#A window table on the comings and goings.

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

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The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles, yall get a pic of jensen and my doggo who turned 5 today bc her and dean share a bday 😞 they grow up so fast

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

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other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[mslanna]

You start writing the story immediately. How can you not? It's a stroke of inspiration. All the room need you can easily describe: the soft couch, a low table for the book, tea and – hidden away under some cushions – a bottle of scotch.

You decorate the window with blue curtains and let them have their books. Small comforts go a long way defusing situations. The bookshelf behind the couch, though – you thin better of it and place a calming abstract painting there. Perfect.

"I never agreed to this." I cross my arms and scowl at the woman sitting next to me. What a stupid arrangement. Nothing good can come of it. At least my books are still here. I pick one up, ready to sink into the narrative until this is over.

It's not how Sophie imagined her afternoon going. Stuck with one of those – no, she was above using such words. The other was already reading, ignoring the situation they were caught in. No door. How could anybody ignore the lack of a door?

You didn't put the door on purpose. One of them might flee. With that thought, you raise the view outside the window. Skyscrapers. Much better. You trapped them in the thirty-fourth storey. With luck, both like being alive enough not to jump.

I reach for the tea, using it as excuse to peer at the woman. She's still looking around. What's there to see? After pouring myself a cup, I hesitate. It might be spiked – or worse: poisoned. "You want one?" I ask her.

Sophie is surprised the other offers her a cup of tea. It smells nice, fresh herbs and a splash of citrus. "Thank you." She takes the tea warily. It might be poisoned after all...

[wwooyology]

A Little Persuasion | J.YH

「pairing」 : bf!yunho x fem!reader 「word count」 : 2.6k

「synopsis」 : even when you were angry or annoyed at him, yunho always had the perfect way to persuade you into forgiving him.

「genre」 : smut with little to no plot

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cusing, yunho is a bit of a perv..., light somnophilia (everything is consensual!!!), kissing, oral (f. receiving), biting/marking, unprotected sex, dom!yunho x sub!reader, size kink, manhandling, bludge kink, clit play, petnames (pretty girl, baby, my love...), multiple orgasms, fingering, cum eating, creampie, light dumbification, lmk if I missed anything!!!

「notes」 : me teasing my bestie with yunho spurred on this idea, and it's safe to say it didn't disappoint

You sat on the couch in the living room, phone in hand, as you looked down at the time. It was well after ten o’clock, almost five hours after the time that Yunho said that he would be home. He had promised that he would just be gone for a little bit and he’d be home for dinner and to spend time with you seeing as you both have been extremely busy with work.

You messaged him once, not wanting to seem clingy, but in reality, you wanted to blow his phone up and ask where he was. However, the annoyance that bubbled in your gut would only lead to you saying something you’d regret, so you just opted not to say anything. But you were tired and didn’t want to wait any longer because, at this rate, he’d be out until well after midnight.

Standing from the couch, you blew out the candle that was sitting on the coffee table before shutting the lights off and heading to the bedroom. Once inside, you changed into your pajamas, a pair of sleep shorts, and one of Yunho’s shirts that looked like a minidress on you.

Looking over, you caught your reflection in the full-length mirror that you had propped against the wall. Seeing your reflection, you suddenly got an idea, and a small smirk crept onto your lips. Reaching over, you pulled your phone off the bed and took a few steps closer to the mirror.

Opening your camera, you took a few photos of yourself that you knew would grab the tall male’s attention before going over to his messages. Upon seeing the ‘delivered’ at the bottom of your last message, you rolled your eyes before typing up another text and adding the photos before hitting send.

‘Don’t expect me to be up whenever you decide to come home.’

Yunho sat back on the couch with a triumphant smile after seeing the victory screen pop up; Wooyoung and San cheered loudly, seeing as they had been working all day to get this victory. Hearing his phone ding, Yunho reached into his pocket and turned the screen on, but then he felt his heart nearly drop out of his ass when he saw the time.

“Shit.” He cursed lowly, tossing the controller to the side before opening his phone and seeing your messages. His jaw tightened upon seeing your most recent message, followed by the photos, he knew you were probably pissed, but god, did you look good in his shirt. The piece of clothing nearly swallowed you, and he could feel his dick twitch in his sweats.

Standing from the couch hurriedly, he bid Wooyoung and San goodbye before practically darting out of the apartment, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He was sure that he ran a few red lights on the way back to your shared apartment, but he couldn’t care less.

Walking into the apartment, Yunho was met with darkness and silence; he was sure he could hear his own rushed heartbeat echoing. Slipping out of his shoes, he quietly made his way down the hall to your shared bedroom and pushed the door open.

Inside, he could make out your still form on the bed, your figure outlined by the faint glow of the moon coming in from the bedroom window. He swallowed thickly as he took note of how the blanket wasn’t even covering your body fully, leaving your lower half sticking out.

Taking careful steps towards your sleeping form, he licked his lips, seeing how peaceful you looked in the moment, thinking of all of the ways he could get you to forgive him. You had always been so easy to coax when you were completely ruined on his cock.

Moving the blankets out of the way, we crawled up the bed, slipping between your thighs after pulling them apart. The small whine that left your lips made his cock throb, a groan catching in his throat as he tried to be as quiet as possible.

His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your thigh, trailing up until he got to your clothed core. Your scent was intoxicating, and Yunho felt like he could cum right then and there just from that alone. With a soft groan, he pressed his nose against you, adding just enough pressure against your clit to have your body shifting. 

Yunho stilled his movements until you went limp once more before leaning up just enough to grab the hem of your shorts, pulling them down your hips without waking you. Tossing them to the side, he retook his rightful spot between your thighs, a low groan pulled from his lung at the sight of your bare cunt.

“Fuck you were just waiting for this, weren’t you pretty girl?” His deep voice vibrated against your skin as he pressed his lips against your thigh. A small sigh fell from your lips when his tongue parted your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking gently.

He loved that even when you were asleep, your body would respond to him; the weak whimpers that left your parted lips left his mind reeling. A part of him wanted to keep you asleep, but another, bigger part of him wanted to wake you up.

Throwing all caution to the wind, he picked up his pace, eating you out like a starved man, causing your body to twitch underneath him. Moving one hand from your thigh, he traced over your slit, gathering your building arousal before slipping two fingers in with ease.

“Y-Yun?” You choked out, waking from your slumber as an overwhelming pleasure crept into your mind. A soft moan slipped past your lips when he pressed deeper into your spongy walls, finding just the spot he was looking for.

Detaching his lips from your glistening pussy he peeked up at you with a lopsided smile, “Hey baby, I’m sorry for being late. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” His bottom lip jutted out into a pout as he curled his fingers, causing your back to arch.

“Yunho!” Your brain felt like it was on overdrive yet hazy all at the same time; no coherent thought was present. A high-pitched moan tore from your lungs as he latched back onto your clit, teeth grazing over the small bundle of nerves, leaving you panting. 

You wanted to tell him to fuck off and that you weren’t going to give in that easily, but the way his fingers worked into your velvet walls left all of those thoughts leaving your brain. Yunho, of course, knew this and used it to his advantage as he worked you closer to your release.

“Yun– fuck!” You cursed, hand flying to your mouth when he added a third finger, stretching your walls even more. 

Yunho chuckled against you, relishing in the way your thighs had started to tremble around his head. He knew you were close; you just needed a little more to get there. Pulling away from your slick pussy with a lewd ‘pop,’ he gazed up at you.

“Cum for me, pretty girl; let me taste you on my tongue.” He cooed before diving back into your sweet cunt.

His words were all that you needed to topple over the edge, your back arching off of the bed, pushing your hips further into Yunho’s face as you came. 

“That’s it, baby, let it all go.” His words were like honey, luring you on as he worked your body through your orgasm.

“Y-Yunho.” You whined, one of your hands tangled in his dark locks as his nose nudged against your aching clit. It wasn’t until you were withering from the burning feeling of overstimulation that he relented his touch.

Pulling his soaping fingers from your cunt he brought them to his lips, licking off all of your essence, causing you to whine behind your hand as you covered your face. Yunho chuckled deeply as he crawled over your body, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from your face.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby; you always look prettiest like this.” He leaned down, capturing your lips with his in a deep, messy kiss.

Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck as you moaned against him at the taste of yourself on his lips. His hands crept under your his shirt, squeezing at your soft flesh but not quite taking the clothing off.

You started to sit up so he could pull it off, but he was quick to stop you, his lips trailing down to your neck. “Leave it on; you look so cute in it.” He mumbled against your skin before biting down softly, eliciting another sweet moan from your swollen lips.

“Yunho, please.” You clawed at his shirt, your core aching as you felt his hips press against yours.

“Please, what, pretty girl?” He cooed at you as he pulled away, leaning over you once more.

“Fuck me, please. I need you so bad, Yun.” You cried out, tears of need and desperation brimming in your eyes, causing Yunho to pout at you mockingly.

“But you haven’t forgiven me yet, how could I possibly fuck you?” He spoke softly, hand creeping up to cup your cheek, wiping a stray tear away.

“I forgive you, just please fuck me already!” You whined, staring up at him with teary doe eyes, and he could feel his dick harden even more, causing him to groan.

In the next moment, Yunho had his arm wrapped around your hip, lifting them off of the bed before grabbing the pillow next to your head that you weren’t using. Placing it under your body, he laid your lower half back down before making sure you were comfortable.

Sitting up, he shrugged out of his sweats and underwear, letting his aching cock spring free. He then laid his large hand on your thigh, pulling them apart once more.

A small whine fell from your lips at the sight of your boyfriend's massive size, you were always sure that you would never be able to take him fully, but he has proved you wrong time and time again. You were sure that tonight wouldn’t be any different as he moved closer to you, teasing your entrance with his bulbous tip.

“You ready, pretty girl?” He asked, looking up at you catching sight of you staring at him with wide eyes, but you nodded nonetheless. Chuckling, he leaned over you, lips brushing against yours once more, “What did I say about words?”

“Yes, Yunho, please!” You whined, hips rolling up to try and urge him, but his grip was strong, keeping your lower body still.

His lips then met yours as he pushed into your tight walls slowly, swallowing all of the sweet sounds that you made. A choked gasp fell from your parted lips when he bottomed out, hips flush against the back of your thighs.

“I can’t lose you yet, baby; look at me.” Yunho groaned as you squeezed around him, but he caressed your cheek softly. Your hazy eyes tried their best to focus on your boyfriend and his messy hair, but any slight movement of his hips left you on cloud nine.

However, his staying still only made your burning need worse, and you needed him to move. Rolling your hips, a strangled moan fell from your lips as your hand wrapped around his bicep.

“Move. God, please move Yunho.” You choked out, head falling back against the pillows as he kissed down your neck, nipping at your exposed collarbones.

“So impatient, but who am I to deny my baby?” He chuckled before sitting up, grabbing your hips to steady himself.

The first drag of his cock against your walls felt like heaven, but when he slammed back into you, it felt as if all of the air was stolen from your lungs. His pace was anything but gentle; with every thrust, his tip kissed your cervix, leaving you a blubbering mess.

“Y-Yunho!” You cried out his name when he moved just enough to brush over your sweet spot, leaving stars dancing across your vision. Your nails dug into the sheets as you tried to ground yourself, but it was pointless; he was just fucking you too good.

“Fuck baby, look how deep I am.” He groaned as he released your hip to grab your wrist before pressing it against your lower abdomen.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you could feel the outline of his dick against your stomach, but when he pressed down, a choked moan tore from your lips. The pressure left you feeling even more of him as he fucked into you.

Yunho’s whole body felt as if it were on fire, ready to burst at any given moment, but he wasn’t about to cum before you. So releasing your wrist, he moved his hand down until his thumb pressed against your clit, causing your hips to buck in his hold.

A series of broken moans and cries fell from your lips as his pace picked up until he was quite literally fucking you into the mattress.

“Y-Yun– fuck! I’m close, Yun!” You cried out, hand wrapped around his wrist as you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach tighten.

“Cum for me, baby. Make a mess all over my cock.” Yunho’s words were the last straw before the edges of your vision turned white and your body spasmed underneath his. “That’s it, pretty; give it all to me.” He cooed but was cut off by a groan when you tightened around him like a vice.

His breaths started to come out in pants as he fucked you through your orgasm and closer to his own. The grip he hand on your hips was sure to leave behind marks, but neither of you cared at that given moment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He chanted, his whole body trembling as he came, painting your walls white with his seed. Slowing to a stop, he laid against you, face buried in your neck as the both of you came down from your highs.

Feeling yourself finally come to, you opened your eyes, glancing down at Yunho as you lifted your hand to run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re such a jerk you know that?” You grumbled, voice still hoarse from the previous activities you two were just involved in.

Both of your bodies shook slightly as Yunho chuckled before he lifted his head from your neck, gazing down at you with that stupid smile you knew would win him anything.

“I’m sorry, my love, I promise I really did just lose track of time.” He told you, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Mhm, sure.” You hummed against him but wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again.

The kiss lasted for a few more moments before Yunho pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get cleaned up, and then we can go to bed.” He spoke softly before pulling away, his jaw tight as he pulled out of your still-twitching cunt. Willing himself to not get hard again, he pulled his underwear and sweats back on before getting up to grab a towel.

Once you were cleaned and properly dressed once more Yunho climbed into bed, pulling your smaller frame back against him. His hand laid flat against your stomach as he kissed the back of your head.

“I love you so much.” He spoke gently, and you could feel all of the earlier annoyance wash away, causing you to sigh.

“I love you too, Yun, even when you’re oblivious to time.” You turned your head to look back at him as he laughed softly. The sound left your heart swelling with happiness, and you knew that even if you were annoyed or angry with him, Yunho had his ways of making up for it.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡ��ʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

PART 16 BACK TO PAST MEMORIES

The afternoon had been a whirlwind—full of surprises, chaos, and more surprises. So, when Carlos and Matheo stepped out of the hotel lobby together, both dressed in formal attire, Carlos couldn't help but feel a little on edge. 

“Matheo…” Carlos tilted his head, tugging at the stiff collar of his shirt as he eyed his son. “There have been ‘way’ too many surprises today. Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” 

Matheo grin was as mischievous as ever. “I already told you, Dad—it’s a surprise.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes dramatically. “All right, I wish I am not about to get struck by lightning or something.” 

As they walked towards the entrance of the hotel, Carlos caught sight of Y/N, who was walking out with Mattia. Both were impeccably dressed, though Carlos’s gaze naturally lingered on the Y/N longer than he’d admit. 

The twins exchanged a knowing glance, the kind of secretive look that sent chills down a parent’s spine. Carlos sighed deeply. “This doesn’t feel like it’s going to end well.” 

Y/N approached him, smoothing down her dress. “Hey… any idea what the kids are up to?” 

Carlos shook his head. “No clue. Matheo won’t tell me a thing.” 

Y/N nodded “I see.”

The limo ride that followed was short, yet somehow stretched an eternity in awkward anticipation. Carlos couldn’t shake the feeling that he and Y/N were being set up. By the time they arrived at a port, the confusion on their faces was mutual. 

“Kids…” Carlos stared at the waterfront with raised eyebrows. “Is this where we’re eating?” 

Mattia smirked. “Nope!” 

Matheo pointed towards the dock, where a stunning yacht was illuminated against the evening sky. “That’s where we’re going to have dinner.” 

Carlos’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “The yacht? You’re joking.” 

But they weren’t joking. 

The group made their way onto the boat, Carlos firing questions as quickly as his brain could process what was happening. “Matheo, how exactly are we paying for this?” 

“We gave all our savings,” Matheo said, his tone suspiciously nonchalant. 

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, Theo. Try again.” 

“Well… I call Grandpa Sainz yesterday, he have helped a ‘little’ bit,” Matheo admitted sheepishly. 

“Matheo,” Carlos said, gave his son a pointed look. 

Matheo grinned up at him. “What? It helped a lot.” 

Mattia quickly interjected, tugging on Y/N’s dress. “Come on, Mom. You’re going to love this.” 

The families was ushered inside the yacht, where they stopped at an elegant door. Matheo turned to them with a grin so wide it practically screamed trouble. “Mrs. Y/LN, Mr. Sainz… your dinner is served.” 

The door swung open, revealing a beautifully set table in the middle of the room. Flowers and candles decorated the space, their soft glow reflected in the surrounding windows that overlooked the water. Y/N gasped quietly, clearly impressed by the romantic setup, while Carlos scanned the scene, his eyes narrowing. 

“Uh… kids? There are only two chairs,” he pointed out, gesturing at the table. 

Matheo’s face lit up. “Exactly! That’s part two of the surprise. We’re ‘not’ having dinner with you!” 

Y/N laughed nervously, trying to mask her growing unease. “Oh? And who will be joining us then?” 

Right on cue, Chessy appeared, stepping into the room in an immaculately with a chef form. “Good evening,” she announced, a sly smile playing on her lips. “My name is Chessy, and I’ll be your assistant tonight. Comments, questions, and complaints? Not accepted.” 

Behind her, Martin entered, holding a bottle of wine with an almost angelic smile. “And I, Martin, will be your sommelier this evening. Let’s hope you drink just enough to forget that these two troublemakers roped us into this.” 

Carlos blinked. “Wait. You’re the staff tonight?” 

Chessy shrugged, clearly unfazed by the question. “Mattia, music please.” 

Mattia darted to the corner of the room, hitting play on a small speaker. A soft, romantic ballad filled the space, the melody blending perfectly with the gentle rocking of the yacht. 

“Relax,” Mattia said, his voice brimming with excitement. “Sail through time!” 

“And enjoy the evening,” Matheo added with a dramatic wave of his hand. 

The twins turned to leave, practically skipping out of the room. Y/N and Carlos exchanged hesitant glances, neither daring to speak as the reality of the situation sank in. 

“Well,” Y/N said after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… weird.” 

Carlos groaned, slumping into one of the chairs. “Remind me to ground those two when this is over.” 

But as the soft music played and Martin poured the wine, Carlos couldn’t help but crack a smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chessy watched as the children disappeared from sight, their laughter fading into the distance. She turned to her companions, her brow furrowed. “Have you seen the evil plan?” she asked, her tone suspicious but tinged with humor.

Y/N adjusted the black-colored scarf around her neck, the gesture betraying her nervousness. “Yes, yes,” she muttered, trying to gather her thoughts. “I’m starting to understand what’s happening.”

