#put teabag in mug

[vancouvery]

Is this the British equivalent of looking at gory horror peeking between your fingers barely able to breathe? Ok, you asked for it….

Asking Americans specifically: reblog and put in the tags how do you make tea.

[redrreign]

really bad start to the day folks

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

The great thing about having an awful memory is that you get along really well with people with Alzheimers. "Grandma kept forgetting your name I'm so sorry about that" I forgot her name in that conversation three times also. It's not a personal slight. "Grandpa keeps thinking he's still working on the farm they sold twenty years ago" yeah he can't remember much and he's extrapolating from older memories and context clues. Like me trying to remember where I know the woman who talked to me for ten minutes in the grocery store from. The last thing he remembers is being a farmer and he's holding a pitchfork in the garden, of course he's going to farm shit. If I can't remember why I came into the kitchen but there's a teabag in one hand and a mug in the other, I draw the obvious conclusion and make a cup of fucking tea. "Auntie May mustn't have long for this world, she keeps forgetting her parents died years ago" bitch I get a sudden burst of serotonin AT LEAST once per week when I'm thinking about my stepfather and suddenly remember that he's been dead for five years. Stop riding these old people so hard. Put anything poisonous somewhere they can't get into it and let them live their fucking lives. AND STOP REMINDING AUNTIE MAY THAT HER PARENTS ARE DEAD AND QUIZZING HER ON IF SHE CAN REMEMBER. SHE WONT "GET BETTER". YOU'RE UPSETTING HER FOR NO FUCKING REASON.

[satorusugurugurl]

Can you plssss write jjk men reacting to you spilling boiling water on yourself. Fluff but also smutt.. like y/n quickly takes off her shorts after it gets on her, cause it’s hot…THANK YOUUUU I LOVE YOUR WRITING 🙏🙏

JJK Men: That’s Hot!!

Summary: When you spill boiling water on your pants, the logical thing to do is to take them off!

Pairing: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru Nanami Kento, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: fingering, kissing, smut, difrry talk, unprotected smut, oral smut (F receiving) suggestiveness

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: i freakin’ fell asleep and posted the title, the freaking title! 🤣 anyways! Here’s the full post! Nanami’s had me biting my lip! 😮‍💨

Gojo Satoru:

“Nooo!!” Satoru groaned as the kettle on the stove started to whistle. “I just got comfy!”Your blue-eyed boyfriend looked up from your chest, which he was pressing his face into. “Don't go; you can't just leave me.”

“Toru, it’s ten feet away.”

He pursed his pretty lips together before sighing overdramatically as he pulled himself away from your chest. Maneuvering your way from underneath him while he put all his dead weight on you was a struggle, but you somehow managed to pull out with a huff. Seeing you pull yourself up and off the ground, clearly winded from the effort it took to free yourself, had him smirking.

“Don't look so smug, asshat, or you can find someone else to motorboat.” You watched as Gojo stared at you blankly before pulling his phone out and texting someone. “Who are you texting?” you asked as you entered the kitchen.

“Seeing Suguru is free for motorboating.” You barked out, boating, pulling the whistling kettle off of the stove as Satoru’s phone dinged. “Oooh~ he said he could pencil me in on the twelfth—”

“The twelfth?” you cocked a brow in his direction as you went about preparing your mug and teabag.

Your boyfriend's silence had you peeking up at him as he dropped his long arms over the back of the couch with a pout. “Of never.”

You laughed out loud, from Satoru’s puppy dog eyes to the pout, which was a mistake. It was karma, deciding to act right then instead of making you wait. Being too busy laughing at the apparent suffering of your boyfriend resulted in knocking the mug over. And since you were pressed against the countertop. The second ill boiling water hit your upper thighs in a flash.

A screech left your mouth as you jumped back, thanking some higher power for reminding you to wear shorts. You yanked them down, grimacing as you kicked the slightly steaming fabric away, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Around that same time, Satoru rounded the corner, concerned, stitched into his features, only to be smacked in the face by your discarded shorts.

“Fuck!” you bent over, trying to see the damage the water had done. “Ooh fuck!”

“Hold on!” In a breath, Satoru had you up on the other counter, pushing you back slightly to examine your thighs. “Are you okay?” Long ivory fingers hesitantly moved over the tops of your thighs, searching for any discoloration. Thankfully, he didn't see any burns on your beautiful skin.

With the adrenaline and your heart rate slowing down, you took a deep breath, relieved to know you weren't hurt. You watched as Satoru rubbed his fingers over your sweet, soft skin, massaging his thumbs into the plump flesh of your thighs. You mewled softly, eyes rolling back at his thumbs' slow, tender strokes. How they inched closer and closer towards your panties, and how they went from sweet, gentle touches to hungry, fire-fueled need.

“Satoru,” you softly purred, watching. I think I—mmm!” Your head bowed, your lips parted, as Satoru pushed his thumb up further towards the band of your underwear. “I think that I’m okay.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

His fingers pushed the flimsy fabric of your underwear to the side, toying with your slick folds. The sudden contact had you gasping hands, gripping the edge of the counter as Satoru’s lips down your neck, pressing the fist of touches against your sensitive skin. The feeling of his thumb against your core, your buck your hips against his hand, silently begging for more.

While teasing you would be fun, Satoru was feeling a bit impatient himself. So his skilled thumb moved further up your delicate folds, finding your clit in an instant. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears. His thumb moved up, rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves in teasing strokes, making your nails dig harder into the counter. With each stroke of his skilled thumb, your grip on the counter loosened as the urge to dig into his skin increased.

Seeing how you purse your lips together and how your eyebrows twitch fueled the fire in your boyfriend‘s stomach. A fire he would gladly kindle without any other thoughts. He pulled his hand away before any protest could leave your mouth, two fingers inside of your wet pussy, stretching you out.

“Oh fuck Toru—! Yes! Yes!” You cried out, arching your back against his chest, your eyes going wide as he began moving his fingers in and out of your heat.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” he whojed, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace.

“O-Oh god!” you whimpered as he pumped his fingers faster, his thumb moving up, rubbing your clit once more drawing out cries from you that reverberated off the walls of the kitchen. “Satoru!”

“Fuuck—fuck yes, baby, squeeze down on my fingers, and I’ll make you feel better.”

You were so drunk off his touch, but you did as he said, squeezing around his fingers, eager to see what he had planned to make you feel even better. When Satoru felt your slick walls constrict, he didn’t make you wait any longer. He curled those heavenly fingers up, pressing them right against your g-spot. Your mouth fell open, and your eyes wide as pleasure wrecked your body.

But he didn’t stop there.

Gojo hooked his fingers up and thrust them firmly against the spongy spot. He pressed into it with every jerk of his hand and wrist, pushing you closer to the edge with each stroke inside your walls and against your clit. The dual pleasure finally caused you to release. Your hold on to the cool marble countertop any longer. They quickly moved to his shoulders, which had been a wise decision on your part because the second Gojo felt the sting of your nails in his skin. He lost all control.

He began finger fucking you like a madman. His head dropped forward, teeth digging into your neck before moving up, grazing your ear, smothering the growls that flowed through him like a feral animal that had marked you as prey. Your toes curled, legs squeezing desperately around your boyfriend‘s hand as you roll your hips against him, chasing your release.

You didn’t even need to beg for it because Satori knew your body, and he knew you were close. “You gonna cum baby?” You could nip at your ear, drawing out a wanton and moan from your pretty lips.

“Y-Yes Toru! Pl—please I’m so close!”

“Cum on my fingers, cum all over my fingers, baby.”

Satoru took a step back, watching your face as you rode the waves of pleasure. His fingers were drenched with your slick, making them even easier to move in and out of you. Seeing your release all over his hand awakened a deeper, more primal need within Satoru. He needed to taste you, to be buried inside of you, God he wanted you, bad.

He continued slowly, working his fingers inside of you, helping you ride out the last waves of pleasure that wrecked your body. When your walls stopped constricting around him, you finally allowed yourself to open your eyes, looking up at Satoru, only to notice him looking down where his fingers were still buried inside of you.

“Baby,” you asked, “Baby, you good? Because I’m feeling great.” The sigh you let out was so sultry, so teasing; Gojo’s pretty cerulean eyes snapped up at you.

“Oh, you’re good?”

“Yeah, so good.”

“Oh, that’s great to know.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you, moving to grip both your thighs as he carried you back to the couch, plopping you down there. “So good to know because I’m not.”

His reaction had your chest constricting as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “What? Why? Did som—?!” Your string of questions was promptly silenced as Satoru shoved you back onto the couch before lifting his shirt, revealing his toned muscles.

“I was nice and comfy earlier.” His hands reached down, tugging his shorts down just enough to free his cock. “Now you’re gonna make me work to get comfy again.”

“Oh, yeah, I did that, didn’t I?” You purred, spreading your legs, allowing him to press his cock against your entrance with a hiss. “I can only assume it will take a while for you to find that sweet spot.”

“Oh, sweetpea, I’ll find it in record time.”

Nanami Kento:

“Mhmm~” You moaned, eyes rolling back as he licked your lips. “Ooh fuck.” You swallowed happily, glancing up at your husband, smirking back. “Ken~”

“I have perfected it.”

“You have!” You put the spoon you had just used in the sink of warm, sudsy water. “Fuck that Alfredo is perfection!”

Then again, so were the other times he had made it. This time, however, he had gone above and beyond. Maybe it was the brand of Parmesan cheese he had purchased or the butter he browned before adding heavy cream and cheese. But for some odd reason, this was the best Alfredo sauce he had ever made.

Your husband returned his gaze to the simmering pot on the stove. He used the whisk to ensure I didn’t burn at the bottom. He had an almost smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, which was almost uncharacteristic. But the man had a God-given right to be complacent, especially when he made a sauce taste as good as sex. Not only was he the god of cooking himself, but he looked like a sex god on top of that.

He wore a tight-fitting T-shirt, gray sweatpants that left a little to your imagination, and a black apron that hugged him perfectly. Saturday evenings were the best evenings when you decided to stay home to cook. You not only spent time with your husband, but you also had dinner and a show.

“Love, do me a favor and collect some of that boiling pasta water so our noodles won’t stick together.”

“Fuck, I love it when you took culinary science to me.”

“Oh yeah? Does it get my darling wife going?”

You were in the process of scooping boiling water into a mug to set aside. But the sound of your husband calling you, his darling wife, and you biting down on your bottom lip. The same lip that you had gotten busted by a curse on your most recent mission. So when your teeth made contact with your lip, you jolted in pain, dropping the ladle to rub at your mouth and bleeding lip, thus dropping the ladle of hot water all over the front of your shorts.

“Ow!” You cried out in both pain and fear that the boiling water was going to burn your skin. As quickly as it happened, your husband was quicker. He Move the pot of simmering sauce to the back burner, before moving, grabbing one arm around your waist while the other reached down yanking your shorts off.

“Love?! Honey, are you okay?”

You reached down, running your fingers over the top of your thighs, relieved that the hot, boiling water had managed to soak through your shorts and burn your skin. “Yeah! Yeah, I think I’m okay!” You sighed, eyes following the trail of your hands, further confirming that you were, in fact, all right.

“Are you sure? Positive?”

“Yeah, Ken, I’m okay.”

“Because you know, I’ve been taking excellent care of our aloe vera plant, and I don’t mind snipping off one of its leaves for you.”

What had you done to deserve such a sweet and caring man? “Yes, Ken, I'm positive that I’m okay.” You trailed your fingers up his chest. “I’m lucky you’re fast at removing my clothes. Otherwise, I’m not sure if I would be okay.” Your husband glanced down, looking at your bare legs. “I can’t remember the last time you took my pants off that fast. Maybe it was our fourth year at Jujutsu High? We are right when we took our relationship to further levels,” you waggled your brows at him, “and you had just gotten back from a weeklong mission.” Nanami smiled fondly at the memory of your younger days.

“I remember that; I think I had the driver drop me off right in front of your dorm; you kept teasing me through text messages.”

“I didn’t expect you to rip my clothes off of me.”

Nanami chuckled; returning to the stove, he grabbed two oven mitts off the counter, took the boiling pasta to the sink, and drained it into the colander. “I couldn’t help myself back then.” He hummed, shifting the elbow, macaroni, pasta, and colander thoroughly draining out of water.

“Oh, and you’re saying you have more self-control now?”

“Yes, I do.”

You cross your arms over your chest, watching your husband quickly construct the Alfredo chicken casserole he made for dinner. He puts it into a baking pan before adding the sauce and topping it with freshly grated cheese. You had an idea, an idea that requires his hands to be free. You wait until the casserole dish is inside the oven and your husband has removed his apron before licking your lips.

“Ken.”

Honey-brown eyes met yours, and you watched his blonde brow cocked. “Yeah—” his words trail off as he watched you lift your shirt, tossing it to the floor with your wet shorts. “Oh, what do you think you’re doing?” You reached behind, unclasping your bra, allowing it to fall to the ground.

“We need to spice things up and relive a few of our memories.” You see how your husband’s eyes darkened with me at your words. “Now, what was it? I said back then to get you so flustered?” You tap your finger against your chin and faux thought. “ I vaguely remember you being extremely frustrated on that trip. Something to do with Gojo—”

“Please do not bring that idiot up right now.”

It was like nothing had changed.

“Oh, right! You said something along the lines of how you would find a way to destroy Gojo. And I’m pretty sure I said something along the lines of, ‘Why destroy him when you can destroy my pussy instead’? Does that sound right to you?”

Your husband made no signs of confirmation or denial because he was too busy picking you up by your ass, carrying you to the nearest wall he could find. You couldn’t even make a sound of surprise because his lips had a hold of yours so fast he swallowed any moans. Your husband’s fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding you so tight. You were certainly going to have bruises later. You hit the back of the wall hard, and Nanami made quick work, ripping the flimsy fabric of your panties off.

“You know exactly what to say to push my buttons, don’t you?” His breath was hot against your lips, leaving you shivering, coding your skin, and making the tiny hair on your arms rise. “You know exactly what to say or how to get me to reminisce; just send me over the edge.”

You listened, and he reached down, wrestling fabric your pussy to throb in anticipation. “Well,” you swallowed hard, “I don’t exactly see you complaining.” Kento scoffed against pulling lips, feeling his twitching, leaking cock rubbing against your entrance.

“I have no complaints aside from one.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

To answer his question, he slammed inside of you, stretching your walls to the point that it was almost painful, but the pleasure overrode the pain as he shoved himself into your deepest parts. Your mouth, fate, eyes wide as he growled against your lips. You stayed still, both of you taking the other in. Your shallow breaths with his deep grunts as he tried to hold himself back. Nanami wanted to savor how you felt around his cock.

And it felt fucking fantastic.

“Oh my god, Ken.” You finally broke the unending silence. “You’re so fucking thick.”

“And you’re so tight; you were made for me. I never want anyone but you. Each time I slide inside of you, I lose myself and everything that is you. Your smell, the sounds you make, and how you grip onto me for life. I fucking love you.”

“I love you t-too—nngh!”

Your last words were cut off with a moan as Nanami slammed himself inside of you. His cock pulled all the way out, the head of his cock snagging on the tight muscles of your entrance before he pushed himself back in further, trying to go deeper than he ever had before. Nanami loved you; every part of him loved you.

And you loved him just as much. You cried out, digging your nails and shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding him inside of you, making it hard for him to pull out. Not that he wanted to pull out. Being inside of you was like heaven on earth. If he could get away with staying in bed with you for all of an eternity, he would.

His eyes shut tight as he nipped and sucked at your shoulder, fuck you against the wall like you were nineteen-year-olds again. It was raw, full of passion and need because he remembered that night years ago. No matter how many years passed, you were still as beautiful as the day he asked you out. You both were shy back then. But now, you were fucking crazy for each other.

“Oh fuck!” You screamed, feeling yourself already dangerously close to climaxing. “Oh fuck—fuck, b-babe!” You tried to catch your husband’s attention, but he was so lost in how you felt that he barely heard you. “B-Baby!? I-I’m gonna cum! Oh fuck Kento! I-I’m gonna—!”

Instead of encouraging you or telling you to do it, your husband continued, slamming into the head of his cock, kissing your cervix. It was combined with his teeth, sinking into your skin, and had you cumming around his cock like the good little slut you were. You screamed, tilting your head back as you slid your nails down the back of his T-shirt. And even though there was a fabric between your bodies, Nanami could still feel the sting of your nails against him. That had his hips stilling as he roared into your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed as he came right against your cervix, filling you to the brim with his hot, sticky cum.

“Haaah,” you moaned in a daze, blinking as you dropped your head to look down at Nanami. “K-Kento nngh babe?” Your fingers ran through his silky blonde locks, trying to draw his attention to make sure that he was still, in fact, alive after that intense orgasm. “Honey?” Your question was not ignored. Instead, Nanami snarled again, slamming you down on the kitchen table towering above. “Ahh!” You squealed, laughing loudly as Nanami’s fierce, lust-filled eyes glanced at the clock on the stove.

“I have you for the next twenty minutes. I’m going to fuck your brains out; then we’re going to lay on the sofa, completely naked, wrapped in a blanket, while we have dinner. Giving you more than enough time to regain some form of composure before I take you in the shower and I fuck you so hard you’re going to have to call out sick.”

“H-Holy fuck Kento!? What’s gotten into you?”

You watched with wide eyes as your husband reached down, grabbing his shirt with one hand and ripping it over his head. “Love, nothing’s gotten into me other than just how much I love you.”

Geto Suguru:

“I’m home!” Geto announced as he entered your shared apartment. His eyes roamed, searching for any signs of the girls or you. But there was no nefarious giggles to be heard or that of chitchat her from the living room. “Anybody ho—?”

The sound of a pot being dropped rang out from the kitchen. “Oow!!” That was the sound of your voice.

Without hesitation, Geto rounded the corner just in time to watch you shimmy out of your shorts. He blinked at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes. An empty saucepan, which most likely contained water, rolled on the floor, the liquid spreading out against the tile. You danced on your tiptoes, avoiding the hot water as best you could while trying to undress yourself from the bottom down.

While you were dancing around, Geto noticed you weren’t wearing any panties, which wasn’t unusual considering you had been at home all day. It was a lovely sight to come home to see. Usually, it would be if you weren’t currently jumping around steaming hot water.

“Hey! Hold on!” Geto scolded as he noticed your toes inching too close to the water. “Wait right there!”

A flash of dark hair crossed your peripheral vision before you were scooped up into big, strong arms and carried to the living room, away from the dangerous water. “T-Thanks.” You gasped, leaning against the couch and sinking into its plush cushions.

“What were you doing?”

“Well,” you sighed, glancing down at your boyfriend, who was crouched on the floor in front of you, his hands resting against yours, dark eyes watching you very closely, eagerly awaiting to see what you had to say. “I saw this video on TikTok.”

“Oh my god, you and the girls’ obsession with TikTok.”

“Stop it; it’s something that we can bond over.” You sighed, Running a hand down your face. “Anyways, I saw a video for this adorable cat jello mold, so obviously, I bought it, and I was planning on making the super cute cat for dessert tonight, but I don’t think I had the pan on the stove all the way because I was uh—-I was a little distracted.”

“Let me guess.” Suguru smirked, “Watching more TikTok’s?”

“That point is irrelevant, but in my distraction, I didn’t notice the pan was on the stove all the way, so the handle got too hot. When I grabbed it, I freaked out and tried to put it back on the stove, only to end up spilling some of the water on myself.”

Suguru’s eyes shut down towards your bare thighs. “So that explains the impromptu show I got to see.” You reached out, smacking his upper arm with a pout, and he laughed at your pretty pout as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry baby, you’re not hurt, right?” As if to answer his question, you ran your hands down your legs, searching for any source spots or visible burns on your skin.

“No, I don’t think so.”

His fingers followed the same traces your fingers made; only heat followed his touch. “You sure?” He coaxed, eyes leaving your face to focus on your skin. “Because I think—I see a mark right here.” You watched with curious eyes as his fingers traced over skin that had no visible mark or resulted in pain under his touch.

“I think it’s fin—”

“I’ll kiss it better.” He interrupted, head dipping down to press chaste kisses against the top of your thigh. You gasped at the sudden touch of his lips against your bare skin. “Oh, and would you look at that?” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as his hands found another ‘sore spot.’ “My poor baby, you’re hurt here too.”

His fingers and lips continue to find little marks all over your legs from the top of your thighs down to your kneecap before slowly working his mouth down your calf to your ankle. By the time his eyes lined up, meeting your half-lidded gaze, he gave you a cocky smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing. There was something about teasing you to the point that you could no longer handle it, which always made him feral. He loved to get you so worked up you squirming underneath him.

Usually, on nights like this, when the girls are going to be home soon, he would work you up so that when they finally went to bed, you both were alone and in the comfort of your room. He could take his time and make up for all of the teasing. Suguru wanted you begging for him before the night was over. Only this time is going to be a bit different. The girls were staying with Tsumiki at Gojo’s house for a sleepover. Meaning the two of you had the whole apartment for yourselves.

So when Geto reached your ankle, he was about to pull away to go about changing and relaxing with you on the couch. Before he had a chance to move, you reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down to his knees on the ground before you. Your boyfriend blinked, eyeing you skeptically, waiting to hear what you had to say.

