania' we're two years on technically," he explains. "The Fairlights are better, the keyboards are better and the microphones are better. And we're two years more experienced, of course. Actually, we keep putting on 'Pyromania' and listening to it back-to-back with what we've done; you have to imagine it without the mix, but it's definitely up there to my ears."

JOE ELLIOTT leans forward in the chair, tucks a fold of his rather battered dressing gown tight against private parts and pours himself another glass of one cal Coke. This for the moment is home, and has been since the middle of August: a simple hotel room in Holland ten minutes drive from the studio complex. Originally, the band were due to play the 'Mick Wall Festival' in Rio, but they eventually decided against it on grounds of not wanting to interrupt recording. So while certain jammy so-and-so's were sunning themselves on the Copacabana sands (maaaan!!), Elliott and co, tax exiles all, were trudging across frozen lakes, wrapped up tight against temperatures of 25° below! Still, there's always next year And if nothing else, in their present position the four are conveniently cut off from all domestic distractions. Through the hotel room window I can see Dirk, Elliott's treasured Renault 12 (and centrespread star of Kerrang! 79), basking quietly in the hazy sunlight, the central motif on an idyllic pastel canvas shaded only by the distant foghorn fuming of an adrenalised Peter Mensch. Somewhere, behind closed doors, he's informing an unfortunate Halfin that a five-piece outfit close to the latter's wallet have been 'stiffing' horribly in the South, and he doesn't mean Torquay! Let's just say he's on form...

Later, on the flight back to London, having persuaded Mensch to fund my purchase of a duty free Sony Walkman in tasteful pink, I tentatively suggest that the forthcoming Leppard biography should be titled 'Me & My Whine'...

"OH, YEAH, DAAAN-TAY!!" he snaps, blood vessels popping like balloons, "AND HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO THINK THAT ONE UP???"

Back to business...

"We've always upheld the theory," theorises Joe as things quieten down, "that we don't want to put out a record every nine months. We'd much rather put out a record every two to three years that's of real good quality

"When we started this album 'Mutt' was involved; we did pre-production with him in Dublin, Ireland, which is why we've put him down again on the songwriting credits. It's an honesty thing with us. He doesn't write anything as such; the six of us just sit round a table with a piece of paper in front of us and guitars turned down really low, then whoever chucks in an idea - be it Rick or 'Sav' or me or 'Mutt' - we play with it."

"Steve, for example, will come up with an idea and 'Mutt' will say, 'Change that round', 'Use this', 'Do it in another key', ' or whatever. It just creases me up to think that there are some people out there who look at us and say, 'Ha! They can't write their own songs', which isn't true at all. And even if it was, I'd much rather be involved with an album that sold six million copies co-written with a producer than one that sold 200,000 copies that wasn't."

Surely helping with the arrangements and so on is part of a producer's job, though "Yeah, right, but it's almost as if it's some kind of crime to let your producer be involved. That's what a producer's there for - to kick you up the arse and bring out the best that you can do. We encourage 'Mutt' to be involved and we repay him by sticking his name on the songwriting credits. Who cares! It's only a bloody song anyway..."

Isn't it true, though, that a lot of producers are really just glorified engineers and can't make the extra step up to that level of involvement?

"Yes, that is true, but 'Mutt's an exception anway because the guy's a musician, he's been an engineer since he left school - he's been doing it for 17 years and he's only in his early thirties now and he's also a brilliant singer and great songwriter, so you've got everything going for you! Whereas an engineer will be able to tell you if something's out of tune, 'Mutt' can go further than that and say, 'It doesn't feel right' or 'Sing it this way, shape your mouth like this, let's alter the phrasing'. "With most engineers, if it's in tune and it's what you want then it's a take, and that's all their job is, because if it's that way round it's normally the band who are producing, the way we are with this album. I noticed in Kerrang! it implied that Nigel Green is now producing – he's not, we are. Nigel's assisting." "Actually, he's worked with us on our last two albums, though not as main engineer. Mike Shipley was always our main engineer. Nigel's as good as Mike, it's just that at the time he was involved in other projects; so when Mike took a holiday or went to the dentist Nigel would come in. We've never worked with him on a long term basis before but we do know him."

What happened with 'Mutt' Lange, though? As I understand it, he originally agreed to produce the album as well as help out on pre-production...