Carlos glanced around, his eyes landing on a lifebuoy decorated with a familiar name. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “It’s just like when we first met,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “The boat, the music...”

“The service,” Chessy added with a smirk.

Y/N, ever the romantic, took in the scene with sincere appreciation. “Everything is... very beautiful,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos turned to Martin with a playful grin. “Martin, would you please accept a drink?” he asked, gesturing toward the bar.

Martin and chessy shared a knowing smile as they obediently took their drinks. Martin gave Chessy a subtle signal, and the two of them quietly slipped away, leaving Carlos and Y/N alone.

As the soft hum of the waves provided a serene backdrop, Carlos leaned against the balcony of the boat. He hesitated for a moment before confessing, “To be honest, I haven’t been on a boat since that time.”

Y/N joined him at the railing, their shoulders almost brushing. “Me neither,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. He avoided Carlos’s gaze, focusing instead on the horizon. But Carlos wasn’t one to shy away. Raising his glass, he proposed, “Well, then, here’s to, uh…”

“Our son,” Y/N interjected quickly, finally meeting Carlos’s eyes.

The sincerity in her voice made Carlos pause, his own glass hovering mid-air. “Our son,” Carlos repeated, clinking his glass against Y/N’s. A small, almost imperceptible smile graced his lips, though it looked more like a grimace born of mixed emotions.

Their moment of connection was abruptly interrupted when Carlos caught sight of their children peeking through the small windows of the cabin doors. As soon as they realized they’d been discovered, the kids ducked out of sight with impressive speed.

Gathering his courage, Carlos turned to face her fully. “Y/N... if we can ever be completely alone, I’d like to talk about what happened between us. Because it ended so quickly.”

Y/N’s expression softened, though a flicker of hesitation lingered. “It started very fast,” she replied, her tone layered with meaning.

Carlos’s signature charming smile returned. “I remember that part very well,” he teased.

Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile, betraying her own memories of their whirlwind beginning.

Meanwhile, Chessy and Martin, who were spying discreetly from a corner, exchanged satisfied glances. “It seems like everything is going well,” Chessy commented, her tone light.

“I think the same,” Martin replied, his eyes still fixed on the couple.

She motioned toward the kitchen. “Come on, we have to serve the appetizers.”

Martin nodded, momentarily flustered by Chessy’s charm. “O-of course,” he stammered, following her.

Back at the table, Y/N and Carlos settled into their seats. Y/N broke the silence first. “So, tell me, Carlos. You’ve done very well in life, haven’t you?” she gestured to the wine bottle. “Your brand is on the rise every day.”

Carlos adjusted his napkin, his expression modest. “And you? I remember your notebooks full of amazing designs. Have you been able to pursue that?”

Y/N smiled, clearly touched that Carlos remembered. “Yes, that’s right. We both fulfilled our dreams, didn’t we?”

Chessy entered with two plates in hand, interrupting the moment. As she set the meals down, Y/N’s mind wandered back to their children. “What are we going to do with them?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Carlos sighed, his fingers tapping against the table. “Well, the two of them have already met. It’ll be impossible to separate them now.”

Y/N pondered for a moment. “I could stay with them for half a year, and you for the other half,” she suggested tentatively.

Chessy, still lingering nearby, shook her head. “Hey... kids can’t go to different schools every year. It wouldn’t make sense.”

Carlos nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she tried to come up with a solution. “Well, I could take them for a full year, and you the next?”

Chessy’s disapproval was evident. “Still not a great idea,” she said bluntly.

Carlos glanced at her, then back at Y/N. Realizing the tension, Chessy quickly excused herself. “Oh... sorry, I’m leaving.”

Y/N couldn't help but let a soft chuckle escape, amused by the small slip-up that had just happened. It was one of those moments that lightened the tension, if only briefly.

"Anyway," Carlos began, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, "that’s why we had our previous agreement."

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow, her expression equal parts curious and doubtful. "Really? I thought it was because... well, because we didn’t want to be together anymore."

Carlos shifted in his seat, biting his lip as though the memory still stung. "No," he admitted quietly, "it wasn’t both of us."

Y/N leaned back slightly, folding her arms in front of him. "Well," she said, her voice laced with a mix of reflection and mild defensiveness, "that part has gotten a little fuzzy over the years."

Carlos tilted his head, as if deciding how much to push. "Do you remember the day you packed your things?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Y/N hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. "Yes... but I don’t remember everything about it. I think I hurt you with something I did... that was..." She trailed off, struggling to grasp the specifics.

Carlos’ lips quirked into a bittersweet smile as he helped jog Y/N’ memory. "You threw a plant at me," he reminded her.

Y/N’ cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she let out a self-conscious laugh. "True," she admitted, rubbing her dress. The memory, though distant, still carried a pang of awkwardness.

Carlos leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as he tried to tread carefully. "Y/N, maybe we’ll never have the chance to truly be alone, but I’d really like to talk about what happened between us. Honestly."

Y/N’ gaze sharpened as she rested her chin on her folded hands, giving Carlos her full attention. There was a weight to the air between them, a vulnerability they’d both spent years avoiding.

"Why did you do it?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice quieter but filled with curiosity and an edge of hurt.

Y/N took a deep breath, the words slow to form. "Ah... Carlos, we were young. We didn’t know what we were doing. We said stupid things. I packed everything, got on the first plane, and left." Her voice wavered slightly as she finally dared to meet Carlos’ eyes, her smile fragile. "And... you didn’t come after me."

Carlos froze, caught off guard by the directness of Y/N’ words. "I didn’t think you wanted me to follow you," he admitted after a pause, his voice tinged with regret.

Y/N wrinkled her nose slightly at the response, a bitter half-smile playing on her lips. "Well, that doesn’t matter anymore," she said, brushing off the lingering ache with practiced ease. "What matters now is figuring this out for our children."

Carlos sighed deeply, the tension between them palpable. "Yes," he agreed, though his voice lacked conviction. " for their sake, we need to figure this out." He broke eye contact, focusing instead on finishing his drink as though it could wash away the uncomfortable emotions.

Y/N noticed the subtle shift in Carlos’ demeanor, the way his shoulders tightened ever so slightly. To distract herself from the growing heaviness in the room, Y/N picked up her spoon and took a small sip of her soup. It was more out of habit than hunger, but it gave her something to do as the silence stretched on, thick and unyielding.

*****

Y/N and Carlos stood at the hotel’s front desk, sorting through their paperwork to finalize the check-out process. Both of them were an odd mix of calm efficiency and subtle tension, their movements synchronized from years of parenting together, yet their silence spoke volumes.

“Mrs. Y/LN, everything is ready,” Martin, her butler, announced, handing Y/N their neatly stacked passports.

Y/N gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Martin. Do you know if Mattia is ready?”

Martin nodded. “I just called him. He shouldn’t be long coming down.”

Satisfied, Y/N turned back to her half-packed suitcase. Without looking at Carlos, she spoke in a measured tone. “So... Mattia will spend Christmas with you.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “And Matheo will spend Easter with you,” he replied smoothly.

Their eyes met briefly, each weighing unspoken words that hovered between them. But before either could say anything more, the soft chime of the elevator broke the moment. Turning toward the sound, they saw their twin sons step out. Y/N and Carlos instantly froze—the boys were dressed identically in pink shirts.

“Mattia, what are you doing dressed like that?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with confusion and mild annoyance. “We’re leaving for London. You need to change.”

One of the twins crossed his arms, a smug smile playing on his face. “Here’s the thing, Mom. We’ve been talking, and we think we’re being fooled.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Fooled? By who?”

The other twin stepped forward, matching his brother’s stance. “By you and mom. You promised us summer camp. We want to go… together.”

Y/N exchanged a baffled glance with Carlos. “What camp?” Carlos finally asked.

“The one we always go to before school starts,” the first twin clarified, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N took a deep breath, her patience already wearing thin. “Mattia, this is ridiculous. Go upstairs and change. We’re leaving.”

“Are you sure I’m Mattia?” the boy countered, tilting his head innocently.

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “Of course, I’m sure.”

The other twin piped up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But it’s hard to be 100% sure, isn’t it?”

Both boys grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos they were causing.

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kids, this isn’t funny. You’re going to make your mom miss her plane.”

Y/N’s frustration bubbled over. “Mattia!” she snapped.

“Yes?” both boys answered in perfect unison.

Carlos squatted slightly to their eye level, seeing them carefully. After a moment, he pointed to the boy on his right. “You’re Matheo. I’m not mistaken.”

The boy smirked. “Are you sure, Dad? Because it wouldn’t be a good idea to send the wrong child to London again.”

Carlos hesitated, his confidence faltering. He stepped back with a resigned sigh. Y/N threw him an exasperated look, silently pleading for backup, but Carlos simply shrugged, powerless against their twins’ well-executed plan.

“Alright, I have a proposal,” one of the twins declared, stepping forward as if he were brokering a business deal. “Let’s go to Dad’s house, pack everything, and the four of us will go camping together.”

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off. “The four of us?”

“Exactly,” the other twin chimed in. “And when we get back, we’ll tell you who’s Mattia and who’s Matheo.”

Y/N crossed her arms, his patience hanging by a thread. “You’ll do as you’re told. One of you is coming back to London with me, whether you like it or not.” Her voice warned them in an angry mother tone, but the twins were unfazed.

Both boys grinned again, clearly enjoying the chaos they had unleashed. Y/N turned to Carlos, desperate. “You’re their dad! Do something!”

Carlos scratched the back of his neck, suppressing a laugh. “To be fair, this is kind of genius.”

Y/N groaned. “Not helping.”

prev chap

[mr-mandalorian]

ghost proposing, a little angst but very very sweet

they have the night off and he’d already be devouring her whole if she wasn’t so excited about going out. it’s a shit bar close to base, but she reasons it’s a good change of scenery.

and boy is it, terrible karaoke heard a mile away. the military wives, or rather soon to be, taken over. a bachelorette party of at least six women, loud and obnoxious.

soap and gaz find it to be the most hilarious thing in the world, applauding a brunette on stage over her disastrous performance of careless whisper. but ghost can’t help but watch y/n, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. throughout the night he silently dissects her, his assumption it being some sort of yearning for female company. but as one of the women come up to their table, asking if anyone from the squad could take a picture of the rowdy group, ghost swallows harshly. y/n jumps at the opportunity, congratulating the bride like they’ve know each other their whole lives.

they never discussed the nature of their relationship. hell, the word relationship was never even voiced out loud. but even a stranger could tell how they moved in sync, his reflection and her shadow. in their line of work it was best case scenario and simon never allows himself to think about there ever being more.

but that is until y/n asks to see the ring. it’s almost comical, the gigantic diamond blinding, making her squint. ghost finds himself scoffing behind the mask, he could easily read y/n’s compliment a lie. she would never wear anything like it.

the following months ghost finds himself ring shopping. fucking hell, what is he thinking, really? his tongue can’t even roll the world girlfriend. and yet here he is, glaring at the poor saleswoman like she’s supposed to know none of these expensive rocks are good enough for his y/n.

when the ring is finally chosen, he doesn’t quite know what to do. he’s horrified of y/n finding it so the ring stays on his person at all times, even in the field. he’s less talkative than usual, if that’s even possible, always looking for the right moment. brushing their teeth together in the morning, ghost buried between her thighs in the evening. he nearly does it one late night, y/n perched on the window sill of her room. swimming in moonlight, she looks ethereal. he’s done unimaginable things in his life, taken and saved lives. none of the gore ever phased him, but the sight of her has his stomach turning.

so he chickens out. regret begins to gnaw at him as the very next mission goes haywire. y/n barks at him through the comms, the sweetest sound in the world, even if she’s telling him to get out, explosives ticking in the building. he’s trying, he really is. his gear seems to get heavier by the minute with a broken rib threatening to seize his lungs. he can make out her silhouette by the exit, but it’s out of reach. the floor crumbles beneath him.

when ghost wakes up, he immediately spots soap pacing back and forth, as much as the tiny ward of the hospital would allow him. y/n is passed out in the chair next to his bed, his balaclava clutched to her chest.

“good to have you back, lt.” soap whispers not to wake the sleeping soldier. “how ye feeling?”

“was she hurt?”

“no.” soap shakes his head, knowing how important the answer is before he can move on to his long awaited teasing, pulling out a velvet box out of his pocket. “i suppose it was foolish to question who this belonged to then. didn’t take you for the marrying kind, lt.”

he wasn’t, but if it pleased y/n, he’d marry her a thousand times. and even though ghost wants to be annoyed with the sergeant, he’s already decided to promote him to best man for finding the ring before y/n could.

when ghost gets released, it takes time to find courage to open the velvet box. it’s barely holding together, taking most of the damage to protect what’s inside. the ring is chipped, the intricate band of petite diamonds has at least five distinct cuts. they’re surprisingly neat, but asymmetrical and obvious to they eye. he can only curse, what a fool he was to convince himself that there could be something more.

“what’s that?” y/n is right next to him, her stealth impressive as she appears unnoticed in his room.

he can tell her awe for the ring is genuine, eyes eyes lighting up at the piece of jewelry. she pries it out of his hold, standing close to the window to examine the gems reflecting daylight. she disregards the cracks completely, telling him it adds character to it. the sincerity of her smile makes it hard to breathe.

“so who’s the lucky girl then?” she asks, never once trying on the ring.

“who- who’s the lucky girl? bloody hell woman, who do you think?”

they’re both dumbfounded, y/n by the answer and ghost by the question. and ghost knows he said the wrong thing as y/n shrinks in her spot, her gaze glued to the floor.

“i mean- i- i really don’t know.” she stutters, growing shy likes he’s never seen her before.

“try it on.”

“what?“

“come here.“

y/n allows him to hold her hand, sliding the ring on her finger with utmost care. it fits perfect, just her size and taste. her eyes jump between him and the ring, mind going a mile a minute.

“what do you reckon?“ his voice is low and quiet, and that’s all he says. it dawns on her that he’s really doing this, proposing in the most simon riley way possible.

“i didn’t even know we were dating.” she can’t help the jaw numbing smile that overtakes her, gently squeezing her hand in his.

“‘cause we’re not. we’re engaged.”

[purplereina11]

New Signing, New Beginning Part 8

Mia Larsen was Barcelonas new summer signing

Alexia Putellas is a club legend who just can't seem to talk to her

Alexia came into the locker room at full time, she looked to Pere, “Any news on Mia?”

Pere shook his head, “No..”

One of the staff handed her a set of keys, “She asked me to give you her car keys” Alexia held them tightly even in Mia’s darkest hour she held her promise. She told Alexia she’d drive her home after the match and obviously now she couldn’t she’d left the car keys so she could still get home with no worry. Alexia pierced her lips checked with Keira Ingrid and Patri and none had heard from her. She sat down with a sigh.

Alexia didn’t sleep a wink constantly checking her phone after firing off a text to Mia asking the most stupid question are you ok? She cursed herself the minute she sent it. When she got injured that text would enrage her because obviously she wasn’t ok, she was far from it she was a mess. She didn’t want Mia to be a mess on her own however so the following morning she drove over to her grandparents house, there was no answer when she knocked on the door. She looked through the windows and there was no sign of Mia, she wished people would stop asking her if she’d heard anything about Mia because she wouldn’t feel so panicked if she knew herself.

The more she was asked the more she panicked that people knew something that she didn’t. 

She just needed to see her. Once she saw her, the worse case scenarios could stop racing through her mind.

+

Mia was shattered laying on Keira’s sofa her leg up completely covered with ice, she watched Keira pander. Keira came to the hospital at 5 o’clock this morning to collect her and bring her back to her apartment, “You don’t have to do this”

“Yes I do, you’re my friend” Keira sat on the coffee table, “Here, you’re due your pain meds” Keira put them in Mia’s hand and handed her a glass of water. “You spoke to Alexia?”

Mia shook her head, “I haven’t looked at my phone, I let my family know I was fine then just haven’t looked at it since, I can’t deal with the sympathy I’m too tired to be constantly telling people I’m fine”

“You’re not fine” Keira took the glass putting it behind her on the coffee table, “I can contact her if you want, she’ll be worried”

“Will she?”

“Mia she was a wreck, every five minutes she was at the side asking if they’d heard anything, she clearly cares”

Mia stared at Keira, “We kissed Thursday”

Keira chocked on thin air in shock, patting her chest to try to help clear the blockage “What?”

Mia smiled softly, “She’s so awkward it’s actually adorable”

“I’m missing a few chapters I think” Mia recounted the tale of Thursday Evening by the time she got to the end there was a knock on the door, “Hold that thought, I have so many questions”

“I’m sure you do” Mia said wincing as she adjusted herself, her whole body ached from the tackle, her body had hit the ground awkwardly also to make matters worse. “I haven’t said anything to anyone by the way”

Keira nodded before pulling the door open Keira smiled softly seeing Alexia stood at her door, “Sugar?”

Alexia smiled, “No. Have you heard from Mia? Is she still at the hospital? I went to her Grandparents and she’s not there”

Mia lowered her head, she shouldn’t of been happy about how worried Alexia was as she sounded in a complete and utter panic, “She’s on my sofa” Keira stepped back letting Alexia come into her apartment with an encouraging head flick.

Alexia let her feet carry her over to the sofa, when she saw Mia who looked broken and tired she just wanted to wrap her up and never let her out her sight, “Careful Putellas” Alexia smiled, the attitude was still there, “People might actually think you care there for a second”

“Mia” Keira spoke, Mia lifted her head over the back of the sofa, “You ok? I’m going to grab a shower since Ale is here”

Mia nodded, “I’m sure she won’t kill me whilst your gone” Keira smiled seeing Alexia roll her eyes before she left to leave the pair alone, Mia looked over Alexia standing awkwardly, “You can sit down you know”

Alexia nodded, “What did the doctor say?”

Mia winced trying to push herself to sit up a little more, Alexia was there instantly hands there wanting to help but not knowing where or howto even help. She gently sat next to Mia who was nestled perfectly in the corner of the corner sofa, she looked comfy despite her pain. “He said for the swelling and bruising, I’m lucky I haven’t broken or torn anything. I don’t feel very lucky, he said I could be out at least a month. Couldn’t of come at more of a shit time” Alexia moved closer slipping an arm around Mia popping her under her arm, “Don’t be nice to me, I’ll cry” She was already silently crying, “Just feels unfair” Mia’s hand came up to wipe her tears, Alexia beat her to it to do one eye, Mia moved her face to look up at Alexia. She smiled ever so slightly when Alexia’s face lowered and their lips connected. It was tender, sweet and innocent.

