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covenofagatha · 3 days ago

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A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 7)

Answers to your past are revealed

Word count: 5500

Warnings: oral, fingering, and of course, more murder

You’re nine, almost ten, when your family moves to Salem, Massachusetts for your dad’s job. You don't quite know exactly what he does, but it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that you get to pick your own room in the four-bedroom colonial on the cul-de-sac three blocks from your new school. You choose the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs and the long windows overlook the woods in your backyard. Your younger brother complains since he only gets the smaller room with a view of the neighbor’s house, but your mom laughs and tells him that since you’re older, you get first pick.

Everything is perfect there. You like your new school, and like the new friends you made. You come home everyday and sing karaoke after dinner, putting on a show for your family, and they clap and cheer and tell you that they can’t wait to see you on Broadway someday.

One day in fourth grade, you learn about witches in Social Studies. Women were burned at the stake right there in Salem because men feared them and what they were capable of. Your best friend leans over and whispers, “You know there’s still witches here, right? They live in the woods.”

This piqued your interest more than you thought it would; there is something fascinating about a woman with power. While you don’t believe in witches or magic, you want to know what that is like, to be capable of doing something great, something more than just your boring life as a fourth grader. And while there obviously aren't witches in the woods, your curiosity gets the better of you.

So you pack a bag of snacks and capri-suns and set out into the woods behind your house. You know your parents would be mad if you told them, so you don’t. You’d be back before it was even dark out, and you had turned ten a few months ago at that point. Plenty grown up enough to go alone.

It’s only about five minutes in when you start panicking. Snow is starting to fall, a light cover on the forest floor, and you are possibly a little lost. The trees seem to be getting thicker and a branch scratches your leg through your pants. It tears the fabric and there is a bloody gash.

Your mom is going to be so mad that you ripped them.

You should probably get home now.

The only problem is that you don’t know which way home is, having been disoriented by the scratch to your shin. And there isn’t enough snow to see your footprints yet. So you pick a random direction, hopefully the one you just came from, and start walking.

It is not the right way, as you only seem to be going more into the thicket.

You’re scared, starting to freak out, when you come across a frozen creek. You bend down and stare into your reflection, meeting your eyes while you take deep breaths to slow your racing heart.

And then you hear a sound and you lurch back, falling onto the mud on the bank. It gets on your clothes and you know your mom is going to be even more mad now. Not only did you tear your pants, you now have wet dirt all over them and your jacket.

The sound comes back, only this time, you’re able to figure out what it is.

Laughter.

Someone is laughing in the woods. Who is it?

Terror grips your heart. Are there really witches here? You know you should turn back around, go anywhere other than toward the sound, but you’ve come this far.

You stand up and brush your messy hands on your jacket and you follow the noise through more trees, and you’re convinced you must be going the wrong way until you come into a clearing. It’s in the shape of a large circle and you wonder if there used to be more nature here.

Stepping forward, you feel incredibly vulnerable without the protection of all the trees around you and snow crunches underneath your boots. The laughter has stopped, and you scan the tree line to look for where it may have been coming from.

More snow starts to fall and you wrap your jacket tighter around you, shivering. You’re about to leave when you see what looks like the outline of a person tucked away between a few trees on the other side of the clearing.

It’s like you’re being pulled towards them by an invisible line. As if in a trance, you start walking in their direction and a stick cracks under your foot, sending red birds fluttering from the branches.

The person hears it too, and they turn around. It’s a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes that seem to glow, and she smiles at you, reaching a hand out to beckon you closer.

Your mom’s warning of Don’t talk to strangers! echoes in your mind, but you push it away and keep moving forward.

She’s with two other women, one with dark hair to her shoulders and brown eyes, and the other with gray hair and greenish-bluish eyes. The gray-haired lady looks mad and her face reminds you of a crow. She’s standing against a tree, her feet in the middle of a big pile of wood.

“What’s a young girl like you doing out here in the forest?” The brunette with blue eyes asks, but you’re too busy peering at the older lady. Her hands are behind her back and seemingly wrapped around the tree.

“Little girl, you need to run and get help,” the gray-haired lady barks and you flinch at the roughness in her voice. “They’re going to kill me!”

Is she tied to the tree?

Your brows crinkle and the other woman, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, chuckles and waves her off. “Don’t listen to Evanora, doll. Why don’t you come walk with Agatha and I and we can help you figure out where you need to be right now.”

The blue-eyed woman – Agatha – smiles in agreement and puts an arm around you to lead you away, deeper into the woods. You can still hear Evanora shouting faintly but you try to ignore it.

“Why don’t you tell us your name, sweetheart?” Agatha asks and you tell them. They both nod. “Well I’m Agatha, and this is Rio.”

“Are you guys witches?” You ask and they both give you amused looks.

Rio kneels down so she’s eye-level with you. “Why would you think that, doll?” She’s studying your face curiously.

You shrug. “My friend told me there were witches in the woods. And then I found you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, honey, but we’re not witches,” Agatha laughs. “We were just camping.”

It makes you frown. “Then who’s that woman?”

Rio glances up at Agatha and then back to you. “Evanora is…not a very nice person. But you don’t have to worry about that at all. Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, at the edge of the woods. I got a little lost, though,” you say sadly and they look very sympathetic.

“Well, why don’t we help you get back? We know these woods very well, we can have you back before supper,” Agatha offers.

But you’re not ready to go back just yet. “Why can’t I stay here a little longer with you guys? Can you show me the woods?” You look at them hopefully, sticking out your bottom lip and giving them the best puppy-dog eyes you can, and Rio chuckles before standing up and holding out a hand to you.

“Why don’t I show you my favorite spot?” She says and you nod eagerly. You notice Agatha giving her a strange look but she follows the two of you.

“So, Y/N, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Agatha asks.

You beam up at her, happy she’s coming along. “I’m in fourth grade. I have a younger brother who’s in first. We don’t have any pets, even though I’ve been begging my dad for a dog. And I’m going to be famous when I grow up!”

They both gasp. “Famous!” Agatha exclaims. “I didn’t realize we were in the presence of a future celebrity. Rio, remind me to get our little superstar’s autograph before taking her back home.”

You giggle at the name and they both smile fondly down at you before leading you on. It’s only a bit more before Rio stops and points. “See right there, doll?”

A gasp leaves your throat. It’s absolutely beautiful. In the middle of the trees, there’s a field of the prettiest purple flowers you’ve ever seen. You drop Rio’s hand and go wander into it, breathing in the honeysuckle scent.

“What kind of flowers are they?” You ask absentmindedly, brushing your hand over the stop of them. Even in the winter, they are still growing strong.

“Azaleas,” Rio tells you and you repeat it.

You pick two and walk back over to them, offering them each a flower. Then you ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind. “Are you going to kill Evanora?”

Agatha does a double-take and Rio’s hand tightens around the flower stem. “Of course not, superstar,” Agatha assures you, but you’re not convinced.

“She said you were going to,” you insist. “It looked like she was tied to the tree and she’s standing in a lot of wood. Are you going to burn her? That’s what they did to witches, you know. Is she a witch?”

Rio snorts. “More like a bitch,” she mutters under her breath and Agatha shoots her a glare.

“That’s a bad word,” you state matter-of-factly and she smirks.

Agatha gets down so she can hold onto your shoulders. “Evanora is a very evil lady. She’s tried to hurt me many times.”

You hold onto her gaze. “Maybe she deserves it then.” Agatha sharply inhales and Rio cackles like it’s the funniest thing ever.

“What?” Agatha asks, regarding you cautiously, scanning your face like she’s looking for something.

You shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you ever killed someone before?”

“I like you, doll,” Rio says, reaching over to pat you on the head. Agatha gives her a weary look.

“She’s a kid, Rio,” Agatha reminds her. “We should really be getting you back home. Come on.”

You walk behind them as they follow your footsteps, winding you back through the woods until you’re back to where Evanora is. You can see her hands struggling with the rope around her wrist, struggling to get it off.

Why can you not stop thinking about it? About what it would feel like to watch her die?

You don’t know why, but you know you’re not ready to leave just yet. So you dig your heels into the snow and stop moving. Evanora starts wailing, trying to get your attention, but you fix your stare on the other women.

Agatha and Rio keep walking a few more paces until they finally realize you’re not behind them.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Agatha says sternly but you stay rooted. Rio whispers something to her and they begin a heated discussion about what they should do with you.

But you drone them out, looking around their campsite. You can feel something calling to you almost, something in Agatha’s backpack. You bend down and pull out a matchbook.

Your breath stutters in your lungs and you’re in a daze when you turn back around to see Evanora.

“Little girl, put those down and help untie me,” she hisses. “We need to get away from my abomination of a daughter and her friend.” You don’t know why she says it like that, not sure if there’s an underlying meaning to her words, but nothing feels real when you take out a match.

A hush falls over the woods and you glance back to find Agatha and Rio watching you with wide eyes, waiting for your next move.

Time slows down when you strike it against the box and the heat from the flame, while small, warms your face.

It's a morbid curiosity, you tell yourself, that’s filling your head right now. You just want to see what happens.

Evanora isn’t making sense now, babbling on and pleading and blubbering, but there’s a vibration in your ears that drowns her out.

Is this what it feels like, to have power? To be capable of something greater, for people to know it?

Except you’re not the one about to be burned.

Your arm reaches out and your fingers open and the match drops out, falling to the wood as if in slow motion, and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts.

You gasp – what have you done? Why would you do that?

She’s going to die. Panic fills your lungs – or is that smoke? – and you rush forward and try to help her but someone yanks you back by the shoulders.

“You’ll get burned!” Agatha yells in your ear over Evanora’s horrific screams. You struggle against her, needing to break free, needing to do something.

“Agatha, we need to go!” Rio shouts and you tear out of Agatha’s arms and start running in the other direction. Maybe if you go fast enough, you can run back in time and undo it.

Why would you do that?

You round a tree too fast and slip on the ice, tumbling down to the ground. Your head smashes against a rock with a loud crack and you instantly black out.

When you wake up, you’re in a hospital room with your mom and dad asleep in chairs next to your bed. You stir and attempt to sit up, but your entire body aches and machines start beeping as your heart starts to race.

Your parents jump up and your mom breaks into a sob, your dad embracing her tightly.

“What’s–” You try to ask what’s going on, what’s happening, where are you, but your throat is dry.

Your dad calls for a doctor and two men in white lab coats rush in.

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?” One of them asks and you strain your brain but a sharp pain bolts through your head and you clap your hand to it.

All you can do is shake your head no.

The doctors look grimly at your parents. “We knew this was a possibility. A traumatic brain injury like this can cause amnesia, especially regarding the events right before the accident. She might never remember, and it might take a few days for her memory to get back to normal. There’s a chance she might not even know she was in the hospital. Don’t be surprised if there’s a bit of a personality change too.”

A fresh wave of tears fall from your mom’s eyes but she clasps your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Our baby is okay, though. That’s all that matters.”

And there were no indistinguishable differences in your personality from before the accident to after, except for one thing.

You now want, more than anything, to understand how murderers’ minds work.

~~~

Agatha and Rio had thought you were dead up until three years ago.

They had followed you after you had lit the match and watched as you fell and hit your head, quickly rushing over to you.

Your breaths were faint and they had grunted as they carried you almost all the way out of the woods, positioning you on the ground next to the bloody rock on the edge. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before someone saw you, even if you had already died.

And then they booked it out of Salem, into Westview, New Jersey, where they set up their new life, getting married a year later.

The topic of you killing Agatha’s mother quickly became something the two of them stopped talking about, and it was like it had never happened.

Agatha became a detective and Rio became a therapist, and all was well.

Until one morning, about twelve years later, when Agatha is reading the newspaper in the kitchen and sees an article about a serial killer getting caught down in Miami, Florida.

She hums and Rio looks up from her coffee. “What?”

Agatha flips the paper and points. “Have you heard of the Scarlet Killer?”

“A little bit,” Rio shrugs, leaning forward. “Apparently she was kidnapping kids and killing the parents or something. One of my patients with triplets was so paranoid that she was the next victim, despite living a thousand miles away. Convinced the killer was going to come all the way up here just for her.”

Agatha snorts. “She was just caught. But look at the part about the profiler who caught her. And the picture.”

Rio’s eyes drop and scan the part toward the bottom. Her brows furrow and she looks up and meets Agatha’s gaze. “This can’t be her, can it?”

But the name is the same, the face, albeit older, is the same.

Agatha uses her resources at the police station to look you up and they find the story of your life, everything that’s happened since that fateful day in the clearing. Her and Rio pour over it and Agatha can’t help but feel proud of everything you’ve done.

The medical record from the hospital they get a hold of from Salem is hard to get, it takes Agatha calling in many favors, but it’s worth it because now they know that you don’t remember.

A year and a half passes and they follow all your cases. Rio is fascinated by the way your brain works, putting things together and figuring things out. You have a knack for the female serial killers it seems, and a question lingers in both their minds.

It isn’t until they’re laying in bed one right that Rio dares to ask it. “Do you think it’s because of us?”

Agatha shrugs. “Maybe there was something else.”

“You think she came across two other people planning on killing a woman in the woods and then she stole their thunder?” Rio says and Agatha laughs.

“She stole our thunder?” Agatha teases and Rio lightly jabs her in the stomach.

Rio softly strokes the skin on Agatha’s hand. “Yeah, I kind of wanted to be the one to do it after everything she put you through.”

Agatha softens. Death had been a part of her life ever since she was a girl and her mom had found out that she liked girls. Evanora was the town’s pastor, and that simply would not do. The girls Agatha had a fling with always turned up missing or dead, and there were far too many times Agatha had almost been accidentally killed for it to be a coincidence.

Everyone stayed away from her except for Rio. Rio wasn’t afraid, Rio was willing to kill for her.

Had the two of them killed people before? Yes. They can still remember you asking them that. They liked the thrill, got off on it even, but they hadn’t done it since they’d met you.

“Well, I’m very sorry I don’t have another mother for you to kill,” Agatha jokes and Rio leans in to kiss her.

“I would, you know,” Rio says seriously and Agatha laughs at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

And then she thinks back to the photos of you in your FBI jacket and how much you’ve matured. Your mind is brilliant, but you’ve become ever the attractive thing. “She’s grown into quite the young woman,” Agatha muses and Rio pulls back, a glint in her eyes.

“She certainly has,” Rio agrees, going in for another kiss, a deeper kiss. Agatha moans when her wife bites her lip. “What if we…“

Agatha raises an eyebrow when Rio trails off. “What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, already knowing what she’s going to suggest.

It’s crazy.

It’s a spur of the moment, impulsive thing to say.

“Female serial killers are her thing,” Rio begins, her fingers trailing down Agatha’s stomach. She skates under the oversized tee she’s wearing and Agatha shivers. “One of the best in the FBI. If there were to be, say, two female serial killers here in Westview, don’t you think they’d send her?”

Agatha gasps when Rio cups her over her underwear. Her wife moves her fingers roughly, rubbing her clit through the fabric, and Agatha can feel herself growing wet.

“You want her to catch us?” Agatha asks, voice breaking off into a groan. Rio snickers as she pushes her panties to the side and draws lazy circles over her pussy.

She shakes her head. “Not catch us. We know her, know what she’s capable of. We can bring that out in her again.”

Agatha moans when Rio pushes a finger inside her. Her hips roll slowly, matching Rio’s thrusts. “You want to make her into a murderer?”

“Like you don’t want to corrupt her? Look at her, how delicious she is. She’s our own case study. We’ve never met anyone like her,” Rio says, entranced and speech unburdened, like she didn’t just slip a second finger into her wife.

“You’re such a therapist. And so horny,” Agatha huffs out, her own hand reaching down to rub her clit while Rio speeds up her thrusts. Her walls are clenching and she feels a building low in her gut, tingles spreading through her body.

Rio ducks down to suck on Agatha’s neck and the older woman keens underneath her. “Think about it, Aggs. We draw her here. We get a little taste of our superstar, both mentally and physically. She’s fucking brilliant, and so fucking hot.”

Agatha’s mind betrays her and she pictures you on your knees for her, holding your hair back in a ponytail so she can get a clearer look at you. You’re twenty-two years old now, half Rio’s age and over half Agatha’s age, too young, but there’s something about the darkness that she knows is inside you that calls to her, entices her.

“She’d be such a good pet for us,” Agatha gasps, giving into the fantasy. Rio curls her fingers and scissors them and twists them and Agatha is reduced to a panting mess on the bed, hips furiously grinding up. She’s so close. “Rio.”

And her wife always knows what she needs. “Just picture her, Aggie. Picture the three of us in bed, her fucking you and me fucking her and then vice versa. Her tongue inside your pussy and then your fingers inside hers. God, I bet she tastes so good.”

Agatha’s back arches off the bed at the image and she cums all over Rio’s fingers, frantically rubbing her own clit to draw out the pleasure.

When she comes down from an intense high, the two of them start planning.

It becomes apparent quickly that they’re rusty in the whole murder game. But they just need some practice.

Agatha and Rio can’t do it in Westview though, can’t bring you here too soon before they’re ready.

So they drive to different states. Staying in New Jersey is still a bit of a risk. But it doesn’t take them that long to find their groove.

It can’t just be a regular, basic crime scene with a gunshot or a knife or something. It needs to be art, a performance, something that gets you here.

So they figure out their M.O.. Rio was always excellent with a knife, and Agatha, whose father was a chemist, is able to whip up some mixtures that create exactly the look they’re going for.

It’s gruesome and unnecessary and perhaps over the top, but they’re going to desperate measures to make sure they get what they want.

And oh god, do they want you now. You’ve become an obsession to them, sinking your claws into their minds and leaving them to think of little else.

They won’t make it easy for you, no. They’ll confuse the witnesses and Rio will wear a mask and there will be no trace left behind, but they’re confident that you will crack it.

Plus, they’re more than willing to give you a guiding hand.

The first time they strike, it goes almost too perfectly. They choose a random person, a woman who lives alone. The poison achieves exactly the desired effect and the bleach and hydrogen peroxide completely gets rid of all the blood after Rio cuts out her heart.

The purple azalea was Rio’s idea, a small thing meant to jog your memory. They both didn’t have a clue if it would work, but they wanted to see.

“What should I do with this?” Rio asks, holding up the organ, and there is something about her disheveled hair, rolled up sleeves, and bloody hands that just really gets to Agatha.

She has her wife pushed against the wall and Agatha sinks down to her knees, quickly unbuttoning her pants and shoving them down before Rio can say anything else. She mouths at her through her underwear and moans at the musky scent and how she can suck the wetness out of the fabric because of how soaked Rio is. Agatha can already feel her throbbing.

Their plan is going to do wonders for their sex life.

Agatha nips at Rio’s pale skin, bites her hip, and drags her panties off with her teeth and Rio’s head falls back at the sight.

“Agatha, fuck,” Rio breathes, the hand not holding the heart coming down to tangle into her hair. She wildly looks around for somewhere to put it and decides to place it gently on the bookshelf.

The older woman’s tongue delves through her folds and Rio makes a strangled sound, widening her stance so Agatha can get better access. Her nose bumps against Rio’s clit and continues to move against her as Agatha shoves her tongue inside her entrance and devours her, licking up and curling it only the way she can. Her nails dig into Rio’s thighs, knowing the younger woman likes a little bit of pain, and Rio’s fingers tighten in Agatha’s long hair, holding her there.

It’s a bit hard for Rio to ride her face, so she settles for rutting her hips against Agatha, each bump from her nose and each stroke from her tongue only making her closer.

Rio moans her wife’s name again and Agatha rubs her glistening face against her inner thighs, spreading Rio’s wetness all over her skin before sucking her clit into her mouth and scraping her teeth against it.

That’s all it takes and Rio cums faster than she ever has, all over Agatha’s face.

The sex becomes part of the process. Who knew murder would be such an aphrodisiac? But it’s more than the killing, it’s the thought that they’re one step closer to getting you.

Their prize.

Chief Jones brings in profilers from around the area but the bodies keep piling up and there’s no other choice but to call the FBI and Agatha gets wind that they’re sending in a profiler from the Miami branch, one who specializes in female serial killers.

Their plan works perfectly.

And you killing people in your sleep is just a pleasant surprise.

~~~

“What happens now?” You ask when Rio and Agatha finally break the hug that you’ve been standing in for what seems like hours. You immediately miss their warmth.

The two of them look at each other. “We leave,” Rio says. “We pack up all our stuff and hit the road and never look back.”

The plan makes you pause. “I can’t do that though, I’m in the FBI, I can’t just disappear off the grid.”

“Why not?” Agatha asks seriously. She raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re perfect for us, superstar.”

You’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up big time. While you have the answers you’ve been searching for, you now wish you didn’t.

It was you. Somewhere, subconsciously, in your brain, you had wanted to understand why you had dropped the match that day and killed Evanora. A random woman, for no reason other than because you wanted to.

Is the answer because you’re just a killer?

No. That can’t be it. You refuse to accept it, because you’ve helped people, you’ve solved cases, you’ve caught the bad guys. You’re good. You can be good.

But Agatha and Rio are standing here like you’re everything you’ve ever wanted, murder and all.

It’s tempting.

You can’t. But you want to. But you can’t.

And then you remember that Tony should be getting into Westview right about now. Fuck. What are you supposed to do about him?

You can’t go back to Miami right now, so what other choice do you have? You nod your head slowly. “Okay. I just need to pack up my stuff.”

“You mean the stuff that we gave you?” Rio asks wolfishly. “Let’s go. We’ll drive.”

“I stole your car and it’s parked out front next to Agatha’s,” you remember and they chuckle.

Rio invades your space and reaches into your pockets, fishing around in them, and her proximity makes heat flood through you again. She winks at you when she grabs her keys and you blush.

“Let’s go then,” Agatha says, pulling you out the door and leading you to her car while Rio gets into hers.

The drive is quiet and you play with the lock until Agatha swats your elbow. It’s an uncomfortable silence to say the least, but you’re not sure exactly what to say.

She apparently doesn’t either.

Thankfully, it’s a short drive.

They follow you into your room and you kick aside the azaleas so you can walk back and forth easier between the bedroom and the living room to throw all your stuff into your suitcase. They go through the room like they haven’t already been in here multiple times.

“Thanks for her, by the way,” you say sarcastically, pointing to the dead body that’s still on your bed.

Rio snorts. “Agatha has a wicked jealous streak,” she says and Agatha throws a flower at her.

You’re almost completely packed and ready to go, feeling confident about your decision for the first time, when there’s a knock on the door. You freeze and Agatha and Rio look at you.

“Y/N, open up! It’s Tony,” he calls from outside and you think your heart is going to explode. The air in the room has changed and you can feel their suspicions.

You look around for anywhere to hide them and then hiss at them to get in the bedroom. You had hoped you’d have more time before he got here. They squint at you, trying to figure out your game, but go in anyway.

The second the bedroom door closes, you let him in and his jaw drops.

“What happened in here?” He asks, taking in your suitcase and the flowers. What are you supposed to say? I’m skipping town with the serial killers and I just had sex with them and also I killed someone when I was ten years old and I’ve been murdering people in my sleep?

You don’t think that would go over well. So you decide to tell him a version of the truth. “The killers were here,” you say, your mouth suddenly so dry. “They’ve been taunting me, messing with my head.” All not a lie.

“I don’t care. We’re leaving. Get your stuff,” he orders and it’s clear you don’t have a choice.

You wonder if they’re listening to you. “Tony, please,” you say. “I can’t leave yet.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “And why the fuck not?”

“Because I know who they are,” you tell him, your voice dropping to a whisper in hopes that Agatha and Rio won’t be able to hear you. “I can get them. Please, just give me more time.”

He paces around, hands over his forehead like he can’t even stand to look at you. “You’re certain you can get them?”

“Yes!” You insist, leaving out the part about them being in the room next to you. You chant It’s not real in your head over and over again, like they’ll be able to read your mind. You just need him out of here and then you’ll go with them.

But then you hear a crash, the sound of glass breaking, coming from your bedroom and your heart drops. Tony rushes past you and throws open the door and –

“What the fuck!” He shouts and you dart after to explain why you have two women, two serial killers, in your bedroom, but they’re not there. Tony is talking about the dead woman on your bed.

Your head starts to spin as you take in the window that has been smashed with the chair and you look out it, desperate for a sign of them.

But there’s nothing.

Agatha and Rio are gone.

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rootedinrevisions · 3 days ago

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A Holiday to Remember

SUMMARY: When plans with your family fall through, an unexpected invitation leads you to spending Christmas with Glen - and his lively, close-knit family. You find yourself swept up in the warmth of holiday traditions and the undeniable pull of a connection you never saw coming. Between stolen moments under twinkling lights and whispered confessions, the boundaries of friendship blur, leaving you to wonder if this Christmas could be the start of something extraordinary or just a fleeting holiday dream.

A/N: So I was hoping to have this out before or on Christmas but then I got writer's block and struggled to finish it. And then I got inspiration...maybe too much inspiration. I watched Anyone But You and then a couple Hallmark movies so this definitely has a rom-com/cheesy Hallmark vibe to it. That's also why this is so long because as I was watching those movies I got ideas for moments to add to the story. But hopefully you all enjoy this!

WARNINGS: Some light cursing, maybe? Otherwise I don't think there's any warnings. Just 17k words of cute fluffy wholesomeness.

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (I got a little carried away with this one.)

TAGS: In Comments

The warm glow of string lights hung delicately along the restaurant's windows, casting a cozy hue on the bustling Los Angeles sidewalk. You took a deep breath, smoothing your sweater as you stepped inside, the gentle hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloping you.

Approaching the host stand, you offered a polite smile. "Hi, I’m here for Glen Powell’s reservation."

The host, a young woman with a sleek bob and a professional smile, glanced at her list before nodding. "Of course. Right this way." She grabbed a menu and gestured for you to follow her through the dimly lit dining room.

As you weaved between tables, your nerves fluttered faintly, though you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was anything new—just dinner with Glen. Something you’d done dozens of times.

