#tis the season for BEANS

[egophiliac]

messing around with techniques! I...like the foxman and the catboy a lot okay

also, a couple of quickies that honestly don't deserve any more effort than I've already given them:

[mangyraccooon]

No Regrets Chapter 3:8 Previous-Masterpost-First

Home stretch folks!! (I am failing upwards!)

Next

watermarked but I will still steal kidneys if these end up stolen

[photozoi]

Mr the Mung Bean discovering that the Trick is that it is POURING RAIN, which is ok for beating up your Uncle in, but not fun for getting the Treats. Heavy rains tend to muss your costume and make everything soggy. The Bean does not favour soggy treats.

Silken Windhound

[cartcop]

OHHHH its not my week

[lethalchiralium]

Seasons Change ⋆⭒ Part One

Retired!Cowboy!John Price x F!Reader, “arranged” marriage AU - Series Masterlist

summary: You’ve responded to the ad, traveling for days to a secluded farm in Montana to marry a man who would free you from the loneliness that infested your life back home - at the cost of your freedom. Or so you think.

Are you truly sure about this?

Your coach wasn’t extravagant by any means, wood splintered off of its wall and the cushions almost as old as you. You were sure that if you placed your Mama’s suitcase onto the floor, it would fall through. Your nicest shoes were on your feet, tied tightly and uncomfortable as they ghosted the top of the rotting wood floorboards.

Your hands were settled in a pair of your finest gloves, which shielded away the nicks you got from farming at your parent’s small ranch; lima beans, beets, sugar peas, radishes and tomatoes. The ground was tough in Illinois, trying to learn how to farm behind your mother’s back was essential - for you to be able to have freedom when you leave for the West, you had to have a source of income. Unless, God gives you a little ad from Montana on a Sunday afternoon.

Your nails hurt every time you scraped off the top soil from your radishes, the hot sun boiled your back through your stifling dress. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand before you pulled out the last one, a sore hand wiped away dirt to show a deep violet color. There was a smirk on your face, the vegetable settled in your small basket. Your Pa was to be back by noon, taking his horse to town for some supplies and a new sewing kit for Mama. Her time was spent inside, usually under the watchful eye of a needle and feeder as her brand new sewing machine droned on. Pa spent the better part of the money from last year’s harvest for that, she took it with a soft smile.

Mama’s clothes were good, she can sew four shirts by noon and sell them by two o’clock, her blankets still have a waitlist from last winter. You were lucky to have her sew you a new dress with how busy she’s gotten - it’s good for you, it means you can learn how to tend a farm from Pa. Independent living always intrigued you, wanting to live off the land in a quiet house with a shepherd dog. People weren’t interesting enough for you - you got that from Mama - but romance was. Wanting to be loved without the hassle of courting was a dream of yours, but it wasn’t feasible. No good man would want a woman with cuts on her hands, your Mama always said, a lady doing a man’s work insults God. That and you didn’t go to town much, never going without your Pa for fear of being harassed by men like you had been before. You were always escorted through town by your Pa, he always had a smile and a swift draw with his revolver.

You twisted a tomato from the vine, a decent size yet still not big enough - it seemed the soil was beginning to lose its strength of growing your crops bigger than the palm of your hand. Every year they kept growing smaller, every year it seemed that Mama’s sewing hobby was looking more profitable than the cornfields Pa tended to alone. Even your contribution of an array of vegetables wouldn’t bring four dollars to the table; when it used to bring seven.

There were footsteps along the side of the house, heavy and with a gentle huff as he walked on the solid Earth. It wasn’t hard to recognize your Pa by sound, your hands kept twisting off undersized tomatoes as he approached from the side.

“I’ve got something for you, Sugar Pea.”

You shook your head. “If it’s one of those Seed boys’ letters, I don’t want it.”

“It’s somethin’ you oughta consider.”

The trail began to grow bumpy, your hands held onto your small suitcase as you gazed out the window. The fields expanded as far as your eye could see, mountains clustered in the distance made you excited. You had never seen mountains before - Illinois was flatter than most states. It had taken you a day by coach then three days by train from busy Chicago to reach the calm Montana landscape, excitement bubbled in your skin. This is where you would be living the rest of your life, you hoped. You prayed this ad your father had given you wasn’t a trick for the man you had been corresponding with for the past two months.

The coach was stuffy, you already tried to open the windows in the doors but they were sealed shut, your hand waved your fan to try and keep cool in the brand new dress you sewed just for this occasion.

“No daughter of mine is leaving to go to Montana by herself!”

“Ellen, she wants to go! I won’t stop her.”

“And how did she get this ad? She certainly doesn’t have the penny to pay the damn clerk for the newspaper.”

“If she wants to go to Montana to marry a farmhand, let her. None of these boys here are worth the scum on my shoe.”

You laid in your bed, you watched as your curtain billowed from the night time breeze - moonlight dancing along with the thin fabric as the only sound you heard was your parents arguing.

“What if we need her? What if the soil runs dry?”

“I’ll learn to sew.”

“It’s a woman’s job.”

“It’s also her job to be married by now. She’s 20 for God’s sake, Ellen, she needs to have her own freedom.”

“And it’s a world’s away from us?”

Your fingers tapped your nightgown, tears running down the side of your face. You hated that you would be so far from them, but this was your chance. Romance without courting, hopefully. You were naive enough to not understand that romance is nothing without courting.

“She’s not a child anymore. She just wants to be wed.”

“And not have her husband love her?! Courting is how she should be doing it, that Joseph is a fine boy-“

“Not again with that preacher’s son-“

“-that would treat her right!”

“She doesn’t want to be here! She just wants to be wed and to be left alone, this man promised us a cash amount if she replies. All she would need to do is wed him, give him a child-“

“Gerald-“

“-then shoot him if she likes, just like I taught ‘er.”

Pa’s silver revolver was smothered by an old scarf in the deepest part of your suitcase, just in case this man in the ad turned out to have lied about his identity. A 35 year old man in need of a wife to start a family with. Payment to family if wed. You had written to him four times during the winter, spring had come in full bloom to welcome you to your new home. He had promised a warm house and a dog in his lengthy letters, detailing where he lived and where his family came from. Said he was a farmhand, tending to horses and a farm he partially owned. You didn’t have much to say back, only that you lived on flat farm land your whole life, you know how to garden, cook, and sew. And to your surprise, he found that knowing how to garden was great. You always had the idea that men hated women doing any of the dirty work, but that always came from Mama’s mouth. He wrote in detail that he found your hobbies interesting and would be more than happy to let them continue, if you agreed to marry him.

“You’re set on meeting this man. Are ya sure you want to go?”

“I am.”

“Get up. Pack quickly before your Mama hears ya.”

“Pa-“

“Hurry. The train leaves soon and the carriage can only go so fast.”

And here you were, in a coach this mysterious John Price had rented to bring you from the center of Missoula to his farm an hour away. You had enough money to get you to him, but he insisted on paying the train ticket and for you to be promptly delivered to him. Perhaps you should have considered if he was truly lying and was a one-eyed bald man named Bob. That or it was that crazy preacher’s son trying to get you to marry him again. You silently prayed that this seemingly sweet man you had been writing to all winter was actually kind and respectful.

The coach stopped abruptly, it jerked you forwards and forced you to press your shoes into the withered floorboards - yet nothing happened; you were surprised. Your gaze fell to the window, gazing out to see beautiful fields and dozens of trees. Even in the early spring with the remaining spray of snow on the ground, it was gorgeous. You could hear talking, the horse neighed at the front and all you could do was gaze out the window to the massive farm.

There was talking, a deep voice who initiated the conversation with the coach driver - your heart rose into your throat. Was this where you were going to live the rest of your life? Sprawling countryside with whinnying horses, barking dogs, lush trees and dark mountains as far as the eye could see? If it was, you were content - it was better than the flat farmland you lived on your entire life. You spotted a dark brown horse, coming into your view - a nice saddle sat on its back, deep brown hair combed and black spots dotted its belly. You would have spent the next hour admiring the gorgeous horse if it wasn’t for the coach door opening. Your eyes settled on the man who held open the door, covered by a long brown coat and brown shirt. He then held his hand out, you handed him your suitcase.

The man held out his free hand to you with a smile, eyes blue like a stormy sky. It shocked you just how gentle his gaze was, every man who ever looked at you always seemed like they would rip you apart at the seams.

Not this one.

He set your suitcase down, still holding your hand in his calloused one.

Oh. He is pretty.

Dark brown beard with mutton chops somewhat kept neat, teeth a light yellow - better than most men you’ve seen.

“What if he’s mean, Papa?”

“Then you leave.”

“If I can’t?”

“Shoot him in the head. You know how.”

His hold was gentle, better than any man who had grabbed at you when you were a teenager. Disgusting men laying hands on a young girl in the streets, but scrambling back like cats when Pa snapped at them.

“You’re prettier than what I imagined.”

Your jaw almost went slack with shock - he was British? He never disclaimed that to you in his letters, but his subtle drawl of his accent made your stomach quiver. Your lips pulled a smile.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“She speaks.” He chuckled a little. “Thank you, Miss.”

The coachman closed the door behind you, John then began to lead you towards the horse you were admiring earlier - now noticing the cart attached to it. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something to pull heavy items around. Your trunk already sat on it, he led you towards the seats.

You gazed at his face, the jawline that faded into his neat beard - the way his brown hair seemed to glitter in the sunshine. He was perfect - like the daydreams you had for years.

“It’s a small ride to the house,” John turned to you, holding up your hand to help you into the seat. You stepped up onto the cart, settling down and letting go of his gentle hand so he could set your suitcase beside your trunk. You looked down at your powder blue dress, one you spent all winter making by hand - Mama wasn’t fond of you using her machine. You were proud of this dress, even if it was meant to wear for one day, you’d always be so proud of how nicely it came together, how your first meeting with the man you were to spend the rest of your life with was perfect. Being optimistic is a good trait, Papa always said.

You spent your time watching the landscape as if it moved with you, the short journey felt centuries long as your heart beat faster than a race horse. Life here would certainly be harder than home, seeing that neither of your parents allowed you to help them most days - you were left on your own. Always alone, always doing what was needed without overstepping. This was a whole new challenge; learning where to push and where to pull boundaries with one John Price.

“Have you eaten?”

You glanced to John, noting his one hand on the reigns and the other resting on his leg. Your eyes flickered up to his face, his eyes kept on the trail in front of the horse.

“I have not.”

“I will make you dinner when we arrive. Won’t be long.”

You nodded to yourself, your own hands settling in your lap, squeezing tightly together. You gazed down at your hands, the blue of your dress meant to calm you. What you missed was a soft smile from your betrothed, his gaze memorizing your face for a few seconds before looking ahead.

This is a good choice. New scenery. New people. Far, far away from that damned pastor’s son and Mama’s snide remarks.

I have faith in John. But I hold no trust yet.

Use the gun if you’re ever scared.

Dinner was quiet. He was a good cook, much better than what you were used to and you were secretly delighted. Just a simple pork and potato dinner was better than the porridge your mother barely made edible. You stood like an awkward stranger in the small living room of the one bedroom home, unsure of what to do as John had not asked anything of you yet after dinner. In fact, he was silent the moment you stepped foot into his home.

Were you doing this wrong? What had you done to make him suddenly grow quiet?

There was a dusty couch, a dirt covered rug and a barely used fireplace in the room, your hands clasped together as a way to ease your nerves. He hasn’t opened the door to the bedroom yet, that was the most nerve wracking part. You haven’t shared a bed with a man, not since you were a toddler in your Mama’s bed. It was a terrifying prospect - especially to a quiet and reserved lady, having been chased by many men back home.

At least you won’t have to worry about those leeches anymore. You have a… husband now. You will be a wife. He can protect you. Right?

“I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You jumped a little, turning to look at John as he stood a few feet away - hands settled in his pockets. The awkwardness clung to your clothes, worry brewing deep in your belly. Does he not like you now?

John settled back on his heels, to your eye he seemed calm - what you couldn’t see was the tensing of his muscles, trying to not be as nervous as you were. The way he forced his jaw open to speak wouldn’t be noticed by you either. “I wanted to uh… thank you. For agreeing.”

You curtly nodded, you fought the urge to pick at your nail beds - a nervous habit. Silence befell the room again, your gaze didn’t disconnect from John for more than a few moments, where he held his hand towards the closed door - what you assumed was the bedroom. Your stomach dropped unexpectedly, your blood grew cold and you could only watch him with a nervous glare. He gazed back at you for just a moment before he spoke to himself, seeming to chastise his previous gesture, before he opened the door. He nodded towards it again.

“I’ll bring your chest in if you want to have a look around.”

Your legs felt like they could give way at any moment, but you still walked silently towards the room - John moved out of your way, making sure there was no chance to accidentally touch you. Acting as if you were made of thin porcelain, one wrong move and you would shatter on the floor. He turned away as soon as you passed, you didn’t miss the near-silent wince he made as soon as he started walking. You looked to him, a fleeting moment, just to memorize his figure before ducking into the quaint bedroom.

A large bed was pushed into the corner, only able to crawl onto the bed on one side. A fireplace across from there, connected to the one in the living room. The floor was bare hardwood, your shoes most likely shielded you from miniature splinters. There was a mirror in the corner, reflecting the entire room from where you stood. Only a few pictures adorned cleaned spaces, photographs of places that you’ve never seen before. A bay, with ships sailing in and out. One with snow covered trees. Another with a decrepit looking house.

You were quick to change. Your eyes watched John through the mirror, his back completely to you. You threw off your nice dress as soon as you untied it - not without a little struggle - before you pulled on a long nightgown, sleeves down to your wrists and hem grazing the top of your feet. You pulled the pins from your hair,

You pulled your quilt from your trunk, your hands gripped it tightly as you turned to face your… fiancé. His back was to you, showing many light pink scars. Some were the size of your pinky, others the size of your palm. If you were brave, you would walk up to him and trace the edges of them - but you weren’t. You waited for John to finish the bed, nerves swirled in your belly. You hadn’t shared a bed with someone since your Mama stopped letting you in hers when you were six. You’re a lady, she said, ladies don’t sleep in beds with men if they’re not wed.

