#❝ thread ╱ candlelight dinner.

[prettygores]

She's surprised, when she walks in to find a half shirtless Tyler with a blazer hanging over his shoulders and no pants. The sight of him that way makes Brooke peel over with laughter. The dimples in her cheeks become prominent, tinted with a light shade of rosy pink. At first, she hardly registers his question on behalf of trying to make sense of his outfit. It was basically him trying to look presentable while honoring her wishes at the same time. It was adorable, when you think about it "You look...." ridiculous, funny, silly. But, still incredibly hot. Go figures. Tyler could make a potato sack look good at this point. Not that Brooke would be suggesting he wear one. She prefers when he doesn't cover up, which is why the blazer has to go.

"Sure...." Brooke answers after a few seconds roll pass and she accepts the offer of freshly poured wine. Instead of taking a sip though, Brooke merely holds the neck of her wineglass with a pinch of her fingers. The way her lips then twitch and she bites them to stave off more lies, indicate she's not telling the full truth. But, that's only because she doesn't have the heart to tell Tyler, their baby had been completely fine leaving them alone for a few hours to go play with her bestie, Sebastian. "She cried us a river. Big tears. It was a whole mess." Reading the expression on his face, Brooke sensed he didn't believe her and therefore, she gave up trying to convince him. "Okay, maybe she didn't cry at all and she was happy to leave us for Sebastian but, I'm sure she's going to miss you. How could she not?" Brooke's seen firsthand how obsessed Everly was with her daddy. She could relate, she's just as obsessed with Tyler herself. "I also didn't realize we were in need of a destresser tonight." She was only teasing him as she glances down at her wineglass in gesture. The smell of the Italian sweet red reminds her of why she set this dinner up in the first place. Not only did Tyler deserve to be spoiled, because he's been working so hard and fronting all of the chores lately but, there was something Brooke may or may not need to get off her chest. "Now that you mention it though, you may want to take a sip before you sit down and I give you your present." For the sake of being dramatic, Brooke wrapped the pregnancy test box in a glittery black bag and was prepared to give it to Tyler to open as a random gift before they inevitably made their way to the bathroom so Brooke could take the test and they could wait for the results together. "I should probably preface this gift with saying... I love you and I know you weren't expecting anything. Neither was I. But, I told myself if this ever happened again, I would want to do it right. Therefore.... maybe you should open it. Before we have dinner. I'm so nervous, I don't even know if I can eat until you do. It's under your seat."

Tyler rolls his eyes as Brooke stands on her tippy toes to feel his head. She's being dramatic again, and it makes him smile. "It shouldn't surprise you that I want time...with my wife." He couldn't even voice the words 'time alone' because, she was right. There's no part of him that wants to be without his daughter. He fears the day she'll start kindergarten. When that day comes, he'll be an emotional wreck. Which is why he chooses not to think about it. She'll just have to stay two forever. It'll be fine. After shaking those thoughts from his head, Tyler leans back against the kitchen island. He's preparing himself to tell Brooke about the neighbors and Sebastian's crime spree, before he's asked to hold onto those thoughts a little while longer. "Okay, but I might change my mind, so you better act fast." He's referring to Everly's departure. In some ways, he wishes he wasn't so attached. Because he knows she'll eventually grow up, go off to college, and move out. Once again, he tries not to think about those things.

After taking a deep breath, Tyler readies himself to say goodbye to Everly. Both his stomach and his heart aches when she leans away from Brooke to give him a kiss. When her little hands make fists around his shirt, he pulls both her and Brooke into a shared hug. They were his entire world. "Mommy and daddy will pick you up soon, okay? Have fun, baby." Tyer tickles under Everly's arms so he can hear her laugh and see her smile one last time before she goes. Then when Brooke turns around, he gives his wife a tap on the ass. A little reminder for her to hurry back home. After both his girls are gone, Tyler looks around the empty apartment and sighs. He spent the majority of his life alone and was okay with it. He'd grown numb to the feeling of not having a family. Now everything he ever wanted was right there in front of him. Everly's measurements on the doorframe, her toys scattered across the living room floor, and the candlelit dinner on the table. This was all because of Brooke. Everything he has was because of her. He looks down, at the hers tattoo on his hand, and smiles. He's so thankful for everything. And he'll make sure Brooke knows it when she returns. Therefore, he honors her wish and removes his shirt and then his pants. He'll have dinner in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs. They were short enough to see the variety of tattoos spread out across his upper thighs and the curving imprint of his dick. Hopefully it won't be too distracting. They still have to eat, unless she wants to feed him the warm meal between her legs. He could eat that until the sun comes up.

After pouring each of them a glass of red wine (unbeknownst that she has a pregnancy test waiting), Tyler walks over to their collection of vinyl records. He's in the middle of sifting through them when he hears the front door open. "How was Everly? Did she cry?" He hurries back to the foyer and grabs both glasses of wine on his way. He would have stayed partially naked but, after second-guessing himself, he put on the blazer. However, he left it unbuttoned. This way, it was still revealing but, gave her more to take off. He knows she enjoys tearing off his clothes in the heat of passion, just as much as he loves doing the same to her. Over the years, he's ruined so many of her dresses and underwear. He's surprised she still gets dressed up for him. "I poured us some wine. Something to help relax us and take the edge off."

[medicus-felini]

Weather in the new world was a mystery, even with all their talented meteorologists on that island, nothing could have warned them about a tropical storm in the middle of a peaceful evening. One which Mr 3 so dearly invited Linn to finally paint these little figures made of wax of her crew. Over the grass with a view to the sea, it sounded perfect. They had barely started it when the wind hit— thunder and rain following after in a heartbeat. A wax umbrella wasn’t enough to protect from the rain, but it did get them back at the protection of the artist’s atelier. There, upon noticing the switch didn’t work as no light turned on. Galdino used his power to light on the chandelier in a golden hue of lights that made the main room visible again. “Probably a tent that hit the main powerline. Well~ there’s no other more useful than me in these situations, ga ne. Candles are my thing after all. Saa~ let’s get you some clothes, shall we? Mr Eustass won’t like it if the doctor on his ship comes back with a cold—Also there's no better opportunity to partake on Mink's culture than that, isn't that right? Fu ha ha ha ha!” After searching through his wardrobe, Mr 3 offers her a towel, a blue wool jacket with his moniker’s number engraved three times as amusing as it can be together with proper pants that would fit her. 

After leaving her, Galdino went to dry himself and change as well. Stopping by the large window frame of the main room, sat in a relaxed way as a towel hang from his shoulders in a simple more casual clothes. It was impossible to keep his silly hairstyle without the proper help of a hair dryer so he chose to just leave it loose with a few upkeep strands over the shoulder and face. Upon seeing her, a prideful smile took his expression. "Page 4, chapter 3 of my notes. Exchanging clothes is a sign of friendship and affection in mink culture! Missy Linn has been such a marvelous company in the past months—Consider it a vote of trust from yours truly, ga ne.”  He fixed his hair, putting a bang over the ear.

He reached for another towel, holding it open in hands with an open invitation. “I barely could dry my hair off. Did you have trouble with your fur? Shall I help, ga ne?” ((things that could easily be a starter buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut cough cough hope its alright im new here))

@waxgentleman `♡´ Only Candlelight (Semi-Plotted???)

Linn is usually quite fond of water, if it is not coming from above and is anything colder than room temperature. Despite them planning their meet-up on a day that was foreseeing no storms, on the opposite, it should be a warm day with barely any wind and rays of sunshine all the way, not a cloud in the sky. She learns yet again that the weather can be unpredictable.

With a nod in gratitude, the feline takes both the towel and the outfit that Galdino offered her. Ivory fur drenched in the cold and quite salty rain from being close to the sea quickly dries with a few hearty rubs, which led to her looking all nicely fluffed up for a moment. What a coincidence; they nearly wear the same size.

Some minutes pass. The mink doctor now all dressed up in her friend's warm and, more importantly, dry outfit, the jacket hugging her body, fur and the inside of the fabric in a comfortable embrace that leaves the woman humming in approval. The soft candlelight distracts her slightly; her eyelids lower gently with a purr. ❝ Hm? Oh, you did your homework yet again. It is indeed a sign of great friendship and trusssssttt-...❞

Oh? He got rid of the hair ties. That must be the first time she spots him with anything other than his certainly special hairstyle. Yes, letting his hair fall loose would make sense; it wouldn't dry at all if Galdino kept it up all day after being caught up in the rain. But this reveal comes so casually and unsuspected! Linn's lips tugged up in a nervous smile, an unsure chuckle, while not able to gaze away from this new revelation.

❝ Ah, y-you know, I might be a little soaky here and there. Thick fur... you wouldn't understand, tehe...❞ A blatant lie. The cat was dry, fluffy, looking like she was actually freshly blow-dried. What a cheeky little attempt to get a closer look at Mr. 3 without being obvious. ❝ I would not say no if you suggested helping me dry up a bit more? Just if it is not inconvenient, of course. ❞

[bookwormjust]

The best Auntie (established relationship, Cassian’s mate, Nyx obsessed with you) 

It was one of those nights—the Inner Circle gathered around the large, wooden dining table in the House of Wind, laughter and conversation filling the air as plates of food were passed around. You sat comfortably between Cassian and Feyre, the soft flicker of candlelight casting a warm glow over everyone’s faces. Nyx, the lively five-year-old son of Rhysand and Feyre, was buzzing with energy as usual, but tonight he seemed especially eager to be near you.

���Auntie!” Nyx's voice rang out as he clambered onto your lap, completely ignoring the chair that had been set for him. He wrapped his tiny arms around your neck, his mischievous violet eyes sparkling with joy. “Can you help me eat? Please?”

You smiled down at him, your heart warming as you reached for his spoon. “Of course, little star,” you said softly, ruffling his dark hair. He always wanted to be near you during these dinners, much to the amusement of his parents. Feyre shot you a playful smile, her eyes glowing with warmth, while Rhys chuckled under his breath, his hand resting affectionately on Feyre’s.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Feyre teased. “I swear, he’d move in with you if we let him.”

Cassian, sitting beside you, leaned in and placed his hand on your thigh, his touch warm and grounding. He grinned, clearly enjoying the sight of you and Nyx together. “He has good taste,” he said, his voice laced with pride. “You’re his favorite, after all.”

You blushed a little at Cassian’s words, feeling the warmth of his affection settle over you. Nyx wiggled happily in your lap, clearly loving the attention as you spooned some food into his mouth. Every bite was a game to him, giggling as you made silly faces to get him to eat his vegetables.

Rhys watched the interaction with a soft smile, leaning back in his chair. “We’re going to have to fight Cassian for your attention soon, you know,” he said, half-joking. “Nyx barely lets you breathe when you’re here.”

Cassian smirked, his thumb tracing idle circles on your leg. “He knows who the best auntie is,” he said with a wink, making you laugh.

Nyx, oblivious to the conversation, rested his head against your chest, settling into the comfort of your arms as you continued to help him eat. His little fingers wrapped around your free hand, clinging to you as if you were the most important person in the room.

You glanced over at Cassian, his hazel eyes filled with affection as he watched you with Nyx. He always had to be touching you in some way, whether it was a hand on your knee or a soft brush of his arm against yours. The bond between you was a constant presence, a comforting thread that kept you connected.

As the night went on, Nyx eventually grew sleepier, his body growing heavy in your arms. Feyre gave you a knowing look, silently thanking you for how much love and attention you gave her son. And with Cassian’s hand still resting on your thigh, the world felt perfect—warm, filled with laughter, love, and family.

I'm sorry, I know that Nyx don't have Violet eyes (and have the same as his mom, Feyre), but I like the idea of it. Imagining that he is totally a mini version of Rhys (a version who don't have to suffer, an innocent version of him). AND maybe it's my tendency of traumatic and painful event who make me think that Rhys will always see throught his own son his deceased little sister, same eyes, same energy...

Just my opinion.

KISS ❤️❤️❤️

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto's obsession p.5

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 4 or if you want to read it from the beginning here's my masterlist :)

Toto’s hand rested on the small of your back as he led you through the airport, his touch reassuring and steady. You still didn’t know where you were going, only that Toto had told you to pack for a few days and that it would be somewhere quiet, away from all the noise and tension. A getaway, he had said, just the two of you. And after everything that had happened, it was hard to argue. You needed the break.

The private plane hummed beneath you as you sat by the window, looking out at the clouds as they flew by. The adrenaline from the past few days still hadn’t worn off, your mind swirling with thoughts of George—how upset he had been, how distant he seemed. Every time you thought about it, your chest tightened with guilt.

As if sensing your unease, Toto’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours with a gentle squeeze. “Relax, love,” he murmured softly, leaning closer. “This trip is for you to unwind. No distractions.”

You gave him a small smile, though the worry still lingered in your eyes. “I know,” you whispered, trying to believe it. “It’s just… I hate how things are with George. I miss him.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression smooth. “You’ll talk to him when we get back,” he said calmly, brushing his thumb over your hand. “Right now, let’s focus on us.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as the plane continued its journey. It wasn’t long before you landed in Switzerland, the cool, crisp mountain air greeting you as soon as you stepped off the plane. The drive to the secluded cabin was peaceful, winding through tall pine trees and snow-dusted mountains, the view breathtaking. It felt like you were in another world, far from the drama that had plagued you in the paddock.

