#// the continuity in your ask too mmmm chef's kiss

[twistedisciple]

“You.”

Same insouciant greeting. Same annual circumstance. One might be brought back in time to the same day from yesteryear, identical if not for the dragon’s easy approach bereft of hesitation. The vast enormity of differences that hung between then and now. Whatever adversity and pleasantry had come their way, two now stood stronger for it. A sentiment that required no foolish saying among their kind - only showing.

“It is your birthday. I come to you in that respect bearing a gift and require no gratitude.” Announcement where announcement was unneeded; said gift shamelessly and prominently extended with the heavy thump of a chest at the sage’s feet. Filled to utter limits, suggested the dangerous noise it made. Rafal closed his eyes in prelude, known already to what lay within. “Open it.”

An elaborate surface predated opening, patterned by heraldic etchings of the Gradlon evil-eye. Beneath that ornamentation sat the bedrock of true substance. Coins of silver and gold were stacked in hills upon hills, in what felt to be a thousand grains forming a veritable mountain altogether. Not one bit inaccurate to a dragon’s hoard. Now all of it deemed Griss’.

“Such is your rightful due. Though I suppose humanity is fond of a more colloquial term—your paycheck. Two years' worth and then some.“ The dividends from his professorial stipend, the meager living and excruciating 25% cutback on his usual sweets intake, the part time employ at the maid cafe, all were mere stepping stones to this moment: the important milestone which officiated lord and knight.

As lords did not demand anything less than exceptional service, knights did not give that service for free. None could be more conscious of manmade world view, perhaps, than a dragon who lived among men. The failure with something to prove. He centered his gaze upon Griss solemnly, nervous with some unintended transparency of feeling. A sincere and resolved yet. . .fluttering thing.

“As your lord, it is my duty to ensure you are properly compensated. Whether I am here for centuries, or whether I should die tomorrow, with this practice you may live comfortably.” Long did dragonkind live, yet the life of one such as Rafal was precarious. He who took from the world and guzzled its every last drop would one day give back, with interest, with all that he had. But that was neither here nor there. He roused to his full spirits, head bobbing with pride. "A generous master, am I not? There is no need to thank me, Griss! . . .or you may if that is what pleases you."

Birthday asks (Happy 29th)

Even after nearly two years on borrowed time, birthdays hadn’t become any more meaningful to Griss. He didn’t count the days, didn’t pay attention to the dates, and rarely knew what month it was except when he noticed the changing of the seasons. For all of his brazen confidence, his loud and overbearing presence, and the way he fashioned himself to turn heads (mostly for disapproving looks, but that was better than not being seen at all), he really didn’t care all that much for being celebrated. His birthday and consequently, his life, was of no real importance to anyone. Even as a Hound, he always knew there would be a day when he’d be better off as a Corrupted. Or simply dead. And it didn’t bother him one bit.

His whole life felt like he was just borrowing time. As it reached its 29th year, he’d started to wonder (only half-seriously) if this was how dragons felt about their lengthy lifespans. Thirty felt egregious for someone like him. So he thought he might ask Lord Rafal about that when he saw him, because even though he didn’t really think about what day it was or his birthday, he’d expected - for some reason he couldn’t and wouldn’t name - that he’d see the dragon at some point that day.

But by the time he did, it was a whole hot drink to the face later, and had the rare philosophical question managed to survive that excitement, it certainly couldn’t crawl out from under the mountains of gold that filled the chest Lord Rafal had deposited at his feet outside the door to his office. After Griss flung open the top, the sight of its contents stunned him to the point of speechlessness, and he dropped to his knees and plunged his fist into the middle of it just to feel the weight of each piece, to make sure it was real.

But that wasn’t really why he couldn’t find anything more to say than colorful variations of “Wow, Lord Rafal!” The gold shifted in undulating waves over his hand, dripped from his palm like water pouring back into the sea, and he sifted like he was looking for something. Words, maybe, instead of this bittersweet taste that sat at the back of his tongue.

“Heh, two years late on the pay, huh?” Griss finally said, glancing up with a smirk as he let another palmful of coin trickle back to the pile. “See, that’s where you lucked out. Knights might demand gold and material stuff like this, but not the faithful.”

Not this faithful, anyway, who lived by extremes, who’d convinced himself over the years that the only thing he deserved was licks from a whip. He watched the rest of the gold drop back into the chest piece-by-piece. He’d always taken whatever he was given, of course, and jobs were jobs.

But this wasn’t a job. Not to him. Shutting the lid, he swallowed down that bittersweetness and rose back up to his feet to look his lord in the eye. Hands coming to rest on his hips, his mouth a crooked line of a smile, there was nothing all that out of place about his look, except for the bright pink splotch across his face and down the side of his neck, and the wearied lines under his downturned eyes. With the toes of one foot, he pushed the chest across the floor until it bumped Lord Rafal’s shoes.

”Comfort's not my style anyway! So I’m giving this up as tribute since my blood’s not good enough for a fell dragon’s tastes. Besides, I don't have any plans to outlive you.” He chuckled. “If y’wanna hit me though, I won’t say no.” 

His was not a loyalty bound by contract, but a choice. Although faith had brought their paths to cross, Griss followed Lord Rafal because he wanted to. Whether dragon or worm.

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Young American - Sneak Peek!

A soft banter-ous sneaky for you all! I decided to take the day off and have been writing all morning! Making some headway!

Hope you guys like this!

Read the series here!

In truth, Y/N felt a bit sad to see her bedroom at Julie’s so bare…stripped of the essentials…of the things that had made it her own space. So as she stepped inside after her shower and saw it again she felt a little hurt in her heart and pouted a bit.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked from the bed and she shook her head.

“I just…forgot everything was gone.” She said and he pouted with her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my love.”

“It’s alright. Just get nostalgic.” She assured with a small smile before she went to get her pajamas on, which currently consisted of some sweatpants and one of Harry’s hoodies. She was absolutely infatuated with his scent, it was so comforting to her over the last few weeks or so. She just needed to feel all wrapped up in it, it even curbed the occasional wave of nausea she’d get.

Harry watched quietly as she got out of her robe and into her clothes. He constantly admired how beautiful she was. Especially as her tummy grew more and more each week, he’s sure other people couldn’t tell the subtle differences week by week but he did. And it made him happy to be able to feel and see it for himself because it meant that their baby was growing just fine. She was 15 weeks along now.

“As of today,” Harry’s voice was suddenly behind her and it startled her a bit because she hadn’t anticipated him at all or to feel his big, warm hands sliding from her hips to hold her bump, “the baby’s the size of an?” He quizzed and she smiled.

“Orange?” She responded softly and he smiled and kissed her cheek.

“Yep. We have a winner!” He confirmed playfully and she snorted out a laugh which made him squeeze her gently as he laughed.

“What did I win?” She asked softly as she turned to face him.

“I didn’t think that far ahead.” He confessed and she giggled, “Any ideas?”

“Ummm…a big fat kiss?” She asked and he smirked.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He hummed as he continued to rub over her little bump as he started to lean in.

“Mmmm, maybe also the lo mein and kung-pao chicken bowl from Great Wall? With the spring rolls and sweet and sour sauce?” She asked with big eyes, he could see her desire swimming in them and he smiled.

“Baby, that’s a lot of sodium.” He chuckled and she huffed.

“Look, not that I’ve been snooping but…I’ve seen the book marks you’ve left in the pregnancy books in the diet sections and I know you’re gonna force me to be a super clean eater soon-” 

“I’m gonna do it with you! I’m sure mum and gran will also be joining us. And it’s not forcing you, it’s just what’s good for the baby.” He reminded and she sighed.

“Yeah, I know. But can this be an England thing please? It’ll be easier then because I didn’t like your fast food to be honest.” She admitted.

“Oh please!” He laughed with a dramatic eye roll, “We went to the chippy a few times a week while we were there!” He reminded.

“Because that was the only good junk food!” She said and he chuckled.

“Fine, fine…eat your American junk while you still can…” he said in surrender.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t die for Feng’s lo mein with the spicy tofu and veggies.” She said to him and he chuckled.

“The fact that you’re on a first name basis with the chef at this point means you’re eating there too much.” He pointed out with a smile.

“My love, it’s a pregnancy craving…the baby’s basically begging for it and then punishing me when I try and satisfy it with anything else. You can’t deny the baby.” She pouted at him and he pecked her lips quickly and grinned as he shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re a manipulative little shit.” He said playfully and she laughed, “Get dressed then so we can go.” He hummed as his hands slithered back to her bum and patted it a few times and then he smirked, “Whoa…didn’t know this grew with pregnancy too.” He looked at her with a smirk as he groped her butt now.

“Everything’s gonna grow…unfortunately. You know some people literally grow shoe sizes and never revert back to normal! I like my regular sized feet.” She said and he chuckled.

“I’m sure your feet will be fine.” He reassured with a smile and she huffed.

“They fucking better.” She mumbled before she pulled him down for a kiss. Their lips met gently before they were pulled into a deeper kiss for a few more moments until he felt her skin covered in goosebumps and he broke apart from her.

“Let’s get you dressed so we can get you two fed, then.” He said and she smiled.

“H, I love you.” She said to him, holding eye contact with him and he smiled back at her.

“I love you too, baby.” He responded, “And you too.” He said as he brought his hand up to his mouth and kissed his palm before putting it against her bump with a happy smile.

---- Tag List ----

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[purple-babygirl]

What about Bucky dealing with a Little that's very picky about food and nervous about trying new foods so Bucky does things like eating the new food first and then asks if the little would want some, and maybe something to do with the fact that the little eats the same few foods nearly everyday? You can ignore this if you want!!

Word count: 2,613

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, it's all fluff.

A/N: Hi! I loved this so much and I loved writing it and I really hope you like reading it just as much💜 Thank you for sharing this idea with me; it was awesome💜 Also, it might take me some time to get to your guys' asks, but I will never ignore you. Please enjoy xx💜💜 I know I said I was trying to write them shorter but they keep getting longer idk I like to make food so🤷

~~

chef daddy adventures

Bucky was a democratic daddy. He had rules and they were agreed upon and followed, but there were still certain things his girl got to choose to her own liking. Bucky would schedule a play date and she would decide what to wear. Bucky would say it's bath time and she'd point to the bath bomb she wanted to drop in the tub. Bucky would cook and she'd pick what she wanted to eat.

The thing was, though, that she picked almost the same things every single time. She ate the same things every week. And not only that, but there were stuff she would refuse to eat or even taste. Her doctor assured Bucky it wasn't something physical: no sensitive palate and no allergies. She was just a picky eater; always nervous about trying anything new.

This left Bucky with limited options both when he was cooking or ordering food. He wanted to make his girl comfortable, but that didn't mean he wanted her to miss out on all the benefits other foods offered because mushrooms were tasteless, seafood tasted ocean-rancid or the texture of cooked zucchinis was weird.

“Hey, bubba, what do you think we try something different today?” Bucky proposed after she picked fried chicken again when asked about what she wanted for dinner.

“Different?” She tilted her head, dropping her colouring pencil, letting Bucky carry her outside of the playroom.

“Mhm, maybe we could try a new recipe for chicken? You know daddy only makes you tasty stuff, right?” Bucky said as he sat her up on the kitchen counter.

“I don' know, dada..” she trailed off unsurely, the thought alone making her nervous.

“You're doubting daddy's cooking skills?” Bucky gasped, closing his eyes and clutching his heart.

“No, no, dada, no!” She assured him quickly, wrapping her limbs around him like a baby koala, arms and legs hugging his torso.

“You like daddy’s cooking then?” He asked her playfully.

“Yes, daddy, I like it a lot.”

“So you're gonna help daddy with our newest recipe?” Bucky opened one eye, smiling mischievously at the girl wrapped around him.

“Yes, daddy.” She meekly nodded in his chest.

“And you're gonna give it a try? Eat it with daddy?” He opened the other eye, his big hand rubbing her back.

“Yes, daddy,” she repeated, looking up at him.

“Such a good girl.” Bucky kissed her forehead and she smiled at the praise.

~

A few minutes later, Bucky had the needed ingredients on the spacious counter beside his girl: chicken breasts, shallot onions, a couple garlic cloves, cream, some shredded mozzarella and parmesan and mushrooms. Now, she did object to the addition of mushrooms to the dish, but Bucky convinced her it won't affect it because it had no taste. She couldn't argue against her own words.

Bucky could see the slight sadness on her face because she actually liked everything he put in that pan except for the sliced button mushrooms. But he needed her to give the fungi a chance.

“Bubba, you wanna sprinkle the cheese?” That should cheer her up.

~

“Baby doll, you wanna try some?” Bucky asked before scooping her a portion, though he knew what she was about to say.

“Only cream, no mushrooms, please, dada.” Exactly that.

“But, bubba- just give it a try.”

She stayed silent, her fingers pinching the tablecloth.

“For me?” Bucky pleaded with her gently.

“Dada..” she didn't want to say no but she didn't want to eat the mushrooms still.

“Here, look, daddy will try them first and I'll tell you if they don't taste good, okay? Promise,” Bucky said, scooping some cream and mushrooms on his spoon.

“Okay, daddy,” she agreed quietly, his promise making her feel less nervous. She trusted her Daddy's judgment.

“Bub, you're missing out,” Bucky told her as soon as he chewed his food, licking his spoon in emphasis, “those mushrooms are delicious.”

“They have a taste?” She asked with wide eyes, making Bucky smile big.

“Yup, taste like the cheesy cream sauce we made. You want one?” He picked one slice of mushroom, rubbing it in the white sauce.

She nodded, opening her mouth.

“Good girl.” Bucky slid the fork in her mouth, watching her face as she chewed.

“How does it taste, bub?”

“Like cream,” she confirmed with a smile.

“Wait till you try it with chicken in the same bite, hold on.” Bucky excitedly started preparing the next bite on her fork, internally sighing in relief that he was able to get her to try something new.

~

When he tried to do that again with zucchini though, Bucky miserably failed. The second she saw the tall vegetables through the plastic shopping bags, she asked Bucky if they could order pizza for dinner that night, not even giving him a chance to cook them for her. The same thing happened when he attempted to sneak shrimps into their linguine. She wasn't near as compliant as she was when they cooked the mushrooms. Maybe it was because mushrooms didn’t have a strong, distinct taste or texture for her to remember and complain about. Whatever the reason, she made one thing clear: she did not want her teeth anywhere near that green vegetable or that shellfish.

Bucky almost gave up on zucchinis and shrimps until one day when they were watching Ratatouille, a lamp lit above his head. He saw his girl mesmerized by the dish Remy made Ego so much that she constantly kept talking about it: how colorful it was, how she wished she could taste it and how she wondered what was in it. Bucky being Bucky, he knew the recipe. And he knew it essentially contained zucchinis. So the next day when grocery shopping, Bucky made sure to get all the ingredients needed to make one, delicious, authentic ratatouille for his girl.

Only problem was, she was a smart little one. She knew zucchinis when she saw them and she saw Bucky thin-slicing a few. So she refused to eat when dinner was on the table, asking if she could have noodles instead. It would be the fifth time that she'd wanted noodles for dinner that week. Bucky made her noodles anyway so she wouldn't feel left out on the dinner table, but he still had to convince her.

“Mmmm, it tastes so good, baby doll. I bet it's better than the one Remy made,” Bucky said, exaggeratingly savoring the bite he took.

“Remy is the best chef ever, dada,” she mumbled, fingers playing with the tablecloth.

“Exactly, so what does that tell ya?” His question made her gaze on the full pan in subtle contemplation.

“That daddy is a better chef?” She bit down.

“That's right. You want a taste, bub?” Bucky asked her softly.

“Dada, I don't like zucchinis,” she said in subtle frustration, her feet almost kicking air under the table. She wanted a taste, she just didn't want a taste of zucchini.

“Too bad; tastes delicious,” Bucky shrugged apologetically, watching her as he took another fork between his lips.

“Does it really taste good?” She wondered curiously, eyeing the tomato sauce-smeared plate.

He successfully had her attention.

“Mhm.”

“So good?”

“Yeah, so so good,” Bucky promised, “you wanna try?” He offered her the next loaded fork with a hopeful smile.

She stared at Bucky, hesitation clear in her eyes despite her mouth-watering at the sight and smell of the dish, the sweetness of basil filling the air.

“But just a li'l bite?” She negotiated, still trying to get out of having to eat zucchini.

“Just a little bite; see if you like it?” Bucky dropped the food back on the plate, getting her a smaller portion on the fork instead.

She nodded, “yes, please, dada.”

“Good girl. One little bite coming up. Open up, bub.” Bucky smiled, positioning the fork before her mouth.

She faintly pouted at the thought of zucchinis but opened up and let herself taste the food. The more she chewed the more her eyes widened, making Bucky chuckle.

Bucky didn't put any zucchini on the first fork, not wanting her to feel betrayed. He wanted her to warm up to the meal bit by bit, so he only gave her eggplant and tomato.

“You like it, baby doll?”

“Yes, dada. 'S delicious.” She nodded, tongue licking the side of her lips.

“Told ya.” Bucky grinned wider, reloading the fork for her.

“No, dada, that's too much zucchini,” she whined when she saw the bite he was preparing on the fork.

“Tell you what, did you like the sauce?” Bucky asked and she nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah? Okay, we'll dip it in lots of sauce, cover it up real good and you won't even know zucchini is there.” He promised, rolling the zucchini on the fork around in the bottom of the casserole pan.

