#do i need him to be? of course. will he be? i’m gonna go with no.

[yutarot]

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

twenty-four — that same old dimpled smile. wc: 1.4k

knock.

knock.

knock.

he’s here.

you open the door with nothing but compliance. the cool air from outside flooding you with a chill that tickles your skin.

you brush your arm with the other hand, looking from the floor, slowly to meet his eyes.

he’s looking right at you, he has been since you opened the door, a searching expression in his eyes.

“hey yn.”

you pause and he smiles.

that same old dimpled smile.

“hi jaehyun.”

FLASHBACK: the night of chenles party. jaehyuns pov

he didn’t know what to do; with his feelings, with his life, with you.

he stands with yuta in the corner of the party, swirling a half empty cup in his hand.

yuta notices that jaehyun is distracted, so he tries to get his attention, tapping him on his arm.

“bro? you okay?”

jaehyun nods. “i’m just..”

“yn?”

there’s a pause. “yeah.”

“dude, you need to get over her. it’s been years. she hates you!”

jaehyun stares at him in annoyance and yuta laughs before apologising.

“im gonna go to the bathroom, have my drink.” jaehyun says, stumbling away from yuta.

“gee thanks!” yuta says sarcastically, watching his friend try and keep himself on his feet.

but jaehyun doesn’t make it to the toilet before his arm is dragged and he finds himself in a room, the door shut and a girls voice slurring to him. and she sounds angry.

“jeong jaehyun!!!!!!” the mystery girl yells, “you idiot!!!”

she hits him on the arm and jaehyun frowns in annoyance.

she says, “i hate you!!!”

jaehyun rolls his eyes, suspecting that she’s just the friend of some girl he slept with and “forgot” to text the next morning.

“well im sorry to your friend, but she isn’t her.”

he turns his body to leave the room but giselle stops him.

“she isn’t her?” giselle asks. “oh so your pining, that’s why you’re so moody.”

jaehyun freezes. this girl was persistent. “im not moody.”

“oh yeah right, you’ve always been moody!!!! ever since you ruined yn’s life!! you hate her, for absolutely no reason may i add!!!”

“you’re friends with yn?” he backs away.

“no. she’s just… popular.. everyone knows what you did.”

he tenses even more. he did ruin your life, he thinks. it was all his fault. he never told you the truth.

so now, he’s going to.

“i don’t hate her.”

the girl stiffens. “what?”

jaehyun walks further into the room, the absence of light and his drunken state allowing him to struggle finding the bed, but when he does, he sits, giselle sitting next to him.

“i dont hate yn, i never have, it was all a stupid rumour that i was too dumb to say wasn’t real in fear that she’d find out that i…”

“that you what?”

“that i like her.”

she sits up straight, silent filling the space between them.

“you liked her?”

“i like her.” he pauses, “of course i like her, she’s…she’s yn.”

“wow… thats…”

“stupid? yeah. i know. but you know what’s even more stupid?”

“what?”

“i made a dumb burner number so i could let out all my feelings without her knowing it was me.”

“what??!!!” she stands up. jaehyun looks at her in surprise. “so… it’s you? you’re Y?”

“yeah. how did you know that?”

“it doesn’t matter. look jaehyun, you can’t do this.”

“you think i don’t know that?” he stresses, “i’ve been trying to rid my feelings for years, i thought letting her hate me would atleast help with that.”

“…she can’t find out you like her.” the girl whispers, “you have to end this!!!!”

jaehyuns silent. “i have to end this.”

“give me your phone.” giselle says, arm outstretched.

“what? why?”

“because i’m going to help you get over her, even if it means she hates me too. and step one? letting her know.”

jaehyun hands her phone to jaehyun, and she types 3 words.

i’m over you.

“step two? you’re not going back into that party.”

“can i atleast know your name?”

“no.”

FLASHBACK OVER.

you let him in. just like last time. you’re willing to listen. you have to listen.

you have to know how this makes sense.

he was over you.

“but… the new Y, those messages… they-“

“were me.”

you’re silent. he looks at you with pity.

“it’s me. it’s always been me, before and now.” he pauses. “i’m Y, yn… again…”

“but… you, you can’t be..” you’re shaking, unable to understand what the hell is going on.

“listen, i’ll explain everything i promise.” he rests his hand on your shoulder, urging you to sit down. he sits next to you before he continues.

“the first time i told you i was Y… i thought it was a mistake. your friend giselle had tried to talk me out of it, even hooked up with me so i wouldn’t run to you, albeit i didn’t even know it was her until you told me, but i ended up coming to you anyways. and when i saw the look on your face? the disappointment that she warned me about? i couldn’t stand it. she was right, i had to get over you.”

your brows furrow, she had tried to convince him?

jaehyun continues, “so i lied, i told you i was over you, in hopes that i could do it. in hopes that, finally, i could forget about my feelings and let you be happy. but i couldn’t do it. and so i panicked. i tried to reverse everything. i was desperate yn, and so i tried to make it look like it was someone else again, that i was Y, past tense. i even spoke to yuta about it, and his dumbass said it was a good idea. i thought i made a mistake by telling you it was me, so i made up some random shit to make it seem like someone else.”

“what…?”

“it was always me… it won’t ever not be me. only from now on, ill try not be a fucking coward about it.” he laughs quietly, but when he notices the confusion in your face, he falters.

“i know i made this all so messy. but i care about you.” he sighs, “alot.”

“so all those messages saying ‘i’m glad jaehyun’s over you.’… that was just to make me think you weren’t Y, so that i’d really believe you were over me.”

“yeah.. i know i’m being selfish by telling you i still like you but, i hate lying to you. i don’t ever want to lie to you again. you don’t deserve that.”

you finally take a deep breath, one you’ve been holding since you let him inside.

“i like you, yn.” he nods down to your hands, asking if he can hold them and you nod your head. he takes them in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles gently. “i screwed up. this whole time, it wasn’t a case of me getting over you, it was a case of me getting over the fact that i wasn’t.”

you can’t help but smile in relief, a relief that you’re so incredibly unsure where it comes from.

“but i don’t think ill ever be.”

as if on instinct, you had risen to your toes, throwing your arms over his shoulders. his head falls to the nape of your neck and he hugs you, arms closing around the small of your back.

it’s warm, comfortable. you’ve missed this.

you can hear him, feel him, breathing. he’s finally calm, the same composed jaehyun that you and everyone else know him as. the hiphop team captain that only talks to those he thinks deserve his attention, and sleeps with the rest.

you pull away but he keeps his hands on your waist, you clear your throat and they flinch away, falling back to his side as he laughs.

“i’m sorry, about everything.” jaehyuns says, “i’ve made everything so hard for you, when all i wanted to do was make it easier.”

you nod, lips pursing into a small smile.

he continues. “i don’t expect you to suddenly grow your feelings for me back,” he laughs, “i just hope you’ll, maybe, hate me a little less.”

“thank you jaehyun. i mean it.”

his dimples show.

“and.. i don’t think i can hate you now.”

“really?”

