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kryptonitejelly · 2 years

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A Drunk Confession - A Flyboy Blurb | Jake Seresin x Reader Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader Genre: romance; fluff Warnings: general hangman being hangman; sexual inneundo; fem!reader; general naval / flying inaccuracies; alcohol consumption; drunk making out; reader being drunk. Length: Blurb set in the Flyboy universe - college Flyboy.

Inspired by this and this ask; set during your 21st birthday, with a flash forward to present day (Flyboy era)

Summary: The very first kiss you remember having with Jake was at Annie’s wedding. The very first kiss Jake remembers having with you was on your 21st birthday.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist (not fully updated as of today (22 September 2022), but if you follow / search the tag “flyboy universe”, you’ll find recent asks / headcannons / blurbs!)

A/N: Wrote this really fast / hastily and really late - so, read at your own risk!

Your 21st birthday

Your head is spinning, the flashing strobe lights in the club doing nothing to help you maintain your balance. You gingerly take a step forward, teetering on your heels, music pounding in your ears, and gasp as your ankle bends slightly. You think you are going to fall, and shut your eyes immediately, your alcohol addled brain telling you to brace for impact, when you feel a hand grasp your around your waist, pulling you sideways into a broad, chest. You press your palms against hard muscle, looking up through your lashes to find yourself staring at a very familiar face.

“Jakey,” you gasp, half shouting, half giggling over the deep base of the music, and you feel his palm press itself firmly against your waist, fingers brushing the bare skin of where your top doesn’t really meet the waistband of your jeans, as he pulls you securely against his body.

“Sweetheart,” Jake says, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear. Jake is talking loudly, but without the need to shout because of your proximity, “you are drunk.”

His observation of your influenced state makes you pull your head back slightly, while shifting your body so you are pressed up against him chest to chest. Your hands slide onto his shoulders, around his neck, and Jake easily shifts his palm to the small of your back. He watches as you observe him, the flush of his cheeks, the slight muss of his hair, the tiny smirk on his lips, and the slightly gazed pair of green eyes which you are staring right into.

“So are you,” you yell back, fingers curling into his hair which meets the nape of his neck.

“Maybe a little bit,” his smirk grows slightly, as his fingers dip down your lower back just that one inch, because you are pressed right up against him, and god he shouldn’t, but Jake loves that feeling “but not as drunk as you.”

You giggle again, pulling your hands forward to smush your palms against each side of his cheeks.

“Get me out of here Jakey, it’s noisy,” you whine, the alcohol making you inhibited, a pout gracing your lips.

“Your wish is my command my lady,” he says, a mock tip of an imaginary cowboy hat. You pull away, and Jake threads his fingers through yours, football calloused hands holding your palm tight against his as he navigates his way through the throng of people.

You had come out to the club with your friends, your roommates, and the football team - all in a bid to celebrate your 21st birthday, and in usual fashion, you, the birthday girl of the moment had been plied generously with a host of different alcoholic beverages. You had lost the rest of the group a while ago, determined in your drunken state to make your way through the crowd and out of the door because everything was getting so loud, and the alcohol coursing through your veins was making you flustered, your skin hot to the touch. You had assumed that no one had noticed that you had begun to flit off, that no one had followed - but Jake, who been keeping an eye on you the entire night, had.

He pulls you out of the club, and the sudden change in noise level makes you stop in your tracks for a moment, the sudden quiet of the night deafening in the moment. It makes you shake your head furiously from side to side. Jake stops to look back at you, catching you in the tail end of a furious head shake.

“Too quiet?” He asks with a laugh on his lips.

“Waaaaaay too quiet,” you agree, head now bobbing down earnestly.

“Can you walk?” Jake asks, and you nod again - yes.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, choosing to tug you closer to him, as he leads you down the street towards your apartment. You follow along in a dreamy daze, your lips beginning to hum the refrain of the last song - something pop you did not remember the name to in the moment - as you take Jake in.

He had chosen a simple ensemble tonight, khaki slacks, and a black t-shirts, his hair with a dash of product, and his beard kept scruffy - you stare, as you feel your heart flip in your chest, your long suppressed feelings for Jake, your best friend, your best friend that was holding your hand, looking after you, leading you back to your apartment, bubbling to the surface, because fuck - did he look good.

“Why’d you stop humming?” Jake’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you say, each syllable coming out in a rush, as you feel heating creeping up your cheeks. You had been so entranced with Jake that you hadn’t actually noticed your had given pause to the tune.

“Are you more drunk than I thought?” He teases, not slowing or stopping in his guiding you back, but turning to wave his other free hand in front of your face.

“M’ not!” It makes you protest loudly, as you clumsily swat his hand away.

“Key?” Jake asks, his hand still in yours as you both come to a stop in the hallway of your apartment.

“Back pocket,” you say, your hand about to reach into the back of your jeans, but Jake’s hand beats you there. It makes you freeze, as his fingers slide into your pocket, along the curve of your ass, running down towards the bottom of the pocket, before they pull out the key. The gesture almost makes you mewl, his fingers feeling like hot coals burning through the fabric of your jeans.

He unlocks the door with ease, letting you step in first, finally letting go of your hand. Jake turns to lock the door behind you both, and you find yourself slipping a hand into your back pocket, the same back pocket Jake had reached into, your eyes focused on the shape which his figure casts from the back.

Jake turns, to find you staring, your lips slightly parted, eyes glossy from alcohol and he raises a brow, cocking his head to aside as he easily tosses your keys into the bowl by the door without so much as a glance.

“You feeling ok?” He asks.

You aren’t sure just what it is, but all you can focus on in that moment are the way his brows knit together slightly in concern for you, the way his lips are slightly parted, and deliciously pink, the way a tendril of hair has escaped the confines of the product he had smoothed into it to droop just that much over his forehead. It makes your heart flip again, the pit of your stomach contract - not from alcohol, but with a thousand tiny butterflies. You blame the alcohol, curse your inebriated state, but you find yourself taking a step forward, and then a second. Your hand raise themselves, coming to cradle each side of Jake’s face. You see the look in his eyes, curious, and unsure of just what you are going to do - but his hands, you feel his hands which have come to rest lightly on either side of your waist. His fingers squeeze gently against your skin, and it is all you need to push your face forward to press your lips against his.

Jake tastes like alcohol, but so do you.

He doesn’t ask, and neither do you explain; but as drunk as you both are, your bodies and lips move in perfect sync with one another - you carding your hands through the back of his hair, your teeth clinking as your lips move desperately, frantically against each other. Jake’s fingers are squeezing your waist now, and it is all the motivation you need to jump up - he catches you, easily, his hands sliding below your ass, and your legs twine tight around his waist.

You can feel him walking, drunk but maintaining a steady walk as he navigates both of you back to your room. You pull your lips away from his and find yourself staring into his eyes - dark, hooded with lust, a reflection of your own. He doesn’t give you time to think, and you feel it, his head ducking, lips pressing themselves against the skin of your neck, mouth sucking gently at sensitive flesh. It makes your breathe catch, and you let out a soft, strangled moan, as you tilt your head upward to allow him access.

You feel Jake’s tongue slide against up against the column of your neck, and it makes you mewl. You feel soft mattress against your back as Jake drops you onto the bed. You untangle your legs from his waist, but your hands, which drop from his hair, to loop themselves around his neck tugs him back down to you. Jake’s lips are on yours again, his hands pressed palms down on the mattress of your bed.

“What are we doing?” He asks, words against your lips.

“Kissing,” you manage to breathe out, both of your clearly intent on having this conversation without stopping your bodies moving with the flow of nature; the flow they were meant to bow to.

It takes a herculean effort, but Jake forces himself to pull away. It allows you a view of Jake, lips swollen, hair a mess, face hovering over yours, his body caging yours in from the top. Jake searches your eyes, your face - you can see the alcohol in his system from the way his eyes are still glazed, but even so, and despite the fog in your brain, you just know what Jake is searching for, for what he is asking.

“I like, like you,” you confess, absently running a hand down the side of his face. It was the first time you had said it out loud.

“I like you too,” Jake says quietly, and you see his face lean into your touch, his eyes fluttering close for a second.

“Then keep kissing me,” you whine softly, and it makes Jake’s eyes snap open again, the sound going straight down south of his core.

“I want nothing more,” he exhales, his voice now deep, guttural, “but you’re drunk.”

He cups the bottom of your chin with a hand, thumb brushing across your bottom lip, only to inhale sharply as you part your lips, taking his thumb in your mouth.

“But not too drunk to know this is a good idea,” you say, releasing his thumb with a soft pop.

You see the struggle on his face, the fight between his urges, emotions he had been suppressing for years, and the revere he has for you fanning out on his features.

“When you’re not drunk,” he says, voice soft, as he rubs the side of your jaw, “if you remember,” he adds, somewhat darkly.

Jake lowers his face, and you feel lips, soft and brushing against your forehead.

“Now sleep,” he says, and you close your eyes, body obeying his words, as if on command.

You awake the next day to a splitting headache, a combination of a pounding and squeezing around your skull causing you to groan loudly as you gather your consciousness.

The other side of your bed, Jake’s side, is empty, but the wrinkles in the sheet, and dip in the pillow tells you that he had slept here - something you would have been sure happened, just because it was commonplace, but which you have no recollection about form the night before.

You struggle slowly to a sit, hands reaching up to clutch your head, as you slip yourself gingerly out of bed - noting that you were still in your jeans and top from last night. You pad slowly across the floor of your room, and out into your apartment.

“Jake?” You croak, as you enter living room, to find him seated on the couch, a glass of orange juice out in front of him. His hair is damp, his outfit from last night, something you do remember, swapped out for a pair of dark sweats and a grey t-shirt, “my head hurts.”

You stop, standing in front of him, still clutching your head.

“You drank alot,” he says simply, and you sigh, slowly turning your body to face the mirror hanging on the side wall a few steps away.

“I bet I look like shit,” you mutter, forcing your eyes fully open, to observe your reaction. It makes your jaw drop, your eyes catching side of the patches of darker, bruised skin, blooming across your neck, “are those hickeys?”

“You don’t remember?” Jake asks, keeping his voice measured.

“The last thing I remember was having those three shots of tequila someone put in front of me.”

You walk towards the mirror, fingers frantically pressing at the skin of your neck; you miss the slight fall in Jake’s expression.

Flyboy Era

You are both in a club, at the insistence of Fanboy, Payback and Phoenix who had dragged you all - dagger squad plus you - out. The music is hammering away, lights flashing. Jake’s hand is on your waist, his body pressed up tight against yours as you grind back against him; something he lets you know he appreciates from the way his hand slips to the front of your body, fingers splaying across your stomach, while pressing you closer to him.

“Do you remember your 21st birthday?” You hear his voice, low, quiet, in your ear, but loud enough for you to hear.

“We went out, I got really drunk,” you turn your head to say into his ear.

“We went out, you got really drunk, we made out, and would have probably had sex if I didn’t put a stop to it,” Jake says again, into your ear, and it makes your jaw drop. You are turning in his arms in a flash, face looking into his which has a growing, smug, lazy smirk across his features now.

“The hickeys were from you?” Jake had cooked up a ridiculous story, telling you that you had joined a bunch of girls in a make out dare, which you had believed - because with Jake watching you, you had known, even way back then, that nothing would go wrong, that you would never be unsafe.

“Guilty as charged,” he pauses, hands now on your lower back, “you kissed me first, you know.”

“I did not,” you gasp incredulously, but knowing deep down inside that it was all plausible, given that recent revelations had revealed you both had spent years pining for each other, missing each other.

“Oh baby,” Jake laughs, as he brings a hand to tip your chin up, tugging your face to him gently, “if only you remember how you were begging me to kiss you,” is all he says, before he tangles his lips with yours.

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 1 month

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Cherries

Jiraiya x Reader. MDNI 18+ only. Ao3

You’re a waitress at a gambling club, and a fan of Jiraiya’s book, when he comes into your club you can’t help yourself from going home with him.

This was kind of inspired by the song Cherries by Annie Kemble, a good friend of mine. It’s a great song, give it a listen even if you don’t wanna read this fic. But I hope y’all do both. Love y’all as always <3 Doodle

Content notes: SMUT, smoking, drinking, pussy eating, uncut dick (b/c why would anyone in the Naruto universe be circumcised?), jiraiya is his own warning tbh.

The sound of shouting players, and the smell of smoke was second nature to you now. You had been working in the parlor for two years, serving drinks, selling and lighting cigarettes, loading pipes and blowing on dice. You were frequently propositioned by customers for more salacious services, many offered money. Sometimes you would take it, if you were feeling comfortable enough, or the price was enough to tempt you, they never asked too much of you. Usually short encounters, over before the sun rose again. You had no problem making money this way, and why should you? You were working, you were talented in this regard, they had a good time and paid you well. As long as you kept yourself safe from harm, you rarely even got nervous anymore.