“We’re not married yet.” Your voice was soft, John’s hands halted as they set a pillow on the far side of the bed.

“We are not.”

“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”

The man chuckled a little before he took the pillow closest to him, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. “I forgot you wrote about that.”

Your grip tightened on the quilt. “About what?”

He yanked off the blanket from the bed, leaving the brown sheets before he dropped the blanket onto the floor next to the pillow. He turned around, it was hard not to try and gaze at his bare chest but you still kept his gaze. “Not sleeping beside each other until we were married. I meant to make my sleeping arrangements earlier but a man’s work is never done.” He shrugged, his smile softened as he nodded towards the bed. “Go on.”

You stood there for a moment, contemplating if you should sleep in his bed when he was to work the farm in the morning, but he held out his hand, the smile never fading.

“You’ll sleep alone just for the week, love.” He nodded again towards the bed. “I promise I’ll be fine on the floor.”

You silently made your way to the bed, hoisting yourself onto it before you spread your quilt over your body and the bed. It was cold, comfortable but not inviting. You supposed it wouldn’t be - you had been in this house for less than a day and the only thing comforting you was your belongings from home.

Home, you chuckled in your head. I suppose home is here now.

John fluffed his pillow on the floor, you didn’t hear an ounce of complaint as he pulled the worn blanket over himself. Your fingers traced the stitching of Mama’s sewing machine, your quilt sheltered you from the scratchy sheets on John’s bed. You could hear your mother droning on about marrying a farmhand, that you needed to go for someone with more money like a politician or a Christian - you didn’t like any man she chose, you shook your thoughts of that away. The first man you had chosen for yourself was far better than any lowlife scoundrel your Mama could find, and she would find ones that couldn’t have kindness anywhere near their greedy hides.

You slightly jumped when John spoke your name.

“Yes, John?”

He cleared his throat. “We’ll marry by the end of the week. I’ll sleep on the floor ‘til you decide you want me up there.”

“Okay.”

The stitching reminded you of home, of your cozy room with as many blankets as your Mama could make. It reminded you of quiet nights sitting with Pa on the porch, letting your mother stew inside after she made a comment that made Pa defend you. It reminded you of being little and standing outside Mama’s sewing room, hands holding your stuffed toy while you watched her sew by hand - one footstep into her room was ten minutes worth of scolding.

As you closed your eyes, you pressed your hands into your sternum. John was to be your husband, which meant children sooner or later. You promised yourself you would never scold your children for wanting to love you.

You hoped John would hold the same value.

[13hoax]

‧₊’tis the damn season ༄

fem!reader x ex!matt sturniolo ౨ৎ 13hoax

— after you and matt broke up about a year ago, he ended up moving to LA, while you stayed in massachusetts. to escape your heartbreak and the town you both once shared, you found yourself a new home near cape cod. you recently were hired at a local cafe that also acts as a bookstore. just as you start moving on from your break up, a familiar face shows up unannounced at your work.

inspired by this song by taylor swift - notes: swearing, angst, fluff

— [10:13am] the air brewed of coffee beans and cool autumn air. you boringly peered over the cash register, studying the few people quietly sat in scarves and boots, sipping coffee and flipping through crisp book pages. your focus shifted to the door when you heard the loud and unforgiving bell, hung above the wooden frame. the heavy door began to swing open due to the harsh breeze outside.

approaching you slowly through the doorway was a brunette haired boy. you began watching attentively as his eyes darted across the cafe, making himself familiar with the layout he'd clearly just discovered. he adjusted the buttons on his coat while he walked up to the counter. his head finally lifted up enough to meet yours, then you got a glimpse of those familiar blue eyes.

standing in shock on a painfully slow monday afternoon, was far from expected. it was matt, your ex-boyfriend matt, who you haven’t seen for almost a year. even though you haven’t spoke to matt in what felt like forever, you still thought about him every single day since he moved out to LA. he also realized who was standing right in front of him at the same time as you. after what felt like ages of you both standing aimlessly, acting stunned by each other's presence in a random cafe in cape cod, you gain the courage to confront him first.  

“what are you doing here?” you interrogate with annoyance.

matt: “that’s a weird way to say hello,” he says smirking

“seriously matt why are you here?”

completely avoiding your question, matt continues his dialogue while peering down, toying with some wrapped baked goods displayed on the counter top.

matt: “sooo... since when did you work in cape cod?”

“since when were you back in mass?” you sass back while acknowledging his ignorance.

matt: “hm.. since maybe the holiday season? and i'm staying at my parents house.." he paused then continues, "i'm actually shocked you chose to move here out of all places.. it's a bit touristy, don't you think?” he says, tilting only his eyes upward to find yours.

“it’s actually the farthest i was able to go from our hometown, the tourists don’t annoy me as much as you’d think they would.”

matt: “so you enjoy it here..?”

confused by his questions and the fact he appeared out of nowhere. your temper starts to rise due to the feeling of humiliation on why your ex, matt sturniolo, would show up at your small coffee shop, an hour away from both of your hometowns. your eyebrows tighten together when you decide to interrogate him once more. 

“seriously matt, i'm not here to play games. out of all places you could go to in massachusetts, why are you here??”

matt whines with a pouting frown, “is it a crime to want to order a coffee and support a small business-” “oh don't give me that shit, seriously you need to leave, now,” you quickly interrupt him as you turn around to hand one of your co-workers an empty coffee cup. matt holds his head up higher to get a better look at you, who is now standing next to the sink, drying coffee cups with a clean towel.

matt: “you aren't curious what i've been up to?.. not even a little bit?”

turning your head only slightly to hear him better, you scoff at his egotistical question while replying, “if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while you were gone, i would've asked you.”

while standing your ground to hopefully show matt you won’t come running back to him any time he shows you attention, you continued to keep your eyes locked on the delicate cups in front of you.

you hear matt sigh as he seemingly gives up hope and guides himself out of the shop. once again you hear that painful brass bell ring, but this time you’re relieved because it means you’re safe to return back to the cash register. 

— [3:03pm] after your shift ends you collect your things from the rusty lockers. the whole interaction with matt is still haunting your thoughts and is inescapable at this point. with your leather shoulder bag and water bottle in hand, you clock out and make your way to the back door to start your walk to your newest apartment.

as you reach into your bag to grab your cinnamon flavored lip gloss, you pass the brick corner and instead of seeing the cement sidewalk like usual, your eyes draw you to see matt. once again he's standing right in front of you. you stop like a deer in headlights as he reaches out to touch your forearm and starts to speak,

matt: “ok seriously.. i come all the way over here to see you, and you shoot me down like that?”

in disbelief of his words, since he was the one who left you heartbroken last fall due to his job on social media and traveling back and forth, you become curious of his intentions.

“so you couldn't just call? you just showed up at my minimum wage job instead?”

matt: “i didn't want to upset you, i just wanted to check up on you. no matter what happened between us.. you know i still care about you.”

“yeah you really cared when you made me leave the warmest bed i’ve ever known, that shit fucked me up matt.” you say unsteady. 

matt: “i know there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me. and i'm forever sorry for that. but please.. i just wanted to see how you were doing.. truly,” he says sincerely.

he notices your longing stare with watered eyes and tries to change the topic in a quick attempt of redemption from his unannounced appearance. he rubs the side of your arm with his thumb, desperate to comfort you and find a distraction, “is that a new lip gloss?” your eyes shift to him as he wipes the corner of your eye. you nod shakily, trying to suppress the emotions from not only seeing matt when you finally thought you were over him, but also the feeling of his touch that was deeply missed. you slowly start to walk past him as he follows closely behind.

“you’d be surprised how much lip gloss a girl can collect in a year,” you say, trying to forget the subtle breakdown that just occurred.

he smiles at your words while he catches up to you, removing his keys from his jean loop. pointing the key, he unlocks his muddy truck tired vehicle on the street, and grabs the door handle to open the passenger door only slightly. “spend one weekend with me, we can call it even,” he says, locking his eyes on yours. he knows if he holds the contact long enough it’ll be harder for you to deny him.

breaking eye contact, you brush between him and the truck, signaling him to let go of the handle. you open the door facing away from him, trying your best to hide the end of your teary eyes and the new pink flush gathering in your cheeks. you swiftly jump into the passenger seat, turning back to him while nodding ever so slightly, “i’ll be yours for the weekend.”

— hi! this is my first time writing here, so i hope anyone who reads this likes it!! and i’m sorry if i got any grammar or punctuation wrong!! i have part two in the making so lmk if anyone is interested :) 

© 13hoax — nov. 2024

this fic is being added to my evermore collection! i plan on writing a fic for each of my fav songs off there since it’s one of my fav albums!

[whorekneecentral]

Miss Me, Miss Me

Ruben Dias x Stones!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fwb!ruben, jack and reader are besties, alcohol and the consumption of, kyle is always annoying her, teasing, a strip tease according to reader, finger sucking, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, fingering, orgasm denial, the use of 'whore' in a sexual/degrading context, penetrative sex (P in V ), big brother john is not having it.

Word Count: 2,952

Author's Note: this one is written solely for my pookie, that's also why ruben is so early on in this series lmao - all of these things are shit she'd eat up so pooks and everyone else, please enjoy :)

merry smutmas series

--

Your brother holds his annual Christmas party and you’re forced to spend the afternoon with the one person you had been avoiding all season but tis’ the season you guess. 

Will they or won't they was the tagline for your relationship - if you could even call it that- with Ruben.

You had recently moved to Manchester to be closer to your older brother and your niece and nephew. You had gone to every home game you could and over the course of the season, you fell into a bit of a pattern with the Portuguese defender.

It was innocent enough at first, you two were friends who occasionally hooked up to relieve whatever stress you were having but over the years, it turned into more. Feelings got involved and it got messy so because of that, and for your brother's sake - despite him not knowing, you pulled away from Ruben.

It was never your intention to make things messy.

You hadn't seen Ruben face to face in weeks, if not months. You had still gone to games but you simply went for your brother and then left afterwards, not hanging around too long.

Ruben had a hold over you; you knew if you hung around him too long, you'd just end up in his bed again. That was the last thing you wanted.

Today was unavoidable though.

John was hosting his annual Christmas party at his place; old friends, a few of the boys from his time at Barnsley as well as his teammates and their families from Man City filled his house.

You were somehow, always on kid duty. You were in the room with a bunch of kids; Kevin's, John's, Phil's, Ederson's and a few others that you had no idea who they belonged to.

"Settle down," you tell them, trying to get them off the sugar rush to watch a movie. You tried to rock your nephew in one arm while you switched on the tv, the kids shouting 400 different movie titles all at once.

You huffed and your nephew began to cry just as you tried to ask which one they really wanted to watch but someone opened the door. Jack smiles at you, taking the remote from you when he sees how flustered you are.

He worked a miracle, getting them to quiet down enough for you to calm the baby and to be able to put on a movie for them. You sighed, sitting on the bean bag with the baby as the kids watched Finding Nemo.

Jack sits next to you, rubbing the baby's hand. "I heard the noise, figured I'd come check before they killed you," he whispered, making you chuckle.

"You're a lifesaver, Jack, really. You're good with them too, you and Sasha ever think of.."

"No," he laughed, shaking his head. "I mean, at least not yet."

You nod, smiling. "You'd be wonderful parents.. but you should go join the party, I'm okay in here."

"You're sure?" He gets up and you nod. "Go on, I'll come out in a bit." Jack smiles, nodding before he walks out and closes the door behind him.

It was about an hour later that Finding Nemo ended and the kids went looking for their parents. Those with kids ended up heading out, saying their goodnights before the party actually picks up.

You make your way into the kitchen to find Jack looking for something. "Missing something?" You asked, picking up a glass.

"Your brother said he had shot glasses somewhere?"

"Check the bottom cabinet, it should be in there. What are we drinking?" You asked, setting your empty glass back down.

"Whatever will get us drunk fast." He laughs and you smile, "you're just like me," you nudged his shoulder, reaching for the bottle of tequila on the counter.

Jack lines the empty shot glasses on the tray you found, letting you fill them up. The man picks one up before handing another one to you. "To.. the holidays!" He shrugs, tapping his glass to yours before you two down the shots, and two more rounds after that.

You send him on his way, the man dancing his way over to his girlfriend. You on the other hand, picked up the tray and made the rounds, offering shots to all of those who wanted them. Eventually, you find your way to the living room, the music playing in the background as some people danced and the others chatted.

"Pebbles!" Kyle shouts, his hand in the air to call you over. You roll your eyes, walking over to the group of men by the couch. "How many times have I told you not to call me that, walks?" You laughed.

Kyle puts an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You're pebbles cause Johnny is Stones and you're the little one!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Very original, Kyle. Anyone want a shot?" You offered, holding the tray out.

John takes one, passing another one to Ruben who you've yet to look at. Kyle grabs one for himself and you go to walk away but your brother grabs your arm, bringing you back. John's arm is over your shoulder now, pulling you into his side.

"Have one with us! You're grown up now, aren't you?" He teased, nudging you to take a shot with them. You and John were only a few years apart; he was 29 and you were 24.

You nod, picking up a shot glass. "Cheers!" Kyle shouts over the music, the 4 of you tapping your glasses together before downing the contents.

Some of the tequila ended up on your fingers during the toast, your finger instinctively ended up between your lips and you don't miss the feeling of Ruben's eyes on you. Looking up, your eyes meet his and you move your hand.

"Can I go now?" You asked your brother, and he nodded before kissing your temple. "You're free to go. Go eat something before you feel sick though."

"Should take your own advice, Stones." You tell him and he tosses you a glare. "Whatever, pebbles."

Kyle and John laugh at the use of the nickname and you flip them both off, laughing as you walk away.