The cabin itself was beautiful—cozy and warm, with a large fireplace in the living room and big windows that looked out over the snow-capped peaks. You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, the weight of everything beginning to lift as you stepped inside.

Toto watched you with a small smile as you wandered through the cabin, taking it all in. “I thought you’d like it here,” he said, his voice soft but proud.

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, a real smile tugging at your lips for the first time in days. “I love it.”

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “Good,” he murmured against your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “This place is ours for the next few days. No distractions. Just us.”

You leaned into him, grateful for the escape. But even as you tried to relax, the thought of George kept creeping back into your mind. You hadn’t heard from him since the fight, and the silence was gnawing at you.

“I should try calling George again,” you muttered, almost to yourself, as you started to pull your phone out of your pocket.

But Toto was quick, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and coaxing. “Later,” he said softly, turning you around to face him. “Right now, I want to spend time with you.” His hands cupped your face gently, his eyes locking with yours. “Let me take care of you, Y/N.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in his gaze, the soft press of his lips against yours, made it hard to resist. Every time you thought about George, Toto seemed to sense it, always distracting you with a kiss, a gentle touch, or a change of subject. And every time, you let it go, pushing the worry aside for another moment, lost in the way Toto made you feel safe, cared for.

The days passed in a blissful haze. You and Toto spent your time wrapped up in each other, away from the world. Long walks through the snowy woods, late-night talks by the fire, dinners by candlelight, and stolen kisses in the quiet warmth of the cabin. Each time you thought about George, Toto was there to distract you, pulling you back into the present, into him.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that George had been trying to reach you. Desperately. He had called, texted, even tried sending messages through others. But every call went unanswered, every message lost in the void, blocked before it could ever reach you.

Toto had made sure of that.

On the last night in the cabin, you sat together on the couch, the fire crackling softly in the background. You rested your head on Toto’s shoulder, your legs curled up beside you as you both stared into the flames.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Toto murmured, his voice soft but possessive, like the thought of leaving this place, of going back to reality, was unbearable. His hand stroked your arm gently, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart swelling at the intensity in his eyes. “Me too,” you whispered, though there was a small part of you that knew you couldn’t stay here forever. You couldn’t avoid George forever. But for now—for just a little longer—you let yourself fall into the fantasy of it all.

Toto’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, as if he was trying to etch the moment into his memory. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice barely audible but filled with a quiet intensity. “And nothing—no one—will ever come between us.”

You nodded, though you didn’t fully understand the weight of his words. To you, it was just an expression of his love, his protectiveness. But to Toto, it was a promise. He would keep you here, with him, for as long as he could. And as long as George remained out of the picture, he would have you all to himself.

The next morning, as you packed up to leave the cabin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. It had been perfect—everything you needed to clear your head, to forget the fight with George, to be with Toto. But as you stared out the window at the snow-covered mountains, you knew reality was waiting for you when you returned. George was waiting.

Toto came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Ready?” he asked, his voice warm, though there was a hint of reluctance there too.

You nodded, but the worry in your chest hadn’t fully faded. “Yeah. I just… I hope George is okay.”

Toto’s grip tightened slightly, and though his expression remained calm, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Don’t worry about George,” he said, his voice smooth. “We’ll deal with him when we get back. For now, let’s just enjoy the last few moments we have here.”

You nodded again, letting Toto’s words soothe you. But as you left the cabin and headed back to reality, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but wonder if things would ever be the same.

[oct0bra1ns]

It's been so long i forgot how i formatted my posts, oops. @keencoffeefox here ya go

The throne room echoed with silence, broken only by the heavy rustle of your ceremonial robes. The crown on your head weighed more than gold—it carried the burden of resentment. Across from you stood your older brother, Prince Adrian, the rightful heir who had everything ripped away. His sharp gaze followed you like a predator, cold and unforgiving.

"Enjoying the weight of my crown?" Adrian’s voice dripped with scorn. He stood too close, his lips curving into a sneer. "I hope it crushes you.That crown doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. “It’s just waiting for you to fail.”

Ever since you were named the new heir, Adrian made no effort to hide his contempt. His presence felt like a constant threat—sharp words, veiled glares, and subtle reminders that the crown would always belong to him. Even the warmth of family dinners had turned into silent battles, with him watching your every move as if waiting for you to slip.

And yet, despite his hatred, a small part of you still wanted his approval, the approval of your older brother who used to play with you, who used to sneak you out of lessons to go into town.

The brother who once looked at you with love, now looked at you like you were his greatest enemy.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The attempt on your life came without warning.

It was a quiet night in the palace gardens. The scent of blooming roses filled the air, and the moonlight cast a pale silver glow over the winding stone paths. You had stepped away from the banquet to breathe—just for a moment. Alone, under the stars, the crown’s weight felt almost bearable.

Then, out of the shadows, a figure appeared—a glint of steel in their hand. Before you could react, the assassin's dagger plunged deep into your side, pain searing through your body. You staggered, blood soaking your clothes, your strength draining with each breath.

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the grass, gasping for air. The world blurred as the garden spun around you, voices dimming into distant echoes. But just as the darkness threatened to pull you under, you felt a familiar, frantic grip on your body.

"NO!"

Adrian.

He was there, catching you before you could hit the ground. His hands pressed hard against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, crimson staining his fingers and sleeves. His perfect composure shattered, leaving only raw panic in its place.

"Stay with me!" he whispered harshly, his breath ragged. He cupped your face with one trembling hand, forcing your unfocused gaze to meet his. "You can’t die. I won’t let you die."

For the first time, there was no trace of the cold, condescending brother you knew. His usual scorn was replaced by something far more terrifying—desperation, fear, and obsession all tangled together.

He looked down at you as though the thought of your absence was worse than any betrayal.

"Guards!" Adrian’s voice sliced through the night like a whip. "Find whoever did this! Bring them to me—alive!" His expression twisted with fury, a storm brewing beneath his calm mask. "They’ll pay for even thinking of touching you."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You woke to the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the room. The scent of cedar and smoke was unmistakable—this wasn’t your room. Your side throbbed beneath tightly bound bandages, every breath a reminder of the dagger that had nearly ended your life. The silk sheets were too heavy, too warm, cocooning you in a false sense of security.

As your vision cleared, you saw him. Adrian sat at your bedside, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers threaded through his hair. His royal poise was gone—he looked dishevelled, haunted, like he hadn’t slept since the moment you were attacked.

The moment you stirred, his head snapped up. The intensity in his gaze pinned you in place, making your heart race.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, the tension in his shoulders unravelling slightly. But instead of relief, there was something fierce in his gaze—an intensity that made your skin prickle. He leaned forward, resting one hand on your shoulder to keep you from sitting up further.

“You shouldn’t be moving,” he said, his voice quiet but edged with a sharpness that left no room for argument.

“I’m fine, Adrian,” you muttered, though the pain in your side made it clear you weren’t. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you regretted speaking. “Not as bad?” he repeated, the words brittle with disbelief. “You were bleeding out in front of me—do you think that’s something I can just forget?”

There was no anger in his voice, only fear masked by frustration. His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you that, in his mind, this was serious.

"Adrian, it’s not your fault—"

“I should’ve been there,” he interrupted, his voice low and trembling. "I should’ve been the one taking that blade, not you." He exhaled shakily, pressing a hand against his forehead, as if trying to rein in emotions that threatened to spill over. "You’re my little sibling... How could I let something like this happen to you?"

You shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his words, but Adrian leaned closer, his eyes clouded with something between guilt and obsession.

“I thought I hated you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them heavier. “I thought losing the crown was the worst thing that could happen to me. But when I saw you lying there—” He broke off, his hands curling into fists. “I realized I didn’t care about the crown. I just wanted you to live.”

Silence hung heavy between you. The brother who had once stared at you with cold resentment now looked at you as though you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

"Adrian," you began cautiously, "I’m not going anywhere."

His lips twitched into a small, fragile smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You say that now. But if I hadn’t been there..." His voice trailed off, his jaw clenching as if the thought alone was too painful to finish.

“From now on,” he whispered, his voice low and resolute, “you’ll stay close. No more wandering off alone. No more reckless decisions.” His hand slid from your shoulder to hold your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You frowned, pulling slightly against his grip. “I can take care of myself—”

“No,” Adrian said firmly, his voice sharp and final. “You won’t do this alone. I won’t let you.”

Adrian leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours in a rare, tender gesture. "You’re my little sibling," he murmured,"And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. No matter what."

You felt his arm slip around your shoulders, drawing you closer into an embrace that felt suffocating.The warmth of his touch was overwhelming, as if he believed holding you close would be enough to stop the world from taking you away again.

"You don’t need the crown," he whispered against your hair. "You only need me."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

In honor of pajama Jamil, Fellow should drop his nighttime routine too.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“My nighttime routine?” Fellow repeated your words slowly. They made sense apart, but not together.

He was squashed on a thin, dusty mattress, shoved away into a corner of an attic. Fellow had shed his suit and top had for a sleeveless shirt, boxers (red and white vertical striped, like a classic carnival tent), and ratty socks, a big toe poking out from a hole. Next to him, Gidel laid on his side in an oversized shirt and pants, yawning.

Night had descended, leaving only the golden circle provided by a waning candle as a light source. You leaned closer, out of the darkness and into the illuminated safety of their corner, nodding.

“Hah. I was shocked when first saw those fancy schmancy ‘routines’. Thousands of thaumarks on skincare products, entire yoga sessions before bed, preparing a set of clothes for sleeping in, feasting and then passing out from a food coma… Who has the time or energy to commit to those?!

“Giddie and I, we do the basics. If we can find a source of water—a river or something—we’ll wash in there. Ah, and we’ve gotta have dinner beforehand, in case any of it spills on our clothes. Then we’d have to wash those off too. We tend to eat fast. Can’t let food sit around uneaten for too long, or it’ll go bad.

“I keep some things for our travels, but it’s not much. We’ve whittled down our last bar of soap to a few scraps, and I think we’ve just about squeezed all we can out of our last tube of toothpaste. Our toothbrushes are getting pretty ratty too, we’ll need new ones soon…”

The candlelight seemed to make Fellow appear older, especially when he spoke of his hardships. The darkness of his pupils more intense, almost pulsating, his weariness put on show.

“We’re lucky to even have a place to sleep tonight. Worst comes to worst, we sleep under the stars in the clothes we wore during the day. That’s all we have to really call ours: the clothes on our back and the freedom that comes with it.”

A weak thread of joy sounded in the mention of freedom. Lighter, breathier, like a bird in flight, unbound by the land.

“Some nights,” Fellow admitted with a bitter laugh, “it’s hard to sleep at all. If it rains or snows, if we haven’t had a decent fill of food from the day’s work… The cold, the hunger, the dread of an uncertain tomorrow, keeps us up.”

“That sounds rough,” you frowned. “How do you manage to fall asleep like that?”

“I have my ways. When reality is too hard to deal with, you’ve got your imagination to fall back on for a distraction. We’ll look at the stars, try to find shapes and meanings in them, talk until we’re tired.” Fellow prodded Gidel with a finger. “Right, Giddie? Remember that story I told you about a girl with the matchsticks? And the big bear in the sky?”

Gidel nodded sleepily. Another yawn—his lids were heavy.

Fellow’s own eyes fluttered. He, too, yawned, catching the dregs of sleep that had fallen over his companion.

“Haha, looks like you’ve talked yourself tired already,” you said, careful to keep your volume down. “I’ll let you guys catch up on your Zs then.”

“I’m not tired,” he insisted, but there was little fight in his voice.

“Shhhhh, shhhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day,” you gently coaxed.

His lids lowered, flickering in a futile effort to stay awake.

The dying candlelight compelled him. The steady and soft cadence of your words, a lullaby.

Fellow fell asleep, Gidel hugging him as though the fox were a massive stuffed animal. He slumped, nestled the boy protectively.

“… Good night,” you murmured.

You blew out the candle, sentencing the room to the realm of darkness and dreams.

[romcomeon]

「 ꨄ︎ 」 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

⁀➴ in death, we never part

⋮ NOTE DETAILS — solomon x gn!mc. zombie!solomon au. early halloween special. cw: blood, biting, signs of decay. wc ≈ 1.7K .ᐟ

⋮ SINCERELY, ME — featuring our beloved immortal sorcerer... or is he?

It is human nature to keep dark, bloody secrets.

That sickeningly sweet smell of decadent flesh, carefully paired with a bright savory drizzle of blood and barrage of soft tissue — all perfectly packaged into an impeccable main course near complete from being served atop a dinner table.

You were torture; Solomon could no longer resist.

Locked away in the safe confines of his room, his nails scratching the underside of his hardwood desk. Traces of luminous liquid splatter on the floor in spontaneous droplets, syncs of 'pitter-patter' as the pool casts a mirror-like shine with arrays of blazing candlelight illuminating the study. For speckles and shards of broken glass have scattered across the table.

The sorcerer pants, his head hung low as he tries to catch his breath. What little remained of his beating heart and working lungs, idly coming to a halt with every 'tick' of the grandfather clock mounted against blood-stained carpet walls.

It was a day he dreaded most. The day his self-restraining elixir loosens from its knot along the woven thread.

With a simple nudge then slip of his hand, the bright diamond-shaped vile smashes itself on the table's surface. His last hope, oozing in a small puddle, rendering the potion useless.