The host led you to a table tucked in the back corner, offering a little more privacy from the busy main floor. Glen spotted you almost immediately. He set his phone down and stood up, his familiar, easy grin spreading across his face as he opened his arms.

“There she is,” he said warmly, pulling you into a hug as soon as you reached him. His cologne—a blend of something woodsy and clean—wrapped around you, as comforting as the embrace itself.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured against his shoulder before pulling back. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

He waved off your apology as you both sat down, his smile never faltering. “You’re in L.A.—isn’t traffic always a nightmare?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Besides, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long made your stomach flutter, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside. It was Glen, your friend. Nothing more.

You picked up the menu and skimmed over the options, even though you weren’t really focusing on the words. Glen sat across from you, flipping his own menu open but still managing to glance your way every few moments.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “How’s the movie coming along? Are you still filming, or are you finally getting some time to breathe?”

Glen chuckled softly, setting the menu down as he leaned back in his chair. “We wrapped a few days ago, actually. Post-production is in full swing now, so it’s out of my hands now. Now I can take a break and get some normalcy.”

“Normalcy,” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “For you, that probably means jetting off somewhere, doesn’t it?”

He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Okay, maybe my version of ‘normal’ is a little skewed. But I’m just going back to Austin for a few days. Nothing too crazy. What about you? How’s work? Are they letting you off the hook at all this holiday season?”

You sighed, your eyes drifting back to the menu as you tried to keep your voice light. “It’s fine. Busy, as always. But I guess that’s better than having nothing to do, right?”

He frowned slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you squirm just a little. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m good. It’s just—work has been hectic, and I haven’t really had time to think about the holidays.”

His brow furrowed. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re not going home for Christmas.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s just… complicated,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “My family’s so far away, and with work, I just couldn’t make the timing work. So, yeah, I’ll be here this year. But it’s not a big deal.”

Glen’s jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re spending Christmas alone?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’ll survive.”

“No way,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not happening.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden intensity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re coming with me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To Texas. You can’t spend Christmas alone—that’s just… wrong.”

“Glen,” you began, already shaking your head. “I can’t just crash your family’s holiday. That’s not fair to them—or to you.”

“They’d love you,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And it’s not crashing if you’re invited. Which you are. Officially. Come on, what’s holding you back?”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the way he was looking at you—earnest, determined, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer—made the words catch in your throat.

“It’s just a couple of days,” he added, his voice softening now. “And I promise, it’ll be fun. Think of it as an adventure.”

You hesitated, your resolve wavering under the weight of his sincerity. Maybe, just maybe, he was right.

“Glen, I can’t just pack up and leave,” you said, trying to keep your tone firm. “I only have a couple of days off for the holiday, and—”

“Perfect,” he interrupted with a grin. “I’m only staying three days anyway. We’ll head out the morning of the 23rd, and we’ll be back by the 26th.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s not that simple. Do you know how expensive last-minute flights are right now? Not to mention the hassle of even finding one—everything’s probably booked solid.”

His grin didn’t falter. “I’ll help you find a flight. Hell, I’ll even cover it if that’s what’s holding you back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Glen, no. You’re not paying for my ticket.”

“Why not? Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just offered something outrageous.

You scoffed. “You’re insane.”

“I’m resourceful,” he corrected, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And if it really comes down to it, I’ll fly you there myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Now that seems like a gross misuse of your pilot’s license.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but his determination was starting to chip away at your defenses. “Glen, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want to intrude on your family’s holiday. It’s their time with you, and I’d just be—”

“A welcome guest,” he cut in, his voice softer now. “Trust me, they’d love to have you there. My mom’s been asking when she’s going to meet my mysterious ‘friend’ I talk about anyway. This is the perfect chance.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the pattern on your napkin. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he urged, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “It’ll be fun. You’ll get to relax, eat some great food, and experience the chaos that is my family at Christmas. What do you have to lose?”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go. “What about the fact that I’ll probably end up sharing a room with one of your nieces or sleeping on the couch? Not exactly my idea of a restful holiday.”

“Wrong again,” he said with a triumphant grin. “We will be staying at my place. I have plenty of space. I’ll even take the couch if you want the nice bed.”

You laughed despite yourself, the mental image of Glen curled up on his own couch making it impossible to stay serious. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re running out of excuses,” he pointed out, his grin widening. “So? What’s it going to be?”

You hesitated, your gaze meeting his. There was something in his eyes—an openness, a genuine warmth—that made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you said finally, throwing your hands up in defeat. “You win. I’ll go.”

His face lit up, and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

“You’d better be right,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow across the Austin skyline as Glen navigated the bustling city streets, the hum of his truck filling the comfortable silence. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the vibrant murals and quirky storefronts that zipped past. Normally, you’d be chatting nonstop, asking Glen a million questions about the city or teasing him about his questionable playlist choices. But now, your hands fidgeted in your lap, and your lips pressed into a thin line, your mind elsewhere.

“You’re kind of quiet over there. You’ve said about five words since we got here,” Glen remarked, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. He glanced at you briefly, his brows furrowing in concern before turning his attention back to the road. “That’s gotta be some kind of record for you.”

You blinked, his comment pulling you from your thoughts. Turning to face him, you tried to muster a small smile. “Sorry. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Glen didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone skeptical. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with meeting my family, would it?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Relax! You’ve got nothing to worry about, you know. They’re going to love you. I’m the one they’re stuck with, remember?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but the sound was short-lived. “It’s not that I’m worried they won’t like me,” you admitted. “It’s just... I don’t know. What if I say something dumb? Or trip over the Christmas tree? Or—”

“Hey,” Glen interrupted, his voice gentle. At a red light, he reached over and placed a warm hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re overthinking this. My family’s not expecting perfection, okay? They’re just excited to meet the person I’ve been talking about nonstop for the last couple of months.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve been talking about me?”

Glen grinned, the light turning green as he started driving again. “Obviously. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t brag about how great you are?” He paused, then added with a teasing smirk, “Although I may have left out the part where you can’t handle spicy food. Don’t let my mom’s salsa scare you off, alright?”

That earned a genuine laugh from you, and Glen shot you a quick, satisfied look before turning his attention back to the road.

As the city gave way to sprawling suburbs and then the open, winding roads on the edge of Austin, Glen’s demeanor remained steady—calm, reassuring, and lighthearted. He pointed out landmarks along the way, sharing stories about his time growing up in the area and cracking jokes to pull you out of your nervous headspace.

“You doing okay over there?” he asked after a while, glancing at you again.

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” Glen repeated, feigning offense. “You think I invited you out here because I had to? Please.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. Before you could dwell on it too much, Glen reached over to nudge your shoulder playfully.

“Seriously, relax,” he said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in. And if anyone gives you a hard time, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You smiled at that, the knot in your stomach loosening slightly. Glen had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when your own thoughts tried to convince you otherwise.

When he finally pulled into the gravel driveway of his house, nestled on a quiet piece of land just outside the city, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Glen parked the truck and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “First stop: my place. Let’s drop off your stuff and then we’ll head over to my parents’ house. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath as you climbed out of the truck. “Sounds good.”

Glen led the way up the front porch steps, his boots thudding lightly against the wood. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you enter first.

“Welcome to Casa de Glen,” he said with a grin, sweeping his arm theatrically as you stepped inside.

The interior was exactly what you’d imagined—a perfect blend of cozy and modern. Warm wood floors stretched throughout the open-concept space, and the living room featured a large leather couch and a stone fireplace that was clearly the centerpiece of the room. A framed poster of Top Gun: Maverick hung on one wall, balanced by shelves filled with books, photos, and a few sports trophies.

“Wow,” you said, taking it all in. “It’s nice. It feels... you.”

“That’s what I was going for,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He guided you through the living room and into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern with stainless steel appliances and a large island in the center. “This is where the magic happens,” he said, patting the countertop. “By magic, I mean reheating leftovers and making the occasional breakfast taco.”

You laughed, running your hand along the cool stone of the counter. “Very impressive.”

He pointed out a small office that doubled as a gym, then led you to the back door, which opened onto a sprawling patio overlooking a modest backyard. Twinkling string lights were strung across the patio, and a firepit sat off to the side, surrounded by chairs.

“This is great,” you said, stepping out onto the patio and taking in the peaceful view.

“It’s my favorite spot,” Glen admitted, leaning against the doorframe. “If you need to escape the chaos over the next few days, feel free to sneak out here.”

The offer warmed your heart, but before you could respond, Glen pushed off the doorframe and motioned back inside. “Come on, let’s get your bags upstairs.”

He carried your suitcase up the staircase, which was adorned with simple but tasteful decorations—a mix of family photos, framed movie posters, and a few awards he’d picked up over the years. At the top of the stairs, he turned to the left and opened a door.

“This is the guest room,” he said, stepping aside to let you enter.

The room was cozy, with a plush queen-sized bed covered in a navy-blue comforter, a small desk by the window, and a few decorative touches that made it feel welcoming—a basket of rolled-up blankets, a lamp with a warm glow, and a stack of books on the nightstand.

“This is nice,” you said, setting your carry-on bag down by the bed.

“I figured you’d want your own space,” Glen said, setting your suitcase by the desk. “Bathroom’s just down the hall, and there are extra towels in the closet if you need them.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before giving you a small smile. “Alright, let me show you the rest of the upstairs.”

You followed him back out into the hall, where he pointed out the bathroom and a smaller guest room that had been converted into a second office. Finally, he led you to the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

“And this is where the magic really happens,” he joked, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious room with a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a sliding door that led to a private balcony.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You and your magic. I’m starting to think you have a pretty loose definition of the word.”

“Hey, I have my moments,” he said with a wink.

He led you back downstairs, where the tour ended in the living room. “Alright, that’s the grand tour,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” you said honestly. “It feels very...you. Like even if I didn’t know this was your house I could see you fitting in here.”

And you meant it. You’d been to Glen’s place in Los Angeles before. And it was comfortable and fine enough. But it felt more like a bachelor pad. But this house here in Austin felt like him. It felt like home.

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “I’m glad you like it. Now, you ready to meet the chaos that is my family?”

Your stomach flipped nervously, but Glen’s easy smile was enough to settle you. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Let’s do this.”

*****

The truck rumbled to a stop in front of the charming two-story house, its exterior painted a warm cream color with dark green shutters. Wreaths adorned the windows, and strings of twinkling lights outlined the roof, giving it a postcard-worthy holiday glow. Glen shifted the truck into park, but before he could even cut the engine, the front door burst open, and a wave of people spilled out onto the porch.

“Here we go,” Glen muttered with a grin, glancing at you. “Brace yourself.”

Your heart raced as his mom was the first to step forward, her arms already open as she made her way down the steps. Cyndy Powell was the picture of warmth, her hair perfectly styled, and her face glowing with excitement. Behind her, Glen’s dad, Glen Sr., stood with an easygoing smile, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His sisters weren’t far behind—Leslie, the youngest, bounced on her toes with a wide grin, while Lauren, the oldest, followed at a more measured pace, one hand gripping the tiny hand of Glen’s nephew. Glen’s niece trailed behind, clinging to Lauren’s husband.

“Glen!” Cyndy called, waving both hands like she hadn’t seen her son in years, even though he’d assured you it had only been a couple of weeks.

You opened your door cautiously as Glen hopped out of the truck, meeting his mom halfway with a hug.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

Cyndy pulled back just enough to cup his face. “You look too thin,” she said, making him laugh. “Are you eating?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Glen assured her, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping out of the truck, suddenly feeling like every pair of eyes was on you. Cyndy’s expression shifted immediately to one of pure delight as she made a beeline for you.

“And you must be the one Glen keeps telling us about!” she said, pulling you into a hug before you could even respond. “Oh, it’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Cyndy.”

“Hi, Mrs. Powell,” you managed, your voice slightly muffled by the hug. “It’s really nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, please, call me Cyndy,” she insisted, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. “You’re even prettier than Glen said.”

“Mom,” Glen groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he came to stand beside you.

“What?” Cyndy said innocently before ushering you both toward the rest of the group. “Come on, everyone’s dying to meet her.”

One by one, you were introduced—Glen Sr., who gave you a firm handshake and a kind smile; Leslie, who immediately wrapped you in a hug and declared you were “way too cool to be hanging out with Glen”; Lauren, who gave you a warm smile and said she’d heard so much about you; and finally, Lauren’s twins, who peeked out from behind their dad shyly until Glen crouched down to scoop them up in a playful hug.

“Alright, alright,” Glen said, standing with a twin on each hip as he turned back to his family. “Let her breathe, would you? She’s not used to all this chaos.”

“Chaos?” Cyndy said, feigning offense. “This is love, Glen. Pure holiday love.”

You laughed, but Glen caught the way your shoulders tensed, and he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. “You okay?” he asked softly, his tone just for you.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s just... a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ll run interference if I have to.”

Before you could respond, Cyndy was ushering everyone inside, rattling off questions about the drive and insisting you must be starving after traveling all day. You followed the group into the house, which was every bit as welcoming as its exterior—soft, cozy furniture, a roaring fire in the living room, and the scent of something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

You shrugged out of your coat and Glen stepped closer, his hands brushing against your shoulders as he helped slide it off. The gesture was so natural, so easy, that it sent a little flutter through your chest.

“Here, I’ll take that.” His voice was casual, but the faint smile he gave you as he carefully hung your coat on the rack was anything but.

As he turned back to you, Cyndy leaned in with a knowing smile, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s been so excited to bring you home. You should’ve heard him talk about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment, your cheeks warming as her words sank in. “Oh,” you managed, a little breathless.

Cyndy’s hand lingered on your arm for just a moment, her expression soft with unmistakable affection. “You’ll see,” she added with a wink, before stepping away to call to her husband about something in the kitchen.

When you turned back to Glen, he was watching you, his head tilted slightly. “What was that about?” he asked, his tone light but his curiosity clear.

“Oh, nothing,” you said quickly, trying to wave it off. But you couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at your lips—or the slight flush from creeping up your neck.

Glen’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He didn’t push, though, instead gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s grab something to drink before everyone starts peppering you with questions.”

The moment lingered as you followed him into the house, Cyndy’s words echoing in your mind. The idea of Glen talking about you—being excited to bring you here—was hard to shake. Maybe it was just his family’s charm, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that stayed on your face as Glen led the way.

* * * * *

With a steaming mug of cocoa warming your hands, you smiled politely as Glen's mom chatted animatedly about the Powell family Christmas traditions. You nodded along, but the flurry of introductions and the cozy chaos of his family had you feeling a little overwhelmed. Sensing your chance for a breather, you leaned toward Glen.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you murmured, setting your mug down on the counter.

He shot you a curious look but nodded, letting you slip away.

You wandered down the hall, grateful for the moment to collect yourself. After freshening up in the restroom, you made your way back toward the kitchen, but you stopped short as voices drifted toward you from the other side of the doorway.

“...she’s adorable, Glen. Seriously,” one of his sisters—Lauren, you thought—said with a teasing lilt.

“And you brought her home for Christmas?” Leslie chimed in, her voice lilting with mock surprise.

Glen groaned, and you could practically hear him rubbing his hand over his face. “Guys, come on. We’re just friends.��

“Right,” Lauren said, drawing the word out like she didn’t believe him for a second. “Just friends, and yet you insisted she come here instead of spending Christmas alone. Sounds like something a boyfriend would do, don’t you think, Les?”

“Definitely boyfriend behavior,” Leslie agreed, clearly enjoying herself.

“You two are impossible,” Glen muttered, though his tone carried more amusement than frustration. “I didn’t want her to spend the holidays alone, okay?”

Your breath caught at his words, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Sure, sure,” Lauren said, her tone sly. “But just so you know, Mom’s already planning the wedding.”

Glen let out a sharp laugh. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. Let’s dial it back a little, huh? She’s nervous enough as it is without you two scaring her off.”

You took a step back, considering whether to linger a moment longer, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor signaled that Glen’s sisters were on the move. Quickly, you stepped into the doorway, pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

“Oh, there she is,” Leslie said with a grin as she and Lauren passed you.

Glen leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his brow lifting as you stepped inside. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and genuine.

You nodded, though your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than you intended. “Yeah, just needed a minute. Your family’s really nice, by the way.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “They’re a handful, but they mean well.”

You walked over to retrieve your cocoa, the rich chocolate aroma grounding you. “They seem really excited to have everyone together.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of their thing,” Glen said, watching you closely. “What about you? You hanging in there?”

You shrugged lightly, a small smile playing at your lips. “It’s a lot, but… in a good way. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a big family like this.”

Glen straightened, stepping closer so his arm brushed against yours. “Well, they already love you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. His grin widened, but before he could say more, his mom’s voice rang out from the living room, calling for him to help bring in the extra chairs for dinner.

He sighed dramatically, earning another laugh from you. “Duty calls,” he said, but his hand lightly touched your arm as he passed. “Don’t let them rope you into anything too crazy while I’m gone.”

You smiled, watching as he left the room. Something about being here—with him—felt unexpectedly right.

* * * * *

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Glen’s mom and sisters dove into dinner preparations. The smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls filled the air, making your stomach rumble despite the cocoa you’d just finished. Cyndy was meticulously checking the oven temperature, while Lauren and Leslie were chopping vegetables at the kitchen island.

“Need any help?” you asked hesitantly, stepping further into the room.

Lauren glanced up with a warm smile. “You’re sweet to offer, but trust me, this kitchen is already at max capacity.”

“Speak for yourself,” Leslie said, pointing her knife toward the pile of unpeeled carrots. “Here, grab a peeler. You can help me out before Mom has a meltdown over the timing.”

Cyndy turned from the oven, mock-offended. “I heard that!”

Leslie just smirked as she handed you a peeler and a couple of carrots. “Ignore her. She loves when we tease her. Keeps things interesting.”

You laughed softly and settled in next to Leslie, grateful for something to do with your hands.

“So, how are you holding up?” Leslie asked after a moment, her voice quieter, more personal.

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. “Oh, um… good, I think. Your family’s been really welcoming.”

“We’re loud, though,” Lauren chimed in, pausing her slicing to grin at you. “Hopefully Glen warned you about that.”

“It’s a good kind of loud,” you said honestly, feeling more at ease with them. “I’m just… not used to it, I guess.”

Leslie nudged you lightly with her elbow. “Well, if you can survive the Powell family Christmas chaos, you’re pretty much invincible.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, peeling another carrot.

Lauren tilted her head, studying you curiously. “So, how did you and Glen meet, anyway?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the doorway like Glen might walk in and save you. “We met through mutual friends,” you said carefully. “It’s kind of a long story, but we just… clicked, I guess.”

Leslie smirked, clearly enjoying the topic. “Clicked, huh? Like, just friends clicked? Or ‘maybe there’s something more’ clicked?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you focused intently on the carrot in your hand. “Definitely just friends,” you said quickly, your voice a little too firm.

“Hmm,” Lauren said, exchanging a look with Leslie.

Before they could press further, Glen walked in, carrying a couple of folding chairs from the garage. He stopped short when he noticed the three of you huddled together.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he set the chairs against the wall.

“Nothing,” Lauren said, her voice entirely too innocent.

Leslie shrugged. “Just getting to know your friend.”

Glen sighed, giving his sisters a pointed look before turning to you. “Don’t let them gang up on you. They’re relentless once they get started.”

“I think I’m holding my own,” you said with a small smile, though you were grateful for his presence.

“Good,” Glen said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Because dinner’s almost ready, and if they scare you off before dessert, Mom’s going to kill them.”

The laughter that followed eased the lingering tension, and for the first time since you’d arrived, you felt like you were starting to find your footing amidst the whirlwind of the Powell family.

“Alright,” Cyndy said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get everything to the table before it gets cold.”

The dining room table was a feast for the senses. Platters of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables were arranged in the center, surrounded by bowls of cranberry sauce, rolls, and casseroles. Soft holiday music played in the background, and the warm glow of the chandelier added to the cozy atmosphere.

You found yourself seated between Glen and Lauren, while the twins took turns giggling and sneaking bites of their food despite their mom’s warnings to “at least wait for everyone to get their plate.”

The conversation started casually, with everyone complimenting Cyndy’s cooking and trading jokes about who had eaten the most last Christmas. It wasn’t long before the table was buzzing with overlapping chatter and bursts of laughter.

“So, what’s everyone’s plans for New Year’s?” Lauren asked as she helped her daughter cut her turkey into smaller pieces.

“Will and I are thinking of taking the kids to the park downtown for the fireworks,” Lauren said. “What about you, Glen?”

Glen shrugged, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Haven’t decided yet. Depends on if this one’s dragging me somewhere” He nudged your shoulder with a playful grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not dragging you to anything. You keep inviting yourself to my plans.”

“Semantics,” he quipped, earning a chuckle from Leslie.

Cyndy, ever the gracious host, leaned toward you with a warm smile. “So, what do you usually do for the holidays with your family?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “Well, when I can make it home, we usually have a quiet Christmas. Just my parents and my siblings. Lots of food, games, and, uh, my mom’s famous fudge.”

“That sounds lovely,” Cyndy said, her tone genuine. “You’ll have to share the fudge recipe sometime. Maybe we’ll add it to our dessert rotation next year.”

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a little more at ease.

Throughout dinner, Glen made sure to keep you involved in the conversation, throwing in lighthearted jokes and even sharing an embarrassing story from high school that had everyone in stitches.

“Remember when Glen tried to sing karaoke at the Christmas talent show?” Leslie said, her face lighting up with glee.

“Oh, no,” Glen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Lauren jumped in. “He thought he could hit the high notes in ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.”

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t hold back a giggle. Glen peeked at you through his fingers, feigning betrayal.

“Sorry,” you said between laughs. “But I need to hear this someday.”

“Not happening,” Glen said firmly, shaking his head.

By the time dessert was served—a towering plate of Cyndy’s homemade pecan pie—you were full, content, and starting to see why Glen loved spending the holidays here so much.

After dinner, the energy in the house began to settle. The twins had all but fallen asleep at the table, and Lauren and her husband said their goodbyes, bundling their sleepy children into coats before heading out for the night.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Lauren said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You did great tonight. Don’t let these guys scare you off.” She winked, glancing briefly at Glen.

With the house quieter, you, Glen, and Leslie remained behind to spend a little more time with his parents. Cyndy brought out another round of cocoa, insisting on adding an extra dollop of whipped cream for everyone.

The fire in the living room had burned low, but Glen Sr. stoked it back to life, filling the room with a warm glow. You took a seat on the couch near the hearth, your fingers curling around the mug of cocoa as you soaked in the comforting crackle of the flames.

The warmth of the fire helped, but the Texas winter chill still lingered, and you found yourself shivering slightly as you sipped your drink.

Glen, sitting in an armchair nearby, noticed immediately. Without a word, he stood and grabbed a thick, soft blanket draped over the back of the couch. Crossing the room, he carefully draped it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment to ensure it was snug around you.

“Better?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, your heart warming at the small, thoughtful gesture. “Much better. Thank you.”

Instead of returning to his chair, Glen sat down beside you on the couch, the corner of the blanket brushing against his arm as he stretched out. The closeness was both comforting and a little distracting, the ease of his presence pulling you further into the moment.

Across the room, Cyndy and Glen Sr. shared a knowing look, their quiet conversation halting as they observed the two of you. Leslie, seated in the armchair Glen had vacated, leaned over to whisper something to her mom, her expression amused.

Glen Sr. gave a subtle shake of his head, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch, though his tone held a hint of playful exasperation.

The whispers and exchanged glances didn’t go unnoticed by Glen, who shot his sister a pointed look. “You guys good over there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Totally,” Leslie replied, a little too quickly, her smile innocent in a way that wasn’t fooling anyone. “Just enjoying the show.”

You glanced between them, confused. “What show?”

“Nothing!” Cyndy said quickly, her tone light but clearly trying to steer the conversation away. “It’s just nice to see Glen bringing a friend home for the holidays.”

You felt your cheeks warm under her gaze, and Glen let out a small sigh, clearly used to his family’s antics.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Leslie smirked but didn’t push further, and Cyndy changed the subject to talk about the Powell family’s Christmas morning traditions.

The room was dimly lit, the fire crackling softly in the background. The evening had settle dinto a quiet calm, with Glen sitting on the couch, his arm stretched across the backrest. Despite your best efforts to stay engaged in the chatter between Glen and his family, your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

Cyndy and Leslie paused mid conversation when they noticed you were asleep. Your breathing was slow and even, your head nestled against Glen like it was the most natural thing in the world. Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a look, both already grinning.

“She’s so sweet,” Cyndy whispered, her voice barely above the crackling of the fire.

“And you’re adorable together,” Leslie added, leaning closer to her mom as if she were sharing a juicy secret.

Glen’s eyes flicked toward them, his lips tugging into a faint, knowing smirk. “We’re just friends,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing you.

Leslie arched a brow. “Sure, you are,” she teased, crossing her arms. “Because friends totally look at each other like that.”

“What are you even talking about?” Glen asked, rolling his eyes, though his free hand instinctively adjusted the blanket draped over you, tucking it more securely around your shoulders. You stirred slightly, leaning into him more, and his arm moved without hesitation, wrapping lightly around you to keep you comfortable.

“Like that,” Leslie said pointedly, gesturing at him with a playful smirk.

Cyndy’s eyes were full of warmth as she added, “Leslie’s right, honey. It’s the way you look at her. Like she’s the only person in the room.”

Glen sighed, running a hand through your hair but careful not to jostle you. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to you as you slept peacefully against him. “Probably more than I should have.”

Leslie’s teasing grin shifted into genuine curiosity. “So what’s stopping you?”

“It’s not the right time,” Glen said, his voice low but thoughtful. “My schedule’s insane. The next six to eight months are booked solid with filming, press tours… I’d barely be around. Starting something with her when I know I don’t have the time to make it work or for it to be healthy? It doesn’t feel fair to her. Or to me.”

Cyndy tilted her head, her brows furrowed slightly. “But you’ve managed to keep your friendship going despite all that. You both make time for each other. If you were dating, it wouldn’t be that much different, would it?”

