#bell hook and candle

[schlock-luster-video]

Happy birthday film icon Kim Novak! Here's some art inspired by Vertigo and The Legend of Lylah Clare to celebrate!

[theragethatisdesire]

pretty girl - jean kirschtein x afab!reader - 18+!!!

there's def more eren coming but while that's in the works please enjoy the result of the jean brainrot i experienced the other day. fair warning- it's going to get pretty rough, but that's what you asked him for ;)

pairing: reader x jean kirschtein

wc: 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, established relationship (jean's ur gorgeous bf lucky u), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, pretty rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, daddy kink, use of names (pretty girl, crybaby, good girl), very dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie

this one was super fun and is very tasty u guys enjoy <3

-

-> be there in 5 babe :)

You are not looking forward to this, to say the least. You pace madly around your little apartment in a massive t-shirt and sweatpants covering the skimpiest lingerie set you own. It’s got all the bells and whistles: a matching garter belt, lace in all the right places, stockings that come up to where your plush thighs are the fattest. You should be looking forward to this, you tell yourself, candles lit and ambient lighting ready to go. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who’s going to “be here in five”, and you should be brimming with excitement. But…you’re just not.

Jean’s been in your life for a few months now. What had started as a run-in at the coffee shop around the corner had turned into candlelit dinners, movie marathons, and exclusive titles, and you adore him. His sandy brown hair, the tattoo on his strong bicep, pretty hazel eyes– Jean’s sexy, loving, sarcastic, attentive, literally everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. Except when it comes to your sex life, that is.

The sex isn’t bad per se, you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back from you. He’s almost too perfect; he’s gentle with you, always taking care to ask permission before touching you, chaste kisses as he slides in, hand-holding in missionary. He cums every time, immune to the whiskey-dick you’d expect from his bourbon drinking habit, so you know he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t always seem all there. The fire just isn’t in him, and you know he has that side to him. You’ve seen those hazel eyes you love so much blaze, in a heated argument, at the gym. Why it doesn’t happen in your intimate moments is beyond you, it’s like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not doing everything–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit, knocking on your front door is what he’s doing.

You take one last look in the mirror: hair’s casual, but still sexy, makeup to a minimum, all straps and lace covered up by your inconspicuous pajamas. Time to potentially ruin your relationship.

“Hey beautiful,” Jean greets you with an innocent smile, “you look cozy.”

“Feel cozy,” you accept his kiss, chewing on your lip as he comes in. Your heart’s pounding in your ears; poor thing has no idea what’s to come. Maybe it’ll go well, you think; false hope might be the only thing that gets you to pull through with your plan.

“Have any movie ideas for tonight? I was thinking Hereditary, but only if you’re not too chicken…” Jean raises his eyebrows, a taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ha! If only he knew all of the things you aren’t “too chicken” for.

You smile weakly, stomach churning. “Maybe. Can we just…can we just talk for a sec?”

Jean’s playful demeanor drops instantly, replaced by a faint frown. “What about?”

You amble over to the couch, playing with the strings of your sweatpants anxiously. How the fuck are you even supposed to bring this up? Your mind’s racing so quickly it draws a blank, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt: “Sex.”

“Sex?” Jean’s cheeks tinge pink. He hasn’t shaved in probably a week, a shadow covering his sharp jawline. God, he’s gorgeous, you can’t mess this up, you really can’t.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “sex. Our sex, to be clear.”

“I figured as much,” Jean’s sat himself beside you now, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He’s not upset, not yet, but you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

“I– I feel like we’re on different pages,” you stammer– fuck you are so bad at this, “I just feel like sometimes you’re so…gentle, and you don’t necessarily, like, have to be?”

Jean’s frowning full on now, a precious little wrinkle appearing in the center of his forehead. You’ve hurt him, and your heart sinks. Probably should have started with the pros. “Like…what do you mean, by ‘don’t have to be gentle’?”

“Our sex life is great,” you try to smile enthusiastically, as if you don’t actually want to blow your brains out right now, “please don’t think I’m saying you’re bad in bed or anything. I just, like– okay, for example, have you ever tried anything rough?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Like what?”

“Like, handcuffs, or roleplay, any of that stuff.”

“What have you tried?” His voice is even, collected, but there’s something simmering in him that you can’t put your finger on. It’s not anger, but it tastes similar, running in the same vein but not quite there. It’s your turn to feel your face warm.

“I mean, I’ve tried handcuffs before. Some light slapping, spanking.” You’re twiddling your thumbs, confessing into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you.

“That it?”

“I guess.”

“Did you…enjoy that kind of stuff?” He’s taking the bait. You finally meet his gaze and it ignites a little fire in your stomach; he’s never looked at you this intensely, brows pinched together like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. All of these little mannerisms are tells, you’re intuitive enough to know that, but exactly what he’s trying to convey you just can’t figure out.

“Yeah.”

“How rough are we talking, here?” Jean sounds deeper than normal, the slightest bit of strain to his words. That’s definitely new; Jean’s the most unshakeable person you’ve ever met.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I–”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” an easy chuckle floats out of his mouth, “just trying to feel you out is all.”

Your brows furrow. “Feel me out?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Your nose wrinkles. “Did I ever give off the impression that I was, like, super vanilla or something?”

“No,” he laughs again, a bit of the tension melting from the room, “no, not that. We’re just still pretty new, that’s all. Wasn’t going to whip out everything in my toolbox ‘til I knew you were okay with it.”

That piques your interest; you think you’d very much like to see what’s in this toolbox of his. “So you do like some of this stuff?”

Jean rolls that thought over in his mind for a beat before responding, a suspicious smirk that you can’t read tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you could say I like some of this stuff.”

“We’re back to my original question then: what do you like?”

“I’m more worried about what you like,” Jean says, “especially since you won’t come right out and say it. Gonna make me guess?”

That’s your Jean, blunt as ever. The fire in your stomach sparks and spits at the conversation, teasing and tempting. There’s something playful to his words; you can’t shake this feeling that you’re missing something, that he’s toying with you, but you like it. You let him keep pushing, see where he’s leading you. “Sure, guess.”

“Do you like…” Jean trails off, examining you with his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, “to be dominant?”

“No.”

“Submissive, then.”

“Yeah.” He likes that, you can tell by the way his eyes glint at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Like to be tied up?”

“Already told you about the handcuffs.”

“I bet you have a praise kink.”

That has you flustered. There’s a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve underestimated him, waded out too deep into the water, but fuck it, you’re already here. “How’d you know?”

Jean smiles, pleased. “I just do. Overstimulation?”

“Sure.”

“Orgasm denial? Degradation?”

“If I deserve it.” It’s a bold answer, but it makes Jean suck in a sharp “fuck” between his teeth. Oh yes, you’ve definitely underestimated him.

“You like to be punished, don’t you?” His hand has traveled up to cup your jaw, thumb playing absentmindedly with your bottom lip. There’s an anticipatory warmth gathering between your legs, and the air between you both is practically crackling, charged by the tension thrumming through both of your bodies.

“Yes,” it comes out in a breath, almost pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so good, always does, and now he’s grazing his eyes over you like he wants to take a bite.

“You know how safewords work?” You nod a bit too eagerly. “Ours is going to be red, okay?”

“Okay,” you’re agreeing, but you aren’t entirely sure what to, caught up in the soft rubbing of his thumb over your mouth.

“If your mouth is,” a deep breath shakes through his frame, “occupied, give me a sharp pinch with your nails.”

“I can do that,” the tension between you is palpable now, the room’s so hot that you’re surprised your wallpaper isn’t peeling off.

“Go to your room,” Jean releases you, eyes dark and hungry, “take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be in soon.”

You follow his instructions without thinking twice, as if a switch has flipped in your brain. Maybe it was his tone, an authoritative way of speaking that threatens consequence, or maybe you’re just so ready to see what this perfect boyfriend of yours has been hiding all this time. As you’re getting undressed, you realize he still doesn't know about your lingerie. You bite back a smile, kneeling on the bed. This is going to be so good.

A minute or so ticks by slowly, and just when your legs are starting to ache, Jean’s entering your room. His face darkens in a way you’ve never seen before when he sees your little get up; lightning shoots through your core.

“Put on a pretty outfit just for me?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“That’s good,” he says in that slow drawl of his, “good girl.”

He’s only testing the waters, but you can feel your body viscerally react to the little pet name, shifting on your knees to mask your desperate attempt for friction, dampness spreading in your panties. Jean sees right through your act, smirking.

Jean joins you in undressing, slipping his shirt over his head. You take your time admiring his torso; miles of long, lean muscle, little ripples by his ribs trailing into a ridiculous six-pack. Jean’s a confessed gym rat, and it shows in every little line along his body. You have to blink and look away before you start salivating.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jean scolds, tilting your head up towards him, “eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it,” you answer. Jean frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, “try again.”

You go out on a limb. “Yes, sir.”

Jean’s eyes glint again in that mean, pretty way you saw earlier. You did good, you did good for him. “Much better. Get on the floor.”

You slide off of your mattress, practically buzzing with anticipation, settling on your knees in front of him. A low groan rumbles in Jean’s chest.

“Look so good like that, my pretty girl.”

Oh, you really like that, nuzzling against his hand on your head. Jean smiles down at you, inching his pants down until that little thatch of brown hair starts revealing itself. “Open up for me, nice and wide.”

Your jaw’s dropped, mouth open and tongue out, expectant. Jean smiles wider, sharp and dangerous, pulling his cock out for you. He taps the head against your tongue a few times, even slaps you with it, facade faltering for a fraction of a second to gauge your reaction. You’re good for him, sitting still and patient with your mouth still open, a drop of drool starting to slide off the end of your tongue. Jean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” Your panties grow impossibly wetter, you wiggle on your thighs under him, earning yourself another slap of his cock on your tongue, heavy and drooling. “Gonna fuck this pretty face, okay?”

You close your mouth around his head, sucking lightly to show your approval. He’s not even touched you, not so much as a kiss, and your brain’s foggy, running like a hamster on a wheel chasing the circular thought of be good, be good, be good. Jean grabs your hair none-too-gently, tugging it at the roots, and starts canting his hips towards your mouth, muttering under his breath about how good you are, how good your mouth feels on him.

You lower your jaw ever so slightly, and before long, Jean’s picking up speed, knocking your gag reflex here and there and making you cough around him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned; in fact, he grins cruelly down at you when he hits an extra-sensitive spot, making you hunch and gag on him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so happy getting her mouth fucked,” he hisses when you moan around him, feeling the vibrations up his cock. He’s moving faster now, rougher than he’s ever been. You’re gagging with some regularity, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. You expect him to let up, give you some air, but it only spurs him on, and before you know it, there are thick streams of tears running down your face. Your jaw aches, your knees burn, but you stay, letting him use you how he pleases.

“Fucking crying on me,” Jean growls, “my cock too much for you?”

You try to answer with a shake of your head, but he’s relentless, fingers tightening in your hair and cock shoving to the back of your throat, making you retch.

“No, you love it, don’t you? My little crybaby.”

You’re so wet you can feel it gathering on the insides of your thighs, entirely soaked through your panties. You move your hips subtly, this way and that, desperate for friction. Jean notices, pulling out of your mouth but staying connected by a string of your spit.

“You squirming, pretty girl? Need some attention?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, nodding eagerly. Jean helps you up onto the bed, lays you back against his chest facing the mirror on top of your wardrobe. It’s a terribly lewd sight; you spread out in front of him, face swollen and teary, the telltale glisten of wetness glittering on your thighs.

Jean slides a hand down your body, rubbing you over your panties and nibbling at your ear. “You’re gonna watch me make you cum, and if I see you look away, I’m fucking you ‘til I cum, and you’re not getting a damn thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” your voice wobbles pathetically. Jean seems to like it; his cock twitches in interest against your back. He pushes your panties to the side, flicking his fingers faster over your clit. Embarrassingly enough, you’re already nearing your halfway point from the face-fucking, moaning and grinding up into his palm.

“Need something?”

“Mhm,” you grit out, jaw clenched. Jean slaps your pussy; not too hard, but firm enough to make you jolt, bring you a moment of clarity.

“Manners,” he reminds you sharply.

“I’m sorry, I– can I please have a finger?”

Jean’s placated, slides one finger into you and laughs hot against your neck at the obscene sound that tears from your throat. “What do we say when we get what we ask for?”

“Thank you– fuck, thank you,” your words are coming out in puffs of breathe. Jean has long, skilled fingers, a fact you’re already familiar with, but the position he’s put you in has you dripping onto the sheets: forcing you to watch as he pumps in and out of you, grinding into your clit with the heel of his hand. You’ll be lucky if you last another minute.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My pretty girl likes being full, right?” Jean murmurs, hot against the shell of your ear. “Tell me.”

“Yes, sir, I– I like it, I need– fuck!”

“What do you need?” Jean coos, entertained, as if he’s not unraveling you with just the one.

“I want one m-more finger, please,” you stutter, relieved you’re able to get the words out at all.

“Learning so fast,” Jean kisses your shoulder, granting your wish. His fingers are thick, the slight stretch making you throw your head back against his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand of their own accord. “Still looking?”

You force your head back to its upright position, mindful of the threat in his tone. His fingers work faster at your obedience, curling insistently against the gummy spot inside your walls that makes you see stars, makes you a little out of your mind with need. It’s that out-of-mind dizziness in your head that causes your little slip-up:

“Fuck, please, more- more, Daddy.”

Jean’s fingers still; it’s not until you’re halfway into a whine of disappointment that you realize what you’ve said. Your face burns; you meet his eyes in the mirror, yours shot wide and embarrassed. You trip over your words, trying to explain yourself. That definitely hadn’t been mentioned in your earlier conversation.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I just–”

“Just what? Already so fucked out you can’t think straight?” Jean curls his fingers pointedly against your walls, punching a groan from your chest.

“Yeah,” you sigh, head growing cloudy again.

“Say it again.” That definitely isn’t what you expect to hear him mutter against your neck. Jean works a third finger into your cunt with some difficulty, stretching you to your limits. “Fucking say it, or you’re not cumming.”

“Oh my God, D-Daddy,” your cries are pathetic, punctuated by whimpers. The bubble in your stomach is about to pop, the tension growing unbearable. You’re almost there, grinding into his hand pitifully and babbling, when Jean takes one of his hands to grab your throat roughly. He holds you captive, staring at your own stretched cunt on display for you in the mirror.

“Good, good girl,” he says, “now watch Daddy make you cum.”

The band inside you snaps viciously; your back arches away from him, and you squirt, gushing all over your bed sheets, inhuman sounds tearing from your throat where you struggle under his hand. Jean’s working you through the whole thing, still steadily pumping his fingers and whispering dirty little nothings into your ear. It finally begins to quiet, overstimulation washing over you. You push urgently at his wrist, mumbling something or other about “too much, too much”.

Jean mercifully obliges, pulling his hand from you with a shameful sucking sound, giving your pussy another light slap.

“Such a good girl for me, yeah? How you feelin’?”

“Good, so good,” you slur, “I’ve never– never…”

“Never squirted?” Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at your answering nod before a smug expression settles over his face. “Such a fun little toy, aren’t you? Just wait, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing; so he can make you do that? Again? Jean’s slid out from behind you and is repositioning your limp body, dragging you down the bed by your ankles to line you up with his cock. He bends your knees up, pressing them close to your head. Jesus, he’s going to kill you at this rate.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” you hate the begging lilt to your voice, but you’re beyond fighting it. You gave up the reins a long time ago when you knelt for him, let him call you a good girl, let him fuck your throat.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gotcha,” Jean starts bullying his way into your pussy, still tight and pulsing from your orgasm. “Shit, got a tight little cunt, don’t you? Feels so good– fuck.”

You’re simpering under him, barely able to process the stretch of his cock in you. He’s well-endowed and you’re overwhelmed, a dizzying combination for your fucked-out brain to handle. Just when you think he might be in your throat he’s so deep in you, his hips press to the back of your thighs, both of you letting out a long groan at the feeling.

“So pretty,” Jean muses, not moving yet, just placing a thumb on your clit and absentmindedly playing with it, “such a beautiful pussy.”

You whine, frustrated. He glares at you, landing a harsh smack to your inner thigh.

“I’m not going to warn you again.”

“Please fuck me, oh God, please,” you pant, past the point of humility. Jean licks his lips, presses his palms deep into the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half. He gives you what you ask for.

You’re jolted back and forth on the mattress, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he splits you open on him, forces every inch deep into you. His tip’s kissing your cervix, pain blooming in your abdomen, but you don’t even care, so lost in the rhythm of his hips.

“Jean, I– oh my God,” you try to tell him how good he feels, but all you get is a firm hand around your throat.

“Who’s fucking this pretty cunt up, hm? Fucking you good and deep? Who is it?”

“Daddy,” you choke out, breathless, “Daddy’s.”

“There you go,” Jean’s focused on where you’re connected, eyes never leaving the frothy white ring forming around the base of his cock. You’re crying again, vaguely aware of the streams of tears running down your temples, into your hairline, but fuck, he just feels so good your brain can’t even process it. Jean takes notice, wipes one of your tears and licks it off of his thumb. “Cute fucking crybaby, all happy and cockdrunk, aren’t you?”

You whimper some semblance of an agreement, feeling the band of tension in you already getting stretched to a breaking point. He’s at an angle that allows him to hammer into the most delicious spot inside of you, rubbing against it with each thrust.

“Gonna cum soon, I– I’m gonna cum soon,” you manage, locking his gaze.

“Let me feel it, go on, do it for me,” Jean pants, squeezing your neck tighter. The lack of air goes to your head; the room spins until all you can focus on is him pounding into you. You cum violently, throbbing around his cock, thrashing against his strong arms. Jean fucks you through it, never losing his pace. “Good fucking girl, just like that.”

You’re practically wheezing as your senses return to you, clawing at Jean’s arm on your throat. He lets up on your neck, smiling down at you. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, blissed out and half-asleep until Jean flips you, forcing you to prop up on your hands and knees. “Wait, Jean–”

“Wait?” Jean scoffs, sliding back into you. You let out a little cry, and he smacks your ass sharply. “This is what you asked for, right? Said I was being too nice to you.”

“I didn’t– oh my god…” your eyes roll back into your head, a well-placed thrust cutting your words off. “It’s so…it’s so much, Jean.”

Jean lands three more sharp slaps to your ass, already thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “What was that?”

“T-too much, Daddy,” you collapse, face shoved into the bed to mask the pitiful cries leaving your mouth. It is too much; if you tuck your chin to your chest, you can see a little bulge in your tummy where he’s fucking into you, another orgasm already building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you might pass out if he makes you cum again, but he’s ruthless.

“Too much?” Jean coos, fisting your hair to turn your face. He’s glaring down at you. “You were practically begging me for it, and my pretty girl gets what she wants, right? Said you wanted it rough, so you’re going to fucking take it.”

You nod miserably, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Jean hisses when you clamp down around him. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, this pussy.”

You feel a hand start thrumming insistently against your clit and nearly shriek; your pussy’s so swollen, so sensitive already. You claw at the bedsheets, feeling something warm and wet swelling inside of you.

“Daddy, I– fuck, it’s, it’s–”

“Gonna make you squirt again,” it’s a promise from behind your ear, “you’re gonna squirt on my cock and Daddy’ll cum for you, okay?”

