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[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

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“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[eiightysixbaby]

santa baby

eddie munson x fem!reader

2.3k

summary: watching eddie play santa for your kids makes you want to show him some…. appreciation

cw: 18+ ONLY. reader and eddie are married & have kids, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink

Presents in crinkly patterned paper are placed delicately under the tree, your nimble fingers making sure each bow is perfect and every tag that reads ‘From: Santa’ is visible.

Eddie tip-toes into the living room from your bedroom, the final stack of gifts in his arms. Your two daughters sleep soundly in their beds, likely dreaming of those sugarplums the stories talk about. He hands you each present one by one, letting you find the perfect place for them around the base of your glittering tree. The tiny colored lightbulbs cast a pretty pink glow throughout the room, and it fills your heart with warmth.

When you’ve finished your work, you turn to see Eddie filling the stockings, the ball of his Santa hat bobbing with each movement. He hangs each one back on the mantle with so much care, he wouldn’t want to drop one and send one of your little ones running to see what caused the noise. A fire crackles in the fireplace, fending off the cold of the snowy landscape outside.

“Is that everything?” he double checks, giving you a sweet grin.

“Not quite. Santa has to eat his cookies,” you tease, moving closer to him and tugging on his hat as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Damn, how could I forget these delicious cookies?” he asks, kissing you on your cheek and squeezing a healthy handful of your ass before moving towards the small table that holds a plate of sugar cookies. You giggle, still blushing like you did the day you met him.

You can’t help but smile when you turn to look at the baked treats, each one having been eagerly frosted by tiny hands. The girls had done their very best, and you know your husband certainly won’t complain about a little too much icing dripping down the sides. A glass of milk rests beside the plate, and Eddie takes a hearty sip of it after polishing off his first cookie.

It makes your heart swell, the way he breaks off one little bit of the second cookie to leave on the plate. A tiny splash of milk rests in the bottom of the cup. To make it look as though Santa couldn’t quite finish it all. This is the first year your girls are both old enough to really enjoy and get excited about the holiday, and it makes you so happy to witness it through their eyes.

Having a partner that plays along perfectly only makes it sweeter. Honestly, Eddie has probably been more into it than you, making everything so fun for your children. He stops at nothing to make them happy, to make things magical for them. He makes things magical for you, too, and it fills you with an impossible amount of joy.

To your surprise, it also fills you with need. A deep, hot desire for the man you’ve made a home with. It’s insatiable, the way it hits you like a train. Something about watching him play up this whimsical figure for the sake of your kids, something about him in that damn Santa hat. Before you realize it, he catches you staring as he sits back in the comfy chair, his eyes meeting yours and his face breaking into a cheeky smile. You might as well be drooling.

“What’re you looking at, Mrs. Claus?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head, his pajama-clad legs spreading wide.

“I just think…” you start, stalking closer to him, eyes trained on his. “That Santa works so hard…” you murmur, sinking onto your knees between his legs. “Maybe he deserves to be properly thanked.”

“Oh—” Eddie gasps when your hand palms over his clothed cock, feeling it stiffen against your touch.

Wasting not even a second you tug his pants down, his hips raising to help you, and you feel your eyes blow wider at the sight of him. You’ll never get tired of seeing his cock — never. The way it leaks for you, the way he gets so hard from the simplest things that you do. You open your mouth, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue. Licking the tip gently, you run your fingers up and down one of his legs.

“Baby,” he sighs, tipping his head back a bit. “What got into you?”

“Jus’ something about watchin’ you play Santa…” you say, kissing the tip of his cock. “You’re so good to us. To me. Wanna worship you for it,” you say softly, blinking up at him.

And God, how could he turn you down?

“The girls, what if they—?”

“Just be quiet, and they won’t,” you say like it’s simple, and he doesn’t have a moment to respond before you’re kissing your way down his shaft.

He’s struck dumb when you take the head into your mouth, suckling on it with pretty lips. One hand reaches up to grip the base of him, your tongue licking his slit. A heavy breath leaves his nose, his lips pressed in a thin line. His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tight it could rip.

You glance up at him, licking a long and slow stripe up the underside of his length. His eyes are half-lidded and dazed as he stares down at you, watching in disbelief. You stop teasing, then, taking him as far into your mouth as he’ll go. Your nose brushes the patch of coarse hair that sits at his base, exhaling through your nose as you adjust to the way he presses against the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers when you start to bob your head, trying your very best to keep the wet, slurping sounds to a minimum.

The hand that was gripping his shaft moves down to his balls, squeezing softly as you hollow your cheeks around him. You can hear the way he struggles to quiet the groans that claw their way up his throat, his breathing ragged. His hands reach up, yanking the Santa hat off so his fingers can run through his hair, tangling themselves in it.

“Christ, baby, thatfeelssogood,” he rushes out, voice breathy. “Your mouth is fuckin’ perfect.”

You pull off of him, still rolling the flesh of his heavy balls between your fingers. You make out with the head of his cock, tongue running over it, saliva dripping everywhere. He takes a handful of your hair, pulling gently to make you look up at him.

“Get up here. Right now,” he says. You know he’s trying to be demanding, but he sounds so fucked out it doesn’t quite work. It makes you want him even more.

Following instruction, you climb onto his lap and straddle it, but not before slipping off your pajama pants. With just your underwear separating his cock from your heat, you grind your hips down on him, sucking in a sharp breath when his tip nudges your clit. His strong hands guide your movements, taking control as he peppers kisses on your jawline, making you tilt your head back in pleasure.

“Need you inside me, Ed, please,” you croon, your breaths staggered.

“I don’t know, have you been a good girl this year? Do you deserve it?” he taunts, raising his brows at you. His teasing holds no weight, he has every intention of giving it to you, but you still nod.

“Been so good,” you say softly, teeth tugging at his earlobe.

A strangled, breathy sound leaves him before he’s shoving your panties to the side, running a thick finger through your wet folds. Wet is an understatement, honestly. You’re soaked for him, and he’s barely done anything to you.

“God damn, honey,” he growls low in your ear. “You’re so wet.” His teeth nip at your jaw before moving to your neck, his lips planting themselves on the delicate skin and sucking. “Watching me play Santa really got you that hot, huh?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and if you weren’t so needy for him you’d roll your eyes. But unfortunately, he’s right.

You whine instead, a featherlight sound that he almost misses through the crackling of the fire. He grips his cock, lining himself up with you as you hover above his lap. You reach down to help him, guiding him into your aching heat as you slowly sink down. You gasp in unison when he parts your walls, each of your mouths hanging open until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Calloused fingers press into your doughy hips, beginning to bounce you on his thick cock. A high-pitched squeak escapes you when you feel him press deep inside, and he instantly covers your mouth with one big palm. He stills his movements.

“Remember when you told me to be quiet? Hm? Now you can’t control yourself?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his breath making your skin prickle.

His hand is removed from your mouth in favor of guiding the roll of your hips once more, keeping you bouncing steadily. You can hear the way his cock glides through your sticky folds, pushing in and pulling out and pushing back in again. His eyes are impossibly dark as they watch you, especially in the dim light, but you can see the lust and adoration burning behind them all the same. You swear you can feel him in every inch of your body as he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly go, making you drop your forehead against his and bite back a moan.

One of his hands pulls the hem of your shirt up in order to expose your breasts to him, his open palm giving the first one a squeeze before rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching. Your back straightens slightly, arching into his touch. He dips his head down, sucking on the nipple his fingers aren’t already toying with. He kisses the soft swells of flesh, nipping and sucking gently while you start to take some control, bouncing yourself on his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters around a mouthful of your tits, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds on each one.

He diverts his attention, moving away from your breasts and instead reaching a hand down down down to where your bodies connect. The pad of his thumb swipes over your clit, making a filthy, desperate huff leave your mouth. You’re getting so close, your body desperate for him to bring you to release.

“Eds,” you sigh, rolling your hips slowly on top of him, savoring every single second of this bliss.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, bringing his free hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone. He smiles at you, soft and sweet as he continues to circle your clit.

“So good,” you breathe, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach grow and grow. “Want you to cum, baby, give it all to me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” he taunts, leaning forward and catching your bottom lip between his teeth. “Get you pregnant again? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Everything in you screams yes. Your hormones are on overdrive, wanting him to pump you full of his seed and make it stick.

“Fuck, yes, Eddie,” you agree, throwing your head back.

He bucks his hips up, his cock stretching you so deliciously, reaching the deepest parts of you. His lips kiss any part of your skin they can reach as you completely fall apart for him. Your walls clench so tightly around him as you cum, drenching his cock in your arousal. Giving you a few final thrusts, his movements get less precise as he unravels. Soft grunts leave his mouth as he fucks you through his orgasm, ropes of cum painting your walls in spurts. You cling to him, panting as you recover from your high. Gentle hands rub your back, sliding up under your shirt and soothing you with repetitive motions.

“I love you,” you say softly, crossing your eyes to watch as he presses a kiss to your nose. One reaches your lips immediately after; a drawn-out, lingering kiss that you don’t want to ever end.

“I love you, too,” he says, millimeters away from your mouth after he pulls away. You feel it, almost overwhelmingly, in the way he holds you close.

You shift on his lap, letting him pull out of you carefully. Your thighs are sticky with your own arousal and his as it drips out of you, but you don’t want to leave his comforting embrace. The warmth from the fireplace kisses your skin, making you sleepy in Eddie’s arms. You take his left hand in your own, running your thumb over his wedding band, a pleased hum reverberating within you.

He turns, looking at the clock that rests on the mantle. Just after midnight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“Merry Christmas, handsome,” you coo, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Can we make this a Christmas tradition?” he asks, giving you a cheeky smile as he pinches the fat of your ass.

“Whatever you want, Mr. C,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.

The night ends with the both of you creeping quietly down the hallway to your bedroom, tangling yourselves beneath warm blankets. Snow falls outside, you can see it through the gap in the curtains as sleep starts to take over your body. Blinking slowly, heavily, you feel Eddie’s strong arms wrap around you, pressing you close to his chest.

In the morning, your girls will wake you with unbridled excitement, ready to see what Santa brought them. But for now, it’s just you and the man himself, dreaming cozy winter dreams.

[lostdrarryfics]

lostdrarryfics monthly roundup! July 2024

Below you will find the requests we could not locate in the month of July. Please let us know if you recognize any!

You can also browse our lengthy lost fic masterlist, where we have compiled every request we have been unable to find over the past few years. We're always hoping someone will recognize a fic so we can let the asker know what it was!

1. It was on ao3, 8th year, after the war, very often the writing shifted between draco and harry's POV. Draco and theo were dating (but they breakup in the end so drarry gets together), it's also a bottom draco fic but I can't remember any specific sex scenes. Theo peer pressures draco to do pills-like drugs and latter ron mentions to harry that he saw theo and draco staring at ron weird and laughing in the hallways at night. Their relationship is toxic but I don't remember much about it, draco and harry slowly starts to become friends, it's more or less at the same rhythm as Theo and draco relationship crumbles. I remember there was a point were theo has sex with some other guy to get more drugs and draco gets upset because he was cheating but then theo says that the other guy raped him and draco is not supposed to tell anyone because he could get in trouble and harry is secretly listening to the most part of the discussion and in his head he starts to question why would nott get in trouble if he was the victim but ultimately doesn't do/say anything about it. Theo gets addicted to those drugs but I can't remember if draco get as well or not. I can't recall if someone harasses draco for being a ex death eater but the students definitely look at him, and other slytherins, differently and most of them get excluded from the rest of the school despite the majority being innocent or too young to have done anything

2. harry and draco I think were already together. But Hermione liked draco and tried to steal him from harry and either used a love potion or gave him a cookie which made him fall in love with her. Some maybe key points I remember are: Harry was thinking and out of space not listening to ron and hermione fighting, when they finally got his attention ron told him about how Hermione thought it was ok for her to flirt with draco even in front of harry. Then at some point draco came up to the three and as he left hermione kisses him on the cheek in front of harry. I read the story on Wattpad in like 2020/2021 and Im pretty sure it had chapters.

3. harry has an owl service or some delivery food service like ubereats, postmates, deliveroo and once he learned who the order was for, Harry was going to give Draco Malfoy a piece of his mind for such a request for late delivery. “ugh pure bloods and their wealth”. then unexpectedly the wards let Harry in, and then he was face to face with Draco. now I will be honest, the role of Harry and Draco could be reversed, but I don’t think so? It may feature a young Scorpius Malfoy or Teddy Lupin. rating: explicit / mature? last remember reading it on ao3. One shot, completed. Maybe apart of Harry/Draco Owlpost Fest? tags: post-war, not canon compliant?, owl, owlpost, delivery, malfoy manor, grimmauld place, order, baked goods, food service. harry and draco are like in their 20s-30s. one chapter: about 10K words

4. i’m pretty sure in this fic harry is this well known baker/pastry chef in the wizarding world, and him and draco become friends and soon start dating. draco falls in love with harry’s sweet desserts which harry claims has a “special ingredient” which he won’t tell draco until the end. that’s when they meet in harry’s pantry/bakeshop and draco soon learns harry methods to creating such desserts, especially when harry uses his magic literally and metaphorically to create a huge order for a Ministry event which make draco falls deeper for him and his special filling especially when they go to the eat and eat his home made desserts. rating: explicit / nc-17. last I remember reading it on ao3. May be apart of a Drarry fest including: H/D Erised or Food Fair or Owlpost. From 2020-present maybe? tags: post war, not canon compliant, bakery, baker, pastry chef harry, coffee shop, coffee, post hogwarts/ harry potter epilogue what epilogue, frosting, icing, innuendos, pwp, cake, batter word count, filling, cream, crème, food, euphemisms. harry and draco are like in their 20s-30s. one chapter: 10K-20K words

5. fic I read a couple months ago. I found that fic at AO3, it's a multiple chapter (I don't remember the exact number of chapters). Main couple is Drarry. The fic is not magical au, I think Harry is a university student(?) and such an extrovert slight flirty person, but he only has Hermione as his friend. Btw, in that fic, Hermione is having an affair with Remus (their professor). Harry is crushing over Draco (Draco's not a university student), he's often goes to the campus to pick up Astoria, his girlfriend at that time. One day, Astoria invite Harry to her house in order to spice up her bed activity with Draco. At first, Draco is so shocked and offended(?) with Harry's presence (Draco has a idk what to call it, i guess internalized homophobic(??) caused by his father action). But then, slowly, Draco become more intrigued to Harry. Harry also realized that Draco is not the same as what Draco show in the outside, Harry knows that Draco hide his dom side(?) to look so calm, collected, chill, and so on). I think it's save to say that there are some infidelity at that fic but at the end Draco ends his relationship with Astoria first before officially start a new one with Harry. Oh, and Astoria is kind of regret her choice introducing Harry to Draco because she kind of sad to lose Draco, but no hard feeling tho.

6. the first few chapters are poems. Draco was fleeing to the muggle world or something and Harry captured him. Harry is also an Alpha and he mated with Draco forcefully, I think in this world if one of them dies then the one mated with you can be dead too. Thank you so much, it’s on AO3 but I can’t find it.

7. looking for a fic where Draco works as a mailman or something and he plays chess with one of the elderly lady in a wizarding nursing home. The lady also gives him tips but it embarrasses him but he accepts out of necessity. Harry is an auror and a newly turned werewolf and he cannot control himself around Draco like I remember that he keeps sniffing him while they were near an elevator. I've reread this fic but I can't seem to remember the title!

8. looking for a fic i only read the synopsis for (i swear i saved it but i cant find it now) basically draco writes a letter to harry saying "I'm going to kill you" but harry misreads it as "im going to kiss you"

9. fic on ao3, it was about Draco being like a sex slave for the deatheaters, and he was held up in chains and perceiving a lot less of his surroundings due to him trying to not feel anything. The plot of the war was different, and Harry and Ron were using polyjuice to get inside the manor, then they found Draco and were surprised, but Ron did like a gesture that he would also r4pe Draco (like unzipping his pants or something) and Harry stopped him, I think Harry said to Draco that he was gonna try to set him free when they could and Draco stayed there while watching them go. I'm not sure about that last part, and I do not remember much more or maybe even he wasn't free at all at the end

10. what I remember is that Draco was held in a room at Order headquarters, I remember several members tried to visit him for questioning, including Harry. But Draco didn't reveal anything at all. Then there is a scene where Harry comes in and tells him that Lucius Malfoy is dead, Harry shows the ring as proof that he is not mistaken

11. I could be mixing up two fics. I'm pretty sure it was on AO3. It was a 4th year AU, where I believe Harry and Draco were already dating when the Tournament happened. One scene that I remember clearly is that when Harry has to do that wand thing for the tournament, his wand just doesn't want to be used by Ollivander, so it hits Ollivander in the head. Also I think that Harry and the other champions get along pretty well and ARE working together. So much so that I think that they all agree that they just don't really wanna be a part of the tournament and then they train together and everything. And if I'm not mistaken, for the second task they all decide to use a boat? To get to the Merfolk village and then just dive and get their hostage. And for the third task they were just planning on get inside the maze and do a picnic?

[2demondogs]

Omg hi (I’m the person who asked for the secret relationship Hosea thing) if u write a one shot for that I will forever be in ur debt

-👁️👁️

I'm SO sorry this took a second, I've been busy and sick this week so I've finished up a few other things I already had close to done but not much else. Here's the headcanons for those new to the saga.

Tags: Fluff, flirting, threats of violence, low honor Hosea moments, low honor reader moments, gender-neutral reader Words: 2.6k

You are meticulous about planning these get-togethers with Hosea - with the nature of your relationship and your identities, it leaves few methods of search if something goes unaccording to plan.