Leslie chimed in, “Exactly. You’ve already proven that you make her a priority, even with everything you’ve got going on. If you really like her—and it’s obvious you do—why not take the chance?”

Glen glanced down at you again, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow across your peaceful face. His arm tightened just slightly around you, as if the thought of letting you go, even metaphorically, was too hard to bear.

He didn’t respond right away, the weight of his family’s words settling in as he watched you. Maybe they had a point. But taking that leap still felt like a mountain he wasn’t sure he could climb—at least not yet.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice soft and a little distant.

Leslie opened her mouth, ready to press him further, but Cyndy gave her a gentle nudge and a pointed look. “Let it go, Leslie,” she said quietly. “He’ll figure it out when he’s ready.”

As they turned to leave the room, Cyndy glanced back at Glen one more time, her expression full of motherly understanding. Glen caught her look, gave her a small, grateful nod, and then shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against the couch, his arm still securely around you.

For now, he decided, this moment was enough.

The warmth of the fire flickered softly, casting golden light across the room. Between the gentle crackle of the logs and the soothing rhythm of your breathing, Glen found himself starting to relax in a way he hadn’t in weeks. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the weight of it, combined with the soft rise and fall of your chest, brought an unexpected sense of peace.

Glen shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, but the movement only made you nestle closer, your arm brushing against his. He glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. The firelight danced in his eyes as his mind wandered, replaying his mom and Leslie’s words.

She’s sweet.

You’re adorable together.

What’s stopping you?

His gaze lingered on you, and a soft sigh escaped him. He knew what they meant. Knew how easy it would be to let himself fall. Maybe he already had.

The fire crackled again, pulling him from his thoughts. The room was growing quieter, the warmth enveloping him like a cocoon. His head tilted back slightly, his eyes growing heavier with each passing moment. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the comfort of the moment proved too much.

It wasn’t long before Glen’s breathing matched yours, slow and steady, his chin dipping slightly toward his chest as sleep overtook him. The two of you sat there, heads close, his arm still loosely draped around you while the blanket kept you both warm.

Some time later, Cyndy padded softly into the living room, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the scene. You were still tucked against Glen, your hand now resting lightly against his chest. Glen’s head leaned toward yours, his features relaxed in a way only sleep could bring.

Cyndy stood there for a moment, her heart warming at the sight. She grabbed another blanket from the linen closet and approached quietly, careful not to wake either of you. With practiced ease, she draped it gently over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before stepping back.

She turned to the fireplace, stoking the remaining embers and making sure it was safely extinguished. The room dimmed as she turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains.

Before heading to bed, she paused once more, her gaze softening as she looked back at the two of you. A small, knowing smile played on her lips as she shook her head lightly, then whispered to herself, “Just friends, huh?”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and Glen to rest peacefully in the quiet glow of the night.

*****

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the living room. Glen stirred, his body shifting slightly against the couch cushion as he blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. His eyes felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he felt so warm.

He shifted again, feeling something—or rather, someone—pressed against him. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Looking down, he saw you curled into his side, your front pressed snugly against his chest, your legs tangled with his. One blanket was wrapped around you, tucked in as though you’d done it instinctively, and another—one he didn’t even remember grabbing—covered both of you. His arm was draped protectively around you, his hand resting lightly against your back.

Your breath was warm against his neck, soft and even, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat where your chest touched his. The realization sent a jolt of awareness through him. How had this happened? The last thing he remembered was sitting upright, with you asleep on his shoulder.

He let his head fall back onto the couch for a moment, exhaling slowly as he tried to make sense of it. Well, this is... comfortable, he thought wryly, though he couldn’t deny the quiet peace that came with waking up next to you.

As his brain started to wake up, he rubbed at his eyes, his other arm instinctively tightening around you as you shifted slightly in your sleep, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out.

The sound of soft footsteps made him glance toward the archway leading to the kitchen. His parents stood there, his mom holding a coffee mug while his dad held the morning paper.

Cyndy stopped mid-step when she saw the two of you, her lips curling into a knowing smile she didn’t even try to hide. Glen groaned quietly, his free hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked up at them.

His dad raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, good morning,” his dad said, his tone amused. “Sleep well, son?”

Cyndy swatted his dad lightly on the arm but didn’t say anything, her smile widening as she looked between Glen and you.

Glen cleared his throat, his voice low and rough from sleep. “Morning,” he muttered, trying not to move too much and wake you.

Cyndy stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You looked so peaceful last night. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” she said, her gaze warm and teasing.

Glen gave her a look, half-exasperated and half-grateful. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured dryly, though there was no heat in his words.

“You should probably wake her before the others come down,” his dad added with a chuckle, nodding toward the stairs. “Don’t want to give Leslie too much ammunition.”

Glen sighed, his eyes flicking back to you. You were still sound asleep, your face relaxed and peaceful against him. His dad wasn’t wrong—Leslie would have a field day if she saw this.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said quietly, shifting slightly to try and rouse you without startling you.

Cyndy leaned closer to her husband as they turned to head back to the kitchen, her voice just loud enough for Glen to catch. “I think they’re adorable,” she whispered.

Glen groaned again, though he couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at you, still nestled against him.

Glen sighed softly and glanced down at you, his heart doing an odd little flip at the sight of you so peaceful against him. For a moment, he hesitated, not wanting to disturb you. You looked so content, your face relaxed and framed by a strand of hair that had fallen loose.

But his dad was right—he needed to wake you before anyone else saw this and started making jokes he’d never live down.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. He shifted slightly, his hand moving to lightly brush against your shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

You stirred faintly but didn’t open your eyes, your brows furrowing as you shifted closer, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The movement sent a wave of warmth rushing through him, and for a split second, he froze, unsure how to handle the sudden closeness.

“Come on,” he tried again, his voice soft and laced with a hint of amusement now. “You’re going to miss breakfast.”

This time, you let out a soft hum of protest, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Five more minutes...”

Glen couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Come on, you need to wake up before the others come downstairs.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and it took you a moment to register where you were. When you finally looked up at him, still half-asleep, your cheeks flushed as the realization hit.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Glen cut in quickly, his tone reassuring.

Your eyes dropped to where his arm was still draped around you, and you slowly began to sit up, the blanket falling away as you shifted. Glen helped, his hand steadying you as you moved, though he couldn’t quite hide the slight reluctance he felt at the loss of warmth.

“I, uh... hope I wasn’t too heavy,” you said, brushing a hand through your hair as you tried to smooth it down.

Glen smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You’re fine. But you do steal blankets, apparently,” he teased, motioning to the second blanket draped over him.

You blinked, confused, then looked down at the blanket and frowned. “Wait, where did that even come from?”

“Mom,” he said simply, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “She came in last night and covered us up. I think she wanted to make sure we didn’t freeze to death.”

Your cheeks reddened further, and you groaned softly, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh, great. So your mom saw us like that?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out to tug your hands away from your face, his smile softening. “She thought it was cute. So did Dad, for the record.”

“Wonderful,” you muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at your lips now.

Glen watched you for a moment before standing and stretching, his hand running through his hair as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he said, offering you a hand. “Let’s get some coffee before Leslie sees us and decides to turn this into a running joke for the next decade.”

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he pulled you to your feet. His touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he let go, his gaze flicking to yours briefly before he led the way toward the kitchen.

As you and Glen walked into the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit you, immediately comforting in the way that only mornings at someone else's home could be. His parents were already seated at the island, sipping their own coffee, looking up with warm smiles as you entered.

“Good morning, you two,” his dad, Glen Sr., greeted with a grin, his voice low and warm.

“Morning,” you replied softly, moving to grab a mug from the cabinet. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, shot you a look, an almost mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice friendly, yet filled with a knowing edge.

You nodded, your face flushing again as you took a seat next to Glen. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for the extra blanket.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t have you freezing to death in here.” She paused, her eyes flicking between you and Glen for a moment. “Though, I must say, it was nice to see you both so cozy last night.”

Glen let out an exaggerated groan, shaking his head. “Mom, please.”

You chuckled softly, looking over at him, your hand wrapped around your mug of coffee. “It’s fine,” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “No harm done.”

His dad chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re lucky. I don’t see Glen like that much.”

“I bet,” you responded, teasing, taking a sip of your coffee. “I wouldn’t have guessed he’s such a softy.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Cyndy said with a wink, earning a playful nudge from her husband.

Glen rolled his eyes, then leaned back against the counter, his eyes flicking to you. “So, I was thinking we should head back to my place in a bit,” he said, casually stirring his coffee. “We’ll change clothes, then I’ll bring you back here. Sound good?”

You nodded, sipping your coffee again, grateful for the warmth in your hands. “That sounds perfect.”

Leslie walked in at that moment, still wearing her pajamas, her eyes narrowing in on you and Glen still in the clothes you had on yesterday. “Did you guys sleep here last night?”

Glen groaned again, clearly not ready for another round of teasing. “Leslie, please, not now.”

But Leslie was already grinning, turning to their parents. “They fell asleep and slept on the couch, didn’t they?”

“Mind your own business,” Glen said, his voice half-amused, half-annoyed, as he stood up from the counter. He shot a glance at you, his expression softening. “Alright, let’s go grab some things from my place.

As you and Glen walked toward the door, you could hear Leslie's voice rise from the kitchen, her tone laced with playful teasing.

"I mean, it’s so obvious," she said, her voice carrying easily to where you both were standing.

"I heard that, Leslie!" he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Knock it off."

Leslie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, followed by a muffled comment you couldn’t quite make out, though you were sure it was another jab at him.

Glen rolled his eyes and shook his head, but there was a softness to his expression when he looked at you. "Sorry about that," he said, his tone light. "She’s relentless."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at how natural this all felt. "It’s fine," you said, chuckling.

He held the door open for you, letting you step out first, his hand brushing against yours as you passed. The drive back to his place was quiet at first, the hum of the engine and the soft sounds of music on the radio filling the space between you. You found yourself glancing out the window, watching the suburbs of Austin pass by as the sun began to rise higher, casting a golden glow over everything.

Glen’s hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping lightly in rhythm with the beat of the song. Every now and then, he’d sneak a glance at you, a slight smile curling on his lips as if something was playing in his mind. You caught him once or twice, but neither of you said much, content to simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

Finally, as you turned onto the street leading to his place, Glen broke the silence, his voice low but warm.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, glancing over at you, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’re not regretting agreeing to spend the holidays with my family, are you?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s been… nice. Really nice, actually.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod, then pulled into the driveway of his house. As he parked, you both sat there for a moment, the truck gently rocking as the engine turned off.

As you both entered the house, the familiar warmth wrapped around you, making you feel at ease. Glen led the way toward the stairs, his movements easy, casual—like nothing had changed. But you couldn't ignore the shift, the quiet tension that seemed to have settled between you after spending the night curled up together. It wasn’t awkward, not exactly, but it was different. You both seemed a little more aware of each other than before.

"Bathroom's upstairs," Glen said, breaking the silence as he gestured to the staircase. "You can use the guest bathroom, and I'll take the one in my room."

You nodded, following him up the stairs. The house was quiet now, the early morning stillness hanging in the air. When you reached the top, you stopped briefly in front of the guest room. Glen was a few steps ahead of you, but you caught the way his gaze flickered to you for just a moment. His eyes lingered, and you felt the weight of it—the subtle shift you’d both sensed. He quickly looked away, his lips curling into a casual smile, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something unspoken now, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Alright," Glen said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit. Take your time."

You hesitated for a second, feeling the strange pull between you, but nodded and stepped into the guest room. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there, the silence pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just different. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, that quiet shift in the air, the one that had somehow made the space between you seem just a little smaller.

You shook your head, trying to push away the sudden thoughts swirling in your mind. This was still Glen—your friend. Nothing had changed, right?

But as you started to get ready for your shower, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had.

The hot water helped clear your head, and you focused on the simple task of washing off the sleep from your body. The shower was quick, just a few minutes of cleansing and letting the steam fill the space, but you didn’t want to take too long. Glen was probably already waiting, and you didn’t want to leave him hanging. You turned off the water, stepping out and grabbing the towel from the hook.

As you dried off, you realized your mistake. Your clothes were still in the guest room, neatly folded on the bed. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, assuming you’d just grab them when you finished. You sighed quietly to yourself, wrapping the towel securely around you, careful not to let it slip.

You checked yourself in the mirror for a moment, making sure everything was in place. Satisfied, you opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, glancing toward the guest room. It felt strange walking across the house like this—towel-clad, with nothing but the soft padding of your bare feet on the floor to accompany you.

You moved as quickly as you could, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but the slight breeze of the air made you acutely aware of just how vulnerable you felt in the moment. When you reached the guest room, you took a quick glance down the hallway, just in case, before slipping inside and closing the door behind you.

You quickly pulled on the clothes you had set out, opting for something comfortable but still presentable. After slipping on a soft sweater and a pair of jeans, you grabbed the brush and ran it through your damp hair. You added a little product, hoping it would hold up for the day, but you didn’t want to stress too much about it. After all, you were just heading downstairs with Glen—nothing too formal.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward the door, hoping the day would continue as smoothly as possible. But as you stepped out of the guest room, you nearly collided with Glen. He was just emerging from his room, his shirt still in his hand, his chest and abs exposed in the moment before he pulled it on. His muscles were defined, his skin still warm from the shower, and you found your gaze involuntarily drifting down for just a moment.

You quickly snapped your eyes away, trying to ignore the rush of heat that flushed your face. You gave a nervous smile, your heart thudding in your chest, and practically rushed past him. Your steps were quick, almost too quick as you hurried down the stairs, praying to some higher power that Glen hadn’t noticed your lingering glance.

The sound of his footsteps following behind you reassured you that he wasn’t focusing on the moment. You let out a quiet breath, hoping you could push the moment from your mind and keep everything normal.

"So, what do you think? Want to hang out here for a bit? Enjoy the quiet before we head back to the chaos?" he asked, his voice casual, but there was an unspoken invitation in his words.

You glanced toward the living room. The cozy, inviting space was practically calling out to you. The thought of staying here, just the two of you, no teasing, no distractions. The idea of getting alone time with Glen was tempting.

But as you stood there, a tug of guilt gnawed at you. You could already picture Glen, laughing and joking with his family, enjoying moments that he didn’t get to have often due to his hectic schedule. He didn’t get much time with them, and you knew that all too well. The last thing you wanted to do was take him away from that, especially when you knew how much he cherished it.

You had more time with him than they did. You saw him regularly, had long conversations over coffee, shared lazy afternoons together on his days off. They were lucky to have him home, and you didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on these rare moments.

The thought of staying here, just the two of you, was appealing, yes—but not at the expense of his family. You didn’t want to be selfish. They didn’t have the luxury of seeing him every day, and you knew that if you stayed, it would be taking away from that time they had.

Finally, you shook your head slightly, offering him a small, apologetic smile. "I think I’d rather head back over," you said, trying to push aside the selfish urge to keep him all to yourself. "You don’t get to see them much, and I don’t want to take that away from you." With a final glance at the quiet room around you, you gave Glen a small smile. "Shall we?" you asked, your voice light, trying to push the lingering tension aside.

He nodded, his smile softening, understanding exactly what you meant. "Yeah, let’s go."

As you followed him to the door, the weight of the quiet moments you shared earlier in the day seemed to hang in the air, but there was something comforting in it. A subtle shift, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on but couldn’t ignore either.

The cool air greeted you as you stepped outside, and the drive back to his parents' house was peaceful, the car filled only with the sound of the engine and the faint rustling of the wind. You both had your own thoughts, but the comfortable silence made it feel like there was no need to fill the space.

When you pulled up to the house again, the familiar warmth of the lights shining from the windows seemed inviting. Glen turned to you before you opened the door, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Thanks for letting me have so much time with them" he said quietly, his voice sincere. "I appreciate you understanding."

You smiled at him, a quiet understanding between you that didn’t need words. "Of course, I know how important they are to you," you replied, giving him a look that was just as much reassurance as it was a soft acknowledgment of the unspoken bond you shared. And with that, the two of you stepped out of the car, ready to head back inside, where the sounds of family laughter awaited.

* * * * *

The warm scent of cookies filled the kitchen as you worked alongside Cyndy, Lauren, and Leslie, mixing dough and rolling it into perfect little balls. The rhythm of your hands, the soft scrape of the spatula against the bowl, was comforting. The kitchen was a cozy flurry of flour, sugar, and laughter.

As you moved the dough onto the baking sheets, the sounds of laughter echoed from the living room. Glen’s voice was unmistakable, full of warmth and joy, accompanied by the high-pitched giggles of the twins. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping you as you glanced up.

“Seems like he’s a fun uncle,” you commented, rolling the dough into another ball.

Cyndy and Leslie shared a knowing look before Leslie grinned. "Oh, he’s the favorite uncle, hands down," she said, shaking her head with a teasing smile. “I mean, he’s practically a big kid himself when they’re around.”

You laughed, imagining Glen’s easygoing nature blending perfectly with the chaos and energy of his niece and nephew. It was clear that they adored him.

Lauren continued, her tone light and affectionate. “I think the twins might actually think of him as their second dad sometimes. He spoils them rotten."

After a few moments, Glen appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear, his hair a bit messy from wrestling with the twins. His cheeks were flushed from the fun, but as soon as his eyes found the cooling rack of freshly baked cookies, he couldn’t resist. He made his way toward it, trying to sneak a cookie without anyone noticing.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you saw his move. You grabbed the spatula from the counter and, with a quick swipe, playfully swatted at him.

“Don’t even think about it,” you teased, but before you could even get close, Glen’s hand shot out to grab your wrist, stopping the spatula mid-air.

He chuckled, his grip gentle but firm, his fingers brushing against your skin in the briefest of moments. His gaze locked with yours, and for a second, the playful banter seemed to fade as the space between you both felt charged with something a little different.

“Really?” Glen raised an eyebrow, his voice soft with amusement.

You laughed, trying to pull your wrist free, but his hand stayed in place, still holding you with a steady but warm grip. “They aren’t ready yet,” you said, laughing as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

The laughter from Cyndy and Leslie behind you broke the moment, and you both turned, noticing their amused expressions.

“Are we interrupting something?” Cyndy asked with a teasing smile.

Leslie, barely containing a grin, raised an eyebrow. “You two are really cute together, you know that?”

You shot her a playful glare, but Glen gave a sheepish chuckle, releasing your wrist and straightening up. “We're just friends,” he said with a lighthearted shrug, though the hint of something unspoken lingered in his tone. “But I am taking one of these cookies.”

Before you could respond, Glen grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack with a victorious grin. You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation as he happily bit into the cookie, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a knowing glance, but neither said anything else, letting the moment hang in the air between you two, filled with warmth and an undeniable connection.

Lauren gave Glen a mischievous grin and, without warning, tossed a small pinch of flour in his direction. The flour puffed up in the air, and Glen let out a surprised laugh, his hands immediately going to his hair and face to brush it away.

“Hey!” Glen laughed, glancing around at the chaos unfolding. “You’re going down for that!”

In an instant, the flour fight was on. Leslie, quick on the draw, took the opportunity to sprinkle flour over Glen’s shoulder. He retaliated with a handful of flour that he flung in her direction, his aim slightly off, hitting the edge of the counter instead. You couldn't help but laugh, your hands covered in flour as you tried to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Glen shot you a playful look, and before you could duck out of his reach, he tossed a small pinch of flour at you. It landed right on your nose, and you gasped in mock horror.

“Oh, it's on now,” you said, wiping at your nose. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

The kitchen erupted in more laughter as flour and frosting flew between the family members, and before long, the "fight" ended just as quickly as it started, with everyone covered in flour and sugar but still grinning from ear to ear.

You went to wipe the frosting off your cheek, but as your finger brushed over it, you only seemed to smear it further. Glen, watching you with a teasing smile, leaned in slightly, his gaze softening as he shook his head. “You’re just making it worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Got a better idea?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the kitchen towel. His fingers brushed against your chin as he gently took your face in his hands, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. His thumb carefully wiped away the frosting from your cheek, and you held your breath, caught in the moment, his touch gentle and thoughtful.

“There,” Glen said softly, his eyes still focused on your face. “All better.”

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling something stir inside you. His hand lingered just a little longer than necessary before he dropped it to his side, giving you a sheepish smile.

Glen’s mom, Cyndy, appeared in the doorway, holding a broom in one hand and a Swiffer in the other. She surveyed the flour-coated kitchen with an amused smile, shaking her head at the mess.

“Start cleaning this up, Glen,” she said with a grin, holding out the broom to him.

Glen, still wiping frosting from his hands, gave her a mock salute. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, his voice teasing as he took the broom from her with a sigh.

Cyndy smiled and turned back to the counter, the familiar, easy banter filling the air. “I swear, uou start a food fight every time we bake cookies around here.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it. I was just defending myself,” Glen shot back, sweeping a pile of flour into the dustpan with care.

You glanced over at Glen, a grin tugging at your lips. It was hard not to notice how much he resembled his mom in that moment—easygoing, playful, and always the one tasked with cleaning up after the fun.

“Don’t look so smug, you’ve got your own work to do,” he teased, gesturing at the counter where the remaining cookie dough sat ready to be rolled.

You just laughed and walked over to help Cyndy and Leslie, trying to distract yourself from the small, fleeting moment you’d just shared with Glen.

The kitchen felt warm with laughter and good company as you all continued to work together, and for a moment, everything seemed perfectly in place. Glen was hard at work, and you were right where you wanted to be—with the people who mattered most to him, helping make new memories.

After the cookies were finished and the kitchen was tidied up, the festive energy of the day shifted to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood, waiting to be transformed. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, had made it clear—no tree decorating until everyone, including Glen was home. So, even though Christmas Eve had arrived, the tree still sat untouched, its branches bare, twinkling lights tangled in a mess of cords.

You and Glen made your way to the storage tote, ready to tackle the daunting task of untangling the lights. Glen grinned as he opened the lid, revealing the well-loved decorations inside. "Every year, this takes longer than it should," he muttered, already pulling out a jumble of strings.

"At least you’re here to help now," you teased, grabbing a section of lights and trying to work through the knots. "I’m sure your family appreciates that."

Glen shot you a playful look as he started to untangle his own section. "Yeah, yeah, they know I’m the official light untangler. No one else can be trusted with this responsibility."

You both worked together, your laughter and conversation mixing with the sounds of his sisters in the living room. Cyndy and Leslie were busy sorting through the assortment of ornaments, laying them out in neat piles to be hung on the tree. The occasional clink of glass and soft chatter filled the space as they talked about the best places to hang each ornament.

The mood was lighthearted, and there was a cozy comfort in the room as the tree slowly started to take shape. You glanced over at Glen, catching the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot.

"Need help there?" you asked with a smirk, leaning closer.

"Nope, I’ve got it," he replied, his voice teasing but also faintly apologetic. "I’m a professional at this by now."

As he worked on the tangled mess, you couldn’t help but notice how the sight of him—focused and determined, yet still making light of the situation—made your heart flutter in a way that was different from before. You shook it off quickly, telling yourself it was just the holiday spirit getting to you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggling with knots and wires, the lights were untangled. You plugged them in to make sure they worked, and sure enough, the tree lit up with a soft glow, casting a warm, comforting light on the room.

Cyndy clapped her hands together with excitement. "Alright, now the fun part! Everyone grab an ornament, let’s make this tree sparkle."

Glen’s sisters eagerly began pulling their favorite ornaments from the piles, each one carefully examined before being placed on the branches. Glen handed you an ornament with a small grin. "I think this one’s for you," he said, handing you a glass star ornament that had a delicate silver shimmer.

As the tree filled with decorations, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment. It was peaceful and festive, and even with the occasional playful jab from one of Glen’s sisters, you couldn’t deny that it felt right.

Glen stepped back for a moment, surveying the tree as the last few ornaments were added. He gave you a soft smile, and you both exchanged a quiet moment before returning to finish the final touches.

As the final ornaments were being placed, the room seemed to hum with festive energy. The tree was almost done, with the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the glass baubles and tinsel. You stepped back to admire the view when Cyndy, holding the delicate star topper, made her way toward you.

"Here," she said with a warm smile, holding it out to you. "I think you should be the one to put the star on top. After all, you're the special guest this year."

You immediately felt a slight panic. "Oh, no, no, someone in the family should do it," you said, shaking your head, trying to pass the ornament back to her. "This is your tradition."

But Cyndy, always insistent, simply raised an eyebrow and gave you a playful smile. "You’re part of the family now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could protest any further, Cyndy shot a glance over at Glen, who was leaning casually against the wall, watching with a smile. "Glen, help her up."

Glen’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he moved toward you. "You heard her," he teased, holding out a hand. "Up you go."

You gave him an incredulous look, but there was no backing out now. Glen bent down slightly, motioning for you to climb onto his shoulders. With a deep breath, you carefully moved onto his broad shoulders. Glen straightened up, your legs now on either side of his neck, and you were perched on his shoulders, a little wobbly at first, but he steadied you easily.

"Alright, ready?" he asked, his voice close to your ear, making you feel a little more unsteady than you had been just moments ago.

You nodded, and Glen slowly straightened his back, lifting you higher so you could reach the top of the tree.

With his support, you leaned over carefully, stretching just enough to place the star on top of the tree. You could feel his arms beneath your legs, his grip steady as he held you in place. As you aligned the cord with the top strand of lights, the star clicked into place, and the top of the tree lit up with a soft, radiant glow.

The room seemed to pause for a moment, everyone looking up at the tree as the star twinkled brightly, casting a warm glow over the entire room. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of pride and contentment as you admired the result.

"Perfect," Cyndy said, her voice filled with approval. "It’s beautiful."

As Glen slowly lowered you back to the ground, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you as you regained your footing. You both stood there for a moment, a shared silence settling over you as you looked up at the tree. The lights glowed softly, casting a gentle warmth over the room, and the star at the top shone brilliantly.

