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repulsiveliquidation · 4 months ago

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Melted Ice Cream || Leah Williamson and Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut 18+, cunnilingus, food play, fingering, Daddy Alexia. player on player, reader only mentioned.

Based on the poem ‘Melting Ice Cream’ by Michael Faudet in his book ‘Playing with Matches."

orgy spinoff. Should I continue the orgy and work on the last part?

“Could you get the door, love?” you yell from the kitchen, basting a steak that was seconds away from medium rare. Leah rushes to the front door, heart pounding in her chest. She’s been waiting weeks for this date and she’s over the moon the special day is finally here.

Leah opens the heavy door and rushes at the person that stood behind it. Strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, stepping into the delicious smelling house.

“Ale, finally,” Leah sighs into Alexia’s neck, feet touching the ground again.

“Hi amor, missed me that much eh?” Alexia teases, pecking Leah on the lips. Leah rolls her eyes and scoffs, taking Alexia’s bag into the master bedroom. The Spaniard searches for the kitchen, following the scent of butter browning and rosemary burning.

The figure slicing away at cucumbers doesn’t hear or see the guest she has in her home, occupied with her cooking the perfect meal for her newest lover.

“You’re realistically the only thing I’m hungry for tonight,” Alexia says cheesily as her arms snake around your middle. You’re startled but relax into her arms, leaning back into her chest as her lips leave little kisses on the shell of your ear.

“I’m sure Leah’s got something planned that should whet your appetite,” you quip, turning around in her arms. She looks down at you proudly, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s searing and full of lust, lips molding into each other perfectly. You both get lost in each other when someone clears their throat.

“I’m beginning to feel very left out here, Ale.”

“I’m sorry darling,” Alexia pulls away from you and saunters over to Leah. “Can I show you how much I've missed you?”

“Baby?” you ask, reaching into the cupboard to pull out your mandolin.

“Yeah?” Both of them answer and it sends them into a fit of giggles, leaving you shaking your head at your silly girls.

“You’ve got twenty minutes, angels. Not a minute more.”

“That’s plenty,” Alexia says, taking Leah’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got time to kill.”

Alexia leaves the door wide open, picking Leah up and throwing her onto the fluffy bed. Alexia notices the array of toys laid out on the nightstand, along with a strap that looked appealing but would have to wait till later.

“Wait here.”

Leah looks up at the Spaniard and nods, getting comfortable on the bed. Alexia goes back into the kitchen and rummages through the freezer for something; you hear a bowl and silverware but decide to pay no mind, the asparagus in front of you wasn’t going to blanch itself.

Alexia comes back into the room and Leah’s eyes narrow when she sees the bowl in her hands.

“What’s that? I swear if you’ve brought me in here to share the soup she’s made I’ll shove you back on a plane to Spain.”

“No,” Alexia smirks, setting it on the bed. “Strip.”

Leah is still understandably skeptical but does as she says, pulling the Barça jersey (which she secretly wore only in the house) off over her head. Leah arches off the bed and pushes her gym shorts off, legs spreading wide open for her girlfriend whose eyes turned dark.

“Good girl mommy,” Alexia praises, standing at the edge of the bed. She takes a spoon of whatever was in the bowl and eats it, before leaning over Leah and kissing her.

“Mmh,” Leah moans, swapping the cold dollop of ice-cream between their mouths. The sticky sweet vanilla ice-cream melted and made their kiss sweeter than it already was, leaving them wanting more.

“That was so hot,” Leah whispers, watching eagerly as Alexia feeds herself more of the sweet treat.

Alexia smashes her lips onto her lovers again, now climbing onto the bed. One hand holds herself above Leah while the other makes itself busy between Leah’s legs.

Alexia feels Leah’s arousal spike, folds sticky and warm like their mouths were as the ice cream was swallowed. The ceramic bowl didn’t hold its temperature well, so there was melted ice cream around the scoop. Alexia, feeling a light go off in her brain, gathers a spoonful of it and drizzles it all over Leah’s chest.

“Oops,” Alexia teases, watching as Leah’s skin prickles with goosebumps. “Guess I’ll have to clean up this mess I made.”

“Yeah, you s–should,” Leah whines, head tilted down to watch Alexia lick up her mess.

Alexia kisses Leah all over her chest, marking her with hickeys. She drags her tongue through the ice cream, sucking up the pearly white mess.

“You taste so good, bebita,” Alexia praises, suckling on Leah’s breast. She kneads the other gently, flicking her tongue over the hard nipple. Alexia reaches for more ice cream, taking Leah’s breast back into her mouth to play with.

Leah writhes and whines, lips begging for Alexia to touch her where she needs.

“Please Ale, lower…need you lower…”

“Ale?”

Leah’s brain short circuits and she sputters, feeling Alexia’s fingers go back to her clit.

“Daddy, please…”

“That’s better,” Alexia praises, fingers rubbing Leah’s clit faster. Her free hand slaps Leah’s breast hard which sends painful pleasure through the England skipper, her clit throbbing harder and harder. Alexia could feel it and it stroked her ego more than she dared to admit.

“Tell Daddy where you want it mi vida,” Alexia coos, fingers teasing Leah’s entrance. “Hurry baby, we don’t have much time sí?”

“I–In my pussy Daddy, hurts…” Leah whined, back arching off the bed as Alexia’s thick fingers slipped into her pussy. She lets out a deep sigh and chuckles deliriously, hips grinding down onto Alexia’s fingers.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me no?”

“Yes Daddy, only for Daddy,”

“Oh? You’re not good for her too?” Alexia teases, fingers pressing hard on Leah’s sweet spot. Her other hand presses down on Leah’s hips and holds her down, the captain squirming in her hold.

“I am! Good for you both,” Leah whimpers, eyes rolling back into her head when Alexia finger fucks her hard all of a sudden. The Spaniard smirks and pumps her fingers into her lover faster, watching as the skipper falls apart.

Alexia stops, taking the last bit of cold ice cream into her mouth before turning her attention back to Leah. Without warning, Alexia shoves her fingers back into Leah, a third slipping in alongside the other two that were pruning from how wet Leah was.

“Alexia!” Leah screams when Alexia suckles on her clit. The cold contrast of her mouth and the heat from all the blood that flooded her core was too much for Leah and she is sent head first into the most mind numbing orgasm she’s had in a while.

Leah’s thighs shake, her body jolts and her hands grip Alexia’s hair hard. She begs and begs for Alexia to stop but she doesn't until everything has been taste tested first.

“The ice cream only made you tastier darling, remind me to bring sprinkles next time,” Alexia grins, licking her lips. Leah laid there starstruck, desperately trying to wrap her head around what she just experienced.

“Girls! Dinner’s ready!”

“Coming!”

Alexia helps Leah clean up quickly, helping her throw her Barça jersey back on.

“How much did she pay you to wear that?”

“There were a lot of zeroes.”

#woso #woso smut #fc barca femeni #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #leah williamson #daddy alexia #leah williamson smut #alexia putellas smut #leah williamson x alexia putellas

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nanamiscocksleeve · 4 months ago

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Sleep is overrated for Xavier and can you feel how much I want you for Zayne if these haven't been requested yet please🫶🏽❤️

Hey anon! Sorry I'm getting to this kinda late, I was sick and just started to feel better. Normally I'd say limit one prompt per request but since I didn't get that many I'm writing both (and because I'm a sucker for these two).