Tonight had been on the slower side, the middle of the week wasn’t often popular for gambling. You hadn’t been tipped that well, two different tables had stiffed you completely. You didn’t think you would be walking home pleased with your purse tonight. Breaking from the foggy main room, you slipped into the private bathroom reserved only for employees. Your makeup was immaculate still, but you applied another layer of ruby colored lipstick, patting it lightly with your finger before cleaning up the edges. You mussed your hair slightly in an attempt to give it more volume, before giving yourself one last look and smiling. You were beautiful, you were so grateful to know it and feel it.

While you were in the bathroom, Jiraya entered the parlor. His boisterous laugh gathered the attention of everyone, his hulking figure shook the table as he sat down at one of the games. The energy around him was light and fun, people of course recognized him and were excited to buy a man of such legend drinks, or play against him. Of course he wasn’t a great gambler, Jiraya was primarily here to get drunk and to flirt, shaking off another long day of training and mentorship. His eyes rose from the game table just in time to catch the most beautiful woman he had ever seen exiting from the back of the parlor. Well done up, makeup clean and vibrant, showing elegance with a clear personality that he would love to discover. Styled hair, pulled away from her working face, but falling perfectly where it could to give the appearance of casual effort. He was shaken by the man sitting next to him, and brought back to the game. Barely paying any attention, he offered a raised bet, and lost near instantly. He didn’t care, he took the last of his drink and shot it back, standing from the table and moving through the crowd over to where you were reloading your tray with drinks.

“Hello, gorgeous.” The alcohol had reddened his cheeks and lowered his already rock bottom inhibitions.

You gave him a practiced smile and began to lift the probably overloaded tray, “hello sir, is there something you might need from me?”

“I’ve got a couple ideas, but I’ll save them until you’ve dropped that tray off.” He took a seat on the available bar stool next to the drink well, “don’t worry about me, honey, I’ll still be here when you get back.”

You giggled flirtatiously, ever the professional, before passing him to deliver the bottles of sake and beer to your patrons. You swished your hips as you walked, knowing he was staring at you. You didn’t mind, he was a bit older than your usual type but you knew his reputation.

Master Jiraya of the legendary Sanin, you had even read one of his books. A girlfriend had recommended it to you, starting a scandalous book club you briefly belonged to. You were sure his writing was generous, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to find out for yourself. He was tall, and handsome, and fucking big. Everything about him was big: his body, his presence, his voice, his reputation. You wondered if everything else was just as big.

Clearing your tray, you turned back to the bar, he was still watching you. You assumed he had been the whole time. His dark brown eyes crinkled up at the sides following the line of a wide grin. The red markings down his cheeks bent and blending into his blushing alcohol fevered cheeks. You stood to his side, sliding in between stools and leaning your body against the counter. Flirting was part of your job, keeping the patrons entertained and engaged was just as much your work as serving drinks. Sure this may have had some selfish motives, but no one could say you weren’t working too.

“So….I have to confess something,” you flicked your eyes up at him, through your thick made up lashes.

“Oh sweetheart, I would love to hear a confession from you. Need me to offer you forgiveness?” He was becoming brazen, moving his large hand to your waist, which you leaned into.

“I’ve actually read a few of your books.” You moved your hand over the arm that he leaned on the bartop.

He watched you trail your finger over his forearm. He was flattered by your admission. His mouth was starting to water.

“Well, it’s always nice to meet a fan. Especially one as beautiful as you.” He watched you blush at his words, “do you have a copy? I’d love to sign it for you. Is it back in your bedroom?”

He started to stand up, but your hand was sturdy on his shoulder, pressing him back down onto the stool.

“Not so fast.” You smiled, your fingernails toying playfully with the hem of his sleeve, “I’m excited to meet you, Master Jiraya. And I’d be happy to continue spending time with you tonight. But you see, I’m still working. And I’m not finished here for another hour.”

You closed the distance between the two of you, fingers moving his long white hair over his shoulder and leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. He smelled like jasmine and pipe smoke, something else lingered as an undernote, something earthy and organic.

“I’d love for you to sign my book. I don’t live far, but you’ll have to wait until my shift is up. Think you can do that for me?” You pulled back, batting your eyelashes and pouting your lips, fingers still tangled in his hair and clothes.

His eyes were glassy but locked onto you, his heart pounding in his chest, if you looked hard enough you were sure you could see his pulse in his neck. He nodded and you nodded back, an agreement made and a promise to be kept.

“Can I top off your drink?” you offered, reaching across the bar top and not so subtly arching your back and grabbing a fresh sake bottle.

“Only if you share it with me,” his eyes licked over your body.

He couldn’t believe his luck. The most beautiful girl in the whole place not only was talking to him but knew his work, and seemed to be interested. You pulled an extra cup and filled both glasses, offering one to him. He accepted graciously, still struck by the ease of the whole situation.

“To your work.” You offered

“To your work.” He offered, tapping his glass against yours before drinking together.

You two shared the bottle over the next half hour. You would occasionally need to seperate yourself and assist your coworkers, who were also engaging in the night's entertainment and service. You didn’t have any more tables to yourself, so you were mostly running drinks and offering support. Everytime you left his side, Jiraya always waited patiently for you to come back to him.

“So what keeps you working here?” He asked upon one of your returns.

“I like it. The money's good, the hours are better,” you nudged his arm, “the people are interesting.”

“Are they?” He asked, catching your hand in his and running his thumb across the back of your knuckles.

His touch was hot against your skin, leaving little prickles of electricity in its wake. You weren’t sure when exactly it had happened, but you found yourself becoming more and more excited by the idea of spending the night with him. He was forward but had remained respectful, keeping his hands relegated to your arms and back, but never on your legs or hips. The conversation flowed naturally, he was actually very funny, giving plenty of chances for you to swoon at his wide smile. His good looks were filtered by age but he was still an incredibly handsome man, his strong nose leading up to his dark eyes, big lips growing wetter and looking softer at every passing shot.

“Yeah,” you answered, flipping his own hand over to run your index finger over the inside of his palm, tracing the lines, “although they aren’t usually so handsome. Or accomplished.you wouldn’t believe the amount of stories I’ve sat through about farming or markets.”

“You know, gorgeous, if I didn’t know any better. I’d start to worry you were playing me a bit. Are my stories boring you?” He watched your finger trace over his palm, and he watched when it stopped.

Your slender finger ceased its cartography of jiraiya's large palm, moving his hand over so it faced down. You slotted your fingers in between his. You let them linger for a moment, joined together, before bringing his knuckles up to your lips and kissing lightly. Your lipstick transferred lightly, leaving a red kiss mark across the ridge of two of his fingers. You met his gaze as you pulled away, his bottom lip was caught in between his teeth as he watched you.

“Not at all, Master Jiraiya. I feel quite fortunate to be talking to you tonight.” You set his hand back down on the table, but kept your hand tucked into his.

His voice shook slightly as he asked, “how much longer is your shift?”

Your eyes flicked over to the clock on one wall, “twelve more minutes. Think you can wait here while I wrap up?”

He nodded and breathed out, releasing himself from the previous moment of tension. He leaned back slightly as you stood up and walked to the back to settle your cash for the night and close out your final tabs. Besides Jiraya it had been a slow night for you, but despite the lower than expected take home pay, you felt giddy as you collected your final tabs and closed out with your bartender and manager. Before finishing up, you swung by the bar one last time. This time opting to not sit beside Jiraiya, but lean behind him, pressing your chest into his back and talking directly in his ear.

“You actually still have to settle your tab.” You reminded him, circling a lock of his hair around your finger.

“Ah, right.” He got the bartender's attention and closed his tab, leaving a hefty tip, “should I tip you as well? Or does that come later?”

He turned to face you, suddenly his ever confident aura had dimmed slightly, as though he had grown nervous.

“You're signing my book, that’s a great tip, especially after I sell it as a collector’s item for having a genuine signature!” You teased, laughing.

He laughed along with you before standing. You realized he towered over you, he was well above six feet, probably by another half. He looked down at you, your features enticing him in further and further. His mind raced, thinking of your eyes fluttering at him, how soft your lips felt against his hand, the smell of Cherry that followed you every time you walked past him.

“Why don’t you head outside, I’ll meet you out front after I grab my bag from the back.” You told him.

Just one more hurdle until you could finally have each other. The tension continued to build and build until you knew it would eventually compound in on itself. Hopefully in your bed, and hopefully again and again until the sun comes up.

“I’ll be waiting.” He said, and lifted your own hand to his lips this time. Offering a more dramatic, showman’s kiss before loudly smacking his lips off.

You hurried to the back to hang up your apron, grab your coat and bag, and say goodbye to your coworkers. You slipped out the back and walked around to the front of the building.

Jiraya waited patiently, but nervous. This wouldn’t be the first time he had been duped by a beautiful woman’s promise of a “good time”. When you finally emerged from the side of the building, his face lit up, shoulders relaxing as he took you in.

“I hope you didn’t think I was going to leave you out here.” You read his mind.

“Of course not, just enjoying the night air. It’s good to clear the mind.” He looked down at you, you had walked straight up to him, nearly chest to chest.

The two of you stood for a moment, then two. Breath syncing up, heart rate too. In the moonlight your features look softer, eyes sparkling up at him. Jiraya fought the urge to hold your cheeks and press your lips together, you were still outside of your place of work and he didn’t want to embarrass you.

“This way,” you finally took his hand and led him down the street.

Your conversations from inside the bar continued as you walked home with Jiraiya following you closely. Your walk home wasn’t far, only a few blocks, and he was right about the night air. You had only had a few glasses to drink, but the soft summer wind was already helping you feel more alert and awake. When you finally entered the grouping of apartments where you lived, you led him to your door.

“I wasn’t expecting company, so you’ll have to excuse the mess.” You said, you had actually just cleaned the previous day, but it couldn’t help to under promise and overdeliver.

Jiraiya couldn’t care less where you lived, or how, he was just so excited to be in the home of an incredible young woman who had invited him in. You opened the door, moonlight illuminating the dark living room. With him following closely, you moved to turn on a few lamps, brightening the space. Your place was nearly immaculate, not devoid of personality, but neat. You had drapery hung over your windows and around your light fixtures allowing the light to take on different hues. Purples, blues, and golds filled the space, casting patterned shadows over the walls.

“Wow, kid. Nice place. You do all this yourself?”, Jiraiya let out a low whistle, impressed with your home making skills already.

“Mhm,” you nodded, setting your bag down on your dining table.

You moved to undo the buttons of your coat, when you felt his hands slip around you from behind, his chest was right up against your back, his head stooped down to speak in your ear.

“Please, allow me.”, his fingers were quick to undo your buttons, moving smoothly up your lapels and sliding the jacket off of your shoulders, leaving them bare and chilled with excitement.

His smell of jasmine filled your space, you felt intoxicated with him already. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, then the juncture of your jaw and neck, then the side of your throat. You bit back a moan along with the urge to lean your head back against his chest.

“Are you trying to get out of signing my book?” You teased as his hand began to circle your waist.

He laughed, it shocked you a bit. The usually booming laugh, subdued and hot against your ear. He knew just how to play you. You turned to face him, stepping back slightly, not so subtly trying to regain your footing.

“Of course not,” Jiraiya smiled down at you, his large hands still in your waist, “you keep it next to your bed?”

You pushed his chest slightly, “you wish.”

You pulled out of his grasp and moved to a low bookshelf in your modest seating area, you had to bend over to retrieve it. You heard him suck in some air as you did so. Finally pulling the bound text from your shelf, you stood again and faced him. A blush crept up your face, you realized you had dogeared a few pages, which reminded you that you had actually made notes in a few margins. Maybe you liked this book a bit more than you let on. He noticed too, taking the book from you and opening to the first page.

“You have a pen?” He moved to sit cross legged on your floor over the coffee table.

You grabbed a writing utensil from your desk drawer and offered it to him, loving to sit next to him.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, hiding the book, “no peeking.”

You rolled your eyes and sat across from him instead. You watched him carefully as he thought of what to write, and with a devilish glint in his eye, started scribbling his autograph. He was taking longer than should be necessary for his name.

“You’re not writing something dirty in there, are you?” You tease, sliding your foot under the table to nudge his crossed leg..

“I already did, that’s why you like it so much.” He flirted back instantly, not even slightly shaken by your contact. He was clearly in his element.

Finally when he had finished his escription, he read over his own words. Giggling to himself, he brought the book up and mimed a kiss against the page, before blowing on it softly, to dry the ink.

“There you go, gorgeous. One of a kind.” He closed the book and set it on the table with his hand still over it, inviting you to try to take it from him.

You took the bait and reached over, he slid it just out of reach, “Almost.”

You got the game. Sliding around the table, you now were next to him, your hand fit next to his, fingers intertwining on the bound leather. You moved your body up his, with him seated and you on your knees, you were finally eye to eye with him. He watched you closely, pupils blown in excitement. You moved to sit on his lap, finally in a full embrace. He was so wide, it was hard to fully straddle him, but you managed. You could feel him getting hard underneath you, too many layers separated you from him. You could feel how wet you had gotten from the back and forth of tonight. You wanted him so bad. His large, delicious body, his experience, his charisma. It had all drawn you in. His hands moved from the table, abandoning the book and over slid your hips, then up your back and down again. The sensation was soothing and also titillating.