“But I saw it.” She continued to whine.

“Trust me, bub, just like we did with the mushrooms, yeah? Open up.”

She obeyed and let Bucky feed her the sauced veggies and he was right, all she tasted was the amazing sauce and the slight crunch of the onions hid the weird texture of the zucchinis.

“Dada, wan' more please,” she requested with a sheepish smile after swallowing, her feet now swinging under the table.

Bucky was just staring at her, proud of himself that he got her to enjoy a food she would've continued to claim to hate minutes ago. He was more than happy to be the Remy to her Ego.

“Of course, baby doll.” He smiled wide, scooping another serving on the plate for her, “tell me I'm a better chef than Remy first,” Bucky teased, keeping the fork at a distance from her mouth.

“Dada's better.” She blushed, opening her mouth, making Bucky chuckle at her cuteness.

She was finally eating zucchinis and she was relishing them. That was amazing progress; Bucky just had to find a good movie for every food she refused to eat…

~

It was two weeks after Bucky made them ratatouille that he tried to sneak in another recipe containing something she didn't like to eat. Bucky had done his movie research.

And so on movie night, Bucky put on The Princess and The Frog for them to watch and made sure his baby had her eyes on the screen when Tiana's father was stirring the pot of gumbo.

“Oh, look how tasty that gumbo's looking, bubba.”

“It's a movie, dada. Real shrimps taste like-” She shook her head as her smart mouth ran.

“The ocean, yeah, I know, bub.” Bucky sighed, kissing her temple. The hardheadedness he'd encouraged on her before was coming back to bite him in the butt.

But Bucky wasn't a daddy to give up. He set up his ingredients the next day and invited his baby doll to the kitchen to assist. She was always happy when they were doing stuff together, and Bucky wanted her to see how everything was made so she knew what she was presented when it was time to eat.

Bucky did the dangerous stuff: peeled and deveined the shrimps, cut up the sausages and vegetables, minced the garlic, and simmered the sauce while she did the safer stuff like handing him the salt and pepper, tasting the warm broth a couple of times before Bucky dropped in the shrimps, and occasionally giggling when he would peck her nose or cheek.

“You wanna put in the last magic ingredient, baby doll?” Bucky suggested, pointing to the Tabasco sauce bottle.

“Yes, dada.” She nodded, happy that she gets to play Tiana's part.

She let Bucky open the bottle for her and hand it over, his hand on hers to make sure she didn't spill too much into the pot.

She was pleased to be cooking with her daddy, but she wasn't exactly as pleased about the thought that she might have to eat shrimps or something that tasted of it for dinner.

When they were seated, she didn't let Bucky scoop any shrimps for her. She only agreed to try the veggies and the sausages and maybe get a couple of warm broth spoons. But Bucky wasn't going to have it be like this.

“Oh my god! Who made these amazing shrimps that taste nothing like the ocean and everything like Tiana's gumbo; they are yummy!” Bucky announced loudly, making her giggle as she chewed her beef sausage slice. She was thankful the shrimps didn't ruin the whole dish for her.

“Baby doll, you've got to try this. It's too delicious!”

She shook her head stubbornly, trying not to gag as she watched Bucky bite into another shrimp.

“Bub, I promise it doesn't taste like the ocean.”

“I don't know, dada..” she replied, nervously picking at the tablecloth again.

Bucky frowned, disheartened, as his shoulders drooped. She didn't like that look on daddy. She wanted to make him smile.

“One bite?” She asked in her small voice, eyes becoming curious again.

“One bite.” Bucky cut her a small piece of the shrimp and carefully neared the fork to her mouth.

She pulled away before it touched her lips “but.. if I don't like it daddy eats the rest? Please?”

“Okay, baby doll, whatever you want.” He smiled in agreement.

She sniffed at the fork, surprised to find that it smelled of herbs instead of the ocean. She locked eyes with an expectant Bucky as she closed her lips around the fork. She pulled back and started chewing slowly, Bucky anxiously anticipating her wanting to spit the food out.

She chewed for a minute before swallowing and smiling. She actually smiled at the taste, “'S good, dada.”

“Really? You like it?” Bucky asked cheerfully and she nodded.

“Yeah, daddy didn’ lie to me. It doesn’t taste like the ocean.” She beamed gratefully.

“You want more?” He offered with a grin and she nodded harder.

“Yes, please, dada.”

Bucky was so contented with himself he could write it in the papers. His girl was eating stuff he cooked that she'd refused to eat from the hands of certified chefs before. And she is liking them! No spitting, no throwing up, no disgusted, grimacing facial expressions made. He was really succeeding!

~

“Dada? Thank you,” she whispered shyly to Bucky as she sat on the kitchen counter, watching him do the dishes.

“For what, baby doll?”

“For cookin' me all the delicious food in the world.”

Bucky turned the water off and dried his hands before walking to her and engulfing her in his arms, her face finding its hiding place in the crook of his neck, “you're welcome, bubba,” Bucky sighed, kissing her hair, “thank you for trying it.”

She pecked his jaw in reply. She was so precious and adorable and she didn’t even know it.

“And I also like it when daddy tastes the food for me first,” she added, pressing her nose further into his neck.

“Yeah? Why's that?” Bucky smiled at the thought of her feeling safe eating aft-

“'Cause then if it tastes bad daddy could eat it alone and I don't have to eat it.” She mumbled, making Bucky fake another gasp.

“An' because I trust daddy too,” she peeked at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh no, too late, young lady, my heart has already been broken.” Bucky shook his head dramatically, playfully trying to pull away from the hug.

“No, no, dada, I love you,” she giggled and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, not wanting him to stop holding her.

Bucky laughed, “I love you too, bub.” Bucky kissed her forehead, nose and cheek, “I'll taste every food first for you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Total Drama Villains x Reader || Drabble Set

Plot: You forget to take a towel to the shower and only realise after the shower, so you open the window to stick your head out and ask whoever's out there (Hoping someone is out there) to grab you one but to your chagrin- there's just a villain.

Includes: Chris, Heather, Mal and Scott.