“I can’t, I–” you’re wailing, words cut off by your own moans. Jean loves it, you can feel his thrusts growing more urgent against your hips, so deep in you you could choke.

“You can,” he corrects you, hand moving faster, “want Daddy to cum in you?”

“Yes, please, p-please,” You cry, letting him use you as he wishes. 

“I’ll give it to you, gotta cum first, you can do that, can’t you? Taking me so well, pretty girl, just need you to cum one more time for me.”

“Uh-huh,” the edges of your vision are starting to close in. He’s ruthless, hips slamming into yours hard enough to bruise, cock stretching you out so nicely, you can’t hold it, but you know, somewhere deep in this primal part of your brain, you need to be good, need to ask him. “Need to cum, Daddy, please– please let me, I–”

“Go ahead,” Jean shushes you, hips moving impossibly faster, “be a good girl, let me feel it.”

That tips you over the edge and Jean makes good on his promise; your cum is dripping out of you, spraying onto his thighs and ruining your sheets. You’re thrashing your head back and forth and sobbing through your orgasm, pinned and powerless under him. Jean swears at the vice-like grip you have on him; it doesn’t take him long to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as he can go, cumming in you. He bends over you as he does, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to him, kissing you hard in a mess of tongue and teeth. You feel it warming your stomach, moaning appreciatively until you both collapse in a sweaty mess of limbs, gasping for breath and clutching onto one another.

Jean allows himself a few moments to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out of you, leaving you empty and whimpering. He shushes you, holding you close to his chest and letting you work through the intense session in his arms. You’ve never been so fucked out, nuzzling into his chest and simply letting him hold you, letting the aftershocks wrack through your sore body. After a few minutes you’re coming to; the haze begins to lift, and you peek up at him, unsure of where to start after…that.

“You okay?”

You turn the words over in your mouth before you can get them out, still feeling a bit like you’re floating. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. That was…wow.”

Jean, the man that just held you down and forced what were probably life-threatening orgasms out of you, blushes. “Yeah, it was really something.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, giggling despite yourself. Your mind is still a little cloudy, a little soft after everything. “But it was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Jean grins, hoisting you up into his lap so you can both sit up, still cradling you to his chest. “Not too gentle, was I?”

Your face grows hot, you want to hide it behind your hands. “No, not too gentle.”

“You were right earlier,” he admits, “I was definitely holding out on you just because the way I like to…I mean, I don’t think I need to get too into it, you were there. It can be a lot. Didn’t want to push you too far.”

You hum contentedly, playing with the little gold chain he always wears. “I understand that now, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you want to give me, promise.”

“Don’t say that,” Jean groans, “too tired for round two.”

Your hand falls into the mess between your thighs, and you wince. “Maybe after a shower?”

“Greedy,” Jean tuts, scooping you up with him to make the journey over to your bathroom, “my greedy, pretty girl.”

[nmakii]

christmas kids

about him, who was also born on december 25th. i used to spot your face in every crowd, now i can’t even remember your smile.

— kaiser hates celebrating his birthday. no exceptions; not even for you.

cw: mentions of kaiser’s backstory, gesner being vulgar (im his biggest fan), kaiser is a meany pants, self deprecation

parties like these were a pain. kaiser stood beside his drunken teammates, while ‘all i want for christmas is you’ by mariah carey blasted for the 6th time on loop. it was disgustingly corny how he’d have to act as if he gives a damn to celebrate christmas with his co-workers. if the club owner for bastard münchen hadn’t required attendance for this party, he would’ve definitely skipped it.

to be entirely honest, he never even saw the point of celebrating december 25th. every year, the streets of berlin would be glowing with festive lights, and the halls of cathedrals would loudly ring their church bells.

but in kaiser’s dark corner of hell, his father would beat the life out of him. more so than usual— his eyes would bruise purple for weeks, and his nose wouldn’t stop the stream of red that would bleed all over his ragged clothes.

kaiser had learned from a young age, his birthday wasn’t something that should be celebrated, or even acknowledged. it was the day his scummy mother abandoned his even scummier father; it was the day trash was born. how could such an occasion even be celebrated?

with his birthday being public knowledge though, he doesn’t exactly have a choice on if he wants to celebrate it or not.

as clock struck midnight, everyone yelled out christmas greetings and wishes of good will, as well as greetings for kaiser, now a year older.

“woo! happy birthday, asshat! you’re 19!��� gesner, incredibly drunk, slurs to kaiser. “a year closer to your death… in the end, we’re all just waiting for the day we never open our eyes again… oh, this is just too sad…” grim shudders, falling to the ground.

birkenstock pulls grim off the floor, and the team gathers around and very off tunely sings happy birthday to kaiser, while ness struggles to light the candle placed on top of the leftover pizza, yet to be finished.

“…happy birthday to you!” they cheer. “make a wish, kaiser.” ness smiles, holding the box.

‘what do i want..?’ he asks himself. he already has a lot more than he’s ever wanted; a comfortable home, decent company— asking for anything else would just seem… wrong.

the candle gleamed a burning red, its’ shine reflecting on kaiser’s face. the hot flames on his face, and he suddenly realizes what he wants— to be human.

that’s all he’s wanted for the longest time, why should he wish for anything else?

he blows out the candle, and they clap. “you guys didn’t need to do anything, i didn’t want to celebrate my birthday.” he lightly reprimanded. ness frowns, he was the one who had wanted surprise kaiser in the first place.

but, gesner boos at his pessimism. “don’t be a jerk, dick cheese! just accept it!” he roughly slaps kaiser on his back, kicking all the air out of his lungs. “oof..!” he coughs. “g..guh… are you sure you’re a football player? you slap so hard, you’re better suited to volleyball.”

gesner scoffs, and goes off on his rant about kaiser’s narcissism.

‘this environment… it’s hostile but, i’m still in control. this… isn’t that bad.’ kaiser thinks to himself. he doesn’t receive their goodwill; he forces it out of them, and they respond with their own form of resistance. yet, they still pass to him, no matter what. because, he’s the one in charge of this team.

“…and, you keep showing off that pretty thing you’re leaving on the hook. she could totally do better than that ‘will they, won’t they?’ situationship of your’s! seriously makes me feel bad for her…”

…kaiser wasn’t exactly sure what brought gesner to bring you up. but, bringing up your… relationship, was a bit of a sour spot for him.

he wanted to love you, you were someone he wanted to stick around for a while. you were kind, almost heaven-sent. something about you that would make him keep coming back. maybe it was the way you’d wake up early with him and make breakfast together, or the way you’d sass him and put him in his place when he was being an asshole. but, he couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he should tear down those walls he’s built, and start over for you.

kaiser was used to restrictive environments, he thrived in discomfort. but, being vulnerable simply made his skin crawl with disgust. if it was for someone for you though… maybe he could try it. were you really worth it?

…he thinks you could be.

“it’s not a situationship, we’re just hanging out.” kaiser rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his mocktail. “plus, don’t you already have a girl you’re torturing?” he condescends.

thankfully, the party goes on without a fight starting, or kaiser’s birthday being mentioned anymore further.

and by the time kaiser arrives home, it’s already 2:30. he opens the door into his penthouse apartment.

the light is on.

he’s sure he didn’t leave the light on when he had left, there’s only one other explanation.

“s/o?” he called out.

you probably used the spare key for his apartment he gave you after much more frequent visits. did you think he was home?

“ah, hey!” you finally noticed his presence, waving hello. kaiser still had a suspicious glare on his face, his malice evident simply by his tone. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s your birthday!”

“so?”

“so, it has to be celebrated..! it was the day you were born after all.” you brainlessly informed him.

“i don’t celebrate it.” he sighs as he finally shuts the front door, dropping all his belongings on the console table.

“it’s the same day as christmas. it’s a hassle to celebrate two things.” he says the same excuse he’s used millions of times before but today, his act was getting sloppy. it’s clear by his sullen eyes that it’s more than just because it’s a hassle.

“uhuh… well, i made you a cake!”you urge him to come over. of course, it was a box set cake, but you still put tons of effort into decorating it!

what does he do? he wasn’t exactly sure on how to accept gifts in general. he passed through the narrow hall, and into the dining area.

he stared at the cake— it’s frosted in white french buttercream and its’ edges are piped blue with a french star tip. ‘happy birthday mikka’, it reads.

mikka… that isn’t a nickname that you’ve called him before. but, it’s cute. fuck, did he actually like this gift..?

‘…how sweet.’ he thinks. kaiser picked up the box with both his hands, his touch was so delicate. he carried the cake over to the kitchen counter,

…and opened the trash.

“hey! what are you doing..?!” you run to stop him from dumping your hard work into the garbage.

it doesn’t stop him though, it doesn’t even make him struggle. “i told you i don’t celebrate it.” he huffs as some of the cake crumbles and stains his hands.

he takes a frosting-covered finger to his lips, indulging in his salty sweet taste. “ah… it’s good.” he compliments. something that only happens to make you angrier.

“then why did you throw it in the garbage, asshole?!” you yell out. how insensitive could a person get?!

“i already told you, or are those ears of your’s just for decoration?” he scoffs, the air is heavy.

and at that moment, he knew it.

michael kaiser is not meant to love, or be loved.

…

“get out.” he commands. his cold eyes hit you like a dagger. “h..huh..?” you ask, indignant at how you were being treated.

you knew kaiser would be hard to unravel but, why is he acting so different so suddenly?

“i said get out. i already decided…”

“…we’re over, s/o” he decreed. “whatever romance you and i might have had is gone. go find someone else to care about you. i’m not gonna fit your romantic fantasy.”

“i— wait, mikka, we can work this out, okay..?!” you ask, a panicked expression decorating your face. “goddamnit, fine— i’m sorry for calling you an asshole, okay?!”

you sound almost desperate in your tone. but, it still doesn’t shake his decision. “no… get out. find someone who can fulfill that fantasy of your’s, i’m never gonna be the perfect boyfriend that you’re dreaming about. understand?”

and, the cold reality faces you. a look of despair on your face, it’s incredibly pathetic to be in this low of a position right now.

ah, that look on your face… he’ll miss that look of terror and desperation, on your face especially. the way your pretty eyes gleam with tears, and the way your nose scrunches, trying to hold back your snot.

“…fine. i hope you’re happy with your life, kaiser.” you spitefully spit out. his chest hurts when he hears you call him by his last name. did that hurt him..? just a little bit…

…and, that’s when kaiser asks himself the same question.

were you really worth tearing down everything he’s known just to build it all up again?

the answer was yes. you’re worth everything money could afford; you’re as priceless as every star in the sky.

it was kaiser who wasn’t worth it. you deserved more than a scummy asshole who’s too scared love.

but, that’s just the problem with kaiser, isn’t it?

the closer he wants you, the more he pushes you away.

[hoshifighting]

seokmin as your sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, mentions of alcohol, rough sex. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Reaction)

you didn’t expect your birthday to go down like this. a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant, surrounded by a few close friends, was all you had in mind. you were the type to enjoy your peace, the steady hum of classical music in the background, a glass of red wine in hand. the kind of person who didn’t need the bells and whistles, content with the simple pleasures. but all that shifted when seokmin walked through the door.

he wasn’t thaaat loud, not like the friends he was with, but there was something about him that drew your eye. maybe it was the way his laughter seemed to brighten the room, or how his smile reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. whatever it was, you were hooked from the moment you saw him.

your friends noticed too, nudging you playfully, urging you to do something you normally wouldn’t. and for once, you listened. you ordered him a drink, sending it over with a quick nod to the waiter, trying to play it cool. when the waiter delivered the drink to seokmin, you watched him glance over at you, surprise flickering in his eyes before that shy smile spread across his lips. he raised his glass in thanks, and you could feel your cheeks warm under his gaze.

“he’s cute,” one of your friends whispered, leaning closer to you. “you should talk to him.”

you laughed it off, brushing it away with a wave of your hand, but the thought lingered. then your friend decided to take things into her own hands. she called the waiter, ordered a ridiculous dessert with a flaming candle, and before you knew it, the entire restaurant was singing happy birthday to you, including seokmin and his friends.

you clapped along, trying to mask your embarrassment, but you couldn’t help but smile when seokmin joined in, his voice somehow louder than the rest. when the song ended, he leaned over, wished you a happy birthday, and then, as he left, he slipped a napkin onto your table. it was only after he was gone that you saw the number scribbled on it, and your heart skipped a beat.

you didn’t wait long to text him, just a simple “thanks for the birthday song, let’s grab a drink sometime.” his response was immediate, and the rest, as they say, was history.

it started off casual. drinks after work, long conversations about everything and nothing, seokmin’s laughter filling the spaces in between. he was charming, yes, but there was a rawness to him that you found intoxicating. he wasn’t like anyone you’d met before—genuine, kind, with an edge that made your heart tu-dum.

you found yourself wanting to spoil him, to see that shy smile whenever you surprised him with something new. it began with little things—a nice dinner, a designer shirt, tickets to a show he mentioned he wanted to see. but it quickly escalated. you couldn’t help yourself; he was just so grateful for everything you did, always just enjoying whatever came his way.

seokmin never took anything for granted, and that made you want to give him more. paying for his bills, upgrading his apartment, even sending him on a vacation when you noticed how stressed he was from work. he was your sugar baby, but it didn’t feel transactional. it felt… right.

and then there was when you made love. when you fuck.

you discovered that seokmin wasn’t just the sweet, shy guy he appeared to be. behind closed doors, he was rough, almost primal. the first time you slept together, came crashing down in a flurry of hands, teeth, and sweat.

he was all over you, pushing you up against the wall the second you were inside your apartment, his lips attacking your neck as his hands roamed your ass.

his hands gripped your hips, hard enough to leave marks, as he pulled you against him, grinding his erection into you. you moaned into his mouth, your own hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

“bedroom,” you managed to gasp out, and he wasted no time in lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you there. once inside, he threw you onto the bed, his eyes opaque as he stripped off his clothes, revealing the body you’d only caught glimpses of before.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” you whispered, but he just smirked, crawling over you, his hands already tugging at your clothes, desperate to get them off.

“shut up,” he muttered, but there was a playful sparkle in his stare, one that made your pussy throb. “i’m gonna ruin you.”

and he did. seokmin wasn’t gentle. he bit down on your shoulder as he entered you, making you cry out. his hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he thrust into you, hard and fast, setting a brutal pace that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

seokmin cums soon after, his hips slamming against yours one final time as he came, his grip on your wrists tightening as he rode out his own release.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing. then, slowly, seokmin released your wrists, his hands gentle now as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice back to that sweet, caring tone you were used to.

you nodded, still catching your breath, a small smile playing on your lips.

he chuckled, rolling onto his side and pulling you against him, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, cherished. “good. because i’m not done with you yet.”

and with that, he flipped you onto your stomach, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack that made you choke, your body already reacting, craving more.

“i told you,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “i’m gonna ruin you.”

and he did, again and again, until the lines between sugar baby and sugar mommy blurred completely, leaving nothing but dirty sex with the john walker bags looking at the two of you from the floor.

[missmimii]

☕︎︎ －𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 | 𝐂 - 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Chris stumbles upon a bakery that holds much more than just a sweet treat, the one behind the counter being the sweetest of all that varies.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. none! Just tooth rotting fluff and a whole lot of a Chris’s terrible pick-up lines

✩－𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 • I thought of this yesterday when I was in a bakery near my house, saw the cutest interaction between the girl behind the counter and a customer ♥︎

୨ৎ － The sickening smell of cinnamon and icing sugar engulfs the triplet’s nose, as well as flour tickling his nostrils as the ceiling fan above swooshes the powder around the room. Squeak, his shoes emit as the rubber bottoms make contact with the freshly mopped floors of the bakery, a faint smell of almond floor cleaner entering his nose.

☕︎︎－ Chris felt some variant of comfort from the small bakery, a soft melody playing in the background of bustling that came from behind the counter. The glass that held an array of sweet treats was void of any fingerprints or skids, along with the sleek marble counter that held a sparkle from the sunlight coming in the window.

୨ৎ － Though his finger did itch to tap the bell aside the cash register, he didn’t want to come off as a nuisance. Was anyone even here? He pondered, gaze of curiosity tipping off into the back of the shop to catch a glimpse of anyone. Hm － he thought to himself, seeing nothing but a cloud of smoke that smelt of vanilla stream from one of the ovens.

☕︎︎ － Atop the oven sat a stained pair of pink oven mitts, before a hand reached out to lift them. Chris’s lips parted a little as the girl emerged from the other end of the kitchen, manicured hands slipping the mitts on her hand one at a time. “Talking about my girl －my girl,” She hummed softly to the music, pulling the oven open, revealing a medium sized baking tray.

୨ৎ －Assuming she’d felt the heat of Christopher’s gaze on her seemingly unflattering state, she slowly averted her own eyes to the cash. The girls eyes widened as she took in the sight of a brunette male, wondering just how long she left a customer waiting. God, her boss would’ve ripped her a new one if he’d saw. “Uhm－one second mister!” She hollered in the direction of the man, feeling rather rattled while rushing to arrange her messy kitchen.

☕︎︎ －The mouth watering aroma of vanilla and cinnamon infused the whole bakery as she gently plopped the metal sheet atop the oven, tossing the pink mitts onto the counter beside. If he had been else Chris would thought the delightful smell was a candle, just from how surreally perfect it’d smelled.

୨ৎ －The boy that was once drawn to the little shop out of feigning something pure sugar, now found himself craving something rather beautiful. Chipped red nailed hands dip into the running water as she gathered suds of soap across her hands. Tap, tap, tap. Chris watched with admiration as droplets fell from her skin as she flicked the faucet off, swiftly pulling the hand towel off the hook to dry her wet hands.

☕︎︎－ Dozens of baking ingredients were aligned upon the surfaces on counters, flour and drizzles of frosting covering almost every inch of the area. The triplet’s lips fell up into a small smile of muse as he watched the girl struggle to push the stray hairs framing her face away, refusing to use her clean hands. Goodness, how he wanted to gently tuck the feathering strands behind her ears.

୨ৎ － Chris opened his mouth to let the stressed girl know he was in no rush, but was cut off at the sound of a wince. “Ouch,” the sound of a feminine hiss echoed from behind the store, making his eyebrows fly up with both concern and confusion. Was she .. a head popped from behind a corner, a sheepish look on the timid girl’s face as she looked at Chris. “so sorry.” She winced, before she disappeared once again.

☕︎︎ － “Ouch, ouch, ouch － ow,” The pained girl fumbled with the tap until it turned cold, sticking her left hand under the running rush of water. Ah － Her shoulders fell at the contact, the cold sensation soothing the burning pain on the end of her index finger. Never once has she burnt herself in the three years she’s worked in a bakery. She just shook her head incredulously, flicking the water off.

୨ৎ －Chris’s face was still coated in perplexity when she’d finally rushed from kitchen, his hand that he’d been running across his jaw halting in place as she threw him a warm smile. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s usually so slow on Sundays － and I must’ve not heard the bell ring when you walked in because of the hand mixer.” She rambled, hands waving around has she expressed her sorrow.