You felt yourself dampen further, and your breath increase. You moved your arms around his neck, leaning closer and closer, you could feel the tie that held his long hair back and you pulled until it came loose, allowing his white hair to fall freely. Your lips were so close to his, you could smell sake on his breath, you could feel his heart beating under you.

“Jiraiya?”, your lips were nearly against his as you spoke his name.

“Yes, gorgeous?”, His big hands squeezed your hips, keeping your firm against his clothed erection.

“Are you going to kiss me? Or are you going to make me beg you for it.” You looked at him under your lashes, catching his eye just in time to see him shudder a bit.

“All you had to do was ask.” He caught your lips in his, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to him.

His lips were so soft, but his kiss was so hard and passionate. His tongue immediately slipped between your lips, quickly mapping the inside of your mouth. He had the faintest taste of smoke, probably a pipe or cigarette from earlier in the night. His hands moved through his hair, tugging lightly, making him moan against your mouth.

“Such a pretty girl,” he mumbled between hot, wet kisses, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Feeling emboldened by his praise, you moved one hand between your joined hips to stroke his hardened dick, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

His hips bucked at your touch, a half moan-half laugh sputtering from his lips. He cursed and pulled at the back of your shirt, removing it quickly. His hands were rough against your skin, decades of both training and writing causing his palms and fingers to callus. Your skin was so soft by juxtaposition, smooth and even, plump and vibrant. He removed your bra skillfully, your breasts spilling out for him to quickly latch his mouth onto.

You moaned, throwing your head back, “Master Jiraiya!”

He could barely hear you, he was completely immersed in how good it felt to have your bare chest in front of him, against his lips, against his tongue. He flicked his skilled tongue over your nipple, pulling back to watch it harden and peak.

“You’ve got such great tits, baby. Such a pretty thing for me.” He kissed up the side of your neck.

You were rocking your hips against his, trying desperately to pull more of those shocked moans from him in the process. Your hands moved under his tunic, unknotting the tie and pulling the sides apart. His chest was so broad, a large star shaped scar bloomed from the center outward. You had hooked up with shinobi before, you were familiar with the combat scars and various bruises to be found on their bodies. But this was unlike anything you had ever seen. It was expansive, and evidently distracting, as you had stopped your grinding to gawk at the large healed wound.

“Thought girls liked scars.” He joked.

You ran your hand down his chest, fingers exploring the topography of muscle and scar tissue.

“I do.” You leaned down to kiss the side of his neck, hand traveling further down to his hip bone and further to undo the tie of his pants.

“You work fast, honey.” He bit his lip trying to cover the moan your eager touch pulled from him.

You moved off his lap, now pulling his trousers along with you as you moved down his body, “worried you can’t keep up, old man?”

This struck something in him. Something competitive and cocky. Before you realized it he had you up on the couch, and he was kneeling between your legs.

“I hope you don’t mind if this old man takes a turn first?” He growled holding your hips in place as you tried to figure out just how he had moved you so quickly.

His hands pulled at the top of your skirt, undoing the zipper on the side and sliding it down your legs.

“It only feels fair after I so graciously gave you my autograph free of charge.” He removed your skirt completely, leaving you only in your red panties.

You were so wet already, the panties were sticking to you. You wanted them off so bad, you wanted him so bad. His hands ran up your thighs, Jiraiya delighting in the hot, smooth skin of a young woman writing under his touch. You were so gorgeous, a beautiful body, a beautiful face, charming and intelligent. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky. You were looking at him so desperately, he could see how badly you wanted him. And if he wasn’t sure from your eyes and your words, you were practically dripping onto your own couch in front of him. He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to taste you for himself. Jiraiya leaned forward and took the front of your panties between his teeth, pulling them down, using his hands to roll the flimsy fabric off of your legs. A practiced move he had perfected over years, but never failed him.

Watching him remove your panties with his teeth had you moaning before he ever touched your aching pussy. He watched you gasp in awe and arch your back, body begging him to pleasure you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He slid your panties in his back pocket for later. He knew he was a pervert, but he couldn’t help himself.

Finally, with nothing separating him from your sex, Jiraiya moved your legs over his shoulder and pressed forward, giving you a long, languid lick all the way up your slit.

His tongue was devilish; skilled and wicked. Strong hands keeping your thighs in place as he devoured you. You couldn’t stop the wanton moans that spilled from you like a waterfall, he had barely started and you were already whimpering and pulling at his hair.

“Baby you taste so good, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. How many do you think you can take?” You could barely hear him through the sound of him lapping at your dripping pussy.

He was talking about his fingers, thick and waiting to push inside of you. They were bigger than yours, bigger than anyone’s you had been with, and fuck you wanted them inside of you.

“Two. Two. Fuck, Jiraiya, please.” You begged him, needing more and more from him despite how good you already felt.

He pushed his first two fingers inside of you, tongue still slurping around your clit. Feeling him spread you open, you felt the white hot build up of orgasm approaching. Your voice was giving you away, panting moans, barely intelligible curses mixed with his name. You tugged at his hair, paying no kind to if it hurt him or not. He certainly wasn’t stopping, nor was he complaining. He was too drunk off of your taste. He hooked his fingers inside of you, deliciously hitting your g spot.

You nearly went blind with pleasure. You were cumming before you even realized how close it was. Not only cumming, but squirting. Gushing around his fingers and into his waiting mouth. He drank from you, everything you had. Leaving you a well pleasured, panting mess above him. The heels of your feet had dug into his shoulders so hard he may bruise. But tomorrow if he woke up with any mark of you left on him, he would be a happy man. Finally detaching his mouth from your puffy, spent pussy, Jiraiya sat back on his heels, watching you carefully, licking his fingers clean.

“Ever done that before?” He grinned cockily, your squirt still dripping down his chin onto his neck.

You watched him take great pride in cleaning his fingers of your cum, “once or twice.” You told him.

“Think I can make you do it again?” He leaned over you, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you forward, against the front of his barely done pants.

You shuddered at the thought. You had read his books, you were familiar with his proclivity toward having the heroines orgasm again and again, until they were begging for mercy. You had always assumed it was fiction, and that couldn’t, shouldn’t reflect on the desires and skills of the author. But the way he watched you as you came undone for him, the way he looked down at you now, you knew it was autobiographical.

He wiped a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear before leaning down to kiss you again. This kiss was softer than before, he cupped your face sweetly, not tugging and pulling you into him, but holding you firm and steady against his lips. You kissed him back, finally feeling grounded in your body again. He tasted like you, you were sure you tasted like him too. The experience of letting someone’s taste overpower your own was at times more sensual and pleasurable than the act of sex itself.

Your hands moved over his back, feeling the strong muscle, the divots and grooves of his body. Your eager hands moved to remove his pants, and he joined the effort, stripping himself completely before you. He joined you on the couch, kneeling between your legs, still kissing you. You felt his hardened length hot against you, sliding up and down your slit, he reveled in the fruits of his previous labor.

“Please Jiraiya, please.” You whimpered against his kisses, reaching down to stroke him.

He was diamond hard in your hand, long, and thick. Of course he was, of course this literary Casanova had the personal equipment to back it up. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing through his erection. You ran your thumb beneath his foreskin to pull the precum from him and coat your hand to lubricate his length. Jiraiya shuddered and lifted you back onto the couch again, joining you and slotting himself between your legs. Your lips were hot against his, spit and moans exchanged in between sloppy kisses. His thick, white hair shielded you from the light in the room, blocking out everything else but him. He reached down to join your hand on his length, his eyes meeting yours to confirm consent. You nodded again, rocking your hips against the head of his cock. You moved your hands to his shoulders. Jiraiya’s thumbs spread your folds apart for him to release a string of spit onto you. Spreading the lubrication of his spit and your previous release along his length and your slitc he started to inch himself into you.

You couldn’t help the arch that your back curved into. Nor could you stop the mewl that escaped you. Jiraiya groans above you, pushing deeper. Your vision went white as he packed his inches into you. You clawed at his muscles, whimpering as he filled you.

“I know, baby. Almost there.”, he cooed, smoothing your hair.

You squirmed at his depth, how he stretched you out, how he mashed against the wall of your cervix.

“Relax, baby. Let me in, it’s okay.” He kissed your cheeks where you had scrunched up your face.

You breathed deeply, trying desperately to relax your tensed muscles. Just as you would release slightly, he would push further and you would clench around him again. Finally after much stopping and starting, he bottomed out inside of you. His hips meeting the backs of your legs, your calves over his shoulders, and your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Jiraiya…fuck…you’re so deep.” You trembled against him.

Jiraiya panted above you, running his hand up your leg soothingly. You were holding him so tight, he was struggling to keep from fucking into you further.

“Let me know when I can move, sweetness.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the ball of your ankle, petting your leg again.

After finally accommodating his size, you nodded. He pulled back carefully to the head of his cock before sliding into you again. He began an even thrusting pace, he rocked his hips against your sweet spot inside of you. You couldn’t help the broken, nasty sounds that fell from your lips. He was setting your body ablaze with pleasure. His head fell back as he maintained his rhythm, letting out a lazy, delicious moan. You felt electric, like all the energy in your body had illuminated and was glowing. His hands traveled from your thighs to your hips to your breasts and back again. You felt as though he was unstitching your every piece, taking you apart at the atomic level. And it was marvelous, his touch was practiced and methodical, he knew just how to touch and to please you. You couldn’t control the begging pleas that spilled from you.

“Raiya, please, yes, fuck, oh” in repetition again and again.

He was similarly babbling, “yes baby, so tight, so good, good girl.”

Your sweat transferred to his skin, and vice versa, when he finally leaned over you, closing you in against the couch, you couldn’t help but keen to kiss him again. His big, strong hand pulled your hip up to meet his thrusts, and you helped him, fucking yourself up into him. Your bodies worked in perfect sync, meeting his thrusts, him moving his fingers in between your bodies to circle your swollen clit. Your voice raised in pitch, eyes rolling back as he played you like a fiddle. You had no idea earlier in the night how incredible he would be.

You felt yourself inching so close to climaxing, and you made it clear.

“Please Jiraiya, please!” You begged

“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He smiled, pushing deeper into you, making you arch further.

“Yes! Fuck yes please. Let me cum!”

“Cum all over this cock. Make a mess for me, baby.” He choked out, circling your clit and sucking into your neck.

He pushed harder into you, the combination of his cock and fingers finally bringing you to your desperate, whimpering, squirting climax. You coated his cock and abdomen in your cum, he shuddered against you trying to keep his pace as he reached his own orgasm.

“Fuck!” Jiraiya cried out slamming himself against your g spot, finally letting his release take him.

You could feel his cock pulse, shooting his long streams of cum inside of you, painting your walls white. Jiraiya collapsed his full weight onto you, which was not insignificant, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You stroked his fluffy, white hair as he caught his breath atop you. He pressed lazy, hot kisses to your neck, collarbone and chest as he caught his breath. Minutes passed with you two locked into this embrace. Finally the weight of his body was too much, and you tapped on his shoulder, urging him to sit up. He did, pulling you up with him, having you straddle his lap so he could stay sheathed inside of you. He stroked your back, still kissing your neck occasionally. You slumped against his broad chest, feeling spent, he let his head rest against the back of your couch. When he had finally caught his breath, he tipped his head back down, holding your face in his hands, and kissed you deeply. His tongue smoothed against yours, tasting your exhaustion. He moved your hair out of your face, and looked into your eyes.

You finally found your words, “I better not read about this.”

“If you think I’m not using this as research, I hate to disappoint you…” Jiraiya laughed heartily, holding you closer.

You kissed him again, laughing against his lips. You luxuriated in his touch, his warmth, and his kiss.

Sure enough, about nine months later when his most recent book was released you rushed to the local bookstore. You found there was a dedication at the beginning reading simply.

For Cherry, Page 73.

You quickly flipped to the listed page and found the beginning of a deliciously flowery sex scene, one where the protagonist picks up a waitress and spoils her the exact way Jiraiya had done to you.

You couldn’t hide the blushing smile. That bastard.

Okay y’all thanks so much for reading! I hope y’all enjoyed! I’m nasty feral for this big bad man.

#naruto smut #naruto fanfiction #jiraiya x reader #jiraiya smut #jiraiya #legendary sannin #fanfiction #smut

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fridagentileschi · 21 days

Text

Il 29 aprile 1975 ci fu un altra vittima dell'odio comunista.

Sergio Ramelli, 17 anni, militante del Fronte della Gioventu' di Milano, verso le ore 13 di giovedì 13 marzo fece ritorno a casa in via Amadeo dopo una commissione.

Più tardi avrebbe preso il suo motorino e sarebbe andato a frequentare i corsi pomeridiani scolastici.

Il ragazzo legò il suo "Ciao" al solito posto in via Paladini e si diresse verso casa.

Ad un tratto vide due ragazzi minacciosi muoversi verso di lui ed altri posizionati un po' più avanti.

I due erano armati, ma non avevano armi nel vero senso della parola, ma una particolare di quei tempi, la chiave inglese "Hazel 36", una grossa e pesante chiave inglese usata dai meccanici e dagli idraulici.