Hooking your hat's chin-strap around the holster at your hip, you'd inquired the innkeeper at Van Horn about Hosea. Of course, he'd only be known by the name he'd told you he'd use: some Alfred von Lafair or other, which you'd taunted him for.

Alfred is so terrible besides such a delicate surname, you'd said, and he'd simply replied Alfred's parents were terrible, in a thick accent so unlike himself that it made you burst at the sides.

None of that humor was to be found behind door 2A. His greeting was an unceremonious revolver in your face and a trailed off bark of a demand for identification. The barrel quickly lowered once he took in the general outline of you beyond his raised hand. It's an inopportune time, judging by the expression of an oncoming lecturing that's lining his lips, to feel your stomach flutter.

A millisecond is all it takes him to recognize you?

"Goddamn you," Hosea greets, a hand ghosting over your wrist to pull you inside. He locks the door behind you as you step further in to look around. "Van Horn? You've got to be mad."

"How long have you been here?" You ask, passing over the mixture of less-than-gentle disappointment and concern in his tone as you pass by him. The bed is messed with sleep, and you wonder if he got in this morning or...

"Yesterday."

You raise a brow at him. "I told you I'd be out until today's afternoon." He seems to relax some when your fingers come to his elbow, loosely cupping it. Even without the often indulgences of cookie-cutter lovers, it's so easy to exchange these touches in privacy. "Did you lose track of-?"

"It's Van Horn, darlin'," Hosea says, voice hushed but strong. He's stepping closer so that your arm might wring around his waist, relaxes some of the tension in his legs when you do and sinks down an inch. "Haven't you heard Arthur talk about gettin' stuck up in his own room at this very hotel?" He shakes his head. "Not even a reason to it. Just because."

"So you'd rather you get stuck up without me?" You ask, feigning insult. The slight twinkle in his eye tells you he understands immediately what you're taunting. "You think I need your saving that badly?"

"I love to save you," he says, tone lightening considerably. "Rest easy that there's no good reason for it, neither."

After a shared look, a chaste passing of lips on his stubbled cheek; you begin to feel guilty. The book on the nightstand says a modest amount, the slow blinks of his fatigue-lidded brown eyes say more, and both lead you to the conclusion that Hosea hasn't slept a wink.

You don't blame him. You also never asked him to try getting any shut eye here, either, quality or not.

"I don't know how you'd sleep the night here," you say, a less direct way to admit that you know he's tired from worrying himself all evening. "Let's get you out of here, damsel."

You meet his eyes in the full-length mirror tucked in the corner of the room, his smile soft in the cracked and smeared glass. The bottom half is missing in a suspiciously familiar fractal pattern. A gunshot. Oh, in another life, you might've enjoyed sprouting roots here. Nowadays, you know the visitors' kinds all too well to trust bedding down anywhere close.

"I reckon that's a good idea."

The ride to Saint Dennis is long, but the air in Annesburg clogs Hosea's lungs too much. It isn't as though more time spent on your lonesomes is unwelcome, either.

Along the ride you speak of the job you'd been on: in Annesburg, coincidentally, where you'd pilfered a pocket watch from the pool of men in a deviant poker run, a gift to offer to Hosea. Your fingers linger on each other as it passes hands. Silver with gold settings around the lip of the watch casing, you thought it was a nice match for your man. Silver and gold, so often put together in words, can be so controversial in practice.

You felt like a cat bringing home a dead mouse; it was offered with the same reverence.

The fond feeling grows bigger when you remember the entire point of this "job" was to rob the money for a nice hotel room to share with him. Preferably, one in a town with more straight-cut mutton shunters and a bathhouse that locks. The job nearly gotten your ear cut off, too. Fellers around mining towns never can help but mind each other's business.

A symptom of the rural condition, one that camp is also afflicted with. It's what drives you two away to convene in the shadows of bar rooms and groves.

For the rundown look of Van Horn and all the troubles in the town northways, the nature surrounding them is some of your favorite. Empty, besides easy-target homesteads which may sway your favor some, and quiet. Traffic to and fro along the trails is manageable to watch for danger, yet enough to stimulate.

A comfortable silence befalls you two as your trot your horses alongside the Lannahechee River, intending to follow it down to Saint Dennis' edge. It's somewhat longer of a way, but the water is clear today and the sky is, too.

As with all your thoughts, you begin running this fondness off to Hosea, who watches you more than he watches the trail. It is often you feel studied by people, either distrustfully or seekingly, but Hosea's gaze is steady and near empty beyond that ineffable softness in it.

There's nothing in his mind, it seems, besides you and what you inspire in him.

You pull down your hat and look at the road instead of him. If he asks, you'll say Silver Dollar has to have someone in their right mind to follow.

He's admitted he likes when you deflect with humor. The thought makes your face burn more. Why do you tell him so damn much? Maybe it's self-sabotage, some urge to make his favorite game of playing inconspicuous in camp more thrilling for him and harder for you.

Somewhere beneath all the need for posturing, you know it's as simple as: you're too sweet on him.

It takes only twenty-to-the-hour for the itch of a conman to hit you both. Van Horn's lack of security is enticing for many more reasons than it is worrying, at least to your action-orientated mind. Hosea has no qualms about the plan beginning to gain breath, once you are out of gang-up distance. The violence you stir up reminds him of his days with Dutch, and you know he thinks of those days well enough to take it as a sincere, meaningful thought.

You make him feel young again.

Both of you are aware of who really looks it, though. Stopped by the river, gathering water for your flasks, you solidify reviving one of your first partnered schemes: the injured Silver Dollar and you, his young, apparently clueless rider. Hosea has always insisted your pleading expressions are impossible to resist.

So far, his words've been true.

Silver Dollar has played the game enough times to know what Hosea's commands of play hurt mean, to know why you're suddenly so close to him instead of keeping your usual distance. Your own horse is intelligent, but Silver seems to have a mind that works as fast and distrusting as his keeper's. He maintains his distance around anyone but his most affectionated, and the proximity of the stranger you will lure into your trap won't ease him any. Hosea will offer him much doting for the genuine discomfort that always helps sell your plots.

Beneath the shade of a large tree, the steed's hefty head resting with some unease in your lap as he lays on his side, Silver takes solace in your hand stroking his cheek.

You avoid his muzzle, already dislike having it against your thigh. There's a mutual understanding here, a comradery in trusting the man who lays in wait behind the bushes across the trail, behind the bandana tied around his jaw and the hat drawn low on his forehead; but you know animals are not ones to practice social graces. They bite when they bite, thwunk their faces into your gut as they please. (It has happened twice before, and Silver's strong neck made it hurt like Hell.)

Some yards off the river for cover from the opposing bank's fishermen and riders, this requires fast work. The risk is high, anyways.

Relying on the first rider to pass you by, the first interested rider, always is a rough bet. Once or twice, it's been a lawman, and you've had to double down on your supposed lack of intellect with horses, had to hope Silver could see inside your head for long enough to pretend his ankle really was twisted. Hosea still made off with most of the deputy's saddlebag.

Your victim today is a man that eyes you with much less than weariness, despite the clearly empty satchel hooked around your body.

"Sir," you call, dragging your pitch a few notches higher. "Can you help my boy here? I think he mighta hurt his leg on the road."

He does help your boy.

The stranger is no doubt strong enough to throw Hosea off, hands thick enough to twist his wrist where it is pressed to the dip between his shoulder and chest, clipped fingernails biting into his arm through his shirt - but the man must not know what direction he was headed, for it appears all the force leaves his knees as Hosea's hunting knife presses into the vulnerable flesh of his exposed throat, the threatening outline of a holstered Cattleman held to the back of his hip.

He begins babbling, voice cracking pitifully, and Hosea barks a short: "Can it or I'll can it for you."

His voice is commanding, dark. You know he doesn't mind these more violent stunts despite his preference for quieter pickpockets and more humble cons, but ruthless is such a lovely look on him.

You have to refocus yourself to jump out of your kneel besides Silver, who raises after. Hosea jolts the man as you come closer, procures a shriek that in turns earn a nudge with the blade. Transferring his holsters into your satchel goes on with practiced ease. It fills the bag well: two guns, bullets for both, and a quick frisk earns you a knife at the expense of yanking up his pants legs.

After a short back-and-forth, Hosea's knife-edge running over his shivering Adam's apple as if in tenderness, you shake the feeling it gives you to approach his horse and empty his saddlebag.

Not entirely heartless and knowing Hosea is merely playing with the feller's nerves, you leave him the food he rode with and his bedroll. After the handful of cash you found tucked into a leather wallet beneath the cans, you ought to have a mighty fine dinner as it is.

Camp, and provisions for camp, are the furthest things from your mind. They do not reach it even after Hosea releases the man, whose knees are so weak it becomes clear his captor was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Damn scared, he was," Hosea chuckles, his bandana-dampened laugh almost too quiet to hear over the pounding of hooves and spray of dirt behind your horses.

Waiting until it's safe to lower into a more moderate pace, you inhale sharply. The adrenaline is not left but diminished, and it feels as though you were running alongside your horse rather than sat on it.

"I bet he was a rich man," you say, slurring the last word as one: richman, the way people say Irishman or Dutchman. It's a habit you picked up from Dutch in your time with the gang. "Couldn't use that knife if he wanted to."

He huffs a laugh as he pulls down the cloth over his nose. "Utterly useless," he agrees, adjusting his hat as the sun falls behind you two. "Wouldn't stop shaking."

You smile to yourself, trying to formulate the right phrasing of your thoughts. It's always difficult to find what side of your tongue will make Hosea go quiet in the way he does, as if contemplating the very same thing you are now: a clever reply.

You might be the only person to ever make Hosea Matthews think about his witty words. Maybe it's the fact they have to be thought on in camp, where you usually find yourselves crossing paths and restrained from real, off-the-cuff expressions of interest; maybe - and this one's your preference - you trip him up like no one else.

"I'd be shaking, too, if such a handsome outlaw w's holding me like that," you say.

You slide your eyes to glance at him, wondering if the pink skin along his ears and neck is your own work or the sun's. He rubs at the warm patch beneath his nape, lifting his hat momentarily to run a hand through his hair. As the shadow runs up his face, you can see his mouth pulled into a grin.

"Whew," he says, finally, and you snicker. "I don't know if that filth can count as sweet talkin' or not."

"Oh, c'mon," you reply. "I've said much worse."

"You're right. I ought to stick you up for stealin' the last of my purity."

"Not your heart?"

"Naw," he says. "You took that sorry thing a long time ago."

By the time you've reached Saint Dennis and paid for a room above the saloon, the hot food in your bellies and the settled sun has run your energy out. Boots drag to the room, Hosea lights the oil lamp at the bedside, and you half-undress for slumber before laying yourself out on the mattress.

Hosea is, as always, more thorough and slow in doing so. You watch him despite your sleepiness. He has your satchel to peruse, too, muttering about not being focused on what you were stealing during your little game. You tease him more, ask if he likes an outlaw as well as you do. He only grins to himself and squints to read the inscription on the man's knife, lips moving in the shape of a psalm.

Outside the curtained window, small with thin oak beams supporting the glass inside it, the sky is darker than dark. It draws long shadows over the two of you, Hosea's lined face sharper for the light.

Ten minutes pass. "Gonna lay down, handsome?"

Even in the deep yellow tinge of the lamp, you can see his cheeks rouge. "Gonna make me any room, sweet thing?"

"Ain't nothin' good in this life for free," you taunt half-heartedly.

He looks you up and down, as if deciding what to do with you. Right now, sleep is more desirable than anyone could hope to be, even one another, and his gaze is merely mischievous.

You find yourself laughing as he hauls you up the bed as far your head will allow, grunting with the effort after a long day of manhandling. He settles between your legs, then, head nestled into your stomach as his arms curl around one of your thighs. Hosea may as well purr when you scratch your nails over the hair that sprouts at his temple, tracing them along the curve of his skull, picking gently at where strands tangle together from wind and sweat.

"Tomorrow," he promises, voice low and slow. "We can play your round of dames and robbers."

Your eyes have fallen closed, muscles beginning to protest the repetitive movement of stroking his hair; you rest your palm atop his head as you chuckle. "Sure thing, Hoss."

[fraugwinska]

Chapter 10 - Showstopper

Showstopper (noun) 1. a song or other performance receiving prolonged applause from the audience 2. an obstacle to further progress 3. computing: a bug that needs to be fixed before a piece of software can be used or released

Tags & Warnings: Sexual Harrassment If you see this symbol ♫ I highly recommend to listen to the song "Take a hint (Demo from Victorious)" by Meghan Kabir (https://open.spotify.com/intl-de/track/1TOT8O90bvTp81n2N4XjzW?si=b73d3f9d435446ea)

“Gotta give it to 'ya, sugarjugs - Your tail is damn squishy.” Angel was lazily lounging on the ground, his back settled against his bed and his pig in his arms. It took you over an hour to get him manageable and down enough from the high of the weed cookies. You had done anything you could think of – put him in a cold shower (you would never ever talk about the things you saw to anyone), made him drink water (“I don't drink 'ya stupid watah, I'm not six.” - “It's not, it's ...vodka, the expensive kind, the one that doesn't burn.” - “Uh! Gimme, gimme!”)... you even let him play catch with your tail for twenty minutes while he laid in his bathtub, eyes full of childish glee. Once he got coherent enough and the typical foggy eyes cleared up, you dragged him out of the bathroom and, frustrated with tip-toeing around, started to tidy up the floor – sans the colorful, abhorrently shaped toys. The trash was packed with empty cardboard, plastic bags and greasy wrapping papers as well as the rest of the space cookies, which you buried down deep enough for Angel not to notice. You had piled Angels clothes next to his dresser and folded away, huffing.

“You'd know better than me, I had to spray you with roomspray to let it go once you got a good grip at it.” Angel snickered, caressing Fat Nuggets back. “Ah, that's why I smell like a russian whorehouse.” He stretched, bones cracking, and yawned. “'Ya know that whatcha' doing right now is useless, right? In a day, it'll look the same again.”

You untangled a very complicated black harness...dress...bodysuit...something as you glanced back at him, ears flicking. “Fat Nuggets might be a sow, Angel, but that doesn't mean you have to live in a pigsty.” You gave up with the... whatever, and just rolled it up, shoving it in one of the drawers.

“I prefer the term 'eclectic maximalism', thank 'ya very much.” He tickled the piglets nose, it squealed happily in response. “While you're at it, that black dildo has it's own case, right over there.” “I'm not touching that.”

“Oh sure, get picky now. You folded my kinkiest BDSM-slave-harness but draw the line at a friggin' dildo.”

“Your what?”

Angel burst out laughing at your disgusted look. “Chill, Rocky. Man, you really are a vanilla girl.”

Angel stood up, picking up the toy and threw it in a bejeweled box. “But.. 'ya know, thanks for the effort. Niffty doesn't come in to clean anymore since the 'Electro-Play-Wand'-incident last month.”

“... I won't ask. And I certainly don't want an explanation. Please.”, you sighed. He butt-nudged you, winking. “Fine, I'll spare 'ya delicate sensitivities. But only if 'ya tell me if I'm right.”

“With what?”, you asked, relieved to pick up the last item of clothing – a white, fluffy sweater with pink hearts.

“Being a vanilla girl.”, he smirked and wiggled a ball gag he picked up at you. You rolled your eyes, closing the drawer. “I couldn't tell you, even if I wanted to.”

His eyes widened. “Shaddup, don't tell me 'ya a virgin. Rocky, no one with an ass like that is that prude.” “I'm not.” He continued to stare at you, eyebrow high, arms crossed and tapping his foot. “Let's just say, the men I was with were not the types to have around long enough to really find out what flavor I am.” “Really bitch, sounds like you scraped the bottoms of some barrels then.”

You looked around the room, pleased to see the floor was visible again, and while it wasn't sparkling clean it was a massive improvement. Angel came to your side, all four hands on his hips, and grinned at you. “Now what? 'Ya wanna learn a few tricks to bump you up to chocolate?”

You dramatically shuddered, giving him a strained look. “Please, I've seen enough from you for one day.” “HA! I knew 'ya were lookin, 'ya sicko!” he clapped, snickering, then, in a spur, he quickly gave you a surprisingly gentle, quick hug. As he released you, he scratched his neck, still smiling.

“Seriously tho, thanks Rocky... for 'ya know... dealin' with me. Staying.”

You stilled for a second. His smile reminded you of something, or someone, you just couldn't place a finger on it. But you felt a sentimental twang, like some kind of deja-vu, making you almost smile. Almost.

“Don't mention it. I'm just glad you're okay.” You butt-nudged him playfully like he did before. “Now, we'll have to start getting ready. Charlie has an evening out planned. Weekly teambuilding at a bar, the 'Lava Lounge... and thanks to these damn cookies we only have an hour.”

“Aw, shit, that's today?”, Angel groaned, clawing his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, okay, we can make it. Whatcha' gonna wear?”

Odd question. You move your hands, presenting your work attire with a confused frown.

Angel looked horrified. “No.”

“Yes?”, you say, still confused.

“No. Nope, Nu-uh! Over mah dead body you ain't. Bitch, it's a night out in a bar, not 'ya great-aunts church picknick, by satan's left ass cheek.” You rose your brows, a little offended. Angel scoffed, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. Oh shit.

“Let's doll 'ya up and give these sinners some eye candy to chew on tonight, yeah? I have just the thing.”

He had settled himself on one of the plush sofas in the foyer, a little away from the bar where Husk had filled his silver flask with cheap booze ten minutes ago before he, too, had retreated to his room to prepare for the evening trip.

He hadn't seen her since he came back, just sent an eager Ozul to catch him up with what she's been doing.

On his way home he had stopped at the antique store in Cannibal Town, buying Rosie a new set of china to be delivered to her.

