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bowdownperv · 7 months

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Billy can’t fall asleep, asks to roughly throat fuck you. Degrades you whilst he’s a moaning mess but also calls you his good girl🤩 just when you go back to bed thinking it’s over, he creeps up from behind you and fucks the shit out of you moaning into your ear- after all you should get a reward back ☺️

Fuck Face [B.H]

Warnings: 18+, sexual content

It had to have been around 4am. His large hand nudging you in the back while he grunted in your ear.

“Wake up,” he said in his deep, sleepy voice.

You groaned. Back facing him. His large body encapsulating you.

“Go to bed Billy.”

“Can’t. Too horny,” he rubbed his cock against your panties, showing off how hard he was.

Instantly, you were turned on from the feeling of his big dick as he thrusted it against your clothed ass. Wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you flushed against him. Forcing you to be his sex toy.

“C’mon princess, just let me fuck that pretty mouth real quick. Then you can go back to bed.” His breath causing goosebumps on the back of your neck.

With a loud sigh, you pushed yourself out of bed and and knelt down on the floor. Billy giddily swung himself to the sit at the edge of the bed. His feet touching the floor. His bulge staring you right in the face. His red boxers perfectly outlining every vein and the round, mushroom head of his girthy cock. So desperately trying to free itself.

With both hands, you grabbed each side of his underwear and hiked it down his muscular legs. Loving the plop his cock always makes when it’s let loose. Bobbing up and down inches away from your needy lips. The head already glazed with drops of precum. His balls looked extra big tonight resting on the bed between his big thighs. No wonder he was so horny. You could tell they were dense and full of cum. They needed to be drained badly and that’s exactly what your throat was for.

He looked down at you. His big cock leaving a shadow across his face.

“You ready sweetheart?”

You looked up at him with the innocent eyes he loved and nodded.

With that, he wrapped his calloused hands around your head and slowly pushed you down on his wet cock. Spit was already trailing down your lower lip as his dick filled your throat. Your nose brushed against his pubes and his balls nuzzled against your chin. He kept you like that for a while. His cock completely tucked in your sweet mouth as you choked with wide eyes glancing up at him.

“Oh fuck,” he kept saying as he tilted his head back. His sweaty hair sticking to his face.

You started whining. His cock making it hard for you to breathe and making you gag. The more you moaned the meaner he got. First a light slap followed by him raising his index finger to your face.

“Keep being a brat and I’ll make you choke on this dick.”

At this point, your mouth was making disgusting noises and more saliva was pouring out your mouth and collecting onto his now sticky balls. His balls were hanging low, heavy and dripping with your saliva.

You couldn’t hold it anymore. You tried talking but everything was muffled from the giant cock lodged in your throat. You attempted shouting his name. He chuckled at how pathetic you sounded. Tears started rolling down your Bambi eyes.

“Too much cock for my little slut?” he cocked his eyebrow in a douchebag way.

You nodded frantically.

Billy stood up, his whole body now towering over you. You secretly loved how easy it would be for him to dominate you. With one hand holding your hair back, he slowly thrusted his hips into your face. Your face puckered up as his cock fucked your little mouth. His other hand went to plug your nose. Punishment for being so whiny.

Billy’s hairy legs were spread with you in between and his wet balls swinging back and forth like a pendulum. His ass flexed hard as he moved faster pounding into you. You were making inaudible noises. Billy’s deep voice also dominated you as his low moans filled up the room. With his head tilted back, you could see his Adam’s apple move up and down each time he groaned loudly. He was panting like a dog. Sweat dripping down his face as he looked down at you with his open mouth and a devilish grin in his eyes.

“You’re my little cum slut, baby?”

You nodded.

“Need you to say it baby. Say ‘I’m daddy’s littles little cum slut.’”

You tried your best to say it but it was impossible with his dick plunging in and out of your throat so fast. More drool just poured down your mouth following your inaudible words.

“Cant hear you baby say it again.”

He could feel the vibrations as you whined on his cock. You were so utterly turned on from the sight of his sweaty body working so hard to get off. He was wet, big, and horny.

“Fuck,” you mumbled pathetically. “I’m daddy’s little cum slut.”

Billy moaned so loud it shook the room.

“Fuck baby, you’re such a good girl. Gonna make daddy cum and swallow all it?”

You nodded eagerly. His balls felt heavy smacking you in the chin and you could feel how full they were of his delicious cum. You always loved his cum. Whether it was in your mouth or pussy, it was always so warm and he had so much of it to give you. He had a huge load coming and you were ready to swallow every drop of his nut.

Billy’s thrusts slowed down but got stronger and more intense. You knew him long enough to know by the look on his face that he was about to cum.

“Holy fuck baby,” he sounded desperate. His moans were more intense and his legs were wobbling.

Billy put both hands on your ears and forced you onto him balls deep and held it. Forcing you to take his cum. You watched his balls twitch as his creamy nut shot in spurts down your throat into your tummy. More and more strings of his cum kept coming. You counted 12 loads. Each one thick and hot. You took a hard swallow and swirled your tongue across his wet mushroom head, making sure you got every drop. He tasted salty and delicious.

Billy finally took his softening cock out of your mouth and fell backwards onto the bed. His arms sprawled and sweaty and his hairy armpits out. You took a moment to catch your breath and wipe your mouth. Your throat sore from the massive cock it was just annihilated by. Billy pat the spit on the bed next to him signaling you to come up.

His arms quickly wrapped around you making you feel safe and protected in his warm, bigger body. He kissed the top of your head and praised you.

“Suck a good girl,” he’d say with a kiss and a pinch to the cheek.

You started drifting off in his arms as he spooned you. Feeling full and satisfied from all his warm cum in your belly. But Billy still had more in him. His curious hands roamed your tits and then moved down your ass. You giggled thinking he was messing around, but he was serious. He pulled down your wet panties and got on top of your back. Your face now pushed into the mattress. He spread both your legs to the side and tapped his dick, now hard again, over your pussy. Without anymore warning, he shoved it in.

You moaned uncontrollably in ecstasy. His head moved to the back of your neck and you felt his hot breath against you as he moaned while fucking your tight pussy. One hand moving up to choke you from behind. Billy’s body crushed you as he fucked you into the mattress. The bed squeaking like it’s about to break. You felt his hot words in your ears.

“Such a tight pussy baby girl.”

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you until you make this little thing cum, okay?”

You were gasping. Eyes rolling to the back of your head from how great his cock felt filling you up. You were squeezing so tight against his girth. The elasticity in your pussy walls wearing down.

Billy stood both his hands on your back and pounded you aggressively. Staring at your pussy like a hawk, waiting to watch it squirt. The positions were getting dirtier and dirtier. He pulled your ass up and fucked you doggy with his hands tightly squeezing your ass cheeks. Delivery forceful slaps that made your ass burn red. He would lift one of his legs up so he could get more cock inside of you. Moaning and chanting your name each time his cock disappeared in your wet cunt.

The bedsheets were now drenched in your juices. Cum and sweat. Billy’s moaning and the sound of his balls hitting your ass were mouthwatering. You felt your orgasm coming as a million butterflies were released in your stomach.

“Billy, it’s coming,” you shrieked desperately.

Billy pushed your face into the mattress and laid his body on top of you. Keeping the same rhythm as his ass cheeks thrusted his cock into your sweet spot. He whispered beautiful, sinful words into your ear.

“Cum for me baby, cum right now,” he begged.

“Squirt all over my cock Princess.”

As your boyfriend continued to fuck you mercilessly, you finally surrendered and let yourself cum. He continued to fuck you as you squirted all over him and the bedsheets. His eyes were glowing in amazement. Your squirting triggering his orgasm. He moaned like an animal. His thrusts slowed down as he filled your cunt up giving you a cream pie. Cum dripped out your pussy and down your thighs. He scooped a bit up with his fingers like honey and brought it to your lips to lick clean. You licked the salty cream off and sucked his two fingers. Your eyes watery from the extreme dicking he unexpectedly gave you. He kissed your lips passionately. Still wet from his cock inside it. You dazed away in his arms and knew you probably wouldn’t have your voice tomorrow.

#billy hargove imagine #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove smut #smut #billy hargrove angst #stranger things

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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Eddie has learned how to read Steve's moods, to pick up on his tells. To know if today is going to be a good day or a bad day, and what flavor of insecurity will be flaring up the worst for him.

The days when Steve is feeling down about his scars and the permanent damage to his body, he doesn't like to be touched. And even though Eddie would love nothing more than to do exactly that, to brush his fingers softly over the mottled skin, to leave a gentle kiss over every single patch, to feel Steve living and breathing beneath his touch, he keeps his hands to himself and uses his words isntead.

Some days he has to be careful with those too — he'll remind Steve how beautiful he is. Tell him that he loves his scars because they mean that he survived. Wax poetry about how they match, how that must mean they're destined for one another. That they're a pair now, a matching set.

Other days he can get a little more creative with it —he'll swoon against the kitchen counter while Steve's pouring himself a glass of juice and fan his hand in front of himself and ask Steve, "Is it hot in here or is it just you?". Or he'll call Steve the most gorgeous man to grace the earth, scars and road rash and tail burn and all. Sometimes he'll ask Steve when his next action film is set to hit theaters, because he looks like the ruggedly handsome hunk that belongs front and center on the poster.

When the pendulum swings the other way and Steve gets too in his head about his personality flaws, he gets quieter. He'll try to isolate himself more, and if he does have to be around people, he won't add much to the conversation — out of fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of letting his bitchiness creep too far back into the Certified Asshole territory he's worked so hard to leave behind, fear of looking and sounding even stupider than he feels.

Those days Eddie eases back on the compliments towards Steve's looks and praises him for the less superficial things instead. Like when Steve does participate in conversations, Eddie always makes sure to be extra attentive to what he's saying and to acknowledge it too. He'll laugh at all of Steve's jokes and call him funny (even if the jokes aren't funny, but let's face it, they're all funny, because they're from Steve. And even if the jokes are technically bad, they're just so damn endearing coming from him, Eddie can't help but laugh anyways. Plus, like, Eddie does genuinely think Steve is a funny guy; he's got some good snarky comebacks and a whooole bunch of dorky dad jokes and they always hit, especially when Steve that cute, crooked grin curves onto his face after he delivers them, like he's just so damn pleased with himself for saying something so goofy).

Eddie will find ways to remind Steve of things he's done that showcase how smart he is, how thoughtful he is, how kind he is. Like he'll bring up how Steve has all of the kids' schedules memorized, doesn't even need to write it down or anything, and still manages to never miss an activity or a pick up. And he'll ask Steve if he's going to help Lucas practice before basketball tryouts again this year because he's got so much knowledge about the sport from when he played, and he's so good at it, and Lucas really looks up to him for that. Or Eddie will purposefully ask Steve questions that let him flex those muscles too, like, "Hey, Steve, what's Dustin's favorite color again? I'm painting this mini fig for his character and I wanna make the shield that color, but I can't remember if he likes red or blue more." That's wrong, the answer is actually green — Eddie knows this. But he also knows that Steve knows this. And he likes the way Steve perks up when he gets asked these kinds of things. Things he knows the answers for. Things he barely even has to think about, the answers just come so naturally to him. The hundreds of tiny, seemingly insignificant little details that are actually so ridiculously important because they highlight just how much Steve pays attention. Just how much he cares.

