#Dinner Table Décor

[kids-01]

GOLDTIMO White Ceramic Vase for Decor: More details >>

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Men at Work!

Just a note, I know I mix phonetic and Cyrillic spellings of Russian in this. Mostly it's so that people can easily translate the more complex words directly.

Content: Masturbation, very mild protective/possessive behavior

It’s becoming a problem.

You think this from the overstuffed daybed recently purchased for the explicit purpose of feeding into aforementioned problem. Not that the porch is the problem, heavens no. If so much as a nail came loose, there’s a trio of men across the street all too eager to lend their hammers and bulging, glistening muscles to fix it.

Which, conveniently, is the problem.

Their muscles, that is. And how magnanimous they are with them.

Your house is nice. New. It took them three days to fix all the issues you’d been putting off for a day you were non-reclusive enough to schedule a handyman.

Your house is too nice and too new.

You’re feeding a Vegas buffet’s worth of appetites raised on old world sensibilities with no outlet for them to be expressed. There aren’t enough squeaky hinges, crooked cabinets, stuck windows, or leaky faucets in your two-bedroom for all that… chivalry. (Or whatever Krueger has that passes for chivalry’s surly cousin.)

They’ve taken to invading earlier in the evening for busy work before dinner. Cutting vegetables, tenderizing meat, cleaning dishes, setting the goddamn table.

Like, sirs, you’re a single woman with three cats and a sham of a personal life – the last time you saw a centerpiece on a domestic dining table was Christmas at your nana’s.

Until Konig shuffled in with a fistful of sunflowers and zinnias, promising that he double-checked that they’re non-toxic to cats. You didn’t have a vase, so you had to make do with an empty mason jar you were keeping for ostensible aesthetic reasons.

Now you’ve got an ongoing bouquet, kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like lemons that no one ever uses (as if your seasoning decisions are as good as god) and are contemplating cloth napkins like some kind of… of…

“Socialite?” you muse aloud. You glance at Rasputin. He blinks slowly. “Hostess? Woman of the night?”

You’re pretty sure Agatha didn’t mean that as a compliment when you overheard her gossiping to Margot yesterday. (She should really remember that if she can eavesdrop on you from her backyard, the same is true the other way around.)

You’re toying with an idea for a new series with your last one wrapping up and your solo-novel due for release come fall. Something about a rich young woman with a wild streak and her fantastically wealthy gentlemen callers…

“Scarlet woman,” you murmur aloud, eyes on the reason for your recent porch décor purchase.

Krueger is on the roof, cloth around his head to stave off the summer heat. Doing… something with shingles and a nail gun. Your face flushes with each flex of hard muscle, jump of thick tendons. The grip he has on that thing…

As inspiring as your neighbors are, they are also a huge (in many, many ways) distraction. Hence, they are a Problem.

And not just for you. On your right, you catch the flutter of curtains from your peripheral. Lisa taking another peek – to be properly scandalized, probably. (You’re not really sure what the neighborhood biddies tell themselves when they decide something is Simply Not Proper.)

“We’ll have to start charging admission,” you muse, sipping a strawberry mojito.

Curled up far too close for the weather, Little Guy chuffs and stretches. You smooth a fingertip up his little nose, between his eyes, and over the crest of his empty head.

“Jezebel,” you mumble. He yawns, tongue curling and pearly fangs gleaming. “Trollop.”

An annoyed grunt pulls your eyes forward again. Nikto is standing halfway up the porch, one foot planted on the last step like a sexy Russian Captain Morgan. His thighs stretch his workpants oh-so-nicely. There’s a smear of white paste across the material – caulking, maybe?

(You could do with a caulking too.)

“Has someone called you these?” he asks. “Who?”

You laugh. What would he even do if someone had?

“No – well, not to my face, anyway.”

He snorts, shoots a withering scowl at Agatha’s property anyway. You spin your pen around your fingers and try not to bite your lip at the way his shirt is clinging from sweat.

“Aren’t you hot?” you fuss. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Nyet, we have been in worse,” he replies, finishing the short journey up the porch. He pauses in front of you, taking in the sight of you and your cats. What does he think, seeing you lounging about all day while he and his friends(?) are working so hard? If it’s something negative, he’s never let on.

“Still,” you insist, “have you been hydrating?”

“Da, the water runs.”

You blink, put together pieces to assume he and the others are chugging tap water (probably right from the faucet) when necessary. Well, that just won’t do now, will it?

“No, no. Hold on. Rasputin, hold him hostage.”

And like the little angel he is, Ras gets up, stretches out, and begins rubbing his face all over Nikto’s pants. With him distracted, you hop to your feet and scurry inside. The house is almost uncomfortably cool after most of your morning spent outside, but you’ll only be a moment.

There’s a large ruby pitcher waiting in the fridge from last night, complete with various berries floating at the top. You use two hands to heft it out, set it on the counter, then flit to your cabinets for the travel cups you invested in for on-the-go wine sipping. Nice and insulated.

You pour a cup for each of them, stow the pitcher away again, and carry all three in triangle-formation back outside. (Maybe you should get a tray? The antique store in town probably has something pretty and lemon-themed to match the salt and pepper shakers…)

Nikto hurries to help as soon as he sees you, plucking the extra cup from your hands.

“I saw this recipe and wanted to try it since it’s been getting hotter.”

He blinks at you, then the juice.

“You don’t have to try it now, I just thought—”

Your voice abandons you as Nikto tugs his filtration mask down. The skin beneath is warped and scarred, discolored in some places. When he raises the edge of the cup to his mouth, the skin of one cheek stretches distressingly thin. You can see the individual indents of his back molars pressing against the flesh as he drinks.

You understand why he’s been hesitant to show you; it’s not easy to look at. Which makes you all the more determined to flick your eyes back to his and ask, eagerly, “What do you think? Too sweet?”

As he swallows, throat clicking, you think you hear him grunt something.

“Hm?”

“Nyet. Not too sweet. Is good, пчела.”

You grin even though you’re not sure what it means. All three of them have some nickname in their mother tongue that you can only hope is complimentary and not because they forgot your actual name.

“Good, then I can bring some to K and K while you help me with lunch. That’s why you came by, right?”

He nods. “Nearly noon.”

“That late already!” you say. Wow, staring at hot, sweaty men really makes time fly. “Alright, I was going to make chicken wraps and latkes. Could you start peeling potatoes? You know where everything is, da?”

“Da.” He clicks his tongue, luring Rasputin in and stirring Guy awake. “Come, малышу, before we leave you out here for vultures.”

“Nikto!” you scold. “Don’t threaten him.”

“I do not threaten. It is what will happen.”

You swat at his arm, but at least Little Guy has been lured into Nikto’s reach – if by nothing else than a hand has been offered and cats are helpless to resist a good sniff. Nikto scoops him up while you turn to flounce down the stairs.

“Make sure Susan doesn’t get out!” you call over your shoulder.

She was roused by your quick turnaround to get the juice cups and will certainly be stalking the door now.

Sure enough, you faintly hear him cursing in Russian as you reach the end of the yard. Luckily, you see him closing the door with all three of your demons inside, so you continue across the street.

Krueger hasn’t noticed your approach, his back to you, so you stop at the edge of the property to watch for a moment. Yep, just as good this close, too.

“Krueger!” you call. He doesn’t turn. You huff and try again. Nothing. Christ, you’re starting to think he’s ignoring you on purpose. “Sebastian!”

His head whips around alarmingly fast and finds you right there on the ground. No need to look around at all – sometimes they remind you of their profession in the oddest ways.

“Ja, ja, no need to shout,” he replies.

You open your mouth to do just that, but he’s already scaling down from the roof. You’re stunned into silence as he slides down to the edge of the roof, catches the edge, and swings down to the ground. Lands with barely more noise than one of your footsteps. It’s quick yet so graceful.

You stare (gawk, more accurately) as he saunters up, pants sinfully low on his narrow hips.

“What did you need, bienchen?” he asks. “It is too early for lunch.”

You stutter for a second before your brain reboots.

“What was that?!” you demand, a little shriller than necessary. If you don’t shriek about this, you’re going to shriek about that gorgeous chest and the tattoos and the everything else, and you absolutely cannot do that. “That was so dangerous! You’re going to break a leg!”

“You worry,” he scoffs. He shakes his head, but there’s a wicked, knowing grin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are far too bright. “That was a little jump.”

“It was not!”

“It only seemed big because you are so little, but it was nothing for me.”

“You’re not that much taller!”

“It is sweet to worry,” he coos, “but it is too hot for it, yes?”

You scrunch your nose at him, not sure if you’re annoyed or turned on or both. (Probably both. It’s annoying how hot he is. And how hot he knows he is.)

“If it’s so hot, then here.”

You all but shove the cup at him. He takes it with a flicker of genuine surprise, sniffs at the liquid, then takes a sip. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest, raises the temperature another few degrees.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he muses, expression softening. You blink, lean in automatically for a peck to your cheek. “Danke schön.”

“Bitte,” you mumble, mouth drier than Reggie’s garden.

His eyes crinkle, mouth hidden by the edge of the cup as he proceeds to chug the rest of it. A droplet slips down his jaw and skips down to his collarbone. You force your eyes away before you’re driven to do something irreparable by thirst.

“Is Konig inside?” you ask. “I have a cup for him, too.”

He grunts confirmation, tongue curling around a blueberry to coax it into his mouth.

Yep, alright, that’s about as much as you can take.

“Scooch, before the punch goes warm.”

“Punch?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what it’s called in English. Punch.”

“That seems like it would cause misunderstanding.” Except he’s grinning as he says it, like he cherishes the idea of someone confusing the two words and starting a fight. Considering how often you catch him and Konig smacking at each other, that’s probably not a stretch.

“Just please don’t swing on anyone, yeah?”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he croons.

You click your tongue at him. “Wipe off before going in, I don’t want Shithead to stink after crawling on you.”

He barks out his usual sharp laugh and tugs the cloth – his own t-shirt – off his head to mop up his sweat. You make a mental note to tease him about sunburn later as you slip past him.

You can hear Konig singing off-key upstairs when you open the door. The house is sweltering, only mildly cooler than outside with none of the fresh air. You grimace as you pause at the bottom of the stairs; the boys have warned you that it’s dangerous up there and it’s best not to go wandering.

Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he’s using power tools at the moment.

“Konig!” you call.

“Is that you, biene?” he calls back.

You grin. “Who else would it be, huh?”

You hear his footsteps right over your head, track his gait until the first heavy boot on the stairs. He meets you at the bottom with his usual ventilator on, but he tugs it down when he sees the cup in your hand.

“Is this for me?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep! Tell me what you think!”

With none of Nikto or Kreuger’s hesitation, he knocks back a big mouthful. Licks his full lips as he lowers it, eyes bright as they land on yours.

“This is perfect,” he chirps, “so refreshing! Thank you, biene!”

You beam right back, flushed with pride that all three of them liked the recipe you “happened to find” when you saw the temperature projections for today.

“There’s more back home,” you offer, “come out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I will wipe off first.”

You hum agreeably, watching him slip back upstairs with great enthusiasm. Konig in a tank top and those tight cargos… summer really is delivering this year.

That evening, you sigh as you recline across your huge bed, naked and cooling off with the night breeze rolling through your window. Ras and Shithead are happily distracted wrestling each other in your forgotten towel, and Little Guy is snoozing on his personal pillow.

You stretch out, feeling a bit decadent and indulgent with moonlight spilling over your body, and let your hands wander. It’s not the high-efficiency sleep-oriented wank you usually rush through, not this time.

You unspool memories of the day with each brush of your fingertips over moisturized skin. You hum as your skin tingles, imagining Konig’s calloused palms in place of yours. He’d be so surprisingly gentle, you’re sure. Big, strong hands but he’d play with you like a precious toy. Plucking your nipples and scratching his blunt nails over the plush of your hips.

As your breathing picks up, you see Krueger’s broad shoulders flexing behind your eyelids. Imagine them bullying between your thighs, hooking your knees over. That bright glint in his eye as he smirks against your cunt. Can practically feel the curl of his tongue around your clit, eating you out messy and mean.

You’re already halfway there when you curl two fingers into your pussy. You’re so wet that your fingers slip and slide, squelch lewdly as you rock your hips, trying to find just the right angle.

You imagine Nikto clicking his tongue at your struggle. Almost hear his low, hoarse voice chiding you for doing his job while he takes over. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, you have to press a third in just to maintain the fantasy.

You want to lean back against his broad chest while he strokes your walls, listen to him and Krueger and Konig talk about you like you’re not even there, debating if you should come. Ignore you as you beg and whimper, big hands pinning you down while they draw it out.

Please, please, please…

You clap a hand over your mouth just in time, hips jerking so hard that it makes your wrist ache.

Whoops.

Well, you doubt anyone heard. It’s pretty late, and you’re on the second story anyway.

Already sleepy, you’re too lazy to close the window after a pre-bed stop in the restroom. It’s such a nice night, after all.

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Masterlist

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ʙ ʟ ᴏ ᴏ ᴅ ʏ ʜ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wade notices you during a routine grocery run, of all places. You’re just minding your own business, deciding between two brands of pasta, when you laugh softly at a joke the store clerk makes. That laugh? It’s like Cupid’s arrow. Except Cupid’s been replaced by Deadpool, and instead of an arrow, he’s throwing knives.

At first, Wade convinces himself it’s just a harmless crush. "She’s just a cute, innocent civilian! Nothing to see here, folks!" But then you smile at him one day when he’s pretending to be lost in the store (he’s not lost, he’s following you), and that smile? Yeah, it’s burned into his brain like a bad tattoo. It’s over for him.

Obsession kicks in faster than a chimichanga order at his favorite food truck. Wade starts shadowing you. He calls it "protective surveillance." Others might call it stalking. To him, it’s romantic. He knows where you work, your favorite coffee order, your pet’s name, and, oh yeah, your emergency contact info because he’s totally hacked into your phone. "It’s not creepy if it’s for love, right?"

Wade leaves little “gifts” for you. At first, it’s innocent: a bouquet of flowers mysteriously delivered to your desk at work, with a card signed “Your Secret Admirer xoxo.” Then it escalates: tickets to your favorite band (how does he know??), a sweater in your exact size, and, uh…a suspiciously clean skull with a note: "He was thinking bad things about you. You’re welcome. Love, Wade. P.S. Hope you like bone décor!"

When you finally meet him in full Deadpool gear (because of course he crashes your evening walk to "rescue" you from a totally harmless raccoon), Wade is… well, Wade. He’s charming in that over-the-top, inappropriate way. He cracks jokes faster than you can process them, and you can’t decide if he’s insane, hilarious, or terrifying. (Spoiler: He’s all three.)

Wade doesn’t see himself as a villain in your story. He sees himself as your knight in bloody armor. He’s convinced the world is full of people who don’t appreciate you the way he does. He’s not above breaking into your apartment to leave notes of affirmation or making you dinner (which you find out about when you come home to a table set with candles and a smug Deadpool sitting in your chair). "I’m like Martha Stewart, but hotter, funnier, and with a body count!"

He adores you. Like, worships the ground you walk on. You are, in Wade’s mind, the single greatest thing that’s ever happened in his miserable life. He talks to himself (breaking fourth wall) about you constantly—sometimes out loud, even in public. "Did you see her today? She wore that cute little sweater I like. God, I’d kill for her. Wait, I already did! Add another tally to the scoreboard, baby!"

Wade is insanely jealous. He doesn’t see you as property, exactly—more like a priceless artifact that no one else should touch. If anyone flirts with you, they’re immediately labeled as “a problem.” And Wade? Wade solves problems. Permanently. Sometimes with a grenade.

Despite his insanity, Wade genuinely tries to make you happy. He tones down the murder (a little) when you make it clear you’re not into the whole “blood and guts” thing. He’ll still threaten anyone who looks at you wrong, but hey, progress, right?

Wade's softer side shines through in quiet moments. He’ll hold you close when you’re upset, whispering (weirdly comforting) jokes in your ear. He’ll memorize all your favorite things, so he can surprise you with them when you’ve had a bad day. He may be psychotic, but his love is as real as it gets.

But make no mistake: Wade will do anything to keep you by his side. He’ll manipulate, scheme, and murder his way through any obstacle standing between you and "happily ever after." And if you ever tried to leave him? Oh, honey. Don’t even think about it. "We’re meant to be together, Y/N. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like chimichangas and guac. Like…me and you. Forever. Whether you like it or not."

Obsessed Wade is intense. He’s equal parts terrifying and oddly endearing, which makes him a constant rollercoaster of chaos. At the end of the day, his love is as messy and unpredictable as he is—but hey, at least he’ll make sure you’re never bored.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us VI

Summary:

Things between Y.N and Aemond get tense as her due date approaches.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Fluff, Tension, Petty Disagreements, Frustration, Kissing, Allusion to Sex, Labour, Child Birth.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 4750

A.N - Took Inspiration from Friends (The one where Rachel is late).

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

As Y.N’s due date approached, the final weeks of her pregnancy were a flurry of last-minute preparations.

She and Aemond made multiple trips to baby stores, ticking off the remaining items on their list: tiny baby clothes, boxes of nappies, and, of course, the pram.

Aemond, for all his intelligence and competence in other areas, found himself stumped by the bloody contraption.

One evening, they stood in the living room as he tried to fold the pram down. Y.N. sat on the sofa, watching him with growing amusement.

"How do you manage this with just a few clicks?" Aemond grumbled, pressing buttons, pulling levers, but the pram remained stubbornly upright.

Y.N. laughed so hard she clutched her belly.

"It’s not that hard. Watch." She stood up and, with a few quick movements, had the pram folded and set aside.

Aemond stared at the pram, then at her, and back at the pram. "You’re mocking me," he muttered, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Seeing her joy, even at his expense, was worth the mild humiliation.

They also hosted Alicent for dinner one evening and she had practically melted at the sight of the nursery.

The soft, cream and blue décor, the dragon mobile, and the carefully arranged baby furniture brought a wide smile to her face.

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent said, her eyes bright with pride, “This is perfect. The baby will be so loved here.”