Alastor had summoned a book to read – he was always dressed for the occasion, unlike the silly residents of the hotel and even though he had no real interest in these weekly boondoggles of the princess, today he was more than willing to participate.

Rosie had given him a lot to think about. The walk back to the hotel had been used to contemplate whether she had been right in her statement that he was bending his own moral code too much. Truth be told, she had been right that he never used something like lust to wring something he wanted out of one of his subjects – and he could proudly say he had many subjects under his beck and call. But that was because one, he never had to, as his victims without a fail feared him and the things he could do to them too much for him to resort other means. And two, Alastor never had any interest or desire in these indulgences. He had his fair share of offers, men and women alike (the ladies in cannibal town were especially persistent), lowly sinners and powerful demons, even the poor souls he made deals with, mostly looking for an easy way out of their bounds. He faced it all with cool disinterest paired with mild disgust. He was above them all, above the whole subject matter. So why did he decide to use it on his gem? And the more urgent matter was: Why hadn't he felt the expected disinterest or disgust when he did it, riling himself up so much he even lost grip on his neatly maintained 'harmless' form instead ?

When Ozul came back to report, he had to smirk in amusement at the state of him. The shade was clearly agitated, and reported hurriedly.

“I am not putting it on, Angel.” “C'mon, you barely see the nipples in it.”

With a scoff at your defiance, the spider threw the silver washcloth with strings on it back into the drawer. “Why even have tits if you're not showing them.”

“Because I'd lose balance.” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “No to this... thing. End of discussion.”

“Fine, but I'm all out of nun costumes. So stop being an uptight bitch and meet me halfway here, Rocky.”

Angel threw up two of his hands and ruffled through the neatly folded clothes with the other two. The vein on your forehead was dangerously pulsing. He pulled out a close-fitting burgundy red skirt, holding it up in contemplation. It was short, but not skimpy, crushed velvet, with gold buttons along the front. He held it to you with outstretched arms and a challenging look.

“Tame enough for 'ya?”

You sighed and nodded, catching it as Angel threw it at you, his head back in the drawer.

“Thank fucking god. Now for the twins...”, he bickered, all four arms now rummaging through the clothes. “You are so lucky I keep a lot of Cherri's old clothes here, you'd practically burst my outfits shoving 'ya booty in there. AHA!”, he shout out in victory. The top was almost boring compared to the silver abomination from before, just a black neckholder top with a heart cutout at the neck, but you shook your head nonetheless.

“OH COME the fuck ON! It covers your boobs, it doesn't even show cleavage. Give me one good reason why not.”

Your tail swished nervously, and you bit your lip. For a moment, you wanted to stay silent. But you decided to explain, reminding yourself of the rules. Be vague with information.

“Because I don't want people to see my scar.”, you calmly say and open your blouse, pulling it loose wide enough to show the perplexed demon the bite scar on your neck.

“Oh shit, Rocky...”, he just said, eyeing the mark, his look became instantly softer. “What did 'ya do?“

You thought for a second, “... I was bitten and eaten by an animal, that's how I died.” Not a lie, technically. You were getting good at this

Angel put the top away without another word while you closed your blouse again. The next thing he chose was a formfitting, simple black turtlenecked shirt with long sleeves. The top section was made out of black mesh, covering the chest in a sweetheart neckline, shoulders, and upper back. A compromise, and definately his way of being considerate of your revelation. You held your hand out, and he grinned as he put the shirt in it.

The thought of stepping out of your room in the outfit Angel provided took every ounce of courage you had, even though it fit you well. You had paired it with the only other pair of shoes you had, the ones Alastor had gotten you for special occasions – simple, T-strapped black leather heels, a similar style you had worn in jazz dance classes, which had you feel a little more comfortable. Still, this was... a lot to take in. You felt like you were wearing a costume, a skin you once shed and now tried to fit back into again. Too personal. Too human. The skirt felt so short, even though it barely rose above your knees, and it hugged your thighs tightly, allowing little space for your nervously flicking tail. At least the shirt was relatively modest, the mesh on top was soft and opaque enough to conceal your scar. BUT... Was this okay? Were you even allowed to dress like this? What the fuck would Alastor everyone think?

How mad would Angel be if you just changed back into your work ensemble?

You were still panicking in front of your mirror when you heard Angel knock on your door for the third time, threatening to pick the lock if you wouldn't come out on your own. To your absolute horror, another voice joined him. “Now what seems to be the problem here?”, you heard Alastor muse on the other side of the door, a slight mocking edge to his tone. “Everyone else is downstairs, waiting to depart.” “The problem is 'ya stubborn, self-conscious play doll, Smiles.” A few more bangs on the door. “Rocky, I swear to god, I didn't give 'ya a makeover for makin' sweet eyes at 'ya shower head tonight!” Two softer knocks. Him. “Come now, kitten, open up, let's see the damage.”

With your eyes on the floor and shaking hands you reached for the handle, unlocking the door and opening it in defeat. “Finally!” Angel moaned, smirking at you, his gold teeth glimmering. “I don't see the problem, dollface, 'ya look bomb. You're welcome.” He crossed his arms and gave you a triumphant giggle. Alastor took you in, his heavy-lidded eyes wandering from your open hair down over your figure to your shoes. You felt his static cracking around your ankles, like sparks on your skin. “Well, I've never thought I'd see the day where I actually have to compliment you for a job well done, my frisky friend.” Your head shot up and you stared at them both, Angels' smile almost as wide and smug as Alastors' at this compliment. All the way down to the foyer you felt his gaze fixated on you, only disturbed by the rumble of the crew ready to take the short walk through town to the bar. Charlie and Vaggie lead up front, deep in conversation, Angel prattled along, talking with Niffty and Husk shambled behind them, you and Alastor followed last. When he offered you his arm with a mischievous sounding “May I, darling?”, Husk threw an ugly look your way, taking his silver flask out to take a chug and turned his back to you quickly. You took it nonetheless, idly aware of the feeling of the fine cotton of his suit under your fingers and trying to ignore the closeness for the sake of your composure. Alastor had other plans – with a snicker, he suddenly tugged on your arm, making you stumble and almost falling into his side. He laughed, and rose a brow, smiling non-nonchalantly down at your flushed face. “Relax dear, tonight, you'll be off official duty. You certainly earned a bit of fun, don't you agree?”

You caught your step and wondered if you did.

Staying with the theme, the 'Lava Lounge's interior was draped in hues of burnt blacks and molten oranges, mimicking the fiery heartbeat of a volcano, casting a warm and oddly inviting glow. In between the carved, obsidian booths, suspended fixtures resembling actual molten lava cascaded from the ceiling, acting kind of as a divider or privacy shield, providing a soft, ambient light that flickered like glimmering ember. The air was thick and hot with the hum of the sinners around, broken in between by laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses. Other patrons had fled the booths on the whole side of the one where you went to sit in, and you found yourself nestled in between Alastor and Niffty. You eyed the bartenders and waiters curiously, each and everyone seemed to have flaming heads, or at least fiery hair. Behind the sleek, onyx bar a bulky female demon with piercing green eyes in blue flames and a LOT of tattoos was mixing cocktails that seemed to erupt with hot ash as she poured it out of the shaker. “Me and Charlie are doing drink duty first.”, Vaggie said, glaring at Alastor. You looked at him questioningly, watching him chuckle with delight. “I tend to scare the poor waitresses away, dear, that's why we take turns in getting drinks. Whiskey, no ice, if you may.” “Yeah, that's real funny, buckboy. Love that, doing their job every fucking time you decide to get jiggy with us.” Angel groaned, ordering a “Drunken Lover” from the cocktail menu. A few minutes later the two girls came back with their drinks on a tray and news of tonight's program. “They canceled the band that was supposed to play tonight.” Vaggie said with an eye roll, handing you your ordered “Persephone's Passion” (an overly-fancy name for plain pomegranate ice tea). “Apparently, the lead singer got in trouble with loan sharks. They are still searching for several limbs.” Charlie grinned cheerfully and waved a bright orange binder. “Buuuut they decided to have a spontaneous karaoke night instead! Yay!” “If 'yo going to sing 'Walking on sunshine' again, I'm leaving.” Husk growled. “Third time's not the charm.” You were torn between genuine excitement – you always loved singing your heart out at karaoke bars – and unsettling worry. You didn't want to make a spectacle of yourself again, in a packed bar, on your first time outside, in front of.... everyone. Sure, everyone... “Oh I know I'm gonna bring Britney, bitch! Yo Rocky, you up to it?”, Angel asked, playing with his swirly straw. His white face has already gotten pink around his cheeks... what the hell did they put in these drinks? ”Um, we'll see, maybe if they have the right song...”

Charlie was nagging Vaggie to sing a duet with her, and while the others were distracted Alastor leaned over to you, his voice low and teasing. “I wouldn't mind hearing you again, little gem. Just don't play too much on your heartstrings this time, yes?” You opened the binder and pathetically hid your smile in it, but you were sure he saw it, as he flicked your ear tufts and leaned back with a sneer.

“AH! That was amazing! Am I glowing? I feel like I'm glowing!” Vaggie had caved, and her and Charlies performance of 'Time of my life' had left Vaggie embarrassed, Charlie overjoyed and the whole bar befuddled. Your ears shook with inner laughter as you congratulated them both. Vaggie shot you a tortured look.

The lounge was buzzing as as the winged demon girl who moderated the songs called for a demon named Travis to sing “Tequila” with a clearly pained face, resulting in a collective groan and various boo's from the patrons. “Alright, that's the cue I needed to get another drink.”, Angel said and grabbed your hand. “We're getting the next round, on-the-rocks, come on.” You were pulled from the table in a swift motion, but you didn't miss the tightened corners of Alastor's lips as he watched you were weaved through the crowd. Angel rattled down the list of drinks, then he turned to you. “Hey, I'm just gonna powder my nose quick while hot stuff over there”, the spider shot a wink at the lean, blue-skinned bartender,”mixes our drinks, just wait here for me and make sure they don't skimp on the good stuff!”

Even if you wanted to protest, Angel was too quick, slithering through the crowd to the bathrooms. You sighed and leaned your arms against the onyx bar top. You let your gaze wander over the busy bar, trying to remember when the last time was you went out like this.

Out with friends. Having fun. Or something like that. The whole atmosphere was lighter this evening. Of course you still felt the tenseness of the past day, and you still had to deal with whatever the... experiment had let loose in you. But right now, you felt not as numb and exhausted as you usually did.

“Hello there, sweetheart.”

A slippery-smooth voice ripped you from your thoughts, and you turned to head to come face to face with... a screen? A slender, yuppie-type demon with a flatscreen for a face and a tailored electric blue suit stood beside you, an empty glass in hand and a sly smile on his... lips? You hardened your face and blinked. “Hello.”, you answered politely, but regretted that instantly when you heard his next line.

“What's a cute thing like you standing here all alone?”

The demon put his elbow near you and leaned casually into you. Too near, you shuffled yourself slightly away. He reminded you too much of the former... clientele you had to entertain for cheap money. Overly confident, overcompensating, overly touchy. A big fat walking ick with too much money. But in contrast to before, you weren't paid to deal with those kind of men now.

“I'm waiting for a friend, actually.”, you said coldly, hoping Angel would return soon.

“Well, what a friend to leave you stranded. Why not ditch them to join me and my friends?”, he nodded to a raised plateau, separated with red, thick rope on golden barrier cords and a sign “VIP”. Several other, expensively dressed demons lounged there, you saw a girl in a black pant suit snapping photo after photo on her phone. You rose a brow, and he added with a suggestive wink “Free booze and a nice warm seat all night, baby.” “Tempting,” you dripped of sarcasm. “but I have to decline.” This guy was getting on your nerves. Fucking sleazeball.

“Mh, a feisty feline. I like a little fight in a girl.”, he laughed, slowly, deeply. Fake. You scrunched your nose, but then you heard Angel calling out to you. Thank fucking god. “Hey Rocky, are the drinks... “ Angel froze, wide eyes on you and your unwanted suitor. “Wait, wait, wait.”, the demon snickered loudly. “Angel Dust is your 'friend'? Well, that makes it much easier, then. Name your price babe.” You furrowed your brows, anger pulsing in your temples. “Excuse me?” The spider next top you awoke from his paralysis and quickly scanned the VIP section before stepping in front of you protectively. “She's not a hooker, Vox.”

Oh shit.

OH SHIT ON A STICK.

“Not? Ah, my bad, but can you blame me? What are the chances?”, Vox mocked with a sneer, pushing Angel away and caging you in his frame. You cross your arms defiantly, steeling your eyes even though you're boiling inside. “Listen, Roxie - that's your name? You should really choose your friends better. Why don't we have a little private chat, get to know each other a little. Maybe I can even offer you a position under me.” he chuckled at his poorly delivered ambiguous phrase. The air around you sparked with the familiar feeling of static. Fan-fucking-tastic, now the doomsday clock was ticking. From the corners of your eye you saw your saving shade slither around your feet, like a snake ready for the bite. You took a deep breath, monitoring your venomous tone to be as steady as you could be. “I think I can decide best which company to keep, and I am fully and extraordinarily satisfied with my current employer.” As if on cue, Ozul slithered up to your shoulder and hissed, making a few bystanders jolt in surprise and fear and Vox stumble back, freeing you from his presence. Angel snorted, quickly hiding it behind a cough, and grabbed the tray full of drinks for your table while Vox's eyes darted over your shoulder. He blue screened for a second, then he burst out in bellowing laughter. “The Radio Fucker? That's rich, now I know you are both underpaid and underfucked.” His look was murderous, even with the plastered smile on that stupid monitor of his. You turned to leave but he caught your wrist, gripping it firmly in cold, metal claws. His other hand wandered into his suit and pulled out a small, digital business card. “Tell you what, sweetcheeks. Call me when you're ready for the future, or when you're choking from the dust off that fossil. Whatever happens first.” Before you could react, he shoved it in your back pocket, intently pinching your ass. For a moment, your vision turned red, but he was already gone and you heard Angel pressing a strained “Motherfucker!” through gritted teeth. You were seething as you practically shoved Angel through to your booth, letting yourself falling onto the bench with a loud thud. “Classless prick.”, you hissed. Charlie immediately hovered over you, worry in her eyes. “Are you okay? Did he do something? Oh man, (Y/n), I'm so sorry. He never came here before.” Alastor was silent, his eyes dark and his lips pressed in a tight smile. Threatening. Oh yeah. He was mad mad. “Fucking Cheese on a cracker, Rocky. 'ya got big balls for a girl.” Angel breathed, absent-mindlessly pushing back his white headfluff. “Vaggie glanced over her shoulder, glaring at the dimly-lit silhouettes on the pedestal. “I can't stand that dick... Should we go?” she looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. “But kitty didn't sing!”, Niffty pouted, completely oblivious. You scoffed. “Ha, have just the right song in mind to sing to that TV-asshole.” Then, you sighed. “But that would only cause trouble, I guess.” “Why not go for it, dear?”, Alastor said suddenly with a melodic voice, a revived glint in his eyes. All eyes turned to him. “Why should we let this... insignificant loudmouth spoil our wonderful evening? Let's dare a little, what better time than tonight?”

Vaggies mouth dropped open, Husk and Angel just looked at him like he lost his marbles. Charlie and Niffty were the only ones who seemed to eagerly agree with him. “You know what, he's right, (Y/n), it's your first day out, that sucker wont ruin this!” You looked at Alastor, for the first time today, really looked at him. There was no trace of maliciousness, it was almost... challenging. A look as if to say: Show me what you got. You stood up and felt your lips bend into a smile.

You walked up to the winged demoness as she shuffled through her laptop. She looked up, curiously eyeing you. “Hey girl, you wanna sing something? Slow crowd today... I'm Lola, by the way”, she gave you a crooked smile. “(Y/n), and oh, you bet I do. Can you do number 403?” She quickly typed on the keyboard, raised her brows and laughed happily. “Oh my god. Girl, I love that song. I'm hyping right now, get on that stage, let's see if you can burn the house down!” she giggled, grabbing her headset.

“Hey Lava Lounge, get ready for some really hot stuff. Give it up for (Y/n), cause she's got a big fat fucking message to tell 'ya.”

You stood on the stage and took the mic. The intro began, louder than any song you heard this evening, and a quick side glance to Lola giving you thumbs up while singing the background girls and bopping her head told you why. Fuck yeah.

You shook your hair back and let the music take over your body. It moved to the rhythm like you had trained it to do for so long, and it felt like a starved dog getting a steak. Your hips dipped just the right amount to stay classy, and you reveled in your anger.

♫Why am I always hit on by the boys I never like I can always see 'em coming, from the left or from the right I don't want to be a bitch, I'm just try'na be polite But it always seems to bite me in the♫

You looked straight to the VIP section, the display of the TV demon shining through the dim indirect light. He was watching, and it brought you a sense of impish glee to see the picture glitching.

♫Ask me for my number, yeah, you put me on the spot You think that we should hook up, but I think that we should not You had me at "hello", then you opened up your mouth And that is when it started going south♫

Pure energy filled you when you heard Angel shouting to you, his “Fuck yeah, Rocky” clear in your ear through the music, and you gave him a wink as your body moved like it had a mind on it's own. Charlie and Niffty hollered at you, and many other patrons started to clap to the rhythm, bopping their heads.

♫Oh!

Get your hands off my hips, 'fore I'll punch you in the lips Stop your staring at my hey! Take a hint, take a hint No you can't buy me a drink, let me tell you what I think I think you could use a mint Take a hint, take a hint ♫

If the song would've allowed it, you would've scream-laughed when you saw more and more glitches. The heels were perfect to dance in, you felt powerful and full of chaotic energy. You've always had the tendency for theatrics, and you relished in acting the next verse out, imagining yourself back at the bar, saying all the things to the flat-faced idiot who sat across the room, furious.