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.”

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

--------

Xavier:

It was a rare day off and Xavier was snuggled into you, your back pressed comfortably against his chest. You knew being a hunter drained him and that sleep was a luxury for him. However, you were just needy enough today that the sight of him getting ready to fall asleep was making you antsy. You turn in his arms, pushing your face up to his.

Blue eyes already heavy from a long's day work blink at you. "Are you ok?" His long fingers idly play with your hair, pushing it back behind your ears, a sleepy smile twisting his lips.

"Xav, are you planning on going to bed already?" You run your fingers down the front of his tshirt hoping to rouse him but he yawns loudly as the question is asked.

"I was. I'm sleepy."

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.” You hold your breath waiting for his reaction and see a little twinkle in those captivating eyes.

"Better ideas? Like what?" Curious, he props himself up on his elbow to look at you.

"Oh you know...just...cute little ideas..." You boldly trace your fingers further down his chest, running bast his belly and suggestively give a light stroke at the front of his pajama pants. His sleepiness evaporates in an instant, every nerve in his body at attention.

"What are you doing angel?" he asks tentatively as you stroke him again, then reach out to cup him in your palm, feeling the softness morph under your touch.

"Isn't it obvious?" you tease then start pulling down the waistband of his underwear and pajamas at the same time. Pink dusts his cheeks but he allows you to do so, covered only by the blanket. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, his newly hardened cock now in your grip and pump him enticingly.

"Does that feel good?" you murmur sweetly in his ear, hot breath tickling him as he lets out a groan. Xavier manages to nod and you continue playing with him, stroke after long stroke of your small, soft, hand bringing him closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

His hips start to roll on their own accord, matching the pace of your hand as you bite and kiss his neck.

"Mhhmm...that's so good angel..." his voice pants, thick with desire as your dextrous fingers continue to pet him. Precum leaks from his tip and you gather them to further lubricate him, movements growing slick and fast. Heat gathers in his abdomen and he can't control the noises he makes, hoping for it to come to peak soon.

A low, gravelly moan escapes him as he orgasms, spurts of cum erupting from his tip and falling messily onto your hand, little spasms punctuating his pleasure at the base of his cock.

He gazes at you in adoration and you grin.

"Still sleepy?"

Zayne:

Your arms are wrapped around Zayne's neck as he kisses you, tongues mixing and lips desperately locked against the other's.

It hadn't been that long since you'd had sex but the two of you had a hard time keeping your hands off each other, growing clingier as the day had progressed. Zayne's intentions were made clear from the moment you stepped into the car, his broad hand caressing your thigh as the other remained on the steering wheel. Your bare bodies are flush against each other and you feel tight hardness pressing against your thigh.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He rasps, grinding himself on the soft plushness of your legs, his head bowed against your collarbone. "You make me...so weak for you..."

His lips capture yours possessively as his fingers dip between your wet folds, gently stroking before inserting a thick finger into your leaking core, his thumb coming up to rub circles on your clit. Your lips part to let out a sigh of pleasure, struggling against his actions, the sweetness gathering in your pussy too good to describe.

Your nails tighten on his back , leaving marks, whining needily. "Zayne don't stop...that's perfect..."

"I have no intentions to stop if it's making my pretty girl feel good," he says in a smooth whisper and you bury your face into his shoulder as you cum, pussy spasming around his fingers in harmony with your clit. Colors fade in and out of your vision as you ride out the waves of pleasure before collapsing back onto the bed. Zayne licks his fingers clean before positioning and sheathing himself into your warm cunt.

Both of you hiss in pleasure as he bottoms out, stretching you deliciously. "Can you take it?" He asks as he starts to thrust.

You nod dizzily, your brain turning to mush as he strokes your inner walls.

"That's my good girl."

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angelacostumery · 3 months ago

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let's make some sleeves!

don't worry i'll put it below the cut, no one should be confronted with the horrors of drafting them on their dashboard without giving prior consent.

those first few photos are of the final mockup and the final sleeves. the first mockup was more to gauge length and the final width I wanted the cuff to have, so it looked like this.

I wanted this to have a specific lantern shape with limited gathers because this fabric is thicc so I sewed a 1/2" dart at each of the marked points, taking the bottom edge in by 11" in the process.

I ended up shortening it a lot just above where the darts ended, which left me with this.

I knew it would be easier to have a single seam going horizontally than sewing a dozen darts into each one, so I was prepared for this development. I probably could have drafted something much closer to this from the start but I wouldn't want to seem too competant.

I took out a lot of volume on my next mockup and settled on something very similar to what you see above.

then they were cut out from faille, the seam was covered with 1/2" horsehair braid to give them a bit more body.

now, for the velvet layer, I didn't want a visible seam. It sort of ruins the flow of the fabric's pattern AND the fabric's pattern runs in vertical stripes which don't lend themselves well to the curves of the sleeves.

so instead I fussy cut out pieces and overlapped them until they formed the correct shape without any obvious breaks.

It was only after I got these pinned and partially sewn that I realized I forgot to add the gold overlay beneath them and had to re-do it all.

I kept trying to machine-baste together the edges and the sleeves were like "no."

the faille folded over the seam point after I finished since the overlay was like 1/4" too short in some spots, because I didn't baste all the layers together before cutting them out and sewing them together (like I usually do).

I ended up doing it by hand, all but two of the "short spots" will be hidden in seams and the others were patched with additional appliques.

I sewed the appliques to the fabric below the horizontal seam, but this created issues with the drape when I attempted to carry it further up, so the layers are independent above that seam point, save for the top edge where they are basted/eventually seamed onto the bodice..

these will be finished with matching cuffs and cotton lining.

the bottom edges were gathered from 22" down to 19" prior to the underarm seam being done up, so most of the shaping comes from the piecing, not the gathers.

(the top edge is gathered a similar amount at the armscye.)

When going to baste together the top edges I decided to shorten the lining by about an inch at the center and tapering down to nothing at the underarm. This forces the fashion layer to puff out a little bit more.

Then they were sewn on and probably some other stuff happened that I forgot. Anyway, voila!

#what is the opposite of a tutorial #drafting #draping #sewing #sleeves #lantern sleeves

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 29 days ago

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Time for Cheer

Warnings: non/dubcon, dysfunctional family, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: After your Christmas is ruined, you find an unlikely saviour.

Character: Jonathan Pine

Day Eight of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - finding your home away from home

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It wasn’t the transmission, it was the fuel line,” your father snarls.

“Then why did replacing the transmission fix the problem,” Aiden spits back.

They’re having another of their pointless arguments. It’s more of a weighing of the egos. It’s not entirely unusual for them to spend hours trying to one up the other or prove the other wrong, but you thought Christmas might be a respite. That assumption seems foolish the more you think about it. There’s never been a good enough excuse to just stop.

Your family has never been like other families. There are no cute matching sweaters or festive photos. The only tradition is to see who you can make feel the worst. You know better than to tell either of them to cut it out, otherwise you’ll just be drawn into their race to the bottom.

Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Dinner. Every year you fight to make the perfect spread and every year, something ruins it. Usually, your family.