“You missed a spot.” Suguru watched as you spread your legs wide open for him, giving him a wonderful view of your slick, wet pussy. “Right—“ He choked on his saliva as you reached down, using your fingers to spread open your lips, revealing your entrance to him that throbbed with need. “Here.”

Suguru had no idea it was possible for words to go straight to his cock, below, and behold, here he was. His dick was hard enough, just teasing. From feeling your legs tremble underneath his lips to hearing the soft little sound from the back of your throat. For you spread yourself like that on full display made his dick hurt so hard it fucking hurt.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe for him to tease you a little more or to tell you to wait. You would excitedly tell him that you two had the apartment to yourselves and that there was no risk of anyone interrupting you. Suguru never gave you the chance to say any of those thoughts. After his brain had a second to process what you were showing him, the man sat back on his heels and took his half-up bun down. As soon as those dark strands of hair were free, Suguru collected all his long, luscious, shiny hair in one hand and tied it into a messy bun.

You gawked at the man in front of you, opening and closing your mouth before Suguru grabbed your hips with both his hands and yanked you to the edge of the couch. You inhaled sharply as you fell back, lifting your head just in time to watch as your boyfriend shoved his face between your thighs, tongue dipping inside of your twitching cum. He wasted no time and went straight to work., tongue, laughing at your click before slowly sliding down your slit to your entrance, where he teased your twitching hole with the tip of his tongue before slowly sliding it back up, swirling circles around your clit.

“Nngh! H-holy fuck!”

“Mmm~ how careless of me.” Suguru breathed out heavily against your swollen, sensitive clit. “How could I forget to kiss this better~?”

“S-Sugu!” Your back arched off the couch as his tongue kitten licked your clit. “Oh-Oooh fuck!”

The feeling of his tongue sliding inside of you had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You inhaled with a sharp gasp, your hand reaching down and digging into the dark strands of hair mostly tied into a top knot on his head. He growled into your sex, his tongue brushing over your click as he increased the pressure of his hold on your hips, drawing you closer to his mouth, which was seemingly impossible from how close you were to him. But if there was a will, there was a way.

Even if that way involved you grinding your hips over your boyfriend’s face, something he gladly encouraged. If you were to stop jerking your hips forward, you were sure you would continue to do so because of the way your boyfriend’s arms moved, rolling you and time with your thrusts; you knew this was what he wanted. To eat you out like a wild animal, to lose himself entirely in your juices, the scent of you, the sweet, tangy taste that coated his tongue.

Suguru moaned, his eyes growing darker with every stroke of his tongue over your walls. Those same dark eyes were transfixed with your face; his ears focused on you, everything you said, how you begged him to swirl his tongue, or how you wanted him to lap eagerly at your g-spot. If that were something you wanted, it would be something he would gladly give.

“Mmm!” He snarled against your sensitive Clint as he ground your hips harder against his face. His eyes never left yours as he tasted you in the most intimate way he could.

Seeing him so desperate, so hungry for you, had you losing all of your control. You pulled and tongue out his hair as hard as you could, ride his tongue like your own personal fuck toy. Suguru, he loved it. Seeing you lose control over yourself, over every ounce of power that you usually held onto, had him reaching down, pulling his cock out so he could stroke it in time with his tongue while his thumb idly rubbed circles and hearts over your clit.

“C-Cummin’ Sugu! I-I’m cummin’ oooh fuck!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as your juices squirted out, coating his lips, chin, and face with your release. You were so lost in your orgasm. You barely noticed the granted pleasure that emanated from between your thighs. That sound was a sound you were very accustomed to; it was the sound of your boyfriend cumming all over his hand.

“Mmm, fuck.” Suguru grunted against your pussy before he pressed a gentle kiss against it. “You taste so good.”

“Mm.” You whispered, slowly sitting up, ignoring the dizzy spell that followed your movements after the strength of your orgasm.

“You taste so good, Princess~” You hummed against, slowly sliding off the couch to straddle your boyfriend’s hips, his softening cock gently twitching back to life. “Hey~? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saying thank you.”

Suguru learned back, slowly smirking as he eyed you. “Oh~? And just how do you plan on that king me?” He pursed his lips together watching you closely.

“The girls aren't going to be home this weekend, so I think I’m going to ride you all night.”

Suguru slowly blinked jaw falling open. “Wait what?” a sinister little smile graced your lips as you began slowly rocking your hips again at him.

“I'm going to make sure to thoroughly thank you~ for taking such good care of me.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[luveline]

Helllloooo :) if at all possible, could I request a fic for when stripper!reader realizes that Spencer actually like-likes her? Maybe he finally makes a real move or plans a “fancy” date to show her how much she means to him? She definitely wouldn’t believe him at first/think she deserves it, but if it could be a happy ending, I’d appreciate it so much. 🥺🥺

🐈‍⬛ thank youuuu

ty for requesting <3 fem

He smells like coffee. 

"Hi!" you say, bending under the weight of his hug. 

"What are you," —he drags his face against your cheek— "doing here, I thought you were," —his hand cups your neck as he pulls away— "going to Moira's for the weekend?" 

"You sound so happy," you say, nonplussed. 

"Yeah I'm happy. Do you wanna stay over? We can go to the movies, or we can get takeout, we can do both." Spencer beams at you. "Sorry, I'm– I'm rushing. I'm just happy. Is everything okay? What happened to house sitting?" 

"Oh, nothing, she missed her flight," you say. "Can I come in?" 

Spencer ushers you inside. His apartment is cleaner than usual. He's actually had time to clean, it seems, the faint scent of disinfectant alive in the kitchen and fresh laundry folded on the table behind the couch. He follows your eyes. "I did the stuff you left, last time. But I ended up with like, three pairs of your socks? How did that happen?" 

"You didn't have to." 

"Why wouldn't I?" He goes to walk off but stops, twisting around to give you another hug from the side. "Tea?" 

Your face feels hot. "Yes, please." 

Spencer takes to the kitchen to make tea, one of your shared routines. He grabs the kettle from the cabinet, two mugs, and two teabags. You don't know why you stay in the living room as he fills the kettle. He's putting it on the stove when he says, "Oh, hey, I got you, uh– you liked my soap, right? The chamomile? So I got you some. It's in my room, and I got you some of your chocolates from Leaven." 

"You did?" 

You fail to hide your excitement. Spencer waves you away without looking. "They're with the soap."  

You laugh to yourself, leaning down to pull your sneakers off of your heels. You leave them by the couch and slip over the hardwood into his room, where your promised soap and chocolate sit on one of his desks. He calls them your chocolates, but you only ever tried them because he saw you looking at them one time and bought them as a surprise. You've been hooked on them ever since. 

You're thinking about what joke you can make to hear him laugh. Something on the nose about him ruining your future career aspirations or a flirty nothing, maybe. You just want me to fall out of shape so I can't work. 

The suitcase on the bed distracts you. Open, half packed. 

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask him, chocolates and soap held loosely to your stomach. 

Spencer takes the kettle off of the heat, bringing it to the two mugs to top them one at a time. "What?" 

"Your suitcase?" 

His shoulders tighten just so. "Well, there's this convention happening but I hate driving in the dark, so I figured I'd stay up there." 

"When, tonight?" 

"Yeah." He picks up the mugs and shoots you a smile. "But obviously I'm not going now." 

Obviously? Spencer rounds the side of the couch to sit down, murmuring for you to come and sit with him. You follow his order without question, setting yourself on the couch cushion beside him, and find there's little resistance in you to leave space between your thighs. He leans into you as soon as he's able and hands you your mug. 

There's something in his eyes. A warmth. A real affection. "I'd definitely rather be with you here than without you there. Even if there's a guest speaker who's actually managed to split shared arteries between conjoined twins while they're still in the womb." 

"You're interested in that stuff?" 

"Just for fun." He doesn't drink his tea. He probably didn't want any, a coffee mug already on the table, but he always makes two cups. You think it might be so you don't feel like you're an imposition. He's that special brand of thoughtful. 

"Can I ask you something?" you ask, your heartbeat a tangible thump under your skin. It's a silly question guided by a stupid thought, but you have to ask. You've always wanted to see other people's hands, so to speak, uncomfortable with the unknown. 

"Anything." 

You've exposed the most private parts of you and still it's hard to be vulnerable. It's easier knowing you're with Spencer, but not easy. "Do you like me?" 

Spencer doesn't do either of you the disservice of pretending he doesn't know what you mean. His voice is measured but shyness creeps in, an almost questioning lilt to his words as he says, "Well, yeah. I thought you already knew that." 

"I thought you�� appreciated the aesthetic of me." 

"I do." He looks at your forehead rather than your eyes. "You know you're pretty, and your dancing, it's– it's pretty too. I think you're beautiful, but that's really not the only thing about you. You've been remarkably easy to fall for." 

His cheeks are suddenly red. A blotchy staining under his cheekbones and up over the bridge of his nose. He wouldn't lie, but the blush cements that he's telling the truth. Spencer really, truly likes you, enough to buy you the gifts that sit in your lap and to cancel trips. He'd rather stay home with you and drink tea on the couch than be anywhere else. 

"Spence, if you think it was easy for you, you have no idea what it's been like for me," you say quietly. That draws his eyeline back to your face. You smile at him gently. "No idea." 

He puts his mug down on the table to hug you. "Careful of your tea," he says, his smile audible.

You hug his arm to your chest with one hand. When he kisses the side of your head, you're pleasantly shocked. 

"I didn't realise," you say. "Sorry, Spence, I never–" Never thought you'd like me like that. "I didn't know." 

"I was just waiting for you to catch up." 

[ireneispunk]

Just a Taste

Moder AU Aemond Targaryen x female coworker reader smut (requested)

request: 'Hi Irene! Can I request a lovely smutty modern aemond x reader where they're friends but not quite. Reader thinks aemond is annoying and aemond thinks reader is cute so he teases her a lot. They're at a work party and Aemond gets annoyed when others tease and flirt with her so he drags reader off to another room and marks her as his. Thank you thank you!'

w.c: 3278

c.w: SMUT 18+, frustration to lovers (??), oral f receiving, unprotected p in v sex, aemond and reader work together in modern au, me not knowing how grown up office jobs work :)

a.n: thank you so much for the request! sorry it too me so long but i hope you love it!

i'm starting an aemond and jacaerys perma taglist cus of my inconsistent positng teehee, let me know if / which you wish to be on!

You groaned taking a look at the time on your monitor, it was somehow only halfway through the day. You typed away endlessly, watching as the minute ticked to 1pm. You exhaled, before making your way to the break room, greeting the few other members of staff in there. You heard the shuffling as some people made their way in or out, clicking on the kettle for your tea. You felt a presence behind you, and you already knew who it was before looking. “What do you want Aemond? Just to admire the view?” You spoke, throwing a teabag in your mug. He scoffed lightly, stepping to the side of you and leaning his palm against the counter.

“I came to offer my condolences,” you turned your head to face him and raised your eyebrows. His light hair tied back in its signature bun, shirt sleeves half rolled up. “I heard Robberts accepted my proposal over yours.” He spoke so smugly, begging for a reaction out of you. You turned to the fridge, pulling out the milk and rolling your eyes once he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, I did hear about that unfortunate slip in his judgement.” Your fingers tapped upon the countertop, waiting for the hot water. “Though I do recall it was my last four? Was it? That beat out yours.”  A small chuckle left his lips as his arms folded across his front.

“I do love when you bare your teeth and indulge me.” He said lowly only addressing you.

You puffed out a sigh, turning to put the milk away. “If you spent half as much time on your research as you did being insufferable maybe you’d have a better shot.”

“You wound me.” He dramatically placed his hand over his heart.

“Mmm, that’s the idea.” You spoke almost absent mindedly, opening the cupbpard above you to find the sugar jar empty. You let out a frustrated groan, tilted your head back and closing your eyes.

“Are these something you’d want?” You turned to face Aemond, his large hands holding out small sugar packets. Your eyes went wide, noticing it was the good brand too.

“Where did you get those!” You exclaimed, a smile reaching your lips.

“Linda’s desk.” He replied, smirk across his face. Yours dropped slightly. Linda.

“Linda from accounting?” You groaned remembering the time you used the unassigned parking spot she claimed was hers. “I think she might actually spill blood if she notices them gone.” He laughed and as you reached for the packets he pulled his hand back, you furrowed your brows and looked up at him before trying to grab them from him again. He lifted them up above his head, the movement untucked the front of his shirt slightly. You couldn’t even fight the immediate urge to look at the exposed skin, his toned stomach and light happy trail brought a warmth to your face. You tore your eyes away returning them to Aemond’s, he eyed you with a small smirk playing at his lips.

“Give me the sugar Aemond.” You tried to speak in a stern manner but found it hard to considering the heat across your cheeks. He tilted his head to the side slightly, looking expectantly. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaving your palm open. “Please?” You questioned. He smiled widely place the packets in your palm, his fingers grazing over yours ever so slightly. He made his way out of the breakroom as you tried to simmer your racing heart. You watched as he paused for a moment, turning back around to you and resting his palm upon the door frame.

“See you Saturday.” He said with a smirk. You shot him a puzzled look, before realisation washed over you.

You grimaced lightly, “Wouldn’t miss it.” You said flatly. He poked his tongue into his cheek in amusement before disappearing off behind the wall.

You cursed under your breath as you made it back to your desk. A hand slamming down on your desk made you jump and look up. Your office friend stood above you looking expectantly. “A little birdy told me you haven’t made some boring excuse to miss the party tomorrow!” Her excitement reverberated through your cubicle. You shot her a ‘keep it down’ glare as she threw her hands up and squatted next to where you sat.

“I forgot to orchestrate a family emergency, but there’s still time break a bone.” You took a sip of your drink. She huffed, pushing your arm lightly.

“The financial year ends on the same day every year… I think you just wanted the excuse to see Aemond again.” She giggled watching your eyes go wide.

“Absolutely not! He is the bane of my existence, I’m pretty sure he is punishment for whatever I did in a past life.” You couldn’t lie to yourself though, ever since Aemond joined your firm it had made things more entertaining at some points, if not a whole lot more frustrating too.

She raised her brows, peering over the top of your desk slightly to ensure the coast was clear. “The punishment could be a little less delicious don’t you think?” You scoffed, trying to become absorbed in your work. She rose to her feet and was a few feet away from your desk before turning back to exclaim, “Ooh! Wear something sexy!”, Your jaw hung open, but no words fell out. Your colleague beside you raised a brow at you as you face flushed.

It felt as if hours had passed as you sat upon your bedroom floor upon a mess of clothes. You watched as the clock ticked, you were technically already running late to the “it’s not mandatory but we’d love each and every one of you to show up and celebrate with us!” party. Your head looked between two dresses laid out in front of you, one black and the other in your favourite colour. The black was the obligatory ‘there but unused funeral dress’ you had, the other verged on being the perfect dress. You put it on one last time and looked in the mirror, it was tighter than what you were used to, short but not so short you had to worry, and the colour complimented your complexion perfectly. You felt beautiful in this dress and glanced back at the black one once more deciding whether to play it safe. You phone chimed upon your bed, and you opened the message from your friend.

It was a mirror selfie in the bathroom with a drink in hand. ‘Don’t pussy out.’ The message read. You rolled your eyes before another message chimed through, ‘ps. bar has free drinks’. You laughed lightly before sliding your heels on and grabbing your jacket. You replied back with a short ‘on the way’ before climbing into your taxi.

You arrived at your office building, the height seeming daunting all of a sudden. You passed a few faces you knew, smoking besides the entrance, and exchanged a few hellos. Your shoes clicked across the marble floors as you made your way to the lift. A nervousness bubbled within you as it went past the floor you worked on up to one of the top floors that served as a function room. The doors opened and to your relief, revealed a bustling party. You stepped out paused at the top of the small set of stairs that led down to the main floor and eyed the room. You vaguely remembered the layout from your first week and tour of the building, but you had never seen it in action, and you couldn’t deny it looked good. The one empty bar was replaced with two mixologists pouring various liquids, the lights were dimmed, with lamps and string lights casting a warm glow upon the room. The music was loud enough to engulf the room but did not deafen you. You fiddled with your sleeve for a moment, scanning the room for your friend, before pulling your jacket from your shoulders and leaving it with the others. Your fingers grazed against the cool metal banister as you stepped down the stairs. Your heart pounded in your chest, feeling it click with every step of your heel. Maybe it was your late arrival, your dressed up look, the lull in music as it changed tracks, or a combination of the three but you caught the attention of a few pairs of eyes on the floor beneath you. Your eyes looked towards the floor before a loud voice calling out to you made you jump. You looked up to see your friend with a wide grin across her face waving out to you, her exclamation had attracted the attention of a few of your coworkers as they glanced between the two of you. You quickly stepped down the rest of the stairs to meet her and shushed her, linking your arms. You both made your way over to the seating at the bar as she rambled incessantly about all the unmissable things you had missed.

You pushed yourself up onto the barstool and smiled at the bartender as your drink of choice was slid towards you. You watched as your friend laughed through her stories before quickly exclaiming she needed to use the restroom again. You smiled to yourself, you were glad she was here or else you’d find it harder to be comfortable. Just as quickly as she left, another presence joined you. You looked up, seeing Aemond leaning with his back against the bar. His eyes shamelessly scanned your body, appreciating the parts he had never seen before, and admiring how your dress fit you. His eyes met yours, his signature smirk plastered across his lips. “Can I buy you a drink?” he questioned.

“It’s an open bar?” You retorted; brows furrowed.

“Then I can buy you two.” You laughed at his ridiculousness but nodded your head. Aemond smiled to himself, he earnt a genuine laugh from you, and it was the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. You took a moment to take in his appearance, a dark shirt covering his chest with the top button undone, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders instead of thrown into a bun. A faint blush painted your cheeks as he caught your eyes on him, yet he did not taunt you as he usually would. The conversation flowed between you, about work, shows, both of your overly competitive sides showing at times. Your head threw back in laughter at one of his remarks, your hand gripping his forearm as you laughed. As soon as you noticed you removed it and placed it back around your drink. Aemond watched you intently. You never wanted to give anything away, never reveal that you wanted him too, yet your body betrayed you.

Your time was interrupted as one of your colleagues joined you on your other side. He addressed you directly, then nodded his head towards Aemond who merely rose a brow. “Hi Alex.” Your response was blunt, this was the first time he’d spoken to you in months. Unlike Aemond, you felt disgusting under his gaze, his eyes never met yours, opting to settle on your breasts even as you spoke.

“Is there something you need?” Aemond spoke, a hint of annoyance in his voice. You looked towards him, fingers digging into the edge of the bar.

“Oh, yeah. Big boss wants you. Something about the appraisal on your report.” Alex grinned, he seemed happy to watch Aemond curse under his breath and walk across the room towards your boss. You smiled flatly taking a large sip of your drink. He continued to talk at you, not realising your disinterest from your ‘oh really’, ‘wow’, and ‘cool’ roster of responses. It felt as if hours passed but in reality, it had only been a few minutes. Never so badly had you wanted Aemond glued to your hip.

Aemond stood talking to his boss, trying to hurry the conversation along so he could return to your side. Every time he looked back to the bar, anger bubbled from within him. “So by next Monday?” Snapped him from burning holes into your back.

“Yes, Monday.” He answered immediately catching a few people off guard. His boss thanked him and Aemond shook a few hands before making his way back to you. His fists clenched beside him as he weaved through the huddles of people. He knew you didn’t care for Alex. He listened to your laugh; he knew it was your fake laugh because he had made you laugh properly all evening.

You jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of a hand upon your shoulder. You looked up to see Aemond with a look on his face you had never seen before, pure anger. His fingers burned into your flesh. “I need to borrow you for a moment.” He didn’t allow you to respond before he had pulled you by your hand from the bar stool and back towards the stairs. You struggled to keep up with his long strides in your heels as you called his name. He pushed open a door to a room you had never been in before to reveal a dark desolate meeting room. He swiftly shut the door and clicked the lock on it, turning to face you.

“Aemond what-“ He cut you off with a kiss, his hands reaching the sides of your face. As you registered what was happening your pressed both hands against his chest and pushed him away. You watched his face, your chest rising and falling at a quick pace. You felt hunger take over your body and stepped back towards him. “Kiss me again.” You whispered. Moments as the words left your lips his hand returned to your cheek and his lips brushed yours before kissing you deeply. His lips fit against yours in a perfectly satisfying way. His body pressed against yours, pushing you until the backs of your thighs hit the cool table. He pulled his lips from yours as they found your neck, tongue running across the softness beneath your ear. You let out a gasp as his teeth grazed across your throat, biting slightly and kissing every mark he left.

“Sit for me.” He spoke between kisses. Aemond’s tone spread a heat in your lower stomach. The sound of champagne popping snapped you out of your haze, eyes shooting towards the door.

“But what if someone knows.” You whispered. You bit your lip, as Aemond’s fingers brushed the hem of your dress and against your thighs.

His lips left your neck as he looked you in the eye. With nothing but the moonlight glowing up the room, he looked angelic, with a devilish smirk upon his lips. “The music is loud enough. Sit.”