Curses muttered beneath shaky breaths: that vile was airtight for a reason. "Drat." Solomon's voice cracked, with each gasp of air growing more frantic than the last.

His hand lifts itself up and tangles within platinum locks, feeling his hair grow thinner with each pulling stroke. Whisked in the air was the growing aroma of oxidized flesh, tickling his nostrils, causing his mouth to salivate.

No.

The heavens forbid he turns into the cadaver buried all those centuries ago. Every twitch of gray eyes whose irises slowly turn translucent, every prick of blood trailing from the corner of his lips, every sign of life losing itself from his fingertips.

You feel the wooden door crash against its frame, locking you with the sorcerer. A fellow human, you thought.

"A fellow human," you hoped still. You could only stand in horror, watching as the familiar figure morphs itself in tainted galore, with every following tick leaving the other gnawing at the high black collar for his turtleneck.

For one second he was his usual cunning self, entertaining your simple choice of visiting Purgatory Hall.

Despite the warm welcome, you've noticed how his usual light skin had gotten paler, almost gray and dry. How the bags under his eyes grew more prominent. How with every chance he took a stealing glance, his breath hitches; lens scanning you with underlying intent.

"Have you been sleeping?" you asked, placing the cup of a nauseating mixture of spices on the table.

Solomon raises a brow. "Hm?"

You simply cocked your head, pointing at the glaring dark circles on his face. "Your eyes. You look dead as hell," you said.

"Ah," he followed with a soft chuckle. "It's from spell research. Not to worry."

You hummed in discontent —that wasn't the answer you wanted. "You always say that," you pouted, resting your chin on your hand, with your elbow supported by the plush blue armrest. "What are even you researching anyway?"

He sighed, taking a sip of his concoction. "It's rather important," he says in rehearsed diction, before staring back at you with that lingering gaze once more.

Seems like you could never get a proper answer, only averting your eyes so as to not shiver from his blatant choice of action. Had it not been obvious? You think he wasn't able to catch himself this time. Sure you recalled the moments of his longing stare, but those were different. Those were momentary glimpses that he'd use to tease you when given the incentive.

These were different.

Those weren't the only oddities you've noticed. Along the cuffs was an ombre of muddled blue, with veins bulging from its underside. Before you were able to point it out, Solomon excuses himself, tugging his sleeve to cover the marks.

You blurted out in concern, "where are you going?"

Solomon clears his throat, his expression, once blank and unassuming, quickly shifts to a reassuring smile. "Nothing, just something... urgent."

You see the latter's face turn bitter, seconds before he coughs into the palm of his hand.

With a shake of his head, he wipes whatever residue remained, closing his eyes as he gives you one final look. Solomon spoke through gritted teeth.

"Stay here."

Before you were able to interject, the sorcerer strides off to his room.

You hear the 'tap' of leather shoes against tiles grow quicker, yet fainter, the further he goes away. You were left sitting there, on the couch, with two cups and a teapot. As the echoes mellow down to an eerie silence, you felt something shiver down your spine.

The warm atmosphere shifted to an unnerving heat, with chills adding up as the flames burning within the living room lamps started to muffle out.

Luke and Simeon didn't seem to be here, and Raphael had been called back to the Celestial Realm upon Michael's request.

You took one final scan across the room: shelves open and hanging, plants wilted and dying, lights beyond blinding — the room beyond empty.

That caused you to get up, immediately inspecting the armchair in search for any more clues. Squinting your eyes, you knelt down on one knee, finger tracing over the brown dried up residue, slashes and mists that have long since passed.

The liquid trailed off to the underside of one of the pillows. You hesitate for a moment, your peripheral view scanning for any peering eyes.

Now that you've assessed that the coast was clear, you gently picked up the large cushion, angling along one of the many blazing lights to take a proper view of what you suspected was underneath.

You shrieked, causing the cushion to fly off and hit the light turquoise walls. Reflective fabric, with subtle hints of gold.

The brash ring of shattered glass bounces along the walls, hitting your ear without warning. You flinched again before making any further assessment, causing you to slowly turn your head towards the now dark, barren hallway; with a luminescent crimson glow beneath the doorframe.

The end of the cold marble hall marked the end of it all.

That was moments ago, before you started wishing to have moved cowardly, escaping this haunted wasteland before luring yourself in a weathered cage.

Inhale. Exhale.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes shut tight, your feet twisting and turning you to face back.

In moments if your timing is just right, you'd swiftly open the door by the handle and dash long the halls. It didn't matter how long the run would be. You had to leave.

One step, and his erratic suffocation stops.

The eerie tension palpable in the air got thicker, cutting through the fog and reforming with ease. Your lips quivered, whispers growing louder with each dropping note. "What did you do to them?"

There was no response. You were only greeted by the unburied silence.

Two steps, and you hear the floor creak.

It was subtle, though you feel the walls inch closer, cornering you from him. Whatever he was. Be damned, whatever monstrosity extinguished the light of humanity.

His motions felt precise and calculated, yet wild and uncontrolled. Your ears could pick up the soles of his shoes grazing against the floor, as if he’s dragging through a limping stance. It’s inconsistent, almost as if the little spark surviving in his core tries to reignite and rule over his carcass.

The tiny sounds stop, but continue again with every branch his conscience falls.

Solomon mumbled incoherent phrases, his voice slurred but retained his clear and concise diction. Like a fork to a plate, his prolonging the roll of the ‘r’s or ‘ch’ of ‘ts’ only further cemented the anguish.

Three steps, and his hands found your body.

Solomon pulls himself closer, limbs dangling as his hands would only cling tightly onto any grasp of loose fabric. You feel a gush of cold air hitting against your neck, with his revellent embrace sinking you into his ashen body. His lips graze over your lower neck down towards your shoulder. Solomon lowered his gazing, taking a whiff of your intoxicatingly delectable scent.

He shook in delight, cocking up his head to whisper in your ear.

“Starlight…” 

Bloodshot speech with a croak of each syllable, but something was different. Solomon chuckled — that all too bastardous sneer you came to know and admire. The shift in tone and pitch had his timbre stabilize, as if you could picture his coy smile atop the barren pale face whom ghosts your every whim.

“Moni..?” you asked, your voice nearly squeaks.

“Oh, starlight,” Solomon hummed, thumb gliding along your chin in expertise. “You shouldn’t see me like this. Gifted to live forever but, at what cost?”

He lifts your chin up, while his other hand pushes back locks of hair that guarded your neck. 

Solomon sighed, “keeps your eyes away. I'll handle the rest....” 

"You shouldn't have seen this," he grunted, almost annoyed.

You gulped, yet obliged with his words. Eye remained shut, feeling him inch closer. “What are you doing?” 

Solomon shushes you, giving your neck one final kiss. It was like that for a few moments, gentle praises while the reek of a living corpse circulates your thoughts.

“Would you hate me if I did this?” Solomon asked. That question came when you feel the lining of his teeth press on your skin, digging deeper like a tease, yet horrific with how it pained even in the dullest touch.

Your demeanor faltered, your foot lifting to take the final step. “If I?”

Burked by the absence of common ground, yet arguably, he’s human still. Only proven by a simple answer, after Solomon playfully nips at the tougher parts of your cartridge.

“We’ve dealt with other atrocities before. Certainly, I can accept the offer of being…” Solomon trailed off.

A final cheer was the last you could hear.

— would you take the fourth step?

check out my masterlist! | divider by cafekitsune

[pseudowho]

The One Month Wait

❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

Contrary to popular opinion, he does nothing for you on Valentine's Day.

Granted, he thanks you for the beautiful chocolates you made him, the rose-petalled bath you run him. He feels his love coil deeply when you thread your fingers through his, dinner all but forgotten as he is nourished by your adoration instead.

He groans in appreciation when you roll your fingers into his sore shoulders, the oils fragrant and intoxicating...but as you swing your legs over him to straddle his lap, your kisses deeper and more dangerous than stormy seas, you are the most intoxicating thing in this room.

You are resplendent in the barely-there candlelight, unzipping him, unbuttoning him, undoing him, and he melts into the promise of your touch.

He lets you deconstruct him like this, piece by piece by mouth by lips by hands by the deepest parts of you, and he feels otherworldly, above and outside himself all at once, lost in your name and the haze of hedonistic pleasure. All at once, he gasps, moaning and twitching under you, reconstructed as something more than when you began.

He revels in this new self, stripped so gently of hubris, and dismay, and fear, and allows himself to believe you when you declare him worthy of your love. He glows in it, golden. He feels an odd twirl of competitiveness in his belly.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you in to taste your lips once more, your lipstick still vibrant on his cheeks, neck and cock, he whispers against you, and you thrum with anticipation.

"I'll get you back for this, on White Day."

-- Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Ino, Higuruma, Kusakabe, Sukuna, Toji

White Day Multi-fic coming 14th March 🤍💌💋

[just-some-user-hunny]

Aurelia Targaryen the bastard princess Pt.3

. Oftentimes, Aurelia finds that the only place she finds true solitude in, is her own chambers. Countless tapestries lining the walls, ornate boxes filled with sewing materials and threads. Small tapestries and embroidery linens, ranging from messily woven threads and clumsy stitches, all from her youth in the castle- you can see the progression throughout her entrapment in the castle. Stitches become tighter and neater, the images more skilled and visible, and the quality of thread becomes dearer and dearer. Her fingers are still often pricked with needle marks, even now.

Her room is the only territory she has free reign in. The sheets upon her bed, the shelves of childhood toys- glass dragons and dolls lining the carved wooden compartments, and her creations of thread that depict all that she wants. Soaring dragons, still pictures of nature, and even an attempted portrait of her mother after coming to the conclusion one day that she has forgotten what her face looked like. They all bring bitter sweet memories, recalling how she'd smooth her little fingers over the glossy spine of the little glass dragon whenever she was upset at the dinner table, fiddling with it to keep her tears at bay. They often collect dust now, her past leering at her as dancing shadows in the light of the burning fireplace. Fire crackling and sizzling, the sound of rain pelting hard against the window panes as the sky grows darker.

. Every evening gets a little easier when it is time to dine with her 'family'. As a child she would be squished between her two brothers, Jace and Luke, to keep her docile and well-fed whenever she grew tired of eating and decided to strop instead. With age, she grew more resilient and patient. No longer pulling long faces towards her father, or curious glances towards the king and his wife. Now she likes to sit quietly and contemplate, moving her food around with her fork as she listens to cutlery and goblets clink, murmured discussions amongst the dinner table, and occasionally speaking or dancing with Helaena whenever her mood grows less lethargic.

. Seated close to Heleana, her gown of cream and gold contrasting with Helaenas' dress of forget me not blue and silver, she inspects the little beetle figure between her fingertips- smoothing over the intricacies as Heleana softly utters little enamoured comments about it. Sharing little smiles amongst themselves, before her concentration fizzles at the feeling of being watched. Aurelia peers up for a split second, and is met with Aemond's heavy stare. Even as she acknowledges him, he doesn't break the eye contact- he simply taps his thumb against the table like a ticking clock. She cannot find a name for how she feels- frightened? Confused? Concerned?

. Music fills the room as musicians start to play, and the talk amongst the table turns sweet and merry. Gathering her skirts of gold in a fist, she offers her hand to Heleana, who sweetly accepts it. Aemond's stare was beginning to make her skin itch.

The two princesses begin to dance, their families watching with gracious smiles and joyous laughter. Their palms ghost upon one another, held high towards the candle-lit ceiling, as they circle slowly in a soft rhythm of swaying skirts of sunlight and rain, their long pale hair glittering in gold candlelight.

Viserys watches on happily, almost relieved at the sight of the two princesses dancing. His family is whole and content.

Aegon claps to the music, tipsy and flushed in the face from his mouthfuls of wine.

Alicent smiles and sips her wine, fingers clasped together in rejoicing at the sight of her daughter getting along with Daemon's child.

Otto claps to the music, only not intoxicated, and much more on beat. For once he smiles openly at the two princesses, even he was not an exemption to the contagious joy in the room.

Daemon is relaxed in his seat, watching his daughter have fun and smile. A sight not often bestowed to him.

Aemond simply watches the two princesses dance like an owl, his chair moved to an angle so that he can fold his hands upon his knee that is propped upon his other leg. Like a perched raven.

Jace and Luke, Baela and rhaena, all eat and chat. Feeling calm and full from the food.

. Not all dinners are as nice as this, so everyone relishes in the moment.

[qosbaez]

Date night || Rhea Ripley x Roman Reigns

Summary: Roman has planned the perfect date night. Unfortunately, he and Rhea don’t even make it through dinner before they’re upstairs in the bedroom, Rhea’s dress long forgotten, discarded at the top of the stairs.

Rhea Ripley and Roman Reigns had planned the perfect date night at home. It wasn’t often that their schedules aligned enough for them to enjoy an evening together without the pressures of their hectic lives. Tonight, they were determined to make the most of it.

Roman had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing dinner, wanting everything to be perfect for Rhea. He knew how much she loved the simple, intimate moments they could steal away from the chaos of their lives. So, he had gone all out—cooking her favorite meal, setting the table with candles, and making sure the house was in order.

Rhea, for her part, had decided to dress up for the occasion. She had picked out a sleek black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, paired it with her favorite heels, and even did her makeup—something she didn’t always bother with when it was just the two of them at home. But tonight felt special, and she wanted to make an effort.