Last year, your dad couldn’t get over the ‘watery’ gravy and the year before that, your brother whined because someone put beans on his plate and he hates green beans. For an adult, he sure does act like the same seven-year-old brat that used to scream about bathing.

You feel just as stagnant. The holidays are just the stamp on the year, sealing your lack of progress. Year after year and you’re still here. Still filling the hole your mother left all those years ago. You can’t even blame her. You can only blame yourself for not following her lead and running for the hills.

Vivien arrives just as you baste the turkey and check the temperature. It’s only noon and there’s some hours to go. Your father and brother don’t stop arguing even as the churlish voices of children rise in the entryway. Your sister’s children are another obstacle to your endeavour.

“Hey, Viv,” you say as your sister appears in the doorway.

“Any wine?” She asks.

“There’s beer,” you shrug. You don’t drink, she knows that.

“Beer?” She mutters.

“I don’t know. Dad could have some whiskey hidden in the garage--”

“Whatever,” she huffs.

“You can put the pies on the counter.”

“Pies?” She echoes, “what pies?”

You brace yourself and take a deep breath. You face her, “you said you were bringing pies.”

“No, I said they had the pumpkin pies at the grocery, I never said I’d bring them,” she shakes her head.

“No, you said--”

“Why would I bring the pies? I have three brats to take care of a husband. I got enough to spend my hard-earned money on,” she sneers.

You flinch. Hard-earned? You don’t remember the last time she worked. She calls you about every other week to complain that Chuck’s overtime still didn’t break even.

“It’s fine,” you go to the cupboard and take out your emergency can of apples. “No pumpkin but I’ll figure something out. Maybe crisp?”

“See, you got this,” she says as she goes to the fridge and steals one of your father’s Molsons.

“Viv,” her husband calls from the other room as something crashes.

“Ugh, he can never do anything by himself,” she mutters as she cracks the tab.

You shake your head. Your father’s holler joins the chaos of voices. The kids whine as one of them cries, and your dad yells about whatever’s broken.

You won’t be lured into the storm. Vivien couldn’t offer to help you in the kitchen. This is her chance to get drunk and let her husband wallow in the destruction. Your father never lifts a finger in the kitchen past opening the fridge and your brother would only get in your way.

As you forge on, you can’t help but wonder why you bother. What do you ever get in return? Not even a thanks and you only end up cleaning the mess after. Well, what other choice do you have? You’ve been pushing the same boulder uphill for almost twenty years and you still haven’t gotten over the apex.

You manage to scrounge enough together to fill a pan with the impromptu crisp. You have everything prepped and ready to cook in intervals; bean casserole, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, corn, and carrots. Even if everything else is a mess, dinner should be good.

You open the stove and slide apple crisp in next to the turkey. It won’t be your best work. As you shut the oven door, there’s a sudden clatter behind you. You spin as the bowls hit the floor and their contents scatter with the shards of broken glass. Viv’s oldest, Cameron, swings around his hockey stick, stomping over the mess.

You stand stunned and paralysed. You blink as tears burn behind your eyes and your hands shake in horror and rage slowly builds from your stomach to throat. You can only stare at the clueless child as he wiggles the stick proudly.

“See what I got for Christmas?”

You sway. He’s eleven years old. He knows better. Or he should.

“What the hell is all that nonsense?” Your father yells as he clamours into the doorway. “Now whatcha gone and done--”

As he turns the blame on you, you wince as if you’ve been slapped. Cameron once more swings around his stick, playing with a sliced carrot like a puck. Your father’s voice fades into the back of your mind as your vision narrows.

“You fix it. I’m done.” You shake your head as you swallow down your devastation. “I’m done.”

“Done? What d’ya mean done?” He snarls as you brush past him. He follows you down the hall to the front door.

“It’s over. I’m not doing it again. I’m not cooking for you animals anymore,” you rip your jacket off the hooks and shove your feet into your well-worn boots. “You want a Christmas dinner, figure it out yourself.”

“You can’t just walk out.” He slurs.

“I’m going.”

“Where? Huh? Going to find your mother?”

You stop and face him. He knows it’s low but he doesn’t care. He always throws her in your face, like you ever had a say in what she did. You scowl. Before you can explode with the fury boiling in your chest, a knock comes at the door. Great, now you have witness to the storm. You don’t need another police report. Better deal with the neighbour.

“Well, maybe she’s nicer than you,” you retort and spin around.

You pull open the door and swiftly flit out, swinging it shut to muffle the bluster of shouting and smashing. Worse than Paula coming to complain about the noise, it’s the landlord. Of course.

“Oh, Mr. Pine,” you greet in a fragile tone.

“Hello, I see Christmas is in full effect,” he remarks kindly on the rabble behind the walls.

“Sure is,” you utter. You look him over as he holds a wrapped basket. You don’t expect him. Especially on the holiday. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“I bring holiday tidings. I hate to disturb you and your family but I’ve been making the rounds of my tenants and it’s been a bit more taxing than I would expect.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow.

“This is for you. And your family,” he pushes the basket toward you. “Just a little gesture.”

“Uh, wow, you...” you slowly take it, admiring the ribbon tied around the red plastic wrap, “that’s very generous but... I don’t have anything to give you.”

“It is not given in the spirit of reciprocity,” he assures. “You know, I sadly could not make it home for the holiday but I’ve got many to share it with here so I thought I would.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” you say. “I’m uh... on my way out actually so I’ll just leave it here.”

You turn and put the basket on the wicker chair near the window. You feel Pine watching you. You turn back to his pensive gaze. He wears a nice grey coat and a deep blue scarf with silver edging. He is a perfect contrast to the disaster of your appearance.

You zip up your coat to hide the food smear across your sweatshirt. You pull your hat from your pocket and tug it down over your hair. You near him and force a smile.

“Thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy unwrapping all that later.”

“Well, where are you off to then?” He sidles to the end of the steps, making way for you.

“Um. Just going for a walk.” To be honest, you don’t know where you’re going. You didn’t make a plan. You just need to get out.

“Would it be terribly rude to invite myself? It isn’t often I get to stroll through the neighbourhood.” He dips his chin down as the bitterness turns the tip of his nose pink. His blue eyes are pale but bright in the snowy atmosphere.

“Uh, sure. Not much to see around here,” you shrug and descend the stairs. Your anger subsides for the roiling embarrassment nipping at your nape.

He follows you down and you drag your treads along the walkway heavily. You turn down the street and he comes up next to you. You’re quiet as you wallow in agitation and humiliation.

“Sounded like a very hectic affair,” he muses through the whistling winds.

You snort. You can’t help yourself. “Yeah.”

He hums as you carry on in a lull. You can appreciate that he doesn’t push it and yet the silence, welcomes your annoyance. You sigh.

“It’s awful,” you breathe.

He chuckles, “family can be a lot.”

“Yeah, well, mine is just... we don’t even like each other.” You rub your cheeks as you speak. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not your problem.”

“Well, as you can see, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. You are my last stop.”

“Hm,” you sniff. You mull your temper and consider going back. The thought just sparks another flare in you. You shake your head at the idea. “They ruined dinner. Again. Every year--” you stop and click your tongue. “I can’t go back. Not today. So, I guess I’ll figure something else out.”