You nodded, sitting upon the table, the cool lacquered wood hitting your thighs. He placed one more kiss upon your lips before sinking to his knees in front of you. He pushed your knees apart, settling between your thighs. Chills ran over your body as he peppered kissed from your knee to your upper thigh. You watched him, nervous look on your face. His hand reached your lower stomach and pushed against it slightly, “Lay down, you’ll enjoy it more.” He mumbled against your thigh. You swallowed, laying back against the table and trying to ignore the thudding in your chest. His fingers hiked the edge of your dress around your hips, a small groan escaping his lips at the sight of your clothed pussy. He placed kisses at your inner thighs before placing an open-mouthed kiss over your clit. You felt a jolt travel through your body as he slid your panties to the side. He hummed, his middle fingers grazed upon your pussy before delving inside, slowly bottoming out within you over and over. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt Aemond’s tongue latch upon your clit, circling it softly. You propped yourself up on your elbow, you free hand making its way into Aemond’s silver hair. Your fingers gripped the strands, pulling him closer to you. His tongue responded by picking up the pace as he angled his fingers upwards, grazing that sweet spot inside of you. Your stomach tightened as Aemond raced you towards your peak. You looked down between your legs to meet his gaze already watching you, causing your orgasm to wash over you. It took all of your strength to not clamp your thighs shut, letting him coax a final few moans from your lips.

You watched as he rose to his feet, towering over your body splayed out upon the table. You sat up, hand snaking around his neck to pull him back into a kiss, much hungrier than before. Your hands ran down his chest, the softness of his shirt hiding the strength of his chest. Your fingertips untucked the shirt from his trousers before you felt Aemond’s hand across your cheek, his thumb resting upon your chin. Pulling back from the kiss, you watched as he undid the buckle on his belt, pulling it from his waist in a way that made your cheeks flare. It clanked to the ground, as he pulled his trousers down enough to expose his cock, your jaw going slack at the sight of it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips found yours as he lined himself up with your pussy. You jolted slightly as he inserted himself, a loud moan leaving your lips as he filled you up. His thrusts started slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size before you brought your legs up and wrapped them around his waist. His forehead rested against yours, as he hissed slightly at the new angle. Aemond’s pace quickened as your relaxed into his arms, moans leaving your lips that delicately grazed against his.

Your nails dug into the top of his back, eyes screwing shut as a flurry of praises escaped your lips. Aemond groaned, pulling you impossibly close, your breasts pressing against his chest and his head finding the crook of your neck to torment again. You dropped your head to the other side, allowing him to explore your neck as he fucked you. As another orgasm approached you, your fingers found his hair once again, pulling lightly as pleasure took over your body. Your legs crossed behind him as his thrusts repeatedly edged you closer. A final scream of his name and your pussy tightening in pleasure caused him to curse and bury his hips deep into you, filling you with his seed. His breathing was raggedy as his head rested upon your shoulder, lazily kissing it.

You adjusted your dress, eyeing your dishevelled reflection in the reflection of the window. A familiar pair of hands met your waist, sliding around to your front. You sighed as his chin rested upon your shoulder, turning your head to face him. You admired the way the moon illuminated his light hair, the faded scar that ran down his cheek framing his beauty. “I can’t think of anything worse than going back out to that party.” You hummed, placing your hands over his.

Aemond laughed lightly, turning you to face him and weaving his fingers between yours. “What if we didn’t?” He questioned, his usual smirk finding its way back to his face. You hummed inquisitively. “There’s no party at my place.” He shrugged lightly. You thought for a moment, before grinning and pulling him by his arm, a genuine smile of adoration planted firmly upon his face as you did.

[suugarbabe]

[Chapter 7]

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: SMUT, dom!reader, sub!mattheo, male!masterbation, 18+ content below the cut, MDNI!!

Warmth. That’s what you felt pressed against your back and across your middle as you slowly started to blink your eyes awake. You were confused at first, thinking maybe you were dreaming the sensations that you felt, but looking down at your waist and seeing the tattooed hand that was splayed across your stomach confirmed: Mattheo had stayed through the night. You stretched your arms out in front of you, stretching out your muscles from sleep and the other previous nights activity.

Mattheo must have thought you were trying to get up from the action, his arm that was wrapped around you instinctively pulling you closer to his chest. His face burrowed into your neck, breath fanning against your skin as his breathing stayed even. You allowed him to embrace you a little longer, getting lost in your thoughts, thinking about what everything in the last 12 hours meant. Were you and Mattheo together now, like officially together? Would he tell the others? Were you even allowed to talk about it? You tried your best to fall back asleep, if only until Mattheo woke up, but your mind wasn’t slowing down.

Reluctantly peeling his arm from you slowly, you slipped from the bed, putting on your slippers and heading down to the kitchen. You knew Gimball would make your morning tea for you if you asked, he often makes it for you before you even wake up, but he must have known not to do that this morning. You also didn’t have a house elf at your old place, and you liked the routine of doing some things for yourself still.

As if he expected the change in routine, you walked into the kitchen to see Gimball working on breakfast, but your favorite mug and tea bag sitting on the counter while a kettle was on the stove. “How did you know I’d be down here, Gimball?” You questioned the small elf playfully. Without ceasing his movements he replied to your question, “Gimball knows many things Miss Birdie, especially that Master Mattheo does not like to be disturbed in the mornings.” You smiled at this, cheeks tinting the slight pink at the realization that Gimball knew Mattheo was in your room. Ripping open the teabag and placing it in your mug, you tied the string to the handle before walking over to the whistling kettle.

“You’ve known Mattheo a long time, hmm?” You asked it as if you hadn’t seen into Mattheo’s memories, wanting to see what the elf might say. With a snap of his fingers an array of plates and kitchenware appeared on the large center island, “Gimball has been with the Riddle family for three generations, he remembers Master Mattheo’s birth, taught him his schooling. Master Mattheo is a good man, good man Miss Birdie.” You hummed in acknowledgement, smiling as you poured the hot water into your mug, “Was he good in school?”

You were just fishing for any knowledge about him now, anything you knew he probably wouldn’t tell you, at least not right now. Gimball nodded as he set up all the breakfast food and teas for everyone, “Oh yes, Master Mattheo is very smart, very smart indeed. Very observant, but I’m sure Miss Birdie has already come to knowledge of that.” You huffed out a laugh, nodding your head, “Oh yeah, almost too observant for his own good if you ask me.” Gimball let himself smile at your statement, something you didn’t see him do often. With another snap of his fingers, the food arrangement disappeared from the center island. You knew it was now on the large dinning room table, awaiting everyone in the house as they individually made their way down.

Gimball looked at you again, “Master cares very deeply about Miss Birdie.” You nodded your head, “I know Gimball, he really looks at us like a family. It’s a nice feeling.” Gimball shook his head, waving his small finger in the air, “No, Miss Birdie misunderstands Gimball. His care for her is different than the others. Master Mattheo is not always good with his words. Sometimes he cannot express how he feels properly. Master was not allowed to say his feelings when he was little.”

You opened your mouth to ask him to explain further, to tell you what he meant by his last few statements but the opening of the kitchen door caught your attention. You turned at the intrusion, only to see Mattheo standing in the doorway, now completely clothed for the day in a pair of black slacks and a white button up rolled to the elbows, displaying the veins and tattoos that decorated his forearms. You were clearly gawking and if Mattheo noticed (which he probably did) he was polite this morning and chose not to acknowledge the fact.

“What’re you doing in here?” was his question instead. You turned back around, only to see Gimball had apparated away. Turning back to Mattheo you held your mug up to your lips, taking a small sip, “Tea.” He quirked an eyebrow, “You know Gimball would’ve made that for you.” You nodded, “I know, but I like to do it myself sometimes.” Mattheo held the door open for you to exit, following close behind you as you did so. “You left me this morning, woke up to an empty bed and pillows that smelled like you,” he whispered in your ear, giving your hip a light squeeze. You smirked at this, not being able to help your quip back, “Mmm, what a bummer of a feeling. Thankfully I was still in the house and you didn’t wake up like that only to find me gone for days on end.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows shot up, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as he suppressed a smirk. “We’ve got an attitude this morning I see,” he spoke as he sat down next to you at the table. You shook your head, “I would never get an attitude with you, Mattheo.” He huffed out a small laugh then, pilling food onto his plate and choosing not to respond. Soon the others started to trail in, thankfully most of them still in their sleepwear making you not feel like the only one.

Once finished with breakfast Mattheo placed a small kiss on your temple, stating he needed to go to the club early to take care of a few things before the night started. He took Pansy and Draco with him, leaving you at the table with Blaise, Theo and Enzo. The three wore devious smirks, Enzo’s eyes down at his plate avoiding yours. Theo, however, had no shame, pointing his fork at you while he talked, “So, sorella, have a good night?” You glared at him, “Fine, thanks.” Theo gave you a knowing look, “Enjoy it with anyone else?”

This question caused Enzo to choke slightly on his sip of orange juice, the other two men not holding back their laughter. “Serves your right, Enzo,” you stated harshly. The lanky man held up his arms, “Hey, I never said anything!” You rolled your eyes, “But you were smirking like you thought you knew something and obviously agree with Teddy.” Blaise tapped his fork on his glass, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Alright alright, lets stop teasing the poor girl. If anything did happen, which were not saying it did,-”

“or didn’t!” Theo pointed out. Blaise nodded, “Or didn’t,” you rolled your eyes, “can we all just agree that tonight is going to be interesting as hell. Well for us,” he gestured between himself and Theo and Enzo, “maybe not for you, Birdie.” You furrowed your brows in confusion, not understanding the implications of his statement. “Why is tonight going to be interesting for everyone but me, Blaise? What’s happening?” Theo couldn’t stop himself from laughing, clutching his stomach and rearing back in his seat. Enzo gave you a sad smile, “Because there’s a new dancer coming tonight. The one you covered for quit and Pansy said the new one is coming for her first shift this evening.”

You shrugged your shoulders, stuffing another piece of fruit in your mouth, “Okay, so? I don’t care about that. I only danced that one time because Mattheo said I couldn’t. I like bartending with you Enzo. Why would a new dancer make me upset?” Theo leaned both elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him as his tilted his head to the side, “Because this girl is proper fit, like, thank you fucking Salazar fit.” You rolled your eyes, “Again…so? All the dancers are fit, Teddy. You’re just a horndog.” Blaise jumped in, “Mattheo used to have a reputation…with dancers.” You stiffened slightly, but waved your hand telling him to continue, “It’s stopped since you came around, for some reason,” he raised his eyebrows slightly, “Everyone’s just curious to see how it will go.”

You placed your fork on your place, dabbing your lips with the napkin from your lap before standing, “Mattheo’s a big boy. I don’t control him, he can do what he wants. Like I said, there’s nothing going on between us, I’m just like the rest of you guys to him.” Theo snorted at this, while Enzo groaned. Blaise just shrugged his shoulders, “Whatever you say, Birdie. Just know if you feel like fighting, I’m on your side.” You couldn’t help but laugh at everyone’s dramatic reactions, “Thank you, Blaise, but I’m sure that wont be necessary. Everything’s going to be fine.”

And it appeared so for the first few hours you were at the club. You and Enzo worked together restocking the bar while Blaise and Theo sat on the stools, going over plans for different ‘business trips’ and other ordeals. You didn’t push it, but did try to sneak a glance or two at what they were working on. You had grown apparently too close to Theo those few days because he immediately caught you. Giving you a playful scolding for even trying.

Nothing seemed a bother until you went to put up two new bottles of rum and nearly slammed into the side of Enzo. “What are you-” you went to question but Enzo’s large hand palmed the top of your head like a basketball and turned it until your line of vision was the same as his. Immediately you felt like your body was on fire with rage.

Across the club Pansy was standing with Mattheo and a brunette woman. She was wearing what you would barely consider clothing in a skirt so short it was practically knickers and a top that was so small you figured there had to be a spell put on it for her breasts not to be spilling out. But that wasn’t even the bother as most of the dancers dressed in similar attire. What was bothering you was the way Mattheo was interacting with her.

It wasn’t like he was coming on to her, but it wasn’t like he was being her boss either. Though it was very apparent that she was coming on to him. Touching his arm, twirling her hair between her fingers, biting her lip. And Mattheo wasn’t helping, leaning slightly in to her touch, giving her a devilish grin. “What a fucking slag,” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Blaise nearly choked on his drink.

“Mattheo or Trixie?” Theo asked, knowing that using the girls name would probably instill more rage in you. Your eyebrows shot up, a scoff leaving your lips. Enzo groaned, “Oh c’mon, Nott. Don’t rile her up more.” You opened your mouth to respond but it only dropped further in shock when you saw Mattheo tuck a stray hair behind Trixie’s ear. The three boys followed your gaze, all beginning to mumble amongst themselves about how everything was going to play out.

Jealousy is a sexy look on you, Princess, Mattheo’s voice rang between your ears as your eyes snapped to meet his. The fucker had the audacity to smirk at you before giving his attention back to the girl. You slammed a glass down on the counter, not breaking it but definitely causing a sound loud enough for all eyes to turn to you. “Oi, watch it, Birdie. Do you have any idea how much those glasses cost?” You hadn’t noticed Draco walk up to the bar before your actions, too focused on the growing grin Mattheo wore at your increased rage.

Then an idea popped into your head, a definitive way to get back at Mattheo being a right prick. You walked from behind the bar, coming now to stand in front of Draco who only eyed you suspiciously. “Hi Dray,” your voice sickly sweet, “Have any dinner plans?” Draco looked to the other three boys, obviously asking for an explanation of your question. Theo rolled his eyes but Blaise only chucked, “She’s plotting something to get back at Riddle. Seems like your her pawn, Malfoy.”

Draco raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you, “This true, Darling? You trying to use me to get back at cousin? What’d he do- ohh, I see now.” Draco glanced over top of you at Mattheo still talking with Trixie, his focus slightly less strict now that he noticed you grab hold of Draco’s bicep. Meeting your eyes again Draco shrugged, “You know what, fuck it. Matt’s been a dick to me lately, serves him right.”

You sealed happily, clasping your hands together, “Seriously? Oh, Merlin, thank you so much!” You wrapped your arms around Draco’s middle, smushing your face into his upper abdomen. “Easy, there. Don’t want him to kill me before we get to the main event,” Draco joked. You pulled back, smile still evident. Enzo just shook his head, “You sure bout this, Angel?”

Nodding, you walked back round the bar, “Oh I’m sure. Wanna go around 9, Dray? There’s no way he’d leave in the middle of busy hours. You can handle the bar yourself tonight, right Enzie?” You turned to your friend with pleading eyes. Enzo nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll make Pansy help if needed.” You hugged Enzo now, who let out a low chuckle and patted your back.

“I’ll leave a dress for you in the dancers changing room, you’ll get dressed here and I’ll make sure he sees you before we leave,” Draco was looking down at his phone as he spoke. You nodded, “Okay, sounds good.” He sent you a wink before walking back towards the office. You looked at the clock, noting you had four hours to get through before you could implement your plan.

Those hours seemed to drag, Enzo constantly reminding you to not watch the clock and just work. When you saw it was 8:30 you gave Enzo’s arm a light squeeze to let him know you were going to get ready. In the changing rooms you saw a garment bag with your name etched on it. Always showing off money, huh, Draco, you thought in your head. Unzipping the bag your face was graced with a smirk. Inside hung a velvet ruched bodycon minidress in a deep emerald green. The chest a sweetheart neckline with a slightly deeper plunge.

Slipping it on you were delighted with the outcome. The dress contouring every curve of your body, hiding the insecure bits and accentuating your assets. Doing your hair in loose waves and applying some light makeup, you slipped on the black heels Draco had included and walked out of the changing room, nearly running into the one person you’d hoped would see you.

Grabbing hold of your waist, Mattheo eyed you questioningly, “Where do you think you’re going?” You rolled your eyes, which only irritated him further, “Don’t worry boss, I’m not dancing. I’m just going to dinner.” This didn’t make Mattheo stop worrying, if anything he worried further. “Dinner? With fucking who?”

“With me, cousin,” Draco walked into the hall, clad in a pair of sleek black trousers and a black button up, “My, my, you look ravishing, darling.” You peeled Mattheo’s hands from your hips, turning to the blonde boy now, “Thank you, Dray. You ready?” Draco nodded, holding out his arm for you to take. You looped your arm in his, glancing over to Mattheo once more to see his face in a deep scowl, jaw clenched. You smirked, flashing him a wink. Jealousy looks sexy on you, Matty, you thought to him just as Draco apparated to the restaurant.

As expected, dinner was wonderfully expensive and posh. Draco surprisingly keeping conversation with you quite well. You even complimented him on it, “I didn’t think I’d ever see this side of you Draco. It’s…nice.” Draco snorted slightly, “Figured I’d give an effort since you’re going to be my family one day.” You smiled, “Awh, aren’t we already family Dray? All playing house in that big manor?” Draco shook his head, smirking now, “I meant with what’s going on between you and cousin.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why does everyone keep saying shit like that? I’m sure he doesn’t treat me any differently than any of the other girls he’s shagged.” Draco’s grin grew two sizes, “So you guys have fucked? More than once or…?” You glared at him, “You’re insufferable.” The blonde just smiled more, “You know I’ve known him my whole life, seen him with a lot of girls, and I mean a lot of girls-” You cut him off quickly, “Thank you Draco, move on please.” He snickered lightly, “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen him act like he does with any other girl he’s been around except you. He’s kind of always seen women as a means to an end, like they’re just there for him when he wants them to be, then he can throw them away when he doesn’t.”

A frown painted your face, not wanting to see Mattheo in that kind of light, but knowing Draco was likely telling the truth. Draco continued, “He’s protective over you, not like he is with the rest of us. It’s like…possessive. Obsessed. He used to be really off the wall wild with every trip we made with the business, but now he’s doing more strategic planning, like he doesn’t want anyone to get in to much danger, like he has something to look forward to when he gets back.”

Your chest warmed with this new information, “You’re really close with him.” Draco nodded, “We were best mates growing up. Mum’s are sisters, but his was always off with his dad, you know him,” you nodded with a grimace, “so he would stay with my family a lot. Even had his own room at mine. I know we call each other cousin but he was practically a brother to me growing up, until I went away to school. His dad didn’t let him go to Hogwarts, wanting to train him like some sort of secret weapon for the war.” You nodded your head, remembering the memories you intruded on with Mattheo.

“He used to beg me to teach him everything I learned during summer Holiday. He caught on so fast too. Used to keep my old textbooks and practice with Gimball while I was away. When the war came he was really conflicted. Hell, we all were. I’m surprised you even came to the club after everything that happened. Didn’t you know…about us?” His question caught you a little off guard. Sure, you had known of Draco in school, he made it practically hard for someone not to know him. And you knew slightly of the others, just that they were similar to Draco, purebloods with family members that were devoted Dark Lord followers, but it had been a few years, everyone kind of grew up, looked a little different. Everyone but Draco, sticking still to his signature looks.

You shrugged, “I knew of the club, knew it was wizard ran, but I didn’t know by who. I definitely didn’t know you guys worked there. Had no real clue about Mattheo at all until Pansy told me. Voldemort definitely kept that secret well.” Draco nodded. You looked up from your plate now, meeting his eyes, “If Mattheo really saw me in the way you imply he does, why was he flirting with a dancer earlier today.” Draco’s lip twitched like he was holding back a smile, “Sometimes old habits die hard. Sometimes we get scared of the feelings we have because they happen so deeply, like nothing we’ve ever had before. And sometimes, when we’re especially stubborn, we just need someone to put us in our place. Take charge, so to speak, to prove to us that they reciprocate what we’re feeling, even to the deepest of depths.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his words, questioning if you were really understanding what he was saying. Draco sighed slightly, “I know Mattheo. I’ve seen him in many stages of life, many emotions, good and bad. He’s never allowed himself to feel as deeply about a person as he does for you because he knows once he starts falling, he’s never going to stop. If you feel the same, you have to show him. If you want what he wants, prove it to him. But you have to play his game. Don’t be a pawn, be a gamekeeper. Show him who’s boss, I’m sure he’s tired of the title.”

Draco paid the bill before taking you both back to the manor. Like a gentleman he walked you to the steps leading up to the rooms. “Thank you for tonight, Draco. It was lovely.” Draco smiled down at you, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder. He leaned in close, giving you a peck on your cheek and whispering in your ear, “Anytime darling.” He gave you a curt wink before walking toward his office on the main floor. You turned round, heading up the steps and walking into your room.

He had probably hoped to startle you, but you had almost expected him to be there waiting for you. “Have fun tonight, Princess? Fuck my cousin? Was he good?” You huffed a laugh, taking off your jewelry and setting it atop your dresser before turning to face him. “Don’t be brash, Mattheo,” you looked him over, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. His hair was disshelved like he’d been running his hands through it. Which he had been while waiting for you and Draco to come home. The thoughts in his mind spinning wildly about what could have happened.

You walked towards him across the room, him standing to meet you when you pushed him back down, crawling into his lap. “Draco and I just had dinner,” your fingers started to delicately undo the buttons of his shirt, all the way down before pushing it off his shoulders, “just like I said before we left.” He grunted, unconvinced, his hands going to your waist but you pushed them off, “I didn’t say you could touch me.” He tilted his head slightly, looking at you with a sly grin. You reached between your bodies, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding down the zipper.