Keira came back from starting the shower to get Alexia on her side about the ridiculous notion Mia thought she could cope alone at home, she’d hoped Alexia could talk some sense into when she was in the shower sick of fighting the battle herself, she smiled seeing them kissing and retreated to take her shower.

“Cute” she said to herself closing the door.

+

“Alexia” Keira said as she came back from the shower getting straight in the kitchen to make some dinner, Mia couldn’t have an empty stomach on the strength of pain medication she was on.

“Si?”

“Who’s right me or Mia”

Alexia looked when Mia grumbled, “Fuck sake” as her head went back.

“You’re only saying that because you know she’ll agree with me” Keira smiled, “Mia is saying she’ll be fine to go back to her grandparents today or tomorrow”

Alexia’s brows instantly furrowed and the girls knew where Alexia stood on the matter instantly, “You’re grandparents are away, you can’t be alone”

“I’m not staying here it’s not fair on Keira.. Or Laura for that matter that” Mia turned her attention to Kiera, “Who you say yourself you don’t see enough and is coming tomorrow, it’s going to be real romantic for you if I’m hanging around”

“Come stay with me” Alexia said looking to Mia, “Actually, Capitana, I say you come stay with me, problem solved, Keira can sleep with her girlfriend in peace and I can keep my eye on you”

“Keep your eye on me, have you seen my ankle I’m not going anywhere”

“Oh” Keira opened the freezer, “Pass those bags of ice Ale, they need changing over”

Mia saw Alexia’s face when she saw the state of her ankle and she just knew in that moment she was going to be held captive four floors up for quite some time, she was never letting her out her sight. Even with her grandparents due back in 2 weeks. She questioned whether she’d see her bedroom ever again.

Alexia spent a few hours on the sofa with Mia just mindlessly watching TV with her, just happy to be close. Even if when Mia insisted on watching her real housewives Alexia just couldn’t keep up with the English, “So much shouting” she mumbled as she tried to tune in, “They talk so fast” Mia giggled glancing to her.

“I feel like that in training some days”

When she went home to see to Nala and make the spare room up and running out to the shops to make sure she had everything she needed. Mia had visits from Patri, Ingrid and Mapi.

“Did they say how long you’ll be out for?” Ingrid hugged her before finding a seat as the living room in Keira’s apartment was filling up

“They said a month, could be more, could be less, when the swellings gone down they want to do more tests and scans just to be sure”

Patri nodded, “I suppose it’s hard to get a clear picture with all the swelling”

“You spoke to Alexia? She was really worried” Ingrid asked

Keira smiled, “Kidding aren’t you, she was here all day, couldn’t get rid of her, wouldn’t stop fussing”

Mia smiled softly, “It was sweet”

Patri looked to Mia and there eyes connected, “I was just trying to help a friend” Mia nodded

“I know.. we’re fine now, so, thank you” Mia was genuine, even if Patri didn’t know how fine they were.

“You’re not mad?”

Mia laughed softly, “Thursday I was telling her how I was going to punch you but you got off lucky because” Mia motioned to her ankle, “I couldn’t stand to punch you even if I wanted to”

“I mean” Patri held her hands up, “If you’re hanging out seems it all worked out just fine”

“Yeah, it didn’t back fire on you, we’re cool”

“I figured it was going fine when I didn’t get any abusive texts” Patri explained to Ingrid and Mapi how she got Mia thinking they were going for dinner when it was in fact Alexia that was there waiting for her.

+

Alexia was incredibly sweet and attentive with Mia over the first few days she was staying with her, she was supportive both physically when she just needed someone near by for confidence when she used her crutches to get to the bathroom, and emotionally when it all got a bit much and Mia cried. She didn’t sleep at night because the pain annoyingly always seemed worse and her little naps in the day just weren’t cutting it adding to her fragile emotional state. She was just so tired. Alexia seemed nervous to go away for the away match Barcelona had despite Mia insisting she would be fine.

Alexia’s sister Alba had come over a few times to keep Mia company when Alexia was out at training or a match, her mami even came over one time, Mia figured it was to suss out the women currently living in her daughters home but she was just as lovely. Mia could see where Alexia got her caring side from her mother was just as attentive whilst Alexia was away for the away game.

“Hola” Eli spoke cheerfully as she entered the apartment, Mia quickly trying to wipe at her tears, “Carino?” Eli asked coming over and coming onto the sofa holding her tightly as Mia cried, “Carino whats wrong?”

“It just hurts so much. I feel like I can’t cope. I’m getting overwhelmed with it all and I’m so tired”

Eli put Mia’s hands into hers, “Listen to me Carino. You’re on day four, this will get better, I can promise that”

“Bet you think I’m an idiot after Alexia’s injury” Eli shook her head wiping at Mia’s tears.

“Not at all. Because this is your injury, and this is happening to you. This is your world spinning, it doesn’t matter about anybody else right now”

Mia took her hands back to hold her sleeves under eyes, “I just want my mum”

“Oh Carino” Eli leant forward and held her tight as she sobbed into her shoulder, she shushed her as she rubbed her back, “I know I’m not your mami, but I am a mami, you can always come to me” Eli held her face to look at her and hold eye contact to make her point, “Ok?” Mia nodded her head, “Shall I ring Alba? She can bring pizzas over and we can watch the game together”

“I’m sure you both have better things to be doing”

“We’re watching the game either way, doesn’t make a difference whether here or separately in our own homes to us, but it makes a difference for you, we’ll watch it here” Eli got on her phone, “Hola Alba” Mia’s heart warmed at Alexia’s family how they just loved no questions asked, they barely knew her, Alexia barely knew her but they were doing everything and anything they could for her. It did make her wonder what Alexia was saying to make her mother want to, well mother her like this. Did she know something Alexia was saying that she’d yet to say to her?

Mia was sat up when Alba arrived sick of always lying down, “Do I look a mess?” She asked

Alba pulled a face, “Yeah.. kinda” Mia smiled, “We can fix that though” Alba took a seat putting the pizzas she bought on the coffee table.

“How many pizzas did you buy?” Mia asked laughing softly, “You hungry?” Mia looked to Alba who laughed

“I didn’t know what you like so I just got a few” Eli came and sat down with some drinks, “I hope you’re hungry”

“Alba” Eli said softly in shock

“I’ll give you some money”

“No” Alba waved her hand

Mia laughed, “You just spent like 100 euro on pizza, I’m giving you some money” Mia watched the TV as she opened a few of the boxes as the girls started walking out, Mia looked down as Nala sat on the floor looking up at her, “You can’t have any, maybe some cheese when it cools” she ruffled her head.

Mia sat back with her slice as the other girls tucked in also, she smiled when she saw the girls holding her shirt for the team photo

“Cute” she commented taking another bite, Mia laughed smiled, and cheered along with the Putellas women, Alba stayed later than Eli, she nipped home and came back with an over night bag, and they had a pamper evening with some cheesy romantic movies on in the background. Mia never had a sibling let alone a sister but she wondered if this was what it was like, not that she could see Alexia letting Alba put a mud mask on her face. However. Stranger things have happened in life.

The girls stayed up later than they probably should of chatting and putting the world to rights, before Alba went to the spare room and Mia went to Alexia’s where she’d been spending her nights, it felt weird without Alexia but she was so tired she soon was none the wiser sleep pulling her under.

+

It was a tough couple of weeks for Mia to even just get back to full training, every day she came in after the girls finished and she noticed Alexia stayed behind every day to watch her progress. Shared happiness in her breakthrough cheering and clapping, on the flip side always there with a comforting arm when something just didn’t go the way she wanted. A level headed word in her ear always rationalising things for Mia letting her head take over her feelings and not her heart.

But the day she was listed as substitute again, she couldn’t of been happier, she didn’t stay with Alexia all too long but when she went back to her grandparents it started nightly FaceTimes she absolutely adored. When one night Alexia had a meal out with her family and couldn’t FaceTime Mia missed it, she didn’t sleep the same that night.

Mia came to be subbed on in the 60th minute Ingrid behind her, Ingrid tapped her side and they shared a smile at the crowd chanting her name on the champions league night. It was her mums birthday, Ingrid Patri Keira and Alexia all knew. It was need to know for Mia. Mia had expected Ingrid to tell Mapi but she hadn’t. Mia got a hug from Patri who made way and she came jogging onto the pitch Alexia got the sweetest smile as Mia jogged past her slapping her on the back as she went. Clearly she was happy to have Mia back. Alexia had been caught in the last game exclaiming to herself when she played a perfect ball and no one was there, that. Mia would of been there

It wasn’t long for the pair to get back into there old rhythm making a nuisance of themselves to the Hammerby defence, Hammerby were only 1-nil up when Mia was tracking back helping defend, she could hear Irene screaming for her to stay on her feet over and over as they approached the penalty area. Mia made a block any defender would be proud of showing she still had her defence credentials from years gone by. They knew if Hammerby got another in the group game it was surely beyond them to claw this back with so little time left.

“Vamos” Irene nodded clapping her hands at her, she got a pat on the arse as she walked by Irene clearly happy with her as they were gearing to defend the corner.

Panos sent Mia over to try to cut off the short option they went with, the player tried to get the shot off into the box, Mia blocked yet again, spun the player and was off down the pitch just her a lone defender and the keeper for company her speed unmatched she breezed by the defender chipped the keeper. She slowed her run until she stopped in the corner looking up, she fired a kiss up to the sky, “Happy Birthday”

She turned seeing Alexia’s smiling face running towards her, she jumped into her to celebrate Mia holding her one arm before she got down and she was circled by the team, she’d grown to crave the little head taps they seemed to do.

Keira pointed at her as she got to the huddle, then pointed to the sky, “She’s up there, so fucking proud of you” Mia smiled, “She’s getting drunk on her sangria and loving watching her little girl absolutely shine.” Keira put an arm around her neck as they walked back to the restart, “Leah’s here”

“She is?” Mia looked as Keira turned pointing, Mia couldn’t see her right away but soon got a massive smile spotting her friend, she pumped her arms as Leah did the same.

“Is that you?” Leah grinned mouthing, “Is that you?”

Mia laughed firing kisses to the little group of Arsenal girls here.

+

Alexia’s head whipped up when Claudia wolf whistled, “Oh shut up” Mia smiled as she came out the toilets ready to go out with the Arsenal girls and Kiera for drinks, she was a pink leather skirt that came to the middle of her thighs and a long sleeve black see through top where you could see her black bra underneath. Alexia’s breath stopped when she saw her, her lip was dragged in between her teeth as she didn’t even tried to hide the fact she was enjoying what she was seeing.

“Who you getting all dressed up for?”

“Kiera” Mia went to her cubby, “Keira!” She hollered, “Will you hurry up! We’re late already!”

“I’m coming” Kiera came out and Claudia did the same to Kiera that she did to Mia

“See” Mia turned, “I thought i was special” Claudia just smiled, Mia answered her phone, “Hello.. yeah you’re fine to wait there we’ll be 2 minutes, ok bye”

Mia was tidying her space when she out the corner of her eye caught Alexia check her out, “Having a good ol’ look there Putellas?” Mia smiled moving her eyes to Alexia’s her mouth opening in a smile

“Have a nice night” Mia slapped the hand Alexia put to her who closed her fingers around it, “Be safe”

“Would you like me to text you periodically that I’m ok?” Alexia laughed before nodding

“If you must”

Alexia’s eyes were different as she looked up at Mia, “I hope you and your skirt have a nice night” she popped a piece of gum in her mouth, Mia rolled her eyes shaking her head when she laughed gently at her, before she left with Keira

The girls came home at half 6 in the morning, they stepped into the already open lift, Mia felt her chest tighten seeing Alexia in her tracksuit hair in a high pony, her eyes lifting from her phone. “Bon dia” Mia moved closer to allow room for the other girls, it didn’t escape Alexia’s attention they all had little smiles on their faces looking at Mia from Alexia.

Keira did introductions as the lift began moving, Alexia nodded mumbled a greeting shaking their hands, they all looked a bit starstruck something Mia didn’t understand, it was just Alexia.

“You’re up early” Mia spoke turning to lean against the side of the lift

Alexia glanced down to Nala, “Nala woke me up to go out” The doors opened and with soft goodbyes the girls all slowly started stepping off Mia felt fingers lace through hers and she made the move to leave, “She’ll catch you up” Alexia spoke squeezing Mia’s hand, the girls all just smiled as Alexia pressed to close the doors and the lift began to move once again.

Mia turned to look at her, Alexia gently tugging her forward, putting her hand out to the side as she didn’t hide the fact she was looking at her outfit. “You like my skirt then?”

“I like you in the skirt” Alexia slipped a hand over her hip when Mia stepped closer to her, the alcohol giving her a little confidence boost, but not as much as feeling Alexia’s approving gaze over her. Mia caressed her hand onto Alexia’s jaw line as she connected their lips, having a silent conversation about intentions. Alexia’s hand jolted Mia’s body forward to press against her as the hand moved to her backside, Alexia felt the smile Mia got as there tongues touched.

The kissing was slow but passionate. They’d never kissed like this before, there wasn’t that palpable feeling like this could continue beyond just kissing. It had been sweet, tender, innocent. This, this set Mia’s body on fire all the nerve endings over her body heightened to every minor touch and movement.

Their lips disconnected millimetres apart when the lift dinged it had reached the 7th floor, Alexia swallowed as much as she wanted this, wanted Mia in her bed more than anything. Her nerves were making her stomach do somersaults, however the anticipation that this may not end here was awakening something inside her that had laid dormant for sometime.

“Do you” Alexia whispered, “Want to come inside?”

Mia nodded ever so slightly, “I’d really like that”

Alexia stood up off the wall of the elevator reconnecting there lips as the hand from Mia’s backside searched again for her hand, there fingers interlocked as there lips parted once again and Alexia led the way even though Mia knew every imperfection of this hall way to Alexia’s front door having been here a number of times now.

Alexia smiled as she dug in her pockets for her keys, Mia cuddling up behind her, Alexia reached behind her to tap Mia’s hip as she shoved the door open, “In you go”

Mia slipped her shoes off as Alexia bent down to take Nala’s lead and harness off, she wandered carefully towards the sofa

“You want anything?” Alexia asked

Mia spun her hands landing on the back of the sofa as she leant back against it, “You”

Alexia stood side on taking her in, her eyes drinking in the sight before her, “What about me do you want exactly” Alexia gently placed the mug she had gotten out thinking Mia would want a cup of tea back onto the countertop, following the steps Mia had previously made

Mia slowly blinked, “I want you to finish what you started in the lift” Alexia let her lips hover close to Mia’s, “If that was an option”

“It’s an option” Alexia pecked her lips, Mia didn’t know where her shy awkward Alexia went but this confident Alexia who seemed to know exactly what she wanted to do was astoundingly attractive to her as her lips went exploring down her neck, a hand brushing up her thigh a breath escaping Mia’s mouth hanging open a moan already threatening to leave her mouth.

Alexia put her hands behind Mia’s knees and lifted her with ease spinning them to head towards the bedroom, Mia cupped her face to kiss her the way her body ground as there lips entwined was involuntary but it served to head them straight back in that space they’d created in the lift.

Mia’s back hit the familiar bed Alexia after the thud of the door being kicked shut behind them, Alexia sliding up her body between her thighs, Mia wildly pulled at Alexia’s hoodie before she finally lifted off Mia to yank it off over her head something going crashing when it got thrown which set Nala off barking from behind the door she was shut behind. Alexia bit her words at Nala to stop the situation leaving Mia giggling, Alexia rest her forehead against Mia’s with a smile.

There movements slowed as there lips reattached and Mia reached to unclasp Alexia’s bra her finger hooking in the front to pull it away from her chest Alexia throwing it in the abyss joining her hoodie on the floor. Alexia was left lying impressed by Mia’s strength when Alexia ended on her back Mia straddling her, her turn for her mouth to go exploring. It explored much lower than Alexia’s neck which got special attention, she had a little nibble before her tongue licking soothed the sting followed by her lips pressing against the spot before they continued on their quest. 

Alexia watched mesmerised by this beautiful woman with her nipple in her mouth and her heart skipped a beat as she kissed just above her waistband of her joggers she purposely connected her eyes with Alexia’s. “Amor, me estás volviendo loco” Alexia whispered her head going back, Mia smirked as she started tugging at the two layers covering Alexia’s bottom half, Alexia lifted and sat up to help rid herself of her layers. There lips reconnecting pushed Mia back onto her back just the first struggle of dominance in this first encounter. Mia was lost in Alexia’s word spoken to her in Spanish as she was being undressed her senses going over into over drive, she believed every word said to her. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t believe Alexia when she told her she was the most beautiful woman in her eyes. It wasn’t because she was big headed or had a high opinion of herself. The way Alexia kissed caressed took in her body, that made her believe. You couldn’t have someone look at your body the way Alexia did and pay attention to every little detail and not believe her words.

+

Mia lay on her stomach smiling at Alexia holding her gaze, she pressed the sweetest kiss on her forehead, “Bet you’re friends are wondering where you’ve got to” Alexia’s thumb grazed over her cheek

“I don’t really care” she spoke just as hushed as Alexia did enjoying the way Alexia’s finger tips were grazing up and down her back, “But, I probably should go, they did come all this way to see me”

Alexia nodded completely understanding, “I’ll get you something to wear” with a soft peck Alexia slipped out the bed she routed through the wardrobe pulling on a tee on of her own before pulling out a shirt and some shorts, she turned Mia was sat on the edge of the bed just having got her underwear back on. “Here”

Looking over her shoulder Mias lips spread into a smile, “Really?” Alexia smiled, “You’re giving me your Spain shirt”

“You can wear it when you come to watch me play next week” Mia didn’t answer right away, “You’ll come right?”

Mia nodded as she took the clothes, “I’ll have to sort some things but of course I will, Is Alba going?” Alexia nodded, “Ok”

Mia opened the door after pulling the shirt down over her self, “Hello Nala” Mia smiled as the pup excitedly followed her through the apartment, she collected the heals she was not putting back on. She refused. They were so uncomfortable.