Meanwhile, Aemond had reluctantly resumed his game nights with Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena.

While he loved spending time with his siblings, Aegon’s constant teasing about Y.N. still irritated him to no end.

He was convinced that his brother harboured a playful, if not slightly serious, attraction to her.

The knowing looks Aegon would shoot him during the evenings, paired with the offhanded comments about how lucky Aemond was, drove him mad.

Yet, for Y.N.’s sake, he kept his cool—mostly.

Except for that one incident where he may or may not have accidentally on purpose shoved Aegon's head into the table when Y.N excused herself and went to the bathroom.

At home, Y.N. had taken time off from her job and settled into a comfortable routine as her pregnancy neared its end.

However, as she edged closer to 40 weeks, she grew increasingly frustrated.

"I feel like a balloon about to pop," she grumbled one evening, sprawled on the sofa while Aemond massaged her swollen feet.

Aemond, who was trying to remain calm on the outside but was secretly on pins and needles every day at work, nodded sympathetically.

"It’ll happen when the baby is ready," he said, though inside he was just as eager as she was.

Every time his phone buzzed during meetings, he found himself hoping it was her saying it was time, only to be met with disappointment.

He had taken to keeping his phone on the loudest setting, checking it obsessively, and texting her constantly to make sure she was alright.

Each day that passed without that long-awaited call made him more anxious.

The tension in the penthouse had been unbearable over the last few days. Y.N.’s growing discomfort and frustration with being overdue had turned every small annoyance into a full-blown argument.

Aemond, while trying to be as patient as possible, found himself at a loss. Everything he did seemed to irritate her.

If he tried to comfort her, she snapped. If he gave her space, she complained he was being distant. It was driving him insane, but he knew it wasn’t really her fault.

Their sex life had also dwindled into sparse encounters, because Y.N was getting too uncomfortable and Aemond was worried about hurting the baby, which Y.N took completely the wrong way and became convinced he was disgusted by her and she bawled her eyes out until he took her to bed and devoured her cunt like a starving man.

One night, things came to a head. After yet another disagreement, Y.N. stormed off to the spare room and slammed the door shut, refusing to speak to him for two days.

Aemond, for his part, left her alone, but the silence between them weighed heavily, filling the apartment with a tension that was almost suffocating.

He kept telling himself it was just the stress and hormones, but it didn’t make it any easier.

And neither did Aegon's closeness to Y.N, it would grate on Aemond consistantly, that he would bear the brunt of her frustration but Aegon would get the smiles and the joy when he would sneak her chilli cheese bites from Burger King or Hot Wings from KFC.

Even Daeron was granted her smiles but him nooooo he was only granted the version of her that resembled a man eating beast from those damn movies she liked so much.

Sometimes she would glare at him and Aemond was convinced that she was about to eat him alive.

The tension only grew worse when they attended her final midwife appointment. They sat in the examination room, the air thick with unspoken frustrations.

As they waited for the midwife, Marie, to arrive, Aemond began rhythmically tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Y.N. shot him a glare. “Tell me, Aemond, have you always been this irritating?” she snapped.

Aemond frowned, glancing over at her. "I'm not trying to irritate you."

"Well, I guess you just have a natural talent for it," she retorted, her voice sharp and biting.

Aemond sighed, leaning back in the chair. "You know, the midwife will be here soon. Maybe we shouldn’t speak until then."

Y.N. pulled a face, her irritation flaring even more. "Oh, okay then," she said mockingly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the room filled with palpable tension.

But Y.N., too restless to let it go, spoke up again.

"Seriously, Aemond, breathe louder. That’s great," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Aemond clenched his jaw, shooting her a look. "You know, we should probably ask the midwife if she even knows how to deliver a baby that’s half human and half pure evil."

Before Y.N. could respond, the door opened, and Marie entered the room, wearing her usual kind smile.

"Good morning, Marie! How are you?" Y.N. greeted her with a smile that was shockingly pleasant considering the argument she’d just been having.

Aemond shot her a sideways glance, his frustration bubbling over. "Oh, so you’re nice to her," he muttered darkly.

Y.N. rounded on him, her eyes flashing with irritation. "She has the drugs," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Marie, ever professional, pretended not to notice the exchange as she began her checkup.

"Alright, Y.N., let’s have a quick look," she said gently. Y.N. lay back on the examination table, opening her legs as Marie prepared for the exam.

"Eight days late now, huh? You must be getting pretty uncomfortable," Marie commented sympathetically.

Y.N. let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, just a bit," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Aemond scoffed beside her, but said nothing more.

Marie began the examination, then smiled up at them. "Well, you’re 80% effaced, so things are definitely progressing. But it could still take a little while longer," she explained. "If you’re feeling anxious, there are a few ways to help things along."

"Do them" Aemond blurted out, leaning forward.

The stress of the last few days, combined with his helplessness in this situation, was starting to show.

Marie gave him an understanding smile. "Actually, they’re things you can do at home. Some natural remedies that have been shown to be effective in helping labour along."

Y.N. nodded eagerly. "We’re ready to try anything," she said.

Marie began to list off the options. "Well, there’s an herbal tea you can try, eating spicy food, and taking long walks—"

"Great," Y.N. interrupted. "I’ll do those."

Marie smiled but hesitated for a moment before continuing. "However, there’s one remedy that’s proven to be most effective in encouraging labour-and that’s sex."

Y.N. looked at Aemond with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, but Aemond’s face immediately fell into a look of disbelief.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, rubbing his temple.

Aemond and Y.N sat in the penthouse, the dinner table littered with empty plates from what felt like the hundredth spicy meal they'd shared in hopes of triggering labour.

Y.N poked at her remaining enchilada, sighing in frustration.

"Aemond, we've tried all the spicy food. It's not working," she said, exasperated.

Aemond, ever determined, pushed a small plate toward her.

"Okay, how about one of these peppers? It’s supposed to be really hot." He sounded so sure of himself, as he picked on up and took a bite.

Gasping in surprise when the spice burnt his mouth.

Y.N looked at him, rolled her eyes, but took the pepper anyway, popping it into her mouth.

She chewed it with no visible reaction, much to Aemond’s disbelief.

His eye widened as he watched her, while he took a sip of water to cool his burning tongue.

"I feel nothing," she said, almost too casually, as Aemond continued to sip from his glass. Y.N then looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Speaking of hot, watching you struggle with that pepper really makes me want to have sex with you."

Aemond nearly choked on his water, setting the glass down with a thud.

"Stop it," he muttered, wiping his mouth.

"Oh, come on," Y.N teased. "Why are we wasting time with all this other stuff? We know what's going to work. It's midwife recommended."

"We have to have some boundaries," Aemond said sternly, his resolve trying to hold firm.

Y.N scoffed. "You didn’t care about boundaries when you were putting the baby in there." She crossed her arms and raised a brow at him.

Aemond shot her a look. "As I recall, you were also an active participant."

Y.N waved her hand dismissively. "That’s not the point, and you know it."

Aemond sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I’m not going to make love to you just so you’ll go into labour."

Y.N laughed loudly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Make love? What are you, a girl?"

"Always a great way to get into a man’s pants," Aemond muttered sarcastically, rolling his eye.

"No-come on wuss, make loooove to me" said Y.N smirking.

"Seriously-" exclaimed Aemond.

Y.N leaned forward, her voice dripping with humour. "Come on, just think of it as providing a service. Just think of me as a ketchup bottle—sometimes you’ve gotta bang on the end of it to get something out."

Aemond shot her a deadpan look, his voice flat. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Aemy-" Y.N whined, pouting a little as she leaned her elbows on the table. "I’m miserable here." She looked at him with wide eyes, batting her lashes playfully, and the use of her nickname for him weakened his resolve.

Aemond clenched his jaw. "You—what—never mind."

"What, Aemy? Are you not going to talk?" she teased, mockingly. "How on earth will you ever annoy me? Oh, wait a minute, I know—" She exaggerated her breathing, mimicking the way Aemond breathed loudly, then added with a smirk, "You’d think that damn pepper would’ve cleared your sinuses, but nooo-"

Before she could say anything more, Aemond lunged toward her, pulling her into a deep, heated kiss that took her by surprise.

Y.N blinked up at him, breathless. "What are you doing?"

He took her hand firmly, standing up and pulling her toward the bedroom, his face set with determination. "I’m getting that baby out of you."

Aemond was jolted awake by the sound of a pained cry and the sharp clatter of glass smashing. His heart pounded in his chest as he shot up in bed, immediately noticing that Y.N. wasn’t beside him.

Panic surged through him as he leapt out of bed, rushing toward the source of the noise.

Entering the kitchen, he found Y.N. hunched over, clutching the counter, her face twisted in pain. A shattered glass lay scattered across the floor.

"Y.N.?" he called out, his voice tight with concern.

She turned her head toward him, her face pale and strained. "I think it's time," she gasped before letting out another cry, her body wracked with pain.

Without hesitation, Aemond carefully made his way over, avoiding the broken glass, and gently took her hand. She clung to him, shaking as he helped move her away from the mess.

Y.N. suddenly gasped, looking down as a trickle of water began to run down her legs. Her wide eyes met his, fear and excitement swirling within them.

"It's definitely time," Aemond confirmed, trying to remain calm despite the rapid thudding of his heart.

"I need to get changed first," she whispered through laboured breaths.

Aemond helped her to the bedroom, supporting her as they slowly made their way across the penthouse.

He carefully dressed her in comfortable clothes, his fingers trembling as he moved. Then he quickly threw on jeans and a shirt, grabbing the suitcase Y.N. had packed weeks ago.

Just as they were about to leave, another contraction hit, and Y.N. cried out in pain, her hand clutching Aemond’s forearm tightly.

His heart ached at the sight of her discomfort, but he stayed steady, whispering reassurances.

"You're doing great. Just breathe," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

He grabbed his car keys, and together, they made their way out of the penthouse.

The drive to the hospital was agonizing for Aemond, though he tried his best to keep calm.

Every pained cry or sharp gasp from Y.N. made his hands tighten on the wheel, his heart clenching painfully.

He hated seeing her in so much discomfort, knowing there was little he could do but get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

Finally, they arrived. Aemond parked the car and immediately helped Y.N. inside, gripping her hand as she leaned on him for support.

He helped her check in at the front desk, and she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, her voice trembling.

"Please, don’t leave me," she whispered, her fear evident.

Aemond's heart clenched, and he pulled her closer, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "I won’t ever leave you. I promise."

"I-I'm sorry for being such a bitch to you"

"It's ok-it's all forgotten" replied Aemond.

As she was being checked over by the nurses, Aemond quickly sent off a text to his mother, letting her know that Y.N. was in labour.

He then shot off a quick message to Helaena, knowing she’d take care of informing Aegon and Daeron.

The moment he heard Y.N. calling for him, his phone was forgotten. He rushed back into the room, his heart pounding with urgency.

"I'm here," he said softly, taking her hand in his as he knelt beside her. "I’m not going anywhere."

Hours had passed, and the labour had intensified. Y.N was in agony as each contraction ripped through her body, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Aemond remained at her side the entire time, unable to bear seeing her like this. His heart ached with every pained cry she made.

He had lashed out at the midwives more than once, demanding they do something—anything—to help her.

But all they could do was reassure him that everything was progressing as it should.

Despite his own helpless frustration, Aemond never let go of Y.N's hand, even as she squeezed it with such force he was sure his bones would crack under the pressure.

But he would endure it without a second thought. Pressing kisses to her sweat-soaked forehead, he whispered constant encouragement, telling her to breathe, reminding her she was doing great.

And then, it was time to push.

Y.N cried out, her strength nearly spent. "I don’t know if I can keep doing this," she gasped, her voice trembling with exhaustion.

Aemond immediately leaned in, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice low but firm. "Yes, you can. You’re the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I can’t live without you." His words were filled with so much love and admiration that despite her pain, Y.N found the strength to push again.

The midwife, Marie, encouraged her as the baby’s head crowned. "Just one more, Y.N. You’re so close!"

With a final scream, Y.N pushed, and suddenly, the sound of a baby’s strong, healthy cries filled the room.

Aemond’s voice trembled as he whispered, "He’s here. Oh, gods, he’s here."

Y.N, exhausted, collapsed back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

But Aemond’s joyful cry brought her back. She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, her chest heaving as she took in the sight of their newborn son.

Aemond, eyes filled with unshed tears, helped her sit up, his hands trembling.

As Marie placed the squalling, wriggling newborn onto Y.N's chest, happy tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Oh, he’s so beautiful," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion as she gazed down at their son.

Aemond, who rarely allowed his emotions to show so openly, sobbed quietly as he stared at the tiny life they had created.

His eye was glued to the baby’s small, delicate features—his tiny hands, his soft, silver hair, and those piercing blue eyes.

"He looks just like you," Y.N said softly, running her fingers through the baby’s soft hair. She smiled up at Aemond, who was rendered speechless by the overwhelming love he felt.

His child. Their son.

Marie gently asked, "Does he have a name?"

Y.N nodded, her voice filled with pride and love. "Jack Aemond Targaryen."

As the midwife, Marie, finished wrapping up baby Jack in a soft blanket, she turned to Aemond and asked, "Would you like to hold your son?"

Aemond froze, panic flashing in his eye. "I-I've never held a baby before."

Marie smiled reassuringly. "Don’t worry, I’ll show you how." With practiced hands, she gently placed Jack into Aemond’s arms, guiding him on how to support his tiny head.

Slowly, Aemond’s tension melted as he adjusted, the weight of his son both heavy with responsibility and light as a feather.

Before he knew it, Aemond was grinning, a quiet, proud smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at his son. Jack squirmed slightly but remained peaceful in his arms, so small and perfect.

Aemond's chest tightened with an overwhelming rush of emotion. The world around him seemed to blur, everything else vanishing as he stared at the life he had helped create.

As the midwives began tending to Y.N and the afterbirth, Aemond remained mesmerized by his son. The reality of fatherhood hit him hard in this quiet moment.

When Y.N had first told him she was pregnant, he had offered his support immediately, without hesitation. But deep down, he’d been terrified. His own father had been distant, cold—an example of everything a father shouldn’t be.

Aemond had no idea how to be a good father, how to give his son the love and care he deserved.

But now, holding Jack in his arms, a surge of love, unlike anything he had ever felt, filled him. He vowed silently, with everything in him, that his son would never feel the same isolation and neglect that he had experienced.

Jack would always know he was loved, that Aemond was there for him in every way. He would give his son the attention and affection that he himself had longed for.

Once Y.N had been helped and everything was sorted, Marie mentioned she could take a shower to freshen up.

Aemond carefully placed Jack in his cot and immediately went to help Y.N. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, the exhaustion of labour evident, so Aemond stayed close, supporting her as they made their way to the bathroom.

He washed her hair gently, his hands tender as he helped her clean up, mindful of her every movement.

She had already started bleeding, so he helped her with the pad and assisted in getting her dressed.

When they returned, he had pulled a few strings and arranged for Y.N. to have a private room.

Once she was comfortable and laid in bed, Aemond couldn’t resist stroking her cheek. He leaned down and kissed her, soft and full of love.

Y.N's fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, and she whispered, "You keep kissing me."

Aemond pulled back slightly, worry creeping in. Was he pushing too much? Overwhelming her with affection when she might need space?

"Do you-want me to stop?" he asked, his voice careful, trying to hide his uncertainty.

Y.N’s fingers brushed over her lips, and she quickly replied, "No."

A wide smile broke across Aemond's face, his relief and happiness palpable. "I'm happy, Y.N. So happy."

She touched his face, her eyes soft and filled with emotion. "So am I."

This was it—the moment he had been waiting for. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep breath.

Now or never. He leaned closer, his heart swelling with emotion. "I-I want to tell you that I lov—"

Before the words could leave his lips, the door burst open. Aegon strutted in, followed closely by Alicent, Daeron, and Helaena.

Aemond bit back a groan, his moment lost as his family swarmed into the room.

Alicent’s face lit up with joy as she carefully took Jack into her arms for the first time. Her eyes softened as she gazed down at her first grandchild, her smile tender and full of love.

"Oh, he's beautiful," she whispered. She gently rocked him, her heart swelling as she savoured the moment. “What’s his name?”

Aemond, standing proudly beside Y.N’s bed, smiled and said, “Jack.”

Alicent raised her brows slightly, surprised. “Jack? It’s not very Targaryen,” she remarked, though her tone was more curious than critical.

Aemond nodded. “It’s in honour of Y.N’s grandfather.”

At that, Alicent’s face softened even more. She nodded approvingly, clearly touched by the gesture.

"That's lovely," she said, staring down at her grandson with pride and affection.

Of course, Aegon couldn’t resist making his presence known. “So, Y.N.,” he asked with a mischievous grin, “how much did it hurt?”

Y.N. narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed. “How about I kick you in the balls, and then you’ll have an idea?”

Aegon grimaced, backing off slightly as Daeron burst into laughter. “She’s got you there,” Daeron teased, clapping Aegon on the back.

Meanwhile, Helaena stood nearby, completely mesmerized by her tiny nephew. She leaned in, peering at him with wide, curious eyes. “He’s so perfect,” she murmured, utterly enamoured.

Suddenly, Jack began to cry, his small face scrunching up as the sound filled the room.

Alicent chuckled softly. “Sounds like someone is hungry,” she said as she carefully handed him back to Y.N.

Y.N. exposed her breast and gently guided Jack to latch on, and he began to nurse immediately, his cries fading.

A moment of quiet awe fell over the room as they watched the newborn find comfort in his mother’s arms.

Daeron shook his head in disbelief, glancing over at Aemond. “I still can’t believe you’re a dad,” he said, smiling.

Aemond, beaming with pride, hugged his younger brother. “Neither can I,” he admitted, his voice full of wonder.

Aegon, true to form, was less subtle. His attention was quickly drawn to Y.N. breastfeeding. “Whoa, look at him go. He’s definitely your kid, Aemond.”

Without missing a beat, Aemond slapped Aegon on the back of the head. “Don’t look at her breast, you pervert.”

Aegon shrugged, rubbing his head. “It was an accident.”