"Yeah. In fact, he was still going to do it last February. We started with pre-production, as you've mentioned, but it soon became obvious that 'Mutt' was in no state to see the whole thing through. The Cars' album ('Heartbeat City') nearly killed him; our last album nearly killed him, and the Foreigner record ('IV') the same. I think he's just reached the stage now where to attain certain standards you're talking about grafting for a long time."

"The way we worked on 'Pyromania', for example, we were doing 20 hour days and the guy was sleeping on the couch in the control room. You just can't do that forever, so for the sake of his health he made a wise decision not to do our album. At the time, we were panicking; we thought, 'Oh, Christ!', cos things had all been planned. It wasn't a case of us being afraid of what the album would sound like if 'Mutt' wasn't there, it was simply the availability of other producers that we were concerned about. With top people like Ted Templeman, Mike Stone or Trevor Horn, you've got to book 'em years in advance, you can't just get in touch two weeks before you want to start..."

"Actually, we did approach Templeman just to see how much he wanted, and I don't think he was too keen to do it; he put in such a ridiculous money offer that no band in the world would have accepted it! But then we really wanted somebody a bit different, anyhow. We were interested in the people I've already mentioned initially because we thought, well, these are the names that we've listened to, Bob Ezrin, y'know. But then we started to think about people like Alex Sadkin, who we found was doing the new Foreigner album ('Agent Provocateur'). Trevor Horn would have worked with us in England, but Chris Thomas (Roxy Music, Procol Harum) turned us down flat - he obviously doesn't like us. We actually tried to get Phil Collins, who was interested but tied up with the latest Clapton LP ('Behind The Sun')."

So you were looking at people outside the world of heavy rock...

"Yeah, we were looking at up and coming producers like Terry Manning, who's engineered for ZZ Top, and Steve Lillywhite, who's yet to do a hard rock album but possibly could do a good one. Some of us were interested in him, some of us weren't. I like the fullness of Simple Minds' 'Sparkle In The Rain' LP, it's brill, but sounds are really no problem for us now, we can get good sounds; the thing we always like to have is musical input, and that's where we thought Steinman would come into his own. I mean, the guy's a good songwriter and he's had a hell of a lot of success with what he does."

He worked on the last Billy Squier album, 'Signs Of Life', with Tony Platt, didn't he?

"Yeah, well, he 'navigated' it is what Squier says. We thought, OK, we'll get the sounds and let him do the producing, but it turned out that Jim wasn't really what any of us thought he would be. In fact, I wonder how he's ever got a production credit on anything - especially with Squier, the kind of ego he's got. I can't understand why he even let Steinman's name appear on his album cos we're not putting it on ours."

What was the problem with Steinman then?

"Ahh... I wouldn't be lying if I said that you could have done it as well. I mean that. The guy just sat there reading 'Country Life' all day and going, 'Yeah, yeah, that sounds good', when it plainly wasn't. He's simply not used to recording the way we record. When we said, 'Listen, this is the way we work, you'd better get used to it', he tried and he couldn't. He just could not hear if something was wrong."

Were your standards too exacting for him, do you think?

"Possibly, yeah. It sounds strange to say that, though, cos to me those standards are normal. Doing 'Pyromania' was like going to college; I've grown up listening to things a certain way. As far as I'm concerned, getting the timing, the tuning and the feel spot on is the usual way to work, but Jim Steinman for all his reputation - could not hear it."

"After a while, we just thought, well, this is silly, we're wasting our time and money and wasting his time, though we weren't too bothered about that cos he wasn't too bothered about the project. I honestly don't think he was doing it for any reason other than credibility in the States. "We'd say, 'Right, we start at 12', and he'd wander in at 3.30. We'd stay till 12 or one in the morning, then he'd go back to his hotel and start writing songs for his own future projects, and he'd be up till nine o'clock doing that. So when he finally got round to us, he'd only had five hours sleep. he wasn't there half the time. I mean, he was there in body but not in mind. We found more and more that we were doing the work, which was fine, we didn't mind doing it, we just thought, why the hell should we be giving this guy so many points and so many dollars to sit there reading 'Country Life'!"

So how much did you manage to accomplish with Steinman?

"We did about eight backing tracks and scrapped them; almost everything has been done again. And even the things that went down were our decision Steinman never overruled us on anything. If he said a certain take was good and we said it was bad, we'd do it again."

Who was actually getting the sounds at this stage?