“i mean… not if you try on a tutu infront of the boys..” you laugh, and he looks at you in terror before playfully chasing you around your dorm.

it’s nice, being friends with him again.

you should be scared. you should be anxious.

but something tells you, this time, he won’t let you hate him, that this time he won’t let his feelings come inbetween you.

something tells you this time will be very different

mlist — next

notes; well well well 😁😁😁😁 i am so absolutely horrified to post this chapter because ik you guys have been anticipating it like CRAZY😟😟 ive enjoyed all the theories and everything sososoooo much im definitely gonna include smn with possible theories in my next smau cus it’s been so fun🙏🙏🙏🙏 i rlly wana properly say thank you because u guys have been giving me so much support on this and it makes it so much more fun to write!!! i rlly hope you’re enjoying it as much as i am making it. there’s still quite a bit to go but Y is FINALLY REVEALEDDD🤗🤗🤗 (fr this time i swear)

taglist — open; @https-yeonjun @chenlesfavorite @therealbobbyshloby @f6llsun @jkslvsnella @nanaxwi @cloudmrk @neocrashed @vernonburger @vividwritess @taeeflwrr @mmjhh1998 @cyjzzl @stareaa @minkyuncutie @mrkleelvr @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @slayhaechan @jaeveil @tynlvr @mslora @nosungluv @grassbutneo @dokyriu @girlz4jaem @axo-l0tl @yyangj3lly @solvrse @m1ng1swife @gentlepeach @xiuriii @soobinbunnie5 @tocupid @apolloxxivmin @ctrlstar @gyuguys @tokitosun @i-kai @flamingi @mrkleelvr @en-dream @queenrachelpink @ssweetreveries @swanyvess @flaminghotyourmom @hyuck-me @cryingforjae @hizhu @starfilledgaze

[xosannie]

Hi! I’m new but I’ve been reading your works recently and HOLY they are very good! I especially love when you write subby ateez so I was wondering if I could request some sub seonghwa or wooyoung (or both if you feel inspired hehe) ideally with some mommy reader thrown in there? <33

Better Make This Quick

a/n:Your wish is my command 🫡 I think it’s about time I write about Wooyoung my beloved. (Sorry this took so long.)

Genre: smut 18+ MDNI

Pairing: sub!wooyoung x dom!reader (f)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: pwp, established relationship, mommy dom reader, quickie, choking, begging, finger sucking, praising, degrading, unprotected sex (be safe y’all), cumming inside (lmk if I missed anything) if you see typos no you don’t

Summary: Rewarding Wooyoung for his hard work. Hopefully you can do it in time without getting caught. (Coach Wooyoung feat. boxer San)

—————————————————————————

“Another win in the bag,” Wooyoung grins.

He drops the duffle bag of money on the ground. You smirk at him, pulling him in for a hug. San stood beside you two. He was dirty and a little bloody. 

“My god San. I think you need to shower.” 

San giggled, pushing his sweaty hair back and out of his eyes. 

“Yeah I think I will.”

Wooyoung pats San on the back. They just came back from another boxing match, and of course San wins yet another one. You were waiting at their shared apartment since you were too busy with work to attend the match. But when you go out you promised Wooyoung you’d wait for him at his home. 

After nudging San’s shoulder playfully, he excuses himself and leaves to the restroom. It was just you and Wooyoung now. Wooyoung walks over to the couch and plops down on the cushion. He let out a long sigh, resting his head back. He pulls his sunglasses off his head to run his fingers through his dark locks. You smile endearingly at Wooyoung, walking over to straddle his lap.

“Aw baby you look exhausted. I know how stressful this match was for you two.”

“Yeah, we knew this opponent was gonna be difficult. We had to put all our focus on this match, it was draining for both of us.”

“Well you did it. Besides, San couldn’t do it without you.”

Wooyoung smiles at your words, his hands comes to rest on your waist. Poor baby, he looked so tired. You eyes examine him sitting back on the couch. His hair was slicked back in such a sexy way, and the way his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to see the skin of his tan chest. He looked intoxicating. 

You trace your finger up his bare chest, coming up to the thick chain around his neck. You hooked your finger on the chain and pull him in. He gasped slightly at your sudden, forceful action. But his shocked face was immediately changed into a sly smirk.

“Poor baby was so stressed. Maybe he needs a reward for doing a good job.”

You voice dropped in a lower tone. The sound of your voice makes him excited, he knew where this was going. He glanced at your lips, nodding wordlessly at your remark. He wrapped him arms around your waist, pulling you closer on his lap. 

“I do need a reward.”

“What’s the magic word?”

You cup his jaw, pulling him in closer. He grinned at the way you were being a bit aggressive and he began to grip onto your shirt. Already feeling a sense of need whenever you spoke to him in that dominant tone.

“Please mommy.”

Your eyes darkened at his words, and large grin spread on your face. You feel a shock of desire course through you and land in between your legs. Fuck you needed Wooyoung right now.

Your hand snakes down and wraps around his neck, you push him back against the couch and lean in. He gasped at your actions and already felt a stir in his pants. He loved when you were aggressive, when you treated him like a toy for your own amusement. He needed that right now, needed to be your plaything. 

His hands reached up to grasp your wrist and his eyes fill with desire. He felt a shiver run down his spine when you shifted your head to nibble at his earlobe.

“Better make this quick then. We don’t want San to walk in on us do we?”

Wooyoung whimpered at your words. The thought of getting caught making his body fuel with need. He shook his head no and you giggle when you take note of his shallow breathing.

You didn’t fail to notice his bulge growing underneath you. It was hard to ignore it when it pressed against your thigh, so cute how easily he got needy for you. You began to apply pressure on the sides of his throat while whispering seductively in his ear. 

“Better keep quiet too baby. Unless you want San to hear how much of a pathetic boy you are for mommy.”

Wooyoung gasped when your grip tightened around his neck, his head clouded With submission and his dick twitched in his pants. He lets out a moan, you words sending shocks straight to his cock. He shook his head no with a small pout on his lips. 

“I’ll be good mommy I swear. I can be quiet.”

You chuckle and release your grip on Wooyoung’s neck. Your hand snakes down between your bodies and unbuckles the belt around his waist. Wooyoung was already panting, he looked down and tried to help you with his pants but his hands were trembling too much. You coo at the sight and gently push his hands away. You managed to get his pants unbuttoned and pull his already hard dick out. 

It was so beautiful, the tip leaking while it pulsed in your hand. Pretty veins running down the sides, oh how badly you wanted to run your tongue along it. Gotta save that for another time though. Right now you were in a time crunch, and you had to be quick if you wanted to finish before San got out the shower.

“Such a pretty cock. All hard and ready for me.”

Wooyoung whimpers softly at your words, he gripped at your hips and tugged at the waistband of your shorts. 

“Please mommy I need you.”

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss his lips. Wooyoung was quick to kiss back, reaching up to cup your cheek. How could you say no to that.

“Don���t worry my beloved, I’ll give you what you need. You deserve it after all.”

You start to pull off your shorts taking one leg out the leg hole and letting you shorts dangle around your ankle. You grasp the base of his cock and gesture down toward it with your head. 