The atmosphere was calm, peaceful. You couldn’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest as you stood close to Glen, the warmth of his hands still lingering on your hips. It wasn’t anything overt, just a quiet moment where the connection between the two of you felt more real than ever. The world around you seemed to fade away for a second, leaving only the soft hum of the Christmas tree lights and the quiet of the room.

You both stood there for what felt like an eternity, neither of you saying a word. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the fire in the background and the distant laughter from the others. And then, without warning, Glen seemed to notice the looks from the corner of his eye. Leslie and Lauren were standing at the other side of the room, their eyes fixed on the two of you, their smiles too knowing for Glen’s liking.

Caught in the moment, Glen quickly pulled his hands from your sides, his fingers brushing against your skin just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. He cleared his throat and turned toward the others, trying to act nonchalant.

“Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

Leslie grinned and gave him a playful wink, but it was Lauren’s knowing smile that lingered in your mind. You and Glen shared a fleeting glance before you both turned to rejoin the others, the moment still hanging between you two.

* * * * *

Later that evening, after the lively chaos of dinner had settled, you found yourself stepping out onto the deck of Glen’s house. The crisp air of the winter evening wrapped around you as you leaned against the railing, a cup of warm tea cradled in your hands. The steam curled up into the cool night, and the soft hum of the distant streetlights was the only sound you could hear. It was a peaceful contrast to the laughter and chatter that had filled the house earlier, and you welcomed the solitude.

As you sipped from your cup, your thoughts drifted back to the night’s events. Glen’s family had been warm and welcoming, and though you could see how much they all cared for him, you couldn’t help but notice the way Cyndy had spoken earlier. It lingered in your mind, that softness in her eyes when she spoke of how much happier Glen seemed since you arrived. It made your chest feel tight, both in a comforting and nerve-wracking way.

The door behind you creaked open, and you turned just as Glen stepped onto the deck. He moved toward you with that familiar easy stride of his, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. For a moment, he stood beside you, silent, just taking in the night air with you. The way the soft glow of the house lights reflected off his features made him seem almost impossibly handsome in the moment.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he knew that his family’s energy could be overwhelming at times. “I know they can be a lot.”

You offered him a soft smile and took another sip of tea, the warmth of the cup soothing against your palms. “I’m enjoying myself, really,” you assured him. “Your family’s great. It’s just... nice to have a little peace and quiet for a moment after everything today, you know?”

Glen gave a small, understanding nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. The comfortable silence stretched between you both, but then, as if on cue, a gust of cool air swept across the deck. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly, the chill catching you off guard.

Before you could react, you felt a warmth at your shoulders. Glen’s arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer to him, the solid feel of his presence comforting against the cool night. His touch, the gentle weight of his arm around you, made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. It felt natural, like he was just trying to make sure you were okay—but there was something else there, something unspoken that hummed beneath the surface.

For a brief moment, you thought he might lean in, maybe say something that would break the quiet tension between you. But he didn’t. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to cross that invisible line.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence where two people simply existed in each other’s presence, the world around them fading away. Still, something about the stillness between you and Glen made you aware of the subtle shift in the air. You glanced up at him, catching the thoughtful, almost distant expression on his face.

“You okay?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. There was something in his demeanor that made you wonder if something was on his mind, maybe something he wasn’t sharing. He seemed more serious now, the playfulness from earlier replaced by a quiet vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

Glen turned his head to look at you, blinking as if he had been lost in thought, and then he let out a low chuckle, brushing it off. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice light but guarded, as if the answer to your question was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin curling on your lips. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered to yours, and for a second, you could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. It was a small thing, but it was there—a brief moment of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a deep breath. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking out at the dark sky, the stars twinkling above.

“I’m just…” He trailed off, then ran a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of how to continue. “I don’t know. Just... thinking about how much things have changed recently.” Glen sighed again, letting out a breath like he was releasing something heavy. “I guess... it’s just been a lot. Work, family... and now you. It’s all good stuff, but it’s a lot to juggle sometimes, you know?” He paused, his words becoming slower as if he were processing something in real-time. “I don’t want to mess things up. With my family, with you...”

The air between you and Glen felt thick with unspoken things, so you did the only thing that felt natural. You shifted slightly, closing the space between you until you were pressed against his chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you rested your head just beneath his chin, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought you might’ve felt something—something soft and sweet, maybe even a kiss. But when you lifted your head to look up at him, you realized it wasn’t that at all. He’d just rested his chin on the top of your head, his touch warm and gentle, like a quiet reassurance that you didn’t know you needed until now.

You pulled back a fraction, just enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes. Your fingers brushed against his chest lightly as you took a breath, wanting to say something—anything—that would keep this moment from slipping away.

“You couldn’t possibly mess things up with me,” you assured him, your voice steady but filled with a quiet confidence. You didn’t know why you said it, but you meant it. The last thing you wanted was for Glen to feel like he was doing anything wrong by simply being himself.

Glen laughed softly, though it was a little unsure. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he teased, his voice still carrying that hint of vulnerability beneath the humor. He didn’t let go of you, though—his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, almost like he was grounding himself to you in this moment.

You couldn't help but smile at the mix of playfulness and seriousness in his tone. It was typical of him—strong and self-assured, yet still somehow uncertain when it came to matters of the heart. But the way he was holding you, the way his arms had wrapped around you so naturally—it told you everything you needed to know.

“You’re not as big a mess as you think you are, Glen,” you said, your voice soft, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “At least not when it comes to me.”

Glen smiled back at you, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. The distance between you two, both physically and emotionally, was narrowing with every second.

Another breeze stirred the air, cool against your skin. It caught a strand of your hair, whipping it across your face. You instinctively reached up to brush it away, but before your hand could meet your face, Glen shifted. His fingers grazed your cheek softly, his touch warm as he gently tucked the errant strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, resting along your jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow down. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met yours, searching, almost like he was wondering what you were thinking—if you were feeling the same pull he was. His breath caught slightly, the air thick with everything unsaid between you two.

For a long, fragile moment, you were certain neither of you wanted to break the connection, but it was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Glen’s fingers lingered on your face, his touch almost electric, and you could feel the heat rising between you.

He parted his lips like he was about to say something—anything—but then stopped. Something held him back, that same hesitation that had kept him quiet, kept him at a distance all evening. His breath faltered, but you could tell he was fighting himself.

The words left you before you could even think twice about them. Soft, barely a whisper, just enough for him to hear: “Kiss me.”

You weren’t sure if he caught it at first. It was so quiet, almost too soft for him to hear. If he didn’t want to, he could easily dismiss it, pretend he hadn’t heard and let the moment pass. The uncertainty and the weight of the words hung between you, like a fragile thread.

But then Glen’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, and the gesture was enough to make your heart race. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was soft but full of promise. There was no hesitation now, no second-guessing.

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours. You could taste the hint of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin as his lips gently moved against yours, a quiet but insistent promise.

You reached up, your hands trembling slightly, and grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, as if grounding yourself in this moment. His touch was everything—strong, steady, and a little desperate, like he was holding on to something precious. One hand found its way to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently pulled you closer, his lips urging yours to open. The soft pressure was almost a question, and you answered it without hesitation, your lips parting as his tongue slid in, exploring you with slow, deliberate movements.

The kiss deepened, and everything else faded. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you against him, making you feel the undeniable heat of his body. The way he held you tightly, possessively, ignited a spark inside you that set your skin on fire. You felt every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against yours, his heart racing in time with yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he gently pushed you back, guiding you until you were pinned between his solid body and the railing behind you. You could feel the cool metal against your back, the contrast of it to the heat radiating from him, but it only made the moment more intense, more real.

His mouth never left yours, and you were lost in it—lost in the way he kissed you, in the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that instant. His tongue moved against yours, a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. He was patient but relentless, as if he couldn't get close enough, as if he wanted to drown in this feeling, in the taste of you.

For a moment, you lost yourself completely in him. The kiss became everything—the way his lips molded to yours, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the deep, almost desperate need that surged between you. It was as if nothing else in the world existed but the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you both catch your breath, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. He didn't let go, his hands still on your waist, his body so close you could feel the warmth of him seeping into you. His eyes searched yours, almost like he was asking for permission, or maybe trying to figure out what this meant.

Glen took a slow, deliberate step back, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary on your waist, as if reluctant to let go. His gaze locked with yours, still heavy with unspoken words and that same intensity that hung thick in the air. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but the moment lingered—unsaid, just like everything else that had passed between you two.

He reached down, his fingers brushing against yours, and when he grasped your hand, it felt grounding, but at the same time, like a promise. He gently pulled you inside, his touch still warm against your skin, the heat from the kiss still lingering between you.

You stepped closer to him, his hand never leaving yours, and the world outside seemed to fade away once more. The air was different inside—charged in a way that made everything feel more intimate, more real. Glen glanced at you over his shoulder, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something that only added to the tension building between you.

And then, with a quiet, almost playful tug, he led you further into the house, closing the door softly behind you.

* * * * *

You stirred slowly, the warmth of the bed and the soft, rhythmic press of Glen’s lips against your shoulder coaxing you out of sleep. His gentle kisses trailed up to your collarbones, each one sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. The sensation was soft, tender—like he was savoring the moment, as if he didn’t want to break the stillness of the morning.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the sight of him—his face only inches from your skin, eyes closed in quiet reverence. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as though you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. It felt so natural, so right, that you could almost forget it was Christmas morning.

With a soft sigh, you rolled onto your back, the bed creaking slightly as you shifted. You turned your head, your gaze meeting his. He hadn’t noticed you were awake, his lips still lightly grazing your skin, his breath warm against your neck.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, unable to hide the happiness bubbling up inside you. It was a moment of peace, of simplicity, and you knew it was one you’d carry with you for a long time.

When Glen finally met your eyes, his expression softened, a quiet tenderness in his gaze that made your heart flutter in your chest. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to your lips, brief but full of meaning. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, the moment feeling so intimate, so perfect.

Just as you were starting to drift back into the peaceful warmth of the moment, Glen’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He groaned and reached for it, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "Not now," he muttered, glancing at the screen and seeing it was Leslie calling.

"Seriously?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "She can’t let us have five more minutes?"

Glen chuckled, though it was laced with mock frustration. "Guess not. She probably wants us to hurry up and join the rest of the chaos." He answered the call and put it on speaker, letting out another groan. "Leslie, it’s Christmas morning, cut me some slack."

You heard her voice, cheerful but insistent. "Yeah, I know, but you need to get over here! We’re all waiting for you to start the presents."

Glen rubbed a hand over his face, looking over at you with a grin. "Alright, alright. We’ll get up and head right over."

But Leslie, ever the sharp one, picked up on the tone in his voice. "Wait a second," she said with a teasing smirk in her voice. "You said ‘we’ll’ get up? So that means... you’re both still in bed?"

You felt Glen stiffen, his eyes locking onto yours as the corners of his mouth twitched. Before he could respond, Leslie continued, sounding far too smug for 8 AM. "And she’s with you, huh? In your room?"

Glen groaned dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. "Leslie, it’s too early for this," he muttered, clearly embarrassed by the line of questioning.

Leslie wasn’t letting up, though. "Oh, I get it," she said in a sing-song voice, a little too amused for her own good. "I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’"

Glen looked at you, mouthing, "I’m gonna kill her."

He sighed, sitting up on the bed, clearly trying to change the subject. "Okay, okay. We’ll be over soon, alright? Stop prying."

"Sure, sure. Just don’t take too long, or I might have to send Mom in there to drag you both out," Leslie teased before hanging up with a cheerful goodbye.

Glen, still looking mildly exasperated, dropped the phone onto the bed. He laughed and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright, guess we should get up and face the madness."

You and Glen exchanged sleepy smiles as you both began to rise from the bed. Glen stretched his arms overhead, letting out a long yawn, before he slipped on his slippers and headed toward the bathroom. You turned toward the guest room, mentally running through the few things you had to do to get ready for the day.

As you dressed, you couldn't help but replay last night in your head—the kiss, the closeness, the way it felt like the world had just slipped away, leaving only the two of you. But now, in the cold light of morning, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that lingered. What did it mean? What were you to Glen after everything that had happened? Your heart raced as the thought crossed your mind. Was this something you were supposed to talk about? Or would it be just another fleeting moment, like so many others in the past?

You finished getting dressed, smoothing your shirt and running your fingers through your hair, trying to calm the nerves that had appeared out of nowhere. When you stepped out of the guest room, you found Glen already ready, his jacket on and his keys in hand. He was standing by the door, waiting for you.

He gave you a soft smile when he saw you. "Ready?" he asked, his voice warm but with an edge of hesitation that matched how you were feeling.

You nodded, trying to brush off the unease. "Yeah.”

You followed him to the truck, your mind still racing with questions. The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. As you passed the familiar landmarks, your eyes wandered to Glen, who was focused on the road. You wanted to ask him everything, to know where the two of you stood after everything, but you didn’t want to make things awkward.

Finally, Glen broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice steady but quiet. He glanced at you for a moment before turning his focus back to the road. “About last night. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” you prompted softly, unsure of where he was going with this.

He let out a breath, his lips curving into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Look, I know my life isn’t exactly… simple. My schedule is a mess, and I’m gone a lot. I don’t want to pretend like that’s not going to be a challenge. But,” he paused, his voice growing more certain, “I want to see where this goes. With you. If you’re willing to, that is.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. You could hear the nervous edge in his voice, the way he shifted slightly in his seat like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You let the weight of his words settle over you before you replied. “I’m willing to,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I wouldn’t have let last night happen if I wasn’t.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he smiled—an honest, open kind of smile that made your chest feel warm. He reached over, his hand finding yours where it rested on your lap. His touch was gentle but firm, like he was grounding himself in this moment.

“Okay,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart lighter now, but the lingering uncertainty still hung between you. “So, what do we do about your family?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. “Do we tell them, or…?”

He sighed, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities. “Part of me thinks it’s better to just get it out there. But another part of me… I don’t want to make today about us when it’s supposed to be about family.”

You nodded, understanding his hesitation. “We don’t have to decide right now,” you offered. “Let’s just see how the day goes.”

Glen smiled again, his gaze soft as it flicked toward you. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

The rest of the drive was filled with a sense of quiet anticipation, the air between you lighter now but still charged with the potential of what was to come. Glen didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and you couldn’t help but feel that, no matter what, the two of you were in this together.

Glen stepped inside first, his hand still firmly clasping yours as he guided you over the threshold. The sound of laughter and conversation spilled from the living room, filling the house with the unmistakable hum of family.

Glen paused just inside the door, turning to face you. His hand lingered in yours for a moment before he gently released it, reaching instead to help you shrug off your coat. His fingertips brushed lightly against your arms as he slid the thick material off your shoulders. You glanced up at him, catching the faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks," you murmured, offering him a small smile of your own as he hung your coat on the nearby rack.

He gave a slight nod. "Anytime," he replied, his voice low and quiet, just for you.

With that, you made your way toward the living room, Glen trailing close behind. The sight that greeted you was as welcoming as the sounds and smells: his entire family gathered around the tree, mugs of steaming coffee and hot cocoa in hand, their laughter blending with the soft crackle of the fireplace.

"Well, there they are!" Leslie called out, her grin widening as she spotted the two of you.

At her words, all eyes turned to you and Glen. You felt a momentary flush of warmth—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer warmth of the welcome in their gazes. Glen’s mom was the first to rise, crossing the room to pull you into a gentle hug.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as soft and kind as ever.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling as you returned the hug.

Glen hung back for a moment, his gaze sweeping over his family before it landed back on you. When his mom released you, he stepped forward to exchange his own hugs and greetings, his presence grounding you in the lively room.

As you settled into the living room, Leslie’s sharp eyes darted between you and Glen, a knowing glint lighting her expression. “You two look cozy,” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Glen shot her a warning look but didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he placed a steadying hand on your back as he guided you toward an empty spot on the couch. “It’s still too early for your commentary, Les,” he said dryly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you sat down, feeling Glen’s hand linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he joined you. The family resumed their chatter, and you felt yourself relax into the warmth of the room and the easy dynamic Glen had with his family.

There was an unspoken understanding between you and Glen as the morning unfolded. Whatever the day might bring, you were in this together, and that made everything—his teasing siblings, the bustling energy, the unrelenting sense of closeness—feel a little less overwhelming and a lot more like home.

The morning carried on with a joyous rhythm, the room buzzing with laughter and the crinkling of wrapping paper as Glen’s mom began handing out gifts from beneath the tree. One by one, brightly wrapped packages found their way into eager hands, and the sound of tearing paper soon filled the room.

You found yourself nestled comfortably on the couch beside Glen, warmth radiating from his side. At some point, almost without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. His arm instinctively came up to wrap around you, pulling you just a little closer.

The moment felt effortless, like breathing, and you let yourself savor the comfort of it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohhh, would you look at that?” Leslie’s voice rang out, her tone dripping with mischief.

Your head snapped up, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realized all eyes were now on you and Glen. His parents exchanged exaggerated grins while his older sister’s gaze softened with a mix of joy and curiosity.

“Well, this is new,” somebody teased.

Glen let out a long-suffering groan, running a hand over his face. “Can we not make this a thing?” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Leslie was undeterred, her grin widening as she leaned forward. “Oh, no, this is absolutely a thing. Care to share with the group, Glen?”

He sighed, glancing at you. The flush on your cheeks deepened, but there was no judgment or pressure in his expression—only quiet reassurance.

Finally, he turned back to his family, his shoulders squaring as if bracing himself. “Fine. Yes, we’re… seeing where things go,” he admitted, his voice steady but soft. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me right now.”

His mom clasped her hands together, her face lighting up like the tree behind her. “Oh, Glen,” she said warmly, her joy unmistakable.

The teasing and comments came in waves after that, a mix of playful ribbing and heartfelt congratulations. You felt your face grow impossibly warm, but Glen’s arm around you tightened, grounding you.

Eventually, Glen turned to his family with a pointed look. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we get back to the presents now?”

Leslie laughed but relented, reaching for another package beneath the tree. As the room shifted back to its lively rhythm, Glen leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Are you?”

His eyes softened, and he gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

And as the morning carried on, the lively chatter and laughter of his family surrounded you, filling the room with warmth. Glen’s arm stayed comfortably around you, an anchor amidst the joyful chaos. For the first time in a long time, you felt at ease—like you belonged, not just in this house but at his side.

Whatever this was, whatever it might become, one thing was clear: this was the beginning of something worth holding onto.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

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f-a-b-l-e · 1 day ago

Text

Video transcript under the cut, as requested by @atumblrbyanyothername . I also added some explanatory footnotes.

Ashleigh Banfield: "That's NewsNation's correspondent Alex Caprariello standing by to do the big report for us tonight. That's a pretty interesting interaction you've had with the inmates over the chain-link. Tell me about it, Alex."

Alex Caprariello: "Yeah, pretty unbelievable moment and Ashley I can tell you at this very moment I can look over my left shoulder up at the top of this prison wall, see through a window and see your face is right there. They're watching Banfield at this moment, as they promised they would. Alright, so let's backtrack a little bit okay?"

Ashleigh waves at the camera.

AC "So, earlier today i was reporting outside this prison wall…" Over Alex's camera you can hear the inmates yelling in reply to Ashleigh's wave.

AC "Oh my gosh, I don't know if you just heard that Ashleigh, that was them screaming."

AB: "I just waved, Alex. I just waved and that was- Hi guys! Say hi to Alex Caprariello!"

Inmates: "YEAH!"

The camera pans to the right, to look through the chain-link fence. The wall of the prison is visible behind an empty yard, and some windows can be seen.

AB: "Oh, we can hear it! Hi guys!"

AC: "There you go, look up at that window."

AB: "Let me ask them a question, hold on. Alex, hold on, let me yell a question. Guys, if you can hear me clearly: do you guys have any sights on Luigi Mangione? Just yell yes or no."

The camera goes back to Alex.

Some yelling was heard while she talked but now it's silent for a second.

AB: "I don't know if they're answering."

AC: "I'm… They're flickering the…"

The camera pans back to the wall.

I: "NO!"

AC: "They're saying no. Go ahead, ask another one. They can hear you."

AB: "They say no, they don't have sights, okay!"

I: [Some yelling, it's not quite clear enough to make out entire sentences. What can be heard is "Luigi" and "right now!"]

AB: "You'll have to translate, Alex."

The camera pans back to Alex.

AC: "Alright, so, earlier today I was reporting outside these prison walls when all of a sudden I heard my name, and I couldn't tell if they were calling me or even heckling me, or even saying my name whatsoever. And so I started reporting on Luigi Mangione's prison conditions as I was finding them out, and as soon as the live show was over, that's when I turned around and they said "the conditions suck!" And so that was my confirmation that oh my gosh, they're watching NewsNation right at that very moment. I pulled out my camera, I recorded and here's more of that interaction. Take a look from earlier today."

The video switches to Alex's recording. It's filming the same shot of the prison wall as it did in the live newscast. The video includes subtitles.

Inmates: "Luigi's conditions suck! Free Luigi! Luigi loves NewsNation!"

The video switches back to the live feed.

AC: "Ashleigh, they're going nuts in there right now, watching this video on playback. This is just from a few hours ago and here they are, ten o clock, just as promised. They said earlier today: "Tell Ashleigh Banfield that Luigi is watching at ten o'clock." I mean, obviously you know that's just a hard roast at this point because they're not near Luigi in any way, as confirmed by the Department of Corrections earlier today. But at the same time, they've picked a trusted news source to watch this very high profile nation case. Of course, they're watching us."

AB: "That's crazy. Hey, Alex, can I ask you a favor? Can I just ask the guys if they can hear me right now to answer yes or no very loud: Does Luigi have television in his single cell?"

I: "No!"

AC: "No. They said no, he doesn't have a TV."

AB: "They said no, right? Obviously we have a little bit of a delay that they're getting. They're getting the questions and they're giving us the answers that Luigi does not have- wow, this is quite something. This is the strangest interview I've ever conducted."

AC: "Me too Ashleigh. You know, according to the Department of Corrections he's got his own solitary cell. It's not solitary confinement but he's by himself, it's not dorm style. I'm not sure exactly what those guys [he gestures towards the inmates] got going on in terms of a living situation. It sounds like they're all clustered together. But as far as Luigi's living accommodations: he's by himself, he's got a bed, he's got a chair, he's got a toilet, a sink. Again, he's not with the rest of these guys but he's not in solitary confinement."

The inmates can be heard yelling in the background while Ashleigh speaks next but it's not clear what they're saying.

AB: "Okay, so, I'm gonna read out the menu and then I'm gonna ask the guys if it was any good, the dinner tonight. So, the breakfast was fruit, grits, bread, eggs and coffee, he had the choice. The lunch was porcupine meatballs, potatoes, bread and fruit. And tonight's dinner: mac and cheese, pasta bean casserole, and stewed tomatoes with broccoli. So guys, was dinner good: yes or no?"

I: "TERRIBLE!"

AB: "What are they saying?"

AC: "Terrible, they're saying."

AB: "Terrible- I heard terrible."

AC: "They're saying "heck no," they're saying "BS," they're saying "terrible," they're saying that's not what they're eating."

AB: "Oh man, I totally can't get over this. I'm gonna explain what porcupine meatballs are in a little bit, just not right now. I need to get into some serious business, guys, you're gonna have to just listen to the report up there, you gotta give Alex a moment of peace for a second, I got business to do here. It's about your 'neighbor' who's in that institution with you up there. So, the Altoona Police they say that there were threats made to officers by members of the public for having arrested Luigi Mangione. And maybe some citizens as well had threats that they're investigating. Have they made any identifications on people who've made these threats to police officers and to citizens? Maybe the McDonald's employees?"[1]

AC: "No, and they're considering this all a part of the larger investigation. So they're keeping a pretty tight lid on that. What they do say though, is that their officers are receiving threats, and also the people at this McDonald's have received threats. In fact, I've seen reporting that maybe that some of these McDonald's employees have been asked to step away for a time just so that way they don't get increasing pressure. And this really all has to do with this sort of fanfare and mythology that's surrounding Luigi at this point. There are so many people online that are supporting him for his actions due to their own complaints with the healthcare industry as a whole. Or even, we've seen people commenting on his looks and how handsome he is. And so he's built up this following so to speak. And so there's threats being made towards these police officers for actually going out there and apprehending him, but then also this McDonald's is now caught in the fire too, because it was the location where he was caught. So that it's also received just incredible negative feedback and reviews online. I've seen it plummet: 1-star reviews for this one specific McDonald's in Altoona, Pennsylvania. People saying that it's got rats and doing whatever they can to support Luigi and, you know, bash everyone else that got in the way."

AB: "Yeah okay. Other question here about some wanted posters that have shown up all around New York City putting other CEO's faces up, other healthcare executives faces up, saying that these guys are wanted too, and putting the big red X over Brian Thompson's. Is there any word on whether this is something more sinister, or you know, really tacky freedom of speech?"

AC: "Yeah, sinister at the very most and distasteful at the very least, these are being seen on parts of Lower Manhattan. Not just Brian Thompson, but other CEO's of Fortune 500 [2] and megacompanies. Basically, it's not hitting or landing very well with people of Manhattan. Obviously they're still trying to come to grips with what just happened one week ago right in their city in broad daylight. And so, basically what we've seen is many people have been pulling these down, shredding them and getting rid of them. So, rightfully so, this seems to be a threat towards others, but real- no authenticity to them, it does not seem as if this is a real hit list, so to speak."

AB: "Okay. I have another question for the guys behind you, okay? Can I pop it out there? Hey guys, don't yell until I finish the question."

AC: "Go ahead."

AB: "So, the question is about Luigi Mangione, he's fighting extradition [3] so he's gonna be in that jail, presumably for a little bit longer, but eventually he's gonna end up going to Rikers [4]. I don't know how many guys behind you in the wall there have been to Rikers, but it's a bit of a hell-hole. So the question I have for the guys: if you could just yell "stay" or "go," do you think that Luigi should just waive extradition and get on with the process and go to Rikers, or should he stay in that prison Huntindon with the rest of you guys there in Pennsylvania? So it's either "stay" or "go," just yell that out. And again, we have a little bit of a delay here."