The compliments and the praise don't solve the problem completely; the insecurities are rooted deep. Eddie gets that, though. He has a lot of the same ones, and Steve is just as good at helping him when he gets in his head too. But they help. He knows from experience that they help. Because each time he starts to believe them a little more and his twisted brain a little less.

So he does what he can to help Steve believe them a little more too.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ty liam for bringing the topic of steve and eddie and figuring out which compliments to give when up!!!#and to ria and rino for the fluff and the angst and the fluff that kicked all of this off so that it could end up here!!!#💕💕💕#mack writes #macks ficlets

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jonathan-samuel-smith · 4 months

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TW bipolar discussion and nonconsensual kissing, mental health discussion

So about Saturn Girl kissing Jon without his ability to consent to it: I get that she isn't actively deciding to mind control the people around her, but she does have a choice in the matter. Her family wanted her to stay home until she could control her mind control powers, but she didn't want to and left. To me that's like if I noticed I was manic (not hypomanic) and didn't go to the mental hospital... Like I can't control my bipolar but I have the choice to stay away from others when it would harm them. That's not even a good comparison though because my judgement isn't clear enough to consistently do that when I'm manic, whereas she is at baseline and is able to think rationally. I wouldn't blame someone with bipolar because they have no choice, but I'm just saying the obvious choice would be to keep yourself away from others even if it's not fun for you. I feel like I can blame her, because she has a choice.

I do sympathize with her, but I really think she's hurting others disproportionately to the distress she feels stuck at home, and that's not okay.

If you look back on the events with the knowledge that she can't turn off her mind control, you see how manipulative she is, especially to Jon, and she does high-control group tactics: love bombing, isolation, guilt tripping, not letting him have rest alone where he would have time to realize he didn't want this.

I don't like the JonDami narrative that Jon was an asshole for leaving Damian in the past or was running away from his problems, because in my view he was dragged into a cult and I can't blame him for that, especially because he was extremely vulnerable at the time. I also don't believe Jon would have left in the first place if he knew up front that he couldn't bring Damian to at least visit him.

Jon had been in a state of fight or flight for around 6 years (not just talking about the volcano because there was also his verbally abusive grandpa and their deadly adventures and being trapped in space, and then him struggling to survive on the streets and trying to find a way home after he escaped) and the first time he really got a chance to cool down was when he was talking with Damian. He really needs a long break, therapy, and medication because what he went through can't be treated with therapy alone as the stress has chemical effects in the brain that need to be adjusted.

The writers don't care about how Jon should be extremely hypervigilant and defensive and anxious. I guess that's just not brave enough for a superhero, nevermind that leaving the house and getting treatment for these things, learning to trust again, and letting people help you is so much braver than punching guys when you have superpowers. It's natural to fight when your fight or flight is activated in a protective manner, but doing the logical thing when every signal in your body is telling you not to is really damn hard. The only coward is DC for giving Jon trauma and not actually writing a traumatized character.

That all being said, Damian clearly doesn't see how Jon is being manipulated, probably because his head is full of self hatred & doubting & repressed desires to ask Jon to stay, and thinks he needs to go against his abandonment trauma by swinging the pendulum too far in the opposite direction in his speech. With his c-ptsd and abandonment issues I can see him becoming bitter towards Jon for going to the future.

That could make for a really complex fanfiction, don't you think? The conflict coming from their unique life experiences and traumas, and them learning to understand each other like they're always doing. This misunderstanding of intentions born not out of something dumb like hearing the wrong thing or being unclear in language, but from their different points of view.

My jondami au where Jon leaves the legion early is calling me lmao "Isaac we have more problems for you to fix~"

That being said I have no exclusivity to these ideas for writing.

#jondami #fanfic talk #headcanons #dc comics #legion of super heroes #damijon #angst #ok btw im ignorant of tone so i wanna clarify im not angry writing this lol #Jonathan Samuel Kent #jon kent #Jonathan Kent #character study

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tinyidle · 1 year

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Alr I've thought about this a lot: Dom Yuqi x Fem reader smut fic (Yuqi is g!p only if your comfortable with it) where R is a former stylist and is now manager for G-idle and during a concert, (can't decide between Nxde era or Tomboy era so your pick) there's a wardrobe malfunction with Yuqi's outfit and all stylists already left so R has to help her and Yuqi seduces her and it ends with the members going where tf are they and they see both of them and realize what actually went down cus it sure as hell wasn't R helping Yuqi (not in that way at least ;) )

(Also R calling Yuqi mommy bcs she is and no one can tell me otherwise)

degradation kink if possible

word goal: 1000

goal accomplished?: yupp; 1.3 k

😁😁

I Just Know You Did This On Purpose - SYQ

WARNING: smut ofc, public-ish sex (they sort of get caught), begging, inappropriate horniness, mommy kink, praising degradation bratty!yuqi, switchdom!yuqi, g!p yuqi, b!g d¡ck gigi all my 'characters' with d*cks will never have small ones, bratty-yet-compliant reader, switchsub!reader, fem reader, fiction

it was the 'tomboy' promotions, the first comeback they had in over a year, yet (g)i-dle were being warmly welcomed by all the loving support from fans and idol counterparts alike. you especially liked it since you get to see your girlfriend in action while in korea, not just china.

they had tons of gigs and shows to do, and were to have a world tour soon. what you loved about all this was that you were managing the entirety of their schedules, making sure they got adequate rest and had tons of fun while practicing and performing.

in one college concert, the staff were running back and forth for yuqi-- specifically the stylists. one by one each one was leaving for their lunch break, while one was particularly struggling with the costume piece.

"ugh! i cant find shorts that'll fix this problem," you heard one of the stylists exclaim. you were about to walk over to ask what the problem was until you saw the stylists towards you. "can you please help us with this problem, sunbaenim?" you nodded and headed towards yuqi.

checking to see what the problem was, you asked the rest of the members and staff to clear the room. "i can handle this, but i need everyone to leave and go to the practice stage and monitor the girls as they dance to make sure their clothes don't malfunction. got it?"

idle and the staff politely agreed, bowed, and left to do practice. when the room was silent with only the two of you, you kneeled down. "okay, let's see what's the pro-

-blem," you rolled your eyes.

what made you and the stylists concerned was literally nothing more than a yuqi-problem than an actual wardrobe malfunction.

your girlfriend was horny.

unfortunately, when the brightly-colored haired girl got hard, her bulge would be all but unnoticeable. and no other place would be appropriate for her to be having thoughts to encourage her current wood than here, but alas, here it was, straining against her jeans.

you frowned and began to scold the taller woman. "how the fuck am i supposed to get this fixed before your stage?" as you felt a hand come and caress your face, you quickly swatted it away. "not now gigi," you warned.

yuqi pouted as you snorted at your cockblocking your girlfriend. "pleaseee," she tried pleading with you. "i need my baby in order for this to go away."

you weren't having it. "go rub one off and then ill see you later." you got up and attempted to head out the door. until you found out it was locked. you turned around and saw yuqi's pants to her knees, panties also down; her thick, long shaft slightly swinging back and forth like a pendulum. "did you-"

"i told shuhua to lock the door on the way out," yuqi explained. with a stretch of her hand and a curl of her finger, she motioned you to 'come hither', or, in layman's terms, come towards her. there was no way you could get out of this now, so you decide to heed to the action and, well, hither.

"you know that my cock's too big to 'rub one off,'" yuqi quoted you mockingly with air quotes as you scoffed. "besides, the only thing that get me off is your, tight, warm pussy."

you, getting instantly turned on by yuqi's expletive seduction, tried hard to not show it. but it failed because you found yourself kneeling down, pumping yuqi's aching cock.

"mmh, just like that, sweetie," she praised you. "stroke it just like that. my perfect whore." you were swift yet precise: not a crevice of skin was left untouched, the base was given as much care as the meaty tip, and your hands felt like baby's skin to yuqi.

she was soon to bust on your face if you didn't put it in your mouth. "put my dick in your mouth, sweetie," yuqi instructed you. and so you did. at first you struggled to get her girth in, but with tons of practice (which is what the chinese woman should have been doing with her members at the moment), you were deepthroating her within the one minute it took for yuqi to lose it and nut in your tight mouth.

as you pumped yuqi back to full hardness, yuqi whined. "let me taste you," yuqi begged, her hands going up and down your smooth legs through your tight-fitted jeans..

"oh no, yuqi. i gave you a blowjob; that's all you're getting from me." and yet, here you are now, bent over while yuqi was equally bent over your backside. she held each side of your ass cheeks, spreading them open to plunge her tongue deeper into your fluttering hole. you found yourself whimpering when you felt a manicured finger glide unto your clit and started rubbing small circles.

"s-ss-shit," you gasped, your essence pouring out of you as yuqi started kissing around your cunt and under-part of your thighs. after gaining your breath back, you turned your head around to look at your girlfriend who was still kissing you all over your bottom. "im done, gigi. now let's get you ready to practice. you only have about ten more minutes before- HEY!"

the woman wasn't having any of it, pushing you back down and putting your hands behind your back, securing it with her own two hands. "no way, sweetie," she said smugly, letting one hand go to hold her still-hard cock, rubbing it along your slit. "i need you. all of you."

you felt the surge of her dick into your hole, making you moan louder than you wanted. you did your best to whisper, "you planned this all along, did you?" instead of getting an immediate answer, you got to hear the frantic and pacing thrusts of yuqi into you, which made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

your girlfriend chuckled as she was hearing you fall apart for her. "maybe it was, maybe it wasn't," she finally answered, right when your mouth started quivering at your impending orgasm. "but it's worth it if i get to stuff you full, isn't it?"

using one of her hands again, she went to rub your clit, lowering her mouth down to suck marks into your skin. you started panting heavily. yuqi started to breathe heavily too, nearing her release, but she needed you to break first. "look at my perfect whore, all worked up because of my cock," she degraded towards you. you started whining. "aw, is she getting impatient? maybe you should beg for what you want."

as much as you wanted to scoff and tell the woman to 'fuck off', you couldn't take how your bud was being abused by her skillful slim fingers. not to mention her huge cock practically pounding in your hole. you decided to put your pride to the side and break. "please, mommy. please let me cum! i need it," you cried.

with a smile and a couple of angled thrusts, yuqi was satisfied. "good job, baby. now cum for mommy like the perfect whore you are."

by the time it was time to get ready for the show, the girls didn't see yuqi and was worried.

"shuhua, go get yuqi, please," soyeon instructed the maknae. bowing slightly, she practically ran to the dressing room, stunned to see both you and yuqi looking as if you were getting dressed.

when yuqi was about to explain herself, shuhua just put her hand up while closing her eyes. "it doesn't matter," she said, her eyes squeezing tight. "just get ready. we're all waiting for you."

both of you laughing, yuqi nodded and went outside. you, on the other hand, had to head to the bathroom as you felt your girlfriend's cum soaking through your panties.

might as well have titled it "perfect whore" or simply "no" lol. hopefully this gives anon what they wanted

#gidle smut #yuqi smut #g!p

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olderthannetfic · 3 months

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https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/740412128006225920/my-fave-backwards-ass-thing-that-constantly#notes

There's this one joke I see often mentioned, this one is specific to white people, and honestly it was a bit funny the first time. "White people colonised the word to get spices, only to not do anything with them." Like I said, it was a bit funny the first time. But it kinda became more eyebrow raising when I noticed how many people unironically said it, and apparently have genuinely no clue why "white people" suddenly stopped focusing on spices. I mean, we better not look at any part of southern Europe, but moving on.