The night turned out to be good, you ended up hanging out with Jack and Sasha for a bit before Kyle pulled you to dance with him. He was telling John he knows how to waltz, he just needed a good partner. You were confused as to what made you qualify as a good partner but you went along with it.

At this point, everyone had left and whoever was left, was drunk as fuck and on the verge of passing out.

You slowly make your way upstairs, you have just put away the leftovers and locked the front door for the night. You walked into your room for the night, unzipping your dress as you bent over to pull some pjs out of your bag.

The knob turns and then the door unlocked, someone steps in. "Hello, what the fuck? I'm changing-" you freeze when you turn around to see who it is.

Ruben stood by the door. "It's just me."

"Okay and?" You look at him, confused as to why he's in your room. "Just because it's you, doesn't mean that gives you a right to be in here."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, love." He smiles at you and you resist the urge to roll your eyes when he says that.

"Fuck off, will you?" You turn away from the man, your back to him as you went to get changed for bed.

Ruben doesn't take no for an answer; in life and on the pitch. He walks over to you, "don't be like that, y/n. You know I miss you," his hand rests on your hip, pulling you to him.

It was so easy for him - your mind is screaming no but your body's betraying you, giving into him before you could stop yourself.

"You don't miss me, Ruben. Shut up." You whispered, the man lowered his lips to your neck. A trail of kisses from the base of your neck up to your jaw, you're certain there's red marks all over your neck from his beard scratching on you.

Your hand instinctively reaches for his face, your palm's warm against his skin; there your body goes, betraying you again.

"I miss you, I do," he whispers against your skin, his hand sliding between the two of you, from your hip to your back. The fact that your dress was unzipped gave him free rein, his fingers running along your spine, finally resting on the curve of your spine.

"Rubes-" you breathe, feeling him suck on the sensitive spot on your neck. "We can't."

He nods, "we can."

"John could walk in."

The thought made Ruben chuckle. Yes, it'd be a mess, it would get both of you in a lot of trouble but the fact that you, at your grown age, were scared of your older brother catching you with his friend, was funny to him.

"John's passed out drunk on the couch, sweetheart. No one's coming, it's just me and you."

You turn to face the man, Ruben's chest to yours; the first few buttons of his shirt undone, the black fabric tight on his arms and the sleeve were rolled up to his elbows. Was he always such a slut or did he only recently become one?

He's already pulling the straps of your dress off your shoulders and you don't stop him, letting it fall to the floor and pool around your ankles.

Ruben's hands reach for your face, cupping your jaw. "C'mon baby, I miss you." He whispers into the quiet room, his lips ghosting over yours.

Hands wrapping around his wrists, "I miss you too." You admit, giving into him. You pull Ruben into you, kissing him.

It doesn't take long, the two of you stumbling back to the bed. Ruben ends up on top of you, your legs wrapped around him as he moves you to lay properly. He pulls away from your kiss and your wandering hands, earning him a pout.

"Why'd you stop?" You groaned, Ruben smiles at you whining as he stands, undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt before taking it off.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the man. "Mhm, all for me?" You raised your eyebrows, making him laugh.

"Everything's for you, baby. It always is." He tells you, dropping to his knees in front of you.

The words and his actions made your head spin, you were constantly swooning over the man and today was no exception.

Ruben's lips were soft, the faintest of kisses trailed up from your calf to your thigh and he let your leg hang over his shoulder as he pulled you to the edge of the bed. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and Ruben drags his fingers up your thigh, moving to your clothed pussy. 

"Please," you mumble, looking down at the man. Ruben smiles, "not in the mood for teasing, sweetheart?"

"Fuck you Ruben," you groaned, dropping back into the mattress when he pulls the panties to the side, his eyes fixed on your pussy but his hand reaches up, pushing two fingers in your mouth. He didn’t have to tell you, your tongue laps over his fingers. 

“Taught you well,” he smiles, pulling his fingers away from your mouth. 

He gives you no warning, pushing his fingers into you. The sound leaving your mouth was like heaven on earth to him. 

His fingers curl upwards, your back arching at the feeling. 

“Rube, please.” Your hand reaches down to wrap on his wrist but he swats your hand away, managing to pull both to rest on your stomach and his free hand over your hands, pinning them to your stomach. 

Your eyes fixed on the man between your legs, looking at him in awe. Something about Ruben fascinated you; you could never put your finger on it but he was always an object of fascination, of desire. Everything about him made you want him, you couldn't explain the attraction.

It just made sense to you.

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. 

Ruben knew you like the back of his hand, even with the time apart. Something didn't change and the way your hips buck, it's your way of saying you want more, who was Ruben not to give into you?

His fingers curl upwards once again and he glances up to see your head tossed back into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut.

Between his fingers and his tongue, your orgasm was teetering on the edge; he knew that much. 

Ruben pulls his hands away, the sticky fingers on your thighs. A whimper leaves your lips at the loss of fullness. 

"What the fuck?" You groaned, an arm over your face. If you looked at Ruben right now, you might kill him.

The clink of his belt gets your attention - maybe you'd finally get what you wanted.

Ruben scoots you back, getting on the bed, on top of you. He leans down, his lips over yours and you reach up, a hand on the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss; you can taste yourself on his lips. He lifts your leg, resting on your hip before he lines himself up with you.

The way the tip of his cock rubbed against you and the fact that you were already on the edge from before was enough to make you beg.

"Please, Ruben."

"Please what?" He looks down at you, smiling sweetly.

Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "Ruben," you whined, lifting your hips towards him. "Please, fuck- god just fuck me already."

Ruben smiles, "those words really shouldn't be in the same sentence, you know." He tells you, pushing into you. You moan, ignoring his words at the moment.

Your hand wraps around his bicep, your manicured nails digging into his skin. He didn't mind the pain, especially if it was your doing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, Ruben's thrusts were slow and deep- you can feel him everywhere, his hands, his lips, his touch. Everything about Ruben was consuming; he knew that and he loved it.

In some sick way, he loved watching you fall in love with him all over again, seeing the effect he had on you.

Ruben pulls your legs back up to his hip. “Fuck,” you breathe, his thrusts faster and harder.

How you wished you could scream his name right now.

His hand drops between the two of you, rubbing your clit; matching the pace of his hips. Your head falls back into the pillows when he hits the spot he was looking for. His fingers that were previous on your clit now shoved into your mouth to muffle the sounds tumbling from your lips.

Ruben leans down, his lips next to your ear; “you have to be quiet, you don't want everyone to know what a whore you are, do you?”

You mumble something along an okay, your hips bucking, telling him you want more. He holds you, managing to flip you two over so that you're on top and his cock is still buried in you.

He lets you take over, setting the pace and using him for your own pleasure.

“Ruben, god-” you mumble, your hand tangled in his dark hair as you bounced up and down.

"Not quite," he whispers, pulling you down to kiss along your neck. Ruben's hand behind your neck to pull you down for a kiss. “Want you to cum for me.”

His arms wrap around you when you drop against him, your face buried against his shoulder, biting down to muffle the sounds. “Good girl,” he hums, rubbing your back. "Mhm I love you." He whispers into your shoulder.

You huff, "shut up, don't ruin this for me." Ruben laughs, "whatever you say, baby. I do."

"I'm so thirsty," you get off of him, yawning.

Ruben looks over at you, "you want another round?" You roll your eyes, "not what I meant, you freak."

You get up, pulling on his shirt and a pair of shorts. Ruben lays in bed, watching as you buttoned it up. "Don't look at me like that." You tell him and he laughs, "like what, love?"

"Like you want to fuck me."

"I just did," he smiles. You roll your eyes again, something you did often in his presence. "I'm going to get water," you tell him before heading down the stairs.

When your brother hears the creaking on the stairs, he sits up, rubbing his eyes before looking over in your direction. "Y/n?"

"Johnny?" You freeze, looking at him.

"Whose shirt is that?" He asks and you look down at the black button up. "Uh, mine."

John nods, dropping down onto the couch once again. You grab the bottle of water, walking back into the living room to toss the blanket over your brother. You lean down, kissing his head before turning to head back towards the stairs.

He reaches out from under the blanket, grabbing your hand to stop you. "You better get Ruben out of my house before I get up, or I'll kill him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you tell him and your brother lets go of your hand, a sly smile on his face. "Yeah, okay. Maybe you two should shut up next time, or don't do it in my house? Perhaps don't wear a shirt that reeks of his cologne."

"Shut up, go back to sleep," you push him back into the couch before walking away.

--

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[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

In A Week's Time: Elliott x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Soft sex, creampies

Summer. A scorching summer season had settled amongst the valley. Where others saw a reason to just flock to the beach and wade in the oceans or to take advantage of the museum’s better quality air conditioner, you had been excited for this season to make profits. Sure, you had made a good profit off of spring’s fresh crops what of strawberries and parsnips and bulbs of garlic all in a row; it was summer you were waiting for as well as many other farmers around. You could just imagine your crop fields full of patches of blueberries and of melons, peach and orange trees in full bloom as well as stalks of hops to keep the kegs full of aging beer (and let’s not get started about the starfruit patches to which you’ll be turning into wine by the end of their respected harvest).

You were out of bed before Elliott - which was rare as he’s used to waking with the gulls cawing horribly before the sun even rises over the ocean’s shore. The writer’s eyes prying open to see you already out the door, flowing auburn hair a mess against the soft pillow covers, sticking to his chiseled face as he watched on in confusion as you bolted out of the front door. He squinted, grumbling something under his breath about how eager you were and quickly followed behind you.

The early summer morning breeze was cool, crisp, inviting as you overlooked the expanse of your farm from your porch. The sun barely peeking over the trees of the forest bordering the outskirts of the farm, bits of orange rays poking through, and twinkling off of the iridium sprinklers littered around, scarecrows still standing tall, protecting the now empty fields of dead spring crops.

The front door opened behind you, you peered over your shoulder to see your beloved husband standing there, squinting as the sun slowly rises over the horizon and spill into the farm. You always loved how squinty-eyed he was when he wakes, hair tied back. He was always so handsome, even when he had just woken up. You giggled, remembering how he had woken up when the spring had started and you had woken early to start planting the usual plots of strawberries, parsnips, and beans. The poor man had his shirt on backwards and nearly had his shoes on the wrong feet before you helped correct him. It was always so sweet of him to wake up early with you every crop season to help you clear and plant and water with you.

“My darling?” he mumbled behind you.

“It’s summer, Elliott! Time for the biggest harvests of the year!” you proclaimed, puffing your chest out proudly.

“I’ll make coffee,” he nodded, leaving the front door open to allow your cat to slip outside and happily trot towards the barn and coop towards the south exit of your farm that leads to Marnie’s ranch.

Around midday, you had retired back to the house where Elliott was waiting, radiating with excitement. He had just come back two hours ago from Pierre’s store with many bags of seeds roped around his hands and wrists for you to start sowing. You climbed the stairs and overlooked the expanse of your farm with your husband. You both took in the tilled dirt ready to be watered after lunch. You were both excited to slowly be able to see the dull beige and browns and ochres of the farm’s soil to slowly bloom vibrant greens and pinks and blues and yellows of fresh vegetation by the end of the season.

“Tired, my darling?” he stepped inside, allowing you to pass into your home.

“Not yet,” you hummed.

“Good! I have wonderful news I’d love for you to hear,” he chimed.

“Oh? And what would that be, Elliott?”

Leading you towards the kitchen, you noticed a large, square vanilla envelope bent in a slight curve. A glass mixing bowl sat a little ways away, most likely used to press out the envelope. It was opened, the obvious tear towards the top of the envelope, the contents gently pushed back inside. What looked to be a single sheet of paper was inside.

“Do you remember the genre of book you’ve inspired me to write, my love?” Elliott hummed.

You could remember that day clearly. Nearly two seasons had passed, the end of the scorching summer was settled on the land, the valley preparing for fall. The weather had cooled just a tad, but it was enough to warrant you a trip down to the beach for a dip in the ocean. Your crops were all done for the season, every last bundle of blueberries plucked, every melon uprooted, hot peppers and tomatoes picked from every patch you had planted. You were done for the rest of the season when it had come to the farm.

But as soon as you arrived at the beach, you had immediately lost all focus upon seeing Elliott’s cabin. You had been meaning to visit, and before you could even realize it, you were knocking at his front door. The poet was surprised to see you, emerald green eyes widening in pure delight at the sight of a new visitor.

Auburn hair tied back by a vibrant green ribbon, delicate locks not long enough framed his face nicely. Sharp jawline freshly shaved, not a single hair missed nor a single blemish on his healthy tanned skin. A loose white button-up long sleeve shirt sat unbuttoned a bit on the top. His shirt had been tucked into a pair of loose black slacks. If you hadn’t been blushing at the sight of a man as handsome as Elliott, you would’ve questioned him on why he decided to dress like a pirate.

Instead, he had roped you into an elegant conversation, allowing you to step into his cabin. Enchanted with his delicate words, you soon found yourself staring at him as he looked at you, groomed dark brows pulled up slightly as he waited for your answer.

He smirked as you shook your head slightly, clearing the fog from your mind as you suddenly found yourself in an embarrassing position.

“Sorry, excuse me,” you stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Elliott simply chuckled softly. His silky voice filled your ears before he glanced back at you, a smile still tugging on his chiseled lips. Yoba, they looked so soft.

“It’s this awful heat. I find myself losing my words too. I was asking you your favorite genre to read.”

“Oh!” You felt your stomach tighten into even tighter knots. “I… Romance I guess. I haven’t really had a lot of time to sit down and read something proper like an actual book. Maybe a news article on my phone or something but…”

“Romance? Ah, a classic form of literature! I find myself sinking into romantic novels myself, especially during a storm.”

“Romance,” you hummed.

He pulled the single piece of thick paper from the envelope, still a little curved from its time spent in the mailbox since early this morning.

“It’s a very short notice for such big news, but I’ve been invited to do a reading tour for the book you’ve inspired me to write.”

He handed you the piece of paper.