Alexia hand came to her stomach pulling her back into her, her arms wrapping around her, “I’ll see you in training tomorrow then?” Mia nodded turning in her arms

“I’m not sure how I’m going to keep my hands off you” Alexia laughed gently, she kissed her cheek as she handed over the clothes Mia had arrived in. They kissed a few more times before Mia finally peeled herself out of Alexia’s grip who stood back against the door frame as Mia waited for the lift. Alexia lifted her hand to her going inside as Mia stepped in the lift.

Mia could not keep the smile off her face biting her own lip wouldn’t even stop it, she paused outside Keiras door before turning the handle and letting herself in. “What time do you call this?” Beth hollered from the sofa, the other three no where in sight, “You’ve been gone hours” Beth rose her eyes from her phone, she saw Mia in her state and her mouth dropped, instantly knowing the cause. Beth began laughing, “You never” Beth got to her feet to kneel on the sofa opposite her to get a better look at Mia. “Oh my god!” Beth exclaimed

“What?” Keira exclaimed showing Leah and Steph something in her room Beth had no interest in so couldn’t even remember what it was.

Beth moved around the sofa going down the hall still laughing in disbelief getting to the door, “You have to come see this” All three sets of brows creased in unison, “Someone has finally arrived back.. I think the outfit achieved what she wanted it to”

“No” Leah drew out the word rushing out the bedroom, “Oh come on, you’re not even trying to hide it”

Mia flopped onto the sofa, “I couldn’t give a fuck what you bitches have to say, I’ve just had the best sex of my life”

[blbyena]

boyfriend!Haechan x reader

Fluff - 1,398 words

-

your boyfriend haechan loves teasing you...especially about holding his hand

The cozy cafe smelled of fresh pastries and roasted coffee beans, a perfect spot for a quiet date. You followed Haechan to a booth near the window, the warm sunlight spilling onto the table. Without hesitation, he slid into one side of the booth, casually leaning back with that trademark smug grin on his face.

You moved to sit next to him, but before you could settle in, he stopped you with a teasing tone and raised eyebrow, “Don’t people usually sit across from each other? Why are you trying to sit next to me?”

You rolled your eyes but stayed put. “I just like sitting next to you, okay?” you said, slightly defensive but flustered

Haechan’s grin widened as he leaned closer. “Aww, my baby just can’t get enough of me, huh?” he teased, his tone dripping with playful smugness.

Your cheeks flushed, and with a huff, you slid out and moved to the seat across from him. “Fine! I’ll sit here, happy now?” you said, crossing your arms in mock annoyance.

Haechan’s laughter echoed in the booth, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, don’t sulk, baby. I was just kidding,” he said, his voice teasing but affectionate.

You shot him a glare, though your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning forward with a smirk, “you love me anyway.”

The date continued with Haechan’s usual playful antics. As he talked about something funny that had happened during practice, you found yourself getting lost in his eyes. The way they sparkled when he laughed, the way his lips curved into a mischievous smile—it was impossible not to be completely captivated.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, breaking your trance.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “Uh… yeah?”

He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Were you, though? Or were you just admiring how good I look today?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Can you stop?!”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “It’s okay, babe. You can admit it. I do look pretty amazing today.”

When the date was over, Haechan stood up to pay at the counter. You held his arm, following him before he could protest. “What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

“Walking with you. Can’t I?” you said, sticking close to his side.

He smiled, clearly enjoying your clinginess. As you reached the counter, you suddenly said, “I need to go to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be back in a second.”

But before you could walk away, Haechan grabbed your wrist and gently tugged you back. You turned, surprised, just in time for him to lean in and press a quick, soft peck to your lips.

“Okay, now you can go,” he said with a cheeky grin, letting you go as if nothing had happened.

Your heart raced as you walked away, trying to hide the smile threatening to take over your face. Of course, Haechan couldn’t resist teasing you, even with something as sweet as a goodbye kiss.

When you came back from the bathroom, Haechan was leaning casually against the counter, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on you. As soon as you approached, he gave you one of his signature grins.

“You look so pretty today.” he said, his tone suddenly softer, his eyes sweeping over you.

Caught off guard, your steps faltered for a moment. “What? Where’s this coming from?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but his grin widened. “I just thought I’d let you know. Gotta keep my girlfriend feeling special, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your shy smile as he guided you out of the café. The sun was warm against your skin as the two of you started walking down the quiet street, chatting about nothing in particular.

As you were mid-sentence, Haechan suddenly held out his hand, palm up, without saying a word. You glanced at it briefly but decided not to acknowledge it, assuming it was just one of his random quirks.

He didn’t say anything either, so you kept talking, though the silent gesture started to bother you. It was distracting. Finally, after a few minutes, you gave in, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, frowning slightly as you stopped walking.

Haechan stopped too, turning to you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your hand,” you said, motioning toward it. “Why are you holding it out like that?”

His lips curled into a smirk, and you could tell he was about to say something that would make you regret asking. “I knew you’d want to hold my hand,” he said smugly, “so I decided to take the first step. You’re welcome.”

Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief, and your face instantly heated up. “What?! No, I didn’t! Stop telling nonsense!”

But your flustered expression only encouraged him. “Oh? Then why are you blushing, baby?” he teased, leaning closer as you tried to avoid his gaze.

“I’m not blushing!” you protested weakly, turning your face away.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “But if you’re so sure you don’t want to hold my hand, I guess I’ll just put it away…” He started to lower his hand, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“No, wait!” you said quickly, before realizing how you’d just exposed yourself.

Haechan froze, his grin turning triumphant. “Ah, so you do want to hold my hand,” he said, his voice practically dripping with smug satisfaction.

You sighed, covering your face for a moment before shyly reaching out and slipping your hand into his. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze as your fingers intertwined with his.

“But you love me,” he said brightly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You glanced at him, finally letting yourself smile. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You said rolling your eyes.

Haechan laughed, his thumb lightly brushing against the back of your hand. “It's okay baby I like holding your hand too.”

As you continued walking hand-in-hand, the teasing faded into a comfortable silence, the moment punctuated only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional chuckle from Haechan. You couldn’t help but think that, as annoying as he could be, there was no one else you’d rather share moments like this with.

-

This was requested by @cherryjuly2001 so I hope it's up to your liking!!

[sentientthing]

Reader adopts a big fluffy dog that's very opinionated, when and where walks happen is entirely the dogs decision. It's a good dog, perfectly pleasant but thick headed as a bull. Demands pets with authority a dog has no business having.

They love that mutt, got it from a shelter and doesn't have the heart to take charge when being a bit bossy is the only 'misbehavior' the dog ever shows, until it's walkie time in the middle of the night, new moon and cloudy, pitch black. Resigned you get the harness, leash and treat bag and bundle up. In a hurry to get the head of the house their wish you forget any kind of light, left your phone on your bedside table when you heard the grumbles of demands.

It seems to be a night for adventure, leash pulled taught in a direction you've never even walked by daylight and nose glued to the floor. The gates to a park at least let you know where you're going, not that you recognize the name, its far out of your usual range especially in the middle of the night. You cope by clinging to the 'scary dog privilege' even though the mutt never showed an ounce of aggression towards anything.

Looking around to not get caught off guard by a malicious stranger you miss your dog perking up, fixating a direction and taking off, the "STOP" leaves your mouth the second your body is jostled but its no use. You're dragged across the park, thankfully mostly grass but it still hurts. Digging your feet in is no use, hopelessly outmatched by the dog the shelter told you was perfectly sized for you. "Manageable my ass you stupid dog stop running!", you scream no care for time of day when you come to an abrupt halt, sliding a little on the muddy ground until someone grabs the leash and is immediately crowded by the traitor. All wags and tip taps, it'd be adorable if you weren't on your ass god knows where thanks to him.

"Bad dog thief if you can't even train one.", you can't place the tone, or read the strangers face through his balaclava. Thief? You would never steal someones beloved pet. "Fuck you, I'm no thief. He's from a shelter, if I wanted a free dog I'd get a stray." The amount of awkward eye contact that followed made your skin crawl, you shivered in discomfort from your mud caked clothes to the scary stranger starring you down. Was he not going to react at all? Your attitude had always been your biggest flaw. Why couldn't the floor just open up and swallow you whole? You were going to die for mouthing off for sure, or worse. "C'mon boy, home.", he was looking at you but definitely talking to the dog, voice even as he yankes you up by the leash and herds you after the dog happily trotting the way it came. Oh no, your dog was going to YOUR home, backtracking through the park, mindful of the grooves he, or rather you, left. Caring about tripping you now, between treating you like a crash dummy and a lamb to the slaughter.

The streetlights flickered back on one by one, the silent man at your back cast eerie shadows over you every time you passed one. You could barely breath, fear clogged your throat, choking you. Running was out of the question, he would catch you, no doubt in your mind. You didn't dare think about what your- well, his dog really would do. He might even be trained to bite, maul you to bits for the crime of displeasing his master. Tears threatened to spill over your lashes at the thought, you blinked them away as hard as you could, whatever he thought of you now wouldn't be improved by turning into a sobbing mess. No crying about whatever this was, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you dissolve, if he wanted to he would crush you either way.

Your front door looked like a guillotine, the slanted window that once charmed you now made your stomach turn. You fumbled with the keys, hands shaking in helplessness. When they slipped your grasp, a gloved hand reaches out from behind you and catches them, palm up, the keys to your doom cradled in the hand of death. Slowly, you lifted your hand to take the keys back. The thought to stab him with them crossed your mind, but you had no follow-up. You stretched your fingers towards the house key. The next moment, you were crowded against the door and heard the keys jingle. The hinges protest when the door swung open. Unsteady legs carry you inside, mechanically taking off the harness and hanging the gear up in the dog corner.

The door clicks shut, and you refuse to acknowledge it in any way. Frozen in place, no useful thoughts in your head, your mind was screaming to do something anything at all. Time trickled by you in slow motion, for the first time you heard footsteps that weren't yours on your living room floor, the clicky noise of dog paws soon followed. Sounds from the kitchen startle you back into thought. That's where your knives are. He could take the damn fridge for all you cared right now, but you were not getting stabbed by knives you had picked out and paid for without a fight.

The sound of water hitting something metal had you confused, that weirdo did not follow you home to fill his dogs water bowl, that would be insane, and yet a few seconds later the water is being gobbled up loudly.

Something fills with water again, you're still looking at the slow swinging leash on the hook.

The stove beeps, the glasstop clinks quietly, something was placed on it.

Nails on the floor tell you the dog is scampering towards you, probably dripping water all the way. Soft fur brushes your fingers accompanied by the wet nose and tongue licking your hand. "You broken, pet?", leaning against the wall as nonchalant as the question he asked. The nickname had you glancing at the dog for a second before it clicked - this fucking guy dragged you around on a leash and called you pet like it was a normal thing to do.

You turned to give him a piece of your mind, freezing again when you saw him in the light. He'd been scary outside, dressed entirely in dark clothes and towering over you like a bad omen. In the light he looked downright terrifying, the skull print balaclava blending with his eye black, equally dark eyes looking at you with a bored expression, you had to guess. Good thing you hadn't tried anything, he looked perfectly able and willing to really hurt you. Not like how your bruised body ached from being dragged, real agony that would rip through you and fray every nerve you had. You were once again starring at each other, him waiting for a reply and you desperately trying to keep it together, whether you'd laugh or cry or attack him you didn't dare guess but something was boiling over.

The kettle whistles - you burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

[nyvora]

BREAKING AND ENTERING

simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: she gets home to find ghost already there. wc: 1.3k tw: secret relationship. sneaking around. breaking and entering, but with consent (you'll see). ghost being ghost. third person. mention of smut/mild smut.

The lock sticks again, like it always does.

A shoulder to the door, a muttered curse slipping free, she ignores the warning. If she weren’t already tired, she’d go back out into the sticky heat and replace the damn thing—tomorrow, she muses to herself.

Perspiration clings to the base of her spine, sealing the plain t-shirt to her skin as her door groans open, yanking her key out with frustration.

The smell of last night’s curry smacks her in the face then. Fabric softener undercuts it. Just. Her foot kicking the door shut behind her with more force than strictly necessary.

It’s small, her flat. Not cramped, though. Just... sorta lived-in. A sofa sinking into itself, the coffee table drowning in never-read magazines and mugs she doesn’t remember using. The kitchen isn’t even pretending to be a separate room. Counter piled with unopened post and a fruit bowl holding one sad, shrivelled pear. She sighs, boots half-off, grocery bag swinging from her wrist when—

A shuffle, a creak—soft, deliberate, out of place.

She pauses, listens. Another sound, faint but distinct, cuts through the quiet of her flat.

Her heart jumps—not in fear, but in sharp awareness she only ever feels when it’s him.

Because of course it’ll be him. It’s always him.

“Ghost,” she calls, loud enough to carry—it cutting through the still air like a knife, sharp and demanding. “If you’ve broken my bloody lock, so help me—”

“Didn’t break it,” his voice comes from somewhere near the kitchen. Low, clipped, completely unbothered. “Just opened it.”

Boot forgotten, she stomps into the kitchen, bag in hand. And there he is. Mask on, hoodie pulled low, leaning against the edge of her counter like he owns the place. A six-foot-something shadow, all muscle and restraint.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Your lock’s useless,” he says, voice low and clipped. “Didn’t even take me a minute.”

“Didn’t even take—are you fucking serious?” Her voice pitches higher, disbelief prickling at her skin. “You broke into my flat because of my lock?”

His head tilts slightly, his eyes narrowing in a way that would send most scrambling. Cutthroat, reticent—intimidating in his fierceness. But here? Here, she knows he won’t pull rank. Not in her kitchen. Not with her.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says, his tone flat, measured. He leans back slightly, his gaze trailing over her. Assessing.

Her irritation deflates just a little, leaving behind the jittery remnants of adrenaline. “I was out. Shopping.” She gestures to the bag, as if it weren’t obvious.

“And now you’re home.”

“Thanks for the observation.”

He tilts his head, barely, and the weight of his stare lands heavy on her. It’s not exactly scolding but enough to make her bristle.

He doesn’t rise to the bait, just watches her with that infuriating calm. “You’re mad.”

“Mad? No, I’m angry,” she snaps, brushing past him, the fridge hums as she pulls it open, a blast of cool air brushing her skin. “You don’t just break into someone’s home. Even if you’re you.”

He steps forward, boots soundless on the linoleum, his presence crowding the space between them. For a second, she swears he’s about to say something he shouldn’t. Something they never say. But then his jaw tightens, and his eyes flick to the window.

It’s a habit, she realises. Always checking for an audience, even when there isn’t one.

“I knocked.” He shifts slightly, a shrug in the barest sense of the word. “No answer.”

“You knocked?” Her voice rises with disbelief. “Oh, well, that’s alright. Totally fine to break in.”

He doesn’t respond immediately; just lets the silence sit. She hates it when he does that. Hates it when she's reporting to him, hates it when she's on watch with him, hates it even more here.

Finally, he breaks the quiet, and forces it to ripple into tension, as he says, “Thought something might’ve happened.” His voice is still steady, but quieter now.

Her irritation falters. Just a bit.

It gives her pause. Makes her for a brief moment feel bad for being annoyed—a thing which irritates her more than she wishes to acknowledge. Turning to face him, glaring, before pointing to the food. “Since you’re here, make yourself useful.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even sigh. Likely thinks of a retort that he’s swallows about being more useful at bending you over the counter.

Instead, he just moves, quiet, deliberate, like a shadow with too much muscle. Efficient. Maddeningly calm. She thinks he could be death itself wrapped in denim, a thing sent to torture her. He definitely ruins her when she's bare beneath him, spoils her even.

Butter slides into her hand. Then milk. Then a loaf of bread. Efficient. Maddeningly calm. Enough to make her jaw clench.

“You’re not fixing the lock,” he says, voice level, almost clinical. Not a question.

She turns, and he’s closer now, arms crossed over his broad chest. The slight shift in his posture is a silent command as if he owns the space. As though he thinks he does.

“Oh. I know,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But you are. Tomorrow.”

His head tilts again, just slightly. “Alright.”

She blinks, caught off guard by how easily he agrees. “Alright?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t elaborate. Just stands there, the very picture of stoic indifference. Iron in his stance, steel in his eyes. She narrows her eyes at him, but the fight’s already bleeding out of her. She exhales, long and slow, watching as he hooks a finger under the black balaclava, lifting it, exposing pink lips and stubble across his chin.

“Next time, just wait,” she says, voice softer now.

His eyes crinkle at the corners at the four-letter word, knowing how often he had to use it with her.

Because it’s often that he says it forcibly when he has her teetering on the edge, toes curling against his shitty base mattress or against cold tiles in the showers. He tells her they have no time, then somehow stretches minutes into an eternity. She forever leaves messy—her spit speckled with come. Salty, all him. Him on her tongue, clinging to the back of her throat, forever wishing it wouldn’t fade as quickly as it does.

The bruises do last longer, the ones on her hips, the back of her thighs—he’s careful, no longer on her neck, nowhere that can be seen when she’s stood getting briefed. Because seen means questions. Questions mean lies, because the truth is too damaging to confess. It would seem made up. Because it’s unheard of, very little way or reason it could be believed that home for her wasn’t far from home for him—that they both like this little pub tucked in an estate, where the peanuts are questionably out of date and the bottles in the fridge are barely as cold as they should be.

They don’t have to pretend here. A thought which has heat licking up her spine, makes her thighs press together. Hates that all it has taken from him was a look, as she watches him cross his arms.

“It’s not just your lock that’s useless. Your security’s shit.”

“Security’s shit?” She glares. “I’m not the one breaking rules and entering someone’s flat.”

The edge in his voice softens, just slightly. “Not rules I haven’t already broken.”

She doesn’t reply to that, because she knows what he means. Knows how far over the line they both stand—and how easy it would be for someone to find out.

Then he steps into her space. Like always. Frame crowding, looming—just like it does on base when they have to sneak around. Quiet, overwhelming. He’s warmth and weight and closed-off feelings she can never untangle. She doesn’t step back, though. That’s her choice. Totally her choice. Likes it, everything that makes him, a thing she tells him post-bliss when the veil of stubbornness between them is at its weakest.

Her chest tightens, but it’s not the proximity to him that does it.

No, it’s the reminder that—here, in her flat—they can touch, they can be. She doesn’t need to look over her shoulder. Something she thinks he realises at the same time as her from the way his fingers brush the fridge door, closing it with a soft click.