♫I guess you still don't get it, so let's take it from the top You asked me what my sign is, and I told you it was "stop" And if I had a dime for every name that you just dropped I'd be buying everyone a shot Oh!♫

The next chorus was filled with whistles and voices of girls from a few booths joining with the background singers. You felt something hard on your back, and remembered the stiff business card in your back pocket. And you remembered his filthy claws on your butt. The lounge was tinted in a red hue. You were already at it, why not make an unmissable statement?

♫What about "no" don't you get? So go and tell your friends I'm not really interested♫

You pulled the card out of the pocket, fanned yourself provocatively with it before you wrapped your fingers around it and crushed it into glass shards and metal wires, shrugging your shoulders as you fixed your gaze on Vox, a derisive smile on your lips. The girl in the pant suit stood next to him, holding her phone as if she filmed you while giggling, clearly knowing you were addressing Vox and highly amused by it.

♫It's about time that you're leavin' I'm gonna count to three and Open my eyes and You'll be gone♫

You stood at the edge of the stage lifting a finger. Alastor's static crept up your legs, making you shiver.

♫One Get your hands off my♫

Another finger. The prickling feeling rose to your waist, tingling over your skin like ice rain.

♫Two Or I'll punch you in the♫

The third finger went up as you were fully enveloped, feeling every inch of your body with an intensity you've never felt before.

♫Three Stop your staring at my hey! Take a hint, take a hint♫

You broke from your stance and danced with the last lines of the chorus. Every note and word was like a punch, like a release of your temper. Your ears were filled with the singing of the girls, with Angel wooing, with the bangs of each claps and the beat from the music.

♫I am not your missing link Let me tell you what I think I think you could use a mint Take a hint, take a hint Take a hint, take a hint♫

♫Get your hands off my hips, 'fore I'll punch you in the lips Stop your staring at my hey! Take a hint, take a hint T-take a hint, take a hint♫

When the music stopped, the lounge erupted in applause and more whistles, your face hot, you could only nod. You had caught sight of Alastor, head tilted with intense glowing eyes and a satisfied expression, leaning deep into the back of the booth, clapping.

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[sotangledupinit]

run, run rogers - My CSSS 2021 Gift

hi there @ilovemesomekillianjones! here’s the fourth and final chapter of my @cssecretsanta2020​ gift to you from last year! thank you for being so understanding and patient (still. because i am the absolute worst!). 

also - this was uploaded to AO3 a few days ago, in case there’s any confusion!

run, run rogers (chapter 4 of 4)

SUMMARY: The last thing Emma Swan expected to be doing on Christmas Eve was last minute Christmas shopping. But Neal’s genius left her in the lurch, and she needs to fix things. And the Uber trip to get this all done? It’ll cost her.

RATING: T for Teen 

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5,267 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Holiday, Uber Driver Killian Jones

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The muse did not want to cooperate for a few long months, hence the downgraded rating and lack of smut. But! I did finally get to write out my idea for the gift. My giftee @ilovemesomekillianjones​ is so patient and kind about the long wait so a very big shoutout to her (and a day late happy birthday as well)! if you haven’t already read this on AO3, then i hope you enjoy!

***

“Oi! Whaaaz been da hold up?”

Will’s voice is loud as he slurs his holler, taking particular delight from popping the P in ‘up’. His grin is lazy as he hangs half of his body out of the window he’s rolled down in the backseat, arms dangling against the car door. Emma shares a look with Killian, their mouths quirking up at the corner from Will’s antics, and she feels a weight lifted off of her shoulders.

Not completely, no. But Killian’s words have made her feel like she’s not a total failure. It still sucks that she can’t give her kid something completely new to open, something that isn’t what his father just copied, but she can still salvage the holiday one way or another.

When Emma approaches the car, Killian a few steps behind her, she sees the kind of state Will’s gotten himself into. He had clearly sprawled himself out on the seats, laying on his stomach. With the upper half of his body still out the car window, his legs are stretched behind him, feet resting on the door on the other side. She huffs a laugh. As annoyed as she’s been by him half the night, it’s like having a big kid around and her heart yearns for Henry.

She loves her kid and she knows he deserves to have some time with his dad, but she still wishes he was home Christmas Eve, baking cookies with her and drinking their hot chocolate while watching Home Alone and Die Hard.

She senses Killian’s presence before she feels his arm coming around her side and opening the passenger door for her. “You get to be my first mate.”

“Lucky me.” The smile Emma shoots Killian is unlike any she’s given someone in quite a long time. It’s flirty, which is no surprise, but there’s a layer of giddiness to it too. She settles herself in the seat as Killian helps Will back inside the car, a number of grunts and phrases, some of which she’s never heard but no doubt are not for the faint of heart, come from behind her seat and she stifles her laughter until Killian’s in the driver’s seat beside her again.

Her seat suddenly jerks forward and the faint smell of alcohol from Will’s breath makes its way into her personal space. She turns slightly to see his body slumped forward against the back of her seat, his chin resting beside the headrest and his eyes half open.

“I thought you were going shopping?” he mumbles to her.

“I was trying to.”

“Bollocks. Ye’ve got no shopping bags with ya.”

“Scarlet,” Killian cuts in, voice struggling on its precarious balance of amusement and frustration.

“Well yer not doing a good job then, Killian. Where’s the lady’s gifts?”

“Actually…” Her eyebrows furrow together as Killian runs his tongue along his bottom lip in deep thought. Without a word to her or Will, he throws the car in drive and sets off in the opposite direction of the address she told him.

“What are you doing?” If it had been anyone else, anyone but Killian, she’d be frightened. She’d have pulled out her mace by now and worked a means into stopping the car. Instead, she sits patiently in her seat with her head turned in his direction and the seatbelt digging into her neck.

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

“I do trust you.”

The lack of hesitation takes them both by surprise. Her mouth drops open as she struggles to build off of her statement and Killian continually glances at her from the side. After a few moments, she shrugs shyly and gives him a small smile.

Will mumbles something along the lines of ‘pathetic’ and falls back into his seat, head lolling towards the window as he views the house lights passing them by.

Never before had she said something like that to another adult with such conviction and she didn’t know how to proceed. Emma doesn’t voice her feelings, that’s not the kind of person she is. Their conversation outside of the toy store already left her feeling raw and vulnerable and her words slipped out of her mouth without any filtering. It’s as close as she can come to laying her heart bare.

Her eyes trace Killian’s tongue as it pokes out his mouth to lick his lips.

He glances at her once more before straightening in his seat, flicking on one blinker as they stop at a red light. “I can read you pretty well, love, and I know you’re still disappointed about your lad not having anything new to open tomorrow.” He shifts in his seat again as the tips of his ears begin to turn pink. “I think I have an idea to remedy that.” She practically melts as he softens his tone and finally looks at her. “If you’ll allow me to help?”

The man sitting across from her continues to amaze her.

Emma doesn’t even need to think. She nods her head and says softly, “Yes.”

They drive in silence for a few minutes, Will ooo-ing and ahhh-ing at various Christmas displays before Emma leans forward.

She smirks at Killian as she flicks the music on, an older man singing about jingle bells wafting from the speakers, her mood vastly improved from earlier. It’s not until they pull onto one of the streets on the outskirts of the city, bordering the city center and the suburbs, that she notices Will perk up in the backseat.

“No way, mate. Don’t do this to me,” he whines, suddenly acting wide awake and sober despite the sway to his positioning. Killian chuckles and shakes his head.

“Yes way. You can’t hide forever.”

“I can bloody well try. I’m not going in.”

“Then you can freeze in the car.”

“It’s fucking cold out! And snowing!”

Killian grins wide into the rearview mirror, catching Will’s eye, and lifts an eyebrow as if daring the other man to fight him. “I guess you’re coming inside then. Aye?”

Will grumbles and crosses his arms as he glares out the window until Killian comes to a stop in front of a small section of shops. It’s a part of the city she hasn’t been before. An ice cream shop, wedding store, therapist’s office, pawn shop, and a comic-book store line one side of the street with a police department – not David’s, that much she knows – across the street with a diner beside it.

Emma waits to ask until everyone is out of the car, Will huffing and puffing the entire time. Nearly all of the shops are dark and closed up for the holiday except for the comic-book store which looks to be having a work party. “Where are we?”

“At the wolf’s den,” Will says angrily, shooting a glare at Killian who only laughs in glee.

“Yeah,” Emma starts, glancing wearily between the two of them. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“Come on, love,” Killian says. His prosthetic comes to the middle of her back and she suppresses her shiver from how good his heat feels so close to her. “Trust me, remember?”

“Yes –”

“You really shouldn’t,” Will cuts in, gaze now turned towards the holiday party. “He’s a scoundrel.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian calls from her side. She leans into his chest as he turns towards Will and she pretends not to notice the way his arm slides along her waist, bringing her closer as well. “Weren’t you just trying to wing-man me an hour ago?”

Will waves the statement away. “You don’t deserve my talents. The lass can do better anyway.”

“I beg your pardon –”

“Guys,” Emma cuts in. “My kid. A present. Before midnight, please.”

They grumble at each other before Killian ushers her to the door of the comic-book shop, opening it for her as Will shrinks into his coat, shoulders raised to his ears. He rips his beanie from his pocket and forces it over his head at such an alarming speed that it nearly makes her laugh.

“Captain!” a velvety voice calls out from across the shop. “Thought you were skipping out on us tonight for the cash flow.”

Emma’s not sure what to expect from the voice. Surely, such an attractive sound belongs to an equally attractive person, but nothing could have prepared her for the gorgeous brunette that walks out of the crowd gathered at the back of the store and right towards them.

It’s been a long time since jealousy held a vicelike grip on her throat but the feeling invades the bubble she’s had with Killian all night.

The woman’s legs are shaped by tight red skinny jeans and she wears a green crop top lined with white fur. A Santa hat sits askew on her head, the perfect match for her blood red lipstick. Dark hair rests in waves down her back and her nails are painted such a deep red it could be mistaken for black. The smile she shoots their way is one Emma could imagine a predator wearing. But who was her prey?

Emma chances a glance at Killian and relaxes instantly at the feel of his prosthetic on her back again. The smile he shoots the woman looks so similar to the patient, kind grin he’d given Henry on their rides. In that brief look, she feels all jealousy shrink away. Not that she had any claim to Killian to start with, but if there’s a possibility… “Aye, but I had much more important matters to attend to. Miss Swan is in need of your expertise, Ruby.”

“Miss Swan?”

Emma struggles to find her voice for a moment, feeling as if she’s been pulled in a million different directions. All she can do is fall back on her instinct to fight. “Don’t listen to him,” she insists. “It’s Emma.”

“Aye, Emma is in need of your expertise.” The amusement in Killian’s voice is enough to earn a narrow-eyed look from her over her shoulder, his grin widening in reaction. His teasing starts to bring her back to herself and she finds breathing slightly easier than it’d been a moment ago. With a roll of her eyes, she faces their newcomer again.

“With what exactly?” Ruby inquires.

“A gift for her boy.” Emma’s cheeks heat up as Ruby’s calculating gaze bounces between herself and Killian. “He’s creative. Writes and draws his own comics. Isn’t that right, Swan?”

She nods furiously in agreement, centering herself on talk of her kid. Talking about Henry is always easy for her. Not that she’s biased or anything but he’s the greatest kid around. She tells Ruby as much. “He’s incredible. A creative genius, honestly. I don’t know how he comes up with half the stuff he does.”

“Huh,” Ruby says, eyeing Emma up and down. What the hell? She doesn’t know why but the urge to defend herself – against what, she’s not even sure – crawls up her throat.

“Huh?” Emma echoes, glancing back at Killian who narrows his gaze at Ruby.

“You’re different,” she elaborates, probing even though her sentence already feels like a statement.

“Ruby…” Killian warns. “Don’t start. Get the pages, lass.”

Ruby merely rolls her eyes and scoffs. “I meant it as a good thing.” She steps towards Emma, looping her arm through Emma’s so fast that all she can do is look at Killian with a bewildered expression. “I like her.” The smile she sends Emma’s way once she faces forward again is friendly and warm and Emma feels the feeble defenses she’d built back up at the other woman’s appearance come down again.

They near the party for a moment, a group of only a handful of people surrounded by alcohol and baked goods with a stereo in the corner playing a Kelly Clarkson song and surrounded by more of the string lights, tinsel, and mistletoe that decorates the rest of the shop.

“Killian’s idea is perfect for your kid, if he’s as creative as you say.”

“Oh, he definitely is.”

“How old is he?” Ruby tosses her a look over her shoulder out of pure curiosity. There’s no judgement to be thrown down based on her answer and Emma doesn’t even feel the urge defend herself as she answers.

“He’s 12.” Ruby grins at this and much like Killian, doesn’t question it further and accepts it for what it is.

“Then this really is perfect and I have to admit, Killian’s a genius. It’s right this way,” Ruby says. Her hand gestures to an alcove in the back corner, opposite the party. The lighting is dimmer there and it’s not as loud. Or at least it isn’t until Ruby yells back to where Killian leans against a counter by the door. “Don’t let Scarlet run away! He still owes me $500! I will get my money and if he keeps running, it won’t be pretty!”

“Fucking hell.”

Emma huffs out a laugh. She has no doubt that Will was attempting to escape out the front door or blend in with the party to avoid paying it. Killian’s chuckle drifts over to their area, confirming her suspicions.

Her eyes scan the shelves before her as Ruby detaches herself. “Stay here,” she orders and Emma shrugs. It’s not like she has any other choice.

While she waits, she continues browsing. Henry’s gotten so many comics over the years from herself, David, and Mary Margaret that she can’t even keep track of what he does and doesn’t have. The last thing she’d want is to try to get him something new only for it to be what he already has. It’s that exact line of thinking that’s gotten her into this situation.

Once she bores of that, she makes a quick perusal of the store. Garland circles the shelves and moldings, string lights hanging from the ceiling throughout the store, and mistletoe is placed throughout. Ruby had navigated the two of them through it without needing to look, clearly an expert at avoiding the tradition when not desired, but the rest of the party on the other side of the store takes glee at the catching each other underneath it.

A particularly loud cheer diverts her attention over to them, watching as two of the people gripe and groan, making a big deal over it before engaging in a short kiss amidst the cajoling party. A flash of black captures her gaze.

Killian’s made his way over to the party. He stands on the edge of it and laughs as a man in a Santa dress suit with a red velour top hat places a Santa hat on his head to match the rest of the store’s occupants. Will slinks between the other party-goers, snatching snacks from the tables around the area and grabbing a plate of lasagna someone abandoned atop a display.

She can’t stop the smile that grows on her face as Will gets slapped in the back of the head by one of the women there, her fierce attitude clear in her reprimanding as Will shrugs his shoulders and offers excuses. Killian’s shit-eating grin at the scene is hard to miss, especially as Will sighs in defeat and pulls out his wallet, and as he takes a swig of his water bottle, Killian catches her eye.

Her breath hitches in her throat and she finds it hard to swallow. It’s like there’s an electric current dancing along a wire connecting the two of them, tingling her skin beneath the surface. Her eyes follow the sight of his tongue as it sneaks between his lips to catch the water residue. He clearly swallows and when her eyes drift up his face to meet his, she sees the black of his pupils swallowing the blue coloring.

“Got it!”

Emma jumps at the sound of Ruby’s voice and turns quickly.

“Need a minute?” Ruby teases, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in Killian’s direction. Emma swallows and shakes her head.

“Sorry, what do you have?”

Ruby takes one of her hands from behind her back and offers a Santa hat out to her. Emma eyes it, popping an eyebrow in question. “Uh, I am not giving my son a Santa hat for Christmas.”

“No, the hat’s for you.”

“I am not wearing a Santa hat. I just want to get a gift for my kid. If you can’t help out then –”

Ruby rolls her eyes and thrusts the hat towards her. “Don’t be a grinch. Have a little Christmas spirit – it won’t kill you. Wear the hat, then you’ll get the gift.”

The two of them stand in a stare-down for a few moments until Ruby smirks and tilts her head, pride already making its way onto her features before Emma even concedes.

She knows that Ruby means business. Her confident swagger nearly fills the store and Ruby knows just how desperate she is. With a frustrated sigh, Emma hastily grabs the hat from Ruby’s hand and shoves it on her head, frowning. “There. Now the gift?”

“Thanks for playing along,” Ruby begins, her voice taking on the tone of a game show host announcing the grand prize. “For that, you will receive…”

Everything else Ruby is saying fades to the background as she reveals what she’d been hiding behind her back.

Five packages of blank comic panel pages, each package representing different, commonly used templates for comic-books. There’s nearly 200 pages total in her hand and Emma could practically cry at how perfect the gift is. Her son – her incredibly brilliant and creative son can actually create his own comic with ease.

“I didn’t even know anyone made these,” she whispers in amazement, her hands gently, hesitantly, shakily, taking the packages from Ruby.

“I’m not the one you should thank.” Ruby’s smile is pointed yet gentle as she gestures over the Killian. A quick look over her shoulder and Emma sees the way he’s half listening to the conversation at his side between Will and the woman from before. Instead, he keeps trailing his eyes back over to her and even from afar, she notices the vested interest etched in the way his eyebrows lift as he watches them.

Ruby’s voice breaks her gaze.

“How did you guys meet?”

“Uh,” Emma starts before she shakes her head. “He’s my Uber driver, actually.” Ruby remains unconvinced and unsatisfied.

“Really? Just your driver?” She points her deep red nails, gesturing between Emma and Killian as their eyes catch again. “That’s what you’re going with?”