In quegli anni uno degli slogan preferiti dalle zecche era: "Hazel 36, fascista dove sei?".

In pochi secondi Sergio capì di essere in trappola.

Inciampò e fu colpito dai due ragazzi alla testa.

I colpi sferrati nei suoi confronti furono fortissimi e continui, lasciandolo sanguinante per terra.

Non contento, uno dei due aggressori ritorno' indietro per dare il colpo di grazia a Sergio.

I maledetti Kompagni terminarono il loro infame "lavoro" solo quando una signora anziana si mise ad urlare, implorando loro di smettere.

Ramelli era a terra con il cranio aperto, il sangue e pezzi di cervello accanto.

Fu chiamata un ambulanza e fu portato al Policlinico.

Sergio fu ricoverato con un trauma cranico, una ferita lacero contusa del cuoio capelluto, fuori uscita di materiale cerebrale ed in stato comatoso.

Cesso' di vivere il 29 aprile 1975.

Alla notizia della sua morte la maggioranza di sinistra del consiglio comunale di Milano applaudi'.

Applaudirono per la morte di un ragazzino.

Stramaledettissimi infami. Vigliacchi criminali assassini. Non meraviglia che stiano oggi con lo stupro islamico e lo chiamino resistenza. La feccia non cambia mai... si riorganizza soltanto. Blaterano di pacifismo...ma nel loro gergo è la resa totale e incondizionata alle loro violenze e a quelle dei loro amici muss.

Non abbiamo una vera opposizione che dichiari finalmente il comunismo un crimine contro l' umanità. E così tutti i loro satelliti.

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jonesyjonesyjonesy · 2 years

Text

Wildflowers (pt. xv)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: 🎉nsfw🎉

a/n: I know it's been a terribly long wait. Please enjoy this to the fullest.

pt. xv, queen of the meadow

“You’ve got me in trouble, Julia Morgan.”

Tension. The best kind, in every skein of muscle in my body. I stretched across the bed, arms above my head, trembling with relief. Deep breath. The scent of home after time away, slightly sweet and warm, like warm milk before bed.

Home. Warren House was my home now. I hadn’t put it into such terms yet. After all, it was my place of work. I didn’t live with my family, but with someone else’s. But I had my little apartment where the tea I liked was in the cupboard and I had laundry yet to be folded on the vanity chair and a spot on the sofa where the upholstery is slightly mussed from where I sat making phone calls and reading.

That “home” and “house” are different is a story as old as time. Home requires a level of softness, of retreat and respite. It does not matter what the eaves and floors are made of; it only matters that it’s easier to breathe there. And at Warren House, it had miraculously become easier to breathe. Knowing the girls were asleep in their beds, that Annie would waltz in eventually to make breakfast, and that John would be home later in the afternoon. At 4 o'clock, to be precise. And that time couldn’t come fast enough.

We had said goodbye unceremoniously the day before. I had awoken early to pack my things which was a mostly banal task except for the reminder of the bag of cocaine sitting bulbously in my bag. I considered dumping it into the toilet, but I didn’t have the heart to get rid of such nice cocaine and instead stuffed it in a dirty sock. This would be a mistake I would not feel the consequences of for several months.

I roused Jacinda and Tamara and began to help them pack. Kiera joined us later, followed by John who I tried to ignore casually until he greeted me with a dry-mouthed, “Good morning.”

I stopped mid-folding one of Tamara's dresses. John's eyes were pinched at the corners with sleep and his hair made him look like a mussed mop stood on end. Still, he managed his easy handsomeness. “Good morning,” I smiled demurely.

John blinked at me, quiet for a moment, revisited by memory of the night before. Disbelief, maybe. “Uhm…” he cleared his throat. “Will you be alright with the packing?”

“Oh, yes, just fine,” I replied.

“I’d help, but I’ve got to get ready for a business meeting,” John said, apology inflecting his voice.

“Business? In Montreux?” I asked with a smirk. From what I had seen the night before, a musician’s business was the businessman’s Sodom and Gomorrah.

John flushed and touched the collar of his shirt nightshirt. It split just enough to reveal the dip of his clavicle. “Yes, well, Peter wants to have a meeting about Zeppelin. What’s next and the like.” He said the last part drolly and his shoulders tensed. “Turns out the four of us are rarely in the same place so he thought he’d take advantage.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine as long as Kiera finds her missing sandal,” I said, nudging the littlest Baldwin girl with my elbow.

I packed the girls whilst John got ready for his meeting. It took him awhile, what with the hair and everything. But when Henri arrived with a bellhop for the luggage and to let us know our car was ready, John was ready to escort us downstairs. I can’t relay what he was wearing because I can’t fucking remember. I tried to avoid looking at him as much as possible to avoid my pulse skyrocketing.

The desk staff made quite a show of seeing the girls off; no doubt three mostly well-behaved girls were welcome respite from unruly (and odorous) musicians.

John and I walked behind them quietly, distanced enough from one another that we wouldn’t accidentally graze shoulders or hands. If it had been normal circumstances, childless circumstances, there would have already been conversations. Verbal conversations, perhaps physical conversations to match. There had been no time to discuss what a kiss meant. I was leaving him still not knowing completely what threshold we had stepped through and I was terrified to miss him. I knew my every thought would be plagued with a hue of him (although was that really different than before, when I was yearning for him to give me a sign if my feelings were reciprocated?).

We approached a town car idling out front. One of the bellhops was loading up the boot while Henri spoke to the driver in French. Each of the girls gave John a loving goodbye before squeezing into the backseat.

I looked at John but was too tongue-tied to speak.

“You’ve got the passports?” John asked.

I reached into my purse and counted up the passports aloud. “Yes, all there.”

“And bandages?”

“I don’t even have to check for those,” I said with a laugh.

“Good, good…” John said. He licked his lower lip as if preparing to say something else, but remained silent.

“What time will you be in tomorrow?” I asked.

The corners of John’s mouth perked. “Late afternoon, but earlier if I can help it.”

“Good…good…” I said awkwardly, then flashed John a fleeting smile. “Well, goodbye then.”

John swallowed. “Yes, goodbye. Be safe.”

I got into the car, trying not to sigh at our limp farewell. John closed the door after me and the car started to inch forward. However, before we could pull out of the hotel driveway, John rushed up to my window and knocked against it. The driver stopped the car suddenly, jerking us forward in our seats.

John gestured for me to roll down the window. I spun the crank and looked at him like he was a madman.

"Daddy!" Tamara screeched. "Don't be a lunatic!"

"Tamara," I scolded softly.

“Sorry,” he said, resting his hands on the window bank so his fingers curled into the door. “Call me when you get to the train station, will you?”

I smiled at his concern. “Yes, of course.”

“And…when you get to the airport,” John said meekly.

“John –“

“And when you land. If you could.”

“You’ll be too busy to even receive the calls, John.”

John shook his head. “Henri will give me the message.” His eyes flicked to the girls who were staring at him like bats in a dark cave who’ve had a flashlight put on them.

I smiled. “You’re a worry wart, John.”

“If that’s the worst I am, I’ll worry all day long,” John replied.

I looked to the girls and pointed to each as I spoke. “Kiera will call from the train station, Jacinda before we take off, and Tamara when we land,” I announced and then looked back to John. “And I’ll call when we make it home.”

A look of anticipation crossed his face, an excitable sort of smile. He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll try not to miss any of them.”

“Bye, John.”

“Bye, Julia.”

I covertly kissed the tips of my fingers and put my hand on his, giving it a squeeze.

John looked at our hands. So much potential right there.

“Music, gin, whisky…” I whispered so the girls could not overhear.

He grinned. “Champagne.”

My heart fluttered. I released his hand despite wanting to keep it there forever. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded and knocked on the roof of the car to let the driver know we were ready. As he stepped away from the car, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet with the slightest sappy smile. I could imagine him walking into his meeting and the boys giving him a hard time about the stupid look on his face which he’d wave off as nothing.

We made it back to Warren House without a hitch. The calls were made, the night slept through, and now I just had to make it to 4 o’clock.

I was anxious. So much so that after drinking my morning cup of coffee, I called Gatwick to make sure his flight was still on schedule. I did this three more times throughout the day. I was quite the busybody, shuffling the girls through activities. From swinging, to jump rope, to hide and seek, to dancing to a Jackson 5 record in the playroom. At 2, though we were nearly exhausted, Kiera suggested that we organize a tea party for John to come home to and while her older sisters rolled their eyes at the idea, they were quickly roped into it at the notion of dressing up and Annie’s teacakes.

We all donned bright, summery dresses and I let the girls piddle around in my makeup while Annie and I made cucumber sandwiches. Annie had asked about the trip, but was rather preoccupied with other matters.

“Bethany’s now entirely on bed rest,” she muttered whilst slicing cucumbers erratically. “Baby’s due any moment. And her husband’s got rocks for brains, God bless him.”

I organized a tray of berries and cakes. “You should stay with her, then. We can manage here.”

“Oh, heavens, no. The last thing she wants is me around. I’ve been the main target of all her mood swings. I finally said, ‘Call me once your water’s broken and then I’ll consider dropping by.’”

I giggled. “You’re a tough customer, Annie.”

“Listen,” she said emphatically, lifting her knife and gesticulating with it. “I know that half of having children is letting them abuse you because they don’t know better, but lord help her, she’s about to be a mother. She cannot be spouting her mouth off the way she does, expecting everyone to kneel before her.”

“Sounds like it’s for the best that her husband’s thickheaded then.”

Annie guffawed and found a spatula to thwap me with. We went back to our work, but after a moment, Annie stopped again. “He might be thickheaded, but that’s the kind of man I want for my daughter. Someone who when she says ‘Jump,’ he asks ‘How high?’.”

Whenever Annie spoke about her children, I felt jealous. She certainly complained about them, but she always made it known that her biggest achievement and joy was being their mother. I couldn’t picture my own mother having that sort of response when talking about me, what with all of my mistakes. Perhaps Auntie Gin would, but her pride and joy were the cows. Her own son knew that.

Jacinda rushed in through the kitchen door. “Julia!”

She wore a pretty lavender dress with three-quarter length sleeves and had too much blush dusted on her cheeks. “Look at how pretty you look,” Annie remarked.

I invited her over to me, holding out a teacake. “What is it, love?”

Jacinda took it in both hands and asked, “How much longer until daddy gets here?”

I looked up at the numeraled clock that hung over the telephone. Quarter to 4. My heart leapt into my mouth. “Soon. Terribly soon. So soon I’m afraid we won’t get the tablecloth on before he gets here, now get your sisters and come help me.”

The four of us went about setting the table on the terrace. Tamara was in charge of napkins, Kiera the silverware, and Jacinda on making sure the tablecloth remained straight. These jobs were all fine and good until we realized Kiera had set the silverware all wrong. Tamara was furious, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why didn’t you just ask, dear?”

“I thought they just went where you felt, I didn’t realize there was a pattern to it,” she said with a shrug.

“Now, what’s all this?”

We all turned to find John at the edge of the patio, still in his travel clothes and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He wore a broad grin. “Did I stumble into a tea party?”

The girls all rushed to greet him with hugs and kisses as if they hadn’t seen him in weeks, not just yesterday. And he accepted them as such. For a man on the smaller side, he had an impressively sized wingspan that was perfect for three little girls to nestle into.

“It’s for you, daddy!” Kiera chirped, hanging onto his arm. “And it was my idea!”

“For me? What for? It’s not my birthday…” John replied.

I took a deep breath. My heart was galumphing so dramatically I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “Can’t they have a tea party for you just because?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know...” he smiled bashfully. Then, he took off his sunglasses and waved the girls off. “Say, stand back for me. Want to get a good look at you.” He took a step back from the girls. “Look at you all, all dolled up. Makeup and everything. I’m criminally underdressed!”

“We can fix that,” Tamara announced and took him by the hand.

John looked at her alarmedly. “That’s a terrifying proposition.”

“You need fancy dress for the fancy tea party,” she said as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Like a suit or a tie or – “

“Alright, you’re right. I at least have to get out of these clothes. Smell like an airplane.” John looked to me before the girls could shuffle him inside to get changed. “You kick off, Julia.”

My eyes widened. “Oh. Alright.”

“You’ve been with them all day…traveling yesterday…no small feat,” he explained. “I’ve got them.”

I tried to smile. “Thank you.”

John gave me a fleeting smile before disappearing into the house with the girls. I stood there a long moment and looked at the table. There were five spots set. I took the napkin from what would have been my spot, bundled up the utensils, and looked around frantically before dumping the set into one of the bushes.

I couldn’t be angry at him for what he didn’t know, but I could be frustrated with him for being an idiot. Of course, it would be fair if he wanted to spend time with his children alone. But I had just been uninvited from my own goddamn tea party.

I restlessly looked from the house to the grounds, the property sprawling into the heath to the forest. I didn’t want to sit in my room all evening while they giggled on the terrace, so I took off at a steady clip down the length of the lawn, past the beech tree with its creaking swing, and onto the heath. Toward the forest. It was sort of irresponsible to go out to the forest in the late afternoon, but I felt compelled by something deep within myself.