Aemond, his patience wearing thin, glared at him. “Get the fuck out,” he demanded.

Leaning over, Aegon pressed a soft kiss to Y.N.’s forehead. “I’ll come back soon.”

Y.N., still nursing Jack, smiled up at him and said, “Can you bring me a chocolate bar and some Lucozade when you do?”

 “Anything for you, Y.N.,” said Aegon with a cheeky grin as he sauntered out of the room, completely ignoring Aemond’s death glare.

As Aegon left, Daeron leaned in and whispered to Aemond, “He’s doing it on purpose. Ignore him, and he’ll give up.”

Aemond huffed. “He’ll give up when my fist is in his face.”

Y.N. suddenly yawned, exhausted from the day’s events. Noticing, Aemond turned to the others. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one day. It’s time for Y.N. to rest.”

Alicent leaned over and kissed Y.N. gently on the cheek. “You did so well, my dear. Rest now,” she said softly.

Helaena smiled warmly. “I’ll make some meals for you both, so you won’t have to worry about cooking once you’re home.”

Aemond nodded in gratitude as Daeron gave him a firm clap on the back.

“Take care of her and the little one,” Daeron said, waving goodbye to Y.N. as the family made their way out.

After Jack finished nursing, Aemond carefully lifted him to rub his back, gently patting until the baby let out a small burp.

Smiling, Aemond placed him in the little cot beside Y.N. and tucked him in under the soft blanket Helaena had made.

Y.N., exhausted but happy, looked at Aemond. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

Aemond nodded immediately. “Of course.”

He sat beside her, taking her hand in his, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over him.

He glanced down at their sleeping son, so small and perfect, and then over to Y.N., who had already begun to drift off, her breathing steady and calm.

Aemond smiled to himself, squeezing her hand gently, thinking how lucky he was to have both of them in his life.

Aemond hurried back to the penthouse, his mind still swirling with the overwhelming realization that he was now a father.

He moved almost on autopilot as he showered and changed into fresh clothes, but the feeling of awe and disbelief remained.

He had a son. His son. It felt surreal.

As he was about to leave for the hospital, he decided to stop by a florist and picked up a bouquet of sunflowers—Y.N.’s favourite.

He wanted to make her smile, to show her how much she meant to him, especially after everything she'd just gone through.

Returning to the hospital, Aemond's good mood evaporated the moment he walked into the room and saw Aegon sitting beside the bed, holding Jack. His brows furrowed as he asked, “Where is Y.N.?”

Aegon, lounging comfortably, glanced up with a grin. “She’s just nipped for a shower. She asked me to watch Jack. Is that okay with you?” he added with a slightly cheeky tone, knowing it would irk Aemond.

Aemond narrowed his eye but sighed. “I suppose so.”

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Y.N. appeared, looking refreshed in clean pyjamas, her hair wrapped in a towel.

A bright smile crossed her face when she saw Aemond standing there. “Oh, you’re back!” she said warmly, walking over to him.

Aemond wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for a soft kiss.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her lips before handing her the sunflowers.

Y.N.’s face lit up as she took the flowers. “They’re beautiful. I love them. Thank you,” she said, kissing him again.

Aemond, still basking in her smile, then turned his attention to Jack. He took the baby from Aegon, holding his son close to his chest, instantly feeling that surge of love again as he stared at the tiny face nestled in his arms.

Meanwhile, Aegon reached for a small carrier bag sitting next to him. “Oh, by the way, I got you something,” he said, handing it to Y.N.

She peeked inside and immediately let out a squeal of excitement. “A chocolate bar and Lucozade!”

She hugged Aegon in appreciation before eagerly unwrapping the chocolate and taking a big bite. “You have no idea how much I needed this,” she sighed contentedly.

Aemond watched with a small smile but raised an eyebrow when Y.N. turned to him with more news. “Oh, while you were gone, the midwives said I could go home.”

His smile faded slightly with concern. “Already? Isn’t it a little too soon?”

Y.N. shook her head. “I’d much rather be at home. We can start getting Jack into a routine, and I’ll be more comfortable there.”

Aemond considered it for a moment before nodding. It did make sense. He wanted them home, too—where he could make sure both Y.N. and Jack had everything they needed. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Aegon piped up then, smirking. “I’ll give you guys a hand.”

Aemond shot him a look. “I’m more than capable of handling it.”

Aegon held up his hands in mock surrender. “I know, but if you’re carrying Jack, you can’t expect Y.N. to carry her suitcase after just having a baby.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, annoyed but unable to argue. Aegon was right.

Before he could reply, the midwife entered the room with a smile and a folder of paperwork. “I’ve got your discharge papers here,” she said, glancing at Y.N. and then Jack.

Aemond sighed, knowing that Aegon’s presence would continue to irritate him, but he focused on the positive—his family was going home, and that was what mattered most.

TBC

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 7

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean… 

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you. 

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.  

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began. 

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss. 

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch. 

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit bigger than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought. 

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You pushed at the center of his chest so he'd let you sit up, so you could lean down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you soothed warm hands along his thighs. Then you took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around for your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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[myillicitaffair]

One of your girls part two | Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: after a fateful outcome, Carlos wants to fix what he unintentionally broke.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, angst, alcohol consumption, dirty dancing, small description of throwing up, cheating, mentions of sex, messed up dynamics, slight swearing.

Notes: second part of this fic. i also wanted to say i’m currently taking request, to anyone who might be interested xx.

Credits: the gif used belongs to @neymarhamilton ‘s tumblr account, so all credits belong to them. this part, just like the one before, is inspired by the song “one of your girls” by Troye Sivan.

1.8k

SIX MONTHS AGO:

A chilly night welcomes my friend group as we make our way through a prestigious and crowded restaurant situated in the heart of Madrid.

Being born and raised in Spain´s capital city, the girls now walking into the facilities have been by my side my whole life; faith brought us together our first day of school, just three frightened little kids trying to survive elementary.

I like to believe that we complement each other, even if we hadn´t met all those years ago, life would have found a way to connect us.

A girl’s night out is a rare occurrence between us; always being on the shy side, we very much prefer staying in, drowning ourselves in sweet treats while marathoning our comfort romcoms.

The reason why we´re summoned tonight is quite simple… my very first broken heart.

You see, in an attempt to lighten the mood, my friends brought us to an extremely exclusive eatery, one where we clearly didn´t fit in. The difference was quite notorious, surrounded by leggy models and their handsome companions, I quite frankly begin to wonder why I ever agreed.

With a deep breath, I straighten my back and let the hostess remove my coat. “In for a penny, in for a pound” I think with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

As we´re carried to our spot, I try and take the essence of the place in. I start noticing its eccentric décor, dim lights brightening the burgundy walls, leather booths scattered all over the classy tile floor.

What makes an ordinary dinner such a big success? Its bizarre modality.

Our table is filled with strangers, completely engulfed in their different conversations. The main reason for my friends to take us to this unconventional location was exactly this; the inexorable need to engage in conversations with foreign people.

The first round of dirty martinis arrives as the last costumers take their places next to me, with a lousy cheer I pour the drink down my throat, feeling its pleasant burning down my body, warming me up, making me forget.

“Easy there tiger”- the man sited by my side chuckles, gesturing towards my empty glass.

I take a moment to wander across his features. Thick eyebrows, big brown eyes, plump lips. Definitely attractive, exactly what I need.

A smile creeps up my face, the wires in my brain getting to work.

I notice an elegantly worn designer shirt hugging his chest, his forearms resting against the wooden surface, his attentive stare trying to read my thoughts.

“And you are?”- I condescendingly tease him.

“Carlos”- his hand travels to mine, embracing me with his warm- “Carlos Sainz.”

The subtle body hair covering his fist tickling my naked skin, igniting a fire deep inside me.

And in that moment, I simply knew there was no getting out, not anybody else as long as he kept staring at me like this, eating me raw with his gaze.

That was the first night I ever came back home with him.

————

FOUR MONTHS AGO:

Carlos is away for the weekend, oceans separating us, palpable distance every time he races through my mind.

I try convincing myself It’s the sex I miss, the obvious physical attraction, the invisible force that pulls us towards the other, the feeling of his warm skin being impossibly closer to mine.

Truth being told, I’m sitting immovable on my bed, nervously waiting for a call.

I can’t help but recall his soft locks intertwined with my fingers, his tongue inching towards my neck, how he never fails to make my blood boil with a simple grin.

My phone brings me out of my daydreams, screaming for attention as a call enters it. His name glistening on the screen, filling me with pure bliss and forcing me to hold my giggles.

Acting like a schoolgirl with a crush while being a full-grown adult… how pathetic!

Two rings go by before i pick up, bitting my bottom lip to keep my voice calm as if I wasn’t desperately clinging to it seconds ago.

“Gorgeous, you got a minute to spare?”- he asks, clear amusement in his tone, abusing the charm he knows he has.

“That depends, Carlos, who’s asking?”

I’m gobsmacked at how composed I sound, nowhere near how I actually feel.

My knuckles turn white from grasping my sheets.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you miss me”- his smile visible through his speech.

My heart skips a beat, can his words be revealing my true feelings?

“Oh honey, keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night…”

I’m met with his scandalous laugh filling the line, raising my pulse until it’s beating on my ears.

Everything stops, everything keeps going.

I close my eyes in acknowledgement, being forced to admit what i’ve been denying ever since I met him.

Oh, how screwed I am!

———

TWO MONTHS AGO:

The music rumbles at the disco, throbbing on my skin with its intensity.

Being dragged to a hip party, my friends and I are bundled up in the comfort of our own group, dancing between ourselves.

As I rock my body to meet the pulsating rhythm, I embrace Carlos’s presence behind me, tightly grabbing my waggling hips.

He presses himself into me and I rub against his growing erection, purposely torturing him. His kisses start straying while sucking visible red marks into my neck.

His penetrating cologne invades my nostrils, clinging into my bare skin like a golden tattoo.

The mix of the alcohol I insisted on chugging and his hands shaping my whole body becoming intoxicating.

A foreign touch on my shoulder makes me open my eyes, leaving me to face my friend staring at me like i’ve grown a second head.

“You’re coming with me”- she pronounces as she drags me away from Carlos, who snorts in disbelief.

“What? Why?”- I ask as i’m forced to take a seat at the bar.

“Have you gone mad? You two were literally dry humping each other in the middle of the crowd!”- She hisses worriedly, forcing me to drink the water bottle she bought for me.

As she sits next to me, I prepare myself for the lecture she’s about to impart me, letting my eyes wonder across the dance floor.

I catch a glimpse of Carlos standing against a wall, hemmed by complete darkness, sometimes interrupted by one of the dj's lights.

When the spotlight lands on him, I start noticing the delicate hands hugging his broad shoulders, the almost nonexistent distance between him and the blonde caressing his cheeks.

Bile climbs up my throat, threatening to be ejected thanks to the scene before me.

Her lips all over his neck, staining the collar of his white shirt with lipstick.

Realizing i’m not paying an iota of attention to her, my friends follows my gaze stumbling across the sequence.

Effortlessly, she yanks me away from the enclosed space and into the garden.

Without being able to stop myself, I empty the contents of my stomach into the ground, constantly replaying the flashbacks of their sensual dance.

“Everything’s okay now, love”- My friend states while caressing my tangled up hair. Her fingertips come into contact with my cheeks, brushing my tears away.

Sobs are quick to scape my lungs, becoming more and more erratic as I imagine the second by second unfolding inside the disco.

———

PRESENT:

After running away from Carlos’s house, in the middle of a Madrilenian night, I’m fast to hide into the loneliness of my apartment.

I can’t even find comfort in blaming him as I was the one to agree with our “no exclusivity policy”, believing I could make it work.

How stupid of me to think I would be capable of not being trapped into his nets.

Clearly the only solution I can possibly come up with is crying it out, and that’s how I found myself in this situation; puffy eyes, completely ruined mascara, quivering eyes from shedding way too many tears.

Could I have been more stupid? I can’t even resonate one good reason why I would ever accept what he’s willing to offer me while wanting him in his entirety.

My determination is easily devastated as desperate fists bang against my door.

“Please, open up”- A too familiar voice implores from outside the apartment.

“I don’t ever wanna see you again”- I manage to scream through whimpers.

“I beg of you, please let me in! I swear I can explain.”

Standing right on the other side of the door, I feel my hand toying with the doorknob, trying to determinate whether or not to listen to his pleas.

“There’s nothing to explain, Carlos!”- I say, above a whisper, my voice to fragile for anything else.

“There’s been a while since i’ve been with anyone else, alright? Not since all I could think about was you!”

An unbreakable silence fills the hallways of the building, only the sound of his pantings and heavy breathing interrupting the stillness.

Without much hesitation, I open the hinges separating us.

Clearly, I was nowhere near prepared for the view before me; his full brown eyes now shimmering with unshed orbs, accumulated in his tear ducts.

“How about the girl from the voicemail?”- I ask, almost scared to find out this is all a product of my imagination.

“I know what that seemed like, but I promise you it’s not what you think!”- he says, piercing me with his gaze- “That was my ex girlfriend. She has a hard time letting go of me, even though there’s been more than a year since we’ve last been together. I never answer her calls and that’s why she’s getting more and more desesperate.”

Everything around me stops just to listen to his next words, my heart betting so out of control he might even hear it.

“Back at my apartment you told me you were enamored by me, well, there’s no use in trying to deny i’m in love with you”- he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear- “so much it’s physically painful, it’s all I can think about.”

My brain turned into mush as his confession sinks in. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the idea seems to me; the man I love, probably the only one i’ll ever love, stating that my feelings are reciprocate.

A sigh leaves my parted lips as a quiet tear runs down my face.

“I know i’ve made my mistakes and believe me when I say i’ll regret them every minute i’m on this earth, but I promise you, that if you give me the chance, i’ll make it up to you until my dying breath”- his voice sounds shaky, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of him.

I don’t think I ever reacted as fast as now, jumping into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso. Little giggles leave both of our mouths at the ridiculous situation.

“I love you”- He murmurs, muffled by the kisses he’s pressing against my checks.

“I love you too”- I answer back, with our bodies still entwined.

[maomiscorner]

Seaside Serenade

Background: You and Jake are in a lovely relationship, right now you’re on a vacation in Australia and he organized a date for you at a fancy restaurant with a surprise.

Pairing: bf!Jake x f!reader

You two were ready to go, both dressed impeccably. He chose a refined local spot for the evening, and you could tell by his look that this night was special.

Jake: "Ready to go, my lady?" He pushed himself up from the sofa, smoothing his jacket before offering you his arm.

You: "Yes, love," you replied with a chuckle, slipping your arm through his, feeling the warmth and excitement building as you both stepped out of the house.

Jake gave you a soft smile, clearly enjoying your playful response. "Good. Let’s go and make everyone jealous tonight," he teased, glancing at you with a gleam in his eye.

He led you to his car, opening the passenger door like a true gentleman, waiting for you to settle in before joining you inside. The car smelled of his cologne—something you always loved.

Jake: "After our dinner, I have a surprise for you," he said casually, but the grin on his face told you it was something special.

Your eyes widened in excitement. "A surprise for me??" you gasped, leaning towards him.

Jake chuckled, amused by your reaction. "Yeah, but you'll have to wait until after dinner. Patience, love," he said, his voice teasing but kind.

You huffed with a playful smile. "Fine, I’ll wait," you replied, feeling the anticipation build.

Soon, the car arrived at the restaurant. The exterior had a sleek, modern design, with dim lighting that made the atmosphere intimate and stylish. Inside, the décor was minimalist but elegant, with muted tones and tasteful accents that spoke of understated luxury. You were impressed.

"Wow, it’s so classy," you murmured as you glanced around.

Jake smiled, pleased. "Only the best for you."

Jake nodded in agreement as they entered the restaurant, taking in the elegant atmosphere. 

The low lighting and soft music gave the place an air of sophistication.

Jake: "Yeah, this place is really nice. They have some of the best meat around too. I come here often," he said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride as he guided you through the chic interior.

He led you to your table, pulling out a chair with a smooth motion, waiting patiently as you seated yourself.

"Thank you, Yunie," you said with a playful smile, calling him by the nickname you knew he secretly loved.

Jake chuckled at the sound of it, shaking his head slightly but grinning. "You're welcome, love," he said warmly as he took his own seat across from you. 

Jake: "Now, what are you thinking of ordering? They've got pretty much everything here."

You let out a soft laugh. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never been to an Australian restaurant before," you admitted, just as the waiter arrived with the menus.

Jake chuckled along with you, clearly enjoying your lightheartedness. "No worries, I’ll help you pick," he offered, already glancing at the menu like someone who knew what to expect.

They soon placed their order, and as you waited, the conversation flowed easily between you two. Jake's occasional glances in your direction were filled with warmth, the dim lighting reflecting off your features in a way that made his heart swell with affection.

While you looked around the local you felt his eyes on yours as you looked back at him smiling: "Am I too stunning for you?"

Jake chuckled, slightly embarrassed but clearly amused by your comment. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm.

Jake: "You could say that. You just look so pretty tonight, love. It's hard to take my eyes off of you."

You smiled shyly, glancing down before looking back at him. "Well, I could say the same to you. You're the hottest one here," you teased with a wink.

He grinned, reaching across the table to gently take your hand, his thumb tracing soft circles on your skin. The simple touch made your heart flutter as you both continued your conversation, laughing and sharing stories until the waiter arrived with your meals.

Jake smiled in anticipation as the plates were placed in front of you.

Jake: "Finally, the best part of the night," he said with a grin, cutting a piece of the steak and savoring the first bite. His eyes closed in satisfaction.

Jake: "Mmm, perfect. Just like I remembered."

You chuckled, cutting your piece of the steak and tasting it. "Oh gosh, I agree. This is amazing," you said, smiling at the rich flavor.

Jake laughed softly, noticing the content expression on your face.

Jake: "Told you they have good meat here," he said proudly, continuing to eat. Every so often, he stole glances at you, clearly enjoying the sight of you appreciating the meal as much as he did.

You chuckled as you finished the last bite of your meal. "Well, my man, I'm full and happy now," you said with a satisfied grin.