Warnings: Mmmm, I dont think so. Swearing? A kiss?

~~~

All:

You slowly look around the room, very very aware of the fact that you're naked and cold in a room that does not have a great lock on it. "Ohhhhhh no." The words come out low and steady... but are just brimming with panic.

No. Towel.

No towel!!

Finally you gasp, covering the bottom half of your face with your hands and looking at the benches and the sinks in dread. You accidentally came in here without a towel!!

The sudden sound of footsteps out the back of the cabin rips a gasp from your throat and you lunge at the window, unlatching the lock and opening it to see who it is. Before you even stick your head out, you're calling for whoever it to stop. Please. Hold on! I need your help!

Chris McLean:

*You are an adult camper.

When you actually see who's standing out there, you groan. Chris McLean stands outside on the grass, hands in his pockets and an intrigued look in his eyes. He know's he's about to be amused, or he's going to amuse himself depending on what kind of trouble you're in- or what kind of help you apparently need.

"What's up?~"

"Nevermind."

"Oh no no no! Come on, you can confide in Uncle Chris, cant you?"

A whine tumbles out of you. Uncle Chris?? Grooooooooss. He see's and acknowledges your disgusted reaction to him calling himself that, but just giggles. He doesn't leave, to your utter annoyance.

What other choice do you have?? Rolling your eyes, you look down at your feet instead of meeting his beady eyes and wiggle your toes. And mutter suuuuper quietly, half hoping he doesn't hear you. "I forgot to bring a towel... and I really need one... " And, this part you say especially quietly. For seriously asking Chris fucking McLean for a hand would be akin to letting your dignity pack its bags and fly the coop. "... and would you please get one for me... "

"... Sorry, I didn't catch that. What didja say?"

Oh god. A little louder, you say shortly. "... I forgot a towel... "

Chris smirks at that, rolling back on the feels of his feet. "And? What would you like from me, Y/N?"

Finally too frustrated to keep playing this stupid game with the show's host, you snap your eyes up to his and cross your arms. "Fine! Damnit. Get me a towel, please."

Immediately, a cat like grin slowly spreads across Chris' face. Its the most evil thing you have ever seen.

"Now why would I do that when I could get Chef here to send in a buncha rabid bats with you and flush you out?" Christ teases - no, threatens. But then again, does he know the difference in the first place? - , that famous, alabaster white, terror instilling grin on his face as usual. "Now that's, good TV!"

You groan, head falling back on your neck, in frustration. "Chrr-ris!!"

"Ha ha! Well? What do you expect?" You cant argue with that, but you cans till groan again. "Okay, fine. I'll get you a towel! But what will you do for me, heh? Nothing comes for free."

"Oh, don't I know it. I've been on this show for 3 seasons now." For some reason.

"Heh heh."

"Fine, I'll... " Ugh, something for Chris... You blow air out of your cheeks slowly, in thought. What would Chris like? Well, he'd sure get kick out of you getting one of your friends hurt but that's sure as hell not happening. Finally, after a few moments, you get an idea. And scowl. "I'll be sure to drum up some drama for you. Good TV, right?"

"For sure! Promise?~"

Sighing, you lean tiredly on the window sill. "Oh, I cross my heart and hope to die." You promise him like he's a child, which he basically is. Chris McLean has got the maturity level and the intelligence package of a 7 year old on crack.

"Wicked! Heh heh, this'll be good. Okay, hang tight. I'll be back."

You smirk at his retreating back.

~

When he finally gets back and hands you a towel - a much nicer towel then what you and the other campers have been using. Which is nice? But also, you cant help but worry about what kind of strings might be attached to it, - through a crack in the door, you carefully wrap it around your body and tightly tuck it in.

"I'll want that towel back" He snaps, cranky. Why?? He could've just gone and gotten you your towel! "I imported that from Fiji!"

Of course he did.

Now you take a deeeeeeep breath, gathering all your courage, and killing the butterflies reeking havoc in your stomach. Then open the door again and grab hold of the front of Chris' signature teal shirt and wrench him close before he can walk too far off.

And you smash your lips together and slam your eyes tightly closed.

When you pull back from the kiss - a horrible, unpleasant, bad kiss, - you immediately wipe your mouth with your arm and let him go. But when you reveal your mouth again, you're for damn sure smirking at the stunned man. "Is that dramatic enough for you, Chris? A camper and the host? Scandalous- I bet we'll be front page news."

Then quickly you lock yourself inside the bathroom again, not really caring for his reaction- which only comes, finally, minutes later when you're half way dressed.

"DAMN IT Y/N!!"

Heather:

"Hm." Heather crosses her arms, an evil smirk on her lips- opportunity has knocked on her door. Or, the inside of the shower cabin. "You need something from me. Well! What will you do for me return? Hm?"

As expected. "I will vote for whoever you want me to at 2 different instances of your choice going forward. Except for myself, I wont vote myself out."

She thinks for a moment, but definitely looks pleased. "Three, different instances of my choice."

Fucks sake- "Fine! Just- please! I'm getting cold and one of the boys could come in here at any time and see me butt ass naked!!"

Uncrossing her arms and setting her hands on her hips instead, Heather laughs. "Oh- one of these boys? Shower? Haha. Have you smelled them??"

You blush darkly at her joking with you; At your worry but not your expense, before shaking your head of silly feelings and usher the pretty girl Heather, forward. "Go! Go! Get my towel already."

"Be right back." She rolls her eyes, heading off.

~

When she gets back, she reaches up to the window with the towel and you gratefully take it, beginning to dry off any drips from your body and get dressed as quickly as possible. "Thank you Heather!!"

"Mhm, yeah. Sure."

A few minutes later when you leave the door, Heather's waiting for you on the porch and you basically have a small stroke- jesus christ, why is she there!? STILL!?

"Oh, relax. I'm just cashing in some of your part of the bargain." She sneers, walking closer to you and pressing a sharp fingernail into your chest. "Dont forget, you owe me now."

"I remember Heather, we did this like 10 minutes ago."

"Good." She smiles, a tint of evil to it still. Pleasantly surprised that you're being so obedient. She leans back. "Okay, so Gwen's got to go. You got that? She's out. Vote for her and you're third done with your debt to me."

"Yes ma'am." You smirk, brushing by her and stalking off back to your cabin to put away your things.

Heather watches, hands on her hips and her own smirk on her lips. You might just be useful out of this bunch of losers. Not quite a diamond in the rough, but... better, at least. For sure. "Hm."

Mal:

"Oh- Mike!" You exclaim excitedly as soon as you see the lanky, dark haired boy. What luck!!

But then he slowly turns around; A dark, sinister grin on his face and hair over one eye. And your heart immediately drops.

This is not Mike. Neither is it Chester, Svetlana, Vito or Manitoba- any of which would have been just fine alternatives for this moment.

This has to be fucking Mal. You've met him before, and absolutely nevermind on the luck front.

"Nope." Yep- the grizzly, deep voice that responds to you can belong to no one other then Mike's chaotic evil alter. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You continue to chant curses in your head as he turns around fully and comes forward, looking up with evil glinting in his eyes at you like a twisted Flynn Rider to your Rapunzel.

The kind that makes you rather stay inside your tower- its safer here then out there with him. You don't go out to meet the rabid pit bull!!

"Ummm, nevermind! Go about your business, I'm fine here. See ya!"

"Oh no. What'd you want from little Mikey?" He asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side, cruelly inquisitive. You chew on your bottom lip. Damn it; You've peaked his interest. Fuck.

"Um... " The sound comes out quiet and insure as you look down at the grass before his feet instead of his face. You're so nervous. "Well, I... I forgot my towel before I took my shower, and uh... I was just gonna ask him if he could go get me one."

For a moment, he's silent. Your gaze flickers up to his face to see an utterly wolfish look on his face, eyes gleaming with mischief before averting your eyes again to the grass.

Then a loud puff of hard, unpleasant laughter escapes him. He doubles over, holding his stomach as he guffaws at your embarrassing situation. You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

"Oh shut up," You snap, bravely- making him cut off his laughter immediately and look at you. You dare to fucking talk to him like that? "Come on, go get me a towel, please!! I'll owe you one."

After a moment, he stands up straight again and crosses his arms. Yes, he could do something horrible to you right now to teach you not to talk back to him; but it looks like you're going to struggle without his help. All he has to do is watch! "Hmm, nope!"

"Come on!"

"Not gonna happen."

"Ugh." You groan, leaving the window and Mal and plopping down on a bench. Fucking bastard.

This is so awkward. Especially since you know he's still out there!! And he could send someone in at any time.

... Minutes later, and you're still dripping wet but now freezing fricken cold, a towel is flung in through the still open window and lands on the wet floor near your feet. Your eyebrows fly up your forehead, as you look from it in surprise and to the window.

Mal's voice calls through it. "There! Its no fun if you just sit and bear your punishment." Huff. You can just imagine the cute boy - the look works for Mike, but is just very odd on Mal, - crossing his arms and setting his jaw, or even pouting. His voice just sound sooo frustrated. "I'll get you another time, anyway. Everyone will go down, eventually."

"Oh... mhm, oh sure." I mean, I can at least listen to his evil babble since he got me a towel, you think as you start drying yourself down and getting dressed.

A moment after you've got your shirt on, the door is kicked open and Mal stands on the threshold, making you jump. "Jesus christ!- "

"Kiss thank you?"

"Get outta here!" Absolutely not!

Scott:

Peering out from the window, you nearly miss the boy leant up against the cabin beneath you, in fact you would have- if it weren't for his bright orange hair. You gasp, unintentionally getting his attention and smiling brightly when he looks up to find you. "Scott!"

A confused, yet somehow still evil expression paints his face. "Y/N?? What are you doing?"

"Well farm-boy, how do you feel about giving a lady a hand??"

Scott snorts, getting off the wall and stepping back to see you properly. "Lady? I don't see any lady here."

Oh- Bastard. You look back into the bathroom before disappearing from the window for a moment before returning, and promptly clobbering him with an empty shampoo bottle. "You see her now!?"

"Ugh... yeah." He grumbles more malleably now, much more open to suggestion as he rubs his forehead. "Sure, now I see her... ow."

Now you feel a little bad. He looks so pitiful when he's in pain... and yes he's a rat but... its still not okay to hurt someone. You aren't Chris. And also you're getting colder and colder as the water drips unimpeded down your skin and maybe its making you soft. "Ohh... okay, I'm sorry."

He glances up at you, surprised at your apology. "Ahh, no problem, I guess... " Did someone just apologise for whacking him on this show? He crosses his arms, raising a curious look to your disembodied head. "Uhh, what'd you need a hand, with?"

"I... kinda... forgot a towel... could you please go get one for me??"

For a moment you watch his eyes narrow and a wicked grin flicker at the corners of his mouth and get anxious that he's going to ask for something in return- before he rolls his eyes and just shrugs, turning and heading off to the cabin. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Be right back- try not to gather too much attention, haha."

As he walks off, you duck under the window again, sighing in so much relief. "Thanks, Scott!"

~

When he returns, you're waiting at the door and crack it open just enough to get the towel from him immediately- which you quickly wrap around yourself comfortably and sigh. "Thank you so much!"

"Hm. No problem." He huffs, wondering why the hell he did this for you anyway and crossing his arms again.

From inside, you carefully ask: "Are you gonna get weird if I hug you now?"

Immediately Scott's ears go bright red and he quickly loses every little bit of cool-guy vibe from a moment ago. "I-In your towel?? N-No!! I mean- yes!" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away from the door like its you, or he'll accidentally spontaneously develop x-ray vision and damnit, he's a gentleman. "I mean... " Or at least he tries to be.

Grinning, because Scott's unexpectedly cute now that you've flustered him, you quickly open the door, hug him quick, then close the door again and shout 'BYE'.

[very-sleepy-head]

Soup (part 1) - Chef

Ao3

Ian was standing in their kitchen surrounded by an enormous amount of bowls and pots as Mickey got out of the shower and entered the kitchen. Mickey smelled the familiar smell of tomato soup and fought to keep the smile from his face while walking towards his partner. Ian was making his favorite comfort food.

"Missed you." Ian said with a smile as mickey was crowding into his space. "Mmm... I bet." Micky's eyes were soft and affectionate as he ghosted a gentle hand over Ian's back.

Mickey stood on his toes to watch over his husband’s shoulder and pulled a disgusted face as he looked inside the pot. “What the hell is that, Red?”

"Tomato soup," Ian replied, leaning a little so that Mickey got a better look, "It's a work in progress."

“Why is it so...?” Mickey questioned.

“Chunky? I don’t know.” Ian shrugged, a bit frustrated. “I followed what it said on the packaging.”

"I'm no genius but I don't think they meant for the cream to curdle like that"

“Don’t blame me! I never had a proper childhood.” Ian threw his hands in the air.

"Neither have I, but let me tell you, lover, this is for sure ain't fucking it."

From behind him Mickey reached over to grab the packaging. "What are you doing?” Ian froze.

"Taking over this holy fucking mess" Mickey said as he squeezed between Ian and the stove. Mickey's scent penetrated his nose, his lungs, his mind. As he started humming to himself, Ian's heart went into overload.

After lowering the heat and whisking until the soup looked smoother, he add a bit more of cream as he whisked. Finally, he twisted in Ian’s arms and grabbed the front of his sweatshirt. “How-” Before Ian could even finish asking his husband, he was pulled down by his neck and kissed. Softly, Tenderly and yet full of passion.

It wasn’t fair that Mickey was so good at cooking. He was already hot as fuck, the funniest person Ian knows and crazy good at math, why did he need to be good in the kitchen too? Ian thought to himself.

"I fixed it for you, You're fucking welcome." Mickey said smugly. He yelped as he felt a slap to the ass but Ian couldn't help but smile and kiss him sweetly.

"Thank you, baby." Another kiss. "What would I ever do with out you?"

"Eat curdled soup?" Mickey muttered between their lips.

“Mick...” he warned just loud enough for mickey to hear.

“Stop it with that,” Mickey chastised under his breath. "You're turning me on, Gallagher, and you'll make me forget about your stupid soup."

"Mmmm... It was suppose to be your stupid soup." the taller man's hands traveled down his husbands back and squeezing his ass. "Mmh... I'm so lucky." He continued, leaving kisses up and down the shorter's neck.

“Come on Red, I, um, I need-“ he trailed off with a moan, not finishing his sentence but pointing over his shoulder to indicate he wants to check on the soup. "Can you make the... umm grilled cheese?"

Ian pulled away, "Sure thing, Chef!", he exclaimed, "Glad I can be of help."

"Shut up and make me a sandwich, bitch!"

Ian grabbed Mickey's neck, nudging to look at him "One bitch sandwich coming right up, Chef!" Warm lips pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Make two. I'm not sharing."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it" he replied with a knowing smile.

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

After the were done eating, Ian started clearing up the table and filling the dish washer. Mickey brough their empty glasses, setting them on the counter and looped his arms around his husband.

"I could have done it myself, you know” Ian argued.

“I know. But you don’t have to.” Mickey just wrapped his arms around him tighter. "I kinda like cooking together."

Ian turned around and flipped them, pushing his partner against the counter, "By cooking together you mean you cooking and me trying to distract you? Because I can definitely get behind that idea."

"I have an idea of what you can get behind..."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

"Let's go Mr. Gallagher! I want to give my compliments to the chef properly..."

[thokaharuka]

Spill your guts or fill your guts

SUMMARY: Y/N and Harry meet while playing 'Spill your guts' with James Corden

WARNINGS: Swearing?

Hey!! I mentioned a few celebrities,I don't even know if ya'll find them attractive,but they were the first ones that came to my mind hahaha.

"Okey,we're back now,Y/N has joined us,lovely as always" James points at me from the other side of the table,the crowd starts to scream and I simply wave.

"Hi" I say too.

"Then we have Harry,the guest for tonight, but you all know him well,this studio is like his second home,I swear to god he's obsessed with me" James jokes about Harry.

"Heyyy" Harry frowns at him. I really never met Harry before,and we didn't even got to talk before the show,everything we said to each other was an awkward 'hi' before the camera started filming on air.

"Anyways" James starts to choke on his laugh. "This is spill your guts or fill your guts with Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N!!!!" He yells at the camera while the band does the little music.

After that he starts to say what we have on the table.

"I don't even know how you convinced me to do this" I whisper looking down at the table. James just laughs it off.

"So we have,bull penis, bird saliva, Salmon smoothie, cow tongue, scorpion, we have ant smoothie and we've got cod sperm"

"Mmmm,delicious, chefs kiss" I say doing the chefs kiss. "I'm first for the cod sperm" I joke and James starts to laugh hysterically and Harry just giggles a bit. Sometimes I don't know If James gets possessed or if he fake laughs everything as if he's gonna die.

"I'm sorry to break it to you Y/N,but you'll start first,pick something for me and then ask me the question." James says.

"Oohh,Okay,well..." I rotate the table and stop at what I wanted. "I pick for you the bird saliva"

James starts to laugh "Okey,now you have to ask me a question"

I take a card and start to read it.

"James you have interviewed some of the pop divas. Rate from least to most Britney,Mariah,Cher and Madonna on how annoying they were" I couldn't help but laugh. James did the opposite, he covered his face with his hands.

"Seriously?" He laughs nervously

"Well,is that or the bird saliva,you choose boo" I start giggling, he looks behind him at his team.

"Cheers" He raised his glass and took a sip of the bird saliva. Gross.

"Ew" I let out in disgust trying hard not to gag.

He immediately spits it out in a bucket.

"Oh my God,now I'm scared" I say laughing.

"C'mon it's not that bad" He laughs. "Okay,Harold"

"James" Harry says back.

"I'm gonna give you" James starts to say while spinning the table. "The scorpion"

"Delicious" He answers back looking at it.

"I know,so the question for you is..." He takes the card. "Harry" James starts to laugh unable to continue.

"Tell me" Harry laughs back.

"Harry,you always say how much you love your former band mates and how you loved being in One Direction"

"Right"

"With which ones do you actually still talk with" James hides his face under the card. The audience instantly starts doing sounds of shock.

"I-uhmm..." He starts to laugh cutting himself off. "I mean, it's not that I don't want to talk to them,it's just that" He laughs, taking the scorpion in his hands. "Uff" And suddenly he takes a bite of it. James starts to laugh hysterically and I just start giggling,then,Harry spits the scorpion.

"Now that was a trip" Harry gets out laughing.

"I think you should text some of them" James laughs out.

"I will"

"Okay,Harry,choose something for Y/N,and read her a question".

"Okay" Harry laughs. "I'm gonna give you the cod sperm,because you wanted it so bad"

"Good" I laugh back

"Okay" He says while taking a card. "Y/N,you have dated a lot of actors"

"Well, I wouldn't say a lot,but okay" I laugh,looking at the producers.

"Say from most to least,which ones are more talented, Dylan O'brien,Tom Holland,Evan Peters, Hero Fiennes-Tiffin"

I immediately hide my face with my hands laughing.

"You've acted with all of them,you can tell us" James says.

"I can't,sorry" I say taking a fork about to take the cod sperm. "Oh my God,I'm having flashbacks with this,what do I do,do I spit it,do I swallow it" I say pointing at it while laughing.

The both of them immediately start laughing.

I take a big breath to prepare mentally to eat it.

"So,the first one will be..." I start,but I can't continue, I'll just have to eat the fricking cod sperm. "Why did I agree to this?" I say and quickly put it in my mouth. I chew for a bit but I start gagging so I spit it. James by now was laughing hysterically.

I turn around at the audience. "It's disgusting" I nod at them.

"Well,my turn now,right?" I look at James.

"Yes,yes it is" He laughs.

"I'm gonna give you the...hmmm" I spin the table. "The cow tongue seems right,yeah" I stop at the cow tongue.

"Thank you,yeah, it does seem right" James nods at me.

"So,James" I say taking a card. As I read the question I start to laugh. "You've had a lot of guests in the show,but,which person do you refuse to interview? Even for the amount of money that you get paid" I tap my shoes on the floor laughing.

