#but creation always comes with cutting something wide open first...

[lilacerull0]

thinking about how lila is probably one of the, if not thee luminous point in alfonso's life and she's never stopped believing that she was his damnation

[ricciardosheart]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's a chef and he's being her taste tester for her new recipes. Maybe their son, Jack helped (a little bit). Add something you'd like. Tag me later! Thanks :)))

sorry for the delay lol i had not checked my messages, but thanks for the request , hope it did not disappoint, loads of love @pear-1206

Title: Taste Tester Duties Pairing: Toto Wolff X fem!wife and Jack Warning: None

pictures are from pinterest

The kitchen was a beautiful disaster, a blend of chaos and creativity that only came from a day spent experimenting with new recipes. Flour was scattered over the countertops like a dusting of fresh snow, and various kitchen utensils were piled in the sink, a testament to the culinary journey you and your son, Jack, had been on.

You glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Toto to come home. He’d taken on the role of your official taste tester ever since you decided to test out new recipes in the evenings. As a chef, you prided yourself on perfecting every dish, but there was something special about letting your husband, the always-composed Toto Wolff, be the first to try your new creations. And today, with Jack’s “help,” it was bound to be an adventure.

“Mommy, look!” Jack called out, holding up a wooden spoon triumphantly. He’d been in charge of stirring the sauce, but judging by the state of his shirt—and face—half of it seemed to have found its way onto him. Chocolate sauce, no less.

“Oh my,” you chuckled, wiping a smear of chocolate off his cheek with your thumb. “You’re going to be as messy as the kitchen.”

Jack beamed up at you, not bothered at all by the chocolate mayhem. “Papa’s going to love it, right?”

“He will,” you said with a smile, finishing the last of the plating. “Especially when he knows you helped.”

Just as you were setting the dishes out on the kitchen island, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. The deep baritone of Toto’s voice followed, speaking a quick goodbye to someone on the phone before he hung up. Jack's face lit up with excitement, and he dashed out of the kitchen to greet his father.

“Papa’s home!” he yelled, his little feet padding down the hallway.

Toto chuckled from the doorway, scooping Jack up into his arms the moment he came barreling into him. “There’s my boy,” Toto said warmly, planting a kiss on Jack’s chocolate-smeared forehead. “Have you been helping Mama again?”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I made the sauce!”

Toto raised an amused eyebrow, following Jack’s enthusiastic pointing toward the kitchen. “I can see that. Very creative.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when they both walked into the kitchen, Jack still perched in Toto’s arms. Toto’s eyes swept over the mess of the kitchen, landing on the immaculate plate of ravioli you had just finished arranging.

“Well, it’s always a good sign when the kitchen looks like a war zone,” he teased, setting Jack down. “Means something special is about to happen.”

“Let’s hope the food looks better than the kitchen,” you said, wiping your hands on your apron.

“I’m ready for my duties,” Toto said, rolling up his sleeves in an exaggerated gesture, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “What culinary adventure have you prepared for me this time?”

You placed the plate of ravioli in front of him with a flourish. “Ravioli with a chocolate reduction sauce. A little sweet, a little savory. And Jack was my sous-chef today.”

Toto glanced between you and Jack, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “A chocolate sauce, you say?”

“I stirred it!” Jack piped up again, climbing into the chair beside his father. “It’s good!”

Toto gave him a playful nod. “Well, if Jack says so, then I trust him. Here goes nothing.”

With that, Toto picked up his fork and carefully cut into the ravioli, making a show of sniffing it dramatically. He took a bite, chewing slowly while you and Jack watched with bated breath.

After a pause that felt much longer than it needed to, Toto’s face broke into a wide grin. “Incredible. Absolutely perfect,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Sweet, savory, just the right amount of balance. Jack, I think you’re a genius.”

Jack’s chest puffed up in pride. “Told you!”

You let out a relieved laugh, playfully rolling your eyes at the theatrics. “I thought I might have lost my touch there for a second.”

“Never,” Toto said, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Though I have to say, I was a little worried when I saw the chocolate…”

“You doubt me?” you said with mock offense.

Toto grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Never. But Jack’s taste is a little more… adventurous than mine.”

As if to prove his point, Jack was already poking at the leftover chocolate sauce on his plate, dipping his fingers in and licking them happily. “It’s the best sauce, Papa. Better than what you have on race weekends.”

“Is that so?” Toto asked, pretending to be offended. “Well, maybe I should ask the Mercedes team chef to take some notes from you two.”

“I’d be happy to share my recipe,” you teased, sitting down beside him. “But it’ll cost you.”

“Oh?” Toto raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “And what’s the fee?”

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Another date night.”

Toto smirked, leaning in just as close. “Deal.”

Before you could steal a quick kiss, Jack interrupted with a loud, “Ew, Papa, no kissing!”

You and Toto both burst into laughter, and Toto ruffled Jack’s hair. “Alright, alright, I’ll spare you this time.”

Jack grinned, pleased with himself, and then clambered off his chair. “Can I have more sauce, Mommy?”

“Only if you promise not to wear it this time,” you said, eyeing the chocolate stains on his shirt.

As you got up to serve Jack another small portion, Toto stayed seated, watching the two of you with a contented smile. These moments—the little everyday joys of being together as a family—were what he looked forward to most after long days spent at the track or in meetings.

“You know,” Toto said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think this one is good enough to serve at the next team dinner.”

You turned, eyebrow raised. “Really?”

He nodded, a playful smirk on his lips. “Absolutely. I can already picture Lewis and George fighting over the last plate.”

You laughed at the image. “I’m sure Jack’s chocolate sauce will be the next big thing in Formula 1.”

“World champion sauce,” Toto declared, raising his fork like a trophy. “Courtesy of my talented wife and her apprentice.”

Jack beamed, holding up his spoon in victory, mimicking his father’s gesture. “Yeah, world champion!”

You shook your head fondly at the two of them. “Well, before you go declaring any more world championships, how about we clean up this kitchen?”

Toto groaned dramatically. “Ah, the real challenge.”

“Papa, I can help!” Jack offered, hopping off his chair once again.

Toto exchanged a glance with you, his eyes softening. “Alright, buddy. Let’s tackle this together.”

The three of you spent the next while cleaning up, Jack eagerly running around with a small towel, trying his best to wipe up the counters (which mostly meant moving the mess around). But despite the chaos, there was an undeniable warmth that filled the room—one that came from shared moments, laughter, and love.

As the last of the dishes were put away and the kitchen began to resemble something more functional, Toto pulled you into a gentle embrace, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for this, liebe. It’s exactly what I needed today.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “I’m just happy you like being my taste tester.”

“I love it,” he said softly, his arms tightening around you. “But not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Papa, come on!” Jack’s voice cut through the tender moment as he tugged at Toto’s sleeve. “Let’s go play!”

Toto chuckled, releasing you but not before planting one more quick kiss on your cheek. “Duty calls,” he said with a wink, before scooping Jack up in one fluid motion.

As you watched them disappear into the living room, their laughter filling the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Life was messy, but it was yours—perfectly imperfect.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[weclassygirl]

wonders

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: creation of the Rings is quite demanding, Lord of Gifts is here to ensure their completion

warnings: dream manipulation (fake deaths), not much besides that

word count: 3k

author’s note: i hope everything loads because my wifi sucks as of recent days. i've been trying to upload for over an hour now. finally we get a glimpse of reader's power so... enjoy! (previous part -> bewitched)

You wished you could drop the illusion even for a split second when you heard that he left Eregion. Galadriel found out who he was and went on to create the Rings nonetheless. In three there’s balance, she said, you wanted to disturb that balance. 

You felt them when she brought them to Lindon, felt the very life within you blossom as they worked their magic. The Elves would not leave the shores of Middle-Earth, but Eregion still didn’t know that. 

As Celebrimbor and the other smiths worked on the completion of the forge, you could do nothing but aimlessly wander the grounds, trying to connect to him. He let you, hesitantly and you found out why. Chained, dirty and wounded he laid inside the tent, waiting for the Lord-father to bargain with him again. 

You tried to break the chains, used whatever power was bestowed upon you to free him. They twitched lightly but nothing moved, not a nail that held them together, never bending under your fingers. 

You kneel next to him and place your hands on your lap. “It was worth a try.” you admit and he smiles despite being in pain. You could feel it, faintly, not as strong as it could be once you bind yourself to him.

“You should go back, you’re wasting your power on me.”

You place your hand on his cheek even if it’s a quickly forgotten feeling. “I wish to stay.” you reassure him. “The hour is late in Eregion, no one will look for me.” your chambers have been moved multiple times over the years, at first near the center, then moving further away until you could choose on your own. The edge of Ost-in-Edhil was a place of your choosing, quiet, no one to disturb you and your craft. You could be yourself within the walls.

Sauron closes his eyes to your touch but opens them as Adar walks inside the tent. You never met the Lord-father directly, only through the whispers of the Orcs but remembered the day he betrayed Sauron. 

A tear falls down Sauron’s face as Adar retells the story of how he met him. You understand him in a way, the servant of Morgoth had that effect even before he took on a new form. 

You’ve met him when he was injured, his cheek adorned by a gash that bled black, his shoulder shattered and his thigh cut through the bone. It took you some time before you healed him completely, Morgoth’s wounds always came first. When the orcs brought you to his bedside he was wide awake, waiting and holding onto his cheek. He could heal himself but why would he bother and use his power when you were at hand? 

Adar informs him that his people were set free and demands an answer to his question. What did he know of Sauron?

You saw his mind at work, he probably found the situation amusing. He smirks as he shifts on the ground to get a better look at the Lord-father.

“Sauron has returned in a new form.” the chains around his neck rattle. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asks. You lean against the stone as much as your illusion allows you to.

“I have something you don’t. The trust of the Elves… and a witch.” that piques Adar’s interest. 

“I wonder… what kind of witch would put her trust in you?” he has a faint idea that it might be you but to Adar you could be good as dead. He knew what kind of person you were, how Sauron quickly took liking to you in Forodwaith. You were no good company but if persuaded, you could prove a valuable ally. 

“Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions and destroy him.”  he offers and Adar seems to consider. 

Waldreg comes closer. “Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord-father of the Uruks?”

Halbrand looks up at him and speaks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then kneel.” His sight is focused on you as he does so, the disdain evident on his face as he bows before Adar. For a second it reminds you of the day he was betrayed by him. “Now swear it.” 

His head hangs low as he begins. “I vow—”

“With your head at my feet.” Adar commands and you see how he relishes in it. Soon enough both of you will once Sauron sets out to claim his army.

He takes his time putting his head to the ground, Adar watches carefully as do his children. The King of the Southlands at his mercy, thinking that he can use him as his pawn. You’ve seen the trick in his eyes, the lie and grin as he took the vow. He looks straight at you as he speaks the words and you feel a sense of power flowing through you. He means more than the words slipping from his lips. 

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor. To the end of my days… and his.”

His chains are let loose and slowly he rides out of the camp. Adar knows better not to trust him entirely, you observe him and he turns his head to you, you freeze. Could he…? You step closer and lift your hand up in front of his face, if you were at your full power you could snap his neck with the single movement of your hand. You have to hold yourself back.

As Halbrand leaves the camp you already wait for him at the hill and in the distance both of you hear screams - Waldreg. He grins like a child.

“Satisfied?” you ask as he halts the horse by you. 

„Very.” he responds. „I take it you will grant me entry once I arrive?” 

You shake your head. „Galadriel informed Celebrimbor to not treat with you. He doesn’t know who you are and I doubt he will allow me to make the decision.” you confess. You look back to the camp, the orcs moving around in the distance. „Use your charm, mention the Rings and he will be wrapped around your finger. Make him believe they worked wonders.” 

He nods and you disappear from his view. Back in your room you hear a knock at your door, your eyes flutter open as you notice dawn at the horizon. You go up to the door and see Mirdania at the other side, ready to walk with you to the forge as she always had in the mornings. 

The following days you wait until he comes by the gate. The new forge has been completed, everything set in place as you watch from the upper level. The anvil descended from the ceiling like the last piece of the puzzle, Celebrimbor beamed next to you as he saw his dream come true before his very eyes. 

„Fëanor would be proud.” you say to him and mean it. Creation of this forge was no mere task as well as crafting the Rings. You’d be a fool to admit otherwise.

Mirdania joins you and mentions a messenger from the Southlands, your heart skips a beat and you follow to see who it is from the balcony. He looks up at you before you fully take in his presence, disheveled, wounded and as ever prideful. 

Celebrimbor gives you one order. “Stay away from him.” but have you ever listened?

You come up to him during the day, Halbrand gets away from his horse and smiles at your arrival. 

„I tried.” you announce low enough for him to hear. He looks up to Celebrimbor standing on the balcony with a tug at his lips. 

„Give him time.” he only says and you trust his words. As simple as they are you know them to be true, Celebrimbor is but a note waiting to be plucked to the melody of his choosing. A conductor in waiting before entering the stage.

However when you return to the forge, Celebrimbor looks at you displeased as you defied his single order.

“He is not to be negotiated with.” he reminds you.

You pick up your apron from the chair and smooth it out as you think of an answer. “Forgive me, but I simply needed to make sure—” you start and sigh. “he appears to be injured.”

He is aware of how close the two of you have gotten over these few short days that he spent in Eregion. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Galadriel made herself clear. I know how much you seem to care for him but he is a mortal. His life will pass you in the blink of an eye whether you like it or not.” he tells you and you wish you could break the hand he held on your shoulder. Never to create again. The time draws near and you cannot wait until you’ll finally let go of this tiring illusion.

It takes a whole day before Celebrimbor lets him in, his eyes sparkled at the mention of the Rings. Halbrand covered in rain and wounds made the Lord of Eregion pity him. He welcomed him back, fed him and reveled when hearing about the success of the Rings. You stood in the shadows of the forge, listening to their conversation, waiting when Halbrand began his act, his own illusion. 

As Celebrimbor calls out for him, the forge began to burn brighter, you cover your eyes from the light when you see him. Grey-white robes draping from him, long blond hair graced with a golden head piece. He sauntered down to face Celebrimbor, an emissary from the Valar himself.

You stayed hidden until you found it fit to reveal yourself, as ever the innocent, accidentally knocking over a hammer that was on the table. You shuffle to pick it up, unable to look them in the eye. “Forgive me, my Lord. I—”

Celebrimbor has a gentle look on his face. “No… please. Uhm…” he looks to Annatar, unable to explain. The Lord of Gifts comes closer and takes the hammer from the ground and places it in your hands. 

“I believe I should be the one asking for forgiveness.” he admits, never taking his eyes off of you. “You may have known me as Halbrand, but I had to make sure that the three of us were of the same ambition.”

“The three of us?” Celebrimbor asks confused. His expression mimicked on your face as well. 

Annatar nods. “Yes. The Valar has observed you and your smith.” he turns to you and brings up his hand to your face. So delicate as if handling porcelain. “Once swayed to darkness, now working amongst the greatest smiths in all Middle-Earth.” he explains and gestures to Celebrimbor. “And the very descendant of Fëanor, who may have bested his kin.” 