☕︎︎ － “Your hand,” He interrupted, making the girl’s eyes meet his. Her hand .. what?－ “I don’t think I- oh.” She let out a small sound as the males hand hesitantly prompted to grab hers, the warmth of his palm pressing against her wrist as he turned her hand over. “Yeah.. it happens often.” Chris’s hooded gaze lifted from her pink finger, meeting her eyes. Liar, he thought to himself. “hm,” Obviously not being willing to express the fact he knew the falsified confession, he withdrew his touch.

୨ৎ － She cleared her throat, lowering her injured hand to her side. “Did my bad work ethic allow you enough time to choose something?” She half joked, cheeks warming as he chuckled. “Nothing here,” Chris admitted, nipping at his lip as he flicked his gaze down to the various baked goods. “though I did spot something quite delicious behind the counter.”

☕︎︎ －She blinked at him while processing the information, feeling her lips twitch with a small smile as she saw the flirtatious grin placed upon his lips. “Oh.” Chris hummed, lifting an eyebrow. “The rolls.” Huh? Chris watched as she nodded in understanding. Rolls? “I just put a batch in before you walked in － whenever that was.” She murmured to herself, shaking her head softly.

୨ৎ － “uh-” Just as she turned her back to go fetch the goods, the boy spoke again. “What ‘rolls’?” Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion before she answered. “Cinnamon rolls.” She said in a matter of fact tone, turning back around. She smiled to herself as she walked back through the arched doorway, finding the way Chris’s eyes light up almost cute. Cinnamon rolls did sound good..

☕︎︎ －He stood there patiently as she shuffled around in the kitchen, bending his neck a bit to catch sight of something she was getting into. Chris made a sound of amusement as she vigorously whisked together something in a metal mixing bowl, splatters of a cream white icing hitting the cylinder sides as she stirred. Did she really not get my pick up? Chris felt slightly defeated, having thought that the flirty sentence had been quite smart of him.

୨ৎ －Chris quickly stood upright, attempting to hide the clear fact he was peering into the girls kitchen, as she gleefully stalked back into the main room. “It’s a little warm still, so the frosting might seep into the cake a teensey bit.” She fiddled with a striped pink box, sheet of clear plastic cut out in the middle showing a glimpse of the fluffy golden brown roll. Steam glazed the clear part over, the treat having been freshly baked. Chris’s mouth practically watered as he watched the icing slowly slide down the sides of the roll, creating a delicious puddle of sugar below the bun.

☕︎︎ －Her pink tipped fingernails gently tied a pink ribbon around the the box before softly nudging it across the counter to the boy. His eyes slipped up to hers, finding her leaning on the edge of the island while staring at his reaction, her bottom lip tucked lusciously between her teeth. Holy － was my heart pounding so damn hard because of the nauseating scent of sugar, or the sight of this unworldly woman? “Well now I feel bad undoing something so pretty, baby.” Her heart exploded, butterflies pressing against her gut at the pet name.

୨ৎ －Chris gently tugged at the silk ribbon, the thin piece of fabric falling from the box, his fingers unfolding the opening at the top. “Hm~” She watched with curiosity as he hummed in delight, the cloud of steam that flooded from the box engulfing his nose. Vanilla, cinnamon, brown sugar, butter － as well as the slight hint of the cream perfume coming from the girl across. Shakily lifting the treat from the box, being cautious not to drop it, he brought it to his lips.

☕︎︎ －Oh god － Christopher’s eyes had slowly slipped shut as soon as his teeth sunk into the soft baked good, moaning oh so softly as the sweetness set off every tastebud on his tongue into a frenzy. “Holy fuck.” He muttered, savouring the taste of a whipped like vanilla frosting swirling around his mouth as he chewed. Chris finally allowed his eyes to peek open, his gaze automatically focused on her.

୨ৎ －He watched with intent as her lips parted, tongue sliding across her bottom one as she looked between his lips and blue eyes. The muscles in his jaw clenched with every chew, eyelashes batting admirably against his flushed cheeks as he brought the tip of his middle finger to his lips. Chris looked into her eyes with desire while dipping the end of his finger into his lips, swirling his tongue around the skin to gather the sugary liquid.

☕︎︎－With a small plop, he placed the treat back into box, all while keeping his eyes on her. “You’ make that?” He asked, tilting his head while peeking his tongue to lick the corner of his mouth. God he could still taste that fucking frosting. At her timid nod, he felt his lips curve up at the corners. “It almost curbed all of my cravings.” Chris shamelessly admitted.

୨ৎ －She felt her breath get caught in her throat as she heard the husk in his tone, the two hands she hand placed on the marble counter squeezing around the surface tightly. Chris effortlessly twisted the cap from his water bottle before tipping back the refreshing liquid with content. “Sweet, huh?” She laughed softly, hair getting caught on her eyelashes as she looked down for a moment.

☕︎︎－Chris felt his lips tip up around the cap as he pulled the bottle away, breathing out a soft laugh at her words. “Very,” her cheeks flushed, giggling softly. She’s so .. effortlessly perfect, Chris thought to himself, tilting his head as he look across to the girl. “not nearly as sweet as you though.” Oh－her eyes widened.

୨ৎ －Maybe it’s because she’d never got hit on during work －or at all for that matter, but she found herself dumbfounded by his bold flirting. Because he was flirting .. right? She suddenly felt unsure of his motives, clearing her throat as she sent a quick smile his way. “Thank you- really.” She impulsively added the last part as a whisper, her fingers raising the brush away the hairs in her face, before stopping. Ah －I need to wash my hands.

☕︎︎ －She jumped, startled as two calloused fingers brushed the irritating flyaways from her face. “here,” Chris murmured gently, looking into her eyes with a unknown emotion as he tucked the tendrils behind her pierced ears. “Oh.” She breathed out, the smile that gleamed across her lips unable to be fought. “thank you.” She uttered.

୨ৎ －Chris nodded softly, leaving a prolonged beat before he stepped back from her. He cleared his throat, cheeks warming as he felt the aftermath of his action’s overcome him. Was that too bold? I could’ve made her uncomfortable. “Well ..” The girl’s eyes flicked up to his at the sound. “Can I get your name or somethin’? To remember you of course.” Chris quickly added on, seeing her eyebrows fly up.

☕︎︎ －She silently nipped at her lips for a second as she resisted the temptation to allow a grin to spread across her lips. “Hm..” He lifts a brow as she drawled out the sound, her hand toying with the ribbon from his box. Within seconds his eyes widened, her hand reaching out and entrapping his own.

୨ৎ －She leaned forward, belly resting on the island as she took his wrist into her palm. Chris opted to stay quiet, feeling a little too happy with the feeling of her touch. Her fingers skillfully threaded the pink ribbon around his wrist, gently pulling the two ends to finish off her signature bow. “There,” he looked down at her, seeing her big smile as she finished the work. “try forgetting me now.”

[lemonylioness]

On the Third Day of Kinkmas...

Carol of the Bells - Satoru Gojo x Reader

Kink: Electrostimulation (sort of)

Content Warnings: Fingering, electrostimulation, lingerie, Gojo using his powers inappropriately, oral sex (fem receiving), P in V Sex

***Minors DO NOT Interact*** ***18+ Only***

Your very loving boyfriend had been extremely busy. Mission after mission, assignment after assignment, and report after report all on top of teaching, attending meetings, and trying to make time for you. Something was bound to slip through the cracks and unfortunately that thing happened to be you. Satoru Gojo was very aware how lucky he was that his girlfriend was so understanding and just as selfless as he was to not take it personally how busy he was. You knew going into the relationship that it was going to be difficult though sometimes you couldn’t help the guilt that threatened to drown you whenever you had any sort of thought of being mad or upset about another missed date with your boyfriend. Tonight, however, you had Satoru’s iron-clad promise that he would be home at a decent hour to spend time with you during the holidays and you weren’t going to waste a single second of it. The bedroom was perfect, mistletoe hanging above the bed, candles lit, white rose petals sprinkled across the surfaces, and your body clad in last year’s christmas present, a gorgeous lingerie set that matched Satoru’s eyes.

Making a few last adjustments, you were still in the bedroom when you heard the key in the front door and finally your boyfriend was home. 

“Sweets, where are you, you home?” He called out into the house, unnecessarily as he had already located your energy.

“Come to the bedroom, love,” you called back, quickly climbing up onto the bed and arranging yourself sexily across the comforter to be the first thing for him to see as he strode through the door, his normal cocky self. You couldn’t help breaking out into a not-as-sexy grin, cheesing so hard it hurt your face, as you saw him for the first time in weeks, “Merry Christmas!”

You watched as his jaw dropped and blushed when it took him a second to gather himself, “Merry Christmas to you too. Is this my present? Are you trying to give me an early heart attack? Look at you… I can’t believe I haven’t been home for this.”  

“I mean, this is your present- me, not a heart attack. I figured letting you have your way with me was a good present for both of us,” you couldn’t help getting a little shy at his answer, second thoughts flooding your mind at the possibility that he just wanted a quiet night of dinner and cuddling. 

“Oh, sweets, you are absolutely right. I want you so bad and if you’re wanting me too, then let’s celebrate exactly like this,” he immediately soothed you and hooked his fingers into his blindfold, tugging it down around his neck so he could lay his eyes on you. 

You gave in very quickly to him, the rollercoaster of emotions he usually put you through familiar and oddly comforting, letting you relax under his heated gaze, “Come give me my present then.” 

“Have you been naughty or nice this year?” Satoru’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he stood imposingly at the end of the bed. 

“Which answer will get your hands on me faster?” You grinned back from where you were laid out quite decadently across the duvet, the lace of your ice blue lingerie set leaving little to his imagination. 

“Honesty is always the best policy, sweetheart,” he purred back, finally starting his achingly slow crawl up the bed towards you. 

“Then I’ve definitely been naughty this year,” you reached for him as his body settled on top of yours, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a soft kiss that quickly turned heated and sloppy.

When his lips were swollen and bitten, Satoru finally pulled away enough to look down at you again, his unearthly blue eyes soft, “it’s hard to believe you are ever naughty when you taste so sweet. But if you really want, I’m happy to give you your punishment for being a naughty girl.”

You quickly nodded and tugged him back down to your lips, but he ducked to nip and suck on the soft skin of your neck, his hands slowly running up your sides underneath the lacy lingerie. A soft whine left your lips as he left a trail of hickies across your throat, the little stings lost in the feeling of his large hands cupping your breasts and thumbing your nipples into stiff peaks. His hips pressed harshly to yours, letting you feel his thick erection trapped in his pants as he ground against you, desperate for a little friction to relieve some of his ache. The tear of the lingerie being removed from your body had you gasping, opening your mouth to chastise him, however, you were stopped by his tongue plunging between your lips and frantically exploring the warm cavern. 

“I’ll replace it… As many as you want…” He panted against your lips before going back to ravaging your mouth and body with his own. He manhandled your naked limbs, tying your wrists together with his blindfold and forcing them above your head as he tugged your legs into a deep straddle, exposing every sensitive part to Satoru’s sharp eyes. His mouth watered at the view of you spread out beneath him, “You’re going to stay in this position for me, right? Gonna be a good girl for me?” 

“Y-yes, of course,” you quickly nodded.

“Yes, what?” He nipped your throat with a grumble of disapproval. 

“Yes, Toru.”

“That’s my good girl,” he purred again, nuzzling you gently before moving down your body to come face to face with your drooling cunt, making you flush and squirm under his heavy gaze, “now, now, it’s time for me and her to get reacquainted, just stay still for me sweets.”

He was gentle as he ran his long finger over your slick folds, smearing your juices everywhere and getting everything nice and coated in your slick. Pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, he teased your swelling bundle of nerves as his fingers caught on the fluttering entrance to your core, but never entering as an idea struck him. Channeling some of his cursed energy into his finger tips, he lightly tapped on your clit, making you twitch and arch as it felt like you were being subjected to little shocks on your most sensitive area. 

“Toru?” You tried to sit up and see what he was doing, but was immediately pushed back down by one of his large hands.

“Trust me, sweets, I think you’re going to like this,” was his only answer before he went back to touching you, little flashes of his power arcing out to tease your quickly heating flesh as he ran his fingertips across your sex. You did trust him, so you did your best to relax and let him continue his torture of your body, his hands moving back to your torso in slow circles so he could try out this newfound tactic other places as well. His fingers danced across your skin until they came across your peaked nipples, tugging and pinching them as his mouth closed over your twitching clit. Your pleasure was starting to drown you, making it hard to keep your arms above your head when all you wanted to do was bury your hands in his hair and buck up into his mouth. The little sparks of energy tingled your most sensitive areas intensified by Satoru eating you out like he was dying of starvation and you were his last meal.

“T-toru… I-I’m gonna c-cum,” you sobbed as his power increased, the shocks he was delivering growing stronger as he lost himself in your taste, lapping up every drop of slick that oozed from your quivering pussy. Two of his fingers buried themselves deep inside your walls as he moved to suck on your clit, continuing the electrostimulation as he stroked your walls, making your cunt clench and pulse as you wailed, fat tears running down your cheeks as your orgasm crashed through your body. 

“That’s it sweets, god you feel and taste so good, my sweet, sweet girl,” Satoru finally pulled away from your fluttering cunt when you started mewling at him in overstimulation. He climbed back up your body in a trail of wet kisses until he found your lips again, still delivering the small shocks everywhere your skin touched his. It was like he couldn’t even control it anymore, too caught up in the pleasure of your body. He tore his own clothes off, kicking the articles off the bed mindlessly as he fisted his leaking cock in one hand, spreading his precum down his shaft to lubricate himself before he buried himself deep inside of your pussy in one harsh thrust. Your nails dug deep crescents into his back as you cried out from the sudden mind blowing stretch, Satoru’s teeth digging into your neck, fighting back his own groan as your cunt shaped around his dick perfectly. 

There was no preamble, no slow start, only him pounding into you with everything he had as he felt like he was home at last. Squelches and wet, slick sounds filled the air with every thrust, his cock pulling out almost entirely before he jerked himself all the way back in, to the hilt, sheathing himself so deep inside of you, you could feel him rearranging your guts. His thick cock kissed your cervix with every push, splashing precum over the ring of tight muscle as you did your best to strangle his erection with your pussy walls. 

“Wanna… wanna cum inside you, sweets, can I? Can I fill you up?” He begged against your neck before bringing his head up to capture your lips again, teeth biting into your lower lip and pulling before releasing so he could jam his tongue into your mouth again, too animalistic to even let you answer, the shocks from his skin seeming to concentrate around his cock, making your walls spasm and pleasure flood through your body.

You sucked on the muscle in return, breaking away long enough to brokenly nod, “y-yes… y-yes, cum inside, T-toru.” His entire body shuddered above yours and the lights in the apartment grew stronger for a moment and then cut out entirely, neither one of you really noticing, too lost in the other to realize that you were both in a room now only lit by candles. Hips slapping into yours, his rhythm jerked and stuttered and his cock twitched wildly inside of you, liquid heat spilling from his tip and painting your walls. You arched violently, your orgasm meeting his in a wave of ecstasy that had you moaning into his mouth and writhing against him. A few more pulses of cum pumped from his dick before he fell limp on your body, both of you struggling to catch your breath as his seed leaked from your trembling hole and around his cock.

You were both still for a long time, long enough for you to start to worry, “Toru? You okay?”

“Hm…” He grumbled out, still not moving, “I am perfect, my sweet. Absolutely perfect.”

Pulling your hands out of the makeshift blindfold tie, you dropped your arms over his shoulders and ran your fingers through his hair, “You are perfect. That was perfect. I’ve missed you so much.” 

At that, he shifted and pressed a gentle kiss to your swollen lips, “I’ve missed you too. I’m not going to let another long gap happen in our relationship. I can’t be without you like that again. No more. I’m putting my foot down.” 

“You don’t have to, Toru, I know you’re busy. I don’t mind,” you sighed softly and kissed his forehead.

He was not convinced, “Don’t lie, sweetheart, I know it’s hard on you too. I mean it. No more.”

“Alright, alright, just don’t make promises that will be impossible to keep.”

“I’m Satoru Gojo, nothing is impossible for the strongest,” he grinned and rolled onto his back, keeping you wrapped tightly in his arms so now you were laying on top of him.

You rolled your eyes at his ego, “Okay, the strongest, do you want dinner? Or a bath?”

“Uh, I think the power’s out, so either is probably not going to happen…” He answered sheepishly as you finally realized what he had a few minutes ago.

“Oh.”

12 Days of Kinkmas Masterlist

[neverchecking]

NSFW Alphabet- Wild Edition

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At the start, he's...not the best. But-BUT, hear me out, he learns. He's such a good learner and he's quick at learning things too. You could mention something offhandedly during... fucking lunch or something and he's remembering it for the next time you have sex. So while it takes time, he does eventually become a king at aftercare. Massaging muscles, lotion-ing bodies, helping Reader to the bathroom, etc...

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His partner? Everything. All of it. Anything Reader is willing to bless him with he's all over. But if he had to chose? Their tummy honestly. It's a sign of their health to him. If it has a little chub? His favorite. It means he's doing his job and their eating well. Their remaining safe and healthy and happy. And he loves just holding it and anchoring his hands there.

On him? ...His hands. I know I said this with Twilight (Lmao I wrote Twilight's before Wilds), but Wild likes his hands too. They're talented. They have to be. With his knife skills, and his rock climbing and whatever else, he has strong fingers. And he knows how to use them. If it makes his partner happy, he's happy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh, he loves painting his partner's chest and stomach in his cum. Watching the ropes paint their skin a pretty white while bliss makes their gaze loopy and blank drives him absolutely nuts, probably making him hard all over again as he's pouncing once more to do it all over again.

He'll never say no to giving you his own personal pie though. I'm so sorry for that I hate myself lmao /s

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would love if you pegged him while he was wearing the Vai outfit. Lay him down and take it slow? Lace kisses up and down his scarred body? Take your sweet time with him and ensure his own pleasure no matter what while taking him apart? All of it. He wants all of it. He wants to feel you, hold you, let you take charge so he can let his guard down for once.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Nope. Clueless. If he had sex before dying, he forgot. He considered himself a virgin when you two met and says he lost it to you when asked. Maybe he had sex before he died, but fuck if he knows. He only knows you.

And he loves learning with you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This is a toughie because he is so erratic as a character. Somedays he probably loves you ass down face up, others he just needs missionary. Depends on his mood and how the day is going/went.

But his ultimate favorite is probably the pretzel dip. Having you on your side with one of his legs hooked over your bottom leg is perfect in every way. He gets that intimacy that comes with eye contact, and he gets all the benefits of doggy style. It has that special place in his heart.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely lets out a few jokes and quips. It relaxes him, it relaxes his partner. He sees it as a win-win. He loves making things as effortless as possible for both parties, and if that does it, so be it. Plus he loves his lover's laugh.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oddly enough, yeah, I think he's pretty well groomed. It's a bush, but it's a controlled bush, yk? No. it's cleaned and groomed and trimmed. probably a little lighter than his normal hair color.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be super romantic! Flowers, candles, soft words of praise. He can do the whole package. But he can also do everything else. He's a wild card, heh, in the sense that he can be whatever you need from him.