"Us and Neil Dorfsman, Steinman's engineer. He was good, actually, cos he was doing all the work. Jim was the ears of the partnership, but the ears were plugged up, I think..."

"Y'know, it annoys me intensely when a producer walks into a control room and says, "This carpet has got to go!' Sod the desk, that's not important. An SSL desk, 150,000 quid's worth of equipment, and the carpet's got to go! He even had the carpet changed in his hotel room. The guy was living in a suite while we were happy in rooms with a fridge and a cooker. Obviously, we paid for it all..."

"And the food! He went out to the North of Holland and had a 12 course meal! Which is fine, that's his personality, but when somebody walks into a studio and says the carpet has got to go... if I'd been there I'd have decked him. Seriously. Who gives a flying s**t what the carpet looks like!"

How long did Steinman last, then?

"Oh, we dumped Jim about November, we gave him a fair chance. We thought, well, alright, we're doing the spadework, what he might consider the boring side of the album, let's see what he's like on vocals, maybe that's his strongpoint. He did tell us that he spent something like five weeks trying to get Meat Loaf to sing one line, so we thought, OK, the guy's definitely got stamina."

"But when it came to doing vocals with me, it was exactly the same situation as with the backing tracks - everything was my decision. He'd say, 'Yeah, that's good', and I'd go, 'Jim, it's f**king useless!' I'd run out of breath at the end of a line cos I wasn't quite familiar with what I was singing, and he'd say, 'It's got a bit of feel'. Isn't that pathetic?!"

"I mean, Steve and Phil wanted to get rid of him two weeks after he was here. But I just kept saying, 'Give the guy a chance, blah, blah, blah' made meself look a right arsehole. But it was only fair to let him get to the vocal stage of things."

"Anyway, when Steinman went we all sat down and asked Mensch to sort out which other producers were available. We put down everybody we thought might be good. Mike Shipley couldn't do it cos he was off co-producing the new Loverboy album, so we just suggested Nigel. We were doing a better job than Steinman, so we thought, well, what's the point getting in another producer? We send 'Mutt' the odd tape now and then and he sends it back saying, 'It sounds brilliant to me', which shows that we can do it, so we are."

Has having Phil Collen involved from the start of this album (he became a Leppard member during the recording of 'Pyromania', replacing guitarist Pete Willis) made things different in any way?

"Yeah, it means that the songwriting's changed a little; Phil's input is better than Pete's ever was. Steve will always be the major songwriter, I think, but he's really encouraged Phil a lot. He doesn't just sit down and say, 'I want to write all the songs', stuff like that. In fact, everything that Steve's written, he's written with Phil in the same room... Phil's probably involved in eight of the 10 songs on the album."

And what about 'Sav'? He writes too, doesn't he?

"Yeah, but 'Sav's weird; I can't get to grips with him sometimes. More than anyone else in this band he likes your Journeys and your Bryan Adams, occasionally even the odd Duran Duran song, yet he was the one who came up with 'Stagefright' and 'No No No'. And on this new album he's got a number called 'Ring Of Fire' - not a cover of the famous Johnny Cash song! which is an uptempo, thrash, crash, Metal job. He just never writes like the people he listens to."

Will Steve and Phil be sharing the guitar breaks on the new LP?

"Oh yeah, 50/50, right down the middle. Actually, they argue about who's gonna do 'em; not in the sense of, 'I wanna do this', but Phil's telling Steve that he should do a certain solo and Steve's saying, 'No you do it, it's more up your street'. I remember hearing stories about KK (Downing) and Glenn (Tipton) from Priest not talking to each other for four months at a time, but it's the other way round with Steve and Phil. The only thing they argue about is who's gonna buy the drinks!"

What about you, though? You play a bit of guitar...

"Badly!"

...have you written anything on the new record?

"Er... I did come up with some stuff but I don't think it got used. I wrote little bits on the last album, but my main worry is obviously melodies, lyrics and vocals."

"Sometimes, though, we'll have a vocal line and work the backing around that. We've got this one new song, 'Armageddon It', which is Piltdown, just two chords all the way through; it's based around a tongue-in-cheek vocal thing."

Is it a 'Rock Of Ages' type number?

"I suppose it is a bit, yeah. The vocals come out from all over the place once it gets going. It's just a totally stupid lyric... like 'Rock Of Ages', just a piss-take of ourselves, though not mocking the fans in any way."