Jake smiled, clearly pleased to see you so content.

Jake: "Good, that’s all that matters. I’m happy you enjoyed the meal, love," he said warmly, finishing his own plate before signaling the waiter for the check.

Jake: "Ready for the surprise now?" he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, right!" you exclaimed, the excitement bubbling up as you both left the restaurant and got into the car. Once seated, Jake turned to you with a playful smirk and carefully placed a blindfold over your eyes.

Jake chuckled at your eagerness, securing the blindfold snugly.

Jake: "No peeking now, love. It’s a surprise for a reason."

You laughed, feeling a mix of anticipation and curiosity as the car pulled out of the parking lot. "You’re not gonna kill me, right?" you joked, your tone light.

Jake laughed, clearly amused by your humor.

Jake: "No, love, I’m not going to kill you. Though… the fear in your voice is kinda turning me on right now," he teased, glancing at you with a mischievous smile as he continued driving.

You shook your head, still blindfolded, with a smile on your face.

Jake chuckled at your reaction, loving how playful you could be.

Jake: "Just relax, love. You’re going to love this surprise, I promise."

He drove for a few more minutes, the car eventually slowing to a stop. You could feel the excitement growing, unsure of what to expect.

Jake: "We’re here. Keep the blindfold on, I’ll help you out of the car," he said as he stepped out, walking over to your side and opening the door for you.

You stepped out of the car with Jake's help, carefully navigating your way while still blindfolded. You felt him leave your side briefly, hearing the sound of the back door opening and closing as he retrieved something from the backseat.

Jake: "Alright, love, hold on to my arm. I’ll help you walk," he said softly, taking your hand gently in his. He led you forward, and as you moved, you could hear the sound of waves growing louder in the distance.

You: "Is this... sand? What the—?" you exclaimed, suddenly feeling the unstable ground beneath your heels. Instinctively, you wrapped your arm tightly around his waist, leaning on him for balance.

Jake chuckled, clearly amused by your struggle.

Jake: "Yeah, we’re on the beach. Careful with your heels, love, we're almost there."

You held onto him tightly as he guided you across the sand, your steps slower but steady as you felt the uneven ground shifting beneath your feet.

"Oh my gosh, the sea!" you gasped, still blindfolded. "It's been years since I’ve seen it!"

Jake smiled, enjoying your excitement as he gently brought you to a stop.

Jake: "Well, you're about to see it again. But keep the blindfold on just a little longer," he teased, his voice warm.

You could hear the soft rustling sound as he spread something on the sand. Then, he gently stood behind you, his hands lightly resting on your shoulders. Slowly, he let the blindfold fall from your eyes.

You gasped. The sight in front of you was breathtaking. The entire beach was bathed in the deep orange glow of the setting sun, the horizon ablaze with brilliant shades of gold and crimson. The ocean shimmered under the light, and the vastness of it all made your heart swell.

"It's so pretty... oh my Gosh," you whispered, unable to take your eyes off the sunset.

Jake smiled, pleased with your reaction.

Jake: "Beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist and pulling you closer.

Jake: "I thought you'd like this surprise, love."

Your excitement bubbled over, and you hugged him tightly, your heart full of affection. "Oh my Gosh, I love it! I love you! I love everything!" you exclaimed, practically squeezing him with joy.

Jake chuckled at your sudden outburst, enjoying your enthusiasm as he returned the hug.

Jake: "Whoa there, easy honey. I love you too," he said, holding you close, both of you soaking in the beauty of the moment.

Jake: "I'm glad you love it. And for the record, I love you more," he added, grinning.

You chuckled at his playful comment, then glanced down, noticing the blanket spread out on the sand. "So this is what you took out from the backseat, huh?" you teased, nudging him gently.

Jake laughed.

Jake: "Yeah, I figured we could sit and watch the sunset. It’s a lot more comfortable than sitting directly on the sand."

He released you from the embrace, taking a seat on the blanket before patting the spot next to him.

Jake: "Come join me, love."

He reached out and gently pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side. Feeling the warmth of his embrace, you moved even closer, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"You make me so happy," you whispered, your voice full of affection as you side-hugged him, cuddling together while the vibrant sunset stretched out before you.

Jake smiled, his heart swelling at your tender gesture. He loved having you this close, feeling your warmth next to him.

Jake: "You make me happy too, love. I love seeing you like this, relaxed and just enjoying the moment," he said softly, holding you tighter. His gaze shifted from the sunset to you, admiring how the orange glow of the setting sun illuminated your features.

After a few peaceful minutes, you stood up, gently letting go of him. With a playful smile, you offered him your hand.

Jake raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by your sudden move, but he took your hand and stood up with you.

Jake: "Where are we going, love?" he asked curiously, brushing some sand off his pants with one hand while still holding yours tightly with the other.

Without answering, you kicked off your heels, the cool sand beneath your feet urging you forward as you started heading toward the sea.

Jake, smiling, followed suit, taking off his shoes and walking alongside you.

Jake: "Alright, love, you’re full of surprises tonight," he chuckled, matching your steps as you both approached the water.

A small squeal escaped your lips when the cold water lapped at your feet, sending a shiver through you. You looked back at him, smiling like a fool, your joy and excitement radiating in every expression.

Jake couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction, your playful energy was completely contagious.

Jake playfully splashed a bit of water on you, unable to resist your infectious happiness.

You gasped trying to dodge it but it caught you, "You-", you bent down and splashed him too.

Jake chuckled as the water splashed against him.

Jake: "Oh, it's on now."

He playfully splashed you back, a competitive spark lighting up his eyes. After some playful splashing, you moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him closer.

"I love you so much," you whispered, your voice soft but full of emotion.

Jake’s playful demeanor softened at your words, the atmosphere shifting to something more intimate.

Jake: "I love you too, love. More than you know," he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours. His hands found their way to your hips as you stood chest to chest in the shallow water.

The last rays of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon, leaving the faint glow of the moon and stars above you both.

Jake: "You're beautiful, you know that?" His voice was low and affectionate, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every detail.

You smiled softly and rose on your tiptoes to kiss him. Jake’s smile grew as his eyes sparkled under the moonlit sky. He leaned down just enough to meet your lips in a sweet, gentle kiss. One of his hands slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you closer as you stood together in the cool water.

You hummed softly into the kiss, feeling a slight chill from the breeze.

Jake could feel you shiver against him, and he instinctively pulled away from the kiss, though his hand stayed on your back, gently rubbing circles to warm you.

Jake: "Are you cold, love?" he asked softly.

You: "Just a little," you admitted, wrapping your arms around him, trying to soak up the warmth from his body.

Jake teased you with a playful grin, pulling you even closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you to share his warmth.

You chuckled, lifting your head to gaze up at the stars.

Jake: "The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?"

You smiled, teasing him as you replied, "Just like you," stopping him from finishing the cheesy line.

Jake turned back to you, a smile spreading across his face as his hand gently caressed your side.

You smiled back at him, the cool wind brushing through your hair, sending strands flowing in the breeze.

Jake noticed how the wind played with your hair, the strands dancing in the moonlight.

Jake: "You know, you look pretty damn adorable when the wind blows your hair like that," he said, grinning as he gently brushed a stray strand away from your face.

After Jake’s compliment, you both shared a warm smile, feeling the connection between you grow even stronger. The wind gently tousled your hair, adding to the magic of the moment.

Jake: "Let’s head over to the blanket," he suggested, taking your hand and leading you back to the spot he’d prepared earlier.

You nodded, following him as you walked back to the blanket spread out on the sand. The stars above twinkled brightly, and the gentle sound of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack.

Jake helped you settle onto the blanket before sitting down beside you ensuring you were cozy and comfortable.

Jake: "There we go. Now we can enjoy the stars in comfort," he said, his voice soft and content as he lay back on the blanket, pulling you with him so you were nestled close to his side.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. Together, you looked up at the night sky, the vast expanse filled with countless stars.

Jake: "It’s amazing, isn’t it? How small we are compared to all this," he said quietly, his eyes roaming the star-studded sky.

You sighed contentedly, feeling the peacefulness of the moment.

You: "Yeah, it really puts things into perspective. But right now, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

Jake smiled his arm around you tightening slightly as he kissed the top of your head.

Jake: "Me neither, love. This is perfect."

[keithpaladin05]

stolas x reader in which the reader is a lower class demon who isn’t used to all the fancy stuff stolas has and gets frustrated with all the magic

YESSSS OFC LOVE! STOLAS IS MY BABY I WILL PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS 💕💕💕

A Little Magic, A Lot of Heart

You had never seen anything quite like it. The palace was a magnificent labyrinth of opulence and extravagance, a far cry from the dingy, cramped quarters you were used to. From the marble floors that gleamed with an otherworldly sheen to the ornate, magical chandeliers that floated above, the palace was a testament to a world you had only glimpsed in fleeting, envious glances.

You were a lower-class demon, accustomed to the simple and often shabby accommodations of the underbelly of Hell. But here, everything was over the top, from the celestial décor to the glittering spells that adorned every corner. You had been invited by none other than Stolas, the powerful and illustrious Goetia prince, for what was supposed to be a simple dinner. However, navigating this world of magic and grandeur had proven to be anything but simple.

"Could you please help me with this?" you called out in frustration, struggling to hold onto the floating napkin that refused to stay in place as it danced around your head like an uncooperative butterfly.

Stolas, perched elegantly on his gilded throne with a bemused expression, flicked his wrist casually. The napkin stilled and gently floated down to your hand, neatly folded as if it had never been a nuisance. His eyes, the deep crimson of a setting sun, twinkled with amusement.

“Ah, it appears the magic is giving you trouble,” Stolas said, his voice a melodious blend of sympathy and mirth. He glided over to you with a grace that made even the air around him seem to sparkle.

You huffed, trying to mask your embarrassment with a scowl. “It’s not just the napkin. It’s everything! I can’t seem to get a handle on any of this magic stuff. It’s like it has a mind of its own.”

Stolas chuckled softly, a sound that felt like a warm embrace. “Indeed, the magic in this palace can be a bit temperamental. It does have its whims and fancies, much like its master.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at his playful self-deprecation. “Is there a way to make it just… normal? You know, like regular objects that don’t float around or change color?”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Stolas teased, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Magic is meant to be enjoyed, not just tamed. But if you prefer simplicity, I can arrange for that.”

He raised his hand, and with a swift motion, the magic around you began to settle. The napkin rested calmly in your hand, the floating candles stopped their erratic dances, and even the walls seemed to quiet down, their vibrant hues softening.

“There,” Stolas said with a satisfied nod. “A touch of normalcy for your ease. Though I must admit, I do enjoy the way you handle these challenges. It’s quite charming.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his compliment. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself in front of you.”

Stolas stepped closer, his presence warm and reassuring. “There’s no need to worry about that. You could never embarrass yourself in my eyes. If anything, you make this grand palace feel more... grounded.”

His words, delivered with such sincerity, made your heart flutter. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he said, offering you a soft smile. “Your genuine nature is a breath of fresh air amidst all the enchantment. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to spend time with you.”

You looked around at the opulent surroundings, now rendered simple and manageable thanks to Stolas’ intervention. “Thank you. It means a lot, coming from you.”

The prince took your hand gently, guiding you towards a cozy corner of the palace where a small, charming table was set with simple, delectable dishes. “Let’s enjoy a meal together, without any more magical fuss. Just you and me.”

You took a seat, the ambiance now pleasantly unpretentious. As you shared stories and laughter, the weight of your worries lifted, replaced by the warmth of Stolas’ company. The palace, once an intimidating labyrinth of enchantment, felt like a cozy haven.

As the evening wore on, you realized that perhaps it wasn’t the magic that made this place special, but the genuine kindness and affection of the demon who resided within it. And in that moment, you knew you’d cherish both the prince and the little bit of magic that made him who he was.

The night ended with a lingering smile and the promise of more simple, heartfelt moments to come. In Stolas’ company, the grand palace was no longer an overwhelming maze, but a place where love and understanding made every bit of magic worth it.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Wasting time

When we pull into Venus port, I don’t head to the hauler bar, and the rest of the crew don’t ask me to. Where they turn left, I turn right, and head off among the locals. The buse I take is new; they have different restraints now. The driver, too, probably. But the route is the same as it was when I left Venus for the first time, seven years ago.

I see her before she sees me. Natalie is almost thirteen now, and oh wow, she’s getting tall. She leans on the school fence, talking to a friend; both girls wear their school uniform belts at an odd angle, but it’s the same off angle, so it must be the latest teen fashion or something. There is laughter in her eyes and the ugliest paint I’ve ever seen on her nails and crystals threaded in her hair and I’m almost surprised that I can even recognise her on sight. It has, after all, been a full year since I’ve seen her.

Then she catches sight of me, and her eyes light up with joy, and without even pausing to say goodbye to her friend she runs over and throws her arms around my neck (not a strain at all, she’s getting so tall). “Mum!” she shrieks in delight, and pulls back a bit, smiling. “You look the same.”

I nod. It’s not surprising. It has, after all, only been a month since she’s seen me.

“Let’s get to the restaurant. We’ll meet your dad there.”

“Are you going to stay for my birthday?”

She always asks, and the answer is always the same. “Of course I’ll be here for your birthday.”

The restaurant is the same one that we always go to – my favourite, mostly because it never seems to update the décor – and unlike Natalie, I almost don’t recognise Samuel. There are new lines in his face, new grey in his hair, and he’s stopped bothering to wear clothes I’d remember; only his position at our usual table, and the way Natalie rushes right over to him, tips me off that this man is my husband. I sit down, and I smile at him, and he smiles back and there’s so much love there, but also tiredness. So much tiredness.

“The usual?” he asks.

“You know what I like.”

We order, and Natalie orders something with Neptunian prunes in it. I frown. “You hate Neptunian prunes.”

She rolls her eyes. “I love them, Mum.”

“I could have sworn…”

“I think what your mother means,” Samuel cut in, “is that you used to hate them when you were younger.”

“Well, yeah; when I was a kid,” Natalie says, and pops a prune into her mouth.

Throughout dinner, Natalie tells me about the latest fashions and the latest music and the latest drama with her friends, and I drink it all in as best I can. I’m in port for a week, and then I’m off, and by the time I get back next month this will all be a year out of date, but I try to keep up. It’s all I’ll have. Hair diamonds are in but hair rubies are out, if all you’ve got is rubies then you’re best to go ‘barehead’ without any jewels, and Venus Fog is the latest upcoming band and Natalie thinks she’ll get into acting and also I should tell dad how great it would be to get pet rats. Eventually she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, leaving Samuel and I over the scraps of our meals. I push some vegetables around my plate, not meeting his eyes, while he watches me.

“You look the same,” he says.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“Next time I’ll get a tattoo or something.”

He tenses up at the phrase ‘next time’. I fall silent again.

After several long, awkward seconds, I ask, “How’s Valerie?”

“Fine,” he says. “Valerie’s doing fine.”

I bite my lip, not caring if I look jealous. I’m not; really, I’m not. It would be ridiculous for me to expect Sam to wait an entire year to see me, over and over, and not have someone else. He would never have even pursued Valerie if I hadn’t suggested it. It was a necessity of the situation.

And honestly, it’s not even just the long waits. Sam and I had been school sweethearts and gotten married when we were both nineteen. Now I’m twenty seven, and he’s… thirty five, I think? No amount of love in the world will change the fact that I am simply getting too young for him. And that’s the real problem with Valerie, I guess. She’s always been younger than him – two years younger. And me? Well.

“You’re staying for Natalie’s birthday, right?” he asks.

“Of course I’m here for Natalie’s birthday. I’m always here for Natalie’s birthday.”

“And not much else,” he mumbles under his breath, and I drop my fork and glare at him.

“What would you have me do, Sam? We have bills!”

“Everyone has bills. Everyone manages.”

“If we want to get Natalie into a tier one quarternary school – ”

“We both managed fine in a normal quarternary school.”

“ – then we need an income; a good income. Being an interstellar hauler makes me ten times the money I could make anywhere on Venus and you know it.”

“Ten times the money, for twelve times the time. You realise that, right? It comes out less on our end.”

“Do you need more? I can borrow from – ”

“No! This isn’t about needing more money; I work, Valerie works, it’s fine. It’s about your excuse for this job being oxshit! On our timeframe, you pull in less money this way, and you know it. You’re out there on the edge of lightspeed, for a year at a time, letting it do this to you, for – ”

“Do what to me? It isn’t doing anything to me; I’m fine. Just because I’m living slower than you doesn’t mean – ”

“It’s stealing time from you; time with your family! Do you see yourself? Hear yourself? To you, it’s a month-on, week-off job, but every time you go out to haul near lightspeed, it’s a year before we see you again.”

“I understand that. I – ”

“I don’t think you do! I don’t understand how you can – your daughter is turning thirteen! Half a year ago, she was six to you, right? In half a year for you, I raised a child into a budding teen. Six months more of this, and your daughter will be an adult. You realise that, right? In less than a year and a half, your time, your daughter will be older than you. And she’ll barely know you! She barely knows you now! This isn’t time you’ll get back, you know. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

“I know,” I say. “I know, I just… one more haul, maybe two. Then we’ll have enough for Natalie’s education, and I can come back and with that nest egg I’ll have time to actually spend with her, an so will you, since neither of us will have to work long hours any more. Just a couple more months, and we can – ”

Samuel reaches out and wraps his large, soft, gentle hands around mine. “Love. If you get back on that hauler ship, then when you get back, there will be divorce papers waiting for you.”

Natalie comes back then, so I’m forced to bite back my reply, and I think I manage to hide my rage through dinner. Afterwards, I decide to walk back to my dorms in port rather than take the bus; maybe I can walk off some of the anger.

He doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t understand, how good the money is for so little time. He’d really rather I stay on Venus and work for over a decade to make what I could in a single year on the ship. And he’s right, to an extent, about missing time with Natalie, but wouldn’t I me missing almost as much time working long hours here? This way, I have a full week off to see her every month. And once I’ve made enough, I’ll have as much time as I want with her.

Divorce. Ha. I should’ve known he’d fall more in love with Valerie in my absence. This is just an excuse.