"What the actual fuck" He says turning around at the producers with surprise on his face. Wow,James just cussed,that really caught him off guard. Harry starts to laugh too,hiding his face with one hand.

"I can't, sorry" He says and quickly takes a bite of the tongue.

"Now,that was quick" I laugh.

"I've even swallowed it" He laughs. "God,phew" He let's out. "Anyways,Harry"

"James" Harry says taking his hand out off his face. "You better be nice with me".

"I'll try,I guess" James laughs. "I'll give you the bull penis".

"Sounds good" Harry laughs.

"Harry styles" James laughs looking at his card. "What do you thought when you first read that Zayn said that you and him supposedly never talked?" The crowd suddenly gasps. I swear that being in my position everything looks overdramatic.

"I mean" He sighs,slaming his hand against his thigh as if he was tired. "You know,if being together everyday for five years, means you never talked,I think he's right" James starts to laugh in shock. I just simply smile,not knowing what this is about.

"I mean,yeah"

"Okay" Harry says shyly putting his head down.

"Well,your turn now" He gets his head up again,laughing and looking at me.

"Yay!" I fake excitement

"I'm gonna give you..." Harry spins the table in front of us. "The salmon smoothie" Why does he seem so exited? This better not be disgusting.

"So, Mrs. Y/N" He takes a card. "Oh God,I think you'll have to drink it" Harry laughs reading the card.

"Jesus Christ,I'm scared now"

"Y/N,your songs are for sure good,but tell me,how many of them are about Post Malone cheating on you?"

I can't even hide my surprise face. "Who said he cheated on me in the first place?"

"I don't know,I just read what the card said" Harry says nervously shaking the card.

"I don't even wanna comment on this" James nods in disagreement,disbelief on his face.

"Help" I let out. I lean in front of me and take a sip of the Salmon smoothie. It tasted bad,but it wasn't disgusting at least.

"Well,I think you just confirmed something" Harry jokes at me.

"Just shut up" I hide my face with my hands.

"Well..." James says quietly, but suddenly raising his voice. "This was spill your gut or fill your guts with Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles!!! We'll be back now,stay tuned".

A few seconds later James tells us we're off air and we get up.

"It was nice meeting you" Harry comes to me.

"Thanks. It was nice meeting you too."

"Would it be okay if we exchange numbers?"

[ikeromantic]

7+ Sinful Snuggles

Obey Me minis with the 7 brothers plus - approx. 4k words of fluffiness and spice.

I’m Not Asleep

It was supposed to be a cram session, but barely an hour in, Belphie is nestled against your shoulder with his eyes closed. 

“I’m still listening,” he sighs when you poke him. “Just keep reading to me.” He snuggles closer as you continue reviewing the chapter on 11th century Demon Accords - which honestly, is boring enough that your own eyes keep sliding shut. Belphie’s head slips from your shoulder to your chest. He sighs happily. 

Determined to press on, you keep reading. Or you try to. His hands slip under your shirt to draw slow, lazy lines across your skin, working their way down to your hip. 

“B-Belphegor?” 

He doesn’t respond, but his face is set in a blissful smile. You could try to wake him, but why fight it? His touch feels good, so good you lean back into the pillows with your own sigh of happiness.

Snacking in Bed

Beel shows up to your room with popcorn and snacks to watch reruns of Iron Chef with you. You both reach for the choco-crickets at the same time, bumping hands. 

“You can have the last one,” he says, blushing. 

“Ok.” You grin playfully and pick it up, noting the ways his eyes track the candy. It’s too cute and you’d honestly feel bad eating it, so you hold it out, touching his lips. 

Surprised, his mouth opens, taking your fingers and the chocolate. He licks the candy from between your fingers as you pull back. 

You can’t help but shiver a little at the sensation. It was . . . nice. 

“That last one was especially good,” he smiles. 

“Was it?” 

He nods, scooping up your hand. 

“W-what are you doing? I’m not holding anymore candy,” you tell him. 

He presses your fingers to his lips, kissing them from tip to palm. 

“Beel?” 

“Mmmm, you’re sweet,” he tells you, words muffled as his mouth works its way to your wrist and up your inner arm. You think your shirt will give him pause, but he nibbles right past it, up your shoulder, to your neck. His mouth is hot, and the way he suckles and nips your skin makes you feel faint -and pretty warm yourself. 

“I think I understand why demons eat human,” he whispers into your neck. “But don’t worry, I just want to taste.” 

You’d like to reply, but your brain is short circuited by his lips, tongue, and teeth working their way down your chest. In the background, Chairman Kaga takes a bite of his pepper. He looks almost as smugly satisfied as Beel does with your nipple in his mouth.

Too Slick

Asmodeus invites you to his room for a hot oil treatment. He swears it will add softness and shine to your hair. You agree - afterall, his spa treatments are always fun, even if they don’t seem to do much. 

When you get there, he hands you a robe. “You don’t want to get oil on your clothes, right?” He, of course, is already wearing one, seductively half tied to reveal his smooth chest and just a bit of his thigh. 

You slip into the bathroom to change. Asmodeus follows a few minutes later, just enough time for you to get the robe on. As the oil warms, he chats with you about new fashions and compliments your eyes, your skin, and the way you blush when he’s ‘just telling you the truth.’ 

When the oil is warmed, Asmo uses a ladle to trickle it over your hair and scalp. You feel it running down your skin, warm and slick. It’s a nice feeling, relaxing and *maybe* a little arousing. Then Asmodeus starts to massage the oil in. His smooth hands feel so good on your scalp, your neck, your shoulders . . . 

In your haze of happiness, you realize he’s pushed the robe down quite a bit. But you don’t mind it really. He’s still chattering away and the massage is nice. But when his hands slip past your lower back, you sit up straight. “Ok! I think you got my hair and then some!” 

Asmodeus laughs softly. “Still shy? Alright. It’s my turn then.” He takes the ladle and pours some oil over his head. “Ooooh that feels nice!” 

“Yeah, it really does,” you reply. Then you try to stand so he can have the chair while you rub the oil into his hair. Only . . . the floor is slick with drops of oil and you almost fall. 

Asmodeus catches you, but he slides too. You both end up slipping and sliding across the floor, clinging to each other, until Asmo manages to grab the edge of the door. 

You realize then that your robe’s come undone, and Asmodeus’ is hanging open too. Not that either of you can see anything, pressed up close as you are. It’s not about seeing . . . it’s feeling that skin-to-skin contact. 

Asmo realizes it the same moment you do and smiles. He wriggles slightly, rubbing his oiled self against you. “Mmmm, now that is perfect. And good for your skin.” You have to agree, which you do, in a vocal little half moan. 

Bedtime Story

Satan invites you to a hotel grand opening in the southeast demon forest - one of his contacts is hosting a huge party there, with rooms for the guests to try out. It sounds like fun, and you’ve never gotten to see the dark forest, so why not? The trip does not disappoint. 

The forest is exactly what you’d expect to see in a demon’s woods, with flesh eating trees and deadly poisons. Even the squirrels look dangerous. The party is great too. Good music, dancing, and conversation. 

You are pretty sure some of the demons in attendance would see you as an appetizer if Satan wasn’t at your side, hand on your back. He is the perfect companion, making sure you have something good to drink and that you’re enjoying yourself. As it happens, you enjoy yourself a little too much. 

“I didn’t think about how strongly the Spiritus Punch would affect a human. I shouldn’t have let you drink that third glass,” he sighs. 

You giggle. His slight frown is so funny. And attractive. You grab his shoulders and give him a quick, surprise kiss. You meant to get his cheek - but your lips find his. 

Satan freezes for a moment, but your lips don’t mind the happy accident. And he can’t help but react to your warm, hungry kiss. He finally breaks it, his breath almost as heavy as yours. 

“You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s get you to our room and in bed.” 

You smile in a way you hope is seductive. “I’d like to get you in bed.” 

His eyes narrow and you can’t tell if that reaction is good or bad. He puts his arm around you and helps you to the elevator. You lean on him, holding tight as the movement up makes you feel dizzy. Of course your shared room is on the top floor. Penthouse suite with a view. He opens the door. 

Your eyes go to the windows, where outside the forest sparkles with a thousand tiny lights. 

“Oh my . . .” Satan sighs. Your gaze follows his to the center of the room. Where . . . there . . . was only one bed! 

UnConvention

Levi scores two tickets to the TSL Convention, which is, of course, the most popular fan convention in all of Devildom. And he could have invited anybody (or sold the tickets, as Mammon won’t stop going on about), but he invited you. And he even put together a Henry cosplay outfit, just for you. 

Levi is going as The Lord of Shadows, and it is going to be so much fun. The convention takes up two whole city blocks, full of panels from the film actors, several music shows inspired by or featured in TSL, and then aisles and aisles of merch. But before you get started, Levi wants to get some pictures. 

You could take them with your DDD, but there’s a photobooth and the face Leviathan makes when he sees it . . . you can’t say no. 

“I’ve never taken pictures with a f-friend in a photobooth,” he tells you. His cheeks are bright red and his eyes shine. 

The booth bench is really narrow, and the two of you struggle to fit. “I - I think we’ll fit if I sit on your lap,” you tell him. 

The scarlet spreads to his ears and down to his neck. “M-my lap? You want to sit on my lap?!” 

You can’t help the wicked, playful smile his reaction elicits. And you don’t wait for him to say more. With a little wicked wiggle you put yourself right in his lap, turning to wrap an arm around his shoulder. 

“H-hey! That’s not - why are you still moving?” His eyes are so wide. 

You lean close, lips brushing his ear. “You don’t like it? I thought you loved Henry . . .” Not that you’re really asking. You can *cough* feel how much he loves ‘Henry’ from your perch on his lap. 

“Oh!” His eyebrows go up as one of your hands slides down his side. He is too much fun to tease. “This is just like the scene in I Was A High School Succubus Teacher Season Seven! I know what to do!” 

You are about to ask what he’s talking about when he grabs you and pulls you even closer. His lips find yours, and his hands are all over you. Under your costume, grabbing your hair, unbuttoning your Henry outfit . . . 

When the two of you slide out of the booth, breathless, red-cheeked, and disheveled, you are greeted by a cheering crowd of fans with ‘shipper signs and offers to buy your NSFW photos. 

Greedy Bastard

You didn’t have plans this weekend, which is how most of your misadventures with Mammon start. This time, he lost a bet in a private card game. The price was his service for a weekend, but they’ll cut it down to one night if he brings a friend. Which is where you come in. 

You almost tell him no when you see the outfits for this night of hosting. Tiny little hotpants and a top made of black ribbons . . . but then you see the way Mammon looks at you wearing it and, well, it’s worth it just for that. Of course, he’s not the only one that appreciates you in those clothes. 

The demons playing cards keep looking your way hungrily and more than one tries to smack your ass or give you a pinch in passing. You’re too quick for them, but the more often it happens, the more annoyed Mammon gets. 

“They have no business touching what’s not theirs,” he fumes at the bar.

 “They haven’t touched me yet,” you laugh. “Besides, work is up in another hour. I can last that long.” You snag the latest round of drinks, ready to take them out, but Mammon gets between you and the door.

 “Let’s sneak off early,” he suggests. He takes the tray out of your hands and sets it down.

“They’ll notice when they run out of booze,” you point out. 

“Don’t care.” Mammon steps closer to you. You can see the effect you have on him in those ridiculously tiny shorts. “I’m the only one that should get to see you dressed like this.” He brushes a hand down your side, tugging lightly at the ribbons. “The only one that gets to touch you.”

And then his lips are on yours, his body pressing you back against the wall. His skin is hot against the cool satin ribbons that criss-cross your chest. His hands caress you like treasure and his kiss is possessive. There might be an hour left on shift, but this greedy bastard is going to keep you all to himself anyway.

Overtime

Helping Lucifer sort student records is not what one might consider fun. But someone has to do it and you offered to help so here you are. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of folders and loose sheets of paper. 

Lucifer is at his desk, making notations on records, and in the background, the TSL soundtrack plays. 

It’s just past midnight and your vision is getting blurry. Every time you blink, it gets harder to open your eyes again. But you’re not anywhere close to done and Lucifer is relying on you to have these sorted. This discipline record for Caacrinolaas should be in the C section under . . . under . . . 

“Falling asleep on the job?” Lucifer’s voice snaps you awake. He sounds amused more than annoyed. That’s probably good. 

“Ah, just, taking a moment.” You waive the paper in your hand. “I couldn’t find the C folder.” 

He smiles. “This one right in front of you?” 

You blush and pick it up, flipping to the discipline section. C-double-A . . . 

Lucifer takes both out of your hands and sets them down. “I think we need to call it a night.” 

“But I’m not done,” you protest. 

“Are you contradicting me?” One dark eyebrow lifts. 

“N-no.” 

“It sounded like it.” He bends down and scoops you up. “I will have to think of a suitable punishment for your insolence.” 

You try to wriggle out of his grasp, not because it’s unpleasant but because he makes you feel so helpless, holding you like that. 

Moving around only makes him grip you tighter, pulling you against his chest. “The more you struggle, the stricter I’ll be forced to be,” he warns. 

You go still. He carries you out of the office and down the hall. If you weren’t half afraid of what happens next, this might be pleasant. Lucifer smells good, and his chest is a perfect pillow. Despite your anxiety, you begin to close your eyes, lulled by the gentle motion. You aren’t sure when exactly that you fall asleep, but you can pinpoint the moment you wake.

 Lucifer’s fingers stroke gently through your hair. His breath is warm against your cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you work so hard you passed out from it,” he sighs. 

“I didn’t pass out,” you mumble. 

“You’re awake.” He lifts himself up on one arm to look down at you. “You should be resting.” 

“I thought you were going to punish me,” you reply, taking in the fact that he’s wearing pajamas now, and so are you. In his room. In his bed. 

“Looking forward to it?” He smiles and the heat in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine. “I think it can wait for morning. But perhaps . . . just a taste before we sleep.” His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you toward him as he kisses you. His lips are spicy and sweet, and your eyes close, enjoying the moment. 

Tea and Biscuits

You agree to meet Barbatos at the demon lord’s castle for tea. Just the two of you. The way he says it makes it almost sound like a date, but surely a demon that can see past, present, and possible futures wouldn’t be interested in a short-lived human. 

When you arrive, he leads you to a balcony overlooking the garden. There’s a small couch for two and a little table with a samovar for tea and several plates of biscuits, cakes, and sandwiches. Your favorite flavored biscuits, cakes, and sandwiches, to be exact. 

Barbatos smiles. “I hope it’s all to your liking.” 

“You know it is!” 

He laughs, and pours you a cup of tea. You both sit down, hips touching. It makes you blush a bit, but Barbatos doesn’t seem to notice - or care - so you decide to just ignore it. It’s hard though, to ignore the way his hand brushes yours and the press of his leg against you. The way his eyes never seem to leave you, going from your eyes to your face down your body.

 “Is it alright if I kiss you,” he asks suddenly. 

The question takes you by surprise but you nod. You like him but you’d never expected him to return the affection. 

Barbatos leans forward, his hand gentle on your thigh. His lips meet yours in a slow, sensuous kiss that spreads heat through your whole body. 

You’ve kissed before, but never like this. Never with someone that has millennias of skill and knowledge of you that even you don’t have. He slides his other hand behind your back, pulling you onto his lap. The kiss melts you against him. Silk and sweet and hot. You aren’t sure how long it lasts, only that when it ends, you want more.

Theater

When Diavolo invites you out to see the newest movie, I Was A TeenAge Witch’s Familiar and It Was Awful, you imagine going to a crowded theater, getting some popcorn, and sitting in a slightly smelly, stained chair that you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole if you saw it in broad daylight. 

Instead, you end up at his castle, sitting on a wide, comfortable plush velvet couch. The only two people in front of a theater-sized screen, where the as-yet-unreleased movie plays. 

Diavolo starts out on the opposite side of the couch, but keeps getting closer. To share popcorn, to offer you a sip of his drink, to point out some funny line in the film. Then his arm snakes around behind you, settling on your shoulders. 

You hop up, surprised. 

“I guess this means you don’t enjoy my company,” Diavolo says, looking up at you with big, sad eyes. 

“No . . . I do . . . just, I didn’t expect -” 

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m sure you find me quite frightening.” 

“I don’t!” You sit back down and set a hand on his. “You don’t scare me at all, Diavolo. And . . . I think you’re cute.” 

“Is that so?” He grabs you with both hands and lifts you up. “What about now?” 

“Still not scared,” you say, though you are a little. 

He grins and stands up, still holding you above him. “Not even a little?” 

“No?” He tosses you into the air and you feel like a little kid, half-afraid and half-exhilarated. You let out a little shriek on the second toss and as you come down, he catches you in his arms. “Your reactions are so entertaining. Much better than any movie.” 

You can’t help but blush at the look in his eyes. Adoring and sensual. 

“It makes me want to do all sorts of things to you, just to see what you’ll do next.” 

You gasp as he begins to tickle you, his fingers finding all the sensitive spots on your sides. You reach out to tickle him back, surprised to find that Diavolo is absolutely ticklish all over the place. Both of you end up on the floor, laughing and panting in waves of tickle-attacks. 

“Truce!” You finally shout. 

He stops, his fingers in mid-wiggle. “But I am having so much fun . . .” His lips turn up in a slow, evil smile. “I’ll stop on one condition. You have to promise we’ll do this again.” 

You nod. “It’s a deal.”  

Like Magic

You agree to meet Solomon for a lesson in pacts. He knows more about them than anyone besides a demon lord. And he’s willing to share. For a price. You had to bring him the latest Madam Scream’s Scarlet Tarts as a trade for his secrets. A small price to pay. 

The two of you meet at a park in the Devildom. It’s almost as bright as a day in the real world, from the brilliant glowing mushrooms, tree fungi, and floating flowers. 

“You know, I could almost call this spot romantic,” Solomon says as he spreads out a picnic blanket to sit on. 

You raise an eyebrow. The sorcerer has been a little secret crush of yours, but you know when someone is out of your league. And an immortal genius definitely is. “Huh,” you reply. Great response, you think, but Solomon laughs. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you speechless.” 

You hand him the pastry box from Madam Screams. “I’m not speechless. I said ‘huh.’ 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think that counts as a word.” 

“And I guess you’re the final authority on that,” you mutter, feeling annoyed. 

He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. “I didn’t mean to sound like a know-it-all. Forgive me?” He presses a light kiss to your palm. 

It surprises you so much that all you can do is nod, actually speechless. 

Solomon smiles. “Good. I wanted this to be a nice date.” 

“Date?” The word leaves your mouth before you think about it.

“What else would you call two people having a picnic in the park?” You think of a lot of things you might call it, but he’s smiling at you so sweetly that you just agree. 

He opens a grimoire across your laps and settles a hand behind you to lean over it. “This was my first real spellbook. I thought it might be a good place to start.” 

You realize as he talks that he isn’t just teaching you - he’s sharing something he’s never shared with anyone else. It makes you feel special, which must have shown in your face when he looks over at you because whatever he sees there makes him smile widely.

“We should do this more often,” he says, and before you can reply, his lips brush lightly against your cheek in a gentle kiss. 

With your heart beating so hard you’re sure he must hear it, you say, “Yeah. We should.” His fingers curl around yours, linking the two of you as you look up at the Devildom sky. 

Gossip Girl

You take Simeon up on an offered afternoon of looking at forbidden photo albums of the brothers from their celestial days. He promises to dish on the best stories, provided you never let on that you know about any of it. 

The two of you meet at Purgatory Hall in one of the unused rooms. It feels a little odd to be alone with the gorgeous angel, especially like this. One kiss away from an illicit affair. But you soon feel comfortable as Simeon settles next to you, flipping through pictures of Lucy, Mammon, Beel, and the others in their childhood and younger years. 