You know. Why did white people colonised the world for spices, but then people stopped using them? It's almost like there's a reason for it. A very specific reason. A very important HISTORICAL reason. An important reason why spices became less used, especially by the peasantry. A reason that could explain why food would suddenly be less about indulging in flavor, and more about just being able to eat at all. Something like a food scarcity suddenly reaching an all time high and trade becoming a lot more dangerous. A VERY significant thing that happened in WORLD history. Something that became even deadlier with the industrial revolution. Something that made it so that most modes of transportation which previously had been used to get food from one place to the other became a lot less accessible and also a lot more dangerous. Anyone? Got some answers? And honestly, I find that anyone who judges food in such a way to be incredibly obnoxious. Different countries, cultures, and people have different flavor profiles. Some rely on spices, some on herbs, some on fats, some on vegetables, or even just on bringing out each ingredients own flavor, some are even just more focused on survival. Food is dependent on geography and what's available, and some palates prefer certain tastes. The closer you get to the arctic circle the less you will be able to add to the food because the most available food is literary animal protein, with import prices being absolutely insane.

Making a bit of light fun of different foods isn't the issue, it's the stupid maliciousness about it that's obnoxious. Putting your culinary culture above others boorish and just insanely childish in a globalized world. I honestly have a huge dislike for anyone who needs to mock and act all snooty about other cultural foods. Just because you are too afraid to widen your culinary horizons, doesn't mean you have to show everyone what a little baby you are.

Signed -A foodie.

Frankly, people are also stupid af about the basic principles of aesthetics and showing off. The pendulum swings between "I can get bling and you can't" and "Everyone can get everything, but no one can buy taste"/"Quality of the materials is what matters, not fanciness of preparation".

On one end, we have Medieval European food and gem-encrusted things, on the other, the French culinary revolution and all beige homes.

Ancient Rome has aesthetics treatises on this. China has experienced this back and forth. Heian Japan was into modern tacky bling, while zen shit is firmly Team Greige.

It's a basic feature of how aesthetic trends work.

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magicxc · 2 months

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Stork Visits

Pairings: Survey Coprs x Black Reader - do they want babies?

Word Count: 1137

Warnings: baby fever?

A/N: Here’s what I think in regard to the guys wanting babies. But tell me what you think! Is there someone who you feel would react differently than I imagined?

Eren - oh absolutely. I think he’d love to see a miniature him running around causing mayhem. He’s the obsessed dad, telling everyone you meet that you’re pregnant and watching literally everything you eat to make sure that it’s safe and healthy for the baby. Eren becomes a nutritionist, a midwife, and security guard all in one; and while you are grateful, he could definitely use a chill pill.

Levi - I wanna say no, but he can be convinced. More of a soft no, or Levi’s idea of a soft no. He doesn’t really develop relationships or connections with others because of everyone around him dying and for that reason he’s really against the idea of raising a child. But once he finds someone special, I think he’ll view it with a different set of lens and even come to anticipate the idea of another Ackerman.

Erwin - very neutral. He isn’t actively for a child or against it. More of a if it happens, it happens kinda fella. Understand that work WILL be a priority and will often take precedence. Erwin is absolutely taking care of his family but it’ll be more in a financial sense. Although he is emotionally available as well it’s his physical presence yall will have to tussle with. However, he is making sure at the very least yall wont need for much. I'm talking a house in the best neighborhood, the best schools, the best clothes, etc. And he absolutely loves his family but when that job calls, it's toodles.

Connie - also neutral to the idea. Connie doesn’t really take life seriously to me. I consider him to be in his playboy era lowkey. He doesn’t really live for the future, but more so the present so if you get pregnant he’ll be supportive of whatever choice you make. And if it does happen, he’s that overwhelming dad who’s plastering his child on all the socials. They’ll be in matching outfits, taking professional pictures for every milestone, and he’s stacking those presents high under the Christmas tree for the holidays. That child will have him wrapped around their finger so it's safe to say that you’ll have to be the bad cop for a good chunk of their childhood cause Connie is mostly concerned with being the cool and fun parent.

Jean - yes!! He’s that military man that enlists straight out of high school, meets a girl, marries her two months later, and starts a family of five. Maybe even get a pet for the sake of it. Jean strikes me as very traditional in the family sense. His children will be honor students and he’s plastering his bumper sticker with all their future colleges. Their report cards get put on the fridge and while Jean does start off his parenting a little strict in the disciplinary department, he eventually learns to take it easy.

Onyankopon - yes, but when the time is right. He wants to try and solve all the worlds problems before settling down to start a family. Soon enough he’ll realise that as much as he wants to he cant help everyone so he goes on to focus his energy on creating a life with his lover. Ony’s so adorable. Literally there at your beck and call. He’s taking you to all your doctors appointments, sitting through all your lamaze classes and designing the baby's room from scratch. Ony is the hands on father who’s spending weeks tryna figure out how to assemble the crib and he’s signing the kid up for every extracurricular activity possible as soon as they can walk - ooh and he’s never missing a practice.

Reiner - idek with this man. I genuinely feel like the pendulum can swing either way, though I am leaning more towards no. I think Reiner carries way too much guilt to ever feel deserving of children and so he’s content to just have a wife while playing the role of cool, rich uncle. Mans is honestly just happy to be alive, and barely even that, so he’s not too interested in starting a family. He’ll babysit in a heartbeat and is sneakily feeding his nieces/nephews/godchildren ice cream for breakfast after their parents explicitly said no. He’s the one they call when they need a ride home from a party they weren't even supposed to go to and he’s providing an alibi if need be. Reiner is sliding $20 in their hands at every function and bringing them gifts from his latest excursion around the globe. While he greatly enjoys his time spent with the kiddos he loves handing them back to their parents even more; and greatly enjoys having his lover all to himself while the doing things he never dreamed he’d reach the age to see and simultaneously healing the child within.

Armin - yes!! I think Armin is gonna be the poster dad for kids lowkey. You ever meet those parents who run their household like the navy? Like in a scheduled sorta way? That’s gonna be Armin. Kids are in bed no later than 8pm. Their breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be balanced to each portion of essential nutrients based on the food groups of the plate. They're drinking 8 glasses of water a day and flavored milk yuck during snack time. Their juices are diluted with water so when they hit their first party and experience 100% juice for the first time they’re literally bouncing off the walls. I really feel like Armin would have that perfect cookie cutter type family who celebrates and decorates for every holiday. They brush their teeth before bed every night and must bathe with their special bubble bath soap or else they’ll lose their shit. He’ll raise kids you avoid in primary school lmaoo but get cool with during high school who becomes a more chill version of their younger self.

Floch - not really. He wants to run wild and sow his oats. Floch doesn't care for kids in my opinion. He’s in his selfish era which turns out to last a lot longer than he anticipated. Floch is an intelligent guy and while he enjoys practicing for a baby, he’s come to realise that he wouldn’t enjoy the responsibilities of said baby. He’s not actively in his nieces/nephews/godchildren everyday lives but instead is that uncle you only see at the family functions which is like twice a year. Once he’s there though they can ask for anything and he’s giving it to them. Money, a lil sip of beer, hell even some dating tips. He doesn't go out of his way to be present so it's really one of those you just gotta be there moments. Floch has always been on his own timing and enjoys living his best child free life.

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themodernwitchsguide · 8 months

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working with pendulums

now, theoretically pendulums could be anything, however I recommend something uniform (ish) in shape and fairly weighty. you need to be able to discern when your pendulum is just moving because of the wind, and when it's moving to tell you something. some good examples are crystals, raw or cut, and metal. look out for resin and glass dupes as these do not work as well

i've seen a few theories on how pendulums work, whether they have their own spiritual energy to move themselves or if they can stimulate your muscles just subtly enough to move them in the right directions. either way, don't worry too much about your own interference here. more often than not, you'll be able to tell when they're moving on their own and when it's just shaky hands/wind

HOW TO START

first of all, find a pendulum that speaks to you. then ask it if it's willing to work with you

second, i usually like to cleanse my pendulums, but not too hardcore. just some salt, selenite or herbs will do the trick here, we're looking to wash other people's hands off here, not the actual spirit of the thing

then, when you first start speaking with your pendulum, you want to tackle the conversations with something in between a "you work for me" and "you work with me" vibe. still ask permission before someone else touches it, before you take pictures, etc. i've even known people to ask before using them at all. whatever you think is right

it's also important to get to know your pendulum. what direction is yes? what direction is no? not all pendulums swing the same way. additionally, most pendulums i've met have name and pronoun preferences, so suggest whatever calls to you and then ask if they like it

DECIDE THEIR PURPOSE

i've known people to use pendulums for a variety of things. some examples include:

-assistance with tarot

-regular divination (answering the yes/no questions you ask)

-connection to a god (this is what I do)

-talking with spirits (see image below for an alphabet chart)

-and in the darkest of times, it's nice to just to have a friend

again, it's very important you talk to your pendulums before you decide because sometimes they don't wanna be tied down

HOW TO INCORPORATE A PENDULUM INTO YOUR PRACTICE

in tarot:

1) after shuffling, separate your deck into a number of piles, have your pendulum choose which pile you should read from (this is especially useful for very broad or general readings)

2) after shuffling, lay out a series of individual cards that you feel drawn to. then have your pendulum choose individual cards (this is especially useful if you're doing a reading for someone else, since you can have the recipient hold the pendulum that chooses the cards)

with deity work:

1) have them represent an altar or space dedicated to your deity. this might not serve any practical use, but a guardian for an altar is never a bad thing

2) dedicate it to a deity and attempt communication with them. this can be iffy for some people, depending on your beliefs. in my eyes, a god does not have to be one corporeal being, having to dedicate their singular consciousness to a singular task as a human does. gods are multifaceted, primordial beings that have fingers in many different pots, so to speak. therefore, it is not outside the realm of possibility to communicate with a deity in this way, since moving a pendulum to say yes or no isn't all that deeply personal. REMEMBER, if you do this, the pendulum's spirit is still there, and you are more than capable of separating a pendulum from a deity or communicating with the two separately OR harming the pendulum while trying some risky business with a deity

WHAT TO DO WITH THEM IN THE MEAN TIME

when i'm not using them, i like to keep my pendulums hung up on my altar space, overlooking my room. however, i DO NOT keep them in direct sun because the crystals will fade with exposure to UV. sometimes i'll bring them out to the window during a full moon though

some other ideas would be:

-in a window that doesn't receive much direct sunlight

-in mesh baggies (so they don't get tangled or lost) on your altar

-hung on a wall, thumbtacks are useful for this

-if you only have one or two, it's not outside of the realm of possibility to carry them around with you. some pendulums really enjoy this too

-with your other crystals, as long as they're separated enough so that they won't get tangled or lost

happy witching!

#pagan #paganism #witchblr #witchcraft #witch #magic #magick #polytheist #polytheism #pendulums #divination #pendulum #crystals #crystalmagic #spell work #spellwork #spellcasting

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sirdindjarin · 2 years

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Sierra Six x Analyst!Reader

In response to an Anon ask, I give you this little one-shot. 🥰

Summary: As a CIA analyst, you've been assigned to help Sierra Six twice. This second time proves a little smutty for you.