The Lord of Eregion seems to be already wrapped around his finger as a subtle blush roses on his cheeks.

“Our work can begin… with a letter.” he announces.

“A letter?” you ask. You had not expected that, you would have imagined him to ask for more Rings straight away.

He walks up the stairs and up to the open office, he picks up a quill from the desk and holds it out to Celebrimbor. “The Three Rings healed the Elves, I believe it can also heal Dwarven halls of stone.” 

Celebrimbor looks hesitant but takes the quill from his hands. You look to Annatar and he gives you a knowing smile. 

You whisper to him as the scribbling on parchment fills the room. “Rings for Dwarves?” 

“And Men, but let’s worry ourselves with the Dwarves first.” he says. “I’ll need you now, more than ever.” you couldn’t wait for his plan for Eregion. 

Durin already suspected Annatar was not to be trusted, but you made sure his loving wife would persuade him from these frivolous thoughts. As they spoke to Celebrimbor you sat by your workbench, drawing new designs for the Rings, perfecting them in any way. While your hand drew them, the other floated slightly above the paper, as if pushing away invisible speckles of dust. No one saw except for Annatar, how your power slowly made its way into Disa’s mind, planting the conviction of the success of the Rings for their people. 

As they left the forge you could still hear Disa convincing her husband to grant mithril for the Lord of Eregion. You would have to focus your magic on Prince Durin the next time they arrived, but you believed it would have been in vain as the Rings will be already granted to them and they would rejoice because they have to. The Lord of Gifts wouldn’t let it slide if they didn’t, all that work for no appreciation. 

Annatar slowly played his part, making Celebrimbor think that his ideas were his own when he began to write the letter to the High King. You returned to the forge to hear their voices, Annatar felt your presence and looked to you with pleading eyes, knowing that Celebrimbor is watching.

“What are you doing, my lord?” you ask as the Lord of Eregion picks up a quill. 

“I am congratulating the High King on the efficacy of The Three and telling him that I am closing up the forge.” he informs you as you walk up the stairs. You start to shake your head at the news, not knowing what has transpired earlier. “With a promise to join him in Lindon as soon as possible.”

Annatar notices your expression but reassures you. You feel a slight pull in your mind, the bond might be weak but started to grow ever slightly with the recent events and his proximity. 

“You would lie to your High King?” he questions Celebrimbor. The Lord of Eregion looks to you, his trusted smith that would know how important this is, that you would understand.

“I would grant us the space to complete our work.” he says. You act startled when his fists bangs on the table as he tells that he reached the height of his craft. “This… this is my moment. Now, he will not take it away.”

You give him a soft smile as Annatar circles around him. He looks to you and you leave the forge, knowing that Celebrimbor will be dead set on his work. After a few hours most of the smiths have already retired for the night, Celebrimbor left after you practically dragged him away from his table, reminding him that even the brightest minds have to rest. He let you lead him to the door as the forge became empty, the anvil covered for the night and Annatar leaning against it. 

He spoke when he knew there was no one around to eavesdrop.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve seen it properly.” he says.

The last time you used your power was to influence Morgoth to release you from his hold. The success didn’t last long as he felt you in his mind and chained you for the rest of your days in Forodwaith. 

You lift your hand up and let the magic flow around it, you could feel it tingling above your skin, whirling like a small storm as you walked up to him. It was captivating in every way, if you wanted you could make them appear like the light of the Silmarils, make the onlooker stare into its depth like Morgoth once did. 

He knew your true power lay dormant, waiting for a more suiting occasion. For now, the simple illusions and mind control would have to do to grant you some form of satisfaction. 

“Morgoth hasn’t taken everything.” you reply and let your darkened fingertips show from underneath the illusion. He takes your hand in his and places a soft kiss in the palm of it. “You truly believe he would create the Rings for Men? You’ve heard his objection before.” you voice your thoughts and he lets go of your hand. 

“That is where I need you.” you raise your eyebrow at his statement. “Let him see how demanding their creation is. Let him feel the ruin it would inflict on Middle-Earth if he never created them.”

Your mind spins with ideas but perhaps the simplest one is the best option. Annatar sees to it that it’s done when you sit down in your chambers and reach out to Celebrimbor’s mind, plaguing him with visions of Middle-Earth’s doom, with Men standing at the front lines, getting slaughtered while the races with the Rings survive. 

You make sure to leave no trail of your presence, having him face you in his dreams as arrows hit you repeatedly as you try to protect him. An Elven witch turned a respected smith, now dead while sacrificing herself to save his life for his mind filled with creations. He sees the emissary of the Valar down at his feet, covered in wounds that no mortal or immortal being would survive and the Lord of Eregion’s hand covered in blood, responsible for the fall of the Men.

He wakes up startled and you flee as quickly as possible. 

“Finished?” Annatar asks you as he sits on the edge of your bed. 

“For the night, yes.” you reply. 

“One time will not be enough.”

“I am aware, Mairon…” how he loved to hear his name slip out of your mouth. You see the look in his eyes but stop yourself, you’ve exhausted yourself for the day. “Do not fret. His days will be filled with glimpses of what could have beens.” 

And you did, even when the Rings for Dwarves have been completed, you had brought fear to his mind, when Annatar spoke to him of Rings for Men, he refused. Perhaps your visions were too frightening for him, but with the coming days, your work has only bore more fruits and Sauron knew that he had chosen an elf worthy of his vision for Middle-Earth.

next part -> control

[littlemsshoney]

Hannibal obsessed with one of his patients

Hannibal Lecter × patient!reader

Warnings: unhealthy dynamics, obssesive relationship, slight stalking, Hannibal being emotionally manipulative, mental health issues (he caused)

At first you were just another patient, a potential pawn or a future extravagant dinner he would enjoy some Friday night. Another lost and troubled soul that was unfortunate enough to find him.

There was something about you that caught his eye. The way you talked, the way you carried yourself.

However his interest grew like a forest fire, a burning insatiable hunger consumed him more and more with each one of your sessions.

He started taking notes of every little detail of your life and with some research of his own he soon knew every aspect of your life. Where you live, where you work, who your friends are, which cafe you spend your Saturday morning everything in.

He knew that he should feel bad for crossing such a line between a therapist and a patient but he didn’t really. After all, it wasn't that hard. With your social media your life was practically an open book for everyone to read and enjoy and if he didn’t then he was sure someone else did.

Only the thought made him angry. It wasn’t about your safety but more about his hurt ego. He had his eye on you, no one else should change that and he should make it known.

Of course he had always been a fan of traditional courting so don’t be confused when you start bumping into him in the most random places at some point with the excuse of cheering you up even being invited to one of his glamorous dinner parties. All of those situations you tried to avoid and refuse gracefully, not because of being aware of his true intentions but rather because you knew there was a thin line you shouldn’t cross.

So you didn't leave him any other way. He truly wanted to be gentle and kind with you and treat you like the precious, vulnerable creature you were in his mind but you just won’t have it the easy way, will you?

The thought of being patient- one of the tarits he awlways took pride on- now felt like a real torture. He wanted to consume you whole. There was something about you that reflected some part of him, an unknown familiarity of your pain. He wanted to break you down, then pick up your parts and build you up. Then do it all over again.

Your sessions were heavy at least. Raw honesty from your part and emotional manipulation from his all to serve the creation of an intense bond, a codependent relationship.

Your wellbeing and mental health had turned into a chess game and the game was anything but fair. In less than two months your whole well being was hanging from a thread and only he could help you or tear you apart.

One can only imagine the sadistic pleasure he took from your vulnerability and pain. Comfortably he sat at his armchair watching as you fell apart in front of him each week feeling worse and worse. All he had to do was just watch and enjoy, proud of his creation.

In his free time he recalled how beautifully you cried, so broken and desperate for him to fix you but all he wanted was lick your tears and take you in. He imagined you being under him, crying - from pleasure - his name rolling off your tongue over and over again.

Soon he had you feeling as if the whole world had turned against you. You couldn’t even trust your own judgement, you had cut ties with most of your friends -Dr Lecter advised you that none of them were genuine-you had become more and more isolated, you felt like you’re turning paranoid.

And then the final act of his play

“I’m really sorry I didn’t know where else to go” and like clockwork you deliberately walked onto his trap, basically sealing your own fate. All he had to do now is hold his door wide open for you to come in.

And then checkmate. That eventful evening standing on the doorstep of the only person you thought truly cared about you. He let you in and like a wounded bird he took you into his arms with such generosity and kindness in contrast to everyone else in your life. The irony.

“It will all be alright”

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him for dear life, holding onto the only person that seems to understand you and actually wants to help you. As you cry on his shoulder he rests his chin on your head and gently caresses your hair.

Despite your persistence to resist him you are finally giving in. He kisses the crown of your head and though you know it is wrong you let him. You would let him do anything to keep him and he knows it.

Frozen in place you close your eyes as he kisses your forehead, then your eyes and cheek. You know what comes next yet you do not pull away, you don't resist what’s inevitable. A second passes and he doesn’t move, you open your eyes to see him staring at your lips. Now you know you want it, you feel his hunger as your own and you’re starving for it.

Grabbing him by his expensive tie you kiss him, not gently as he did but with desperation and need to be seen and understood.

Pleased he lets you have control just this once for the rest of your time together. He knew you would soon come to realise it’s only him you ever needed.

[dwaekkism0811]

a world of colour

chapter 1

{ reader x seonghwa }

daycare au

ateez members included

single dad hwa, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of divorce

. * . * .* . loading . * . * . * .

Waking up in the morning wasn’t always a chore. Usually you gave yourself enough time to run your coffee machine and do your full AM skincare routine. The sun was never up when you rose, which always made it tougher to pull yourself from the warmth of your bed. It was the cost of running your own business, one where you needed to be there to open up shop. While it was a struggle to make it out on time, it wasn’t a chore. Every morning you travelled to your passion project, your dream job. 

The daycare looked a little drab with all the lights off as you parked in the lot outside. It had taken years of hard work in school and then raising the money to get yourself the rental space, but the little daycare was yours and every day was rewarding.

Unlocking the door, you moved inside and flicked all the switches outside the office. The rooms illuminated, all the colourful displays of hand-crafted art and spelling guides suddenly blooming to life. One of your favourite things the daycare did was display copies of their attendees’ creations, hand-print art and colouring sheets and everything in between. Your staff always reported that the kids were proud that they could see their art lining the space they spent so much time in every day, obviously through less and more simple wording.

A bit of time had passed and you had gotten most of the set-up for the day done. It would still be a while before the first parents would arrive and even the staff would only arrive a few minutes before official open. You believed that it was more cohesive and less stressful for everyone if you were the one to handle all that and the attendants could arrive ready for the day.

You really weren’t expecting the knock on the front glass door, the sound of it sending you jumping a little where you were sitting at the greeting desk. After the initial shock, your body started moving automatically, kicking into gear. You could see two sets of legs through the door, one adult and one mini. 

At first glance the man behind the door seemed intimidating. There was something about the energy he exuded. He wasn’t looming over you, meeting you eye to eye, but there was something that made him seem bigger than he was. 

“I’m so sorry, I see the hours don’t start until 7,” Your gaze automatically follow his pointing to the plaque in the window despite knowing it by heart already. “There was a work emergency and I wanted to make sure she got in before the cut-off time- seems like I went a little overboard.” The man’s energy was contagious and you found yourself laughing along. The man moved to rest his hand on his little companion’s head, fingers pressing lightly to her scalp in what looked like a calming massage.

You looked down at the little girl and was pleasantly surprised that she had a familiar face. Her eyes were wide and looking right up at you. Quickly your smile warmed, moving to kneel down to meet her level.

“Hi Seoyeon, good morning.”

She raised her hand to offer a shy wave, turning to press her face into her guardian’s pantleg.

“I didn’t even tell you my name, sorry again. I’m Seoyeon’s… uncle, Hongjoong.”

“You don’t seem very sure of that?” You joke, standing back up. The bell on the door chimes as you open it up and usher the duo in. 

“I’m her dad’s best friend, I just- yeah.”

As they walk back in you feel a little tug at your work apron. Seoyeon’s little hand has grabbed the fabric and she’s turned her wide pleading gaze your way. “It’s okay I get it,” You offer to Hongjoong, then to Seoyeon, “Yes, yes, I’m coming. Don’t worry sweetie.”

You pat lightly at her back, reassuring her that you’re there, guiding them into the playroom. “I can take her early this time since it’s a one-off thing; I hope everything is okay with her father’s work.” Hongjoong thanks you, relief evident in his voice. He signs easily when you turn the drop-off sheet his way.

“Seoyeonnie, what do you think of some early colouring time?”

[attempted--eloquence]

Oh that we could always see such spirit through the year

-whats one thing you wanted for xmas as a kid that you never got

The message comes just after midnight. Theo imagines Liam on the other side of town thinking about him. Squinting past the glare of his phone screen in a dark room while Theo does the same from his truck.

-Why

Theo doesn’t want to think about this. He considers replying some peace and fucking quiet or its meaner alternative, for you to leave me alone, but thinks he might have worn out his be-an-asshole-and-then-say-jk privileges by now.

-just curious

Earlier today there was a holiday crafting event in the library’s children’s literature section. Tables of kids and their parents cutting snowflakes out of paper and drowning the end result in Elmer’s glue and glitter. Theo never learned how to do the snowflake thing as a child but standing there watching kids haphazardly snip away at folded sheets of paper and unfurl their creations, he almost wanted to.

This time of year makes him feel like that. The snipped-away thing. All those discarded paper trimmings.

❅❆❄ ❅❆❄ ❅❆❄ ❅❆❄ ❅❆❄ ❅❆❄

Theo still believed in Santa Claus when the Dread Doctors took him.

That first December with them Theo was eight, freshly monstered and only knew Christmas day had come because he kept a tally of each passing day on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper stuck to the underside of his cot. But then again time was slippery those days. When Theo woke up presentless on what he thought was December 25th—the 86th day of his new life—he assumed Santa hadn’t gotten his new address yet. He didn’t know his new address yet himself.

The next year, on the 451st day of his life—not new anymore, just his—he rationalized that he made the naughty list. That’s what happens when kids do bad things. They wake up presentless. They wake up on a surgical table and forget how they got there. They wake up and etch another tally mark into the wall of the place they sleep—with claws they know how to use now—because they ran out of room on the crumpled sheet of notebook paper months ago and needed something more permanent.

He doesn’t remember what happened the year after, or the year after that, or the next.

When Scott proposed a pack-wide “12 days of secret santa” Theo politely declined. When Scott texted him two days later to notify him that everyone else had agreed and he’d be the odd man out, Theo not-so-politely declined. Again. The next day Scott sent a link, nothing else. Theo clicked it to find himself on one of those stupid customizable e-card websites; an animated red and green present bopped around the screen flashing OPEN ME! In hindsight, it’s at this point that Theo should have set aside his phone, pretended not to have seen the message, and gone on his merriless way. But he’s a steadfast masochist so he jabbed at the stupid fucking animated present and it exploded into stupid fucking animated red and green confetti that dispersed to reveal a stupid fucking animated picture of Stiles. His giftee. For the 12 days of secret santa he pointedly did not agree to.