“Once, Lucy tried to make Michael happy by baking him a poppy-seed cake. But he used baking soda instead of powder . . .” Simeon’s eyes crinkle with laughter. “It came out more like a poppyseed brick. Lucy was so mad he threw it - right through the Metatron’s study window.” 

You giggle, imagining a furious Lucifer. 

“You have such a nice laugh,” Simeon says, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I’d like to hear it more often.” 

“Th-thanks,” you stutter. Taking compliments has never been your strength. He turns his head to face you. 

“Did I make you blush just now?” He tucks a bit of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t mean to.” 

You nod, blushing even more furiously. 

“You don’t have to be shy around me. But . . . can I admit something to you?”

“Sure?” 

“I like that I can make you blush.” His fingers brush across your lips. “I’d like . . .” He stops himself and his hand drops away. 

“I’d like that too,” you say, unwilling to let the moment escape. You lean forward and give him a quick kiss. Now it’s his turn to blush.

The Incident

“No one must ever hear of this,” Luke tells you sternly. As sternly as he can, looking up at you and waving one little hand. 

“I swear to tell no one,” you promise. 

The two of you stand in the middle of a kitchen. At least, there’s a kitchen somewhere under the clumps of batter, berry jam, and soft butter. The results of Luke trying out spellcraft on his baking. 

It was *supposed* to be mystical muffins - a breakfast food that actually makes you look forward to the day. But it turned the mix into a growing, bubbling mass that eventually burst. Which is when Luke texted you to come over. The two of you set to cleaning it up. 

It takes hours to scoop, wipe, rinse, and dry everything in the room. You’re in the middle of a final wipedown on the cabinets when you realize Luke hasn’t said a word for awhile now. 

You turn and see the little guy with his head on his arm, a rag in hand. His eyes are closed and a light snore whistles from his nose. He’s so cute. Like a puppy. He can’t sleep on the floor though. 

You finish wiping and set down the cloth, then go to wake him up. 

He mumbles and rolls over, but his eyes stay shut. Finally, you decide to heft him up and carry him to his room. He’s a bit heavy, but you manage to lift him. His head settles on your shoulder and his arms wrap around your neck. 

He smells like warm milk and cinnamon, you think. And he is so soft, like a fluffy little poodle. You carry him to his room and lay him down. He doesn’t stir as you pull off his shoes and tuck him in. 

“Sweet dreams, little baker,” you tell him. He smiles.

[lallyloo]

Limoncello

When Rhett first mentioned making his own limoncello, Link had mostly tuned him out. Rhett was constantly talking about cooking, or brewing, or smoking various meats – all so he could throw parties and impress people. The idea of infusing lemon peels in vodka for a month just to impress people seemed a bit stupid to Link.

But when Rhett showed up at the creative house on a Thursday night carrying a fresh bottle of limoncello, Link’s interest was finally piqued. It did look tasty. It was bright yellow and syrupy looking and when Rhett popped open the bottle, the lemon smell was so strong Link swore he could already taste it.

“MY LEEEMONCHELLAAA!” Rhett exclaimed as the scent filled the air. He sounded like an old Italian grandfather, and he brought the fingertips of his right hand up to his mouth to do a chef’s kiss. “IT SMELLA SO GOOD-AH!”

Link just stared at him with mild amusement.

“LINK-AH WOULDA YOU LIKE-AH SOME OF MY LEEEEEEMONCHELLAAAA.”

“Sure.”

“I WILL GETTA SOME FOR YOU,” Rhett pointed to the kitchen door, gesturing for Link to leave, “YOU-AH GO SIT-AH. I WILL BRING-AH IT TO YOU.”

“Do you want me to get some glasses?”

“NO-AH!” Rhett carried on with his ridiculous accent, “YOU GO. I SAID I WILL BRING-AH IT TO YOU. GO! GO!”

Link laughed as Rhett shooed him out of the kitchen.

By the time Rhett joined him, with the bottle resting in a bowl filled with ice, his over exaggerated accent had mellowed a little.

“You need-ah to keep it chilled-ah. Cold. Like, with-ah some ice!”

He handed Link a small stemmed glass and Link held it still while Rhett poured.

“You can put-ah some mint-ah leaves in too, but I did not think-ah you’d like-ah that.”

“I appreciate it,” Link replied, “but your Italian accent needs work.”

“You hate-ah my accent?” Rhett grinned at him, “Link-ah! You hurt-ah my heart with your words!”

Link rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep from smiling.

Rhett settled in beside him, poured his own glass, and they got to work.

They sipped the first glass slowly while brainstorming ideas together, and Rhett was too distracted by their latest Instagram sketch idea to continue with the accent.

By the second glass, Rhett had slipped back into his accent a little, just when he took a sip from his glass, “mmmm that’s a good-ah leeeeemonchellaaaa.”

A warm, comfortable feeling had settled over Link and he was leaning into Rhett a little more than usual. They were still writing, and their thoughts were flowing freely, but both suspected their ideas might seem less ingenious the following morning in the sober light of day.

They probably should’ve stopped at two glasses. By the end of their third glass, Rhett was stuck in a full-on Italian accent, and Link was giggling so much he was crying.

It was stupid, but the more Link drank the funnier Rhett seemed to get, and by the time he was finished his third glass he was pretty sure Rhett had never been so hilarious. Link couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much, and he could only stare at Rhett with fondness as Rhett overemphasized every word and movement. Rhett was laughing too, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and even though it was all ridiculous, Link couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Rhett kept it up, if only to keep Link laughing. He loved seeing Link laugh, it made him look younger and happier, and Rhett would do anything to keep him smiling.

“ARE YOU DRUNK-AH?”

“I think so,” Link grinned, “are you?”

“AH YES. I AM DRUNK-AH AS A SKUNK-AH.”

Link giggled in response.

“IT’S TOO BAD WE ARE DRUNK-A. I WOULD LIKE-AH TO TAKE-AH YOU FOR A RIDE-AH ON MY BEESEEKLETTA. “

“Your what?”

“MY BEE-SEE-KLETTA. ELECKTRIC A-BEE-SEE-KLETTA.”

“Your electric bicycle?” The force of Link’s laughter propelled him forward on the couch, and he wriggled next to Rhett, overcome with a fit of giggles.

“YES-AH.”

“You wanna take me for a ride on your electric bicycle?” Link was laughing so hard tears were coming to his eyes, and he wiped at them as he gasped for breath.

“AH YES. MY BEESEEKLETTA FOR YOU MY LINK-AH.”

“Rhett,” Link choked out, “you can take me for a ride anytime.”

Rhett gasped, feigning shock. “LINK-AH. SO FORWARD. I’D TAKE-AH YOU FOR A RIDE.”

“Would ya?” Link stared at him, almost like it was a dare between them, and neither one was quite sure what Rhett’s reply was because suddenly Link was tugging his shirt off, swinging a leg over Rhett’s thigh, and climbing onto his lap.

Rhett didn’t stop him, he just looked at Link with a surprised sense of awe.

“What’re you..?” Rhett attempted to ask, his accent suddenly gone, but he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t looking for an explanation, or for Link to stop.

Link answered by leaning in and kissing him.

Link’s mouth tasted of sugared lemons, and Rhett’s mind suddenly slipped back to warm summer days at the river, when they’d swim for hours and then sit on the banks and drink homemade lemonade. He remembered water droplets on Link’s sun-kissed skin and the sugary mustache over his top lip, and the one time Rhett couldn’t resist it any longer and he kissed Link, tasting the tart lemon on his tongue and the sweetness of his mouth.

Rhett swore he’d never tasted anything sweeter, but Link’s limoncello mouth came close.

“My leeemonchellaaa,” Rhett whispered in a weak attempt to get one last joke in.

“Oh god, Rhett,” Link laughed, tugging Rhett’s shirt up over his head, “just shut up and touch me.”

He claimed Rhett’s mouth again, sliding his tongue over Rhett’s lips, coaxing Rhett’s tongue to lick at his, effectively quieting any verbal response.

Rhett settled his hands on Link’s hips, touching hesitantly for a second before grabbing more forcefully, pressing hard, holding Link down and pushing up against him. Rhett’s cock swelled and he was overcome with the desire for Link to know it, he wanted Link to feel it as he thrust up.

Link rutted down into him, urgent and needy, letting Rhett know he felt him.

Rhett brought his mouth, still sticky with liqueur, down to Link’s chest and licked over a nipple, and Link groaned, grabbing Rhett’s hair and holding him there. Rhett licked and sucked until Link guided his head over to lick at the other side. Rhett took the hard bud in his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue until Link was groaning and writhing in his lap.

Link pushed him away gently, and Rhett watched as Link unzipped his grey jeans and took out his cock, giving himself a hard squeeze. The head of his cock was already wet and more precum pooled at the tip and dripped down his shaft.

“Look.” Link gave himself a slow stroke. “You got me so hard.”

Rhett watched Link touch himself, his hand sliding slick over his dick as he stared at Rhett, and then Rhett reached to pull him closer. Link arched his back as Rhett’s arms went around him, and Rhett slid a hand down the back of Link’s jeans, slipping past the waistband of Link’s boxer briefs. He touched the soft skin there, smoothing over Link’s ass before slipping a finger between his cheeks, and Link let out a shaky breath as Rhett’s fingers ghosted over his hole.

“Rhett, yeah..”

Link arched his back further, pushing his ass into Rhett’s hand, encouraging, wanting, begging Rhett to touch him there, really touch him, more than just a tease.

Rhett pulled his hand out, slicked his middle finger with saliva and slipped his hand back down Link’s jeans, slicking over his hole and pushing in just a bit, just enough to make Link close his eyes and sigh “yeah, Rhett, finger me.”

Rhett’s cock strained under Link as he slid his finger in further, up to the second knuckle, and he eased it in and out a few times, gently finger-fucking Link’s hole.

“Aw fuck,” Link moaned, “just like that.”

Link leaned over suddenly, grabbing the limoncello and taking another drink directly from the bottle. Then he kissed Rhett again, sloppy, wet, sticky, sweet.

He tasted like tart lemons and sugar syrup and Rhett couldn’t get enough of him. He licked back into Link’s mouth, trying to find and savour every last taste of him as he teased him with his finger.

Link’s hand moved frantically over himself, his cock trapped between their bodies, as Rhett’s finger slid in to the last knuckle and he curved it a little, just enough to make Link moan again. Rhett continued, teasing, touching the heat inside Link’s body, easing in and out until Link was gasping against his mouth and coming between himself and Rhett, wet warmth pooling between them as he fucked himself on Rhett’s finger.

Rhett remained in awe about it all, easing his finger out carefully and watching as Link regained his bearings – his own sense of awe settling gently across his face as he looked at Rhett. Then he smiled, and he looked so beautiful Rhett couldn’t do anything but pull Link’s body up, leaning down to meet his cock and suck him in. Link gasped at the overstimulation, but he just watched as Rhett licked him clean.

When Rhett was finished, Link slid down Rhett’s body, trailing sticky kisses across Rhett’s chest and over his stomach, licking the last streaks of his own cum off Rhett’s belly until he was on the floor between Rhett’s thighs. Rhett’s cock was tenting his jeans and Link nudged his face against it before pulling at the denim covering Rhett’s thighs.

“Unzip, get these off.”

Rhett unzipped and lifted his hips as Link yanked down his jeans, pulling Rhett along too until he was nearly on his back, his cock resting heavy against his thigh, and his legs jutting out from the couch. Link left Rhett’s jeans bunched around his knees, and crawled over him to reach his cock.

Link grabbed the bottle again, taking another swig of limoncello, and then put his mouth on Rhett’s cock, sucking over him, his lips and tongue all sticky and cool from the alcohol. He tongued at the head of Rhett’s cock, licking into the slit until Rhett’s hips were jerking from the overstimulation.

“Link, it’s too much” Rhett groaned.

Link pulled away for a second, “you just taste so good.”

Link tongued at him one more time and curled his lips around the head of Rhett’s cock, and then he pulled back to take another swig of limoncello. He brought his lips together over Rhett’s dick and let some of the alcohol spurt from his mouth, trailing down over Rhett’s shaft, cool and sticky.

Then Link took him in again, sucking hungrily, tasting every inch of Rhett’s cock with his tongue. Rhett wanted to make it last but he couldn’t. Link’s slick, sticky mouth was too much and Rhett could feel his orgasm rushing up quickly.

“Link, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, do it,” Link pulled his mouth away for a second, licking down Rhett’s shaft, “you should come in my mouth.”

“Link,” Rhett breathed a final warning, and Link brought his mouth back up just in time to take him in, sucking over him sweet and sticky, swallowing down every shot of Rhett’s cum.

After a moment, Link moved up to settle in beside him, both of them still half-naked and Rhett’s jeans still around his knees. Link brought the bottle up to Rhett’s mouth and tipped it, giving him a little taste, and then Link brought it up to his own lips to take another sip.

Rhett sighed, “ahh my leeeemonchella.”

“Your leeemonchella,” Link echoed with a grin. “So good, my Rhett-ah.”

Rhett smiled quietly to himself, and then nearly choked when Link spoke again

“But I still wanna ride your beeseekletta.”

[crystalwillow]

Picnic

Pairing: Tatum Mendoza x Kennedy Paige (F!MC)

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Tatum and Kennedy have been together for almost 5 years now, and Kennedy has prepared a special date afternoon to celebrate their anniversary.

When Kennedy Paige started secretly dating her bodyguard and childhood best friend, Tatum Mendoza, five years ago she never would have thought they would make it this far.

In her head she thought her mother would be horrified when she found out and forbid them from seeing each other ever again. So it was a surprise to both of them when she was welcoming to the idea. As long as her daughter was happy, that’s all that mattered to her. After the hell-ish year she had endured at Vancross University all her mother wanted was for her daughter to have happiness, and if that came in the form of Tatum then so be it. Kennedy didn’t mind that he couldn’t be her bodyguard anymore because to her, him serving the title of boyfriend was the best thing she could think of.

Since leaving Vancross Kennedy travelled with her mother to learn what it takes to be a good leader, even though taking her mother's place as president isn’t what she wanted, learning about leadership was going to be vital for when she started her own business after her year-long break.

Three years later she is one of the most successful young people in the world with her clothing and perfume franchise. She’s working on bringing out a makeup line, and is also now celebrating her 5 year anniversary with Tatum, who has moved on to being a security guard at a local mall.

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

“So you’ll be there? 2pm. Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you. I love you too, Tate. No! I’m going to keep saying it until you stop cringing.” Kennedy giggles “Okay, I’ll see you later. Bye!”

She beams as she places her phone back in the pocket of her jeans and continues setting up the picnic blanket in the garden as her mothers kitchen staff carry out 5 trays of food, one containing some of the couples favourite fruit, two containing meat and cheeses, one full of desserts, and the last carrying sandwiches.

“Thank you so much for helping me out guys. And send my compliments to the chef, please.” Kennedy beams.

“Of course, it’s no problem. Five years is a long time and we can all see how much you mean to each other.” one staff member smiles.

Kennedy nods and smiles back as they turn and head back inside whilst she sets the trays out as she wants them and covers them over to avoid any flies or other bugs spoiling the food. Once she is satisfied she heads inside to the cellar where she selects a bottle of wine and 2 glasses before heading upstairs to collect the present she got for Tatum. After placing them outside she relaxes on the blanket as she pulls her sunglasses over her eyes, sighing in contentment.

The morning passes by in a blur and soon Kennedy is taking a shower and getting ready for the picnic with Tatum. Just as she settles in position outside, Tatum steps outside with his jacket hooked on one finger as it hangs over his shoulder. As he gets closer, Kennedy beams happily until he comes to a stop in front of her.

“Hey.” he speaks almost quietly as his hand meets her waist naturally, pulling her closer.

“Hey yourself.” she beams back as her hands come to rest on his chest, fiddling with his tie.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How was work?”

“Pretty uneventful today. But I did stop by that jewellery store you like on my way out and picked you up an extra present.” Tatum smiles and takes a small gift wrapped box from his pocket.

“You want me to open this now?” she asks and he nods in response.

Kennedy steps back and carefully rips into the paper then opens the box then lets out a small gasp as she looks inside.

“You didn’t. You got me the- Tatum.” she chuckles as she tears up a little. “You got me the charm that completes my collection?”

“It was the last one they had. Told me it was a lucky buy as they don't know when or if they’ll be getting more in stock.”

“Awww. Babe.” Kennedy beams and pulls him in, pressing a sweeping kiss to his lips. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” he replies as he returns the kiss. “Now, as much as I know you want me to just sit down and relax. I would like to go and take a shower, change into something a little more comfortable to lay back in the sun with you.”

“Yeah, of course! I’ll be here.” she smiles back up at him. “You go shower.”

Tatum disappears back inside and re-emerges an hour later wearing navy denim shorts, a white t-shirt and tan cardigan paired with some white air force style sneakers carrying a box as he approaches Kennedy who has now set out the full picnic beside the blanket.

“You didn’t say there would be food.” Tatum chuckles as he gets within range of being heard.

“Well, I thought it would be a nice surprise. I know how much you like to eat in a way that’s more snack-like and not one big meal. So I took the chance to put together a picnic for us now and thought you could order dinner for us later.”

“Ah, so that’s the catch.” he laughs as he sits down, “I’m buying our late night snack.”

Kennedy grins as she looks him up and down, stopping as she gets mesmerised by his jawline. Noting her gaze in his peripheral vision he smirks slightly before slowly turning his head to face her.

“You really need to work on your subtlety, you know.”

“Why would I want to do that when we’re in private?”

“You remember the incident that happened that year at Vancross before we went public as a couple.”

“Oh gosh, don’t remind me. Please.” she begs as she lies back.

“You look gorgeous by the way.” he smiles

“Why thank you, handsome sir.” she smiles at him.

He smiles back and then they burst into a fit of giggles a couple of minutes later.

“You’re adorable, Miss Paige. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Mmmm… I can think of at least one person.” she smiles up at him.

"Flirt." He grins and nudges her playfully.

"Naturally" She smirks in response.

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

Author’s Note: I have been really struggling to finish this one. I’m thinking maybe I’ll take a break and replay FA when I can afford VIP again, get more inspo and make this into like a mini universe/series type thing. But at the end of this they were intimate before going to bed and ordered from a restaurant where they got a range of different things to eat over the next couple of days. The 5 year anniversary was a success and they are happier than ever! Where do you want to see me take Tatum and Kennedy next?

[gnbrules]

Suptober20 - Day 18: Dark & Stormy Night

Word Count: 1.5K

Feel free to read here or on Ao3:

Let It Rain

The wind was whipping outside Dean Winchester’s kitchen window, making large raindrops spatter against the glass. Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance, and Dean was not overwhelmingly surprised when the power in his apartment went out – the neighborhood was prone to outages in poor weather. Dean was disappointed, though. He had hoped to eat his dinner while watching a movie, maybe Tombstone or some other western to suit his mood.

But it was not to be, and he was grateful that at least his burgers and homemade fries were already done and plated. Dean pulled out a lighter from one of his kitchen drawers and lit some of the candles he had around his place. He put one on the table, another on the counter, then went to his hall closet and pulled out a couple flashlights. He was just about ready to sit down to eat when there was a knock on his door.

Dean sighed. It was rare that he had unexpected visitors, and he was tempted to ignore it, but in the end he thought that might be too rude, even for him. He went and opened his door, and found a somewhat familiar-looking man standing there in the darkened hall.

“Hi,” said the man awkwardly. “Uh, my name is Castiel Novak. I just moved into the apartment across from yours.”

“Oh, right. I think I saw you bringing things in the other day. Dean Winchester,” he replied, putting forward his hand, which Castiel shook. “What can I do for you, man?”

“I hate to bother you, it’s just, I was wondering if you had any extra flashlights or candles I could borrow? Mine are all packed up in boxes still and it’s kind of a mess trying to find them without any light to start with.”

“Ah,” said Dean. “You’re right, that does sound like a pain. Come on in while I find you something.”

Castiel smiled gratefully and stepped inside Dean’s apartment. He looked around with some curiosity, though what he could make out in the lowlight was hard to say. “What smells amazing?” he asked, taking a deep inhale.