Random Notes: Long-haired female reader, usage of words I feel weird writing, Six slighty OOC (hard to write that man as a lover sometimes) but I based him on how he is in Ballistic (Book 3).

TAGS: Smut, explicit sexual content, porn no plot, fluff(y), Six's uncontrollable angst, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, fluff, happy ending, ambiguous ending.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

ANON ASK

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Six sits on a stone bench inside a cacophonous mall. His target is a mid-level trafficker: forties, American, good-looking. The kind of man who could successfully sell anything. The criminal sits at a table across the cavernous room, waiting for a buyer who will never show.

In D.C. for an op, Six is pleasantly surprised to hear a long-awaited voice over his comms.

"Good afternoon, oh-Six. It's very nice to see you again." He can hear your big smile.

"Considering I can't see you, I'll settle for saying that it's nice to hear you," though he wants to, Six doesn't smile for operational security.

He gets back to business, "I have eyes."

"I’m sure you've done your homework, Six, but I still have to tell you that there's an alley twenty meters behind the service doors, and Tally One will be using it to exit."

Six doesn't respond. He did do his homework. This was a run-of-the-mill mission. This man would be dead in that alley within ten minutes, and the world would be better off because of it. Six needed to exert no brain power over it. His thoughts instead drifted to taking advantage of being on the same continent as you.

Six months ago, he'd been in Peru for a week on an assignment. You'd been his analyst. However, your involvement had been remote - providing Six with data via phone calls. The sweetness in your voice couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a good soul. He'd enjoyed the warmhearted, personal way you'd spoken to him. He'd seen your file in the mission documents and noted your staff photo. Six was surprised to find himself looking forward to your phone calls. He'd thought about you often since Peru, hoping you’d be assigned together again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later, Six stands above the body of the trafficker. It was as cut and dry as he had planned, and the man never even saw it coming. Six wipes the knife and tosses it next to the body. Typically, other members of the CIA would come clean house, but they were content to leave this guy for the locals.

You pop your head from around the corner of the alley, your hair swinging out like a pendulum. Six notices the movement and his head snaps up to address the threat, but a jolt shoots through him at the sight of you. Bizarrely, he wants to shield you from the sight of the body, so he steps in front of it.

You round the corner and smile gratefully at his chivalrous gesture.

"It is so strange. I’ve been involved in the deaths of targets, but seeing their bodies in person is something else.” You're contemplative, staring at the man’s motionless form.

He doesn't reply, too distracted by you being physically present. You had been in a CIA polo and your hair had been pulled back in your employee photo, but now that you were blending in in civilian clothes, he could finally, properly see you. His heart beats faster.

You hold out your hand, wanting to introduce yourself officially.

"This is my first time out in the field. I’m glad they set me up with a legend like you, Six." You beam at him, then your tone softens, “I enjoyed talking to you last time.”

"Being a legend isn’t very fun, let me assure you."

He takes your hand. You can't help another grin. His hand is much larger than yours, and he holds onto it a second longer than he should.

He continues inelegantly, “I’m also glad it’s you here today.”

"Our ride is in five blocks. Are you okay to go?" You ask in case he had been injured.

The genuine concern on your face makes him want to smile. No one ever cared unless he was visibly bleeding.

He motions for you to lead the way, and it's one of the least altruistic acts he's ever committed. Six shamelessly let his eyes rove. The knee-length sundress you have on hugs your waist perfectly, your hair swings as you stroll, and when you turn to look back at him, Six feels his heartbeat speed up again. His characteristic near-smile appears on his face, which causes butterflies to take flight in you.

He’s so intimidating, you think. What is he smiling at?

Two blocks after leaving the alleyway, you spot a group of cops standing around eating lunch. Six eyes them as they lean down to listen to their radios, and he knows the body’s been found. They collectively trash their food and begin to jog in your direction.

Thinking quickly, you grab Six’s hand and turn into him, placing your other hand on his chest. He instinctively puts his arm around your waist, and you tilt your head up, pretending to be deep in loving conversation.

The cops run by you both without a second glance. You take a steadying breath, peeking around Six to make sure they’re gone. Once certain, you look back up at him. His arms haven’t released you, and his face looks like you’ve struck him.

Six knows what you’ve done was purely tactical, but he feels like he’s just short-circuited. All thoughts of avoiding detection have left his mind, replaced by the feeling of you. He could smell the buttercream scent of your nude lipstick. He could feel your chest rising and falling against his own.

“We’re clear,” you whisper.

He nods and lets go of you unwillingly.

You notice his hesitation and your body tightens at the thrill. Sierra Six does not think of me that way. Be professional, you tell yourself.

Wandering through downtown D.C., you navigate the busy streets until the two of you reach a black SUV. Six gallantly opens the front passenger door for you, which he’s satisfied to see makes you blush. Six gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb. He’s navigating as deftly as he can, but this city is one of the busiest in the world, and Six is well-known for his poor driving skills. The CIA’s best asset is no match for metropolitan traffic. You decide to pass the time.

“Have you been enjoying being back in the States?” You ask timidly.

You’re fiddling with the hem of your dress, which does not escape Six’s notice.

“I am now,” he says.

What does that mean? “I hope you’re able to see family, or friends, or whoever while you’re back. I’m sure it’s difficult being away all the time.”

He doesn’t answer, which makes you nervous that you’ve touched a raw subject. You can’t know that he’s trying to work up the courage to let you in. To connect with you.

“I’m sorry,” you almost whisper, “I don’t mean to be too forward.”

Your hands twist in your lap. Six’s close proximity is making your heart thump wildly, and you feel self-conscious.

Six is fascinated by your incongruous personality. You are sweet and kind. How did you wind up in such a cutthroat, gritty workplace? So, he asks. In Six’s straightforward way.

“How do you work for the CIA?”

“Oh, I have a few degrees in communications, languages, and finance.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, so you add, “I couldn’t decide what I wanted to study, so I tried them all. And then my aunt - she works in Operations - said I should try for a position as an analyst.”

Six laughs, “I never finished high school.”

Because you hear the bitterness masked in his words, you kindly lay a hand on his arm. You feel the hard muscles tense beneath your touch, which was the opposite of your intention, but you aren’t aware of how touch-starved he is. His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.

“I know enough about the Sierra program to know why you didn’t. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure the justice system failed you given your age.”

The vehicle lurches to a stop at another red light. Six looks over at you, amazed at your desire to soothe him. No one had ever tried to cheer him up over his own crime - except maybe Fitzroy. His jaw is clenched as he sorts out his thoughts. Six does not want to drop you off at the Langley headquarters right now, so he finally emboldens himself.

“Have you eaten?” His face is unreadable. He grimaces internally, wishing he could’ve worded that more clearly.

Not getting the hint, and hoping your admission about his past didn’t offend him, your words stumble over each other, “Oh, uh, no. I haven’t. But, if you don’t mind - I hate to even tell you this - but analysts don’t get paid all that much, so I never eat out,” you explain. “My sandwich is back at the office.”

The light changes, and he’s forced to turn away, but he tries to clarify, “I’m- asking you out for dinner.”

Oh.

“You- what?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to pound through your chest. The blood rushes in your ears. No one had asked you on a date since you’d started at the agency, and the first person to do so was Sierra Six?

He tosses you a minuscule smile before returning his eyes to the road. Six should’ve known your diffident nature wouldn’t allow you to flirt, but he wasn’t any good at it, either. He chuckles under his breath at the comedy routine this was becoming.

A small, disbelieving giggle leaves your lips. “Okay, yeah! I’d love to, Six.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re seated at a nice restaurant. Nice enough that they had a coat check, and the bathrooms had antechambers with chaise lounges. Six wasn’t trying to impress you; he just liked the steak here. It never crossed his mind that you might think he was trying to show off his means. Despite his humble beginnings, Six hadn’t thought about money in nearly thirty years - thanks to prison and the CIA.

“This place is so fancy,” you laugh. “Am I going to get kicked out for my dress?” It has spaghetti straps, and you’re worried.

“Do they do that?” Six had no idea if this restaurant had a dress code. He was always in a suit, anyway. Six frowns at his own lack of knowledge and chides himself for getting lazy in the U.S. His words don't assuage your worry, but you figure they probably wouldn’t have let you in to begin with.

“I don’t see how anyone could have a problem with it.” He reasons, “I like it. It's very s-” He cuts himself off at the way you're squirming.

“Thank you,” you feel hot again. You shyly duck your head.

You are nervous. Six didn’t need his extensive training in body language to tell him that. Six wonders if a non-physical compliment might make you feel more at ease.

“You were kind to me in Peru. That’s uncommon in this business.”

You meet his attentive gaze, shake your head at his words, and sigh, “That makes me sad. I guess when you see the worst of humanity day after day, it does one of two things to people. It hardens or softens them.”

“What do you think it does to me?” He asks.

You hesitate, wondering if you should be honest. “I think you’re one of the rare exceptions where it does both.”

Six sits back in his chair. “Soft is a dirty word in my line of work.”

You smile, your confidence growing. You shift forward onto your elbows, “That’s the beauty of you. You’re the only operative I’ve ever heard of who is so -” You remember you’re in public, “So good at your job but selective about your targets. You’re like Batman.” You raise an eyebrow in mock conspiracy.

Six laughs, loudly, which surprises both of you. “Batman? Jesus, that’s a first.”

“You’re better, actually,” you continue. “The things you do can be terrible - certainly the ones you go after think so,” you laugh awkwardly. “But the reality is that those terrible things do more harm to you. And you do them anyway because it’s what’s necessary. You’re a good man. You put everyone else above you.”

It’s the most passionately he’s heard you speak, and he forces down the lump in his throat. Six did not agree with you. He was inside his own head, and he knew exactly how little the acts he committed affected him. He didn’t understand that that was exactly what you meant. That the coldness in which he insulated himself also froze him out from the warmth.

“There are things the CIA does not know about me,” he says carefully. He clasps his hands on the table. “And you would not think they were good.”

“You’re human, Six.” You soothe, placing one hand over his. “You aren’t perfect, and you shouldn’t hold yourself to a standard that no one else does.”

Six falls into your eyes for a moment, stunned by the grace and sincerity. His eyes start to tour around your face, appreciating your features, before stumbling over your parted lips. His own part involuntarily, and you feel a twist of tension in your gut.

His eyes don’t leave their target as he asks, “You really think I’m a good man?”

“I mean - I don’t know you personally, I guess, but… yes. Given what I do know and how I feel about you having met you.” You blush at your choice of words, but it was honest.

“Would a good man want to do the things I want to do to you?” It’s said in a thick voice.

He feels guilty for his lustful thoughts, but they just won’t stop. He's drawn to your goodness like a moth to a flame.

Your mouth goes dry, and you answer in a whisper, “I - I don’t know.”

He smirks in a self-deprecating manner. His eyes flick back up to yours. “I think the answer’s ‘no.’”

“Six -” you start, but the waiter comes by to bring your food.

You’re no longer hungry given the look in the eyes of the man across from you. All you want to do now is take him back to your apartment and show him what you really think of him.

You thank the waiter - twice while he refills your water - and he leaves the two of you alone again. You’re speechless now, feeling awkward, wondering how to suggest it.

Six feels more awkward. He was trying not to scare you away, but instead, all he seems to do was put his foot in his mouth. He decides to change the subject abruptly.