And Theo should perhaps be annoyed at that, but instead he’s wondering if the unlucky bastard that drew his name saw a similarly stupid fucking animated picture of his face. He hopes it was flattering, at least.

Scott:

-Three rules ok

-No revealing ur identity until christmas

-No spending money so get creative

-And u have to give a gift everyday til christmas starting on the 14th

-Have fun! (not a rule but a suggestion)

-Got a notif that u opened the link btw

- :)

Fine, whatever. Malicious compliance, then.

❅❆❄

He gets the text moments after leaving the first of 12 gifts on the front porch of the Stilinski household: a black dry erase marker taped to a piece of notebook paper that says, “thought you might need this.”

-ho ho ho

There’s a boring but noteworthy story to this. The marker, not the text. One that starts with a pack meeting at the Stilinski residence, leads to an outrageously ridiculous debate over which pack members should get whiteboard privileges—and, by extension, get to use his “super cool brand new ultra pristine” chisel tip markers—and ends with Theo slipping out of the house with the 12-pack of Expos stuffed beneath his sweatshirt in an act of petty revenge theft.

12-pack. It’s almost serendipitous.

His phone buzzes again during his getaway.

-ready for your first gift?

-doesn’t matter bc youre getting it anyway

-this is your secret santa btw

It’s a random number, probably one generated from a texting app.

-Shocker

-today’s gift is…

-(waiting for a drumroll)

He’d roll his eyes but the dramatic effect would be lost on his secret santa. Instead, he replies: Not getting one

-fuck you too then scrooge

-the gift is a compliment, so here it goes

-I admire your commitment to wearing at least two layers of clothing at all times

He didn’t think it was possible to get a worse gift than a stolen box of dry erase markers returned piecemeal.

-crickets?

-really nothing?

-not even a thx

-whatever man, talk to you later

And so it begins.

❅❆❄

-sooooo..

-Yes?

-I left you a gift

-did you not get it

-What was it?

-a candy cane

-Oh

When Theo left the rec center this morning it was stuck beneath his windshield wiper like a festive parking ticket. He assumed it was some bullshit random act of holiday kindness, that he was the coincidental victim of some cheery stranger vandalizing people’s cars with candy canes to make them feel good about themselves.

-oh?

-I think the words you’re looking for are thank you

-Didn’t eat it

-wtaf

-why not???

-I don’t like peppermint

-neither do I

-that’s why it was strawberry flavored you dick

Alright, so maybe he feels a little bad for tossing it in the trash can on the sidewalk before getting in his truck. Just a little.

❅❆❄

A green post-it note with a ballpoint pen and highlighter rendition of Snoopy atop a holiday-decorated dog house is taped to the driver’s side window of Theo’s truck when he slinks out of Deaton’s clinic after a few hours of cataloging wolfsbane strains. Beneath it is another sticky note with a drawing of what Theo can only assume is a stick figure version of himself reacting to the drawing of Snoopy. Big, mean frown on his face. There’s a thought bubble above his misshapen head that reads, “bah humbug!” Actually half-decent. The drawings, not Deaton’s busy work. He tucks them away in his glove box instead of tossing anything in the trash this time.

-So you’re stalking me

He would try to narrow down who his anonymous gifter could be, but that would require conceding interest in this whole charade. Which he lacks entirely. Really. Even though Stiles’s increasingly irate pack chat rants about the slow return of his stolen dry erase markers sparks a special kind of holiday joy in him.

-nah I’m secret santa-ing you

-so do you like the gift?

-have you ever even seen a charlie brown christmas

He pauses, pulls the Snoopy sticky note out of the glovebox as if to jog his memory. As if his memory is even a trustworthy thing past a certain point.

-Yeah I think so

-A long time ago

Like, before he started keeping a tally of every day. Like when days were just new wakeups and not milestones. That long ago.

-“I think so”

-geez

-you really are scrooge

-I’ve got some work to do huh

-Guess so

❅❆❄

Okay. Fine. He knows his secret santa is Liam. Whatever. It was basic deduction—no effort involved whatsoever.

He knows because the last pack meeting was held at Liam’s place. Liam’s living room has been cannibalized by a massive, gaudy christmas tree adorned with tinsel, sparkly garland, rainbow lights, and ornaments galore. And candy canes. The same pinkish white striped kind that Theo chucked away a few days ago.

So he stole one, just to check. Sidled up close to the tree like he was admiring the lights, snatched a candy cane when no one was looking and hid it away in his jeans pocket.

Plus, not like Theo was chasing a hunch or anything, when Mason asked Liam for a sticky note to jot down the name of a bestiary to research, Liam returned with a green post-it. Same lime-y shade as the ones still in Theo’s glove box.

And then, not like he needed any further confirmation, but he just so happened to text his secret santa—what’s in store for me today?—right as Liam slipped out to the bathroom, leaving his phone behind. It chimed.

So, it was that easy.

The only thing that makes him second-guess his suspicion is that his gift is sitting on the roof of his truck when he leaves the pack meeting, which, unless Liam has mastered the art of self-replication or enlisted someone else to assist, would kind of be impossible to do on his own.

Whatever. Theory still stands until proven otherwise.

The gift is a ziploc bag that contains a green cat’s eye marble, an oblong, striated rock, a silver dollar, and a flattened wildflower with crisp, browning petals that crumble when he touches them. It’s not until hours after the pack meeting that Theo gets a response to his initial text.

-dude

-for a scrooge you sure are invested in trying to blow my cover

-anyway, day 4: cool stuff I found in the woods!

He puts the bag away with the sticky notes and the pilfered candy cane. His glove compartment is becoming a secret santa shrine.

-You should’ve spread these out as multiple gifts

-shit

-you’re right

❅❆❄

Theo cracks that night. Cat, curiosity. He nabs the candy cane from his glovebox, unwraps it, and gives it one tentative lick.

Strawberry.

❅❆❄

-snow is so cold

-the sky is blue

-this is your 5th gift

-how did I do?

-I don’t think you’re a future poet laureate if that’s what you’re asking

❅❆❄

On his sixth day of driving Stiles crazy, Theo drops a sky blue marker off on the Stilinski household’s doorstep sans cap. Halfway through all 12 days and, as much fun as Theo’s having being the worst secret santa ever, the marker drops are beginning to feel a bit pedestrian.

In an unfortunate turn of events, the texts from his own secret santa have become a highlight of the increasingly bleak and banal California winter.

December break has been hard. He wakes up. He goes to the rec center to work out and shower instead of school because the building is closed. He drops off a “gift” for Stiles. He works a shift at Deaton’s and loiters until he can’t find any other excuses to stick around. He kills time at the library. He sleeps in shifts, moves his truck around town a couple times a night so as not to rouse suspicion from Beacon Hills’s finest parking enforcement officers.

And amidst it all, he waits for Liam to text.

-happy day 6

-today’s gift is pro bono advice

-consider me your sounding board

-your oracle

-your magic conch shell

-And you think I need your advice why?

Doesn’t mean he won’t be an ass about it.

-theo come on

-I am trying my best here but you are making this so hard

-I’m kidding

-Sorry

-you’re not but ok

-Whatever

-I’ll take your stupid advice

-I’m all ears

-If I wanted to hypothetically annoy the shit out of the recipient of my secret santa gifts

-And those gifts were hypothetically items I hypothetically stole from said recipient

-And I had hypothetically been returning those items in the most annoying way possible

-How do I make it even more annoying?

-oh my god

-unhypothetically stiles is going to kill you

-He can try

Theo waits as Liam’s little text bubble appears, disappears. Pops up again. Lingers. Until, finally—

-ok here’s what you could do

-switch all the caps so they’re different colors

-and scratch the logo off the outside so everything is blank and it’s a mystery which color is which

-Meh

-well ok then mr. degeneracy

-you could return the caps and markers on separate days

-Did that already

-oh or make it a really stupid scavenger hunt so that he has to find the markers and/or caps himself

-bonus points if you write the clues in the marker color that he’s looking for

-Huh

-That’s more like it

-this doesn’t make me an accomplice tho

-got it?

-Wouldn’t give you credit even if you wanted it

-gee thanks

-I thought evil plots were supposed to be my thing anyway

-lol

-if you were actually any good at them we wouldn’t be having this conversation rn

❅❆❄

-whats one thing you wanted for xmas as a kid that you never got

The message comes just after midnight. Theo imagines Liam on the other side of town thinking about him. Squinting past the glare of his phone screen in a dark room while Theo does the same from his truck.

-Why

Theo doesn’t want to think about this. He considers replying some peace and fucking quiet or its meaner alternative, for you to leave me alone, but thinks he might have worn out his be-an-asshole-and-then-say-jk privileges by now.

-just curious

Earlier today—yesterday technically, whatever—there was a holiday crafting event in the library’s children’s literature section. Tables of kids and their parents cutting snowflakes out of paper and drowning the end result in Elmer’s glue and glitter. Theo never learned how to do the snowflake thing as a child but standing there watching kids haphazardly snip away at folded sheets of paper and unfurl their creations, he almost wanted to.

This time of year makes him feel like that. The snipped-away thing. All those discarded paper trimmings.

-helloooo

-fine, I’ll start

-I wanted a razor scooter so bad but my mom was convinced I was gonna fall off and crack my head open or knock all my teeth out

-joke’s on her bc only time I ever chipped a tooth or got a head injury was playing lacrosse

If Theo gave a shit about the secret santa rules, he would chide Liam on that slip-up. He’s not even trying to keep his identity a secret anymore.

-ok now your turn

That first Christmas with the Dread Doctors—

It sounds ridiculous that way. The Surgeon, The Geneticist, The Pathologist and Theo huddled around a Christmas tree or something. Rainbow string lights in the operating theater and fruit cake in the specimen fridge. Der Soldat’s tube adorned with a wreath.

—Day 86 of his new life. He remembers having a Christmas list. They took out his heart but didn’t take the naivete and want out of him. There was a book on it, the list. Probably toys too, but if he thinks too hard about those he might remember that he really was a kid then. Was a kid, period.

-Do you remember those books

-They had white covers and like a collage of pictures of whatever subject the book was about on the front

-There was one for pretty much any topic you could think of

-yeah I think so

-hold on

There’s that text bubble again. Headlights cascade across the truck’s interior as a car passes by and carries on farther down the road.

-DK eyewitness?

-Yeah. They had a book about outer space

-I wanted that I guess

-of course you’d want a textbook for xmas

-nerd

Snip, snip, snip.

-Is today’s gift you annoying the fuck out of me?

Sometimes Theo makes the mistake of forgetting why they’re talking to each other. For the next five days he’ll remain an obligation. After that, an afterthought.

More empty roads. Early sunsets. Winter dark.

-I was joking

-I’m sorry

-I used to read those…had one about dinosaurs, one about ancient egypt + another about medieval weapons

-oh and one about sharks

-they were awesome

-Rule 1

He says it to reinstate distance between them more than anything.

-yeah yeah whatever

-every kid read those books, that hardly counts as identifying information

-anyway today’s gift is an IOU to be redeemed @ any point in the next 365 days

-No exceptions?

-uh yeah exceptions?? are you crazy

-no murder

-or like crime of any kind

-and it can’t cost $$$

-Shitty IOU

-well sometimes you get a candy cane in your stocking

-sometimes you get a lump of coal

-merry christmas dirtbag

-and goodnight

❅❆❄

Theo has long since learned his lesson about opening random, unprompted links—thanks, Scott—so when day eight’s gift comes in the form of a dropbox URL, he pointedly ignores it.

For a while. Until a follow-up message from his secret santa comes through, that is.

-so…did you open it?

-Nope

-dude come on

-I’m actually excited about this one

-I think you’ll like it

Okay. Fine. Consider his interest piqued. He clicks the stupid link to the stupid dropbox and what he finds is a movie library. Christmas movie library.

He fights back an eyeroll before remembering Liam can’t see his exasperation, and opts to lose the battle anyway.

-Movies?

-a charlie brown christmas!

-and a few of my other favorite Christmas movies

-the old kind of uncanny valley claymation ones

-Not in the mood

-Christmas is in four days how could you not be in the mood

-I personally pirated these for you

-show some appreciation

Liam follows up the message with a gif of Charlie Brown decorating a Christmas tree.

-you after your movie marathon

-Bald?

-lmao shut up and enjoy your movies, mr. grinch

❅❆❄

Theo watches all three hours of pirated Christmas specials because he’s awake when nothing else is. Consumes the world in reds and greens and whites and blues. Felted snow and stop motion. He figures the movies might bore him to sleep, at least, but afterward he’s tired in a new way.

Could sleep for days. Could sleep right through Christmas. Wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks.

Wouldn’t miss much.

❅❆❄

It’s not like Theo sits around waiting all day for his secret santa to text him, but not hearing anything by nearly 11:00 p.m. is out of the ordinary, to say the least.

So Theo takes a page out of Liam’s his secret santa’s book.

-Sooo

-Day 9?

-sorry, I didn’t forget

-just haven’t figured anything out yet

-shit idk man thinking of 12 free gifts is hard

-you like hugs? need one?

-**to be redeemed at a later date**

-Forget I asked

-ok how about this

-your 9th gift is a free vent sesh, get something off your chest

-judgement free zone over here I stg

-I’m good

-cmon there’s gotta be something you feel like bitching about

-you’re you

-regrets, shit that’s bothering you, pet peeves or whatever

His fingers stutter against the keys and then revoke themselves. He’s the source of the appearing and disappearing text bubble this time. Almost sent you’re bothering me, because it's right there, cheap and easy and more in character for him than being honest—doesn’t go against his personal credo of “keep everyone at arm’s length.”

-don’t leave me hanging

-you’re making me feel like a shitty gift giver

-You don’t have to give me anything

-Seriously I don’t care

-I didn’t want to do the secret santa thing anyway

-I don’t think I’ve gotten a christmas gift since I was like 7

-lol

-dude

So much for arm’s length.

Liam’s typing, and typing, and typing, and Theo figures he doesn’t know what to say just as much as Theo doesn’t know how to make this admission not a big thing.

Maybe a “jk” would help.

-I’m sorry

And then Liam’s back to his magic trick of the appearing and disappearing text bubble while Theo considers tossing his phone out his window and reversing over it.

His participation was a misstep. The pack’s secret santa gimmick is a contagion that creates the illusion of temporary closeness. The one-sided anonymity afforded by the game will only last a few more days but after that Liam will still know more about the past ten years of his life than Theo has ever cared to deliberately divulge. The thought of that makes him itch.

So he’s gotta nip this shit in the bud before Liam can say anything else about it.

-I’m cashing in my IOU

-ok?