It was from his publisher, a full schedule on the bottom of the short notice. Every day was packed with readings to signings and meetups, all scheduled for one week.

Next week.

“You’re leaving Saturday,” you noted the date stamped at the very bottom, the following Sunday being his return.

“I am. But only for one week, my radiance.” He paused for a moment, you looked up at him with wide eyes full of excitement. “Will you be alright? I’ll be gone for one week and it’s already the start of a new crop season for us-”

“Go on it! This is what you’ve wanted, yeah? I’ll be fine!”

Elliott stared at you with slight shock, soon melting into a warm smile full of absolute love.

“I’ll be here for the rest of the week, though. I’ll still be here to help water what is not covered, help with your animals.”

You nodded and looked back down at the paper in your hands. You noticed the time to leave on Saturday is missing.

“When do you leave Saturday?”

“I believe before noon.”

Elliott produced one round-trip bus ticket from the envelope. The same company that brought you here to Pelican Town a little over two years ago.

Lo and behold, he would be leaving at ten o'clock in the morning.

Elliott plucked the schedule and ticket from your hands and placed them back on the counter. He quickly replaced the empty space between your hands, he filled them with his own. Grasping them tightly with his own, he pulled you closer to him.

His hands were strong, skin soft, fingertips scarred slightly from countless papercuts he’s given himself from binge-reading new and old books on rainy days as well as spending countless and stressful days writing, editing, and rereading his work that he’ll now read to many people out there in the world. You loved how nice his hands felt, warm, but not too warm to make your hands overheat. His hands were bigger than yours, enveloping them with their strong warmth as he pulled you closer until you both were pressed flush up against each other.

You caught whiffs of him. You always loved how Elliott smelled, from his shampoo and conditioner to the subtle hints of his aftershave and cologne. Pomegranate was the main node you would get (it was really the fruit that had started your acquaintance with him when he asked if you grew them on the farm) but he would also always smell somewhat like the sea. Sea salt in the ocean breeze, fresh and alive, and inviting like the ocean on a hot summer’s day.

And looking at your husband before you, you could feel your body heat up even more. His hands slowly rising in temperature, slowly roasting your fingers and palms still a little cool from handling your iridium hoe. You swore you could feel little tingles sparking between the minute gaps between your fingers and palms, fireworks, explosions of nerves edging you both further and further closer to the end of the cliff until-

You both suddenly found yourselves suddenly tangled in each other’s limbs. Bodies pressed flush up against each other, no room between your persons. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, stomachs with no gaps between, legs struggling to stand up properly and support each other.

Your hands snatched at the collar of Elliott’s button-up, crisp and clean with no wrinkles in sight now sat crumbled in your grasping hands. Your fingers flexing, suddenly releasing the collar to claw and crawl to his broad shoulders, snatching at the thin, soft material by the handful, pulling him closer if that was any more possible.

Elliott’s passion placed into his display of affections always seemed to catch you off guard. You knew Elliott was a passionate man the moment you met him, but as you grew to knew him and quickly fell for him, you learned that Elliott and romance went together like Gus and any event where he’s able to serve the town. Elliott always made you feel loved, always made you feel beautiful. He may look like he belongs on the front of a romance novel cover with his god-like appearance, but damn it all if he doesn’t know how to absolutely ravish you as the books would suggest.

One of Elliott’s strong hands had come to the back of your head, agile fingers gently grasping at the back of your head, fingers wrapped around your locks, locking your heads together. The other went around to behind your shoulders. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, a fistful of cloth fabric teasing him whereas he teased you with a few tugs, threatening to rip your shirt right off of your body without another thought.

It wouldn’t have been the first time he would have done that.

Elliott’s lips seemed to be made for yours. Every kiss was perfect.

Elliott softly moaned into the kiss, the swaying weight between you two nearly had your legs fumbling, nearly allowing the two of you to fall over yourselves. Elliott pulled away for just a moment, emerald green eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment, lust filling his gorgeous hues the more he looked at you, a faint pink blush dashing over his chiseled cheeks. You could feel your face heating up as well, the apples of your cheeks suddenly scorching just looking at him right here, nose to nose with your loving husband.

He had quickly pulled you into another kiss, lips tenderly pressing against yours in a passionate embrace, lulling your legs to finally be able to move towards the bedroom.

It was sloppy, your backs pressing against the walls of the short hallway connecting the living room to your shared bedroom. Elliott had you pinned to the wall at one point, your head pushed to the side, mouth open as soft mewls and moans escaping from your slick lips as Elliott sucked at the nape of your neck. His large, strong hands were squeezing your wrists, your fingers limp yet curling as you felt him pressed his clothed erection brush against your person.

You both had managed to tear yourselves from the wall, suddenly another mess of tangled arms, hands grasping in hair and snatching at clothing until Elliott’s nimble fingers had finally dipped under the bottom hem of your shirt, carefully peeling the hem up into a small curl of fabric until he could firmly grab at it with both hands. With a swift and sudden pull of his hands, you had suddenly found yourself topless in the sights of your beloved.

Flushing under his emerald gaze, Elliott had paused for a brief moment to look over your body, eyes scanning your form, lust slowly consuming his features the more he gazed at your form with fluttering eyes. Elliott hummed deep within his throat, hands coming up to cup at your shoulders. Hooking his thumbs under the straps of your bra, he delicately slid them off of the curve of your shoulders and crawled his fingers to the hooks behind your back. Your bra quickly came undone in his hands, the delicate lingerie now sliding off of your body with a tug of his agile hands and carelessly tossed over his shoulder.

The sight of your naked breasts alone was enough for Elliott to start to unravel more and more.

A coy little smirk fell upon your lips as you saw out of the corner of your eye the tenting in his pants, noting how the fabric was tightening more and more as the seconds ticked by.

“I hardly think it’s fair for you to still be dressed while you’re stripping off all of my clothes,” you pointed out.

“My dearest, I believe you’re right. How rude of me.”

Elliott had complied with your statement, but he was a little shit. Nimble fingers that had just ravaged your top and bra off of your person within just a few seconds, had plucked the top two buttons of his shirt apart at a snail’s pace; All with a devilish look in his eye as looked directly at you.

You flung yourself at him, hands grabbing the collar of his button-up and pulling his close to connect your lips once more. Elliott’s hands moved from his shirt to grip at the sides of your head firmly, sinking his fingers into the locks of your hair. Your hands fumbled down to the rest of the buttons, fingers struggling to pluck them apart one by one until you had no more to unbutton. Your fingers brushed against his bare chest and abdomen, lightly sun-kissed skin, toned generously as the lean muscle under your fingertips flexed softly at your bare touch.

Elliott shrugged his button-up off of his shoulders and tossed it aside, the hunk of material sliding against the hardwood floors.

Elliott advanced towards you, pushing you backwards until the back of your knees bumped into the lip of the bed. You stumbled back a bit, losing your balance and falling back into the mattress, your body bouncing a bit as you landed on the springy mattress. Elliott smirked, enjoying as your breasts bounced with you.

Elliott’s graceful fingers moved from your shoulders downward, fingers dancing down your body, past the curve of your breasts, and digging gently into the soft skin of your stomach until his fingers danced along the waistband of your pants. The button had suddenly slipped free and the zipper had been pulled down.

Elliott had leaned forward, you softly gasped when you felt his warm lips press gentle kisses down the center of your torso in a straight line, going from the bottom of your neck to in between the space of your breasts down to your belly button all while he had wrestled your pants out from under your rear. He worked your trousers down the length of your legs, eventually hitching them off from where they bunched up at your ankles and allowed the trousers to flop onto the floor, all while he was still trailing kisses right down your center.

He briefly looked up at you under a near curtain of auburn locks, emerald green hues amused at your heated face, wonderful lips smirking as you softly begged him to keep going.

His index fingers hooked around the delicate upper hemline of your underwear. Twisting his fingers just a bit to secure the hemline, he slowly pulled downwards, peeling your panties away from your pussy and down the length of your legs, soon joining your pants on the floor. The sight of you dripping wet, heat blooming from between your legs stirred Elliott onwards, but he remained collected; no matter how much he wished to absolutely ravage your body.

Elliott had stood up, you whined a bit as you immediately missed the feeling of his lips trailing up and down your torso, worshipping you, ravishing you with his soft kisses.

Your loving husband gripped the waistband of his own trousers and fiddled with the buckle of his leather belt. Shiny brass clicking a little at him fiddling and soon the long strip of punched leather slid out from the belt loops of his black slacks and was tossed onto your trousers pooling at his feet. You watched on in awe as he slowly dipped his hands under the waistband for just a brief second before plucking apart the button of his own pants and pulling the zipper down, revealing straining boxer-briefs.

You flushed at the outline hidden inside the confinements of his underwear. Cock straining, erect, yet tortured to be stuck into tightening underwear.

The black slacks dropped to the floor, Elliott nudging both his trousers and yours off to the side of the bed just out of the way. The matching black boxer-briefs looked awfully tight, you could only imagine the struggle Elliott was going through as he looked over your delightful form.

A few locks of auburn hair drifted out of place, some sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead while the others hung loose in his face, covering his eyes slightly. A faint blush still settled on his cheeks as he looked down at you with half-lidded eyes full of lust and desire.

“Elliott,” you cooed, your body heating up.

Your gut was coiling, heat pooling more around your pussy, your stomach feeling full of butterflies. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel your blood roaring with life.

You needed him inside of you now.

“My dear (Y/n), what do you need?” he purred, still eyeing you as if you were nothing else but prey.

“You,” you whimpered.

“And what do you want me to do?” he teased, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a coy smile.

“I want you to fuck me into this mattress.”

You swore you could see something snap inside of Elliott. The once calm and collected writer you called a husband seemingly snapped. You could no longer see the emerald in his eyes. The sea of lovely green now consumed by his pupils blown wide.

It was a good thing you both live on a farm, a good walking distance away from the rest of Pelican Town, otherwise, you and Elliott would be looking at many noise complaints from the rest of the town.

You watched as he snatched off his boxer-briefs, the poor man-handled fabric flung away, no longer in your line of sight.

What was in your line of sight, however, was your husband’s cock springing outwards, now free of its confinements.

You only had mere seconds to gaze at it before Elliott had pinned you to the mattress, the man hovering over you, hands pinning your shoulders to the mattress, impaling you with his cock.

A moan lodged in your throat, choking slightly as you cried out in pleasure at the tightness. Elliott gave a satisfied groan as well, broad shoulders sagging for just a mere moment to lose himself in the sea of pleasure he found himself in.

You loved how Elliott’s cock fit inside of you so perfectly, it was like to was made for you. His cock was large, thick, always stretching your tight pussy just right. Just the feeling of being stretched had you whining, clawing at the sheets by the handful. Your head rocked back into the mattress, cradled by the bunched up sheets under your head and neck. Your eyes screwed shut at the painful stretch.

Elliott moaning softly, panting against your chest. His long auburn locks had spilled across your sweaty chest, thick strands clinging to your breasts, pooling on your person for a brief moment as Elliott had dipped his head to revel in the feeling of his cock in your tight pussy.

He craned his head back up, looking down at your sweaty face, mouth wide open as you cried and mewled under him. A wild smirk spread across his lips.

He was generous enough to give you a quick second to adjust to the tight stretch before he had started to slowly piston his hips.

The back of your head curled into the sheets piled underneath you more, your throat stretching, baring more skin to him. Elliott had leaned back down again, still pistoning his hips at a slow rate to enjoy the tight feeling of your slick walls around his cock.

Your guts were knotted with lust, only wanting you to raise your hips and match him with his thrusts, meet his cock thrusting inwards with you lifting your hips up, wanting your sexes to slap together, to rock the bed and make it groan like you normally do together. You loved how wild and powerful Elliott could be in bed.

Elliott’s hands snatched at your hips, nails digging into the soft skin. You whimpered at the bite of crescent moons, loving the pain adding on to the pleasure bubbling inside of your person. Each thrust seemed to make your organs knot closer together, made the coils heat up, and tighten. Your moans only spurred him to speed up once he had given you ample time to adjust to the tightness inside of you.

Elliott had let go of your hips, favoring to trap the sides of your head by placing his hands out flat against the ruffles and rumples of the sheets now bunched under the back of your skull, careful not to snag at any of your locks. His grip on the sheets tightened, supporting him better as he rocked his hips back and forth at a great pace, pounding into you like a machine powered by pistons.

He had dipped his head down to meet your parted lips. He groaned into the cavity of your mouth, wincing and tightening his grip on the sheets as your walls had clamped down on his cock. You could hear the sheets creaking, the soft fabric stretching and compressing under the intense grip Elliott was putting it through until he had released it just a touch.

He pressed hot, open-mouth kisses all around your face. He trailed kisses along the curve of your jaw all the way back to your earlobes where he would nip and gently tug at them. He would trail a sloppy line down the curve of your neck, grazing the columns of your throat with his teeth. He definitely had produced a good amount of hickies along your neck and upper chest, so much to possibly warrant a turtleneck at the beginning of summer if you were to have made any plans of going out in public. He had even gently sunk his teeth into the soft plush of one of your breasts, enjoying the little squeaks you produced as your clawed at Elliott’s back and grabbed at his broad shoulders.

Once he had deemed he had marked you up enough, he had only continued to ramp up his pace until you suddenly choke at the speed. You gasped, feeling your passageway clamp down on him once more, your husband crying out in pleasure and tossing his head back to revel in the feelings spiking through him.

You cried out, feeling the coils inside of you tighten even more, now white-hot as the seed about to enter your womb pretty soon as your climax was fast approaching.

You caught sight of Elliott’s eyes, emerald hues still missing, lost in a sea of black. His pupils dilated, still-full blown with lust, looking as though he had captured a starless sky in his eyes.

It was hypnotic, and the thundering of your blood in your ear like war drums had only added on to the pressure building up in your core. The splitting pressure inside of you had you squeezing your eyes closed, wincing, a soft moan passing through grit teeth as a wave of painful pleasure rattled through you, only tightening the coils inside of you even more.