When she walked into the dining room, Roman was just finishing up, setting the last of the dishes on the table. He looked up as she entered, and his eyes darkened with appreciation as he took in her appearance.

“Wow,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You look incredible.”

Rhea felt a warm flush creep up her neck at his words. She wasn’t used to feeling shy, but Roman had a way of making her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world with just one look.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, her voice teasing but with a soft edge.

Roman had dressed up too, wearing a button-down shirt that fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and strong arms. Rhea couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked, the image of strength and confidence.

They sat down at the table, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. Roman reached across the table to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he looked into her eyes.

“I’m glad we could do this,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “It feels like it’s been forever since we had a night to ourselves.”

Rhea smiled, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Me too. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

They started to eat, but it wasn’t long before the conversation and the connection between them began to take over. Rhea found herself laughing at one of Roman’s jokes, and when she leaned over to playfully swat his arm, he caught her wrist and pulled her closer.

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, and everything else faded away. The taste of wine still lingered on his lips, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine. Rhea responded instinctively, her fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss.

Roman’s hand slid down to her waist, pulling her out of her chair and onto his lap. The kiss grew more intense, more urgent, and all thoughts of dinner were forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.

Rhea could feel Roman’s heart beating rapidly against her chest, mirroring her own racing pulse. The electricity between them was undeniable, and it wasn’t long before they both knew where this was heading.

Roman broke the kiss just long enough to stand up, lifting Rhea effortlessly in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and they made their way upstairs, their lips never straying far from each other’s.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Rhea’s dress was already half undone, the fabric slipping off her shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, completely forgotten as Roman carried her into the bedroom.

The rest of the evening was a blur of passion and heat, the kind that left them both breathless and completely intertwined in each other’s embrace. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way Roman made Rhea feel—cherished, desired, and completely consumed by his love.

Hours later, they lay tangled together in bed, the remnants of their earlier meal long forgotten downstairs. Rhea rested her head on Roman’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I guess we got a little distracted,” Roman murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice as he looked down at her.

Rhea chuckled softly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Just a little. But I’m not complaining.”

Roman’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips in a tender gesture. “Me neither,” he said, his voice soft and filled with affection.

They stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of their love, content in the silence that spoke volumes about the connection they shared. Eventually, Roman shifted slightly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to Rhea’s forehead.

“Stay here,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll go get us some food.”

Rhea nodded, watching as Roman slipped out of bed and disappeared down the stairs. She curled up under the covers, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over her.

When Roman returned with a tray of food, they sat together in bed, sharing the meal in comfortable silence. There was something intimate, something incredibly special about the way they could be so close, so connected, without needing words to express what they felt.

As the night wore on and the candles flickered out downstairs, Rhea knew that this was exactly where she was meant to be—wrapped up in Roman’s arms, loved and cherished in a way that made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter One

“You have each other. It would be nice if Helaena had a companion too.”

His mother’s words echoed in her chamber as the family sat down to eat their dinner. The King was not present of course. On the evenings he was well enough, he dined with Rhaenyra and her brood. Other times, he remained in his chambers being attended to by the Maesters. Aegon, engulfed in his cups, exuded the air of a habitual indulger, even in his young age, his shimmering silver locks catching the candlelight. Meanwhile, Helaena remained withdrawn, her violet gaze fixed on a tome detailing insects, intermittently glancing up between bites.

In stark contrast, Aemond’s unwavering focus on his mother painted him as the epitome of diligence, his attentiveness a testament to his filial devotion. It did irk him though. Aegon and Aemond did not have each other. Far from it actually, they could not have been more different. Aemond spent most of his time in his history and philosophy books, or with tutors attempting to master High Valyrian. Aegon, however, spent most of his time abed. And even when he was awake, he would terrorise the servant girls, secretly making his way down into Flea Bottom, or stealing wine from the kitchens.

Aemond wondered if things would have been different if Daeron had remained in Kings Landing, alas he was destined for Oldtown. From what he understood, it was a political strategy to ensure House Hightower maintained power as hosting a Prince of the Realm was a high honour. The brothers exchanged letters sometimes, but it was not like a physical friendship in the Keep.

The second son often found himself at the butt of his elder brother’s jokes, relentlessly teased for not having a dragon of his own to command; an injustice in Aemond’s eyes. Why should Rhaenyra’s very obvious bastards have dragons yet Aemond did not? Even Helaena had a dragon! Granted, she never spent a great deal of time with the beast. But still, they were Targaryens, and Targaryens were meant to have dragons. Nevertheless, Aemond just wanted to belong. They were supposed to be a family. Their father ignored them enough so they should at least stick together. Yet Aemond always found himself the odd one out.

“I need you to make her feel welcome and be on your best behaviour. Aegon,” Queen Alicent commanded with a warning, her brown eyes glaring at her oldest son.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Why me?”

“Because you treat the servants horrendously already,” Alicent reasoned, taking a bite of her food. Aemond looked ahead at the empty chair in front of him, the chair that was meant for Viserys, but was mostly always empty. Perhaps it would be nice for the chair to be filled.

In the vast expanse of the throne room, every corner was adorned with intricate craftsmanship and lavish ornamentation. Gilded pillars rose to meet the high ceiling, where frescoes depicting ancient legends stretched across the expansive canvas. Golden sconces cast a warm glow upon the marble floors, reflecting the flickering light of the numerous candles that lined the room.

Alicent and her children, resplendent in their fine green attire, stood in a line, awaiting the arrival of their guests. Alicent's gown, intricately embroidered with delicate patterns of ivy and emerald thread, spoke of her Hightower lineage and refined taste. Aegon's doublet shimmered with silver accents, catching the light with every movement, while Helaena's gown, adorned with subtle hints of amethyst, complemented the violet hues of her eyes. Aemond, ever the dutiful son, wore a crisp green tunic embellished with subtle motifs of dragons, a symbol of his family's legacy.

As the grand doors creaked open, the imposing figure of Lord Jasper Wylde strode into the room, his presence commanding respect and deference. His short dark hair was meticulously styled, while his neatly trimmed beard added an air of gravitas to his countenance. Dressed in robes of turquoise and gold, embroidered with intricate patterns reminiscent of ocean waves and sunbursts, he exuded an aura of authority befitting his station.

Beside Lord Jasper, a young girl emerged, her presence a stark contrast to the solemnity of the room. Her dark brown curls tumbled in tight ringlets down her back, framing a cherubic face alive with curiosity and excitement. Clad in a matching ensemble of turquoise and gold, her dress sparkled in the ambient light, accentuating her youthful exuberance. With hands clasped together in anticipation, she approached Alicent and her children, her eyes alight with the prospect of meeting her new companions.

“Podgy thing, isn’t she?” Aegon snickered down Aemond’s ear as they approached, earning a smack on the back of his head from his mother. As they neared, Lord Jasper executed a deep bow, a testament to his reverence for the crown. The little girl, following her father's lead, curtsied gracefully, her demeanor mirroring his humility.

“Lord Wylde,” Alicent's warm voice echoed across the chamber, her regal presence welcoming them.

“My Queen, My Princes, Princess,” Lord Jasper acknowledged with reverence, his voice carrying a note of gratitude. “I must thank you again for this tremendous honor. May I present my eldest daughter, Lady Maera.”

Maera's face lit up with a radiant smile, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement. “I am pleased to meet you all,” she said with youthful exuberance, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Alicent returned the smile, her heart swelling with joy at the sight of another young girl in the castle. “How old are you, sweetling?” she inquired, her tone gentle and inviting.

“Nine, your Grace,” Maera replied, her voice steady and polite, a reflection of her upbringing.

“She looks big for nine,” Aegon remarked with a mischievous smirk, his voice laced with playful teasing as he leaned towards his brother, Aemond.

“Aegon,” Aemond chided firmly, his gaze shifting to Maera, empathetic to her plight as she navigated the unfamiliar courtly environment.

However, Maera seemed unfazed by Aegon's jest, her composure unshaken as she turned towards him, curtsying once again with a twinkle in her eye. “And you must be Princess Helaena. I will be delighted to braid that unruly hair of yours,” she quipped, her words causing Aegon's smile to falter and even coaxing a giggle from Helaena, a rare and precious sound in the solemn halls of the throne room.

Lord Jasper's firm grip on Maera's shoulder sent a jolt through her, prompting her to whirl around and shoot her father a reproachful frown, silently demanding an explanation for his sudden intervention. “Forgive my daughter, my Prince,” Lord Jasper interjected, his tone carrying a hint of apology as he addressed the royal family. “Her mother has passed, she has no older sisters, and my wife has her hands full with her own children.”

He leveled a stern gaze at Maera, silently conveying his expectations. “Having many older brothers means she does not know the ways of a Lady. I am hoping that is something she can learn under your care, my Queen.”

Alicent nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic as she regarded Maera. “Most definitely, my Lord,” she assured him with a gentle smile, extending her reassurance to the young girl.

Feeling the nudge from her father, Maera snapped back to attention, realizing her duty as a representative of House Wylde. With a graceful curtsy, she turned towards Princess Helaena, her movements guided by her father's silent cue. “Princess, in honor of our new friendship, I have brought you a gift you may enjoy,” she announced, her voice tinged with earnestness.

Lord Jasper's gesture summoned a squire who presented a small wooden box, a token of House Wylde's regard for the royal family. Aemond couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight. What could a minor house possibly offer to a Princess of the Realm?

As Maera opened the box, revealing its contents, Helaena approached with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, her violet eyes alight with wonder. “Ugh, is that shit?” Aegon blurted out in disgust, earning a reprimanding dig from his mother.

“No!” Maera retorted defiantly, her cheeks flushing with indignation at Aegon's crude remark. She watched intently as Helaena reached into the box and delicately stroked the elongated brown lumps nestled within.

“They are chrysalises,” Helaena declared with a mixture of fascination and delight, her initial skepticism giving way to genuine intrigue.

Lord Wylde's laughter rang out awkwardly, breaking the tension that lingered in the air. He bent down to Maera's level, his expression a mix of amusement and mild reprimand. “What happened to the bracelet you made her?”

Maera shrugged nonchalantly, her tone matter-of-fact. “That? Oh, it was awful,” she declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Also, why would a Princess need a bracelet from me? I bet she has hundreds!"

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle to himself at Maera's boldness and unfiltered honesty. She was a refreshing departure from the usual courtly decorum, clearly intelligent and unapologetically herself.

Before Lord Jasper could issue a warning, Princess Helaena's voice cut through the conversation. “I do not recognize the pattern on the shell,” she observed, her curiosity piqued.

“They are called Perisomena. I do not think you have them in King's Landing,” Maera replied with a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We have lots of them in Rainwood, so I thought I would bring you some. I understand you have a keen interest in insects.”

Helaena's face lit up with genuine excitement at Maera's thoughtful gesture. “Yes, I do,” she admitted with a shy smile, her fingers brushing over her cheeks in a subtle display of uncertainty. “I have accumulated quite the collection.”

Maera's enthusiasm was palpable. “Truly? That is incredible! Do you have any beetles from Essos? My brother says in his letters they are much more colorful in the East.”

“Indeed. Would you like to see them?” Helaena offered, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“Yes, please!” Maera replied eagerly, her excitement evident in the way she bounced on her heels. Helaena seized her by the forearm, leading her away from the throne room to her chambers, the excitement evident on both girls’ faces as they shared a secret moment. Glancing over her shoulder, Maera waved goodbye to the others with a warm smile. Her gaze lingered on Prince Aemond, who returned her smile shyly, their eyes meeting briefly before she turned away.

As Maera’s head turned, Aemond’s attention was drawn to the striking silver streak entwined with her dark locks. He had never seen anything quite like it before, and though it was unusual, it only served to enhance her unique beauty in his eyes. A sense of intrigue sparked within him, igniting a newfound curiosity about the enigmatic girl who had just departed.

A chuckle escaped the Queen’s lips. “Gods be good. That went better than expected.”

“Indeed, my Queen,” the Master of Laws smiled. “I know my daughter is a little rough around the edges. But she will be a good companion to the Princess. Hopefully she will be able to bring her out of her shell.”

The days passed swiftly, and Aemond found himself immersed in the solace of the library, a break from the company of his brother or tutors. Rows of towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scholarly volumes. The scent of leather-bound books and parchment permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of beeswax candles that flickered on ornate brass sconces.

Aemond settled into a cozy alcove, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the pages of a tome written in High Valyrian. The book, its pages weathered with age, contained intricacies of the ancient language spoken by the noble houses of Valyria. With furrowed brow, Aemond traced the elegant script with his finger, committing the words to memory as he jotted down notes in a leather-bound journal beside him.

His quill scratched across the parchment, capturing the nuances of pronunciation and grammar, as he diligently practiced the tongue. With each stroke of the pen, Aemond delved deeper into the mysteries of High Valyrian, his thirst for knowledge driving him to master the language of his ancestors. He was not sure if this was genuine interest, or a way to prove himself, but it was a skill that would surely make him stand out as opposed to just being labelled ‘the second son.’

Delving into the intricacies of dragon commands, he was interrupted by the soft patter of approaching footsteps. Glancing up from the pages, he beheld the sight of Lady Maera standing a few paces away, her presence unexpected yet oddly intriguing.

“Good afternoon, my Prince,” Maera greeted him with a radiant smile, executing a polite curtsy with practiced grace.