-what for

-For you to drop this

-The whole secret santa thing

-No more days

An answer doesn’t come for a long time.

-fine.

But when it does, Theo isn’t sure that what he feels is relief.

❅❆❄

“Someone dropped these off for you,” Deaton says in lieu of a greeting when Theo shows up for his opening shift.

On the counter in front of him is a saran wrapped paper plate of cookies. Upon closer inspection, they’re studded with red and green M&Ms and topped with white, snowflake-shaped sprinkles that match the pattern on the plate. There’s a green sticky note slapped on top. “For Theo,” it reads. “Not getting rid of me that easily.” Next to the cookies is a thermos with another sticky note. This one says "Drink me!”

His shift’s early. 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday. Theo should be bothered that Liam is ignoring his IOU but can’t help but be impressed by the commitment. What he has grown to have the most faith in is the fact that people will inevitably grow tired of him and deem him not worth the effort.

He keeps biting. Liam keeps reaching out a hand anyway. Theo’s trying not to feel weird about it.

Deaton clears his throat.

Theo plays dumb. Asks, “Who?”

“I didn’t happen to see them.”

But the faint smirk on Deaton’s face says otherwise.

“Mystery cookies and a mystery beverage from a mystery person,” he huffs. “I’ll pass. Could be poisoned.”

Deaton quirks a brow. “Unlikely. But there’s only one way to find out.”

He pushes the gifts toward Theo.

“I’ll be in the back. Take your time.”

Theo spends the first fifteen minutes of his shift getting sated on christmas cookies and thick hot chocolate—still warm.

The rest of the day plods on without a word from Liam. Theo doesn’t blame him.

He spends a lot of time thinking about those M&Ms on top of the cookies, though. Each one evenly spaced from the rest, pressed down ever so slightly into the crests of the cookies. Alternating reds and greens. Imagines Liam taking the time to place each one.

Theo tries not to feel weird about it.

❅❆❄

Nothing’s ever open on Christmas Eve. Just malls and grocery stores. Theo is in the canned goods aisle running his fingers against the ridges of a can of pineapple rings, soaking up socialization by proxy, when the texts come in.

-hey

-so it’s day 11

-we’re almost done with this, just bear with me here

-today’s gift is 11 affirmations

-#1: you’re really smart

Theo gives up on feigning interest in shelf-stable goods. He commandeers the endcap—there’s a special on Spam, if anyone’s interested—and has to fight back an audible groan.

-Stop

-This is the same as day 1

-And I told you I’m done with this

-dude no it isn’t

-just let me do this

-#2: you’re weirdly good at keeping those white sneakers of yours clean

#3: you’re actually a lot of help when you want to be

-so i’m glad to have you on our side

-I’m going to block you

-for once can you not be an asshole

-this is your gift and it can’t possibly be more unbearable for you than it is for me

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Theo won’t wait around to find out.

Block this Caller.

Blocking the number is a gift for both of them. Liam probably wouldn’t even be able to come up with 9 more nice things to say about him anyway. It’s fine. Today’s basically the last day of the secret santa bullshit before tomorrow’s “reveal” at the pack Christmas party anyway. He can text Theo from his actual phone number if he wants.

If he wants.

But the rest of the day drags by in isolation. Theo almost misses the desperate clamor of the grocery store. No follow-up messages from his secret santa via a new text app number. No reprimand from Scott. Not even a group chat bitchfit from Stiles about today’s marker scavenger hunt that led him into the preserve to excavate a marker that Theo cut the tip off of. Just an all-around silence.

Guess it’s a Christmas miracle.

❅❆❄

The only thing that gets Theo to the pack Christmas party at Scott’s is the satisfaction of being able to hand Stiles his last marker in person.

Except it’s not the last marker, because Theo has decided to keep that one—bold red, pristine chisel tip—for himself. Instead, Stiles will get a dingy yellow highlighter from the bottom of Theo’s backpack. The moldy cherry on top of a shit sundae.

But before Theo can make it up the driveway and to the front door, he’s promptly dragged away from Scott’s front door and forced over to the side of the house by Liam.

“Hi,” he greets, demeanor somewhere between annoyed and hesitant. He’s got one arm angled behind his back, keeping something out of Theo’s line of sight.

“Liam,” Theo says, feigning surprise that definitely falls short of convincing. “Hey.”

“Look, I know you knew it was me the whole time. Your secret santa.”

“Maybe.”

“Texting me during that pack meeting was a dick move and you know it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what I did to piss you off most over the past twelve days,” Theo retorts. It’s almost an apology for his nearly two weeks of assholery. Almost.

Liam exhales an almost-laugh in return. “About that. Without everyone around, I just wanted to—here.”

He shoves the hidden thing into Theo’s grasp.

“Your last gift.”

It’s a book. White cover, a collage of planets and satellites and stars across the front. DK Eyewitness logo and UNIVERSE emblazoned across the top in orange letters.

The book.

Theo gets this kind of gutted, breathless feeling. Keeps turning the book over in his hands, running his fingers along the pages, like he expects it to disappear if he looks away for too long. He wants to write his name on the inside. Thinks he might.

“We weren’t supposed to spend any money,” he says.

It’s dumb, but it’s the only thing he can vocalize without losing his composure. Something’s clogging his throat. Gratitude and guilt. Almost ten years of wanting.

“It was like five bucks. Don’t worry about it,” Liam shrugs, small and unsure.

Inside the front cover Theo finds a green sticky note.

Merry Christmas.

“I wasn’t sure if this was the one you were talking about,” Liam says, voice laden with a preemptive apology. “I googled it and they have a bunch of different space-related books. Planets, and stars, and astronomy, and even space exploration. Figured ‘the universe’ kinda covered all of that.”

It’s embarrassing, the way Theo’s voice gets all tight when he stammers out, “It’s, uh—yeah. This is it. Thank you.”

Liam exhales, long and relieved. He rocks back on his heels. It feels like he’s staring not just at Theo but into him when he says, “This can be a shitty time of year for a lot of people. For a lot of reasons. You don’t, um. You don’t have to carry that weight into the new year, you know.”

Theo thinks of gray December. Empty roads. Cold nights.

Liam drags his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes flitting from the book to Theo. Adds, “At least, not all by yourself.”

❅❆❄

Liam Dunbar:

-so…

-you got plans for NYE?

-asking for a friend

-I’ll check my schedule

❅❆❄

On the 3,287 day of his life, Theo stops counting.

[kemacroi]

The ancient art of fine cooking

A Culinary Journey Through Ancient Cultures

“If you’re twenty-two, physically fit, hungry to learn and be better, I urge you to travel – as far and as widely as possible. Sleep on floors if you have to. Find out how other people live and eat and cook. Learn from them – wherever you go.”

₊⊹ Anthony Bourdain, 1956 – 2018 ⊹ ₊

The oldest known cookbook—written in cuneiform script—dates back approximately four thousand years and hails from ancient Mesopotamia. A few decades ago, Assyriologist Jean Bottéro delved into the study of ancient cuisine, rediscovering the Yale Culinary Tablets. His work sheds light on the Mesopotamian world and presents forty dishes that contribute to the cultural phenomenon we call gastronomy. (The book is titled The Oldest Cuisine in the World and is available on Amazon.) If you're pondering wine pairings, I should mention that these ancient peoples were beer enthusiasts.

In Greek civilization, recipes are often found within theatrical works, mostly comedies. From Magna Graecia, Alexis of Thurii instructs us in the art of preparing mackerel:

“After removing the gills and cutting around the bones, make a proper cut and open it up completely, filling it with silphium, cheese, salt, and oregano.”

Mackerel is a blue saltwater fish; silphium, a now-extinct plant, produced a potent resin, suggesting we should substitute something similar—perhaps garlic—to approximate the flavor; the cheese used is goat cheese. The dish can be either baked or grilled, and considering the method, the cheese should be soft.

However, purists always have their say. In Hedypatheia, Archestratus of Gela, the first traveler to link food and culture, advises:

“(...) not too much oregano, no cheese, and none of the nonsense.”

Archestratus recommends coating the fish with olive oil and adding a splash of vinegar at the end of cooking. Among the Romans, the illustrious Marcus Gavius Apicius, who can rightly be called the first gastronomist, bequeathed De re coquinaria. Seneca marveled at the delicious creativity of this cookbook, which compiled both popular dishes and Marcus’ own creations ( that we now know under the ostentatious term 'signature cuisine') Particularly renowned are his recipes for lamb and trout stuffed with dried figs.

I can't speak for the trout, but I can certainly vouch for the lamb.

Here’s a version of the recipe for Libum, an Ancient Roman kind of cheesecake:

Libum was originally a sacrificial cake offered to the lares ( I don´t know if there is a word in english: " lares" are household gods) This recipe comes from Marcus Porcius Cato's De Agri Cultura.

Ingredients

1/2 cup plain all-purpose flour

1 cup ricotta cheese

1 egg, beaten

Bay leaves

1/2 cup clear honey

Instructions

Sift the flour into a mixing bowl.

Beat the cheese until smooth, then stir it into the flour.

Add the beaten egg to the flour and cheese mixture, creating a soft dough.

Divide the dough into four portions and shape each one into a bun.

Place the buns on a greased baking tray with a fresh bay leaf underneath each.

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until the buns are golden brown.

Warm the honey and pour it onto a flat plate. Place the buns on the plate to rest until the honey is absorbed.

[larvasmoon]

Portrait of the pale elf (1) - Torn Satin and other things ruined

Chapter Summary : Astarion has opened his tailor shop in the higher city, Carmine Red. There he welcomes all sorts of customers, but more often than not, his clients cross the threshold of his shop for all the wrong reasons … or the most delighting ones.

Warnings : Mention of past abuse. Fear of intimacy. Blood drinking. Biting. Fetish.

Word count : 2,5k

Author's note : This is the first time I'm sharing something I've written, but my love for Astarion as a character has surpassed my fear of posting. So here I am :) You can also find this story on my Ao3, thank you so much for giving this story a chance !

Astarion had always had hands that could either make or unmake, create or destroy.

Hands that were made to kill. 

Hands that had killed so many people that, sometimes, he could still smell the faint perfume of gore on them.

Hands that longed to kill when thirst turned him into a slave once again.

But also, fingers that knew all the secrets of a ‘little death’.

Fingers that remembered how to caress and hold bodies, until they were all but flushed with unshed blood.

Fingers that could raise someone to the height of such pleasure, that they would ineluctably shatter when falling down from it. 

Those very fingertips now strangely belonged to the most successful tailor in all of Faerûn. 

After all of his adventures, Astarion had unexpectedly decided to dedicate his nights to creating the finest garments in all of Baldur’s Gate and beyond. 

He’d opened a luxurious tailor shop in one of the biggest avenues of the higher city. It was a place where Astarion could put to use his wonderful talents for sewing and stitching, ones he had one practiced during centuries on the only pair of miserable clothes he’d ever been allowed to own by Cazador.

It’s name, Carmine Red, was beautifully painted on the storefront in the bloodiest of color. In the window display below, one could marvel at countless shiny and beautiful things. 

Astarion often saw little kids dragging their mothers towards the shop, with sparkly eyes, and wide smiles that had a few missing teeth. "I want this princess dress, please mother !" the little girls would always say, pointing at the most expensive piece he’d ever sewn, all but made of pearls, crystals and shimmery silk. He’d laugh at the way the mothers tried talk them out of such unreasonable idea, before finally pulling away the pouty and frustrated child. 

Other times, there would be a charming lady or a young adonis, shyly approaching his shop window in the dim street lights. Their eyes would wistfully linger on a satin corset, or on gold thread embroided doublets, as if they suddenly entertained the illusion of wearing it. But then, soon enough, they would notice the small price tags attached to the garments. It was always hilarious the way they’d squint their eyes, as if to double check because such outrageous amount of money couldn’t possibly be the true price. And yet, alas, it was, and the beautiful strangers would furiously blush and turn on their heels. They would hastily disappear into the night, as if the fact that they’d even entertained the idea of owning one of Astarion’s creations was ludicrous.

It was one of the reasons why his designs were exclusively coveted by nobles, princesses and even kings. They’d all come late at night in his shop, discreetly pushing the door of his workshop, to order the finest tailored outfits.

Nobody had ever seen anything like it before : the way he would cut dresses in a slightly provocative, yet elegant way. He’d always loved dancing on fine lines, after all, it was his signature. 

Delicate lace would effortlessly fall a little lower than acceptable on the cleavage of a lady. The pale skin of her breast tentatively, yet barely, outlined through the fabric. He would make puffy yet see-through petticoats, just enough for onlookers to make out the shadows of long legs through the modesty of a woman’s attire. The doublets he imagined were always more fitted than they usually would have been in other shops. The cinched waist highlighted men’s small hips while casting light on the width of their shoulders, the fabric all but holding their bodies in the right places. 

There was always something impossibly sensual about the silhouettes Astarion imagined. 

He had one day realized that, the centuries he’d unwillingly spent perfecting his mastery of the sensual arts, had bestowed upon him an incredible knowledge of body anatomy. One small compensation for all his sufferings, but one nonetheless. 

Every good tailor, to excel at his work, needed to first be knowledgable on bodies, on their curves and bones, on their proportions and mesures. That’s exactly what Astarion was : a contemplator of physical forms, and a master of sublimed physionomies. He only had to look at someone once to know what part of their body was the most magnificent, and how to pin, stitch, drape, or sew the finest of silks around it. 

Needless to say that his little business, was doing more than well. He spent most of his nights working on  attires for bals, masquerades, and soirees alike. His payment usually included an heavy purse of money, but also endless invitations to said parties, to admire his creations in the dim lights of ballrooms and palaces.

His new friends were baronesses, duchesses, or dukes, kings or princesses, and he only truly felt at peace in wide reception rooms, eased by the sound of violins, laughters and champaign glasses colliding.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Astarion was sitting at his workshop table, working by the candlelights, when someone entered the shop. The little bell on the doorframe rang, and a rush of cold perfumed air entered the room with his guest. 

Jasmine and wood. He already knew who it was without having to turn around. 

Clarissa Tillerturn. 

"What owes me this impromptu visit, darling ?" he asked with his back to her, his eyes never leaving the delicate needlework he was focused on. 

Her dress and cloak shifted around her as she approached him to sit on one of his red velvet meridienne. 

"I need a new ball gown, Asti", she dramatically sighed, lying down on the plush cushions. 

He thanked the god that he was not facing her, otherwise she would’ve seen the way his face involuntarily contorted into one of pure annoyance. The pet name that she had unilaterally decided to give him was atrocious. Each time he heard it, the most vile retorts crossed his mind, but then he remembered what type of client she was. 

She was high nobility and one of his most generous customers, in more ways than one.

So if Clarissa Tillerturn wanted to call him "Asti", then "Asti" it was. 

"For what occasion, love ?"

"Oh but Duke Ravengard’s masquerade, of course ! It will take place in a tenday or so in his manor!", she exclaimed in her usual child-like tone, all but leaning on one of his shoulder with her gloved hand, "I need you to make me look angelic."