[If you want to hear for yourself, skip to 9:05 in the video.]

I: "STAY!" but after the first barrage of 'stay', it changes to "GO!"

AC: "I'm sure you heard that one Ashleigh."

AB: "Alex I thought I could hear them say 'go'? Was it 'go'? Are they saying 'go'?"

AC: "They're saying 'go'. They're saying 'go'. They say get on with it, go to Rikers Island."

AB: "Wow. You know, I wonder if they mean go because they say the place they're in right now is a hell-hole, maybe worse. But I don't know, I mean Rikers is pretty bad. We got the comparison coming up, one of the inmates…"

AC: "I'm not sure if you heard them say it just now when I was talking about the threats of rats in McDonald's, somebody just said "they've got rats in here too!" So, seems they're not very happy with the food here, or the accommodations. Maybe we need to send an email to the Department of Corrections about that for tomorrow morning."

AB: "Any last comments you can hear from the guys there? And maybe just swing the camera up and see if you can see the shot that you just showed me before? Where we can see the TV?"

AC: "Can you swing the camera up there Greg? They want to try to see, uh…"

AB: "Yeah, the view that you're seeing, so we can see where the guys are, yelling out the windows."

The camera swings to the right again. One of the windows shows a lamp being turned on and off repeatedly.

AC: "So, go ahead, see those flashing lights?"

AB: "Yeah, zoom in if you can. Is that Greg, your cameraman? Just zoom in as much as you can."

The camera zooms in. Four more windows start flashing their lights.

AC: "Zoom in a little bit Greg, if you can."

AB: "And I'm… Wow. I'm pretty sure we're not going to be able to see any faces in those windows, but rest assured, gentlemen! We can absolutely hear you, and you got your interview!"

AC: "But isn't that interesting? Ashleigh, you know-"

AB: "Are you guys doing the strobe lights for us? Strobing that was for us?"

AC: "That's what I'm saying Ashleigh, isn't it interesting to see what the accommodations that they have… They've got their own light switches, they're obviously watching TV past any 10 o'clock sort of curfew, you know…"

The camera zooms out and pans across the wall, showing that two more windows have joined the strobing.

AB: "Oh my… They're all doing it! Oh my gosh, look at this, Alex!"

AC: "Yep, they're doing this for you, they're watching NewsNation at this very moment."

The camera goes back to focus on Alex.

AB: "They're putting on, they're all flicking their cell lights on and off. No, keep the camera over there. I want to see how many there are, that's fascinating to me. Greg, can you pan back over? Pan back over, I just wanna see how many of them are doing their strobe lights for us."

During this last bit of the video, the camera pans over the wall, and about 20 of the windows have flickering lights in them.

AC: "Keep the camera over there. They wanna keep seeing them. I'm counting, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…"

AB: "Alright, well. I do wanna say thank you guys. I really appreciate all of you giving us your attention and also answering our questions, as hard as it was. You certainly were heard tonight. We're getting this- Again, if you were just tuning in to NewsNation right now, this is the prison inmates at the SCI Huntingdon watching our show and responding by turning their lights on and off to show us that they are, in fact, watching and responding. And the most interesting thing that I think I heard them say, other than the food wasn't great, was that they think that Luigi Mangione should waive the extradition and move on, and get out of that holding institution and head on to Rikers. Alex, this is one for the record books. Thank you for facilitating this, this has been pretty amazing!"

[Video ends]

[1] The Altoona Police were the ones who arrested Luigi Mangione in a McDonald's on the morning of December 10th 2024. The news report was made at 9:10 in the evening two days later, on December 12th 2024. The shooting itself happened early in the morning on December 4th 2024 in New York City, just 8 days before the newscast. [2] Fortune 500 is a list of the 500 largest corporations in the United States. They're not just healthcare corporations but all kinds of companies. [3] Extradition is when one jurisdiction (a jurisdiction could for instance be a country or a state within a country) hands over a criminal or suspect to another jurisdiction. On the December 19th, 7 days after the newscast, Luigi Mangione waived extradition (agreed to be extradited) to New York to be prosecuted there. [4] Rikers Island is the biggest prison in New York City. Situated on an island in the East River, this prison has a terrible reputation of violence, abuse and neglect. It is currently scheduled to be shut down by 2026.

y'all HAVE to watch this...interview??? with the inmates of the prison where luigi mangione is being held.

the reporter is standing outside the prison walls, while the inmates are inside watching newsmax, and collectively screaming out one-word answers to questions loud enough to be heard by the reporter.

I've never seen anything like it

#luigi mangione #transcription

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sold2vlaykz · 3 days ago

Text

I love you more than you do.

(Yandere Millionare E/Ex X FEM! reader!)

Prompt: Your older E/Ex bf can not get over you, has not and tonight he’s come back to claim you as his!)

Warning!! Mild angst, stalking, CNC kiss, towel nudity mentioned, loser reader!, word pretty mentioned, older male yandere.

It was late, you usually did things like this. Stayed up all night despite having school/work tomorrow, you’d spend hours on social media, discord, just because you had nothing better to do with your life.

Your relationship with your family was backwards, sometimes they loved you next they did not.

He hated seeing you sad, the tears rolling down your face as they belittled you. Belittled his sweet little girl.

He wanted to kill them, rip their throats out.

But he couldn’t because he knew it’d hurt you, despite the luxury of a life he could’ve given you after he knew that your pure heart wouldn’t have accepted it.

“I fucking hate this shit.”

You cursed at yourself, arguing with some nobody online while he watched you from your window a gift in hand.

Of course he could’ve watched you from the cameras but it was never better than the real thing.

Of course he’d deal with who you were arguing with later, whoever it was, was soon to be dead on a platter.

But tonight was all about you.

Tonight was the night, the night you’d see him.

You stood up, closing your phone before rubbing your temples and heading to the bathroom. He stood there for a second, waiting maybe a minute or five before he heard the shower water begin to run.

He climbed up the rails into your bedroom window , being quick to hide himself away in a closet.

Your family was away, everyone had something better to do than to be in the house with you.

The smell of you surrounded the room, he’s ashamed to say but it made him horny. He’s only ever been this close to put the cameras in or steal things.

Minutes flew by and there you were. Standing in all your glory in a towel.

Before you dropped it he stepped out, your eyes went wide in surprise as a scream left your lips. It wasn’t long before he covered your mouth with his gloved hand.

He pressed his gun to your back, a smile crept to his face as you trembled.

“Another word and I’ll blow your shit straight off.”

He was lying through his teeth, he couldn’t kill you. God he’d rather kill himself but hey you didn’t know that.

You nodded quickly, his hand slowly moving away from you.

He picked you up and placed you on your bed, careful not to drop the towel. His hands traced your face, then your towel slowly unraveling it.

He didn’t want to fuck you, well not without your consent at least.

You began to cry, whimpers leaving your lips thinking that your dignity was about to be ripped away.

“No, shh. I’m not gonna’ do anything. Just wanna’ feel you.”

His voice was deep, rolled of the tongue so effortlessly.

His hands went down to your stomach, squeezing the skin just to get a feel, cupping your breast gentle, rubbing your thighs. With each move a whimper left his lips, as if he was getting off on just rubbing you.

“Who are you?”

Your voice was cracked and shaky, almost a whisper despite no one being home.

“I’m your husband.”

He spoke blankly, your eyes widened at the golden ring on his finger. You were confused, maybe this was all just a bad dream. None of it made sense.

Well at least not to you, to him you were married. He got your parent’s signature on a contract not too long ago, they were all drunk after a party and stupidly signed a paper not knowing what it was.

Now you were his, all nude and pretty. Sitting there just for him.

He opened your laptop, immediately faced with the discord screening.

He grabbed your hand before pulling you softly towards him, sitting in a chair while pushing you into his lap.

“Won’t be needing this anymore”

You watched him factory reset your whole computer, everything erased. Your whole lonely loser life, crushed.

You didn’t want to seem phased despite the shake in your bones. He looked up at you, looking you in your eyes as if waiting for a response.

“Why are you doing this.”

You heard him groan at your question, before snatching your phone from in the desk. He clicked on your messages before going to the deleted.

“Mm, baby you really don’t remember me?”

He went on a number that was at the very bottom of the list, before recovering all that was gone.

With you on his lap and one hand on your thigh he began to scroll, thousands of messages from almost three years ago. By the looks of it, he was some guy you used to E-date. Until you inevitably blocked him because of the age difference between you two, the jealousy, and possessiveness-despite how much he evidently cared for you.

“All of this, and then you left me.”

His grip tightened, jaw clenched.

The balls to come here without a mask, knowing he wouldn’t have got caught. His gun on the opposite side of you, he just kept staring at it.

“But I forgive you, you couldn’t have done it on purpose.”

A lie he told himself, he began to dig into his pocket. Whatever it was had a circular shape. And god you hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was. In the midst of all his shuffling he pulled out a ring.

As much as you hated to say it, it was beautiful.

Covered in diamonds with a ruby in the middle, gold decorating the rims.

“I remember how you said you loved the color red, despite it being a last ditch effort to have a favorite color like everyone else did.”

Considerate, despite the breaking and entering, the threats, the gun. He already had the contract, all he needed was your finger.

His eyes stared like daggers into yours, gray stubble decorating his clean cut facial hair.

“Marry me. Just like we promised all those years ago.”

You could tell it wasn’t a question, it’s either you said yes or you thought he’d blow your fucking head off. When in reality if you said no he would’ve just stalked and harassed you until you had no choice but to say yes. Or kidnapped you-

“Do I have to?”

He froze, nails practically digging in your skin through the gloves.

He picked up the gun before pressing it to the side of your ribcage.

“Do you?”

Is all he said his voice a low growl. A soft yes left your lips, and all was subsided. A smile grew wide on his face from ear to ear as if he didn’t have a gun to you.

“I knew you loved me.”

He placed a kiss on your neck, eyes full of absolute joy. He put the gun down and grabbed your face, facing you toward him. Devilishly handsome with the mind of a psychopath.

“Do you know how much I’ve done to get here, from killing your boyfriend, murdering your teacher, even killed that celebrity you were obsessed with. Just to have you now sitting in my lap with a ring on both of our fingers.”

He kept covering you in soft kisses, you on the other hand trying hard to ignore the bulge in his pants.

“I’m sorry, it’s just your so pretty angel.”

Angel, that name ran through your mind like alarms. The day it fell down when he hacked your account and deleted every man from your phone.

“I’m sorry angel I just don’t know what got into me.”

You knew you were going to have passion marks, didn’t know how you were going to explain them to your parents.

“I love you.”

He kissed your lips, he stood up with you in his arms and placed on you the bed. Lips not daring to leave yours.

“Stop-” you mumbled out.

His eyes dropped, sadness filled them.

“It’s me sweetheart, your husband. All those times we said we wanted nothing more but to hold eachother.”

His hands made their way around your back and pulled you closer.

Nose to his area, making the size difference evident.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up.

“You can’t run from me, even now if you call the police they won’t catch me and we’ll end up right here.”

He began kissing your neck softly once again, each kiss deepened. He dragged a moan from you despite you wanting to not enjoy it, he knew how to make you feel good.

“Does that feel good baby?”

He knew it did, you could hear his chuckling under your moans, under his slyness.

“We don’t gotta’ do anything. Just wanna’ kiss you.”

He brought his mouth back to your lips, and sadly. You kissed him back, God. You felt his hard on grow the more you kissed him, his loud moans and whimpering just by your subtle touch.

“Say it, say you love me.”

He stopped and looked at you with desperate eyes, despite what he’s done you know how much he’s done for you. The money he sent, the gifts he bought, the reassurance and pure love he gave.

“I love you.”

-“mm fuck.”

God he was getting off by just your words, he turned around and covered his face with his hand. Trying his hardest not to touch himself to your voice like he used to.

“I fucking love you, you don’t know what you do to me.”

He groaned before coming back towards you, innocently kneeling and putting his head in your lap like a lost puppy dog.

Covering your thighs in soft kisses. He dug into his other pocket before pulling out another ring more expensive than the already pricey one.

“I almost forgot, that one was for engagement.”

And you knew, you were in for a hell of a ride.

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corkinavoid · 1 day ago

Text

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #clockwork #john constantine #surprise children acquisition #trickster style #gothic #eh i tried #cork writes #cork prompts

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meanbossart · 23 hours ago

Note

Drizzt Do’Urden s basically a thing from the podcast/live dnd thing that Astarion's player/Voice actor made. Drizzt is a hella famous Drow singer/bard that Astarion is a huge fan boy of and made fanfiction for

EDIT: I know that Drizzt Do'Urden wasn't created for the podcast. I know that he's a ranger. I know that there are 80 books written about him. Good lord.

Was scrolling down my inbox (I'm still taking a little blog break until the new year, I appreciate everyone's patience) but I won't lie this one has been on my mind ever since the topic came up. Do I think the live DnD games are canonical? No, of course not. Neil isn't Astarion's writer and his knowledge about the character is limited to his interactions with said writer in the studio, and otherwise pretty much as valid as anyone else's whos played the game... HOWEVER.

Astarion did have 200 years worth of down-time whenever he wasn't seducing drunks at the pub or getting skinned and prodded on the dungeon floor. I doubt that the guy had the opportunity to hone in crafts or enjoy his hobbies, but Cazador couldn't keep all of them occupied 24 hours a day EVERY day. Astarion was exposed to common culture through the people he interacted with at the bars, he obviously knows who Drizzt Do'Urden is, as showcased in the game itself (he runs a dumb Drizzt joke through himself like a crazy person if you click his portrait enough.)

Anyway, my point is; either before, after, or throughout the process of working through the God's catalogue and begging salvation to each and every one, would Astarion indulge in a little escapism? News, books, folk tales, heroic figures...? Probably. I think most people would. And while he doesn't reveal much about his personal taste in partners, drow seems to be a race that he's fond of, at least aesthetically. He's also mentioned prince-like figures and youth.

I'm just picturing a poor, downtrodden Astarion collapsed in his stinky bunk-bed at night and fantasizing about a deep-voiced, charismatic drow and his big cat, who somehow hear word of the horrific injustices taking place inside a gothic abomination of a palace in the high-town of Baldur's Gate shortly before breaking through Cazador's stained-glass windows, lacerating him in ways far too gory to be in the man's character, before shortly sweeping him off his feet once taken by his unspeakable beauty. I don't think he imagines much of what happens past that point, I doubt Astarion finds himself and Drizzt Do'Urden to have much in common... But he sure has heard that he's handsome.

Would he have run this scenario - however thinly-veiled as a joke - through Dalyria in a particularly slow night, fully expecting her to laugh it off so he could continue saving face, only to instead be met to the most accidentally-patronizing little coo and "You know it's good to stay hopeful!" out of her that made Astarion want to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her in the middle of that pub? Probably. Did she casually try opening up conversation with him about Drizzt' antics whenever she heard something new about the folk hero? Occasionally. Is it cute? Only as much as it's horrifically sad, LOL.

Anyway. I bet she had a laugh after he brought Do'Urden's juiced up cousin home to meet the family. He's going to hear about this for the rest of eternity.

DU drow gets the "It's just an inside joke that got out of hand" version of the story, and he believes it! Because what about Drizzt Do'Urden could POSSIBLY appeal to his lover, after all.

#ask #astarion #du drow and astarion #I have no idea what just happened #I just blacked out for 10 minutes but Im sure its good.

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vviolets444rroses · 20 hours ago

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dating rafe cameron

my HEADCANONS 🎲:

SFW only :)

BTW, this is very soft rafe core. very much not a killer, very much innocent, very much lovable, very much tolerable.

🎰; i feel like this is a given, but he spoils you ROTTEN. literally for no reason too. in a bad mood? bringing you to the outdoor mall. you're mad at him? showering you in luxury gifts (apologies and kisses too)

🎰; definitely will drag you back to bed if you try to leave him in the morning. it's funny because he probably works early. 😭😭

🎰; literally holds you captive just because he needs you to scratch his back

🎰; when you get ready, he'll brush your hair while you do your skincare/makeup. he watches you thru the mirror, smiling at everything you do.

🎰; always, always, always opens doors for you- his truck is tall too, right? so he'll open the door for you then carry you down. can't have his girl hurting herself or breaking her expensive heels (that he bought ofc)

🎰; always holding your hand- when it's cold, he'll tuck your hands into his pockets

🎰; would rather freeze to death than watch you do so... even if he did tell you to bring your own sweater, he's more than happy (kinda) to give you his 💓

🎰; when he comes home, he'll call for you and you come running- jumping into his big arms and swings you around, letting you kiss his face all over.

🎰; omygosh and when he comes home late, he feels awful that you waited up and tries to make it up for you with kisses and a back rub

🎰; i imagine he has this giant mirror in the foyer. you make him take mirror pics and asking you to do several poses. "baby, are we done yet?" "yeah yeah, just kiss my head and put your hand here!" you say as you guide his giant hand to cover your stomach. then continuing to take a million more pics LMAOAO

🎰; you're always buying matching outfits and shoes for you guys to wear. he gets annoyed, but he highkey loves it. it's a subtle, but obvious way to show you off as his.

🎰; you wear a necklace with his name on it and he wears a ring with your name on it.

🎰; if you guys aren't doing face masks during movie night, is it really a movie night? he'll even buy face masks on his own time, just for the occasion

🎰; when he leaves for work and you're still asleep by the time he's gone, he'll make you a quick breakfast and some coffee/tea for you to wake up to. he leaves it on the kitchen island with a note that says smt like "i love you, see you later princess" UGHHH 🥹🥹

🎰; um and on that note, obviously he calls you baby, princess, sweetie/sweetheart, angel, honey, etc... ☹️

🎰; he's a big ol' softy around you and only you. he loves to cuddle. his favorite is him laying on you shirtless and you just rub/scratch his back while he has his arms wrapped around you. he usually will close his eyes and end up asleep, suffocating you :/

🎰; or letting you sleep on his bicep, occasionally flexing during this

🎰; he loves going to the gym with you- he'll like help push you thru sets until failure and smack your ass when you got it down. "attagirl, you did it." i'm gaggeddddd!!

🎰; you bought matching house slippers for you two and to your surprise, he still wears them every damn day

🎰; of course, he'll do every stupid tik tok trend you ask him to. "a boy who's jacked and kind", bow on the bicep, "i just saw you walk in down on melrose", "sniper x3 wifey x3", and round of applause (the one dancing against the wall LMFAOO)

🎰; he's a stiff dancer, i'm sorry. it had to be said. maybe he's okay at dancing behind you, but damn. no rhythm...

🎰; dedicates frank ocean and daniel caesar songs to you 🫶🏼

🎰; oh that man will absolutely roll all the windows down in his truck and let you sing LOUDLY in the middle of the night on a random dirt road otw home from a date

🎰; he's sweet yeah, but that possessive grip on your waist all the damn time. or even being behind you and having his arm/arms around your neck

🎰; always rubbing your arm or hip sweetly, i think it's out of habit by now.

Please i've been tweaking over this man for forever, but it reignited recently... so here's this :3 My opinion!! like/reblog if you want more pls

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keehendrixx · 17 hours ago

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You’re Mines

Crazy Intruder!Terry x Black Reader

Warnings: Smut, Rough Sex, Bondage, Pure Filth, Stalking, Gagging, Dirty Talk, Kidnapping, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Stockholm Syndrome. P in V, Use of Pet Names, Degradation. Oral (Male & Female Receiving)

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Terry watched your every move, from sunrise to sundown. His basement was full of pictures of you; eating out, shopping, at your job, out with friends, even in your shower at your house or you just changing clothes in your bedroom. He was OBSESSED with you and didn’t stop at anything until he got where he wanted you, in his arms, or you underneath him.

As you walked outside your house to check the mailbox, Terry sat in his truck looking at you. Terry's heart raced as he took in the sight of you, Dallas. The way the sunlight highlighted your curves, the sway of your hips as you walked. He couldn't tear his gaze away. After months of surveillance, he finally had you alone. He revved the engine, preparing to pull up beside you.

“Hey there, beautiful.” He called out, trying to sound casual despite the excitement coursing through him. “Fancy running into you here.”

You turned around, looking at him. His eyes captivated you in a trance.

“Oh, Hi. You are?” you asked, looking at him as you stood on your lawn.

“Terry.” Terry flashed you a charming smile, leaning across the passenger seat to get a better look at you. “I've seen you around town quite a bit lately. You're absolutely stunning, if I do say so myself.” His eyes roamed over your body appreciatively before meeting yours again. “So, what brings a gorgeous lady like yourself to this part of town?”

“Oh I moved here a couple months back. I have never seen you around here before.” You said not taking your eyes off of him.

Terry chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, that's because I've been keeping an eye on you from afar, darlin'.You caught my attention right off the bat.”

He winked playfully. “And now, fate seems to have brought us together. What a lovely coincidence, don't you think?”

Terry pulled up alongside you, rolling down the window further. “Say, would you mind hopping in for a quick chat? I promise I won't bite... unless you want me to.” He smirked, his tone dripping with innuendo.

“Uhh.. I don’t hop in the car with strangers.”

Terry's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, not wanting to scare you off just yet.

“Ah, fair enough, sweetheart. I understand your caution. But let me assure you, I'm no ordinary stranger. I've been watching you, getting to know you, for months now.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth opened wide.

“Excuse me? You’ve been what?!”

“You heard me babygirl, I’ve been watching you.”

He reached over on his side and pulled out a photo album, flipping it open to reveal numerous pictures of you going about your daily life.

Sweat began to form on your head and panic sat in, but you didn’t want to call the cops right away. Some kind of way this man had you intrigued.

“See? I've documented all of you. You're all I can think about, baby.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “And I need to be close to you. Very close.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” You shouted as you sprinted back into the house.

You rushed and locked all of your doors. You peeked out the window to find Terry’s truck gone, you sighed in relief but you wondered where he could have gone.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Later that night >

As you were getting ready for bed, you heard faint rustling from outside. Spooked that it might be Terry again, you quickly went into your closet and grabbed your loaded pistol from the top shelf. You looked outside of your windows but there was no one there, probably a small animal rummaging around your yard. You sat the gun on your dresser.

After putting on your night clothes, you engaged your security system. You then doubled checked all of your doors to make sure that they were secure and locked, you didn’t need this man to come into your house.

You climbed into bed, strolling on your phone until sleepiness took over.

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Hours later, Terry pulled up around the corner of your house and sat there, contemplating his plan to get you to himself .

He grabbed a black ski mask and threw it on before grabbing a black duffel bag that was full of rope, tape, etc. He climbed out of his Dudley Truck, zipped up his jacket and walked towards your house.

Once he reached it, he saw that all of your lights were off. Being the skilled person he is, he disengaged the security system of yours from his own phone and picked the locks of your front door.

He walked in, scanning the house with predatory eyes.

Making his way up the stairs, he was careful not to make any loud noises. He quickly spotted your room, as you left your door open and walked in to find you spreaded out with your leg hitched up and your gown pooled around your waist. That sight of you alone made him silently groan.

The way the moonlight highlighted your beautiful face and skin was making it harder for him not to yank you up and force his dick into you.

He unzipped his bag and pulled out the rope and tape. He sat it on the floor next to your bed.

You heard noises and woke up to find him standing next to you. You shrieked, reaching for your gun but you couldn’t find it.

“Looking for this babygirl?” He smirked, holding up the gun that he unloaded. “So defenseless right now.”

You were in complete shock.

“If you make a sound, I’ll do more to you than I want to.” He took the rope and secured your arms behind your back, before duct taping your mouth shut.

Part of you wanted to kick and squirm, but the other was loving the way he handled you with such dominance. Terry snatched your body up out of your bed and threw you over his shoulders. He walked with you downstairs and to his truck.

It clicked to you that this man was fucking kidnapping you and you accepted it. He opened the door and put you in the passenger seat before going to his side of the truck.

Terry got in and snatched the tape off of you. You immediately screamed like a banshee. Terry’s hand came in contact with your throat and lightly gave it a squeeze.

“Let me go, you motherfuckin’ psycho!”

“I don’t think so, right now you belong to me & I always get what I want or else. You betta’ look me up, princess.” He said looking into your eyes with a look that made the thongs you were wearing moist.

“Fuck you bitch!” You spat in his face.

Terry chuckled and wiped it away with his hand, taking it into his mouth.

“Oh I plan too. In every way possible.”

“I got something for bratty bitches like you.”

With that he sped off to who knows where.

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As the truck came to a halt, you looked out the window to see that you were at what looked like his house. It wasn’t big, maybe medium sized.

Terry hopped out, coming to your side and picking you up off the seat. He opened his front door and walked to a door that appeared to be the way to a basement, you were right.

He then unlocked a metal lock and opened the door to a cage and put you inside.

“What the fuck?! Let me out, Terry!”

“Nah.”

“You're gonna stay there until you can control that mouth of yours.”

He turned on the light and unsurprisingly, he had pictures of you EVERYWHERE, even some of them were of you naked. He left the basement to leave you sulking and thinking why did he want you.

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What seems like hours later, Terry came back. He leaned down to your level and smirked as he saw you tied up, looking helpless, eyes pleading to be let out.

“Terry please, I’ll be good. I won’t talk back anymore. Just let me out of here.” You begged him, but he just smiled at you.

“Oh I know you will. You’ll do everything I tell you.”

Terry opened the door and grabbed you. He took you upstairs to his bedroom and opened the door with his leg. He threw up on the bed, making your gown rise up showing your baby pink thongs.

“Mmm, that pussy looks so phat! She phat baby? Let Daddy see.” He pushed your legs wider and looked between your legs. His fingers ran long lines around the damp fabric, the sensation was too much for you.

“Hell yeah, she phat and wet, just how I like ‘em. Daddy needs to see all of you babygirl.”