The half-shrug that comes from her lifted shoulder is sheepish. Heat rises to her cheeks and Emma feels as if she’s been transported back to middle school talking about her crush at a sleepover. Not that she did any of that, but she imagines this must have been what it felt like.

“Well… he was just my Uber driver. Now I’m not so sure.”

Ruby offers her an encouraging smile and grabs a bag from behind the counter as they leave the area. When Emma twice tries to pay, Ruby brushes her off. “My little Christmas gift to you,” she says. There’s no pity or guilt in Ruby as she says the words and Emma struggles to say anything other than a cracked thanks.

People always wanted something in return. Nothing is done for free. If someone offers you something, it’s because they want you to owe them a favor or they’re using you to assuage their own guilt.

At least, that’s the take Emma had before the start of the night.

Then Killian gave up a night of potentially heavy cash flow and became her… friend. Now Ruby is joining the ranks too, helping her make Christmas special for her kid. If she hadn’t met Killian, she’s sure her pride would’ve been a lot harder to swallow to accept such a gesture.

When they make it to the party, Ruby rushes over, pulling the hand belonging to the woman who gave Will a dressing down, and steps under the mistletoe. “Merry Christmas, Mulan,” Ruby whispers. The party start a cheer, noisemakers and chants of ‘Kiss! Kiss!’ filling the store. Emma meets Killian’s eye between Ruby and her lover and they share a grin before the kiss blocks them from each other.

Ruby eventually detaches herself from the kiss and introduces Emma to her fiancée Mulan. Between the two of them, they convince her to stay an extra half hour so she can enjoy the party.

“You can always join our poker game tonight too,” Mulan offers. Her face gives nothing away but there’s something in her voice that tugs at Emma’s warning bells.

“Babe,” Ruby says with a sigh. “We’re trying to make a good impression on Killian’s… friend. We can’t do that if you’re robbing her blind.”

“She’ll count every penny too!” Will adds around a mouthful of cheesecake. “Stole $350 from me wallet already tonight.”

“You owed me that.”

Ruby cuts in, “Wait, you paid her but you still haven’t paid me?!”

“You’re practically married, it’s all the same now!”

“Actually –”

“So,” Mulan cuts in, drowning out Will and Ruby. She compromises, eyeing Emma with a calculating gaze. The woman reminds her of a general in the army, observing the enemy and coming up with at least three strategies to ensure their defeat. “I’ll give you a month. Expect an invite. Bring enough cash not to disappoint.”

Before Emma can accept or decline the invitation – though she has no clue what answer would’ve come out of her mouth – Killian appears at her side. “Bloody hell, Ruby. I leave you to warm up my car and you’re already letting your fiancée take Emma for all she’s worth?!”

There’s no malice in his voice, just a thinly veiled teasing tone, and Emma suppresses a grin at the eye rolls and groans from his reprimand that fill their small group. “I guess that’s my cue,” Emma says instead, backing up. “You coming, Will?”

Will shakes his head. “I’m going to give these lovely ladies the privilege of my presence on their couch tomorrow morning.” His wide grin breaks at the slap on the back of his head from Mulan, but neither her nor Ruby do anything to stop Will.

Wishes of merry Christmases fill the room and soon enough, Emma and Kilian find themselves heading towards the shop’s exit.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” The gentleness of his voice, the care in which he takes with her mission, lights a fire in her chest.

Her smile is wide even if her voice is quiet and soft. “Thank you. Seriously. It’s going to blow his mind.”

Killian’s response is cut off by loud cheers and chants of ‘Kiss! Kiss!’ They both turn a curious glance over at the crowd, ready to see who the latest couple caught by the random sprig of mistletoe is, only to find the crowd already staring back at them. Her head slowly tilts back and her mouth drops open, dumbfounded.

It feels fated, almost, the way that she’s found herself under the mistletoe with the one man who’s been able to turn her world inside-out in just a night. The universe is pushing them together and for once in her life, she agrees with it.

“Please,” Killian scoffs, addressing the group. It becomes clear to her quickly that he’s trying to give her an out or a reason to jump. His statement offers her the choice and that’s what does it. Well, that and his next sentence leave no other option for her competitive side. “She couldn’t handle it.”

Then he turns to her with that wide, victorious smirk and she wishes to wipe it right off his face, the smug bastard. No matter the choice she makes, he still wins. So she does the only logical thing to do in the situation.

She lays the bag with the comic pages on the display stand behind her. Her eyes remain locked on Killian’s the entire time and she can tell that he’s itching to swipe his thumb across his lip.

Then her resolve crumbles to nothing and she grasps the lapels of his leather jacket and tugs him forward.

Their lips meet in a slow, hesitant kiss despite the passionate start to their embrace. The moment Emma sighs, relaxing slightly as her mouth remains pressed against Killian’s, Killian takes advantage. He moves with confidence and familiarity. The taste of his mouth is new but the way his fingers tangle in her hair feels like his hand is always supposed to cradle her head there.

It’s exhilarating and intoxicating all at once. The sounds of the party fade to nothing and the only thing she can hear other than her racing pulse in her ear is the way Killian sighs and groans as they kiss. It’s delicious and tempting and she wants it to stay imprinted on the forefront of her mind.

The spell is cracked, not broken, when they pull apart.

Emma’s left in a daze, not registering a single moment of their final goodbyes before she’s buckled back up in Killian’s car and waiting for him to pull away from the curb.

Despite their bubble splintering at the store, a crackle of electricity, a simmering heat, still rises beneath the surface. It’s so palpable she can almost taste it. She can’t let him leave her yet. Not without another taste. Especially when he looks so unfairly good in the Santa hat bestowed on him at the store.

Killian starts their route to her place and Emma can’t bear to say goodbye to him when they pull up. Her mind flitters to the to-do list she wrote that morning and all the things she needed or should be doing for the holiday. The few remaining gifts she had to wrap, the food she had to prepare for tomorrow, and the cookies left unmade. All of the ingredients in her cabinets are new and purchased for a single holiday. She’ll never get through all of it by tomorrow.

Swallowing hard, Emma turns in her seat and looks at Killian. “What’re your plans for the rest of the holiday?”

He licks his lips before he answers, his mouth as dry as hers suddenly feels. “Just heading home to watch a few films on the telly.”

“How do you feel about making sugar cookies?” It only takes a moment for the question in his gaze to disappear, giving way to a bright grin. Her heart flutters at the sight and instead of fretting, she lets out a deep breath and relaxes her shoulders.

The house is warm when they enter. Henry’s new gift is placed aside to be wrapped once the cookies are in the oven. Their fingers linger longer than necessary as they help each other tie their aprons, a twinkle in Killian’s eyes as he raises an eyebrow when Emma’s hand slides a little too low once she’s finished.

“Fair game,” is what he whispers to her as he trails his hand up her side before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He leans down to place a soft kiss on her lips only for them to lose themselves in the action. Their Santa hats fall to the ground, not that either of them notice. The slight flour that got on Emma’s hand from pulling down ingredients before now runs a white streak through one side of Killian’s hair and he returns the favor once they actually start cooking.

She gets mesmerized by the way he uses his stump – brace off and arm washed clean – to knead the dough better than she’s ever been able to. It takes a near monumental effort to concentrate on the cookies and not what else he might be capable of.

That only lasts until the cookies are in the oven and the timer is set, Henry’s gift laying unwrapped where she left it as Killian proves just what he can do.

They trade lazy kisses once she finally gets around to wrapping Henry’s new gift. Neither of them attempt to repress the smiles that bloom on their faces and it’s the most at peace Emma has felt in possibly her entire life. The only thing that’d make the moment even better, she thinks to herself, would be if her kid were with them.

Perhaps it’s coincidence or luck. Or maybe Christmas magic, as hard as it is to believe, actually does exist. Because it’s not a moment later when, at 11:43pm Christmas Eve night, her phone rings.

“Hey, Mom?” Henry whispers once she picks up.

“Henry?” The hairs on the back of her neck raise in alert and she sees Killian’s posture straighten from beside her on the couch. He makes a quick move to pause Miracle on 34th Street.

“I’m okay,” her kid starts but Emma only feels a small bit of tension leave her shoulders. “I just… I miss you.”

Her heart lurches at his words. “I miss you too,” she whispers back and wills her eyes not to tear. It’s been a long time since they’ve been separated like this but time doesn’t make it easier. “How was your night, kid?”

Henry huff’s out a laugh. “Thanks for the gifts, I know they were your idea. Also, I’m pretty sure half of this stuff is actually his.”

She joins in his laughter with a quick snort of her own. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah…” He pauses and Emma leans back into the couch. Killian raises an eyebrow in her direction as he wraps an arm around her and she merely shrugs. She guesses Henry just wanted to talk. “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas here. Not without you. Can you pick me up? I want to come home.”

“Oh Henry,” Emma whispers again. She makes quick work of the tear that manages to escape and nods her head before she realizes that he can’t see her. “Of course. It’ll take me ten minutes to get there. Start packing up and wake your dad to let him know, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

The moment after they hang up, Emma turns towards Killian and pulls him into a tight embrace, allowing only a few more tears free – the last thing she needs is to let Henry know how emotional their conversation got her.

“You’re right,” she mumbles into Killian’s neck. His hand and stump hold her closer and she feels every worry leave her body with a few strokes.

Killian was right. For as much as she focuses on the material things of the holiday, Henry doesn’t care about the gifts. She’s given him a home, a place of comfort and memories, and that’s what he wants this year. It’s nothing that Neal can provide him and Emma knows that just turning on their Christmas tree and watching Home Alone will be enough.

She glances at the gifts stuffed under the tree in their living room, especially the special new addition, and grins to herself.

The presents don’t hurt either.

Killian helps her to stand as she explains the situation. She can see the offer of a ride sitting on the tip of his tongue but his desire to not overstep holding it back. For most of the night, he’s been making the effort and opening up first. So this time, she resolves, it’s up to her.

With her hand out as an offering, she asks, “You willing to give us a ride?”

He grins wide, leaning down to give her a kiss. “Ride accepted.”

[nancypullen]

I Lost My Mind

Sorry that I dropped off the face of the Earth for a bit. I have been in a holiday frenzy. I mentioned that I'll be flying down to visit my mom in Florida for a few days. What I did not consider is that taking a chunk out of the middle of December would send me into hyper-holiday prep. I felt like I needed to have EVERYTHING done before departing on the 12th. Ev-er-y-thing. So I put my head down and trimmed the tree, decorated the house, shopped, wrapped, wrote and addressed cards, wrapped some more, baked and baked, and finally checked the last task (packing and mailing a box) off my list. When I return home on the 17th my biggest worry will be preparing for the Christmas meal. I'll have a handful of days to panic. We may have tacos for Christmas dinner if I drop the ball.

The mister had mentioned making the hour long drive up to Christiana Mall in Delaware earlier this week. I told him that if I could get everything done on my list, I could go on Thursday. I worked like a mad woman so I could go to that damn mall. I used to take malls for granted, then I moved to Dogpatch. So I met my self-imposed deadline (the last cookie was packaged at 7pm on Wednesday night) and went to bed with a heating pad and visions of shopping dancing in my head. I was not disappointed. It turned into the best day! The most wonderful part? It snowed on us! All the way to Newark we were treated to this:

I can't even tell you how happy it made me. After our snowy trip we walked into the mall and right into a giant Barnes and Noble. Man, have I missed browsing in a brick and mortar bookstore. I made a wish list a mile long. *sigh*

Mickey and I split up and I visited Lush and bought a couple of sparkly bath bombs for my favorite 5 year old, walked a couple of stores down and picked up a little something for my sister's upcoming birthday, browsed in Pottery Barn and Williams Sonoma (swoon!), and put some mileage on my shoes poking around in numerous other shops. It was such fun, I felt like an Amish girl on rumspringa. We met for a quick lunch and then headed off to the local Trader Joe's for a few things. We didn't have snow on the way home, but at least the car smelled good from that sack of bath bombs. Tomorrow I'm volunteering at the Friends of the Library booth at Winterfest. I think I'm running the Pin the Nose on the Snowman game. I doubt it will compete with all of the bouncy houses and big stuff, but hopefully some little bookworms will find us. After the festival I'll once again become a crazy lady, cleaning this house top to bottom and getting packed for the trip. I want to come home on the night of the 17th to a house that doesn't need a thing, because we'll be hurtling right into Christmas. Note to self: never again travel in December. I know I'll have a ball in Florida. I wanted to see my mom before I start the library job and lose the freedom to travel whenever I want (I've forgotten what it's like to ask for time off!). My sister is going to join us and we'll be able to celebrate her birthday on the 15th. It'll be good for all of us, some girl time. And that, my friends, explains my absence. I'm a one-woman holiday crew. The house is pretty, the tree is sparkling, gifts are purchased, wrapped, and tagged, cookies are baked, cards are mailed, and this elf is done. Well, I say one-woman, but I am never alone. Someone is always there, watching.

See her in there, just behind the white and gold bow? I can't keep her out of there. At least she doesn't climb it. I'll try to write a bit more tomorrow, I think I'll actually have a little time. I may tromp around in the woods and look for some greenery to cut. I want to make a festive swag to hang over those ugly blinds.

Hmmm. Maybe not. Looks a little too busy. Maybe some light garland. Whatever, it's not like we're on the Christmas home tour. Until tomorrow (I hope), I hope that you're enjoying every bright and shiny bit of this season. Turn on some holiday tunes and boogie your way through your chores. That's what keeps me going.

Stay safe, stay well, stay jolly! XOXO, Nancy

[scuttling]

Chicken Soup for the Soul - Ch 1

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Spencer Reid/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 1206 Tags: SFW, A lot of food talk, TW grief, TW depression, TW medication talk, Episode related: 8x13 Magnum Opus (and therefore the aftermath of Maeve) Summary: My dark days made me strong. Or maybe I already was strong, and they made me prove it. — Emery Lord A/N: For @lcvingprentjss's challenge - the end of cj’s chapter 🤍

Spencer isn’t sure of the day. He’s not sure of the hour; it’s morning, clearly, as the sun streams in through the gap in the curtains he’s done his best to close, but aside from that he’s got nothing. 

His back is against the door again. He hears the click of a set of heels that’s become very familiar over the last few days—JJ—and then another set that come to a stop, followed by the soft placement of what he assumes is another of Garcia’s gift baskets. 

(He opened his door once, yesterday, just to look at them. Just to feel a little worse than he already does. They care so much, love him so much, and he can’t even muster up more than a knock on the door in response to their kindness. Just another way in which he feels completely helpless.)

For as physically still and silent as he’s been since he got home, he feels absolutely out of control; he thinks of reaching out to grab books, to pick up a takeout menu, to text Garcia and thank her for the baskets, for the nuts and seeds, the loose leaf tea, the popcorn and olives and shortbread cookies and gourmet cheese, but he just can’t. His arms and legs won’t move. His heart’s not in it, barely thumping away in his chest as his mind whirs to all but a complete stop for hours, days on end.

It gets dark, and then light again, a few times, before the doorbell rings.

“Spencer Reid?” an unfamiliar voice calls softly. Then his visitor raps on the door with their knuckles. “Spencer Reid? I’ve been told that you’re home but you won’t answer the door; I’ve also been told that under no circumstances should I leave until you’ve opened the door. You wouldn’t make me stand out here all day, would you?” 

Spencer sighs and lets his head fall back against the wooden door with a thunk. His hair feels greasy where it hangs around his face, his muscles stiff and uncomfortable from sitting there for so long without moving.

“Did Garcia put you up to this?” he rasps, voice rough from disuse. He’s been alone with his thoughts for so long–-too long–-that the sound of it feels foreign to his ears. “I’ll just bring in one of the baskets she already left. You can go.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know any Garcia; the delivery is from a… Dr. Alex Blake.” 

Spencer opens his eyes, and it seems that his other senses come back online as well: he can hear the tick of a clock, the drip of the faucet, and he can smell something incredible on the other side of the door–-there’s an aromatic sauce, fresh herbs, breadcrumbs, maybe? His stomach growls involuntarily, empty and aching, now that he’s paying attention to it. 

“It’s lasagna,” his guest says as if they could hear the rumble. “Roasted broccoli. Mixed green salad. She said you were probably starving.” There is a shuffle of feet on the other side of the door, and Spencer can tell that the person with the delivery has slid down to a seat not unlike his own. Even though he doesn’t know them, he feels a kind of kinship as they sit back to back… and the food smells even better now, as the scent of it wafts through the crack at the bottom of the door. “I made chocolate chip muffins, too. She said you have a sweet tooth.” 

“You can leave it,” he croaks, and then clears his throat. “I’ll eat it, I promise.” 

“Sorry, Spencer. I promised Dr. Blake I’d only hand it directly to you, and she’s tougher than she looks.” 

A laugh bubbles up in Spencer’s throat, and he’s so surprised by it that it comes out a half cough, half bark. He folds his hands and drops them into his lap.

“That she is. I don’t blame you for not disobeying her.” 

“Oh, perfect, then you’ll open the door?” they ask, but he says nothing in response. “Look, I don’t know much about you besides your name and address, and I can tell you’re not in a talking mood, so I’m just going to talk about me, okay?” When they’re met with silence, they continue. “So… I’m a chef. I own my own business, this business, making meals for people. Sometimes it’s people who are disabled or who’ve been injured and can’t cook. Sometimes it’s elderly people who live alone; sometimes it’s people struggling with their mental health. I’ve always been looking for a way to combine my passion for food with philanthropy.” 

“That’s noble of you.” 

“Not really. It just feels like the right thing to do. Food can be so personal and uplifting, and I don’t think they should miss out on all the joy food can bring just because they’re unable to cook–-or in some cases, leave home at all.” 