“Burgers. Hey, have you eaten yet?” asked Dean suddenly. “Do you want to join me?”

Dean wasn’t usually the type to invite near-strangers for dinner, but he was feeling in the mood for company now that his movie-watching plans had fallen through. And if Castiel’s apartment really was still a mess of boxes, it would probably be a nice reprieve for him as well.

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose,” said Castiel.

“But have you eaten?” Dean asked again, more forcefully.

“No, I haven’t,” Castiel admitted.

“You’re staying,” said Dean matter-of-factly, and he was already on his way to the kitchen to start making up a second plate. “Come on, burgers are my specialty and I made enough extra. Lettuce, cheese and tomato okay, Cas? Do you go by Cas?”

“Um, sure. To both,” he replied.

Dean chuckled slightly as he finished topping the second burger with a bun. Then he took out a couple beers and brought everything over to the dining room table. Dean waved at Cas to join him, and the two sat down across from each other.

“Thank you for all this,” said Cas sincerely. “I haven’t met many people here yet, and I’m glad at least one of my neighbors is friendly.”

Dean grinned. “Of course, pal.”

Now that Cas was sitting across from him, Dean couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. He was especially startled by the way the light of the candle was flickering in those clear blue eyes. Damn.

Cas took a bite of his burger. “Mmmm,” he hummed. “You were right, these must be your specialty. It’s delicious.”

Dean smirked. “They don’t call me the meat man for nothing.”

Cas tilted his head slightly, and Dean couldn’t help but notice that he also licked his lips before he spoke. “I’m not sure that means what you think it does. People might get the wrong idea.”

Dean looked down at his hands on the tabletop. He wasn’t shy at all about his bisexuality, but it was always a little weird announcing it to new people when he wasn’t sure how they would react. Especially a dude that he’d met today and had somewhat inadvertently invited to a candlelit dinner. Still, for some inexplicable reason, Cas felt like someone he could trust.

“Actually,” said Dean, “It wouldn’t entirely be the wrong idea. I’m, uh, open to…all…types of food.”

Cas snorted over his beer, and Dean felt a swoop of disappointment. But then his neighbor shot him a warm smile. “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe the coincidence. I am also open to ‘all’ foods. Not that I expected to mention it five minutes after meeting you.”

Dean felt his spirits lift slightly. If he was being honest with himself, there was a part of him that was happy to hear that Cas was queer because he was cute, and it opened up the possibility of something happening between them. But mostly he was just happy to have someone he could hopefully relate to, at least about that one part of his life.

Dean took a few bites of his burger, then said casually, “Well, I guess we skipped the small talk. Any deep dark secrets you wish to confess? Murder anyone lately?”

Cas smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Not lately, no,” he said, and Dean chuckled. “The whole moving across country has been a little time-consuming, you see.”

Dean relaxed back in his chair and took a swig of his beer. Then he gave Cas an appraising look. “And where is across country? Like all the way across?”

“Yep, all the way. New York.”

“Figures,” said Dean. “Seems it’s always California to New York or back again. Come for work, I’m guessing?”

Before Cas could respond, a loud clap of thunder broke outside. They both glanced towards the window, where the rain was still coming down in large drops. Cas turned back to Dean. “Yeah, for work. I’ve taken a position as a Religious Studies professor at USC.”

Dean felt a little put out, since he wasn’t sure he could make any new conversation out of this. He was not religious by any means, and didn’t feel particularly knowledgeable about the subject, either.

“So…you’re into all that God stuff, huh?” he asked, and regretted it the instant he said it. Cas was going to think he was uneducated, or judgmental, or something. What a mess.

But Cas just smiled and didn’t seem to find any harm in the question. “I’m not particularly devout, myself,” he said. “I do find religion and faith to be an interesting area of study. My classes tend to focus on how religion affects culture, and visa versa.”

Dean nodded. When Cas put it that way, Dean could kind of see the appeal. “I never thought that much about it, but I get what you’re saying. Religion is a huge influence all over the world…kinda cool to dissect what that means.”

“Exactly.” said Cas. “Now should I guess what you do?” He gestured at his now empty plate. “Because I assume you must be a chef at the most high-end burger restaurant in town.”

Dean smiled appreciatively at the compliment. “Nope,” he said. He stood up and began to clear their plates, somewhat awkwardly brushing against Cas’s arm as he did so. “Try again.”

Cas also stood and pushed in his chair. He helped Dean finish clearing the table, then leaned against the granite countertops to stare at Dean appraisingly.

Then Cas smirked, and there was no mistaking the flirtation in it. “Male model?” he guessed. His voice was low and deep, and Dean felt warmth spread through him.

Damn, Cas was smooth, and apparently interested. Who knew Dean would be swapping solo movie night for something that was beginning to feel more and more like an awesome first date?

Dean felt encouraged enough to press into Cas’s space, and was elated when Cas leaned in even closer.

“Sorry, Professor,” said Dean. “Wrong answer.”

Cas chuckled, and Dean couldn’t help but feel he was even cuter when he laughed. Cute enough to kiss.

So Dean did, and felt a swoop in his stomach when Cas kissed him back. Damn if this wasn’t like some fantasy: spending an evening with a handsome stranger, and then kissing him hard and pressing him up against the kitchen counter. Cas seemed to be just as eager, if the way he threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair was any indication.

It was intoxicating and perfect…

And then the lights came on.

The two pulled apart and blinked into the new brightness. Beeps from a number of appliances sounded throughout the apartment, and the microwave clock was flashing at them from the other counter.

Cas frowned slightly. “Guess that ruined the mood, huh?” he asked.

Dean bit his lip, then pulled away from Cas. Cas sighed and started to move as well, but Dean held up a hand to stop him. “Hold on, Cas, stay exactly where you are, okay?”

Cas squinted at him with interest. He watched as Dean made his way through the apartment, then laughed when he caught on to what the other man was doing.

He was turning out all the lights.

Dean returned to the now darkened kitchen and put an arm around Cas’s waist.

“Now, where were we?” he said in low voice.

Cas responded with a searing kiss, and outside, it continued to rain.

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 8

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Angst, language.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN2: I may have been inspired slightly by that horrible Barba episode that I pretend doesn’t exist - you may recognize what Barba said to Liv. So credit to SVU, S.19, E. 13, The Undiscovered Country. 

AN3: Bryan’s outfit was inspired by Chef Harry. So if you don’t know what that looks like, may I present you...

--

Reading your text caused Bryan’s heart to lurch.

He slammed his glass of whiskey back, swallowing it hole. He was tempted to respond but instead he did not. Not right away at least. He mulled over what Marissa had said: “All this fussing to say you care? Sounds like love to me.”

Love.

He wasn’t one for love. Life was like an old black and white movie; he was absolutely sure who were the good guys and the bad guys – nine times out of ten, he was the good guy in court, but the bad guy in relationships. And then you had weaseled your way into his world and black and white became different shades of gray. And then it became blues and greens. 

He then recalled Marissa’s other advice: Be honest about what you want. All it takes is some communication.

But it seemed you didn’t want to have any opportunity to talk to him.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he decided he was going to make his own opportunity. Bryan knew he fucked up and he vowed to himself to make it up to you – if only you’d let him.

And he hoped you would.

--

You walked up the sidewalk to your apartment, hands full of empty boxes. You had made sure to get to the market early so you could get the good boxes – otherwise you were stuck with the boxes that smelled like melon.

You made your way back into your apartment. It wasn’t that hot yet, so you opened the window to let the morning breeze come in. You asked Alexa to play your favorite playlist and then tied your hair into a pony-tail.

Packing sucked. But you had movers coming in three days and you needed to get your affairs in order.

Hours later, you still had a ways to go but you had a good section done. You needed more boxes so you made plans to pick up some more, resigning that some of your stuff would smell like melon after all.

Exhausted, you collapsed on your couch with a cool compress on your forehead. “Mmmm, just need a nap.” You mumbled to yourself.

Your eyes felt heavy and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were out. You sighed contentedly, ready for the sleep to settle in when the loud roar of a motorcycle startled you awake. Annoyed, you walked over to the window to close it when you noticed who was getting off the motorcycle.

It was Bryan.

He looked up towards the apartment windows and you immediately ducked your head, hitting it on the head of the window frame.

“Son of bitch!” You moaned, rubbing your head. You could hear your phone buzzing in the distance and you knew it was Bryan calling. You didn’t pick up, instead choosing to head downstairs to meet him outside.

With every step down, you felt the knots in your stomach grow.  With a deep breath, you opened the main entrance door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Bryan looked up from his cellphone and gave you what you were certain was a genuine smile.

You didn’t let it sway you.

You looked both ways before crossing the street. You felt woefully under-dressed – more of a hot mess if you will. You were in grey sweat shorts and a dark blue fitted t-shirt. And you would be damned if you didn’t admit how good he looked. Especially in the leather jacket. He wore faded black jeans and a dark grey Henley. A gold chain glinted under the few buttons of the Henley that were undone.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed at Bryan.

“We need to talk.” Bryan replied, removing his helmet. “Can I come up and talk to you for a few minutes?”

“About what?” You asked, with a sneer. You crossed your arms under your chest. “I don't think that's a good idea.

“Because of what might happen?”

“Because it's not a good time.”

“You’re quitting. You’re leaving.” Bryan tossed his helmet from hand to hand. “You’re not leaving me with much of an option.”

“I told you – there is no reason for me to stay.”

Bryan sighed and placed his helmet on the seat of his bike. “That’s not entirely true. Can we please go upstairs and talk?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Fine, but don’t get any funny ideas. I hope you know that I hate you from the bottom of my vagina.”

Bryan cocked his head, covering his mouth that was threatening to twitch into a smile. “Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and the two of you made way back into the apartment. Bryan felt his heart sink further as he took in the sight of your half-packed apartment. You really were leaving. And it was his fault.

You looked over your shoulder. “Do you want anything to drink? I have vodka in the freezer, soda and water.”

“Water is just fine.”

You stood behind your breakfast bar – the idea that somehow it served as a barrier between you and Bryan was almost laughable. There was a part of you that wanted to fling yourself over and kiss him. But you held your ground.

Bryan took the water and drank it before sitting on your couch. You eyed him warily; you could feel your heart thumping in your chest and your stomach was in knots. Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through to your text, and murmured the majority before speaking at full volume: I picked NYC because the man who doesn’t love me isn’t there.”

“I know what I said Bryan.” 

“The implication is that I don’t love you. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Don’t you dare say it, Bryan!”

“I love you.”

You felt all the air get sucked out of your lungs. 

“Goddammit Bryan! You broke my heart!” You turned your back to him and roughly opened the fridge to grab something for yourself to drink. You used the tip of your nail to open the can of soda. “You think you can waltz in here on your bike, looking good…because damn, you do look so good… say these things and have me pretend like what happened never happened? You were an asshole!” You shout as you pivoted back to face him. And instead you came face to face with him. Your mind flashed back to your initial run-in with him – the start of everything. Your eyes welled with tears.

“I was.”

A tear escaped your eye. Bryan used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away and you bowed your head slightly, in near defeat.

“I think you love me too.” Bryan replied softly, cupping your chin to face him. “I feel fairly certain that there is still something between us. I know that you're angry. You have every right to be. I fucked up.”

You didn’t respond. 

“I miss you. I've missed you. You should know that. I lie in bed at night and I think about us, I think about all of our time together. I should have told you how I felt. How I feel.” Brian continued. 

You jutted your chin out of his grasp. “Don’t. You don’t get to do this to me.” You scanned your apartment. “I have to finish packing.”

You turned to move past Bryan, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush against him.  You had a sense of déjà vu . The last time you were this physically close to Bryan, he kissed you hard and you smacked him in response. The kiss this time was deliberately soft. Bryan’s cologne overwhelmed your senses. You pressed yourself, leaning up to return the kiss. Bryan groaned as your tongue swirled around his and he wrapped his arms around your waist. It was so easy to get caught up into the kiss and to lose yourself in the passion.

You forced yourself to break the kiss. You looked up at Bryan, searching his green eyes. Tears streaked your cheeks. “I’m sorry Bryan. I can’t. I… just don’t know if I can trust you anymore. You treated me like shit for no reason.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please.” Bryan near begged. “We can work this out. Please don’t leave. Give me a chance.” His voice cracked.

You shook your head. “No. I’ve got to move on. Please leave.”

Bryan’s face, once somber, turned stoic. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Good luck with the move.” His voice was clipped and inwardly you winced.

You walked Bryan out and shut the door behind him with a click. For good measure, you made sure to bolt the door. You watched him get on his motorcycle from your window and as he kicked it into gear, you burst into tears.

Because Bryan was right. You were in love with him.

--

Days later, the last of the movers had packed your boxes in their truck. You reached into your pocket and left your copy of the key on the breakfast bar. You checked your phone to make sure your boarding pass was loaded. It was and you used the opportunity to check into your flight.

There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Y/L/N?”

You jumped, startled. Turning around, you eyed the delivery man. “That is me. Can I help you?”

The delivery man smiled in relief. “Oh good. I managed to catch you before you left. I have a delivery from a Mr. Kneef.”

You frowned. “Okay. Let me get my wallet to tip you.”

“No need, already taken care of.” The delivery man replied. He set the bag on the breakfast bar, by your key. You wished him well and then turned to the small delivery bag.

In it, was a box of English toffee from Cora Lee. It was your favorite candy that only came around during firm victories. You wondered how he knew - but at the same time, it didn’t surprise you that he knew. In addition, there was a long red box from Cartier, which contained a delicate diamond tennis bracelet.

There was also a note. 

NYC is so lucky to have you.

Yours – always.

BK

--

Tags: @madpanda75​ @tropes-and-tales​ @delia26​ @mgarner1227​ @beardedmccoy​ @youreverycolor​ @neely1177​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @mrsrafaelbarba​ @skittle479​ @ottosuricato​ @delia26​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @mommakat32​ @dreila03​ @beccabarba​ @garturbo​ @lovebennycolon​ @imjustreallynosy​ @sweetsummertime99​ @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​ @annabelleb49​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @cesarofangirl78​ @redlipstickandplaid​ @redlipstickandblacktea​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @differentshadesofgray​ @misssirenlove​ @esparza-army​ @bananas-pajamas​ @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories​ @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty​ @ktiz90 @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles​ @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​- anyone else, just ask!

[mrthomasdoherty]

Favorite Kurt? Rank Season 1,2,3,4,5, or 6? And why?

Hi! Oh boy. Easy!

Season 4 is my favorite Kurt. He FINALLY got out of Ohio! He's THRIVING at Vogue. THAT HAIR?! That WARDROBE?! He wins fair and square against Rachel fucking Berry in a SING OFF?????? But not before SLAPPING HER DOWN WITH THE HAND OF GOD ABOUT DEFYING GRAVITY SOPHOMORE YEAR. Befriending Santana and making pacts with her?! Going through his first heart break and rising above it while forgiving and remaining friends with Blaine?! And also finding the courage to ask a guy out FOR THE FIRST TIME! My guy! THAT SELF-CONFIDENCE GROWTH IS JUST, MMMM!!! More of this please. More, more, more! Also good for him for getting into NYADA? They didn't deserve him, but he's happy so that's all that matters.

Then we have season 5 Kurt. His confidence continues to grow but he's also proving that he has faults during his growth period still (assuming Elliott is going against him for one thing - Kurt please, not everyone is out to get you). But he's still proving he's still not a helpless lamb who mindlessly goes along with things gladly like some people portray him as. He has dudes fawning over him (and me, I'm right there with them) so he's getting the hot damn recognition he's been owed for a while. He gets challenged with his relationship, and we actually get to see how he (and Blaine) handle it and CHEFS KISS. GIVE ME THAT ANGST AND GROWTH WITH FURTHERING THOSE STEPS AFTERWARDS, DUDE. YES.

Season 2 Kurt. Not AS sassy as season 1, but still proving he is stronger than he looks and can dish it well. Goes through hell to whole new extents of his bullying, but rises above in the end and is FINALLY HAPPY! He got to go to New York and fly on a plane for the first time! He got his first boyfriend finally! He got a new step-mom & step-brother! Good for him! And he discovers different hair styles that don't make him look as cherub, my boy is growing up into a MAN. Also, kurtcedes reigning supreme still.

Season 1! It's the sass for me. The comebacks. The 'I'm better than you, move' attitude that gets him through the day. The angst is beautiful as well. Also, CHEERIO KURT & FOOTBALL PLAYER KURT IN THE SAME SEASON. Also all the Kurtcedes. All of it.

Season 6 Kurt! HE. WENT. TO. THERAPY. He got his happy ending. He got a kid. He got married (not in a barn officially tho no fuck you glee writers, unacceptable. Where the marriage licence at? No where. It didn't happen officially here. Literally how the law works. Next). He's successful. He's winning at life. (Except with the hairstyle of the middle part and just Kurt no, that's why he's bumped down this low - that damn middle part. Kurt please). Could care less about returning to Ohio (though he is a better teacher than Rachel as he offers actual advice to Jane and Mason, instead of immediate validation which I am into). Walter exists, Kurt Hummel has a sugar daddy confirmed though so, good for him. Make him buy you all the things, dude. You deserve it.

Season 3. This isn't Kurt's fault. This is the writers fault for deciding he can't have anything this season. No lead in the play. No acceptance into college. No school presidency for you! Oh and someone is going to try and come for your man and belittle you constantly about how you're not good enough for him because you look like an old woman who dresses like a woman because lol original insults are original - did you guys know Kurt looks and sounds like a woman???? Also, your attempt at being supportive and encouraging is going to be shot down over a rendition of a straight guy singing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! And you know the guy that sexually assaulted you, caused you terror, and gave you PTSD your entire sophomore/junior year while also threatening to kill you? Well, because you're a good person, he has decided he's in love with you now because you've shown him kindness like a human being. Then he's going to get upset when you reject him - because how dare you don't leave your boyfriend who just had eye surgery for HIM?? Ugh, Kurt, you're terrible! Let's make you feel MORE terrible by making YOU feel the guilt of your past bullies attempt at taking his life after you rejected him!! YAY! BOUNDARIES?! What boundaries?! Fuck boundaries! YOU SHOULDVE BEEN CONSIDERATE TO HIS FEELINGS, even if he hasn't been considerate of yours clearly up til this point. Not to mention - Kurtcedes who?! No, no, that doesn't exist this season. You're Rachel Berry's best gay this season and you only matter if it involves her now, okay? Okay. By the way, everyone needs to be reminded that you're GAY. Did you guys know he's GAY?! So gay, look at all the rainbows and unicorns. So gay Rachel wants to see her best gay in a bridesmaids dress too because he's GAY GUYS! He's soooo jealous that she's getting married her senior year of high school and he isn't because ugh he totes could get married in Ohio at that time right?! Besties4life!!! He has no other purpose except to be Rachel's BEST GAY!!!! Oh yeah, and he has a boyfriend but eh we won't focus on them too much - maybe...three episodes total. AND ONE OF THEM INCLUDES FIGHTING! Yes. Good. Only good thing to come out of this - you getting to be a lead vocalist in one competition! YAY! About time! Yep. That's all season 3 Kurt is. But he still looks good and has amazing performances as it's the season with my favorite Kurt solo. He's just background footage majority of this season if it doesn't involve Rachel so, there isn't much growth just pain. What a good senior year for him. Wow. I hate it. Return it, try again.