“No? But surely, they would miss you.”

“No, only what I do for them,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said, we’re enemies more than we are family. Not that it’s your problem.” You get to the end of the street, where the dead-end sign stands. “Look, you’re really nice bringing that by but you should go enjoy your Christmas somewhere warm. Alone. In peace.”

“Ha, it seems we envy each other for what the other has,” he remarks. “You romanticize my solace and I can’t help but covet your lack of.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, I should get the car cleared off. I’ll probably drive it down to the train station and sleep there.”

He tilts his head. You realise what you’ve said as his forehead creases, “you say it as if it common.”

“Won’t be the first or last time,” you say. “Look, you’ve heard enough of my problems. Really, I’m already embarrassed so please, just go.”

He clicks his tongue, “and yet I fear I cannot.” He insists, “you see, I was raised to be a gentleman and that includes never leaving a woman in despair so, I cannot allow you to spend your Christmas behind the tracks. So, either I stay and we shiver together,” he gives a moment to quake in the frigid air, “or you come with me, gather your wits, and maybe a bit of warmth.”

You scoff louder than ever, “and why would you do that?”

“Well, it is Christmas,” he suggests, “and I am your landlord so is it not my onus to house you?”

You laugh sardonically. He grins.

“Come on, I have to confess, I don’t do well in the cold and I cannot feel my hands,” he drawls.

You drop your chin and turn your hands out, “alright. Twist my arm.”

“I would if I could bend my fingers,” he jibes.

🎄

Pine lives further than you expect. You suppose you never thought much about it. Where he’s concerned, you only ever worried about making rent. Yet, subconsciously, you built up a man in his sophisticated condo, like a king in a tower.

Instead, he drives past the city limits into the sparse rural lands where houses are set far apart around thickets of trees. It’s not entirely without sense. Out here, the wealthy can build without the confines of a city lot.

He turns off toward a countryhouse with brown and white siding with black trims. The Tudor-style stands out amid the more farmhouse style facades. He pulls into the plowed lot as you stare up at the immaculate structure. The property he lets to you stands in a lowly contrast. You can’t help another twinge of insecurity.

“Um, thanks... for this. I really appreciate it.” You wring your hands as he shuts off the engine. “I feel a bit stupid now.”

“I wouldn’t. Sounds like you’ve a lot to be unhappy about. To think you’ve put up with so much for so long, a weaker person could not. Myself included,” he assures.

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. You mirror him in all your movements, taking his lead as you step onto unfamiliar ground. You come up the front steps of the house and he unlocks the broad wooden door.

He lets you inside and you take your time slipping free of your boots. He leaves his salt-stained leather shoes on the mat and hangs his jacket on the rack in the corner. He takes your coat and puts it next to his. You pinch your thumbs between your knuckles anxiously as you look around the spacious and finely curated interior.

“I’ve tea. Or hot cocoa. My mother sent me a specialty frother as a token of her absence,” he offers.

“Oh, I'm okay,” you twist around as you examine the walls. “It’s a very nice house.”

“A very nice but empty house,” he agrees. “I spent so long with the design and construction, I hardly thought of filling it up with more than things. Far too much for only one person.”

“I guess everyone has different problems we don’t think of,” you say. “Like you said before, I’m whining about my family yet yours is so far away.”

“Ah, yes, funny how we rarely get what we so desire,” he slithers. “So we covet what others have so much we cannot see any possible flaw.”

“Right.”

He waves you further inside. You’re quiet as he takes you on a brief tour; a front room, dining room, a large kitchen you could die for, a den, a back office, and that’s just the first floor. He brings you upstairs and shows you a guest room.

“You might stay in here. I’ll find some clean sheets.”

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” You insist. “Thanks, again. Uh...”

“I’m not much of a cook, but I could put together something. Cheese toasties and soup always do me well.”

“Sure, that sounds great. I could help,” you suggest.

“Only if you truly wish to,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather stay busy.” You reply.

He nods and takes you back down to the kitchen. The meal isn’t very hard to put together. Melted cheese on toast and a jar of the gourmet soup they sell at the more expensive shops. It’s tasty too, warm and comforting even.

Yet, you can’t help the glimmer of guilt in the back of your head. Your sister is probably throwing a fit, your father too. They’re ranting and raving about you walking out. Comparing you to your mother, as they always do to the worst people they know. It’s that dagger they keep sheathed until they’re ready to cut deep.

Pine jars you from your worry as he takes your empty bowl and plate. You sit up at the table and thank him. He gestures you to stay before you can get up.

You wait in the dining room. You put your hand in your hands and yawn. You feel like you did when you were a kid. When one of your friends invited you over and you realised how much better their house and their life was.

“Tired,” Pine muses, “well, I will make up your bed then.”

“Really, you don’t have to do all that,” you lift your head and bat away the fatigue.

“I do,” he counters. “Shouldn’t take me very long. Feel free to explore. Or if you are so inclined, I've left a bottle and glass on the counter.”

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet of you.”

He goes and you stay just as you are. You feel like you could taint this place if you stray too far. When he returns, you feel sluggish.

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A book to read?”

“No, I think I’ll just lay down,” you get up and push the chair in. “I’ve already taken so much.”

“Taken, you say, as if I’ve not given freely,” he smiles. “I’ve left you something to sleep in as well. I’m afraid my selection is limited.”

“Thanks, uh, again,” you rub your neck. At this point, it’s becoming a chant. Thanking him for everything.

You go upstairs and gently close the door of the guest room. He’s right, the house feels sonorously empty. It’s so big, that it’s almost desolate. You replace your clothes with the button-up he left over the duvet and climb into the lush bed. Even that makes your own seem like little more than a wooden pallet.

It doesn’t take you long to sink into a sleep full of violent illusions. You’re back at home, your father yelling as you try to pick up the spilled potatoes, only for the glass to cut your fingers and stick in your flesh. No matter what you do, you can’t do more than slice yourself up, the blood smearing your skin and dripping onto the cracked tile.

You wake with a start. Your heart races as you’re startled at the unfamiliar surroundings. It sets in that you’re not at your father’s house anymore and you calm. You languish beneath the fluffy duvet and dread climbing out from beneath it, but your bladder demands it.

You finally get up and near the door. It has to be late. You inch open the door and listen to the hallway. You creep out, expecting the floor to creak like the boards at home, but your feet only pad lightly on the polished hardwood.

You find the bathroom down the other end of the hall and swiftly pop in and out. On your way back, you stop near the side table where a small boxy clock stands. The digital face shines the time. It’s just after midnight.

You squint as the background changes behind the numbers. Fancy. You tap the screen curiously and the time disappears. It’s one of the smart devices you’ve seen in the Black Friday ads. But the next image, startles you. It’s all too familiar.

You blink at the sight of your family’s living room. Your father’s passed out in his old recliner and the corner of the rug is bent over. There’s wrapping paper strewn across the floor and Chinese food containers littered over the table. Cameron is sleeping on the couch as your brother continues to drink in the armchair and stares at the television.

But why is there a camera in your house? You shakily bring your hand up to touch the screen again. A menu comes up; Favourites. You tap the first option ‘bedroom’. The next image nearly makes you scream. It’s your bedroom. Your sister’s taken over the bed with her husband. The moonlight shines on them through the window as the camera’s night vision limns their slumbering figures.