"And then there's 'Ring Of Fire', which I've already mentioned. It's actually about an Indian meal, the day after, but nobody would ever know that... well, they will now!"

When you're writing lyrics, do you ever think about how the song will work live?

"Not really, no. Obviously, a number like 'Rock Till You Drop' is a stage song, and the same with 'Stagefright', but I've never consciously sat down and thought, well, I'd better come up with two songs about 'Rock This Place To The Ground', or whatever, and one meaningful one about Vietnam, and another about a vigilante in New York. They just turn out that way. You do it in moods. I was probably watching something about Vietnam on TV and 'Die Hard The Hunter' (from the 'Pyromania' LP) came out, and I'd probably been to see 'Deathwish' when I wrote 'Billy's Got A Gun' (also on 'Pyromania'). I can't remember, I just do it."

"I actually wrote 'Photograph' (ditto) while I was sitting on the bog. I was stuck for a chorus and I had a picture of Marilyn Monroe staring me in the face... Bob's your uncle!"

When you made the decision to go for something extra with the 'Pyromania' album, were you confident that you could pull it off?

"We were confident, yeah, very confident, because 'Mutt' was producing. We just had so much faith in the guy and in return he had total confidence in what we were doing. We didn't see how we could go wrong, though Mensch was tearing his hair out when we were nearly a million pounds in debt and the record company were drumming their fingers waiting. I think we had to sell 1.2 million copies of 'Pyromania' to break even, we were in a real big mess..."

"I mean, I nearly had a nervous breakdown, I just couldn't handle it. I was going through so much crap towards the end - do it again, do it again... I got what a lot of singers get, 'Lastitis', which comes from the pressure of finishing. We went through a lot of hell on that record..."

Including, of course, the slightly wobbly exit of young Mr Willis...

"Yeah, but in all honesty I think that did us more good than anything. The thing is, you sometimes take situations for granted and then all of a sudden something like that happens and it's like, wow, it's different, there's only four of us, he's gone, really gone. I mean, Phil joined the day after, but then he almost joined back in '81."

"I tried to get him cos we were having trouble with Willis in America. I rang Phil up and said, 'Can you learn 16 songs in two days?' He said, 'I'll try', but that was just totally out of desperation, there's no way he could have done it. However, when Pete started to act in the studio like he did on tour, which was making Keith Moon look like a bloody vicar, it was time for him to go."

Why doesn't he get some help?

"Well, I think he's beyond help, to tell the truth. He doesn't even realise he needs it, he doesn't accept he's got a problem, though the guy's been in hospital twice as a result of drink and drugs. He had a collapsed liver or something, and epileptic fits, God knows what."

That hasn't happened to the rest of you, though, and you're all the same age, you've all worked your way up together...

"No, it's just him. Pete's always had something to prove, y'see, probably because he's a midget. The guy thought he was 10 feet tall when he was pissed and he'd be taking on people as big as you it didn't work. He was like a gigantic ball and chain around our ankles..."

THE LATEST whisper on Willis is that he's currently swanning around the environs of Sheffield, complete with Rolls Royce and minder, recounting tales of some hush-hush supergroup he might be throwing in his frets with. Elliott finds it hard to take the whole thing seriously, and I think it's fair to say that the recording of album number four is proceeding all the smoother for the wee man's absence.

Already, a number of lead vocals are complete, and the band (employing two studios simultaneously) are steadily piecing together their ten new songs, ready to convince a waiting world that Life After 'Pyromania' does exist.

So what's on the boil? Well, in no particular order, there's 'Armageddon It' and 'Ring Of Fire', already mentioned, 'Excitable', 'Gods Of War', 'Fractured Love', 'Don't Shoot The Shotgun' (Stonesy, I'm assured), 'Animal', 'Love Bites' (a ballad), 'Run Riot' and the enticingly handled 'Women', all proudly produced by the Leppard members themselves, who, without the invaluable 'Mutt' Marten to administer the prods, are taking great and serious pleasure in booting each other up the bum! "Actually, I never envisaged us producing ourselves," admits Joe, "I thought it might be the one thing that would lead to us falling out. It's always been dead important to us that Leppard is a friends situation; we want to keep the element of why we started. Five mates who can still go into the same bar and look each other in the face after seven years. Happily, that's the way it's remained, and producing ourselves is working really well..."