Ah yes, that masquerade, he dully thought, the one he was also supposed to attend. 

"That won’t require a lot of work on my part. You already do."

He heard her giggle behind him, her high pitched and annoying voice sounding uncomfortably loud in small space that was his shop. 

When he finally turned, his tape measure in hand, he was once again reminded of the reasons why he didn’t like her in the first place. Everything about her, from her long blond hair to her heady perfume, reminded him of the people he used to seduce for his master. 

She was the perfect kind of gullible, feeble and vain, noble girl that he would’ve easily lured into the dark with nothing but a bag of sweets and empty promises. These days, he was luring her all the same, but for his own benefit, and that knowledge made it almost bearable.

Predators hunt to eat, vampires seduce to drink blood, it was the old ways of this world. Who was he to even try and escape this vicious circle of hunger ?

"Do we really need to measure everything again ? I would argue that you know my body quite well by now."

Stupid girl, he thought, fighting the urge to not so kindly send her on her merry way. He was far too thirsty for that, and far too greedy to deny her heavy purse of money. Astarion forced a smile on his face and took her gloved hand in his to bring her to a stand. 

"I only need to take your waist’s measurements, darling."

When he bent over to glide the lace the tape around her, she pressed a clumsy kiss on his neck, right on his scars of all places. He braced himself before straightening up, and indulged her with a languid kiss he despised every second of. It was a small price to pay, just a little amuse-bouche so to speak, for her to give him what he needed. 

Sweet oblivious Clarissa melted into his arms anyways, pressing herself onto his chest and mewling with each slow and deliberate motion of his tongue.

"Are you sure you are only here to order a dress from me, lady Tillerturn ?" he breathed on her flushed cheek, as she made quick work of getting her out of her cloak, to bare her neck and décolleté to his eyes. 

Say you want me to feed, he silently begged as he looked into her wide blue eyes, I need to feed. 

"Do it, Asti. I want it."

Clarissa Tillerturn had a secret, you see. 

She had a vampire fetish, like a lot of other nobles in Baldur’s Gate.  

Between a few tailored dresses orders, she would regularly let him feed on her as a form of sexual gratification.

It never included anything other than a bite, and perhaps a kiss, on Astarion’s part however. 

"Not on your neck", he frowned, not willing to leave a mark in such a visible place, "Lie down for me, love"

And as though she was spellbound, she did. 

She settled on the scarlet velvet once again, hiked her skirts up her legs, and offered her pale thigh for him to feast on. It was already littered with faint scars near her groin, little punctured wounds he’d left the previous times she’d asked him to feed on her in the last months. 

Her hand shakily reached out of the pink ribbons holding her knee high stocking and she swiftly untied it to reveal more skin. 

"How scandalous darling …", he cooed in this irresistible silky tone he’d practiced for centuries, "What if anyone walked in on us and witnessed me debauching you in such way ?"

Clarissa bit her lips and furiously blushed, her hair pooling around her like a crown of gold. 

He didn’t need any further invitation and quickly kneeled at her feet, expertly bracing her leg on his shoulder to pepper kisses near her femoral artery. 

Her pulse raced under his lips, and he felt like he couldn’t play pretend any longer. 

The moment Astarion bit her thigh, her warm and sweet blood coating his mouth and throat, she moaned obscenely loud. It was the kind of noise people would expect to hear near brothels, not in tailor shops. If he still had a mind to himself, it would’ve worried him, but each and every one of his concern was drowned by the euphoria of feeding. 

Well, almost every single one … 

Each time he fed, from silly clients with vampiric fetishes, or from faceless strangers that offered their blood to him in parties or balls, Astarion was always reminded of her. 

Tav. 

The memory of the first time he’d fed her flashed in his mind. He sometimes wondered if the taste of her was somehow sublimed in his memory, glorified by the longing he would always feel for the only woman he’d ever loved. 

No one had ever tasted as wonderful as her. Some part of him seethed at the fact that no matter who he bit or touched, the ghost of her still visited him. Even after all this time. 

It was better than to be haunted by the memory of Cazador, of course, but he had a special place in his heart for kind of suffering the thought of her revived in him.

A beautiful thorny flower he couldn't help but sting his fingers on. A bittersweet remembrance.

He’d bared himself in front of her, in every possible way, admitting that he could not easily be intimate with someone anymore. And as expected, because he could not pleasure her with his body, she had denied him, rejected him, to offer a mere ‘friendship’, instead of patiently staying by his side. What a fool he’d been to think that what they had was special …

In the end, he would always be just a body to use for the people around him. Nothing more.

Astarion’s fangs involuntarily dug deeper into Clarissa’s flesh as he got lost in his memories. Her hands gripped her petticoat hard, her knuckles all white near his forehead, when he rhythmically sucked on her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her accidentally rip the precious satin fabric it was made of. It tore and crumpled between her shaky fingers, as she moaned harder and harder. 

"It’s enough darling, I wouldn’t want you to go home bloodless", he mumbled from between her legs, lips and chin dripping with wasted delicacies. 

He carefully licked the wound, before grabbing a scrap of blue satin lying on a table next to him. Methodically securing it around her leg to stop the bleeding, he then quickly covered her with what was left of her skirt, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. 

"Are you alright ? I could make you some tea if you’d like." 

He’d once learnt from Shadowheart, back when they were camping, how to brew herbs to make Tav feel better after he’d fed on her. It was now a generosity he liked to extend to his very satisfied "victims". 

She was still pink all over, and the scent of arousal lingered around her, but it inspired nothing in him but disgust. 

"No, Asti, I need to be on my way. I have a dinner tonight" she groaned as she sat, and collected herself. 

She hastily arranged her head of golden curls, put her cloak back on, and extended a heavy purse of money that he gladly accepted. 

"I’d like for the dress to be ready on wednesday, is that quite alright ?" 

"Of course, darling. It’s a pleasure to deal with you, as always", he purred, placing a chaste kiss on her hand. 

And with with that she was out in the streets once again. To any oblivious onlooker she was simply out and about, but the faint limp with which she walked made Astarion smirk. 

His smile fell when he looked at the purse of money that was still in his hands. 

Don’t be mistaken, he warned himself, you’re no prostitute, the money is for the dress. 

For a few seconds, the nagging thought that nothing had really changed came back to plague him. 

It often did, when he was all alone with himself, sewing, trancing, or lying in a warm bath. A constant source of doubt and despair. 

He was free, or as free as a slave to vampiric urges can be. His master was long gone. He could roam wherever he pleased, feed from whoever he pleased, make use of his time however he pleased ...

And yet, he was still begging, performing, seducing, in exchange for a few drops of blood, and indirectly, for a purse of coins. 

Some crueler part of his mind even mocked himself, wondering if anyone had ever crossed the threshold of his tailor shop because they were interested in his designs in the first place. 

The voice in his head morphed and merged with the one of his master, and as he sat before the unfinished doublet on his table to start working on it once again, it whispered :

"Still loveless, still used, you pathetic child who never amounted to anything... You are nothing without me, I told you so."

[fashioneditswebsite]

6 Accessories That Will Never Lose Their Sparkle in the Fashion

Six fashion accessories that will always remain timeless and popular. Accessories are a great way to make dressing up fun. Jewelry, for example, can add brilliance and dazzle to even the most casual outfits. Fashion trends can be unpredictable and constantly change, causing something once popular to fall out of favor quickly. This is evident by looking at the wide variety of accessories available, including items like mood rings and butterfly clips. There are fashion pieces from the past that deserve praise and continued use due to their timeless style. Engagement Rings  When we think of precious gemstones, the phrase "Diamonds are forever" immediately comes to mind. Since their introduction to the nobility, diamonds have been the top choice for engagement rings. Each decade has its preferences, with various options for the setting, band, and cut. Stud Earrings Stud earrings are a timeless classic worn daily or on special occasions. They come in various sizes ranging from tiny dots to large chunks and offer many options, including simple, intricate, ornate, or over-the-top designs to suit your mood or complement your day's outfit. Stud earrings are a delightful combination of various materials and textures. You can find stud earrings made from precious materials such as diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, considered fine jewelry pieces. Due to the rarity of the metals and the intricacy of the designs, such jewelry is usually expensive. However, there are other sets of stud earrings made of glittering stones or featuring exciting designs that are equally charming and can be bought for a fraction of the cost. Stackable Rings Stacking rings have become a popular trend recently, with many people wearing multiple bands of different shapes and colors on a single finger. It's not just a fad - a style that is likely here to stay. Women, in particular, have been piling on their engagement rings, wedding bands, and eternity rings to create a fashionable and eye-catching look. Fun is at the center of stacking, which has no hard-and-fast rules. You can put all the gold rings together, mix them with platinum and silver sets, or assemble a pile of brilliant gems on every finger. The arrangement is yours to make and play around with. Diamonds and tennis may seem like an unlikely combination, but a famous incident involving Chris Evert at the US Open led to the creation of the tennis bracelet. During a game, Evert lost her diamond bracelet and had to stop to look for it. Since then, the bracelet has been known as the tennis bracelet. Although this bracelet is traditionally a row of small diamonds, recent ones feature other kinds of gems lining a thin metal strand. Some tennis bracelets have two to three beaded lines set on gold, platinum, or silver. So as not to repeat what happened to Chris Evert, be sure your bracelet has a safety clasp. Lettered Necklaces What's in your necklace? Probably the first letter of your name, pet, partner, or child. Initial necklaces are a popular way to show off personal style and, thus, are likely bespoke pieces. Some have pendants that are barely seen, while others are big and contain diamonds. Other initial necklaces also have charms for a flashy effect and are layered with strands of various lengths. This piece of jewelry is yours and yours to wear forever. Pearl Accessories  Have you ever noticed how wearing pearl-encrusted clips or studs instantly makes you feel and look glamorous? A strand of pearls, for instance, is considered a must-have piece of jewelry due to its timeless elegance. Pearls are born in the Seven Seas, and their creation is nothing short of a miracle, just like diamonds from the Earth. Natural pearls are rare and difficult to find, fetching millions of dollars. Cultured pearls offer similar color and luster at a lower price. Adorning clothes and hair accessories are faux pearls. While not as durable as other gems, with proper care, they can become heirlooms. More than the nominal cost, it is the value and meaning attached to each ring, earring, or necklace that makes it a cut above the rest. For more suggestions on other accessories that never go out of style, drop by the comments section. Read the full article

[thelostfractal]

Paradox

This morning I woke up at five o'clock and wondered if I should get up. Before (what does that even mean, before?), I used to wake up at five o'clock every day. And I loved it ! Because I did it to write. The blue silence of dawn, the mystery between night and day, it's magical, damn it! I'm really nostalgic for those moments, now that I usually get up around nine o'clock. So, I seriously wondered what I should do, because lately (the after before), I haven't been writing anymore. It's been months, maybe a year, and if we thought about it properly (but do we really want to?), and didn't count the last gasps, maybe even two years. Whereas Before...

Argh!! It would be difficult to convey the joy, no, the ecstasy that used to fill me during those moments of pure creation, those flights outside of the world, that floating in the eternal, outside of time... So, is that all over now?

How can it be over? I asked myself. In my bed, eyes wide open to make sure I didn't fall back to sleep foolishly, I analyzed the situation. How did I start being unable to write at all? First, I finished college. A return to studying psychology, if you want to know. Go ahead, make fun, the nutjob studied psychology. Yeah well, if you knew who hangs around in those classes... Anyway. It took me a year to recover from those four years of studying, ‘cause it was so intense in terms of learning and rich in emotions. I'll detail it some other time if you want to talk about Freud. So, depression.

The seeds had been there for a while, they had probably always been there, but they got a huge dose of fertilizer to the face. Crying every night was still manageable, I was already familiar with it. Cutting myself, I did it briefly in high school, not as deep though. But the psychiatric clinic, I wasn't familiar with that. Boom! Meds, and I found myself on a month and a half vacation, far from everything, with my boyfriend. Everything was fine, you know. No brain, no thoughts, no creativity, and most importantly: no guilt for not having them anymore! Bliss!

And here we are: I wake up at five, wondering if I should get up to write and enjoy my life. The thing is, there should be a good reason to do it. To be sure. Oh, I forgot to tell you: I stopped taking the medication. So I had this argument with myself: if you get up, you'll find your reason! Inspiration doesn't just come on its own, you have to go after it, blah blah... and the other part retorted: if that reason existed, we wouldn't be having this debate, and I would already be in front of my computer! Because the rest of the analysis confirms it: I have nothing to write.

Abandoned projects, these past few years, are like an invasive species. The fantasy trilogy started in 2016? One and a half books done. The fiction started in 2020? Missing the ending. The pixel art video game started during college? Guess. The tabletop RPG based on the same universe? Special case: everything is there, or almost, except the players. Coding? Oh yes, I started learning how to code too. I wanted to create a character creation website for my RPG. Abandoned too, of course. The science fiction story outlined this year? Not even started. I'm starting to lose faith, you see. And what happened during the vacation? An urge to create a webtoon, believe it or not. So, and you'll probably understand, I don't have an ounce of ambition for this project. And even though I started a panel or two, just to test… I'm not going to give you an exhaustive list, you get the idea. I discovered a new feeling: the desire to stop something that hasn't even begun to avoid being disappointed by seeing it unfinished.

So, I was submerged by this ambiguous feeling this morning at five-thirty, eyes stinging with doubt. In conclusion, I could get up, continue a project or start a new one, force myself if necessary, and abandon it in three days. So what's the point? Eventually, I told myself that at least before, I had enthusiasm. And I can't remember which guru from my Spiritual Quest said that we should always, oh grand Always, follow our enthusiasm. It's a good way not to panic, and the general idea is that it leads us towards the things we're supposed to go to. So, I closed my eyes until eight o'clock.

[divine-misfortune]

This was initially going to be me rambling about elden ring in general but I woke up today feeling soft about raindrop, so here's that instead-

Rain was lucky enough to get the game the day it dropped but what with chores and practice consuming his day, he was kept from it till fairly late. It was well past midnight when he finally got the chance to settle onto the couch and boot the game up for the first time, tired eyed but still practically vibrating with excitement. He couldn't sleep if he tried.

He watched the opening cut scene with wide eyes, enraptured by the bursts of golden light washing over him in the dark room. His tail draped over the edge of the couch cushion is stupidly wagging like crazy but he doesn't pay it any mind.

By the time he finished character creation, Dew had padded out into the living room half awake. He looked exceptionally small in just his boxers and a blanket drawn tight over his narrow shoulders, hair having escaped the loose pony tail he'd put it into hours ago.

"You never came to bed." He says softly, voice husked. It's not accusatory or annoyed. Matter of fact.

"Got distracted, sorry bug."

Dew nudges the controller out of his lap and fills the space, blanket adjusted to cover both of them instead. His warmth is beyond welcomed, the living room had always been drafty. They rearranged themselves seamlessly, Rain's arm around his waist and Dew's knees tucked close, controller balanced on the little ghoul's hip. It was a position they were familiar with, that they often ended up in.