There is an internal call to nature that I believe all women have. There is a reason the earth is described as a mother. And at this moment, it called to me. All this waiting, not just the past day, not even months, but this lifetime of waiting.

Needless to say, I was feeling rather dramatic.

I followed the path, lined with the trees crisping green from summer, all the way to my peaceful pond. There, I perched on a craggy rock overlooking the water for what felt like forever. Thinking in a spiraling, dancing way about…everything. I won’t go into details about it. It was more of the same. So much of the same that it was just white noise in my brain, crinkling and loud. It was almost like meditation. My brain had become so loud I was able to separate from it. And without thinking or questioning, I stripped off my clothes and dove into the pond.

The water was frigid. I came up for air as if waking from a dream. Suddenly, I was aware of what I had done. Naked. In a pond. In the middle of the woods. I frantically scanned the perimeter of the pond for any sign I wasn’t alone. The coast was clear. My foot hit something slimy and I squealed, thinking I had touched a creature. When I stopped splashing about, I realized it was just the algae slicked rocks at the bottom and I burst into laughter.

After a few minutes, my body warmed up and I lost all inhibitions as I swam languidly through the water. Floated on my back and stared up at the tree tops though which the sun twinkled with twilight. Let the world wash away…

Until it brought me right back to where I had been all along. John. Not with the same anxiety as before, no. But with a trust. That the universe was telling me the truth. I would have to allow this to happen as it happened without trying to control anything about it. I’d have to give in.

How the fuck do I do that?

By the time I got out, there was a chill of evening in the air. I hurriedly pulled my clothes back on and continued my leisure as I walked back out of the forest. From the heath, I could hear a babbling of the girls, an occasional lull (which I imagined was John’s mellow voice) met with girlish giggles.

I climbed the terrace steps quietly. The table was now cleared; John was sitting in a chair at the end of the table and all the girls were crowded around him. “Hold still, daddy,” Tamara said, leaning close into John.

“I’m as still as can be!” John retorted.

“Stop talking,” Jacinda warned him. “Otherwise, it will go on funny.”

John sighed loudly.

“Hello there,” I said sweetly.

The girls parted, revealing John who shyly turned his face away from me, but not before I saw the contours of makeup on his face. I gasped. “Well, don’t you look pretty!”

The girls giggled. John hung his head momentarily and then took a breath before facing me. I meant it, he did look pretty. His angelic features suited the different powders and creams. The girls had gone a little heavy handed with the blue eyeshadow and there was mascara under his eyebrow, but the lipstick looked fantastic. John moved his mouth to speak and then closed his eyes. He smiled and sighed, doubtlessly out of embarrassment. “They insisted,” John said in defense.

“And they did a wonderful job; your father looks very pretty,” I said, nicking Kiera on the chin with my knuckle.

“Why are you all wet, Julia?” Jacinda asked.

I touched my hair, still drying and kind of scraggly. “Oh, I went swimming.”

John snorted. “Where’d you go swimming?”

“In the woods,” I said with a shrug.

A smile cracked onto his face and he looked at Jacinda. “Did you hear that? Julia’s gone swimming in the woods.”

“Don’t say it like I’m crazy!”

“I didn’t say you were crazy,” John said, holding his hands up in submission.

“Your father thinks I’m crazy,” I said to the girls.

Tamara leaned on the back of his chair and looked at me. “We all think you’re crazy.”

I burst into laughter. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“They said it, not me,” John said with his lips drooping in faux-innocence.

“You’re the one wearing lipstick,” I retaliated, crossing my arms and cocking my hip.

The girls proved a captive audience toward this back and forth, giggling and tittering with one another.

“I think men should wear lipstick more often, actually,” John replied, leaning back in his chair, now settled into his confidence. I had to keep my gaze from dipping between his legs. “You girls shouldn’t get to have all the fun.”

I conceded with a roll of my eyes. “Who picked out the color?”

Jacinda jumped up. “I did!”

“Very good choice,” I said, admiring the plummy pink shade on John’s lips. I approached him slowly. “Although…” I cupped his chin in my hand and pushed my thumb nail underneath his lower lip, rubbing off the excess lipstick. It was a risk to be so close to him right in front of the girls like this, but it was hard to resist when the opportunity felt right. John rolled his eyes up to me, a distant excitement and fear in his widening pupils. “You’ve got to stay within the lines.”

I dropped my hand and placed it on my hip cheekily as if time hadn’t slowed down. “Alright, I’m going to wash-up. Will you want help at bedtime?” I asked John.

“No, I’ll manage,” he answered in a quiet way, the private way adults speak around children.

I bit my lower lip. What was unspoken was what happened after the girls would be in bed. But I heard it. Music. Gin. Whisky. Champagne. “Have fun, ladies. Goodnight.”

"Goodnight, Julia!" three little voices called after me.

I went upstairs and did my evening rituals. Each one felt so romantic, despite it being my established routine. A long warm shower, a cup of tea (and a bite to eat, since I hadn’t gotten to partake in the tea party), and some writing.

Something I had done to keep me sane ever since I started nannying and living in other people’s homes was writing letters. Of course, I kept in touch with my family. Auntie Gin and Graham, my mum (to my chagrin) and dad, my brothers, Charlie and Anson. But then I also had my rolodex of children I had cared for, of parents I had worked with, and a handful of strangers that I called friends.

Tonight, I was writing quick notes on postcards I had collected in Montreux. It passed the time miraculously. Before I knew it, it was dark out. I opened the windows, letting the evening chill into the apartment. I could hear the distant rhythm of little feet padding around down the hall. That meant soon. Soon, John and I would get to talk. Whatever that meant, whatever that entailed…I wasn’t sure. But I would have him close again. I could kiss him again. The thought had me blushing and squealing around the apartment.

I couldn’t do anything else but wait, so I turned on the radio and stared out at the night. My room, which looked out at the driveway, also gave me a clear view of Warren Road, the long road that curved into town. The road, which had been so intimidating on that first drive in, was now a piece of my home. I had wanted to run down it so many times and leave. Now, I was happy to stay.

My daydreaming was interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind me. I turned to find John in the doorway, his face still covered in makeup, although it had mostly worn away.

“Hi,” he said nervously.

“Hi,” I replied, sitting up.

“I, um,” John stumbled to find the right words and then gestured to his face. “I forgot I had this on until Kiera pointed it out when I put her to bed.”

I smiled at him.

“And I tried to scrub it off with water, but that evidently doesn’t do much.”

I chuckled. “No, you need cold cream, John.”

“Ah, yes. Alright. That’s what Mo used, I was trying to remember…” he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was going to go look in her vanity, but I only go in the bedroom to hide presents for the girls.”

I got to my feet and walked past him into my bedroom. “How does that spot work out for you?”

“Um, quite well, I think. I haven’t gotten any questions about Father Christmas being real or not yet,” John said unsurely. “Jacinda might be catching on, though.”

“It would be Cin, wouldn’t it?” I grabbed my light green capped pot of Ponds cold cream off the vanity. “Well, come sit, I’ll get you cleaned up.”

John came into the room with trepidation, folding his hands in front of him. I patted the vanity stool for him and collected a few cotton balls before taking a seat across from him at the edge of the bed. “Don’t be nervous. It’s not oral surgery,” I remarked as I opened the jar of cold cream.

John blushed and turned his face away. “I just pictured this going differently.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know, just thinking about seeing you again, I didn’t think I’d be wearing lipstick,” he said, raising his eyebrows and showing off his long, mascaraed lashes.

I giggled and dipped a cotton ball in the cream before bringing it up to his face. “Close your eyes.”

John followed my instruction. I dragged the cream across his eyelid and he winced. “S’cold. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“It’s in the name, John,” I teased, buffing out the blue eyeshadow until his eyelid was clean. As I worked, I was able to observe his placid expression and each of his features. I ran my cotton ball through the contours of his face, on the ridges and planes, finding him more and more beautiful by the second. “So…you were thinking about me, were you?”

John smiled, showing off his edgy teeth. “Oh, yes. Ever since you left.” He let out a sigh through his nostrils. “I went to bed at nearly 8 o’clock to make today come faster.”

“Ah, that’s why you were so chipper when you arrived, then.”

“Yes, well-rested for the first time in god knows how long.”

I pinched my lips together in a smile just for myself, gently polishing out the mascara.

“I’m sorry I pushed you out of the tea party,” John spoke, his lips barely moving.

“Hm?”

He cleared his throat. “Annie was surprised you weren’t there. Thought you’d be joining us.”

“Oh…”

He opened one eye slightly to gauge my reaction. “Were you going to join us?”

“No," I said casually.

"So that's why there was a fork in one of the yews?"

I pursed me lips. "Close your eyes, John.”

He did so. “Sorry.”

I worked diligently and carefully until John’s face was mostly bare again, except for his lips. “It was good you and the girls got to do that together. I would have just gotten in the way.”

He sighed but didn’t open his eyes. “You know you wouldn’t have gotten in the way.”

I swallowed as I looked at the curves of his lips, still stained with the plum lipstick from early, although much of it had worn away. I put the cold cream aside, took his face in my hands, and kissed him gently on the lips.

John let out a muffled gasp into my mouth but gave into the kiss easily, moving his hands to my waist. Once the kiss ebbed, I drew back, my mouth still only an inch from his. His eyes blinked open slowly in pleasant surprise.

“That’s the best way to get rid of lipstick,” I whispered.

“Is that so?” John smiled, saliva moving in his mouth.

I nodded and coquettishly lowered my chin to bat my eyelashes at him.

“Perhaps, we should do that again. To make sure it’s all gone…” he trailed off.

I laughed as John closed the gap between us again in a deeper kiss. His hands on my waist tightened; I couldn’t resist his pull and melted toward him farther and farther, running my fingers through the soft tresses of his hair until I was on my knees before him, between his legs. His tongue furled against mine as if he could devour me. I had never been kissed so deeply, so needily.

John placed a hand against my chin and broke the seal of our lips. His nose grazed mine, still so close to me as he murmured, “Julia.”

A smile crinkled on my face. I still couldn’t believe how he intonated my name, low and syllabic. Like a secret. Like a love letter.

“What’s that silly smile about?” he teased, followed by a kiss. “Hm?” And another.

“John!” I giggled like a little girl getting too many kisses from a well-meaning aunt. But there could never be enough. Each kiss sent me over the moon. “I love when you say my name…”

He smiled. “I’ll say it as many times as you like,” and then repeated, “Julia,” cradling the back of my head with his free hand before giving me another soft kiss.

I basked in the glow of his touch, my cheeks hot and my head light.

“Julia...” he said again, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Julia…” and another to my temple.

I couldn’t hold back the giddy laugh in my throat. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his hair, deeply inhaling his scent. The outdoors had crisped his hair with the fresh scent of greenery, complimenting his usual musk.

John embraced me dearly to his chest. “Oh, Julia…”

“What is it?” I asked delicately, stroking a hand through his honey hair.

He hesitated, his breath shifting shallowly in his chest. John put his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “I want you.”

My lips parted.

“I want you so badly,” he repeated; his voice sounded like it was fraying at the edges. As if he wanted me so much that if he couldn’t have me, he might possibly die.

I knew that feeling. That feeling like I could possibly die from wanting. I drew back, letting his eyes rest in mine. I could see terror swimming in the gorgeous, precious blue. I lowered my hands to the flats of his thighs. “You can have me,” I said tacitly. "All of me."

John’s mouth fell slightly. I could hear his breath stutter. It had been so long since he’d been in a position like this. A woman between his legs, offering herself to him. But this was not a hollow, wanton offering. I wanted his touch as much as I wanted his heart, his whole being.

I wanted all of him.

But left with his silence and his searching eyes, I felt I had to backtrack. “I don’t mean to rush y—“

John stopped me with his lips, hungrier than before. He fell to his knees, joining me on the floor, and pushed me up against the side of the bed. I whimpered into his mouth and let my head drop back onto the bed.

John broke away from my lips and nestled his face into my neck, kissing the skin fiercely, teeth dangerously close to leaving marks. He put his hands against my rib cage, his thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts. I grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand higher up, forcing his hand onto my breast. He hummed against my neck as he caressed me with adept tenderness.

It was like he was making up for lost time and I was happy to be the recipient of his enthusiasm. I could feel him against my pelvis, hard in his trousers. I moaned out his name, restrained only by the door hanging ajar.

John lifted his head, lips coated in spit and eyelids heavy, and grunted, “Fuck…”

Time suspended for a moment as we gazed into each other's eyes, disbelief in the space between us. "I can't believe -"

"I know," John interrupted with a smile and a small shake of his head.

I craned my head toward his and kissed him softly on the lips. "Love kissing you," I murmured. I squeezed his waist between my knees and wiggled my hips against him. John's breath seized. "Love feeling you."

The pupils of John's eyes spread out like blots of ink in an instant, zeroing in on me. He hooked his arms under my legs and pushed me up onto the bed with a level of strength I didn’t know he had. I let out a screech of excitement that turned into a gasp of arousal when our hips locked again.