You stood up then, Mattheo going to follow once more but you tsked at him, “Sit and take off your pants, briefs too,” you leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I want to see all of you, Matty. Can you do that? Can you be my good boy.” Mattheo felt his cock twitch at your words, at your directions. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew he wanted to find out. You walked back towards the bed, just a few feet away, slipping your dress off your shoulders to reveal your bare breasts and black thong to the man across from you.

Mattheo couldn’t help but groan at the site, his cock standing at attention as you slid your panties down your legs before you climbed onto the foot of the bed and turning to face him, legs spread open wide so he got a full view of your glistening cunt. Mattheo groaned at the sight. “You can touch yourself, Matty. Go on,” you encouraged and he followed directions, instantly grabbing hold of his thick cock and pumping himself, “Show me what you wish you were doing to me,” you let your hands cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly causing Mattheo to groan at the view, his eyes rolling, “because tonight you don’t get to touch me at all.”

His eyes shot open then, hand stilling on his length. You pouted at him, mocking his frown, “Don’t stop now, baby. I was enjoying the view.” You lightly slid your hand up the insides of your thighs, giving yourself goosebumps. Mattheo watched with hungry eyes as you took two fingers and glided them through your folds, coating your fingers in your slick before rubbing your clit lightly. “Keep touching yourself, baby, let me see you,” you started applying more pressure on your bundle of nerves, slight whimpers leaving your mouth as Mattheo started slowly guiding his hand up and down his length once more.

When you slid two fingers inside of yourself, eliciting a gasp from your lips you didn’t miss Mattheo’s low, “Fucking hell”, glancing a look at his desperate eyes. Pumping your fingers you couldn’t help but tease him more, ��You’re being such a good boy for me, Matty. Oh, fuck, my fingers stretch me so good, but not as good as when I’m stretched around you, Oh, god, Mattheo.” Hearing his name fall from your lips while he watched you pleasure yourself was his idea of torture. Your hips bucked against your hand, your clit hitting your palm with every grind and building the familiar heat in the pit of your stomach, “Fuck, Matty, I wish I was about to come on your cock, but you just had to misbehave this afternoon, didn’t you?”

His nostrils flared at your words, speech stuttering as his thumb swiped over his slit, eyes glued to your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, “I-I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t-”

“Shut up,” you moaned out, looking up to see himself pumping his cock faster. You could tell he was close by the amount of precum leaking from his tip. “Stop touching yourself,” you commanded. Mattheo groaned, but listened to instructions. When you saw he had stopped your bucked your hips faster, chasing your high until you were tumbling over the edge into your orgasm, “Fuck, oh fuck, yes.” Mattheo’s dick twitched at the sight of you coming undone, your thighs quaking, clamping shut on your hand as you rode out your high, still pumping your fingers in and out of yourself before you slowed down, catching your breath and making eye contact with him.

You slid your fingers from your cunt, your juices glistening to where Mattheo could see it across the room. “Come taste, baby,” you held your fingers out for him. Mattheo clambered over quickly, immediately latching his lips to your fingers, tongue swirling around your digits to get every last drop. His lips left your fingers with a pop, hands going to grab your thighs to spread them back open for himself. You slapped his hands away, scooting yourself backwards until you reached the head of the bed, leaning against the pillows.

You spread your legs wide, patting the space between them. “C’mere, Matty. Come sit right here, back to me.” Mattheo crawled over to you, lips quickly attaching to yours in a feverish kiss. His palm against your cheek and fingers splayed on the back of your neck holding you steady as his tongue explored your mouth, groaning at the taste of you still on his tongue. With all the mental strength you could muster you push him away, slapping his face lightly.

Immediately Mattheo started apologizing, “I’m so sorry, Princess, I couldn’t, fuck, I just couldn’t help myself.” You shook your head at his ramblings, making a spinning motion with your finger indicating to him to turn around and get in the position you instructed him to be in before. Mattheo turned around, lying against your chest. You delicately ran your nails along his thighs, his cock twitching at the action. “I was going to let you cum, maybe even help you, but you broke a rule.”

You grabbed Mattheo’s hand, guiding it back toward his aching cock. As he stroked himself again you ran your nails lightly up his sides, his muscles twitching in your wake. You continued to talk to him, tease him and get him further to the edge, “Last night you were so good to me, making me feel so full.” Mattheo let out a low groan as you trailed kisses along the side of his neck, his strokes becoming quicker, “Love it when you grip my thighs, spreading them open as you sink your big cock into my tight little cunt.”

Mattheo let out a shuddered breath as his thumb swiped over his tip. You grab his wrist then, stopping his movements. He let slip a pathetic whimper, begging you for release, “Fuck, please, Princess, I need to cum so bad.” His chest was heaving, head resting back against your shoulder. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, “Do you deserve that, Matty? Do you deserve to cum after blatantly flirting with that fucking slag right in front of me, hmm?” Mattheo groaned, “Fucks sake, I said I was sorry, you went out with c-cousin I should be p-punishing you.”

He stuttered over his words as you raked your nails up his thighs again, massaging just near where he wanted your touch but not giving in. “We just had dinner, just talked. If you thought it was anything more you would’ve hurt him by now.” You released his wrist, allowing him to pleasure himself once more. “Go on, baby,” you wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other grabbing hold of his hair, pulling his head back with force. “Tell me who you’re thinking about when you touch yourself, is it her or is it me?”

Mattheo let out a guttural moan, “Fuck, Princess, it’s you. O-only you.” You started kissing up his neck again, biting the taught skin before licking to soothe it, making sure to leave a few marks. “Every time I think of you, fuck, and now I have the image of your tight little cunt stretching around my cock so perfectly. I never want anything else, oh gods.” You could tell he was close now, hips bucking into his hand. You brought your lips close to his ear, breath ghosting over his skin, “Cum for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

At your command a deep grunt left his throat, hot ropes of white shooting from his tip and on to the duvet in front of him. Coming down from his high he relaxed into you further, chest heaving as his breathing slowly evened out. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his temple. “Fucking Salazar’s sake, Princess, you trying to kill me now, hmm?” You smiled into his skin, “You did this to yourself, sir.”

He smiled lightly, “I said I’m sorry, Princess. Merlin, if I'd known this is what would happen from some simple flirting I would’ve never started.” He turned round, resting his head on your chest now. You hummed lightly, “I think you more than liked what just happened.” Mattheo pinched the side of your bum lightly, causing you to squeal. He turned his head, resting his chin atop your chest before leaning up slightly and catching your lips in a chaste kiss one, two, three times before laying his head back down.

You stayed like that for a moment before he broke the silence, “The boys say I’m growing attached to you.” You smiled slightly, hands running through his messy curls, “Do you agree with them?” He nodded, “Scares me how much I care about you, Birdie.” You frowned slightly, though he couldn’t see it, “Why does it scare you?” His eyes fluttered shut, you playing with his hair soothing him. He slid his hands beneath the underside of your shoulders, holding you as close as possible, “Means I’ve got something to lose.”

[varpusvaras]

None of the Queens are devoted tea drinkers, not in a way that they would have strong opinions on how to drink their tea, aside from what to not put in it (Roy still gives tea with milk a very long stare even if he doesn't say anything).

It's about more than just liking tea as a drink, though. It's about the process of making it, the practised routine of it, the feeling of simple, grounding safety it brings.

It's also about the company.

It's just past five in the morning. Dinah is still up, sitting at the kitchen isle. The house is quiet.

She must've dosed off a little, because she notices Jason in the kitchen only when he is already in there, putting water in the kettle. He has Roy's hoodie thrown over his shoulders, and he says nothing as he puts the kettle on and starts to silently go through the drinks cabinet. Most of the tea in there is his, so he picks through the variety with ease.

Dinah comtemplates telling him to go back to sleep. They've all gotten back home just a couple of hours earlier, after running back to back missions, first on their own and then together. Jason has a rather nasty looking bruise stretching over his brow and temple, and Dinah knows that he hoodie is hiding a wrist brace beneath it.

She doesn't say anything. Everyone has a hard time falling asleep after being up and running for so long from time to time. Today, it's her and Jason. It's nice to have someone with you when dealing with that.

The kettle clicks. Jason takes out two mugs and pours water over the teabags. Dinah watches as he mixes in a good spoonful of honey to the other mug, the spoon clicking softly as he stirs.

He then takes both of the mugs and brings them over, setting the one with honey in front of her. He then sits down, a couple of chairs away from her, and looks at his own tea.

"I heard from Barbie that you were with the birds earlier", he whispers, his voice a little rough with sleep that will not yet come. "It's chamomile with honey. Helps with a sore throat."

Dinah takes her mug. It's warm against her hands. The morning is not cold, but the warmth is comforting, anyway.

She takes a sip. It's soft and sweet, and the taste of the honey stays for a bit after she swallows.

"It's good", she whispers back to him. "Thank you."

Jason hums, just as soft and sweet as the tea. From the corner of her eye, Dinah can see his lips turn up ever so slightly, before he hides behind his own tea. Dinah smiles as well, before taking another sip.

[staenless]

STEDDIE OMEGAVERSE LUNCHBOX FIC PART 2

He put the kettle on to boil, then set the ingredients out on the counter. Kiwis, left over chilli from last night, a wrap, quarter of a cabbage, cheese, the special trail mix he has to travel across town for, yogurt. Was that enough protein? Carbs?

The kettle finished boiling. He steeped his teabag in silence, eyes fixed beyond the kitchen window to that small patch on the lawn. He had taken a hand shovel to it yesterday, swung up and down and chopped up the kikuyu until a neat square had revealed itself to him. The back of his neck stung from sunburn when he'd lain down beside Tommy last night. Today he'd hack and slash a second square, then buy the seeds and sow them before Tommy could get up in arms about it'd look to the neighbours-colleagues-friends that they were growing their own vegetables. How it would look, common and subsistant, and that store bought was fine, better actually, since it came with a label and price tag. He should stick to store bought tomatoes.

Steve thought about the note in the lunch box. Tommy hadn't brought a note back since Steve had started making him lunch, when their parents decided on their courtship. Steve had once thought Tommy kept them, saved them in a memory box like the lovesick fool Steve thought they could both be. He'd felt sick watching Tommy crumple it up without reading from across the cafeteria, had left in a fuss and a hurry to stare at himself in the school bathroom mirror and drown himself in self loathing. He had been stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. And stupider still when he wrote the notes every morning since, unable to give up on the charade to himself or others. If he couldn't have that life then he'd fake it.

He drained the last of his tea, then rinsed the mug. He began to chop the cabbage. The note, safely tucked in his grandma's recipe book, heated the burn on the back of his neck. Tommy had given his lunch away. He'd done it before, no doubt, but for some reason the Alpha who'd gotten it this time returned the note. Had scented the note and returned it, and Tommy hadn't even noticed when he'd tossed the lunch box onto the breakfast bar when he'd returned last night. He layered the cabbage onto the centre of the wrap.

He began to grate the cheese. Steve wasn't mad at Tommy, for passing on his lunch or not noticing the other Alphas scent. Tommy had probably been passing off his lunch for years, Steve wasn't so naive to think Tommy cared about handmade lunches. And in a twisted way Steve was glad the note had traveled safely to his kitchen, had sat patiently till Tommy was in his office having a tumbler of whiskey before making itself known. Had told him someone ate his meal, and had enjoyed it. If the only acknowledgment he'd get was from a stranger, he'd take it. He layered the cheese over the cabbage, then the chilli over that. He folded the wrap closed, sliced it in half, then neatly packed the two halves in the first tin.

The kiwi needed peeling, and he slowly worked his knife round and round under the soft furry skin. Tommy complained about the hair on kiwis the same way he complained about the hair on Steve. Got stuck in his teeth, was offputting and disgusting and had no place covering up something - someone - so sweet and meant for his consumption. The kiwi was neatly sliced then stacked and tilted into the second tin. The trail mix went into a reusable cupcake shell, and the yogurt into a small Tupperware next to it.

Steve's notepad sat patiently on the counter, pen poised above it and tensed with thought. The alphas scent had been soft, likely from scent blockers, yet unmistakably peppery and dry. It reminded Steve of the dry grasses in fields beside his grandma's old farm house. In autumn, when hot dry winds beat the land dry in preparation for winter. Hed run out to the fields, uncaring for the cuts the sharp grass left, and huffed the scent up. It smelt different from anything in the suburbs, more alive than the rickety farmhouses thatch, but ancient in comparison to prickly autumn lawns. Beneath that dry grass sat a distinct peppery smell, like spices heated in warm oil. Pepper and... Lemon rind? Steve wanted to fetch the note out and sniff at it again, but reigned himself in. It was still early morning, he was still packing Tommy's lunch and he was still a doting hustband.

His notepad stared up at him, large and white and questioning his hesitation. He could write anything, Tommy wouldn't read it and there was no guarantee the other alphas would get it. Still, as pen went to paper and he carefully looped his letters, he hoped someone would read the note. Would acknowledge him and his effort, his love that went to strangers and came empty and uncaring home. Just for someone to read his note, to know that he existed, somewhere out there, and he made this lunch with his own to hands. He slipped the note into the tin, then clipped them together with a clack and set them aside for Tommy to grab on his way out. Time to make breakfast.

Sorry this took forever to get out lol, I was lazy and avoided writing. As someone who hasn't written creatively since highschool launching myself into a full multichapter fic was probably kinda a bad idea... But I always was more of a deep-end kinda person so I will persevere.

Taglist: @xxbottlecapx @goodolefashionedloverboi @stevesbipanic @monsterloverforhire

[peachetteprice]

Req for Simon x Reader, Reader never got their feelings validated growing up. Simon and reader fighting over something dumb but Simon eventually understanding how Reader feels and validates Readers feelings and they dont know how to react.

Completely self indulgent, but would be more than thankful. 🤍

Hi, lovely! 🤍 🧡 I can absolutely do that for you, I love self-indulgent asks, even if they aren't mine to indulge in! Thank you so much for your request, I've been waiting for someone to utilise that button. Single quotation marks for speech because I was feeling dead British today...

Here's your order! Enjoy, gorgeous! 🧡

Some Days - Simon "Ghost" Riley

On some days, Simon doesn’t think. On the worst of those days, he reminds you of your father.

That being said, on a particular one of those worst days, there’s a tinny clanging from the dishwasher as he loads plate after plate with a passive aggression that seems to forget its ancestral passiveness to instead bolster firmly on the aggression; he grinds out a lungful of air when bending to input a dishwashing tablet – supposing it isn’t the miraculous day his knees have recovered from crawling out of that ditch in Peru – and again when he lifts the door to close.

They never get done, he mutters, they never bloody get done, and a part of you riles as he whispers to himself, for you know he can choose to be quieter than that, near-silent when he whispers, and is therefore only doing it for the sake of riling you up – and it’s nevertheless working. Simon hears you enter the doorway; he knows the sound of your arms crossing before your chest, the gentle thwip as the fabric of your cardigan smooths over itself, but he doesn’t budge, slamming cupboard doors shut to make himself a mug of tea and nigh-whipping the fridge door into the path of your nose.

Bloody milk never has its cap screwed on tight, he mutters, and this time he’s sure to make it clear to you that he wants you to hear him that time, because he knows you’re there, to call him out so he has the conversational leverage by which he can whine and moan about the other chores that haven’t been done to standard. And you would grit back about the sodding pile of gear he leaves at the front door that, by way of “protecting” his “lovie”, you are denied the actuality of moving, for he posits it to be too hazardous for a little thing like you to have your hands over, lest one of the guns goes off and sends a bullet straight through your abdomen, and he has to attend your funeral knowing it was his bullet from his gun that murdered you, but that’s by-the-by because he’s never had as grave an issue with it when he arrives home barely an hour after landing, having booked it home like a man encumbered with flesh-eating revenants, to swirl you around in the air and beg you to pull it off him so he can focus on undressing you instead, no, he’s never had an issue with your hands on his gear, then, but as soon as it’s off and on the floor in the hallway it’s a coal man’s mineshaft and you aren’t to enter; you truly would grit back all of that, but his retorts cut harshly, and you’d rather not hear them, for it’s one of the worst of one of those days, and you can’t be expected to deal with it.

‘Don’t you ever think of me, Si?’ Slips out of your mouth. It simply does, for there is no reason why it shouldn’t have slipped out. It was at the right time, and it wasn’t much of an outrageous thing to say, considering.

Simon has only just put the teabag in when it slips out, however, and if he lets it stew for too long, he’ll have a bitter cuppa, and he doesn’t want a bitter cuppa, because he doesn’t like bitter cuppas, so he can’t let it stew for long, but the words that slipped out seem important: important enough for him to abandon his cuppa on the worksurface for just a moment and hope it isn’t bitter by the time he returns to it with a clean teaspoon and milk.

‘Think of you every day, don’t I?’ He says. Because he does – think of you every day, that is; it’s true. And Simon only says things that are true, unless he says something that isn’t true, in which case, it’s a lie, and in the same case, he won’t say it unless he needs to. He adjusts the handle of his cuppa so it faces outward: so he can grab it quickly to fish the teabag out, so that his cuppa isn’t bitter when he has the time to get back to it. ‘Why’d ya think I don’t think of you?’ He tacks on.

Thwip. Your arms unfold. ‘You’re antsy about the housework.’

‘I’m not antsy about the housework–’ he reasons, but realises it’s a lie, and knows he shouldn’t lie to his missus, for Simon doesn’t and shouldn’t lie to anyone unless he needs to, and he doesn’t need to, because you’re his missus, and no good man ever needs to lie to his missus– ‘alright, so there’s dirty dishes near the sink, then – that's all it is, dove.’

But that isn’t really all it is, and Simon knows it isn’t all, and he thinks himself a liar again, and he’s a good man, not a liar, so he explains that there might have been dirty dishes near the sink, but that’s quite alright every once in a while, even to his jingoistic standards, and, yes, there’s a trail of grass and muck from your wellies by the front door that’ll settle into the wood if you’re not careful – and he says you should be careful, because nobody wants a trail of mud on their genuine hardwood flooring – and the tumble dryer has been brewing a warm set of clothes that are going to get cold if you’re not attentive – and you should be attentive, he says, because you like a nice set of warm pyjamas and he doesn’t want to hear you complain that they aren’t when it was your job to put them away – and the washing machine has a similar problem to groan about – and he does groan about it, because he’ll have to put them on a fresh cycle if they get musty – and there’s the matter of the umbrellas that haven’t been tapped and dried and lined in the umbrella holder, the bathroom bar of soap hasn’t been replenished, the carpets haven’t been plucked and sucked and dried and vaccuumed, the sealant in the bathroom hasn’t been bleached and spritzed and wiped, and above all that, it truly isn’t alright for the dishes not to be done every once in a while, as they should be done to his militant standards, which isn’t when you like it, because for matters of the house, he’s always right and you’re always wrong, and even though you despise his nagging, you should just bloody deal with it.

In the inevitable and oppressive heat of your silence, he does as he should have done before you said anything and fishes for the teabag, replaces the lost levels with a dash of milk, takes a sip, and, when he realises it has gone bitter: pours it down the sink. He grumbles a bit following the displacement to his routine, reiterates to himself that he isn’t a liar and that non-liars such as himself would still like a cuppa, flicks the kettle back on and refreshes a tea bag into his mug.

‘Would it kill you to be nice for once about this, Simon?’

‘I’m being truthful’, he notes, because there’s no nicer quality in the world than being truthful, as his mother used to say, though Simon can see from the incongruent frown on your face that your mother mightn’t have used to say the same, even though it clears both of his exclusive two stern criteria of being both truthful and reasonable, and he surmises that you might not like things being both truthful and reasonable at the same time, so he picks one and lies about it – for now is the time to need to lie.

‘It’s alright,’ he nods, fishing the teabag out before it gets too bitter, ‘s’ not the end of the world, lovie.’

Though you don’t quite seem to like the non-truthful part of the opposing version of his truthful and reasonable criteria into which all of his statements fall, as there’s an even lengthier shadowed kink in your cheek from the frown on your face, and you’ve since adopted a stance that reminds him of his mother, which he thinks is odd, because he’d only just concluded that you were quite unlike his mother.

‘You remind me of my mother,’ he says, because it is truthful – and just so happens to be reasonable, too – and has absolutely nothing to do with the former crux of the argument, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

‘Really? Then, you remind me of my father.’ You refute, and Simon takes a moment to stare at you, really stare, to see if you’re telling the truth, because if he were you, he would not be telling the truth, because he doesn’t suppose he would remind himself of your father.

‘I don’t.’ He grumbles.

Simon does, you double-down, though in the manner of saying “you bloody do”, because you rather think you’d be the judge of that, having spent the past two decades as his lowly wet-nurse, cleaning his bed-pans and forever having to neglect the memories of him passively-aggressively cleaning up the messes that were only ever yours to clean, slapping your mother when he was upset that he had to clean the messes that were only ever yours to clean, slapping your mother again when you did clean the messes that were only ever yours to clean, before they ever became messes, and despising you all the while through.