The new album, which now looks set to be mixed by Lange in the UK, an added bonus, should be available by August, after which the band plan to tear up the tarmac on a world tour of, well... y'know. The idea, it seems, is to blow away the studio cobwebs with about eight shows in Ireland, some in smaller places, then steer a course for the UK, perhaps for a September stint (the British dates have already been put back four times!) of 20 or so gigs. A headline appearance at Wembley Arena isn't too far off for the boys, according to Queen's Brian May, a staunch Leppard supporter, but this time around I reckon they'll settle for something a little more cosy.

Next tour, though Europe too seems odds on to cop a visit, particularly as 'Pyromania' has now shifted over 100,000 copies in France and is making a late burst for the tape in Scandinavia as well. Business in Germany, however, remains a little slow, and as for Holland... well, now we're talking about a massive 639 units shifted. Still, at least it means the band don't have to worry about being recognised. Def what?!

By December Leppard should be into America, after which it's likely they'll travel to Japan, though probably not Australia, that stage of the tour having lost them around 60 grand last Feb. Indeed, all in all, their schedule will be less arduous than last time, including more days off to recover and recharge. The band should certainly feel healthier as a result, but then with the Rick Allen episode having shocked the Leppard camp into a highly body-conscious state, that's the way things are heading anyway "I don't want to waste away and vegetate," explains Joe. "I'm 25, I'm supposed to be at the peak of my fitness; I'm supposed to be Glenn Hoddle but I wasn't. I'd run a mile and be out of breath. Now I can run a six minute mile, no trouble, and I do half an hour's worth of exercises every day. 'Sav', Phil and myself all go jogging too - we take less for granted now than we did before..."

[ladylooch]

WAIT can you do Nico smut about letting him go without a condom for the first time? maybe he finishes quick and reader expects him to be done so the reader is a bit disappointed

A Night of Firsts- Nico Hischier

(say thank you GIF makers of Tumblr. We love you. Plz GIF more Nico at Worlds. Thx!)

A/N: So. I almost feel like I should apologize here. This is.. yeah. Whew. I’m a lil tomato here posting this cause it’s pretty smutty. Also, I’m getting on my soap box. As a.. mature (yuckie) woman, this may be an different opinion but it is fucking HOT when a man is like… omg I’m not going to last long and comes in a few strokes. I’m going to pat myself on the damn back about this 100% of the time. Now, our partners have a responsibility to handle it a certain way after and I think Nico does that here 😉 Enjoy bby.

World Count: 2.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, Swearing, toys of the adult variety.

I sit on our bed in a plush robe, staring at the door to our master bathroom. Flickers of light are waving under the door at me from where my boyfriend is inside. It’s been quite the day for us. After the Devils were eliminated in the second round by the Hurricanes, Nico needed a day like this. We both did. What has the day entailed? Absolutely nothing. Except for soft touches that are igniting a need between the two of us. We had coffee in bed. Lunch at our favorite restaurant just down the street. We napped. Made Baked Ziti for dinner- the long two hour from prep to finish one- and indulged on hot chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven. 

After all that food, we were sleepy, but opted to watch a comfort movie: The Holiday. Nico secretly loves this movie and often puts it on when he sees it as an option on our various streaming platforms. Armed with a blanket and dressed in comfy sweatpants, we snuggled together under a fortitude of warmth. I was almost asleep when his hands started to wander. At first, just his finger tips dipped below my sweatpants, but it didn’t take long for him to begin stroking fire just above and below his favorite places. 

When I started returning the favor, Nico begin to writhe beneath me. 

“Let’s take a bath.” He blurted out suddenly once I finally skimmed my fingers over the tent in his pants.

“What’s in the bath that we don’t have here?” I asked. He bit his lip, looking at the two distinct points in my shirt.

“You wet and naked with a glass of wine.”

That sounded like heaven, so here I am, waiting patiently for him to open the door and let me in.

“Ready?” He asks when he finally cracks the door open. Just one of his eyes pokes out to look at me.

“Was five years ago.” I joke. He rolls his eyes. 

“Welcome to paradise, babe. Right here in Jersey!”

I grin as I step into the low, flickering light of the candle lit room. The smell is a combination of lavender and lemon. The bath is drawn perfectly and the warmth from it’s water fills the bathroom. Nico turned our towel warmer on to get our towels ready for when we inevitably dash out. He comes behind me, kissing the back of my neck as he gathers my hair up. He makes an awkward bun on top of my head, securing it with my purple scrunchie. 