Elliott was unraveling as well, auburn locks falling in his face, hiding his reddened and sweaty rugged face behind the curtain of his groomed mane. His shoulders tensed, lean muscle flexing in his shoulders and biceps, veins poking against his lightly tanned skin. His thrusts had gone from fast and passionate to sporadic and sloppy, longing and yearning to finally release inside of you.

A sudden eruption of heat spilled from between your legs, a massive release of pent up pain and turned to pleasure. A lewd moan had spilled from your open mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Elliott groaned above you, riding and thrusting into your slickening pussy, only allowing him to lose himself to his gaining lust.

Your limbs suddenly felt heavy, weighed down by bones seemingly made of lead and iridium, allowing you to sink into the plush comfort of the mattress as Elliott continuously pounded into your pussy without fail. The man of many elegant words had crippled down to only guttural moans and heavy groans. He could barely make any other noises, he was too busy chasing his won climax. He huffed and puffed in your ears, shoulders shaking as he pistoned his hips back and forth like a well-oiled machine.

It had nearly been another full minute before you felt the slight twitch inside of your passageway, his cock stiffening ever so slowly in between the rushed thrusts of his hips. His thrusts were growing sloppier by the thrust, the bed groaning under the two of you as it rocked with each thrust. The two of you were a flurry of moans and lingering kisses, Elliott occasionally kissing down your jaw or sucking at your neck. Your pussy still slick with your sweet only allowed him to seemingly thrust faster inside of you, you could feel his cock twitch a bit more.

He was going to cum quickly.

His hands on either side of your head snatched at more of the rumpled bedsheets, twisting as his back arched downwards. With each thrust, there was no room left between your two persons, no air gaps between your sexes, drawing his cock nearly out of you only to slam right back into you without mercy. You swore you were drooling, trapped in the starry bliss clouding your mind, still chasing the joys of your climax as he only ravaged your pussy more and more.

The stiffer he got, the sloppier he got with his thrusts until hot milky white suddenly erupted from Elliott’s cock, the man coming with a choked shout. His shoulders curled up into his neck, head shooting back, auburn locks spilling over his broad shoulders and you milked every last drop of semen out of his cock still buried inside of you.

You cried, mewled as you felt the fullness inside of you, only to exhale as Elliott’s cock had slid right out of your passageway, his semen following quickly after to spill onto the bed.

Elliott nearly collapsed on top of your worn person, the man of elegance managing to roll himself to land right next to you. He draped one of his tanned arms over your body, the meat of his arm over your breasts so his hand could reach under your armpit, dragging you closer to his sweaty chest. You both laid there panting, hearts racing as moments ticked by, the thrill of your orgasms slowly riding down as you both looked at each other in the eye. Sweaty faces, blushed at the cheeks and noses, you both couldn’t help the small and loving smiles spreading across your faces. You both looked at each other through the messy, frizzy locks clinging to your sweaty faces. A good shower was to be put in order now, but it would have to wait.

You shivered, still feeling his hot seed spilling slowly out between your nether lips, tangling with the sheets under your person, a mess you would both clean in just a moment.

You stood there by the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive with your husband right by your side. You could tell he was nervous, he would always toy with his long locks when he was. He had even pulled his hair back and tied it to try and stop himself from fiddling with his luscious auburn locks, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was nervous, and rightfully so!

He was going to be gone for a week, reading for his adoring fans, signing autographs, meeting new and important people.

You took his hand, startling the man out of his daydream. Wide emerald eyes looking at you for a mere second before he seemingly calmed down… just a bit.

“You’ll do great out there. I promise,” you smiled. “Just breathe, remember to stay calm and you’ll do great.”

Elliott smiled warmly at you. He only wished you could come along with him, join him on this adventure he was going to have, but you had a farm to take care of, animals to raise and crops to tend to so you can help feed the town.

You had your responsibilities, and now, he did too. This would open up a lot of doors, a lot of opportunities to expand his craft, make good relationships and business partners, spread the word about his writing more and more.

He only wished he could have you by his side. After all, you were his biggest inspiration for finishing his book. This was all because of you; Because you had introduced yourself to him your first day of arriving at Pelican Town, because you took up his many requests on the wanted board in front of Pierre’s, because you had taken the time to get to know him, to give him many wonderful gifts, to give him the mermaid’s pendant… You had spoken to him nearly every day, no matter if you were covered in dirt from the farm or covered in slime and bits of dead bugs and whatever horrors you had slain in the mines, you made it your goal to befriend him, to stick your muddy boot through his cabin door and get to know him. Even now, the mermaid’s pendant sat heavily against his throat, the polished silver chain choking him with suspense as he started to worry.

What if something happened and he wasn’t here to help? What if something happened to the farm? It’s summer, storms would surely come to try and wreck the farm. What if you were caught outside? What if you were caught in the barns? What if you got hurt and he wasn’t there to help you? To protect you?

The bus had rolled down the street and stopped right in front of you both. You both eyed each other one last time before you fully turned to him, Elliott doing the same.

Now face to face with your husband, you reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. You could feel your throat tightening up just a tad as he wrapped his strong arms around your person, a quick press of his lips against your cheekbone.

“I promise to write to you every day, my radiance,” he murmured into your ear.

“Every day?”

“Every day without fail.”

“I love you, Elliott.”

“And I love you, (Y/n).”

The doors to the bus swung open, the bus driver not even looking in your direction at first.

Elliott pulled away only to press his lips to yours. The kiss was so full of passion for how brief it had to be without keeping the bus driver and the other bus occupants waiting.

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. You could see the yearning for him to stay with you, but you both knew this was coming sooner or later.

“Be careful, yeah?”

“Of course, my dearest.”

And with that, Elliott picked up his (overstuffed) suitcase and carry-on bag and set off into the bus.

You watched on with a reassuring smile as Elliott sat down at the window facing you. You followed the bus as far down the sidewalk as you could until there was no walkway left. You watched from your spot on the sidewalk as the bus was slowly swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel, heading towards the city.

With a soft sigh, you glanced down at the mermaid pendant sitting around your neck. You gently grasped the shimmering blue twisted shell and gazed back at the tunnel.

You ignored the biting, bitter feeling bubbling in your gut, wrinkling your nose at the sensation of dread wafting around your mind, and turned to follow the trail back to your farm.

Maybe if you busied yourself with farm work and the mines and whatever foraging you could find, the week would fly by quickly and Elliott would return to you sooner than you would think.

Upon arriving at the farm, you sighed. You knew the farm felt emptier the moment you stepped foot on the land. Even as your cat brushed around your leg and trotted towards the barn and coop, you hoped time would fly by quickly.

Picking up the milking bucket and shears from the chest by your house, you followed behind your faithful kitty, attempting to busy your lonely mind with work until your beloved author returned to you.

[37sommz]

❁ : let it linger . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: fluff. ✼. wc: 7.3k.

the whispered promise of "just daniel" left michaela's lips at the beginning of the season. with the summer break now dawning, she has to do good on her promise.

✼. warnings: language, sexual references, a little suggestive but no smut.

✼. notes: the longest thing i've written in a while. extremely proofread so if there are any errors i will cry. don't think too hard about the dates lmao. i'm posting in chronological order and am relying on wikipedia articles to match it up with the 2021 season.

000.⠀⠀AUGUST 01, 2021    ›    Mogyorod, Hungary.

Michaela stood tall as she waited to be weighed, her lean body baked by the relentless Hungarian sun. Sweat beaded on her brow as she peeled off her racing helmet, revealing her blonde hair plastered to her forehead and beginning to curl from the heat. The roar of engines had faded into the distance, leaving a tense silence in its wake. This was not the performance she had hoped for—not even close. As the dust settled on the Hungaroring, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her lackluster performance at the Hungarian Grand Prix. It was the first time this season she had finished outside the points, and it stung deep.

With a sigh, she stepped away from the scale, her racing suit sticking to her damp skin. Jenson, her well-kept secret and former World Champion, was in the midst of preparing himself for the Sky Sports postrace coverage, his usual sly smile replaced by a look of concern. They shared a brief but knowing glance—there was something they needed to discuss, something they had been putting off for too long.

The press ring was a storm of activity, a blend of languages and camera flashes. Questions flew at her like jump scares, each journalist eager for a dramatic soundbite.

"Michaela, what went wrong today?"

"How do you bounce back from this?"

"Is the pressure getting to you?"

She faced the barrage of questions with a practiced poise that had seen her through countless press conferences. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the tight confines of her McLaren fireproofs, her papaya and blue race suit tied around her waist.

"It's just one race," she replied calmly, a hint of steel in her voice. "We'll review the data, make adjustments, and come back stronger for the next one."

The questions persisted, but her mind was already racing ahead to the looming conversation with Daniel Ricciardo. As she stepped away from the interviewer’s audio recorder, she spotted him weaving through the crowd, his trademark grin plastered on his face despite his own tough race. She felt a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. Their friendship was one of the strongest in the paddock, but she knew that revealing her relationship with Jenson might change things.

"Hey, Mick," Daniel called out, using her favorite nickname. Wrapping her up into a brief hug. She laughed, the tension in her shoulders momentarily easing. "You okay after that?"

Michaela nodded, her eyes meeting Lewis' who mouthed a silent 'You okay?' over Daniel's shoulder. "Yeah, just ready to put it behind me."

"I heard you've got some big plans for the summer break," Daniel said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "You gonna spill the beans?"

Michaela's cheeks flushed as she felt the weight of her promise return to press at her shoulders. She had promised Jenson that they would tell Daniel about their relationship before the next race in Spa, but the timing had to be perfect. "Well, I might be going out to a very fancy, expensive lunch next week," she said, playing coy. "Would you be interested in joining?"

"Lunch?" Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You know I could never turn down free food." He grinned. "You're paying right?" His dark eyebrows dipped, his mischievous smile remained plastered to his face.

Michaela chuckled, "Anything for you, Ricciardo." She mentally calculated the cost of the meal she had in mind at one of the popular Monaco restaurants. "But there's a catch," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Jenson might be coming too."

The teasing light in Daniel's eyes dimmed slightly, and he studied her. "Okay, what's going on here?"

Michaela feigned ignorance, her heart racing. "What do you mean?"

"You two have been acting weird around each other since the start of the season," Daniel said, his gaze sharp despite the playful tone. "If you're hiding something, I'm gonna need details."

Michaela bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit that had surfaced more frequently in recent weeks. "It's nothing, really," she assured him, her voice a tad too high. "Just... mentor shit."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his gaze not quite letting her off the hook. "Mentor shit, huh?" He chuckled.

"The best kind of shit," Jenson quipped, walking up to them, a smirk playing on his lips. He slapped Daniel on the back, the sound echoing in the emptying press pen. "You know how these young drivers are, desperately trying to one-up the vets."

Michaela's eyes darted to Jenson, a silent plea for help. He winked at her, understanding her predicament. "It's all in good nature, Daniel. Just making sure she's on top of her game for the rest of the season."

"Is that right?" Daniel looked from Jenson to Michaela, his grin unwavering. "Well, I guess I'll just have to come to this lunch and see what kind of 'mentor shit' you two have been cooking up."

Michaela felt a mix of relief and anxiety. She had successfully diverted Daniel's suspicion—for now. She had invited him to lunch, hoping the casual setting would help ease the revelation she was about to make. But the closer the day grew, the more nervous she became. The week leading up to the lunch was a blur of training sessions, Zoom strategy meetings, and sleepless nights spent rehearsing the conversation in her head.

000.⠀⠀AUGUST 10, 2021    ›    Monte Carlo, Monaco.

The morning of the lunch, she and Jenson met at her Monaco flat, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. Jenson looked at her, his handsome features etched with concern. His strong hands rested on her hips as she typed hurriedly into the laptop laid out in front of her. "Ready for this?" He spoke, face pressing lazy whispered kisses to her soft skin. The early morning light brought a gentle glow to her skin.

Michaela nodded, her stomach doing somersaults. "As ready as I'll ever be."

She wore a flowy, floral dress that hugged her midsection's curves before falling mid-calf. It was rare the McLaren driver felt comfortable enough to be seen in public with anything other than her safe tops and baggy jeans. Perhaps the choice was a testament to the comfort in the sensuality she felt around Jenson.

"He'll be supportive," Jenson murmured, stealing a mint from the bowl that remained untouched during the racing season. 'Too much sugar' is what Michaela would mutter whenever he questioned their pristine appearance upon the kitchen island.

"Yeah," she replied, not entirely convinced. "But it's going to be weird. You know how he gets."

Jenson chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Weird? That's just his charm, love."

Michaela couldn't argue with that. Daniel had a way of making every situation seem a little less serious with his infectious humor and laid-back demeanor. It was one of the things she appreciated most about him, but today, she was dreading the potential awkwardness.

The three of them met at an open-air café, a stone's throw from the Monaco harbor. The scent of the sea mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and the faint hint of exhaust fumes from the street above. Daniel, dressed in a casual polo and board shorts, looked every bit the off-duty athlete.

They decided to show up separately, a strategic choice that Jenson suggested to ease her nerves. As Michaela approached the two friends and sat down, Daniel couldn't help but notice the ease with which Jenson pulled out her chair, the way their hands brushed, and the private smiles they exchanged. It was more than mentorship, and he felt a twinge of something that wasn't quite jealousy—more like the curiosity of a friend who had missed the plot twist of their favorite show.

"So, what's this big secret?" Daniel prodded, after they had ordered their meals. He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes darting between Daniel and Jenson. "Well, it's not so much a secret as it is..." She trailed off, searching for the right words.

Jenson took the lead, his voice calm and steady. "We've been seeing each other, Daniel. It's been going on for a bit now." His hand found Michaela's underneath the table, giving it a loving squeeze as they both released tense breaths in relief.

The silence that followed was palpable, the only sound the clinking of cutlery and the distant chatter of other patrons. Daniel's eyes grew wide, his jaw hanging slightly. He looked from one to the other, as if expecting a punchline that never came.