“Spit on it,” you commanded. 

Without hesitation, Wooyoung did as he told. He spit onto his cock and you smile at him, leaning down closer and spitting on it as well. That was so hot to Wooyoung. You began to stroke his dick, lathering your combined spit on him as lubricant. 

You adjust so you can hover over him and sank down on his cock. Wooyoung’s mouth flew open but you covered his mouth with your palm before any sounds could escape.

“Remember… stay quiet,” you say breathlessly.

You were also trying to remind yourself. Wooyoung filled you up just perfectly, you never got over the feeling of him sliding inside for the first time. You began to rock your hips up and down, Wooyoung gripped onto your hips helping you bounce on his cock. His brows furrowed as he struggles to keep his moans in. 

Wooyoung nodded at your words, you move your palm to prod your fingers against his lips. Wooyoung knew what you wanted, and he was happy to oblige. His lips parted then wrapped around your digits. He began to messily suck on them, bobbing his head slightly as drool rand down your fingers and palm. 

You groan quietly at the sight, your other hand resting on his shoulder for support. All of this was so exciting, you both could still hear the faint sound of the shower streaming down and hitting the bath floor. You knew you had to be quick, and the thought alone made you both more turned on then ever. 

“Yes good boy. You feel so good inside me.”

Wooyoung whimpers around your fingers and you pulled them out. His eyes were pooling with desperation and submission. He pulls your closer so he could kiss your lips. 

“Thank you mommy…mmm fuck me so good.”

The words coming out of his mouth only turned you on even more. You felt him tugging and clawing at your shirt, typically that meant he wanted you closer. He wanted to feel your bodies pressed together, so that’s what you did. You leaned in closer so your  chest pressed flush against each other and Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your torso. He hid his face in the crook of your neck and you cradled the back of his head.

You bite your lip trying to hold back your own moans. You hear Wooyoung quietly whimper in your ear and it makes your heart (and pussy) throb. You guys were pressed so close together that your clit rubbed against his pelvis every time you grind down on his dick. 

“Fuck… so good…” Wooyoung whimpered.

You raked your fingers in his hair on the back of his head and tugged at the strands. You pulled his head back making his gasp harshly. You watch his expression intently, loving the way his mouth flew agape as silent moans got stuck in his throat.

“Yeah? You like when mommy fucks you like this?” 

Wooyoung had to bring his own hand up to his mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to escape. He nodded eagerly and he started to subconsciously buck up into you which only caused more pleasure for you two. You felt Wooyoung throb inside you and by the way his eyes rolled in the back of his head you knew he was close. 

“Keep… fucking me please… please mommy.”

Your head perked when you heard the sounds of the water hitting the shower floor cease. Shit, San was done showering. You bounced faster on Wooyoung’s dick, and the thought of San walking in on you two like this brought you close to release.

“Cum for me Wooyoung….fuck before San sees us.”

Wooyoung whimpered, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder and he held onto tightly to you. His hands reached down to grab a fist full of your ass and he guided you on his cock. 

“I’m cumming,” he whispered in your ear. 

And with that you both came together, you bit onto Wooyoung’s shoulder to silence your moans when you felt him fill you up with cum. Wooyoung grunted, letting out choked moans when you tightened around his cock. You continued to roll your hips, the sounds of Wooyoung sliding in and out of you was music to your ears.

Once you both calmed down from your highs you wasted no time to hop off Wooyoung’s cock and pull your shorts back on. Wooyoung adjusted his clothes, buckling his belt and he leaned back against the couch. He threw an arm over your shoulder, trying to remain as casual as possible.

You both heard the bathroom door open and light footsteps made their way down the hall. You grabbed a nearby blanket and leaned against Wooyoung’s body to appear as though you were both innocently cuddling the whole time. 

San walked in the living room, a towel draped around his waist and his hands on his hips. He had a soft smile on his face as he looked at both you and Wooyoung. 

“I say we get food to celebrate my win,” he chimes softly. 

You and Wooyoung both turn to San and smile back. You tried to ignore the feeling of Wooyoung’s cum oozing out your hole and onto your shorts. But you subconsciously shut your thighs tightly together, scared that the cum would drip down your leg. You felt Wooyoung’s shoulders bounce as he chuckled at San. 

“Okay we’ll get food. Just go get dressed, what did I say about walking around is just a towel?”

You giggled softly when you felt Wooyoung’s hand cover your eyes, obstructing your vision. San laughs as well walking out the living room and to his own bedroom. 

“Okay okay I’m going!” He exclaims back. 

Once you both heard his bedroom door close you were quick to hop back on Wooyoung’s lap. You smash your lips on his causing him to let out a surprised sound. Wooyoung chuckled in the kiss and wrapped his arms around you. 

“You’re dangerous…gonna get me in trouble one day,” he muttered against your lips. 

“Come on you liked it… you came so fast.”

Wooyoung smirked, well he couldn’t argue with that. You both kissed for a moment before you pulled away to stare at Wooyoung. He cupped your cheek, keeping you close and pressing a soft kiss on your nose. 

“Thank you baby, for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me Woo.”

 He smiled at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Yes I do, you take care of me so well.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and placed another quick, soft kiss on his lips.

“You’re my baby. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You wanted to stay like this, admiring each other while while staying in Wooyoung’s arms. But the wholesome moment was ruined when you felt the fabric of your shorts stick to your folds with Wooyoung’s cum. You glanced down then back up at Wooyoung. 

“Sorry to ruin the moment but I have cum dripping out my pussy. I need to shower.”

Wooyoung let out a hearty laugh, pulling you in closer and kissing your cheek. The smirk on his face never faded when he looked down your body. 

“You know if I could I would be licking all my cum off your pretty cunt.”

You scoff at his words, trying to ignore the way you core throbbed with arousal at the thought. You lightly smacked Wooyoung on the chest and pulled yourself off his lap.

“Aye, keep your dirty word’s to yourself.”

Wooyoung held onto you hips while you stood up, not wanting to let go of you just yet. He looked up at you with desire filled eyes and you could tell he was still horny.

“Why? Do they turn you on?”

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung and look down at him with a warning glance. You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing it back while you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“I would never tell. Now let go of me so I can shower.”

Wooyoung pouts softly then reluctantly lets his hands fall to his lap. You found his pouty face incredibly cute and cupped his jaw to kiss his lips. His pout immediately changed to a smile when he felt your soft kiss. 

“If you behave we can go for a round two when we’re alone.”

Wooyoung’s head perks up like a puppy wanting a treat and he nodded eagerly.

“Okay! I’ll behave.”

You smile at Wooyoung, ruffling his hair before walking off. Wooyoung watched you the whole time, a sly smirk on his face while you disappeared in the hall. 

Right when you walk into the bathroom San walks out his room. He walked to the living room now fully dressed, unaware of everything that happened while he was gone.

“We’re still getting food right?”