I get to the dorms, and keep walking. Walk all the way to the hauler bar. It’s full of lightspeed haulers and basically no one else but waitstaff; we haulers tend to keep to our own kind, on the whole. My crew are there, of course, as are a few other crews, all mixed up and chatting with each other, because when you’ve spent a month cooped up with the same people you don’t want to hang out with just them on your downtime, too. We all share friendly, familiar nods and looks, friends and strangers alike. Lightspeed haulers intrinsically understand each other. There are experiences we all share that people like Samuel just don’t get.

My captain presses a drink into my hands. “So your little girl’s party is in three days, and then you’re free, right?” he asks without preamble.

“Not so little any more. But yeah.”

“You don’t mind if we head out a day early, then?”

I look out the window, up through the environmental dome and toward the stars that are completely hidden by Venus’ thick atmosphere. Already, I can feel the thrum of the ship’s engines in my bones.

“I can be ready a day early,” I say. “I don’t mind at all.”

[seoulcheonsa]

Closure

Mingyu (SVT) x fem!reader Tags: angst, slight fluff, but this is just angst until the end (a little comfort?) WC: 2.5k Warnings: nothing aside from angst im sorry

in which ex!mingyu and fem!reader see each other at their favorite resto

There was comfort in the silent chatter of the restaurant. The warm lights added a soft glow to her skin and everything else around. She sat alone near the floor-length windows, where the rest of the tables for 2 were. The place looked exactly like it did a year ago, the plants and décor, save for the new employees. It had been that long since she sat down in this restaurant, completely avoiding any chance of dining in this all-too-familiar venue.

A hushed conversation between a waiter and a new guest made her look up as they walked towards the tables. In between the diners who ate away and chatted away wove through a tall man that she would recognize anywhere. His hair was neatly swept off his forehead, a dashing smile on his face as he thanked the waiter, and his button-down shirt aptly pressed crisp.

Mingyu sat down, promptly looking around as his server took away the menu and put down his drink. She debated whether or not to keep her gaze, but her mental battle took too long because he had already locked his eyes onto hers. His stare changed from surprise to confusion to recognition in a few seconds, but not once did he break eye-contact. Her hands were in her lap, twisting in anxiety, so she grabbed onto the pendant that sat between her collarbones.

-

A year ago, this restaurant bustled just the same, but she never noticed it. How could she? When in front of her sat the most magnetic and charismatic man she has laid her eyes on. He carried himself with such confidence that never crossed over to arrogance, all while being kind and patient. No one else in that room could ever steal away her attention, she was a sunflower and he was the sun.

Mingyu’s smile never faltered as he cut up her food for her. He always insisted that unless necessary, she lean on him for anything, and he’ll do the rest. Both were firstborns in the family, and Mingyu knew the emotional tax that she had to pay for the rest of her life. Unlike him, she wasn’t lucky enough to be born to an ideal family. So, from the moment that their relationship progressed into something more serious, he told her “Baby, it’s time for you to accept things and accept happiness without worrying about the consequences.” Naturally, she was taken aback, hearing such words for the first time in her 2 decades of living.

Throughout their dating phase, she has always subtly refused a lot of his attempts at doing things for her, never wanting to be a burden, much less to the person she likes in fear of driving him away. That is, until one day a week after they had agreed to date exclusively, he wanted to buy her the computer keyboard that she had been eyeing for months. It wasn’t expensive, but it fairly costed more than a regular keyboard, so she knew she had to save for it. Mingyu, who had a better paying job, wanted to buy it for her as a gift. So, in the end, he bought it for her as a surprise, which led to a small argument, but Mingyu’s assurance struck something in her that made her realize how scared she had been of letting other people do things for her.

Their relationship was set to be endgame. Mingyu’s parents loved having her around, she was always invited over to their house for dinner, spontaneous trips, and holidays in a different city. Her family treated him like he was already part of the family, he was included in family dinners, get-togethers, and they relied on him like he was their son, cousin, and brother. They have met each other’s friends as well with no hitch. To them, this was it, and that was what Mingyu had always told her before they went to sleep.

“You’re it for me, baby,” he whispers as he tucks her hair behind her ear, laid across her with his other arm under her neck.

She giggles, softly hitting his shoulder. “Where is this coming from?” she says while shaking her head, a grin on her lips.

“Baby, you’re my dream girl. Everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner is in you,” he chuckles. “If 13-year-old me found out that you would be my girlfriend, he would never believe me.”

However, like any relationship, misunderstandings were inevitable. Mingyu always wanted to be the strong one in the relationship. He wanted everyone around him to be able to rely on him; and for that to happen, he felt like he could never show any of the struggles he faced. The one person he could never lie to was her, it would take every ounce of strength in his body and then some more to tell her anything other than the truth. Because that was her, she hated nothing more than liars and cheaters. Her family was torn apart by lies and infidelity, and he knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he made her go through that again. But Mingyu was Mingyu, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel like she couldn’t lean on him just because he was having troubles of his own.

As a result, whenever things went wrong for him, he shut down and drowned himself in work. He took more projects at work, more responsibilities in hopes that if he had more work than problems, then he would never have to think of them. Ever observant, she would take notice that he would come home later than usual, avoiding conversations, and forgetting to take care of himself. For days, she would beg him to talk to her.

“What happened to me and you against the problem, baby?” she sobbed, sitting on the floor while he occupied the sofa, his head in his hands.

“I thought we always talked things out, that we’d never leave the other in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, love. I just got so caught up in everything, I thought I could just bury it all down.”

She looked up at him in disbelief. It was not just him forgetting to take care of himself, but he also forgot that there was someone at home waiting up for him every night, just to find out that he was purposefully avoiding her and sometimes even drinking out late at night without any notice. This led to smaller arguments and him lashing out at her for the smallest things, which he would then dismiss as just nothing. “So, you thought just lying to me and shutting me out was better?”

At this, he blanched, as if a bucket of cold water washed over him. He did not realize just how far he was in his head, even neglecting his dream girl in the process.

“No, baby. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want us to fight over this, it physically hurts me when we fight,” he knelt next to her, one hand over his heart and the other cupping her jaw.  “I’ll be better for you, no more hiding.”

For the following weeks, it was good. Mingyu communicated better, she learned when to give him space. But Mingyu was a man of habit, and she was too observant for her own good. The change in behavior only lasted for so long until they were back to their old habits. This meant that there was a suffocating tension between them that they never addressed until she exploded.

“How are you so okay with me begging for your time? Begging for you to talk to me?” She stood far from him on the other end of the coffee table. Her face was swollen from crying the whole day, her nose red. She had been waiting for him to get home the whole day, dreading this conversation that she felt might be the last. For weeks, she had asked him over and over if they were okay or if he was having any trouble. Because not only was he affected, but she was too and their relationship. It reached the point where she would assume the worst, because she knew nothing, and he told her nothing. She asked herself every day if she was lacking anything, if there was someone else who was giving him what he needed. This was not a thought she wanted to entertain, but when he was giving her all the reasons to think otherwise, what could she do?

“I’m not. I’m trying, okay?”

His curt answer only served to rile her up more. She felt pathetic and desperate, begging for her boyfriend to stop treating her like she was just a gust of wind. In the end, they decided to give it a break and just go to sleep. A feeling they both hated, but maybe they needed to give things a rest.

Things just sorted themselves in time. She got used to his absence, only asking how he was once in a while, and he kept engrossing himself in work. On his birthday, she surprised him with tickets to an amusement park that he’s been wanting to visit for about a year but never got to because of his schedule. She planned this trip for a month, making sure that he was free on that day.

For the rest of the month, they filled the roles of a sweet couple. The problem was swept under a carpet and left simmering. She knew that at one point, this would blow up in their faces. The way they were acting like they were just playing their parts was unsustainable. It felt like the relationship was superficial.

-

“I need you to sit down for what I’m about to tell you,” he looked at her with sad eyes. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she started bracing herself for the worst. It was like she went through all the stages of grief all at once in her head.

He explained that while on his way from work a week before, he felt lonely. It was his birthday week, and he was looking for someone to come talk to him; so his solution was to download an app and find a person to keep him company. The sinking feeling was gnawing at her, but she kept a straight face. She expected this anyway, so there was no surprise in what he was saying. However, the betrayal that she felt was nothing like she anticipated, nothing could ever prepare her for the gut-wrenching feeling of being betrayed by the person you thought would never hurt you.

“I’ve been begging you for months to talk to me, begging for even 15 minutes of your time so we can sort things out,” she started with resignation in her voice, “but you wanted to go and find a stranger to talk to, to keep you company on your birthday?”

“I promise you nothing else happened, and I didn’t end up meeting anyone.”

“I don’t fucking care. You had a girlfriend at home, willing to make everything work, but you just find it so easy to keep treating me like I’m nothing. And now you’re out here acting like you’re fucking single. You can’t even be bothered to text me that you’ll be out late because you were out drinking with your friend and her boyfriend.”

“How could you look at me and tell me you love me?”

Mingyu spent the night crying and apologizing. He knew he didn’t deserve any forgiveness, but he at least wanted to let her know that he was sorry and that he didn’t cheat. That same night, her best friend picked her up along with a bag of clothes and a heavy heart.

-

After the fallout, they had a conversation to discuss what happened and finalize the breakup. There, she found out that the reason he was shutting her out was that Mingyu’s family was falling apart, and that his boss at work was giving him a hard time. His parents were getting into constant screaming matches and fights, needlessly dragging him into the arguments. At work, his boss berated him on almost a daily basis and criticized his work that was otherwise praised by the rest of the company. As they talked, she understood, like she always did. Like she would have if only he had told her, but it was too late.

Mingyu was never a bad guy in her eyes, nor was he a bad guy in reality. He was always patient, understanding, and he only ever wanted to take care of her and her needs. However, in the midst of all that, he forgot to take a moment to check on himself and cope properly. In the end, he neglected himself and those around him. He always put others first, but it ultimately destroyed him and his relationship.

-

He noticed her fingers wrapped around the red pendant upon her chest, a gift that he saved his first ever paycheck for. It was a dainty gold necklace with a red clover that hung from it. He always thought that she looked her best in red, so he decided on the color and a clover because she had always been his lucky charm. His dream girl, sitting tables away from him still donning the gift he worked so hard for, in their favorite restaurant. Mingyu wanted to walk over to her table and catch up, maybe find the words to ask if she still felt the same after all this time. However, he knew deep down that that wasn’t best for them.

When Mingyu’s eyes flitted down for a second, she became all too aware that she was holding onto her necklace. A habit that she did to soothe her nerves. She knew he recognized the necklace; it was the only thing she kept after storing away all the gifts he gave; the keyboard, the game merch, and even the restaurant napkins that he wrote little notes on. It was the only thing she kept, because even after all this time, it still gave her comfort, like she’s somehow still hearing reassurance. However, that was the end of it, she only kept it because of the sentiment and the memory that once upon a time, she loved deeply and that she was loved dearly.

With a sigh, they exchanged small smiles – a quiet understanding that they tried, but they’ve come to the end of their chapters in each other’s lives long ago. He mouthed a “thank you” to her, which she responded to with a nod of her head before looking away.

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

hi! i'm sorry this was a little hurtful, but this one is a little personal to me hhh i hope you guys liked it. i needed to let this one out before going back to studying :D don't be shy to come to talk to me about how this made you feel! <3

[bullyingfictionalmen]

Crow’s Lullaby

Summary: The year: 1925. The place: Linkon City. ‘Evol’ as a concept is only just being studied. A young singer with a sordid past and an infamous criminal with a penchant for jazz cross paths, perhaps not for the first time. She’s chasing her dreams, he might be the only person in the city with the sway to keep her safe. But will teaming up bring mysteries to light, or will it seal their doom?

Read on AO3

Word Count: 1.9k

CW: violence, main story/anecdote spoilers, fem!MC, eventual smut

1: A Siren Sings in an Empty Room

When you got the job at Sour Note, it was just waiting tables. You knew the jazz club held secrets that its meager stage belied, but the owner, Luke, had nearly laughed you out of the interview when you proposed a steady singing gig.

“Listen, doll, you’ve got guts, but moxie don’t pay the bills. You think a waif like you with no name recognition could draw a crowd, much less keep ‘em hooked ‘til the fifth cocktail?”

“You haven’t even heard me sing! What if—” but your plea fell on deaf ears. It was all you could do to convince him to let you wash dishes in the back.

But everything changes one slow, rainy night. Fall is fading fast, succumbing to winter’s biting chill. The club is nearly empty after the dinner rush dies, save a few regulars in the back having a hushed conversation. Their faces are obscured by cigar smoke, nowhere near needing assistance. Bored, you feel your eyes wandering toward the ornate grand piano, as they often do when you have a free moment. Unlike the rest of the muted décor, Sour Note’s piano is pristine, glossy, even. It’s old, but has clearly been treated with the utmost care. Luke has told you on multiple occasions that if you touch it, he’ll cut off your thumbs.

But Luke’s not here tonight. Your fingers are practically itching, and one little song couldn’t hurt. Quietly, you slide onto the bench, mind racing, hands hovering over the keys. For a moment, you feel paralyzed with uncertainty. Your throat clenches, your chest is heavy. No big deal, you reassure yourself. No one will find out. This is just for me.

You begin to sing, softly at first. Your breathing is a little unsteady, your hands are stiff. But as you continue your performance, the fear melts away. In its place swells the joy of pure artistic expression, the satisfaction of doing what you love. Your voice, a rich and warm contrast to this dreary evening, seems to soar and fill the room. The gentle, twinkling piano flows beneath it like magic. When the last note rings out, you feel an unabashed grin lighting up your face. Your dream has come true, if only for a moment.

Show, sharp applause breaks you out of your trance in an instant. Your gaze darts to the table of regulars, but they aren’t the source of it. At some point during the song, a gentleman you’ve never seen before has entered the club. Your panicked brain hones in on each striking feature, silver-white hair that’s perfectly mussed in spite of the rain, blazing red eyes, a neatly-pressed suit with a leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. He exudes the kind of nonchalant self-assurance you’ve only ever associated with the exorbitantly wealthy. He’s lounging on one of the sofas like he owns the place, eyeing you with an intensity that makes you want to crouch down and hide like a scolded child.

“Well, now,” he drawls, standing up and taking a step toward the stage. His voice is so deep and melodic that it makes you shiver. “I’m shocked. I wasn’t aware that Luke had booked a musical guest for this evening.”

You feel a blush creeping all the way to your ears. Debate lying and lightly playing it off. But something about this man’s demeanor, the wry arch of his eyebrow, makes you feel like he can read your every thought. All possible excuses die before they can reach your lips. “He… he didn’t.”

The man laughs softly, and you’re sure he already knew that. “I see. Bold, aren’t we, kitten? There are few who would dare to lay hands on my mother’s piano. But you really gave it your all, so I’ll let it slide.”

You gasp, hands jerking away from the keys like you’ve been burned. “Your… mother’s…?”

The man’s lips quirk into a sly grin. “No need to be scared. Instruments are meant to be played, right?” He steps up onto the stage, looming over you. “Though I do like that pretty ‘o’ your mouth makes when you’re surprised.”

Your hands fly to cover your face. You try desperately to think of something, anything intelligent to say. Maybe, ‘sorry’? Or, ‘who are you?’. But all you can focus on is your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the pleasant, spicy smell of his cologne, and the imminent possibility of unemployment. When you feel composed enough to peek between your fingers, you find him staring at you again, chin propped up on his palm, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Are you a little calmer now?” You manage a nod, and the man gestures to the bench. “Scoot over a bit.”

Your conscious mind barely registers his request, but you do as he bid on instinct. When he sits down next to you, the soft leather of his jacket brushes against your arm. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, and you curl in on yourself a bit until he taps your shoulder. “You can relax. I won’t bite. And I won’t tell Luke about your little solo act.”

You raise your head so you can look him in the eyes. “Really?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did, though.” The man says, absently running his fingers over the keys. “The person with final say on hiring and firing is the owner.”

You blink. “But Luke, isn’t he—?”

“He’s been kind enough to watch over this place for me while I’m indisposed.” As if to accentuate his words, the man plays a light little arpeggio.

“Do you own other businesses, Mister, um—”

“Sylus,” he offers you a handshake, and you take it, still a little hesitant. But you give him your own name. “To your question, I guess you could say I have my fingers in a variety of pots in Linkon CIty. Music just happens to be a fascination of mine.”

“For your mother, too?” The question spills out before you can wonder if he’d find it rude.

Sylus looks a bit taken aback, but his expression clouds with something you haven’t seen from him before. Fondness. You find yourself marveling at the way the emotion softens the intensity of his features. “She did love music. Jazz in particular. She would have been a great pianist herself, in different circumstances.”

This time, you know better than to pry. “I’m sorry for touching something of hers without asking. It’s a beautiful instrument, and I’m sure it means a lot to you.”

A low laugh rumbles in his chest, and you feel a twinge of warmth at such a lovely sound. “Quite alright. But, if I may ask, what spurred you to play that song in particular?”

You cross your hands in your lap, humming in thought. “Well, ‘Crow’s Lullaby’ was on one of the records my granny used to play all the time at the house. She loved to twirl around as she cooked or cleaned, singing her heart out into a ladle or a hairbrush. She was tone-deaf, but my brother and I still loved to dance and cheer her on. When I was a little older, she brought home a spinet from the antique shop, and that was the first song I learned to play on it. She… cried when I sang it for her.” Feeling a little misty, you swallow thickly, wiping at the corners of your eyes and forcing a smile. “Anyway, I guess it’s what I think of first when I get a chance to perform.”

“I see. She must’ve been a great inspiration to you. A prime reason you want to be a professional.”

Your spine goes rigid at his spot-on observation. Holding back a sheepish smile, you fiddle with a stray strand of your hair. “Am I so obvious that you can smell my desperation?”

“That’s not how I’d put it,” Sylus’ crimson eyes linger on you a moment, and you fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. “I noticed because you carry yourself like a performer. When you sing, I sense not only raw talent, but years of practice that make those notes seem effortless.”