‘M’sure I don’t.’ He disagrees; he doesn’t think you should be the judge of that, actually, as he’s just imagined himself in your shoes, looking at himself, attempting to be truthful, and finding that he wouldn’t remind himself of your father.

Rather than go around in circles, as Simon much prefers to do whenever you argue, you stand your ground, stamping your foot into the kitchen tile, then huffing, remarking, ‘You don’t once think that perhaps I’m tired, too, do you? That, maybe, I don’t want to clean up after myself when I spend the entire day looking after that sod of a father?’

‘I don’t think about that’, he remarks back; it’s another one of his truths, and you know it too by then, only there is a solemn comfort in his acknowledgement of the fact, which leads him to his next criterion, for which he says, ‘never thought of that, ever, an’ I don’t think it’s right.’

As, though everything Simon said up until that point was either truthful or reasonable, and on the more frequent occasions, truthful and reasonable, not everything had been solely reasonable, and it takes your reasoning for him to come across that conclusion. And it isn’t an easy conclusion for him to come across, the man too raptured by the shine of his boots, the angle of his tie, and the tilt of the picture frame on the wall. It’s hardly an easy conclusion for you to come across, either, that you’re hurt, anguished by his words, for it’s all too easy to become complacent with things that serve you only pain, especially for those that may hurt more to address.

‘M’sorry’, he acquiesces, with both truth and reason, for there’s no better words he can give that’ll mean the same.

‘Your teabag’s been in too long’, you rebuttal, because his cuppa looks like it’ll be a tad bitter.

| Masterlist |

[lenreli]

The Red Line

[AO3]

E, 6.3k. Hob gets a new life - and a new job. Dream begins to appreciate it, in his own way.

-

Dream steps into the Waking, more following Hob’s presence on the Earth, steadfast for centuries ― and looks around, Canadian wilderness reaching his senses. Hob did say, last time they met, that he’s overdue faking his death. 

Blinking, he knocks on the door in front of him, once. He knows Hob’s not asleep, and still Dream worries if he’s intruding, even with the way Hob had said― 

“My friend!” Hob beams, the door opened while Dream was pondering, “come in, come in!” Hob says brightly, gesturing him in with an arm. “This’ll be the first time I’ve seen you outside of jolly ol’ Landon, actually,” Hob says, excitement all but palpable as Dream looks around at the small house, Hob talking more about other places he’s lived in. Hob’s swearing a knitted sweater and jeans, matching the rustic insides of his new home. 

And Hob talks about ― friends he misses, moving to Canada, and so on. With no mention of his job, which Hob is usually happy to tell him about. “And what of your job?” At that, Hob pauses, “or have you decided to not get one this time?”

“No, still many things I want to do,” Hob says, voice suddenly quieter, and Dream frowns, unused to the other’s almost―evasiveness. 

Dream gives Hob a narrow look, suspicious. “Do you have an abhorrent trade, like in 178―”

“No! Never again! Definitely not!” Hob shouts, arms in the air as he shakes his head, eventually sinking into his blue sofa with a sigh. “No, not. It’s just. I don’t know. We’re not the friends to talk about this, and I don’t know how you’d react, so I haven’t,” Hob mumbles. 

Dream keeps silent as Hob pulls at the edge of his sweater, and eventually Hob heaves a sigh. 

“Fine. I’ll bite the bullet. I’m a sexline operator,” Hob says and Dream blinks, unsure what the problem with speaking about is, as he searches the subconscious for Hob’s new job. “I dunno, we’ve never talked about that before, and the prudishness of this century probably got to me a bit. I talk people into giving themselves orgasms, and it’s fun,” Hob mutters, shrugging as he explains. 

“I fail to see the problem.”

Hob laughs and rubs his face, “of course. Just ― weird human customs. My new job is usually more of a raunchy punchline or scandalous, terrible thing for some people.” 

“It’s not the worst job you’ve had,” he points out, and Hob laughs again, a bit more manic. 

“That bar’s in the Earth’s core, Dream,” Hob says, face hidden by a hand. “The literal fucking burning lava core,” Hob grouses, and Dream follows Hob into a small kitchen, windows letting light in as Hob puts on an electric kettle, leaning against the kitchen counters. “It’s been a thing, getting used to living here, and my new job, which is a more night-shift job than I was used to with teaching. At least seeing you again is helping with all that.” 

Dream swallows, emotions sticking in his body at the way Hob’s smiling at him, that he’s helped Hob. “I am here to help.” 

Hob laughs again, shaking his head as he gets a mug and a teabag. “Not just as your entire thing, but you, as my friend,” Hob clarifies. “Didn’t even realise how weird I was getting in my head until you popped in.” 

“You are the most normal man alive,” he replies dryly as the kettle whistles, and Dream smothers the smile he can feel as Hob laughs once more. 

=

Dream ― hasn’t been curious, knows what it requires, on a sexline. A discreet orgasm, or a filthy one, operators being given prompts, or not, until the one who pays is satisfied. 

However, he’d like to know, Hob on a sexline is a different thing, one he can’t help thinking about idly. And so, slipping into the Waking, into Hob’s new house, which is ― quiet. Soundlessly, he walks around until he reaches a closed door. The study, Hob showed him, and Hob behind the doors, imagining waking up early to go to the market. 

And Hob is speaking, words muffled by the door, so he leans closer, ear to the door ― and Hob may be thinking about market produce, meeting vendors, but the words are filthy, talking to someone. 

A woman, matching that voice to―strong hands, pressing inside herself, all the right spots as he moans, Hob’s speech rolling over her in waves of pleasure as she imagines. 

The door is cold against his body, but Dream’s only half-there as he makes the man’s hands coarser, marks and scars of Hob’s hands, hairier as she gasps. Closing his eyes, Dream smoothes out the man in her imagination ― green eyes changed to brown, grey at his temples, stubble and body hair, as the man ― Hob ― speaks to her to come, coaxing her along softly. 

Suddenly, the lack of imagination, daydream having served its purpose leaving him against the cold door, body hot as he listens to Hob laughing, him and the woman talking. And Dream wants to―phase through the door, has a hand on it, melt through the flimsy wood to reach Hob, body aching in arousal. 

Pressing his cheek to the refreshingly cold wood, he stops as the call ends and there’s a sigh. There’s shuffling around, and soon footsteps, a shadow moving to the door and Dream moves away with a soundless step as Hob starts to open it.

Hands twitching, he steps back again before going back to the Dreaming.

-

It happens again. Dream in front of the study, door shut as Hob speaks into the phone on the other side. He can’t even muster up any internal protests, that he was sure that Hob would be free, and not like some part of Dreaming wasn’t dedicated to keeping an eye on the time, on when Hob wouldn’t be working or sleeping. 

The door is cool as he touches it, pressing his ear against the door as Hob’s voice washes over him ― and in another province, a man is hearing the same voice. 

This time, Hob is vaguely thinking of pale skin and dark hair― 

Dream moves his focus to the other man, insides hot as the man fingers himself, Hob’s voice making him whine as he has vague images in his mind, nothing concrete and more focused on Hob’s voice. 

And he can’t help it, tweaks the vague image into Hob’s visage and the man whimpers as he imagines Hob going inside, and Dream shivers, can feel it in the imaginings of it. The man comes with a cry and Dream stares at the wood of the door, can feel it under his nails with how hard he’s grabbing it, body pulsing in arousal but unable to end it, just out of reach. 

Dream takes an unneeded breath as he thinks of melting through the door, where Hob is now laughing with the man, wanting to, wanting to feel more than illusory touch, can go insane with wanting the reality of it― 

No. he forces himself back, can only see the trail of ruin that’d leave Hob hating him, as he steps back into the Dreaming.

-

“Uh, boss,” Matthew says and Dream looks up from his census, then pauses, taking a moment before he stands up from the steps. Hovering in front of him, a large bubble, the transparency of it showing a red phone box, glass-panelled windows and a phone ringing.

Reaching out, he relaxes, can feel Hob’s ― daydream, behind it. “It is my friend,” he says softly, smiling as he walks into the bubble, and he pauses as he’s encased in warmth. Matthew and the throne room melt away as he opens the box, phone ringing still as he closes it. Reaching out, the phone stops as he picks it up, putting it to his ear. “Hob?”

“Woah,” on the other side of the line, Hob breathes, voice crackling as Dream presses the phone more against his ear. “Wasn’t sure that’d work. That’s really you?” Hob asks, voice getting slowly more excited. 

“It is. Matthew alerted me to ― you,” he frowns, the daydream brightening in vibrancy with Hob’s excitement, a joyful sound coming from the other side of the phone. 

“I dunno, I’ve been using phones so much lately with work, and so I thought what if. Well. This,” Hob says, voice crackling over the line and Dream smiles, happy to hear from him ― and reminding him guiltily, of why he hasn’t visited lately, “and like, I’m getting new friends here of course, and getting used to it all, and I just hope you’re not too busy with, uh. All that you do.” 

Dream sighs, resting against the glass behind him, “I am sorry, I―”

“No, it's fine! I get it, you’re a busy, hard-working entity and before we only met every century! Even with us being friends and everything―”

“Hob,” he cuts in, smiling as Hob stops, “I am glad you called,” he says, and Hob lets out a sigh, can feel the warmth of Hob’s home, his presence of the daydream around him, a balm for his tired self. 

“Didn’t even call for anything important. Just that I found a place that sells the best poutine I’ve ever tasted. Have you had poutine?” Hob asks and Dream can’t stop his smile, bright emotions fizzling inside him at the inane question. 

“I have not,” he answers. 

“It’s really good,” Hob says, words trailing into a groan, making Dream feel slight heat at the sound caused by the memory of good food,  “one time when you’re here we’re going to get poutine. Also, the moose here are insane. Recently I saw one as big as a car and it was so beautiful. And terrifying. Was just walking down the road! This is why I love moving all the time!” 

Dream looks down, fingers curling around the red curled line of the phone as he listens to Hob talk.

-

Somehow, Hob’s house always feels so welcoming, the immortal somehow infusing his home in the short time he’s lived there, compared to The New Inn, as well as the flat he had nearby in London. As Dream sits on the sofa, he can feel himself unwinding as Hob gets a cup of tea, the book he was reading left flat on the coffee table, revealing the summary and Dream hums at the sci-fi. “Aren’t you usually doing something at this time?” 

Hob lets out a sound, partly indecisive and partly thoughtful, “I do plan on going to a music festival tomorrow, so I’m getting things ready since I’ll be out all day,” Hob offers as the kettle whistles, and Dream blinks as Hob comes back over, sitting next to him and getting a coaster on the table to put his cup on. “Planning to go with some friend’s, so it’s just like. Water, and money, especially for merch and food,” he shrugs. 

“What type of music?” 

“Metal festival! Speaking of, I need to figure out my―wait, you can help me decide!” Hob says, getting up and rushing to his room, and Dream smiles, staring at the cooling mug on the table. 

“Your tea is cooling,” he points out as Hob moves around in his room, eventually coming out with a pile of clothes in an arm, as he pointedly stares at him before drinking half the mug. Hob’s throat working is ― mesmerizing, and Dream can’t make himself look away as he has half-thoughts of touching the other’s beard. 

“Okay!” Hob says and Dream doesn’t twitch, mind still stuck on the edge of the other’s stubble on his throat to notice that he’s moved back, holding up a mesh shirt and ripped jeans in one hand, “so, this?” Hob tugs out his other clothes, revealing a dark blue shirt and a different pair of trousers, black with studs and chains, “or this?” 

Dream tilts his head, thinking about the choices, “the first one.” 

Hob beams, nodding as he puts the clothes back into his room. “See, that’s what I was thinking too. Plus one of my leather jackets, since it’ll be cold, but also I will be in the moshpit, but eh,” Hob mumbles, voice lowering in frequency as he comes back out, sitting near him as he drinks the rest of his tea. “I’m so excited!”

“I can tell,” he replies dryly, and Hob’s brightness doesn’t even dim as he picks up his book, practically vibrating next to him. 

-

He does try to come after the festival. 

He doesn’t try hard enough as he stares at the closed door, can hear Hob’s low voice, muffled but getting clearer as he presses against the door. “And I would,” Hob pauses, and Dream tenses in anticipation ― and on the other end of the line, a man lets out a small whine, close to the edge from Hob’s voice. “Eventually, I’d let you come.” 

The man whines and Dream shivers, can almost feel the firmness of Hob’s voice in his body as he takes an unneeded breath. 

“The anticipation of it, it’d be worth it, don’t you think?” Hob asks, and the man agrees blindly. Dream swallows, body flooded with arousal. “I’d take you to the edge, again and again, until your mind is nothing but me, the way you’d beg for it,” Hob continues, voice dropping even lower as the man cries out ― and Hob thinks of pale skin, daydreams of― 

Dream forces himself out of it, would be sure that his face would be a fierce red if ― the wood doing nothing to cool him down as he presses into it, a hand lightly gripping the wood. There’s the taste of it on his tongue, like he can replace it with Hob’s confident words, the ease he can feel from the other side of the door. 

“Please,” the man begs, sobbing in a way that Dream can feel, wants to be the one crying it out. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want. You’re touching yourself for me, aren’t you?” Hob breathes and the man lets out a cry and blurbled yes. “Just relax into it, into my voice,” Hob soothes and Dream shudders, a hand reaching into his robe as he soundlessly pants against the door. “Follow the flow, you don’t want to resist.” 

The man keens, mindless and full of Hob’s voice ― like Dream. Who wants to reach through the door and hang Hob up, wants those low tones focused on him, as he strokes himself, can feel how close to the edge he is― 

―Of making a mess of Hob’s door, and the thought is cold water as he pulls himself away, taking his hand off himself as he forces himself back to the Dreaming.

-

Dream doesn’t keep a solid track of time, but even he knows that this is a bad day. Pinched annoyance at himself for not visiting Hob, basking in the comforts of his home ― and not when he’s working, and so just sticks to the Dreaming. 

And today, an envoy of planets and galaxies, relatively small, which is the only good thing over all the fake politeness and the exhausting politicking. 

The bubble appearing to life in the room is the icing on the cake, Hob’s daydream-call as the celestial bodies look over at the phone box with worry. “It is nothing,” he grounds out, and feels even more exhausted as he pops the bubble, crunching it into nothing.

After, he promises himself as he forces the conversation back on track, and Dream feels vaguely like screaming.

-

It’s days before he shows up at Hob’s ― reasonably sure that Hob’s not working as he knocks on the front door. Dream feels tense, every non-existent bone in his body clenched as he waits, and as he thinks that Hob’s gone out, the door opens. “Dream!” Hob smiles and ushers him in, and it feels like his teeth grind less as he enters the other’s home. 

“I apologise. For not taking your call,” he recites stiffly as he sits, and Hob freezes, then smiles, sitting next to him, warmth radiating off of him in a way that makes Dream want to curl into him. 

“Felt a bit weird when that happened, but you are a busy entity. Nothing to apologise for, of course,” Hob beams, and Dream swallows the sound as the smile dims, expression becoming concerned. “Your hair,” Dream blinks―and wonders when his hair became long, it feels like ― stress, the weight of the envoy, of his actions last time he was here. “You seem a bit,” Hob bites his lip, “tense.” 

“I am fine,” he replies, and Hob gives him a skeptical glance. 

“Dream,” Hob says softly, a hand coming up to hover over the ends of his hair, “may I?” Blinking, he looks at Hob’s earnest expression, “I want to help. I’ve heard I give a pretty good head rub.” Dream blinks once more, then nods stiffly, and he watches as Hob moves around ― lighting candles that smell of lavender and getting some food before sitting back next to him, turning on the TV as he does. “Any preferences?” Hob nods to the TV, and Dream shakes his head. 

Dream tenses as Hob’s hands move slowly, making their way to his head―and Dream lets out a sound as a fingers stroke and dig into his scalp. The other hand joins in and Dream can’t help but cry out in relief, the touches unlocking some tight part of him as he can only manage to plant his face on Hob’s thigh, who doesn’t object, hands stroking and petting, massaging his scalp and hair. 

“You’re perfectly fine, just relax,” Hob whispers and he shivers, can feel the stress and tension melting away from him as he goes boneless on the sofa, breathing in the musk of Hob underneath him. Every pass and press of Hob’s fingers, nails into him releases even more tension, and he― 

Unfurls, the black mass of his body, tentacles flopping onto the floor, the machine creak of a black metal tail, as well as various other appendages, can feel them stretching out onto the carpet. Hob makes a sound but doesn’t comment, only taking a hand away and Dream looks up, seeing Hob eat some of his biscuits before Dream shuts his eye. 

“I’d rather not get another record player,” Hob says, and Dream doesn’t get why he says it until he opens his eyes, a feathered limb knocking said record player, and Dream makes a sound, softly moving his limbs around the coffee table, tentacles and a limb of black teeth curling around it until they circle to Hob’s feet. “Much appreciated.” 

And even with the stress lifting, his hair seems to grow, can feel it falling over the sofa as Hob doesn’t stop, seemingly happy to massage his scalp, other hand stroking his hair. 

-

Dream opens his eyes with a jolt, confused as he looks around, mind lagging from― 

The sleep. He had. He can’t remember the last time he slept. It was probably while the Earth was still a mass of dust and rocks, still to be pulled together. 

And now, one of Hob’s hands is still in his hair, touching it softly, the other arm touching his chest as he blinks. Can feel Hob in the Dreaming, can feel the night sky above him, the TV still playing softly as he huffs, relaxing back into the hold, putting his face into Hob’s hip. 

The hand in his hair pets him, fingers stroking through the long strands in some automatic motion, Hob still dreaming even as the fingers continue their movement. 

Dream allows himself more of it, hoarding the feeling of having Hob’s body so close, hands in his hair, then he sits up, Hob’s body heat still sticking to him as he turns the TV off. Hob only groans as Dream picks him up, carrying him bridal style to the other’s room, and Dream smiles, patting Hob’s hair as he puts the immortal under the covers. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, stroking the grey of Hob’s temple, making sure Hob’s dreams will be full of the feelings he gave Dream, the warmth and calm. “I feel much better now, my friend.” 

-

“I’m not boring you, am I?” Hob asks, voice cutting out over the phone line, and Dream hums, relishing in the familiar comfort of Hob’s presence inside the daydream, phone to his ear. 

“Of course not,” he says, making Hob do a skeptical noise. 

“Feel like I’m boring myself with this line of thought. Instead ― I always imagine you with a smartphone when we’re like this,” Hob says, and Dream blinks. 

“It is not a smartphone for me,” he replies, “it’s a phone box.”

“Like in Doctor Who?” Hob asks, voice curious, daydream brightening with the emotion. 

“No, a red one,” he clarifies, and huffs as he reaches out to the connection between them, “I will show you.”

Dream knows when Hob can see it ― can see him, can feel the invisible eyes on him as Hob lets out a breath. “Oh. Hello,” Hob speaks softly, and Dream gives him a small smile. “Cosy. I like it.” 

“It―“ feels like you, the bone-deep comfort, Dream doesn’t say, lulled into the sense of it, “it is beyond adequate for when we converse.” 

He gets the feeling that Hob blinks as he takes a moment, “I’m glad for that, then. Beyond adequate is one of my favourite descriptors about me,” Hob says teasingly. “Don’t think I would’ve done the black glass though.”

Dream looks at the sides, surprised to see the clear glass replaced with black glass, opaque and matte. “I didn’t realise,” he frowns, not touching on why he’d want to change the glass, what feels like the part of him still in that cursed basement. 

“How about stained glass, then? That’d be nice,” Hob offers, “just an idea.” Dream stares at the glass, the squares changing to varying hues, mixed in with the black glass. “Beautiful.”

-

Dream stares at the door, at the quiet behind it ― which soon changes as Hob gets a call, and Dream comes closer, pressing an ear to the door. Hob talks to the person ― his higher-up, most likely. The conversation is loud, Hob joking and laughing as he says that sure, I can do another.

The person greets Hob nervously once they’re connected, but Hob easily makes them feel at ease, and Dream feels a pang of envy for those who interact with Hob throughout the days, wanting to keep it all to himself, but knowing he can’t. 

And it’s not like he thought of Hob doing his job in detail, but as Hob gently coaxes out a fantasy, light-hearted and soft, Dream can feel the words prickle under his skin. A part of him thought that Hob would ― list out fantasies, easy to pick and choose from a menu.

His hands ball on the door, unwilling to move as Hob talks, as the person’s imagination sparks, and Dream holds himself back from changing the figment of imagination meant to represent Hob, keeping still. 

Hob’s words, practised and filthy, wash over him as he considers what Hob would coax out of him, can’t even fathom it as the person whines, getting louder in their cries, and Dream presses his forehead to the door, can’t even fathom the thought of Hob doing that to him. 

But still, he wants it, can taste it as the person comes, Hob gently coaxing them on, and Dream vanishes back to the Dreaming before he’s aware, mind sticky with thoughts.

-

Hob isn’t saying something, Dream can feel it in the way the daydream of the phone box twists and pulses. “Feeling an urge to go back to England ― not permanently at this point. More of a holiday, but I’ve been over there too long, so,” Hob grumbles, then sighs. There’s a pause, and Dream waits for Hob to speak.

“Hob?” He asks, straightening up on the glass panel, can feel Hob’s gaze on him. 