“Do you have family?”

“Oh, uh, yes.” You’ve got whiplash from the differences in subject matter, but you tell him about your family. You mention that you’re alone in D.C. “It gets lonely on the holidays. I try to bring in some cheerfulness to the office since there are others like me, but I feel like I don’t really make a dent.” You admit.

“I’m sure you do. I already told you that you made a dent for me six months ago.” Six tries to argue. He finds it hard to believe that you couldn’t lift anyone’s mood, but he also knows the kind of assholes that work at the CIA.

You don’t make eye contact, still feeling unsteady and surprised at the turn your day has taken. Six can read your body language, but his translation is off. He believes he’s offended you, and he’s already trying to manage his anger at himself. Six had waited half of a year to be assigned together again, and now he was blowing it because he had the social graces of a monkey.

“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” he pushes back from his chair and buttons his jacket.

You notice the look on his face as he gets up and turns away. While your training isn’t as thorough as his, your translation is spot on. You watch as he opens the men’s room door and vanishes.

You make a split-second decision.

Standing, you walk the fifty paces toward the bathroom doors. They’re rather far from the tables, you note happily. You swivel your head from side to side trying to see if anyone is watching as you pull open the men’s room instead of the women’s.

Inside, the antechamber is a deep red with artwork adorning every inch of space on the walls. You turn and see that the door locks with a deadbolt, so you throw it in place. Classical music is piped in, and a violin cries as you turn the corner to see Six standing at the sink, adjusting his jacket sleeves.

Six is visibly shocked to see you. He whirls around, pulls his gun, and races over to you.

“What’s wrong?” He’s immediately on alert.

You smile but it falters, your bravado beginning to disappear now that you’re face-to-face with him and he misunderstood your entrance.

No turning back now, you decide.

You grab his jacket’s lapel and pull him down into a kiss. His face remains impassive for several seconds as he tries to wrap his mind around what’s taking place. You part your lips, kissing him a second time, then a third time, before he finally starts to relax his own lips.

Once he reciprocates, you grab his biceps, pushing him backward in the direction you hope the furniture is. He lets you push him, which oddly makes the tension in your stomach coil faster. Six’s knees fold partially when they connect with the edge of the chaise; he sits down, grabbing your thighs in the process. His gun is discarded beside him.

Your hands frantically unbutton his jacket. He shrugs out of it. His white t-shirt leaves his scarred, tattooed arms bare to you. You rake your nails tenderly down his skin and he shudders. His lips move with yours. His tongue enters your mouth just enough to drive you wild. You lecherously note when his dick twitches underneath you.

Six’s hands come up to cradle your face, wanting to be delicate at first, but he’s ashamed to have initially thought this was a ruse. It makes him overcompensate. His hands drop to skate up your dress, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, your ass. He pulls your body down against him roughly. Six smirks at the desperate noise you make. He wants to hear everything he can make you say.

You’re wearing the worst possible underwear, of course, as there was no thought in your mind that this would be happening. They’re old, thin cotton with holes in them. They were comfortable, but they were ugly.

Feeling frumpy, you pull out of the kiss to breathlessly tell him, “Wish I’d worn something nicer,”

You feel a jerk and hear a ripping sound as Six hooks his fingers in the elastic waistband and pulls them apart easily, his arms flexing underneath your hands.

He leans forward to taste your lips again, and mumbles, “Now I don’t have to replace them.”

Your fingers move to unzip his pants, and he groans when they graze his swelling bulge. You slide his pants down to his knees - you don’t need them all the way off, you just need him - before settling onto your knees. Your hips buck of their own volition, all-but riding his naked thigh. He clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle the cry you let out at the relief.

“Fuck,” he laughs softly, entranced by the blissful satisfaction on your face.

His laugh makes his cock jump, which reminds you of something you’d thought of often when regarding Six.

You stand, then drop to the tile floor on your knees. You quickly twist your hair into a bun, using your scrunchie to keep it out of your way. You trail your fingers down his muscular thighs, pulling his boxers down now as well. You pull his pants further (now you really do need them gone). You look up at him, wondering if this is okay.

Six is not breathing. His blonde hair is mussed from your hands. His white t-shirt is his only article of clothing. He’s looking down at the sight before him like it’s a cosmic event. His heart pounding, Six watches as your lips, the very same lips he felt depraved over earlier, wrap around his aching cock. He groans as your cheeks hollow and you start an agonizingly slow drag. His eyes close in bliss but he forces them back open. He does not want to miss a moment of this.

You cup one hand underneath his testicles as your other hand strokes along his velvety shaft, working in tandem with your mouth. Your tongue teases along a vein and Six’s hips jerk slightly. You hum, gratified. You wiggle around, your heels pressing into your clit to relieve yourself somewhat.

You relax your muscles, taking him until his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag quietly. Tears spring to your eyes as you make eye contact with him, and he almost cums right there.

“Fuck,” he says again, a strained whisper this time. He grasps your chin and eases himself from your mouth, explaining, “You come first.”

The back of your hand comes up to wipe your mouth, before you’re straddling his lap once more. His lips and teeth and tongue work at your neck, your chest, while his hands push down the straps of your dress to give him more access.

You can feel him, heavy and straining beneath you, and you can’t stop yourself from sliding your hands along his shaft. You tease the head of his cock against your folds, causing both of you to groan.

Suddenly, you’re on your back. The chaise scrapes the floor in protest. You almost lose your breath with the speed he’d tucked you underneath him. But you’re not complaining. He sheds his shirt, and now Six is completely nude.

He’s so beautiful. You feel so pleasantly small underneath him and his intensely warm gaze. Six is making you feel protected and admired. It’s an overwhelming feeling. Your fingers press against the pinup tattoo on his left pectoral as if to feel the ink impression.

I’m still dressed, it flashes in your mind. As you complete that thought, however, he rucks up your skirt and pulls the bodice down, leaving you exposed to him.

Six wastes no time palming your breasts, unabashedly enjoying them. He shifts closer to kiss you, while the movement edges his cock along your entrance.

Six barely leaves your lips, you can still feel his breath, but he locks eyes with you as he tilts his hips and pushes the tip of his heated cock inside you.

Your gasp breaks into a moan, your eyes wide. You grasp at his neck with one hand while the other flutters to his hip.

Six throbs at your reaction. He leans back more, settling his hands on your breasts again, and uses the motion to push himself deeper. You keen at the fullness and watch as his eyes close with a groan. They fly open, black in lust, when he bottoms out. You shiver in your own desire, and he bends down over you, thinking you’re cold. He pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, and you wonder how in the world he could think he’s a bad man.

His hand grabs your left hip, holding you still, while the other hand covers your mouth. His thumb caresses your chin. Six drags his cock along your walls, reveling in the hot grip around him. He pulls out completely before easing back in, just as slow. Six is absorbing every little expression, every ridge inside you, every little sound you make.

Your chest lifts, wanting to be as close to him as possible. He’s almost fully seated inside you again when he suddenly thrusts hard, letting out a grunt as he does so. A small scream is muffled by his hand. He does it again, and it sends a shockwave up your body. He continues, rocking his hips into you faster, hitting some spot inside you that’s beginning to make you feel lightheaded. You’re making sounds without a care, knowing he’s got you there, too.

He withdraws from you with a strangled sound and rolls you onto your stomach. He pulls your hips toward him, raising you onto your hands and knees. You giggle, arching your back for him. A deep groan rolls in Six's chest at the sight of you so willing and pliant for him.

You feel his hands grip your hips, his fingers curling into your thighs, as he slowly re-enters your body. The invasion feels even better this time. He pushes himself inside again, his body rigid at first, savoring the way your walls let him in. His balls swing against your clit sinfully. You feel like you're being split in two, and you bite your forearm to soften your cry. Six does no such thing. His broken moan is not loud, but it reverberates in the room, setting fire to your body.

Six rolls his hips dramatically, wanting you to feel every inch of him. He sluggishly builds his speed, mesmerized by the way your body moves with his. You throw an arm out in front of you, bracing against the arm of the lounge. Six reaches forward to masturbate you, and you press your face into the cushion to whine, your face rubbing on the fabric with his rhythm.

Six leans over you, his thrusts never stopping, and carefully rips the scrunchie from its place. He grasps your hair again, wrapping it around his fist, and gently pulls you back until your head is on his shoulder. You can feel him grunting and panting on your damp skin.

Your hands reach behind you for some purchase and you find it in his hair. His fingers continue to work your nerves perfectly. You feel the cliff approaching, and you open your mouth to tell him, but he hits a particularly sensitive spot and you splinter. Sheer, white-hot pleasure rips through you. Your toes curl viciously. Your knees buckle and Six falls with you. You clamp one hand over your own mouth to dampen the torrent of cries. Your walls clench around Six as he continues to plunge himself into you, though faltering slightly. He’s breathing heavily in your ear, and you finally recognize that he’s murmuring.

“So good. Fuck, you’re so good.”

It’s as if he’s not even talking to you; Six is just telling the universe. You’re pretty sure he’s not aware he’s voicing his thoughts. You tilt your head back in search of his praising mouth, and he understands, surging forward to kiss you from behind. He drops your hair, letting it fan out along your back.

His movements begin to stutter and his hands massage your breasts. Into your shoulder, he grunts with each laborious thrust. You feel lightheaded with bliss. You look back at him again and he notices the mascara running from your lust filled eyes. Six could not be more aroused than this and it finally breaks him. He groans as he buries himself inside your tight heat, coming hard in a burst of final thrusts.

You both sit in this position for several moments, trying to catch your breath and hoping you've not been heard. He kisses your temple as he carefully leaves your body. You miss him already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six was gone. It had been nearly two months since your tryst in the fancy bathroom. Immediately after dressing that day, he had been called and sent off to some far reach of the world, and you'd heard nothing from him.

It was terrible. You had no closure, no explanation on what that was or if it meant anything. You went about your job as usual. Despite working for the self-proclaimed intelligence agency, you learned nothing of Six. You knew he was okay - he was too strong, too lucky for anything serious to have happened. No, what you worried about was whether or not you'd ever see him again. And why the thought of never seeing him again made your heart break. You eventually pushed every thought of Six away, trying to block out the memory of him.

One quiet evening, you sit munching on crackers at your desk. Only one track of fluorescent lighting illuminates your office, and the other desks are empty. Everyone else has gone home, but you sit hoping for some news of Six. Normally, you don’t sit here after hours, but it's Friday - the only day you allow yourself to think about him - and you'll have to spend the whole weekend in the metaphorical dark.

He's the Gray Man, you dumbass. You need to get over him. You feel like crying over your inability to let go of Sierra Six, but crying makes you feel worse, so only a few tears make it down your cheeks.

You gather your things and sling your bag over your shoulder. Stepping out into the brightly-lit hallway, you see a figure walking toward you from the far end.

You swipe at your tears, but you're sure the person saw your motion which was just as obvious. Your eyes are blurred, but you realize it's a tall, blonde man in a gray suit. His steps are quick, determined.

Your stomach seizes up in nervousness. Is it him? Surely not, there's no reason for him to be here now.

But as you blink away the blurriness, you recognize the strikingly blue eyes, the reserved smile. You lift a hand up in a timid wave, unsure how this is going to go.