John's lips devoured mine as we rocked into one another, the hard fulcrum of his cock sending shivers down my spine. My nightgown drooped past my thighs, revealing my panties. They were entirely soaked through; I imagined they were leaving a damp patch on the outside of John’s trousers.

It was becoming too much all too quickly. We were not youths fumbling around in a closet who didn’t yet know what to do with our hands. This feigned intimacy through our clothes could only last so long.

John drew back, tossing his hair out of his eyes with a quick jerk of his neck. His eyes traveled down the length of my thinly veiled body until they reached my pelvis. His eyes jumped back to mine, almost scared by what he had seen.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his nervousness. It was so youthful and so unexpected. John smiled, bashfulness emanating in the blush around his nose. He gingerly ran his hands down my legs. I could feel my pulse beating right at the apex of my wet core as his hands approached my midthigh.

He hesitated, fingers bristling away from me. “This alright?”

I touched John’s wrists and led his hands down the flanks of my thighs until they reached my panties. John hooked his fingers around the edges of lace and lifted his eyes to me one last time.

"Do it."

John tugged the panties down gently, revealing the top of my pubic bone and the coarse thicket of hair. He put one finger into the gusset of my panties and cursed under his breath at the soaked-through feeling. Gingerly, he pressed his bent knuckle in between my lower lips. John’s forehead pinched at the center. "Fuck, you're wet."

"For you, John."

John took a deep breath and bit his lip. Then, he dragged them the rest of the way off, leaving my center naked and available to him.

I thought John might delve hungrily between my thighs and lap me up with his effervescent tongue but instead, he shifted forward on his knees and hung over me as he reached down to his trousers and began to undo them. He was frenzied, frantic to get them undone, practically shaking at the thought of being inside me. I wrapped my hands around his neck and spoke his name softly against his cheek to try and calm him.

Once John was free from the constraints of his trousers, I felt him on the inside of my thigh. The feeling of his cock on my skin was enough to make him flinch. I tried to peer down at him between us, but it was impossible to get a good look when he was already so near to me. As if to make up for the lack of words, our lips met in needy small kisses.

“Are you okay?” I cooed.

“Mhm. Are you?”

“More than,” I answered against his lips.

John inched up my thigh. I felt a knot in the base of my throat from anticipation. I reached between us and gingerly wrapped my hand around him. His cock was warm and coursing with blood. Thick and hard. Unrelenting. I repositioned him between my legs, so the head of his cock slipped through my lower lips. I braced, a wave of warmth washing up over me.

We both readjusted until he found the notch of my entrance. John almost spoke, his breath forming the beginning of a question, but I shushed him kindly, touching the plane of his cheek and resting my thumb where his dimple was hardened from concentration. "You can," I whispered. "You can."

John nodded heavily and shifted his hips forward, sinking into me slowly. Not even an inch into me, his mouth dropped open and his eyes fluttered shut. "Oh my god, Julia."

I rolled my head back at the feeling of being stretched by him. My nerves sparked like dominoes as he moved through my slick center, back and forth, cautiously.

John bunched the bedspread tightly in his hands on either side of my head. I hooked my hands around his thighs, drawing him deeper into me and his rhythm immediately quickened.

It was quiet, other than our breath, which was becoming increasingly labored as John’s pace hastened, and the squelching sound of his cock pressing into me. I wrapped my hands around his back and clung to him for dear life. His depth matched his speed. With each thrust, he worked deeper inside of me until he was pushing himself to the hilt. The head of his cock pressed up against the most sensitive point inside me, sending fiery spasms through my belly. I moaned out his name raggedly.

The invocation of his name drove him faster which should have been impossible. I gasped. John looped an arm up under my thigh, spreading me wider. I whined tremulously.

John's hand wrapped around my chin and kissed me harshly. Our lips gnashed together, teeth clicking as we undulated. I tried to say something, to curse or pray, but all that came out was a pathetic mewl. John rolled his lips off mine and buried his face into my neck, groaning loudly.

And then, something shifted. John was in total control, or lack thereof. He was shaking, jerking his hips hard into mine, almost painful how our bones were knocking together. It felt like he was trying to start a fire with the friction

Plaintive whimpers came from John’s lips, snagging in his throat so each one was unfinished.

Despite the ongoing pulses of pleasure waving through me, I was focused entirely on John's desperation. Something was wrong. I cupped the back of his head in my hand, murmuring, “John, slow down."

And that was the match that set off the dynamite.

John’s hips jumped and breath hiccuped, his whole body freezing for a split second before his cock jostled and burst inside me unexpectedly and without warning. His body slackedned on top of mine, warm and sweated. Before he was even finished, he choked out, “I’m sorry.”

I held him to me. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m – nngh.” His breath was serpentine and helpless, doing everything but aiding him in speaking. “I normally last much longer.”

“It’s alright, John.”

John lifted his head. The corners of his eyes were red. “No, really, I just want you to know, it’s not you, it’s –“

“I don’t care,” I said with a smile.

He blinked. A hot tear ran down his face. “But it’s just been so long that I – “

John was starting to draw away, but I wouldn’t let him. I wrapped my arm around his back. “I don’t care,” I repeated.

“Julia,” John said my name firmly, squeezing his eyes shut, sending more tears rolling down his face. “I don’t know why I’m crying, I can’t help –“

I silenced him with a firm kiss, making sure he knew where I stood. I could feel his warm tears sliding from his cheeks onto mine. It didn’t matter that the corners of a potential orgasm had drifted away from me. Didn’t matter that it was all too much and he had started to cry. All that mattered was being close to him. When our lips parted, I kept him close and stroked the back of his head. “I don’t care,” I repeated. And I didn’t. "I don't care at all."

John sniffled and wiped his face dry with the back of his hand.

“And give yourself a little credit. That was at least two minutes,” I teased, though my voice was still small and personal.

He laughed half-heartedly but the tears spilled out again. “Fuck,” he said, pinching his nose bridge and turning away. “I don’t know why I’m…”

But he did know why. How could he not? The last person he had been close to in this way was Mo. It had been so long since he had connected with someone physically.

I followed him across the bed, now empty of him, except for the trace of seed left inside. I stretched my palm against his chest. “It’s alright. Just lay here with me.”

John nodded, eyes hazy and sad, and wrapped his arms around my waist, tucking his head against my chest with a long sigh. I kissed his forehead; in return, he squeezed me tighter.

This would be complicated. I had know that all along, but it was a distant knowing. I had been caught up in the romance of it all that I had ignored the reality. John was still grieving another woman. A wife. A mother. The space for me was smaller, made even smaller by the addition of his children. I would have to be patient. I would have to tread carefully and restrained. And I would have to make sure I didn’t lose him by being too ardent in my affection.

The world around us returned. The radio crackling in the other room and crickets outside rubbing their legs together. I spied the pot of open cold cream on the vanity and smiled to myself.

“Can I do something for you?” John asked quietly, nudging my clavicle with his lips.

I imagined all the things he could do with his mouth…his hands…but I shook my head. “No, I'm fine."

John twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. "I will. I want to. I've been thinking about all the things we could...and then I just go and..."

"Drop a load?"

John winced. "Jesus, that sounds..."

I laughed and kissed the crown of his head. "There'll be plenty of time for everything. I promise."

John lifted himself up so he could look in my eyes. His face was full of tenderness in the wake of his tears, sticky sheens on his cheeks, ruby lips swollen. He touched my cheek gently; I kissed his thumb and cradled his hand to my cheek. John admired me briefly before speaking again. “I brought home a bottle of champagne.”

“Whatever for?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled, showing off his sharpened canines. “Do you want some?”

I smiled back. “Only if it’s the good stuff.”

“Whatever for?” he parroted. That earned him a smack on the arm. “If I had known you weren’t a cheap date, I might not have gotten myself into this mess.”

“I’m probably the most expensive date you’ve had and I’ve got the bank statements to prove it.”

“Alright now, let’s not get into that,” John rolled his eyes and patted my thigh before getting up off the bed.

Left with my nightgown asunder, I was hit with chill. “John?”

“Mm?”

I held my hand out from the bed and pouted, “Come back.”

John stopped in the doorway, smiling at me like I was a child. “Are you always this needy?”

I twiddled my fingers and grinned bigger than big.

John dropped his head back and let out an exasperated sigh before bounding back to the bed and throwing his arms around me. He pulled me into his lap, kissing every last centimeter of my face whilst I giggled unceasingly. “You’ve got me in trouble, Julia Morgan,” he said with a final kiss to my lips.

“And why’s that?” I asked, cupping his chin in my hand and diving into his deep blue eyes.

John considered me a moment. His lips turned into a placid smile and then he said frankly, “Because I know already that I cannot and will not be able to resist you any longer, no matter how hard I try.”

We shared one last kiss before he disappeared through the bedroom door. I flopped back on the bed and screeched into my pillow like a giddy schoolgirl.

When John returned, I was waiting in the kitchenette, all cleaned up and donning my powder blue robe with lace trim, with two coffee mugs set out on the counter.

“Mugs for champagne. You really are a bottom- shelf bird, aren’t you?” John teased.

“Can you believe it? This hovel doesn’t come equipped with champagne glasses.”

John popped open the bottle easily and poured us both a mugful. “It’s criminal. Especially for how expensive this champagne actually was,” he tsked. “I should talk to your landlord, hm?”

We each took a mug and toasted before taking a hearty swig. The zing of champagne sent sparks through my body. “Mm, perhaps. Although I must warn you, he may try to get into your pants,” I said with a clandestine look over my shoulder as if we’re to be overheard.

John rolled his eyes and smiled. “Alright, look, I haven’t been trying to get into your pants.”

“Then how’d you describe what just happened in the other room?” I retorted with another sip of champagne.

John grabbed me by the waist playfully and cornered me up against the counter. “Look, you –“

I squealed with delight, throwing my arms around his neck.

“I’ve only been trying to get into your knickers for a couple days now, really, so –“

“But how long have you wanted to get into my knickers?” I interrupted.

John’s cheeks dimpled and his eyes widened. “That’s not the question, is it?”

I licked my lower lip, curiosity getting the better of me. “How long, John? Tell me.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to tell you because then you’ll get into your head all I wanted was to sleep with you and that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“That long, hm?” I taunted, although my heart was singing at his words.

John grunted with playful frustration and jerked his head toward the radio. “You know this song?”

“You’re changing the subject!”

“I am!” he announced jovially and pulled me away from the counter into a dance.

I didn’t know the song and don’t remember it. What I remember is spinning around the room with John, both of us laugh and jesting each other as we always had, but now we were free to push each other further. To steal kisses and disappear into longing gazes. In truth, there was very little talking about what we were to do with this change in our relationship that night. It was too exhilarating to enjoy each other this way.

Not until we were curled up in my bed, our bodies enmeshed beneath the sheets, sharing a pillow we were so close, that John whispered the truth to me. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. So long I sometimes wonder if I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Even though I knew much better, I would have devoted myself to him entirely right there, that very night. Without either of us truly knowing each other to our deepest extents or having decided what this actually was, I would have rushed into a commitment with him hand over fist if he had just asked.

If only it could have been that simple.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @edal-weis, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @babylennox777, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @matty-heally, @seventieswhore, @raptorcat1960, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity (always open for additions 💋…and let me know if I missed adding you)

#john paul jones #led zeppelin #john paul jones x oc #fanfiction #wildflowers #wf #julia morgan #jimmy page #john bonham #robert plant

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nicki1505 · 5 months

Text

04.01.2024

Die Nacht war sehr kalt… Owe, erstmal warm duschen! Haare waschen muss dann bis morgen warten, denn bei dem Wind werden sie eh ewig lang nicht trocken 😁🥴

Mel ist erst gegen 8 Uhr aufgestanden, da sie sich nicht gut fühlte. Das Thermometer sagte auch nichts Gutes: fast 38 Grad Körpertemperatur. 🤧😟

Am Frühstückstisch überlegten wir lange, ob wir die nächsten Tage so umsetzen, wie sie geplant waren… das Wetter war überhaupt nicht gut gemeldet. Wir wollten nämlich zum Lucky Bay! Die Campingplatz Besitzer meinten, dass der Campingplatz dort meist schon mehr als 3 Monate im Voraus ausgebucht ist und sie es uns jetzt bei diesem Wetter eh nicht empfehlen würden. Oweh… dann hat es sich wahrscheinlich eh schon erledigt. ☹️ Wir machten es davon abhängig, ob wir noch einen Platz bekommen würden oder nicht… denn das war eins der Highlights, auf die ich mich am allermeisten auf dieser Reise freute!

Wir klickten uns durch die Onlinebuchung und auf einmal stand da ganz unten „only one left“ 😧 Wir buchten! Wieso auch nicht?

Wegen diesem Strand wollten wir unbedingt in den Westen! 😍 Hoffen wir einfach, dass das Wetter besser wird als es der Wetterbericht voraussagt.