Spencer picks at a loose thread at his wrist, focuses on it when he tells the lie.

“I could leave if I wanted to.” 

“Maybe. I think if you could have, you would have, though.” 

He supposes they’ve got him there.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, or embarrassed about. We all struggle at different times of our lives.” They sigh, shift in their seat. “A few years ago, I was so depressed it became hard for me to bathe. I would just stand there and look at the empty shower, the empty tub, all of the bottles lined up on the edge of it, and just… stare. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Just removing my clothes felt like it took hours.” 

Spencer surreptitiously—he doesn’t know why, he is physically alone, after all—lifts his robe to his nose, and recoils at the reminder that showering hasn’t been something he’s been able to conquer just yet either. 

“How did you overcome it?” he murmurs, and he’s not even sure they’ve heard him for a moment, until they hum thoughtfully. 

“Time. Therapy. Friends. Food.” There’s a soft thump as they set something down on the floor beside them—a paper bag, maybe. “Also Prozac. In fact, it was probably mostly the Prozac.” Spencer huffs a laugh despite himself, one his visitor heartily returns. “If you can just open the door, Spencer, I’ll slide the bag to you; technically that’s all Dr. Blake asked for. It’s a baby step, but I find that baby steps can be really helpful during times like these.”

Baby steps, he thinks. He inhales deeply, exhales deeply. He can do this. Can will his hand to cover the knob, to turn it. Can open the door just enough to receive the package—the steamy, fragrant, mouthwatering package—and then eat for the first time in what feels like an eternity. 

It’s hard. Almost impossible. But he turns the knob.

They push the bag through the small gap he provides, then close the door again. He exhales, glad they stood up to their end of the bargain, didn’t want to come in or see him face to face. They leave with a soft, "I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer," and he opens the bag. He doesn't smile, but it's a near thing.

Baby steps. 

[captainsophiestark]

Jack Thompson Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

X - x reader F - Female Reader (otherwise it’s gender neutral) ☀️ - Fluff ✨ - Humor ☁️ - Angst ⭐️ - Author Faves

Newest fics will be at the bottom

Welcome to the Neighborhood! - Part One  Part Two - F!X ☀️ Jack Thompson is moving into a suburban neighborhood to conduct surveillance on a man named Charles who lives across the street. Thompson needs information, but when is over-friendly next door neighbor drags him to a neighborhood barbecue he gets more than he bargained for.

Like I’m Gonna Lose You - F!X ☁️☀️⭐️ Y/N is one of the best science agents the SSR has ever seen. She started dating Jack Thompson a few months ago, when he finally got past his “men are superior” mindset. Now, a new issue arises for the couple when Y/N gets a shot at a mission in the field.

Baker’s 200 - F!X ☀️ Peggy and Sousa are finally getting married, and Y/N volunteered to make all the cupcakes and cookies for their engagement party. It’s a big order though, so she’s gonna need a little help. Fortunately, her husband Jack Thompson is around to help get the job done.

Told You - F!X ☀️✨ Y/N is an SSR agent on a mission with Ray Krzeminski and her boyfriend, Jack Thompson. Jack learned a while ago that he should never bet against Y/N, but Krzeminski still has a few lessons to go.

Newspaper - F!X ☀️ Y/N and Jack Thompson have been married for a while, and have recently made it to the other side of the ordeal with Whitney Frost and Vernon Masters. Now, as Vernon Masters’ coconspirators are going through their lengthy trials, the members of the group who still have some power are doing everything they can to discredit the SSR agents who brought them down. Fortunately for Jack, he and his wife have a bond like none other.

Kitty Captain - F!X ☀️✨ Y/N adopted a new cat from her niece, and tonight’s the night her boyfriend Jack meets the cat. Unfortunately for Jack, the cat doesn’t take well to someone distracting Y/N and taking attention away from giving pets and food. Jack’s going to have to make amends unless he wants the new cat making his life hell.

Partner in Crime - F!X ☁️☀️ Y/N is a SHIELD agent on Coulson’s team, recently returned from a long deep-cover mission. She’s hoping to get some much needed rest when a call from Coulson shatters those hopes. What starts as a frustrating experience with a seriously out of touch time-traveler might turn out to be exactly what she’s been hoping for.

Uncovered Feelings - X ☀️ Peggy and Daniel have been ignoring and avoiding their feelings for each other forever. Everyone in the office knows it, and all they want is for the pair to stop longing and finally get together. When Y/N finds them having a moment in the bullpen and decides to spy, however, PeggySous might not be the only couple finally having a breakthrough if Jack Thompson has anything to say about it.

Hospital - X ☁️☀️⭐️ Daniel and Peggy have finally admitted feellings for each other, and Y/N didn’t want them wasting a single second before finally going out on a long-awaited date. As one of the couple’s best friends and a long-time SSR scientist, they sent Peggy and Daniel off and promised to shut down the office safely. However, when Y/N picks up an emergency call to the office about a certain blond New York SSR Chief, they have some serious decisions to make about someone they haven’t always had the best relationship with.

Sleep Talker - X ☀️ Y/N and Jack have been friends for a little while now, and Y/N’s had a crush on him almost as long. Despite that, their relationship has been firmly in the friends category. That might just change, however, when they’re both stuck working the night shift together at the SSR.

Knockout Gas - X ☀️ Y/N is a scientist at the SSR and has been dating Jack Thompson for a while. They decide to tag along to the SSR on a weekend with Jack, since he has some work he needs to do and they have an experiment they want to keep working on. Unfortunately for Jack (and the SSR’s lab organization), Y/N has a tendency to get to Howard Stark levels of crazy when they’re in the zone and determined to get an idea to work.

Head Cold - F!X ☀️ Jack Thompson’s a notorious workaholic who doesn’t stop for anything, even a cold that’s almost completely knocked him out. Thankfully, Y/N’s around to make sure he takes care of himself, and she’s not about to let his stubborn nature win.

Scotch on the Rocks - X ☁️☀️ Y/N is a bartender at one of the best dive bars in New York, and really loves their job. Except, that is, for the nights when Jack Thompson comes in to hassle them. Things may change, however, when Y/N gets closer to Jack than they ever planned on getting.

Road Trip  - F!X ☁️☀️⭐️ Y/N followed Daniel to LA when he left, thinking it would be an escape from all the headaches in New York. Then, the headache followed her to LA. And got himself shot. Now, he needs to go back to New York, but since he's still recovering from a few bullets to the chest, he's not cleared to fly. It's also not the safest thing for him to drive across the country by himself, so he'll need somebody to go with him. And Y/N is about to get roped into doing it.

Loveable Asshole - F!X ☁️☀️ Y/N and Jack have always had a flirty relationship, but every time Jack tries to take it further by asking Y/N on a date, she shuts it down. He usually doesn't let it bother him, but when the pair gets stuck working the night shift together, he's determined to finally understand.

Welcome Back - X ☀️✨ Jack's been recovering in the hospital and at home for the last month since he got shot, and now he's finally allowed back in the office in LA. Y/N has been dating Jack since before all that, and after such a long month full of hardships, they get Rose, Peggy, and Daniel's help putting together a surprise welcome back party for Jack as a break from everything they've been going through.

Fallen Angel - F!X ☁️☀️ Y/N has been working with Peggy since the start of the Howard Stark case, and now she’s sitting in an interrogation room facing Daniel, Dooley, and the man she thought she might love, Jack Thompson. But when he disappoints her just like all the other men in the office who made assumptions about her and her association with Stark, is there any chance for him to repair the relationship? Or are they done forever?

How Not To Impress Your Future Inlaws - F!X ☁️☀️ Jack Thompson and Y/N are undercover at a gala, looking for Vernon Masters. He’s not there, but they might just find someone (or two someones) worse, especially since Y/N has a giant secret crush on Jack Thompson and is in the middle of pretending to be his girlfriend for their jobs.

A Reverse Steve Rogers - X!F ☀️✨ Y/N, an Avenger, friend of Tony Stark, and the one who helped Steve Rogers adjust to the 21st century after he came out of the ice, gets flung back into the 1940s when something goes wrong on a training mission. She has no idea how long her stay in the 40s might be, but one way or another, it’s going to be interesting.

Matchmakers - F!X ☀️✨ When Y/N is the first female agent allowed to work the night shift, side by side with Jack Thompson, Peggy and Daniel want to make sure she doesn't miss the hint.

The Most Important Mission of All - X ☀️✨ Jack and his SO have been dating for a long time, and now he has something very important to ask.

History - F!X ☁️☀️ Jack's ex-fiance left New York and moved to LA to start fresh after she realized he would never see her as an equal. Now, however, their paths might be crossing again, and Jack Thompson's managed to have a lot of growth since the last time they saw each other.

What The Fuck Is A Grid System - X ☀️✨⭐️ Jack Thompson's a New Yorker, dammit, and when Peggy and Daniel leave him to find his own way through the winding streets of LA with only some shaky directions as guidance, he might need a little help from a local to see him through.

[baroquebucky]

embrace

soulmate au where when you touch your soulmate you see glimpses of your future with them; the winter soldier touches you and realizes there’s so much more out there

series masterlist // previous // next

part three

word count: 2.3k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !!! here is the third installment for my soulmate au !! i think I’ll make one or two more parts and then end it ! let me know what you guys think i love reading your thoughts !! <3 (bonus points if u find all the parallels heh)

You didn’t hesitate throwing your arms around him, tears flowing down your cheeks as you held onto him tightly. Bucky held you just as tight, burrowing his face in your shoulder and a smile on his face.

Bucky felt home. He felt the way he imagined the smell of freshly baked cookies would feel, he felt warm and fuzzy. Bucky felt happy.

“i- where have you been what happened i thought- we all- oh my god steve he’s been going crazy and-” you rambled, a smile on your face. You looked at bucky, he was just as tall as your remembered, his eyes a bit brighter and you felt your heart flutter.

“oh come in!” You chuckled, pulling him by his metal arm into your home, a smile on your face as you led him to your living room.

“i never introduced myself” he spoke, eyes on the ground as you prepared two cups of hot chocolate. You looked at him, laughing lightly.

“guess you didn’t huh” you replied, taking out the cups and putting in some marshmallows before walking back over to the couch, setting the two cups on the table and turning to face him.

“I’m y/n” you smiled brightly, extending your hand out. Bucky grinned, shaking your hand and introducing himself.

“I’m bucky” you felt your face heat up as he smiled at you, much different from the last time when you looked at each other.

“does Steve know you’re here? that you’re you?” you questioned, eyeing him to try and get read on his body language. He shifted slightly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“not really no, i-” he hesitated before fiddling with his hands and speaking up again, “ive been laying low, i just couldn’t stop thinking about you and the visions i saw” he spoke, blushing and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face.

“i couldn’t either” you replied, looking at him before looking at the way the marshmallows melted into the hot chocolate. “I was so worried these past couple of months, i tried helping steve and Sam but it was so much and we were getting no where” you mumbled, heart falling as you thought of all your fruitless efforts.

Bucky noticed the way your voice trembled as you spoke and how you grilled the mug a little tighter. He felt his chest tighten.

“I’m here now doll” he spoke softly, moving to put your mug down and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You relaxed into his touch, tears welling in your eyes once more, you let yourself lean into him, closing your eyes for a second and enjoying his embrace.

“i missed you so much, can’t believe i could miss someone i didn’t even know that much” you laughed, sniffling lightly as you pulled away

“we’re soulmates dollface, we’re meant to be” he smiled softly at you and you nodded, a small smile as you wiped away a couple stray tears.

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation with each other. All laughs and giggles as you spoke, the sun high in the sky already and the city wide awake despite it being early in the morning.

You so happy to have bucky with you, a smile on your face as you started to think of all you had to show him, thoughts of the future you had seen made you giddy with excitement.

“oh you have to meet Sam! The two of you would be so funny together bickering all the time- oh also there’s this coffee shop i really like, very quaint but-” you rambled, trying to fit in everything you wanted to tell bucky.

“I’m moving” bucky cut you off, a frown on his face as he glanced over at you. He focused his gaze on you, stomach dropping when you stared at him with a confused expression.

“like here? to New York?” You were quiet, knowing that’s not what he meant. Bucky but his bottom lip in frustration before turning to you with sad eyes.

“romania, i cant be here- not while HYDRA is still out there and I’m wanted for everything I’ve done” bucky frowned. Your heart broke in your chest, you wanted to curl up and cry.

You just got him back. You had lost him twice already, you weren’t sure if you could handle a third.

“you can’t- i just got you back you can’t go” you shook your head, eyes watery already. You held his hand tightly and bucky wanted to badly to stay.

“i have to” he whispered, “you know i do.”

And you did, you knew this was his best chance and you had to let him go. You knew how painful it would be and how much you would miss him. You thought about the amount of time you had cried at night, wishing you could get to the future already.

But you also knew you would get your happy ending, you knew at some point in your life you would be happily in love and laughing in a meadow of flowers watching a sunset with him. And that’s what you held onto.

“promise me you’ll come back to me” you whispered, scooting closer to him, his hands still in yours.

“I always will doll” he smiled, slipping his hand out of yours and placing it softly under your chin, tilting your head so you could look at him. Your watery eyes met his baby blue ones, you swore they sparkled slightly.

“don’t worry your pretty head doll, we still have forever to be happy” he smiled, leaning in slightly. Bucky stopped centimeters away from your lips, your heart racing at his actions, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

“may i?” He whispered. You didn’t reply, instead you crashed your lips onto him. It was needy and rough, your teeth hitting each other at one point but you didn’t care. It felt like your heart were beating in sync, you felt whole.

You both pulled away, breathless before laughing lightly, your hair messy from his hands tugging at it. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, a charming smile on his face as you two regained your composure.

“if you kiss me like that again i don’t think I’ll let you go” you teased, heart heavy as he frowned slightly.

“what if i kiss you like this” he mumbled, softly placing his lips back onto yours. It was much gentler, softer and sweet. Your hand easily finding its way to his hair, fingers cascading through his soft hair. Bucky smiled into the kiss, giving you a soft peck before pulling away.

“you’re gonna be the death of me” you whispered, heart thumping in your ears. Bucky smiled at you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and holding you.

You wiggled a bit, laying your head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat, your eyes closing and falling asleep before you could even fight to stay awake.

Bucky woke you up at around 1 pm, shaking you gently. Your eyes opened slowly and you realized you were back in your bed, tucked in under your blanket.

“i waited a bit before bringing you back to bed, didn’t wanna wake you again” bucky smiled and you laughed, sitting up and yawning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“i got some food for us, figured you’d be hungry” bucky spoke, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as you walked out of your room when you finished brushing your teeth and changing out of your pajamas.

You looked at bucky with a smile on your face, bounding over to him and tackling him with a hug, kissing his cheek. You silently thanked the universe for giving you bucky as your soulmate as the two of you talked while you ate.

Bucky had never felt so at ease, he wasn’t worried about someone kicking his door down or having to keep running. All he could focus on was the way you would smile anytime he laughed and the way you blushed when your eyes would meet.

The two of you spent the day together, cuddled up on the couch and watching a movie, just like you had seen the first time the two of you ever touched. You smiled to yourself while bucky focused on the movie, his hand mindlessly drawing circles on your arm as he held you. This was how it was meant to be, your soulmate by your side and the feeling of home.

But nothing ever seems to go as it should. By the time night came you were saying goodbye, both of you teary eyed as he held you tightly, not wanting to go but know he had to.

It had taken an hour to move from the couch to halfway to the door, both of you crying messes with soft giggles trying to cheer each other up.

Finally you had reached the door, both of you going through too many tissues and looking at each other with teary eyes and matching pink noses.

“before i go” bucky turned, pulling away from the handle and into his jacket pocket, you could hear the jingling of metal. “I want you to have these, until we can be together again” he smiled, holding out his dog tags.

You didn’t know what to say, tears flowing down your cheeks again as you looked at him. Bucky hugged you, letting you cry into his chest for a moment before you calmed down.

“are you sure buck? I mean they must mean so much to you” you looked at him and he smiled, nodding before easily putting them on you, his heart fluttering as he took in the sight of them on you.

“I’ll see you soon dollface” Bucky smiled, kissing your temple and you nodded, hands clutching his dog tags.

“see you soon lovebug, I’ll be waiting here for you” you smiled, loving the way he blushed at the new nickname.

When you found out about steve finding him in Romania you acted surprised, guilt washing over you for hiding the information from your friend but you knew it’s what bucky wanted.

You offered to go help him and Sam on the rescue mission but they stopped you, telling you it was best for you to stay out of this one. You wanted to argue but you couldn’t blame them, you had been a wreck after bucky left, barely sleeping and crying over your soulmate.

You didn’t expect the bombing at the UN, bucky being framed and the whole team falling out. You had been in New York the whole time, skipping out on the meeting with the accords because you just so happened to have the flu that week.

“oh yeah stay home i can’t afford you getting everyone sick” tony has spoken over the phone, hanging up on you, a frown on your face. Not ten minutes later did you get a notification saying food was being delivered to your house, nice warm soup along with some medicine to help you feel better.

You least expected steve flying you out to wakanda, eyes wide as you took in all the technology, heart thumping in your chest knowing bucky would be right around the corner.

You felt your heart stop as you saw him in a white tank top, running up to him and wrapping your arms around him. Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling and bucky held you tightly with his right arm, leaning into your touch.

“oh doll I’ve missed you so damn much” he mumbled, a smile on his face as the two of you held each other for the first time in months.

“missed you so much more james” you spoke breathless, pulling away before placing a gentle kiss on his lips, the two of you smiling and resting your foreheads against each other.

“y/n-” you pressed your lips to his, quieting him. Pulling away you looked at him with love in your eyes, heart racing as he smiled at you softly.