You're not left waiting long as he closes the distance within seconds. He doesn't exactly feel comfortable making the first move, but he knows from your body language that you're taking his lead. So, as he reaches you, his hand comes up to cup your damp cheek.

"Hi." Your voice breaks on the short word. Was the gentle touch him trying to get back in your pants? Or did it mean something more?

"You were crying?" His eyebrows furrow.

"I- It was a rough day." You answer lamely. Then you ask curiously, "What are you doing here?"

"Is it not obvious?" Six drops his hand, confused. He thought he had a flashing neon light above him: Six is In Love.

"Everyone's gone home." You tell him, meaning the upper echelon who ran the Sierra program.

"I don't care about them. I'm- I'm here to see you." Six says it cautiously, now concerned about what you'll say.

Your voice is little more than a squeak, "For some company?"

Six's eyebrows furrow again, deeper this time. He frowns. "Not that kind. You think higher of me than that, don't you?"

"I did. I do. But I haven't heard from you in two months, Six. I'm not sure what happened that day. I don't know what you want and I can't stop wondering what you want." Tears well in your eyes again.

Relieved now, Six's laugh is more of a sigh. He cradles your face in his rough hands.

His blue eyes burn into yours as he spells it out, "I want you. You and your soft kindness. I spent two months away because I had to. But I also had to come back." It's clear he means for you. "As for what happened, well… you came on to me in that bathroom." He smirks.

You smile up at him, joy sparking in your heart, your hands holding onto his arms. You had tried to forget Six, but he's the kind of man you can't forget - despite his Gray Man reputation.

"You're glowing," Six says reverently.

#sierra six #sierra six x reader #court gentry #courtland gentry #fanfic #my fics #personal #smut #anon asks #the gray man #the gray man 2022 #ryan gosling #six #court gentry x you #court gentry x reader #fanfiction

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rocksanddeadflowers · 11 months

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love the idea that during the safehouse era martin encourages jon to use his abilities, mostly just for jon's own comfort. martin doesn't want jon to bottle anything up because he knows it'll turn around and hurt him.

they both understand to keep boundaries as to not be lost in inhumanity, but the fact is jon just isn't human anymore. indulging too deeply could take chunks from his humanity, but ignoring it entirely could cause it to sour, to rot, to sharpen. the fears are unpredictable, and swinging to violently to one end of the pendulum will force them back to other way.

anyway this is my excuse for martin, at the little market in town buying stuff, when he hears jon in his brain asking martin to bring him back a little treat.

martin being able to understand what jon's trying to tell him without the use of words because he can just put the meaning in martin's mind.

jon Telling a man to piss himself after being rude to martin.

jon reading a book in his Statement Voice to children at the library once due to peer pressure, and the kids beg for him to come back because he's the most immersive storyteller (parents = unsure and concerned around cryptic jon. jon = terrified and flattered by the children. martin = heart eyes.)

martin and jon dream walking together and having an absolute blast instead of it being horrifying and traumatizing like their dreams always used to be, because the difference is now, even in sleep, they have each other.

the can continue for ages man. also jon and martin reversing roles of "it's okay that you're not entirely human" thing is just mwah so perfect.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #safehouse era

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ussjellyfish · 23 days

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Here's an ask for you! Was there a specific on-screen moment when you started shipping Michael/Laira?

Oh thank you!!

They have an ARC. They have an on screen arc, and I'm so accustomed to making things up (Beverly Crusher/Kathryn Janeway), or working with a handful of episodes that don't have an arc (Maleficent/Regina Mills).

Long post!

Michael is finally captain, which has been a long time coming, and she loves it, she's good at it. Season 4 is peak Michael.

I have wanted to have a ship for Michael since the show started, because I adore Michael, and nothing really hit me until Laira and Michael started talking to each other.

Episode 1 - wrecking ball era

They don't really like each other at first. Laira is "using a moment that should be about the cadets" and Michael is "a huge swing of the pendulum" who doesn't understand that sometimes she might lose.

Michael hasn't lost for awhile, so Laira has a point. Michael needs to save everyone (this is a really common rock star captain thing).

And fate has handed Michael a whole set of events where she was literally the only person in the galaxy who could fix it. Michael found a way to peacefully end the Klingon war without going as dark as parts of Starfleet wanted too.

Michael and her crew literally saved the future by going ahead in time, preventing control from getting the sphere data. It's a huge sacrifice, and they were willing to make it, and it's also a huge win. Everyone was saved.

They have this really honest, almost brutal conversation, where they both have very valid points and they're polite to each other, but they are in opposite places. Michael wants to bring everyone home. She doesn't want to mitigate life and death. Laira thinks she might need too.

And they're from very different places. Michael's from this incredibly optimistic time, where bad things happened (the Klingon war, losing Captain Georgiou, Control tries to evolve and Starfleet really grasps at straws) but the bad things are brief, and traumatic, but they persevere. They're rebuilding after the war and maybe they can be allies with the Klingons some day: Michael has retained her hope, and for good reason. Things improve, she has solutions. Her skillset is phenomenal.

Laira grew up in a universe with scarcity. She was a cargo pilot, and didn't go to the Science Academy, or the Academy on Earth, or even really see the Federation or Starfleet as what they were in Michael's time. Starfleet has hundreds of ships where Michael came from, Starfleet is a force for hope. Laira's whole life has been in a galaxy where Starfleet is tiny, and can't help, and they try, but the needs are so great, and everyone is so isolated that hope is a harder thing.

They have a whole set of conversations about leadership, and balance, and hope, and Laira pushes Michael to be better in the beginning.

They start out standing together, and end standing on opposite ends of a table. The blocking is fun, their whole conversation is so fun. They're an mildly antagonistic allies to lovers at this point. They believe in the Federation, but have differing approaches to leadership, and don't have a high opinion of each other but the mutual respect is there.

I rewatch this episode when they need banter, or I need to have them argue. I desperately wanted them to talk more after this episode. I loved Laira immediately, but I didn't write fic for them yet.

So I had interest, but I wasn't shipping shipping yet.

Episode 4 is when I did that.

In episode 4, mutual respect era, Laira conspires with Vance to get Michael and Saru to come help her with diplomacy. It's an fun insight into Laira's personality that she asked Vance to pretend to be sick, or told him to, because she wasn't sure if she wanted to ask Michael and Saru directly.

She moves pieces, and Michael's a really powerful piece.

Laira (and T'Rina) perform their political theater (and you find out at the end that they've been friends for a long time, and kind of set it up together, which is also interesting. I like the world building in this ep.

The shipping comes when Michael goes to convince Laira that they shouldn't give up. Michael and Saru come up with a plan, and it's a very Michael plan. It wouldn't work if she wasn't who she is.

Bringing Michael in is Laira's last ditch gamble, and it works. Michael throws herself at the problem and comes up with an elegant solution and proves that she is actually so adept at the thing she doesn't like. (politics).

(the table is BACK and they're at opposite sides again, but they move closer to each other! There's a whole meta I need to write about this table.)

The last scene of this episode is the one that launched my ship. They're achieved the mission. Ni'Var is coming back into the Federation. Saru and T'Rina are flirting so they're both amused by that. They're alone together and there's a fire and Ni'Var conference rooms are romantic, pretty lighting.

Laira walks around Michael, and sits on the conference table. It's one of the first times we see her relax. She sits down, not because the meeting is sitting, but because she wants to. Maybe when it's just Michael she can?

It's this shift in power and an opening and vulnerability because she must have had such a long day, and Michael saved it, and she doesn't have to be the President for Michael.

They open up to each other! Laira complements Michael for being good at politics even though she hates it. Laira admits that Vance wasn't really sick (in a roundabout way, she's coy and flirty about it, so it's not a real admission, which suits her).

Michael looks at her like THAT. Sonequa has the most beautiful face and this looks absolutely destroys me.

Laira tells Michael that she had to protect President T'Rina (who warned her that the negotiations were going to implode).

They have this exchange.

Michael walks over to her. "If you wanted my help, you could have just asked me."

They lean on the table together. Laira bites her lip. "Truth be told, I wasn't sure you were the right person for the job, but I'm glad you were."

"I appreciate that. I know transparency isn't always possible in your position but it is what I need, to best serve you and the Federation. So if you could be more forthcoming in the future, I'd appreciate that as well."

"Understood, Captain."

So much happens here. Michael says what she needs, and she's direct and polite. She has the most impeccable etiquette and always calls Laira 'ma'am'. Here she doesn't. Laira listens, nods, accepts what Michael needs and she's the one who uses her rank as a sign of respect.

Then they shake hands, which Laira initiates and it's beautifully shot with the fire in the background, AND Laira covers Michael's hand with hers before she leaves. The music swells. There are strings and horns!! (it's so fun!).

(Also this was on during touch starved COVID era and holding hands felt like a BIG DEAL).

Laira takes Michael's request to heart and asks her for help the next time she needs it.

I shipped them, so very much after this. Laira's not in the next two episodes, but she is in episode 7!

Episode 7 - power couple era.

Michael teases Laira about wanting Earth back in the Federation, Laira admits that her mother's family is from Earth and her mother never got to see it. (Vulnerability! ambition! Michael reading her so easily).

Michael stands next to Laira through the negotiations. Laira tells Michael that she has to be neutral but she thinks Michael can steer the negotiation, if she's ready for that.

(transparency!)

Michael gives an fantastic speech for peaceful first contact, and they're successful. (Laira's hands her are really cute).

Then there's "Captain, I need you with me" and I was so gone. They work together so well to accomplish things. Laira sees Michael's incredible abilities. Michael reads what Laira is thinking. They achieve something they both want together.

Episode 8 - not many people have the ability to surprise me, captain.

The episode starts out with Laira livid. She paces, her diction is razor sharp, and she fidgets with her hands. It's the most unsettled we've seen her so far.

Laira not being able to deal with something and Michael trying to help was what set off my 170,000+ word WIP that is over two years old. Something unexpected should happen and Laira should be mad about it was the starting point.

(also the episode bookends with this shot, which is really clever).

I have a whole set of thoughts about episode 10 and the end of the season, but this was how I got started. This look helped. Michael surprises Laira by how competent she is. Michael does looking several steps ahead thing and turns a loss into a win and it's very coy and fun.

Laira wings her hands later in engineering and that obviously meant she needed to go through something with michael and the Discovery crew could help and...

I did the most shipper me thing I could possibly do and started a fic where she got pregnant.

Thank you so much for asking!!! this was so fun to put together. (and took days).

Special mention to the way Laira can make "captain" both a compliment and an insult, depending on her mood. (it's the other half of my Michael saying "ma'am" kink.

#michael burnham #laira rillak #rillham #star trek discovery

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ellycrys · 8 months

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A Note about Power dynamics in Good Omens

(and how that plays out with Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship and the choices they make with each other)

Aziraphale and Crowley are dealing with all powerful entities in Heaven and Hell. They aren’t in positions of power…. and they have created safe space with each other. This means that some of what happens between them does come down to testing limits and having the freedom to do things they aren’t able to do elsewhere.

They’ve created their own dynamic…. but they are also exploring and learning about what is possible for themselves…. and what it feels like to have things they haven’t been allowed to have before.

Aziraphale, one the one hand, hasn’t had much in the way of power himself…. and has been bullied by Heaven. So in his interactions with Crowley, has the luxury and freedom to take positions of power and refuse to bend or compromise. To be 'IN CHARGE'. And Crowley indulges this tremendously…. until lines are crossed.