His straightforward praise leaves you speechless for a moment, your heart rendered gooey as melted chocolate. “Th-Thank you. You’re too kind.”

“No, just observant,” Sylus asserts. “That, and Luke complained to me a few months ago about an audacious, unproven girl looking for a singing gig at my club.” Your blush returns full force, as does Sylus’ smirk. “Does your grandmother know you’re working here?”

You shake your head, gaze falling to your lap. “She, um, passed away a few months ago.”

“Ah… My condolences.”

The conversation lulls. As the silence stretches on, a strange, fluttering urgency takes hold of you. A desire to maintain whatever tenuous connection you have to this man. “D-Do you play the piano, Sylus? Or sing?”

“I do play a little,” Sylus’ lips curve upward. “As for singing, it’s one of my greatest loves. Unfortunately, I’ve been informed that I’m a little… tone-deaf. That’s actually the story behind the club’s name—a bit of a self-effacing joke.”

“Huh. Somehow, that’s hard to believe.”

“What makes you say that, kitten? Teasing me for my faults?”

“Not at all. I just thought that with a voice like yours, you could enthrall anyone with a song.”

“’Enthrall’ them…? What an interesting choice of words. They bring to mind sirens at sea.” Sylus’ eyes twinkle with mirth, and you’re one more embarrassment away from bolting into the rain. I can’t believe I just said that.

You turn away, squeezing your eyes shut. “S-Sorry, that’s, um… I meant—”

“So quick to cower,” Sylus muses, his fingers gently guiding your face toward his, “but you shouldn’t apologize.” Your eyes meet his again, and it’s not just his voice that enraptures you. “I could only ever feel flattered by such praise, delivered straight from a siren’s lips.”

His words are a spell, a honeyed incantation that robs you of all your sense. Your lashes flutter, red lips parted slightly as if a kiss is a forgone conclusion. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone here is a siren, it’s Sylus. Your fingers trace his forearm before clutching the fabric of his sleeve. Your breaths mingle, your eyelids fall closed in anticipation, and then—

“This damn weather! I swear I’m going to—” The two of you jolt apart at the sound of Luke’s loud, disgruntled voice. When the man catches sight of you sitting at the piano, his nostrils flare, eyes bulging in disbelief. “What in Astra’s name are you doing over there? How many times do I have to tell you, brat? Lemme see those thumbs—"

“Luke,” Sylus’ chides, but his tone is placid, without a hint of the regret or unease that leaves you silent and paralyzed, “I told her it was alright.”

Luke scrunches his brow and scoffs. “That’s rich, Boss, considering all the times you’ve threatened my life over that old thing. ‘Luke, if there’s so much as a smudge on that piano, I swear I’ll rip off your di—‘”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sylus rolls his eyes. “I merely told you to be careful, and you have been. Besides, this one bent the rules in service of a greater good. Now, Luke, break out our best bottle of gin. I believe a celebration is in order.”

Your eyes go wide. There are many speakeasies around the city—hell, you’ve been to a fair few—but alcohol is illegal, and it’s unusual to discuss it so brazenly. “A celebration…?”

“Why, yes,” Sylus winks. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up from the bench before he leans down to kiss your knuckles. “In honor of your new job.”

[starkraivennemad]

October Dealings

Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes were leaving the restaurant after dinner. Long gone were the days where they could not stand to be in each other’s presence more than fifteen minutes. Now they get together weekly for languorous dinners filled with good food and easy conversation. Greg found himself bemused at how far they had come in their relationship. Yet he would be a liar if he did not admit to himself that he wanted more.

But how do you tell a man who regularly spouts caring is not an advantage that you’re deeply in love with him? For Greg -you don’t. You take the amazing friendship that had been forged through the fire of them both caring for one Sherlock Holmes, take what you can get and be happy with it.

"I can’t believe it’s October already.” Greg had stood apart from Mycroft to not block the way as others with their coats exited the restaurant. “The year has flown.”

“I despise October. It reminds me winter is on its way.” Mycroft flicked a finger at the autumn pumpkin décor.

He grinned knowing Mycroft’s annual curmudgeonly opinions of autumn. Greg had convinced himself that he was happy -well as happy as he could be under the circumstances.

Until tonight.

And the reason why was slowly approached from behind as they waited at coat check.

“Is all well Gregory?” Mycroft noticed his sudden shift in demeanor. “You have been somewhat distracted juggling emotions all evening.”

Greg quickly stepped over to Mycroft and leaned in, “Shh… Don’t look.” Greg whispered, “Just play along… ”

Mycroft raised a curious brow, but gave the slightest nod that Greg understood was consent.

“I… I… can’t do this Myc… This…” Greg gestured between them sadly.

“Gregory…?” Mycroft looked genuinely puzzled.

“This thing we do where we don’t publicly acknowledge what’s happening between us.” Greg lowered his voice as his target came into hearing range. He knew Mycroft had become aware that someone had arrived and this show is for them. Greg was grateful that he did not turn to look, his eyes only on him.

“Gregory I… I don’t…”

“No, listen to me. We’ve been loving each other for over a year…” Greg took his hand. “…but act like we don’t when we’re out. I won’t hide that I love you so much, Mycroft. I can’t and not being able to show it is killing me.”

Mycroft stared at Greg and something unfathomable flashed in his blue grey eyes. “You’re serious…?”

It was not a question.

Yes, Greg started it as a ruse, but every fiber of Greg’s being now knew that Mycroft in his way has fully deduced the truths that lay beneath the ruse. Just not the why.

Greg, more than a few minutes late for dinner, was about to walk around a man moving slowly while talking on his phone when his conversation stopped Greg in his tracks. “....he appears as though sat alone for a while... I know…” the man had a nasty little laugh over whatever was said on the other side of the line. “Please! Him? Have a lover? Who would want to be bothered by the likes of a cold fish like Mycroft Holmes… Ah, I see you, now.” Greg had no idea who the man was, but it took everything he had not to tap the man on the shoulder and announce that HE would want to be so bothered. The man rang out and headed for his table as Greg continued towards Mycroft. He saw the man approaching towards coat check with another man. Greg turned away, but not before he saw the smug look on the man’s face and Greg just knew the arse thought Mycroft was still all alone. Greg could not let that stand and acted, or rather reacted.

Now Mycroft stared at him and did the unthinkable–

“You’re right…” Mycroft took Greg’s hand and kissed it. “I admit, I was not sure how we would work out at first, IF we would work out. If no one knew, there would be no break up to explain. You know I’m a man set in my ways and I let it set. I did not think about changing the status quo, that’s why I need you, why I love you.” Mycroft laid a hand on Greg’s cheek. “You remind me there are other ways to be and they’re not all bad. I apologize if I made you feel other...”

Trapped in Mycroft’s gaze, Greg trembled, whether from Mycroft’s tender touch or by his tender words, he did not know. The spell finally broke when the clerk gently cleared his throat to hand them their respective coats.

“Mycroft I…” Greg spoke once they were out the door.

“Shh… just play along.” Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg in for a kiss on the cheek just as the restaurant doors opened and the two men came out. He quietly took Greg’s hand and led him to the sedan that waited for them.

The two rode in silence before Greg broke unable to take it anymore.

“Mycroft… I…”

“Just tell me why, Gregory? Why now? And why in front of Sir Edwin?” Mycroft looked out the window not facing him.

Mycroft had spoken of the colleague, from time to time, never pleasantly, so Greg knew the name.

“Is that the arsehole’s name? The shorter one with the goatee?”

“Yes.” Mycroft groaned. “I had seen their reflections before you said don’t look. The other man with him is Shepard, his Anthea counterpart. What did he do to elicit such from response you?”

Greg told about the overheard conversation.

“So, you were right: I had been preoccupied through dinner. My emotions were all over the place as I mentally juggled between the resignation in understanding why the arse might think such, against my pleasure in knowing that you are such a passionate man beneath the exterior- how could he have worked with you as long as he has and not know at least that? And it galled me that he thought no one could love you.”

“You think I’m passionate?” Mycroft turned to him genuinely surprised.

“No one can do what you do, enjoy it as you do -despite how you complain, without having a passion for it. It took me a long time to see, just because your passion isn’t flashy and showy like Sherlock’s does not mean you’re any less of a drama queen.”

“Drama queen?” Mycroft’s mouth fell open.

“You kidnapped, tried to be threatening, got miffed you couldn’t bribe me, and never introduced yourself. Didn’t even know you were Sherlock’s brother until I bitched about a mysterious arse and empty warehouses a week later.” Greg rolled his eyes. “That was in October if I recall.”

“Considering how much I loathed you then? It was another log on my dislike of October fire.”

“But that log has been removed since I hope?”

“Don’t be disingenuous, you know that it has.”

The two fell silent again at that unexpected admission as they rode the streets of London.

“Speaking of disingenuous… I guess it’s fair to say that you… you know… I think you know I was not entirely acting, don’t you, Mycroft?” Greg looked out the window afraid to see the expected rejection in Mycroft’s face.

“And I guess it’s fair to say… I think you know I am not the type of man to throw out important words like I love you, even as part of a supposed ruse don’t you, Gregory?”  Mycroft said quietly. “Especially with eye witnesses.”

The indication that Mycroft meant the words utterly flabbergasted Greg, he turned to face him fully, the first thought flying out. “But you kissed me on the cheek!”

“Because I did not want our first real kiss in front of witnesses obviously!” Mycroft huffed. “I imagined we would be alone when it happened.”

He internally grinned at the thought that Mycroft has imagined kissing him. It was not as if he had not done the same.

“We’re alone now, Mycroft.” Greg prompted softly as he inched over.

“We are.” Mycroft also inched over.

“And if we play our cards right…” Greg leaned in… “…we don’t ever have to be alone again.”

“And we only play to win.” Mycroft also leaned in. “Deal?”

“Deal. And there’s only one way to seal this.”

It was sealed with a kiss of course.

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Jujetsu Alumni During the Holidays

Word Count: 5979

Setting: [insert JJK Alumni] x gn!reader (established relationship)

Content  Warning(s): mentions of holidays, Christmas, hint of suggestive material.

Summary: headcanons as to what the Jujetsu Kaisen Alumni (Geto, Suguru, Nanami, Shoko, Utahime, Toji, and Yuki) are like during the holidays.

A/N: my only regret is that I did not have time to do headcanons for Choso. Happy holidays everyone. Do your best, however that may look.

Geto Suguru

In his youth, the curse user had a warmer affinity for the holiday season, able to convince himself to overlook the infringements of the cheap expectations of those around him.

In those days, Sugur could sit before the Christmas tree amongst the dark of night. Still, and quite as none stirred, content to sneak downstairs in his pajamas. To place himself before the tree, and delight in the warm tones. The ambience of peace and serenity, gentle colors, ambered golds, and tempting reds. Natural greens that soothed against light bulbs, allowed himself to become mystified by the distinct glow in the dead of night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Content in to gaze up adoring, reflecting upon how the year had drawn him to this very moment. Accomplishments at school, making a new friend, enduring said friend, all while running his fingers over ornaments. Treasured hand-me-downs that remind him of those who passed from this world, constructed wreaths of glue and cereal. Images of his younger self posed and smiled ear to ear. Delighted to be able to gift his parents with something he had made himself.

During those years, Geto would enjoy the laughter of those around him. Noting how the light seemed to sparkle upon his peers, as they anxiously awaited presents, and winter breaks. The pitch of humming, no matter how off key, and the sudden pick up of moods of those around him.

Opting to focus on the joy that had surrounded him, he immersed himself in the comfort of its presence. Content with the bustle of those around him. He was the child who was just grateful to receive something regardless of what lurked beneath the wrapping paper.

Yet, those days have slipped from his fingertips.  Slowly, but surely, as a stream that divides mountains, tarnishes rocks, and erodes the soil beneath to the new realities of formation, the curse user’s awareness of his environment shifted. He began to notice the shift of temperament.  The sudden generosity and charity moved by those around him, by corporations pushing wares, peddling new models at unreasonable prices.

The sudden demands of peers, Christmas lists that seemed to run on without end, nor consideration of financial wellbeing. Suguru struggled to keep his head above the undertow of the holiday season, focused himself to swallow the lump at his throat. Eyes trained a head on those dearests to him, if only to maintain his sanity. To see their smiles, delighted by ice skating, joyful of cookies, and holiday treats… Told himself that such joys were not limited to the season—for those he cared for always recognized the frailty of life, and savored the moments that came far pass the holiday calendar.

But it could only last for so long. Little by little chipped him from his optimism. Familial bickering, unrealistic demands, the children who struggle to survive, and receive nothing while other youth rotted amongst materialistic items. Competition derived amongst neighbors, unabashed displays of wealth that adorned pockets, and lawn décor. Recipes that demanded attention, extravagant and pungent, crowded amongst snide remarks traded over the dinner table.

Buy, buy, buy.

The growing realization that your presence was meaningless if it did not accompany a price tag. Chocked upon the dip of sanity, yanked, and shattered his hopes, peeled open his eyes to the horrid truths of the holiday monkeys. An insatiable appetite for more, as the meaning of life fell from the waste side.

Ultimately, Geto will approach the holiday with trained cynicism. He will do his best to tuck such bitter sentiments beneath his many layers, force a smile for you as you delight in Christmas lights. Sing praises over simple pleasures like hot chocolate, and warm socks. Tuck a smile to his face, the small slips of his old self threatening to resurface.

To enjoy the lights at your side.

To sip chocolate.

To just breathe.

It’s warm, and bright, and for a moment, if just for a moment, he can allow himself to release the knot in his stomach, ease the strong desire for control from his pores, to just breath, and enjoy your company.

Bittersweet, all too aware that this moment is fleeting, and he will have to resign himself to holiday shopping. The warmth of your hand folded into his own, his discontent to frolic amongst retail monkeys, and greedy bastards cushioned by your coos of the toy selection. Reminded of the life the twins have lived before your care, before his presence, biting back any resentment of the holiday grind as you rummage through merchandise.

The girls deserve so much more than these disgusting monkeys, and because of this, he will force himself to revisit holiday sentiments. Tried and true, if only to give you the holiday you and the girls desire.

But he’d really much rather be feeding the stray cats in the alley way than doing this.

Gojo Satoru

There are few things that Gojo enjoys when it comes to the holiday itself. The presents can be tempting, he certainly has a few things that he is happy to receive, but ultimately, he believes that there is no one better than himself to buy for himself. Cut out the middleman, and any obligatory returns. Not to mention he views the entire return process at department stores exhausting. Why isn’t there an app for this by now?

More so, there’s something about the expectation of those around him. The curious peek over shoulders, the way so many tend to thumb through name tags, never openly admitting that they expect to see their names amongst the packages. Smug when they discover it, and bitter at their own self righteous expectations deflated and humbled.

In what world would he ever gift Yoshinobu Gakuganji a sincere gift.

It’s almost humorous how bruised egos can become during this time frame, as though for some reason everyone believes them the exception, desiring fits. Superficial, shallow as the first year training pool. It’s embarrassing really.

But he will make time to squeeze in opportunities to set others up for facing their expectations head on later. Truthfully, there are only a few Gojo would pick up gift for, and the most majority of them are gag gifts that are unique to his brand of humor.

It would not surprise me in the slightest if Satoru were to send Utahime a framed portrait of himself just for the satisfaction of knowing it would crawl under her skin. Playfully of course, he means no spite in his gifting, it’s all well intended to build the banter between the two. It’s a shame Utahime does not return the sentiment and smashed it. D

Tender gifts selected with the fullest of his affections are rare, and few between. However, you can expect that he has something special in mind for you. It would be targeted towards favored hobbies, or interests, or maybe something sleeker like a new wallet, or other luxury item, even a new gadget he genuinely feels would benefit you. Although ultimately, his gift may be something you may not completely expect.

Unlike his counterpart, Satoru actually enjoys the come and go of the holiday season. The noise, the lights, festivities, and parties, and he is known to partake in a large majority of them. He has a natural affinity for being around others, especially those he is partial to, and you can expect him to drag you to quite a few celebrations. A random festival will be sure to spark his interest.

He’s buying everything he can.

Challenging games, stuffing down vender’s foods, and dragging you along with him. Teasing you as he offers bites, pressed between your lips without a second thought of who may see.

In many ways, he approaches the holiday season with childlike wonder, and curiosity. He’s eager to partake in a number of traditions, those familiar, and those completely foreign. So much so that he is easily convinced to give anything a shot at least once. Gojo’s open mindedness may lead him to food poisoning one day, but to day is not this day, and the suckling pig is just too intriguing to pass up.

His sweet tooth is notorious, and more than anything, he is a sucker for all of the pastries, delicacies, and all that the holiday season has to offer—which is quite the substantial variety. If the sorcerer discovers a fair, or event that offers sweet sampling from around the world—he will not ask if you are going. He will, quite literally kidnap you.

It is his weakness.

He really cannot deny the opportunity, and there is no one he would rather spend it with than with you.

However, the best part of the holiday is not in the presents, or in the way your hand captures his own as he teases you across the ski ring—smugly delighting in your struggle on wobbly knees while he glides across the ice; it’s not even his sugar bliss…

It’s the discomfort of all party attendees as he drops harsh realities tied to the holiday season. Openly depicting the correlation between beloved Christmas caroling through town, and the warding off of evil spirits. The appeasing of kisses beneath mistletoe for higher deities, the intention of decking the halls with holly as a means of spreading good wealth. Down to toying with the ornaments upon the tree, greeting the little gods chuckled at the obvious discomfort that has begun to circulate throughout the party.

There will however, come a point where the tinsel has begun to slip from the tree, the glitter has lost its charm as it infects its surroundings, and his desire to captivate the masses has lost its buzz. He’s tired and has expended the last of his good will. Satoru will no longer attempt to humor bystanders.

Gojo wants to go home. He wants alone time. He wants you pressed against him, your arms thread around him. Pressed his cheek to your heartbeat, exhausted from the adventures the holiday has brought him, the stray of your fingers curled around one of his silver bell locks. Bonus if you’re naked.

His eye is on the prize, and the best he will do is manage a later, before leaving in the most obtuse of departures.