Terry used his strong hands and tore your clothes, ripping them off your body leaving you completely naked, and tied. In the back of your mind, you were screaming for this maniac to stop but the whimpers that came out of your mouth said otherwise.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Look at these big ass titties. You tryna’ smother a nigga with em’?” He roughly groped your breast as his fingers began to rub your nipples, twisting and pulling on them.

“T-Terry.”

“Wassup Mamas? Huh? Tell Daddy.”

Your words were caught in the back of your throat. He continued to touch and toy with your body in ways you’ve never felt before.

Terry pulled your thongs off, taking a whiff of them, & stuffing them into your mouth.

He lowered his head, throwing your legs up to your chest. He took his two pointer fingers and spread your pussy lips. He took your scent in and instantly groaned.

“Such a pretty phat puss for me to suck on.” With that his tongue went to WORK!

He latched his lips around your clit and suckled until you were withering. You tried to move your body but he popped you on your ass cheeks.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’ while I’m tryna’ eat.”

While he was eating you like you were his last meal, he stuck two of his fingers inside your wet hole. “Tight ass pussy. Gotta loosen you up for this big ol’ dick, baby.”

At this point, you were moaning and slopping out of your mouth like crazy! You stopped trying to fight against him and just let him do whatever he wanted with you.

You felt your nut coming in the pit of your stomach.

“Cum in my mouth. I can feel that shit.” He said pushing down on your stomach more.

As on cue, you instantly flooded his mouth like a waterfall. When you came down from your high, Terry pulled you up and turned your body around to where your head was basically hanging off the bed.

He undressed and you could see that thick ass dick all in its glory, your mouth drooled at the sight. Terry gave himself a few small strokes, yanking the thong out of your mouth, before smearing his precum on your lips.

“Open ya’ mouth.”

You opened your mouth and he pushed his entire length down your throat, not giving you any time to adjust to the size. You gagged and almost threw up.

“You bet not, relax ya’ throat.”

You did what he said and began taking more and more of him in.

“Shit, that fuckin’ head lethal.”

Spit and tears ran down your face but Terry didn’t care.

“Just like that, just like that. Ugh, girl you gone make big daddy bust in this pretty throat.” His strokes got sloppier, balls smacking you in the face with every thrust.

“Ouuu, you such a good dick sucka’. You suckin’ that shit like my dick was made outta’ candy. FUCKKK! I’m nuttin’.”

His warm cum slid down your throat with such ease. He pulled out and slapped the remaining cum on your lips. Terry smiled and grabbed his camera, taking a picture of you in such a disgraceful manner.

“Picture perfect, baby.”

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Terry had you arched into the bed, ass up high in the air as he pounded you from the back. Your moans and screams were music to his ears as they echoed off the walls. He was giving you everything he had pent up inside of his soul seemed like.

“Yeah, that’s it. Take all this dick. Take. It.”

“F-F-Fuck, ouuu Daddy, just like that! Don’t stop fucking me!” You wailed.

“With a pussy this good, I could never stop fucking you. I would kill a mothafucka’ behind this shit.”

Terry grabbed the ropes that were holding your arms in place and pulled you against his body, continuing to give you sharp thrusts. One hand reached around to grab your throat and the other grabbed one of your titties.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Tears of ecstasy streamed down your face. The way you were being loud, you knew that you would be hoarse in the morning.

“Mhmm. This my pussy?”

You didn’t answer, only a moan came out.

Terry pulled out of your creamy hole, untied the ropes and flipped you over on your back. He then tied you legs to the bed rails and slid his dick between your folds, giving your clit light smacks with his mushroom tip.

He quickly filled you up again, stretching you deliciously.

“Oh! My! God!”

“Uhh Uht, cry out for me princess.”

He started hammering your poor cunt, pulling back to where only the tip remained before slamming back into you.

“Tell Daddy this his pussy.” He said while taking his thumb rubbing it on your clit.

“It’s yours, this pussy all yours! Take it from me Daddy!” You were just saying shit at this point, words coming up all together sounding like one big word.

“Ouu Daddy! I-I love you and this dick. I don’t ever want to leave you alone!”

Terry smirked, pleased with himself as you said those words.

“Daddy loves you too babygirl, I promise you ain’t going’ nowhere.”

“You stretching my pussy sooo good! I feel it all in my stomach!”

“There were I’m supposed to be, right fuckin’ there.”

You squirted and he pulled out, rubbing your pussy up and down, thrusting back in.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head momentarily before focusing on his. They put you in a hypnotic state.

You soon uttered the words that would send Terry into a feral frenzy.

“Nut in your pussy Big Daddy. I want your baby inside my womb.”

You felt his dick twitch inside of you and he flashed that killer smile at you!

“Oh yeah? You want Daddy to put a baby inside this puss, yeah?”

You shook your head.

“I’ma’ give you exactly what you want.”

Terry planted his feet into the mattress and drove his dick damn near past your cervix. You felt him throbbing as his thrusts grew stronger.

“Oh fuck, I’m bouta’ nut in this sloppy little pussy, fill you up til you got my baby in there.”

“Shit, shit, SHIT! I’m cumming too!”

“AHHH FUCK!” His body shivered and collapsed on yours as you both rode out of your orgasms.

He pulled out and a trail of cum flowed out of you onto the sheets. He quickly scooped it up with his fingers, pushing it back into you as your cunt accepted it, greedily.

Terry laid down beside you, pulling you close and snuggling his head in your neck as the heaviness of your eyes reached its peak, making you fall asleep.

“L-Love you Terry.”

“Never losing or letting you go. I love you too. You’re Mines.”

@pocketsizedpanther @kimuzostar @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @writingsbytee @theereina @planetblaque @dxddykenn

#crazy!Terry #intruder!terry #terryrichmondxblackreader #terry richmond smut #aaron pierre

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mangostarjam · 22 hours ago

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unedited, street racer au, creampie, f!reader, car sex

street racer!sakusa kiyoomi picking you up after work in his mazda rx7, the car clean and shiny under the city lights but — understated, not flashy enough to turn heads like some of the other cars you've seen at meets.

you spot it right away, of course, along with your tall, handsome boyfriend leaning casually against the door, arms crossed over his chest and face mask firmly in place. his eyes light up when he notices you bouncing towards him through the crowded sidewalk, but otherwise he doesn't move from the safe bubble around his car.

"hi."

"hi." you can't stop beaming. kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but his hands are gentle when he sweeps your hair back from your face to tuck it behind your ear.

"are you ready to go?" he asks. at your nod, he ushers you into the passenger's seat, waiting for you to settle in before going around to the driver's side. he never starts the car until you're both buckled in, so when you look at him expectantly, hand hovering over the buckle but not clicking in, he hesitates.

"what?"

"kiss me?"

kiyoomi doesn't roll his eyes this time, but there's a small, fond smirk tugging at his lips when he unhooks his face mask and leans towards you. the kiss is heart stuttering — long and lingering and deep, his tongue licking into your mouth like he's missed you, maybe, his soft sigh nearly lost beneath your greedy gasp.

he pulls away and clicks your buckle in himself, that smirk fully on display when you blink your eyes open dazedly. "we'll be late," is all he says, but his smirk grows when you clear your throat pointedly and shift to face forward, hands resting firmly in your own lap instead of gently smoothing along his forearm like you normally do while he's shifting the car into gear. "don't pout."

"that was so not fair," you mutter. the car pulls into traffic smoothly and city lights soon begin to blur and flicker and glow through the illegally tinted windows as he navigates the streets. you almost think kiyoomi didn't hear you, but at a stoplight, engine rumbling in the background, he reaches over and tips your chin towards him.

inky dark eyes stare into your own. "you look cute today."

heat rushes to your cheeks and he goes back to driving, satisfaction set in every line of his body. you scrunch your nose at him helplessly, lost in the affection sinking deep into your bones. "you look like a troublemaker today."

he laughs.

but you're right — he is a troublemaker today, because sakusa kiyoomi keeps his car clean. no food, ever, and liquids are only allowed in closed containers. you've lost count of the number of times he's interrupted a heavy makeout session to drive you two to a hotel or back to one of your homes because he refuses to risk staining his leather seats.

"you're always so wet," he grunts, shifting further into his seat, one hand firmly at your back to keep you from hitting the steering wheel. you gasp as his hips drive up into your fluttering cunt, two orgasms already wrenched out of you as his reward for winning his races, a third on the way as punishment for making such a mess.

"ki-kiyoomi, i can't," you can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. the button and zipper of his pants dig into the inside of your thigh with every sharp thrust, but kiyoomi doesn't relent. his free hand slips from your hip to your clit.

long, powerful limbs draw you close as he groans deep in your ear, hips stuttering against yours as you leap over the edge with a cry. your vision whites out and distantly you hear your boyfriend curse as he empties inside you, but your heart is pounding so loudly it takes you several seconds before you can blink everything back into existence.

"you look very cute today," he breathes.

kiyoomi kisses you softly. his face mask is still hooked and hanging on his ear somehow, but his curls are a mess and you can see the bite of your nails in the exposed skin of his shoulder. you lean forward to kiss the two beauty marks above his eyebrow, the way you always do, and he smooths a large hand down your back.

"i don't think i can get up," you confess.

"don't," kiyoomi says simply. "you'll leak everywhere, and i need to grab napkins first."

"you don't think my panties will be enough?"

your boyfriend just looks at you.

you snort. "okay, okay."

"good thing wakatoshi-kun wasn't here tonight," kiyoomi says, idly tracing patterns into your back. "if i won another race, you probably would have passed out."

"oh," you breathe, leaning forward for another kiss, "you are a troublemaker today."

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi x reader #street racer au #fuji writes fic #written directly into tumblr drafts as god intended #bc i just needed to write something. anything. LOL

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violetsrxse · 3 days ago

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Meet Cute of a Lifetime | Vi x Reader

Summary - When sleeping in leads to you visiting your regular coffee shop later than usual and forgetting your wallet at home, your day proves to be more interesting than expected when a generous stranger offers to pay for your coffee.

Word Count - 1,040

CW - Just fluff, no use of Y/N, fem!reader, Vi is taller and she's a sweetheart as per usual, Modern AU, coffee shop meet cute

A/N - This fic is set roughly 3 years before my 'Just Tell Me When' fic but it's not necessary to read them in order or together at this point!

A/N #2 - I hope everyone enjoys this! Also never feel shy to send me asks with different concepts for this AU or any other you can think of, I'd love to hear them!

Modern Chef!Vi Masterlist

The first thing you hear when shaking off the haze of sleep is a soft but consistent knocking on your door accompanied by the voice of your mother telling you to wake up. Glancing over at the clock on your nightstand causes you to shoot out of bed, nearly tumbling to the floor in your haste.

You’ve somehow managed to sleep through all of your alarms. Most likely because of how late you'd been up the night before studying for the upcoming end of term exam.

Truth be told, college had been beating your ass lately. You suppose this is just one of the effects.

"I'm up!" You call to your mother, cursing under your breath as you rub your eyes in an attempt to shake off your sleepiness. Opening your closet, you quickly settle for a fuzzy blue sweater, some lined leggings for warmth and an easy hairstyle that keeps it out of the way.

You hardly have the chance to say good morning to your parents before you’re rushing out the door into the cold, dry December air, shoving your headset over your ears and beginning a swift walk to the coffee shop a few blocks away.

Shaking off the chill, you admire the Christmas decorations on the houses on your way, the blown up Santa Claus in your neighbors yard, the Christmas lights, beautiful even unlit, and finally the wreaths adorning nearly every door.

You only stop once to pet the fluffy brown cat with a white nose and paws that you see nearly everyday. She doesn’t have a collar, nor have you seen her going in or out of any of the houses on your street. So you’re pretty sure she’s a stray, but you haven’t managed to convince your parents to let you take her home no matter how much you beg and plead.

As you reluctantly part from your fluffy friend, you shiver at the biting cold and can't help but worry that she's also feeling the effects of the weather. But you push forward, nearing a street lined with a variety of different shops and of course, your favorite coffee shop.

It's not five minutes later when you come up to the entrance of the coffee shop, groaning at the long line you can see from the outside of the window.

Shaking your head in annoyance and pulling the door open, you're hit with a comforting wave of warmth that melts some of your frustration away. As you glance around, you figure if you're already late you might as well just wait and get your morning coffee.

Who needs art history class anyway?

A slow ten minutes later when you finally reach the counter, you order your usual drink and reach for your wallet only to find your pockets empty.

Cursing softly, you're about to tell the barista to just cancel your order and go to class without your caffeine fix when you hear a voice from behind you.

"I've got it."

Whipping around, you lock eyes with what's got to be the most attractive woman you've ever seen. She smiles kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Are you sure? You really don't have to." Against your own judgement, you begin taking in her features, eyes darting around her face. Her powder blue eyes, plump heart-shaped lips, the scars on her lip and eyebrow and finally, her roman numeral tattoo.

Your cheeks heat when she catches you staring.

"I don't mind," Her smile softens and she's already getting her wallet out, zipping it open and pulling out a ten dollar bill. "This should cover it." You watch as she passes the bill to the barista.

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it." You sigh heavily, beginning to ramble as she orders her own drink, a classic hot chocolate. "Can't believe I forgot my damn wallet- I was in such a rush to get here I must've left it on my nightstand- but I guess things like that happen when you sleep in. I really appreciate the generosity though! Thank you..." You mentally kick yourself, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm totally talking your ear off."

"No, no. It's alright, seriously." She stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets. "And you're welcome, you looked a bit stressed when you came in and I thought maybe I could cheer you up."

The barista calls your name and you eagerly take the cup in your hands, the warmth seeping into your skin. You pop open the lid, inhaling the scent.

"You watched me come in?" Your cheeks heat once more and you reach to unzip your coat a bit.

You hadn't noticed her, but you wish you would've.

"I did... shit, I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable-" The woman's cheeks flush a color similar to her hair and sways on the balls of her feet, boots clunking softly on the tile flooring. "I just thought- think you're really pretty."

"Really?" You blink in surprise, 'cause there's no way this is happening to you right now. "Thank you, and likewise!" You reply awkwardly, kicking yourself again, you're totally blowing this.

The woman chuckles. "Thanks, I'm Vi by the way."

You tell her your name and she nods with a soft smile, taking her coffee from the barista with a soft 'thank you'.

As the both of you step away from the counter, Vi asks: "Would you like to join me? I usually like to hangout here for a bit while I drink my hot cocoa."

You almost shed a tear, because you can't.

"I'd really love to, but I'm actually super late for my first class." You say apologetically. "But, I would definitely be down to another time? Maybe this weekend?" The words are hopeful and they make Vi smile.

"Yeah, I'd like that too." She pulls out her phone. "Wanna exchange numbers?"

You nod enthusiastically, taking the phone and handing her yours simultaneously. Quickly entering your number into her phone, you hand it back.

"Was nice to meet you, Vi."

"You too, pretty girl."

You leave the shop with a wide smile on your face, no longer worried about being late for class. Perhaps sleeping in was a good thing.

You really, really hope so.

No one can convince me that Vi would like coffee, maybe tea though? But she's definitely a big fan of hot chocolate.

#vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x reader fluff #arcane x reader #vi #violet arcane #modern AU #arcane #I love this woman so bad #vi x fem!reader

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dronningreid · 15 hours ago

Text

6 AM

After a good night of free drinks at a bar, reader wakes up in a bed that looks nothing like her own. Maybe that mistake isn't so bad after all.

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: smut (that sounds really bad 😭) and flangst? (my specialty). Whatever (+18)

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f! receives), mentions of alcohol and hangover and I think that's it. English is not my first language.

word count: 2.5K

a/n: Writing this made me feel shame and laugh 😭 Anyway, I hope you like this. I stole the title from a song that I almost don't like but it's very this. I also sacrificed myself for the team by getting drunk on Christmas to write this better (it wasn't a good experience, but what am I saying? I'm very committed to my work). Oh and happy almost new year!

Every story has a beginning and how much you wish you could remember the beginning of this.

A ray of sunshine.

That's what woke you up, a ray of sunshine. But not the kind that sneak in through the window and burn your eyes even when they are closed. What woke you up was the warmth of the arm that wrapped around your torso from behind, that kind of sunshine.

You look at the clock and it's damn 6 AM. You didn't expect to start the year so early but there you were.

You relaxed when you feel a warm breath touching your skin. For a moment you felt so fine, until that horrible headache made it difficult to make sense of where you were, but you could remember the ghostly sensations, the pressure against the mattress, his hands running over every corner of your skin and the way the sheets molded with every movement.

You craned your head slightly to get some clues about your surroundings and then the clothes on the floor became visible in your field of vision.

Damn it.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened the night before.

You tried to get out of the grip of the mysterious man you spent the night with, but...

He pulled you towards him again, this time with more force. "Please don't go." He pleaded, but he was still somewhat asleep.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

You recognized that beautiful voice immediately. It being a random guy was a bad thing but Spencer? that was worse.

A wave of panic and guilt ran through you. Now what the hell were you going to do?

You looked at him sideways, first at his lips, and just looking at them made you remember how they felt on your skin.

And then you saw his nose...

"Spence." You whispered in the darkness, you couldn't see him but of course you could feel him.

His hands were resting on your thighs, while his tongue took everything so well like a good boy. But his nose, his nose was buried deep in you, rubbing against your sensitive clit.

Were you dizzy from the pleasure or from the alcohol? Maybe both.

Your fingers tangled in his locks, causing his moan to echo through your walls. That made you shiver, but god it felt so good.

His tongue continued to play through the wetness and when you looked at him you knew that you had let him cross boundaries that a friend should never cross. But you were too drunk to tell him to stop? No, that was an excuse, because in reality both been drunk a lot.

You let him continue for the pleasure and because he was Spencer. There was no one else on this earth you could trust enough to do something so intimate, so personal.

He tightened his grip on your thighs as his tongue movements became more desperate. And he didn't stop until he had you cumming in his mouth.

You blinked a few times before coming back to the present, your memories were so fragmented at the moment that it was best not to put pressure on your mind.

Spencer looked so calm while was asleep, you didn't even know why but you started counting his eyelashes.

That would have been a perfect morning. But one question kept nagging at your brain. How did you get into his bed?

Very simple, it all happened while everyone was on the jet, returning from a case.

"I just hope there isn't another case. It's New Year's Eve, we should be celebrating and not catching serial killers." Emily said. "I'll ask for a raise." Then she brought the glass of whiskey to her mouth.

"Prentiss, you haven't even been with us that long." Morgan let out a light laugh.

"It's been a tough year." You supported Emily. And it was true, Elle and Gideon left a void that no new face could fill. But luckily Emily was Emily, Rossi was Rossi. Neither of them intended to fill the void they left.

"Yes indeed," Rossi added to the conversation. "Drinks at O'Keefe on me, who's coming?" And there was the monetary contribution, maybe your favorite thing about him?

You, Emily and Morgan were quick to raise your hands.

Hotch laughed lightly. "I'll pass, I want to visit Jack."

You stood up from your seat on the jet to approach Reid. "And you? Come?" You gave him a slight nudge with your shoulder. "Or you have a secret son that I don't know about."

Reid shook his head in amusement before setting his book down on his lap. "I don't know, I'm tired."

"Come on." You gave him puppy dog eyes. "And I'll take you back to your apartment."

"Don't know..." He bit his lower lip.

"Oh come on, who's gonna tell me random facts all night? Morgan?" You insistent.

"I heard you!" Morgan shouted from the other side of the jet.

Reid chuckled. "Of course not, that's my place in your life. Besides, he already has Penelope."

You looked at him with hopeful eyes. "So you're coming?"

He shrugged. "I haven't another choice."

One, two, three. Happy New Year!

By that time you and him were already so drunk. Everything was spinning around and both had laughed at every stupid thing Morgan said, that wasn't a very good sign.

You helped Reid into the taxi, almost falling with him in the process. When you left him in the back seat he looked at you, with a pout.

"You said you were going to take me home!" He spoke very loudly, without meaning to.

"If you want to die then let's go in my car." Your words dragged on.

He shook his head and patted his seat. "I'm not going to let you drive. Come on, get in."

You sighed but finally agreed and got into the taxi with him.

He fell asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, it felt so comforting that you didn't even notice when you fell asleep.

After a few minutes the taxi driver spoke. "We're here."

You opened your eyes suddenly.

"Hey... Are you awake?" Spencer whispered, leaving a soft, brief kiss on your shoulder.

You didn't answer anything, hoping that... Who knows what the hell you were hoping for. A miracle maybe.

Spencer said your name, his tone oddly serious. "Can we skip the part where we pretend we don't sleep together and we can just talk about this?"

He kissed your neck and your hand ran over his exposed torso. "Can we skip the part where we do this and you can just get between my legs now?" Alcohol makes the braves.

Reid smiled against your skin. "Anything you want."

He moved away a little just to separate your thighs and settle between them.

Reid placed his hands on either side of your head, you watched him intently waiting for what would come out of his lips.

"I'll stop whenever you want, okay?" Even a little drunk he was a gentleman.

You nodded hurriedly, eager to feel your walls mold to his size.

Then he slowly pushed his hips against yours, his tip passing through your folds with ease due to all the wetness and for the same reason he clings to the sheets so as not to slip completely inside you.

His breathing is a mess, your breathing is a mess.

You stretch around him and when you are comfortable with him, then his hips and yours begin to move at a constant and slow rhythm.

He moves down to place kisses along your neck, moving up to your jaw, and then you reach for his hand. He immediately laces his fingers through yours, pinning you under him against the mattress.

His lips reach yours, at first the kiss is slow as are both of your movements but it is that the kiss increases in tone. His tongue battles yours, his grip on your hand tightens, and the movements of his hips become more frantic, almost desperate for release.

The friction has already left you too sensitive and also eager for some relief, so you wrap your legs around his hips to have him closer.

His cock starts to pound all the way in. The overwhelming pleasure makes your nails dig into his back and he breaks away from the kiss to let out a beautiful moan.

The bed creaks, accompanying the desperate moans and labored breathing of both.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You move under the sheets until you are facing him. But that was a worse idea than you anticipated.

Confronting him after all the images you have of him in your memory feels like someone has just punched the air out of your lungs.

"To begin with, do you remember anything?" He breaks the thick silence, again.

"Fragments." Your voice comes out as a shameful whisper.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Me too..." He whispers too. "But I do remember that you tried to leave me in the morning."

"Oh..."

Really? Was that the only thing that could come out of your mouth?

Reid sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment that seemed like an eternity. "Listen, I know this might be awkward but please don't go..." A pang ran through your chest as you saw his pleading eyes. "We don't even have to talk about it."

"Okay..." He sigh of relief at your answer.

But as a cruel joke of life someone knocked on the door, ruining the conversation for Spencer and bringing a postponement for you.

Reid sighed before reluctantly unwrapping his arms from you. "I'm sorry. I... I have to go." He said before getting out of bed.

Last night probably, no, definitely last night you saw him to the soul, but still this time you stared at the ceiling until he got dressed in pajama pants and a gray t-shirt.

He left the room leaving you alone on his bed, naked. Wow, that was something unexpected.

You stood there for a few moments, before wondering what the hell you were doing?

You rubbed your face with your hands as many questions collided in your mind, all eager to capture your attention while you didn't even want to think about it.

What does it mean to sleep with Spencer Reid? He was one of your longest friendships and just by letting him spend one night everything is ruined.

He was acting so casual, like waking up with you was something so normal...

But you didn't even know how to name this. Because, after all, what was this?

You got out of bed and immediately searched the floor for your clothes. You found almost all of them at least.

Once dressed and half combed, you decided to leave the room and try to get out of Spencer's apartment.

But it was such a stupid idea considering it wasn't just you and him in the apartment. Even though you thought you were going to get out of this alive when you saw Reid's back turned to the door.

"Who do we have here?" Morgan's voice was enough for Reid to see you and you to see him.

You had been caught red-handed.

Reid frowned. "You were leaving?"

You stammered a bit before deciding to stop embarrassing yourself and close your mouth.

Morgan's gaze traveled from Reid to you and back to you before figuring out what was happening or at least what had happened.

"Wait guys... Both had sex?" Morgan whispered, trying to be discreet, something that was definitely unusual for him, but not the strangest thing today.

You let out a nervous laugh. "We? Of course not!" You rush to say.

Reid's frown deepened. "We don't?" He said with a hint of mockery and another of bitterness.

No one knew what to say for a while, but the only one in trouble was you.

Morgan stood up from the couch. "Yeah... I think I'd better get going."

Spencer didn't say anything, not even when the door closed behind Morgan. He just looked at you with severity, a severity that disguised his vulnerability. How vulnerable he was before you, as if his heart was exposed on a silver platter.

You weren't willing to talk and he felt like he had already said too much, so the silence between you only grew thicker.

Reid snorted. "For the love of god, just say something!" He swallowed. "Say something, whatever. That I'm bad in bed, that what happened was a one night stand, or that you just tried to run away because you're afraid that if you stay you'll have feelings for me." He try with all his might to keep the tears in place.

You shook your head at his first sentences, but perhaps the last was right. "I... Am I hurting you with this?" Maybe it wasn't the best question, but at least you were honest this time.

He looked away, debating what he should or should not say. "Yes... Yes, you're hurting me." Spencer didn't understand how the words managed to slip through the thick lump in his throat.

Guilt and you were never good friends. "Yes, maybe I'm starting to feel something for you beyond a friendship, maybe I already felt it before. I don't know... I'm scared."

Spencer hesitated but finally took a step in front of you. "I'm scared too." He whispered.

You hesitated for a minute but finally put your arms around him. At that moment you just needed the warmth that his arms could give you.

Reid hated how easily he hugged you back, you were close to abandon him...

"I'm sorry." You murmured as you held onto him.

He places a kiss on the top of your head before rubbing your back. "Just don't exclude me from this, let us both figure out together what's going on here, okay?"

"I promise." You tilted your head back to look at him.

"Changing the subject." Spencer looked at you intently, were his eyes always so beautiful? "Did you see my bra? I couldn't find it while I was getting dressed."

"Oh." Spencer nodded and his cheeks quickly turning a pinkish color. "I kicked it under the couch when Morgan knocked on the door.'