He does love those intimate nights of reestablishing your love for one another. Sure, you can have the bells and whistles that come with kinks and toys and whatever else, but those nights where its just you and him and the love between you two manifesting itself into this act are always going to be some of his favorites.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to do it every once in a while. Not often, but when the nights got a little too lonely he would take the twenty minutes to rub one out. It de-stressed him and got his muscles relaxed enough for him to take a breather for an hour. After meeting you? It's so incredibly rare. He loves just having you there because not only does the release relax him, but so does your presence alone.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He definitely likes cuffing his lover's hands together with metal bracelets and using magnesis to hold them up. Or using just a bit of Cryonis to cultivate small ice cubes that leave shiny tails along your body. Or maybe he's uses stasis to freeze you place while he does whatever he wants with you? Hard to choose really.

For sure has a exhibitionist kink though. He loves the thrill of almost getting caught. Makes him feel alive.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere he can get his hands on you. If it has reasonable privacy and you guys have twenty minutes, he's taking you then and there. His favorite place is probably his own home. Or in an alley in Gerudo? Maybe behind a rock formation in Eldin? Perhaps a cabin up in Hebra?

Maybe he can't pick a favorite afterall~

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's kind of like Twilight in the sense of everything, but when there's something that gets the adrenaline pumping, he's especially ripping, ready to go. Especially if it's right after a near death experience. Those have him spitting out an excuse before pulling you out of ear shot and pinning you to the nearest tree while his body still thrums with the rush left over.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that comes even remotely close to non-consensual play. Like consensual non-consent? He fucking hates it. He hates the idea that he could ever be capable of hurting you in such a way. It eats at him and he fucking refuses to do anything that bares any resemblance to that. He needs clear, verbal consent to any and everything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Also a giver! He loves hooking your legs over his shoulders as you lean against a tree, fingers threading in his hair. Or slipping between you and the counter you lean onto for support pulling your hips in time with his tongue. Or simply letting you use his mouth as your own personal toy <3

When it comes to receiving, he is the biggest whiner. He doesn't have the patience for teasing, so he's constantly bucking his hips, and he doesn't keep quiet doing so either. He's begging and pleading for more, all while whimpering out your name. If he gets especially desperate, he may forgo your pace and fuck your mouth instead.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Can do both. He likes the soft and sensual side, being reminded that he's worth something, but he also likes just ruining you and having you beneath him. Putting him in charge and trusting he knows how to deal with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Loves them. All the time. He's a busy man with a lot on his plate and if he can destress and restart with just a twenty minute break? He's doing it. Any chance he gets he's taking it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

So down for any risks. He loves the idea of it all. Sucking his dick in an inn bathroom while a group of men walk past? He's biting his lips at the thought of them walking in to see you on your knees. He's going down on you behind some pasture while people bargain for horse equipment? Nearly cumming in his pants at the though. Anything his partner is up to, he's ready to follow.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So many rounds. You cannot stop him by trying to exhaust him. It doesn't work like that. His lover either taps out or their going until the sun is shining down on them, lettings its rays cascade over their worn and tired bodies.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He does. He's into all sorts of things and is always open to try something new. I don't know what the kink scene is like in Hryule, but Wild probably comes up with new things all on his own ;) Pretty silken ropes, or plugs made from shined and polished metal, maybe even a bar meant to keep his beloveds ankles spread just for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves teasing. Winding up his partner tighter and tighter, waiting for them to snap, and watching with glee as their own frustrations build up. He's letting his touches linger and his words dip into a husky whisper against their ears, only to walk away right after, whistling a hearty tune.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He makes the prettiest noises. Loud and pretty and even when he tries to muffle them, he just can't. It's like it goes against his very soul to hide how good you make him feel from the world.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Okay, so I know some people tag him a brat/ power bottom, and you're right, but I also like the idea of him just being this no nonsense dom. He's had a taste of being in total control of himself, and what he does, and loves it. From the bits he remembers, pre-Calamity, he wasn't happy. Not with his every move monitored and carefully dictated. So when his partner not only gives him control over himself, but also them?

He's drooling at the thought of it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Not overly girthy, pretty average in fact, but the length. 6.5 inches with a few veins running up the sides. The head is a darker red than the rest of his skin and he's surprisingly circumcised. (His dad was in the military as well, so it's probably a result of his dad following those strict guidelines.)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high. He's under a lot of stress okay? He needs something to let it out on. Plus, that alone with his energy reservoirs leads to him needing something pretty near constantly. He's normally able to push it back, but if you offered him whenever the urge hit you, he'd be up for it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not for a while. Even after something like sex drains his energy, Wild has the innate need to ensure that his sweetheart is okay. He's watching them for a while, just making sure their chest is rising and falling the way it's supposed to. When fatigue does eventually tug at his bones, he's burrowing into their side and letting them hold him as he drifts to sleep, content their okay for the night.

[badathumanemotions]

Emily Prentiss Wing Woman Extraordinaire

Spencer Reid x FemReader x Emily Prentiss MDNI Category: Smut CW: Alcohol, Threesome, Voyeurism, Masturbation (Male and Fem), Cuckholding maybe, Exhibition Kink, Fingering, Oral (Fem Rec.) Strap-on, Doggy Style, Almost TitJob, Spencer likes looking at boobs, Vaginal Sex, Riding, Cum Eating. WC: 4,338 Emily and reader have been hooking up but can see Spencer and reader like each other. She decides to give them a little push. (Not Proof Read) Master List In the dimly lit corner of a bustling café, a young woman sat engrossed in a dog-eared book. Her name was Y/N L/N, and she had a secret she couldn't quite shake from her thoughts. A gentle scent of vanilla and coffee beans wafted through the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of silverware. She took a sip from her lukewarm drink, her mind racing with scenes that played out in her imagination. Her cheeks flushed as she read the steamy passages, her heart fluttering like a caged bird in her chest. It was a rare moment of solace in her otherwise hectic life working for the BAU.

Y/N's phone buzzed on the table, snapping her out of her trance. She glanced at the screen, her eyes widening at the name that appeared: Emily Prentiss. Emily was not just a colleague, but a friend with a penchant for the unexpected. They had a history that was as tangled as the unsolved cases they often discussed over late-night takeout. Their friendship had taken a turn a few months ago, veering into a realm that was both thrilling and slightly alarming for Y/N. They had crossed lines that others might consider unprofessional, but the adrenaline rush of their secret encounters was something Y/N found difficult to resist.

The text message was succinct: "Drinks tonight, my place. 8 PM. Don't be late." Y/N felt a peculiar mix of excitement and dread. She knew that when Emily was in charge, the evening was bound to be anything but ordinary. With a flicker of curiosity, she typed a quick response, "See you then," and slipped her phone back into her bag. The anticipation grew as the hours ticked by.

As Y/N approached Emily's apartment that evening, the warm glow of the setting sun cast long shadows on the pavement. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair and adjusting her blouse before ringing the bell. The door swung open, revealing Emily in a figure-hugging dress that left little to the imagination. Her smile was mischievous, hinting at the wild cards she was known to play. "You're early," she purred, stepping aside to let Y/N in. The living room was lit by the flickering of candles, and the faint sound of jazz played in the background. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of seduction, and Y/N could feel her pulse quicken as she stepped into the lion's den.

Emily led the way to the kitchen, where she had set out an array of drinks. She poured three glasses of whiskey, handing one to Y/N and one to Spencer, who was already seated on the couch, looking slightly uncomfortable. His eyes darted between the two women, a hint of confusion and arousal playing across his features. "Relax, Reid," Emily said, handing him the drink. "We're all friends here." She took a sip from her own glass, her eyes gleaming with a challenge. "Why don't you sit beside Y/N?" she suggested, her voice dropping an octave.

Spencer's heart hammered in his chest as he moved closer to Y/N, their thighs brushing against each other. The fabric of their clothes seemed to crackle with the electricity between them. Y/N took a nervous sip of her whiskey, the warmth of the liquid spreading through her body and lowering her inhibitions. She felt the weight of Spencer's gaze on her, and she knew he was just as affected by the situation as she was.

Emily sat opposite them, her legs crossed, watching the two with a knowing smile. She took a leisurely sip of her drink, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "So, Y/N," she began, her voice as smooth as silk, "have you ever wondered what it would be like to have Spencer watch us?" Y/N's eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her whiskey. She had never thought about it before, but the idea sent a thrill through her. Spencer's eyes widened even further, his hand trembling slightly as he held his glass.

Emily leaned forward, placing her hand on Y/N's thigh. "You know he's had a crush on you for ages," she whispered, her breath hot against Y/N's ear. "And I know you've been curious about him too." Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine as Emily's fingers began to trace slow, lazy circles on her skin. "What if we gave him a little show?"

Y/N's eyes darted to Spencer, who was staring at them with a mix of shock and desire. He took a gulp of his whiskey, his Adam's apple bobbing. She could see the war in his gaze, the internal struggle between his morals and his desires. But she also saw something else, something that made her pulse race faster: want.

Emily's hand slid higher up Y/N's thigh, her thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below the hem of her skirt. "What do you say, Reid?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. "Would you like to see how I make her moan?" Spencer's cheeks flushed, but he didn't look away. He swallowed hard, and Y/N could see his hand tighten around his glass.

"I-I don't know," he stuttered, his eyes flicking between the two women.

Emily leaned back with a knowing smirk. "It's okay, Y/N's shy, aren't you?" She took another sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving Spencer's. "But I've seen the way you look at her, and I've seen the way she looks at you. I think it's time we all admitted what we want."

Spencer's heart was racing, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He had never been in a situation like this before, but the prospect of seeing Y/N in such an intimate setting was too tempting to resist. He took a deep breath and nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I would."

Emily's smirk grew wider, and she turned to Y/N, her hand sliding up even further, her fingertips brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. "Well, are you ready to give him a show?" Y/N's eyes met Spencer's, and she nodded shyly, feeling the heat of his gaze on her. She couldn't believe she was agreeing to this, but the excitement was too much to ignore.

Emily's hand moved to the back of Y/N's neck, pulling her in for a deep, slow kiss. Y/N's body melted into hers, her hand instinctively reaching for the zipper of Emily's dress. The sound of the zipper echoed in the quiet room, and Spencer felt his cock twitch in his pants as he watched the two women. He had always had a thing for Y/N, but he never thought he'd be invited to be a part of something so… intense.

Y/N's hands slipped into the open dress, caressing Emily's bare skin. Spencer's breath hitched as he saw the fullness of Emily's breasts, the way Y/N's thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples. Emily moaned softly into the kiss, arching her back to give Y/N better access. Spencer's eyes wandered down to the apex of their legs, where he could see the outline of Y/N's hand moving under Emily's skirt. He took a gulp of his whiskey, the heat of the alcohol a poor substitute for the fire burning in his loins.

Emily broke the kiss, her eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and power. "Take off your clothes," she ordered Y/N, her voice firm and authoritative. Y/N's hands trembled as she complied, her eyes never leaving Spencer's. He watched, transfixed, as she revealed her naked body to him.

Spencer felt his heart pound as he took in the sight of Y/N's skin, her nipples pebbling under his gaze. She sat back down, her legs spread slightly apart, giving him a tantalizing view of her wetness. Emily's hand slid down to Y/N's clit, her thumb circling the sensitive bud as she took another sip of her whiskey. "You can touch yourself, Reid," she said, her voice a challenge. "But only when I say you can."

Spencer's hand trembled as he unzipped his pants, his cock springing free. He started to stroke it tentatively, his eyes locked on the erotic scene unfolding before him. Emily's hand moved faster, her fingers slipping inside Y/N's pussy, making her gasp. Y/N's hands found her own breasts, her thumbs flicking over her nipples in time with Emily's rhythm.

Emily leaned back on the couch, watching Spencer with hooded eyes. "Keep going," she whispered to Y/N, her own breathing growing ragged. "I want to see how much you want him." Y/N's hips rocked against Emily's hand, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. Spencer's strokes grew more confident, his hand moving in time with Emily's fingers.

Y/N let out a moan that was music to Emily's ears. She knew Spencer was close to losing control, and she reveled in the power she had over both of them.

"Let's move this to the bedroom," Emily murmured, her voice dripping with desire. She took Y/N's hand and led her down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Spencer followed, his eyes glued to the sway of their hips, his heart racing with anticipation.

The bedroom was a study in contrasts: the soft glow of candles against the starkness of the white sheets, the scent of vanilla blending with the musk of arousal. Emily pushed Y/N onto the bed, her eyes meeting Spencer's. "Strip and sit in that chair," she instructed, pointing to a chair in the corner of the room. Spencer's throat went dry as he obeyed, his eyes flickering between the two women.

He sat down, his cock standing at attention, his breathing shallow and fast. Emily climbed onto the bed, straddling Y/N's thighs, her own dress now a puddle of fabric on the floor. Y/N looked up at her, her pupils dilated with desire. "You can touch yourself," Emily told Spencer, "but don't you dare come until I say so." She leaned down and kissed Y/N, her tongue delving deep as her hand slid between her legs, teasing and exploring.

Spencer watched, his hand moving almost mechanically as he stroked himself. The sight of Emily's fingers disappearing into Y/N's folds was more than he could bear. Y/N's whimpers grew louder, her body arching into Emily's touch. He could feel the tension in the room, the sexual energy so thick it was almost palpable. He wanted to be a part of it, but he knew he had to wait, to watch.

Emily's eyes met his, and she smirked, reading his desperation. She leaned back, her hand leaving Y/N's pussy with a wet sound that made Spencer's cock twitch. "On your knees," she whispered to Y/N, who complied eagerly. She positioned herself at the head of the bed, her legs spread wide, giving Spencer a full view of her glistening sex.

Y/N's eyes never left Spencer's as she leaned down to kiss Emily's inner thighs. She could feel his gaze burning into her, watching every move she made. Emily's hand curled around the back of her neck, guiding her to her clit. Y/N's tongue darted out, tracing delicate circles around the sensitive bud. Emily's moans grew louder, her hips bucking slightly with every touch. Spencer's hand moved faster on his cock, his eyes glued to the sight before him.

Emily reached down and pulled Y/N's hair, making her arch her back. Spencer's eyes widened as he took in the full view of Y/N's ass, her pussy glistening with arousal. He had never seen anything so erotic in his life. Emily leaned back, her breasts bouncing with the force of her breaths. "Look at him, Y/N," she instructed, her voice strained with pleasure. "Look at how much he wants you."

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Spencer, his eyes dark with desire, his hand moving rapidly over his erection. She felt a rush of power, knowing she had him on the edge. She turned her attention back to Emily, her tongue delving deeper, tasting the sweetness of her arousal. Emily's legs tightened around her head, her grip on Y/N's hair growing more demanding.

Suddenly, Emily's body went rigid, and she let out a guttural moan. Y/N felt Emily's orgasm drench her face, a shocking sensation that sent a jolt of excitement through her. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of Emily's release. Spencer's hand stilled on his cock, his eyes wide with amazement as he watched the intimate scene play out before him.

"Good girl," Emily panted, her voice husky with satisfaction.

Y/N sat up, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. Emily leaned back against the pillows, her chest heaving. She reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a strap-on, the sight of which made Spencer's cock twitch with anticipation. She held it up with a wicked smile. "Ready for the main event?"

Y/N nodded eagerly, her eyes never leaving the toy. Emily slipped it on with practiced ease, the leather straps fitting snugly against her body. She positioned herself between Y/N's legs, the tip of the dildo brushing against her already slick folds. "Remember, Reid," she said, not taking her eyes off Y/N, "you can watch, but you don't get to touch."

Spencer swallowed hard, his arousal reaching a peak he had never experienced before. He shuffled closer to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress. Emily's eyes flicked to him, and she nodded for him to sit.

He positioned himself at the edge of the bed, his heart racing as he watched Emily hover over Y/N, the strap-on gleaming in the light. He could see the hunger in Y/N's eyes, the way she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. Emily's hand reached for the base of the dildo, her knuckles brushing against Y/N's skin as she teased her with the tip.

With a sudden jolt of inspiration, Emily had an idea. She pulled out, her hand trailing down Y/N's back to the small of her waist. "Move up, Reid," she instructed, her voice a seductive purr. Spencer obeyed, his legs shaking slightly as he adjusted his position. "Now, Y/N," she said, her grip firm, "get on your hands and knees."

Y/N complied, her breath hitching in anticipation as she positioned herself over Spencer.

Her hands found purchase on the bed on either side of his thighs, her knuckles brushing against the soft fabric of the comforter. The strap-on was cold against her skin at first, but it quickly warmed to the temperature of the room, becoming an extension of Emily's desire. She watched as Spencer's cock grew even harder, the veins standing out against his skin.

With a wicked grin, Emily began to push into Y/N, her eyes locked on Spencer's face. Y/N's breasts swung over his cock with every thrust, and he couldn't help but lean back to watch. He had never seen anything so erotic in his life. His hand hovered over his shaft, desperately wanting to touch but knowing he had to wait.

Y/N's moans grew louder, her body tightening around the strap-on with every push. She looked down at Spencer, her eyes glazed with pleasure. She knew he was dying to touch her, to feel her in the way she was feeling Emily, and the power was intoxicating. She lowered her torso even further, her breasts grazing the tip of his cock with every movement.

Emily's thrusts grew more forceful, the bed rocking beneath them. Spencer's hand hovered just above his shaft, his fingers itching to take over. The sight of Y/N's body responding so intimately to Emily's was almost too much to handle. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, could almost taste the sweetness of her desire. He bit his lip, trying to focus on anything but the need to touch, the need to claim her.

Spencer's hand hovered over his own erection, his palm just grazing the sensitive skin. He wanted to stroke himself in time with Emily's thrusts, to feel the same pleasure that was clearly etched on Y/N's face. But he held back, his eyes locked on the erotic dance before him.

Y/N's tits bounced enticingly with each powerful thrust from Emily, and Spencer had to clench his fist to keep from reaching out to touch them. They were so close, so perfect, and the way they swayed hypnotized him.

Emily noticed Spencer's strained expression and smirked. "You're being too quiet, Y/N," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "I know you can be louder than that." She glanced at Spencer. "And I think Spencer needs a little something to take his mind off his own needs."

Y/N's eyes widened, but she didn't protest as Emily reached over and grabbed Spencer's hand, guiding it back to his cock. "Start touching yourself again," she ordered, her voice firm and commanding.

Spencer didn't need any further encouragement. He began to stroke himself with a fervor that matched the rhythm of Emily's hips. Y/N's moans grew louder, and she began to rock back into Emily's thrusts.

But just as Spencer felt the tension coil in his gut, ready to spill over, Emily pulled out of Y/N with a sly smile. She leaned over, her breasts brushing against Y/N's back, and whispered something in her ear. Y/N's eyes went wide with surprise, and she turned to look at Spencer, her cheeks flushed and her pupils blown wide with lust.

Emily's hand was on Y/N's hip, guiding her to straddle Spencer. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of shock and arousal. "Ride him," Emily instructed, her voice a dark, velvety purr. "I want to watch you come all over his cock."

Y/N's legs trembled as she positioned herself above Spencer, the heat of his erection against her sensitive folds. She had been so close to cumming, the anticipation making her entire body ache with need. Now, she was about to take it to the next level, and she could feel the excitement building inside her like a storm about to break.