Then his mouth finds hers. Hot, rough, tempestuous. Like he’s proving a point she doesn’t remember debating.

A whimper catches in her throat, stubbornness choking it back before it can slip free between them. Even if her arms wrap around his neck, even if his hands find themselves around her waist.

It’s messy, blistering, desperate. Not an inch of space between them.

And yeah, maybe she’s still mad. But maybe she’ll forgive him.

Later.

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Is there someone else?

(Satoru gojo xreader angst)

Part 2

{i used chat gpt to fix my grammer)

Is There Someone Else?

The rain poured relentlessly, cascading down the large windows of your shared apartment. You sat on the couch, your phone clutched tightly in your hands, waiting for a message-any sign from him. But Gojo Satoru, ever aloof and unreachable, was silent once again.

He’d been distant lately. His playful demeanor remained, but something felt off. The way he avoided eye contact during conversations, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes anymore—it gnawed at you like a persistent shadow.

Tonight was the breaking point. You had waited for hours for him to come home, dinner growing cold on the table. When you finally called, it went straight to voicemail. Not that it surprised you. Satoru’s life as the strongest sorcerer was unpredictable, but this wasn’t about his missions anymore.

It was about her.

Her name was uthaime. She had always been a presence in his life, confident and alluring. You told yourself it was paranoia, but the little things added up. The whispered phone calls, the inside jokes they shared, the way his face lit up when she walked into a room—it was unbearable.

When the door finally opened, Satoru stepped in, his hair damp from the rain and his blindfold hanging loosely around his neck. He looked exhausted, but the sight of you froze him in place.

“Hey,” he said softly, but the warmth in his voice felt rehearsed.

“Where were you?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Out,” he replied, evasive as always.

“With uthaime?” The name tasted bitter on your tongue.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Why does it matter?”

You stood up, the pain bubbling into anger. “It matters because I feel like I’m losing you, Satoru! You’ve been so distant, and every time I see you with her, it feels like you’re slipping away.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re overthinking this. Uthaime and I work together. That’s all it is.”

“Then why don’t you ever tell me where you’re going? Why do you avoid me?” Your voice cracked, betraying the hurt you tried so hard to hide.

“Because I don’t want to fight about this every time!” he snapped, his usual playful tone replaced by frustration. “Do you think I don’t notice the way you look at me, always doubting me?”

“Can you blame me?!” you shouted. “You never let me in, Satoru! I don’t even know what we are anymore.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of the rain. His gaze softened, but it wasn’t comforting. It was filled with something that looked like guilt.

“Do you love her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He froze, his expression unreadable. “What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me.”

He hesitated, and that pause was enough to shatter whatever hope you had left.

“I care about you,” he said finally, but his words felt hollow.

You laughed bitterly, tears streaming down your face. “That’s not what I asked.”

He stepped closer, but you took a step back. “Don’t, Satoru. Just… don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. “You mean so much to me.”

“But not enough,” you replied, your heart breaking with every word.

The gap between you felt insurmountable, a chasm filled with everything left unsaid. Without another word, you grabbed your coat and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“Somewhere I can breathe,” you said, not looking back.

As the door closed behind you, the rain outside mirrored the storm inside your heart. You didn’t know where you were going, but one thing was clear—you couldn’t stay. You didn't know if you'll be back or not.

And somewhere in the empty apartment, Satoru stood alone, his hand still reaching for the door, wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

[midnightanxietytm]

Midnight visit

Author's Notes: I wrote this in one afternoon. It's a bit shitty but oh well. I just wanted to see MC match Caleb's freak and then double it because I know that girl is equally freaky and possessive.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Possessive behavior, mutually unhealthy relationship, self-awareness, mc being a freak, mc uses 'gege' to refer to Caleb once, manipulation.

Sometimes in the dead of night, you wonder if you should feel some sort of guilt over it.

But then morning comes, and there he is; making breakfast, teasing you sweetly, kissing your cheeks tenderly and telling you there’s nothing to worry about, that you two will be together forever and he will never leave you again. 

And when night falls, you wait for him to get home on the living room couch, just to pretend to be asleep by the time he gets home and have him carry you to bed...

When you had first reunited, you commented that he was different and he refuted; “What if I told you I was always like this?” And this got to you. It made you think back to your youth under a different light…

You remember that he’d put your shoes on for you every morning, that he’d walk you to all the way to your classroom, that he wouldn’t let you go out with any boys, even Zayne, unless he was present.

You also remember casually leaving your valentines day cards on the dinner table, pretending to be too sleepy so he’d put on your shoes for you, and flaunting to your colleagues that, yes, the upperclassman who came every day with you was your best friend. 

Maybe neither of you changed that much. Maybe you were both possessive and unhealthy.

“Caleb.” You call him in a whisper that night, after he’s set your ‘sleeping’ form on your bed and was ready to leave your room, acting as if you’d just woken up. 

Immediately, his eyes are on you again, and his smile is back on his lips. You reach out a hand and softly caress his face. “You’ve been coming home so late.” You whine softly. Your fingers tracing the small crease between his eyebrows. “I miss you.” 

You can see the moment your words hit him; his pupils dilate even more, the faint light coming from the windows would no longer be a good excuse for that, his breathing shakes just for a moment. Anyone else would have missed it, but you know Caleb. You know he’s softening.

“I’m sorry, pipsqueak.” He whispers, carefully holding your hand with his gloved one and planting a kiss in your palm. “It will be over soon.” He tries reassuring you, but unfortunately for him, you are spoiled, and you don’t take it well when he denies you things.

You frown and pout up at him. “I know about the professor.” A low blow. He flinches, his eyes widening, but you hold him by the collar and force him to stay right where he was, where he belongs. “You shouldn’t hide those things from me, gege.” An even lower blow. ‘Gege’ is too soft, too meek, it doesn’t match the cold tone that seeps into your voice. “We’ll deal with it together, allright?”

A protest begins to form in his mouth, but you cut it by sliding your hand back to his cheek, thumb softly pressing his lips. “You said we could rebuild our old house, right? We’ll do it, but you have to help me, alright? Let me help you.”

Pushing yourself into a more seated position, your other hand comes up to cradle his face. “How-” He swallows hard. You watch his adam's apple tremble with laser-focused eyes. “How much do you know?”

“Not everything, don’t worry. We’ll deal with it, and once it’s over you’ll never have to leave my side again.” A sickly sweet smile sneaks itself into your lips, your thumbs slowly caressing his lips.

Caleb’s breathing is shaky, his eyes dart across your face, clearly shocked at your sudden possessiveness and demanding attitude. You decide that it’s enough now, and slowly fall back into the comforting innocence and pliancy he’s come to expect of you. “Sleep with me tonight?” you ask.

Caleb shudders on your hands, but nods with a smile after it. “Okay.” He whispers. “I’ll change out of uniform.”

He kisses your palm again, and stands to leave the room.

A/N: Is it really a toxic relationship if they are both toxic? I thought they cancelled each other out! /s /j

[universalcas]

Dean wakes up and it's the 24th of January. His 46 yo body aches in new parts that he knows were fine last year but it's nothing he really minds nowadays. Sometimes he can't even believe he made it that far, so if the punishment these days for defying Chuck and Death several times in the past is backpain and some aching joints, that's more than welcome. 24th of January it's like any other day for him. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years, maybe since he was eight and just because he stole a biscuit and some candles that clearly didn't add up to the right number. A birthday celebration is something Sam always had because he damn well made sure of it. So this year, the 24th of January lands on a Friday that looks like every other Friday when you are (finally) retired from hunting and you live in a big house with your now husband that came back from the Empty and decided to stay for good after a very heart-touching reunion where everyone cried like a baby (including Sam). Said husband is now missing from the shared bed and his side is slightly cold but since he put all the cards (and his heart) on the table, a missing Cas isn't something that scares him anymore.

Sam's in the kitchen, drinking something that's doesn't look like coffee but fortunately isn't a smoothie either. The rays of morning sun that enter from the kitchen windows reflects on his face, his skin looks healthier as it does his own since all of them left the bunker, and Dean is so glad he got to live enough to see his little brother grow and become the man he is today.

"Hey! Where's everyone?" He asks, ruffling Sam's hair quickly enough to avoid retaliation.

Sam huffs and closes the book he's currently reading. Something on civil rights that probably has to do with the online degree he started to pursue a year ago but maybe it's Sam's morning lecture because that's what lawyers-to-be like to read. Dean prefers novels and fiction in general and his growing library is a testament to that.

"Cas and Eileen went grocery shopping" he says. "They took Miracle for a walk and Jack tagged along".

Jack has been spending some time in Heaven these days. There are a lot of things to be fixed and rebuilt under God's supervision but most days, when he isn't needed, he loves to stay in his room reading some comics, gardening with his Dad or going fishing with Dean (the first time he said "Dad! Look what I caught!" Dean cried so hard he couldn't stop for what felt like hours, scaring all the inhabitants of the lake and the poor boy in the process). So, yes, Jack has things to do Upstairs but he wanted to be at home when Uncle Sam and Uncle Eileen came visiting and decided to stay for the night.

He hears Baby's rumble accompanied by a happy bark soon followed by a soft crack of the main door. Both Cas and Eileen carry an excesive number of grocery bags for a single meal for today and Dean doesn't understand why since he know the pantry is more or less full but that feeling is quickly forgotten when Cas makes a beeline (bags and all) to put a kiss directly on his lips. It's quick and chaste, just a brush of lips on lips, but Earth-shattering anyways. Some form of a ritual between them, kissing the other one every time one of them come back from an errand or from just staying outside gardening or giving Baby some maintenance. The kiss means I love you, I'll always come back to you, and it hasn't lost his meaning after all these years.

Dean's voice comes as a squeak after that and he tries to mask it with a manly cough that fools exactly no one. Less alone Cas, whose big smile holds the brightness of a thousand lights.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"We are fine", Eileen says at the same time that Sam says "We should continue fixing the basement, don't you think?"

And that's a weird thing to say because the basement has been Dean's work in progress since he and Cas bought the house four years ago and the second thing Dean's hands love doing the most after touching Cas (out of the bedroom that means everywhere whenever he wants but inside most of the time there are rules) is fixing things. And Dean loves his brother's company, he really does, but he can't do jack shit in that regard so Dean works on it in his time alone. But he follows Sam anyways and lets Cas, Eileen and Jack do their thing since, after coming from the Empty, Cas discovered an interest in cooking (with varying degrees of success) and probably he wants to handle that today.

And ok, maybe being retired from active hunting (not from training new recruits, mind you) has softened Dean's instincts because he should have suspected that there was a plan behind everything because, when they go back to the house, the dining room has been decorated with birthday paraphernalia and the table is full of food and the people he loves the most are wearing a small party hat (even Miracle!) and matching smiles. He doesn't cry when a big pie is placed in front of him with two candles shaped in the form of a four and six and Jack proudly announces that all of it was made from scratch by he and Dad. He doesn't cry when Miracle comes with a box in her mouth that contains a ticket "to anywhere in the country, just you and me, Dean". He doesn't cry either when Sam and Eileen give him a gift of their own in the shape of an envelope that contains an ultrasound of who's going to be a future Bobby or Mary Ellen. And he definitely doesn't cry when he is suffocated in a big hug by his whole family and Cas whispers "I love you so much, Dean" and Jack says out loud "I love you, Dad!".

The question that has been trapped inside his chest the whole day escapes from his mouth only when he and Cas are alone in their room at night.

"Why all of this?"

Cas kisses him. Soft, languid and slowly, like the passage of time.

"I can remember you been proud of us everytime we achieve something" he says. "When Jack built a chair for his room without using his powers, the first time I changed Baby's oíl without your help, when Sam announced he wanted to study Law again, when Eileen got the job she wanted. You were so happy for all of us, Dean, but you should be celebrated too".

There are a lot of things Dean wants to say but none of them come to mind. He's also at lost for words when Cas produces a small box with a ribbon from a lingerie shop he recognises.

Cas's smirk and raised eyebrow are full of dirty promises and sexy rules he's more than happy to follow. But that's, well, that's a story for another time.

"

[aangelinakii]

A BREATH APART.

— kiss-blocked by a robin.

summary : ever since you'd been hired as bruce wayne's secretary, you'd always felt a tension between you. what happens when a moment comes so close, only to be taken away?

note : this is NAWT spicy but i tried to make the sexual tension very much there pls lmk if this could be baited as smut by the lead-up

working for bruce wayne was a dream; all you had to do was let him know when his meetings were, and apologise to the businessmen he was supposed to meet when he decided he didn't want to show up — an easy cycle.

your desk was posted right outside his office, a sort of gangway between the business world and... whatever he does in there.

and maybe it was the delusions talking, but you could swear there was something there — between you and bruce wayne, i mean.

apparently he was a womanizer — but aren't they all?

something felt different with bruce. something forbidden. something barely-there.

though you meant to or not, each time you dropped off a stack of papers to his desk, your fingers brushed feather-light against his, lingering for just a moment before you turned your back to hide your sheepish smile.

on countless occasions, in conference and board rooms, when the space was tight, he'd place a careful hand upon your waist or lower back, and squeeze past, uttering a soft apology. when you'd look up at his fleeting figure, dressed smartly in suit and tie, you're sure he'd glance back, but you'd never bring it up later; and that spot on your skin stayed fuzzy the rest of the meeting.

he'd even invited you to a few galas and balls, his hair gelled and sleek as ever, his jacket perfectly tailored to his shoulders — and, perhaps you were wrong, but each time you stepped out in your formal attire, dazzling but not show-stopping or over-the-top, bruce's eyebrows raised slightly, and a hand came to his chest momentarily, as if he were out of breath.

but he was bruce wayne.

you were his secretary.

there were many people he could go for, and you found it difficult to believe that he would go for you.

late into the evening, bruce had offered to have you round the manor whilst looking over some finer details in an agreement another company had sent over. they'd been trying to get bruce on-board for months now, and bruce kept declining; he didn't understand their aim, didn't understand what start-up he was supposed to be funding. but each time he got you to defer their offers over the phone, they'd give it a few weeks and then try again.

either they were badly desperate, or something was off with their terms.

you were sitting in a plush chair before bruce's desk in his home office, the old nature of it a start contrast to his work office, of which his desk sat small against thirty-foot windows, illuminating his back against the bustling city.

here, you could tell it was lived in; from the worn mahogany on certain edges of the desk, which otherwise was polished to a shine, to the crimson armchair in the corner beside a small little table, a stout glass shimmering with an unfinished liquer, telltale by the open bottle adjacent.

but bruce wasn't opposite you, no, although his presence felt increasingly strong.

mint-fresh breath fanned against the shell of your ear as you stared down at the papers sent to you by the small company requesting funding. it took the clench of your fist in your lap to force back the shiver that crept up your spine, knuckles whitening at the action.

one of his hands lay on the backrest of your chair, and you leaned forward over the papers so as to not recline into his warmth, of which radiated even through your clothes, as well as the rich oudy cologne he wore.

"i'm not sure what they think they're doing, really," his expensive voice came in your ear; he was the epitome of old money, even now as his word brushed against your skin.

in return, an airy chuckle came from your lips. with a shake of your head, you dared to turn around to look at him. "and it's the fact they're barely even a start-up, too—"

but your sentence cut short.

it seemed bruce hadn't been anticipating your sudden movement, for your nose whisped against his, causing the two of you to falter — but not move away.

his eyelids inched wider, lashes fluttering in surprise.

your knuckles paled as you gripped the arm of your chair; you swear his blue eyes flickered down, down to your lips.

you swear that, because that's what you did, too.

something sighed in the back of his throat, breathy, like he couldn't bear holding back anymore. just inch... a little bit... closer...

"BRUCE!"

knee jerking in surprise, a bang came as you hit it against the bottom of bruce's desk, who drew himself to his full height just as quickly. as pain shot up your nerves, you craned your neck around just as the door opened, revealing a dashing man with a strange similarity to bruce — raven black hair, although longer and more unkempt, and skintone more sun-kissed.

behind him a shorter boy, again with a likeness to your boss, was jumping into view behind his shoulder.

"dick? tim? what is the meaning of this?" bruce asked, clearing his throat momentarily to disguise his shock. he glanced back at you, but did not meet your gaze. "(name) and i are having a meeting."

as both pairs of eyes drifted to you, your lips pulled instinctively into a sheepish smile.

the taller boy at the front, carefully pulled the door to. "nevermind..." he muttered, turning away. "we can talk about it later; it wasn't that serious anyway." but there was a certain wariness that made your stomach squirm.

bruce turned around as if he didn't want to be alone with you again, and walked round his desk. "apologies," he sighed as he sat down before you. "my sons. there's always something going on in this house." he gave a light chuckle, though the way his mouth kept tugging itself softly to the side implied his attempt for comedy was to fill the silence.

oh, god...

so, his sons almost witnessed you two kiss. you — the secretary. he — the boss. bruce wayne.

but there was a silence, mostly induced by you, until you broke it with grabbing your bag by your feet. "you know what, bruce, should i just tell them no again? and that's the final word?"

bruce's lips parted as he watched you file the papers back in your bag, stunned, confused, aching for you to stay. he fumbled on his words before standing as you did. "yeah, yeah– sure. yeah..."

as you shouldered your bag, you stood before bruce, unsure what to say to him now the moment of tension had passed, and been broken so horribly.

"i'll– uh– see you tomorrow at the office, then, sir," you smiled.

before you turned, bruce's eyes flickered with something, but you were too quick, missing the emotion behind it.

work surely would be awkward tomorrow — unless you both woke up the next morning inwardly agreeing to never mention this again.

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night

ꕥ series masterlist & taglist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3

⟢summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

⟢pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

⟢warnings for this part: Mentions of dead bodies, Harrenhal visions, light gore, Ser Crispy Coleslaw, Aemond being jealous and horny.

⟢wc: 7,872

⟢gif credit: @peachysunrize but she deleted her acc so im sorry!

Chapter 3: Me and the Devil

She was doing her best not to lose her mind. She’s never been stuck in a situationship like this before. Or hardly knew anyone that had been. Stuff like this only occurred in…books. In which she was now in the middle of. 

She had so many questions yet no answers. 

She knew she had to come up with some sort of well thought out plan. But if she was being honest, she barely even had a pl. As Phoebe Buffay once said on an early episode of Friends. 