"Wait," he finally managed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You two are together? Like, together-together?" His tattooed hands fumbled for a moment before making an obscene gesture. His left index and thumb pressed against each other as his right index repeatedly poked through the small circle.

Michaela couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, while Jenson's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Yes, Daniel," she said, rolling her eyes. "Together-together."

"But..." Daniel sputtered, his gaze darting back and forth. "You're old enough to be her dad," He gasped, his words a bit too loud for comfort as Michaela groaned in embarrassment. Jenson could only belly laugh at the alarm in his friend's voice.

"Arse," the Brit muttered in response, quickly flipping the Aussie off as the younger of the two threw his head back with a hearty laugh.

Michaela couldn't help but feel a blush creep up her neck. "It's not like that," she said, her voice slightly defensive. "We met as drivers, not as...you know."

"Yeah? Not as," Daniel said, his voice trailing off as he tried to process the information. "Sugar baby, sugar daddy?"

Michaela's face flushed further, but she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from her chest. "You're such an idiot," she said, taking her turn to flip the Aussie off.

Jenson's laughter subsided, and he leaned in closer to Daniel, his expression growing serious. "Look, mate, it's not about age. It's about... well, you know, the spark."

Michaela's gaze softened as she looked at Jenson, and Daniel couldn't help but see it—the way her eyes lit up when she talked about him, the subtle blush that painted her cheeks. He felt a pang of something akin to protectiveness, but he also knew that his friends were grown adults capable of making their own decisions.

"Okay, okay," Daniel said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I get it." He took a sip of his water, the ice clinking against the glass. "But why keep it from me?"

Michaela glanced at Jenson, her eyes pleading for help. "Well, we weren't sure how everyone would take it," she admitted. "And I didn't want to distract from my season."

Jenson nodded in agreement, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of her hand. "It's a tough business," he said, his voice carrying a hint of warning. "But we felt it was time to be honest with someone. So we picked you."

Before Daniel could process Jenson’s plea, Michaela added a caveat of her own. “We’re taking our time telling everyone personally.” 

When Daniel’s head cocked in a silent question that Jenson couldn’t quite catch, Michaela answered it immediately in recognition. 

“Courtney’s known for a while now. I swore her to secrecy, asked that she keep it between us.”

The tension at the table began to ease as Daniel studied them. The camaraderie between them was clear, the way they interacted was familiar yet filled with a newfound intimacy. He sighed, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Fine, I won't say anything," he promised. "But you owe me details, you know."

Michaela laughed nervously, "I'm not sure that's necessary."

"Oh, it absolutely is," Daniel retorted, his grin widening. "But, in all seriousness, if you're happy, I'm happy. And you do seem... different."

Michaela felt the corners of her mouth tug upward at the observation. It was true, she had felt more relaxed since she and Jenson had started seeing each other. The weight of her performance at the Hungarian Grand Prix had been significantly lessened by his support.

"What do you mean, different?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"More... at ease, I guess," Daniel said, his gaze searching her face. "It's like you've got a secret no one else knows, and it's just making you glow."

Michaela felt her cheeks warm at his words. She had never thought of herself as someone who glowed, but with Jenson beside her, she couldn't deny the truth in Daniel's observation. She leaned into Jenson slightly, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a comforting embrace.

"She does have a glow, doesn't she?" Jenson mused, his eyes darting over the figure of the embarrassed McLaren driver.

Michaela playfully elbowed him in the ribs, a gesture that seemed to make him chuckle more than anything. "Shut up," she murmured, her eyes not leaving Daniel's. She was eager to gauge his true feelings, to understand if their friendship would remain unchanged by this revelation.

The conversation grew more relaxed as they shared stories of their past racing experiences and the occasional teasing remark about their current situation. Daniel's curiosity was evident, his eyes flickering between them as if attempting to assess the situation, but it was a gentle, caring curiosity rather than one of judgment. The laughter that filled the air was genuine, a testament to the strength of their bond.

As the meal wound down, Daniel leaned back in his chair, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. "Alright, I can't say I'm not surprised, but I'm happy for you two." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "But now, I need to know—how did this happen?"

Michaela's eyes darted to Jenson, unable to hold his gaze for long before the heat in his eyes left her feeling vulnerable. "Well, it started in Tuscany last season," she began, her voice low and measured. "And, you know, one thing led to another."

Jenson chuckled, his hand moving to rest on her thigh. The action sent a rush of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. "It's not quite that simple," Jenson said, his voice filled with warmth. "But it's definitely been an adventure."

Michaela felt a sense of relief wash over her as Daniel nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Okay, okay," he drawled, his eyes darting between them. "But you're actually, like, dating?"

Jenson's hand tightened around her thigh under the table. "Yeah, mate," he said, his voice a little rough around the edges. "We are."

Michaela felt a swell of affection for Jenson, the way he was handling this with his usual grace under pressure. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the next round of questions, hoping they wouldn't be too intrusive.

"So, when did you two officially, you know, become boyfriend and girlfriend?" Daniel asked, his tone light, but the curiosity in his voice was unmistakable.

Michaela felt a jolt of surprise. She and Jenson had never actually used those labels with each other, caught up in the whirlwind of secret meetups and stolen kisses between race weekends. She looked to Jenson, who returned her gaze with a hint of amusement. "Well," she began.

"It was a couple of weeks ago," Jenson interjected smoothly, saving her from further awkwardness. "After her win in Baku. We had a heart-to-heart after celebrating, and decided it was the right step for us."

Michaela nodded, the memory of their passionate night in Azerbaijan still vivid. She felt a thrill run through her as she heard Jenson refer to her as his girlfriend for the first time.

"So, you guys are official, huh?" Daniel said, raising his eyebrows. "Interesting."

Michaela felt a twinge of annoyance at the word "interesting"—it was always code for "I think this is fucking hilarious." But she took a deep breath and decided to just let him digest the information. "Yeah, we are," she said firmly, her voice steady despite her speeding thoughts.

"And you guys are, like, serious?" Daniel pressed, his eyes searching for any signs of doubt.

Michaela nodded firmly. "Yes, Daniel, we're serious. It's not just some fling." She tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, but it was clear she was more invested in this than she had let on.

"Alright, alright," Daniel held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just saying, you guys are pretty... intense together."

Michaela and Jenson exchanged a look that was a mix of amusement and affection. "We know," she said with a small laugh. "But it works for us."

Daniel leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Well, I'm happy for you. But you know, I gotta ask," he paused, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "What's the juiciest bit of gossip you can give me? Something to take my mind off my own shit season."

Michaela shot him a glare, but Jenson chuckled. "You always know how to lighten the mood, don't you?"

"It's a gift," Daniel replied, a smug smile playing on his lips.

The waiter arrived with their food, a plate of linguine for Daniel, a Nicoise salad for Jenson, and a light risotto for Michaela. The aroma of garlic and white wine filled the air as the waiter served their meals with a flourish.

"Alright, if you want juicy," Jenson began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "We did have quite the scandal in Austria."

Michaela's eyes widened in horror, "Jenson, you can't—"

"Oh, come on, love," Jenson said, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he picked up his fork. "It's just a bit of harmless fun. Besides, it's not like we're going to tell him everything."

Michaela shot him a look that clearly said she was not amused, but the corner of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. She couldn't help but be drawn in by his charm, even when he was pushing her buttons. She took a sip of her wine, feeling the cool liquid wash down her throat. "Fine," she relented. "But only if you promise not to give him too much detail."

Jenson's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to Daniel. "So, in Austria, we had a bit of a... situation," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper once again.

Michaela rolled her eyes, knowing exactly where this was heading. "You don't have to—"

"Too late," Daniel interrupted, his eyes gleaming. "Spill it, Button."

Jenson took a bite of his salad, savoring the moment. "Well, it was the night after qualifying. We had some...spirited celebrations, shall we say?"

Michaela couldn't help but laugh, remembering the wild night in question. "Spirited?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's one way to put it."

"Okay, okay," Jenson conceded, his grin unabashed. "It was a bit more than that. We had a bit too much to drink, and somehow ended up skinny dipping in the hotel’s pool."

Michaela's cheeks grew hot at the memory. She had been the one to suggest it, feeling wild and free in the moonlit water. "It was just a bit of fun," she protested, her voice a mix of embarrassment and defense.

"Oh, come on," Daniel leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. "That's not the juicy part. What happened next?"

Michaela's eyes narrowed playfully at Jenson. "You tell it," she said, her voice a challenge.

Jenson took another bite of his salad, chewing slowly before speaking. "Well, after our little swim, we realized the security cameras had caught us in our...less than professional state."

"Oh my god," Daniel whispered, his eyes wide with excitement. "You're kidding."

Michaela couldn't help but chuckle at Daniel's reaction. "It's true," she said, her cheeks still flushed. "But we managed to bribe the hotel staff to delete the footage before it could go anywhere."

"Bribe them with what?" Daniel asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Let's just say I have my ways," Jenson responded with a wink, taking a sip of his water.

Michaela's eyes danced with amusement as she watched Daniel's jaw drop. "So, you're telling me you two have been fucking around, keeping secrets, and now you're just going to sit here and not tell me the full story?"

Jenson's laugh was rich and deep, a sound that made her heart flutter. "You know how it is, Daniel," he said, his voice a purr. "Some things are just for us." His words were accented by a heavy stroke of her thigh in his hand.

Michaela took a bite of her risotto, feeling the comfort of Jenson's body connected to hers. The conversation flowed easily, and she was surprised at how natural it felt to have Daniel in on their secret. The tension from earlier had dissipated, and Jenson and Daniel were back to their usual banter.

"So, what do we do now?" Daniel asked, his gaze flicking between them as he twirled his linguine around his fork. "Do we pretend like nothing's changed?"

Michaela swallowed a mouthful of her risotto, the creamy bite lingering on her tongue. "We don't have to pretend," she said, her voice firm. "But we do need to be careful."

"Understood," Daniel nodded, his eyes flickering between them. "But I can't lie, it's going to be weird seeing you two apart at the track."

Michaela felt a pang of anxiety. "I’ve been avoiding him like the plague whenever he’s got his Sky lanyard on," she assured him, her voice slightly defensive. "We know the stakes."

"It's not that," Daniel said, waving his fork dismissively. "It's just... you know, the paddock gossip can be a bitch."

Jenson's grip tightened on her leg, a silent reminder that they had agreed to keep their relationship low-key until she had secured her place in the team. "We'll be professional," he assured him. "It won't affect anything."

"Good," Daniel said, pointing his fork at them both. "Because I need you on the grid, Sommers. We all do."

Michaela nodded, the tension in her neck easing slightly. "You've got it."

000.⠀⠀AUGUST 23, 2021    ›    London, UK.

Michaela stirred in the early morning light, the soft hum of London traffic outside Jenson's flat lulling her into consciousness. Her blonde hair attempted to peak out of her silk scarf. The crisp, white pillow, drawing an intimate contrast to the brown skin of her bare shoulder. Jenson's arm was slung across her waist, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. She felt the warmth of his breath against her neck as he pressed a gentle kiss to her skin.

"Mm, it's too early," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"It's only early because we had such a late night," Jenson replied with a grin, his voice a low rumble. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, revealing the tanned muscles of his torso and the tattoos scattered across his skin. His blues eyes squinted in the light despite the shimmer of playfulness behind them.

Michaela groaned, her hand flying up to cover her eyes. "That wasn't entirely my fault. You're insatiable, love."

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through the room, and leaned in for another kiss. "I can't help it when you're irresistible." He hopped out of bed, his bare feet landing softly on the plush carpet. "Come on, let's go for a run. Clear our heads before we start the day."

Michaela groaned again, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow. "How about I cook you the most amazing breakfast instead?"

Jenson's grin grew wider. "Now that's an offer I can't refuse." He leaned over her, planting a firm kiss on her forehead before pulling her up and into his arms. "But only if you let me help."

Michaela's eyes lit up as Jenson lifted her bridal style. "Deal." She giggled, resting her head against his chest.

They padded into the en-suite bathroom, the scent of mint toothpaste and Michaela's favorite shower gel—a new addition to Jenson's shower caddy—filling the air. The shower washed away the lingering drowsiness of the night before, leaving them refreshed. Jenson's hands were everywhere, teasing and caressing, and despite her initial protests, she found herself responding to his playfulness. After a few more giggling reprimands, she managed to break free and stepped out of the shower first, wrapping a soft towel around her. She searched the closet for one of Jenson's shirts to wear, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the oversized garment.

In the kitchen, Jenson watched as she moved with ease, her long legs on comfortable display beneath the hem of the shirt. He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee, enjoying the view. It wasn't often that Michaela got a chance to cook for Jenson who had a habit of pampering her endlessly during their rare moments of domestic peace. But as she hummed through her ingredient prep, she couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction that he had chosen to take a backseat that morning.

"What can I do?" he asked out of obligation. His eyes followed the hidden lines of her athletic curves that he had committed to memory, his tone revealing the half-hearted offer of help.

Michaela's laughter filled the room as she beckoned him over before placing a cutting board in front of him. "You can keep your hands to yourself, for starters." She pointed to the ingredients laid out on the counter. "And maybe chop the veggies for the omelet?"

Jenson feigned innocence, his eyes dancing as he took the apron. "Fine, but I expect a taste-test of everything." His knife skills were surprisingly good, a testament to his days spent preparing quick meals for Myla in the lulls of his busy schedule.

Michaela couldn't help but smile as she cracked eggs into a bowl, the sound echoing in the kitchen. "Anything for you, babe," she said, turning to face him, her own mug of coffee in hand. They worked in comfortable silence, their movements in sync despite their different tasks. The occasional pop of oil from the pan had her jumping back with a laugh, only to be caught in Jenson's arms again, the warmth of his embrace bringing her a sense of comfort she had come to crave.

As they danced around each other in the kitchen, Jenson's phone rang out, the screen displaying his mother's contact photo. "It's my mum," he murmured, his eyes flicking to the clock. "She never calls this early."