~

[brokenmenswhore]

I'm so glad you've come back with betrothals and brothels, I love that fic! Also I'm so curious about how it's gonna end up bc basically everyone is in love with mc I love that so much 😭 now that your requests are open again, can I ask you something where Aegon and fem!reader are in love but also betrothed to different people and they secretly see each other at night (not only they're in love but pretty horny as well). When they meet for their final night together it's so sad and beautiful and the next day during Aegon's wedding he decides to just marry fem!reader instead (I mean he's king after all??) who of course is present at the ceremony and they're happy and well in the years to come (I'm sorry I can't deal with sad ending at least in fiction I need things to go well 😭)

i love happy ending fics especially with aegon because he deserves all the happiness in the world <3

the one | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: light smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

“Being sneaky is not my strongest trait, Aegon, sometimes it takes longer than expected.”

“You were supposed to be here last hour, I missed you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could.”

“Well I’d hope not,” Aegon teased, frantically pulling your clothes off of your body and tossing them aside, a few garments landing on the wine lining the cellar walls.

You moaned when Aegon connected his lips to your neck, sucking the sweet spot he knew you could cover easily with your hair as you tilted your head back in pleasure.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, “thought we were going to take it easy tonight? It is our last night together.”

“I hate it when you put it like that,” Aegon sighed, pulling slightly away from you.

You and Aegon had been at this for a while. Since only shortly after you had met, you and Aegon had been in love. Desperate, secretive, lustful love.

You had both hoped your parents would betroth you to one another, but life was cruel. Your father promised your hand to a lord in the Riverlands, and Aegon was promised to his own sister.

No betrothal could stop you from meeting one another in secret, especially late at night.

“It is the truth, you and I both know we cannot continue this after we are wed.”

“The thought of you married to someone else makes me want to vomit,” Aegon said, “you aren’t anyone else’s. You’re mine.”

“I know.”

Aegon sighed and dropped his head, but you caught his chin and tilted his head back upward. “We still have tonight, yeah?” you said.

Aegon nodded his head and immediately leaned in to kiss you, wasting no more time. He unclothed himself as best as he could without breaking away from you.

He backed you up until your back hit a shelf of wine, and a few bottles fell with a cacophony of glass breaking against the ground.

“Aegon!” you jumped, startled by the noise, but he wasn’t phased.

“Oops,” he said, nonchalant, working to kiss you again.

“Aeg, we can’t just leave this here,” you struggled out between kisses, “it- Aegon- if you step on glass it’s not my fault.”

Aegon pulled away and looked into your eyes. “Do you ever shut up?”

“No, but that’s what you love about me,” you smiled.

“Correct,” Aegon responded, “so I say this with love. Shut up and let me fuck you.”

“But there’s glass everyw-“

“Shut up,” Aegon repeated, quieting you himself with a demanding, hard kiss.

Your body instinctively gave in as you lifted a leg up to wrap around Aegon’s waist.

Aegon began to press himself into you, grinding his hips lightly and pushing you more and more into the corks of the wine bottles.

“Fuck, Aegon, we gotta adjust,” you spoke.

“You’re killing me,” Aegon complained.

“Aeg, I’m literally backed against bottles of wine and there’s glass everywhere. How do you think we’re gonna fuck like this?”

Aegon bent down to scoop you up from under your legs. You wrapped your body around him as he walked around the glass, finding a clear spot and slowly lowering your bodies onto the ground. He made sure your back was gentle as it hit the floor, and you clung to him for dear life until you felt grounded.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you smiled.

“Good,” he replied, “now shut up.”

He kissed you again, running a hand down the side of your body and eliciting goosebumps. He moved his hand lower and lower until it reached your core.

You gasped as he began to touch you, your back arching off the ground as he rubbed circles on your clit for a moment before moving further down to insert two fingers into you.

While Aegon was usually rough and needy, the moment his fingers were inside of you, he slowed completely, savoring every single breath and gasp from your mouth as he pumped his fingers in and out.

The newer, slower pace was new for you, and it made your moans drawn out.

Aegon smiled and groaned as he watched your face contort. “You’re enjoying this, huh?”

You nodded your head, and your confirmation only added to Aegon’s own arousal. “Yes, but, w-why are you going so slow?” you struggled out.

“If I only get you one more time, I’m gonna make it last.”

You rested your head back down against the floor, allowing your senses to become consumed by the pleasure Aegon was giving you.

He leaned down and kissed your neck again as you squirmed under him.

Though he was moving slow, the pleasure was still intense, as was anything Aegon did. You were so in love with him, and so attracted to him, that any touch from him drove you crazy.

“Aeg, I-“

“Let go for me,” Aegon whispered in your ear.

You immediately came, his words sending you over the edge. He kept his fingers still inside of you as you came, as he always did. He loved tasting you on his fingers when he pulled them out of you, knowing that the sweetness came exclusively from what he could do to you.

You were out of breath, but Aegon was not prepared to waste a single moment.

He reconnected his lips to yours, and despite your newfound tiredness, you pulled him closer.

He gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining it up with your soaked entrance. “You need me?”

“I always need you, Aegon, you’ll always be the one.”

Aegon slowly inserted himself into you, causing you to let out a soft, long sigh.

He pressed his forehead to yours, and you both watched your bodies disconnect and connect as he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

He looked up at you, and despite the close proximity, you still felt like he was looking straight into your soul.

“I love you so much,” Aegon said, shaky and breathing heavy.

“I love you too,” you said, holding his face in your hands and leaning upward to kiss him.

────── ☾ ──────

You sat in the pew, leg shaking as you tried to restrain from crying or screaming or lashing out and storming off.

“I cannot believe you are truly making me do this,” Aegon whispered to his brother, who stood directly behind him as he waited at the alter for the ceremony to start.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. As much as it pained you to look, he was much too handsome. His head was adorned with a prince’s crown, and he was dressed in all black, which contrasted his near-white hair perfectly.

You wished it was you waiting to walk down the aisle toward him. Anyone would be lucky to stand at the alter with him and hold his hand.

Aegon’s eyes scanned the room until they met yours. Even with you sitting, he could see how beautiful you looked. Beautiful and sad, just like him.

The piano’s first few notes began, and the room quieted and stood as everyone prepared for the bride’s entrance. Your body turned toward the end of the aisle, but your head didn’t. You stayed fixed on Aegon.

Heleana began to walk down the aisle, her mother by her side. Though you resented her for what she would now become, she truly looked beautiful, and you held no true ill will toward her. This was not her choice either.

Aegon looked at his bride, and then to you.

You suddenly became very aware of your staring at him, and you didn’t want to ruin the day. You forced yourself to look away, and you dropped your head, taking a deep breath to remain calm.

You stared at the floor and listened to the piano until you heard Aegon.

“Stop.”

You instantly lifted your head and turned toward the source of the noise, and he was already looking straight at you.

He swallowed hard in nervousness. “I cannot do this.”

You and Aegon could not break eye contact if you tried. Aegon took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn and address the room. “My sister is very special to me, but that is how she should stay: my sister. She is not the one I will wed today.”

Your eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion. There was no way he was actually doing this. Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were nervous, excited, overwhelmed- every emotion all at once.

“I have decided to marry the one I love,” he announced, “if she will have me.”

Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t help but smile to show your acceptance.