With a deep breath, she lowered herself onto him, the tip of his cock parting her slick lips. The moment he slid into her, she felt like she had been set on fire. Her walls clenched around him, desperate to feel all of him, to be filled completely. Spencer groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he felt her warm, tight pussy envelop him.

They began to move together, their bodies a blur of passion and need. Spencer's hands gripped her hips, guiding her in a frenzied rhythm that had them both gasping for air. Y/N's nails dug into the bed as she leaned back, her breasts bouncing with every powerful thrust. She had never felt so alive, so wanted.

Emily watched from the side, her own arousal growing as she took in the sight of her two colleagues, lost in the throes of passion. The way Spencer's eyes rolled back with every moan that escaped Y/N's lips, the way Y/N's body quivered with every touch, it was a symphony of desire that Emily conducted with a masterful hand.

Neither Y/N nor Spencer could hold back their moans as their bodies moved in a frenzied dance of lust. Emily reached between them, her hand finding Y/N's clit, already swollen and begging for attention. Her fingers began to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. Y/N's eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her bottom lip, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The pressure inside Spencer was building, his body tightening with the intensity of his need. He had never felt so alive, so in sync with another person's pleasure. His eyes met Y/N's, and he could see the same desperation reflected there. He knew she was close, and the thought of her coming apart on his cock was too much to bear.

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer felt the dam break. He groaned, his hips bucking upwards as ropes of cum shot into her. The sensation was overwhelming, his orgasm more intense than any he had ever experienced. Y/N threw her head back, her pussy clenching around him as she screamed out her release. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the candles flickering shadows on the walls as they moved together.

Emily watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the pleasure etched on both their faces. She hadn't anticipated the raw, unbridled need that had taken over the moment.

But as Y/N's orgasm subsided, Emily's expression grew stern. "Reid," she said, her voice a sharp reprimand. "I didn't say you could cum in her."

Spencer's eyes snapped open, realizing what he had done. He felt a mix of embarrassment and arousal at the dominance in Emily's tone.

Emily's expression was a cocktail of amusement and authority. She leaned over, her breasts swaying with the movement, and whispered in Spencer's ear, "You need to clean up your mess, Reid." Her voice was a seductive purr that sent a shiver down his spine.

Spencer froze, his mind racing with the implications of her words. He had never done anything like this before, but the command in her tone left no room for argument. He felt his face flush as he pulled out of Y/N, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Emily's eyes bore into his, a smirk playing on her lips. "Lick her clean," she said, her voice a low, sultry whisper. Y/N looked down at him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and excitement. She had never expected this night to take such a turn, but the idea of Spencer tasting himself inside her was strangely thrilling.

With a gentle tug, Emily guided Spencer's head down to Y/N's pussy, her grip on his hair keeping him in place. He looked up at her, his eyes questioning, but she just nodded, giving him permission. He took a deep breath and leaned in, his tongue tentatively touching the wetness that coated Y/N's folds. The taste was unexpected, a mix of salt and sweetness that made his cock throb.

Y/N felt a second wave of pleasure begin to build as Spencer's tongue slid along her slit, lapping up the remnants of their passion. She had never been so exposed, so vulnerable, and it was thrilling. Her legs trembled as he found her clit, his mouth closing around it, sucking gently. She threw her head back, her moans echoing through the room.

Emily watched, her eyes hooded with arousal, as Spencer eagerly obeyed her command. She could feel her own desire climbing again, her pussy wet and needy. She reached down and began to play with herself, her fingers sliding in and out of her own wetness as she watched the two of them.

Y/N's moans grew louder as Spencer's tongue worked its magic, his strokes growing more confident as he tasted the salty sweetness of their combined juices. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she couldn't help but rock her hips against his face, urging him deeper.

Spencer felt Y/N's body begin to tense, her muscles tightening around his tongue as she approached her second peak. He lapped at her eagerly, the taste of his own cum an unexpected aphrodisiac that had him desperate for more. He could feel his cock swelling again, his arousal spiking as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Emily watched, her eyes glued to the erotic scene playing out before her. She had never seen Y/N look so lost in pleasure, so open and willing. Her own hand moved faster, her fingers sliding in and out of her slick pussy as she watched Spencer's tongue dance over Y/N's clit.

Y/N's back arched, her breasts thrusting into the air as she threw her head back. The sound of Spencer's mouth against her skin was like music to Emily's ears. She could feel her own orgasm building, the tension coiling low in her belly.

As Spencer's tongue swirled around Y/N's clit, Emily watched with rapt attention. She could see the pleasure building in Y/N's eyes, the way her body was tightening around Spencer's mouth. And when Y/N's climax hit, it was like a dam breaking. Her body convulsed, her pussy spasming around Spencer's tongue.

Emily couldn't hold back any longer. The sight of Y/N's release, the sound of her cries of pleasure, it all pushed her over the edge. She felt her own orgasm crash over her, her body shaking with the intensity of it.

The three of them collapsed onto the bed, their bodies entwined and slick with sweat. The post-orgasm glow filled the room, a warm, hazy light that seemed to make everything feel softer, more intimate.

After a moment of heavy panting, Emily propped herself up on her elbow, looking between Spencer and Y/N with a smug grin. "Well, that was…enlightening," she said, her voice a low purr.

Spencer's cheeks were still flushed, his eyes glazed with the aftermath of pleasure.

Emily's grin grew wider as she looked down at him. "Well, Reid," she said, her voice a teasing purr, "are you going to finally ask her out now?"

The question hung in the air, thick with the scent of sex and candle wax. Spencer's eyes snapped to Y/N's, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and hope. Y/N's own smile was shy, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before darting away again.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "Y/N," he began, his voice gruff with passion and nerves, "Would you like to…go out with me?"

Her eyes searched his, a spark of excitement flickering in their depths. Without a word, she leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss that spoke volumes. It was soft, yet demanding, filled with the promise of more to come. Spencer's heart soared.

When they broke apart, Y/N's voice was breathless. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. "I'd love to go out with you, Spencer."

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎThe Road Not Taken౨ৎ꣑ৎ

꣑ৎ"There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me."꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: mental illness pairing: fem reader x alex nilsen summary: alex was your first real love and your first real heartbreak. so why have your parents invited him to their holiday party? author’s note: so...this was very hard for me to write for some reason, and I'm still not 100% about it but it is done and here and I hope it is good Spotify Playlist

The journey from the airport was a nostalgic trick.

Every road, every business, every traffic light was tainted by the past's glow. You weren't sure if you should stare into it or turn away. Your parents chatted excitedly in the front seats while you sat staring out the window, feeling as though you were universes away from them.

The skies were blue, the fresh layer of snow trampled by footprints on the sidewalk and torn to slush on the roads, turning grey as tires rolled through it. People out walking were bundled in puffy coats, woolen hats covering their ears as they chattered, excitedly based on their expressions. Tinsel candy canes and bells interwoven with string lights decorated the street posts, the city's attempt at being festive. You smiled a bit at the sight.

"Camille made it down yesterday," your mother said, stretching and tilting her head back to look at you. "She and John are staying at a hotel so you can have your old bedroom."

"Is there something wrong with the guest room?" you asked absentmindedly, tilting your forehead so it was pressed against the cool glass, a welcome relief from the air blasting you turned up to the highest setting.

"No," your father said simply, and you shrugged, adjusting the neck of your sweater. You supposed if you had a fiancé you wouldn't want to sleep in your childhood home either.

As the car pulled into your street, you lifted your head, rubbing at the smudge your forehead left. The house you grew up in looked the same as always, down to the usual holiday decorations. You could practically see your father standing on the ladder, hooking the lights to the roof while your mother nervously held the ladder, yelling at him not to fall like Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation.

You went to unload your bags but your father insisted, making you feel more like a guest than you'd like. As you carefully made your way up the steps, avoiding ice patches, you paused as your mother grabbed your elbow, pulling you close. "I wanted to tell you...Camille and John aren't the only ones we've invited for Christmas."

"Oh?" You began to sort through your mind who else they could have brought over. Your aunt, maybe, from California? She loved a palm tree covered in lights more than anything, so you weren't sure why she'd come all the way to the Midwest for Christmas. Even so, you felt a twinge of excitement at the thought. She was sure to diffuse any possible tension that came with family in close quarters.

Turning around, you saw a vaguely familiar car parked in the far part driveway that you hadn't noticed before. Your aunt would have flown first class to Ohio, but she'd grown up here, so maybe she'd borrowed an old friend's vehicle? Thinking of how smooth and charming she was, you supposed anything was possible.

"It'll be nice," you decided, looking at your mother. "To have someone else here."

"It will!" She patted your arm, beginning to walk with you up the porch steps again. "This is part of why your sister couldn't take the guest bedroom. We wanted it available. And she had no objections."

"I'm sure she didn't," you commented. John was a soon-to-be heart surgeon from a wealthy family. You were sure he and Camille were staying in the nicest place in town. Again, not that you could blame them.

Opening the door, you stepped inside and slipped off your shoes, inhaling the scent of the peppermint candle your mother always burned for the duration of the month. The smell comforted you, and a barrage of memories dragged over you like a tidal wave, You pushed the bad ones down and sorted through the montage of good. Hot chocolate and snowball fights and knitted scarves and pink wrapping paper.

Wandering toward the kitchen, you daydreamt of a hot tea after your long journey, the perfect remedy to whatever stress you'd brought with you from home. In your experience, there was no problem a hot drink couldn't fix. Not that being home was a problem but...oh well. You hummed as you opened the cabinet, turning around, your eyes widening.

The mug slipped from your hands, and you barely registered the distinct sound of a thousand tiny pieces separating themselves from one, bouncing on the floor around your feet and creeping into cracks and under places out of reach. All you could do was stare straight ahead.

Because Alex Nilsen was sitting in front of you, looking like he'd seen a ghost even though he was in your parents' house.

Holidays with your family came in a set of traditions, like Russian nesting dolls. One thing led to another until the famous party at the end on Christmas Eve. It was a classy affair, long upheld by your parents since before you and Camille were born. Other happenings were developed and kept over the years, creating the sequence you could see so clearly in your mind.

And it was all about to be dismantled by a puppy-eyed new addition.

"Ed's going to be with David for a few weeks," your mother had said, trying to soothe you in the living room after the incident. "And poor Alex couldn't leave with the end of the school term. The Nilsens have been to their fair share of Christmas activities with us before-"

"But why isn't he at his own place?" you whispered, eyes darting to the living room entrance. "He lives close, doesn't he?"

"His apartment flooded," she explained, and you nodded once, biting your cheek. Of course it did. "So we offered for him to come stay here for now, since he's going to be with us so often for the next bit anyways."

"Right." You nodded, trying to remain calm. "Okay. Fine. This is fine."

"We thought you'd be happy about it." Your mother frowned, touching your elbow. "You used to be so close..."

"Yes. Yeah." You interjected, folding your arms over yourself. Push it down. Push it down. "It's fine. It'll be great. It was nice of you to invite him."

You hadn't told many people what happened. Maybe if your parents had known, they wouldn't have asked him over. They still would, you thought bitterly as you unpacked your things that night. You couldn't stop thinking about the unexpected houseguest sleeping down the hall. Was he thinking about you?

The thoughts were overwhelming. They plagued you even as you tried to sleep, tossing and turning in your time capsule of a room. You were turned to the side, facing away from your old bulletin board. The pictures hadn't been replaced since your senior year of high school, and you could feel their eyes on you even in the dark.

You didn't mean to sleep late, but it was past noon when you woke up, eyes still heavy. Lying in bed, one arm flung over your head, you strained your ears for the sounds of the house, but found none. It was quiet, a fairly unusual occurrence.

Pulling on a too-big sweatshirt and leggings, you trudged downstairs, pulling your hair back on the way. Alex was in the kitchen, and you gave him a half smile, opening the cabinet. You were determined to make a cup of tea without dropping the mug this time.

"Your parents went to lunch with Camille and John," he said behind you, tone light. "They'll all be back later."

"I see," you said casually, setting your mug in the microwave and pressing a few buttons. Turning, you found Alex with his laptop open on the table, blinking up at you.

Time is a funny thing. It seems to lengthen things, suggest change, but you could have sworn nothing about him did. If he was a map, you could have drawn him from memory and not one bit would be different. Hair, eyes, hands, nose, mouth. You didn't know if he felt the same.

He cleared his throat, leaning back in his seat. You tilted yourself back, trying not to slide in your fuzzy socks on the floor. "You're teaching here?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding once. "I like it. Same high school we went to."

A tiny smile quirked your lips up. Of course. You knew from your mother, but you had wanted to hear it from him. That he'd stayed.

Alex drummed his fingers on the table, waiting until after the microwave went off and you took the mug out to ask, "You're in Seattle now?"

"I am." You adjusted the string of your tea bag so you didn't have to look at him. "I've been there for a couple of years."

"Ah." Another bout of silence had you itching to race out of the kitchen, but you held it together. Be an adult.

You continued, trying to keep it casual. "My parents were a little upset that I didn't move closer, but Camille's close, so it's okay." You swallowed. "Her fiance's a-"

"Heart surgeon. Yeah, your mom mentioned it," he said, and you bit the inside of your cheek. He was studying you in that intrinsic Alex way. "She seems really excited about it."

"Very," you responded, taking a sip of your tea and daring to meet his eyes. Once you did, you immediately regretted it. He had a way about him that felt as though he could see straight to your secrets. "He's been really good for her. For Camille."

"She's doing better?" Alex asked, still watching you.

You swallowed. "Yeah. She's doing a lot better."

"Good," he said, and you looked into your tea for a second, unsure what else to say. Just when you were about to leave, he continued. "Look...I'm sorry. For showing up like this. I thought you knew about it-"

"It's fine." You shook your head, meeting his eyes again, giving him a small smile. "Really. It is. It...everything was a long time ago."

"It was," he agreed, eyebrows furrowing. "But it still-"

"I'm going to shower," you interjected, turning and starting to leave. "I'll be back down later." Without waiting for an answer, you trailed away, heart pounding in your ears.

It was more evidence nothing had changed. He was supposed to be a stranger now, but he pulled you right back in. A force of magnetism, just how he'd always been. And just like before, he made your heart beat differently, like it had found its other half.

He had been that. Someone you loved. And a secret voice inside you said that you hadn't stopped. Was that why you could hardly look at him? Why even the sight of him sent you into a spiral, guilt flooding you like a dam burst open? The one person you wanted to tell about it was downstairs where you'd left him, after you'd brushed him off like a stranger.

You avoided him all afternoon until you couldn't anymore, when the tell-tale signs of your parents' voices wafted upstairs, keys rattling, footsteps loud. Reluctantly, you began to wander in their direction, taking your sweet time with every step. For some reason, you were nervous, tense about it. Camille's pretty laugh pierced the air, and you took a deep breath before walking in, keeping a smile on your face. You're happy to see her.

"Hi!" she squealed, pulling you into a hug. You returned it, relaxing a little. This is your sister. You love her. It's okay.

"Hi Cami," you muttered, and she beamed, stepping aside so you could greet her fiancé. You hugged him too- he was famously good at it. "Hi John."

"You look so pretty," she gushed, looking over you. Smiling tightly, you took in her soft sweater and designer earrings. "We've gotta go shopping sometime. I just found the cutest boutique in town that you'd love."

"Right," you said, stepping to the side, accidentally bumping Alex's shoulder.

"Look at you two," Camille giggled as John slid an arm around her. "It's just like in high school."

Alex and you shared a look, and you pursed your lips. He tried not to smile. "I guess it is."

"We got everything at the store for baking," John said, the tips of his fingers rubbing your sister's side. "I think we're making one of everything."

"That's how it goes," you smiled. Yours and Alex's shoulders were touching but neither of you made any move to separate.

Your mother called from the kitchen that the cookies weren't going to bake themselves, and you all trailed in, standing alert and waiting for your assignments. This was the first tradition in the holiday set- making enough cookies to feed a small nation. This kitchen had multiple ovens, and this was the main reason why. They were all preheating thanks to your mother, and she was separating ingredients into groups.

Predictably, you and Alex were put to work on one recipe, while your parents, John, and Camille tackled the other two. The kitchen was lively with both chatter and one of Frank Sinatra's Christmas albums in the background. Camille was telling a story about how she'd accidentally ordered a tree that was far too tall for her and John's living room, and your parents were laughing along across the counter with them.

It was easy to feel disconnected like this. They were all here, and you were off in the big city, the one who left. The outsider. Even though you'd been raised here just the same as your sister, it all felt like a story from somewhere else. Somehow you were an intruder, a guest, where she was at home.

Alex bumped your hip with his, and you nearly melted. He said it quietly, and you knew the others wouldn't be able to hear it. "Do you think he's ever going to let go of her?" You looked at John, who was cracking an egg with his hand on Camille's waist.

A giggle bubbled up out of your mouth, and suddenly it was as if the tension had never been there at all. You looked at Alex with bright eyes, heart fluttering a little. It was him. You'd forgotten your best friend somehow, and as you watched him start to laugh with you, you realized you never wanted to again.

"If he lets go it's cause he's kissing her," you whispered back, and he grinned.

"Should we try it?" When you raised your eyebrows, he flushed and clarified, "I meant baking with one hand."

You gave him a daring look. "We might have to scrape char off our cookies."

"Worth it," he said, and you giggled again, the pieces of you and him falling back into place.

"Let's do it," you decided, holding up your arm. As if reading your mind, he linked his own through it, and you turned back to the ingredients, trying to ignore the press of his elbow to yours.

Reaching for the vanilla, you set the appropriate teaspoon on the counter, methodically uncapping the bottle with your one free hand and pouring carefully, only spilling a few drops on the counter. Next to you, Alex was struggling with the sugar, dipping the measuring cup into the container and trying to delicately shake it so there wasn't too much on top.

"Having trouble?" you giggled, watching him spill for the third time.

"I'm not using my dominant hand," he pointed out, and you squeezed his forearm without thinking, eyes glued to his labored movements. "But I think I've got- there!" It wasn't perfect, but there wasn't as much overfill. He poured it in, and you did the same with your vanilla.

As you struggled to effectively add ingredients, laughing at the missteps, you felt lighter than you had in a long time. Being here with him somehow erased the worry that had plagued you lately, over being home and feeling like a stranger looking through a window to your family.

He'd been that way for you in college too. Always over to study or make dinner, your home away from home. You'd been so nervous about missing Linfield, but he had been everything good about it. It was glaring at you in neon letters. If what you had before was a dying flower, with a single bump of his hip it was nourished back to life.

Sliding your first sheet of cookies into the oven, one of each of your hands on either side, you found your mind bubbling up with a million things you wanted to say to him. You thought of all the times you'd picked up your phone to send a picture of something wild you saw in the city to him, every time all you'd wanted to do was call and hear his voice.

You'd missed him. More than you'd thought.

Alex set the timer and nudged you gently with his elbow. "We're each gonna need one oven mitt."

Your heart fluttered again. He smiled at you. On the other side of the counter, your parents, Camille, and John burst into laughter.

"Oh yeah, the power went out and when we opened the fridge, water came out."

"I really thought that snow was gonna make it to July."

Alex laughed, tilting his head and stretching his legs out on the couch, underneath your bent ones. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, giggling. He set his mug down on the coffee table. "Do you get much snow in Seattle?"