“Do you know,” Hob says quietly, the words careful and measured, “you have a presence?” 

“A presence?” He echoes, brows furrowing, and there’s another pause, can feel Hob putting the words together carefully. 

Hob hums, and Dream gets the impression of nervousness, “when you come here. To the Waking. Never noticed it much when we were at the White Horse, probably because of all the people and alcohol, but since we’ve met up outside that, I’ve noticed it. There’s a certain ― change to the gravity, to the air around you, when you’re here,” another pause, another drawn out sigh. More silence. “You’ve been listening to me. While I work,” Hob states, and Dream freezes. “Can feel you, on the other side of that door.” 

Dream swallows, thoughts screeching to a halt, too thrown off to even comprehend saying anything. 

“Why? Eldritch curiosity?” Hob asks, and Dream shuts his eyes, grabbing the out offered with both hands. 

“Yes,” he says, voice scratchy, “I am sorry for. Overstepping.” 

There’s a tiny laugh on the other end of the line, “I don’t care. How am I? Any critiques?” Hob asks, voice lightly teasing, and Dream takes an unneeded breath as he relaxes against the glass.

“You are adequate,” Dream says gravely, and Hob laughs gleefully. Dream intimately understands the meaning of dodging a bullet as Hob begins to talk about something else ― dinner, Dream catches, and he takes another useless breath. 

-

Dream does truly forget this time, as he looks around at Hob’s house, then pauses at the closed door, can faintly hear Hob speaking and Dream pauses. Can feel you, on the other side of that door rings in his head, and Dream ― reaches out, can feel how he changes things, presses onto the fabric of reality as he pulls it inside of himself, like a flower folding back up. 

Can feel the particles and dark matter buzzing inside his form as he walks closer and presses his ear against the door, closing his eyes as Hob’s soft voice washes over him, the laughter warm. 

And the other side of the phone ― Dream blinks, brows furrowing, because she’s a regular. A regular not there for sex, more for companionship, the familiar English accent of Hob’s voice, easing her homesickness. 

Sometimes she does get her self off after, but it’s more ― casual, Hob talking about recipes and both of them missing home. Serendipity of one day her wanting someone to masturbate to, and being struck by hearing the familiar sound. Crying and feeling embarrassed as Hob soothed her and made her laugh. 

Dream frowns, feeling put off, hackles rising as they talk and―Dream swallows, can feel the presence of him straining, not used to it, now that he’s aware of it, crawling under his skin― 

And on the other side of the door, Hob laughing and talking, and Dream can feel anger building, expecting ― filth, not this, which he can’t articulate why he hates it. 

Taking a deep breath, he steps back into the Dreaming, his presence blooming into nothing as dark clouds rumble in the sky. 

=

Dream slowly blinks, aware of a sound in his ear as he looks around ― the red phone box, black and rainbow-coloured glass, the phone’s curled line leading to the phone next to his ear, a dial-tone as it.

Tries to connect to Hob, Dream’s aware of, unable to feel Hob’s warmth, or his unseeing gaze as he sits on the floor of box, holding his knees with his free hand. He’s so tired. The bone-deep weariness, the work on keeping the Dreamling stable even when he doesn’t feel it. 

The way he ― didn’t contact or go to Hob, anger soon fading away, but by then there was political talks and treaties, a flurry of people counting on him, when he just wants to tend to his Dreamers, wants to make new dreams and nightmares, but can only manage nothing. 

Sighing, he presses the phone to his ear, dial-tone still ringing, and Dream considers that―”Dream?” A voice connects, confused as the daydream lights up, warmth infusing it and Dream relaxes at the sound of Hob’s voice. “So that was―you were calling me,” Hob says, voice confused and giving way to awe, and Dream smiles. What feels like his first smile in a while. 

“I was not sure it would work,” he says quietly, feet pressing against the corner of the box as he holds the phone closer to him. “I am sorry if I interrupted.”

Hob laughs, and Dream lets the sound wash over him, “nah. Just had some groceries to get ― then had this peculiar pushing feeling, like a knocking, which I ignored until I got everything home and put away. And it was my precious friend calling me,” Hob says, and Dream can easily see the smile with how Hob speaks. “You seem,” Hob pauses, and Dream looks up at the ceiling, can feel the other’s gaze, the concern and worry palpable. “Out of sorts,” Hob settles on. 

“I didn’t even realise I was calling you at one point,” Dream offers, and Hob makes a distressed sound. “It is nice to hear your voice,” he says with a sigh, curling around the phone. 

“And it’s nice to hear yours,” Hob says softly. “Anything I can do to help?”

“You already are,” smiling, he rests his chin on his arm, can feel Hob’s affection pouring through the daydream wrapping him up in heat. It intensifies and he shivers, can feel it press into all the empty and dark places, the bits of him still in cold and glass and pain―”I want to escape,” he blinks, only aware of the sentence after he said it, “but I cannot leave.”

Hob hums, and Dream can feel the phonebox flickering as Hob thinks, “a story, then? If you want,” Hob says softly, and Dream nods, the phonebox flickering, the red phone and it’s red wire only staying, “you said that to a friend, and this friend ― cares for you, can see how you need to get away,” Dream hums, falling into the highs and lows of the other’s voice easily. “And so, they kidnap ― nicely, taking you to some far-away cabin.” 

The phonebox changes, expands, becoming a wooden cabin ― a fireplace on the wall, fire crackling, a huge bed and Dream smiles, any kneejerk reactions fading into nothing at the constant warmth, Hob’s invisible gaze on him. And a shadow person, standing in front of him, hand outstretched, and Dream takes it to stand up from the carpeted floor, can feel Hob’s touch in the shadow. 

“Always working too hard, can see how it burns you out, putting too much on yourself, just wants to let you forget about it for a bit. It’ll all be there after, of course,” Hob says as they sit down on the bed, and Dream soaks up Hob’s voice, putting his head on the shadow’s shoulder, an arm moving around his own shoulders. “But you’re allowed time away ― especially with your friend, who took you so nicely, implored you to leave with them.”

Dream hums, can feel the Hob’s hair brushing against the back of his neck, the beard on his jaw as he presses his nose into the shadow’s neck, pleasantly scratchy. “Hob,” he breathes, insides twisting and hot, can’t help but to ― kiss him, and the daydream―Hob, hitches a breath. 

“Oh,” Hob’s voice is lightly strangled, but the shadow still kisses him back, hands on his jaw as the daydream heats up even more, can feel prickles of Hob’s growing arousal. “And―well―that is,” Hob stumbles, voice more breathless than before as Dream’s hands go into dark hair, thumbs stroking the grey of where Hob’s beard would be, and Hob lets out another sound. “Of course, your friend―that is,” a cough, “has wanted you, but wasn’t expecting this, was happy for just―” 

Hob swears as Dream licks into the shadow’s mouth, can feel hands going down to grip his hips as they kiss, can feel Hob’s gaze on him, hooking under his skin as he presses into the void-of-his-friend, can feel the other’s hard cock in jeans as he bites the shadow’s lips. 

There’s a gasp, a keen as the shadow’s hands go under his shirt, nails scratching up his torso. Hob lets out another sound, a tinge frustrated and the shadow moves, tugging him down onto the bed, pressing him against as Dream whines, shivering at the lips and stubble as the shadow bites marks into his neck. “This friend thinks you shouldn’t be working even in this,” Hob says, voice octaves lower as the shadow touches his robe, his shirt vanishing under it, “should focus on feeling good, on how maybe,” Hob’s voice cracks. 

“Maybe?” He purrs, can feel the other’s intense stare as his pants vanish, hands reverently going down his hips to his thighs. Can feel the daydream shaking with arousal ― Hob’s arousal, can feel the Dreaming beyond the little black bubble this is all placed in before he focuses back on the shadow, the room and Hob. 

And the shadow, fingers slick as they trail up his inner thighs, can feel Hob’s gaze zeroing in on him, focused to a point as he shudders, grasping at the shadow’s soft hair, “as a courtesy,” Hob rasps, voice deep as the shadow licks at a nipple, hardening under it quickly, and Dream gasps as a finger slowly enters him, pressing against walls with heat, “you should be fucked, taken care of, until you can’t think anymore.”

“By you?” He asks, keening as another finger enters him, stretching him slowly ― even though he doesn’t need it, body loosening around them easily and Hob whines, more fingers entering him. 

The shadow kisses him, beard rough against his face as they kiss, and Dream gasps, staring at ceiling as fingers graze his prostate, and Dream can only dig into the shadow’s shoulders, arching up into the feeling as thoughts vanish, the shadow moving down to nibble marks into his collarbone. “Yes,” Hob says, voice rough as the beard that scratches against his skin. “Would be happy to do that, for you, until you’re only just pleasure.” 

Dream groans, squirming under the shadow, wanting it so desperately as fingers continue to press that spot, and Dream grinds down on the feeling, chasing the orgasm in front of him, hearing Hob pant and moan. “With only your fingers?” He asks, voice tripping over itself, and he shivers as they crook inside him.

“To start with,” Hob answers, voice low and gutter-filthy, “a start, to get you out of your head, out of your work,” Hob says, fingers twisting and stretching even more, and Dream lets out a wail, arching into them mindlessly, body shuddering with pleasure. “With me.”

He comes with a cry, white coating the shadow’s front as Dream holds on, the press of warm nails verging into over-stimulation, into a shuddering, maddening amount of bliss. The fingers leave and he groans as he’s turned around, face pressing into pillows as the shadow forces him up by the hips, arse in the air. “Hob?” He slurs, can feel a nose ghost against his spine, thumbs digging into his waist. 

Hob lets out a breath, and he shivers as a tongue comes out, hot against his spine as it makes it’s way down. “There’s still so much to do, and there’s time for it all,” Hob promises.

-

Dream comes back to himself pleasantly, form faintly twinging as he stares at the wall of his bedroom, a stained glass window showing golden light that keeps him warm. His mind is clear, only one thing ― one person ― occupying it as he stands up, loose black robe forming around him. 

It’s only once he’s stepped into the Waking, and knocked at Hob’s front door, that maybe― 

Just a fantasy, Hob’s job, a one-off, his mind spirals as he crosses his arms, feeling the cool air with only his thin robe― 

“Dream!” He blinks and the door has opened, revealing Hob’s smiling face, and Dream relaxes at the sight. Hob doesn’t show any signs of what happened, which―of course, since it was a daydream. 

As Dream sits on the sofa, a part of him settles that if this doesn’t―become anything, he might be content with that. Since Hob didn’t throw him out at first sight, he can be happy with Hob’s friendship. 

“You, uh,” Hob says, tone faltering and Dream stares down at himself, at the small black robe. At the marks and beard burn he can feel on the inside of his thighs, the bruises on his neck. Hob’s face gets redder as he stares, brown eyes wide. 

Wide, and interested, can feel echoes of their daydream ripple through the air, Hob licking his lips and Dream’s form tingles, wanting. Not just a shadow, not just a daydream, wants to see Hob’s eyes get darker, like they are right now―and Dream surges up, grabbing Hob’s threadbare shirt to kiss him roughly. Dream’s hands clench as they go up, and he moans at the feel of the other’s beard, of the way Hob leans into the kiss, automatic― 

Hob breaks the kiss with a gasp, eyes wide with wonder, a hand in his dark hair, fingers curling around Dream’s dark strands. “Curiousity?” Hob asks, breathless. 

“No,” is all he says before going back in for a kiss, Hob’s other hand quickly grabbing his waist as Dream spins him around, pushing him onto the sofa. Hob gasps, hands tugging him down onto Hob’s lap, and Dream shivers at the affection and want he can feel coming from the other’s daydreams, Hob just as hungry as him as he grinds into Hob’s lap. 

[Fin]

[lewkwoodnco]

Falling For You - Lockwood x Reader

“First person to laugh loses.”

”Not fair! I’m always laughing when you’re around. You’re bloody ridiculous.”

”Fine. First person to…er, feel something, loses. Deal?”

It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge. She hesitated. He took a sip from his mug. She let go of the breath she was holding.

“Deal.”

a/n: tfw you almost die in the arms of your future employer :) rip lockwood and co, never an agents first choice be it in canon or fanon ok ill stop now also just to be clear we’re all ignoring how much the title sucks ass okay god only gave out a limited number of brain cells and we can’t ALL be as creative as @bella-rose29 (will make a separate post on this a little later, not enough space here) (but also she was SICKKK for coming up w the title deck the halls (and not your partner) ok didn’t mean to turn this into a belle appreciation post but 👍)

warnings/tropes: fluff fluff FLUFF, this is about as fluffy as it gets from me ashdkd, cringy pick up lines overload, also I declare plagiarism (?) of some rlly popular incorrect quotes, you'll know it when you read them

word count: 2.6k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

She and Lucy were in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and waiting for the boys to reach home. The four of them had split up to get some errands done that morning before breakfast - she and Lucy went to collect the payment for a few jobs, while Lockwood and George dropped off some paperwork at DEPRAC headquarters. Lucy put the kettle on while she refilled their teabag jar, and a minute later the boys walked in.

George was telling Lockwood off for something, who wasn't looking too sorry for whatever it was that he had done, though he clearly cared enough to try to suppress his giggles.

"Those forms took me hours, Lockwood. I wasn't about to let you drop them into some slush."

"I keep telling you, I wasn't going to drop them."

"How would you know when you were too busy making an ass of yourself?"

"I haven't seen a good pickup line in a while, George. You found it funny too."

"Yes, and the threat of you chucking our forms was downright hilarious."

She handed out the mugs of tea.

"What pickup line?"

"It was just a DEPRAC ad. Something like 'Are you a wraith? Because you have me love-locked.' Just a reminder of some quick signs of a visitor presence for Valentine's Day." 

She meandered over to where Lockwood was standing at the kitchen counter, a little too casual. He immediately snapped up whatever he was scribbling. She looked mildly (read: exaggeratedly) injured, but he just gave her one of his winning smiles. Really, she was well within her rights to be suspicious.

"S'that?"

"A bill."

"What bill?"

"Nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried."

"Good."

"Show me the bill."

"You're adorable."

It was a poor excuse of an attempt at a distraction, as she immediately started trying to snatch it away. Lockwood just held the folded paper above his head, trying to pry his jacket out of her yanking hands. After a minute or so of vehement struggling, the scuffle ended the way all of their scuffles ended - her playing at sour grapes.

"Oh! Go boil-yer-head. I don't even want to see that bill anyway."

He slotted the letter into an envelope smoothly as George cut in.

"Speaking of bills, hopefully, we'll be able to pay more of them off soon. Couples like to go away for Valentine's, so it's the perfect time to get any lingering visitors taken care of. We should put an ad in the paper, like DEPRAC."

That set Lockwood off again, and George groaned. As he got up to get another biscuit, she conspiratorially turned to Lockwood.

"Y'know, for someone who's so tickled by pickup lines, I bet you'd be terrible at them."

"Not more terrible than you."

"I beg to differ!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

“First person to laugh loses.”

”Not fair! I’m always laughing when you’re around. You’re bloody ridiculous.”

”Fine. First person to…er, feel something, loses. Deal?”

It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge. She hesitated. He took a sip from his mug. She let go of the breath she was holding.

“Deal.”

Their bet had taken a back burner in her mind while she was preparing for their case that night, but she was still immediately suspicious when she walked into the kitchen to see Lockwood innocently snacking on a bowl of raisins.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing! Can't a guy eat his raisins?" He silently proferred the bowl to her. She narrowed her eyes. 

"No thanks."

"How about a date?"

"When did we get - oh. Ha ha." There was a mischievous crinkle in Lockwood's eye. "Sneaky. I was busy preparing for our case, like a proper agent."

"Hmm, excuses, excuses."

"Fine. If George finds out you haven't read tonight's case file, you're on your own."

"NO no no no please please please -"

She prepped a few pickup lines before they left, just enough to stop Lockwood from becoming completely unbearable.

"Are you a visitor? Because you've been haunting my dreams."

She scrunched up her nose. "Boo. That's terrible."

"You try coming up with a visitor-themed one. They're all so horrible."

She paused for a minute.

"Are you a Lurker? 'Cause you're making my heart race."

"...no one likes a show-off," he grumbled, and she smiled to herself as they continued rooting through boxes, looking for a potential Source.

"Your hand looks heavy. Could I hold it for you?"

"What's it like to be the most gorgeous person in this room?" That one got a good laugh out of him.

"Might be more flattering if my competition wasn't a Raw Bones. You’re pretty and I’m cute. Wanna be pretty cute together?"

"If you and I were socks, we'd make a great pair."

She revelled in the huge smile that lit up his face. She knew he'd get a kick out of that one.

She hadn't expected to have as much fun with their game as she did. They recounted their highlights to Lucy and George on the way home, which made for an entertaining end to the case. As Lucy and George put away their coats, Lockwood lingered behind, looking at her as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite find the words. She became even more alarmed when he placed a hand on her shoulder, because of how serious he looked.

"Is everything okay?" 

He took a shaky breath and tightened his grip on her shoulder ever so slightly.

"If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I'll give it right back."

The line itself wasn't particularly outrageous, but in the darkness by the door, with their faces in the shadows and him holding her close, she momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"Good one," she whispered.

He gave her a sloping smile and retreated into the kitchen. She stood there for a moment, thinking about the warmth on her shoulder, as if his hand was still there.

"Did it hurt?"

"When I fell from heaven?"

"When you fell down the stairs. Right in front of us. It's been ten minutes and you haven't even gotten up yet."

With a strangled wheeze, he righted himself, looking more than a little stupid with his affronted expression and hair sticking up in all directions. They were on a case, and Lockwood had been a bit too close to the stairs whilst investigating the death glow on the landing. It had been quite a painful-looking rollercoaster of a fall with many bumps as he flailed for the railings, ending with a muffled scream.

"I was checking for broken bones."

"For ten minutes? Do you even have that many bones?"

He had an oily smirk on his face, though it was mostly nullified by his slightly crossed eyes.

"I've got...so many bones, I could give you a...wait. No. Hey lady, do you want a...bone? If you were a bone, you'd be in my...body...my body has all the bones...hang on. Okay, got it. Bones....fuck."

"...concussion?"

"Nuh-uh."

That was the moment his knees chose to buckle under him, and the three of them hurried to hold him upright. Even though he kept insisting he was fine, he was looking far too pale and woozy, so they flagged down a cab and pushed Lockwood into it. After a quick round of rock paper scissors, she joined him in the cab while George and Lucy got to stay to finish the job.

It had been a bit of a challenge to fumble for the key to the front door with the dead weight that was Lockwood compressing her spine, but she somehow managed. She tried her best to keep track of all of his long limbs after he knocked his head on the side of the door frame, groaning again. She dumped him onto their living room sofa, going down with him in the process, and with some difficulty peeled herself out of his grip. The bump had clearly taken quite a bit out of him, for by the time she returned with a blanket, he had completely passed out.

With some difficulty, she wrestled his rapier off of him and draped the blanket over him. She put away her own gear and rapier and curled up with a book on the armchair opposite the sofa. It was odd to see Lockwood sleeping. And even more odd to see him doing it so peacefully, like all thoughts and worries had been knocked clean out of his head. Much like her thoughts, the first time they met.

It hadn’t even been her goddamn fault. She had been lugging around her uncle’s rapiers since hers had been sent for cleaning and it was starting to make her arm ache. She deserved a little lean, no doubt. Only, what she thought was the door frame had been the door itself, so when her then-future employer had opened the door, she stumbled right into his arms.

And then promptly fell out of them when he let her go by surprise. To his credit, he was superfluously apologetic and sympathetic, and kept asking if her head was alright throughout the interview. It was a little annoying, if she were entirely honest, but she was grateful when that sympathy translated into a job, because all coherent thoughts in her head were lying somewhere on their front door runner.

As much as she tried not to think about the incident since Lockwood showed no sign of doing so himself, it kept her up at night more than she'd like to admit. But it had also been rather liberating, as there was little else she could do that would be any worse.

As if hearing her thoughts, Lockwood began to stir after an hour or so, opening his eyes blearily. She instinctively put her book down and crouched next to the sofa, where she immediately felt awkward. After a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand on his forehead, and they blinked at each other in confusion.

"How're you feeling?"

"Great." He cleared his throat, which barely helped his hoarse voice. "Chipper."

"Are you sure? Feeling chilly?"

"No, I'm fine. Are you a construction worker?"

"...huh?"

"Because you are building."

"What."

"I win."

He turned to his side and buried his face into his cushion with a satisfied look on his face. 

"Oh, Lockwood. I don't think..."

He pulled his head out of the cushion alarmingly fast. That couldn't have been good for his neck. "Ohhh, too good for my pickup lines now, eh?"

"I...what?"

"I get a bump on my head and you don't like my pickup lines no more?"

"Why do you have a Brooklyn accent?"

"You's got a Brooklyn accent."

"Okay, now you're just throwing a tantrum."

He fussed for a few more minutes, muttering out of the corner of his mouth or into the cushion, but eventually calmed down. As his eyes fluttered close, his breathing becoming long and even, she quietly got up to leave.

"Just so you know...I do think you're building."

The Brooklyn accent was gone, and though his low murmur was comfortably familiar, something in it sent a spark running through her brain.