“Ooo, that’s bad. Don’t let me do your hair when it matters.”

“Wasn’t going to.” I laugh as he works the tie of my robe apart. “Would ask Timo before you.” Nico considers and nods in agreement as he pushes the robe off my shoulders. He sighs when I’m naked in front of him. He brings me to the tub and steps in, then guides me to move between his legs. I settle back into his chest, feeling him grow hard beneath me. I look at him over my shoulder, gnawing on my lip aggressively as he hands me a glass of red wine.

“Thank you.” I murmur in appreciation. I lean back to rest my head against his shoulder, sighing at how good he and the water feel on my skin. I could stay here forever. I close my eyes after resting my wine glass back on the edge. Nico’s fingers trail from my hips up my stomach to my breasts. He holds them both in his hands, swiping the peaks into stiff points. My lips part with a pleasureful sigh.

“We’re gonna play tonight.” He whispers in my ear. “Wanna worship every part of you.”

“Okay.” I respond.

He plays with my nipples longer, letting the soapy water lap at them when his fingers take a break. I wiggle against his thick thighs, scratching my nails along them as he becomes stiffer against my lower back. His touch moves down my chest to glide between my legs. He fingers my opening then rubs a few, welcoming circles along my clit. A heavy moan falls from my mouth as he pushes my legs wider. 

“This thing waterproof?” Nico asks me, bringing my vibrator in front of my face. 

“Uh.” I sputter in surprise. “Yeah.”

“Can I use it on you?”

“Yes.” I whisper, eyes wide as he brings it into the water with us.

“Show me which setting you like.” He presses it against my folds and I suck in shallow breaths as I bring my hand over his on the device. It’s a clit focused vibe that has air suction with it. I turn it on, moving his hand back to adjust the intensity so we can build together. I feel Nico’s dick pulse against my back as I moan, setting the sucker over my clit. “Just hold it here?” He whispers into my ear. I nod, breathing in deep as he presses a bit further in. I jolt and he pulls back, sensing it’s too much. 

My legs widen further, one of them extending out of the bathtub. I dip further down Nico’s chest. The hair at the base of my skull gets wet as I dig my finger nails into his forearm.

“That mean more or less?”

“More. Next setting.” He increases one press and my loud moan rattles off the bathroom walls back to us. Nico grins into my hair, savoring the way I grind against the toy and his hand.

“That feel good?”

“Yeah. Ohmygod.” I yell, arching off his chest as his unoccupied hand comes to my breast. He rolls my nipple while biting my ear lobe.

“Mmm, good girl.” He praises. I’m gone after that. I shutter against the bathtub, pushing the toy away as I pulse rapidly. Nico drops it to the bottom of the tub gently rubbing my clit through the waves. 

“Holy fuck.” I moan to him as he kisses along my bare shoulder. I turn to capture our lips together.

“I’ve been wanting to do that to you for a long time.” He admits. 

“You should have asked sooner. I would have let you.” I murmur against his mouth. His tongue snakes out, lapping at me. He tastes like desire and red wine- my favorite things. I turn in his arms and work my way to straddling him. We make out. Nico’s hands trailing up my back. Between his touch, the orgasm, and the cooler air, goosebumps form along my skin. I shiver a bit, causing us to break apart. He lets me sit back further into the water, still mounted on his thighs.

“Maybe…We could have another first…” I trail off, smearing the bubbles on his chest as he places his wine glass back on the edge after a sip. His hands then grip my hips before trailing up to my ribs, just below my breasts. “Maybe I could feel all of you tonight?” Nico looks into my eyes, confused. “No condom.”

“Yes.” He says immediately, sitting up straight. “Yes and yes and yes.” I laugh as he leans forward to stuff his face between my breast, getting sudsed up in the process. 

“Nico.” I murmur, wanting him to think with more than just his dick.

“Baby, yes. We’re clean. We trust each other. We are in love. I want you pregnant with my baby as soon as possible. Just yes.” He knocks off all the worries I have in my head without them even being expressed. I bite my lip, not quite believing he’s real, even as his fingers run around to my ass cheeks, spreading them and working my hips into his hard cock. He’s just too perfect.

Nico stands, our bodies dripping obnoxiously as he walks us from the tub. He sets me on the bathroom counter, grabbing his towel and tossing me mine. We wipe as much water from us as we can before he’s hustling us into our bedroom. My damp back hits the comforter hard. I work my way up the bed as Nico follows me eagerly.