Neither he or you remembered how your bra had gotten there. But it happened while the messy make-out session was going on.

Reid broke the kiss and slipped his hand inside your shirt, stopping until he reached the clasp of your bra. "Can I take it off?" He looked at you with pleading eyes.

"Of course." You tilted your head towards him, not willing to leave his lips for long.

He gave you a couple of short kisses while unbuttoning your bra. "I love you." He murmured against your lips.

"I love you too." Your statement came out as a gasp when he pressed his lips against yours more intensely.

Both were drunk when they said such important words, yes, but isn't it said that drunks always tell the truth?

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jar0fhoney · 3 days ago

Text

Satyr Forest Spirit X Fem!Reader🌱

Content: NSFW, Feminine presenting reader, knotting😇

Imagine you move to the middle of nowhere. Like in the COUNTRY. You got a job with incentives teaching at a school in town since it’s so rural.

And you end up renting this little farm cottage on some old couple’s land. There’s been a drought for MONTHS, and just about everything living thing is dead. It’s depressing as hell.

But you try and make the most of it. Hanging up bird feeders and stuff. You find yourself sitting outside at night on your rickety folding chair, it’s not so ugly out here when it’s completely dark outside. There’s a colony of fire flies which twinkle about at the tree-line, and oh the night sky out there is unbelievable.

You accidentally fall asleep one night on the screened in porch. And that’s when he sees you for the first time.

The guardian of this land. An old spirit. And a grumpy one.

No one’s lived in that cottage for a long time, and that’s why he hasn’t passed through in months. He didn’t realize there were humans trampling around out here as well. So at first he hates you, because humans don’t ever do him any good.

You were probably going to tear up all the plants and trees and put in that ugly invasive sod humans love so much. In fact, this was why he’d started the drought all those months ago. A new housing development had begun construction on his precious land. Stupid humans wouldn’t be able to water their big ugly lawns without any water. He was, to put it simply, on strike. He told the raccoons to crawl into your attic and make a ruckus, and the mice to wreak havoc on your pantry in the night. He was trying to push you out. And it almost worked.

But one day, you roll big pots onto your front porch filled with plants that he recognizes. Big milkweed plants. You had been trying to teach the children in your class about native flora and fauna, and the importance of protecting it.

Do stupid humans even pay attention to things like monarch migration patterns?

When the first little caterpillars appear on your plants you are thrilled. Snapping tons of pictures for your kids at school. The Guardian Spirit, watching nearby, feels a jolt go through his body which almost makes him sick. Endearment. You tend to your milkweed plants like a mother, carefully watering them each so they didn’t succumb to the drought, tenderly avoiding the growing larvae.

He starts passing through to watch you every day. You set up a birdbath which circulates fresh water, hoping to attract some birds to your feeders. The Guardian makes sure to mention it to his prettiest birds, and feels his chest swell watching you happily observe them from the kitchen window.

He tells the raccoons and mice to nock it off, much to their confusion. He finds himself wanting to see you pleased by his land, and his animals. He tells the most gentle doves to visit you in the morning, waking you with their soft coos outside your bedroom windowsill.

Living out in the country becomes magical. You don’t know what you did to deserve it. One weekend you gasp when the crack of a thunderstorm wakes you from a nap. You rush outside, drops beginning to plop onto outstretched arms, “THANK YOU!”

He can hardly stand the drought anymore. You needed to see his finest work. It rained for a week straight, and you were worried about flash floods sweeping you away. But he would never let that happen, not to this sweet human. The meadow around your cottage starts to grow, fast. He has chosen the most fragrant and lovely wildflowers for you. Bees lazily float from flower to flower (He made them swear not to sting you, of course).

On a sunny day, you drift out into the meadow and lay down in a soft and dense bed of grass. It all feels so alive. Well… it is alive of course. Plants are alive in a literal sense. But they thrum with an energy that clings to your skin like a perfect ray of sunshine. He can almost feel you like this. It makes him feel drunk. Feverish. Desperate. He steals himself away from his hiding spot. Dragging himself far away from you, lest he lose his composure.

All of these natural phenomena were strange, but what you felt in the meadow was not normal. You start researching. Googling yourself down rabbit holes about the supernatural and occult.

“Regional Natural Spirits”

“Protectors of nature”

“Old and powerful beasts who are charged with the stewardship of the natural world”

You must be losing it. You were supposed to be an educator. But the coincidences were hard to ignore all together. On the off-chance that there was some powerful spirit who was responsible for it all, you certainly didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

One night you bring out a plate, filled with the things the websites said the spirit might like. A piece of quartz crystal, molasses cookies you made from scratch (if the spirit has a sweet tooth), and finally a lock of your hair. You hoped it was enough, basing this all off of the old website you read.

As you kneel in the grass, feeling that familiar warmth spread over you, you call out into the trees,

“Uh- excuse me?”

The Guardian remains shrouded in the shadows, baffled by your strange behavior.

“I don’t know who might be out there, if there is anyone. But this land is very beautiful. I cannot imagine the work it took to bring it back to life. I must extend my gratitude.” You gingerly set the plate down in the grass, feeling like a fool,

“These are for you. As a token of my thanks to the Guardian of this land.”

How rude it would be, the Guardian thinks, to not accept your thanks personally. Stepping out from the trees, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. You freeze, unable to breathe. His torso is human-like, but his legs are that of a deer, and his face is like that of a goat. For a second, you wonder if you had perhaps summoned a demon by accident.

He doesn’t like the smell of your fear in his nostrils, “Don’t be afraid, please.” The voice is soft and low. He’s starts approaching you slowly, and you are still crumpled on the ground in complete shock. You feel a strong wave that warm golden energy waft over you as he gets closer. It feels like drinking a nice glass of wine.

He sits down just close enough to reach the plate you brought him. He smiles softly at the crystal he thumbs between his fingers, “it’s very pretty-“

His breath hitches when he notices the lock of your hair. “Oh-“ he murmurs, delicately picking up the bundle between his large fingers.

“You-you did all of this?” You ask meekly, breaking the silence. He’s still staring at the lock of your hair dwarfed in his giant palm.

“Everything.”

“W-well thank you very much.” You weren’t quite sure where to go from here. Was this some ritual you accidentally started ending with your heart in his stomach? He didn’t really look… blood thirsty though. Around his wrists were several delicate little bracelets of woven vine and natural stone, and around his neck was a long pendant from which hung a brilliant tiger’s eye stone which matched his eyes. He was really quite beautiful.

He noticed you eyeing him, admiring his adornments. “You can look closer,” He exclaimed pridefully, arms stretched out to you, “You can touch.”

You carefully take his wrist into your hand, running a thumb over the jewelry. You glance up his arm and to his torso, now able to see the deep scars in the moonlight. He senses your train of thought, even more proud to tell you all about worthiness in battle. “There are bad spirits sometimes, ones that threaten the balance of my realm. I defeated them all.”

You grow bold, running hand up his bicep and tracing over a scar there. His skin is hot under your touch. You pull back, “Sorry, that was rude-“

“No, please. I have not been touched like this… in many years. It is… pleasing.” His voice drips with need, bringing your hand to his arm again. You understand him entirely, bringing your hand to his shoulder where there is an especially deep scar. He raises his hand and cups your cheek, an intimate gesture but perhaps this spirit just has different notions of intimacy. He moves down to your collarbone, where you have your own scar from a car accident years ago.

“I didn’t know humans could be so lovely. Are you sure you are one?” He mutters, tracing his clawed fingers down your arm. You shiver at his touch, goosebumps forming on your delicate skin. “Do you have a name?”

You nod, “Y/n.”

“Please call me Silvans, y/n.” The name is familiar to you, perhaps one that you had glanced over during your research. “Silvans.” You repeated out loud. He loved the sound of his voice on your tongue. He wanted to taste it. He wanted to taste all of you. This was his first time being so close to a human, and experience he at one time assumed would be revolting. Silvans gasped when you moved both of your hands to his chest, still tracing your fingers over all his scars there.

He made a bold judgment, placing both hands on your chest over the thin tank top you were wearing. “Ah-“ you gasped, feeling heat rush to your face. He was fascinated by your reaction, not realizing this was an intimate region for human females. “P-please don’t stop.”

This was all he needed to hear. He tore your tank top down the middle like it was a piece of paper, leaving your torso naked to him. Instinctually you cover yourself, earning a smirk and light scolding from him, “Humans are so strange.”

You yelp when he pulls you onto his lap, removing your arms from your chest. He’s practically licking his lips at the thought of you. His hands start working your breasts, swirling his thumbs around your hard nipples. You’re making the most sinful noises, like a soft melody to his twitching ears. You can feel yourself beginning to pool in your most intimate region. He leans you back a bit, giving himself access to suckle on your sore nipples.

He’s barely holding himself together. His breaths come out like desperate panting, his nostrils flaring at the first whiff of your wet and desperate pussy. “So… soft,” he breathes out, “do you… offer yourself to me?”

“Yes.” You respond breathlessly. He pulls you back in, licking your lips as if asking for permission. You open to him, letting him explore your mouth with his longe velvety tongue. It’s not like how humans kiss, he’s practically drinking you down. He pulls back, leaving the two of you connected by a long string of saliva. There is something… animalistic about it.

Your head nestles in the grass as he lays you down, towering over you. He tears off the little pajama pants you’re wearing with ease, leaving you completely bare. For a good long minute, he’s staring at your mound covered in hair, bringing his fingers to trace up and down your happy trail,

“Can I taste? Please?” He wasn’t asking, he was begging. You nod fervently, and in a flash he’s on his stomach pinning your legs behind his shoulders.

“Smells so good.” He grunts. The feeling of his warm breath makes your cunt flutter. He’s already bucking himself into the grass below him, working his hot needy cock out of its sheathe. He parts the lips of your pussy for full access, and takes a long exaggerated lick across the surface.

“Ah- yes-“ you groan, bucking into his face. You couldn’t tell from the position you were in, but he was drooling into your pussy. It was like nothing he had tasted before. A delicacy. His tongue played with you at your entrance, lapping up your juices greedily. His shifted upwards to your red and swollen clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive little pearl. You cried out softly, squirming beneath him, and by now his cock is fully unsheathed and leaking.

Again he moves his tongue back your entrance, sliding his tongue inside of your as far as it can manage. He pokes into the spongey roof of your cunt, and without thinking you reach down to grab his horns. His wet nose presses into your clit, and you find yourself grinding into him for full stimulation.

You don’t last much longer. The experience is just as overwhelming for him as it is for you. Your orgasm rushes down his tongue and into his throat, making his head spin. He needs his cock inside of you. On his knees, you gasp at the feeling of his hot member slapping against your stomach. It’s big. Very big. And at the base there is a fat red knot, which you are sure won’t fit. He’s hasty and scattered, one hand on your hip, and another in the grass next you your head. He is holding on to the ground so tight to remain tethered to reality, that you can hear grass ripping from the ground.

“Take me…” you whisper to him, spreading your legs in invitation.

“This will be sh-short-lived, I must admit.” He stuttered. In this moment you saw him in a different light. Lonely and needy. Needy for love. Needy for companionship. It was such a human thing. You reached up and pulled him close by his neck, whispering in his ear, “Do not fret, Silvans. This will not be the last time.”

He groaned, and you felt the warmth of his tip at your entrance. Slowly, methodically, as if he was savoring this moment, he enters you.

“Does it hurt? Y/n?” Over and over again he’s asking you this, and you have to reassure him through the pleasure that you are okay. He starts rocking into you, filling you all the way to the top of his knot. His pace quickens, now both hands with a vice grip on your hips. Surely you will have bruises in the morning. His pace starts becoming frenzied, the image before him is too much to bear. Your arms limp with pleasure over your head, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your eyebrows knitted together and eyes screwed shut-

“OH-“ you both let out a strangled gasp as he pushes his knot into your swollen cunt. You feel a rush of liquid warmth fill you up. You look up at him and he’s staring at the stars, muttering something in an ancient language you don’t understand. Maybe a prayer? The two of you sit there for a second longer, and you try to wriggle off of his still erect cock. But to no avail.

“We must stay together, until sunrise. I’m sorry- I guess I mean I’m stuck inside until-“

You giggled, still lying beneath him. You had thought he might disappear into the night after he finished. After being fully satisfied. It was a welcome predicament, to be stuck warming his cock for the next couple hours.

Anyways Merrrrrrry Christmas ho ho ho

#terato #monster fuqqer #monster #monster lover #monster romance #forest #nature spirits #satyr #monster x female reader #monster x fem!reader #female reader #feminine reader #exophelia #teratophillia #terat0philliac

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novaursa · 1 day ago

Text

The Second Daughter (the rogue)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the princess and the lion

- Next part: simple things

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

- A/N: Some small mistakes have been fixed in the pervious chapter.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the thick curtains of your chambers, painting the stone walls with soft light. The scent of fresh morning air mingled with the faint aroma of lavender from the basin near your vanity. You sat by the window, your hands moving deftly as you braided your hair, each motion deliberate and practiced. Your pale fingers worked through the silvery strands, weaving them into an intricate pattern that was as much habit as art.

The soft knock at your chamber door drew your attention, and you turned your head slightly. “Enter,” you called gently, your voice carrying through the quiet room.

Alys stepped inside, her footsteps light and unhurried. “Good morning, Princess,” she said warmly, closing the door behind her. In her arms, she carried your riding attire, neatly folded. “I’ve brought your garments. Shall I assist you?”

You smiled faintly, your hands pausing their work. “Thank you, Alys. I was just finishing my hair.”

Alys set the garments down on a nearby chair and approached, her sharp eyes catching the intricate braid you were crafting. “You always do it so beautifully,” she remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. “I don’t know how you manage it so perfectly every time.”

“Practice,” you replied softly, continuing the braid. “I’ve had years to learn by touch. My hands remember what my eyes do not.”

Alys hummed in acknowledgment, watching for a moment before moving to gather the rest of your attire. “Will you be riding this morning, Your Grace?”

“I will,” you said, securing the braid with a ribbon. “The quiet of the morning is too precious to waste.”

As you stood, Alys approached with your riding tunic, the soft fabric cool against your fingertips. She helped you into the garment with practiced ease, her movements quick but gentle.

“Last night was quite the celebration,” Alys ventured, her tone conversational as she adjusted the sleeves. “The lords and ladies were all talking about you.”

You tilted your head slightly, her words catching you by surprise. “Were they?”

Alys smiled, though you could not see it. “Of course, Princess. You made quite the impression. Even Lady Redwyne was full of praise.”

You let out a soft hum, your expression thoughtful. “I only spoke with a few. Surely their attention will turn elsewhere soon enough.”

Alys shook her head, fastening the belt around your waist. “I don’t think so, Your Grace. You had admirers last night—more than a few, I’d wager.”

Her words gave you pause, your hands brushing over the hem of your tunic as you considered them. “Admirers,” you repeated softly, the word unfamiliar on your tongue. “I’m not sure what to do with such attention. It is… new to me.”

Alys’s smile widened as she reached for your riding boots. “You’ve always been admired, Princess. Perhaps you simply haven’t noticed it before.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve never sought it. I’ve always been content to stay in the background.”

Alys knelt to help you into the boots, her hands deftly fastening the straps. “The court sees you now, though. They’re beginning to realize what they’ve overlooked.”

You felt a faint flush rise to your cheeks, though your expression remained composed. “And what should I do with such attention, Alys? I am unaccustomed to it.”

The servant’s tone softened, her voice almost motherly. “You don’t need to do anything, Your Grace. Just be yourself. That’s all anyone could ask for.”

You smiled faintly, her words a comfort despite the unease that lingered in your chest. “Thank you, Alys.”

Once dressed, you reached for the riding gloves she handed you, their soft leather familiar beneath your fingertips. With one last adjustment, Alys stepped back, her expression bright with satisfaction. “You’re ready, Princess.”

You nodded, turning toward the door with quiet resolve. “Then let us make the most of the morning.”

As Alys opened the door for you, the cool morning air greeted you like an old friend. The day stretched ahead, full of possibility, and for now, you allowed yourself to focus on the simple joy of a ride beneath the open sky. Whatever attention the court had bestowed upon you last night could wait—for this moment, at least, you belonged to the quiet of the morning and the rhythm of the horse beneath you.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alive with the subdued hum of morning activity. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating long tables where the remaining guests of the previous night’s celebrations broke their fast. Platters of bread, roasted meats, and fresh fruit lined the tables, while servants moved swiftly, refilling goblets and tending to the needs of the gathered lords and ladies.

Jason Lannister sat among the remnants of his household, most of whom were preparing to depart for Casterly Rock later that morning. His mother, Lady Leonella, had already left, her sharp eyes and sharper words having bid him farewell with a mix of exasperation and well-meaning concern. What remained of his retainers—several cousins and a handful of knights—stayed seated with him, their loyalty unwavering, though Jason wasn’t sure if it was out of genuine support or a fascination with his determination to linger.

Beside him, his younger twin, Tyland, ate with the practiced ease of a man entirely at home in the Red Keep. As a member of the King’s Small Council, Tyland had adapted quickly to courtly life and seemed to enjoy the endless scheming it entailed. He shot Jason a sidelong glance as he tore a piece of bread. “I must admit, I didn’t think you’d have the stomach to linger after last night,” he said, his tone carrying its usual undercurrent of humor.

Jason didn’t look up from his plate, slicing a piece of cheese with deliberate precision. “I’ve endured worse than a rejection, Tyland.”

“True,” Tyland replied, his smirk widening. “But few could endure the sheer volume of whispers your prolonged stay is generating.”

Jason’s eyes flicked to his brother, sharp but not unkind. “Let them whisper. It’s a pastime for most of them.”

At the high table, King Viserys sat with his family, the picture of relaxed authority. Beside him, Queen Alicent sipped from her goblet, her attention shifting periodically between her children. Rhaenyra, radiant even in the morning light, leaned back in her chair, exchanging words with her stepmother. Prince Aegon, already restless, drummed his fingers on the table, while little Aemond sat quietly, his face a mask of disinterest. Princess Helaena toyed with a plate of fruit, her gaze faraway as if lost in a dream. Yet despite the gathered royalty, one absence was glaringly obvious to Jason: the youngest princess was nowhere to be seen.

Jason’s musings were interrupted by the voice of Lord Jasper Wylde, who sat nearby, his tone tinged with amusement. “It is a rare thing,” he said loudly enough to be heard by those close to him, “to see the Lord of Casterly Rock prolong his visit to the Red Keep, especially after such a… public rebuff.”

Several nearby lords chuckled, and Jason’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Tyland, ever quick with a quip, leaned forward, his tone light but cutting. “Perhaps it’s rarer still for one to linger in the presence of such company as yours, Lord Wylde.”

The jab earned a ripple of laughter, and Wylde, though momentarily taken aback, smiled thinly. “A fair point, Lord Tyland. Though I doubt even the sharpest tongue can dull the sting of such… ambition unmet.”

Jason ignored the exchange, his focus drifting back to the absence of the younger princess. As if the gods had chosen that moment to provide clarity, a pair of servants passed near his table, their voices hushed but not enough to escape Jason’s ears.

“Out riding again,” one of them whispered. “Through the city, no less. Does she have no concern for her safety?”

The other servant snorted. “You’re worried about her safety? I’d worry about the fools who’ll do anything just to catch a glimpse of her. Do you remember that lord? The one who drowned himself in summerberry wine after running out of the Sept like a madman?”

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smirk despite himself. The story was well-known, though hearing it invoked in such a context sent a flicker of amusement through him.

“That poor man,” the first servant replied, shaking his head. “Let’s just hope no one else gets any foolish ideas today.”

Jason didn’t wait to hear more. He rose discreetly from his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his tunic with a nonchalance that belied his urgency. Tyland, ever observant, raised an eyebrow as his brother moved to leave.

“And where are you off to?” Tyland asked, his tone carrying a note of amusement. “Surely not to chase rumors, Jason?”

Jason shot his twin a look, his tone deliberately even. “I’m going to enjoy the morning air. The hall has grown… stifling.”

Tyland chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Enjoy the air, then. But be careful not to trip over any summerberry barrels.”

Jason didn’t dignify the remark with a response, striding out of the hall with purpose. As he made his way toward the stables, his thoughts raced. The idea of you riding through the city, unaccompanied save for Ser Lorent, stirred something in him—concern, curiosity, perhaps even admiration. Whatever it was, Jason was determined to find you, even if it meant venturing into the bustling streets of King’s Landing himself.

The royal stables were filled with the earthy smells of hay, leather, and the musk of horses. Horses shuffled in their enclosures, their soft whickers and the occasional clink of bridles echoing in the quiet space.

Jason Lannister strode in, his boots crunching against the scattered hay. His gaze swept the stables until it landed on a stable boy near the far end. The boy, no older than thirteen, was brushing down a sleek chestnut mare, his movements efficient but unhurried.

“You there,” Jason called, his deep voice carrying through the space. The boy startled slightly but quickly straightened, brushing straw from his tunic as Jason approached.

“Y-yes, my lord?” the boy stammered, his wide eyes taking in Jason’s fine tunic and the Lannister lion embroidered on his chest.

Jason pulled a gleaming Golden Dragon from his pocket and held it up between his fingers. The coin glinted in the sunlight, its promise impossible to ignore. “I’m in need of a horse,” Jason said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Something swift and sure-footed.”

The boy’s eyes darted to the coin, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord. We have plenty of fine mounts. I’ll saddle one for you right away.”

Jason pocketed the coin but didn’t let the boy scurry off just yet. “Wait,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more conspiratorial tone. “You saddled a horse not long ago, didn’t you? A black mare.”

The boy hesitated, glancing toward the stalls as if gauging whether he should answer. “I did, my lord,” he admitted finally, his tone cautious.

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smile, his lion-like confidence unmistakable. “For the Princess?”

The boy nodded quickly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “Yes, my lord. The Princess likes to ride in the mornings.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully, pulling out five Silver Stags from his pocket and holding them in his palm. “Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “What else do you know about the Princess? Where does she usually ride? What does she speak of?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the coins, but he hesitated, glancing around the stables as if afraid someone might overhear. “She… she doesn’t speak much, my lord,” he said cautiously. “But she’s kind. Always thanks us when we saddle her mare.”

Jason arched an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

“She usually rides through the city,” the boy added, his voice gaining confidence as he saw Jason’s interest. “Out toward the Street of Silk and sometimes to the river. She doesn’t take guards—just her knight, Ser Lorent.”

Jason frowned slightly at this, the thought of you navigating the chaos of King’s Landing with so little protection sparking both admiration and concern. “And does she ever meet with anyone?” he pressed, his tone calm but insistent.

The boy hesitated, clearly weighing the value of the silver coins against his loyalty. “Not that I’ve seen, my lord,” he said finally. “She just… rides. Sometimes she stops to speak with the common folk. They like her, I think.”

Jason’s lips twitched into a small smile, his respect for you growing with each word. “She speaks with the common folk, does she?”

The boy nodded, glancing again at the coins in Jason’s hand. “Aye. She doesn’t talk down to them like some lords and ladies do. She listens.”

Jason studied the boy for a moment, his mind turning over this new information. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the Silver Stags into the boy’s eager hands. “Thank you,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of dismissal. “Now, fetch me that horse.”

The boy pocketed the coins quickly, bowing his head. “Right away, my lord,” he said, hurrying off to prepare a mount.

As Jason waited, he leaned against one of the stall doors, his thoughts lingering on the image of you riding through the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The notion of you—so poised, so seemingly untouchable—choosing to venture into the chaos of the city alone was both puzzling and captivating. Whatever your reasons, Jason was determined to find out for himself.

When the boy returned leading a tall, dark gelding, Jason swung into the saddle with practiced ease. “Which way did she ride?” he asked, his voice steady.

The boy pointed toward the stable doors, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and curiosity. “Toward the city gates, my lord.”

Jason nodded, guiding the horse out of the stables with a purposeful stride. The streets of King’s Landing awaited, and with them, the answers to the questions you had unknowingly sparked within him.

The streets of King’s Landing were alive with their usual chaos. The hum of the bustling market, the shouts of merchants hawking their wares, and the distant clanging of blacksmiths created a symphony of life that could only belong to the capital. Amidst it all, you rode calmly atop your black mare, her gait smooth and steady as she navigated the uneven cobblestones with practiced ease. Though the city’s sounds and smells were overwhelming to some, you had grown accustomed to them, even finding comfort in their familiarity.

Ser Lorent rode beside you, his armor gleaming in the morning sunlight. His vigilance was unwavering, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd as he kept a protective distance from the passersby who stopped to gawk at your presence. It was a familiar reaction—your morning rides never failed to attract attention, whether from the common folk whispering among themselves or the occasional noble who paused mid-conversation to watch.

“The city seems particularly lively today,” you remarked softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach Ser Lorent.

“It is always lively when the princess graces it,” he replied, his tone steady but carrying a hint of amusement.

You smiled faintly, your hand lightly brushing your mare’s mane as she guided you without falter. “I was thinking,” you began, your voice thoughtful, “perhaps later I might request to be escorted to the Dragonpit. It has been too long since I’ve spent time with Silverwing.”

Ser Lorent nodded, though you could not see him. “As you wish, Your Grace. The Dragonkeepers will be pleased to see you there.”

The thought of visiting Silverwing brought a sense of calm, but your musings were interrupted as Ser Lorent’s tone shifted, becoming slightly more alert. “Someone approaches,” he warned, his voice lowering.

Before you could ask who, the scent of rich leather and sandalwood reached you, distinct even among the pungent smells of the city. You tilted your head slightly, the sound of hoofbeats drawing nearer until they stopped just beside you.

“Princess,” came a familiar, deep voice. Jason Lannister’s tone was smooth, almost casual, though there was an unmistakable note of intent beneath it. “What a pleasant surprise to find you out here this morning.”

You turned your head slightly in his direction, your expression calm. “Lord Jason,” you acknowledged, your voice soft but even. “I did not expect to encounter you here.”