Aegon continued: “I am the King, after all.”

You took a deep breath as Aegon gestured for you to come toward him. You shifted through the pew and into the aisle, turning to Heleana.

“Do not worry,” Heleana whispered, “you are saving me as much as you’re saving him.”

You gave Heleana a hug and she handed you her bouquet of flowers. Her mother protested, but you could not hear. You could only focus on Aegon.

You turned to face him and began to walk down the aisle, the biggest smile on your face as you made your way across from him.

You handed your bouquet to the woman standing nearest to you, and put your hands in his.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

I missed talking to you (modern!bodyguard!Criston Cole x Reader)

synopsis: He was hired to protect you. However, he does so much more.

warnings: age gap, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

The room is dark, safe for the dim glow of a TV illuminating a small space around itself. The sound of the video that had been playing for the past couple hours is drowned out by growing frustration. The clock on your phone shows a more than ungodly time, that brings you to huff and turn around a little more forcefully than necessary, the bed protesting against the way you let yourself fall back on it carelessly. But to no surprise even that doesn't work and so, with a groan you force yourself to get up. The idea was that walking around and grabbing a snack could potentially help. Hopefully. And so you sneak out of the room to the kitchen, where you are met with Criston Cole, the bodyguard your father had hired for you.

“Shouldn't you be long asleep?” The tall man asks with a gruff voice.

He remembers you wishing him a good night, hours earlier. The clock showed past 4am now.

“Yeah, I should.” You chuckle bitterly. “I'm just gonna make some tea and then I'm gone again.”

Cole nods silently and continues to drink his coffee. His beautiful dark eyes are trained on your neck the entire time you wait for the kettle to cook the water inside. You can feel them like a warm sensation spreading through your back. You had long since stopped to wonder what might be going on behind the windows to his soul. Deciding that, whatever it may be, would forever remain a mystery to you. At times your friends had commented though that it looked like he wanted to eat you or that he looked ready jump in front of a bullet for you. The latter was easy to ignore. He was your bodyguard after all. The first was less so.

Your train of thought is broken up by the kettle whistling. Carefully you put it in a cup along with the tea. The cup gently warming your hands. It's comforting.

You turn to Cole once more and not again. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Is his quiet answer, accompanied by another short nod.

And with that you are off to bed.

Multiple days pass idly by without any further happenings, when your friends words get to you. He looks like he wants to eat you. No matter how much you try to lie to yourself, the thought itself, without being thought into much, is a rather exciting one. So, one evening while you relax in the bathtub, you work up the nerves to test that theory.

“Criston, could you come in here for a moment?” You call through the door in the loveliest voice you can muster.

“Yes, miss? Do you need anything?” His voice comes through a crack in the door immediately.

“Don't be shy. Come in. And how often have I told you not to call me miss?” The amused lilt in your voice is clearly noticeable.

“O-of course...” Even though you are entirely covered with foam his eyes stay focused on the ground before the tub. “What is it you may need?”

“It's not nice to not look at the person you are talking to, you know?” You put on a small pout. Though it comes as a surprise when he looks at you, the tan skin of his cheeks erupting in a dark cherry colour.

“My apologies, mi… My apologies.” He mumbles hastily, expectantly awaiting your answer to his earlier question.

“Criston, I’m bored.” You make a show if yawning and stretching your arms over your head. “Can you join me? Please?”

The plea is met with him choking on his own spit. Coughing violently, tears shooting into his eyes as he does so. “I think that would be most inappropriate. In fact, I´m not even sure if I should be in here right now.”

"Awww, come on? My father is not gonna find out and I could really use some company in here." Propping your chin up on one arm on the edge of the tub, you dunk your other hand just below the surface, pulling it out to flick the little droplets in the direction of his chest.

You see the resolve in his eyes, but it is slowly wearing thin. Not that it looked particularly strong to begin with. A bit of fluttering with your lashes and he is basically gone, looking like he is ready to pounce on you as the two of you hastily remove his clothes and settle in the tub together. Exchanging heated kisses as he lifts you into his lap, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as your hands commit every inch of the other´s body to memory. The loud moan as he enters you is muffled by one of his rough hands over your mouth, trying desperately to keep anyone from hearing what the two of you are doing. The water and foam slosh against the porcelain, yet the only thing able to swallow both of your moans is the bruising, breath stealing kiss that dogs up your mind like the hot water does the room. Your hands travel over his chest restlessly, eliciting a new deep groan every time your fingers brush against the sensitive peaks. At the same time Criston’s rough hands massage your lower cheeks, lightly spreading them as he guides you up and down on his hard length. All the while your wet chests rub against each other, a sheen of sweat covering your bodies from the heat in the bathroom and your exertion.

Your moans and groans echo through the room and bounce off the tiles, but the longer you go on, the less either of you can bring yourselves to care about being caught. As the knot in your stomach draws tighter, your hands go up into Criston's dark hair to pull his head back. Resting your forehead against his, your noses touching, yet neither of you moves in to close the kiss again. Rather just remaining like this as the movement of your hips grows more frenzied from enjoyment, breathing into each other with loose hanging jaws. The dizziness resulting from it seems to only add to your sensitivity. Criston's strong arms bring you down harder and faster on his lap, eliciting even louder sounds from your lungs and pulling tears of pleasure from your eyes. The salty droplets rolling over your cheeks before joining the water that encompasses the two of you. His body begins to shake uncontrollably and before you can ready yourself, the waves of an orgasm crash over him. Despite the tremors, Criston keeps thrusting into you until you join him in the throes of his ecstasy. Fucking you through the climax until your legs still. Only then he unceremoniously lifts you off him and sits you down in the tub and dries himself off, getting dressed to stand in front of the door to take up his duty once more. Your eyes follow his every move all the while, beginning to shiver as the now cold water seeps into the still warm skin. Neither of you dares to utter a word. Silently vowing secrecy as to what had just happened. A promise Criston keeps a little too well as he only speaks to you when entirely necessary from that moment on.

The party was boring you already. Your father had wandered off to network as soon as you had arrived about a half hour ago which had stretched to eternity. Sitting at the bar you nursed a glass of wine, staring holes into the fabric of space and time as you hoped it would be over soon. And while you were lucky enough to not be bothered by any of your fathers’ coworkers, the holes Criston Cole's dark eyes burned into you didn't go quite as unnoticed as he probably would have hoped. The warm sensation has become a sort of normality ever since your moment in the bath. Spreading out from the pit of your stomach, as the brown eyes roamed over your body in the fancy dress that you couldn't wait to get out of as soon as you came home. Downing the red contents of the glass, you stand up and wander off through the long corridors, knowing that the dark-haired man would follow.

Your mind is set on clearing up his avoidant behaviour. Once you are far away enough for the sounds of the party to have fainted to a quiet buzz in the back of your ears, you finally turn to the man that followed you like a shadow.

“Do you plan on never talking to me ever again?” You ask him with crossed arms and a huff falling from your lungs.

Frustration is etched onto both of your faces and filling the air around. “I´m sorry. I wasn´t aware my job required to also be your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. If you regret fucking me so much, why didn't you just resign and safe everyone this stupid farce?” You argue back.