Gegen 10 Uhr fuhren wir Richtung Albany. Wir stoppten bei der Insel Shelter Island - hier soll es wohl ab und zu Pinguine zu sehen geben. Leider haben wir keine gesehen. Aber der Strand war super schön und es hat sich trotzdem gelohnt! 🤩

Weiter ging es zu „The Gap“ (eine Spalte in hohen Felsen, an denen die Wellen zerschellen) und der „Natural Bridge“. Wahnsinn, was die Natur in so vielen Jahren für wunderschöne Dinge erschaffen hat und so gigantisch!

Andi, Steffen und ich gingen noch zu den „Blowholes“, Mel bleib im Camper und ruhte mich etwas aus. Wir waren aber recht schnell wieder zurück, da wir leider keine „Blowholes“ gefunden hatten. Mel hat also nichts verpasst 🤗

Danach gingen wir in Albany für die nächsten Tage einkaufen und kauften im Kmart einen Föhn und eine Decke. Da es so windig und kalt die letzten Tage war, waren die beiden Sachen bitter nötig und absolut Gold wert! 🥶

Nun hatten wir nur noch eine Stunde zum Campingplatz Wellstead Bush Park zu fahren. Dieser war mitten im Nirgendwo. Er war ziemlich groß und zu dem Platz gehörten noch 170 Schafe (insgesamt hat die Farm 15.000 Schafe!). 🐑 Die Hosts Annie und Dave waren super nett und wir fühlten uns direkt wohl! 🥰

Die beiden passen ein paar Wochen auf den Campingplatz auf und reisen dann selber weiter.

Ihr Wohnmobil ist riesig! Sie erzählten uns, dass es das Größte ist, welches in Australien gebaucht wird. #wow

Die sind im Sommer immer hier und im Winter oben im Norden, dort hat es dann tropenhafte Temperaturen, also das ganze Jahr Sommer für die beiden. Sie leben im Wahrsten Sinne DEN TRAUM! 🥰

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ailendolin · 1 year

Note

This has been in my head since I saw the prompts and I cannot let go of it, so

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms for Vex and Irk, please? 😚

Here is your fic, dear! I hope you enjoy some father-son fluff 💙

Next up:

❤️‍🩹 Reunited after a long time apart - Dissectus & Voltari

🎮 Games - Mary, Annie and alive Kitty

🌧️ Rainy day activities - Humphrey & Sophie

🩸 Patching up a wound - Alison/Mike

🥰 Saying ‘I love you’ without saying it - Thomas/Isabelle

Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

————

Far Away

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms

It was just after midnight when Vex got woken up by a hesitant tug on his nightshirt. He mumbled something against the soft fabric of his pillow, still half-asleep, before he turned around and opened his eyes to see his son standing beside the too large bed with unruly, sleep-mussed hair and an anxious look on his face.

“Irk,” Vex exhaled softly, blinking the last remnants of sleep away. “What’s wrong?”

Before Irk could answer, lightning flashed across the sky outside the window and lit up the room. A booming roll of thunder followed hot on its heels, making Irk flinch.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispered when the noise had faded away. “With you?”

Vex felt his heart melt. “Of course you can. Come on, hop in.”

He shuffled backwards a little to make room and opened his arms. Irk crawled into them with a relieved sigh and curled up against his chest – something he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. Vex held him close, savouring the moment, before he whispered softly, “It’s okay to be scared, you know?”

“I’m not scared,” Irk mumbled in that petulant way that seemed to come so natural to children of his age. It never failed to make Vex smile. “Not for myself, at least.”

Oh, Vex thought.

“Your mum and Alvin are perfectly safe where they are,” he said and moved his hand in reassuring circles over his son’s back.

“How do you know that?” Irk asked. “One of my books, it talks about great storms, Dad, created by sea serpents–“

“In legends,” Vex pointed out patiently.

Irk huffed. “That doesn’t mean they’re not true. Or that there’s no danger.”

Vex exhaled slowly.

“You’re right,” he said at last, changing tactics because he knew that’s what Ho-Tan would do. “But your mum would never let anything happen to Alvin – you know that, right? They’re probably watching the storm just like we are right now, all cuddled up in bed, perfectly safe and sound.”

Irk pulled back a little to look up at him. Another flash of lightning revealed his wide eyes for a brief moment before they were hidden just as quickly in the darkness again. “Do you think they’re talking about us too?”

Vex reached up to brush back a few strands of his son’s curly hair. “I’m sure they’re missing us just as much as we are missing them.”

When Irk’s bottom lip began to wobble, Vex pulled him close again. It didn’t take long before he felt tears dampen the collar of his nightshirt, and a moment later Irk quietly sobbed, “I want them to come home, Dad.”

“Me too, bug,” Vex murmured and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Me too.”

Three days ago, Ho-Tan and Alvin had gone on a trip to the seaside Ho-Tan had promised her Younger as a Thanktival gift. Vex had known about the trip for months now and yet nothing could have prepared him for them being actually gone. The longest he and Ho-Tan had been apart in the last few years was a day, and he felt her absence keenly every time he looked to his right and found the space beside him empty. He missed watching her try to tame Irk’s unruly hair every morning and seeing Irk pat her arm with a lopsided smile when she inevitably gave up; missed hearing Alvin’s breathless giggles as he observed them rather than eat his cereal, and he missed braiding his son’s hair in Ho-Tan’s fashion – something that never failed to make either of them smile.

“When will they be back again?” Irk sniffed, pulling him from his melancholy thoughts.

“Tomorrow evening,” Vex told him.

Irk let out a frustrated sigh before he laid his head back on Vex’s chest. “That’s still so far away.”

“I know,” Vex said softly. Unable to stand seeing his son so dejected, he added, “How about you and I go into the woods tomorrow morning and pick some flowers for them as a welcome back present?”

“Mum and Alvin love flowers,” Irk mumbled around a yawn. “I’ll find the prettiest ones just for them.”

“I’m sure you will,” Vex whispered with a smile as Irk finally gave in to the pull of sleep. He turned his head towards the window and thought of Ho-Tan and Alvin watching the same storm roll across the sky so very far away from home.

He couldn’t wait to hold them in his arms again.

#wise elder vex #the elders' youngers #vextan #yonderland #my fic #ask game prompt ficlet

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maimoncat · 8 months

Text

Poco fa ho visto la produzione del Glyndebourne di Alcina, con la regia di Francesco Micheli. È una produzione fantastica, che si può noleggiare a 11 euro. Ho pensato di postare qui un disegno di due anni fa delle sorelle

Morgana, sebbene non appare nel Furioso, ha un ruolo importante nell'Innamorato di Boiardo, dove è uno degli antagonisti soprannaturali principali del romanzo. Assume aspetti di quasi ogni fata dei racconti bretoni (l'altro mondo subacqueo, l'amante rapito, il cervo bianco dalle corna d'oro) mescolati alla Fortuna personificata dell'immaginario italiano: infatti porta i capelli corti col ciuffo, e Orlando deve rincorrerla e acciuffarla per raggiungere i propri scopi. Come nel ciclo bretone, è un personaggio ambiguo, non buono, ma con aspetti anche umani. Nel folklore italiano è diventata la fata malvagia per eccellenza, e al Sud si dice che viva su un palazzo fluttuante sullo Stretto di Messina. In Sicilia è anche conosciuta come la madre delle fate e delle Donne di Fuora.Alcina appare in entrambi i Romanzi cavallereschi, ed è una maga ingannatrice, che incanta gli eroi Astolfo e Ruggiero per tenerseli sulla sua isola, finchè non se ne annoia e li muta in piante, rocce ed animali. Quando peró Ruggero fugge, grazie all'aiuto della strega Melissa, l'incantevole fata conosce per la prima volta l'abbandono e desidera morire, cosa per lei impossibile. Anche lei trovó gran successo nelle leggende, venendo identificata con la Regina Sibilla, la sovrana delle fate. Da lei Händel trasse la sua omonima operaLogistilla è stata inventata da Ariosto, e le vicende che la riguardano sono un'allegoria per la difficoltà di evitare i piaceri e i vizi, ricompensata però dalla vera gioia della Ragione e Virtù (il suo nome infatti deriva dal greco λόγος, "parola", "ragionamento"): Ruggero per raggiungere il suo bellissimo palazzo che rispecchia i pensieri della gente, pieno di oggetti meccanici o miracoloso, deve prima attraversare l'ardua strada piena di ostacoli sull'isola delle fate, venendo continuamente tentato dalle damigelle di Alcina. Forse è proprio per questa sua natura allegorica, che Logistilla è stata perlopiù dimenticata. Appare solamente nella fiaba della "Regina Marmotta", raccolta da Gherardo Nerucci, e aggiunta alle "Fiabe italiane" di Calvino. Lì il suo nome diventa Lugistella, e così, dato che Alcina nel Furiosa è paragonata al Sole, ho voluto dare alle tre fate un tema astrale.

Hab vor kurzem die fenomenale Glyndebourne Produktion von Alcina geschaut, also wollte ich mal hier dieses alte Bild von den Mädels posten.

Morgana taucht zwar im Furioso nicht auf, spiel aber im Innamorato eine wichtige Rolle als magische Shurkin. Boiardo gab ihr sowohl Eigenschaften der Bretonischen Feen (unterwasser Zauberwelt, entführter Liebhaber, weißer Hirsch mit goldenem Geweih) als auch der Italienischen Glücksvorstellung: sie trägt nämlich ihr Haar kurz und Roland muss sie verfolgen und am Schopf packen, um zu siegen. Morgana wurde zu der bösen Fee schlechthin im Italienischen Glauben und man sagt, sie lebe auf einem schwebenden Achloss auf der Straße von Messina. In Sizilien glaubt man auch, sie sei die Mutter der Feen und Donne di Fora.Alcina kommt in beiden Ritterepen vor, und ist eine tückische Zauberin, die die Ritter Astolfo und Ruggero bezaubert und auf ihrer Insel fest hält. Danach verwandelt sie sie aus Langeweile in Pflanzen, Steine oder Tiere. Doch als Ruggero dank der Hexe Melissa entkommt, spürt sie zum ersten Mal den Schmerz des Verlassen Werden und wünscht sich den unerreichbar en Tod. Auch sie spielt später eine Rolle in der Italienischen Folklore, wo sie mit der Sibylle, der Feenkönigin gleichgestellt wird. Händel basierte auf Alcina seine gleichnamige Oper.Logistilla wurde von Ariost erfunden und ihre Geschichte ist eine Allegorie für das schwere Überwinden von Genuss und Sünde um Verstand und Tugend zu erreichen (ihr Name selbst kommt vom griechischen λόγος, "Wort", "Gedanken"). Um iheen Fabelhaften Palast, voller technischen und magishen Wundern, muss Ruggero einen weiten schweren Weg überwinden, und den Versuchungen der Alcina wiederstehen. Eben wegen ihrer allegorischen Natur hat sie keinen Platz im Volksglauben gefunden. Nur im Märchen der "Murmeltierkönigin" von Gherardo Nerucci und Italo Calvino gesammelt, taucht sie als Lugistella auf. Darum wollte ich im Bild die Feen mit Himmelskörpern verbinden.

Recentoy watched the amazing Glyndebourne production of Händel's Alcina, so I wanted to post this old picture I had done of the girls.

While not appearing in the Furioso, Morgana plays an important role as Supernatural villain in the Innamorato. Boiardo gave her both elements of Breton fairies (underwater Other World, kidnapped lover, white deer with golden antlers) and of the Italian depiction of Fortune: she has short hair and Roland needs to chase her and grab her by her forelock to succeed. She also found much success in Italian folklore, where she became the go-to evil fairy of Folktales. In the South, she's believed to live on a floating palace on the Strait of Messina and to be the Mother of fairies and Donne di Fora.Alcina appears in both chivalry poems, and is a cunning sorceress who lures the knights Astolfo and Roger on her island and traps them there, before turning them into plants, rocks and animals out of boredom. But when Roger escapes thanks to the witch Melissa, the beautiful Fairy discovers the pain of abandonment and loss. She too found a place in Italian legends, where she was identified with the Sibyll Queen, ruler of the fairies. Händel based his opera "Alcina" on this facinating figure.Logistilla was invented by Ariosto, and her story is an allegory about the hardships at overcomming pleasures and vices in pursuit of reason and virtue (her name comes from the greek λόγος, "word", "reasoning"). Before reaching her truth-revealing castle, full of technological and magical wonders, Roger must go through the dangers of the fairy island, while resisting Alcina's temptations. It's probably because of her allegorical nature that Logistilla barely had an impact on the folk tradition. She only appears in the tale of "the Groundhog Queen", collected by Gherardo Nerucci and Italo Calvino, under the name Lugistella. I tried to use an astral theme with these characters, since Alcina is compared to the Sun too.

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

Text

Your Name is Safe On Their Lips

So. This is an interesting one. I’m going to preface by saying that, while I’d like to return to it someday, I don’t really know how to approach the... connective tissue, so to speak. Because of that, there’s a lot of disconnected bits and pieces.

Beyond the usual, I should add that, for a chunk of this, both of the twins are going by alternate names, but are the same characters as usual. You’ll see what I was going for.