[potscenarios]

Hiiii! I don't know if I'm requesting right but headcanons or scenario (whichever you prefer) with Yandere!Sanada finding out that his darling has been engaged to another guy by her parents? Thank you if you get to answer this 😆

Yup, don't worry, you did send in the right format! Thank you for following the rules! ♡ 

Mmmm yessss, yandere boys are my favourite!! *chef's kiss* as you can tell from how long this became oopsies

Tw: yandere (duh), stalking, possesive behavior, toxic parents, death

Sometimes you feel like you're being watched.

It's a weird feeling, to say the least. Whenever it happens, there’s a very subtle change in the air, but you always gets goosebumps at the back of your neck, and you know that something - no, someone, is watching your movements from the shadows. Whoever does it conceals their presence so well, you don’t think anyone around you ever realizes. The only reason you realise that something feels wrong is because you've been raised preciously in your traditionally oriented family, and you've learned to take cues and be cautious of everyone else's needs, so you’re quite sensitive to changes in your surroundings. 

You’re thankful that you’re childhood friends with Yukimura Seiichi and his younger sister, because somehow you end up being friends with the whole Rikkai Dai tennis club members, and that means you can always count on them to walk you back home. Even though practice mostly run until late, you would rather wait and watch, because it’s still better than going back alone, and you don’t exactly have other close friends. Your parents doesn’t like it, but you manage to convince them that it’s better than being alone in case something happens, since you’re not allowed to have a cellphone.

Besides, you can always count on Marui to stop by some newly opened cake shops, Yukimura to entertain you with his stories of how he had just added a new plant to his collection, and Kirihara to drag you to the convenience store near the school to sneak in some light snacks before dinner. 

But out of all of them your favorite is still Sanada; mainly because he always seem to know what’s in your head.

On the times you don’t feel like going back home (there are very minimal entertainment sources in your house, because your parents hates technology with a passion), he would ask whether you want to drop by your beloved cafe and spend some time here until it’s right before dinner time. Whenever you feel like taking a walk outside before going back home, he’s always there to accompany you, buy you a drink when you’re tired, and sit in silence with you as you stare at the orange colored sky. He just knows.

Sometimes it feels like if you ask him to steal you away from that stuffy prison you call your home, he would comply without question.

There’s a part of you that desperately want to confess to him already.

But that’s unfair to him because you know you’re going to get married off to some guy you never met before. Your parents don’t change their mind that easily, and they’ve continuously drilled this knowledge into you way back since you entered middle school, and the implication is clear in your head - you’re not allowed to have boyfriends. Period.

That, and it’s shameful to confess first, being a woman. Or at least that’s what your parents taught you. You used to think it was common sense, until you saw girls confess to their crushes under the infamous Rikkai sakura tree and you saw how happy they look as a couple at school. It was the first time you realized that maybe your parents aren’t some kind of holy existence that never makes any mistakes.

You think you can just go on with your life. It’s what you’ve been doing all your life; being the perfect daughter for your parents, and then the perfect wife for whoever they want to ship you off to. That’s just how your life is.

“I don’t think that’s what you really want,” Yukimura’s younger sister said when she stopped by your house after the shopping trip to look for Seiichi’s birthday present, and you tell her your situation, “I still think you should just confess to Sanada-san. He’ll make it work somehow.”

“How?” you ask, frowning.

“.... I dunno, but knowing him, he’ll do something about it,” she tilts her head, “I didn’t want to say this but one time onii-chan told me Sanada-san also loves you very very much.”

Ironically, the very morning you decide you would take your only female friend’s advice, is the same morning your parents stop you from coming to school.

“Omiai...? Now? But... I... I have school....”

Your mother says she has already contacted the school. Your father says it doesn’t matter, since once you get married you can just stop attending school altogether. You stare at them in disbelief, unable to believe that this was happening so fast. You’re only in high school. You’re not even an adult yet by law.

You really can’t do this anymore.

You find that your soon-to-be husband is a few years older than you (honestly Sanada would have passed as an adult as well). He’s healthy, first-born son of a well-off family, did fairly well on his academics (Sanada generally does well on his academics too) and is splendidly helping to manage his father’s company (you imagine Sanada as a civil servant or an office worker and you think he’ll just look even better wearing a suit). He’s quite handsome (though Sanada is more handsome, you think) and has no criminal records (you’re pretty sure neither does Sanada). Your parents think he’s perfect (you don’t).

He’s throwing polite compliments to your mother, empty praises to your father, and tells you that you look beautiful in a kimono. If only your parents know how devoid of emotion your smile is, compared to the smile you showed when Sanada awkwardly tells you the same praise upon seeing you with casual clothes for the very first time outside school. If only your parents sees you as their daughter and not mere object. If only.

You’re seeing them off outside the kaiseki restaurant when you feel it. Eyes watching your back, somewhere, somehow. The car of your fiancé drives away, and when it turns into a corner you let out a heavy sigh, which draws the attention of your parents.

You really can’t do this anymore.

“I don’t want this.”

Nothing prepares you for the force against your cheek upon your slip of tongue. Your knees feel weak and you fall down onto the ground, eyes blinking back tears of pain, mind in disarray. Your left cheek stings and your hand instinctively comes up to cover it. Your other hand prickles as they graze against the rough ground. Despite this, the two adults look apathetic as they glare down at you.

Their words of scolding enters your right ear and goes out your other ear without being processed in your brain.

You really can’t do this anymore.

That night, you don’t remember how you manage to sneak out from your house at two in the morning, but the next thing you know you’re already sobbing into the nearest payphone pleading for help, and in just five minutes Sanada shows up, wraps you in his jacket, grabs your freezing cold hand, and leads you to his home.

For some reason he readily has the t̵̜̓ea you like on hand, and the guest room is perfectly prepared and cleaned. It’s as if he knows things would turn out like this.

But then again, he always knows, and you’re so tired and the futon is so comfy and Sanada’s arms feel so safe, so you slip into a deep, deep sleep.̵

When you wake up the next day, you feel a lot lighter and fresher than usual.

It’s thankfully Saturday, and so Sanada lets you sleep in, which is very nice of him. You know he’s a man of routine, so you assume he’s probably doing some kind of training, and you don’t want to disturb him. It would be rude to wander about the house you weren’t formally invited as a guest in, and you can’t just leave without telling Sanada first. There’s a TV in the room, and so you excitedly switch it on, flicking through the channels aimlessly.

It’s when you flick over to the news channel that your excitement completely disappears and is replaced by shock.

Your house - or at least what's left of it - is showing on the TV screen. The wooden building is barely standing, burnt pillars looking like it might crumble any second. In fact, several sections has given out, ashes and soot piling up. The sight is so familiar and yet so foreign. You can point out where the kitchen was, where your bedroom would have been, and yet they don't look like anything you remember.

You listen silently to the news anchor's words but they don't make any sense.

"..... police suspect it's accidental fire....."

"..... the spread was exceptionally quick....."

"..... two unidentified bodies were found and transported...."

Maybe it's five minutes later, or it could even be five hours later, you don't know. But when you hear your name and you turn towards Sanada, your eyes are red and the crushing sadness in your chest has been replaced by a hollowness you don't know if you'll ever be able to fill back in.

"Sanada-san....."

He briefly glances towards the television screen. The burnt down house isn't displayed anymore, but seeing the news program and your physical state are enough for him to piece the information together.

But all he says as he hands you what he was carrying is, "I brought ice for your cheek."

"..... Oh. Thank you."

The coldness feels good against your slightly swollen cheek. The television shuts off. You can see Sanada quietly sitting down in front of you. Still, you keep your head down, not really able to think of any conversation topic at the moment. Not when your world feels like it's falling apart rapidly.

"How are you feeling?"

Surprisingly it's him who tries to start the conversation. Sanada might not be as rigid and silent around you, but you're usually the talker - the one who entertains him, because you're groomed to do so.

"... Not... Good...."

You were always taught to smile and pretend things are okay, but... But it's fine if it's Sanada, you suppose. And it's not like your parents are around anymore to correct your behavior.

The soft call of your name - your first name, makes you look up, eyes wide in surprise. It's so foreign to hear your name in his voice.

"It's going to be okay."

You don't know how he can sound so convinced.

"How can... But I don't... I don't know what to do now..."

You're pretty sure Sanada is preparing to launch into a whole lecture in mind. He's going to tell you to go to the hospital and the police to sort our everything. He's going to ask you whether one of your relatives are in town and bring you there for the time being. And when no one offers you to stay with them, which is very likely seeing as your parents were definitely not the most social people on Earth, then-

"Then leave everything to me."

"..... Huh?"

Sanada sees your shock and apparently interprets it as rejection, for his frown deepens and something dark seems to shift in his eyes.

".... Would you rather go back to that... appointed partner of yours?"

You hadn't even thought of that possibility, and you shake your head immediately in response, a strong denial at the tip of your tongue - before the thought hits you and this time you look at Sanada in confusion, "H-How.... How did you know about the arranged marriage?"

For a moment, the male in front of you looks a tad guilty, but he quickly schools his face to his stone cold expression, though you can still see warmth and concern in his eyes.

"Don't worry about that. More importantly, if you do not wish to be engaged to that man, then-"

"Sanada-san, were you the one who had been stalking me all these time?"

The words come out before you can stop them, sharp and accusatory and it’s as if they echo within the suddenly quiet room.

Please say no.

Maybe all the while you've already known, because how else can he just seem to know what you did whenever he's not around? But the very thought that someone you love, someone who is always so courteous and kind, had been doing such a creepy thing behind your back was just...

Please say no.

"I wasn't stalking you," he says calmly as your heart is palpitating faster.

Yes. Oh, thank g-

"I was guarding you. Making sure you got home safely. That no one is giving you a hard time."

No. No no no nonono no-

"That-That's still stalking," you manage to say, though your voice is shaky and you think you're about to burst into tears or vomit the entirety of your stomach or maybe both, "I can't believe- Of all people, w-why did it had to be you?! Why now! H-How could you..!!"

Again, the sweet sound of your name comes from his lips, and he’s using that soft, loving tone that normally always made you feel all tingly and warm inside, “You need to calm down.”

It's unfair that he's acting like this when you have nothing left to hold on to. You shouldn't be content with crying into his chest; you should be running away and telling the police. It’s unfair how is he so comforting and gentle, with calloused fingers running down your back to comfort you, when you should be pushing him away. But how are you supposed to push away the only person who’s keeping you sane in this bleak nightmare?

"You have me. You have nothing to worry about."

First your family, and now the man you love.

"Let me take care of everything."

It seems like your fate is to be a bird trapped in a birdcage.

"I will make sure n̴o one can hurt my dearest future wife, ev̴er again."

[okk--maaan]

types of kisses, #19 with dearest charlie sounds so beautiful 😭🖤 (i’m loving your works btw, truly *chefs kiss*)

Hi my sweet things 😉 I went ahead and combined this request with this one:

for the charlie week kiss prompts - number 3 and it’s the first time they kiss??

I hope that’s ok! This got a little long but pretty sexy lol. We did some time-traveling and went back to when Charlie and RC weren’t officially an item. In fact, there’s a couple firsts in here! Thank you sooo sooo much for all the love! Hope y’all enjoy this!

Word Count: ~2.2k

CW:  NSFW, alcohol consumption, smut, my size kink may have popped in for a brief hello, and you guessed it - fluff

Your phone vibrates on your desk. You flip it over and swipe the screen open to find a text from Charlie.

“What are you doing?” it reads.

“Still at the office. Working late tonight.” you type back.

*Buzz*

“Me too.”

*Buzz*

“Want to meet up for drinks?”

You grin down at the message and bite your lip.

“Sure. Give me an hour. Usual place?” you reply.

*Buzz*

“Yes.” is all he sends back. A man of few words sometimes.

You click the phone off and place it back on your desk, still smiling. This was going to be a long hour.

Finally finished with your tasks, you leave your office building, making sure everything is shut off and locked properly, and walk a few blocks to the bar you and Charlie always meet at on nights like this. As you approach the entrance, you can see him through the window, already seated with his back to you in the booth that you always sit in. You step through the door and make your way towards him. He’s scribbling something in one of his little notebooks. You notice he’s already ordered drinks for the two of you. The standards. A neat Macallan for him and a glass of house pinot noir for you. This brings another smile to your face.

You place a hand on the back of his bench and stand next to him. “Hey,” you say gently to get his attention. Pulled from whatever he was focusing on, he blinks up at you.

“Oh hey,” he responds, closing his notebook, setting his pen on top of it, and standing to hug you in a way friends might. But your hands linger on each other. Your fingertips skim down his arms as you break the embrace. His well-worn cardigan feels soft against your skin. Your eyes lock and search. Search for something unspoken, unknown. You catch his gaze drop to your mouth for a split second. Like a reflex, your tongue drags over your bottom lip. He clears his throat and snaps you both back into reality.

“Umm yeah hi. Uhh here. Please, sit,” he seems flustered when he gestures to the bench across the table. Moving away from him, you grin sheepishly, looking down.

“Oh thank you,” you say taking your seat.

Charlie clears his throat again, trying to move past whatever just happened between the two of you. Not that he actually wants to. He wishes he could live in that moment for the rest of his life. Wishes he could stare into your eyes for forever. What’s wrong with him?

“So what were you working on?” you point at his notebook.

“Just some notes on some blocking issues that came up. Wanted to get them down before I forgot,” he laughs a little to himself. “How was work?”

“Oh you know, it was work. Had a couple deadlines to meet tonight,” you wave your hand in the air, wanting to shew away the topic of work.

“Hmm,” he says simply. You recall his last text to you. A man of few words sometimes.

For a while, you both just sit in contemplative, yet comfortable silence, sipping your drinks. Neither of you can stop thinking about that surprising intimate greeting you shared.

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

Of course Charlie insists on walking you home. He always does. Sometimes you decline, knowing he should really be getting home himself. But tonight, tonight you happily accept, not wanting to lose his company any time soon.

When you stand to leave, you quickly realize just how much you drank. And the four empty wine glasses on the table do nothing to counter that fact. Charlie isn’t much better off; he’s polished off three glasses of scotch. As you make a somewhat unsteady exit, his hand comes to rest on your lower back. Warmth radiates through your body at the supportive touch. Or was that the wine?

You know it’s not the wine.

The two of you joke and talk lightly as you wander down the sidewalk, through the city, past the neon signs of bodegas and 24-hour dry cleaners. You wrap yourself tighter in your jacket as a cool fall breeze blows past you. Charlie’s hands are shoved in the pockets of his slacks.

Your strides slow slow as you cross onto your block, both of you wanting to keep this sense of togetherness that you can’t really have in the daylight. But eventually, you do reach your apartment building, and you’re given no choice but to stop. You both desperately search for a reason to keep walking, but fall short.

“Well thanks for keeping me company tonight,” Charlie says turning to face you.

“Always happy to,” you shrug. “Thanks for the drinks,” a small pang of guilt hits you as you think about him picking up your tab.

You go to hug each other in that friendly way again. But this will never be between just friends anymore. You know. He knows. When he pulls away from the too long too tight too warm embrace, his cheek brushes yours. Someone may as well have shuffled their socked feet on a carpet and reached out to zap you. A shiver runs down your spine from the electricity.

Charlie feels it too.

He takes half a step towards your trembling body, closing the distance between you. His shaky breath fans out over your face.

“Kiss me,” he whispers as he reaches out to hold you.

You’ve been waiting for that all night.

Your hands fly up to grasp his head and bring him in for a hard heavy kiss. His plump lips are so soft against yours. His strong fingers grip the flesh of your waist, pulling you into him. Your separate bodies meld, becoming one as you seek more and more of his mouth. His hot wet tongue darts out to swipe across your closed lips, asking to be let in. You open up for him, your tongues meeting in the middle, dancing around each other. The memories of your wine and his scotch blend into a delicious cocktail with your saliva. His lips leave yours only to place gentle pecks across your cheek.

“Umm do you want to come up?” you ask all breathy, hoping not to offend him with your boldness.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles against your flushed face.

You let out a relieved sigh and he gives you enough space to punch in your code on the keypad and open the old metal door. Those fingers that just need to touch some part of you interlace with yours. You lead him up the stairs and to your door, where you fumble with the lock and key, now full of this weird energy, thinking about the prospect of what's to come. You’ve thought about this for a while. Getting this beautiful, intelligent, caring man into your apartment, your bed.

 Finally successful with the doorknob, you fling the door open and step backwards over the threshold, yanking Charlie along with you.

As soon as the door clicks closed, his mouth finds yours again. He peels off your jacket, unbuttons your blouse, lets those fall in a pile on the floor. You toe off your heels and continue your backwards trek towards your bedroom. But before you get to the point of no return -- maybe you were already there -- you pull free and open your eyes. You notice Charlie has lost his cardigan and button up, left them with your discarded garments.

“Do you want to do this? Are you sure?” you ask. He is still technically married. Isn’t that what he was always saying?

With nothing but resolve in his deep hazel eyes, he responds, “Yes. I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He stalks forward, closing the gap, wrapping his hands right under your jaw, shoving his tongue back into your waiting mouth.

By the time the backs of your legs hit the mattress, you and him have lost your pants, he’s lost his t-shirt, and at some point he unhooked your bra and flung to god knows where.

He licks and nips his way down your neck, over your collarbone, between your tits, all over your soft belly. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into your scorching flesh. His sticky palms smooth up your calves, thighs, and squeeze at your supple ass. “Mmmm,” he smears his lips back and forth just above the waistband of your panties.

“Charlie,” you huff, head back, eyes closed, jaw dropped open. Your tingling fingers twirl through his dark locks.