One thing was for sure, she was in the Riverlands. Harrenhal. Westeros. If she had her history correct, and she did, the year is currently 130 AC.

Rhaenyra Targaryen had just taken over the city of King’s Landing with the help of the Rogue Prince at her side. 

She recalls how this news caused Aemond to go on a seize of murderous rampage, killing the entirety of House Strong. The very same pile of dead bodies she saw in the outer yard, those were them. 

As much as she tried, she couldn’t get that horrifying image out of her head. Not now and perhaps not even the days to come. With every blink of her eyes, she saw them; bloody, decaying, eyes wide of what they felt before death: fear. 

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up. 

Not that there was much in her stomach to.

Shortly after Aemond had severed the guard’s head, she had literally thrown up just inches away from his feet.

He did not say much, only bringing a small green handkerchief from his pocket and wiped remnants away from her lips. Instead of being angry or disgusted, Aemond’s face exhibited only concern. 

Because of that she was escorted inside Harren’s castle with haste by Aemond’s orders. With the very little time she had, she tried to go against this but her words were swiftly overlooked and ignored.

She was brought into a medium sized room at the highest tower of Harrenhal. The room wasn’t much to look at. High stoned black walls with no decorations or personality. A canopy bed with multiple pillows and furs laid near the window with two nightstands on each side, holding lit candelabras. 

Facing the canopy was a vanity table with nothing but dried flowers and a dusted mirror that she couldn’t make out her reflection. It was obvious that no one had occupied this room in a very long time. The cobwebs, near all four corners of the ceiling, confirmed it. 

To the left of the vanity was a beige folding screen and behind it was a large white bathtub that she had been thrown in immediately upon arriving in the room by two older women.

After she had been bathed and dressed, a third woman delivered a hot cup of peppermint tea to ease the nausea. However, after they left she made sure to discard the cup, choosing not to drink anything, harboring feelings of distrust when she previously drank a cup of tea. 

The sound of the door being opened caused her to sit rigidly on the chair, thinking it was a particular one eyed prince entering the room. Instead, the knots in her stomach loosened as an elderly man made his way inside, offering her a simple smile before he set a leather bag he’d been holding on a nearby table. 

Her mouth opened, wondering who he was but as she assessed his gray robes and the several decorated chains hanging from his neck, he’d have to be a maester. 

Something close to a doctor in her world. 

“You have not touched the tea, my lady.” His voice was barely audible, gentle as he pointed out. “Are you allergic to peppermint?”  

“No,” she shook her head, her eyes landing on the medical supplies being brought to the rounded table. She recognized some of them such as the suturing kit, scale, gauze, scissors and a scalpel.

Her abuelo, Vidalio, had a collection of identical vintage medical supplies in his office that often as a kid she’d glance at in complete fascination. 

“Are you not partial to peppermint?” The maester questioned. 

“I’m not partial to drinking something that I did not see being made,” she added. After drinking that tea Alyssandra had given her, there was no way she’d risk doing that again. “Besides, peppermint is most known to target headaches. If you were to mix ginger and chamomile, then you have an accurate tea to treat nausea.”   

The maester lifted a bush eyebrow, cocking his head to side taking her suggestion into consideration. “Very well. I’ll bring a cup of boiling water—” He tried saying, only for her to sprint directly in front of him. 

“—there’s no need. I am well; as you can see.” She feigned a recovered smile.  

“I still am in need of boiling water to brew milk of the poppy, my lady.” 

It was her turn to gaze at him in wonder. “What for?” She inquired. She knew what milk of the poppy was. An opium made from the poppy flower to aid in severe pain and to anesthetize a person out cold in a deep sleep. 

It was also the same pearly liquid she read in A Game of Thrones that Grand Maester Pycelle used to treat Ned Stark after an altercation he had with Jaime Lannister, which gave the Warden of the North, strange dreams. ‘Poppy dreams’ otherwise known as hallucinations. 

As helpful as it was, it was also very addictive. Equivalent to morphine and fentanyl. As an intern at St. David’s Hospital, she’d seen how bad opioids took a toll on people. 

So it was safe enough to say she wasn’t going to be easily convinced to take it.  

The older man pointed at the swollen cut on her lower lip, where that asshole of a guard had slapped her hours ago. “The wound on your lip; I have to stitch it. I will use milk of the poppy to ease the discomfort when inserting the needle into your lip.” 

“I already said I’m fine.” She answers more firmly. She glanced at the multitudinous array of small amber jars on the table that contained different kinds of fine powders, liquids, dried herbs, seeds, and strange looking roots. 

She was able to make out a little bit of everything. Though, nothing of the sort would be needed for something so minor. Rubbing alcohol and perhaps a topical antibiotic ointment were as good as any. 

“Tis’ not what the prince thinks, my lady.” The maester abruptly murmurs out, fearfully looking at the door. If the prince were to walk into the room, seeing his guest not being properly treated as he demanded, he too would suffer the same unmerciful fate as his lord. 

“It’s a superficial cut! You can tell the prince, I don’t need tea or stitches.” What she needed was to get out of here and go home. 

“A topical amoxicillin ointment should be enough. Though, I don’t think it exists here.” In fact no modern medicine could be found here. This era was if not the same as medieval times, where people die everyday of infection or contamination due to the lack of antibiotics, antivirals, and vaccines. 

She felt lucky that all of her vaccines were up to date. 

Except maybe for her yearly flu shot. Fuck!

The maester tilted his head in surprise, “Are you a healer?” He asked, intrigued that she too knew medicinal practices. Most witches did not, if he believed the rumors around the castle.

She crouched down, eyeing the herbs that caught her attention.   

“Something like that. I know enough to know that I don’t need stitches. It’s just a little bit of swelling that will go down in a day or two if I ice it.” Though, she wasn’t sure how the maester would get ice in the Riverlands. If this was the North, ice wouldn’t be a problem. 

The maester, befuddled, nodded. Knowing that his endeavors to treat her lip were pointless, he slid her a small amber salve of bread mold.

She gave him a ‘what the hell is that?’ kind of look, in which he explained it was an ointment to prevent infections.

After a few series of questions, she realized that this bread mold was as close as what she was going to get to penicillin. 

A look of relief and ease plastered on the maester’s face as she delicately dabbed some of the salve on her wound. She was equivocal if the salve was meant to have a bitter taste or smell, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she wanted this visit to speed up. 

“What’s your name?” She asked while watching the man place his medical supplies in his bag with uttermost care. 

“They call me Maester Nywen.” He revealed. 

She pronounced his name repeatedly in her head, trying to remember if he was mentioned in Fire & Blood. Though, there was no record of him at all.

“I’m—” 

“I know who you are, my lady.” Nywen interjected. Everyone knew her name, including the walls of Haren’s castle. It was said she possessed otherworldly abilities unknown to men. 

In his many years serving House Strong, Nywen never came across her path. Never saw her in the flesh. Just tales and rumors. Some that he believed; such as her being his lord’s favorite out of his true born sons and daughters. Some that Nywen didn’t quite believe; like the rumor of her bathing in maiden’s blood to remain forever youthful. 

Looking at her now, her complexion differed from what he pictured. 

To her befuddlement, she had no idea how Nywen knew her name. She didn’t remember mentioning it to anyone, including the old ladies. 

This was all some weird mystery that was making her feel dizzy and unsettled. She only now wished she had some Ibuprofen or an Advil pill to dull the pain in her head. 

“If this is all, I must take my leave. Good day, my lady.” 

“Wait! I’ll go with you,” she called out, and the older man came to a halt before he exited the door. 

A look of sympathy came on Nywen’s face. “Apologies, my lady, but the prince ordered for you to remain here.” 

“Wait, what?!” She followed a close second after him, perplexed. Nywen gave her one last look of remorse, “I am sorry, my lady. You won’t be kept in here for long. The prince has some matters to attend to before he calls for you. Should you come in need of anything, ring the bell.” 

“Nywen!” She called out, but it was too late as the door was suddenly closed right in her face. The sound of a lock confirmed her fears.

She was alone again.

She wondered how abuela Selena was doing. The older woman, who’d been more like a second mother to her, had come across her mind a lot more now.

Had she known she was missing?

Of course she did; she was probably seriously panicking right now and sent out a search party to look for her. 

The pueblo was small, and it wouldn’t have taken her family long to figure out she wasn’t there or in any surrounding pueblos. She knew that wouldn’t hinder them from continuing their search for her. Her family were strong and brazen fighters and would stop at nothing to keep the family safe. 

She also wondered if her mother knew. Though, she already knew the answer to that. Her very overprotective mother, who calls every hour of each day, must have flown from the states the second she did not answer the phone. A heavy argument most likely would’ve happened between her mother and her abuela, Selena, for not keeping a close eye on her. 

Even if the fault had not been her abuela’s, she feared that her disappearance became a fresh new layer of conflict added on top of the decades long strife between her mother and Selena. 

She did not wish for that. For years, she’d attempted to push them together to communicate and get past whatever tension they had between them. She prayed that things would not escalate further between them in her absence. 

She could just imagine seeing them after all of this was over. 

But to pinpoint when? 

Now, that was going to be challenging. 

She was so high up in Harren’s castle that she wished she were some type of bird. A raven, perhaps. With great big and wide wings to fly to carry her away. 

Fly, a voice whispered next to her. 

Startled, she snapped her head up to the side in the direction of the voice. “What?” She asked with a shaky voice. 

You have wings. Use them. 

She glanced behind her shoulders, feeling for soft feathers but was met with bare skin and no wings.

“Liar.” She asserted back. And the voice responded something in return, though it was barely audible.

However, something in the room had shifted. It became darker, colder, and overall strange. The dark hairs on her arms stood when the flames of the candles blew out one by one by themselves while the hinges of the door creaked open. 

A thin curtain of light appeared at the end of the hall and her body seemed to sense some type of energy vibrating around the room, pulling her to leave now that the door was unlocked.

A part of her debated whether or not to take the risk and leave as this was exactly how people died in scary movies, by following strange energies. Another part of her said fuck it, sensing the energy as not evil or not good either. 

She let out a frightened gasp as the door shut completely from behind and the vibrating energy increased tenfold. The longer she walked throughout the corridor, she began to realize that the buzzing was actually a low humming sound echoing down the hall.

A song. 

Arrorró, mi niño 

Arrorró, mi Sol 

Arrorró pedazo

De mi corazón

Abuelo Vidalio would sing that exact song as a lullaby when she had trouble sleeping as a child. Which happened to be all of the time since she experienced very vivid dreams about strange people and creatures she did not recognize. Vidalio, with his soothing voice, would be there to sing the bad dreams away. 

Este niño lindo

Que nació de noche

Quiere que lo lleven

A pasear en coche

Could it be him? 

With trembling hands, she takes a peek through the slim opening. A large and nicely furnished room is set directly in front of her. It sort of reminded her of Vidalio’s private studio near the outskirts of her family’s home. Vidalio had a love for old vintage things like outdated medical books, scrolls, medical supplies, herb vials, maps, and furniture. 

Some of those things decorated the inside room. 

In the center, a man sat on a wooden rocking chair with his back towards her. She glanced at the carvings on the top rail of the chair; a three headed dragon, wolf, lion, some sort of sea creature, fish, falcon, stag, and a rose. 

Instantly, she knew who the rocking chair belonged to. 

“Abuelo?” She asks aporetically. Although she missed him terribly, she secretly hoped it wouldn’t be him. Since he, himself, had been dead for years. And it wasn’t like she didn’t believe in ghosts; she did. 

The humming impetuously ends before it begins, and so does the back and forth movement of the rocking chair. 

Purple eyes stare directly at hers like he’d been waiting a while for her to come in. “El niño no se puede dormir,” Vidalio addresses her in complete distress. (the boy can’t fall asleep)

His appearance made her halt on her tracks, he looked and dressed differently than what he normally looked like. She remembered him older, tanner, his light blonde hair styled directly away from his face, with more modern fitted clothes. 

Here he was younger with milky white skin that was untouched from the harsh Mexican sun; his hair slightly long and silver. And more importantly, his clothes were strange and old fashioned, almost aristocratic. 

The only way she knew for certain this was her abuelo, was by a polaroid her abuela took of Vidalio when he was young, were they both briefly lived in Cancun. 

How was it possible that he was here, in Harrenhal?

In Westeros?

How could it be?

Her lack of response causes Vidalio to continue humming the lullaby as he sways something tight on his arms. 

A boy, no more than eight, laid lifeless across Vidalio’s arms. Small cuts and bruises painted across the young boy’s small and delicate face and body. All while fresh blood dripped from the side of his chest, pooling down onto the floor.

He was bleeding out.

Yet, the boy was already dead. 

What was more harrowing of it all, were the boy’s eyes. They were a rich and dark violet color, wide, blinking and staring right at her.

Through her.

It was the only thing about him that was alive. 

Este niño lindo

Ya quiere dormir

Háganle la cuna

De rosa y jazmín

“We need to take him to a hospital,” she frantically suggested. Maybe the boy wasn’t completely deceased. Maybe all he needed was proper medical attention like a blood transfusion and a few stitches. 

“It’s too late.” Her abuelo pointed out. “All he needs now is the comfort of his mother.” Vidalio gives the boy one last hug before he stretches the body in her direction. 

“What?!” She exclaims, feeling the air in her lungs rapidly leaving her body. 

Surely, he didn’t mean the little boy was hers…

This didn’t seem possible. A mother is able to recognize the face of their own child. She’d hear on multiple occasions from mothers, at the hospital she interns in, how a sort of natural maternal instinct and intuition set in the moment they became mothers. 

She’d know if she had a child, but that boy was not hers. 

Or was it? 

“I- I need to go. This isn’t real. This-this isn’t true. You aren’t real. You are dead.” She says between ragged breaths, feeling a panic attack brewing in. 

She took a few steps back, only to be met with a cold hard chest. An older man, perhaps in his late sixties, with long silver-white hair and dark eyes, smiled warmly at her. Beside him, were six other men and a singular woman. 

She noticed that the two older men wore more modern clothes, while the others wore some sort of old fashioned clothes similar to Vidalio’s, embroidered by the same red design. 

“I’m sorry,” she let out an apology to the older man. The man, though, remained unfazed. He simply continued to look at her with tears in his eyes before he replied with a strangled voice. “Mama.” 

“No. Oh, no, no.” She shook her head, placing some distance between them. All of them. As if that would help them disappear. 

Yea she needed to get the fuck out right now. 

She eyed the door and ran towards the opening, leaving behind people that did not exist. For a moment, she believed she heard something but dismissed it as quickly as lightning. 

She saw people along her path but whether they were real or not she did not know or care for. Her goal was to leave. Leave this place, sapphire or not. 

Halfway into her sprint, she got the feeling she was being followed. So she ran into a solitary hallway and opened the first door she saw.

“You’re early.” 

She drew in a sharp breath as she came across the last person she wished to see right now, none other than Aemond Targaryen. 

The prince’s lone eye was practically sparkling when looking at her after being hours apart. She had been away for too long for his taste. 

Aemond would have preferred for her to come after everything– the wine, dinner, and dessert– were perfectly set up on the table as he had planned. 

Yet, she was here now. 

With the light blue with silver gown he specifically picked out. The colors itself reminded Aemond of House Arryn, a traitorous house that sided with the whore that was his half-sister. Though, the colors were at least better than that of House Strong. 

Aemond almost had the two women killed for even considering such bletcherous colors for his one and only to wear. 

Blind luck was bestowed upon them when another woman quickly brought an unused gown from her daughter’s armoire. Which was the one his love was currently wearing. 

She looked mesmerizing. Goddess like. The very Maiden in the flesh. 

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked as he noticed her out of breath appearance. 

Before she had a chance to say anything, a tall and dark haired knight came in; presumably after her as he was out of breath too. 

Aemond looked between Ser Criston and his one and only, and concluded that he’d been chasing her for some time. 

“Tis’ alright, Cole. No grave offense has occurred,” Aemond affirmed with a court nod. 

She blinked, assessing the man who was one of few to cause the civil war, Dance of the Dragons, between Aegon and Rhaenyra. 

He appeared just as he was described in the books.

Charming.

Though, she did not expect him to be quite so… short. 

Whilst Aemond stood exceptionally tall, Ser Coleslaw seemed no taller than five foot and eight inches. Perhaps that is one of many reasons he was such a misogynistic dick who couldn’t handle rejection. 

If she did the math correctly by the current year, he must’ve been in his late forties. Yet he had this youthful look about him that one wouldn’t have guessed he was reaching his fifties. 

Not that he would live to see his fifties. 

Days later he would die south of the Gods Eye.  

“Holy shit, you’re Criston Cole?!” She exclaimed not with fascination but with distaste lacing her tone. 

The Kingmaker placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, glaring at her with such vigilance. “I am. Have we met before?” 

“Not really–”

“Leave us, Cole.” Aemond snapped unexpectedly, causing her body to jolt at the intensity of his voice. 

Criston shifted his focus to the prince regent. “I think it would be wise if I stay, my prince. Wouldn’t want anything… unseemly to happen.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

At that, she took a few steps away from Aemond, placing as much distance between them as possible. 

The mere thought of her and Aemond together made her feel uneasy and very unsettling. He was a prince. Royalty. 

While she was the opposite of what he was. A simple commoner. 

Aemond kept himself from frowning at the space his love placed between. He clearly did not intend to take her today, as much as he desired to. 

His incessant desire and appetite would be sated the moment they were joined as one. 

Which would be soon, if everything went according to plan. 

“Leave us. It is a command,” Aemond said, tone much demanding and darker. 

Criston clenched his jaw in anger before he turned to leave. Just as he was about to shut the door he gave her one last look. 

There was no kindness in his cold green eyes. Rather he looked at her like the dirt beneath his boot that quickly needed to be swept away. 

“Do you always captivate this much trouble, my lady?” Aemond asks, just seconds after the door closes. 

She is only able to let out a hum as she feels all the words in her throat shrivel and dry up. 

Aemond’s white linen shirt hung loosely and unbuttoned against his chest; His pants were halfway unlaced. 

Aemond looked down at her silently, waiting for an answer from her. Yet she stood there gawking at the man in front of her, with his toned-pale chest on display, light silver trail of hair below his navel, leading to–

She apologizes quickly before rapidly turning around to grant him some privacy. 

Doing so caused Aemond to curl his lip into a smirk. She didn’t need to be sorry about her curious glances. Aemond thought to himself. Very soon, she’ll be well acquainted with his body; as well as he with hers too. 