Michaela's movement paused as she observed the hesitation in Jenson's eyes, the omelet mixture momentarily forgotten. "Oh, you should answer."

He sighed, swiping the phone off the counter and hitting the decline button. "It can wait. I've got things to focus on right now." His gaze settled on her, the innuendo in his tone unmistakable.

Michaela playfully rolled her eyes, swatting his hand away as he reached for her waist. "We have breakfast to cook, remember?" She poured the egg mixture into the sizzling pan, the aroma of onions and bell peppers wafting through the room.

The phone rang again, the same name lighting up the screen. "Maybe it's important," Michaela said, turning down the heat in an effort to encourage her boyfriend to pick up his mother's call.

Jenson's eyes sighed playfully, but he knew she was right. He answered the call, keeping his voice low as not to interrupt the breakfast preparations. "Hi Mum, everything okay?"

Michaela listened to his responses as she slowly cooked their food on low heat, trying to ignore the sudden tension in his voice. He spoke quickly, nodding, his eyes flicking towards the door.

"We’re alright.”

“No, she's not here.”

“Holiday with Blair’s parents.”

“Yes, I'll tell her.”

“No, I don't need any help with... you're here?"

He turned to look at Michaela, his eyes wide with surprise and a touch of annoyance. Michaela's brown eyes widened in a similar response, mouthing 'She's here?' back to him, receiving a resigned nod in reply.

"But I thought..." He trailed off, listening. "Okay, okay, give me a sec." He ended the call and placed the phone back on the counter with a thud.

Michaela's heart was racing as she flipped the omelet before completely shutting off the stove. "Your mum's here?" she whispered, her sock-covered feet frantically carrying her to the small area Jenson had set aside for her within his closet. Her manicured hands hurriedly brushed various dresses and slinky lingerie aside, searching for a respectable piece of clothing she could throw on instead. She had met Simone only once before, and the idea of being caught in Jenson's shirt, cooking breakfast, was not the impression she had wanted to make.

"Apparently, she had it in her head that Myla was with me," Jenson replied as he appeared in the doorway of his closet, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He pulled her closer, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry, she's been eager to see you again."

Michaela's eyes darted to the door as she frantically searched for her clothes. "Again? We only met once, Jenson Alexander." The use of his full name instead of the typical nickname or term of endearment brought an amused chuckle out of him.

"Trust me, she'll love you even more after seeing you in this state." He smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Michaela shot him a glare, her heart was racing with anxious nerves. She slipped into her own clothes, a pair of Nike shorts and an out-of-place McLaren t-shirt that she hoped would be acceptable for an unplanned breakfast with her boyfriend's mother. Jenson's reassurance did little to ease her anxiety as she heard the door unlock down the hall.

"Coming in," Simone's cheery voice echoed through the flat, followed by the sound of the door closing.

Michaela's heart thundered in her chest as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She stepped out of the bedroom to find Simone standing in the hallway, her eyes immediately drawn to the smell of the half-cooked breakfast. 

"Oh, how lovely!" Simone exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the planned spread. She looked between Jenson and Michaela, her expression a delightful mix of amusement and surprise.

"I didn't expect to find you both up so early," Simone said, her cheekbones rising in a knowing smile.

Michaela felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck. She knew exactly what Simone was insinuating, and she couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. "I just wanted to cook something nice for Jenson," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

"And you've done a marvelous job, darling," Simone said, walking into the kitchen with a grace that seemed to defy the early hour. She was dressed casually yet oddly impeccably intentional. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore a light-colored floor-length sundress.

Michaela felt a sudden wave of relief wash over her as she saw the affection in Simone's eyes. She had always known that Jenson's mother had a flair for the dramatic, but she had never seen this side of her before. "Thank you, Simone," she managed to say, her voice steadying. "I hope you're hungry."

Simone took a seat at the kitchen island, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "More than you know, dear," she said, her gaze flickering to the phone in Jenson's hand. "I must apologize, I truly did believe Myla was with you this morning, Jense."

Jenson shrugged nonchalantly. "It's fine, Mum. She's with Blair's family on holiday."

Michaela busied herself with plating the omelets, placing a slice of toast and a dollop of chilled butter next to each one. She felt Simone's eyes on her, and she hoped she didn't look as flustered as she felt. "Would you like some breakfast?" she offered, her voice a bit too bright.

"Oh, absolutely," Simone said, her smile warm and genuine. "It smells heavenly."

Michaela felt a pulse of satisfaction as she served Simone, watching as she took a bite. The flavors of the omelet danced together, a blend of cheese, peppers, and onions that had been roasted to perfection. Simone's eyes closed in appreciation, and she nodded. "I fear I'll have to take drastic measures if Jense messes things up for you two, my dear. I might starve."

Jenson chuckled, sliding into a chair next to his mother. "Mum, you're terrible."

Michaela couldn't help but smile at Simone's antics, feeling a little more at ease. "It's okay, I've got him under control." She winked at Jenson, who rolled his eyes playfully.

"So, how did you two lovebirds spend your night?" Simone asked, sipping her coffee, her gaze knowing as it darted between them, eager for details.

Michaela felt her cheeks redden as she passed Jenson a plate, avoiding eye contact with his mother. "Just had a quiet dinner in," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray the memories of their very long night.

Jenson took the plate, his thumb brushing against her hand in a silent gesture of reassurance. "It was nice, actually. Just what we needed before everything kicks up again."

Simone nodded, her eyes softening. "Ah, yes. The second half of your season is around the corner." Her eyes were kind as she glanced up at Michaela from the food in front of her. She took another bite of her omelet, savoring it. "Myla talked about you non-stop after Silverstone, you know," she said to Michaela, her voice filled with warmth. "Such a bright girl, she is. You've made quite the impression on her."

Michaela felt her heart swell with affection for Myla and a newfound confidence. "I had a wonderful time with her. She's absolutely adorable."

"Oh, she thinks the world of you too," Simone said with a knowing smile. "And she's quite the little race fan. Can't get enough of watching her dad's endurance races, but she's been asking more about yours."

Michaela felt a rush of nerves at the mention of Myla. Despite her young age, she knew the girl's opinion would hold a significant weight in Jenson's life. She hoped she could live up to the expectations of being a good role model and a potential permanent figure in her life.

Jenson calmly echoed his mother's sentiments. "Myla's pretty smitten with you." He took a bite of his omelet, his eyes never leaving hers. "I can't seem to separate her from that signed cap you gave her." An unspoken question hung in the air—when would they tell Myla about their relationship?

Michaela's heart skipped a beat. "It's a lot for a seven-year-old to understand, isn't it?" she mused, her voice tinged with a hint of insecurity.

Simone set her fork down, her eyes warm and understanding. "It can be, but Myla's quite the bright little girl. You've got nothing to worry about."

Michaela took a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her. "I just don't want to mess it up for her. She's been through enough with the divorce."

Simone's eyes grew serious. "You won't," she said firmly. "What you two have is different from the circumstances that drew Jenson and Blair together. Besides," she winked, "I've already told her that you'll be around more often."

Michaela felt her stomach flip, the unspoken implication that Simone had already accepted her as part of the family. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

"So, when do you think you'll tell her?" Simone's voice was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity that couldn't be ignored.

Michaela and Jenson shared a look, both knowing that the question had been hovering over them for a while. "We've actually been thinking about it a lot recently," Jenson said, his hand finding hers under the table. "We just want to make sure it's the right time."

"And that she's able to understand what that might mean in the future," Michaela added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Simone nodded sagely. "You know, I think she's more perceptive than either of you give her credit for. But timing is everything. Make sure it's right for all three of you."

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. The thought of becoming a part of Jenson's family, of being a role model for Myla, filled her with a mix of joy and responsibility she hadn't anticipated.

"We will," Jenson assured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll sit her down when she gets back, tell her we've been seeing each other, and that we're serious."

Michaela nodded, her eyes glistening with a mix of hope and trepidation. She had met Myla only two weeks ago, and while the little girl had been sweet and curious, she knew that dropping the 'girlfriend' bombshell could be overwhelming for a child of her age.

Simone, seemingly reading her thoughts, offered her own take. "Myla's a smart girl, she'll understand more than you think." She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving the young couple. "But you're right to be cautious. She's still figuring out the world, and you're a new piece of the puzzle she'll need to fit in."

Michaela nodded, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. Jenson's hand remained a steady presence under the table, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm.

"And remember," Simone continued, her voice gentle, "It's not just about how she feels now, but how she'll feel when she's older. You both have demanding careers, and it's essential she feels loved and secure between all the travel and chaos."

Michaela nodded solemnly, the gravity of the situation sinking in. She had never felt more connected to Jenson than in that moment, knowing they were about to embark on this new chapter together. "We'll take it slow," he promised, squeezing her hand.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Simone sharing stories about Myla's latest adventures and her own travels. As the breakfast dishes were cleared away, Jenson suggested they all sit in the living room to chat more comfortably.

Michaela felt a wave of anxiety wash over her as she took her place on the couch next to Jenson. The thought of being an official part of his life, of being a constant in Myla's life, was a concept she hadn't fully digested yet. But as she watched him interact with his mother, she realized that she had already been accepted into his world, even if it was just in small, unspoken ways.

Jenson's phone began to ring again, this time the 'Blair' contact lacked a profile picture but the name was more than enough to make him sit up. "It must be Myla with her daily check-in," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. He took the call, his expression immediately softening as he talked to his daughter.

Michaela took the opportunity to sit next to Simone, her mind racing with thoughts of how she would fit into Myla's life. Simone, seemingly aware of her inner turmoil, placed a comforting hand on her knee. "Don't worry, darling," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "Jenson might not say it, but he's absolutely smitten with you. And you're already making him happier than I've seen him in a long, long time."

Michaela couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. Hearing that from Jenson's own mother meant the world to her. She watched as Jenson chatted with Myla, his voice filled with love and warmth. It was clear that he was a devoted father, and she knew that she had big shoes to fill.

Simone leaned in closer to her. "He talks about you constantly, you know," she whispered conspiratorially. "Every time we're on the phone, he finds a way to bring you up."

Michaela felt a warm blush spread across her cheeks. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Simone said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He's like a teenager experiencing his first crush. It's quite adorable, actually."

Michaela couldn't help but laugh at the image, feeling a swell of affection for Jenson. She watched him as he talked to Myla, his tone light and playful. She could see the joy in his eyes, the way his face lit up at the sound of his daughter's voice. It was clear that Myla was the center of his world, and she knew that she would have to tread carefully to ensure she didn't disrupt the delicate balance of their lives.

As Jenson spoke with Myla, Simone leaned in closer, her hand still resting on Michaela's knee. "You're going to be a wonderful influence on her, you know," she said with a knowing smile. "Jenson does his best, all things considered. And Blair... well, she's trying to rebuild their relationship. But you have a clean slate, a chance to be someone Myla looks up to, someone she can confide in, and learn from."

Michaela felt the weight of Simone's words, her heart swelling with a mix of excitement and fear. "I hope so," she murmured. "I just want to be there for her."

"And you will be," Simone assured her. "Just be yourself, and she'll continue being your biggest fan. Children are more intuitive than we give them credit for. They know when someone cares for their parents and for them."

Michaela nodded, her eyes still fixed on Jenson as he chuckled at something Myla said. She couldn't imagine a future without him and Myla in it. The thought of becoming a family, even in a non-traditional sense, filled her with warmth.

Jenson wrapped up their conversation and handed the phone to Simone. "Alright, I've had my fill of cuteness for the day," he said, leaning back into the couch and wrapping an arm around Michaela. She snuggled into his side, feeling more at ease with each passing moment.

Michaela watched as Simone's face lit up as she talked to her granddaughter. It was clear the bond between them was strong, and she hoped that she could one day share that kind of closeness with Myla too.

As the conversation on the phone grew more animated, Jenson leaned in and whispered, "Myla's been asking me about when she'll get to see you again."

Michaela's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. She felt a warmth spread through her, and she knew that she was ready to take this step with Jenson, regardless of the challenges that might lie ahead.

"What did you tell her?" Michaela asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

Jenson grinned, his arm tightening around her. "That she'd see you very soon." He leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, his breath warm against her skin. "I just wanted to run it by you before I told her anything concrete."

Michaela felt a knot in her stomach loosen at his consideration. She turned to look at him, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt. "You're sure?"

Jenson nodded, his eyes full of love and confidence. "More than ever."

Michaela's smile grew as she leaned into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek. "I can't wait," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine excitement.

Simone ended her call with Myla, her eyes shining. "Looks like things are going well with Blair’s parents," she said, handing the phone back to Jenson.

"Better than expected," he admitted, slipping the phone into his pocket. "But we've still got a way to go before everyone's happy."

Michaela nodded, understanding the complexities of co-parenting. She had overheard the occasional tension between Jenson and Blair, but she had always remained respectful of their history. Simone patted her hand. "You're going to be a fantastic addition to our little family," she said warmly.

Jenson looked over at her with a soft smile, his eyes speaking volumes. "We're all going to be just fine," he said, and Michaela believed him.

✼. taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@thearchieves @doodlehunz @evie-119

@bxdbxtxh @seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn

@99snse @ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut

@hiireadstuff @emilyval1 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearyyyy

@melancholyy-hill @valluvsu @futuristiccroissantlampsludge

@treehouse-mouse @sunfairyy

[ccieatchildren]

OKAY BUT THE CALLUM WHUMP IN THE DRAGON PRINCE SEASON 5!!!

Specifically S5 E8.

First, just him being locked away in the captain’s cabin, isolated and tortured by Finnegrin for the dark magic info.

And him absolutely refusing to reveal anything right now, laughing at Finnegrin for what he sees as a hypocritical thought process, because it would go against his morals and he doesn’t want to give Finnegrin the ability to kill Domina Profundis.