Returning her greeting with a nod of acknowledgment, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity stir within him. Why had she sought him out? What prompted her to engage in conversation with him? Though he resolved to maintain his composure and politeness, a subtle wariness lingered in his demeanor. “Should you not be with my sister?” he inquired, his gaze returning to the pages of his book, his curiosity veiled behind a façade of casual indifference.

“The Princess is in an embroidery lesson with her Septa,” Maera explained, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the folds of her sleeves.

“And you do not partake?” Aemond questioned, his puzzlement evident in his tone.

A blush painted Maera’s cheeks as she emitted an awkward giggle. “Truthfully, I am terrible at it. I do not think I possess the fingers or patience for such a skill,” she admitted candidly, her vulnerability shining through her words.

Aemond couldn’t suppress a genuine laugh, the sound rich and warm as it filled the air. Lord Jasper Wylde’s intentions to refine his daughter’s ladylike qualities were evidently not misplaced, but Aemond found himself appreciating Maera’s candidness and authenticity. There was a refreshing genuineness about her that resonated with him.

However, what caught him off guard was the sudden closeness of the girl, who scooted herself into the alcove next to him, her turquoise skirts rustling softly as she settled into a comfortable position. Aemond’s cheeks flushed slightly, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected proximity.

“What are you reading?” Maera asked inquisitively, her green eyes sparkling with genuine interest, drawing Aemond's attention away from the words on the page and meeting her gaze head on.

Aemond drew in a steadying breath, his violet eyes meeting Maera's as she leaned in, her curiosity palpable. “It’s called Fire and Blood: A full history of House Targaryen,” he replied, his voice steady despite the slight flutter in his chest.

Maera's eyes widened with interest. “You enjoy reading about your ancestors?” she inquired, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

“I think it’s important to remember the past, as well as learn from the mistakes of old,” Aemond declared, his conviction evident in his words.

As Maera nodded in agreement, she leaned in even closer, her proximity causing Aemond's breath to catch in his throat. He couldn't help but notice the subtle scent that enveloped her – rainwater with a hint of vanilla – a comforting aroma that stirred something within him. He watched intently as she squinted her eyes, studying the text on the page with keen interest.

“It is written in High Valyrian,” she concluded with a determined nod as she leaned back, her observation leaving Aemond momentarily stunned. Even Aegon struggled to identify some of the words on the page, yet Maera seemed to discern the language effortlessly.

“How do you know that?!” Aemond asked, a frown of suspicion creasing his brow.

“I am learning,” Maera stated with a raised brow, taken aback by the Prince’s reaction.

“Are not,” Aemond challenged teasingly, shutting the book abruptly to shield its contents from her view.

“Am too!” Maera retorted, her voice rising in defiance as she stood up from her seat, crossing her arms in a display of determination.

“Prove it,” Aemond challenged with a playful smirk, his gaze locking with Maera's as they stood poised on the edge of a friendly competition of wits.

Maera’s initial reaction to Aemond’s challenge was one of outward fluster, her cheeks flushing with uncertainty at the unexpected request from the prince. Despite her momentary hesitation, she squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin with determination, accepting the challenge laid before her. “Nyke gūrēñagon kesrio syt issa muñnykeā ȳdratan,” I’m learning because it was my mother’s language, she stated confidently with a cheeky shake of her head.

Aemond’s initial shock was palpable, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his lips parted slightly in disbelief as he watched her form the unfamiliar words with ease.The flicker of curiosity that had ignited within him earlier now blazed into a roaring flame of intrigue, his admiration for the young girl deepening as he realized the depth of her knowledge and skill. Her smirk widened at his reaction.

“Impressive. But your accent could use some improvement,” the Prince remarked with a playful glint in his eyes, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Maera simply laughed, her amusement bubbling forth like a spring. “Such criticism, and yet I have yet to hear you speak it,” she countered, her tone light and teasing.

Aemond couldn’t help but bite back a smile before responding in High Valyrian, “Nyke sepār gūrēntan ao kostagon ȳzaldrīzes ziry rȳ,” I am just surprised you can speak it at all, his words laced with a mixture of admiration and surprise.

Lady Maera hummed thoughtfully, uncrossing her arms as she took a step closer to him. “Good, but I do have one improvement you could make,” she remarked, her tone shifting to one of encouragement.

Aemond’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Oh?” he prompted, intrigued by her suggestion.

Maera leaned in, her playful jab in his shoulder accompanied by a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speak it with more confidence, or else no one will be able to hear you. You are a Prince, and should be proud you can speak the language so well,” she advised, her words carrying a genuine sincerity that resonated with Aemond.

Aemond’s mouth practically fell open at Maera’s straightforward yet uplifting feedback. There were no veiled compliments or hidden agendas, just pure honesty and positive reinforcement. They shared a moment of laughter, the tension dissipating like morning mist under the warmth of their burgeoning friendship. As they stood there, Aemond couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like to have a true friend within the confines of the Red Keep – someone who accepted him for who he was and encouraged him to be the best version of himself.

The moment between the friends was shattered by the sudden clamor of books crashing to the floor and the sharp rebuke of the Maester echoing through the library. Startled, Aemond and Maera turned their heads towards the source of the disturbance, their camaraderie momentarily interrupted by the chaotic disruption.

Emerging from behind the shelves, Aegon staggered slightly, his state of slight drunkenness evident in the unsteady sway of his movements. Aemond couldn't help but sigh inwardly at the sight of his older brother, his heart heavy with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. If the natural order of things had prevailed, Aegon would be the heir to the throne instead of their older half-sister Rhaenyra. Thank the Gods that would never happen, Aemond thought.

With a careless disregard for his surroundings, Aegon reclined back in the alcove, propping his dirty boots on top of the cushions without a hint of respect or consideration. Aemond and Maera exchanged a knowing glance, their silent communication betraying a shared sentiment of disappointment and exasperation at the elder Prince’s behavior.

“What are you two doing in here?” Aegon slurred, his words dripping with mockery as he let out a drunken giggle. “Reading dirty books?”

Before Aemond could formulate a response, Maera interjected, her voice steady despite the underlying tension. “Prince Aemond has been kind enough to give me a tour of the library, my Prince,” she declared, her tone laced with a hint of defiance.

“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Aegon sneered mockingly, his theatrics accompanied by exaggerated batting of his eyelashes. “Have you got your eye on her, Aemond? Perhaps when she flowers, you could ride her like the Pink Dread. She’s certainly built like him,” he added with a cruel laugh, his words dripping with venom.

Aemond felt his frustration simmering beneath the surface, his cheeks flushing with indignation. He could sense Maera’s questioning gaze upon him, but the memories of the Pink Dread – the cruel jape gifted to him – stifled his urge to confide in her. Instead, he redirected his attention to his brother, his voice tinged with thinly veiled irritation. “What are you doing in here?”

Aegon’s response was dismissive, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I am bored, dear brother, so I have come to seek entertainment,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Entertainment? You do not strike me as the type of person to find that within a library, Prince Aegon,” Maera retorted with a teasing grin, her boldness and fire evident in her words.

Aemond’s initial grin widened as he observed Maera’s boldness in teasing Aegon, a rare display of defiance against his usually unchallenged older brother. Her ease and fiery demeanor in addressing Aegon sparked a sense of admiration within Aemond, who found himself silently cheering her on.

However, Aemond’s grin faltered and his heart sank as Aegon leaned forward and cruelly grabbed a fistful of Maera’s hair, pulling her close with a mixture of confusion and malice evident on his face as he studied the mixture of colours.

“What is with this silver bit in her hair?” Aegon demanded, his fingers still tightly knotted around Maera’s locks, his drunken haze masking any sense of empathy or restraint. Aemond’s eyes widened in disbelief as he witnessed the older prince’s callous actions towards his friend.

Watching Maera’s reaction, Aemond’s heart twisted with a mixture of anger and sympathy. Despite the obvious pain inflicted upon her by Aegon’s rough handling, Maera remained resolute, her jaw clenched and her gaze unwavering. Determined not to give Aegon the satisfaction of seeing her falter, she refused to utter a yelp of pain, though tears welled in her green eyes, betraying the hurt she endured.

Aemond felt a surge of protective instinct rise within him, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “Let her go, Aegon,” he demanded, his voice laced with barely contained anger.

His older brother simply laughed, his breath hot against Maera’s face as he leaned in closer. “Oh, my little brother is so taken with you. You are his delicate little flower. His Mayflower! Yes, I like the sound of that!” Aegon’s words were laced with mockery, his grip on Maera tightening despite her struggles.

Maera wriggled and twisted, attempting to free herself from Aegon’s grasp, but his hold remained firm. Aegon sighed theatrically, turning his attention back to Aemond. “If you can answer my question, Aemond, I will let her go,” he declared, his tone slurred with the effects of his drunkenness.

Aemond huffed in frustration, his mind racing as he searched for a response. He doubted his brother’s sincerity, but he couldn’t risk Maera’s safety by ignoring the demand. “She has a rare pigment condition. The reason the streak is silver is probably due to the fact she’s part Targaryen,” he stated firmly, his words carrying a note of authority.

Aegon’s surprise was evident in the faltering of his grip, allowing Maera to yank herself free and take refuge beside Aemond, who cast her a reassuring glance before turning back to his brother. He could still see traces of Maera’s brown and silver strands wrapped around Aegon’s fingers, a stark reminder of the confrontation that had just unfolded.

“You? You are part Targaryen?” Aegon questioned incredulously, his tone laced with skepticism as he eyed Maera with suspicion.

Maera could only nod in response, her composure regained as she stood tall beside Aemond, her gaze steady despite the lingering tension in the air. Aegon hummed dismissively. “I don’t believe you,” he retorted, his arrogance palpable.

“Have you not been listening at our dinners?” Aemond shot back angrily, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Aegon snickered, his laughter tinged with disdain. “Of course not,” he replied flippantly, his disregard for their family’s conversations evident in his dismissive tone.

Aemond's frustration boiled over, irritation clear in the furrow of his brow as he realized he was the lone listener during their family's evening gatherings. “We all share the same great-grandfather, Aegon. Lady Maera is the granddaughter of Archmaester Vaegon,” he retorted, his voice edged with annoyance at his brother's ignorance.

Aegon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Oh, so you are not a real Targaryen then, are you?” he teased, directing his mocking gaze towards Maera.

“Neither are you,” Lady Maera hissed back, her voice tinged with defiance as she brought her hair around her shoulder, stroking it soothingly. “You’re part Hightower,” she added with a pointed emphasis, her words a sharp retort to Aegon's taunts.

Aegon's temper flared at her words, his fists clenching at his sides as he stood up from his seat, his towering form casting a menacing shadow over them. “I am more Targaryen than you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he advanced towards them.

Maera stood her ground, her stance defiant as she positioned herself protectively in front of Aemond, much to his shock as he attempted to pull her back. His heart raced with a mixture of concern and bewilderment at Maera's audacity, her willingness to stand up to Aegon both admirable and disconcerting.

“Only because of your ridiculous hair. You won’t even be the King,” Maera sneered, her words cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife, her defiance unyielding in the face of Aegon's fury.

Aegon's anger reached a boiling point, his face contorted with rage as he struggled to find words to match his escalating emotions. “You insolent little-”

“Enough!” a voice boomed from around the corner, cutting through the heated exchange like a sudden gust of wind.

From behind the shelf emerged old Maester Mellos, his weathered features etched with annoyance at the disruption of his previously quiet library. Aemond and Maera clasped their hands together, their heads bowed in a display of respect and contrition, each feeling a pang of guilt for their role in the altercation. Aegon, however, scoffed at the old man's interruption, his defiance evident in the dismissive curl of his lip.

“My Prince,” Maester Mellos addressed Aegon calmly, his tone tinged with authority. “The Queen knows you are back. And she is looking for you,” he added sternly, his words a clear indication that further disobedience would not be tolerated.

Aegon huffed in annoyance and stormed out of the library, his departure leaving behind a palpable tension that hung thick in the air. Maera and Aemond released a collective breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding, their shock giving way to nervous giggles in the aftermath of the altercation, but their levity was short-lived as they were promptly chastised by the stern old man.

“This is a place of study, not a nursery. You must keep noise to a minimum,” Maester Mellos admonished, his tone carrying a weight of authority that brooked no argument.

“Yes, Maester,” Maera replied with a sickeningly sweet edge to her voice, her contrition palpable as she met the maester's stern gaze. “It will not happen again.”

The old man huffed in response before retreating back to his desk, leaving Maera and Aemond to pick up the fallen books scattered by Aegon's drunken stumbling, restoring order to the quiet sanctum of the library.

Once the books were back in their rightful places, Maera broke the silence, her voice soft with gratitude. “Thank you, my Prince, for sticking up for me as best you could,” she murmured, her eyes reflecting a mixture of appreciation and lingering unease.

Aemond smiled sadly and nodded, his gaze flickering with a hint of regret. He wished he could have done more to protect her, but the reality of his brother's towering aggression loomed large in his mind, rendering any attempt futile.

He watched as Maera made her way over to the alcove, gathering Aemond's scattered belongings before approaching him with a quiet determination. “And thank you... for remembering my mother, and our shared blood,” she confessed softly, her vulnerability shining through in the tremor of her voice. “In truth, I don’t get to talk about her often. I don’t think my father likes it.”