"A bit," you said, tilting your head to rest on the couch. "Not near as much as here. Or maybe it feels different because it's in the city."

The tree was twinkling in the corner of the room, and the TV was on, playing your favorite Christmas movie. Ever since cookie night, you'd spent a lot of time together like this- binging Christmas movies and gorging on chocolate, conversation wandering aimlessly. If you weren't doing that, you were traipsing behind your family at whichever activity you were at. Sledding, shopping, caroling. You began to know him again.

At first it'd been a little more formal. You'd sat further apart, shoulders barely touching. It had only taken a day or so for you to fall back into your old habits. It felt as though all was right with the world after that.

You'd just gotten home from another tradition- driving around to see the lights. There hadn't been enough room in your parents' car for all of you, so you and Alex drove separately.

It turned out to be fun- the two of you laughing and watching the lights blink in time to a radio station. When you shivered, he had immediately started to fiddle with the vents, taking your hand in his and blowing warm air. The gesture made you smile.

The two of you had bailed long before everyone else, deciding to head home and warm up. You made peppermint hot chocolate and he found the movie, getting out blankets and turning the fireplace on.

When you came over with matching mugs, he'd held out his arm, the space against his chest inviting and warm. Without a second thought, you'd positioned yourself close, tucking yourself into him. He was always so cozy to lay against, several nights from college evidence.

"I've missed this," he mumbled, and you smiled at that, scratching your fingers on his chest.

"I've missed it too." You nuzzled into his shoulder and he smiled, chin on your head. "I wish I could take it with me."

He was quiet for a moment, fingers drawing patterns on your arm. You were about to ask something else when he said, "You were brave to do it, you know? To get out."

"I don't know if I really left," you confessed, snuggling closer. "I spend so much time worrying about everything here."

"Yeah, I get that," he said, hand finding the top of your head and smoothing your hair. His arm rested on your shoulder, bent at the elbow. "That's what made me stay."

"There's no shame in it," you murmured, eyes on the movie as you thought. "You wanted to take care of your dad. You're doing what you love."

"It feels like I missed out sometimes," he said quietly, thumb following the line of your hair. "Everything's good here. But that's the thing. It's good. I was worrying for no reason."

Sitting up slightly, you faced him, searching his eyes. You knew every corner of him, it felt like. His ends and beginnings. His love and hate. And so you were purposeful when you said, "You know it would be okay, right? If you were to leave?" When his lips parted, you amended, "Not that staying is bad. Not at all. You did what felt right for you, but..." you searched his eyes, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "It would be okay if you didn't want to be here forever."

There was a moment where he was just watching you, eyes soft in a way you remembered so well. He half-smiled, patting your waist. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

Satisfied, you smiled and settled back against him. He adjusted his arm around you, and your sense of deja vu heightened. How many times had you laid like this with him, talking for hours about one thing or another? Breathing in and focusing again on the movie, you said, "I thought I would end up here. After everything with Camille and seeing how fragile it all was. But I left." Something tightened in your chest. "That sounds selfish."

Alex shook his head, squeezing your knee. "It's not. It's really not."

"I mean... you know what happened," you murmured. "They needed me." Your mind was spiraling now, plummeting to the depths of something you weren't able to stop. The tightness in your chest was suffocating, and you pressed your palm there. "And I left." The panic settled, and you said the last part simply. That's all it was. Simple.

Alex just watched you, his eyes solemn. You bit the side of your cheek. The way he looked at you hadn't changed one bit. His soulful eyes could pry the same secrets out of you if he wanted them to.

But he didn't push, didn't question. He just squeezed your side, pulling you back into him and letting you rest. You closed your eyes, trying not to cry. He was familiar. He was home. Alex leaned down, lips finding your hair. You laced your fingers through his, and he pulled your hand up to rest over his heart.

The feeling blanketed you like a fresh coat of snow, and you knew he was swathed in it too by the way he rubbed up and down your spine.

Footsteps. It was like your body knew something was wrong before you did. Sitting up, you turned your head to the open door, pushing away your laptop as your mother rushed by. "Mom?"

Coats sliding against each other, hangers clicking. You stood up, padding into the hallway and saying it again. "Mom?"

She looked at you briefly, seeming harried. "What?"

"Is something wrong?" Your heart began to pound, every possible scenario running through your head. Sick, dying, accident-

"Your sister," she began, and it hit you like a punch to the stomach. "She's having an episode. John has a meeting at the hospital, and he called us to go be with her until he can get back."

"An episode?" Unwanted memories had awful timing. They had been piling up all week, and you could feel them beginning to overflow. "But...she..." you swallowed. "It's been years since she's-"

"No," your mother said curtly, finally finding the coat she was looking for and pulling it out, the hanger sticking out when she closed the door. "She has them still."

Another gut punch. You watched with wide eyes as she descended the stairs, frozen even as you began to follow her. Your instincts kicked in, and you began to panic. She was rifling through her purse, expression solemn. You searched for your shoes, still reeling from this news.

"I'll be back later," she said, turning to the door.

Your eyebrows shot up and you reached for her arm, meeting her eyes. "Mom, just give me a minute and I'll be ready-"

"No, you stay here," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think it'd be a good idea if you came." Your hand fell from her elbow.

"I can help," you said in a small voice.

She sighed and smiled softly, reaching out to pat your shoulder. "It's fine. We always figure it out when you aren't here."

Only once the door shut did you realize she was gone. The chasm of your mind was eating you alive, swallowing anything you'd felt before and replacing it with something you didn't want. You could feel tears rising in your eyes, a sob in your throat, and you sniffled, bringing a hand to your face.

It was all too similar. Too close to how it was before. You thought it was all gone now. Buried because the past was dead. Maybe it was more alive than you thought.

Glimpses flickered before your eyes. You closed them, feet rooted to the spot. She didn't mean to hurt you. You knew she didn't. But it still stung, itching at your skin and reminding you of what you'd forget if you could. Someone said your name. You shifted only to find Alex in your line of sight, his eyes soft.

You collided. His arms encircled you, chin falling to your hair. A miniscule sob hitched your breath and he flattened his cheek on your head. "It's okay, it's okay..."

"She...she's..." you choked. He shook his head, smoothing his hand up and down your back.

"It's not your fault," Alex whispered into your hair, carefully herding you to the couch. You thunked beside him, leaning in close as he rubbed your side and bunched his fingers over your leg. "You were trying to help."

"They don't need me," you murmured, fresh tears springing to your eyes.

Alex was quiet, smoothing his hand over your head and rubbing his thumb to your hair. You burrowed into him and he let you, lifting his arm so you could more easily reach his chest. Shame painted you suddenly, and you sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. "I'm sorry."

"Hey-" Alex reached for you again. "No, it's okay. Let me help you."

"I shouldn't be...I'm sorry, I'm-" you took in shuddering breaths, instincts telling you to get far away from this. To let it fade into the dust where it was only kicked up every now and then.

Alex kept hold of your hand, and you were drawn to the magnet of his eyes. He shook his head just slightly. "This is what happened last time."

Last time. When you'd gone home for winter break, excited to share Christmas with him now that you were officially in love. The wreckage that had met you when you came home. Your sister always in tears, an unsolvable issue newly tagging her. The way you'd tried to help after seeing the exhaustion in your parents' eyes. They'd needed you.

Doctor's appointments. Trips to the pharmacy. Staying with Camille for hours, watching over her and making sure she remained healthy and safe. Christmas came and went without any fanfare, the best gift that she was still here.

After a troubled semester, you'd come home to rest. Instead, the weight of someone's life fell into the palm of your hand. The hole in your chest only widened, and you felt as though you were drowning. Holding three people you loved up above the water with only your hands, lucky if you got a wisp of air. The place you knew as a comfort had morphed into something entirely different, something that said you couldn't afford to be taken care of anymore. It was your time to step up. Be strong.

You'd barely seen Alex. He offered to come help, offer any kind of support. But you'd insisted he stay with his family, burning yourself to the nub by the time January came around. That was when you ended it with him.

So many tears. A million untrodden paths surrounding you. You hadn't imagined anything without him, not since you were a kid. He'd always been there and you'd loved him more than anyone and you'd ruined it.

But it was too much. You were both young and he was bright and smart and he needed to fly high. Away from where you would drag him down.

He didn't grace your apartment after that to study together or bring over dinner. You didn't spend the night at his place watching movies or tucked in his arms anymore. Time separated you. It seemed as though the story was over.

But everything you'd swept under the rug was back, holding you tight as you sank back into his arms and shed another tidal wave of tears. Alex was quiet as each one seeped into his shirt, and you nearly melted into nothing when you felt his lips in your hair.

Despite it all, he was here. He was here, and maybe he always had been. Another bout of tears overwhelmed you when you realized it had never needed to be so hard. One call for him and he would have been there, right where you needed him.

"I'm sorry," you choked, fingers finding his shirt. "I...you..."

"Shh," Alex soothed, shaking his head and rubbing your back. "I know. It wasn't your fault."

"H-having two kids with these issues is too much. I couldn't-" you got out before he pressed your face into his chest, nose squishing into your head.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured, and you heard the hitch in his voice. Despite it, Alex snuggled you close, lightly rubbing your shoulder. It was the first time in what felt like forever that you'd believed someone when they said it.

You were content being held by him, cozy in the cradle of his arms. He used to do this often when you would have panic attacks or a particularly bad day. His arms were always open, and you hadn't thought you'd get the luxury of needing them again.

Looking up at him, you almost told him so many things. Everything you'd never said was spilling from its sealed envelope, flooding your senses with only him. Alex held your gaze, a single word falling from his lips. "Baby-"

The front doorknob rattled, breaking the moment into dust. There were footsteps on the porch, accompanied by your parents' voices. If they saw you crying...

You sprang from Alex's arms, eyes wide as you looked at him. He frowned, reaching for you again, but before he could say anything you fled to your room. Maybe in an hour you'd wash your face and return downstairs, act as though all was well.

It didn't feel right, but it was all you had. Running away and putting on a face was the one part of your past that you still clung to.

Garlands twined around the banisters, red bows on the edge of everything. You dusted your hands of glitter, tucking a strand of hair away. It had taken practically all day, from the moment you rose from bed. From the kitchen wafted the smell of appetizers, Camille's voice echoing alongside your mother's.

Your mother had apologized when she returned home, but what happened still sat heavy in your heart. Camille was fine. Apparently, she always was.

It only confirmed that you wouldn't be saying anything of your own troubles.

Alex remained at your side, nary a word of what happened escaping his lips. You loved him for it, for doing the opposite of pretending nothing happened. It was silent reassurance that you loved him more than anything for. He stood at your side, as steady as what you'd always needed.

Baby. It played in your head more often than not. When the fluttering of your past feelings had beckoned you again, you'd shooed it away, but now you wondered of their return. The way he looked at you, like you were the center of the universe- it melted your heart and shook your being.

Did he feel the same? Was it just as time-stopping for him to look at you as it was for you to look at him?

He was a ghost in your mind, in your every thought. Indeed, he was there, lingering as you dressed for the holiday party. Your hair was done, earrings on, and you were about to don the dress you always wore for this event. Black knit, with tights.

There was a knock on the door, and then your sister entered, a shopping bag dangled from her fingers. She looked beautiful as always, wearing a silk green dress with her hair pulled up. You recognized her necklace: an engagement gift from John.

"Is anything wrong?" you jumped up, eyes wide and hands going to her elbows.

She smiled fondly. "No, nothing. Nothing at all. I just wanted to give you this." Holding out the shopping bag, Camille smiled delightedly when you took it, bouncing on her heels. "To wear tonight. You'll look so pretty."

"Thank you," you said quietly, smiling back. This wasn't unlike her- to surprise you with little gifts at any time during the year. But a whole new dress was something else.

Camille sat on your bed, taking your usual black dress and folding it in her lap. "I wanted to apologize. For not telling you anything." Her smile faded. "It's silly. You...you were there for me when I needed you. You deserved to know."

"Camille-" you sat beside her, eyes nearly welling up. Taking one of her hands, you whispered, "I only want you to be okay. This whole time I've been away, I've been worrying-"

"But you shouldn't," she cut in, squeezing your hand, her eyes soft. "I'm fine. Really. Every now and then there's a bad episode, but truly for the most part I'm okay. I have John and he keeps me stable. I guess I never said anything because I thought there was nothing to say."

It was like a weight off your shoulders. You could have burst into tears as you looked at her, glowing and happy in front of you. So far from the girl she'd been before. You weren't sure how you'd failed to see it before. In all your worry and swimming in the sea of memory, the present was lost on you with everything.

With Alex.

Camille gave you a fond look. "I do hope you'll wear the dress tonight. It'll be so pretty and..." She said her next words with a secret smile. "...and Alex will like it."

"Alex?" You lifted your head, nearly panicking. "He doesn't-"

"He does, trust me." Camille tapped her nose with a sweet grin. "Just wear the dress and see what happens."

Almost like a fairy, she was gone in an instant, in a whirl of dark green. You stared at the door after she left, only remembering the dress a few moments later. Plucking the tissue paper from the bag, you reached in and lifted a silky red dress with thin straps and a bow in the middle from the bottom.

It was so pretty- definitely something she would have picked out. But inexplicably you at the same time. You noticed she'd snipped off the price tag but left the brand name. Classic Camille.

It was perfect when you tried it on, soft and well fitted. Your jewelry even matched it well. You stared at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair accordingly and garnering the courage to step outside your room in it. All you could think of was Alex's reaction. If Camille was right...what if she was right?

Biting your lip, you played with your skirt for a moment, lost in thought. Had you really been so lost in mending the past to focus on the future? Alex was something you thought you'd left behind, but really...maybe he was standing right in front of you, ready to be your future.

Maybe all the hurt, the pain, the damage had led you to this.

Your heart raced, only one thing in your mind. It was him, always him. When he'd held you through your tears and smiled so softly when you leaned into his chest during a movie. When he'd stroked your hair and told you it was going to be okay. Fingers twitching, you yearned for him under them, for the warmth of his skin. He'd started to hold you again so eagerly, and you'd thought it the feelings of old friends.

What once was love lost was at your fingertips again. You weren't sure if you should hold tight or run the other way.

The party filled up quickly, the noise drifting into your room and beckoning you down. It was sure to be shoulder to shoulder, and you weren't sure if you would even see Alex for the evening. Cautiously, you descended the stairs, immediately greeted by a barrage of neighbors asking about life in another place.

You answered their questions with a smile, feeling as though you were giving the same answer over and over again. Yes, you liked your job. No, you weren't moving back. The weather is rainy, but lovely, and you are living in a nice place. Every year you marveled at how many people your parents knew, doubly at how that number seemed to grow by the month.

Finally, you were able to make your way to the refreshments, taking a glass of water and practically pouring it down your throat. Though it was chilly outside, the heat inside multiplied by the amount of people was nearly suffocating. You moved closer to the window, hoping the cool glass would give you enough strength to dive back into greeting the other guests.

Camille brushed by you with a wink and a squeeze to your arm. You smiled at her, gratitude filling you up all over again. For the sister you had. For the way she'd grown. You watched as she gravitated towards John, meeting his open arms and smiling as he brushed a kiss to her forehead, whispering something. She nodded, looking up at him so lovingly it could have stopped time. The way he looked back, you wouldn't be surprised if it did for him.

Turning back to the window, you were startled to see Alex on the porch bench, staring at the horizon. Maybe you weren't surprised he was playing the avoidance game at a crowded function, but it felt alarming for you to be able to see exactly who you wanted to at the very moment you wanted him.

Almost fairy-like, you glided outside, drawn to him in such a familiar way. You were numb to the bite in the air as you sat beside him, watching the sun sink into the hills like the space between two fingers. The sky was smeared with pink and orange and blue- a popsicle melting into itself.

When he looked at you, butterflies sprung from their cocoons in your stomach, flittering around and spelling words you couldn't read yet. His smile was soft. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, watching the misty evidence of your voice evaporate in the air. "Are you?"

Alex nodded, seeming to search you. You shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, and his eyebrows lifted. "I..." he looked down at himself. "I'd give you my jacket if I had one."

“No need,” you said, still sweating from being inside. Alex disregarded your statement, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his sweater covered chest. He was always so warm. Even though you weren't in need of it, it was comforting, and so you stayed.

A moment passed between you, still and unmarked. The street was quiet save for the sounds of the party inside, and your eyes fell to the snow caked at the sides of the road, pushed up to the sidewalk by tires. Breathing out, you watched the motion puff in the frozen air.

Alex’s thumb drew circles on your shoulder. He exhaled softly. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. “Camille gave it to me.”

Silence again. Then he asked, sounding a little hesitant. “She’s doing alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes on your knees, fidgeting with your fingers. “Yeah. I guess this kind of thing happens a lot.”

“And they didn’t tell you?” You didn’t need to look up to know his brow was furrowed.

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

His thumb stopped its motion, and you risked a look up at him. For once, his eyes were not laser focused on you, instead burning a hole in the porch. Sitting up, you tried to meet his eyes. “But I understand why.”

“Why?” His head turned so quickly you were stunned, lost in his face for a moment. 

Collecting yourself, you spoke slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “They didn’t need me.” Alex started to say something, but you shook your head. “They didn’t need me. And that’s okay.”

He watched your eyes, expression soft. Your heart jumped with every glance, and now it was spurring you toward something you didn’t know if you would have confessed fifteen minutes ago. “Sometimes I think I’m tired of learning about myself. It’s like…I’m an adult. I should know these things.” Swallowing, you closed your eyes for a second, mind moving quicker than you could keep up with. “I thought I knew what had happened with Camille. I thought I knew what happened with you and me and I thought I knew how I felt but…” you trailed off for a moment, lips parting as you searched him. “Alex I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.”

With your new discovery, you expected it to feel different. But he was the same Alex, the same heartbeat under you. With the way you'd tried to leave your past, maybe you'd made it all out to change. But when he said your name, it was just as intoxicating as before. There were some things you could leave behind, but others you found yourself determined to hold onto.

Alex said your name again, his voice nearly caressing the word. He looked so pretty in this light, with the sun waving goodbye and the moon turning its face. You clocked his hand on your knee, and then he was talking again. “When I moved back, I think a part of me expected it to be the way it was before. But it couldn’t have been.” You swore your heart stopped for a moment. “It didn’t have you. I never stopped loving you either.”

With a little gasp, you were reaching for him, and he pulled you closer somehow. A tear escaped your eye, and you leaned forward, throwing your arms around his neck. He held you for a long moment, and then you murmured into his chest, "I didn't know what I was missing so badly until I was with you again."

"Baby," he muttered, and you drew back, bringing your mouth to his in a swift motion. Alex held you to him through the chill, his hand at your back as he kissed you tenderly. It was home. He was not only your past, he was the future you'd dreamed of with only hazy figures that now seemed clearer.

"I ran away before and it was the wrong thing to do," you whispered, and he thumbed your cheek, nose nudging it. “I should have stayed-”

"And I stayed in all the wrong places when I should have stayed with you,” he said back, and you pressed your mouth to his again, a long kiss burning your insides in the most pleasant way. You leaned into him, suddenly cold, suddenly glad he was so warm.