"What's got you distracted?" Dew's breath against his collarbone tickled slightly, nose bumping lightly against the seam of his gill.

"New game. Wanted to play it earlier but today was pretty busy."

"Mhm," he shifted himself slightly, just enough to untuck his face entirely from the crook of Rain's neck and peek at the screen. "This the one you've been buzzing about all week?"

"That's the one. Not very far yet, but worth the hype."

Dew nodded and the room fell into a sort of comfortable silence, Rain's focus glued to the screen and Dew's fixed onto Rain.

He'd never liked video games very much himself, they were too frustrating or too boring with no in between but Rain loved them. He could still remember the first time he found Rain in the electronics section of the store, staring at some fancy new console and the game trailer on the tiny screen with a childlike wonder.

For the anniversary of Rain's summoning, Dew had managed to scrape together enough money to afford a secondhand console and one of the more popular games on the market. He left it, hastily wrapped and unnamed, on Rain's bed. The water ghoul knew it was his doing, signed or not and thanked him wordlessly. It was the first chaste kiss he'd left on Dew's cheek but certainly not the last.

Watching the games never meant much to Dew, but he still sat with him whenever he got the chance. It had always been the excuse to watch Rain.

Dew's gaze drifted from the screen eventually, as it always did. The fast paced combat and scenery only held his attention for so long. He much preferred to sneak glances at Rain, too invested in his game, to notice or shy away from his staring. Dew reached out and ghosted the pad of his thumb over the other ghoul's lower lip.

"You're chewing at it, gonna make yourself bleed again." He reminded gently and Rain's shoulders shook in a quiet laugh.

"Always keeping tabs on me."

"Someone's gotta, why shouldn't it be me?"

A real laugh bubbled out of him and Rain released the controller to pet his palm along the bare skin of his thigh. Dew trilled softly.

"You look tired, angelfish."

"Do I?"

"Mhm...Can I convince you to come to bed now?"

"Is that what you were doing out here initially?"

"Was the initial plan, but you looked like you were having fun." Dew shrugged and reached out to toy with a stray strand of Rain's hair. "You had a long day, wanted to give you some time to do something fun...And then I sort of forgot after a little bit."

"Forgot or got distracted?"

Rain gave his head a little shake, curls bouncing and tickling over Dew's face. It was his turn to laugh. He blew the hair from his face.

"Don't think that matters too much now. You have enough of this for tonight? Or should I expect you to stay here all night?"

"Bed sounds good I think...You got me all warm and drowsy," he tipped down to kiss the top of Dew's head, "haven't been too focused on this since you sat down."

"Good," Dew chirped as Rain shut off the TV and tossed his controller to the side. He wrapped both arms around his neck and perched his chin on his shoulder, "carry me?"

"You're spoiled." The water ghoul sighed and rearranged Dew in order to slip his other arm under his legs before pushing himself off the couch.

So would anyone at all be interested in my thoughts on Rain playing elden ring, and Dew of course watching settled in his lap.....

[atsukawolfcat]

To protect, to serve! - Introduction

Note: ProtectorCreator!Reader time! When I first started this it was a sleepless night, and this is a bit long for me so I will leave it as an intro to the story. This is definitely going to turn into a multiple part story, mostly because I can't help myself with the details. I sadly am the worst at keeping up with names for locations and the map in general since I prefer to teleport everywhere during quests to try to catch up on the main story but if you guys want to help and give me ideas (or want to add your OC into the story as a regular follower/helper/ally), let me know! Also, should I add turning into a child after exhausted your power HC? I am tempted to, as well as some other stuff.

Summary: Creator!Reader that was born of an insanely powerful god and goddess, with the latter being the protector of the universe everyone resided in and your father being your mother's bodyguard. You had grown tired of the planet they had cultivated and created your own called Teyvat, but watched from a distance while the others created other planets and universes. You granted the people from your planet a unique power they called Visions, something the other gods soon realized they could utilize for their own plans. Of course, you soon realize their plans and become the protector to your creation and descended to better guard Teyvat.

Warnings: Mentions of battle, etc. Will mostly be first and third person POV.

below the cut

You released your sword from your grip and let it slice down another enemy, then let it come back to your hand. Scoffing, you shook your head. 'This is pointless; they keep coming..' You glanced behind you to your favorite creation, a beautiful planet full of life and splendor. You sensed another futile attack from another idiot, which you dodged and let them taste your sword. You noticed another trying to sneak by while your attention was elsewhere. You teleported right in front of them and cut them down. Finally, having enough, you let your power show as you summoned clones of your weapon and let them finish the fight. 'This is getting ridiculous. I am a one-person army at this point. I can't always be aware of everything happening around me since it would render me down from sensory overload after some time. I have to change the tides somehow..' Letting your (e/c) glow with a bright red shine that shows your increasing anger, you raised your right hand above your hand and willed your sword to change its shape to a scythe and let it grow in size. 'This will give me some time..' You swiped quickly, hearing the crackle of the air from your weapon swiping through the air until finally hitting down all the remaining enemies. Eyeing the planet, you spotted an open area you could descend to and decided to get moving.

**** ✨ ****

You arrived at a wide-open space, a grassy hill. If your memory serves correctly, this was- "Windwail Highland, you are near Dawn Winery, Your Excellence." You were startled at first, feeling the words rather than hearing them. Chuckling, you bent down and patted the ground after realizing who it was. "Why, thank you, Teyvat. It's quite difficult to keep up with the names and information my dear mortals call these locations. Especially since I have only observed from afar." "Of course, Your Excellency. Although my power is limited at this moment, I will do my best to assist you. However, if I may..." "If you wonder why I have descended so suddenly after many years, I am here to protect this planet and all that inhabit it. There are greedy fellows after the power I have granted here, most likely to experiment and cause chaos with it." "I see. Is there anything I may do in this case, Your Excellency?" "Hmm, actually, there is. If I try to use too much power right now.." You paused and summoned a bit of your power to increase your senses but flinched after being able to sense past Liyue. "I will need assistance in keeping track of where the greedy individuals try to create a way to this planet. Just let me know where I shall teleport there and take care of them myself. Could you do that for me, my dear Teyvat?" "Of course, Your Excellency." Pursing your lips, you created a small orb and let it fall from your fingertips. It sinks into the earth below your feet, and you feel the world shudder. "I have given you a little upgrade to help you sense what I am looking to prevent entering. They love to create portals to have large amounts of their followers rush through. Still, because they are not allowed to step foot in Teyvat without my permission, they will need to grow the portals. It will send a signal that should let us both know when they are attempting to break through my system. I thwarted their last attempt just a few hours ago, so I shall rest to gather the strength that I lost and experiment on how much power of mine you may tolerate. I do apologize for the trouble, Teyvat. I will also change my appearance, just if the mortals get in my way. For now, could you lead me to an open space and to create a small cabin? As much as I would love to meet my dear mortals, I need to prepare." "Yes, Your Excellency. I have let a wolf pack know. They shall guide you while I prepare the upgrade and acclimate myself to it. I appreciate your kindness." Letting your body relax and your eyes soften, you waited until you could hear paws hit the ground.

Could you also sense footfalls from a child? Interesting. Seconds pass, and you finally see a pack of wolves rush to your location, and you finally notice there is a white-haired human child with them. 'A human child? Is he part of their pack? Ah..' The child nervously looks at you as they finally stop before you. Luckily you retracted your aura before descending. It may create problems if everyone goes into an alert and the Archons try to find you. The wolves bowed their heads, showing their loyalty and reverence for you. The child stared at you before getting a growl from one of the wolves to lower his head. You smiled and approached the child before falling your body to meet his eyes. "Hello, child. What is your name?"

"Razor! Uhm! Wolves are Lupical! Sense you! Escort!" Fighting back a laugh, you realized this was a wild child. Wolves raised him, and he was part of the family by its looks. You stood back up to your full height and smirked at them. "Thank you, Razor. It is very nice to meet you and your Lupical. I am here in secret, so I hope you do not let other humans know I am here, alright?" Razor nodded, clutching his fists and with stars in his eyes as he stared at you with the determination of an acolyte. You chuckled and gestured to start the journey.

After about a 20-minute trek, mainly because your curiosity got ahold of you. You wandered a bit to look closer at the fascinating creatures and plants on the way to your destination. Razor was also cutely trying to help you with the names of the things you looked at, so you couldn't stop yourself from laughing and patting his head. Poor Razor was so started and so red that he looked like an apple, and you soon heard the whimpers of the other wolves as they also tried to get your attention. After spending 5 minutes petting everyone to their heart's content, we finally continued and soon arrived at your temporary home. You saw a big enough area and snapped your fingers as you let your power flow, and a small, cute cabin quickly assembled itself: home, sweet home.

[lyssahlyssah]

Obey Me! Lucifer's Dream

a/n: This is a piece for the lead-up to Kinktober. I wanted to bring the unevolved, evil, and dangerous Lucifer out in a safe environment where no one actually ends up getting hurt. The timeframe is just after MC arrives in the devildom and meets everyone, but hasn't had time to get close and develop relationships. Thanks to @theinariakuma for beta-ing.

Trigger warnings: fantasy violence, implied fantasy murder, implied fantasy rape, sadism, anger, dark themes.

Pairing: F!MC x Lucifer

Category: not suitable for work, dark fantasy

//

Midnight rolled around again and Lucifer rubbed his temples with gloved fingers. With no sun, day and night had little meaning here, but even so, he had been awake for five straight days, a full two days longer than his normal and it was starting to show.

Irritably, he signed his name to the latest document in front of him and with a scowl, snapped the pen in two between his fingers. I mean, how much was a demon supposed to take?

First, there was helping Diavolo with his extra paperwork since Barbatos was on vacation, then overseeing the RAD student council... Mammon playing the fool... and now babysitting the new human exchange student. The last one took an enormous amount of his resources because she was just so damn fragile. He was always having to watch over her, keep lesser demons from devouring her, creating special education for her, and most of all, controlling his own temper so he wouldn't kill or frighten her. She obviously didn't belong here, but Diavolo was firm with his instructions regarding the human, she was to be treated as gently as if she was back in her own world.

He scoffed, irritation sliding into anger. Something about interworld relations. Really, who cares at all about that. If his time in the Celestial Realm had taught him anything, it was that humans were weak, unworthy of his time, and invited trouble. Trouble was already something they had plenty of, thanks to Mammon.

And he certainly didn't care about maintaining relations with the Celestial Realm, he didn't want to see another angel for the rest of his life.

He resented the extra intrusion on his time. Solomon was a different story, he could take care of himself and required very little attention, and as far as Lucifer cared, could stay as long as he liked, so long as he didn't try to cook.

Uninvited, her face floated into his mind and he angrily stuffed the thought away. MC... What kind of a name is MC anyway, he thought.

He got up and walked to the piano, sitting down in front of the keys, hoping some music could help clear and calm his head. Playing a few bars of his favorite composer, De La Lordo, he closed his eyes and leaned into the music. However, his anger continued to throb and as it did so, his fingers tripped over one another causing a shriek of dissonance that cut through the silence of his office like a knife.

Irritation exploding, he slammed down the lid to the keys. Even his favorite classical music couldn't cool him down. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw HER face. HER body. HER skin. He didn't understand. He was the chosen one of his father's creations, the strongest, the most beautiful, the most talented, the most intelligent. His burgeoning attraction to something so unremarkable sent waves of revulsion and confusion tumbling through him.

Unable to control his anger and disgust, he rampaged through his office; and only after his curtains and furniture were hanging in shreds with several new vase-shaped holes in the walls did he finally sit down hard in the armchair by his fireplace, leather creaking to accommodate his weight. He hadn't lost his temper like this for a long time, but he knew his brothers wouldn't dare approach his door after hearing his wrath. Spent, he pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and leaned his head back against the soft surface, eyes closing.

...squeals in the dark.

Everything was fuzzy. He shook his head roughly to clear it, but the cloudiness stubbornly held on. Hazily, he pushed through long-limbed bushes that grasped at his hair and clothes into a woody clearing and there she was. Small, perfect, tearful eyes wide, gag tightening into the sides of her mouth, hands tied in front of her. She's naked. A fire to one side, casting flickering shadows that danced across her terrified face.

His heart started to race and his breathing quickened. This is a dream, he thought.

Touching his tongue to his upper lip, and then dragging it across the top of his lower teeth, he continued to watch her struggle. He felt dark urges bubbling up within him...he wanted to hurt her. Use her. Feed off her fear. The longer he watched, the stronger the urges became.

His fingers curled up in tight fists at his side. How good it would feel to let go...stop controlling himself for once. Stop doing what everyone expected of him. Just be free. Free to hate. Free to rage. Free to destroy.

The passion was too intoxicating to resist. With eyes closed, he let the anger take him. Roaring, he exploded into fire, white-hot flames threatening to sear his bones to ash. His handsome face melted into a horrific ghastly caricature of its former self. Pain as blackened wing tips burst through the taut skin of his back leaving bloody and ragged holes around them, pain as one curled horn ground its way free of the top of his head, then the other. Pain as his bones stretched to make him larger, thicker, new muscles pulsating with power. Pain as his claws burst from his fingertips impaling themselves on his palms as he ground his fists with rage.

All was pain and he drank it in like a man dying of thirst. His transformation complete, he throbbed with energy, heat, and rage.

The poor girl had yet to see him emerge from the darkness, but emerge he did, at last, a red glow upon the ground and an earth-shaking tremor heralding his arrival. Her already widened eyes, bulged from their sockets. Too scared to make a noise, strangled whimpers were all that emerged from around the gag.

Standing tall in all his terrible glory before her, her fear increases his desire.

He frees himself from his pants and masturbates furiously. He can't remember how long it's been since he touched himself like this, with an anger and intent. Or at all, for that matter. Passion had all but dried up for him after his fall from grace. Life had become controlling his brothers and the mundane of Diavolo's paperwork. It felt good just to feel anything again.

Sadistically, he chuckled lowly. His beautiful, terrible eyes narrowing, he lets loose his enormous hard cock, where it hangs heavily erect against his leg, waiting. Her eyes follow its movements and he revels in her horror. She knows what's going to happen and that she has absolutely no way to stop it.

Even through her fear and almost as a betrayal to herself, she can't help but feel a supernatural attraction to him, his power, his beauty. He can sense it as well, and it increases his contempt for her.

It's only too easy, he thinks arrogantly. She can't help but want me, even like this. I can smell it all over her. She wants to get fucked by a monster.

It confirms all of his previously-held beliefs that humans are inferior. He sneers, face contorting. Pitiful. So weak...so insignificant. Utterly disposable.

That last thought ignited his lust to new levels. Here was a toy he could abuse with no repercussions to his conscience. She wasn't worth consideration or care. Since she was beneath his respect, he could be himself completely.

Dark excitement pushing him forward, he took a quick step towards her, and she cringed backward against her restraints, desperate to flee.