Aemond accepted the items from her, their fingers brushing in a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his composure. “Like I said, it is important to remember history,” he replied earnestly, his words carrying a weight of sincerity as he met Maera's gaze with a shared understanding of the significance of their shared heritage.

As they exited the library and made their way down the corridor, Maera couldn’t contain a mischievous giggle bubbling up from within her.

“We should get him back for that,” Maera chortled with a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes.

Aemond watched her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “What do you suggest?”

“Well… the Princess has a millipede we could use.”

Before he could fully comprehend her intentions, Maera grabbed his hand, sending a jolt of nervous excitement coursing through him. Feeling her touch, Aemond’s palms grew sweaty with anticipation as they ran down the corridor together, their fingers intertwined in a silent pact of solidarity.

Despite the lingering tension from their encounter with Aegon, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope blossoming within him for the budding friendship he shared with Maera. In that moment, as they raced through the castle hallway hand in hand, Aemond dared to believe that perhaps the pair of them had found a kindred spirit in one another.

Notes: Thought we could all use a break and have some fluffy baby Maemond as well as Aemond’s perspective on everything. But to do that we gotta go right back to the beginning. So I’ll be posting these intermittently, probably maximum get about ten chapters out of him. But yeah, this was nice to write. Aemond POV chapter three though is going to be back to our usual nasty dark horrible shit 🤣 Also points to everyone who can point out callbacks from previous chapters 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @0eessirk8

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[dapetty]

Like A Virgin

“John. I brought you some tea.” Sherlock said, sitting a cup of tea next to John’s already existing cup of tea - which was still somewhat hot. John folded his paper and placed it on his lap.

“Clearly I already have tea. Have you drugged another cup especially for me?

“Why would I do that?” Sherlock said innocently.

“I dunno. Why did you do it the other times.”

“That was different and I’ve already apologized for those one or two…possibly three, times.”

“Three times?! Wait?! When was the third time?” John asked, getting angry all over again.

“I’ll just dump this tea out since I didn’t realize that you already had tea,” Sherlock said, grabbing the teacup and backing up.

“Oh no you don’t. What’s in it this time? And for the love of god, why? You promise you won’t poison me and here we are - again.”

“I was thinking that we could role-play,” Sherlock said, backing into the kitchen with the tea. 

“What does drugged tea have to do with role-play?”

“I uh, thought you’d be thirsty while we talked about it,” Sherlock said, quickly dumping the tea down the drain.

“You making me anything is suspicious and you know it,” John said, placing the paper on the table and standing up.

“Out with it. What are you up to?”

“Iwanttobeavirginagain,” Sherlock said, smashing all the words together in a hurry to get them out.

“You what?” John wasn’t sure that he heard what he thought he heard.

“I miss being a virgin. Being innocent and everything’s new. We’ve been together for a while now and…not that I’m complaining, mind you…,”

“Oh no, you’d never,” John interrupted.

“But I’ve been reading about ways to spice up our sex life and one of the suggestions was role-play,” Sherlock said, nervously playing with a dish towel. 

“You’re bored?” John asked, a little hurt.

“I never said that I was bored. I’ve just been reading about ‘spicing up your love life’ and role-play was mentioned and I found it intriguing. That’s all.” Sherlock said, picking at a non-existent loose thread on the dish towel.

“And when would this role-play take place? And is a candlelight dinner involved because that’s fine if it is.” John smiled.

“You know I don’t care about eating.” Sherlock said, exasperated. John was being willfully obtuse. This was never going to happen at this rate.

“Tea. Tell me what was in the tea.” John asked again.

“Oh, fine.” Sherlock threw himself down on the couch with a put upon huff.

“An aphrodisiac. Yohimbe. It’s an herb. Many doctors prescribe it for their patients who take drugs that interfere with their ability to become…interested in, umm…What?” Taking in the look of astonishment on John’s face.

“You think that I need an aphrodisiac in order to have sex with you? Have I become inadequate somehow? Why is this the first time I’m hearing of it? And why the trickery? I’m pretty sure…yeah, I’m offended.” John asked, standing up.

“It was just in case you weren’t interested in the role-play. I wanted to make sure that I was irresistible.”

“So you thought you’d drug me? Again? And you wonder why I don’t trust you.”

“Well, this is just an herbal supplement,” Sherlock said in his most reasonable voice.

“I know what it is and I’m not taking it. Since when have I turned down a chance to fuck you?” John asked bluntly. He walked over to where Sherlock sat, looking anxious.

“Perhaps if you didn’t talk so much during…”

“I have questions and instructions!” Sherlock exclaimed, now becoming insulted. 

“Yes. I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just, forget about it. So when is this romantic moment supposed to take place?” 

John was starting to get into the idea. He didn’t want to let Sherlock know yet. No one crowed as loudly as the man that he loved when he was confirmed to be right.

“You love hearing me talk.”

“It’s true. I do. Why don’t we talk now?” John said, sitting down next to Sherlock close enough to touch.

“Is this it? Are we doing it now?” Sherlock asked eagerly. 

“Yes. We’re doing it now.” John said and sighed. This could be fun or a disaster. Only one way to find out…

“So,” John asked, “Come here often?”

“What? I live here. That doesn’t make sense…”

“You’re a virgin who lives with me? Maybe you’d better tell me the plan so that we can continue uninterrupted.” John wasn’t too hopeful about this. Sherlock couldn’t turn off that big brain of his for and John knew that the plan was going to go off the rails fairly quickly. He was game, though so he waited to hear what Sherlock had in mind.

“Well, I hadn’t gotten that far. I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Sherlock admitted somewhat shyly.

“So you were going to drug me without a plan? Typical.” 

“I would have figured something out and it’s just an herbal remedy…”

“So is Nightshade.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. I’m not trying to kill you.”

“Couldn’t prove that by me. So, where were we…you have lovely hair.” John said, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and watching as the curls wrapped around his fingers.

“Are we doing it now? Have we started?”

“Yes. We’ve started. Your turn.”

“Thank you for mentioning that. I wanted to look nice for you tonight.” Sherlock said with a timid smile.

“I like what you’re wearing. It’s very becoming.”

“Why thank you. I was hoping you’d like it.” Sherlock said, running the satiny hem of his dressing gown through his fingers.

“I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d think it too forward of me.” Sherlock look up through his dark lashes at John. 

“You’re adorable. You could never be too forward.” John said, barely controlling the roll of his eyes.

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do.” John slid closer to Sherlock on the couch until you couldn’t see where one man began and the other one ended.

“Do you mind if I kiss you? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I first saw your gorgeous lips.” John continued.

“I’d like that.” Sherlock said, leaning forward.

John’s lips met Sherlock’s plush lips with the lightest caress. Barely a meeting of the lips but they both felt a thrill of electricity go through them. John deepened the kiss and before either of them knew what had happened, they had their arms wrapped around each other, John raising a hand to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls watching as they seemed to wrap around his fingers of their own accord. 

Sherlock sat back and took a shuddering breath.

“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“Never? You deserve to be kissed and often. Your lips are irresistible. So soft and supple. How is it possible that you’ve never been kissed properly?” John asked, placing quick, lite kisses on Sherlock’s face and lips.

“I haven’t wanted anyone to kiss me before.” Sherlock said, looking at John’s lips. 

“I never knew that it could feel like this.”

“Is this ok?” John asked, running a hand down Sherlock’s arm.

“Very.”

John reached the sharp curve of Sherlock’s hip and stopped.

“Is this ok?” John asked, looking for permission to continue. He wasn’t sure how serious this game was. He didn’t want to move too fast for whatever Sherlock had in mind. It could be anything. One touch that would normally be fine, could be out of bounds in this scenario. John didn’t know and he didn’t want to set Sherlock off. This seemed like a harmless enough idea - if he stayed within the parameters that were as yet unspecified. That meant asking questions to make sure that he wasn’t too fast. John was actually beginning to stress himself out. Ridiculous. It was just a game. Right?

“I think it’s ok.” Sherlock said hesitantly.

“I don’t want to move too fast for you. If I do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll stop right away.” John said sincerely.

“I’m sure that you wouldn’t do anything untoward, John. I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.” Sherlock said, looking down at his hands.

“There’s no hurry. We have all the time in the world.”

“That’s impossible, John.” Sherlock said, coming out of the role-play briefly. 

“I’m just saying that there’s no rush. We can move as fast or slow as you’re comfortable with. Make sense?” John asked.

“Oh. I see. Alright. Carry on.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“You said that you’ve never done anything like this before. Are you saying that you’re a virgin?” John had to admit to himself that the thought gave him a little tingle and his cock was definitely becoming interested in the game. 

“That’s what I meant by saying that I’d never done anything like this before, John. Are you being purposely obtuse?”

“No. No. I’m just trying to understand how to proceed. I don’t want to alarm you.” John looked at Sherlock, hopeful that he’d get what John was trying to say.

“Sex doesn’t alarm me, John. If anything you do bothers me, I’ll will let you know immediately.”

“Ok.” John said, leaning over to kiss Sherlock again and was relieved when he just melted into him. Maybe this would be fun. It certainly wasn’t going to be work.

TBC on AO3

@ohwhataniight @bs2sjh @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @msladysmith @malevolent-muse

[grimmysloane]

Price and You: A Patchwork of Memories (Bored as hell time for angst short.) Tw: angst,divorced-couple you and john.

Price and You: A Patchwork of Memories

Once, you and Price were woven together like the intricate patterns of a quilt—each thread representing shared laughter, whispered secrets, and stolen kisses. The cozy nook in your home cradled your love, and the kitchen witnessed your impromptu dances to forgotten tunes while dinner simmered on the stove. But time, relentless and unyielding, had a way of unraveling even the tightest knots.

One evening, Price’s weary eyes met yours across the kitchen table. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his face, accentuating the lines etched by stress and missed moments. “I wish I could be more present,” he confessed, his voice a fragile thread. “But the demands… they pull me away.”

You nodded, your heart heavy with understanding. Upstairs, the children slept, cocooned in innocence. Their dreams wove a tapestry of hope, unaware of the fraying edges of your own story. You traced the rim of your teacup, the porcelain cool against your fingertips. “We’re like ships passing,” you murmured. “Navigating separate oceans, yet still tethered by these little souls who call us Mom and Dad.”

And so, the delicate dance began. Mornings at the school gates became your rendezvous point—a place where love wore the disguise of casual conversation. “How was your day?” you’d ask, pretending not to notice the shadows beneath Price’s eyes.

“Busy,” he’d reply, and you’d glimpse the weight he carried—the missed bedtime stories, the promises left unfulfilled. The house echoed with silence, its walls bearing witness to whispered arguments and unspoken regrets.

But then came the soccer games—the muddy fields where you stood side by side, cheering for your children. Their flushed faces turned toward you both, curiosity sparking in their eyes. “Why aren’t you together anymore?” they’d ask.

You’d share a knowing look with Price, the unspoken truth hanging in the air. Love wasn’t always about forever; sometimes, it was about stitching together fractured moments, creating a patchwork of memories. “We’re friends,” you’d tell the children. “Friends who once promised forever but found different paths.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the playground swings, you’d sit there—the two of you. The children’s laughter echoed, and for a fleeting moment, you’d forget the reasons for your parting. The universe, perhaps amused by your dance, whispered, “Love endures, even when the script changes.”

And so, you clung to those stolen moments—the accidental brush of hands as you reached for the same crayon during a school project, the shared laughter over burnt cookies during a failed baking experiment. The house became a museum of memories—the creaky stairs where you’d tiptoed to check on feverish foreheads, the window seat where you’d read bedtime stories until exhaustion claimed you both.

Yet, the ache remained. Price’s late nights at the office blurred into early mornings, and your heart strained against the weight of unspoken words. You wondered if love could survive on fragments—a stolen kiss in the hallway, a whispered apology in the dark.

One stormy night, as rain tapped insistently against the windowpane, you found yourselves huddled under a shared umbrella. The drops splashed against your shoes, mirroring the tears you refused to shed. “We’re like this umbrella,” Price said, his voice raw. “Holding on, even when the storm threatens to tear us apart.”

You nodded, your fingers brushing his. “But umbrellas break,” you whispered. “And sometimes, love does too.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled you closer, seeking shelter in the fragile space between you. The rain soaked through your clothes, but neither of you moved. The children’s laughter echoed from the nearby playground, a reminder that life continued even when hearts fractured.

“We’re still friends,” Price murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. “Friends who once promised forever.”

And so, you clung to the remnants of love—the echoes of laughter, the scent of his cologne on your pillow, the way he’d pause at the door before leaving, as if waiting for something more. The house whispered secrets, its walls sagging under the weight of unspoken confessions.

When the divorce papers arrived, you both signed them with trembling hands. The ink blurred, merging your names into a single, fading line. The children watched, their eyes wide, and you wondered what they’d remember—the soccer games, the shared umbrella, the way love had unraveled.

As Price walked away, the door closing behind him, you traced the empty space where his ring used to be. The house held its breath, waiting for the echoes to fade. And you, you clung to the patchwork of memories—the frayed edges of yesterday, the promises that slipped through

[soullumii]

can i request video game Joel miller giving his wife a cat for christmas? like i cant see him as a cat person and i imagine the days prior he’s keeping the cat hidden and taking care of it reader is like “are those fucking scratches???” and hes like “um… no lol what are you talking about…” and I thought itd be cute and funny cus hes so eager to make her happy

cat scratch fever | joel miller x f!reader

this is so damn cute. imagining joel with a cat is such a silly and adorable image. i didn't know if u wanted outbreak universe or modern so i kind of just went with my gut LOL... i hope this is okay <3. fluff, modern au, married. tried to keep this short and sweet {1.7k}

“What’s that?” You asked, eyebrows knitted in concern as you gestured to the thin scratches on Joel’s hand with your chopsticks.