Any minute now, you were expecting to wake up in a cold sweat, disturbed by what could have been and what you wished would happen. But he was still in front of you, chin resting on your head as he

"I don't care if we have to play phone tag every day forever once I go back home," you murmured, snug against his chest as he covered the bare portion of your back with his hand. "I'm not letting you go ever again."

His fingers froze, and you frowned, lifting your head. Alex's lips were parted, and he looked as though he were holding something back. Your brow knit, and you sat up, half in his lap. "What is it?" Worry flooded you, and suddenly you were worried you were about to wake up. A million possibilities flooded your mind, each one worse than the last.

Alex was frozen for a few seconds, and then his eyes found yours again. You braced yourself for whatever he was about to tell you, stiffening in his hold. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said.

"I'm moving at the end of the school year."

Your mind blanked, and "What?" fell out of your mouth before you could regulate it. He was serious- you could see it. Alex would never joke about something like this.

He lifted his hand to your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair, the action seeming to ground him. "The job offer was confirmed this morning. I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you ever since."

"Where is it?" You had a million other questions, but this one made it out first.

"Seattle."

For the millionth time since you came outside, you were speechless. His hand was still on your cheek, and you leaned into it, blinking up at him in utter disbelief. "You...you..."

"I've been thinking about leaving for months," he said quietly, eyes steady on you as he spoke. Though the sounds of Frank Sinatra's Christmas hits were still emanating from the house, your ears were tuned into the sound of his voice. "I started looking, doing remote interviews. All the while I was telling myself that I could say no even if I got it. And then an opening came up where I knew you lived and I thought maybe..."

Alex Nilsen had never been one to do something out of the blue. He was meticulous and you loved him for it. You knew how comfortable he was in your shared hometown, how much being near his family meant to him. Even the idea of him thinking about leaving was indictive of something deeper than you could imagine.

"I accepted it," he confirmed, thumb still rubbing your cheek. "I'll start in the fall."

Emotions were running wild as you stared at this man who'd just proved he'd move mountains for even a chance at being with you. You'd loved each other your entire lives, but even then, you didn't think it ran so pure.

"You're leaving everything behind," you whispered, reaching up to hold his wrist. "How do you know it's going to work out?"

"My dad is fine. My brothers are fine," Alex said, and the way he looked at you nearly made the world stop spinning. "And I've never been sure about anything in my life, but I'm sure about this."

"We've only just reconnected this week," you said softly. "I don't want you to do this just for me. What if you regret it someday?"

"It was something you said to me that pushed me to take the job," he said gently, his other hand rising to your face. "You said that it would be okay if I didn't want to be here forever. And it made me realize that maybe I never have." Taking in a breath, Alex leaned in and kissed you so softly that you nearly melted. "I've loved you as long as I've known you. I would regret it if I didn't do this."

Now you were sure you were dreaming. It was so unexpected but so utterly him. To be so sure.

The holidays would pass. You would unwrap presents with him on Christmas morning and kiss him on New Year's. You would part in tears at the airport but with the knowledge that you would see him again as soon as possible. The future laid ahead with bright lights, winking and telling you it was going to be okay. Your past and future merged together to create now and it was wonderful because it was with him.

Nostalgia had led you back home. To a love you had thought past, but you knew would stay.

Even as you left, you would stay.

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a rhubarb and strawberry crumble please?!?

[Gn reader]

Just thinking about Talisen's cult finding out about you!! And they start to make sacrifices to appease you as well!! But you don't like it!! It makes you sick to your stomach to see all the blood!! And you'll have tears in your eyes and you're begging Talisen to take you back home!!:( And he does!! But you have to make sure that he doesn't hurt any of his followers though!!:( When Talisen is inviting you back the next day, saying they were very adamant on your coming back, one of them will give you a pretty rose!! And you'll be so happy!! The follower would be so smug about it too, a big smile on their face to rub it in the others! The next time you'll come back there will be too many bouquets to count!!

-🍄

˖⁺. ﹙ snake god bf  x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . roses? don't steal my dearest from me now !! 🍒 :  corrupt god ˖ snake god character﹙ verse 164 talisen. ﹚

Talisen's cult finds out about you <3

who knew that cults derived of malice and blood could instead turn their attention to the red of roses? and all for you!

“wh - what is this!” your excited pipe ignites the light in their eyes brighter. each and every one of them eagerly shuffle forward to place their individual arrangement of bouquets at your feet. wide grins and even soft prayers emitting from the group.

the chatter and essence of liveliness, however, snuffs like a candle once the imposing presence of darkness and might takes its rightful stance beside you.

“thou art all a source of shame. higher than zenith’s heights.”

you bite on the smile threatening to slither onto your lips from the words that leave his. promptly, you are reminded of talisen’s anciency in comparison to you - to everyone else in this very room.

you cast glowing copper hues a glance from below. they falter at the sight of your smile. raise a brow to urge the obvious words on your tongue. “don’t be so mean to them.” you finish your croon with a small hook of your arms around one of his. a squeeze to follow as you trail your sight back to the band of puppy-eyed cultists that stare back at the display.

all but the chimes of wind bells ease through the room. until you feel the muscles in talisen’s arm relax and he exhales deeply. an action that seems to set the mood up once more as each cultist sprouts like flowers after the rain.

“very well.”

it takes only a small motion of his hand. you press a kiss to whatever part of his body you can muster before skipping over to the band of excited devotees. who are all the more eager to learn of your favourite flowers, treats, trinkets.

all while their god and divine observes from the sidelines. leaned against one of the pillars of his temple. with shadows to mask the hint of a smile.

[followingtheladyofthesacredflame]

Witch’s Bells for Protection

Components

Small wooden ring

Black yarn (protection)

Crochet hook

6 brass bells (cleansing)

Small glass bottles

Salt (protection)

Rose petals (love, protection)

Protection/Banishing oil (any will do, you can omit it if you can't find/make it)

Black protection candle (optional)

Process

Crochet black thread around hoop to cover it, focusing on intentions. Leave 3 long strands hanging from one side.

Fill a bottle each with salt, rose petals, and oil. Seal appropriately (I used wax but superglue is good too).

Tie a bell to each strand.

Tie a bottle to each strand just below the bells, leaving enough room for them to move.

Tie the last bells to each strand.

Pray/add energy/meditate/etc.

Hang on or near front door.

If you don't crochet, you can just wrap the yarn around the hoop to cover it. Crocheting it on just gives it some extra security. These witch bells turned out really cute! I tend to hang them in a window in the front room, which has been a decent place for them.

[tassjis]

A list of objects and technologies created by Myne

The gremlin has been busy. Anything red was created by another, but without Myne creating something else, the creator would not have made it, so Myne's name is not listed as the creator but Myne was the reason it was made. Anything blue was improved upon

VEHICLES

A horse-drawn carriage with suspension

FURNITURE

Spring mattress spring upholstery - Zach

COSMETICS + ACCESSORIES

Rinsham - all-in-one shampoo Hair Ornaments Librarians armband Tote bag - improved

FASHION

Bubble skirts Halter-top dress Tie-dye - previously existed Wax Dyeing Stencil Dyeing Water ripple embroidery

EVENTS

Tasting party Charity Concert Dying competition

TOYS

Karuta Reversi Chess Playing Cards Baby Rattle Educational baby toys - such as shaped blocks and holes implied other toys

FOOD - Ingredients and condiments -

Compote Tanieh Cream Gelatin Gnocchi Gratin Herb Dressing Lage Sauce (Basil Sauce) Mayonnaise Yeast Pasta Ponzu Sauce Pomme sauce Rumptopf Rutreb Jam White sauce

- Savoury -

Capellini Caprese Salad Carbonara Consomme Soup Double Consomme Soup - Leise Crispy-Crispy Launeide and Sujaru Salad (Vegetable Salad) Crun-Crun Ju-Ju Farba (Chicken Salad) Cappellini Fikken - improved Fluffy Bread Sandwich - Improved with fluffy bread Hamburg Steak Lasagne Macaroni Gratin Osso Buco - Later improved by Leise Parue Burger Parue Okonomiyaki Pizza Potatoffel salad Pomme Soup Risotto Steamed Potatoffel Steamed Taschitz (chicken) Quiche French Toast Salted Cucumber imitation

- Sweet -

Bavarois Cookies Langues De Chat Crepe Fallfold Tart - Nicola Ice Cream Mille Crepe Mousse Panna Cotta Paru Cake Pound Cake Pudding Short Cake Tiramisu Tanier Cream/Mont Blanc

TOOLS

Chopsticks Clothes Hanger - improved Hairpin Herbal Candles Crochet hook Hand pump Hide Glue Steamer Precision Knife Roller Starch Glue Metal letter types Round Bell Safety Pin

MACHINES

Waxing Machine Letterpress Machine

PRINTING TYPES

Woodblock printing Stencil printing Letterpress printing

STATIONARY

Clay Tablet Mokkan Faux Papyrus Dipitch Dipitch Stylus Soot pencil Linseed and soot Ink Colour Ink Folders

- Paper -

Plant Paper (Volrin paper) Conjoining Paper (Nenseb paper) Effon (Music) Paper Fireproof Paper (Trombe paper) Rinfin Paper - Illgner Wax paper (Wax/Rinfin paper) Trauperle Paper -Illgner

- Magic Paper -

Enhanced Conjoining paper - Drewanchel Spellcasting Nenseb paper (Nenseb/Trombe with magic circle) Spellcasting effon paper (Effon/Trombe with chant) Maximum Quality Fey Paper (Effon/Trombe/Nenseb) improved by Ferdinand

MAGIC TOOLS

Music Box with Effon paper (technically made by Ehrenfest students) Drivable Highbeast Rainbow Highbeast Stenluke Disappearing Ink Plush Toy with recorded messages Magic tool to send books back to their shelves

MAGIC

Water Gun Copy and Place

KNOWLEDGE

Salting Out Lace knitting Written Calculation Decorative shaped vegetables Origami Introductory system Tickets Red seal Trading Graphs Myne Decimal System Rosemyne Magic Compression Method Female Crest Copyright royalties Questionnaire survey

PRINTED PRODUCTS

Black and white picture Book Children's Bible - Supreme God and the Eternal Five Children's Bible - Spring Subordinates Children's Bible - Summer Subordinates Children's Bible - Autumn Subordinates Children's Bible - Winter Subordinates Story Books Knight's Tale (short stories 1-3) - Compiled and translated Knight's Tale (short stories 4-5) - Compiled and translated Mother's Bedtime Stories Collection Unnamed Operation Grimm Book (Groschel) - Lutz Etiquette and Noble Euphamisms Book 1 - Fran Etiquette and Noble Euphamisms Book 2 - Fran Rozemyne's Recipe collection Knight's stories - Elvira Royal Academy stories - Elvira Royal Academy love stories - Elvira A history of Dunklefelger - Compiled and translated Knight stories Ahrensbach - Compiled Ditter Story - Roderick Royal Academy love stories 2 - Elvira The tale of Fernstine Part 1 - 3 - Elvira Sheet Music Concert programs Accounting report Printed illustrations (created to promote a knight's tale) Ferdinand illustations Cinderella Romance Novel (pornographic smut)

Songs

Tulip Anime Song Song for the concert Movie theme song "Under the chestnut tree" A hymn for Eglantine (requested by Anastasius) A couple classical songs

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Good afternoon! I'm actually the one who requested Frollo x an fem!albino!reader, and I loved your work too much. I'd like to request a second part with these two, if you don't mind.😅

Protecting the pale flower

warning : angst, hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling, obsession, no use of Y/n, fem reader

Part.1

Info : Very happy to write a second part for this and thank you for the request @catmint01 . This one here will be a little more angst but I still hop you like it. Again thank you and everyone have fun reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had watched this pretty pale flower long enough and had chased after it long enough. Clung to every flower he could find. Had watched it, even had it inspected.

Wanted to make sure she didn't hurt herself, that she was safe. Even though he knew she was safest with him, judge of the city of Paris, judge of the people and her judge who would take care of her.

But the kiss had happened, he had kissed his favorite, made her his, she had worn the ring, played the harp, undressed for him, removed the veil, in her wealth, she had emerged as a shining star.

But days had passed since then, days that threatened to turn into weeks because he had hardly seen her after their kiss when they had finally touched.

He still remembered the overwhelming yet devotion that had shimmered in her bright reddish eyes. ,,I know you're waiting for me," he mumbled, looking out of his window at his beloved's presence. But he could see no light, no light from the candles and torches.

But he also knew something was wrong when she didn't show up at the church that Sunday, neither for morning, noon or evening service, when he personally stayed until the last candles were burned out.

The bells had fallen silent and the choir of people had dispersed to the last. ,,You haven't seen her either, Archdeacon?" He had asked the old man who was about to lock up the church.

He was no fool and had stayed away from the older man for a reason. But he saw the worry in his eyes, ,,Didn't you notice...her father passed away two days ago".

The words hit him like the spark in a coffin. Why hadn't he noticed? He remembered when a new problem was reported at the city walls, a new pack of travelers to whom he had to turn.

With a nod, he walked out of the church faster than usual and went back to his horse, the black stallion snorting as his owner moved the reins slightly to ride in the direction of the approach.

How could I forget you? he thought, cursing as he rushed through the streets and saw that the sun was almost set in the sky.

He wouldn't miss it, not when the moon came up. He ignored the leather of the reins in his hands, remembering her sweet softness the gentle smile the sweet irritation when he had finally kissed her.

Her body now covered in tears and fear - no, he couldn't let that happen. She was only allowed to turn to him and cry in his arms, she was his. His pretty flower.

With a yank on the reins, Snowball came to a stop with a whinny as he dismounted. Knocking at the courtyard door, her servant opened the door for him, ,,Judge Frollo do you wish?" the older man asked him and was already pulling off his robe when he looked around frantically.

,,Where is she?" he asked, almost nagging, when he saw that her coat and robe were not hanging on the hook, but what did that mean?

Before he could hurry up the stairs the other interrupted him, ,,She's at the cemetery, she's taken her own horse, shall I give her something-" but before the offer could be spoken Frollo was past him, slamming the door behind him before following the light trail he had, hurrying after Snowball.

The fear that she had done something at the cemetery was the sun, which was as strong as ever on the hill. The cemetary was on the only hill in the town full of iron, stone and wooden crosses.

Looking around, he rode over the graveyard, it was nothing that he was damaging graves and dams, she was more important. She was the most important thing, she was his and no one would take her away from him. But there.

Then, as he turned his gaze to the tree where the recently deceased were buried, he saw her. Her name calling again and again he steered his stallion there, almost dismounting while still riding before hurrying to her.

,,Darling," he said, reaching for her hand as he saw the pained sound she made and his eyes glazed over as he walked around her, finally blocking out the sun that was retreating behind the clouds and hiding her.

,,Frollo...what are you doing here?" she mumbled, her voice filled with tears, the pain of her father's death too much for her.

But this painful wince was repeated when he put his fingers on her arms and saw that she had probably been here for several hours, if not since the funeral.

,,What have you been doing?" he asked, pulling her gently towards him, knowing that her sensitive skin was sunburned, more painful for her than for him.

,,Mourned...cried...tried to go on," she confessed as she slowly let Frollo guide her back, her fingers trembling, clutching the white handkerchief he had given her to wipe away her tears.

He took off his robe, the dark tunic slightly too light in the wind, but he put the cloak around her to protect her from any light as he led Snowbald back by the reins to her place of residence.

His gaze went to her every now and then, the pain in her eyes yet he saw the slight smile a smile of hope.

A hope he gave her and could only give her. I'll be there for you, my wife, don't worry, I'll stay with you," he assured her as they went into her house, leaving the butler to look after the horse and rider. Frollo practically threw the incapable man out of the house to the horse to take his flower.

On her bed she saw a blush on her cheeks as she wore only an undergarment with her evening cloak, her arms, legs and hands visible to the older man who reached for the cooling ointment.

,,Thank you," she murmured, looking from the dancing flames of the candles to the older man. She saw his grin as he continued to apply the cream and tinctures to the injured skin as carefully as possible.

,,I think that should smell i'll take care of your wounds though my pretty flower you won't have any more leaves ripped out" he mumbled and took her bandaged hand in his the smell of lavender from the tincture hung in the room as he placed his lips on her wrist.

He showed a surprised expression as he looked up from his hand to her as she held him in her arms. She kissed him, she wanted him like he had said she would, she was united in the pain she felt.

The love they felt would heal he was sure of it. I love you and I'll stay with you forever," he said, pulling her into his arms and running his hands gently over her wounds.

He knew that when the candles burned out and the room was lit only by the moon, their beauty would blossom and their love together would be secure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@kissingonclouds , @catmintO1 , @fics-i-like-shhhhh @wassupyou ,@cedric-my-beloved , @aliensthegreat

[guardian-angle22]

I promised a book haul of all the exciting books I purchased on my travels to London and Edinburgh! y'all... I bought TEN books...

Here is the stack of books and also some cute bookmarks I got from various places!

Here is the breakdown of all the books with their official descriptions:

Bloom by Delilah S. Dawson

Rosemary meets Ash at the farmers’ market. Ash—precise, pretty, and practically perfect—sells bars of soap in delicate pastel colors, sprinkle-spackled cupcakes stacked on scalloped stands, beeswax candles, jelly jars of honey, and glossy green plants. Ro has never felt this way about another woman; with Ash, she wants to be her and have her in equal measure. But as her obsession with Ash consumes her, she may find she’s not the one doing the devouring…

Monsters: What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People? by Claire Dederer

Pablo Picasso beat his partners. Richard Wagner was deeply antisemitic. David Bowie slept with an underage fan. But many of us still love Guernica and the Ring cycle and Ziggy Stardust. And what are we to do with that love? How are we, as fans, to reckon with the biographical choices of the artists whose work sustains us? Wildly smart and insightful, Monsters is an exhilarating attempt to understand our relationship with art and the artist in the twenty-first century.

Little Rot by Akwaeke Emezi

One weekend. The elite underbelly of a Nigerian city. A breakup that starts a spiral. A party that goes awry. A tangled web of sex and lies and corruption that leaves no one unscathed. Little Rot is a whirling journey through the city’s dark side, told through the eyes of five people, each determined to run from the twisted powers out to destroy them. Aima and Kalu are a longtime couple who have just split. When Kalu, reeling from his loss, visits a sex party hosted by his best friend, Ahmed, he makes a decision that will plunge them all into chaos, brutally upending their lives. Ola and Souraya, two Nigerian sex workers visiting from Kuala Lumpur, intersect with the three old friends as everything goes to hell. Sucked into the city’s corrupt underworld, they’re all looking for a way out of the trouble they’ve instigated, driven by loss and fueled by a desperate need to escape the dangerous threat that looms over them. They careen madly in the face of the poison of power, sexual violence, murder, betrayals. Little Rot tests how far these five will go to save each other—or themselves—when confronted by evil, culminating in a shattering denouement.

The Wind Knows My Name by Isabel Allende

Vienna, 1938. Samuel Adler is five years old when his father disappears during Kristallnacht—the night his family loses everything. As her child’s safety becomes ever harder to guarantee, Samuel’s mother secures a spot for him on a Kindertransport train out of Nazi-occupied Austria to England. He boards alone, carrying nothing but a change of clothes and his violin.