Though, that day could not be any sooner. Much to his dismay, Aemond had to settle on that memory when she wore such sheer chemise. The same clothing he kept to himself after she was dressed, and used to pleasure himself with just moments ago.

“What makes you think that?” She added, her voice stammering a bit but she masks it with a cough. 

“You outran three of my guards, for starters, and managed to harm one of them. You also fled from your chamber without so much as a word,” Aemond breathed. “Will you hand me my doublet, please?” 

Her hands reached for the black leather doublet in front of the armchair, handing it back to Aemond with hands over her eyes. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t have run and let them have their way with me?” Anger, panic, fear and disbelief brewing deep in her stomach

“Seven Hells, no. That is not what I am implying,” Aemond expresses. “I am elated that you managed to defend yourself and run. But if your reason for fleeing was because you harbor any fear that it will happen again, I can assure you it will not.” 

She stilled for a moment, the hair follicles at the back of her head rose when she felt Aemond’s presence so close behind her. “As long as you are here, you’re under my protection. I will never let anyone or anything harm you. I promise you this.” 

The very gruesome image of Aemond beheading the guard that assaulted her, deemed his promise held true. 

Nevertheless, she was taken aback by the comment and the surface of her face felt warm. “Um thanks,” she nervously chuckled. It was the only thing she could say at such earnest promise. 

“You can turn around now, if you wish.” 

And she did. He looked well put together, dressed in all black from head to toe. The dark shade truly suited Aemond, giving him the illusion of a gothic prince.

In such proximity, she could smell something amidst smoke, fire, and ash emitting from his clothes.

Possibly from his dragon, Vhagar. 

Vhagar.

Being the bookworm that she was, she wondered what the oldest and largest she-dragon looked like. Or where she was currently nesting at. 

However, her nerdishness had to be set aside. 

For now, atleast. 

“Are you famished, my lady? The servants are to bring us dinner shortly, but if you’re hungry now I could ask them to speed it along.” Aemond asked across the room, his hand on the handle of the door. 

She was about to refuse his polite offer, unfortunately for her the mention of dinner provoked her stomach to growl so loud that even Aemond heard it. 

Damned traitor. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aemond said, his lips curling into a witty grin. She held up her hand in a way to prevent him from arranging dinner, she didn’t have time for. “That won’t be necessary–”

“The ferocious noise inside your belly says otherwise,” he quips as he instructs a nearby servant for some food. “I am starved from killing Strongs all morning and afternoon. I crave something more fulfilling besides shellfish and mediocre soups.” 

It was all Aemond ate at the capital after the Pretender ordered the blockade. At first, the small council had spent a remarkable amount on enough meat, poultry, grains, fruits, and vegetables for his family and guests. Subsequently, in a moon or so everything had run out. Fish, oysters, shrimp, and different kinds of soups were served.

Aemond did not mind, in the beginning, but after a while his appetite longed for his regular and satiated meals. He nearly took one of Vhagar’s goats for himself. Aemond knew he couldn’t as Vhagar needed her strength for upcoming battles and decided to let that foolish idea go. 

A few minutes went by when an array of servants arrived inside the room, carrying hot plates of food. She recognized two of the servants. Both of whom helped her bathe and dress earlier. 

One, she noticed, struggled to keep a ceramic bowl steady. Instantly, she took the bowl from her trembling hands. “The bowl is very hot, my lady. You must be careful!” The old woman warned as she tried to pry the plate off her hands. 

Although she was touched by her worriment, she couldn’t help but to chuckle. “It’s alright. I’ve been accustomed to touching hotter things, and this is not nearly as hot as you think.” At a young age, she more than often would help her mama make homemade tortillas de harina and would flip them by hand in the comal while scorching hot. On the weekend’s she’d help out at her uncle Belen’s restaurant. Often serving customers hot plates of food straight from the stove. (flour tortillas, griddle)

So heat never really bothered her. 

She placed the large bowl in the center of the table, adjacent to the other plates and pitchers. Then she proceeded to help the servants set the table. 

All while doing so she couldn’t help but feel Aemond’s eye on her the entire time as she moved. He stood silent near one of the windows, patiently waiting until everyone that wasn’t her, to leave.

“Will that be all, my prince?” A kitchen servant asked, her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Aemond waved the woman away, disinterestedly. Something about that irked her to her core, and it reminded her of the countless entitled customers who treated servers beneath them. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at the servants before they took their leave. They returned the smile and she couldn’t help but to think if they’ve ever been thanked before and she was content that she did. 

“Shall we dine?” Aemond gestured to the overly-filled table. 

She nodded, her stomach doing flips for food. Before she had the chance to pull out a chair, Aemond beat her straight to it with a smug smile carved into his lips. 

“In truth, I’m glad that you came now. I was to summon you for another hour while you had your rest but to my surprise the maester informed me that you refused treatment.” Aemond spoke from behind.

She sucked in a breath, shoulders tensing as the tips of Aemond’s fingers softly grazed around the exposed skin behind her neck. A spot where she felt insecure and anxious from anyone viewing. 

Even the two older women, who bathed her, halted their scrubbing when they came across the two deep vertical scars on each of her shoulder blades. A part of her was relieved that they did not say anything and continued their scrubbing, but the overthinker in her worried if they were secretly judging behind her back. 

Aemond pressed his lips together tightly, replacing a frown as she wiggled herself away from his touch. 

“Stitches are required for deep or gaping wounds, and surgical incisions. I did not necessitate it since this is a superficial cut. It will heal in a day or two if I clean it properly to prevent infection. Nywen agreed as well as I did and supplied me with a topical antibiotic.” 

She watched as Aemond slid into a seat directly across from her, digesting in her words. 

“Nywen?” Aemond arched his brow. 

“The maester.” 

Aemond hummed, content by her answer. “You speak as if you’re a maester yourself.” 

“I’m a nurse,” She shared proudly, though ignoring the fact she has not taken her NCLEX yet. Meaning she was not actually licensed. 

Aemond appeared to be taken back by her response and redirected his eye to her very glorious and plump pair of breasts.

Would she allow him the pleasure to drink from her chest as well?

The one eyed prince could only wish. 

Aemond could practically hear his one and only loudly moan and cry for him as he drank every last drop from her breasts, providing her with not only relief but also pleasure. 

The thought alone made his cock stir underneath his breeches.  

“Not a wet nurse!” She exclaimed, as she crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to cover her boobs. 

That, however, proved to be fruitless as the action alone caused her boobs to thrust upwards, revealing more for his eye to see. The violet in Aemond’s lone eye darkened and she swore she almost heard him… moan. 

“Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to cause offense,” Aemond softened his voice as he discreetly adjusted his hardness beneath the dining table, stifling a hiss at the throbbing sensation. 

“I never met a woman who practices conventional medical treatment; especially a young woman. Just old men. But seeing as to the maester being gone–”

Hearing that caused her head to snap up. “–Gone?” 

“Yes, he left shortly after he was done treating you. I bid his freedom in exchange for his services and you were his last patient.” Aemond briefly told as he grabbed a slice of some type of roasted meat onto his plate.

“Well, that’s good to hear. At least he is free to see his family now,” she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she held. 

Aemond hummed in agreement, choosing to spare the grisly details of him beheading the maester for treason against the crown. 

In a way, the maester did get to finally visit his family, along with his liege. 

“With him gone, perhaps you’d want to take his place?” Aemond offered coolly. 

It wasn’t like she would stay here long enough to help heal his people. She had a deadline to meet and follow, and the One Eyed Prince sure as hell wasn’t going to get in her way. So she chose to give him a little inconsequential lie. 

“Perhaps,” she shrugged as she began to assess the food upon the table. 

And boy, were there many to choose from. There was a variety of cooked meats, sauteed vegetables, hot stews, breads, cheeses, and fruits. 

It reminded her of an all-you-could-eat buffet. 

She ended up selecting the same type of roasted meat as Aemond, paired with a small slice of bread and a goblet half full of a golden liquid she believed was some sort of juice. 

By the way he was staring at her, she almost wanted to tell Aemond to take a picture to make it last longer but saying such a thing would be indecipherable to Aemond.

Rather it was better to say “paint a portrait.”

Now, however, was not the time to be comical. 

Aemond began shifting to a new topic of conversation when she took the first bite of what he said was ‘roasted duck’. Instantly, she scrunched her face at the off- putting taste. 

She always preferred her meat to be cooked well done and generously seasoned with garlic, salt, pepper, with a hint of rosemary and chili peppers for spice. 

Though this meat itself felt uncooked in the center, bland and not seasoned correctly. 

But what else could she expect from Westeros? 

Aemond watched from where he sat, disheartened by her dischuffed reaction, “Is the duck not to your liking?” 

No. She wanted to reply but she had a feeling that if she denied him, Aemond would try to convince her to take another dish.

“It’s good, thank you.” She lied after she forcefully swallowed the meat, smiling as she reached for her goblet to wash down the horrible aftertaste that lingered in her mouth. 

Aemond was not in the slightest convinced that it was or the wine judging from her disapproving reaction. “Here, have some Dornish red. It is what I’m drinking, much better than the shit from Lannisport you drank.” 

With hesitance, she took the cup. His fingers brushed with her own with a gentle caress that shocked her and almost pulled away from, if not for the goblet being nearly full. 

She examined the dark red wine carefully before sampling it. There was a sweetness blended with some sourness that had her wondering if she had it before. It wasn’t a bad taste but it was definitely strong. 

“Better?” Aemond queried, sitting straighter. 

“Well you’re definitely right about the other one tasting like shit.” She laughed as she drank more Dornish red. 

She's had some questionable alcohol before, but Lannisport wine definitely takes the cake. It was like drinking straight raw honey and cinnamon. 

Aemond joined in with her laughter. “Dornish red can be quite strong and can surely get a person drunk if they have not eaten. Mayhaps I can have the cooks prepare something you prefer eating. What would you like?” 

There were many foods she craved right now. 

Back home, her abuela was preparing the masa for the tamales that took hours to make just for the entire family. (dough)

Her cousins Sara and Valeria, planned to bring a very spicy pozole and mole from their side of the family. 

Tio Belen and tia Alicia were bringing their infamous chocoflan and caramel empanadas for dessert.

Those meals alone were what she wanted more than anything. 

Sadly, there were zero chances that Westeros had any of that.

Especially during a war. 

“I’m alright, thank you. I’ll stick to eating this, it’s not so bad now with the wine,” she reassured. Last thing she wanted was to waste food. Something she despised. 

Her answer, however, wasn’t what Aemond hoped for but he settled on it for now. 

“I do, myself, wish to know how exactly a lady such as yourself came to be wandering about in the woods, dressed in nothing but her shift.” Aemond implored, tilting his head to the side. 

Uh oh.

“The remaining guards confessed that you were wearing your shift when they found you. Prompting them to believe you were some mislead whore. It still doesn’t justify their actions against you and for that I sincerely apologize. But, I’d like to hear your side of the tale if you do not mind.” 

It all had been some unusual mystery, how she— the woman he had been expecting for ten years— came running onto his arms out of the blue.

Your life awaits

Was all Helaena said before he left to take back Harrenhal. 

The pounding of her heart increased tenfold. She knew she had to stick to the truth as much as humanly possible, only altering the details that had to be kept secret. 

She wouldn’t deny a part of her wondered if there was even a chance of coming clean to Aemond. 

Without proof, maybe he’d think she was ludicrous. 

If someone from Westeros came to the modern world, and extemporaneously said they’d been transported from a fictional universe, she without a doubt thought they were on some sort of crack. 

She clears her throat, blinking rapidly in search of the right words to say. “Earlier I was sent to pick out some flowers for my family. Along the way, a woman came across my path and robbed me of not only my gown and shoes but my belongings as well. I tried chasing after her but after several minutes my feet became tired and I was lost around the woods with nothing to go by.” 

“Your guards found me moments later. They insinuated that I was a whore, and I tried to tell them I wasn’t. That’s when things got violent and I was only trying to defend myself.” She explained transparently. 

Aemond redirected his gaze towards the cut on her lower lip, then to her hand noticing some bruising. He recalled how the first guard had a stain of dried blood on his nose right before he killed him.

“Again, I must say how truly sorry I am for the dishonorable actions of my men. And I applaud you for your braveness, my lady.” Aemond said as he raised his goblet before taking a sip.

“Oh, this?” She asked, gesturing to the hand that was bruised. “This is nothing.” 

Aemond let out a chortle. “It’s not nothing. You certainly broke his nose and damaged his foot by the looks of it. Who taught you to hit like that?” 

“My uncle, Aimon.” She answers. Though unsure if she should reveal details about her family. “Most of us, my cousins and I, are girls. He said it was important that we, as women, learn how to be self resilient and defend ourselves. He taught us with a practice dummy, at first. Then with some padded gloves. ” 

Aemond raised his brows, shocked by the notion that a man would allow their nieces to physically fight. His own father never bothered to teach his sister how to train in combat, not that Helaena would’ve wanted to or his mother allowed it. The Dowager Queen detested violence. 

It was only ever him that learned to train in combat. 

Not by his father, too sickly and yet too worried about Rhaenyra. Only Ser Criston Cole who shared the passion of the sword with him. 

“Your uncle seems progressive,” Aemond stated, watching as a sad smile set on her face. “Yea he is.” The reminder of Aimon made her reflect on how much she missed her family right now.

Especially since Aimon was coming home for Dia De Los Muertos, after being stationed in Mexico City for ten years. Alicia and her were the only ones that knew of Aimon’s surprise visit to abuela Selena. 

Though, perhaps now the only surprise her abuela was going to get was her disappearance. 

“Have I said something to upset you?” Aemond questioned. 

Her attention went back to the one eyed prince, who looked at her with concern. “No, no you haven’t. I just… nevermind.” She shook her head as she fiddled with the edges of her goblet.

Aemond leaned forward in his seat, desperately wanting to know what she had to say. “What is it? You can tell me—”

Just as his hand was about to reach hers, a knock interrupted them both. “Prince Aemond, the dessert you requested is almost done. Shall I have it straight delivered to your chambers?” A kitchen maid inquired from the other end of the door. 

Aemond made a sound of complete annoyance, causing her to give him a major side eye. “Yes, do so.” 

His reply caused her to be taken aback. Did that mean she had to stay longer with him?

She hoped not as there wasn’t enough time for dessert or any of his pleasantries. No matter how hard Aemond procures her to stay. There was a deadline she had to follow and a family and home to go back to. 

She knew that by now, her family already contacted the authorities; the police and even the fucking FBI. They’d even call the SWAT team if it were possible. 

Maybe she was being a bit too… dramatic. But was she?

There wasn’t anything her family wouldn’t do for her, including searching all of Mexico just to get her back. 

Sadly, she was nowhere near Mexico. 

Rather she was stuck in a world that up until hours ago, was purely fictional. A work of fiction that she received as a gift. 

Her first mistake of coming into this strange world was not thoroughly checking the cottage properly. Perhaps there, she could find some clues and answers that could help identify where this sapphire might be. 

So, now was as good a time as any to leave. More hours later and she’d permanently risk staying here forever, just as Alyssandra warned. 

As much as she wanted to explore and live through  every bit of Westeros, she already missed her home, her family, the food, internet, and comfortable clothes that weren’t medieval dresses. 

“Would you care for some more Dornish red as we wait for dessert to be served?” Aemond eventually asked, breaking her out of her stupor. 

Go.

“Actually, I can’t,” she nervously chuckled as she stacked her plates and swept leftover crumbs with a napkin. Even universes away she still had the decency to pick up after herself. 

Aemond felt his heart drop.

“It’s getting late and I must go. I’ve been gone for hours and my family is probably wondering where I am.” It was not entirely a lie. Her one way ticket out of here was to play her cards right by telling the truth.

“But the dessert—” The one eyed prince tried to explain but was interrupted. 

“— can wait or I’ll take it on a to-go box. Do you guys have one of those here?” She knew not but it was worth a try.

Aemond gave her a look of utmost bewilderment. “A what?” A box for a piece of dessert? 

She waved him off before she stood up, “it doesn’t matter. Thank you for letting me stay and for everything else you’ve done. I’m grateful, really. But I seriously have to go.” 

Aemond found himself standing as well and before either of them knew it, Aemond spun her around so that her back was pressed on rough stone and his chest just inches away from her glorious plump breasts. 

“You can’t leave,” Aemond said with a loud growl. 

She swallowed, her eyes widening in total disbelief. “What?” In a frail voice she asked. 

Aemond had to be gentle with his next choice of words. Last thing he wanted was to scare her off, like how he currently was doing so. 

The prince softened the darkness in his eye. “Well,” he sighed, “you’ve said so yourself, it is getting late and I don’t think it is wise for a lady to wander by herself in the woods again. Especially at night and with a mugger on the loose.” 

“I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is if I stay.” She stated, distancing herself away from Aemond. 

Though the one eyed prince was quick to act as his hand barricaded her point of exit. “You caused me no trouble, I swear this to you. Please stay a little while longer. I’ll send a raven to your family that you reside here with me.” Aemond begged, feigning a demeanor of woefulness. 

Although she did slightly feel bad, the deep voice in her head told her to stick to her guts; which was leaving. 

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head as she was quick to duck underneath Aemond’s arm towards the door. She felt the light graze of Aemond’s hand reaching for her but she pulled away before he could touch her, causing him to frown. 

Aemond yearned to have more time with her; to know every single part of her that made her so intriguing to him. She had haunted his dreams every night for far too long to let her go now. Considering how he had not yet voiced his affections to her. Aemond presumed, now was not the right time to declare his devotion. Time is what he needed. 

“Alys, wait!” Aemond called out. 

And she was sure as hell did wait.

A/N: sooooo I haven't updated this story for 8 months and for that I'm sorry guys 😩

but for those who are wondering: I live in an abusive household. so that should say enough.

and yes I am trying to get out, but I am currently unemployed.

the next chapter won't take 8 months I promise, but I am writing some smutty one shots for valentines day so I won't update this story until march!

also, if anyone can guess who Vidalio is, I will post a sneak peek of chapter 4!

[sweetiesicheng]

mingyu - lights out

word count : 565

-

suddenly, the lights flicker a few times before turning off. you look out the window and notice that the power is out everywhere. a few lights linger, most likely being batter powered items or generators kicking in for certain buildings.