The two of you were sitting at the dinner table eating the takeout you had bought from a local Chinese place. Christmas Eve dinner. It’s a tradition. 

Joel hummed, tilting his wrist, his watch blinking in the candlelight. His hand was covered in scratches from the kitten he had been so dutifully hiding from you for the past three days.

Joel had never been much of a cat person, dogs had always seemed to speak to him more. They were wide eyed and ready to do whatever you asked, while cats were much more independent. Feisty. They did what they wanted, when they wanted. 

In a way, they reminded him of you. His fireball of a wife. 

And you loved cats. Always showing Joel videos on your phone of cute cats, tearing up instantly any time the two of you saw a stray on the streets, to which you fed it whatever you had on you. And if you didn’t have anything on you, you’d crouch down, profusely apologizing to it as if that’d be a suitable replacement to a real meal. As if it could understand you.

Joel always carefully tugged you along when you got like that, and gently refused you when you begged to bring it home. 

Not because he was an ass or anything… It’s just…the fleas on that thing! Who knows what diseases it could have? And the expenses…it’s a lot to worry about.

But you’re coming up on seven years together, and the two of you had finally reached a state of economic stability and owned a home together. 

So, when Joel was out in the city one day running errands for a new renovation project under his contracting company, he didn’t refuse the stray kitten that had scrambled after him from seemingly out of nowhere. An orange one, with big green eyes and the pointiest little tail that flopped with each bound of its little legs.

It was damn cute. He’d never seen anything that fucking adorable. Besides you, maybe. 

Joel was not usually very weak to the charms of cats, but this one reminded him of you somehow. The way you’d follow him with an excitement he’d never seen in anyone else before. You loved unconditionally, and while that was a trait Joel often saw in dogs, the little kitten following after him seemed to possess a similar quality without even having known him. 

So he snatched that little sucker up and texted you he’d be home a little bit late so he could take it to the vet for shots and buy some supplies. He’d been keeping it in the guest bedroom that you refused to go into, claiming it was “haunted”, ever since.

And let it be known that it’s incredibly difficult to keep a cat from a very intuitive (nosy) person like yourself. 

Still, he’d been managing pretty well.

“It’s nothin’,” Joel said. “I just scraped myself with a plank of wood at work.” 

It’s a very believable lie. He’d done that plenty of times. Contractor things.

“Those look deep, though. You don’t have splinters do you?” You asked, reaching for his hand to scrutinize it. Shifting right into concerned wife territory.

He threaded your fingers together and titled his head to catch your eyes. “Sweetheart I’m fine, I promise.”

You squeezed his hand. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You gave him a mild smile, returning to your lo mein. “So, I heard some weird sounds today.”

Joel’s pulse spiked. He roughly swallowed down a dumpling. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “It was weird. Like, high pitched and squeaky. Coming from,” you sent a wary glance down the hallway before leaning in close to whisper, “the guest room. I’m telling you it’s haunted.”

Joel bit back a smile. “Baby, it ain’t haunted. But I’ll go check it out tonight for ya. Maybe it was a rat or somethin’.”

“A murderous rat,” you said, seriously. “That murdered the man that lived here before. And his ghost now haunts that room.”

“Honey, we met the man that lived here before us.”

“Doesn’t mean there couldn’t have been another guy living with him that was brutally murdered by the rat.”

“You’ve been watchin’ too much true crime.”

You shrug, taking a bite of lo mein. “You can never watch too much true crime.” 

After dinner, Joel kept his promise and stopped in the guest room to investigate the ‘killer rat’ while you got comfortable in bed. 

“Be safe,” you had whispered soberly to him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You are ridiculous, but I love you,” he whispered back.

"I love you, too."

Joel carefully opened the door enough so he could slip in without the kitten escaping, but he didn’t have to worry. The little orange fur ball was curled into a shape reminiscent of a croissant in the middle of the bed, and when Joel entered, its head lifted up, green eyes blinking sleepily up at him.

“Shit, how are you so damn cute?” Joel murmured, settling down on the bed to pet the kitten. His hand practically engulfed the tiny little thing, and he picked it up gently, tucking it in his arms.

“My wife is gonna love you,” he said, kissing its head. It started purring, a loud rumbling sound that for sure could not come out of a kitten. And yet, it was. “I’m pretty sure I love you.”

It nuzzled its little head into the crook of his elbow, and Joel was hooked right then. Any past bad experiences with cats were forgotten. Friendship ended with dogs, cats were his new best friend.

He sprinkled some more food into its bowl, told it to be a bit quieter, and promised he’d be back tomorrow before he found his place in bed next to you again.

You turned to him under the sheets, cheek squished against the pillow as your hand found his bare, hair-dusted chest. “Was it a rat?”

Joel angled his head to press a kiss to your hair. “Didn’t find anythin’. It must’ve been the AC makin' noise.”

You sighed in relief. “Good.”

“You don’t really believe a rat murdered a man there, right?” 

“No. But I still think it’s haunted. It’s just a hunch.”

“I’ll protect you if you end up being right.”

“Well I’m always right, so I’ll be looking forward to seeing you sexily protecting me.”

Not right this time, he thought to himself, and was proud you hadn’t managed to find out about your surprise. 

He chuckled, and leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “Merry Christmas Eve, darlin’.”

You smiled. “Merry Christmas Eve, Joel.”

—

Joel woke you with soft kisses to the back of your neck, his body wrapped around yours, his hand heavy and warm over your stomach.

You looked over your shoulder at him with sleepy eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

He kissed you gently. “Merry Christmas.”

And then he was out of bed almost in an instant. “Ready to open your present?”

You laid there for a second in stunned silence before a light, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. “Jeez, someone’s excited. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get out of bed so fast.”

“I just think I did good this year,” he tapped the doorknob anxiously.

“You do good every year.” You quirked a brow. “What is going on with you? You’ve been so jumpy these past couple of days. Did something happen?”

"Everythin' is just fine,” Joel insisted, coming forward to press his lips to yours again, his hands framing your face. “I’m just nervous about your Christmas present, that’s all.”

“If you didn’t get me anything I wouldn’t care, you know?” You said. “I love just being with you. I mean, at long as you at least got me flowers or something.” 

“I got you more than flowers. C’mon.”

“Okay, okay.”

You followed Joel to the living room, and he made you both coffee before setting you down on the couch.

“I’ll be right back.”

Joel nervously made his way to the guest room, grabbing the decorated box he had poked holes in and had set the kitten inside this morning while you were still asleep before he snuck back into bed.

He opened the lid. The kitten stared up at him and mewled. Yup, still alive. Thank god.

Joel reentered the living room with the box. You made grabby hands at him, grinning with amusement as he carefully set it in your lap. 

“This better not be anything too expensive,” you said, reaching for the lid.

Joel shrugged. “Practically got it for nothin’.”

“Well, now I’m concerned.”

“Just open it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and lifted the lid, and Joel’s entire body flooded with a relieved warmth the moment you registered what was staring back at you, quelling the anxious jitters he had been dealing with the entire night before and into the morning.

Your curious gaze melted into a look of pure shock, your wide eyes immediately starting to swim with tears as a high pitched oh my god, Joel left your lips.

You carefully took the kitten out of the box, holding it tight to you as a sob escaped you. And then you were fully crying fat, wet tears. Panic struck him in the chest, and he hurried to sit down next to you on the couch.

“Do you not like him? We can give him away, please don’t cry, honey-”

“No no! I’m just so happy,” you said through tears and Joel relaxed. “I love him. I can't believe you got me a kitten. I thought you didn’t like cats?”

“This one changed my mind,” he explained, petting the little creature. “His claws are goddamn sharp though.”

You elbowed him. “I knew those scratches looked cat-like.”

“Wouldn’t have been a surprise if I told ya.” 

“Yeah yeah.”

You maneuvered the cat to look him straight in the eyes. He wriggled in your hands. “Did you scratch up daddy’s hand? You’re a little stinker but god you’re so fucking cute!” You squealed, pressing the kitten’s head to your lips to pepper hundreds of kisses on it.

Joel’s hand snaked around your waist. “What’re you gonna name ‘em?”

You didn’t even hesitate, mumbling against his marigold fur. “Pretzel.”

“Pretzel?” Joel huffed in amusement.

“I’ve always wanted to name a cat that,” you defended, holding Pretzel up to fawn over him again. His purr loudly echoed through the living room.

“Alright then. Welcome to the Miller family, Pretzel.”

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 63: mapping out

The shadows in the alcove seemed to fold around her, their inky tendrils dancing along her thin figure as she hunched her shoulders over the deck. A silence hung over them that was regularly punctuated by sharp snaps and bright flashes of light. 

She barely looked up to acknowledge Severus, her mouth settling into a tight, determined line. There was a concentration in her eyes that didn’t look — right. Her Shields were up again, pulsing gold in the candlelight behind the indifference in her eyes. 

Reluctantly, Severus crossed the threshold of the alcove, the room cold as stone. The girl didn't stir at his approach.

"What are you —" he began, only to be interrupted by another sharp crack as a card incinerated itself. 

Her gaze flickered up to meet him, but then she returned her attention to the cards on the floor, shuffling them with a precision that held a subtle ferocity. 

“I’m playing Exploding Snap by myself,” she shot him a knowing glower. “Loads of fun. Can’t you tell?”

There was a flash of something that whisked across her face like ripples in a pond. It lingered in her dark eyes, enough that it held Severus’ attention until she turned away and disappeared behind the safety of the shadows. 

Severus sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. “Where are your cronies?” 

“They’re still in Hogsmeade.” Miss Evans muttered. “Or at dinner. Doesn’t matter.” 

He could feel the rest of her sentence hanging between them — without me. 

An idea formed in the back of Severus’ mind, one he filed away for later. He studied her as she curled away from him, shivering. He cast a Warming charm on the girl, scowling when she tugged her cloak tighter around her thin frame. He couldn’t tell if the tightness in her frame was from the cold or something else. He assumed the latter. 

“Come down,” Severus held his hand out to her. “You're going to catch pneumonia, and I swear to Merlin, if you spend another weekend in that infirmary, I’m putting you in chains.” 

Her eyes flicked to him, a spark of something defiant in their black depths. Another card ignited into a brief flame before crumbling into ash. “I’m good, but thanks for the offer.” 

He worked his jaw. “That wasn’t a request.” 

There was a moment of silence, a dangerous pause in the alcove as the air between them crackled with tension. Her eyes, so dark they mirrored the night sky outside, took on a defiant glare. 

Severus shifted tactics, then. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I will find out myself.” 

He took a seat opposite her, forcing his long legs to bend on the top step. Nothing changed in Miss Evans’ face — nothing moved, not even her eyes. 

“You’re more stubborn than usual, tonight,” he remarked, his voice biting. 

She finally gave him A Look. “You told me to sod off before.” 

“And when has that ever stopped you in the past?” 

A flicker of hurt flashed across the girl’s face, a momentary crack. “Maybe I’m feeling particularly obedient today.” 

He was going to throttle her. “Miss Evans —” 

"I’d like to be alone, I think," she answered, her voice softer, not demanding attention as usual, but requesting solitude. “To think — well, not really, actually, but then I sort of started to get in my own way. So here I am, playing a game by myself before my brain starts bleeding out of my ears.” 

She was unsettling Severus more than he would ever admit. Something about her demeanor was off-kilter, and it pricked at the back of Severus' conscience like a thorn. She was Occluding from him, yes, but there was more to it. An undercurrent of something he couldn't quite put his finger on, a thread of tension that had been absent before. He could see the hardness in her eyes glinting at him like a diamond. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, as though she’d read his mind, leaning on her propped-up hand. “I’m just bored, that's all. That’s why I’m up here, so I don’t bother you.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Miss Evans, if I am not worrying about your well-being, I am probably dead.” 

Her fingers stilled around the spine of the card, crumpling under the sudden tension. “Worried enough to poke around inside my head again?” 

Her words were laced with a bitter edge, an unusual overtone that reverberated in the silence of the room like a shattered mirror, its fragments spreading across Severus' thoughts. Beneath the shattering, he could see her wariness peeking out at him, and he felt regret rumbling deep in his chest. He wouldn’t apologize for it — the little cretin had lied and tried to hide it — but Severus could understand her resentment. His intentions were never to hurt her, but to protect her, even if it meant invading her privacy, but she knew that. She wouldn’t have come here otherwise. This was simply her way of asserting her own autonomy. 

“I recall you making a promise,” Severus raised an eyebrow when she scowled. “One where there would be no lies between us.” 

“I wasn’t lying —”

“I have no interest in debating the semantics of how I choose to see to your safety.” Severus interjected, his voice hardening into marble, into stone, into something she could not penetrate. “I will always do whatever it takes. There is no mercy — not when it comes to you. I will cut it all down, even if I need to cut through.” 

She chewed her lip, glaring hotly at the floor. “Do you really not trust me that much?” 

“We’ve been over this,” Severus said flatly. “I don’t trust you with Lupin.” 