He strokes his head once through my folds then shoves himself deep. The feeling of his bare skin stroking mine is everything. I can’t even describe the feeling that rocks through my body. Nico shakes above me, mouth open to breathe as he watches my eyes. I bite my lip, breaking eye contact to groan in ecstasy. 

“Fuck.” He whimpers, breathing ragged as he strokes. It feels incredible, I agree, but I’m a little worried about how much his words quiver as he tells me how good I feel. He’s close already.

“Oh shit. Ah, I can’t. I’m sorry.” He pants abruptly from above, sliding out to come on my stomach. I purse my lips against the laugh at the way his face is distorted in pain and pleasure. “I’m sorry.” He moans as he strokes himself. I can’t help it and start to laugh, clasping a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh god, now she laughs.” Nico hangs his head, squeezing his eyes shut with a final grunt.

“It’s okay. It’s hot. I came without you earlier.” I assure him, rubbing at his thick thighs. The hair there tickles my fingers as I stroke him.

“You felt so good, baby. Fuck.” He mumbles against my lips. He hovers over me making it hard for our lips to stay connected while he tries to not get cum on himself. “I’ll be right back.” He says, walking off to grab a towel. I laugh as he swipes along my stomach, digging into my belly button and making me cackle. He tosses the used cloth onto the floor, then comes back to give me a real kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I say back to him, biting down on my bottom lip. I feel a little disappointed that it’s already over. We spent hours teasing each other for it to end without the ultimate high for me. “Wanna finish the movie?” I move to sit up, pushing those thoughts aside. Nico gives me a put off look.

“Uhhh… we aren’t done.” I look down at his softening shaft and then back into his face. I open my mouth to respond but then shut it again, not sure what to say. “Because I’m done we are done?”

“Well, yeah isn’t that usually how this works.”

“Not with me, baby. You’re not leaving this bed anytime soon.”

“Neeks, it’s okay you don’t have- oh.” I startle, snapping my head back into the pillow as his mouth moved between my thighs. He places teasing kisses all along the plumped lips. In the past, when old boyfriends would come early, that would be the end of this. Nico seems to have a different perspective. “Oh wow.” I whisper to the top of his head, threading my fingers through his hair. I pull his strands, mouth falling open to suck in a deep breath at the incredible circle his tongue forces along. I startle forward, quivering. He moans against my clit, making me buck harder into his face. His light stubble creates a friction that begins to slowly drag my orgasm to the surface. It’s incredible, deep and soft laps, then swift circles that make it hard to breathe.

Without me even asking, he slips his middle finger into my entrance, curling it up to hit the velvety spot I need him to. My abdominal muscles quake. I reach for his other unoccupied hand, placing it on my breast, so he can rotate my nipple between his fingers. I come hard against his lips, shaking into the tender kisses he leaves on my inner thighs. In a quick twist, he gets me to my stomach, then encourages my hips up into the air.

“I’m more than just a hockey all star.” He tells me as he strokes his plumped head through my sensitive folds. He’s rock hard, ready to dunk into the abyss again.

“Yeah you are, baby.” I groan as he slides in to the hilt. He’s so thick and deep. My head claps all the way back, lips parted and sobbing at the ceiling as he moves.

“Ugh.” He sounds tortured again. “You are so wet. Wish you could see how beautiful you look like this.” The slickness of me eases his thrusts and allows for him to pump deeper without any protest from my body. I reach around, gripping his wrist that holds my right hip. He leans forward, working his left hand around my stomach to press in a bit, making his cock feel so much deeper.

“Ooooo.” I breath out, quivering at how damn incredible he feels against my cervix. My teeth chatter in my mouth as Nico whispers in my ear.

“You’re taking me so good. Can you handle a bit more?” I nod and he presses deeper in. I become limp in his arms as my orgasm rocks through me. It’s so intense, Nico has to hold me up from collapsing off the bed. I pulse agressivly around him, pulling Nico off the cliff with me. He comes inside of me, smearing my walls unexpectedly.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” He sputters for a completely different reason. He pulls out, stroking the last little bit of cum out of himself in a half ditch effort to save the moment. “I am so sorry. Baby. Shit.”

“Nico.” I reach around, holding his thigh so he can’t leave the bed. “I’ve got an IUD. We are good. And that was perfect. Don’t ruin it by freaking out.”