He smiles. "It's no use trying to escape, little one," he said cruelly, his soft words contradicted by his harsh tone."Escape doesn't exist for you anymore. You're mine. "

Her screams echo throughout the woods, full of terror and ecstasy.

Hours later, the screams fade as a long howl rises. The girl's mangled body lies still on the ground, every orifice stuffed full and dripping, blood on the ground. Her face is quiet, eyes glassy with rapture, expression frozen in terror. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

His violence finally sated, Lucifer stands with his bloody cock dripping, drenched in sweat and other fluids, parts of himself slipping back into human form. An unexpected warm rush fills him as he looks at her, and impulsively, he leans down and tenderly kisses her cooling cheek.

At the touch of her flesh, his eyes open and he is back in his office chair. His grandfather clock lets him know morning has come.

The chair lies in ruins around his outline, he had transformed outside of his dream as well. He shifts in the chair and his pants catch against him uncomfortably, sticky, full of his cum several times over. He feels an overwhelming sense of release, of a long-overdue itch scratched, a boiling tea kettle that has let off its steam. Feeling powerful and confident, he rises to clean himself and get ready for the day.

Later

"Once again, Lucifer will be providing you with your lessons and general protection this week," Diavolo said conversationally to the girl. All three of them were sitting in Diavolo's office, sipping tea kept at the perfect temperature by Barbatos's careful attentions. The girl hesitantly looked over her teacup towards Lucifer, remembering the handsome demon's obvious irritation the week before.

"I'm at your command," Lucifer said silkily, cooly polite. He showed none of the irritation from before, and in fact...looked perfectly content with his extra duties.

For a second, she thought she heard something odd in his tone...what, she wasn't sure.

She glanced his way again, and shivered as she saw he was watching her...a faint smile on his lips, red eyes glowing.

[boykingdom]

Dean doesn’t have to drive far before he finds Cas. He’d had a hunch Cas might be waiting for him no matter the direction he went, but still he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he sees the slump of Cas’ shoulders among the trees.

He doesn’t have to walk far, either, once he’s pulled the Impala into the grass beside the road and let the metal door shut behind him with a creak. He’s in the forest after a few paces—it’s a pretty forest, all green and overgrown, the tan of Cas’ coat standing out purely for its dullness. Cas’ back is to him and he’s looking down at something, hands in his pockets, but the rigidity with which he holds himself gives away his awareness of Dean’s presence. Cas won’t turn toward him but will angle his head so Dean can see the sharp line of his cheekbone, like he’s any sort of thing that would need ears to gauge how close Dean is.

Dean has half a mind to hesitate, to stop and take a deep breath and collect his thoughts or something, but he’s so fucking tired of not being near Cas and of schooling how much he gives away to Cas in every conversation that he walks up so their shoulders are inches apart and he doesn’t think twice about it. He looks down to take in what Cas is looking at and finds a small pond with a few muddy-gray fish scooting their bellies across the silt. Dean thinks Cas might be gearing up for a speech about the fish and creation and humanity, something nice and cinematic to bookend their journey, but instead Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

That works, too. At least Dean knows how to respond to that one. “Heya, Cas.”

They’re silent for a second.

“Sam?” says Cas. 

“Went off to the Roadhouse. Wanted to see Bobby and Ellen and Jo,” says Dean. “But you knew that already.”

“Mm. I did.”

They both watch the fish drift. One comes close enough to the surface to form gentle ripples in the water.

Then Dean is smiling, because he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, see the way he shifts and fidgets and is so clearly also looking at Dean out of the corner of his own eye. It occurs to Dean that Cas is nervous—that after everything they’ve been through, after the end of the world, after Cas’ big sacrifice, this angel of the Lord is nervous to speak to his best friend of twelve years. Dean can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him.

“What, did you think we’d never talk about it?”

A pause. Cas half-grumbles, “I thought I’d have a few decades to prepare something to say.”

And then Dean is laughing and laughing and bent over double with it because this whole thing is so fucking absurd and he’s so happy to be standing here next to Cas, weird and awkward Cas who pulled him out of Hell and told Dean he was in love with him just months ago. Cas who he thought he had lost forever. Dean laughs so hard he cries and then he—he cries, and cries, and he’s not laughing anymore. It happens fast and hard. Cas finally turns to him, eyes wide and hands suspended in front of him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Dean’s sniveling and holding his jacket sleeve under his nose so his face doesn’t get all snotty but he probably looks fucking gross anyway, the way the tears won’t stop coming. Cas says, “Dean?” all worried and concerned. Dean practically falls forward into him, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist to clutch at the back of his coat and shakes when Cas immediately holds him in return.

“I missed you so bad,” Dean sobs into Cas’ shoulder. “I missed you so bad. I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so bad.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Cas hugs him tighter, leaving no spaces between their bodies. His voice breaks a little when he says, “I missed you, too.”

They stand like that for a moment. The forest buzzes around them, twiddling with birds and squirrels and insects. Dean breathes Cas in, feels him warm and safe and real in his arms. It’s a small piece of Earth here in Heaven. Unlike any other time before, Dean lets himself lean into it, touch Cas without Death looming over their shoulders. It feels good.

Dean does calm down after a few minutes, and as much as he would love to freeze time and stay suspended in that moment, he knows he can have even more if he gives it one last push. He pulls away, Cas’ hands sliding off his coat, lingering. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed despite himself.

“Don’t be,” says Cas, in a way a that shows he really means it. Dean clears his throat and looks at him. Cas looks back. The whole thing is so achingly familiar, so akin to how they were when they first met. Even when Cas was alien and unknowable and potentially a threat, Dean always had to stifle the breathless thrill of having Cas’ attention. He doesn’t stifle it now.

He hasn’t quite internalized all the things Cas said to him, but he can see Cas was telling the truth about one thing—he is clearly so happy to be standing at the edge of this pond with Dean. Nothing in his gaze is asking for something more.

And as much as Cas would argue differently, Dean isn’t as good as him. He was never content just wanting. He had long ago accepted that he could never have Cas, sure, had recognized that he would spend the rest of his life with a horrible ache in his chest, that he would white-knuckle the wheel of the Impala to keep himself from touching. But he couldn’t find peace with it. Love rotted in him like a body at the bottom of a well. He spent a long time thinking it would kill him and kill Cas too, that it was a weapon to be used against them both, that the heat of his gaze would actually burn Cas if he looked long enough. He still has to choke down those half-formed thoughts when he looks at Cas now and can see in his eyes that he loves Dean without reservation, that despite everything he doesn’t think of Dean’s love as a death sentence. That he wants him.

Dean’s mind was made up the second Bobby had mentioned Cas’ name on the porch. It took him too long to untangle that part of himself that couldn’t separate loving men from danger, but he did untangle it, in the end.

“I know I can do it,” Dean says, both to Cas and to himself, “but I think it might be hard.”

Cas’ brow flickers in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he answers, gesturing lamely at the two of them, at the space between them. He swallows, steels himself, thinks of all the words he spent the nights since Cas died murmuring into his pillow, deliriously drunk. “I don’t know— I don’t know how to be this to someone— to you. I’ve never— and you’re—”

He’s getting frustrated, is upset that after thinking so long and hard about this moment for so many years he somehow still doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how much he means to him, how much he wants him, how hard it is to beat down his self-hatred and accept that he might just deserve Cas, too. But Christ, he wants to try.

“Dean?” Cas says. Dean can see in his expression the flowering bud of hope. He is so beautiful.

“I love you too,” Dean says, because it’s the best explanation he can give. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Cas blinks; his mouth drops open. “God, Cas, you have to know that. Of course I love you too.”

“You mean...?” Cas can’t finish the question. He’s looking at Dean like a man finding faith, finding Heaven. Dean feels so overwhelmed and so happy for the two of them and surely he’s still red from crying before, but again he feels himself burning.

“I’ve been yours,” he chokes out. “You can have me. Please.”

Cas kisses Dean. It happens so fast that Dean feels it coming rather than sees it, feels Cas’ hands on his face, feels himself be tugged forward. Cas’ hands are shaking and Dean’s are too when he grips the front of Cas’ shirt and the back of his neck, eyes closed tight, learning the shape of his mouth. It’s hard and a little desperate and not at all artful, and Dean’s whole self feels a bit like an open wound but Cas is healing him, like he always has, like he has since the beginning.

Dean pulls away for air but doesn’t pull far, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’ and his eyes shut. Cas’ thumb strokes his cheekbone. “Dean,” Cas says, and Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way Cas says his name doesn’t scare him anymore.

Dean opens his eyes. He smiles. “Hi,” he says.

Cas smiles back.

**

They’re sitting in the Impala, Dean’s hand on Cas’ thigh, when Cas asks, “What do you want to do now?”

Dean pauses, thinks. The answer to what do you want has been Cas for so long, but he never let himself think far enough to decide what he would do if he ever got him. He’s safe, Cas is safe, Sam is safe. Realistically, he shouldn’t want for anything.

He looks out the Impala’s windshield, smooths the hand not holding Cas over the steering wheel. He knows that he loves this car with everything he is—that for a long time it was the only home he had. He also knows that he’s tired of the road. Desire has always come too easily to Dean.

“I think I’ll build us a house,” he answers, and immediately he knows it’s the right thing to do. They can pick a spot wherever Cas wants—Dean’s not picky. It’ll be something solid, something with walls that he built with trees he cut himself. Something that reflects the home he already built for Cas, the one that lives between his ribs.

Cas’ eyes light up. “I like that plan,” he says. “I want that, too.”

Years ago, Cas had sat in Dean’s passenger seat and asked him if he would rather have peace or freedom. Dean never got the chance to answer him.

Dean leans across the seat and kisses Cas again, open-mouthed, slow. He does it for him now and for the version of himself who mourned the distance between them. It’s answer enough.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.5

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

Summary: Meeting at the fold, Aleksander has a choice to make and this time, his anger threatens his control.

Warnings: angst (my apologies), fluff sprinkled on top, indicating smut

a/n - This one is the last one before the finale, I’m sure this time.

========================

Darkness stood before her, utterly filled with terrors spoken of in every tale in Ravka. Y/N stared at the fold from a distance, remembering the first time she had seen it. 

It unnerved her in the past, the unknown playing with her imagination to fashion something much worse than reality. She was no fool, Y/N understood the gravity of what she wanted to execute. This fold had taken countless lives since its creation – her parents as well. 

Exhaling loudly, she placed a hand over her chest as she closed her eyes. Whatever possessed Aleksander to create the fold couldn’t excuse the lives lost or the orphaned children who grew up the same way she did.

“Are you sure?” Mal’s voice is heavy, nearly pleading for her to give up her plan. She glances at him, not with uncertainty but with unwavering determination.

“I have to do this. You know this.”

Reaching for her hand, Mal’s fingers slip across her open palm, intertwining with her own. “It’s not too late to change your mind. This burden doesn’t have to be yours.”

A heavy sigh passes her lips, but it does nothing to relieve the true weight inside her chest. “I will never be free of it if we leave now.”

“Of him, you mean?” Mal frowns, his lips pressing in a thin line she wished she could turn into a smile. “You’ll never be free of him.”

“You could have been on that ship”, she reminds him, gently stroking his cheek. “If I wasn’t in that tent and I didn’t meet him, you’d have been on that ship with no survivors.”

Looking up at the sky, he sighs, “It would be better.” His eyes meet the surprise in hers, “I wouldn’t be sending you off into the darkness without any control over what will happen.”

“I’ll come back”, Y/N musses. “I always do”, she smiles softly, sniffling.

“You better!”

Slapping Mal’s arm, Y/N frowns, “I’m kind of insulted how little faith you have in me!”

Fingers running down her spine had caused shivers run throughout Y/N’s body. She chuckles, hiding her face in the crook of Aleksander’s neck.

“Don’t hide from me”, Aleksander complains. Trying to untangle himself in order to take control once more, his throaty chuckle furthers her need to cling to him.

Her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer as if he’s the air she needs to breathe. “I used to daydream about us.” Her small voice freezes him, his lips twitching with her confession.

“In what manner?”

Rolling to her side, Y/N glances at him only to shake her head. “It’s silly.”

Cupping her cheek, Aleksander leans in, close enough for their noses to touch. “Tell me.”

“I imagined how it would feel like to wake up and see your hair disheveled or how your lips would feel against mine”, her eyes flicker to his lips, causing her to lick her own. “Just about how I’d fall so hopelessly in love with you.”

“So you’re in love with me”, Aleksander raises an eyebrow, teasing her.

Wide eyed, Y/N blushed deeply with his heavy gaze upon her. He never blinks, never stammers or stumbles – Aleksander is a work of art and she couldn’t believe she blurted her feelings out  for such perfection in a foolish daydream ramble.

“I wanted to tell you I love you without making a fool of myself, but that didn’t work”, she huffs, turning on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she wished she could hide now. A man as serious as Aleksander must find her so immature after her display of childish behavior, but she couldn’t face him.

Instead, he propped himself up on his elbow, his face obscuring her view of the ceiling. “I find it adorable”, he whispers almost wistfully and Y/N couldn’t understand why. 

What is he longing for when she’s right there, under him? She didn’t miss the lack of a love proclamation on his behalf, but she could wait a while longer to hear him say it. After all, she’s the one he’s meant to be with.

“So you won’t run for the hills, screaming?” She kinked her eyebrows, beaming at his silent determination.

“Takes far more to frighten me, Sunshine. I’ll always be there for you.” He leans in, pecking her forehead. “For you”, he adds as his body presses her into the mattress. Staring intently in her eyes, his knee pushed her thighs apart. Resting his forehead on hers, Aleksander’s hand moved up her forearm until his fingers intertwined with hers, holding her hand tightly in his as he pushed inside her.

A moan escapes her, eyes closing as he whispers into her parted lips, “And inside you.”

Aleksander never wanted to leave his Sunshine. He wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her unraveling under him each and every night. He still loves her more than anyone else could. All he could think about is how it might need an eternity for him to make things right with her, because in time he believed she’ll see reason and understand he’s right.

But she fell in love with him as he is, temper and wicked plans and horrible notions of what love is. She knew that about him before she ever learned of who he is. She looked past everything he had done, Aleksander couldn’t figure out what’s so different about this.

“General”, Ivan stops at the entrance of his tent, out of breath. “Someone is spotted at the outskirts of the fold. The men believe they mean to enter the darkness on their own.”

Standing, Aleksander straightens his back. His eyes narrow and his jaw unclenches long enough for him to speak, “Who is it?”

“A woman and a man”, Ivan responds, swallowing thickly as he takes note of the general’s flared nostrils.

Forming fists, Aleksander lifts his chin. Despite the end of their relationship, Aleksander didn’t forget Y/N’s promise. He knew she’s brave, far braver than any Grisha he’d ever met. Aside from him, that is. 

His Sunshine had a persisting quality about her, one he used to appreciate before. She would defy the devil himself if he stood in her way and it used to bring a smile to Aleksander’s lips. This time around, he and the fold are her devil.