She shrugged. “He said he knew me as a baby.” 

I was to be her godfather — 

What is she to you? From what I can tell, you live to belittle the girl. James being dead isn’t good enough for you, is it?

Ariel is a smart girl. She knows where to seek help when she needs it — 

Severus flexed his hands at his sides. “Are those the parameters in which you place your trust? Whether or not someone knew you as an infant? The Dark Lord made your acquaintance then, do you hold him in such high regard?” 

Something dark, darker than the shadows, stared back at him in her eyes. “ You certainly did.” 

He felt his breath catch. It burned where it stuck in his throat. 

A challenge. She was baiting him. 

“Careful, girl.” Severus whispered. “Very — careful.” 

“I am being careful. I’m sitting up here — alone — where no one can bloody well find me —”

“Such a martyr," Severus snarled. "So brave , sitting alone in the dark to ponder the consequences of your actions. Do you want a medal for it, or must we erect a statue in your honor?"

Her eyes flashed to him. “I’m not —”

“It is not impressive nor entertaining,” he continued, ignoring her feeble attempt at interruption. “It’s beneath you.” 

She gave a hollow laugh, one that made his skin crawl. Severus wanted her to take her Shields down — wanted to tell her this wasn’t the time or place for them — but that would only paint him as the ultimate hypocrite. It dawned on him, then, that he’d given her this tool but had not taught her when to wield it. Perhaps that was his own fault, his Shields so natural, so second-nature, that they always stood between him and himself, between that tattered thing he’d long trapped behind barriers, fortified with time. 

Severus could not let the girl fall into the same trap. She was too young, too vulnerable — and too smart for her own damn good. 

So he did the opposite. 

He grabbed her chin. “Legilimens!” 

Her Shields shattered on impact, but Severus had taken her completely by surprise. She grappled against him, pushing at his shoulder, when he caught her wrist and pinned it against her side. 

[hotchscoffeecup]

lavender bath salts

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau/Emily Prentiss

Rating: M

Words: 2.5k

Category: Fluff

Summary: When JJ has to work late at the office, it throws off her and Emily's plans to go out for a romantic anniversary dinner. Emily comes up with a plan to make sure that the occasion is still special, romantic, and one that neither will ever forget. Rated M to be safe.

Emily catches the door with one hand and with the other, reaches out to tuck a loose rain-dampened wave behind JJ’s ear. “Hello, beautiful,” she greets and pulls her in for a quick kiss.

JJ smiles against her mouth as she pulls away. “If that’s going to happen every time I stay late at the office, remind me to do it more often.”

One of Emily’s perfectly manicured brows arches as her lips quirk into a sly smile. “Mmhmm, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

JJ winks and Emily steps to the side, giving her room to step inside. She shudders in response to the warmth of the apartment. “God, it’s brutal out there,” she says. “Is this weather ever going to let up?”

“Here,” Emily offers, extending her hands to take JJ’s partially shut umbrella and purse. JJ relinquishes the items and Emily sets them on the table near the door, not minding the water droplets pooling onto the stained wood beneath.

She moves behind JJ and helps her out of her rain-slicked duster and hangs it on the hook behind the door. She notes the goosebumps pimpling the exposed skin of her arms and slinks in behind her, threading her arms through JJ’s from behind and gently pulling her taut against her body.

A quiet moan slips from JJ as she relaxes into Emily’s hold. JJ closes her eyes and leans into her, turning her face towards Emily’s and kissing her softly on the jaw. “I’m sorry we had to cancel our dinner reservation.”

Emily buries her face into the crook of JJ’s neck and laughs as she presses a series of quick kisses on her neck.”Don’t even think about that.” Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, her hand slides onto her hip as she slides around to face her. Her brown eyes shine, “I think I may have something better.”

JJ’s brow pinches, though her eyes are alight with amusement and curiosity.

Emily reaches out a hand and JJ takes it without hesitation. Smiling, Emily guides her through the condo into the large master bathroom.

JJ gasps as they enter the space. “Emily!”

Candle pillars of all sizes cover the countertops and window sill; their orange glow flickering in and out causing shadows to dance and play across the walls. Steam wafts up from the large clawfoot tub where the water is rife with bubbles and sprinkled with lavender buds. The smell permeates the air, the soft floral scent filling every inch of the space. In the center of their dual sinks is a crystal vase filled with purple, pink, and yellow tulips.

JJ covers her mouth with one hand as she crosses the short space to admire them. “Emily, these aren’t even in season yet! Where did you find them?”

Emily smiles, “I know a guy.”

JJ smirks in turn, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she stretches out her hands toward Emily, who wastes no time in crossing the room to take them into her own.

JJ’s brow turns. Her pale eyes glimmer in the candlelight as she meets Emily’s. “This is what you were doing when I called?”

Emily tilts her head back and forth, “It may or may not have been why I was trying to rush you off the phone when you called to say you were on your way up.”

A laugh escapes JJ’s petal pink lips. She takes Emily’s face in both hands and draws her in, kissing her firmly. When she pulls away, she lets her forehead rest against hers. “This is amazing, Emily, really.”

Emily smiles and presses another quick kiss to her mouth. “It’s about to get better.”

JJ’s brow arches playfully at that. “Oh?”

“Patience,” Emily chides as she slips behind her once more. Looping her arms around hers, her eyes find JJ’s in the mirror as she begins unbuttoning the beige and brown marbled buttons of her work shirt. When her fingers flick open the last one, she gently skirts her fingers up the sides of her body before hooking them under the fabric at the top and pulling the blouse free. A small shiver runs down JJ’s spine. Goosebumps rise across her stomach and breasts. Emily wraps her arms around her for a short embrace before flicking her fingers once at her back, opening the hooks of her deep purple bra. JJ smiles and says nothing, responding by dropping her arms, so the bra falls free from her body.

Emily drops the shirt in her hands at their feet and silently drops to her knees in front of JJ. She curves one hand around JJ’s calf. JJ places a hand on her shoulder to steady herself as Emily uses her other hand to pull the black platform high heeled shoe off her foot. After repeating the action with the other heel, her eyes flick up to JJ’s as her hand slides up and over her hip to gently pull down the zipper there. Once open, the skirt immediately slips free in a ripple of black fabric, pooling at her feet.

Emily presses a soft kiss to her hip as she slips her fingers beneath the lace of her matching thong and pulls it down. As JJ moves to step out of it, Emily takes her by the hand and leads her to the tub. “You, make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back to join you in a few minutes.”

“Let me just grab a—”

“Here,” Emily says, passing her a claw clip from one of the bathroom drawers.

JJ’s eyes crinkle as she smiles and graciously accepts the clip.

“Be right back,” Emily promises. Her eyes scan over JJ, “God, you’re so beautiful.” Suddenly, the sound of the oven dinging snaps Emily’s attention away. “Oh my god! I’ll be back!” she sweeps out of the room to the sound of JJ’s laughter.

JJ steps into the tub and moans languidly as she submerges herself. Immediately, she feels that tension that had been building all day begin to seep away into the water’s warmth. She closes her eyes and immediately opens them when Emily comes clattering into the bathroom.

Her brow furrows and laughter tumbles from her lips as Emily clambers into the room, one hand dragging in a TV tray while the other carefully holds two wine glasses. A bottle of wine is wedged between her arm and body and a bottle opener is stuck between her lips. “What is this?” JJ asks.

Emily exhales a deep breath as she clacks the stand on the tiled floor, which causes it to unfold. With her free hand she withdraws the wine from between her other arm and places it and the wine glasses down. “Don’t worry about that,” she says as she removes the bottle opener from her mouth. Picking up the wine bottle, she makes quick work of the cork and smiles as a satisfying pop echoes when she pulls it free. She pours a measure of the merlot and hands it to JJ. “You just enjoy that. Give me a few minutes.”

JJ arches a brow, but says nothing more as Emily exits again. The wine is dry and warms her from the inside as it slides down her throat. Before long, Emily is back with a plate piled high with cubes of cheeses, olives, fruit, nuts, and crackers. In her other hand is a small plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Homemade cookies?” JJ asks.

Emily smirks at the callback to a case they’d worked on together. It really was the little things amidst the horrors they worked day in and day out, so yes, when they’d been given homemade cookies while working one of their more heinous cases, it really had made Emily’s entire day at the time. Since then, she’d always treasured the simplicity of a homemade chocolate chip cookie.

She places the cookies and charcuterie on the TV tray and slides it closer to the tub. “Is there room in there for one more?” Emily asks.

“Even if there wasn’t, I’d make room,” JJ quips cheekily.

Emily smirks in response and quickly undresses. Not having bothered with a bra today, she shimmies out of her lacy red underwear and steps into the tub. She sits facing JJ and their legs are brushing one another’s arms but the tub holds both of their bodies comfortably. Emily reaches for her glass of wine and raises it toward JJ. “Happy Anniversary.”

JJ leans forward and clinks her glass against hers. She slips a hand around the base of Emily’s neck and pulls her in for a quick kiss. Emily tastes the wine on her lips and deepens the kiss ever so slightly before pulling away. JJ rests her forehead against hers, still smiling. “I think I like this more than dinner.”

Emily pulls back to admire her and the way her cheekbones lift as she smiles. She sips her wine and places it back on the TV tray. “You work so hard at the Pentagon, JJ, I want our home to always be a place you can come home to and leave work at the office.”

“Neither one of us really have the jobs that afford us that luxury, I’m afraid,” JJ relents.

Emily exhales and a wishful smile plays upon her lips. “Doesn’t mean we can’t try our best when we can spare it though, right?”

“You’re right,” JJ agrees and sips her wine again, smiling, grateful for the woman across from her.

And so the night goes on; snacking and feeding one another grapes and cubes of pepperjack and cheddar cheese, doing their best not to get cookie crumbs in the tub but not minding when they do because the wine is dwindling and their laughs are louder and their fingers are buzzing and wandering and all they can feel in that moment is just how much and how deeply they feel for one another.

At one point, Emily slips behind JJ and holds her between her legs. Her breasts push against her back and the tips of her hair are damp from dipping into the water because she didn’t bother putting it up. Emily whispers sweet nothings into JJ’s ear in all the languages she knows. She’d learn every language if she could because even being fluent in four languages didn’t wholly encapsulate the ways in which Emily wanted to profess her love for the woman in her arms.

They sit there like that until the water runs cold and their fingers are pruning. Emily helps JJ out of the tub and they stumble together into the shower, where Emily cranks on the hot water with a swipe of her hands.

Their mouths find one another as the water rains down on both of them. They lavish one another, their lips roaming over each other, kissing and nipping one another being mindful to avoid marking any areas where their colleagues can see.

After a while, they slick their hands with cherry vanilla scented shower gel and slowly wash the day anyway, hands smoothing and circling over every part of them. Emily pulls JJ into her lap on the marble tiled bench inside the shower. She smoothes her wet hair away from her face and gingerly massages her favorite floral shampoo into her hair, her nails gently scratching her scalp as she does so.

JJ moans and leans back into her body, the curves of Emily’s molding with hers. “You should consider changing careers and doing this full time,” she muses, her voice taking on a more sleepy quality.

Emily laughs and kisses her temple, suds from the shampoo in her hair popping against her lips as she did so. “Jage, I would quit my job in a heartbeat if it meant I could spend every minute of my time doing something like this for you.” She drops her hands onto her shoulders and gently nudges her to stand. JJ whimpers in response and Emily laughs as she relents and rises from her place in her lap.

“Close your eyes,” Emily instructs softly as she turns the showerhead to fall directly over JJ. “Tilt your head back.” JJ does as she’s asked and Emily’s fingers knead into her scalp once more, massaging and rinsing the soap free from her hair. Emily repeats the process with the conditioner and then quickly washes her own hair.

JJ swipes the faucet off as she finishes and shudders. “Towels!” she pleads with a laugh as she gently pushes Emily through the glass shower door.

Emily quickly acquiesces the request, dripping water on the floor as she swipes four towels from beneath the sink. JJ makes quick work of bundling her hair into one so she can dry off and wrap the fluffy gray towel around her body. Emily’s lips quirk into a half smile as she dries her own body. She towel dries her hair and leaves it to air dry.

“Bed?” she asks.

“Bed,” JJ agrees and reaches a hand toward Emily, who takes it and presses a gentle kiss upon her fingers.

They change into their pajamas, Emily in a blood red satin pant and camisole combination and JJ in a pair of plaid sleep shorts and one of Emily’s old academy tee shirts. JJ crawls under the sheets and smiles as she snuggles down into the blankets, rubbing her legs together like a cricket and humming contentedly.

Emily crawls into bed beside her and stares into her eyes, half hooded with drowsiness, as she lies her head down on the pillow.

“Happy anniversary,” JJ whispers. “I love you, Emily. Thank you for always making me feel so special.”

Emily reaches forward and strokes her face with the back of her hand. “So long as I breathe, that’s all I’ll spend my life trying to do.” She leans in and kisses her once on the forehead as her eyes fall shut. “I love you, JJ. Happy anniversary.”

Emily turns away, only for a moment to turn off the bedside lamp, before turning back toward JJ who is already rotating onto her side so that Emily can pull her into the warmth of her body, cuddling together as their bodies curve into a crescent moon shape.

“Goodnight, Jage,” Emily whispers as she brushes one more cheek against her hairline.

“Goodnight, Emily.”