Promptly you feel the cold wall press against your front in an opposite sensation to his warm hand quieting you with a hand over your mouth once more, bringing back memories of your shared moment in the bathtub.

“Shhh or do you want anyone finding out?” He hisses into your ear, yet further down you can feel something hard press against your lower back. Pushing back against it elicits a low groan from the dark-haired man. A deep, throaty growl follows directly after as he finds the back of your neck and shoulders. Kissing and biting along your skin, his free hand tightly grabs your hair to pull it out of the way.

"Are you going to behave if I let go of your mouth, hm?" Criston's voice is barely above a husky whisper against the shell of your ear.

"Yes, I promise. I just need you so bad" you are just as desperate as he is.

In this state he could have asked almost anything of you and once his hand is removed from your mouth you would have agreed to it in an instant.

"Good girl... I'll make it good for you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?"

You can only answer in a hurried nod.

“Good.” Criston whispers.

The hand that was previously clamped over your mouth finds its way down your body and bunches up the fabric of your skirt until his fingertips brush against the lace of your panties.

“You knew this would happen, didn't you? Such a dirty girl.” he rasps, grinding his hips against you a bit harder. “Someone should punish you.”

“Please, punish me.” your voice shudders along with your breath.

When you turn your head to look at him your eyebrows are pulled down and drawn together in a pleading tone.

At the promise of a punishment your heart can't help but beat faster. Your lower lip immediately fits between your teeth, biting down hard to suppress the moan trying to escape as his palm makes harsh contact with your ass.

“Better be quiet. Otherwise, someone might find out what a dirty girl little miss perfect really is.” Criston taunts you.

The next slap is delivered even harsher, causing you to bite down on your lip until a very faint coppery taste introduces itself to your tongue. The hand rubs over the reddened flesh, soothing the stinging pain while Criston’s other hand snakes its way into your panties.

In response you press your behind closer to his front, feeling him groan in your ear as the movement of his hips speeds up. Instinctively you begin to rub against his fingers circling your clit. Whining from the stimulation. Stuttered breaths stumble from your lips as you desperately try to keep quiet. Only for your heart to be sent into overdrive as Criston lets go of your rear to turn your head and crash your lips together. Your hands claw at the wall, trying to find some purchase as your body gets rocked back and forth with every thrust against your backside. All the while thick digits enter your heat, curling upwards to play with your sweet spot immediately. The palm of Criston’s hand still rubs at your sensitive clit, making you see stars through half closed eyes, quiet moans get barely stifled by the hungry crashing and lapping of joined lips. Easily to be heard by anyone who would pass by you by chance, and they only grow more frantic. The air gets pushed out of your lungs entirely as you get trapped in tighter between the cold hard wall and the warm, tall body behind you, pushing you against it more. A wet tongue darts out to lick over the shell of your ear.

Criston begins to tremble with ecstasy first. A wet spot growing on the fabric separating your back from his front. Breathy groans fan hot over the side of your face and teeth nip at your earlobe. All of a sudden you freeze in bliss. Eyes rolled back and pressed tightly together, lips parted loosely in a silent scream all come together to a mask of unmistakable and unmatched pleasure. It feels as if your heart stops right along with your breath as waves of energy pulse through you, pumping the blood exceptionally fast through your veins to heighten your sensitivity as your whole body shakes and trembles in the little space between the wall and Criston's tall frame.

“I didn't regret what happened.” He whispers into the quiet, pulling your eyes from fixing your dress with a start.

“What?” The question is the only thing that comes to mind in the moment.

“I didn't regret it.” Criston repeats a little louder. “I just needed some time to process it.”

“Have you processed it now?” Even though you feel stupid for asking, the question is out before you can hold it back. “Because I would like to do it again if you are up to it.”

The dark-haired man nods. “I would like that too.”

“Good.” You smile at him, your eyes softening as they meet his. Together the two of you make your way back to the event, hoping your absence hasn't been too noticeable.

“I kinda missed talking to you.” You admit to Criston, the words barely above a whisper over your shoulder. A last quiet moment between the two of you, to make the rest of the night more bearable.

[willowrites]

𝐃𝐎𝐌!𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐁𝐘 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

⌗ 𝐝𝐨𝐦!𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 ! nsfw later on

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. i hope you enjoy thisss, sorry it took ages

sfw !

dom!colby who is always the one planning your dates and nights out regardless. he’ll take recommendations but he does all the work.

“should i call and make a reservation?” you questioned once colby agreed to going out for dinner.

“mm mm.” he denied. “you know i do that shit baby, you jus get ready and look all pretty, alright?” he said grabbing your chin before pulling you toward him and connecting your lips.

dom!colby who has a huge ego.

dom!colby who always makes sure you’re comfortable whenever you both are out and about together in public.

“you doing okay, baby?” colby combed back your hair behind your ear. you both had been at a tara yummy party and he noticed you were sort of quiet and to yourself.

“im okay. just don’t know anyone here, that’s all.” you smiled kindly.

colby looked down toward you admiring you. “mm, let me call tara and tell her to include you and talk to you.” he kissed your forehead.

“no no colby it’s okay.” you tried to stop him but he shook his head and muttered a quick ‘be right back.’

dom!colby who always has you either sitting on his lap, has your feet over his lap, or has his arm over your shoulder, wanting to touch you at all times.

dom!colby who refuses to let you purchase anything for yourself. he wants to spoil and spend money on you.

dom!colby who is always carrying what he can so that you won’t have to carry a thing.

“colby, give me the bags.” you demanded trying to take away the bags that held your recently purchased items; the ones colby bought for you of course.

he whipped the bags out of your grasp. “stop fussin’, i’m alright okay?” he told you with a cheeky smile.

dom!colby who loves to hear you speak about things like your day or something else and when you refuse to, he makes sure you know it’s not a decision. he wants you to unwind.

dom!colby who whenever you guys get into an argument he’s always the first one to initiate a conversation and talk it out.

“no,” he shook his head. “we’re not doing this. we’re not going to bed upset with each other. baby tell me what’s wrong, let’s solve this. wanna kiss you right now.”

dom!colby who when you’re having a conversation and you are not looking at him or making eye contact he’ll grab your chin to look at him.

“how can i fix this? what’s wrong?” colby was trying to speak to you but you’ve been reluctant to pay him any attention. “don’t do this bullshit, look at me.” he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

nsfw !

dom!colby who is always the first to initiate any sexual physical affection or intimacy.

you sat on colby’s lap as he started to kiss up the back of your neck. “so pretty and all f’me right, baby?” he purred in your ear causing you to feel two heartbeats.

you withdrew from the conversation burying your head in his neck. he chuckled before gripping your hips and moving you to straddle him. “don’t be shy. c’mon, show me that pretty face. wanna make you feel good, will ya let me?”

dom!colby who always holds the dominant role in sex.