Your heart hammers. How could this be real? You pinch your thigh and squeak. You’re not waking up.

“Restless?” Pine’s voice has you stalk straight. You lurch on your feet and face his shadow as it looms at the other end of the hallway.

“Mr. Pine,” you greet.

He slowly struts out of the shadows. You wince and lean back on your heel. He clucks as you try to cover the screen with your hand. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. In the dim, you can see the outline of his naked torso above a short pair of boxers. You gulp.

“It isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he says quietly. “I meant to woo you a little...”

“What... Why...”

“Why... what? Darling? Why would I want to give you a proper home? Why would I keep a close eye on such a sad soul?” He hums, “well, as I said, I was raised to be a gentleman, and this house is dreadfully empty, don’t you agree?”

You gape at him, horrified and confused. What he says cannot be true. It cannot be real. Why? Why you? Has it all been a ploy? Was he just waiting and watching for the moment you cracked?

“Mr. Pine,” you utter.

“Please, darling, call me Jonathan,” he comes closer and swipes your hand before you can allude him. “It only feels right, doesn’t it?”

You writhe in his grasp but cannot escape him. You look around at the walls and the isolation of that place sets in. No, it didn’t make sense, after all. A man like him should be in a condo, in the city, not out here where the trees hide him from civilization. Where the roads are endless and treacherous. It doesn’t make sense, not unless he means to go undisturbed. Unless he means you to go undiscovered.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he purrs as he brings his hand up to cradle your head, “I give to you the greatest gift at all. A true home, a true family. We will build it together.”

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #the night manager #navy and roo's sleepover

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nightxcreature · 2 months ago

Text

Operation Meat Man

Summary: Reader, Jack, Sam, and Cas attempt to steal Dean's Thanksgiving pie without getting caught.

Pairing: DeanxReader

Warnings: None other than cursing and slight sexual innuendo, i believe.

A/N: This was just a fun little thing i started this afternoon, that turned into something much longer than i thought it would be. As always, written quickly and edited poorly. Comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, stealing my work is not.

18+ only

“Sasquatch, come in, Sasquatch. This is Baby Two. Over.” The walkie-talkie crackles as I release the button on its side. Jack glances nervously over at me from his position on the other side of the door, he places a finger to his lips and nods toward the kitchen where we can hear Dean humming the guitar solo to “Black Dog” as he bastes the turkey.

I huff in frustration and press the button again, “Sasquatch, seriously, come in!”

“Why do I have to be ‘Sasquatch’?” Sam’s voice grumbles from the speaker, “You couldn’t have picked anything else?”

I roll my eyes and bring the walkie-talkie to my lips again, “You shot me down when I offered ‘Samantha’ so no, you don’t get another choice.” I release the button again and nod toward the kitchen, where Jack looks quickly and shakes his head, holding up a finger. “Not yet” he mouths. I press the button and speak lowly, “Cutie-Patootie says the coast isn’t clear yet. Where are you and BFBF?”

The crackle from the radio doesn’t last as long this time and when he speaks the annoyance is clear in his voice, “BFBF? Is that supposed to be Cas? What does that even mean?”

“My Boyfriends Boyfriend.” I reply quickly, “That’s not the point, where are you?”

“We’re on the other side of the kitchen. How did you rope me into this?” He mutters, and I see him quickly stick his head around the opposite door before sneaking back behind the frame, “I mean, the pie’s good, but we could wait until dinner.”

Jack shakes his head furiously from beside me and holds out a hand for the radio. I slide it over to him and keep an eye on Dean as Jack speaks, “No! He’ll eat it all while he cooks, and you know it!” His eyebrows are furrowed as he whispers into the speaker, and I grin a little at the frustrated look on the Nephilim’s face. I give him a high five as he passes the radio back to me, nodding in appreciation. We watch Dean finally turn his back to us and head to put the turkey in the oven, glancing to one another we nod in unison, matching grins on our faces.

“Alright, alright. Say when, we’re ready.” Sam’s voice crackles through once more and the grin stretching across my face couldn’t grow any bigger.

I press the button once more and narrow my eyes at Dean’s back, “Operation Distract the Meat Man is a go.” I crouch down beside Jack as Sam and Cas step into the kitchen, Sam sending a nod our way when Dean turns to face them. We both slide into the room and head toward the oven where I can see the pie filled pan on the stovetop.

Dean quirks a brow at the two men as he wipes his hands on a towel in the apron pocket, “Why are you in here?”

“We were just…” Sam glances quickly to Cas as he tries to remember the plan, and I take the opportunity to crawl closer to the stovetop, “Uh, we’re just…”

“Looking for the remote.” Cas blurts out monotonously, “We thought it could possibly be in here. With you.”

If Dean’s eyebrows could’ve risen any higher, they would be on the ceiling, I scowl as we wait for his response, “Looking for the remote? In the kitchen?” I send Sam a look of frustration over my shoulder, and he shrugs causing Dean to start to turn his head. My eyes widen as I flatten myself to the floor when Sam slings an arm out and knocks over the empty pots beside him.

“Hey! Watch what you’re doing!” Dean yells, rushing over to grab the pots from where they’ve scattered by the door, “The remote isn’t in here. Now help me get these up and then get out of here.”

Cas grumbles something about using the remote as a spoon and slowly walks over to help pick up the pots while Sam slides to block Jack and I from view in case Dean were to look our way. Jack nudges my shoe, nodding toward the pie. I nod back, turning to make sure Dean is nowhere in sight. Seeing his back turned again while he places the pots back where they belong, I lunge forward and jump quietly to my feet. The pie is very obviously still warm, apples and cinnamon coming through the top of the perfectly buttered crust. He latticed the crust this time, and not only am I impressed, I’m a little jealous of his work. The crust is flakey and laid gently one of top of the other, butter shining and juices pouring out of the small spaces between them. My mouth waters as I stare at it, reaching a hand out to snatch it, I pass the pan down to Jack quickly.

Glancing up, I see Dean’s back is still turned, giving me time to reach for the knife he left beside the bag of flour. As my fingers wrap around the handle, I hear his gruff voice from right behind my head, “Drop the knife, Darlin’.” I jump and send the flour falling to the edge of the counter, coating my jeans and Jack’s hair. The white powder rolls down his back as he lunges to the side to save the pie.

“Shit.” I whisper as I drop the knife and slowly turn sheepishly to face Dean, “If I tell you I was coerced into this operation would you believe me?”

He laughs, shaking his head and grabbing the pie from Jacks hands, “You were the brains of this operation,” He places the pie back on the counter and chuckles again as he helps Jack to his feet, “Hit the showers, James Bond.”

Jack shrugs, sending me an apologetic look before making his way out the door with Cas, who looks more than confused at the movie reference.

“You’re not an international spy, Jack.” He mutters quietly as they leave, “You know that right?”

Sam remains in the same spot as their voices fade down the hall. He’s trying his hardest to hide the smirk on his face and doing a terrible job. I narrow my eyes and glance between the two brothers. My frown deepens as I raise a single finger and point it directly at Sam, “You gave us up! You did that stupid Winchester telepathy shit and sold me out!”