"I think you're building too."

She could have sworn he had a small smile before his mouth relaxed as he drifted off again.

She didn't see much of him after that, given how much rest he needed, and the reprieve from their game was a welcome relief. The pickup lines didn't slide off her tongue as easily when she meant them as much as she did now. Still, she couldn't hide from him forever, and ran into him in the kitchen a few nights later.

"Oh. Hey."

He held up the biscuit tin. "Hello. Catching up on my biscuit rations."

She smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Definitely. A little sick of lying about, but I think I've finally got my head on straight."

He smiled, and the tension between them melted. She smiled back.

"Must have been scary, having your brain go wonky like that." 

"It was...wild. I don't even know how I had the presence of mind to put my rapier away."

Her cheeks burned as she pointedly rummaged through their pantry for a snack while Lockwood brewed tea for the both of them. They sat at the kitchen table in silence, slowly sipping their tea as they ignored the elephant in the room. That is, until Lockwood broached the subject.

“Did it hurt?”

She put her mug down. “Lockwood.”

“Did it hurt?” He pressed, firmly.

“I’ve already heard this one.”

“Just - humour me for a minute, won’t you?”

She looked at the little she could see of his face, given how close they were sitting, and gave a small sigh.

“So. Did it hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

“When you fell into my life.” 

He lightly squeezed her hand, it was only then that she realised that they were holding hands. She choked on her breath in a mildly undignified manner, but with the proximity and the unexpected answer, she was well and truly taken aback. She waited for the embarrassment to kick in. There were a lot of things to be embarrassed about at that moment - how he could probably see every imperfection on her face, how he could probably tell how nervous she was getting from how clammy her palm must be, and of course that he remembered their dreadfully embarrassing first encounter.

But the shame never came. If anything, she felt oddly…touched. There wasn’t anything embarrassing about the memory anymore. It was…as much as it pained her to admit it…slightly romantic. She looked away from his face, shaking her head slightly, staring at their gripping hands. So easy it was to hold onto each other in the shadows, but terrifying in the daylight. Scratch that, it was terrifying to see herself holding his hand just as tightly as he held hers. Maybe he did compel…something in her.

His hand disappeared into his pocket, and a moment later he was pulling out a familiar, weathered envelope. 

"I've never...I've never asked anyone to be my Valentine. Never knew how it worked. Still don't really know how it works. So I tried writing it all down, and..." Lockwood frowned at the loopy yet measured scrawls in front of him. He sighed in defeat, crumpling the letter. "...and I still don't know how it works."

She swallowed through the lump in her throat. "Me neither. But..." she tore her eyes away from the table, looking at his face with his emotions stacked plain as day. "I think we know enough."

She curled her fingers into his. Years ago, she hadn't thought knowing if she was in love would ever be an issue, but for so many years she struggled to find the love they wrote books, songs and poetry about. But sitting here now, in the dim light of the kitchen, with a person whose face she could trace in her sleep, she realised Little Her had had it right all along.

“I always thought you were very nice to me in that interview. A little too nice.”

“You didn’t hear the way you screamed. I thought you were going down with a heart attack.”

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[captainsophiestark]

Rippah

Stefan Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Day Five Prompt: "It's a new day, let's go."

Summary: Stefan ended up in Ripper-mode last night. Thankfully, his SO's a powerful witch who managed to rein him in, but that doesn't mean Stefan's not beating himself up the next morning.

Word Count: 1,215

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed as I pulled the teabag out of my tea, then took a deep breath, letting the spices and hot steam wash over me as I held my mug up for a sip. Last night had been a long one, and most of the house was still an absolute disaster.

My eyes wandered from the shattered plates, past the overturned chairs, and across the scattered and shredded pillows to my boyfriend, Stefan. He was still passed out on the couch where I'd left him last night, and although he looked a little worse for wear, he also could've been a lot worse.

Thanks to some truly obnoxious Mystic Falls manipulating and scheming, Stef had been sent over the edge of his control last night. He hadn't turned off his humanity, but with a little help from another witch, Klaus had managed to get him to slip his leash anyway. Thankfully, he was dating me, and I was a better witch than whatever asshole the Mikaelsons had. I hadn't been able to snap Stefan out of the bloodlust, but I'd been able to keep him contained pretty well. Now he just had to sleep off the hangover.

I sighed again, taking a sip of my tea before returning to breakfast prep. I was hungry, and I knew Stef would probably need something warm and comforting when he woke up. He was hard enough on himself on an average day.

I'd just finished making some toast when I heard movement from the couch. I grabbed my tea and another mug for Stefan, then headed in his direction.

"Morning," I said, giving my boyfriend a soft smile as I rounded the couch. He'd been pushing himself up to sitting, but froze halfway when he saw me.

"You... you're still here."

"...Of course I'm still here. I never would've left you like this, and besides babe, you're in my house."

I cracked a smile, huffing a little laugh, but Stefan didn't react at all. He just kept staring at me like he'd seen a ghost. I raised an eyebrow at him, and I was about to offer him his mug of tea when his gaze wandered from me to the absolutely wrecked living room around us. The gray cloud hanging over his head darkened considerably.

"I did all this last night. I tore your house to shreds. I tried to kill you."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, Stefan. We live in Mystic Falls. You're not even on the podium of most dangerous people who have tried to kill me in the last month."

I expected a laugh from Stefan, but instead, he looked like he felt worse. When he finally brought his eyes up to meet mine, he'd maxed out the broody eyebrows and self-loathing looks.

"I lost control. I could've seriously hurt you. As it is, I competely trashed this place. And... I don't even remember it. I don't even know what else I did."

"You didn't do anything else. You're dating a badass witch, remember? Despite Klaus's best efforts, you didn't leave the property and you didn't hurt anyone. We're all good, babe."

He just shook his head. "There's nothing good about this. I remember... I remember trying to get out of here, to go rip into people we care about. I remember losing my mind when you stopped me. I remember rushing you, like I was going to kill you to get out of this house! There's nothing good about that!"

"Do you remember anything after that?"

"...No."

"That's because the minute the Ripper turned on me, I put you on your ass. Onto the couch, since I didn't want to hurt you. But even if I hadn't, I think you would've been able to pull yourself back. You probably don't remember, but you pulled up short before I used magic on you. Still, it seemed like the best course for both of us if you just took a nap until the spell wore off."

"You don't know that. I still could've hurt you. And even as it is, I absolutely ruined our night-"

"Stefan, for the love of god," I huffed. I set both our mugs of tea down on the low table in front of the couch, then flopped down next to him. He leaned backward like he worried about me getting too close, but I took his hands and looked him in the eyes before he could stop me. "I'm fine. My house is very fixable, especially with magic. Klaus compelled you to lose control, which you otherwise would've kept, and nobody got hurt. And even if they had, spending all your time beating yourself up over things you can't change isn't going to help, Stefan! All you can do is keep moving forward and try to do better next time. Sitting here all day in a haze of self-loathing isn't going to do anything but hurt you. And the people who love you."

Stefan sighed, dropping his gaze to his lap and shaking his head. I just squeezed his hands tighter.

"I'll always be here for you on days like this, Stef. You'll never have to deal with it alone. Just like when you were there for me when I had to deal with the spirits trying to pick a fight with me, or Klaus. We've got each other's backs, and we'll always be alright. Okay?"

Stefan looked up at me, eyebrows pinched together as he stared at me. I leaned into him, and after a moment, he did the same, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him.

We stayed like that for a few long, long moments, until I felt most of the tension ease out of Stefan. Finally, I took a deep breath and leaned back just enough to give him a smile.

"Alright, come on babe. I made us breakfast, and then we're going to drive to the coast and have a nice day just the two of us, enjoying life and visiting our favorite spots and remembering that the world is bigger than Klaus and his stupid games."

Stefan sighed, the corner of his mouth pulling up even as he dropped his head and shook it.

"I don't know... I don't know if I'm up for that, after last night."

"I know you are, Stef. You've lived too long to let this stuff completely sink you. Last night sucked, sure. But last night is over now. It's a new day, let's go. I'm taking the Lexi philosophy that the best medicine is going out and enjoying your life."

Stefan huffed a laugh and met my eyes.

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's cheating to bring up Lexi."

"It absolutely is not, since she's the one who told me to use her in my arguments whenever I needed to. Now come on, breakfast is getting cold. You've picked me up enough times, Stef, it's my turn."

He smiled, still looking a little worn down, but definitely more at peace than he had been when he woke up.

"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

"Yeah. But I could stand to hear it agian."

"Well then." He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on my lips, which I returned. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[avocado-writing]

notes: I did a lot of research for this and yes, the manuscript I reference is a real thing. I didn’t put its name in though because that felt a step too far 😂 set in the light, the dark, and the spaces in between after ch3 so hope that’s ok! requests like this give me life.

relationship: aziraphale x immortal!reader x crowley

rated: G, pure fluff

word count: 1.4K

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

You’re the one who makes the tea. 

That’s because you’re the only one who changes how you have it: sometimes you fancy a chai, or a green tea, or a lapsang souchong. Sometimes with sugar or a little bit of milk, sometimes with neither, sometimes with an oat alternative. It changes. You’re human, you go through phases. 

But Aziraphale and Crowley? Nah, they’re creatures of habit. Despite the angel’s wide and experimental palate he’s oddly rigorous when it comes to his cuppa. For him, it’s loads of milk and four sugars, drowned to the point where it could hardly be called tea any more. Crowley likes his black and strong and nowhere near anything that could affect the taste. You wring the teabag tortuously into his mug with a teaspoon before grabbing all three servings and heading into the shop. 

You put yours down first, on the side next to the book you’re currently reading, then hand your husbands theirs. They both take them from you in the same way, the way they have done for centuries now, a domestic ritual: accepting the mug you offer and then your hand, pressing a little kiss of thanks and affection to the back of it. 

A heartfelt  intimacy just between the three of you. 

☕️ 

“Hurry Crowley, it’s starting!”

“Yes, yes, alright angel, hang on.”

“We won’t hang on and we’re not pausing it. Not a threat, just a fact,” you call into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Crowley emerges from the kitchen with three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. 

“I’ll be mother, then,” he mutters as the other two of you barely take your eyes off of the telly. You’ve got your legs slung over Aziraphale’s lap and he only takes a break from stroking your knee in absentminded, loving circles to take the proffered glasses from his husband, one for himself and one for you. Crowley plonks down the other side of Aziraphale and throws his own legs over him too, the two of you playing footsie for space across his plush thighs. Eventually the three of you find a comfortable pile and settle in. 

“Another ten weeks of torture begins,” Crowley says as the Bake-off theme ends and the show starts. You nudge him with your toe. 

“You don’t have to watch it with us,” you tell him. He harrumphs but doesn’t argue because, really, of course he’ll watch it with the two of you. It makes you both happy. 

🍞 

Your work is as a consultant for museums around the country, which is a fun way of saying you get paid a lot because you know a lot. But mostly, you only know a lot because you’ve been around for a very long time. So whenever a shard of pottery or a scrap of clothing needs dating they call you to come and put its history into context. 

Also, for the bigger museums, it’s a chance for you to smuggle out the stolen artefacts and return them to their country of origin. You consider it a hobby, a bonus perk of the job. 

You’ve set up this exhibition. It’s for pottery around the end of the Roman rule in Britain, stuff you’ve found and identified around the country on archaeological digs. You lead Crowley and Aziraphale through, discussing your findings in detail, before you come to a small, surprisingly intact, terra sigillata oil lamp. It sits on its own, spot lit. You asked for it that way. 

“See this? I made this. Over a thousand years ago,” you tell them, quietly, gently putting your hand to the glass of the display case. Aziraphale and Crowley take a careful look at the engraving on the object. It bears the profile of a man, and with the sharp cheekbones and little glasses there’s only one person it could be. 

“Oh, Nightingale. It’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprisingly touched. He wraps an arm around you and buries his face into your hair. 

“You could say I’ve held a flame for you for a long time,” you say, and grin. Crowley groans. 

“Did you put my face on a lamp just to keep that pun up your sleeve?”

“Maybe.”

🔥 

You next return to the museum when you pick up that Aziraphale is jealous. He isn’t jealous often but he’s pants at hiding it, and it’s not hard to guess why: he’s just seen that Crowley stuck with you for such a long time you put his face on a piece of bloody pottery. You’d probably be a bit put out too. 

So for a couple of weeks you throw yourself into your work to find the thing that will make it even. And you do, even though it takes a lot of overseas bargaining and promises to do some pro-bono work. 

You finally get the museum in America to agree to send it over for a showing. You arrange a special exhibition specifically for this, where it’s held behind a huge glass case in a dark room with only a small light on it. 

But you get special access because, well, you’re you. So you sneak Aziraphale and Crowley in one night and walk into the display room, wearing a face mask and a pair of protective gloves. 

There it sits: the Canterbury Tales. One of the oldest versions in the world. 

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale gasps, peeping over your shoulder to inspect. “I can feel the adoration coming off of it in waves. This was a labour of love, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’d let you have it for the shop if I had the power. But I think they’d notice if I shoved this one down my top,” you sigh, scanning the pages for what you’re after, then stop dead when you find it. 

“Here. Look.”

You point to one of the illustrations, a mounted rider on a beautiful white horse. Aziraphale takes in a quiet breath and draws closer. Because just as plainly as you put Crowley on your oil lamp, you drew your angel in the Canterbury Tales. Curly hair, pink face, beaming smile. 

“Oh my,” he whispers. You stroke the little picture and remember toiling away over painting it, repeatedly wiping your brow to make sure your sweat didn’t smudge your work. 

“I put you in all the copies I could get my hands on. And you,” you turn to Crowley, “your face is probably buried on my pottery in a dozen dig sites across the UK. I’m just saying I’ve loved the two of you since the day we met; always have, always will.”

Your husbands look at each other and then at you, before as one they step forward to embrace you. 

“And we’re lucky to have you,” Crowley whispers in your ear, as Aziraphale kisses your cheek. Their hands meet at your back and they interlace their fingers with each other, you wrap your arms around them and stay like that for a moment; three working parts of a whole. 

They kiss, and then they kiss you. You feel warm and rosy. Then you spend the evening reading through the book from beginning to end. 

📖 

You keep your wedding ring on a chain around your neck at work. Not because you’re embarrassed that you're married; far from it - it’s far too precious to risk losing while constantly taking protective gloves on and off all day. So you don’t blame your colleague for asking you on a date. He’s young, fresh out of uni, and of course has no idea you’re old enough to be his grandparent forty times over. 

“That’s very kind,” you tell him, and his face falls because he knows where this is going, “but I’m already happily married.”

He sighs in embarrassment but manages to recover quickly, instead telling you: “they must be someone special to have you.”

He’s doing the polite thing by not assuming the gender of your spouse but it turns out “they” is right on the money. On cue, Aziraphale and Crowley walk through the door to pick you up at the end of your shift. You wish your colleague goodbye and go to meet them. 

“Evening, darling,” Crowley calls. 

“How was work, my love?” Aziraphale follows up. 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired now. And hungry. Can we go and get dinner?”

You link an arm through either of theirs, heading out into the London afternoon. 

“Ooh yes, that is a good idea. I quite fancy fish and chips!”

“Let’s go to that spot round the corner. They make their own tartar sauce. Crowley, are you getting your own chips or nicking mine when I’m not looking?”

“The best tasting chips are the ones you steal.”

“Oh, he doesn’t even deny it—!”

Your colleague watches you leave the building, a little dazed, and supposes it takes all sorts to make a world. 

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XX // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Two unexpected visits in one day leave Quinn in an awkward predicament.

Chapter Word Count: 4.2K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

You had been cleaning your flat for most of the morning, and at first it felt good, productive, freeing. But now you were just getting bored; too lazy to pick things up off the floor before rolling over them with the hoover, kicking a sock under the fridge when it fell out of the washing machine and shoving things into drawers or cupboards when you couldn't find a place for them. On the surface, the flat looked neat, organised; curtains open to let the light in, a candle filling the air with the scent of vanilla and tobacco leaf.

You heard a thudding over the sound of the vacuum, switching it off and waiting a moment before you realised it was a knock at the door. You looked up at the clock on the wall before rolling your eyes with a groan. They were early, and you hadn't even gotten dressed yet. 

You walked down the hall, wiping your hands on your jogging bottoms before opening the door, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the person waiting on the other side. Ben, tousled from travel, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a charming crooked smile on his face. 

"Surprise," he said, his voice tired yet soft. 

You stared up at him, your mouth slightly agape. 

He raised an eyebrow and let out a nervous laugh. "Not the reaction I was expecting..." 

"Wh- No, no I'm... Sorry, I just, I didn't even realise you were... I thought you were still in America."

"I was, but I caught an early flight so I thought I'd come and surprise you. Why? Are you not happy to see me?" 

You let out a breath you didn't even realise you were holding, your stupefied expression melting into a smile. "Of course I'm happy to see you. I'm just shocked, I wasn't expecting you." 

"That was the point," he replied with a boyish grin.

You stepped aside to let him in, closing the door and turning to look at him, still in disbelief. He dropped his bag and reached for you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His presence was so comforting; the familiar scent of his aftershave, the placement of his hands on your back, the warmth of his breath against the top of your head. 

You stayed in his arms as you looked up at him, taking in his ever-changing appearance - the moustache had gone, replaced with a slight stubble, a tan across his nose and cheekbones. 

He stooped his head, giving you a quick peck on the lips. "How've you been?" 

"Fine. Bored. Just working, mostly." You peeled yourself away from him and made your way towards the kitchen. "What about you? Are you not insanely jet lagged right now?" 

"Not yet. That'll probably kick in tomorrow," he replied as he followed you.

You filled the kettle and put it on to boil, dropping a teabag into a mug and looking over at him. "Is tea okay? Or I mean, there's gin in the cupboard..." 

He laughed, sitting on a stool at the small breakfast bar at the end of the counter. "Tea's great, thank you." 

The air fell quiet as you listened to the water bubbling in the kettle. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him again.

"So come on then," you said. "Are we going to keep ignoring the elephant in the room?"

He furrowed his brow, tilting his head in confusion. "What? What elephant? Is something... Have I done something—"

"The slap, Ben. The slap. You were there. You saw it. Up close."

His eyes widened in realisation, a relieved laugh escaping him in a breath. "Oh, that," he said, running a hand through his hair. 

"Yeah, that." Your excitement was palpable as you stared at him with curiosity. "I mean, what the fuck happened? What was it like being there?" 

"It was... surreal. One minute, everyone's laughing, having a good time, and the next... Will's on stage and then - bam. It was definitely a shock."

"I'm sure Chris Rock thought it was a shock too." You filled the mug with hot water, opening the fridge to take out the milk. "What was the room like? What did people do?"

He blew out a breath through puckered lips. "It was like the air got sucked out of the room. You could see everyone's brain trying to catch up with what just happened. For a second, I thought it was a skit or something. But then... it wasn't."

"My god. Watching it on telly the other night was crazy enough. I can't imagine actually being there in the theatre." 

"Yeah. Everyone just sat there, stunned, and then it was like this wave of tension hit the whole room. You could see people looking around, trying to figure out how to react. And then it was like everyone collectively decided to just... move on." 

"Then he went on to win your Oscar." 

"It wasn't my Oscar," he laughed. 

"It should've been."

He smirked, giving a teasing tut. "Aww, look at you being all sweet and supportive." 

You rolled your eyes, handing him the cup of tea and standing opposite him on the other side of the counter, resting your elbows on it as you looked at him. "You looked sexy in your suit. The little dickie bow." 

"Bow tie," he corrected. 

"Dickie bow." 

You stood upright, making your way around the kitchen to tidy away the last few things, wiping down the counters and opening the window to let in the brisk March air. He sat quietly, nursing his tea as he watched you, the fatigue of his journey seemingly starting to catch up with him. 

"So where are you going after this?" you asked. 

"Nowhere. I actually thought I'd stick around..." He seemed to notice the apprehension in your face, narrowing his eyes at you as he continued to speak. "What? Is that not okay? Sh- should I go?" 

You sighed. "It's not that I don't want you to stay, it's just... My parents are coming." 

"Ah." 

"Yeah. I still haven't seen them since they got back from their cruise. And they actually called me in advance this time so I can't cancel on them..."  

"Say no more," he said with an understanding smile. "How long do I have before I need to disappear?" 

"They'll be here in about an hour." 

"Plenty of time to make myself scarce." 

Your gaze softened appreciatively. "I'm just going to run and get dressed," you said, kissing him on the cheek before hurrying out of the room. 

You stepped out of your bedroom in jeans and a soft cashmere jumper; the one you'd bought yourself in celebration of Ben's feature, the one that was so expensive you'd never actually worn it outside for fear of spilling something on it. 

Ben was in the living room plumping the cushions on your couch. You looked around to see he'd also folded the blanket on the armchair, wrapped up the cord of the hoover and put it away, neatened the small stack of books on the coffee table. You exhaled a soft breath as you stepped into the room. 

"Ben, you didn't have to do that, I was coming in to finish-"

"I don't mind," he said. "Anything else I can do before I go?" 