“I just.. I love and respect you and we didn’t talk about that being okay-“

“Consider this me saying it’s okay.” I grunt as I fall onto the bed, melting into the mattress and looking up into his face. “Tonight and every day after this. Don’t change a thing for next time.” Relief relaxes his shoulders and face. He looks down at me, eyebrows pulling together in adoration of me. My face is pink, hair curly from the dilapidated bun and our hot bath. My skin is peppered in gooseflesh from his strokes. “What are you thinking?” I ask. HE is quiet, eyes get deeper, fingers stroking at my face. 

“That I’m looking at the rest of my life.”

I smile back, knowing I’ll remember this moment with him forever.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Nine - Prompt: Ocean @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 775 words

TW: Mild NSFW reference at the end

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

After his chat with Dorcas, Evan decided to take a walk. He wasn’t due back at the shop until Monday and already regretted requesting the entire week off. At the time, he’d allowed an ocean of sentiment to overrule his good sense. Catching up with his sister and obligatory family time seemed worth the lost hours and pay while he dodged Barty’s calls. Less so now.

I should call in and say I want to come back early.

Kingsley would probably agree right off. He was short three people over winter hols and was fully booked with appointments. It would be so easy to fall back into his routine. A routine that used to include his favourite customer. Barty had been a customer at The Ink Blot longer than Evan worked there, which meant Kingsley wasn’t willing to lose a long-time customer over a break-up.

He shoved that worry aside and texted his boss. If Kingsley said that he was needed, then he could play it up to his parents. His father would likely encourage him to go back and show a “good work ethic,” by which he really meant “work your arse off and quit relying on me.”

Kingsley’s answer was swift and definitive. “If you’re available, I have clients for you.”

Good enough.

Evan called his father and laid on the promise of holiday pay as thick as possible. It didn’t take much convincing. His father hated seeing him “loaf” around the house.

“Go on then. Your mum and I still expect you to attend the party though, comprenez-moi?”

“Oui, père.”

As soon as the call ended, he spun on his heel and headed into work. Evan needed the escape as much as he did the money. While he didn’t have many bills per se, he did have a healthy weed and cigarette habit to maintain.

By the time he reached the shop, there was a line six deep in the waiting area. He waved at Emmeline, who was manning the front desk and looked relieved to see him.

“So glad to see you, Evan!” she said, blowing him a kiss. “You’re a peach, darling. A peach!”

“Give me a few to set up, then send them back.”

She saluted him with two fingers, then returned her attention to the customer that she was assisting. He didn’t envy her job. Helping people choose a design was his least favourite part of the job. Evan could happily spend hours losing himself to the hum of his gun and methodical line work, but managing indecisive twats was not his forte.

As he set up his station, Evan tried to ignore the nagging images of Barty sprawled out on his table. The first time that he saw him walk in, Evan knew he was trouble. When Barty threw himself onto the table and winked at him a few weeks later, he knew that he would dive headfirst into it.

“You’re the new kid, right?” Barty said, tucking his hands behind his head.

“I’m new, yes. What did you pick and where is it going?”

Barty shrugged, then pulled off his shirt. “I’m not picky. Do whatever you want.”

Evan stared at him for a full five minutes before realising that he was serious. Every inch of Barty’s chest and arms was covered in random tattoos. His skin was complete chaos. There were three large tattoos in sight and a hodgepodge filled in around them. A snake that coiled up the right side of his chest and neck, the spiderweb that stretched across his left hip, and a large collection of daggers fanned out in a semi-circle below his belly button and pointed at groin.

“You don’t have anywhere to—”

“Check my back.” He sat up and turned away.

“No, not really. Unless you want it here.” Evan pressed a gloved finger at the base of his spine. “Think you can handle a tramp stamp?”

Barty snorted loudly, then nodded. “Yeah, go wild, man. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”

It wasn’t until he was two hours in with Barty face down on the table and his jeans tugged down below his bum that it hit Evan. He planned this position. He wanted Evan to stare at his sparsely covered arse for multiple hours. Barty watched him intently as he drew the intricate vines that teased the tail of another snake that mimicked the one on the front.

Evan bought weed from Barty, then sucked him off after-hours on that same table three random tattoos later. Now it was a humbling memory. He didn’t regret it, not really. It was just one more mistake to learn from.

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