A shit-eating grin crosses his face, and he bursts into laughter, “It wouldn’t have worked anyway! You know he’s got a sixth sense when it comes to pie.”

I roll my eyes and flip him off, “Whatever, Samantha. Don’t ever ask me to change your code-name again.”

He laughs louder as he heads out the door, returning my finger with one of his own, “Alright, Baby Two. I’ll see myself out.”

I glare at his back as he leaves, my arms crossed and a scowl on my face when Dean slowly turns me around. His own grin is as big as Sam’s as he stares down at me, placing a fork in front of my face. I glance down at the golden crust on the end and feel my eyes light up.

“If you wanted a bite of my pie, all you had to do was ask.” He mutters arrogantly, “It’s yours anytime you want it.”

I hum in response before placing the fork in my mouth. The gooey goodness coating my tongue was delicious, all apple, cinnamon, and butter. The perfect combination of sweet and savory. I smile up at him and place a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you.”

He places the spoon down on the counter and turns slowly back to face me. His hands reach up to cup my jaw and he places a soft kiss to my lips, “Sweet.’ He mumbles against me, “I didn’t do half bad, did I?”

I giggle and run my hands up his chest, “At least top two of the best pies you’ve ever made.”

“Top two?” He asks, leaning into to counter and pulling me along with him, “I think I can make that other favorite later tonight, if I have some help.”

I smile up at him innocently and reach for the rest of the pie he left behind, “I’m a very good sous chef,” I reply with a wink, “Probably the best you’ve ever had.” I push off his chest and head for the door, pie in one hand two forks in the other.

He laughs loudly and swats my butt as I walk away, “Share that with the kid. I’ve an extra baking anyway.” He yells down the hallway after me, stopping me in my tracks, “Hey! Why’s your code-name ‘Baby Two’?”

“The O.G.s in the garage, duh.” I reply with a shrug, “I figured you’d know that.”

The smile that stretches across his face is beautiful as he realizes the significance. I wink and raise the pie, waving at him before turning the corner toward Jack’s room, “Pie! Love you berry much!”

____________________________________________________________

Dean Taglist: @aylacavebear

Taglist of people I tag all the time😂💕: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @k-slla

If you'd like to be added or removed please let me know!

#dean winchester #supernatural #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #sam and dean #jensen ackles #supernatural dean #jensen fucking ackles #jensen fanfic #jensen ackles fanfiction

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irisintheafterglow · 1 month ago

Text

HAND SEVEN - FULL HOUSE

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, the royal family is met and tensions rise.

wc: 4.1k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader (she/her used), explicit language, todoroki enji (derogatory), mentions of food, dinner, and eating, todoroki siblings cameo

note: i can't thank you all enough for your patience with the new parts of this series coming out. this one's a long one but it's the last chapter before shit hits the fan, so enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“Dining with the royal family, hmm? Isn’t that exciting!” Your maid catches your eye in the reflection of your bedroom mirror and you give her a wary smile. “If I may, I do think you and His Highness make a wonderful match. You compliment each other nicely.”

“Well, this is everything I’ve wanted, right?” You can’t tell if the way your voice shakes is from nerves or the tightening strings of your corset, but you suddenly find it a struggle to have a complete intake of breath. “Goodness, I haven’t been this unsettled since he won the duel in the garden,” you laugh to disguise your panic, your poor oblivious maid humming to herself while she helps you into the next layer of your evening clothes. “Do you think the rest of the family is nice? I know he has a few brothers and a sister.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, dear, no matter who you meet,” she reassures you, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress with her hands. “You truly look radiant; if the prince doesn’t think so, I believe he must get his eyes examined.” Your face warms, memories of you examining his eyes in an incredibly unprofessional setting a few nights prior. Whatever you said had him turning to putty in your hands outside your window, hidden by the shadow of the large tree he’d climbed to retrieve you. Nothing physically intimate occurred beyond kissing, yet the thrill of it felt like you’d committed high treason. “Come along,” she says, pulling you from your daydream. “You mustn't miss your carriage. It should be prepared soon, I’m sure–” Her unapologetic gushing is interrupted by your footman positioning himself at the door, looking slightly uneasy.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, miss,” he says, shaking his head. He stutters as if fishing around in his brain to find the correct words. “There is, well…there is a–”

“It’s alright,” you gently commanded him. “Come now, spit it out.”

“Oh my days! Miss, there’s a royal carriage outside!” Your maid exclaims, her palms pressed to the glass. “With all due respect, I was under the impression that you were taking an estate carriage to the castle.”

“As was I,” you mutter, arriving at the windowsill to see a very smug looking Touya already peering up at you. He sends you a wink that has your maid clutching the window frame for support before disappearing into your house. You huff, catching a peek of yourself in a nearby mirror and yelping at your appearance, frantically remembering what you were doing before your suitor appeared. “Quickly, now! Let’s finish seasoning and basting so I look presentable when I face my doom at the palace.”

Your heart rate is extremely elevated by the time you’re finished with your dress, but you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement or the mere idea of seeing him again. A loud thump thump thump runs from one ear to the other through the back of your skull, your vision becoming slightly hazy with each step closer to the parlor. Your servants bow politely as you pass and dismiss themselves when you finally approach Touya, whom you find standing at the window overlooking the garden.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you say softly, surveying the last beams of sunlight illuminating your flowers. “Enjoying the scenery?”

“Passing the time,” he supposes, turning to face you with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You look lovely in that shade.”

“His Highness, Prince Keigo, did say you had an affinity for blue.” Though your attention remains on the backyard, you can hear his eye roll from miles away.

“Please refrain from discussing Prince Bird-Brain; if it is alright with you, I’d like to have an enjoyable night,” he declares with diplomatic sincerity that makes you stifle a snort into your gloves.

“My apologies. How may I ever regain your favor?”

“I can think of several ways.” His eyes flick around the room like a prisoner counting guards, patiently waiting until you two are truly alone. That time would come five minutes later, when the carriage doors shut you inside and he’s on you before you can even blink.

“Missed me, I see,” you breathe against his lips as his fingers roam over the expensive fabric of your dress. Touya’s mouth is hot and urgent, consuming you entirely even though you’d been apart for less than three days. Your hands brush down the front panel of his coat and eventually wrap around his neck to pull him closer. “Is something ailing you? You’re feeling a little feverish.” He scoffs at your teasing, nipping your earlobe with a sharp canine.

“You are impossible,” he mutters with hungry eyes that rake over your exposed collarbone. His mouth starts to wander down the column of your neck with the obvious intention of leaving a mark (or seven). You’re one flirty comment away from tearing off your dress entirely when the carriage hits a bump, knocking you both upward and effectively ruining the atmosphere. You burst out laughing unexpectedly, even more when you see Touya’s displeased frown. “I’m going to execute whoever drove us over that.”

“Perhaps it’s a sign that we should recompose ourselves,” you say, tucking an unruly piece of white hair away from his face and pecking his cheek. The carriage slows its pace, and you peek out of the curtain to see the familiar happenings of the front gate. “I believe the turbulence was due to us crossing onto palace grounds, after all.”

“We weren’t done,” he grumbles like a child being denied candy at the market. Touya’s body is still pressed flush to yours, one arm braced against the carriage door while his forearm secures you against his chest. “I should tell them to take us around the back way.”