Jason chuckled lightly, the sound warm and unbothered. “Nor did I expect to find you, though fate does seem to enjoy such coincidences, doesn’t it?”

Ser Lorent shifted slightly beside you, his posture stiff but silent as he observed the interaction. You tilted your head slightly, considering Jason’s words. “It seems fate is fond of you, my lord.”

Jason smiled, though you could not see it. “I should count myself fortunate, then.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his tone light. “Might I join you on your ride, Princess? Unless, of course, I am intruding.”

You paused, sensing the subtle shift in Ser Lorent’s stance beside you. “I see no harm in it,” you replied after a moment, your voice measured. “If you wish to join us, my lord, you are welcome.”

Jason’s smile widened, and he inclined his head, though you couldn’t see the gesture. “You honor me, Princess. Thank you.”

As the three of you continued through the streets, Jason kept his horse at a respectful distance, though his presence was unmistakable. The smell of sandalwood lingered in the air, mingling with the more distinctive scents of the city. He seemed content to let the silence stretch for a moment, as if testing the waters before speaking again.

“Do you often ride through the city, Princess?” he asked finally, his tone conversational.

“When the opportunity arises,” you replied, your hands steady on the reins. “The mornings are quiet enough for me to enjoy the air.”

Jason tilted his head, watching you with an expression of genuine curiosity. “I imagine the city must look quite different through your perspective.”

You smiled faintly, your voice gentle but firm. “It is not so much what I see, my lord, but what I hear and feel. The city speaks, even in its chaos, if one listens carefully.”

Jason considered this, his respect for you deepening. “And what does the city say to you today?”

You turned your face slightly toward the distant sounds of a street musician’s lute, the soft rhythm of the mare’s hooves steady beneath you. “It speaks of life,” you said simply. “Of movement and purpose, even amidst its flaws.”

Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head in quiet admiration. “You have a way with words, Princess. It’s no wonder the court holds you in such high regard.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, though your tone remained humble. “The court is kind in its flattery, though I do not seek its regard.”

Jason’s gaze lingered on you, his thoughts swirling with a mixture of admiration and fascination. There was something about your soft-spoken nature that seemed to draw him in, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“And yet,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s impossible not to admire someone who carries themselves with such grace.”

You inclined your head slightly, your expression unreadable. “You are kind, my lord. Too kind, perhaps.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat as Ser Lorent shifted subtly in his saddle, a silent reminder of his presence. Jason glanced toward the knight, his confidence flickering briefly before returning in full force.

“I speak only the truth, Princess,” he said finally, his tone steady. “Though I am grateful you think it kind.”

You said nothing, allowing the rhythm of the ride to fill the space between you. Jason, for his part, was content to remain in your orbit, drawn further into the quiet strength of your presence with each passing moment. For now, he thought, riding alongside you was enough.

The ride through King’s Landing began to draw more attention as you and Jason continued through the bustling streets. Whispers rippled among the common folk, their eyes shifting between the blind princess riding with calm grace and the unmistakable figure of Lord Jason Lannister at her side. His golden hair caught the sunlight like a lion’s mane, but it was not his usual charm or stature that held their focus—it was the unlikely pairing of the two of you, a contrast as striking as it was intriguing.

Jason found himself speaking with ease, something he rarely experienced outside the company of close friends or family. With you, he didn’t feel the need to impress, to dazzle with grand gestures or carefully chosen words. What use would such things be to you, after all? His looks held no sway here, and even his wealth and status seemed muted against the simplicity of your presence.

“You make it easy to talk,” Jason admitted after a moment of thoughtful conversation, his voice softer than usual. “Most people… expect more.”

You tilted your head slightly, the soft sound of your mare’s hooves grounding the moment. “More?” you echoed, your voice curious but calm.

Jason smiled faintly, shaking his head. “They expect me to be larger than life. To play the lion for them. But here, now… I don’t feel the need.”

You considered his words for a moment before replying, “Perhaps because you know such things hold little weight with me. Grand gestures and handsome faces mean little to someone who cannot see them.”

Jason chuckled, though the sound was tinged with genuine amusement rather than offense. “And your knight,” he added, glancing toward Ser Lorent. “I suspect he wouldn’t tolerate it, even if I tried.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against the mane of your mare. “Ser Lorent is protective, but only because he has my best interests at heart.”

Ser Lorent, riding on your other side, remained silent but cast Jason a pointed glance that confirmed your words. Jason couldn’t help but smirk, finding the knight’s loyalty both admirable and mildly intimidating.

Just as the conversation seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm, the city was shaken by a sound that cut through the noise like a blade: a piercing shriek, unmistakably that of a dragon. The cry echoed through the streets, drawing startled gasps and frightened murmurs from the gathered crowds. Horses whinnied nervously, and even Jason’s gelding shifted uneasily beneath him.

But you—calm as ever—smiled, turning your head slightly toward the direction of the sound. “Uncle Daemon,” you said simply, the warmth in your voice unmistakable. “His visits are always… eventful.”

Jason blinked, his brows furrowing. “Prince Daemon?” he asked, glancing skyward as if expecting to see Caraxes descending at any moment. “He wasn’t expected in the capital, was he?”

“No,” you replied, your smile lingering. “His visits are rarely expected. But they are always welcome—at least by me.”

Ser Lorent’s posture remained tense, though his tone was measured as he addressed you. “Shall we proceed to the Dragonpit, Your Grace? If Prince Daemon has arrived, I imagine he’ll be heading there first.”

“Yes,” you said, your tone decisive yet gentle. “I wish to go to Silverwing. And to greet my uncle.”

Turning slightly toward Jason, you inclined your head. “My apologies, Lord Jason. It seems I must cut our ride short. But perhaps we can continue our conversation later, at the Red Keep?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, though his smile returned quickly. “Of course, Princess. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your dragon—or your uncle.”

There was a flicker of something in his voice, a mix of amusement and curiosity at the way you spoke of Daemon. Jason wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he nodded politely, his tone genuine. “Until then.”

You nodded in return, a faint smile gracing your lips before you turned your attention forward. Ser Lorent guided your mare with quiet efficiency, and together, the two of you began making your way toward the Dragonpit.

Jason remained where he was, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The scent of sandalwood still lingered faintly in the air, but the moment had passed. His thoughts lingered on your words, on the calm way you spoke of Daemon’s arrival, and on the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from you even in the chaos of the city.

With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Jason turned his horse back toward the Red Keep, his mind already plotting how best to approach your next meeting.

The steep incline to the Dragonpit was alive with the sound of distant roars and the rustling of wings. The acrid tang of dragonfire hung faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of hay and sweat from Dragonkeepers who worked tirelessly within the massive structure. As your mare ascended the path with calm ease, Ser Lorent rode beside you, his vigilant gaze sweeping the area.

Before you even reached the entrance, the unmistakable presence of Daemon Targaryen was felt. The air itself seemed to shift, heavy with the aura of his arrival. His dragon, Caraxes, loomed nearby, his serpentine body coiled and his crimson scales glinting in the midday sun. The Blood Wyrm let out a low growl, causing some of Dragonkeepers to step back nervously.

Daemon was already dismounted, his silver hair catching the light as he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. He turned at the sound of approaching hooves, his sharp violet eyes narrowing before softening with recognition.

“Little star,” he called out, his voice warm and familiar. The nickname was one he’d given you as a child, a testament to the quiet yet steady light you brought to those around you.

You smiled faintly, tilting your head toward the sound of his voice. “Uncle,” you greeted, your tone carrying both affection and amusement. “I did not expect to find you here today.”

Daemon strode toward you, his confidence as effortless as ever. “You should always expect me, little star. I never stay away for long.” He reached up to take your hand as Ser Lorent helped you dismount, his grip firm but gentle. “And what brings you to the Dragonpit this morning? Was it my arrival, or do you come for your Silverwing?”

“For Silverwing,” you replied, stepping gracefully to the ground with his assistance. “Though your arrival is a welcome surprise.”

Daemon smirked, his expression one of faint amusement. “As it should be. It seems I’ve caught you during your morning ride. Have you been avoiding the court already?”

You chuckled softly, brushing your hands over your attire to smooth the fabric. “I prefer the quiet of the city to the noise of the hall, Uncle. Surely you understand.”

“Better than most,” Daemon replied with a grin. “The Red Keep suffocates me more with every visit.”

As you and Daemon walked toward the entrance of the Dragonpit, Ser Lorent following a respectful distance behind, you turned your face toward your uncle. “Will you stay long this time? Or is this another brief visit?”

“Brief,” Daemon admitted, though his tone carried no regret. “King’s Landing is no place for me these days. But while I’m here, I’ll make the most of it.”

“Will you come to the Keep?” you asked, your voice soft but hopeful. “To talk of your travels again? I miss hearing your stories.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he placed a hand lightly on your shoulder. “How could I refuse, little star? You’re the only one in that cursed castle who listens without judgment—or boredom.”

You smiled at his words, the warmth of his affection a rare comfort amidst the cold formality of the court. “Then I’ll hold you to that, Uncle. You owe me tales of adventure and far-off places.”

Daemon chuckled, his hand falling back to his side. “You’ll have them. I’ve seen things that would make even the hardiest of lords tremble.”

As you approached the enclosure where Silverwing resided, the great dragon stirred, her silver scales catching the light as she stretched her wings lazily. Her eyes focused on you immediately, a low rumble emanating from her chest in recognition.

Daemon stepped back slightly, his gaze shifting to the dragon with a glint of admiration. “Silverwing grows more impressive with each year,” he remarked. “She suits you.”

“She has always been gentle with me,” you replied, reaching out a hand toward her. “Perhaps she senses I have no fire of my own.”

Daemon frowned slightly at your words but said nothing, instead watching as Silverwing lowered her massive head to nuzzle against your outstretched palm. The bond between you and the dragon was undeniable, a connection forged in trust and understanding.

As you stroked Silverwing’s warm scales, you turned your head slightly toward Daemon. “Thank you, Uncle. For coming to the city. It’s good to hear your voice again.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though it carried a softer edge. “And it’s good to see you, little star. Even in this wretched place, your light shines.”

You smiled, letting his words settle in your heart as you continued to commune with your dragon. Though the world of courtly intrigue and ambition often felt heavy, moments like these—filled with the warmth of family and the steadfast presence of Silverwing—reminded you of the strength you carried within.

The Red Keep was as bustling as ever, its halls loud with the sound of servants going about their duties, courtiers murmuring in clusters, and the ever-present echo of boots on stone. Daemon Targaryen strode through the familiar corridors with his usual confident ease, his black cloak sweeping behind him and his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. He relished the way the castle seemed to shift subtly around his presence—servants darting out of his path, lords and ladies pausing to cast wary glances his way.

He had no real purpose in the Keep today, save for curiosity. After greeting his favorite niece earlier at the Dragonpit, Daemon had found himself drawn to the palace’s undercurrents, the unspoken intrigues that always swirled within its walls. It wasn’t long before he spotted her: Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, pacing near the painted table in one of the smaller audience chambers, her arms crossed and her expression dark.

“Now, what could sour the mood of my dear niece so early in the day?” Daemon drawled, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room as he stepped inside.

Rhaenyra turned sharply at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering in her violet eyes before her brows furrowed. “Uncle,” she said, her tone clipped. “What are you doing here?”

Daemon smirked, his steps unhurried as he approached her. “What kind of greeting is that for family? I arrive unannounced, and you sound almost displeased to see me.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “I expected at least a smile.”

Rhaenyra huffed, turning away briefly to compose herself. “It’s not you,” she admitted, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely free of irritation toward him. “It’s… other matters.”

“Other matters?” Daemon echoed, his intrigue piqued. He stepped closer, his tone light but probing. “Do tell, niece. Perhaps I can offer my sage wisdom.”

Rhaenyra turned back to him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and frustration. “It’s Jason Lannister,” she said, the name practically spat out.

Daemon’s smirk widened. “Ah, the golden lion himself. What trouble has he caused you?”

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath, her irritation flaring. “After my rejection—and Father’s rejection—of his proposal, you’d think the man would have the decency to retreat to Casterly Rock with what pride he has left. But no. He’s decided to linger, prolonging his stay in the capital.”

Daemon arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why does this bother you so? A spurned suitor sulking in the Red Keep is hardly worth your ire.”

“It’s not just his presence,” Rhaenyra snapped. “It’s his persistence. Word has reached me that he’s now turned his attention to Y/N.”

Daemon’s expression shifted subtly, his amusement tempered by a flicker of genuine interest. “Y/N?” he repeated, his tone quieter but no less curious.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, her tone sharp. “He was seen riding through the city with her this morning. Riding beside her, as if they were… companions.”

Daemon tilted his head, considering this. “And this troubles you why? Y/N can handle herself, surely. She’s not a child.”

“That’s not the point,” Rhaenyra snapped, her frustration bubbling over. “Jason Lannister doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s already proven that with me. Now he thinks he can charm her, of all people.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with something more thoughtful. “Perhaps she charmed him,” he suggested lightly, earning a glare from Rhaenyra.

“She is too kind,” Rhaenyra said, her voice softening slightly. “Too patient. She wouldn’t push him away the way I did. And he’ll take advantage of that.”

Daemon regarded his niece for a moment, his eyes studying her closely. “Do you think she’s so easily swayed?” he asked, his tone challenging.

Rhaenyra hesitated, her frustration faltering as she considered his words. “No,” she admitted finally. “But Jason is clever. He knows how to appeal to people, how to make them see what he wants them to see.”

Daemon hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “And what would you have me do about it, dear niece? Shall I chase the lion back to his Rock for you?”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a reluctant smirk, though her irritation lingered. “I don’t need you to intervene, Uncle. I simply… I don’t trust his intentions.”

Daemon nodded slowly, though his amusement hadn’t entirely faded. “Well, if it eases your mind, I’ll keep an eye on the golden lion. Though I suspect Y/N is far less naive than you give her credit for.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. “I know she isn’t. But she’s my sister. I won’t see her used as a pawn in someone else’s ambitions.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Then trust her, Rhaenyra. She’s not as fragile as you think.”

Rhaenyra glanced up at him, her expression softening further. “And if Jason oversteps?”

Daemon’s smile sharpened, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. “Then I’ll handle it.”

Rhaenyra nodded, some of the tension easing from her posture. Though her irritation with Jason remained, she felt a measure of comfort knowing Daemon would be watching. As unpredictable as he was, there were few people she trusted more to protect her family—whether with words or with fire and blood.

In hallways of the Red Keep, lords and courtiers gathered in clusters, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of scheming, laughter, and polite conversation. Jason Lannister stood among them, a impressive figure of confidence and charm, his polished demeanor drawing attention effortlessly.

Despite his outward poise, his thoughts remained tethered to the morning’s events. The ride with Princess Y/N lingered in his mind, a moment of unexpected connection that felt both rare and precious. He could still recall the softness of her voice, the way her words carried weight without ever striving for attention. And then there was Silverwing—a gleaming presence above King’s Landing, her great wings casting shadows over the city as she soared with you upon her back.

Jason had paused on his way back to the Keep, craning his neck to watch the dragon’s flight. It was a sight he wouldn’t forget—power and grace intertwined, a perfect reflection of her rider. Even now, hours later, the memory tugged at him, distracting him from the conversations around him.

“…and the King’s favor has certainly shifted, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Jason?” one of the gathered lords said, drawing his attention back to the present.

Jason blinked, offering a practiced smile as he turned to the speaker—a stout man from the Riverlands whose name escaped him. “Shifts in favor are as inevitable as the tides, my lord,” Jason replied smoothly. “The wise know how to navigate them.”

The other lords chuckled, nodding in agreement, though Jason’s focus wavered once more. His eyes caught a figure at the edge of the room, standing just outside the main cluster of courtiers. Prince Daemon Targaryen.

The Rogue Prince leaned casually against a pillar. He wasn’t engaged in conversation, nor did he appear interested in joining the flow of courtly chatter. Yet his presence was anything but idle. His violet eyes scanned the room, lingering on Jason just a beat too long to be coincidental.

Jason straightened slightly, his gaze meeting Daemon’s with a flicker of curiosity and wariness. It wasn’t unusual for the prince to study people; his reputation for unpredictability and cunning made him a figure both admired and feared. But there was something pointed in the way Daemon regarded him now, his expression inscrutable yet deliberate.

“My lord?” another voice prompted, and Jason turned back to the conversation, masking his distraction with another easy smile.

“Apologies,” he said, his tone light. “The Prince has a way of commanding attention, does he not?”

The others laughed politely, some casting furtive glances toward Daemon before quickly looking away. Jason, however, couldn’t resist another glance. By now, Daemon had pushed off the pillar and begun to move, his stride unhurried yet purposeful as he crossed the room.

It wasn’t Jason he was approaching, though. Daemon’s path was clear, cutting directly toward the King, who stood at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his own circle of advisors. Jason followed the prince’s movements with veiled interest, noting the way the courtiers seemed to part before him, their chatter quieting in his wake.

“He’s a fascinating man, isn’t he?” one of the lords murmured beside Jason, clearly emboldened by a goblet or two of wine. “Prince Daemon, I mean. Always a bit… unpredictable.”

Jason smirked faintly, his green eyes narrowing slightly as Daemon reached his brother’s side. “Unpredictable, yes,” he said, his tone careful. “And watchful.”

The lord frowned, clearly puzzled by the remark, but Jason didn’t elaborate. His attention was fixed on the way Daemon leaned in to speak to Viserys, the two brothers exchanging words that no one else could hear.

Jason’s thoughts churned, his mind returning to the moment when Daemon’s gaze had lingered on him. Was it curiosity? Amusement? Or perhaps something closer to a warning? The possibilities unsettled him more than he cared to admit, though he kept his expression composed.

“You seem distracted, my lord,” another voice said, and Jason turned to see one of his retainers—a younger cousin—regarding him with a knowing smirk. “Is the court not holding your interest tonight?”

Jason chuckled, though the sound was more practiced than genuine. “The court is always interesting, cousin. One simply has to know where to look.”

With that, he excused himself from the circle of lords, his steps carrying him closer to the periphery of the room. From there, he could still observe Daemon and the King, their conversation a silent mystery that seemed to ripple through the room without a single word being overheard.

Whatever Daemon’s intentions, Jason knew one thing with certainty: the Rogue Prince was not a man to be ignored. If Daemon had turned his gaze toward him, it was for a reason. And Jason, ever the lion, would need to tread carefully in the days to come.

Daemon’s purposeful strides brought him to the center of the hall, where Viserys stood in conversation with a group of advisors. The King’s face lit up at the sight of his younger brother, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of caution. It was always the same with Daemon—his presence was as welcome as it was potentially disruptive. The gathered advisors quickly stepped aside, bowing their heads as Daemon approached.

“Brother!” Viserys called, his voice warm yet wary. “It has been far too long.”

Daemon smirked, inclining his head with exaggerated deference. “Forgive me, Viserys, for missing the grand celebrations for Otto’s grandson,” he drawled, his tone laced with mockery. “I’m sure it was a spectacle to rival any tourney.”

The warmth in Viserys’s face cooled, and he sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the nearby courtiers. “Must you always arrive with a barb on your tongue, Daemon?”

“Only when it’s deserved,” Daemon replied smoothly, his smirk never faltering. “But I didn’t come here to trade jests about the Hightowers.”

“Then why are you here?” Viserys asked, his tone shifting to one of cautious curiosity.

Daemon’s smile widened slightly, his expression unreadable. “For your second daughter, actually. My little star.”

Viserys straightened, his jovial demeanor vanishing in an instant. “Daemon, what have you done?” he demanded, his tone strained.

“Relax, brother,” Daemon said, holding up a hand in mock surrender. “I’ve done nothing scandalous—this time. I brought her a gift from Lys. A simple bolt of fabric for a dress. Nothing more.”

Viserys’s brow furrowed, his skepticism clear. “Fabric,” he repeated, his tone flat.

“Yes, fabric,” Daemon confirmed, rolling his eyes. “A fine Lysene silk, perfect for someone with her grace. Would you like me to hand it to her myself, or shall I endure your mistrust for one more moment?”

Viserys exhaled heavily, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Sometimes I wonder if you bring trouble simply to see how I’ll react.”

Daemon grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

Before Viserys could respond, Daemon leaned in slightly, his tone shifting to one of casual inquiry. “Tell me, brother, are you aware that there are certain lords sniffing around Y/N’s skirts? She’s drawing quite the attention these days.”

Viserys frowned, his expression hardening. “And why shouldn’t she? She deserves as much admiration as Rhaenyra. She is my daughter, my blood. No less worthy for being the second-born—or for bearing the plight she does.”

Daemon tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied his brother. “You sound more defensive than proud,” he observed. “Tell me, Viserys, are you trying to rid yourself of her burdens by shoving her into the arms of one of these suitors?”

The accusation landed heavily, and Viserys’s face flushed with a mix of anger and guilt. “How dare you,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “I want nothing but happiness for her. She is not a burden.”

Daemon crossed his arms, his tone challenging. “You keep her from court, shield her from politics, and yet now you suddenly want her to bask in the attention of ambitious lords? Forgive me if I find your intentions suspect.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near growl. “She is my daughter, Daemon. I make these decisions for her because I know what this court can do to those who are unprepared. If she chooses to marry, it will be because it’s her wish, not mine.”

Daemon regarded his brother for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. “Then make sure that’s true,” he said finally, his tone quieter but no less firm. “Because if any of these lords think they can use her as a pawn, they’ll find themselves dealing with me.”

Viserys sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension between them eased. “You’ve always been protective of her,” he admitted. “I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

Daemon smirked, his confidence returning. “You should. I’m the only one willing to tell you the truths you don’t want to hear.”

Viserys chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “And I’m the only one who tolerates your endless provocations.”

“Then we’re perfectly matched,” Daemon quipped, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a gift to deliver. I’ll leave you to your lords and their endless petitions.”

As Daemon turned to leave, Viserys called after him, his tone lighter but still firm. “Just don’t cause too much chaos, Daemon. I’ve had enough of it for one day.”

Daemon waved a hand dismissively as he strode away, his grin widening. “No promises, brother.”

...

You sat by the window, your hands brushing lightly over the embroidery you’d worked on earlier, your fingers tracing the intricate pattern of dragon scales. The rhythmic hum of the Red Keep outside your window was a comforting presence, a reminder of the life bustling beyond your quiet sanctuary.

The sound of boots approaching the door brought your attention. Ser Lorent’s voice came softly from the other side. “Prince Daemon requests an audience, Your Grace.”

You didn’t need him to announce it. Even before the door opened, you could feel the shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of your uncle. “Let him in,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head slightly, listening to the confident stride of Daemon’s boots as he entered. He didn’t speak, but you didn’t need him to. “Uncle,” you greeted warmly, your tone carrying both affection and familiarity.

Daemon’s steps slowed, and you could feel his sharp gaze on you. “You always know it’s me,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “What gives me away, little star?”

You smiled faintly, turning toward the sound of his voice. “Your stride, for one. And the air changes when you enter a room. It’s as though it carries your restlessness.”

Daemon chuckled, his demeanor softening as he approached you. He set something down on the table beside you and took a seat, his movements unusually unhurried. “Restlessness? I thought it was my charm.”

“That too,” you replied lightly, the smile on your lips widening.

He reached for your hand, placing something soft and cool into your palm. “Here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The gift I promised you.”

Your fingers brushed over the fabric, its smooth silk a texture you recognized immediately. You let out a soft breath of wonder, your touch lingering over the material as you traced its edges. “Lysene silk,” you murmured, your voice filled with quiet appreciation.

Daemon leaned back, watching you with a rare softness in his eyes. “The finest they had,” he said, a touch of pride in his tone. “Only the best for my little star.”

You turned your face toward him, your expression warm. “Thank you, Uncle. It’s beautiful.”

Daemon smirked, pleased by your reaction. “Beautiful, yes. But not as beautiful as the dress it will become. I expect you to outshine everyone when you wear it.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and melodic. “You always have such high expectations for me.”

“You’ve never failed to meet them,” Daemon replied simply, his tone carrying an edge of sincerity that made your smile deepen.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Daemon shifted, his voice taking on a more animated tone. “Now, as promised, let me tell you of Lys.”

You leaned forward slightly, your attention fully on him as he began to speak. His words painted vivid pictures, describing the vibrant colors of the markets, the scent of exotic spices in the air, and the hum of voices in a language both foreign and melodic. He spoke of grand ships in the harbor, their sails bright and intricate, and of the infamous pleasure houses, their opulence a stark contrast to the simplicity of life in King’s Landing.

As he spoke, you let yourself drift, imagining the world as he saw it. “The canals,” he said, his voice softer now, “are like veins of silver, weaving through the city. At night, lanterns hang from the boats, casting rippling light on the water. It’s almost… magical.”

You smiled, your hands resting in your lap as you listened. “It sounds like a dream,” you murmured. “I wish I could see it.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, a rare gentleness flickering across his sharp features. “You see more than most, little star,” he said. “You see the heart of things, not just their surface.”

His words warmed you, and you turned your head slightly toward him. “And what else did you see, Uncle? Tell me more.”

Daemon leaned closer, his voice lowering as he recounted tales of his travels beyond Lys—the strange customs of Volantis, the towering Long Bridge that guarded its harbor, and the fierce loyalty of its people to their fiery gods. He spoke of the dangers he’d faced, the skirmishes he’d narrowly avoided, and the secrets he’d uncovered in whispers and shadows.

You hung on every word, your mind piecing together the vivid images he painted. Though you couldn’t see the world as he did, his stories allowed you to imagine it through his eyes—a world vast and full of wonders, waiting just beyond the horizon.

As the candles burned lower, casting a softer glow over the room, Daemon’s voice grew quieter, his words carrying a hint of weariness. He finally leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you. “You make me remember why I travel,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s worth it, just to bring pieces of the world back to you.”

You reached out, your hand finding his and resting lightly over it. “And you make me feel as though I’ve seen it all, Uncle,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

Daemon smiled, a rare and genuine expression. “Always, little star,” he replied. “Always.”

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