“Steve already told me” you explained, knowing how much it would pain him to tell you. Bucky nodded, his lips curling into a gentle smile as he looked at you. His eyes landed on the outline of his dog tags under your shirt.

“you still have ‘em on” he whispered his eyes soft and his heart melting as you nodded.

“I never take them off lovebug” you replied, holding his hand in your as he smiled up at you. Steve placed a hand on your shoulder signaling it was time.

You stepped away from bucky, his hand holding onto yours tighter, not wanting to let go. You made sure you kept his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers.

“You sure about this?” Steve spoke up and bucky nodded, a tight smile on his face as his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“i cant trust my own mind,” he chuckled dryly, “until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head i think going back under is the best thing” he looked at you with a soft smile, “for everybody.”

You squeezed his hand, nodding your head softly. “don’t worry lovebug, I’m yours forever” you whispered, a smile on your face as he recognized the phrase as the same on you had spoke to him in the flashes when you first touched.

“I’m yours forever, doll” Bucky spoke, kissing your temple before slipping his hand out of yours, and stepping into the machine.

You stood next to Steve as the machine whirred, looking away as it froze over. Steve put his arm around you, leading you away.

You held onto the memories you had made months ago in your apartment. You held onto the flashes you had gotten of the two of you having a picnic in the meadow, giggling with the sunset in the background.

You held onto bucky, your hope.

-

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[mandoalorian]

Handy-Man

An AU in which Din Djarin advertises himself on Craigslist as a man who can assemble your IKEA furniture for 50 bucks.

credit for idea goes to @fleetwoodmactshirt and their post which you can read here; thank you to @clown-bae-anon for tagging me in the post!! 💓

Please please reblog!

You wanted to cry.

Moving out of your childhood home was meant to be your way of asserting your independence and proving to your parents that you could make it on your own. But, as you sat in front of the collapsed television unit, surrounded by an abundance of miscellaneous screws, with broken and bleeding fingernails, you found yourself wondering if you had made a severe lapse of judgement.

Better yet, they were coming over for dinner today— and you knew your dad would give you a mouthful if he saw you hadn’t finished assembling your furniture already. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Unfortunately, you were brand new to the neighbourhood and hadn’t yet made any friends. You had no one to rely on; no one to ask for a favour. You pondered for a few moments, trying to figure out where you could find a handy man willing to work such short notice. You had no other choice than to turn to Craigslist.

There were a few potential candidates. Boba Fett; but he couldn’t be there until Tuesday. Fennec Shand; but she was extremely pricey. Then, at the very bottom of the website, you noticed a small advertisement. Only a few words.

“Din Djarin: I will assemble your IKEA furniture for 50 bucks. Will take me no more than an hour. I will bring my kid. Call me.”

And underneath, he left his number. You guessed that was the catch: that he would bring his child while he worked. You didn’t mind too terribly, besides, you were out of other options. You just hoped it wouldn’t be a sticky iPad kid who was going to snoop around your stuff and make a mess.

Grabbing your phone, you dialled his number. He answered on the first few rings, but said nothing.

“Uhm, hi,” you greeted, scratching the back of your neck as you tried to figure out how to approach the handy man. You’d never hired anyone from Craigslist before. “I have this huge TV unit from IKEA and I need it assembled before 5pm today. Would you be able to—“

“Address?” he asked, giving you the first taste of his velvety voice. After giving him your address, you were about to ask him about the child, but he cut you off. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.” Then he hung up.

He was abrupt, to say the least. You stood there, phone in hand, reflecting on your short witted conversation you’d had with the handyman. Maybe he just wasn’t sociable? It was okay though, he’d be coming over to work, not chat. You just needed him to assemble the television stand before your parents came over.

And if he was true to his advertisement, he’d get it done in no time.

Din Djarin arrived on your doorstep after seven minutes, carrying his son close to his chest. When you heard your doorbell ring out, you smoothed out your outfit, fixed your hair, and checked your appearance on the mirror hanging in the entrance-way. After all, this would technically be the first person you met in your brand new neighbourhood. And first impressions mattered.

As you swung open the front door, you announced, with a beaming smile crossing your lips, “Thank you so much for com—“

You were awe-struck. He was… breathtaking. Not like the handymen back home. He stood there, blinking his chocolate brown eyes, and nursing a child who must have been no older than two years. His hair was only a few shades darker than his eyes, short and curly, and he had a light graze of stubble donning his jaw and upper lip.

You found your gaze quickly flicking to his hands, only to check for a wedding ring. You hated how that was your first instinct but you felt a hitch in your throat when you saw just how large and thick his fingers were.

Your wild thoughts were interrupted when he cleared his throat awkwardly, and you wanted to curse at yourself how long you’d been standing there, blatantly checking him out. Your grip on the door tightened as you felt a flush of heat cross your cheeks, and you offered the handyman a weak smile.

“S— am sorry, I— hi,” you extended your arm and shook his hand. “I’m new. I mean I’m Y/N. But I’m new too. I uh—“

“I’m Din,” he introduced, cutting your flustered response short. “This is Grogu.”

His child cooed slightly and you were in awe over just how big the little one’s eyes were. You smiled and closed in on the child, offering him a small wave.

“Hi baby,” you cooed back, completely enamoured with him. Now that you were more aware of how you were acting around the handyman, you turned to focus your attention more on him. “Uh, please come in. And make yourself comfortable,” you offered, opening the front door wider and ushering both the man and his son inside. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“No thanks.” Din replied, setting down his toolbox and then the child.

“Grogu, are you hungry?” you asked, kneeling down to the little child. He slurped and eagerly nodded his head, causing Din to roll his eyes.

“He just had soup before we left,” Din told you.

“Kids always have big appetites,” you laughed, and finally, your comment had caused Din to break a smile. Albeit it was a small one, you still adored the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with delight.

“You have kids?” Din asked curiously, briefly glancing around your living room in search for any signs of children; but he couldn’t find any toys or printed comfort blankies laying around.

Somehow, you got the idea that he didn’t get around much (other than for work, at least). You got the idea that maybe he didn’t have many friends.

“No, but uh— I come from a big family and I used to have a babysitting job when I was a teenager. Feels like I’ve been around kids my whole life,” you admitted, wondering if you’d offered the handyman a little too much personal information. You quickly made the decision to change the subject, grabbing Grogu’s tiny hand. “Come with me Grogu, let’s see what I have in the fridge.”

Grogu selected some dinosaur shaped crackers and a juice box, sipping on it merrily as he toddled back into the living room where his father was working. You silently leaned by the door frame, admiring Din as he constructed the television stand. You’d only been gone five minutes and he’d already made so much progress.

Unable to escape the feeling, you just couldn’t ignore the flurry of butterflies that were ecstatically circling around in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t tear your gaze from the attractive handyman who was fixing up your IKEA television stand for only 50 bucks. All of this seemed too good to be true.

He could be a serial killer and you wouldn’t even know. But as you watched his bicep flex underneath his light grey sweatshirt, you considered the many ways he might kill you; and for a split second, you knew that if he decided to turn around and choke you with his strong hands, you wouldn’t be mad at all.

“You want kids one day?” he quizzed suddenly, the question causing you to jump slightly. You were so quiet, you had kind of hoped he hadn’t noticed you were just standing there, watching him work.

“Uhm, maybe. I don’t know yet,” you said, glancing down at Grogu who was just patiently sitting down on your sofa, munching at his cookies. He was so well behaved. Din must’ve been a really good dad. “Did you want kids before you had Grogu?”

You winced after asking the question, hating the way the words had left your lips. It sounded wrong; like you were asking your handyman if his son was planned or not. But thankfully, Din only laughed.

“Kind of a weird story,” He said as he tightened a screw using nothing but the strength in his left arm. “I found Grogu. Or more like, he found me.”

You pressed your lips together as you wondered what exactly that was supposed to mean.

You and Din exchanged more small talk, and you both found yourselves learning more and more menial facts about one another.

You: What’s your favourite colour?

Din: Brown. Like dirt.

You: Cats or dogs?

Din: Fish.

You: Fish?

Din: They’re nice to look at.

Despite the random quick-fire questions you both asked each other, it didn’t stop you from yearning to know more about the mysterious handyman who took his kid with him everywhere.

Din finished the job early. He always did. But he pottered around with the finished television stand simply because he just didn’t want to leave yet. He was enjoying your company so much, and you were so endearing and easy to talk to. Not to mention, you were brilliant with Grogu.

Eventually though, he stood up and dipped his hands into his jean pockets. “Uh, I’m finished. Does it look okay? I hammered the shelving unit into the wall so it looks neater. It’s more stable that way, too.”

You smiled, impressed with Din’s skillful labour. “It’s perfect,” you admired. “You’re my hero. Really.”

That tugged on Din’s heart strings. Your hero. His cheeks flushed pink and he prayed that you didn’t notice his warm blush. You reached into your purse and paid the handyman.

“Thanks again.” you said with gratitude as you saw Din and Grogu to the door. You passed Grogu some more dinosaur crackers for the journey home and he took them from you eagerly.

Din wanted to get your number so badly. In the short time you’d spent together, you had completely bewitched him, and he didn’t want this to be the last time he saw you. You had his number but… the chances that you’d call him again were slim. Unless—

“If you ever get more furniture, give me a ring,” Din offered awkwardly, shying away from the idea of asking for your number outright.

“I will Din, I promise.”

Din nodded and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay. Thanks. Um— bye then.”

“I’ll see you around Din.”

See you around. The words rang in the back of Din’s mind as he drove home as he processed your open-ended goodbye. He really did hope that he’d see you again.

———————

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[clarawatson]

It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet!  A/N:  First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series?  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

~

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now. 

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong. 

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table. 

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.” 

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again. 

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.” 

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?” 

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?” 

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes. 

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man. 

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed. 

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Heyyy if you’re up for it, could you maybe do a number 2 from smutty and 11 from the fluff prompts with Bucky pls??!

Thank you!

A treat

A/N: Well damn...I always wanted to write this combo.

Prompts - Oral sex & 3:00 am ice-cream runs.

Not my gif! Credits to the owner

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, it’s a little...dirty.

Requests & Challenges

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @marvelgirl7 @mycosmicparadise @feetoffthetablee

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Tags are open! Send me an ask or DM if you to be included in any of these lists :))

.

A sharp pain travelling across your lower abdomen woke you up from your slumber.

Your period.

Sure had to be there at the worst of times and even after years of bearing with the ordeal, it never got any less irritating. The vacant spot next to you on the bed was another cause of worry.

It was close to 3:00am as you threw the blankets away and rushed to the bathroom.

You knew the pain wouldn’t let you sleep any sooner, plus you kept wondering where your boyfriend had run off to. Luckily, you found the answer to both in the kitchen.

Bucky was leaning over the kitchen island, digging the insides of your favourite Ben & Jerry’s tub with a spoon with his signature brooding look.

“What’re you doing up?”

Your quiet voice made him drop the spoon on the counter with a clang and clutch his metal arm to his heart, glaring at you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me (Y/N).”

“Very funny grandpa. Is that the last of my chocolate chip cookie dough?”

Your question made Bucky’s cerulean blues go wide in realisation as he glanced into the tub, a couple of spoonfuls that stared back let him know that he was probably in trouble.

“Umm...no?”

“Don’t lie to me Bucky…”

You approached the man, arms crossed over your chest, eyes narrowed watching him keep the tub down and lift his hands up in surrender.

“I promise I’ll buy you more tomorrow doll.”

“But I wanted it right now!” You whined, pouting like a child making him feel worse as you explained your reason for waking up at this ungodly hour.

“Aww I’m so sorry my love. C’mere.”

He wrapped you in a big hug as you continued to scowl but allowed him to do so, not long before linking your own arms behind his torso and sighing.

A mere brush of your clothed core to his crotch had his dick twitch in response, making an idea form in your head as you eyed the nearly empty ice-cream tub still on the counter behind.

“You know what’ll make me feel better Buck?”

“What doll? Anything..”

Reaching forward, you grabbed the container and the spoon and stepped away from the man, leaving him frowning slightly.

You gathered a small spoonful of the melty semi-liquid and licked it clean, never breaking eye contact with Bucky as his features quickly revealed he was getting an idea of what you were upto.

Pushing him back towards the counter you stepped between his legs before handing him the tub and getting to his pyjama bottoms and dropping him around his ankles.

It took a few kitten licks and some gentle coaxing using your hand to get his cock to pay attention. Bucky licked his lips, grabbing the edges of the counter and watching you with lust-blown eyes.

“I thought you were mad at me…” he breathed, struggling to keep his hands plastered to the edge and not grabbing you by your hair.

“I am.” You mumbled, the vibrations travelling to his member that was still in your mouth, making him groan.

Leaving him with a pop you gazed up at him through your lashes, hand outstretched. Bucky frowned.

“My ice-cream.”

Handing you the tub wordlessly he waited, impatiently so, before you drizzled a bit of the now liquified ice-cream over his erection causing him to gasp out loud and jerk his hips forward.

“Fuck…”

“Stay still, I’m not cleaning up the floor.”

Bucky threw his head back as your tongue swept along his length, gathering all of the sticky ice-cream before closing your mouth around him and humming.

One of his hands came to brush your hair away from your face while gently encouraging your movements, breaths coming in shallow.

You let your tongue swirl around the tip of his cock languidly, feeling it twitch as his hips lurched forward. Holding his shirt up with one hand, your right hand found his sac, massaging it before giving a little tug.

“Doll..” Bucky warned, knowing he wouldn’t last long if you kept this up.

You repeated the process of decorating his length with the remaining ice-cream before licking it clean until the tub was empty. This time, you used a hand to pump his cock along with your mouth, bringing him closer to his end.

Bucky had been teased enough for his hips to jerk ahead suddenly and paint your mouth with ropes of cum as he grunted, both his hands pulling on your hair as you continued sucking.

After straightening up, you kissed the man who was still breathless, letting him taste himself in your mouth as his tongue dancing with yours.

“If you were mad, how was I the one getting a treat?” Bucky whispered, holding your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.

You broke the kiss and rested your hands on his chest, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“After you bring me more ice-cream tomorrow, you’re not allowed to touch it or me until I say so.”

He feigned shock as you tapped his cheek lightly, walking back to your shared bedroom, leaving a pouting Bucky Barnes in the kitchen.

“And here I thought you loved me..”

“I do. Maybe I love chocolate chip more.”

MMM titbits - I may or may not have done this irl... 😈

[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter four // three days on drunken sin

summary: bucky decides to rifle through those boxes and finds the will to make the first move.

warnings: food/eating, nothing too bad this time!

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: how are we feeling about this week’s episode?? we’re getting closer to the start of tfatws with this chapter!! hope i don’t break your heart too much with the boxes :)

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The boxes taunted him for three days.

Three stacks of two boxes each cluttered his entranceway, each with that familiar scrawl of Steve’s God-awful handwriting.

‘BUCKY’

All caps, in black Sharpie, underlined three times just for good measure. Steve was always good at getting his message across.

He didn’t want to know what was in them, he told himself. But Steve was gone, and this was all he had left. These, that stupid notebook he still hadn’t found the will to write in, and the shield that was kicking around Sam’s apartment somewhere.

He wanted to toss them in his building’s dumpster, to push these aside like he did with everything else in his life. Out of sight, out of mind. That week, he didn’t tell his therapist about the boxes, or Sam’s unexpected visit, or his neighbor that he was now avoiding like the plague. Thankfully, she chalked his silence up to Steve and tried to fill in the conversational lulls with suggestions of amends and lists and he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Like always, sleep never came.

He knew the single night in his bed was a fluke, but he kept trying at least. He’d untuck his flat sheet from under hit mattress, fluff his pillow, and tuck himself in. Within five minutes, he was back on the hardwood floor of his living room, the lamplights illuminating his window and casting a perfect shadow on those stupid boxes. Finally, on the third night, he huffed a sigh and sat up, his arm whirring at the sudden movement. He wasn’t accomplishing anything letting them sit and gather dust.

Bucky reached under the cushions of his couch, fishing for the knife he had stashed away and got to work slicing through the clear packing tape securing each one.

The first five boxes were files. Mission reports, everything Steve could get his hands on about The Winter Soldier. The translations were rough, the descriptions weren’t as vivid as he remembered them now, and it wasn’t even close to everything. Why Steve kept them when Bucky was working to erase every trace of this from the universe, he would never understand. Steve was sentimental, even with the bad stuff. Bucky glanced over the files scattered across his entranceway, which maybe amounted to a year of his missions. If Zemo had looked in some suburb in upstate New York, he would have found everything he needed.

The dumpster behind his building was starting to feel more and more enticing.

The last box felt different. Significantly lighter and smaller, the items rolling and clanking as he dragged it towards him. He braced himself for more files, more reminders of what he had done as though they didn’t exist in his mind every second of the day.

The first thing he recognized was his mother’s handwriting. ‘Recipes’, scrawled so perfectly on a yellowing label.

The tin box was tinted with age, dented after so many years. He laughed and could remember it tucked away on the top shelf of the cabinet by the fridge, just out of Rebecca’s reach, even when she’d stand on her tiptoes in search of it. His Ma rarely fished it out, other than to let his little sister read over the ingredients with sticky hands as she helped stir pots and peel potatoes. She had them memorized by the time she was a teenager, having transcribed her own mother’s recipes onto these little cards. He was sure Rebecca did, too.

Next was the worn fabric of his Ma’s favorite apron. Yellow embroidered flowers scattered the crimped edge, strings falling loose. He recognized some of the stains, from spaghetti night and cake batter that she let dry on the cloth for too long.

Finally, a worn silver chain was buried at the bottom of the box.