Nanami Kento

One of the first things that come to mind when one thinks about the holiday season, is the endless to-do lists that plague observers. Never ending tasks to complete from scrubbing floors, ensuring beds have been properly made. There are sure to be visitors, relentless relatives that are known to rub their fingers across shelves searching for dust. Little things to nitpick, like flies to the flesh, the holiday is supposed to be something that is beautiful, and hopeful, but the reality is for a lot of people, the holidays are a horrible source of stress.

If you are one of those people, lean on Nanami.

Let’s be honest, you can always lean on him.

Kento is an expert at delegating and accomplishing tasks. Calm under pressure, the holiday season is by no means a source of anxiety for him. Rather, it’s a chance to accomplish the highest of feats. A chance at glory, to be your hero. To demonstrate his strengths to prove once and for all,

He is a domestic god.

The sorcerer is a man of warmth under pressure, unphased by the daunting tasks to be accomplish. Meticulous, and well thought out, he can strategize his approach, and compose himself under fire, and strike when the iron is hot.

In just a few short hours, he has reorganized your home, sparkled beneath the gleam of lights. Sprinkled joy amongst the cinnamon and nutmeg, the sweet hues of vanillas and zest of orange that greets you as you open your door. The distinct tinkering of nails, or staples, his fingers calloused and tired at work. Dedicated to the task at hand.

He’s already ensured that there is not a crumb, nor speck out of place.

Balanced upon a step ladder, pins between pressed lips as his eyebrow furrows. Pressed in deep contemplation. The small bead of sweat those traces down his brow, the roll of his sleep revealing taunt muscles as the sweet smell of sugar cookies with his own special recipe wafts through the room. Too distracted by the garland and lights twirled between his fingers to notice that you’ve arrived home.

How desperately you want to enfold him in your grasp, snuggle him into your arms, if not more. Only pinned back by the way he balances himself upon the ladder, and knowing fully well that your intrusion would result in bodily harm. You’ll get him later tiger.

Yet, the moment he hears your bag drop, the slip of your keys into the bowl, rolled your shoulders. The way he peeks over his shoulder at you, the smile growing and spreading ear to ear, soft and warm. Delighted to greet your return, the way he whispers your name with affection that could easily be missed if you were not familiar with the dip of his tone. “Oh, [YN], welcome home.”

As if he is not in fact, balancing an act of decoration magic as he swiftly retreats down the steps, to greet your arrival home, requesting in as nonchalant tone as possible, that he would appreciate your input on his home-made mulled wine. His indirect way of offering you reward for your efforts. And he welcomes the praises.

Kento has little difficulty approaching holiday shopping. While he cannot say with the utmost confidence it is his favorite thing to do, but that being said, he understands that the majority of people have a severe aversion. Whether it’s simply something you hate to do who doesn’t, or if it is someone who simply struggles with the crowds, the social demands, finds the entire environment over stimulating and could result in full sensory shutdown—he’s more than happy to take responsibility for this task.

In general, he’s fairly unbothered by the task itself. Although he would be happier to be at home with you decorating sugar cookies. Yet, he will never struggle with completing the task. He can hop from store to store if it were to mean he could bask in the tuck of your smile, or the way you cannot help but release a sigh of relief. The bones that seem to ease at the sincerity, and how your small hands captivate his sides as you whisper your gratitude, shyly into collar.

You’ll find that during this time, Kento is at ease. The nostalgia of Christmas lights, the distant hue of holiday cheer. Gentle, and comforting to his ears. The sound of neighbors welcoming relatives as he sits in his balcony, sipping his mulled wine. There’s a sweet sense of enjoyment, warm and at ease. It’s all so cozy, and calls upon distant memories that remind him of simpler times.

Splitting a sweet potato with Haibara.  Warm and tender, the heat a stark contrast from the pillows of smoke that captured his breath. The exposed of his finger tips fumbled across the potato that he insisted on sharing with Nanami, the exact opposite of him. His laughter at Kento’s open pessimism. The snarky remarks he had made at Haibara’s lack of consideration of his health, pointing out his lack of mittens in such chill.

His old age reflection, making Kento all too aware of how he had taken such moments for granted.

These memories, at times, can be stirring, little moments that he wishes that he could erase, or ones that he desperately longs to reclaim. A balancing act that he struggles to manage, but there it is. Your wide smile as you come rushing through the door. The sack wrapped around your wrists, excitedly tossing aluminum wrapped produce between fingers.

Your nose bright red, cheeks puffed as undeniable as the smile that spreads, the squint of your eyes. Excited, warm and nearly shaking with your joy as you make quick work of your shoes, abandoned at the doorway, and rush to share your spoils of war, packaging. Completely unaware that your smile reminds him of the ghost of your youth. Grins nearly perfectly aligned.

And he cannot fight the way the corner of his lips tug as he takes the potato from your fingers, lightly teasing that you should have worn mittens.

Shoko Ieiri

What day is today?

Shit, she doesn’t even know.

The rub of her temples, cold rooms, piled upon bodies in capsules. The sickening scent of methanol and sodium bi carborate. Toxic, and pulled, only shooed away from her senses as she lights another cigarette. Welcomes the shortened life span, the thick puff of smoke between pressed lips. Chocks on duties that weigh on her, as her fingers meet the bridge of her nose. The exasperating jitter of a dial tone vibrated against her desk. Buried beneath papers, files that have claimed her workload, and distracted her from any sense of a personal life.

The exhaustion that draws out a ushed annoyed sigh, as the sender of the text flickers in over excited, and obnoxious tone.

Remember to take time off for the holidays—Gojo.

The press of the time, well past three am, on Christmas morning. The jolly diabetes bowl of jelly has long since passed over Japan—no part of her is at all surprised that he had not bothered to pay her a visit as she clicks the lock button between her nails, allowing the phone to slip from her hand and plunk on the desk. The fatigue sunk between her bones as her back finds the back of the chair.

Ieiri cannot recall the last time she observed the holidays; work often distracted her from such sentiments. Not that she had ever truly cared about the septation. There were very few moments that the holiday season really held any significance for her. She can recall gifts that she enjoyed, but aside from such moments, it was never something she awaited.

More often than not, it felt as though she was directed in a play. Expectations of gifts, to pose for the perfect picture, laugh at jokes that lacked humor, act surprise despite the fact that her parents had a less than impressive maneuver to place it directly under their bed. Not even properly tucked under. How was she supposed to act surprise? All elaborate orchestrated performance, one that had all of its expectations on display for all those to view, and should she not put on a well enough performance as she often fell short of.

No one ever hid their disappointment.

Shit, Shoko had never been impressed with the concept of the holidays. Really, the only enjoyment she found in the season was the early outs from school, and well, when things were simpler. When Gojo and Geto would laugh, engage in snowball fights in the courtyard as though they were small children. Like elementary students, when things were simpler.

When she could smile.

These days, your girlfriend has very little interest in engaging in the holiday festivities. It’s not so much that she is downright hateful at the prospect. Shoko has no intentions of robbing the Whos of Christmas, but that beign said, she has no real emotional investment either. Her involvement will be for your sole amusement only. Even then, she’s tired, and on a limited battery.

Actually, Shoko can be rather giving of what limited time she has accumulated, so long as it’s not a forced participation. Do not guilt her, nor make her feel as though there are ultimatums attached to her absence, or her enrollment. Such consequences will not end well with your partner, but surely you knew this before you committed to this relationship.

You’ll hear no complains if you choose to visit friends and family, bar crawl, or even adventure past your borders to conquer every party that you can find, or investigate any vendors you come across. Really, have fun.

She wants you to have fun.

Truthfully, the only joy she divuldges in the holiday season, is the sweet late hours of slumber. The filter of the midday sun high in the sky as it peeks through sheer curtains. Catches her eyelashes, dances across her skin, to wake to you peering over her, the muddle of your bedhead. Stuck at odd ends, the wear of a late night relieved from your senses. The bright eyed gaze you regard her in, soft as the dimples form upon your cheeks. The blush of her finger stroked upon your cheek.

Yes, this is the moment that she lives for. One that she has craved, and is the reason why she has endured whatever holiday torture you have submitted her to. Shoko’s piece of joy.

Only brightened by the small squeal you release, as she plucks a present from beneath her pillow. The delight of the significance—the only person she has purchased a gift for in well over a decade.

Just for you.

Utahime Iori

Is a little embarrassed that she looks forward to this time of year.

Will never openly admit how excited she is, as though some part of her still clings to being a shy child. She’ll dodge questions, try to play coy as she averts her eyes when you ask what her plans are for the holiday. Mutter claims that nothing really comes to mind, perhaps she’ll just do the same old, same ol’.

It’s a ploy.

A down right lie. She knows exactly what she will be doing, and if you have progressed in your relationship, Utahime will still be a bit dodgy with her openness, but you’ll find small ways of being pulled into her traditions.

It’s not that she’s intentionally skipping yours over, and in fact, if you are an avid holiday celebrator yourself, you’ll find her interest peek. If you have a certain gingerbread recipe, one that demands a multitude of steps, she will watch your precision with peaked interest.

Peeked over your shoulder, leaned meticulously in as if to absorb all of the information you have to offer. The precision of your knife, patterns traced on parchment. Each line thought out with great care, and calculated angles to ensure that your gingerbread house mansion will stand through the festivities.

Iori adores observing your traditions, regardless of w hat holiday you dedicate yourself to, or religious practices. To be included means a great deal for her, and while she may not understand everything that is happening such as  the morning mass, the sorcerer puts great care into researching prior. Doing her best to follow the motions as accurately as you demonstrate.

Smiles to herself at the significance of being included.

The small blush that claims her cheeks, paints to the tip of her nose and the ends of her ears only maintained dignity beneath her hair upon the openness in which you open the door of your family home, happy to share holiday traditions with your girlfriend, and those you love.

Obviously shy at first, will do her best to appear small, and out of the way.

Gradually puts herself to work.

Fixing dim lightbulbs upon the Christmas tree. Assisting the freeing of dolls and trucks from packaging. Happily greeting family pets, allowing them out for a moment of peace from the probing children. Before she inevitably builds the confidence to requests tasks.

Your mother juggling multiple dishes between an oven and a skillet, Utahime will ask if there is anything she can do for her, and despite your mother’s polite refusal, your partner’s ability to rescue the dinner rolls from certain doom is greatly appreciated.

Before she knows it, she has handed task after task.

Iori seizes opportunity to inquire casually about your upbringing. Naturally reserved, it’s almost comical at the approach she takes. Doing her best to seem as though she happened upon such topics—unaware of the side glances your siblings exchange with the smuggest of looks before diving into every horrifying memory they can muster.

Going so far as to procure baby pictures. The shy delight she finds in flipping through them.

Not that Utahime minds, she finds comfort in the way that she has been greeted by your family. A small wish pressed in the back of her mind, as to how naturally it all feels to be embraced amongst your childhood home. Imagines the future that could be born of such familiarity.

How your own home might blossom with the bustle of the holidays.

Now, if you are not one who has any particular attachment to traditions, or none worth departing into your relationship in your opinion, you will find that Utahime is bashful. She’ll do her best to tip toe around the conversation, shyly leaving boxes of ornaments in view, frosting backs of sorted colors, temple fliers to mark the upcoming visits, and any information of upcoming Christmas markets.

Each intentionally placed in view, praying that you will bridge the topic with some interest, rather than shuffle it to the side out of your way.

If you do, she’ll swallow her pride and ask if by any chance—would you like to go to the temple with her? However, you’d be missing out on the opportunity to see the heat come to her cheeks, the press of a smile, and blossomed joy as she imparts off the information she has gathered about the Christmas markets that will take place upon your inquiries. You’re unsure of what a Christmas market is? She’s happy to show you.

Fingers linked between one another as she gently pulls you forward, delighted in the displays, in the treats. Warmed by the Christmas lights, the holiday music, and cheer that bustles amongst vendor to vender. Children delighted, and curious, bearing so much similarity to your companion in a way that draws for warmth and appreciation of your time together.

The holiday season really does bring out child wonder in Utahime.

She’ll write in her diary about this day, and peek back at it every so often.

A beautiful memory.

Toji Fushiguro

The approach of the holiday season brings forth many joys. Generous gifts, meticulously placed decorations that spark a sense of wonder, nostalgia of familiar pastries, and good tidings all around, but not for the cast away Zenin.

I would say that there is a touch of cynicism that threatens Toji’s approach to the holiday season. His upbringing less than affectionate, but because of this—he is fairly indifferent to this time of year.

 you’ll meet a scoff of a laugh, one that bites down realities before shrugging at the quip of his lips. “Couldn’t say,” simple and precise. Nothing more departed. Because truthfully, he really couldn’t give a shit less.

Well, assuming one of the bastards hasn’t sent a holiday card through the mail. The sweet impart of well wishes for the upcoming new year will wring out every bit of irony and hypocrisy. Would absolutely send something in return, merely as a slap to the face. Whatever infringement he can mustard. Even if it’s an explicit image of him fucking you, he hopes it ruins their fucking day.

Smug as hell as he drops it off with the post master.

Assuming he didn’t just hand deliver it along side a bag of candy dicks.

Overall, Toji is fairly indifferent to the holiday season as a whole, and as he grew older and older, it really meant… absolutely noting. He felt no animosity towards family on the street delighting in their wares and intentions to sneak goodies from fat man. It’s a little creepy, but if it makes them happy. He really could careless.

The 25th is the same as the 26th, cold. Loud, and sometimes with good food to snatch.

In correlation to his children, you’ll find that Toji is more willing to attempt the holiday cheer—well, in his own approach. While he for one has no interest, nor the capabilities of bridging the topic with his children. He has no desires to share tales of a jolly fat man who can squeeze down nooks and crannies, commit breaking and entering, and peep on them in their beds.

He does enjoy the opportunity to ambush them from their walk home from elementary school, completely blindsided that he has come to pick them up from their educational track by an onslaught of snowballs to the face.

No one is safe.

He is in it to win, and does not mind any potential bloodshed that will come of it. I promise he has hit one of them hard enough to elicit a nosebleed. It’s all in good fun, and encourages that they return the sentiment.

Megumi will never admit that this was the side of his father that was rare, small slips of a man that appear in his distant memories. Ones in which he was free, unbound by jujetsu norms, and just.

Present.

Happy.

 But, that does not mean, the acclaimed Fushiguro is not in tune with the desires of his children, even if he does not speak to them.

He’ll put in more hours. Press for more opportunities to snub out problems curses and sorcerers alike for a bit of extra pocket cash, an haunting figure amongst holiday shoppers as he picks up items he noticed drawing his children’s attention, or hinted at in their expressions.

But Toji really doesn’t fucking care who the gift is from. In fact, he’ll intentionally leave the package blank. Knowing all too well that it will occur to neither child that their father is the sender of the package. They received it is enough.

You can expect his approach to giving you a git to be the same. He is observant, and well he may struggle to align a majority of emotional needs, Fushiguro is familiar enough with your likes and dislikes to select a gift you will enjoy. Even if it is something as small as your favorite cookies.

Offered in the most disinterested way, nonchalant as mentioning it or pulling it from his pocket on his way out. “Later,” under his breath, turned over his shoulder to hide the small smile that catches his lips, the sparkling aura you illuminate just a little to bright for his eyes, as he slinks off.

Back to the gambling den.

He is admittedly, a little busier this time of year, but as a sign of good faith, he is willing to entertain pushing a majority of request to the side when he sees the dimple between your eyebrows, and how you struggle to swallow back the bitter realization that a majority of families are not only astray, but downright treacherous. However, a higher bid cannot be ignored.

Really, that’s the only part of the holiday season that bring the assassin any sense of satisfaction. The opportunity for a higher payday, but the fact that his time is for the most part free. Unsolicited. Available.

The ability to divulge himself in whatever pleasures he desires.

Fushiguro can filter through requests, select high ticket missions. Lord knows the season not only brings out the worst in others, but it also dulls the senses of a majority of targets. Easy payout, and he’s home in time for breakfast, or he can wonder off to the gambling din. The round of desperation, indulgent depression tipped in his favor, easy money, or there are more opportunities that are even more delectable than coin.

Toji is more than aware that this time of year, brings out a certain generosity in you, a small spark of adventure, and willingness to indulge yourself.

Suddenly, you’ll find yourself filled to the brim with holiday cheer.

The opportunity to distract you from whatever mundane task you insist is necessary for the celebration is far too tempting. How far can he push you, until you break. Whining obscenities, puddy between his fingers. Desperate for his touch, gnawing back weakness, sputtering and pitiful.

That’s alright sweetheart, let me fulfill your wish list.

Yuki Tsukumo

Absolutely unapologetic in her freelance approach to the holiday season.

Will shamelessly drag her partner into her antics.

The thing is, and it may not surprise you by any means, Tsukumo has absolutely no attachments to long standing holiday traditions. Such detachment from family is a side effect of being offered up to Tengen. It’s not that she outright discourages you from engaging in whatever rituals you have opted to keep alive from your childhood. Depending on it, she’ll find it fun, and even cute.

If she’s being honest, and let’s be honest, Yuki believes that open communication regardless of how blunt is the appropriate approach in a relationship, she finds  a majority of traditions… annoying. The concept that one should dip into their pockets to satisfy greed, the meaty underbelly of the holiday season that depicts itself as generosity, and acceptance is anything but. She has witnessed a number of individuals struggling to conform to the season, and a number of would be celebrators ostracized by families.

Unwelcomed.

Displaced.

She’s not outright denying dropping in for some holiday shenanigans with your parents, but should the opportunity present itself, she’d rather allow herself to drift amongst the winter seasons.

This time of year certainly has a tendency to bring out the worst in the human population, and a sudden fluctuation in cursed spirits is to be expected as a natural epidemic worldwide, and as such, Yuki welcomes tossing holiday constrictions to the side, but not outright abandoning.

Rather, she’d rather make the most of the environment she has wandered into. She’s not going to let the lack of unfamiliar faces dip into her spirits. Yuki is thrilled to have happened upon foreign celebrations. The adorable plays put on by children in the African continent, Anyone who has not experienced chakalaka is missing out in her opinion.