“As enticing of an offer that would be, we would also be late for our meal.”

“I’m offended you think I remotely care about the whole event.” The carriage comes to a complete halt and he pulls away, allowing you to smooth the wrinkles in your dress and re-tidy your jewelry.

“I’m going to need you to care, at least a teaspoon’s amount, or I’m sure I’ll burst into flames before dinner is served.” Reluctantly, the prince schools his face into practiced nonchalance, but the way his eyes burn like embers in a fireplace give away his continued desperation. You fight the urge to smirk when he can’t seem to stop sneaking glances at you, like it pained him to look away. “Don’t fret,” you murmur, pressing one more chaste kiss to his cheek while he glares at the approaching commotion outside. “We’ll pick up where we left off…when we are not needed elsewhere.”

“I intend to hold you to that promise.”

—

After hurriedly fixing the bunching of your clothes and stepping out of the carriage with the help of Touya’s hand, you’re guided up the sweeping front steps of the palace and toward what you assume is the dining room. Your hand remains fixed in the prince’s arm, the crushed velvet of his blue coat soft beneath your fingers. When he ducks close to whisper in your ear, you’re sure you can hear him smirk at the goosebumps the proximity gives you.

“Nervous?”

“I’d be untruthful if I denied it,” you answer carefully, eyeing nearby servants undoubtedly spreading news of your arrival. His breath is warm next to your ear and you’re unsure if the heat in your cheeks is from your suitor or the dozens of prying eyes. “Are we nearing the dining hall?”

“Actually, we’re just passing it. My siblings would like to meet you first,” he explains with only the slightest bit of reluctance, nearly imperceptible if you didn’t know how to read the subtle changes in his expressions. “Would you like to see it?” He knows your reply and pulls you to a towering pair of double doors just to your right, adjacent to glass windows overlooking the garden where he’d dueled for your hand all those weeks ago. As he swings open one door just enough for you to peek inside, you can’t help but gasp.

Prior to that night, you’d never seen a room sparkle before. Sure, the bathroom tiles would have a certain shine to them right after they’ve been cleaned or your stepmother’s jewelry would catch the light in a starlike way, but you’d never seen a room where absolutely everything was glittering. Gold trimmed the walls, the extensive table, the backs of chairs, and the circumference of the dinner plates. As you took barely a step into the room, your shoe sinks into plush red carpet, perfectly stainless and the only texture in the room without glimmer. Everything seemed to be encrusted in diamonds, yet smooth and almost glowing from the soft candlelight and the fading evening sun.

“This is beyond beautiful,” you breathe and you turn, once again, to find Touya watching you rather than the room he’d dined in thousands of times. “I can’t help but feel the room is better dressed than me,” you joke and he shakes his head in firm disagreement.

“It’s a very good thing I’m courting you and not the room, then,” he quips before taking your hand back into the crook of his arm. “You must wait until I take you into the ballroom. I believe we’ll need a doctor standing by in case you faint from its beauty.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the tug at the corner of your mouth. “Now that I think of it, are you marrying me for my looks or my furniture?”

“I’m not marrying you at all, remember?” The answer leaves your mouth before you can stop it and an odd look blinks onto Touya’s face, something you only saw when he folds in poker hands he surely would have won if he only waited for the last community cards. You’re on the verge of thinking you imagined the look when his arm tightens under your hand, like he was making sure you weren’t pulling away. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly with a rare smile that’s almost good enough to fool you. “Nothing at all.” Before you can answer, your guide swings open another set of smaller double doors at the end of a hallway which leads into what you assume is a parlor. The windows of the parlor faced the back of the castle, lush with grass and shimmering blue fountains between the bushes. Your admiration of the back lawn, however, is cut short by hushed bickering to your left. When you finally look over from where you stand in the entryway with Touya, three people snap into a perfectly-postured line. Your suitor sighs audibly through his nose, running a hand down his face with his free hand. “I would like you to meet my three younger siblings: Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shoto.”

“Your Highnesses,” you greet politely.

“You arrived late. Was there a delay with the carriage?” Another figure stands from a side table, shorter than the siblings but carrying more maturity than the whole room combined.

“Our older brother is sick easily in carriages, don’t you remember, mother?” The middle brother, Natsuo, says earnestly but the jab at his older brother is not lost on you. He grunts in protest when his eldest sister, Fuyumi, strikes his side with her elbow. Touya clicks his tongue decisively and the siblings fall back in line, and you catch Shoto’s eyes scanning you like a curious cat. He’s quiet, you think to yourself, like if Touya’s calculating nature was encompassed in a teenage boy.

“And my mother, Queen Rei,” Touya eventually continued, his voice softer than when he addressed his siblings. You muster your best curtsy as she approaches, surprised when her cold hand tilts your chin upward, seemingly to inspect you. “Mother…” he begins with a tone of warning, but she shushes him insistently. You can practically hear the muscle in Touya’s jaw clench and resist the urge to burst out laughing; no one, not even you, had the authority to shush him. No one, that is, except the one who birthed him.

“Your Majesty,” you murmur to break the tense silence as her unwavering gaze examines your face. “It is an honor. There is a gift for you, and–”

“The honor is all mine,” she breaks in before you can continue. Her voice is softer than powdered snow, in stark contrast to Touya’s dark rasp. “My son refuses to tell us anything about you, so finally making your acquaintance is a gift in itself.”

“His Highness informed me of your shared affinity for blue, so I hope you will enjoy the few delphinium stems I’ve brought from my family’s garden.”

“I was just about to thank you for the flowers,” she smiles, lightly cupping the side of your face. Her palm is freezing, nothing like Touya’s naturally warm-running body, yet you can see where he receives his gentler side. “You are a fine counterpart for my hotheaded firstborn.” You finally break a small laugh when you hear Touya’s indignant squawk behind you, and the queen uses this chance to pull you away from him. “My second-eldest and only daughter, Fuyumi,” she introduces as she brings you to the princess.

“Your Highness,” you curtsy and risk a glance over your shoulder to find Touya standing with his hands on his hips and impatiently tapping his foot.

“You’ve brought a softer side out of our big brother,” Fuyumi informs you with a knowing smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rei gestures to her next child.

“My second son, Natsuo. He takes care of me when we are away in the countryside.” His mother pats the side of her son’s cheek and moves on before he can comment, much to his surprise and Touya’s unseen amusement. “And my youngest, Shoto. He is next in line to be king after Touya.”

“Not His Highness?”

“Natsuo abdicated the throne when I became…” She pauses and her children stiffen. Touya clears his throat from behind you. When you turn to meet his eyes, he’s watching the polished wooden floorboards. “When I became ill. I had to stay in the countryside for a time. Only recently have I been well enough to return to the palace.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Majesty.” You’d have to wait until later to interrogate Touya about his family drama, but you couldn’t imagine such a fragile and gentle looking woman like the queen becoming so sick she had to leave the city. “How does your health fare now?”

“Better than the past. I’m thankful every day I get to see Touya join society as an eligible suitor.”

“As piss-poor as he is at it,” Natsuo mumbles and both Shoto and Fuyumi strike his ribs with their elbows. It’s no use, as Touya decides from behind you that he’s finally had enough and crosses the parlor in four long strides, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. Natsuo yelps and hurries away, Shoto quietly trailing behind to witness the carnage while his two older brothers disappear yelling down a back hallway.