He stands to his full height, dwarfing you in comparison. His massive hands slide up your sides and knead at your tits. Mesmerized by the way you give for him, he brings his forefingers and thumbs to pinch at your nipples. He groans at the way they respond, poking out, standing stiff. Slightly jealous that he has something to hold, your own hands seek out his cock. And it’s not hard to find. Even through his boxers, his rigid erection is easy to spot. You trail up and down his length, mouth and pussy dripping. So ready for him. However he wants you. His chest rumbles when you give him an experimental squeeze. Your core clenches at his sounds.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you release yourself from him and pad into the bathroom. After a few drawers and cabinets thud, you return with a condom. He gives you a look, as if to ask why you happen to have those around. You just give a knowing grin, roll your eyes, lay back on the bed, and rest your head against the pillows. He takes the condom from you and pushes his boxers down. When he springs free, your eyes can’t help but go a little wider and you wonder to yourself if the rubber will actually fit.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Charlie rips open the foil packet and rolls the condom down to the base of his dick. Barely making it. He climbs on his knees to hover above you. Again, you feel small, here underneath him. You run your hand along his firm chest, feeling his fast pulse match yours. You lean up and kiss right over his heart. He closes his eyes and relishes in the tender gesture.

This is more than just a fling for both of you.

He shoots you another questioning glance and you nod simply in response. He loops a finger into your underwear and pushes them down until you can kick them off. Then he shifts enough to find your entrance, rubs his swollen head up and down your wet slit, catching on your clit. This alone is enough to make his eyes, and yours, roll back. Then he slides in. The shock of him filling you so completely makes gasp, makes your eyes pinch closed, makes your hands come up and claw at his back.

“Fffuuckk,” he stutters.

“Holy shit!” you grunt out through gritted teeth.

Once fully seated in you, he lets out a moan of pure euphoria. You’re so hot wet tight around him. He pulls out, slams back in, pushing another strangled breath out of your lungs. Back out. Back in. Out. In. His pace becomes quick, harsh, and you have to wind your legs around him to stay in place.

“You feel so good sweet thing. Uuhhnn. Your pussy feels so good. I’ve thought about this for so long,” the words tumble from his mouth. He feels like he’s losing control. He feels like he’s on fire. The next snap of his hips makes his cock hit that perfect spot in you. You cry out, every part of your body tensing, every nerve ending frying.

“Yes! Oh yes! Right there! Right there Charlie!” your nails dig further into him, probably breaking the taut skin there. You can feel him fisting the sheets around your head. He drops his heavy head to rest in the crook of your neck, smearing the sweat from his forehead on you, where it evaporates from the sheer heat of your rocking bodies. For a brief moment he thinks about what your cunt would feel like right on his cock. Wishes that thin barrier of latex wasn’t between you. That thought pushes pushes him further.

You feel his thrusts becoming erratic and you know he’s right there. “Baby play with my clit. Please. Please make me cum,” you beg.

The pad of his thumb finds the stiff bud and works at it. Drawing sweet sweet circles into it, in time with his pumps. Your vision goes blurry then blank. Bright white. Pitch black. Nothing.

Your whole body jolts shakes convulses as that little ball in your stomach tightens, expands, explodes.

“Aaahhhhh!” you scream as your head shoots up and you sink your teeth into the meat of his shoulder. Cumming. Cumming. Cumming. And he follows right behind. You feel his cock get impossibly harder and thicker as his own orgasm crashed down around him.

“God dammit!” he shouts, bites you back, right over the thudding pulse in your neck.

You hold each other so so tight as you come down, aftershocks rippling through your tired bodies. Hot tears inexplicably pool in the corners of Charlie’s eyes while he litters you with soft kissing, trying to relieve any pain he may have caused. You hear him sniffle quietly and you smooth a hand down his piecey hair, place a kiss to his temple, also wanting to soothe any hurt.

He lets himself go limp on top of you. Finally lets himself rest. Finally able to rest.

Charlie doesn’t know what this is. But he does know that he can’t wait to get coffee with you in the morning.

[storyofmychoices]

Good Morning

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Other Characters: Keiki Lahela  Book: Open Heart, Book Two​​ (Chapter 5) Rating: Teen (some suggestive language) Word Count: ~800

Synopsis: Olivia wakes up with Bryce after spending the night with him on the couch, following Keiki’s unexpected arrival. This directly follows my fic, Stay.

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   ☆

His warm lips on her forehead caused her to stir. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but whatever time it was, it was too early. She snuggled back into him. She could feel his smile as he kissed her forehead again. 

Bryce left a trail of feathery-light kisses down her face until he reached her lips. 

“Mmmm,” Olivia breathed into him, letting him pull her further from her slumber. Somehow going back to sleep was losing its appeal. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered, kissing a little further this time. 

“It is now,” Olivia smirked into his embrace. “I could get used to this.” 

Bryce grinned wolfishly, ready to devour her. “Me too!”

He shifted in the tight space of the couch until he was on top of her. His hair cascaded in front of him tickling her skin as he hovered mere inches from her. His eyes closed heavily, his face twisting uneasily, as he remembered Keiki in the other room. He groaned and pulled back, his hair brushing over her face, causing her to rub her cheeks and wiggle her nose. “Sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Olivia sat up to meet him, running her fingers through his hair. “One, you know how much I love your hair. I will never tire of it tickling me. Two, it’s going to be okay. You’ll figure it out. Keiki’s lucky to have you!”

“Is she though? I barely know her…” Bryce admitted, his voice trailing off. “I left that life and the further I got, the less I thought about it… I left her. I thought she’d be okay.”

“She will understand,” Olivia offered. “You were a kid, too.”

“How can you be so sure?” Bryce asked. 

“Because she took a 15-hour flight to see you!” Olivia started, caressing the nape of his neck softly. “And, she’s your sister. You share DNA. You’re more alike than you probably even realize. I know how amazing and big-hearted you are. Keiki will see it too.”

“How did I get to be so lucky?” Bryce cupped her face.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Olivia leaned into his touch. 

“Uh, any chance you can help with breakfast?” Bryce asked hesitantly. 

“And here I thought you asked me to stay for this–” She turned her face kissing the inside of his wrist. She traced his arm with her fingers and her mouth settling just below his ear. “Or this?”

Bryce moaned as Olivia’s teasing lingered.

She continued until he was properly relaxed, pulling away suddenly, enjoying his frown. “How is it you have survived on your own for so many years, but can’t even handle breakfast?” 

Bryce shrugged, scratching his fingers through his hair. 

“Come on,” Olivia rolled her eyes and made her way to the kitchen and began looking through his cabinets and fridge to see what she could manage. “Omelets it is, we’ll use the leftover vegetables from dinner.” 

Bryce set the table while she got the ingredients together. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her waist as she watched the food cooking. His lips rested on the back of her neck as he breathed her in. 

“Are you going to help?” She pondered, leaning into him. 

“Aren’t I?” Bryce nibbled on her ear. “I’m just making sure the chef is well relaxed.” 

“What if Keiki wakes up?” 

“Let her,” Bryce sounded more confident than before, as he lowered his lips back to her soft skin. 

His bedroom door creaked as it opened, causing Bryce to stutter backward quickly away from Olivia, almost knocking into the counter behind them. 

“Smooth,” Olivia laughed. 

“Bryce?” Keiki called.

“In here.”

“What smells so good? I thought you couldn’t –oh, Olivia, you’re still here,” Keiki smiled softly. 

“How do you know she didn’t just come back?” Bryce questioned flustered. 

Keiki crossed her arms and gave her brother a knowing look. “She’s wearing your shirt and no pants. I’m not five anymore, Bryce. I won’t fall for your excuses anymore.”

Bryce flushed. “Keiki…”

Olivia placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Have a seat, breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks, Olivia,” Keiki offered. “This looks delicious!”

Olivia took a seat next to Bryce, her hand finding his under the table. He gave it a gentle squeeze as if to say, thank you. 

Keiki rolled her eyes at them. “This is so good, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” 

All three of them laughed. Clearly, they needed to set some boundaries, eventually. 

“So, Keiki,” Oliva raised her brow. “What excuses did he have in the past?”

“Let’s just say that as charming and self-assured as he is, he’s not very good with quick excuses,” Keiki grinned. “Even a five-year-old could see through his ruses.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Bryce attempted to defend himself. 

The three of them laughed and ate their omelets. Bryce’s smile relaxed, maybe reconnecting with Keiki wouldn’t be so bad.

[ericsonclan]

Our First Christmas

Summary: Omid and Christa work together to have it be the best first Christmas with their kids ever.

Word Count: 2297

Read on A03:

“Do bee do ba do dee da dooo,” Omid hummed to himself as he moseyed round the kitchen. Putting on his oven mitts, he opened the oven and pulled out the cookies. They were baked to perfection, the slightest hint of golden brown on their edges. He had to admit he was pretty proud of himself. Sure, these were pre-made Pillsbury sugar cookies, the kind with the little trees printed on the center, but he’d taken part in their creation and for that Omid considered himself a true chef.

“Mmmm, smells delicious, baby,” Christa placed a quick kiss on her husband’s cheek as she strolled into the kitchen.

“Why, thank you!” Omid grinned proudly before leaning back to look into the living room. “Where are the kids?”

“Playing in their room. Louis is serenading Violet with his latest xylophone song and Vi is staring at the ceiling,”

“Huh. Not sure if staring at the ceiling counts as ‘playing’ but as long as she’s happy,” Omid began to plate the cookies one by one upon the Christmas reindeer tray. “Can you get the milk and glasses, babe?” Christa nodded, helping out with that part of the prep. When everything was ready they carried the milk and cookies into the living room. ‘Kids!” Omid called, cupping his hands round his mouth. “It’s time for presents!”

That got their attention. The kids both barreled out of the room, nearly tumbling over each other as they skidded to a stop. Violet immediately withdrew into herself, crossing her arms and looking toward the floor as if trying to make them forget the excitement she’d expressed merely moments ago. Meanwhile Louis was busy hugging Christa then bouncing over to Omid for another hug. “Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, his eyes practically sparkling as he beamed up at them.

“Merry Christmas, kiddo!” Omid chuckled, tousling the boy’s dreadlocks fondly. Christa sat down, gently patting the seat beside her. Violet came over hesitantly, sitting down right on the edge of the couch. Louis scampered over to sit beside her, in between Violet and Christa. Omid meanwhile remained standing, placing his hands on his hips as he began his announcement. “Alright, kids, eat your milk and cookies. Christa has a very important story to read,” With that he sat down on the floor beside his wife, handing up the book that had been resting on the floor.

Taking it in her hands, Christa positioned the book on her knee so that Louis and Violet could see the pictures as she read. Clearing her throat, she began. “’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…” The story continued, Christa’s voice the only sound in the room besides the soft munching and sipping noises coming from the children. Louis’ eyes were wide as the story continued, his expression rapt as he stared at the illustrations. Violet meanwhile ate cookie upon cookie, only occasionally looking up at the book, but Christa and Omid had grown familiar enough with her mannerisms to know she was interested. It was a peaceful, magical moment, exactly the sort Christa and Omid had hoped they’d be able to achieve this Christmas Eve.

When the story was finished, Christa handed the book over to Omid then turned to Louis and Violet. “Alright, you two. It’s Christmas Eve. You know what that means,”

“Presents!” Louis exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on the couch.

“That’s right. Now, Omid and I had a decision to make regarding this Christmas. With so many expenses happening near the holidays, we knew we would have to choose whether to buy a bunch of tiny gifts or one big gift for each of you,”

Violet looked down at her lap. Omid and Christa shared a glance. She was probably thinking how all the expenses came from the cost of fostering her and Louis and that all those costs were doubled by the fact that she was here too instead of the one child they’d originally planned on.

Omid cut in. “So that’s why we decided to go for the biggest, bestest gift we could come up with for each of you. Because you both deserve the best. And since we hope this is gonna be your forever home, we want you to know that,”

“Let’s start with Violet’s,” Christa nodded to her husband. “Honey?”

“On it!” Omid scurried off to their bedroom, quickly emerging with a large Christmas present, one that took both of his hands to carry. He set it down gently upon Violet’s lap. The present looked even more immense within the small girl’s arms. She looked back and forth between Omid and Christa in confusion, her eyes large. Clearly, she’d never been given such a large gift.

Christa nodded. “Go ahead, Vi. Open it,”

Slowly, Violet began to undo the wrapping paper, her movements careful and exact, almost as though she were afraid the gift would be taken from her at any second and she’d have to return it in perfect condition. Ever so gently, she pushed aside the wrapping paper once it was undone. Inside was a large carrying case made of light blue waterproof fabric with a zipper that ran all the way down the middle. Violet stared at it in puzzlement.

“Ooh, there’s directions! Look, Vi!” Louis exclaimed, snatching up a piece of paper that was tucked underneath the case. He handed it over to Violet who examined the photo carefully before turning to Christa and Omid. “It’s a… tent?”

“Yep! But not just any tent!” Omid said with a grin.

“It’s a star tent,” Christa explained. “Once we set it up, you’ll be able to turn on the miniature projector that comes with it and see all of the constellations on the roof of the tent. The projector comes with a tape player too so you can listen to the stories of all the different constellations or put on some music if you want to listen while you watch the stars,”

Violet looked back down at the bag in her hands. The smallest of smiles began to play on her lips.

“Do you want to set it up now?” Omid offered.

Violet shyly nodded.

The four of them all worked on the tent together. After about a half hour of reading the instructions, assembling the pieces, disassembling the things they put in wrong the first time and putting those together correctly, the tent was finished. Crawling inside the tent for a second, Omid turned on the projector and started the music track that came on the tape. As “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” began to softly play, all eyes turned to Violet.

“Give it a try,” Christa encouraged, gesturing toward the tent. Hesitantly, Violet knelt down and crawled within the tent. As she lay on her back, only her toes could be seen barely popping out of the door to the tent.

“Can I try it too?” Louis asked, his eyes pleading.

Omid and Christa looked at each other. “Well, it’s up to Violet,” Omid answered. “It’s her Christmas present so she decides whether she wants to share or enjoy it on her own,”

The three outside were silent for a minute, watching Violet’s toes as they listened to the music and the slow spiral of the stars as they circled round and round the tent ceiling. Then Violet’s voice came from inside the tent, small and soft.

“Louis? You can watch too,”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Louis shot inside the tent like a rocket, giggling and wriggling excitedly as he settled down into place beside Violet. Christa and Omid sat down outside the tent, enjoying seeing the kids having fun. Through the opening in the tent door, they could see that the two of them were holding hands as they looked at the stars together, Louis providing his own commentary on what he thought the story of each of the stars was.

Christa nudged Omid, mouthing the word ‘snacks’. They went over to the coffee table to grab the remaining milk and cookies, delivering them to the tent with the directions to be careful and not spill anything on the projector. Then they settled back down, snuggling together as they watched the stars from the outside of the little tent.

Once the cookies and milk were all gone, Louis stuck his head out from the tent. “Vi wants to stay in here for the whole night. I was wondering though… I get a present too, right?” his eyes were hopeful before falling down as though afraid he had asked for too much.

“Of course!” Omid exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “It’ll just take a second for us to get the gift since we hid it out in the garage,”

Christa stood too. Placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder, she smiled. “Spend a little more time with Violet while we get it. We’ll be right back, OK?”

Louis nodded. Giving Christa another quick hug, he scurried back inside the tent beside Violet.

It took several minutes to roll the present out of the garage and over to the sliding glass doors and another few minutes to safely get it inside the house. By the time they had rolled it in past the Christmas tree, Louis and Violet had both exited the tent, watching the process with wide eyes.

“That’s my present?” Louis asked in disbelief, looking at the massive mystery present covered in Christmas wrapping paper. “It’s bigger than me!”

“That it is, kid,” Omid said with a wink. “Go on – open it!”

Louis paused in front of the present, clearly unsure where to even begin. After a few seconds of deliberation, he thrust his hand forward and ripped away a large swath of the wrapping paper with gusto. It only took a few more tears before he gasped in realization of what lay underneath. “It’s a piano!” With that realization the wrapping devolved into a frenzy, Louis throwing paper this way and that as he tried to uncover the present in its entirety. Once it was all unwrapped he quickly slid out the bench that had been tucked underneath, plopping down upon it before running his small hand against the wood grain of the piano. He turned to Christa and Omid in disbelief. “You got me a real life piano for Christmas?”

“We figured it was a step up from the xylophone,” Christa replied with a wry smile. She gestured towards the bench. “The seat opens and there are some starter books in there for you to use,”

Louis excitedly leapt up from the bench. Flinging it open, he grabbed all of the books from within the bench, excitedly flipping through each of them. Violet had returned to the comfort of her tent, but this time had her head poking out instead of her feet, watching Louis with interest. Having settled on a book, Louis flipped it opened to a certain page and placed it on the music rack.

The page had a display of the different keys on the piano and the corresponding letter for each one. Louis let his finger hover above one of the keys before lightly pressing down on it. A deep, resounding rumble came from the low note. Louis’ face brightened in excitement at the sound. He placed his finger upon another key, then another and another. Running his hands along the piano, Louis giggled happily as he played all the notes one after the other then got to play them in the opposite direction as well.

Christa and Omid shared a smile. Both gifts seemed to be a hit. Louis was completely enraptured with his piano and Violet had stuck her head back inside her tent, returning to her stars. Omid squeezed his wife’s shoulders gently. “Decaf coffee?” Christa nodded and he went to go start a pot. They would let the kids stay up a bit later this night and enjoy their presents. After all, they had all morning tomorrow to sleep in then play with them again to their hearts’ content.

---

It was 6 AM the next morning when Omid awoke to the sound of piano music. Christa was already awake and sitting up beside him in bed, blinking blearily. She turned to Omid with a weary smile. “Today we’ll let him enjoy it, but tomorrow we’re establish ground rules for how early in the morning the piano can be played,”

“Agreed,” Omid rolled out of the bed with a groan. “Coffee?”

“I’ll come with you, get breakfast started,” Christa replied, getting up as well.

As they descended the stairs and entered the living room, they spotted Louis sitting at his piano, happily playing a song he must have made up himself. His hands crashed over the keys as he sang some sort of lyrics of his own. He paused when he saw Christa and Omid, flashing them a happy smile. “Merry Christmas! Thanks again for the best present ever!” With that he returned to his piano, playing with even more fervor than before. Omid and Christa shared a smile. Louis had thanked them about a dozen times when they were putting him to bed last night. Clearly, he was just as excited today.

Violet was inside her tent once more. She popped out her head for a second as they approached, giving them a shy wave before retreating back inside. Christa and Omid returned the wave even though she wouldn’t be able to see it. Then they headed toward the kitchen together, ready to prepare Christmas breakfast a few hours earlier than they had anticipated. Opening the fridge, Christa paused as she and her husband locked eyes. “We did it,” she whispered happily.

“Yeah we did,” Omid grinned.

They’d given the kids the perfect Christmas.