Arizona, 2019. Eight decades later, Anita Díaz and her mother board another train, fleeing looming danger in El Salvador and seeking refuge in the United States. But their arrival coincides with the new family separation policy, and seven-year-old Anita finds herself alone at a camp in Nogales. She escapes her tenuous reality through her trips to Azabahar, a magical world of the imagination. Meanwhile, Selena Durán, a young social worker, enlists the help of a successful lawyer in hopes of tracking down Anita’s mother.

Intertwining past and present, The Wind Knows My Name tells the tale of these two unforgettable characters, both in search of family and home. It is both a testament to the sacrifices that parents make and a love letter to the children who survive the most unfathomable dangers—and never stop dreaming.

Bone Black: Memories of Girlhood by bell hooks

Stitching together the threads of her girlhood memories, bell hooks shows us one strong-spirited child's journey toward becoming the pioneering writer we know. Along the way, hooks sheds light on the vulnerability of children, the special unfurling of female creativity and the imbalance of a society that confers marriage's joys upon men and its silences on women. In a world where daughters and fathers are strangers under the same roof, and crying children are often given something to cry about, hooks uncovers the solace to be found in solitude, the comfort to be had in the good company of books. Bone Black allows us to bear witness to the awakening of a legendary author's awareness that writing is her most vital breath.

A House at the Bottom of a Lake by Josh Malerman

Both seventeen. Both afraid. But both saying yes. It sounded like the perfect first date: canoeing across a chain of lakes, sandwiches and beer in the cooler. But teenagers Amelia and James discover something below the water’s surface that changes their lives forever. It’s got two stories. It’s got a garden. And the front door is open. It’s a house at the bottom of a lake. For the teens, there is only one rule: no questions. And yet, how could a place so spectacular come with no price tag? While the duo plays house beneath the waves, one reality remains: Just because a house is empty, doesn’t mean nobody’s home.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner

Kissen’s family were killed by zealots of a fire god. Now, she makes a living killing gods, and enjoys it. That is until she finds a god she cannot kill: Skedi, a god of white lies, has somehow bound himself to a young noble, and they are both on the run from unknown assassins. Joined by a disillusioned knight on a secret quest, they must travel to the ruined city of Blenraden, where the last of the wild gods reside, to each beg a favour. Pursued by demons, and in the midst of burgeoning civil war, they will all face a reckoning – something is rotting at the heart of their world, and only they can be the ones to stop it.

People Love Dead Jews: Reports from a Haunted Present by Dara Horn

Renowned and beloved as a prizewinning novelist, Dara Horn has also been publishing penetrating essays since she was a teenager. Often asked by major publications to write on subjects related to Jewish culture—and increasingly in response to a recent wave of deadly antisemitic attacks—Horn was troubled to realize what all of these assignments had in common: she was being asked to write about dead Jews, never about living ones. In these essays, Horn reflects on subjects as far-flung as the international veneration of Anne Frank, the mythology that Jewish family names were changed at Ellis Island, the blockbuster traveling exhibition Auschwitz, the marketing of the Jewish history of Harbin, China, and the little-known life of the "righteous Gentile" Varian Fry. Throughout, she challenges us to confront the reasons why there might be so much fascination with Jewish deaths, and so little respect for Jewish lives unfolding in the present. Horn draws upon her travels, her research, and also her own family life—trying to explain Shakespeare’s Shylock to a curious ten-year-old, her anger when swastikas are drawn on desks in her children’s school, the profound perspective offered by traditional religious practice and study—to assert the vitality, complexity, and depth of Jewish life against an antisemitism that, far from being disarmed by the mantra of "Never forget," is on the rise. As Horn explores the (not so) shocking attacks on the American Jewish community in recent years, she reveals the subtler dehumanization built into the public piety that surrounds the Jewish past—making the radical argument that the benign reverence we give to past horrors is itself a profound affront to human dignity.

84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

In 1949 Helene Hanff, a “poor writer with an antiquarian taste in books”, wrote to Marks & Co Booksellers of 84 Charing Cross Rd, in search of the rare editions she was unable to find in New York. Her books were dispatched with polite but brisk efficiency. But, seeking further treasures, Helene soon found herself in regular correspondence with bookseller Frank Doel, laying siege to his English reserve with her warmth and wit. And as letters, books and quips crossed the ocean, a friendship flourished that would endure for twenty years.

Rouge by Mona Awad

For as long as she can remember, Belle has been insidiously obsessed with her skin and skincare videos. When her estranged mother Noelle mysteriously dies, Belle finds herself back in Southern California, dealing with her mother’s considerable debts and grappling with lingering questions about her death. The stakes escalate when a strange woman in red appears at the funeral, offering a tantalizing clue about her mother’s demise, followed by a cryptic video about a transformative spa experience. With the help of a pair of red shoes, Belle is lured into the barbed embrace of La Maison de Méduse, the same lavish, culty spa to which her mother was devoted. There, Belle discovers the frightening secret behind her (and her mother’s) obsession with the mirror—and the great shimmering depths (and demons) that lurk on the other side of the glass. Snow White meets Eyes Wide Shut in this surreal descent into the dark side of beauty, envy, grief, and the complicated love between mothers and daughters. With black humor and seductive horror, Rouge explores the cult-like nature of the beauty industry—as well as the danger of internalizing its pitiless gaze. Brimming with California sunshine and blood-red rose petals, Rouge holds up a warped mirror to our relationship with mortality, our collective fixation with the surface, and the wondrous, deep longing that might lie beneath.

[mostdream6977]

I MET HIM AT THE CORE

((The Sharmat and Amaranth share secrets AKA "Mom, look at this "lore" I pulled out of my ass!" Hope y'all enjoy!))

TW- CANNIBALISM, SUICIDE, IMPLIED MISCARRIAGE

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I MET HIM AT THE CORE,

JUST LAST NIGHT!

HE DIDN’T SEEM TO EXPECT ME,

BUT HE WAS STILL WARM

AND WELCOMING.

I WAS CURIOUS,

SO I ASKED HIM

(POLITELY!)

WHY HE WOULD GRANT ME HIS COMPANY.

HE SAID IT WAS BECAUSE

I HAD THE FACE OF AN OLD FRIEND

AND A NEW ENEMY

BUT NOT A LOVER

THAT HE WOULD HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF.

HE ASKED ME IN RETURN

WHY I WOULD ACCEPT HIS COMPANY

KNOWING HIS SOURCE.

(KEEP IN MIND,

I DID NOT GROW UP WITHIN HONESTY.

IT IS A CYCLE

THAT I WISH TO END.)

THEREFORE,

I TOLD HIM WHAT I KNOW!

I SAID TO HIM

“WELL, MUTHSERA,”

“I KNOW WHAT MIGHT BE YOUR ACTUALITY,”

“BUT YOUR SOURCE REMAINS A MYSTERY TO ALL!”

… HE THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

HE MENTIONED HE DIDN’T EXPECT

THE INFORMATION TO BE PASSED ALONG.

THEN,

HE TOLD ME HE COULD TEACH ME,

BUT THAT I WOULD FIRST

HAVE TO REMOVE THE MASK.

(EXCITING!)

SO I REACHED TO HIM,

HOOKED MY FINGERS UNDER THE CHIN,

THEN LIFTED IT 

UPWARDS AND OFF.

AS I HAD EXPECTED,

IT WAS QUITE HEAVY!

MADE FROM GOLD OR BRASS, OR BOTH,

AND WEIGHED LIKE IT DIDN’T BEGIN LIFE AS HIS.

I HEARD HIM LAUGH AGAIN,

JOKING ABOUT HOW HE WASN’T SURE

IT COULD COME OFF

AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.

I LOOKED TO HIM

TO SEE HIS REACTION

BUT IN PLACE

THERE WAS JUST A BIG HOLE!

“DON’T BE SHY, CHILD.”

“IF YOU WANT TO KNOW,”

“REACH IN”

“AND CUP YOUR HAND.”

I FOLLOWED HIS WORD

AND REMOVED A HANDFUL

OF THE PURGE FLUID

STAGNANT IN HIS THROAT.

“LET THE LIQUID RUN THROUGH;”

“EAT WHAT REMAINS.”

SO I POPPED A CHUNK OF COAGULATE

INTO MY MOUTH

AND CHEWED IT.

ONCE I HAD,

I WAS NO LONGER IN THE CORE.

A MODEST SPACE,

BUT A PALACE NONETHELESS,

DIM-LIT BY CANDLE AND HEARTH.

I WANDERED INTO A STUDY

AND RAN MY FINGERS ALONG A DESK

WITH MANY DOCUMENTS

AND TWO BOOKS.

ONE HANDWRITTEN AND TITLED

“MOM’S FABLES, FOR ____”

AND THE OTHER

OPENED ON THE 11TH PAGE,

CHAPTER ONE

 AFTER THE PROLOGUE,

“BEGINNINGS OF NAVIGATING BEREAVEMENT”

I WANDERED INTO THE HALL

THERE WERE MANY DOORWAYS

AND NO DOORS.

ONE ROOM HAD BEEN BLOCKED OFF

BY A LARGE BRASS ARMOIRE,

BUT PEEKING THROUGH,

ALL I COULD SEE

WERE WOODEN BUILDING BLOCKS

AND A STUFFED GUAR SEATED UPON A CHEST

NEATLY SET ALONG THE WALL

WAITING TO BE ADORED.

MUFFLED A FLOOR BELOW,

A WAIL OF AGONY BROKE LOOSE,

AND I SET OFF TO INVESTIGATE.

ON THE STAIRCASE,

I RAN INTO A MAN

WHO COULD

BUT WOULD NOT SEE ME,

HIS BOOTS LEAVING PRINTS

ON THE FLOOR BEHIND HIM.

HE PUSHED PAST ME,

AND I CALLED TO HIM

TO NO RESPONSE.

I FOLLOWED HIM

INTO AN ARMORY

WHERE HE GRABBED A DAGGER,

TURNED TO ME,

AND ACKNOWLEDGED ME.

“TELL LOLONAH”

“I MUST REPENT.”

HE SLID THE BLADE DEEPLY ACROSS HIS THROAT

AND COLLAPSED

COUGHING AND GURGLING

ON THE WAY DOWN.

I FOLLOWED THE TRAIL HE LEFT

DOWN INTO THE BASEMENT

AND INTO A SMALL ROOM

TUCKED AWAY

FROM COMMON KNOWLEDGE.

IN THIS ROOM

SAT AN EMBALMING TABLE

WITH A FRESH CADAVER ON IT

THAT HAD BEEN PEELED

IN STRIPS.

ON ONE END

STOOD A BEGGAR.

ON THE OTHER END

STOOD A WOMAN

NAKED

DRENCHED IN RED FROM THE BOTTOM LIP DOWN

AND DRIPPING.

SHE TURNED TO ME

AND A BABY

COOED GENTLY IN HER ARMS.

I HAD SEEN ENOUGH TO SATISFY

AND RETURNED TO THE CORE.

HE HAD WAITED FOR ME

AND EXPRESSED SURPRISE.

“USUALLY WHEN MORTALS LEARN”

“THEIR MINDS RUPTURE”

“AND LEAK.”

… I THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

I MENTIONED THAT

I COULDN’T EXPECT HIM TO KNOW

WHO I WAS,

AS I HAD COME TO BE

CENTURIES AFTER HE HAD DIED.

HE ASKED ME

OF MY SOURCE,

OUT OF CURIOSITY.

“I HAIL FROM HOUSE SUL, MUTHSERA,”

“I WAS BORN INTO A WORLD WITHOUT WHEEL”

“AND AM REGISTERED BY C0DA.”

HE LAUGHED AGAIN,

AT THE IDEA

THAT HE WOULD HAVE ANY CLUE

WHAT THAT MEANS.

AND WITH HIM AS KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT ME

AS I WAS ABOUT HIM,

I ASKED MY FINAL QUESTION.

“WHY DO YOU STAY HERE?”

HE PAUSED.

“TO BE HONEST,”

“WHEN I STAY HERE”

“I CAN STILL HEAR THE BELLS.”

“THEY REMIND ME”

“OF MORE GENTLE DAYS”

“WHEN I WOULD SIT”

“AND LOVE COMPANY”

“THAT LOVED ME.”

I LOOKED TO HIM

AND SMILED.

“I CAN’T SAY MUCH REGARDING LOVE,”

“BUT I WOULD BE HAPPY TO SIT WITH YOU.”

[ikeromantic]

Hiii omg congratulations on 1k subscribers!!!! 🥳 It's been wonderful to see you reach such milestones over the years, has it really been three already? Ig time really flies when you're having fun 😉 For this one, could I please get Chevalier, Observatory and Gingerbread? Thanks a lot in advance, I'm sure it will be just as creative and incredible as every fic you've written so far! 🥰 I hope you're having a great holiday season, XOXO

It has been 3 years ^_^ Hard to believe really. Time flies when I'm having fun! Your kind words are one of the things that keeps me sharing here <3 So here we go, approx. 1400 words of a spicy and sweet Chevalier. IkePri New Years Event story

Chevalier followed his love up the winding stairs, a bemused smile on his lips. A ‘mysterious’ invitation had replaced his bookmark in one of his new novels, and this was the address listed. He wondered what his precious Belle had in mind. It better be worth all the stair climbing.

At the top, the entrance to the observatory swung open. The space, usually dedicated to the scientific study of stars, was now decorated with roses and candles. A small, round table sat to one side, with a bottle of wine and two glasses. The Belle stood beside it, an anxious smile on her face. “What is this?” Chev raised an eyebrow.

“Umm. Welcome, Prince Chevalier. This is - ah - a romantic dinner?” She shuffled from one foot to the other, far less confident of this presentation than her lovely dress would indicate. It was silk, and clung to her curves suggestively, hiding and showing all at once. The sort of dress a seductress might wear to lure in her prey. 

He shut the door behind him and closed the distance between them. “You set this up?”

She nodded. “I . . . thought you might enjoy it? It’s really pretty up here, with the view. And we can use the telescope! I - I got one of the scholars to show me?” 

“Why?”

The Belle looked down and took a deep breath. When she looked up again, her eyes held that flame of defiance that Chevalier found so alluring. “I wanted to celebrate our time together. And to show you what romance looks like in real life. It can be really nice.”

Chevalier snorted. Though his expression was cool, he felt a sudden tightness in his throat. He could not think of a single time someone had done something like this for him. There were only official celebrations, mandated by tradition, put together by servants, and attended by the ambitious. This was none of those things. He avoided replying by looking around.

“I made the bouquets just for us. See, apple blossoms and red carnations to tell you how much I like you and how my heart aches when we aren’t together. And baby’s breath with red roses to say our love will last, and -”

“I know what flowers mean.” He interrupted her to stop her from saying aloud all the things he could read himself in the careful arrangements. When she spoke those words, it made his heart beat faster, his breath shorter. Feelings that he eschewed. Storybook reactions that were inappropriate for a prince. 

The Belle nodded mutely. She walked over to look out at the night sky. The moon hung above them, full and bright, its cold light distant and beautiful. Nothing like the close, warm affection she carried. 

Chevalier followed, unable to let her away from him, even if it would be best for them both. He knew what this emotion growing in him was, with its hooks deep in his heart and mind. It was too late to let her go. Far too late. He grasped her hand and pulled her to him. 

She gave a gasp of surprise, her eyes wide. “My Prince?” 

“I did not say that I do not like it.” 

“So . . . you do?” Her lips curved up in a small, satisfied smile. 

Chevalier brushed a lock of hair from her face, the gesture awkward and a little brusque. Gentle touches were outside his experience, yet with her, he wanted to be gentle. To coax a smile from her that was just for him. “Silly fool.”

There was high color in her cheeks and a heat in her gaze. Chev smiled. “What else did you plan for us?”

“I -” She cleared her throat. “I thought we’d have some wine and th-then look at the stars.” 

He gestured to the table. “Then pour.”

“Right.” She reluctantly let go of him and hurried to the table. 

Chevalier enjoyed watching her as she moved about in this dress. It was revealing in the most interesting ways. Hugging the curve of her backside, clinging to the side of her breast and hip. It made him want to tear it off of her to reveal her beauty in full instead of these teasing glimpses.

The Belle returned a moment later with two cups of deep red wine. “This is a malbec. The sommelier said it was a good choice, since I’m not sure what you like.” She handed him his glass.

“Try it.” He watched her eyes widen at his order. And it was an order, spoken in his crips, chill tone.

“Ok. I thought you might taste it first but . . . just so you know, I don’t know much about wine. Sariel says I don’t have a good nose for it because I didn’t -”

Chevalier interrupted sharply. “Stop delaying.”

She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, alright. Sorry.” Then she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. Her eyebrows lifted and her lips curved in pleasant surprise. “Oh! That’s really good! I was afraid it might be bitter but it’s sweet!”

“Let me see.” He took his glass and held it to her lips.

“Y-you want me to drink from your cup?” 

“Don’t ask foolish questions.” He tilted it a bit so that the dark red liquid nearly touched her.

The Belle understood, though there was a hint of confusion in her gaze. Still, her lips parted and a trickle of wine poured over them, leaving a bead of moisture at the corner of her mouth. Then he set the cup aside.

Chevalier leaned close, and took her chin in his hand. Then he licked the wine from her lips. She was right, of course. It was sweet, but not nearly as sweet as she was. He pressed his lips to hers and slid his tongue into the heat of her mouth. It was not the sweet kiss of a kind lover, nor the passionate skill of a lothario, but it was the kiss of a brutal beast that hungered for her honeyed warmth.  

The Belle clung to him, kissing him back with as much inexperienced desire. Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt as if she would hold him in place. 

His hand slid down her side, tracing the line of her breast, her waist. Calloused palms rasped against the delicate fabric, catching. It would take only a small effort to tear, he thought. To take. But he wanted her to give. 

Her breath caught as his hand caressed her lower still. Sliding over the cloth that draped her hips, her thigh. The glass of wine slipped from her fingers, and shattered on the ground. She gasped, and he breathed her in. “Prince . . .” Her murmur was lost against his thirsting lips.

Chevalier didn’t care about the broken goblet. He lifted her up, pressed her back against the thick glass wall of the observatory. His mouth moved from her lips to her throat, where her pulse raced against the velvet of his tongue. Down to her shoulders, nipping the line of her collarbone. 

She arched into his touch, her legs wrapped around his hips, dress riding up her thighs to reveal her satin skin beneath. His hands explored this revealed territory, claiming it with every rough caress. 

“Was this what you imagined,” he asked with a teasing smirk.

“I . . .”

He laughed, a low, hoarse sound that sent a shiver up her spine. “Fated.” He nipped her throat. “That is where you got this idea.”

“Y-you knew?” Her breath was ragged, her voice trembling.

“From the moment I got your invitation. You created the scene where the emperor finds his stars align with the maid.”

The Belle nodded. “Sh-she left him a message in flowers.”

Chevalier’s smile grew. “And when he summoned her, the scene ends with them making love under those same stars.”

Her cheeks were hot, the flush of desire all the way down her neck and up to the tips of her ears. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Chev knew what she wanted. He wanted her as well. All of her. The woman that loved him. The woman he had come to love, in defiance of all wisdom. 

“Let us see if reality is better than fiction, then.” His smile was that of a predator about to devour his prey. An appetite that could never truly be sated, a desire that would never fade.