Finnegrin taunting him about his dark magic usage, typical villain spiel of asking if Callum has never thought about it or wanted/needed to use it. Learning that Callum has studied it extensively (and though Callum points out that he has also studied the other types, his curiosity always seems to get the better of him) and has once used it, to save his friends. Finnegrin taking this information in and twisting it on the boy. The defeated way Callum gets pushed out by Finnegrin, seeing all his friends chained up and having to make a “decision” for Finnegrin.

Finnegrin forcing Callum to choose one of his friends' hand to cut off. Not being able to choose anyone, and the gang standing up for each other, offering their own hands. Preaching the love and friendship deal, only to peeve off Finnegrin even more, who tries to goad Callum into using dark magic once again. You can see the way he actually thinks about it, the guilt in his eyes but also the determination to save his friends. Only for Rayla to escape, making sure to take any option for dark magic out of Callum's hands. I believe if Rayla hadn't intervened, Callum would've eventually gone through with it, as the main thing holding him back was said guilt and own mental blockage. Finnegrin then freezing Rayla's blood, putting her in excruciating pain, and Callum, doing a full 180, goes batshite over Rayla being tortured, decking Finnegrin full force in the face. He is calm when faced with his own pain, but when someone he loves is hurt, especially due to his inability to do anything, he immediately loses his temper.

However, this small win ends them back up at square one, with Callum tied up and at the captain's mercy. When Finnegrin tells him that he's gonna feed Rayla to the leviathan, and Callum can't do anything, he immediately gives up the info, thinking that would save her. Only for Finnegrin to turn around and go "nuh-uh," completely destroying him.

He can't even save the person he loves. Callum may have primal magic (one or two of the arcanum depending on how you want to look at it), but he still can't do anything; he is completely useless in this moment. Realizing this, all hope drains out of him, and he does the only thing he can think of, spill the beans. He begins to break his principles by telling Finnegrin the dark magic spell (one of the darkest spells at that), in hopes of him releasing Rayla, only for it to backfire and be completely for nothing. Now, not only can he not save Rayla, but now Finnegrin can kill Domina Profundis. The guilt weighs even harder on him, he has essentially doomed everyone.

Then, Callum gets out, stands up to Finnegrin, using his own arcanum against him, gaining said arcanum at the same time (also, I just really love how he figured it out, using Finnegrin's words against him, and the idea behind the ocean arcanum is just very fun, I just really liked this moment), and save his homies.

So, everything turns out fine, right? Nope!

Callum had to use dark magic to get out, preforming the same snake chain spell he had before on his restraints. When he was all out of options, Callum always reverts back to what he knows, even if it might break his morals. And while this action is totally justifiable, as he basically had to, Callum doesn't really seem to see it that way. Despite knowing that there are parts of himself he can't understand, he still is riddled with grief over it. The deep pain and guilt on his face as he hugs Rayla, not telling her or anyone else what he had to do to get out, shows us that he believes he had committed a grave sin. In his eyes, he is just as bad as Viren and Claudia, and he is still dealing with the PTSD of being possessed by Aaravos, of having the chance to turn completely to the dark side. This paranoia and anxiety makes him keep everything to himself. He doesn't think they would understand or forgive him, and he doesn't think they should, as he doesn't really either.

The ocean arcanum also gives us a look into Callum. He states himself about how it is accepting the hidden depths in oneself, even if you may not truly understand it. Callum's ability and willingness to do dark magic at times is part of those deeper depths. He doesn't truly understand it yet, and may never will, but, like any other human, there are many paths for him to follow. I do not think he is truly evil, or what he has done is irredeemable, but I believe that Callum, like all of us, is neither truly good or bad, but chooses where he takes himself (we also see this with Viren throughout the season). He could become someone filled with light and kindness, a "do-gooder" if you will, which is what I believe he wants to be, but he could also lead himself down a much darker path if he isn't careful, placing himself among the ranks of Aaravos, Viren, and Finnegrin, or he could be someone who carefully struts the line in the middle. The point is that it is up to him. Though he has become in tune with the ocean arcanum and those "hidden depths," him not accurately understanding his potential for darkness could usher him into a much more disastrous existence. Hopefully linking with the ocean arcanum will allow him to slowly accept these parts of himself and find a true balance between dark and primal magic, whatever that balance may be.

(Also the implications of him being the one in the intro rather than Viren...)

All in all, this whole episode was just very whump (even in the B plot somewhat). Callum and Finnegrin were very much whumpee and whumper -coded and you can't convince me otherwise.

The emotions in this episode for the main gang were top-notch. Watching what each character did to try to help themselves and their friends, and seeing the physical and emotional consequences of their actions (whether positive or negative) was amazing. Not just with Callum, but also the others (Ezran instantly offering himself up again and again, practically begging; Rayla breaking herself out to try and save Callum, only to be quickly and severely subdued; and Soren continuously taking the hits to help Elmer find his own worth, saving the gang in the process), was very well done.

ABSOLUTELY SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS!

I hope we get more moments like this in future seasons.

[photozoi]

Ta dah!!!

Oooops.

I sorry.

I unwrapped three days early.

Happy Howl-a-Daze Three Days early from Mr the Mung Bean, Silken Windhound and a bit eager for festivities.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Products & Services Worth The Save (or Saving On)

Fashion:

Socks (I love the HUE ones that come out to around $3 per pair)

Tights (another vote for HUE – around $10-13 dollars a pair and should last at least a season or two with proper care)

Layering tanks & tees

Underwear (buy them on a bulk deal – I love Skims' 3/$36 [on the pricier end here] – or getting luxury items on sale, especially pair from Natori or Hanky Panky [usually come up to around $10-$15 a pair]; Parade also has $6 underwear that's great quality for the price)

Trendy items

Costume jewelry (Mejuri, Aurate, and Justine Clenquet are great for the price; Catbird is the best in the game for a moderate-priced alternative to luxury jewelry in my opinion)

Beauty:

Cleanser

Facial Toner

Makeup Wipes

Acne Spot Treatment

Mascara

Brow Gel

Setting Powder/Spray

Shampoo & Conditioner

Body Wash

Body Scrubs

Hand/Body Lotion

Hand Soap

Vaseline (use it as a lip treatment, cuticles, dry skin patches, or as a hydrating eye cream)

Lip Balm (Palmers SPF 15 is my HG)

Makeup Sponges/Spoolies

Hair Ties

Home:

Lighting

Home Decor

Artwork (I have mostly Black & White photography from iCanvas and get so many compliments on them!)

Coffee Maker (a Black & Decker coffee maker or a French Press is all most people need)

Everyday Dishes & Glassware (I love Sweese, Smilatte, and Luigi Bormioli on Amazon)

Dishwasher-Safe Reusable Food Storage Bags/Snack Bags

Produce Saving Containers

Health & Wellness:

Deva Vitamins/Supplements

Fitness Youtube Workouts

Bulk-buying Oats, Beans, and Other Staple Foods

Frozen Fruits & Vegetables (when not in season, especially)

Listening to Podcasts via Youtube

TED Talks

Services:

Facials

Blowout

Dermaplaning

Teeth-Whitening

Mani-Pedi

Professional/Social:

Owning your full name social handles across platforms

Simple Investment Planning (Roth IRA, HSA, 401K - anything involving index funds)

Get a great headshot (many colleges and universities offer their students/alumni headshots for free)

Cash-back & Travel-miles $0 Fee Credit Cards

[softblesses]

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

[charlesslut16]

-Wrapping presents-

summary : you and carlos wrap presents together...

PAIRING : carlos sainz x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i hope that you like this...

december masterlist ; masterlist 

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

You and Carlos Sainz sat surrounded by a colorful array of wrapping paper, ribbons, and a mountain of presents. It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement in the air was palpable as you both dove into the task of wrapping gifts for your family, your kids, and each other.

With mischievous grins, you both made a pact not to reveal the contents of the gifts you were wrapping for each other. For weeks, there had been playful banter and teasing about what surprises lay hidden within the carefully concealed packages.

Today was the day of revelation, but neither of you was willing to crack. You were both the type to never be the first to give up or let down. It was never how you and carlos were.

As you meticulously folded paper and tied ribbons, the temptation to sneak a peek at each other's presence grew stronger. Carlos tried to catch a glimpse when you turned away, but you were too quick for him, hiding the gifts under layers of paper and tape.

The tension and anticipation escalated with every package you sealed shut. Carlos leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, just a tiny hint?" he pleaded, nudging you with a playful grin.

You shook your head, laughing. "Not a chance! The surprise is half the fun, Carlos." Even when the situation was funny to you, you could spoil the surprise for him.

He pretended to pout, but then a sly smile crossed his face. "I have my ways of finding out," he teased, wiggling his fingers in a threatening tickling gesture. It would end well.

You chuckled nervously, trying to protect the presents you were wrapping. "You wouldn't dare!" You tried to protect them, as you held onto them tighter, but inside you knew there was no use.

But Carlos was relentless. With a sudden lunge, he launched you into a tickle attack, fingers dancing across your sides, eliciting uncontrollable laughter from you.

Despite your attempts to fend him off, you couldn't help but laugh, squirming and trying to protect the gifts from his playful assault. But you knew that this would be the end.

"Okay, okay, stop!" you gasped between fits of laughter, trying to catch your breath.

Carlos relented, grinning triumphantly. "So, are you going to spill the beans now?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You shook your head, still giggling. "Not a chance! You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning, like everyone else."

With a playful groan, Carlos leaned back, feigning disappointment. "Fine, be that way. But mark my words, I'll find out eventually!"

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of laughter, wrapping paper, and the joyous spirit of the holiday season. As the last gifts were sealed and placed under the tree, there was an undeniable sense of excitement and anticipation for the morning to come, when the secrets hidden within the wrapped boxes would finally be revealed.

And amidst the playful banter and teasing, there was an unspoken understanding that the joy of the holiday was not in the presents themselves, but in the shared moments and laughter with loved ones.

[demonslayedher]

Did my rewatch with a friend, some observations either from me or both of us:

--Gotouge was deep in the "bean" period at this point in the manga, drawing especially Tanjiro's face in lumpy simple shapes on a regular basis. We suspect that in this season so far, Tanjiro's face has spent most of its screen time in silly mode as opposed to normal mode.

--Before we watched, I had her guess what she thought the vibe might be for the ending theme. "I don't know, foreshadowing all their deaths or something?" GIRL, HOW DARE YOU GUESS THAT RIGHT. Also, I'm so glad the full version of "Tokoshie" is already out because it's going to be super difficult but I can't wait to give it a shot at karaoke.

--We chatted afterward about Ufotable's choices. I feel like they've upped their show-offy game in this season (thicker lines, extended scenes, varied BGM and careful sound design, slow and deliberate filler, and lighting, lighting, lighting, lighting!), which might be somewhat to compensate for the slower story pace. It's simply reality that a lot of the hype for KnY has slowed (the Mugen Ressha era levels were unsustainable, of course, that was a phenomenon), and I know many people have gotten tired of it. But frankly, those people are not Ufotable's audience now; we the captives who love spending time with these characters are the target audience, and when things pick up again, those who took a break will come back and binge these seasons. I'm sad to see some hype die away, but I have no worries about the hype train totally dying down.

--And the love and care thrown into this production shows that they have every intention of giving the final arcs the care they'll require <3

--but also AOI!!! I loved the subtle restraint of that filler. It wasn't overdone, and it's so rare to see Tanjiro and Aoi have a moment together, and to see both how Aoi has relaxed in his presence and how she remains formal. That irony and layered way of Tanjiro having no idea how he's helped her, and Aoi talking about herself in wanting to be left alone, but still finding a way to show that she cares about this person Tanjiro is talking about even though she has no idea who it is? Wonderfuuuullllll

--How softly Shinobu speaks to Kanao!!!!! The way Shinobu sits in shadow but Kanao is within reach of the sunlight!!!! (They put Kanao's hair on the same side as usual instead of matching the way the manga did this scene!)

--The glimpse in Tamayo's memories of Yoriichi encountering Muzan, the sound of his earrings tied with the sound of Tanjiro's earrings!!

--The same sort of layering in the ending theme!!

--YUSHIRO SCREAMING DESCENT

--Giyuu's face being cut out of view when he says he's not the Water Pillar

--EVERY BIT OF GIYUU AND TANJIRO INTERACTION, I'm sure Hanae Natsuki had so much fun being thoroughly obnoxious

--EVERY BIT OF GIYUU AND SABITO INTERACTION

--There is no mistaking Murata and I love that

--LITTLE GIYUU'S EEEEEEYYYYYYYYEEEEESSSS

--The height difference between Tanjiro and Giyuu in the Taisho Secrets

--Tanjiro was the one being overbearing and clingy in the episode and now in the Taisho Secrets we've got Giyuu thoroughly in "Kamado Tanjiro is my friend" mode, like "...Come eat more soba with me. Oh. Then. Come eat shake daikon with me. Are you coming? You're coming! Are you done yet? I'm staring at you from the side of the screen. I'm waiting. Come on. Hang out with me."

--I was gonna say the Taisho Secrets were obvious this time, but my friend (who has read the manga and just watched this episode with me) said, "oh, I didn't know that side was from his sister!" So... alright, good call, then, Ufotable.

--Ok but as Tanjiro is first showering Giyuu with kindness (and indeed, sitting so much in Giyuu's personal space), I was thinking about Giyuu's smile in the Taisho Secrets (shake daikon, yay~), and my friend said, "You know what this is making me think of? That panel at the end of the manga when..." --when he's smiling, I thought-- "...he thinks Tanjiro is dead." NO STOP WHY DID YOU DO THAT ME

--Love that little addition of Tanjiro cheerfully pointing out how quiet it's been, and "no! No demons here!" TANJIRO, YOU SHOULD BE VERY, VERY WORRIED ABOUT WHAT THIS MEANS

--"Now want about Tomioka-san" "What's Kocho doing?" UFOTABLE STOP THE DOOMED GIYUSHINO HURTS

--WHAT A CLIP TO END ON AND PLUNGE US INTO THAT ENDING THEME

--rude