"oh come on!" you hear mingyu shout from the kitchen. you leave the bedroom and find him standing in the dark.

"everything okay?" you ask him.

"yea, i'm fine. it's just the stove is off," he mentions, turning the stove knob, "it’s fine. i was going to cook something else, but this will have to do.”

"put the lid on, that should help," you say to him. you grab your phone off of a charger in the living room and turn the flashlight on. you walk over to mingyu and shine the light towards the stove. "y/n's light service is here to help you!" you announce.

mingyu smiles with a chuckle, "oh thank you so much y/n from y/n's light service. mingyu's food service will be done in a few moments.

"isn't this the second time the power has gone off this week?" you question.

"has it? you've been home more than me this week," mingyu says and moves the pot to the table.

you nod, "yea, this is the second time. maybe there's something wrong," you say and go to the table. "can you hand me a water bottle?" you ask.

"oh, sure," mingyu replies. he opens the fridge and grabs a water bottle. "catch," he says before tossing the bottle to you.

you catch the bottle and place it on top of the flashlight on your phone. the light reflects in the water to sort of make a makeshift lamp. it illuminates enough so you roughly see the kitchen, but it's still dark around the condo.

mingyu brings over some side dishes and extra small bowls.

"the stuff in the freezer should be fine, right?" you ask mingyu.

"huh? yea, just don't open it. the fridge should be fine too, that is, if the power comes back on soon. if not, then we're probably gonna have a lot to throw away tomorrow," mingyu says and sits down across from you. "i like the light," he comments about the water bottle sitting on your phone.

"better than nothing," you reply to him. "you know what, i bet it's because of the weather. with all of the rain we've been getting lately," you say to him as he starts taking a portion of noodles from the pot. "but this is taking awhile for the power to come back on," you comment.

"it'll probably come back on soon. probably just a little hiccup," he says to you.

"mm. you're right," you say and put a portion of noodles into your bowl. "thanks for cooking."

"oh, this was nothing. we're lucky that this didn't take too long to cook," he replies. "and thank you to y/n from y/n's light service for providing a light for tonight’s dinner," he says with a smile, nodding his head towards the water bottle that's still on top of your phone.

you laugh, "of course. and thank you to mingyu from mingyu's food service for providing tonight's dinner," you say. both of you laugh together.

"you're cute," mingyu comments.

"you're cuter," you say to him.

"you're cutest. boom, i win."

"oh whatever mingyu from mingyu's food service."

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 2)────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @foreverisntenough, @trentswrld, @trentswhore @cinnaleaf @v6quewrlds @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22 @bbgkoo

Tyler was still talking, going on about lighting concepts, but Trent's mind was spinning like he'd just done dizzy penalties.

April fucking Goodplenty.

The girl who'd rinsed him about his accent was apparently some hotshot photographer to the stars. No wonder she wasn't gassed about him being TAA - she probably shot Mbappé in his boxers last week.

"…could really elevate your brand," Tyler was saying. "Show a different side of you, you know? More artistic–"

"I fucked her last night."

Tyler's fork clattered against his plate. "What?"

"Well, almost fucked her." Trent grimaced, remembering. "Got proper mortal on tequila."

"You're taking the piss."

"Swear down." Trent tugged his collar down, revealing the art gallery of hickeys April had left behind. "She's got this mental cat named Pussy–"

"Bruv." Tyler put his head in his hands. "You're telling me you pulled the photographer I've been trying to book for three months? The one who told Nike to fuck off because their concept wasn't 'authentic' enough?"

"…yeah?"

"And you got liquor dick?"

"Oi!" The elderly couple at the next table turned to stare, and Trent lowered his voice. "It weren't just me, she was proper steaming too."

Tyler started laughing, proper belly laughs that had heads turning all over the restaurant. "This is peak. Absolutely peak. The one time your dick decides to go on strike–"

"Listen yeah," Trent cut in, "we can't book her. It'd be weird now."

"Are you mad? This is perfect! She already knows you, innit? Might even give us a better rate–"

"Ty." Trent's voice was serious now. "She proper mugged me off this morning. Slammed the door in my face and everything. Think she'd just take the piss if we tried booking her."

"Or maybe…" Tyler had that look he got when he was plotting something. "Maybe she'd want to finish what you started."

Trent's mind flashed to this morning - April in that silk robe, the way it had gaped open just enough to drive him mental. The absolute violation that would be, her directing him all professional-like while knowing exactly what he looked like in just his boxers.

"Nah." He shook his head. "Find someone else."

"Too late." Tyler's grin was pure evil as he held up his phone. "Already sent the inquiry last week. Got a meeting with her tomorrow."

"You're taking the fucking piss."

"Meeting's at two. Her studio in Shoreditch." Tyler stood up, dropping some notes on the table. "Don't be late."

"I'm not going."

"Yes you are." Tyler's voice had that tone that meant business. "This is exactly what we need for your image right now. Bit of edge, bit of artistry. Show everyone you're more than just the scouse wonderkid."

Trent watched his brother leave, then slumped back in his chair. Fucking hell. Tomorrow was going to be madness.

His phone buzzed - Tyler sending through the studio address. Under it was a message that made his stomach flip:

'She already confirmed btw. Said she's "very interested" in working with you.'

Christ. What had he gotten himself into?

Trent's Range Rover crawled through Shoreditch's narrow streets, his GPS having trouble trying to navigate the one-way system. Warehouse conversions and street art blurred past as his mind wandered to the night before last - to tequila shots and spiced vanilla and yellow-eyed cats named after Bond girls.

"Just round here," Tyler pointed, and Trent pulled up outside a converted factory building. Red brick, massive windows, proper East London trendy.

"Still think this is dead weird," he muttered, killing the engine.

"Stop being a pussy and come on."

The receptionist buzzed them through to a freight lift that looked like something out of a horror film, all exposed metal and dodgy grinding noises. When it finally wheezed to a stop, they stepped out into what had to be April's studio.

And there she was.

Fuck me.

The high-waisted jeans should've been illegal, honestly. Hugging every curve like they were painted on, leading down to these mental heels that had Trent's brain short-circuiting. The cropped jumper showed just enough skin to be professional but still have him thinking very unprofessional thoughts. Her hair was pulled back today, showing off cheekbones that could probably cut glass.

"Tyler," she smiled, all business now. "And… Trent. Nice to see you both."

The way she said his name had him remembering exactly how it sounded when she'd been leaving those marks on his neck. Speaking of which…

"Still sporting those love bites, I see," she smirked, gesturing for them to follow her into what looked like a meeting room. "Rough weekend?"

"Something like that," he managed, trying not to stare at her ass as she walked ahead of them. But fucking hell, those jeans were criminal.

The meeting room was all exposed brick and vintage furniture, mood boards covering one wall. April perched on the edge of the table, crossing those legs like she knew exactly what she was doing to his mental state.

"So," she began, pulling up some images on her laptop. "I've got some concepts I think could work really well. Break away from the usual footballer shoot - no watches, no posing with cars. Something more… raw."

Tyler leaned forward, interested. "Go on."

"I'm thinking black and white, minimal styling. Really strip everything back." She turned her laptop around, showing similar shoots she'd done. "Some torso shots, maybe even full nude–"

"What?" Trent choked out.

"Nothing gratuitous," she continued like he hadn't spoken. "All very tasteful. Think Greek sculpture vibes. Show the athletic form, the power, the vulnerability…"

"Nah," Trent shook his head. "No chance."

"Why not?" Those eyes fixed on him, challenging. "Scared?"

"I'm not scared," he bristled. "Just don't fancy getting my kit off for your camera, do I?"

"Wouldn't be the first time you've stripped for me though, would it?"

Tyler's eyebrows shot up as Trent felt his face heat. "That was different–"

"Was it?" She tilted her head, that infuriating smirk playing at her lips. "Because I seem to remember you being quite… willing."

"We'll think about it," Tyler cut in smoothly, ever the professional. "Maybe start with something less… exposed? Build up to it?"

April shrugged, standing up. "Your call. But I think you're missing an opportunity here. Could be something special."

As they headed for the lift, she called out: "Oh, and Trent? Might want to invest in some turtlenecks. Those marks look proper savage. Almost like you ran into a vampire or something."

"That what you are then? A vampire?"

Her laugh echoed through the studio - an unfiltered belly laugh that had him staring. Head thrown back, eyes crinkled, nothing like her professional photographer persona. Something in his chest did a weird flip.

"You're mental, you know that?" he said, but he was grinning despite himself.

"So I've been told." She winked - actually winked - and disappeared back into her office.

Outside, Tyler was already on his phone, probably lining up their next meeting. "That went well."

"Well?" Trent spluttered. "She wants me naked!"

"Not straight away though. We can build up to it–"

"I'm not getting my dick out for art, Ty!"

"No one said anything about your dick," Tyler grinned. "Unless… you thinking about showing her that too?"

"Shut up."

"Nah but seriously," Tyler pocketed his phone, turning to face him. "Did you see those other shots she showed us? Proper sick. Could really change how people see you."

Trent leaned against his car, thinking about it. The photos had been amazing - athletes looking powerful but vulnerable at the same time. Nothing sleazy about it. But still…

"She's just going to take the piss the whole time."

"Maybe that's what you need though?" Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Someone who doesn't treat you like TAA, Liverpool's golden boy. When was the last time someone actually challenged you properly?"

Never, if he was being honest. Even Sophie had just tried to mold him into what she thought he should be. But April… she seemed dead set on doing the opposite.

"Plus," Tyler added with a smirk, "think you might be into it a bit."

"What?"

"The way she mugs you off. Saw your face when she was giving it the big one about being scared. You proper love it."

"Fuck off," Trent laughed, but his neck felt hot. Was he actually into being challenged like that? The way she'd rinsed him about everything, how she kept him on his toes…

Christ. Maybe he did have a thing for it.

"Just think about it," Tyler said, already walking to the passenger side. "Meeting's in the diary for next week. Wear something nice."

Trent watched his brother disappear inside the car, then looked back up at the studio windows. Through the massive panes of glass, he could just make out April's silhouette, bent over her desk reviewing something.

Those fucking jeans though.

Maybe one more meeting wouldn't hurt.

Liverpool's training ground was freezing, typical January weather making everyone's breath visible in the air. Trent tugged at his high-neck base layer, grateful for the excuse of the cold to cover up April's artwork. Two days later and the marks were still there, like she'd been trying to brand him or something.

"Again!" Slot's voice carried across the pitch. "Press higher, Trent! Control that space!"

He pushed forward, finding that pocket between the defensive line in the practice match. The ball came to his feet like it was on a string - muscle memory from thousands of repetitions. One touch, two touch, whipped cross to Nuñez who buried it in the top corner.

"Better! Take five, lads!"

Trent grabbed his water bottle and phone from his bag, dropping onto one of the benches. His thumb opened Raya automatically - sad behavior really, but he couldn't help himself. Been glued to it since New Year's, swiping through posh girls and influencers without really seeing them.

Until.

"You're fucking joking," he muttered, nearly dropping his phone.

There she was. April Goodplenty, 27, verified profile with that little blue tick. Her first photo was something artistic - all shadows and angles, showing off those cheekbones that could probably slice bread. The next one had her on some beach in Bali, wearing this tiny white bikini that had his throat going dry. Then one of her working, camera in hand, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

The bio though: "If your profile's got you in a watch and suit, save us both the time and swipe left xx"

Trent snorted. Course she'd have that energy on here too.

His thumb hovered over her profile. Would she even swipe right on him? Probably saw him as just another job now. Plus there was that whole… liquor dick situation. Total violation that was.

Fuck it.

He swiped right just as Slot's whistle pierced the air.

"Let's go! Set piece drills!"

Back to work then. He jogged back onto the pitch, trying to focus on football instead of wondering if she'd match with him. They ran through corner routines, free kick patterns, all the stuff that should've had his full attention. But his mind kept drifting to spiced vanilla and burgundy nails and that laugh that made his chest do weird things.

"Trent!" Slot's voice snapped him back. "You're dropping too deep again!"

Get it together, lad.

By the time training finished, he was tired. The shower felt biblical, hot water washing away the January chill. He wrapped a towel around his waist and another around his neck to hide the love bites, heading for his locker when his phone lit up with a notification.

New match on Raya.

His heart actually skipped. What was he, twelve?

But there she was - April Goodplenty had swiped right. And she'd already sent a message:

"You get one second chance. Don't fuck it up."

His first thought was "Yes ma'am" but that felt a bit… eager. Instead, he sent back a salute emoji, trying to play it cool while his brain was doing cartwheels.

Right then. Where the fuck do you take a girl who thinks fancy restaurants are dead and probably knows every hipster spot in London?

He opened Google, typing "unique date ideas Liverpool" before deleting it immediately. Nah, that was basic. She'd see right through that.

What about… he thought back to her flat. All those vinyls, the art everywhere. The way her eyes lit up when she was taking the piss out of his accent.

Maybe he did have an idea. Something properly scouse, but make it interesting. Show her his Liverpool, not the sanitized version he usually showed girls like Sophie.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, a grin spreading across his face. Oh yeah. This could work.

Now he just had to not fuck it up.

**********************************************

Two-all against Man United felt like a kick in the teeth. Trent's yellow card was still burning him up - such a soft call from the ref after Rashford went down like he'd been shot. The crowd had lost it, Anfield turning into a cauldron of noise as Man United's number ten rolled around like he was auditioning for the Olympics.

The gaffer had given them the "point's a point" speech in the dressing room, but it didn't help the taste of ash in his mouth. Should've had that game wrapped up in the first half - hit the post twice, had a penalty shout waved away. Then Bruno's equalizer in the 89th minute... violation that.

And now he had to somehow get his head right for this date.

He'd picked Baltic Market - bit different from his usual spots, proper Liverpool but with an edge. Street food stalls, local artists, that indie record shop in the corner that reminded him of April's flat. No fancy tablecloths or sommeliers giving it the big one about wine pairings. Just real Liverpool culture, the kind tourists never got to see.

His phone buzzed - probably Tyler asking about the match. But nah, just his mum sending another article about his yellow card. Christ, did everyone have an opinion these days?

"This better work," he muttered, checking the time again. Seven minutes late. Maybe she'd ghosted. Wouldn't be surprised after that meeting, him acting all precious about getting his kit off–

"Didn't expect you to actually pick somewhere decent."

That voice. He turned and… fuck me.

The Balenciaga jumpsuit was doing criminal things to her figure, and those heels had her almost at his height. Her coat was probably worth more than his entire outfit, but she wore it like it was nothing. Those curls though - bouncing with every movement, making his fingers itch to touch them.

"Rough match?" she asked, and he could've kissed her for not going straight into analysis mode like everyone else after a draw.

"Something like that."

"Good thing I know just the cure." She nodded toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Inside was buzzing - fairy lights strung across the ceiling, music from some local band floating through the air, the smell of about twelve different cuisines mixing together. April's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas, taking it all in.

"Now this," she said, "is more like it."

They ended up at this Korean street food stall, April going in on some bulgogi fries while telling him about this shoot she did with some rugby player who kept flexing his abs between takes.

"Real tragic," she laughed, licking sauce off her fingers in a way that had his mind going places it shouldn't. "Like mate, I can see them, you don't need to keep pushing them out. Looked like he was having a fit."

"That what you want me to do then? Get my abs out?"

"Please," she rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her gaze flickered to his torso. "Your ego's big enough already. Plus, after that meeting... seems like you're scared of the camera."

"I'm not scared," he bristled. "Just don't fancy having my arse all over magazines."

"Shame," she smirked. "It's quite a nice arse."

Before he could process that, she was already moving on to the next stall, leaving him standing there like an idiot.

They wandered through the market, April stopping to chat with every artist about their work. She knew her stuff too - passionate about it all. Made him think about those art prints in her flat, how everything there had felt intentional. Not like his place with its designer furniture picked out by some interior decorator.

The record shop owner recognized him, but instead of the usual selfie request, he and April got into this massive debate about vinyl pressings that Trent couldn't follow for shit. But watching her get excited about it, those curls bouncing as she gestured, the way her eyes lit up when she found some rare pressing... it was doing something to his chest, making it feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with the match earlier.

"Trent?"

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring. "What?"

"I said, should we get out of here?"

Outside, the Liverpool air was bitter now. April pulled her coat tighter, those curls whipping in the wind, and Trent had to stuff his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch them.

"Listen," she said suddenly, turning to face him. "Let's cut the chase. I'm a busy woman, you're a busy man... so are we trying to fuck each other or are you pussy?"

Trent nearly choked on air. "I- what?"

"You heard me."

"You slammed a door in my face!" he spluttered. "Like, what are you talking about?"

"Sorry," she shrugged, not looking sorry at all. Those eyes were dancing with mischief again. "I saw you giving me the eyes at our meeting. And you swiped right on Raya, so..."

His brain was short-circuiting. This girl was actually mental. Completely off her head. Saying whatever came to mind like she didn't give a fuck about the consequences. And fuck him if it wasn't the most attractive thing he'd ever seen.

"You're actually mad," he said, but he was grinning.

"Maybe." She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell that spiced vanilla again. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her lips curved into that smile that spelled trouble. "But I don't see you running."

No, he definitely wasn't running. Not when she was looking at him like that, like she was deciding exactly how she wanted to ruin him. Not when those curls were right there, begging to be touched. Not when everything about her was a challenge he desperately wanted to accept.

"So?" She raised an eyebrow, and he could see the marks she'd left on his neck reflected in her eyes. "What's it going to be?"

The wind whipped around them, carrying the distant sounds of the city - cars honking, music from the market, someone laughing. But all Trent could focus on was the way April was looking at him, those eyes challenging him like always. Making him feel like more than just TAA, Liverpool's golden boy. Making him feel... real.

Fuck it.

"Your place or mine?"

Her smile turned wicked. "Bold of you to assume I'm that easy."

"You literally just asked if-"

"I know what I asked." She took a step back, and he immediately missed her warmth. "But maybe I just wanted to see what you'd say."

Christ. This girl was going to be the death of him.

"See you at the studio next week, Trent," she called over her shoulder, already walking away. "Try not to think about me too much."

He watched her disappear into the night, those curls bouncing with each step, that jumpsuit doing ungodly things to his mind.

Too late for that, wasn't it? He was already in too deep, and they both knew it.

The worst part? He was starting to think he didn't mind at all.

…………tbd