(Both are still train references. Annette from Annett’s Key and Garrett from ‘garratt’.)

---

The shift they’d endured had been a grueling one. By the time they got home, Garrett wanted nothing more than to collapse onto some manner of cushioned surface and throw something, but Annette had other plans.

“What if I just resent the concept of womanhood so much that I’ve convinced myself I can’t possibly be one?” She asked as soon as the door was closed.

It suggested that she’d spent a considerable amount of the work day dwelling on it, and he felt for his twin-- truly, he did-- but he did not have the mental energy to keep up with her endless font of rhetorical questions. She said she might not be a woman, and that was enough for him. He’d be there to assist when she finally worked the matter out, but no matter how close they were, there wasn’t much he could contribute to such a personal conundrum.

Fortunately, she wasn’t actually looking for him to answer, and they both knew that-- she’d just needed to get it out of her system. For lack of any other way to [assist], Garrett plucked the hat off of her head and hung both by the door, leaving her to her thoughts while he shucked his uniform’s jacket and draped it beneath his cap. Shoes next, followed by palming the pair of pokeballs that station policy dictated they keep on their persons in case of emergency-- Eelektross and Klinklang today, who, now that they were home, were eager to stretch whatever they had instead of legs.

There was a heavy thump from several rooms away, indicating that Archeops had just woken from a midday nap in time to realize that his humans were back-- all but confirmed by the rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap of talons down the hallway. Garret sighed, smiling, and braced himself for the incoming bullet train.

[…]

When he looked back, Annette was exactly where he’d left her-- uniform still up to code, if rumpled from the day’s work, Garbodor and her own Klinklang’s pokeballs resting against her hip. The only difference was that Chandelure had settled herself into her arms, and Annette had unthinkingly moved to accommodate, thumb idly tracing affectionate circles against the frosted glass globe.

“Annnnnie,” He called, settling Archeop’s head against his shoulder, “Steam engines are wonderful. But I would prefer if you did not attempt to emulate them. Stop thinking so hard. You’ll overheat.”

Her eyes focused on him, and she offered a minuscule twitch of the lips; it was enough to read-- for him, at least-- but even so, it was hardly up to her usual standard. On anyone else, it would be a forced smile. On Annette, it was more of a grimace.

[…]

He draped an arm across her shoulder, and, instead of letting it dangle, reached up to muss her hair. Despite herself, she laughed and swatted his hand away.

They had always looked uncannily similar, considering they were fraternal twins, but Annette’s choice to crop her hair short had really driven the point home. If she wanted to-- if they both made the effort-- they could easily be mistaken for identical twins. Garrett had always found comfort in their [uncanny] resemblance, but now that Annette was questioning herself, it was different. Less [comfort] and more… promise.

If Annie wasn’t his sister, but his sibling-- or brother, even-- he could act as a shield against unwanted scrutiny. Identical twins shared an assigned gender, and he, Garrett, was not a woman-- so obviously Annette couldn’t be, either! He wanted to help, wanted to protect her; not because of how she currently presented, but because she’d always done the same for him.

No matter what he liked to say, his twin was the most important thing in his life […]

...and, privately, something in Garrett really wanted to match with her. Perfectly. Indistinguishably. He’d never push, of course, but for reasons he couldn’t express, it was a [concept] that seemed like it was meant to be.

Regardless of his twin’s [?] with gender, he supposed it wouldn’t be off the table entirely. He didn’t particularly care how people saw him-- though, admittedly, he’d never been taken for anything but a man-- so, as long as Annette was comfortable with it, there was no reason they couldn’t coordinate.

[…]

“You won’t like it,” She warned, “I made it with honey.”

Garrett ignored her, took a sip, and pulled a face.

“Give it here, you menace.” She [?], [reaches for the tea/mug]

[…]

Once she was settled, he [draped] himself across her lap, head propped up against the arm of the couch. Galvantula wasted no time scuttling over and parking herself on his chest, pinning Garrett down in turn, and Annette twice over. Shortly thereafter, they were also joined by Chandelure, half supported by the backrest, half hovering to crowd in by Annette’s face. She raised a hand and curled it over one of the ghost’s spindly arms, gentler than, but not dissimilar to the subway’s strap handles.

It was a far cry from the way they’d [?] earlier-- and Garrett was far more comfortable with this version of events, where his twin wasn’t lost to her thoughts.

Even though he’d made the choice not to engage with her question, earlier, Garrett found himself returning to it. He was in no position to say what was or wasn’t, but could Annette’s dilemma stem from [internalized misogyny]? It was certainly a possibility. As children, they’d never read their parents’ behavior for what it was-- only aware that they were treated differently for reasons unknown-- but, in hindsight, there had definitely been a bias. Having lived with it for that amount of time could have imparted an unspoken lesson, that she would always be less, but that was too sad to consider with any depth. There wasn’t supposed to be a ‘lesser’ between them. They were equals; opposite in some things, but made to [cover] for the other and be [covered] in return, a constant game of give and take.

Besides, Annette was too smart for that. The fact that she was [agonizing] over it, now, proved that much.

“I fail to see why the origin of [?] should dictate your identity.” He said after a moment, “If you are not a woman, you are not a woman. That’s reason enough.”

Annette hummed and laid her unoccupied arm down on the armrest, hand curving lightly atop his head. There was a lingering warmth in her palm from the mug.

“I suppose it’s just easier to approach from this angle; to determine what I’m not, if it’s so difficult to say what I am.”

That really only supported his point, but he wouldn’t harp on it. “Then what aren’t you?”

She paused for a long moment, absently toying with his hair-- a sure sign she was nervous. Garrett thought he understood why that might be, but still wished she wouldn’t worry when it was just between the two of them.

“I… don’t think I’m a woman.”

“Okay.” / “Then we’ll cross it off the list.”

Even though she didn’t speak up right away, something in the air shifted-- amused, now, rather than [tense]. “We will, will we? Remind me, again, who made you my transcriptionist?”

Garrett reached up, depriving Galvantula of half her long-deserved scritches, and patted his twin’s cheek.

“Oh, Annie. Annie.” As soon as the mock-[chiding] passed his lips, he paused, blinked, and returned his hand to Galvantula’s back, “...is that still alright? Do you want me to call you something else?”

She looked down to him-- blinking, herself, as she tried to follow his logic. “I’ll need to give it some more thought.”

Garrett hummed an acknowledgment and, quite suddenly found the rhythm of stroking down Galvantula’s body verrry interesting. His twin’s lips pursed in a true frown.

“Garrett?”

It would have been nice to have that option. He liked the cadence to their names, but his own was… uncomfortable-- not in the way Annette’s didn’t match, but because the sounds were bad. It was mostly just the first syllable, [idk] like garish. It wasn’t nice and solid like Garbodor or sleek like gear, it was slimy, and he hated the way it felt in his mouth.

Briefly, he wondered if Annette might be up for trading, if she didn’t want hers anymore, but quickly dispensed with the idea. If his twin took his name instead, he’d have to say it that much more. Maybe he could just steal hers and they could get rid of the dead weight.

“Is something the matter?” Annette asked and, belatedly, he looked back up to her.

“Thinking.” / “It’s contagious. You infected me.”

---

Annette was not a woman, but neither was he sure he was a man. He’d found that he preferred it when people took him as such, liked to be referred to as he or him, loved it whenever someone happened to call the pair of them brothers-- but there was something about it that just didn’t ring true.

When he started talking himself in circles again, Garrett had followed through on his threat of making a physical list, immediately crossed ‘woman’ out, and proceeded to etch the darkest, most obnoxious asterisk next to ‘man’.

His brother was the biggest smart ass in Nimbasa City, and Annette would be absolutely lost without him.

[…]

“Something’s bothering you.” He concluded.

Garrett made to deny this accusation, but, ultimately, wilted under the scrutiny. “Sorry. I… may be slightly envious.”

Softly, sympathetic, Annette asked, “Garrett?”

He wasn’t at all expecting the edge of a grimace that followed it. [?] in [sympathy], he found it his turn to say, “I’m sorry. Can you explain what’s wrong? I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable.”

[…]

Annette made to [call] his brother, but caught himself before he could do so, catching his attention, instead, by laying a palm over the back of his twin’s hand. “You could change it, you realize. You hardly need a reason to do so.”

It earned him a genuine, confused, “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Choosing a new name is an important experience. I do not face the [struggles] you have. It’s not a [privilege?] I can claim.”

“So you’re worried it would be insensitive to people whose birth names [idk].” There was a nod against his shoulder and Annette pulled his arm back to wrap it, instead, around his twin, “There are plenty of other reasons a person might distance themselves from their original name. Marriage and adoption aside […] ; trainers localize their names or adopt new ones all the time. Do you believe Clay was wrong to alter his?”

“Sinnoan names are absurd. To be fair to Clay.”

Annette snorted, but didn’t let it distract him, “That’s not an answer.”

“No. I do not.”

“Then I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t pick something that suits you better. We’ll find something, if not today, then soon enough.” / “Hopefully sooner than later, though, for both our sakes; too many lists of baby names, and we’ll convince the ISP that I’m pregnant.”

His brother made a theatrical gagging noise into his shoulder, but sat up enough to look up at him, plainly seeking reassurance. Annette did his best to smile for him-- and, while he wasn’t sure how far he got in the attempt, it seemed to do the trick.

He gave his twin a [] hug before withdrawing his arm and moving to get back to [brainstorming], but didn’t quite make it that far. His hand was seized midair.

Eyes alight, his brother said, “I want to match. It does not matter to me what name you choose. I want to match with you.”

---

Exhausting the internet’s supply of baby names was a feat beyond that of mortal maybe-men, so the most honest way to describe the twins’ situation was that they gave up-- not on their [goal], but on online resources and conventional names.

They squabbled, inconsequentially, over themes for some time. Unlike career trainers, they didn’t have a cohesive [theme] to their team, though the running count of rock-ground-steel types was a compelling argument. It just seemed reductive, not to mention [?] to the rest of their Pokemon. Annette had adamantly refused to follow their abundance of bugs to its logical conclusion given the context, much as he loved Galvantula, Crustle and Durant.

At work, they answered to the same names as ever, but it was an absolute travesty once they got home, in the best way possible. For a while, it was entirely unclear what any given name-- or word that feasibly could have been a name-- shouted across the room could mean. Was the speaker trying it for himself? Suggesting it for his brother? Just thought it sounded nice? Or maybe he’d just remembered [idk, something silly], and it was time to panic. It got so confusing that, for a time, the best way to tell that one of them was addressing the other was to cut the middleman and just call brother.

Truth be told, Annette didn’t particularly mind [answering to] his birth name, but went along with it in solidarity. Framing it as something to be done for the both of them seemed to set his twin’s mind at ease, which he counted as a victory.

Eventually, as they always did, they landed on trains.

[…]

It actually started as a joke. A joke that he’d immediately escalated.

“That settles it then, ‘Ingo’ it is.”

“Yes, yes. It was a verrry dumb suggestion. You do not need to rub it in.”

He clapped a hand to his sternum with a resounding smack, “Are you making fun of my name?”

“That is not a name. That was a mistake.”

[…]

[long after the bit has died and they’ve gone through actual suggestions]

“[...]”/ “...is something the matter?”

“No. No, I think I’ve decided.” His twin blinked, surprised, but lit up soon thereafter. It made him feel a little bit guilty, beneath the [giddiness], and he added, “You’re going to hate it, though.”

It earned him a [reassuring] pat on the hand, “I can adjust.”

“I know you were joking, and at first so was I, but I actually like ‘Ingo’ quite a bit.” At the look on his brother’s face-- the [nervous] chewing on the bottom lip-- he went on, “I know. In a vacuum it’s incredibly [?]; you were completely right about that, but with context, it has quite a bit of potential. It’s well within our chosen theme, and is one of two [options], which makes it ideal for finding a fairly direct match. And I like the fact that you came up with it; I like that it [made you happy] for a moment, when this process has been so [frustrating] for you, otherwise.”

Tentatively, almost apologetically, his brother echoed, “Ingo.”

And if saying it for himself had [?], then hearing his twin say it in all sincerity settled the matter.

“That’s it. My name is Ingo.”

[…]

[probably not the same day]

“It won’t bother you? It’s… incredibly close to your old name.”

“If it had upset me, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” / “Personally, I believe there’s a nice symmetry to it. We’ve essentially traded consonants.”

---

They kept their names behind closed doors for quite some time.

Ingo had never minded responding to his previous name, and, while he wasn’t thrilled to deal with his own when he had a perfectly good replacement, Emmet could cope so long as he didn’t have to say it. Some patrons were returning commuters and happened to know the pair from years’ worth of travel, others passed through a handful of times and assumed they were exactly as they presented themselves.

That changed-- not with their promotion from Depot Agents to station heads, but with the implementation of the first battle line. With the question laid out before them, they were forced to make a choice: when a challenger reached them, who would they meet?

It was an incredible opportunity to reintroduce themselves, to set the record straight and set the tone for what Gear Station could [represent/provide?]-- but were they both ready to [come out essentially] to those outside of their immediate circle?

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #writing scraps

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