JAMES B BARNES 32557038 T42 A

Of course, Steve with all his connections and know-it-all attitude and ‘I can do this all day’ would find some way to find his dog tags, probably tucked away in some ancient Hydra file. His flesh fingers ran over the indentation of his name, pressed into metal like millions of other boys had, off to fight a war that had nothing to do with them. Everything to lose, nothing to gain.

When he was most alone, settled into muddy trenches with wet socks and a stiff military jacket, he would recite those numbers out into the night sky. He’d map constellations over his head, wondering if it would be his last night and all there would be left of him would be those stupid discs of metal clanking around his neck and the letter tucked away in his jacket breast pocket, addressed to his mother.

His mother was long gone, he knew that. But to a fully conscious James Buchanan Barnes – not the Winter Soldier - he had only seen her a few years ago when he shipped off.

After a moment, he pulled the chain of his dog tags over his head, settling them under his shirt. His ears rung with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The sound of dragging feet and the jangle of your keychain signaled your return from class.

His family was gone, Steve included. The only people he has left are halfway across the world, or off on some death-defying mission wearing metal bird wings. Except you, who still leaves bags of cookies on his front door mat, despite the silent treatment from his end. His maybe too friendly neighbor who poured over lists of albums for him to find taped to his door in barely legible handwriting when you should have been studying.

His mother’s recipe box was calling his name.

-

The knock on your door startled you from your nap. Well, if you can call dozing off at your desk using a law book as a makeshift pillow a nap. You stalled in your desk chair, eyes bleary as you squinted at your front door, then at the top corner of your computer.

2:36 AM

You nuzzled back into your book, content to chalk it up to your sleep deprived brain making things up.

The second knock was much more insistent and was certainly coming from your door. You rushed out of your chair, sock-clad feet dragging the blanket draped across your shoulders as you shuffled over, the knocking never ceasing. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, peering out your peephole into the dark hallway.

Bucky, with slumped shoulders and a bowed head, trying with all of his might to make himself as small as possible still took up so much of the doorway with his broad shoulders.

You should be mad at him.

You should go to bed, ignore him like he’d been ignoring you for the past few weeks. Like you hadn’t shared late nights and he hadn’t sat in your kitchen, licking your spoons clean or tucked into your couch just to watch you study, a new record playing gently. Your forehead pressed to the door, vile building in your throat as seething words collected on your tongue.

“I know you’re there.” His voice was muffled through the wooden door, feeling so close but sounding so far away. “We should work on you dragging your feet, doll.”

If you had taken another peek, you would have seen him pressing his forehead to the other side.

“You ignored me, Bucky.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, even through the door. “Some family stuff came up. But it’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

It’s so stupid, letting yourself get so attached to the first guy to bat his eyelashes and read to you. It’s idiotic to want him to seep into your days and nights, to never leave like he had left you, after only knowing each other for a month.

It’s so foolish to open the door. But you do it anyways.

He swallows as he stands straight, and the widening of his eyes tells you that he wasn’t expecting you to give him a second chance.

“I, uh, here. Thought I’d finally return the favor.”” Bucky shoves forward a plate of cookies, misshapen and unevenly cooked. His eyes finally found yours. “My mom’s recipe.”

Family stuff, you remembered. The weight of the plate felt heavy in your hands, almost as heavy as his gaze on you as you lifted one of the lesser burnt cookies to your mouth and took a timid bite.

Bucky, you’ve come to learn, gives his love in silent acts of approval. He shines when you tell him his singing isn’t totally awful or that he makes a great sous chef, eyes crinkling when you approve of his music choice for the night or compliment the voices he picks when reading from his books. As he watched you, you felt that this cookie meant more to him then just flour and eggs.

He was reaching out, terrified of your rejection.

“You made these?”

“Alright, I’m not totally helpless.”

“They’re amazing, Bucky. Your mom should be proud.”

He returned your smile, knowing that she wouldn’t be. How could she, after all that his hands have done? Hands that should’ve been home, hoisting his sisters onto his shoulders. Hands that should have been helping set the table and at work so they had something to eat in the first place.

He looked so timid in your hallway, unsure of the next move. You rolled your eyes, moving to clear your doorway, despite his hesitation.

“Come on.” You spoke, like ushering in a stray cat with the promise of food and love.

He took the first step forward, shoulder to shoulder, head tilted down to catch your playful gaze with his serious one. Your mouth opened to make some sort of quip to ease the tension, but the words died in your throat as he pressed his forehead against yours for just a second.

His eyes closed as he drew in a single serene breath through his nose.

He was gone as quickly as he had come, moving further into your apartment and directly to your shelves of records, gloved fingers grazing over the sleeves in contemplation for his first choice of the night. As you finally collected yourself enough to close the door, you wondered how many people in the world had ever loved Bucky Barnes enough to give him a second chance.

taglist: @tisthedamninez @wcndamaxcmoff @freyagallileaevans @bibliophilewednesday @justtoreblogfics @teti-menchon0604 @l-adysansa @heart-eyes-horan @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @rexorangecouny @dilfvision @urafakebetch @comphersjost @am-tired-bois @spid3rgwen @beautyandthebleh @euphoricaaaa @inadquacy @mackycat11 @withyoutilltheendofthismess @motherofallthesmallthings @victoriabaker112213 @macrillez @stvalentiness @nova10711 @tailsoflightning @okiegirl24 @qhbr2013 @beachbabe925 @weenersoldierr @venusinart @marvel-mistress @orthellqs @phasma-trash @beni-angie @infinitely-yellow @riverlethe1

[footballerimaginess]

Flour everywhere

31 DAYS OF HAYMAS.  Baking for Christmas  Jadon Sancho  Word Count: 372 “Why? why” you shouted as you watched the flour all fall to the floor. “What is go- what the actual fuck is going on in here?” Jadon looked as he eyed up the floor.  “Erm, well J. It slipped” you mumbled as you could hear him let out a small laugh escaping from his lips. “Don’t you dare laugh” you groaned as you glanced straight up at him. “I didn’t do anything, my mouth never opened” you rolled your eyes. “I heard you laugh, don’t lie” you smirked.  You climbed over the flour that you dropped on the floor, not wanting to get it onto your jogging bottoms or anything. “If you get that on my joggers, that is it. Done with you” Jadon grunted. “Errr? and what are you going to do with I do get flour on them” you laughed.  “Guess you’ll have to wait and see” he cheekily winks. “Mm, okay Jadon. Right we going to help make and bake with me” you smiled as you cleaned everything up. You cleaned it all up and had a second attempt at making some Christmas cookies.  “Second attempt” you laughed. “You better be good at this” he smirked as he come over to try and help you. “Here we go, so don’t be dropping this please. Because I am not cleaning it up” you rolled your eyes as you scoffed. “Wait, you didn’t tidy it up in the first place” you laughed.  You made your cookie shape and added the chocolate pieces. “These look nice, but what are they?” he asked as he pointed out. “Chocolate and then I may add some sprinkles to it” you smiled.  “When did we turn to a food tech lesson all of a sudden” Jadon smirked. “Shut it you, I bet you were shit in school. Like the class clown making everyone laugh with your shit jokes” you teased him as you put the cookies in the oven to bake.  “How did ya know? That is me in one sentence” he smirked. “Aww and I wouldn’t have it any other way” you smiled. “Now let’s go rest and wait for them to bake” you took him back to the living room as you laid down.  Taglist: @footballffbarbiex​ @sanchos-dream​ @meteora-fc​ @footballxixstars​ @football-rambles​ @hollandsmount​ @penguintransporter​ @mountchilly​ @mrsmctominay​ @footballdaydream​ @football-and-fanfics​ @bellinghamsbitch​ 

let me know if you want to be tagged, so you don’t miss them! 

[highqueenofelfhame]

An: I’ll add tags later, i just wanted to get this posted because I’m like pretty happy with it, it’s alright. So i hope you guys enjoy! I’ll also attach links and stuff later, I’m posting this from my iPad and i just am too lazy for the tagging process. Me wants to sleep. This is part of the Disney au! Shoutout to @tangledraysofsunshine and @punkassbookjockey26 for the help on this one! This is mostly fluff (i know, how wild) but don’t worry i’m working on some angst for you soon. Fafs update soon too! I’ve already started on it and I’m going to keep working on it as the week goes. Thankfully it’s an easy chapter for me to write bc i have plenty of OG stuff to pull from. Okay, anyway! Enjoy!!

With every second that ticked by, it was getting harder and harder not to rummage through his belongings like she lived there. Even worse was that Rowan was sneaking glances at her with a smirk on his lips like he knew she wanted to. It made her scowl, a frown line appearing between her eyebrows as she glared into his back.

“I’m making you dinner, and you’re still finding a reason to be unhappy with me?” He asked her, putting down the spatula and turning to lean against his counter. The man looked criminally good in an ivory cable-knit sweater and dark jeans, an outfit combination that Aelin had never seen him in before. Thinking back on it, she was positive that when he wasn’t in a costume at work, she had only ever seen him in jeans and a t-shirt. There was also the single flannel he’d worn on Halloween, but all of that was simply incomparable to how he looked now.

“You said dinner would be ready ages ago.”

“I said it would be ready in half an hour when you got here, which was twenty minutes ago. I still have ten minutes before you get to hound me about lying.”

“Maybe if you’d prepared an appetizer…” she teased, hoping with every cell in her body that he knew she was kidding. When Rowan had said he wanted to cook her dinner, she’d been floored. The only meal that she could successfully make was breakfast, and the options were limited. Additionally, she couldn’t remember the last time a romantic interest had cooked for her at all. Probably Sam several years earlier, and it had been so bad they’d relented and settled on drive-thru burgers instead.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at her, and she knew she’d missed the mark with her joke. The date had been going well so far; not much could have been ruined. He’d kissed her hello once, or four times, then told her to make herself at home. Rowan even had a beautiful arrangement of kingsflame at the table in the dining area. Their banter had ensued as it always did, casual teasing comments. Until she went too far. Obviously.

He turned his back, and Aelin tensed, moving across the kitchen to get to him. Just before she touched him, he turned back around, eyes widening almost comically when his elbow nearly hit her temple. Without her boots, her footsteps had been near-silent on his hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, fingers brushing her temple where his sweater had grazed her face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” With their dinner sizzling in the background, she was sure that he could hardly hear the soft whisper of her voice. That didn’t seem to matter because Rowan leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, short and sweet and leaving her wanting more. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rowan’s brows knit together, green eyes tracing over every feature of her face before settling to meet her gaze.

“Being… me? Teasing? I don’t know. This is a date, and you’re so nice to be making dinner, and I shouldn’t be--”

“Aelin,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t busting my balls for something. I don’t think we would be us.” At the mention of them as an item, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth to ward off the embarrassingly large grin that was threatening to take over her face.

“That doesn’t mean I can be rude,” she grumbled, earning another smile from the man in front of her.

“You aren’t.” Rowan turned away from her for a brief moment. When he faced her again he held half of a cookie in his hand. “You just get hangry.”

She stared at the small offering in his hand before accepting it with a smile. Not only was he making her dinner, but it seemed he had also baked her double chocolate chip cookies. It made her heart squeeze in an almost painful way, but she took the cookie and nibbled on the corner. Whatever recipe he had used was perfect. It only made the rumbling in her belly worse, but she was determined to finish it without chocolate smeared all over her mouth.

“I’m almost done with dinner. Go snoop. I know you’re dying to.” Aelin wrinkled her nose, and Rowan was quick to kiss the tip of it, despite her failed attempt to swerve. Not that she wanted him to miss, really. Aelin wanted to beg him to kiss her until she was physically sick and couldn’t stand to feel his mouth on her body ever again.

The apartment was simple. It had one bedroom and an open living and kitchen area. Rowan had a small table that could seat four between the two rooms. It was sparsely decorated but had a few personal touches here and there that provided a glimpse into Rowan’s life. She walked around the living room, noting the pile of books stacked neatly next to the TV contained some of her favorites. She hadn’t pegged Rowan as an avid reader, but she realized that despite working with the man for the past two years, there was still so much she didn’t know about him.

And she realized, more than anything, that she wanted to know everything.

Furthermore, she’d been right about the books stacked on the coffee table. They were travel books, some of them with tabs and post-it notes sticking out of the sides. With a sly glance to the kitchen, she perched on the edge of the couch and pulled the biggest of them with the most annotations toward her, flipping through the pages to see what all he had bookmarked.

One of the first pages was a map marking all the parks and their major attractions. It seemed Rowan had a key for himself, little stars, triangles and squares marking various locations.

“The stars are my favorite places I’ve been,” Rowan said, pulling her gaze from pages of mountains and canyons and over to his green eyes.

“Is this what you do when you aren’t working?” Aelin closed the books and restacked them neatly on the table. Rowan was carrying two plates of stir-fry over to the table. In a few steps she joined him, sliding into the seat beside his.

“When I can, yes.” She was so hungry that she merely nodded, taking a too-large bite of food and meaning at the taste. Rowan’s eyebrow quirked while he took a bite of his own, and to avoid speaking with a mouthful she gave him a thumbs up.

“So good,” she reiterated after she swallowed, clearing her throat.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“It’s food. I like food. And you baked cookies,” Aelin reminded him, popping another bite in her mouth. The tickle she seemed to be developing in her throat worsened, forcing her to clear her throat again after she swallowed. Actually, the tickle was becoming an insatiable itch that she tried to chase away with water. She had no luck. “Is your um— is your throat itchy?”

“No…?” Aelin tugged on the collar of her shirt, nodding her head instead of responding. Rowan leaned over to brush his fingers along her cheek, worry settling in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Gods, my mouth is itchy,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, while she downed the rest of her water so quickly a drop slipped down the side of her chin.

“Aelin. What are you allergic to?”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” she insisted, despite the way her tongue felt undeniably too big for her mouth. Rowan had already left the table, though, disappearing through a door off the living room and coming back with a small white bottle. His phone was also now in his hand and the numbers his thumb was pressing looked a lot like 9-1-1 from her vantage point.

“Take these,” he said softly, holding two pills to her lips that she opened her mouth for and downed with Rowan’s full glass of water.

“That’s dramatic.” She nodded at his phone. “I can breathe fine. My mouth is just itchy. And my tongue is a little too big.” To prove a point, she stuck her tongue out. Rowan’s eyes were saucers and he was ready to hit the call button.

“Your tongue is twice the size it usually is!”

“Did you do this on purpose? Is this getting me back for the syrup?” Aelin was kidding. Half-kidding, maybe, but kidding all the same. When she spoke, drool dribbled down her chin that she wiped at with the collar of her shirt. The whimper that sounded in the back of her throat wasn’t voluntary. It was their first date and she managed to drool on herself in front of him. Aelin Galathynius was the epitome of cool.

“This is not getting you back for the syrup.” Rowan’s voice was sharp, if still soft around the edges while he watched her carefully. His thumb was still dancing over the call button, but Aelin refused to be carted out of his apartment on a stretcher. She took his phone, locked it, and held it hostage in her lap while he fussed and mumbled about how big her tongue was. “What are you allergic to?”

“I didn’t know I was allergic to anything,” she swore again, grabbing his water for another long drink.

It went on like this for several minutes: Rowan listing the ingredients for the stir-fry that she may not have had before, or maybe she’d not had it in such a long time she forgot she had a mild allergy to it. MSG, soy, celery, sesame, carrots, on and on. He ran through everything twice before Aelin asked him to please stop, she had no idea and listing them over and over wasn’t going to spark a memory or knowledge she didn’t have.

The signature frown he wore most of the time was all the more prominent the droopier her eyes got; the effects of Benadryl were hitting her harder than she cared to admit, but her throat wasn’t as itchy and her tongue was feeling closer to normal. Rowan held both of her hands and guided her to his bedroom. Aelin wanted to make a joke about how this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she was too sleepy to find the words.

Rowan undressed her, pulling her jeans off before guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. The duvet was softer, fluffier than she’d anticipated him to sleep on, and she wanted to burrow down into it as he replaced her shirt with one of his own. When he pulled back the blanket, she crawled under and didn’t settle until he laid down with her. His sweater was soft beneath her cheek and she felt like she was cuddling with him on a cloud. Gods, his bed was so comfortable she wanted to sleep in it forever.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date,” she mumbled, tilting her head back to look at him beneath heavy lashes and heavier lids.

“I’m sorry for accidentally almost killing you.” Despite the way his lips were turned down, there was amusement hidden in his words. Aelin smiled and tilted her head back enough for him to take the hint: she wanted to be kissed. A half smile spread across his lips and he kissed her gently, fingers brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

“This isn’t how I imagined our date ending,” she grumbled, ducking her face down into his sweater. Rowan chuckled and Aelin knew that it wasn’t what he had in mind, either. “I thought I would end up in your bed but not to sleep. I mean, maybe after you fucked me senseless, but I didn’t think we would be skipping that part altogether.”

“I didn’t think I would make something that had flare up an obscure allergy you didn’t know you had, either. So I guess we’re both surprised.” Aelin snorted, sitting up enough to tug on the side of his sweater. Rowan took the hint, sitting up to pull the sweater and his shirt over his head. While in the process of undressing, he stood and pulled his jeans off, too, tossing them over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room. Aelin swallowed, eyes dipping over the expanse of golden skin he’d exposed.

Her eyes caught on a scar on his lower abdomen, zeroed-in on the trail of hair that disappeared into his briefs. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t seen him completely naked. At work, they saw each other in various stages of undress while changing costumes, but the only time they’d had sex had been a quickie in Lorcan’s bathroom. They’d both been mostly clothed for that. She was making it a goal to see him entirely naked in the next twenty-four hours, because he looked so good like this it was unfair.

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I wake up,” she said, breathlessly. Rowan grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek that she didn’t see often enough.

“I’m counting on it.”