“STOP THEM”, he orders. “She had never been in the fold before!”

His booming voice surprised even him, but it terrified Ivan who nodded and ran out as if he would cut him in half right then and there. To make matters worse, Aleksander wasn’t sure he wouldn’t.

Looking at his hands, he could have sworn he caught a tremble in a usually steady right hand. “What are you planning, Y/N?”

Fingers grazing Y/N’s, Aleksander felt a tingle run up his arm and to his heart. He always felt like shadows clouded any chance for happiness. Somehow, through it all, he saw where the shadow ends and there she stood. He trusted in her light, the one he could see even when she didn’t conjure it to the surface. She was Sunshine incarnated, his saving grace.

“I’ll never be strong enough”, she croaks, turning away from Aleksander.

With a frown etched on her forehead, Y/N swallowed thickly. She didn’t expect Aleksander to slide a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his. He smiles, the gesture lighting up his eyes, enough to lock her breath in her throat.

She wondered how many were as lucky as she is to see those dark skies hang stars to lead them out of a storm.

She hoped none did. Selfishly, she hoped to be the only one who knows how gentle, how kind the Darkling can be.

“You make me proud, you know that?” His words are honey, his lips set in a genuine grin as he brushes his nose against hers. “You are the strongest person I know.”

Biting her lower lip, she looks into his eyes briefly, but long enough to know he won’t judge her. 

“Could you hold my hand?” 

He had all the understanding she sought in his dark hues, a tenderness she always prayed to find in someone. There was no doubt in her mind she could trust Aleksander.

As his hand embraces her smaller one, she can’t help but look up at him with a look he wasn’t used to.

She looked at him with hope, with expectations of something he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rise to, but he was determined to try.

“Can you tell me more about you?” It felt vastly important to see the change in every line of his handsome face as he remembered the past and she didn’t want to miss a single word, expression or look he could bestow upon her. He felt more important to her than anyone and this wasn’t just a story, it was his story.

If he were honest with her then, Y/N knew she’d have forgiven him. There was no shadow of doubt about it as she stared at the fold mere inches before her. She could see what true darkness is and she never saw it in Aleksander. That’s when the guilt appears, taunting her. If she stayed with him, could she have managed to change his mind about it all without ever spending a day without him? She still missed him far too much, more than she should.

“Stop!”

Looking over her shoulder, she flashes an uncertain smile that disappears just as quickly it came to be, fading to give way for her tear-filled eyes to glisten like stars in the moonlight. She should be angry, she should be running away from him, yet the sight of Aleksander riding toward her only rooted her.

“You can’t stop me”, she remarked, her eyes brimming with tears as he frowned, his forehead forming a few worry lines she’d normally tease him about because their age difference is so vast despite him looking so young, but she reveled in knowing he actually cares enough to worry about her. 

Unless it wasn’t worry for her, rather the fold.

“You can’t possibly do this, Y/N! Even if I wanted to help you destroy the fold, I’d never send you in so soon with so few preparations!” He smiles, but the gesture is empty, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll fail.”

"If you really thought I couldn't do this, you wouldn't be trying so hard to stop me", she snapped, "to distract me!"

For one instant, she feared she’d gone too far. There was something, a flash in his eyes, an expression that flitted over his face that locked her breath in her throat. But then he relaxed, not completely, but much of his frightening tension - battle-ready tension - seemed to flow out of him.

"I'm trying to stop you because you're going to kill yourself trying", he replied. "You begged me to let you go and I did, but look at you now.” His frown deepens, “You’re standing at the edge of certain doom and you have no one to guide you."

“So guide me!” Lifting her chin, she struggled to draw breath and forced herself to shrug as she looked away. “You said you'd always be there for me, with me”, she pauses as she remembers he also promised to be inside her. And he was right, he’s inside her, just not in a pleasurable way. He courses through her veins like a disease, an infection she can’t eradicate. ”So how did this happen? Why weren't you here?”

She wanted him to say something – anything. She wanted him to fight for her, to say he couldn’t imagine life without her and to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness which she’d give…even after everything, she’d give him the forgiveness and love he seeks.

The way her tears fell had grabbed onto his heart and squeezed it tight, those drops of salt filled with emotion had reached him too, tearing through him unforgivably.

“If you go in there, I’ll have no choice but to hurt you.” His voice is shaky, his resolution weaker than the words he’s using. “Don’t put me in this position.”

“So you really think I can’t read you? That I don’t know when you’re lying to me?” A meek smile appears on her dry lips, “Didn’t you promise me you’d never lie to me again? Never to hurt me?”

“Y/N”, Aleksander raises his voice as a warning, yet her smile refuses to falter as her eyes hold his gaze captive.

Her lips part, her mind screaming with every step she takes backwards toward the fold, yet she never felt more at peace. She didn’t know what is stronger – her need to run and save her heart from heartbreak by staying in his arms forever, or her determination to destroy the fold. Yet with every step, she’s more convinced that both those needs are one of the same.

“Don’t”, he holds out his hand once she turns away from him, a step away from the fold he created.

Looking over her shoulder, she knew there was no choice at all. The need to save herself from heartbreak and the need to destroy the fold both require her to save Aleksander from himself.

Pushing his hair back, he dismounted, taking a few steps closer to her. 

“Come on, love. Draw your invisible swords. Stop me”, she challenged, seeing the anger she evoked once his shadows began pouring from around him. 

He ignored her words as he advanced, his dark eyes growing darker. He bent over her, took her defiant chin in his hand. She tried to pull away but he held her fast. He kissed her, roughly at first but then his grip and kiss became gentle, deep – a proper lover’s kiss.

Y/N felt herself drifting. The pleasure of his hand on her cheek, his kiss, it weakened her resolve. He pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes, the warm and glowing fire behind them setting his own light ablaze. All thoughts of hatred were gone from them, yet his darkness surrounded them slowly.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N stumbles back. “No. No”; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips quivering. “You can’t just kiss me and make it alright.”

“You’re my weakness”, Aleksander admits, “the one thing I lack power against. Whether it’s loving you when you’re near and driving me absolutely mad or feeding your memory after you were gone. Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.” He narrows his eyes at her with a simmering anger burning in them, “It’s just not in me to do nothing and let you slip away again.”

Scoffing, Y/N stands her ground, “We could have made it work. If you loved me, you'd have fought for me. You'd have listened to me and abandoned the foolish notion of power you seek. But you didn't, which means I loved you more than you loved me.” 

"I FOUGHT FOR YOU! You didn't let me win. What was I supposed to do, huh? Force your hand and drag you to Little palace by the hair?” Gripping her arm, Aleksander pulled her closer, her hand resting on his chest with her palm open toward his heart. She’s not a heartrender, but her touch does possess the ability to make his heart explode. 

“Should I have taken you by the throat until you submitted?” He speaks lowly, his voice darker than she had ever heard it before. “Did you expect I'd want to see your hatred for me every single day if I made you stay? Tell me, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

Swallowing thickly, she was rendered speechless. She didn’t know what to say without provoking him further. A part of her wondered if she should fear him, if he would kill her if it came to it.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” He says through gritted teeth only to release her from his bruising grip. If she was anyone else, she’d be a corpse by now. He knew it, but so did his people. Soon enough, they’ll lose respect for him. People will stop fearing him if he keeps allowing her to defy him.

"You make them all think you're a heartless murderer, but you're not. I know you're better than that." Her voice is raspy and devastatingly painful. Y/N takes a few steps back, her eyes no longer holding back tears as they spill down her cheeks.

His heart is desperately flailing inside his chest as her grief overcomes her features and he can’t touch her again, he can’t make it go away. Time and time again, he’s the cause instead of being her cure.  

In her pain she sees him as the bad guy, yet in truth he’s drowning in a sea of uncried tears too. 

When you hurt a woman you love, most of them can’t even look at you, not even turn to you. But what does a man do when the woman he hurt, the woman he loves most in the world, stares right into his soul as he shatters her completely?

What can a man do when her teary eyes hold his with such bravery, such complexity as she crumbles and he has to bear witness? When he’s the perpetrator and sole witness of her fears and sorrow?

There isn’t a single thing in this world that breaks like a heart does, Aleksander knew that now for in this silent exchange between their souls, the silence has never been so deafening.

"But I am a murderer." His jaw clenches as he raises his chin, “If you take another step, I will prove it to you.”

Eyes narrowing, Y/N nods to herself. Averting her gaze, she pursed her lips before turning around so quickly Aleksander didn’t have time to react.

She held her breath once she entered the fold, moving left on instinct.

Covering her mouth, she looks up at the thundering clouds that seem to be the only light in the fold. Merely seconds after she moved, a knife like substance crossed into the fold, slicing the air where she once stood and a gasp escaped her.

She looks back, finding no trace of Aleksander, but she wasn’t a fool – that was meant to be his gift to her for defying him.

Swallowing thickly, she shakes her head at the devastating thought. Is he past saving? Would he truly kill her?

Part 6/finale

[jenomark]

helllloooooo can i request a 127 reaction of like a lowkey movie night in, super cuddly and tooth rottingly sweet

Taeil: The second date jitters really got to you. It wasn't awkward being in front of Taeil when he made you feel so comfortable, but it was awkward being in a space you'd never been in before. You didn't know where to stand or sit, or what body language you should give off. "Are you ready?" Taeil asked, sitting down on the couch. He had picked a movie you mentioned on the first date, which was something that impressed you. You sat down next to him, not really knowing how close you should sit, until he closed the gap between you. Your heart was racing. You really liked him. When he smiled over at you, you felt at ease. As the movie started, you felt brave enough to reach for his hand and hold it, to lean against his body and watch the rest of the movie.

Johnny: "I wanted to spoil you." Johnny said when you first walked into the room. There were lit candles everywhere. Takeout containers were on the floor in front of the television, the smell wafting from them inviting you over. Setup in the very middle of the floor was a homemade fort made out of his bed sheets. Johnny added, "But I got a little carried away." You laughed and told him you loved it, before sitting down in the fort, ducking low so your head didn't topple everything over. There were wine glasses in front of you, which Johnny took and poured wine into. The sweet gestures kept coming and you kept loving every little bit of them. Though the movie played in the background, you and Johnny took the time to reconnect and share intimate conversation together.

Taeyong: When you arrived at his place, Taeyong gave you a bag with clothes in it and told you to get changed. When you came out fully dressed, you saw that you were both wearing matching blue pajamas with fish on them. Instantly, Taeyong opened his arms for you to walk into, which you could think of nothing else better to do. "You look so cute." he said, standing back to get a good look at you. "Shall we watch the movie?" You had to admit that you did both look cute in your matching couples pajamas, but the cutest thing was how happy it made Taeyong. He was beaming from ear-to-ear, a look of childlike innocence on his face. You sat down to the watch the movie, draping your legs over each others and planning to cuddle for the next few hours.

Yuta: "You deserve a break for working so hard." Yuta said. "Let me take care of my girl." It was the only explanation he gave when he sat you down and started rubbing your back, his fingers working nimbly. He kissed the back of your neck and focused on working out all of the kinks in your muscles. He was right in thinking that staying in was much better than going out and partying. The way Yuta was touching you felt so nice and calming. When he planted a sweet kiss on your temple, you knew there was no place else you would rather be. He back hugged you when he was finished, pulling you so close to his body that you could feel his heart beating against your back.

Doyoung: You made an ice cream sundae station, which took Doyoung by surprise. He looked at all of the ingredients in little dishes before him, and the big tubs of ice cream full of all his favorite flavors. "You did this for me?" he asked, his stomach growling at the right moment. "Of course!" you said. You built the sundaes together and went to sit down and watch a movie. Since it was your turn to pick date night, you got to control everything. Judging by the content look on Doyoung's face, he was enjoying everything you had planned. You sat next to him and brought your spoon up to his mouth for him to taste the sundae you had built. Doyoung moaned in approval before dipping his spoon into his creation and feeding you right back.

Jaehyun: The beginning of the night had been full of socializing and fun, but Jaehyun had cut the night short in favor of going home with you and watching old movies together. "I can't think of anything that makes me happier." he had said when it was just the two of you alone. To him, having a low key night inside was preferable, and he was very good at cuddling with you and keeping you warm. You kissed him and snuggled into his chest, your eyelids getting droopy. Jaehyun knew it was only a matter of time before you fell asleep, so he pulled you closer onto his lap and draped a blanket over your body. Absentmindedly, he brushed through your hair with his fingers until he started to drift off to sleep, too.

WinWin: The movie was interesting, so interesting that you didn't notice WinWin staring at you until some time had passed. You looked over at him, and he pretended to look away, but the smile on his face told everything you needed to know. "Why are you looking at me?" you asked. WinWin shrugged and acted like he wasn't, so you put your attention back on the movie. You could feel him watching you again, after a few minutes. When you looked back at him, he didn't turn away like the first time. WinWin continued watching, his eyes sweeping over your face, and his fingers coming around to move the hair from your forehead. "Do you not like the movie?" you asked, shivering when you felt his touch. WinWin smiled and said, "I do, but I think I like you better."

Jungwoo: It wasn't your turn to pick the movie for movie night, but Jungwoo put on a movie you'd always wanted to see. "Are you sure?" you asked, knowing that your boyfriend was terrified of horror movies. Jungwoo nodded but kept quiet. You snuggled up with him on the couch, you laying against him, with his arms around your middle. "It will be fine." he reassured himself. You laughed and held his arms, your fingers drawing circles on his skin. When the movie started, it was definitely as scary as you would thought it be. Halfway through, you felt Jungwoo's hands close around your eyes, protecting you from the scary scenes. Your heart soared in your chest, mostly from the appreciation of having him protect you when you knew he was more terrified than you were.

Mark: The sound of rain always made you sleepy, but being with Mark made you feel wide awake. You curled your body onto the couch beside him, laughter waiting on the edge of your lips. Mark was in a goofy, playful mood that kept you entertained. He kept nuzzling closer and closer to you, wanting to press his forehead to yours and make you laugh. "We're supposed to be paying attention to the movie, you weirdo." you said, not so seriously. You pawed at his chest to get him to stop clinging to you, but it was useless. "Oh, cute." he said, smirking at you. He moved his eyebrows up and down suggestively before coming closer. You pulled him to you, your lips sweetly touching down on his. "This night in was a great idea." he said, breathlessly. "There is nowhere I would rather be than with my best friend."

Haechan: His excitement was infectious. If you didn't look at him and give him your attention, he was seconds away from jumping up and down. "Close your eyes." Haechan said. You stood before him in the middle of the living room, half wanting to get on and watch the movie, and half curious as to why he was so excited. Behind your eyelids, you could see the vivid colors before he asked you to open your eyes. "What do you think, baby?" he asked. Haechan had, very painstakingly, attached long strips of LED lights all along the top of the walls. "It's pretty." you said, watching as he used a small remote to change the colors. His handsome face flashed blue and purple before you brought your arms around his neck and kissed him.