“Forgive them, please,” the queen implores you with a tired smile. “It’s been a long time since we hosted such a large dinner, especially as a family, and they don’t know how to act.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I am accustomed to Touya–I mean His Highness’ antics.” You hope your correction isn’t as bumbling as it sounds in your head, but your worries are eased by the appreciative expressions from the queen and princess.

“As my oldest brother is predisposed, shall mother and I show you the rest of the palace?” In a distant room, there is a crash and the telltale sign of a teenage prince screaming in fear. The women with you are unfazed and merely shake their heads.

“I would love nothing more.”

—

“How nice of you to finally join us,” you murmur when Touya finally slides into the seat beside you at the dining table. “Finished tormenting your little brother?”

“I would not label it torment,” he argues, picking up a nearby carafe of water and pouring your glass, then his. “I am merely reciprocating the affection that he gives me.”

“And by definition, that is torment,” you counter and he chuckles. As the king was still absent from the head of the table, food was not to be served, yet the hunger in your gut could not fight the fluttering that occurred whenever Touya was with you.

“How was viewing the remainder of the palace?”

“Unexpectedly overwhelming,” you admit. Truthfully, you could not name half of the rooms you visited if there was a saber to your jugular. There were countless bedrooms for the royal family and servants alike, sitting areas, libraries, practice rooms for the pianoforte, and an infinite number of toilet rooms; all the rooms were dressed to the level of the dining room that you were in now, shimmering in gold and expensively dyed drapes. “Up until this point, I’ve only known the outside gardens. Even then, Her Majesty informed me that she has a private greenhouse at the back of the property for her most special flowers.”

“I can take you there after dinner, if you’d like. Mother will insist upon chaperoning us, however, if that’s alright with you.”

“We’ve had good fortune with not needing a chaperone when we are together,” you comment and he nods in agreement.

“I’m the eldest as well as the problem child; it’s no wonder no one wants to babysit me.” You open your mouth to make a retort but are interrupted by the staccato notes of a horn announcing the king’s impending arrival.

Rise for His Majesty, King Todoroki Enji, and Her Majesty, Queen Todoroki Rei.

Whether you grab Touya’s hand or he grabs yours first, you can’t remember, but your fingers are tightly laced in his by the time all the guests in the room stand to receive the king. Though you can’t tell how hard you’re squeezing him, you feel him gripping you like a ship’s rope in a storm. And how could he not? Everyone in the room felt a suffocating sense of unease from the moment the king stepped through the doors and until the Queen was at his side. King Enji seemed even more intimidating than the last time you’d seen him, when you looked him in the face and told him that Her Majesty was a queen, not simply a wife of a king. He was built like the barrels Rei and Fuyumi had shown you in the cellar that held gallons upon gallons of alcohol, and his whole atmosphere burned constantly in a way comparable to Touya’s most intense moods. You felt as if you could spontaneously combust if you made contact with the king too long.

You glance at Touya from the corner of your eye, suddenly self-conscious that he’s sitting with you and not at his father’s side, where he should be. Despite his death grip on your hand, the rest of his demeanor is otherwise cooler than you’d ever seen him, especially for a royal event. It was like having you by his side was making him more…confident?

“You’re doing wonderfully,” the prince murmurs in your ear once the king is seated and the meal commenced. “Just stay by my side and we’ll be escaping before you know it.”

“He scares me,” you blurt before shoving a forkful of food into your mouth to keep yourself from saying anything else stupid. Touya huffs a quiet laugh, leaning close in a way that has Rei winking at Fuyumi from across the table.

“That makes two of us. Although, I’m considerably less fearful when you’re with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Shall we eat and ‘escape,’ as you say, faster?”

“I’ll tell the servants we’ll take dessert in the garden.”

—

You should have learned by now that outings with Touya, whether it was of royal nature or merely two people courting, are never as smooth as you hope for them to be. The realization hits you when your suitor momentarily disappears to find his mother and invite her for tea, and the king approaches you within seconds to fill the space. Even if you were a different height, the king would still tower over you like a mountain blocking out the sun, casting you in darkness that made you want to hide in a cave. Maybe this is how rabbits feel when they’re being stalked by a mountain lion.

“Walk with me.” It’s not a request.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you reply with as little emotion as possible. You hope Touya could see you leaving with his father, or perhaps one of his siblings is around to update him so you can get out of this trap. The king doesn’t force you to go far, only out to a secluded balcony that overlooks the back gardens. The night air is crisp and smells of many flowers, the soft sound of water rushing from the fountains blending with the melodic calls of songbirds. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, as still as a model for a portrait painting.

“Touya is in line to be king.” He says this as a fact, an obvious statement that you are both well aware of. Your mind is racing and simultaneously not functioning at all, looking for an escape route and rooted in place. While Touya’s voice is raspy like charred firewood and his mother’s like light snowfall, the king’s voice is grating and hard, like grinding two stones together. It makes your stomach turn over in a messy somersault.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” You don’t know what else to say.

“He does not want to be king.”

“Yes, Your Majes–How do you know?” His eye darts to look at you and you force your attention anywhere but him, on the grass or the flowers or the birds that were starting to sound like a hundred boiling kettles.

“You do not know the truth of why he disappeared.”

“I have not earned the right to ask,” you counter, a sudden indignance rising to your head as you feel the need to defend the nature of your relationship to Touya.

“He defies me. Since he was a child, he has defied me and my efforts to train him to become a just king.” Not sure waging a not-so-secret war on the Kingdom of Might counts as being a just king, asshole. “His actions defy my wishes. His choice in acquaintances,” he pauses again and looks at you briefly as an example, “Defy my wishes. His travels defy my wishes.” Maybe his actions aren’t yours to control, then.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“He has traveled every path to rebel against me and this family. Soon, I could imagine him coming for my life to guarantee his freedom.” A hot lick of anger flares inside your chest and you silently seethe next to the king, your limbs aching from how tense your body has become. You have no right to decide what your son thinks.

“Is that a possible situation, Your Majesty?”

“You question my judgment?” You wouldn’t be surprised if your mouth tastes like blood from how hard you’re biting your tongue.

“I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty.”

“I will make one thing clear, as he is bound to come for you soon: You are another avenue for him to defy me, and nothing more. Whatever he has told you, shown you, revealed to you is all a means to an end in order to cause me suffering.” Despite all your attempts to quiet the doubt in your mind, the king’s words make your stiffness turn brittle; you may fall over and shatter like a concrete statue if pushed over at the right angle. “Ask yourself how much Touya has really told you about himself, and if you are satisfied to be complicit in his actions to undermine me.” Complicit. To be involved in a crime or wrongdoing. To love Touya Todoroki is to be a criminal.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Touya doesn’t ask why your mouth has clamped shut in the time it took for him to find his mother and return, nor does he pry when your smiles seem more strained than before. It was inevitable, he told himself. He was sure you could feel the same dread that he did, the looming danger that you were desperately pretending wasn’t there. As you approached the final ball of the season, both your stacks were becoming higher and higher until one of you would be forced to present an ultimatum: all or nothing.

Who will give their all, and who will lose everything?

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