“be a good girl for me and let me handle you, yeah?” he cooed, while he moved your hips over his own waist. you felt the poke of his hard cock poking through his shorts. your arousal pooled in your panties. “mm, does it feel good pretty girl?”

you nodded as sweet whimpers escaped your throat. “mhm…” the slight stimulation had you desperately needing even more. he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face at the sight of you writhing on top of him.

dom!colby who has an insane breeding kink and loves to fuck his own cum back into you.

“gonna fuck my shit into you. make sure this belly gets swollen n full with my children. want a baby in you, honey?” he entered you pushing in his milky cream, refusing to let it leak out. “m’gonna make you the mother of my children baby, you’ll see.” he groaned watching as his cum managed to leak out your hole.

dom!colby who has a choking kink.

dom!colby who loves bondage whether it’s tying you to the headboard or cuffing you.

“look at you… all pretty ‘nd helpless.” he stood over you as both of your arms were tied seperated to the bed frame. “gonna do such good things to my girl.”

dom!colby who loves both degrading and praising you.

“c’mon you can take it, my cock slut huh?” colby groaned while he pounded into you at a relentless pace. “greedy whore, fucked dumb on my cock.”

his hand found its way to your throat. “bein’ such a good girl f’me. this pretty pussy belongs to me, huh? my girl loves when i fuck her like this, yeah?”

dom!colby who enjoys many different positions in sex but his favorite is doggy but only when you’re faced toward a mirror so he could see your face while you cum.

his head was thrown back, veins prominent, while he thrusted into you. you stared at yourself in the mirror. “don’t look away. want you to see how good i make you feel.” he grabbed your hair and kept your head up so that you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. “fuck — i love you.” he groaned, feeling his own orgasm creep up onto him.

© willowrites

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: bachira x reader

♡   —   tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, lots of heavy teasing and joking, suggestive themes, pro football player bachira, isagi chigiri and kuni are there too, established relationship, comedy, fluff, feel-good fic

♡   —   words: 1k

♡   —   a/n: hello tumblr i'm baaaaasck!!! and with a story of meguru my beloved of course. i'm happy to come back with a feel-good fic. i love soft readers with bachira but i need him with a freak!!! someone needs to match his freak and this reader is about to do just that hehe. mwah mwah kisses for u all

♡   —  masterlist

"If you had to pick someone for me to fuck, who would you choose?"

You hum, already used to Bachira's random questions. Tapping your fingers on the wheel, you enter the highway as you give yourself a moment to consider your answer under his expecting gaze.

"You know, that's actually a good question," you admit with a chuckle.

"It is, right?" he grins, taking a sip of his drink, a refresher he got at the coffee drive-through he asked you to stop by as soon as you picked him up from the airport. "I was wondering about it on the plane."

"Of course you were," you tease.

"Hey! It was a long flight. I had already watched a movie and the guys were asleep," he justified himself.

"Ah, gimme." At your request, Bachira holds his drink up, the straw next to your mouth so you can sip on it. "Thank you, baby."

Bachira presses a kiss on your cheek. "So?" he insists.

"Okay, okay, before I answer I must know this,” you say, loving how he shifts on the passenger seat, eagerly awaiting for your question. “Do I get to watch?"

"Of course,” he shrugs. “ Would be rude not to let you.”

"True, true," you hum. "So, I would go with…"

A pause, for the sake of dramatic effect.

"Kaiser."

"Kaiser!?" he almost shouts, almost dropping his drink. "That's so weird, baby."

"I know," you laugh. "That's why I wanna see it happen, it would be so damn weird. I mean, either him or Reo. Both of them are very pretty."

"True, true," he sings, putting his now empty drink on your car’s cup holder and then bending his arms behind his head.

"And you?” you continue. “Who would you want me to fuck?"

Bachira’s eyes flicker with mischief at your question, shooting you a teasing grin before you look back to the road again.

"I think you'd go for Chigirin. And just because of that, I'm not gonna choose him," he says, sticking his tongue out to you.

You cackle out loud and Bachira can't help but look at you warmly. "Damn, okay― fair, I guess. If not him, then who?"

"Isagi. Definitely,” he answered in a heartbeat.

"I think that's more for you than it is for me," you tease, sparing him a playful glance, to which he laughs like a little kid, making your heart jump. "It's okay, baby,” you egg him on. “I'd make sure to put on a good show for you. Maybe even―"

"Can you guys stop being fucking weird for one second?"

Bachira turned to the backseat while you chuckled to yourself, your eyes on the road. Chigiri looked back at his teammate with an irritated gaze in between a flustered Isagi and Kunigami, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh.

“Isagi is about to throw himself out of the window,” Chigiri continued, gesturing to his friend, who opted to look away with rose-tinted cheeks, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

“I just never got used to them being so blunt about it.”

“See? He’s doing fine! You’re so dramatic,” you sigh in a playful tone. Turning to your boyfriend, you continue. “I think Chigiri's mad you didn't choose him for me.”

“What?! I’m not―”

“Fiiiine, you can have Chigirin,” Bachira said in an over-the-top dejected voice.

“I should've just taken a cab.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll stop,” you laugh, sparing a glance at Chigiri.

"I forgot how hanging out with you guys it's like having a double dose of Bachira," he sighed. Bachira turned to him and stuck out his tongue.

You chuckled. "Well, I mean, it is my new last name. Gotta play the part, right?"

"You truly don't look like newlyweds."

Your eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and find Kunigami's gaze on you.

"Ooh, harsh!" you whistle. "Didn't expect it from you."

His eyes widened slightly. "I mean it in a good way!" he assured you. "You look like you've been married for ten years or something."

A grin formed on your face and you turned to look at Bachira, who already had his eyes set on you. You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.

"I mean, that's the goal right?" you asked, feeling your cheeks warm up. Bachira blew you a kiss before you looked back at the road once more.

"Man, only ten years? I was hoping for more."

"Nope, only ten, I'm throwing you out after that."

"Fine, I guess I'll move on with Isagi."

The car filled with the sound of both your laughter, paired with a couple of pained groans.

Maybe they had a point. You were well aware your relationship with Bachira was quite unusual. From the numerous trips abroad he had to make, plus the time he dedicated to football and the constant exposure to the media the both of you were under, perhaps the only traditional thing between you was your marriage― and even so, it could be labelled as an understatement. You did rent a theme park to host your wedding reception, after all.

Nevertheless, even with the endless teasing and scrutinising eyes of others, there was something rather simple in the way he made you feel. From the first moment he smiled at you, the thought that you were going to fall in love with him never left your mind. It was only proven right as the months and years followed and you found your heart still fluttering at each of his laughs.

He had a way of being, of existing , that made each day seem a little brighter. Loving and being loved by him was a gift you never took for granted and, given the way his fingers tenderly caressed your face when he thought you were asleep, it seemed he felt exactly the same.

As you continued driving, you listened to Bachira and the boys continue their chat, this time about one of their last matches. Just as you were trying to decide which route would be best to drop each of them at their places, your husband took the hand that was still on his thigh and rose it to his mouth, leaving a small kiss on it. Grinning, you blew him a kiss, already excited about reaching home and spending some quality time with him.

You truly hoped that, in ten years time, you were still this excited for ten years more.