The year she wandered into a mystifying scene of las posadas, a procession that ranged with candles, and peace. Beautiful and enchanting amongst the night sky, savoring colemono, and the joy of children expressing how a baby brought their gifts.

The bar crawl expedited through out all of Europe upon this time of year, the flavors ,the joy, strangers intermingled, and the wide languages that greeted her arrival.

Depictions of Santa jamming on a saxophone, and the sweetness of a peace apple between her teeth.

Tsukumo really just cannot understand the appeal of remaining stagnant during such a wonderful time of year, and would much rather her wanderlust to guide her holiday. To welcome embrace and cheer by strangers, unfamiliar faces, and unusual foods.

The food is amongst the selling points; she has always enjoyed her food, and the opportunity to explore the unfamiliar accustoms is topped off only by the cuisine. She’s adventurous enough to try anything, regardless of how obscure the ingredients may be, but be aware that your partner does not mine openly spitting it out if it does not meet her palette.

Yuki is confident, and as such, you will find the natural way that she can enter the holiday season, welcomed amongst travelers, cross country explorations. The best part of this time is year is how effortlessly she releases expectations. Cast away duties, rules, and traditions. The road before her, your arms threaded around her, your cheek pressed into the leather of her jacket.

The possibilities before the two of you.

An entire world to unfold, and places to go.

Waking up in unfamiliar places, you pressed into her breast, shamelessly flaunting her figure and delighted in stirring you at early morning hours. Allowing herself the opportunity to part her appreciation for your company on this trip between pressed kisses that litter your body, uttered merry Christmas between small nips. Teasing, playful.

Squeezed in time together.

You, your presence is the only gift she needs.

[tessa-liam]

Turning the Page 

-6- Right Here Waiting 

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU 

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son. 

Turning the Page Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!MC Riley Brooks  

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belong to this series.  

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression.  

Rating: M🔞Warnings - Series will contain crude language, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors. 

Right Here Waiting - 6 

Chapter Summary: After spending time with his son, Liam begins his journey to repair his relationship with Riley. 

Music & Title Inspiration:  Right Here Waiting, Richard Marx  

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.  

A/N2: My submission for @choicesflashfics, Week#59, prompt #3 - “That was then. This is now. Things change.” 

A/N3: My submission for @choicesnovchallenge, prompt #28, Holidays and Events – French Toast Day  

Words: 2500

Brooklyn Heights, New York

Straightening his back, Liam rubbed his eyes, as the jet lag took its toll. After checking the time on his cell, Liam stood up and took another look at his sleeping son. His heart was full, and he felt a sense of peace that he had not known in a long time. He knew it would take time, but he was determined to earn Riley's trust again, and that he would never give up on his son. 

Riley waited for him in the kitchen and offered a warm smile as he entered its rustic décor. “I know it's late, but I'm starving. Do you want something to eat?” 

Liam was grateful for the offer. “Yes, thank you. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch. That would be great.” 

“Have a seat, and I’ll make us some dinner.” Riley smiled coquettishly, pulling a chair for him from under the table. 

Liam sat down at the kitchen table and watched as Riley busied herself with preparing their meal. It was a surreal moment, and he had a hard time believing that this was actually happening, but the aroma of the food and the sight of Riley moving about the kitchen with ease, made it all too real. 

As they ate, Liam could sense the tension between them. He knew there was so much left unsaid, but he was hesitant to push Riley too far, too fast. He decided to try a different tactic, one that was more familiar to them both. 

“How have you been, Riley?” 

Riley was startled by his question, and her eyes darted up to meet his. “I’ve been … okay. Busy with work, and William keeps me on my toes,” she replied. 

“Tell me about him,” Liam encouraged. 

Riley’s eyes lit up, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Well … he’s amazing, Liam.” Riley’s eyes sparkled with genuine love. “He’s smart, funny, and so full of energy. He loves animals, and his favorite food is chicken nuggets. He’s just …” she trailed off, tears filling her eyes. 

“He’s your whole world,” Liam finished for her. 

“Yes,” Riley said softly, her voice choked with emotion. 

“I am so, sorry I was not there for you, Riley. For both of you.” Liam’s expression was wistful. 

“Liam, how could you have known?” she replied, looking down; not able to return his gaze.   

Liam reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand. 

“Riley... look at me, please.” Slowly lifting her head, she met his gaze. “I will never stop regretting that I was not there for you. That you felt that you could not confide in me.” 

She gave him a tearful smile, her lips trembling. “We both know, had I told you, you would have given up the throne.  And the country could not afford that. And Madeleine …” Riley lost her battle with her tears and looked down to her hands. “Madeleine would have taken advantage of the situation, and …"  

Liam sighed, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. “Riley, I would have found a way. But you are right. My duty is to my people, first and foremost. Duty is important, especially when its most difficult to carry out.” 

“That is what I admire most about you, Liam.”  Riley’s breath hitched, “that is why I agreed to be your mistress when Tariq couldn’t be found.” 

“Riley, you were never my mistress, you are the love of my life,” he replied, his voice firm. 

“Liam, please.” Riley wiped the fresh tears away. 

“No, Riley, please let me finish... 

When I was crowned King, I vowed to always put the needs of my people before my own. I went through the motions of an engagement and then the marriage. But the day you left, love, I realized that without you, I could never be the King my people deserved. I was miserable, and I knew that if I lost you forever, I would never be happy again. Riley, you are my home.” 

“Liam, I …" 

“No, my love. You do not have to say anything. I just need you to know how I feel. I love you, and I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you.” Liam watched as Riley broke down and he at once moved to her side, taking her into his arms. 

"You don't have to say anything," he assured her. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere. If you feel the same about me.” 

"What about Madeleine?" Riley asked, her eyes searching his. 

"As of this afternoon, Madeleine was served with dissolution papers. My lawyers have already let me know that, in exchange for clemency, that Madeleine will leave Cordonia. Riley, that marriage and along with it, the Cordonian arrangement, has been absolved.” 

Riley was speechless, clearly overwhelmed by his revelations. 

Liam lifted his hand to cup her cheek; he could see the exhaustion on her face, and he knew they both needed some rest. "Let's get some sleep, and we can talk more tomorrow." 

Riley nodded and stood, and he followed her down the hallway to her bedroom. They walked in silence as Riley's nerves were very aware of Liam’s proximity.  He looked so good, and it had been so long since she had felt his touch. She demurely smiled up at him and started to pull him through the door. 

"Riley," Liam began, slowing his walk, pausing beside the guest room. 

"But..." Riley protested. 

"Please, Riley, let's not rush this. I want to do things right this time. Let us begin to re-write our story.” 

Liam kissed her cheek. "Good night, my love. Sleep well." 

"You too, Liam," she responded. 

As Liam turned to leave, Riley impulsively reached out again to pull him close. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Liam was lost in the sensation of her soft lips on his. It had been so long, and his body reacted instantly, the fire within him threatening to consume him. He forced himself to pull away, his breath ragged. 

"Riley..." he warned, unhooking her arms from his neck. 

"I know, Liam, I just had to have one last taste." 

Liam laughed, his heart soaring. "One last taste? Who said this will be the last time?" 

Riley giggled, her face flushing. "Good night, Liam." 

"Good night, Riley." 

They stood there for a moment, each taking in the sight of the other. Finally, Liam reluctantly turned and headed into the guest room. Riley closed her door and leaned against it, her heart pounding. She could not believe what had just happened, but she was elated and hopeful for the future. 

The Four Seasons Hotel, Manhattan 

Stumbling into the penthouse suite, Leo chortled, guiding the blond to his room with his hands firmly locked on her waist. The young woman giggled and pushed the door open, and he followed, closing the door behind them with a kick. 

"Now where were we?" Leo suggestively said, pulling the woman close and kissing her soundly. 

"Leo, stop," the woman giggled, pushing him away. 

"Come on, baby, don't be like that," he purred, pulling her close again. 

"Leo, no ... you're drunk," she protested, but he could tell she was enjoying the attention. 

"So are you," he countered, his lips scaling down her neck. 

“I know,” she snickered. “Do you remember my name?” Leo pulled away and looked at her. She was gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

"Of course, I do," he lied, "but maybe you can refresh my memory?" 

She laughed and shook her head. "It's Ashley." 

"Ashley," Leo repeated, tasting the name on his lips. "I like that." 

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she teased. 

"No, no ... only the beautiful ones," he replied, his words slurring slightly. 

Ashley laughed, "hey, stop .... your phone is vibrating!"

Leo grabbed the phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. 

"It's a text from my brother. It says, 'we need to talk.’” 

Concerned, Leo called Liam back at once, disentangling Ashley's arms from his neck. 

"What is it, Li? Are you alright?" Leo's voice was laced with worry. 

"I'm fine, but I have news." Liam's tone was calm, which confused and intrigued Leo. 

"What's going on, Liam?" Leo asked, his concern growing. 

"Riley and I... well, I just met my son."

After a moment of silence ... 

"You...you have a son?" Leo repeated, his eyes widening in shock. 

"Yes. William. Riley's son. Our son." 

Leo ran his hand through his hair and looked around the room, his mind racing. 

"Are you there, Leo?" Liam asked, breaking the silence. 

"Yeah, sorry. This is just a lot to take in." 

"I know. I'll explain everything later. I will be staying here with Riley, for now. I need you to take care of a few things for me." 

"Sure, Liam. Anything," Leo agreed. “But I need all the deets, asap.” 

"Thank you. And Leo, keep this quiet. We don't need the press finding out about this." 

"Li.... what should I tell Olivia? The council? They are expecting you to attend the Five Kingdoms Festival opening ceremony next weekend." 

"That was scheduled months ago. That was then. This is now. Things change." 

"You got it, Liam. Talk to you soon." 

Leo ended the call and stared at his phone, still trying to wrap his head around his brother's news. He looked up to find Ashley slipping out the door. Sighing, Leo poured scotch into a crystal tumbler and switched on the television. 

 Brooklyn Heights, New York City 

The sun's rays were streaming through the patio doors of the kitchen as Daniel scooped three teaspoons of sugar into his black coffee. Matteo quickly kissed him goodbye before heading out the door as William climbed up on his toddler chair with his train car. 

"So, buddy, what would you like for breakfast?" 

"I'm hungery, Dan Dan."  

Grinning, Daniel poured apple juice into a sippy cup, "you are? Hmmm. I'm thinking french toast with berries and syrup.” 

William's face lit up, and he clapped his hands excitedly. "Yummy!" 

"You got it, kid," Daniel chuckled, pulling out a pan and the ingredients. 

Liam walked into the kitchen as Daniel's eyes widened in surprise. "Your Majesty, good morning." 

"Good morning, Daniel. I think it's time you started calling me Liam. No need for formalities." 

"And good morning to you William." Liam smiled affectionately, turning his attention to his son. 

William looked up to the tall man, shyly, "Hi". 

"Okay, Liam. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" 

"Just a cup of coffee, please." 

Daniel poured the King a cup as Liam sat down at the table; already knowing that Liam had come to reunite with Riley yesterday evening. 

William was watching Liam closely and offered to share his toy train.

"For me? Thank you." William smiled and pointed at his breakfast. 

"Dan Dan made me it."  

"Is that so? It looks delicious. Do you mind if I have some too?" 

William giggled, "okay." 

"Dan, could you please make me a plate as well?" 

Daniel nodded, "absolutely. Coming right up." 

"Thank you.”  

“So, William, I see you like trains?" 

"Yes! And puppies.” 

"Wow, you really do like a lot of things." 

William grinned, taking a sip of his juice. 

"You and I have a lot in common. I love trains, too. And... puppies.” Liam smiled. 

William grinned, "you're funny, Mr. Liam." 

"You think so? I'm glad you think so, William. You know, I've always loved trains, even when I was a little boy. Would you like to hear a story about a train I rode on once?" 

William's eyes widened in delight. "I like stories.” 

"Okay, here goes," Liam said, taking a bite of his food. "One day, when I was about your age, my father and I were traveling across the country, and we decided to take the train instead of our usual car. It was a very big train, with many cars, and we had to ride in a special car just for us." 

"Wow!" William exclaimed; his eyes wide with wonder. 

"We rode that train for hours and hours, and we stopped in many different towns and cities. Each one was more beautiful than the last. But then, something strange happened." 

"Oh," William asked, his face a mixture of fear and curiosity. 

"We got stuck. The train stopped working, and we were stranded. It was a very scary situation. We were all alone, with no one to help us. We had no idea what to do. But then, something amazing happened." 

"What? What happened?" 

Liam leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "a magic train came along and rescued us. It was like something out of a fairy tale." 

"Wow," William breathed, eyes wide.

"Yes, it was quite incredible. We were all safe, and the train took us the rest of the way. But it was an adventure I will never forget." 

"Wow," William breathed in awe. 

Leaning against the doorframe, Riley looked at the two, smiling as she took in the scene before her. 

"Good morning, everyone," she announced brightly. 

"Good morning, Riley," Liam replied, standing up to greet her, kissing her cheek. 

William's eyes widened, "Mama, look, Mr. Liam told me a story." 

Riley grinned, ruffling her son's hair, taking the seat next to William. 

"LiLi, this man …” Riley reached across the table and squeezed Liam’s hand. 

“... is your Daddy."  

"Daddy? My daddy?" William turned and looked up at his father, eyes wide, filled with wonder. 

"Yes, I am," Liam softly replied; overcome with emotion. 

Liam stood and knelt, meeting his son's eyes. "I've been away for a while, but I'm here now, and I want to be part of your life, if you'll have me."

William smiled, wrapping his arms around Liam's neck. “My Daddy.” 

Liam's heart swelled as he embraced his son.

"And Mama, too?" William asked.

"Of course, and Mama too." Liam looked at Riley lovingly.

Thanks for reading!

📌All fics & edits: @ao719 @txemrn @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

📌TRR/TRF Liam & Riley: @irisk12 , @walkerdrakewalker @thesvnsins @jared2612

📌Turning the Page: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesflashfics @choicesnovemberchallenge

[katesiaynasworld]

The Poisoned Kiss

Will Graham reluctantly accepted Hannibal's invitation to dinner at his home. Their relationship, always ambiguous, had recently evolved into something even more dangerous, bordering on obsession. Hannibal had prepared everything with his usual precision – from the décor of the dining room to the exquisite wine, and finally to the dish now resting on the perfectly arranged plate before Will.

Candlelight cast subtle shadows across Lecter's face, making his gaze seem even more piercing. Will sat across from him, observing carefully but with growing fatigue. He felt something was different. Each bite seemed more intense, the flavor almost overwhelming.

Hannibal: (smiling slightly) Does it please you, Will? I can see tonight’s dinner has made an impression on you.

Will: (studying Hannibal, slightly disoriented) Yes… This dish… it’s extraordinary. But… I feel… different.

Hannibal: (resting his elbows on the table, never taking his eyes off Will) Sometimes, I like to take a small risk in the kitchen. I’m sure you won’t mind.

Will blinks, trying to focus. The world around him begins to blur, his thoughts becoming more scattered by the moment.

Will: (smiling slightly but confused) Hannibal… what’s going on here?

Hannibal: (tilting his head) There’s no need for concern, Will. It’s nothing lasting. Just a hint of something subtle, to help you feel… uniquely light.

Will tries to stand, but his legs don’t respond. Instead, he leans on the table, struggling to catch his breath. Hannibal rises slowly, approaching him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Will: Why?

Hannibal: I wanted to see, Will, how far you’d go when you felt you were losing control. You are… fascinating.

Will feels his heart racing, mingling with unease but also an unsettling fascination. His gaze is drawn to Hannibal’s, so intense and full of hidden emotions that, for a moment, he forgets where he is.

Will: (softly) Is it always about control, Hannibal?

Hannibal: In your case… I’m no longer certain. Perhaps you are the one who taught me what… uncertainty means.

Hannibal looks down, though his hand remains on Will’s shoulder. The silence between them is thick with tension, subtle nuances, and unspoken emotions. Will takes a deep breath, feeling the last traces of disorientation fade, yet he remains in a suspended state, as though his will is torn between survival instinct and a desire to see where this strange connection might lead.

Will: (finally looking at Hannibal, his voice barely audible) Who am I to you, Hannibal?

Hannibal: (whispering) My creation. My obsession… and my undoing.

Their gazes lock in a tension-filled exchange, and Hannibal, allowing himself a brief moment of weakness, leans in, placing a soft, almost ethereal kiss on Will’s cheek. The touch, a fragile balance between affection and dominance, leaves Will both confused and… wanting more.

Hannibal: Remember, Will, you are now forever a part of me. Even if you tried to escape… I would always know where to find you.

Will looks at him, both terrified and fascinated, realizing that from this moment on, nothing will ever be the same.

[ddagent]

Paired (Teaser)

“Out with it, Angel.”

“It’s a couple’s cooking class.”

“Right.”

Crowley was not sure how he made it outside the small restaurant in Tower Hill hosting the cooking class. When his hand applied the handbrake, Crowley’s gaze met Aziraphale’s. He was wide-eyed, hands wrapped tight over his. “You’ve been silent for twenty minutes.”

“Right.”

In truth, Crowley hadn’t thought much past couple. Couple. As in pair. Two. Us. Group of the two of us. Sure. He and Aziraphale could pretend to be a couple for an evening. Easy. Peasy. Lemons optional. He already had a pet name for Aziraphale. Aziraphale was so bloody tactile ­– always touching the flour, the salt, the ladle, Crowley. They could do this. Known each other for years. Knew allergies, cooking pet peeves. Crowley even knew the sounds Aziraphale made when he came because the man responded to every scrumptious morsel of food as if the chef was personally giving him a blowjob under the table.

Yeah, they could do this. He could be Aziraphale’s boyfriend for an evening to win their game. To win another dinner with Aziraphale. Oh fuck. Anathema had been right. This was a date. He was on a date with Aziraphale. They had been dating for months. Years, really. They had never gone more than a month without finding each other at some restaurant, some hole-in-the wall bistro and reluctantly sharing a dinner or bottle of wine while criticising the décor, the plating, the flavour palette. Fuck. He was dating Aziraphale Fell.