We saw this with Aziraphale and the Ox.

Given the opportunity at first he gorges himself …. because he’s suddenly realized he’s starving and over time is able to refine how he fills that need…. but it is still there, he’s just learned how to control his reaction to that hunger and enjoyment.

As someone who spent a period of time having to go without a lot of things…. I noticed that there was a way of thinking about the things I needed/wanted that didn’t immediately change when I suddenly had them and there was no longer any worry about surviving. It can be an adjustment. And there’s a tendency to hoard or overdo it when enjoying those things at first because your brain is hardwired to think “this could be the last time… I need to get as much of this as I can.” Even if your brain knows better, instincts for survival are automatic and hardwired.

In a normal world there are lots of checks and balances to help balance this kind of growth out so you don't end up swinging to the other side of the pendulum of want.....

But AziCrow have their bubble they’ve created and they are the most powerful beings in that bubble. They can warp reality around them, and force people to go along with whatever they are doing if they really want to. Ahem…. looking at you Aziraphale. (still love you though)

And checks and balances don’t exist in their bubble, so the only person who could stop Aziraphale from going on a power trip is Crowley.

(if I had them I would link to my season 3 thoughts here… I am still working on my thoughts around what happens next... where are you at?)

Crowley has been forced by both sides to take actions and hold positions that don't align with who he is as a core being….

...and doesn’t have the ability to refuse outright any order or demand of hell.

His entire existence has been written around falling for caring too much about things that matter and asking questions.

The universe has demanded things of Crowley that Crowley has been punished for disagreeing with, his words are considered “wrong” and there has been nowhere he could go or escape to avoid the consequences of being himself.

His superiors appear to him in his car or on his television…. he’s literally trapped and unable to stop that from happening, except in the bookshop (that’s a tangent I’m going to step past for now)

Crowley talks about running away a lot. But running away usually has everything to do with Aziraphale and wanting them to be safe, or reacting to Aziraphale during a fight.

So for Crowley running, leaving…. having the power to choose to leave…. to remove himself from a situation is its own exercise of power. It’s a freedom to choose that hasn’t been afforded to him by Heaven or Hell.

So is it a survival mechanism or a protective mechanism…. sure.

But in a very real sense both Crowley and Aziraphale are given the opportunity with each other to act out these things ….

...for Aziraphale it’s the ability to control his universe and for Crowley the ability to choose his own path and to say he will choose it.

They are for each other a way of working through these things they can do nowhere else, and taking risks and doing things they should not be able to do.

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #power #ineffable husbands #coping strategies #loving each other enough to let the other person make mistakes and try new things even if it's not easy to deal with #aziracrow #aziraphel x crowley #crowley x arizaphale

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arliedraws · 2 months

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Just some personal thoughts under the cut…

I was feeling a bit weird about veering slightly into torture porn with my recent writing, and then I reflected on why I’m so invested in putting my favorite character through hell when he does not at all deserve it. I think it’s a way to cope with helplessness. I don’t talk a lot about my feelings about the current genocide and the crushing feeling of not doing enough as one small person in the world—at least, I don’t talk about it here (I am more vocal and active outside of my presence on tumblr/online world), but there’s just so much shit right now that feels like a losing battle, and it’s easy to get sucked into numb apathy when everything you do seems to do nothing.

Of course, this is such a privileged place to be because my home is safe and I have my health and the freedom to go where I want and say the things I want, and I try to leverage that privilege where I can but it’s not enough and it’ll never be enough, and I feel guilty that I don’t do more. Teaching is wonderful and great, but I’m underpaid and overworked, and so much of my life is devoted to making sure kids not only learn to read but to think critically and care about other people even when we are all numbing ourselves to pain and the suffering of others because our brains are so limited in what we can absorb when there are so many terrible things that are happening in the world.

March is also the time of year where I start having suicide ideation. Something about winter lingering in the upper plains with that sort of suffocating grayness gets to me, especially this year following a practically snowless winter. This is also when most of the traumatic things that have shaped my life have happened, and even when I’m not actively thinking about those things, I can still feel them. (Don’t worry, I’m in therapy and I have a very good support system and my mental health is now very well-managed.)

That part of the fic where it says “Suffering was life but life was not only suffering, and once there had been joy and delight between the gasps of sorrow and hurt” is just me talking through my own feelings. Maybe I am sinking into the misery of this fic with a bit of zest, but it’s been really cathartic to make a character realize he wants to live in spite of the horrible things that have happened to him.

The first part of the second chapter was weirdly one of the most important things I’ve written for myself in a long time. Sirius realizes that yes, maybe he does want to live for Harry, but he wants to live for himself too, and even when you’ve been beaten and broken, it doesn’t mean that life can’t go one or that it isn’t worth trying. And you don’t really know if it’ll get worse when you come out of the thing you thought was the worst thing that could happen, but there is so much else that can and will happen too. Life swings like a pendulum, and it has to come back the other way because everything ends at some point even if it doesn’t end the way you wanted or hoped.

Anyway, this has been a very strange spring break, and I can’t believe I’m thinking this deeply about Sirius Black getting tortured and why it matters to me. So I guess, enjoy the whump/torture fic written by a formerly suicidal author if that helps you. Enjoy without guilt because exploring human suffering and cruelty and recovery through the safety of fiction is okay and probably good. Fiction isn’t real, but human emotion and our need for catharsis IS real.

And don’t worry because nobody dies in my fic. And yes, he will be rescued in the end.

#tw: suicide mention #potentially triggering thoughts!

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rom-e-o · 5 months

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The Call - Ebenezer/Constance Modern!AU

A continuation of Ebenezer and Constance's meeting in a modern and AU setting. Here, they FINALLY set up a first date!

This story also includes characters from @quill-pen and her universe, including her Ebenezar/Wolf, Bess, Addie, and Gal, as well as characters like Eddie and Pippersnipe that have manifested through shared headcanon discussions!

The sound of the cottage added further chaos to the already bursting cottage.

“Oh, yay! Pizza’s here!”

“I thought we were only making snacks for tonight. I just popped popcorn!”

“Who the heck complains about pizza?”

“You gals are like bloody garbage disposals – how can you eat so much?” Eddie asked.

“Oi, ladies, can we start this flick ‘ometime in the next fifty years?”

After each woman had filled their plates with pizza and grabbed a glass of their favorite wine, the group filed into the cottage’s cozy living room and piled in front of the television for a much-needed movie night.

“Here you go, Eddie,” Constance said as she handed the older woman a hearty plate of food and a flute of her favorite blackberry liqueur.

“Tryna to get me liquored up, are ya?” she asked playfully as she accepted the very full flute.

“That’s what sleepovers with the girls are for!” Constance teased in return, giving her shoulders a playful squeeze before making sure her blanket with tucked in place.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen ‘Anastasia’ – it’s a classic!” Bess exclaimed to Addie, who giggled as she assumed a spot on the floor. She put the bowl of freshly popped popcorn between them. “Gosh, I used to watch this with Millie on repeat when she was younger. I could probably recite it word for word.”

“Try t' contain y'self, Lass,” Gal said, stealing a fistful of popcorn as she fell into her seat of choice.

“Sorry, I’ve just … never had a reason to see it,” Addie reasoned with a shrug. “But I’m excited! Is it a romance?”

“Oh-ho! 'Tis a MUSICAL ROMANCE!” Gal corrected. She was lying across one of their tufted armchairs, her back resting on one armrest while her legs rested atop the other, socked feet bobbing up and down. “Wit' talkin' critters too.”

“How are you familiar with ‘Anastasia’, Gal?” Bess asked curiously as she twisted her long, dark hair into an updo. “It doesn't quite seem like your type of movie?”

“Eh, I dun'mind a princessy tale now and again,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. When the stares from her friends didn’t relent, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Also, Jake fancies it.”

Amused cooing erupted from the other ladies.

“If ye tell 'im I told ye, I'll knock ye brains out an' serve 'em as fritters!”

“Eh, leave the poor man alone, it’s a cute little movie,” Eddie added, who was comfortably situated on the room’s other armchair, which sat opposite of Gal’s. “The mousy lad she falls for is quite the darling. A little young and an awful dresser, but I think I could fix him up nicely.”

“Shhh, no spoilers!”

“I haven’t seen it either, Addie,” Connie chimed in, reaching down from her position on the couch to take her hand, lace their fingers, then swing their hands like a pendulum back and forth. “We can be surprised together!”

“Seriously, you too?” Bess asked. “How did I not know that? I would have fixed this long ago!”

The redhead shrugged. “I just don’t watch movies very often.”

“Now, that is not true, Con,” she refuted, poking her friend in the knee. “You have a weird taste in movies, not a non-existent one. I know WAY too much about what happens in the ‘Sex and the City’ movies because of you alone.”

“W-Well…” she went to argue as Gal snickered from her position in the chair.

Truth be told, it would be nice to have the distraction of a movie for the evening. While Connie was doing her best to play it cool, her mind and heart were still racing from her morning shift.

That was when, motivated by her friends’ insistence and reasoning, she had found the courage to write her phone number on the cup of Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge’s morning order. It had taken weeks of build-up and peer pressure to take the seemingly small step, but it had been preceded by maddening amounts of flirting.

As if giving him her cell number wasn’t enough, she’d written the note ‘Call me~” right beneath it, and signed it with the letter ‘C’ for good measure.

That had been seven hours ago. And not a single call or text had come through.

Crickets.

Nada.

Goose egg.

With a sigh, she slipped her phone into the kangaroo pocket of her oversized sweatshirt and took a bug gulp of her wine. Well, she’d probably just lost her best customer. That would be fun to confess to her boss on Monday.

“Okay, everyone ready?” Addie asked as she reached for the remote to start the film. “Annnnd … play!”

About halfway through the film, after the two jumbo pizzas had been demolished, Constance felt a buzzing from her pullover’s pocket. She’d silenced the phone for the movie, not expecting anyone to reach out to her (after all, all her friends – aside from her mom and their landlord Mr. Pippersnipe) were in the room with her.

Constance glanced down at her phone and saw a familiar number flash across the top of the screen. She hadn’t created a contact profile for the number yet, but she knew it by heart already after weeks of seeing his number amongst her daily orders.

“It’s him!” Constance exclaimed as she all but shot out of her seat. “H-He’s calling me! H-He really is!”

Gal practically spat out her drink.

The other girls collectively gasped while Bess turned to shush them. “PAUSE! EVERYONE SHUT UP!”

“W-Who? Wait, is it that handsome man from the coffee shop?” Addie asked, which made Constance blush bright red before nodding. “Oooooh, it is!”

“I’ll be damned – the blighter has a backbone!” Eddie cheered, hoisting her flute. “Now you can check that front-bone of his, too.”

“Eddie!”

“MISSION CONTROL, WE HAVE CONFIRMATION THE ADONIS HAS MADE CONTACT WITH THE SUN!” Bess continued, scrambling for the television remote. “Pause! Ugh, at least MUTE, darn you!”

‘Adonis’ was an affectionate nickname Constance and her friends had given to the silver-haired man that frequented the New Grounds Coffee Co. daily. It never needed explanation because, as soon as one saw a picture of the man, the reason for the name was evident.

“W-What do I do?” Constance asked.