You smiled, brows curving upwards in adoration. "Yeah," you said, walking across the room to meet him, reaching up to slide your hands around the back of his neck. "You can kiss me and tell me about your trip." 

You pulled him into a deep, reverent kiss. He sighed against your lips, as though he'd been craving the intimacy, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close to him. 

"It was nothing special," he whispered between kisses. "Just spent the whole time thinking about you." 

"Nothing special?" You giggled. "SAG, Oscars, BAFTAs, Vanguard, AFI, interviews, photoshoots... Nothing special?" 

The corner of his mouth curled with a smirk. "Totally mundane." 

You scoffed, taking him by the hand and pulling him to the couch. 

"Fuck sake, I just fixed these cushions," he said as you flopped down, dragging him with you. 

"Sorry," you replied, turning to straddle his lap, your chest against his, arms draped around his shoulders. "But really, tell me about your trip." 

He let his hands rest on your backside, tilting his chin up to kiss you. "It was fun. Exhausting, but fun. It's the first time in a long time I've done a big awards season without..." 

"Faye." 

"Mm. It was hard doing it on my own. No one to turn to for support, take the pressure off, y'know? But I also couldn't stop thinking about you the whole time, which just made it even worse." 

You stroked his hair with your fingers. "Well if it makes you feel any better, I have been losing my mind waiting for you to come back." 

"Really?" 

"Mhm. You're really going to have to look into a change of career, Ben, because I'm not cut out for these long leaves of absence." 

He laughed, covering your face in a flurry of quick kisses.

A knock at the door made your stomach drop. You furrowed your brow as you looked up at the clock. 

"They're early," you sighed, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and letting out a frustrated growl.

"It's okay," he said reassuringly. "I'll hide and then slip out like last time."

You looked at him for a moment before nodding and climbing off his lap. You rushed out into the hall and picked up his bag, handing it to him as he followed behind you. There was another knock, and you rolled your eyes. 

"I'll be one minute!" you shouted, loud enough for them to hear through the thick wooden door.

Ben leaned down and kissed the side of your head, before making his way towards your bedroom, bag in hand. You watched him open the door and disappear into the room. But instead of turning to let your parents in, you stood there a moment longer. Maybe it was the memories of last time making you hesitate; the guilt you felt at hiding him away like a secret, the way your heart sank a little at the sound of him sneaking out without a goodbye.

You shook it away and walked to the front door, brushing your hair out of your face with your hand as you opened it with feigned excitement. They stood on the other side in their zipped-up coats, the glow from their long trip still visible on their skin. 

"Hi," you sang in a high-pitched voice.

Your mother was the first to step forward, opening her arms and pulling you into a hug. 

Your father placed a hand on your back, giving it a loving pat. "Sorry we're a bit early. Traffic wasn't as bad as we thought it'd be." 

"That's alright," you replied. "Come in."

They took off their coats and hung them in the hall, before following you through to the living room. 

"Can I get either of you a drink?" you asked.

"No we're okay for now," your mother answered for both of them, making you share a quiet laugh with your father as he sat himself in the armchair. 

You sneakily shut the living room door behind you, leaving it slightly ajar, a small sliver just visible from your spot on the couch. 

"So come on," you said. "I want to hear all about your cruise."

"Oh gosh, Quinnie it was fantastic," your mother replied. "The ship was huge. You walk up and you can see from the dock all of the-"

A loud clatter from the hall made her stop, all three of your heads snapping in unison towards the door.

"What was that?" she asked.

You cleared your throat, giving a dismissive shrug. "I've got no idea. Anyway, go on, you were saying about the boat...?" 

"Oh yes, well there were water slides at the big pool and you could see them-"

Another noise. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling a sigh. 

"Is someone else here?" asked your father as he rose from his seat. 

"No, just me," you replied quickly. "Dad, honestly it's fine. It must just be the neighbours or something." 

He continued towards the door anyway, pulling it open and peering out into the hall.

"Dad..." 

You watched his back stiffen in fright at the sight of a man in your hallway. You stood up quickly, rushing to his side to find Ben holding shards of glass from your broken candle, the walls and floor covered in splashes of hardened wax. 

"Sorry," he said, keeping his head stooped, turned slightly away from your father. "Knocked it with my bag." 

"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" your father asked sternly, his voice laced with a protective rumble as he eyed the duffle bag, the dark clothes that only added to the burglar aesthetic.

You saw the blue of Ben's eyes flit up to meet yours, as though silently asking you to save him. You  closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, before placing a hand on your father's arm to calm him. 

"Dad, this... This is Ben. Benedict," you corrected yourself quickly. "I was trying to sneak him out but clearly he decided now would be the perfect time to become clumsy." 

Ben laughed awkwardly, meeting his gaze properly for the first time. 

You watched your father tilt his head, his brow furrowing in recognition. He was trying to place him, to figure out why he was so familiar, as your mother joined you in the doorway, peering over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him. 

"You're that actor," she said instantly. 

"The one from Quinn's magazine," your father added as it finally clicked. 

There was a short silence, though it felt like an eternity. Ben - usually so confident and imposing in stature - looking more like a teenage boy caught sneaking out after curfew. You didn't know what to say, no lie seeming convincing enough, no excuse that would satisfy their intrigue. 

"We've been.... seeing each other," you finally said. 

You suddenly felt eyes on you; your parents turning to you in shock, Ben staring at you in disbelief, like he couldn't believe you'd actually said the words out loud.

"You have?" your mother breathed. 

"Yeah." You cleared your throat. "Ben- Benedict, these are my parents, Ralph and Nancy. Mum, Dad, this is Benedict. The guy you have framed on your wall." 

The corner of Ben's mouth twitched with a smile. He seemed to stand straighter all of a sudden, reaching out his hand to shake theirs. 

"I apologise for sneaking around," he said with a laugh. "Your daughter was very adamant about me not being here when you arrived." 

They seemed starstruck, their eyes turning wide and glassy as they each shook his hand, lips parted in awe. 

"Why wouldn't you want us to meet him?" your mother asked you. 

"Well because it's- We're not... I don't know." 

"I've never met a film star before," your father said. "I'm honoured."

You covered your face. "Oh god, Dad, please." 

"The honour's mine," Ben replied charmingly. "Anyway, I'll get out of your way-"

"Don't be ridiculous! Come and sit, join us," said your mother, waving him into the living room with excitement, your father making his way back to the armchair. 

Ben glanced at you, as if seeking approval. You rolled your eyes, letting your face break with a subtle smile before nodding.

He put his bag down and you made your way over to him, taking the glass out of his hand. 

"Sorry," he whispered.

"You can buy me a new one." 

"I don't mean the candle." 

You looked up at him through your lashes. "It's fine, just prepare yourself for an interrogation." 

A low, quiet chuckle rattled in his throat as you took the last few shards from him, carrying them to the kitchen as he took a deep breath and joined your parents. 

When you returned, you couldn't help but giggle to yourself; the sight of your mother talking so animatedly, gushing over him like a zealous fan with exaggerated hand gestures and flushed cheeks. While he sat there calmly, eyes creased with a kind smile as he listened to her every word.

"And that show you did on the telly," she continued as you made your way over to the couch. "The one with the little girl who went missing." 

"The Child in Time?" he replied. 

"Yes! That one! Oh my goodness I cried and cried. You were just brilliant." 

Ben smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you. Gosh, that was so long ago now." 

You settled in between your mother and Ben, feeling him casually drape his arm around the back of the couch behind you. It wasn't a possessive act, but an automatic, comfortable gesture. As though having you within his breadth was the most natural thing in the world. 

Your father was squinting slightly as he looked at him from the armchair, searching for a memory he couldn't quite locate. "There was another one," he began. "A film. With spies and that fella from The King's Speech..." 

"Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy?" Ben replied. 

He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Bloody great film." 

"Oh," said your mother. "And what about the one with-"

"Guys you know he's a real, actual person," you interrupted with a laugh. "You can talk to him about other things besides his entire filmography." 

"Sorry," she replied. "Just not every day you get to sit down with a famous actor." 

"Yeah and it's not like we're going to meet another one anytime soon," your father added. 

Your lip curled with derision, but Ben simply chuckled, taking it all in his stride. It made you soften, giving them grace and relaxing slightly into the couch. 

"Quinn said you went on a cruise," said Ben.

"We did, yes," your mother replied. "For 40 days." 

"How did you find it?" 

"Long," said your father. 

"Yes, it was a bit long. I think we'll only do a week or two next time." 

"Next time?" you asked. 

"She's been keeping an eye on the deals and discounts," your dad said. "Gets them all emailed... to me."

You and Ben laughed as your mother rolled her eyes. 

"We did South America and the Caribbean," she said. "Next I want to do Europe. The glaciers, the northern lights, all that." 

"Did you have a favourite place you visited?" asked Ben. 

"Oh, St Vincent. It was gorgeous." 

"We got lost in the rainforest," said your father. "Missed dinner."

You laughed again, picturing them trekking through bushes and trees like explorers in the 1800s. 

"I wouldn't go over Christmas again though," she said, looking at you. "Didn't like leaving you on your own."

"Oh don't worry, she wasn't on her own," Ben replied. "I came to keep her company." 

Your stomach turned with the thoughts of that night; the watch, the fight, the sex, the sound of his footsteps as he walked out of your flat for the last time.

"So you've been going out for a while then?" asked your father. 

"We've been... getting to know each other," you replied with a shrug.

Your mother shook her head. "I can't believe you didn't say anything." 

"Have I ever told you about who I'm seeing?" 

"Well, no." She paused, thinking for a moment. Then suddenly her brows raised, her mouth curling into a hopeful smile. "So that means this must be serious then?" 

You wanted to disappear, to morph into a TV remote and sink between the cushions of the couch. You always knew you got your lack of tact from your mum; though while yours manifested itself in abrasiveness, hers was rooted in innocence, in the complete inability to read a room.

"Mum..." 

"Am I going to be getting those grandchildren-?"

"Right," you interrupted, standing up quickly. "Would anyone like a drink?" 

You stood with your arms crossed over your chest, watching as your parents shrugged on their coats and zipped them up next to the front door. Ben stood beside you, cupping the back of your neck with his large hand.

They'd stayed until early evening, telling you all about their cruise; the beautiful places they visited and the nice people they made friends with onboard. Your mother asked you about work while Ben and your father lost themselves in conversations about vintage cars and engine specs you didn't understand.

It was so strange inviting outsiders into the world you'd created with Ben; like it somehow felt more real now that they'd laid eyes on him. He'd been so charming, so laidback yet attentive. He'd entertained every question about films and fame, and shown just as much interest in their lives too. 

"Now I'm holding you to that invite, Benedict," said your father. "I need to see these cars you've been talking about." 

"Absolutely. I'm looking forward to it, Ralph," he replied, shaking his outstretched hand. 

Your mother pulled you into a hug, whispering in your ear. "He adores you. Be good to him." 

You leaned back, looking at her with a smirk. "Aren't you supposed to be telling him to be good to me?"

"You're forgetting I know you." 

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head as they moved towards the front door. 

"And you both know," you said apprehensively. "Not to go telling people about..." 

She mimed zipping her lips and you nodded appreciatively, watching as she and Ben shared a kiss on each cheek.

Your father opened the door before turning around to give you a hug. "See you soon, Quinnie." 

"Bye. Text me when you're both home." 

"Will do." 

They left down the hall and you closed the door slowly until it clicked, turning around and leaning back against it with a long exhale. The weight of their presence still hung in the air, the flat still buzzing with the energy of excited questions, loud laughter and their unrelenting curiosity. 

Ben took a step towards you, placing his hands on your upper arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You let out a dry laugh. "That was... intense." 

"I like them a lot," he said, gently rubbing your arms. "And I can see where you get your sense of humour from now." 

You snorted, wrapping your hands around his waist and letting your forehead fall to his chest. "I can't believe I introduced you to them."

"I don't think you had much of a choice." 

"Yeah. My dad nearly had a heart attack when he saw you." 

"I have that effect on people," he replied, jokingly smug. 

You gave a breathy giggle. 

"Is it true what your mum said? That you've never introduced anyone to them before?" he asked. 

You looked up at him. "Don't get big headed." 

"I'm not!" He laughed. "I just... I'm proud to be the first." 

"The first of many." 

He rolled his eyes, holding you tighter in his arms. "And you know what this means, don't you?" 

"No...?" you replied, narrowing your eyes sceptically.

"Now you have to meet mine." 

Your face fell into an expression of pure horror, making him smirk. He dipped his head to kiss you lightly, letting his lips linger against yours before pulling back, just enough to speak. 

"They'll love you," he said.

"Yeah, okay," you replied sarcastically. 

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands dropping to your hips, holding you firmly against him. You moved your hands to the back of his head, weaving your fingers into his hair as you arched your body closer. 

His breath was warm, his lips soft as they trailed down to your neck, making your skin tingle as you clung to him, your mind fogging. His hands roamed, just enough to ignite something within you, and before you could realise what you were doing, your hands slipped beneath the hem of his t shirt. 

"Quinn," he murmured, his voice low and ragged against your throat. 

You stopped, pulling your hands away and tugging the t shirt back down. "Sorry. Habit." 

He exhaled a laugh and lifted his head to look at you; his eyes filled with desire, yet his gaze was steady, a familiar flicker of restraint. You felt his thumbs brush against your hips, his hands gliding up to the curve of your waist.

You sighed, leaning back against the door again, his hands still on you. "I don't really have to meet your parents, do I?"

"No," he laughed. "Not until you're ready, anyway." 

You appreciated how he never pushed, always happy to go at whatever pace you set for him. It made you feel guilty for all the times you tried to make him overturn the abstinence rule, made you realise that his arm around you on the couch while you chatted with your parents was enough, for now. 

You pulled him down into a kiss. "You know my dad's going to be pestering me about this car thing now..." 

He smiled. "I'll speak to the guys from the car show this week and set something up."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. I like him. I like your mum too." 

"And they liked you." 

"I hope so." 

"I think they like you more than they like me." 

He laughed and kissed you again, planting a palm on the door beside your head to brace himself, the other coming up to cup your face. You couldn't help but melt into him, your body flushing with warmth, responding to him whether you wanted it to or not. 

"Ben..." you whispered. 

"Mm?" he hummed against your lips, kissing you softly, slowly. 

"You owe me a new candle." 

*Reader Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @lilyroseluthor @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

Distracted

AN: A follow on fic to my original RD x R series - a look at where the couple is now. (If you want timeline consistency, just imagine that last years FA Cup run was this years).

Feeling a pair of arms wrap around your neck from behind you leant down to rest your cheek on the soft dressing gown being worn by your fiancée. “Come to bed baby” whispered into your ear as kisses were placed on your cheek. “I’ve gotta finish this before midnight” you sounded exhausted, “I can’t believe I forgot about this review, I’m so sorry” you whimpered, longing for forgiveness that you weren’t joining Rachel in bed tonight. Plopping herself on your lap to block your vision and forcing your eyes to look away from the gleaming screen of your laptop, she asked how much more you had left to do. “Too much” you whined, wrapping your arms around her stomach and resting your head in her chest, “if I stop now , I won’t be able to start again” mumbling into her dressing gown, reluctant to let go of her. “Can I help?” she asked optimistically, like she had any idea what your report was on, she just wanted to feel useful; her fingers slowly stroked through your hair, untangling the knots as she went, “you already are” lifting your sleepy but hopeful head for kisses. “I’ll put the kettle on” she said and made her way to the kitchen, “can’t you ask for an extension?” she suggested while dropping teabags into mugs. “This is the extension” you began whining again, placing your head in your hands. Life had been so crazy lately that you forgot that you actually had a job to get back to! Working from home isn’t working for you as there are so many distractions - you found yourself choosing to watch Rachel’s games or hang out with her and her teammates instead of doing your work. It was a much more exciting prospect than paperwork but now you’re so far behind. Rachel placed a cup of tea in front of you and sat herself on the chair opposite, “babe you need to sleep, you have a big game tomorrow” looking up at her with adoring eyes. Thankful that she was here with you but knowing she’ll regret the late night in the morning. “I’m not going without you!” she said folding her arms staging a protest. “That’s not fair” you pouted, she knew how much you’d rather be doing anything other than this but you couldn’t afford to lose this job. “Life’s not fair” she smiled angelically. “If I want to go to your game tomorrow I need to get this done now. I can hyperfocus on this and get it done in an hour, pleeease go to bed” you begged. “If you’re not up in an hour, I’m coming to get you” was her final offer, you smiled and nodded as she leant in for a kiss, holding out her pinky to promise her then shuffled back up the stairs to bed.

You managed to smash out the review and finally crawled into bed with 5 minutes to spare, you tried to creep into the bedroom quietly but Rachel felt the dip in the mattress as you sunk into bed and rolled over to snuggle into you, it didn’t take you long to fall asleep when the love of your life was wrapped around you.

Starting to stir awake when you heard your girl showering you kept your eyes closed to desperately cling onto the extra few minutes of sleep. Feeling the puff of clean, warm air burst out of the ensuite when she opened the door made your eyes squint open to see if she had got dressed in the bathroom or was still wrapped in a towel that doesn’t quite cover everything. Your first sight of the morning being your future wife in her sporty lingerie looking for clothes in the wardrobe. “Well, that’s a nice view to wake up to” you admired, sitting up in bed to get a better look at her. Turning around as she pulled on her joggers she smiled cheekily at you then nodded at the bedside table, “there’s a tea there for you.” Turning to look at the freshly brewed cuppa and sighed, “you are so perfect” you said gazing back at her. You loved Rach in her joggers, probably more than when she’s all dressed up so when she launched herself onto the bed announcing you have an hour to get ready you couldn’t help but try your luck. “Enough time to turn you on then” smirking as you climbed on top of her and slid your hand into her pants. Rachel laid there with her tattooed arms behind her head receiving cockily until she was done and you jumped off, “hey, what about you?” she pined, reaching over to try and grab the little clothing you were wearing. “You can make it up to me later” you winked as you undressed to get in the shower. “But you forgot your...” the bathroom door shut behind you, “tea”, Rachel rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to let it go to waste she drank it herself before packing a bag for you while you got ready to leave.

“Aren’t you missing something?” she said watching you slip your trainers on, she hated how you never undo the laces. Standing up straight after forcing your feet into the shoes you looked puzzled, “errr, my shirt?” her eyes opened wider with a little shake of her head like ‘helloooo, are are you dumb?’. “Do I really have to wear it every game?” you sighed, looking at her holding the shirt out to you and already knowing the answer. “I like knowing you’re there wearing my name” she pouted, knowing you can never resist her exaggerated sad little face. “I know, but does it really matter?” you pushed back, “yes! You know what I’m like for my superstitions!” trying her puppy dog eyes once more. “Fineee” you laughed and pulled her shirt over your head. “You’re so needy!” shoving her lightly in a playful way, “and what?” she retorted, squaring up to you. Taking her wrist and kissing her tattoo of your initials, “I suppose it’s the least I can do when I’m on you permanently” backing down and letting her win, you were never gonna not wear it anyway! Rachel hummed in agreement, her lips vibrating against yours as she kissed you lightly which turned into something much more passionate.

Tumbling into the car together you swung through Costa for tea and coffee seeing as you didn’t drink yours earlier, then headed for Villa Park where the girls were playing their FA Cup quarter final game against Man City today. During the drive Rachel threw around the idea of moving closer to your work and family, originally you objected as that would affect her commute to work and said you’ll figure something out but Rachel insisted. She said it was only fair if we wanted the relationship to work out and started listing off places that are in the middle of both of your bases. Rachel tried her best to sell her ideas to you during the drive, you were starting to come around to the idea of owning your own home and living together in a place that wasn’t just hers. At the moment you are so far away from your family and friends that it makes you feel guilty for not seeing them as often as you used to. Your whole world has become Rachel and although it’s been fun, it’s not sustainable for the future.

Arriving at the stadium, the atmosphere felt electrifying as the crowd shuffled in to fill seats, you said goodbye and good luck to your future wife and went to sit with the other partners of players. This was one of the biggest crowds you had seen show up for Villa and the excitement was contagious. Watching the team take their places, Rachel looked determined and focused as she prepared for kick off, you couldn't help but feel proud of her and crossed your fingers for a win. Watching the game unfold, your mind wandered to the conversation you had in the car about moving closer to your work and family. The idea of owning a home together and creating a life that was a blend of both your worlds started to feel more appealing. You realized that while your relationship with Rachel had been amazing, it was important to find a balance that worked for both of you in the long run.

After a thrilling match that ended in a victory for the underdogs, Rachel climbed into the stands to celebrate with high-fives for the crowd and tightly squeezed hugs for you. Beating Man City was a huge feat for the team, everyone was on cloud 9 and who was to thank for winning? None other than your girl who scored the winner in the 96th minute! As you walked back to the car, Rachel took your hand and looked at you with a soft smile, "I think we can make it work, you know," she said, squeezing your hand gently. "I want us to have a home where we both feel connected and close to the things that matter to us." You nodded, feeling a sense of excitement and possibility for the future. As you drove back home, you couldn't help but imagine the adventures and memories you would create together in your own place, where both of you could thrive and grow. As the sun began to set over the horizon it cast a warm glow over the road in front of you, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your lives, filled with love, support, and endless possibilities.