“ANSWER IT!” all the girls cried in unison (“And put ‘em on speaker!” Eddie chimed in loudly before Addie frantically shushed her).

Constance took the deepest breath she’d ever taken before accepting the call.

“Um, h-hello, this is Constance,” she spoke timidly into the receiver.

“Constance! I’m glad you picked up. Um, hello. I-It’s Ebenezer.”

Her heart did backflips at the excited tremor in his voice. “H-Hi! I thought I recognized your number, haha. I’m glad you called.”

Now on her feet and pacing around in her black shorts and crumb-covered pullover, she was so thankful he hadn’t opted for a video call. While it was always nice to see him (literally, he was a treat for the eyes), she knew she looked like an absolute mess, with wine-stained lips and her hair in an updo that nothing but a shower could help.

She they talked, she saw her friends watching in intrigued, their reactions running the gambit from eager cheering to sly, flirtatious lip puckers.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

“Um, not really,” she replied truthfully, frantically gesturing for the girls to stay quiet. “I’m just at home. I-I hope you are too. It’s cold out.”

From her vantage point in the kitchen, she could see the beginnings of a gentle snowfall dusting the surrounding buildings in a flimsy layer of frost.

“I just finished at the office, actually,” confided, his voice low. “It’s been a long day, so I wanted to warm up with a drink before I left. I did want to give you a call as soon as I could. To tell you the truth, I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Constance was sure she looked like a crazy person as she spun in excited circles at his admission, but she was far too happy to care. “Really? I’m kind of relieved to hear that, actually! I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“Hardly,” he replied with a warm laugh. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“Oh, please don’t apologize! You were working. I’m just glad to hear you can head home soon.”

“You’re very sweet,” Ebenezer said, and her heart leapt again at his praise. His voice always got a little rumbly when he was pleased, and the melty effect it gave her legs was just as effective over the phone. “Constance, I wanted to ask … um, are you off this Saturday? We’re supposed to have a break in this cold front, and I was wondering if might be interested in going out to dinner to enjoy it?”

He was asking her out! It was REALLY happening!

She mouthed out ‘Dinner date!’ to the girls. The reveal was immediately greeted with silent clapping and eager thumbs-ups. Of course, Eddie mouthed back an ‘I told you so’, complete with a pointed finger to accentuate her correctness.

“I would love that,” Constance replied, tousling her hair nervously while she answered. “I’m free all afternoon and evening that day, honestly.”

The second the admission crossed her lips, she felt instant regret. Great, she thought. Now he probably thought she sounded desperate and needy for attention. Yet, Ebenezer only laughed again (goodness, his laughter was so nice – she could listen to it all day, every day).

“Fantastic! Would 8 p.m. work? There’s a fabulous restaurant on the riverfront called Estella’s that I think you’d enjoy.”

Estella’s on a Saturday night? The restaurant was well known for only serving London’s most upper of upper class. Without connections, it was nearly impossible to get a table.

“I’ve heard of it – it’s very exclusive! I-I hear it’s really hard to get in.”

“I think we should be fine,” Ebenezer said, his tone confident but not arrogant.

Unbeknownst to her, he was eyeing a reservation email in his inbox that confirmed the details of the dinner. He’d reached out to the restaurant’s owner and successfully booked the space before even calling to mention it to her. That way if she accepted his invitation, there would be no risk of him not being able to fulfill it. The last thing he wanted to do on a long-awaited date with the first woman he’d had a crush on in literal decades was not deliver on a first-date promise.

“Can I pick up at 7:15 p.m. or so? I know it’s early, but if we have some extra time beforehand, there’s a lovely lounge on the restaurant’s second floor with a nice artwork display. We could grab a drink or two as well. I-If you wouldn’t mind that, that is.”

“That sounds so lovely,” she answered. Heavens, how long had it been since she’d been on a date that sounded so nice? Why, it probably hadn’t been since before her marriage to her ex-husband, Orin. That would have made it over 20 years.

“Yes, 7:15 p.m. would work perfectly! I don’t think I live too far from you.”

As she gave him her address, she heard the click of a pen and the faint sound of scrawling. He was writing it down.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

He was actually going to drive her? Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, one of London’s most esteemed philanthropists and self-made billionaires, was going to drive her personally?

“Oh, good! We don’t have a ton of parking here, but when I see your message, I can walk just up the street to the –”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “London’s winters are frigid! I’ll not have you walking and waiting in the dark. When I’m there, I’ll get out, ring the bell, and walk you personally.”

This all had to be some elaborate dream, she thought. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep during the movie after all and was just one nudge away from waking up and seeing that their phone conversation was nothing but an imagined flight of fancy.

“O-Okay, that sounds wonderful.”

“Excellent. Well, I won’t keep you, dear. I will tell you that I’m very much looking to our date.”

“Me too,” she revealed. “T-Thank you again for calling. I honestly can’t wait.”

“I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you’ll trust me when I say that it’s my pleasure.”

She laughed, an easy smile crossing her face. She leaned against the kitchen wall and sank down until she was seated on the floor, knees nestled just beneath her chin. “Well, I really hope you have a safe trip home. Goodnight, Ebenezer.”

“I certainly will,” he said. Then, after another beat, he said, “Goodnight, angel. I’ll see you Saturday.”

Constance ended the call. After checking to make sure she’d hung up the phone, even dialing another digit to hear a dial tone click in, she shot up and danced in circles. The woman was just about to run to the living room to alert her friends only to see that they were all waiting in a gaggle on the other side of the threshold.

“So?” Addie asked, already beaming.

“8 o’clock on Saturday,” she revealed.

Bess was the first to cheer and pull her friend into a tight embrace. “I knew it! I knew he would eventually do it!”

“Where’s he takin’ ya?” Gal asked. Upon hearing the answer, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “Estella’s!? Blimey, he mighty does like ye if he's takin' ye to a fancy galley like that!”

“You think?” Connie asked, then giggled again as Addie hugged her tight.

“The real test will be the night of,” Eddie said, waggling her glass mid-air. “What he does during the date…and after.”

“I-It’s just a first date, nothing serious,” the redhead said.

Bess and Gal exchanged unconvinced looks. Addie hummed idly. Eddie all but snorted.

“Just don’t forget a change of clothes,” Eddie teased. “Or…do. He may like that more.”

Connie yelped and Bess only rolled her eyes at the older woman’s teasing. Meanwhile, Addie looked slightly lost in thought, eyes glazing at she rubbed her chin and stared with oddly serious intent at the floor.

“Addie?” the raven-haired woman asked. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” she said, “I was … just thinking. Um, you said his name is Mr. Scrooge, right?”

Constance nodded.

“Ebenezer, or Ebenezar?”

“Um…Ebenezer?” Constance answered, her brow furrowing. “With an ‘er’ at the end.”

Without another word, Addie suddenly trotted back to the living room. The other woman trotted after to find her crouching on her knees, arm rattling around a small magazine rack they had under their end table. It was a common resting place for junk mail, catalogs, and other unnecessary mail items that didn’t have a purpose or deadline attached to them.

“Almoooost ...a-ha!”

Addie pulled a semi-smushed, rolled up finance section that had gotten mixed up in their morning newspaper delivery on accident. She flipped through it quickly before finding the page she desired. Then, splaying the pages open with her thumb, she held out the publication for the other ladies to view.

Right there, in the paper’s centerfold, was a featured article title: Scrooge Brothers Diversify Financial Portfolio with Expanding Philanthropic Efforts! Expert panelists weigh in…

There, beneath the headline, was an image of both men, side by side, engaged in some kind of presentation before a crowded room of onlookers.

One of the men was the man Constance knew from the coffee shop. Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, the man who never ordered the same thing twice, complimented her skills, and remembered her birthday even when all her other coworkers had forgotten.

The other man beside him had the exact same face. Longer hair and a slightly sturdier frame, but otherwise, the resemblance between them was eerie.

Bess poked her head over Connie’s shoulder for a better look. Upon seeing the brothers featured, she grabbed the article and went bug-eyed. “No way.”

“Way. He’s a twin,” Addie said, “An identical twin!”

That had gone well.

Or, he thought it had … hadn’t it?

He allowed himself the pleasure of letting out a little laugh of relief. Bloody hell, he’d been so nervous about calling her. When he’s first seen the note she’d left him, he’d thought he’s been dreaming. Or, perhaps she was pranking him. Regardless, he’d tucked the note in the breast pocket of his coat for safe-keeping. Even the small scrap of paper carried the aroma of lilies and fresh pears, a perfume he’d come to associate with her. It paired quite nicely with the sight of her brightly greeting customers as they came in from the cold. After shuffling down the cold and sometimes hollow alleyways of London, the mere sight of her tanned visage and coppery hair was like glimpsing the summer sun.

Then, when he’d worked up the nerve to call (after the help of some liquid courage and from within the safety of an empty office) the sound of her voice had lured him into a sanctuary of further boldness. Each word from her lips was as clear as a bell, her articulation precise and her tone welcoming. Eager, perhaps. He certainly hoped so.

Ebenezer polished off the glass’ last finger of whiskey before pulling up a new tab on his laptop. After loading the website of a local florist he knew from their work at other charity events, he began to browse through the different flower varieties and arrangement options.

What flowers should he bring? Tulips? Too juvenile. Roses? Certainly beautiful, but still not quite right. Orchids? No, lilies! And sunflowers. An unconventional combination, he supposed, but it seemed so perfect for her. The lilies for poise and elegance, and the sunflowers for the way she lit up even the darkest days in the darkest city with just one smile.

As he clicked through different options, he saw the phone he’d temporarily set aside vibrate gently upon his cherrywood desk.

He was greeted by a text from his younger twin brother.

>>Ebenezar: I can see the office light on from my flat. What the hell are you still doing there? <<Ebenezer: I’ll be leaving shortly. I’m just grabbing a drink. >>Ebenezar: Must be a strong drink – you were pacing around the office with the loopiest grin on that mug of yours. Now, you’re browsing for flowers?

Ebenezer went to the window and yanked the blinds shut. Blast, he’d forgotten his brother lived so close to the damn office.

<<Ebenezer: Spying? Are you so bored at home? >>Ebenezar: I’m not calling on Yankee ladies like you. If that’s what you mean.

How the hell had he known? Blast, he must have heard him chatting about the phone conversation with Bob.

<<Ebenezer: Perhaps it would do you well. You’re handsome enough. >>Ebenezar: ‘He was hilarious.’ That’s what they’ll say on the day someone finally knocks you on the head for your smartass comments. <<Ebenezer: Pot, meet kettle. Like I said, I’ll be leaving shortly. Sorry to cut your entertainment short. When you start calling on Yankee ladies, I’ll warm them of your voyeurism. >>Ebenezar: Smartass wanker.

Ebenezer rolled his eyes and pocketed the device, quite content to abandon his post and get some sleep. It was getting colder out, after all, and Constance had expressed hope that he’d head home soon.

In a way, he wanted to honor her wishes, even if she wasn’t technically present to witness it.

The fact that she cared so much made heat flood his cheeks, and he suddenly doubted if he’d even need his winter coat anymore to keep his blood from freezing.

I really hope you have a safe trip home. Goodnight, Ebenezer.

His heart started again. The blush didn’t leave his face, even after he’d closed his laptop and shut off the lights.

For a man who enjoyed a productive and jam-packed workweek, suddenly Saturday night couldn’t come fast enough.

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