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (6)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

Author's Note: We’re nearing the end of this series! Thank you to everyone on here for your support, especially in the comments and reblogs. This will probably be my last Leon fic for a while. Sometimes it felt like I was writing into the void and it was a little disheartening, but I started to realise that I need a change of scenery and explore writing through other fandoms.

AO3 Link

Chapter 6: Full Circle

“Am I looking at the new Chief of Police?” 

You cracked a grin as Marvin graced your shop clad in his shiny new outfit and badge that made him look almost regal. Gold stripes and stars lined the cuffs and epaulets of his navy blue jacket. He removed his elegantly embroidered peaked cap, tucking it under his arm as he rubbed his buzz cut. And there he was again, the same old Marvin that you knew.

“You sure are.” He winked, reflecting your grin before a minor shadow loomed over his face. “Can’t say the circumstances I got promoted in were the most pleasant though.”

Laying your hand on his shoulder, you gave it a firm, supportive squeeze. “Everyone knows you deserve this, Marv. You’ll do great.”

“Aww, look what you’ve done! Making me cry all over my nice suit like that,” he emitted a low chuckle, his voice cracking up as he patted your hand. Wiping away a stray tear from his waterline, he cleared his throat and pulled up a chair at the counter.

“So, what can I get for the man of the hour?”

“You know me, I’m a creature of habit,” he affirmed.

You caught the drift, your hands already busying themselves as if they had a mind of their own. “Something gingery.”

The kettle whistled as steam rushed through its spout. Taking it off the stove, you poured it over a mixture of the fresh ginger and turmeric root you had diced up. You allowed it to steep for a while before adding in the jasmine tea leaves. Finally, you strained it into a tea cup garnished with the flower petals.

“Your celebratory drink—Golden Dawn.”

“I can already tell I’m gonna love it.” Marvin lifted the cup to his lips, blowing on it lightly before drinking it sip by sip. 

“Nice music too,” he added, bobbing his head along to one of the tunes on the stereo. “This what you kids listen to these days?”

Over the next hour, you engaged in lighthearted chatter until it came to the never ending squabble of who would pay—or not. As always, you won, telling the older man to accept the gift and enjoy some quality time with his wife and daughters.

As Marvin prepared to leave, Ben and Claire coincidentally came through the door. All three of them stopped dead in their tracks, tensing up as they eyed each other awkwardly. 

It was Ben who broke the silence, extending his hand as he said, “Congratulations, Branagh. I mean it.” 

And he truly did. There was not a note of insincerity in the man’s tone.

At this, Marvin smiled, giving Ben a cordial handshake. “Thanks, Bertolucci. Guess I’ll be seeing you around, though hopefully not on my case,” he joked. 

That elicited a roar of laughter from Ben. “I go where the story leads me, Chief.”

“You really are the devil in disguise,” Marvin noted wryly. “Well, I’mma head off, so have a good evening.”

“Bertolucci. Redfield,” he acknowledged, tipping his cap to the two before giving you a final wave as he exited the shop.

“Drinks on me,” Ben declared, smacking the counter table with his palm.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t a bar have been a better choice?”

“Yeah, we’re headed there after,” he confirmed. “Just had to patronize the place that fueled all my sleepless nights first.”

“I read the article by the way,” you mentioned in passing as you got to work. “It was very well-written and fair.”

“Facts, you can’t go wrong with facts,” he clarified. “I don’t sensationalize.”

“You could’ve been scathing, but you didn’t. That’s an active choice,” you pointed out.

The article had identified several instances of corruption and gross misconduct that the previous chief had been involved in, but in a relatively neutral tone. It also ended on a more positive and optimistic note, creating hope for the future of the RPD.

“Heh, well,” he shrugged, pressing against the bridge of his spectacles as he gave you a coy smile. “Maybe I am getting soft.”

Turning to Claire, he noted, “You’re quiet today, Red. You should be celebrating, kid.”

“Mmm,” she responded with mild disinterest, though you could see her glancing at the shop’s entrance every now and then.

“I didn’t have shot glasses, so I used your favorite—espresso cups,” you teased, placing the two orders on the table. “These should make good pre-drinks.”

“What’s in it?” Ben asked skeptically, unused to anything other than his trusty coffee.

“Let’s just say a combination of lemon, olive oil and cinnamon. I added some other flavorings to make it more palatable,” you explained. “Prevents hangovers.”

Swirling the liquid, he pinched his lips together and remarked, “Guess it wouldn’t hurt. Bet it’s got one of those hippy names too?”

“Grandma’s Cure.”

“Hah! That’s a good one!” he exclaimed, taking a swig from his demitasse.

There was a short pause before he gave his verdict, “Hmm! Not bad… not bad at all.”

However, Claire still left hers untouched and her mind appeared to be elsewhere.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked out of concern.

Claire shook herself out of her thoughts, stumbling over her words, “Y-yeah, shit, I’m sorry.”

Consuming the drink as quickly as possible, she thumped the cup back onto the counter, cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand. Fortuitously, your next customer who came through the door appeared to be the one she was looking for.

“Leon?”

The young officer froze, swallowing nervously as he stared at her. “Claire.”

You and Ben exchanged looks as you tilted your head in the direction of the exit, indicating to him to give them some space. He nodded discreetly in response, understanding what you were getting at.

Immediately, he stood up with a grunt and clapped Claire on the back. “Alright, Red, I’ll make a headstart first and you can join me at Jack’s Bar when you’re ready.”

With that, he placed some cash on the table, casually saluting you before making his way out.

Claire wasted no time getting to the crux of the matter. “That anonymous tip—it was you, wasn’t it?”

Slumping down on the seat beside her, Leon conceded, “Yeah, you got me.”

“I shouldn’t have pressured you into it, I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

“No, you wanted to do the right thing,” he sympathized. “I was so caught up in an ideal that never existed, I forgot about that.”

“It was decent of you to get Bertolucci to hold off on publishing the article until Irons stepped down,” he continued. “At least it was less of a blow to the department as a whole.”

“Still, the way I treated you was uncalled for,” she argued. “You’re a good friend, Leon, I…” her voice cracked.

“Sometimes, people say things because they’re hurt,” he mentioned, giving you a knowing look. 

You smiled back, acknowledging the very same advice you had given him when you first met.

“Pals?” He stuck out his palm.

“What are you, twelve?” she scoffed. Breaking into a dazzling grin, she grasped his hand as though they were sealing a pact. “Pals.”

“Care for another?” you offered, presenting the drinks you had crafted up on the side.

Claire’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t mind if we do.”

Sherry arrived soon after, instantly taking to the redhead like an older sister. Eventually, Claire went off to join Ben, promising to return for a proper goodbye before leaving to finish her semester.

“How was school?” you asked, scooping yet another dollop of whipped cream into Sherry’s drink upon her instructions. She could be quite assertive when she wanted to be.

“Good…” she hummed. “Made a friend.”

“That’s awesome!” Leon commended.

“Oh, and no one dares to touch me, ’cause I told them you’ll kick their ass,” she added.

“Wait, what?” he guffawed, but she suddenly had the urge to use the bathroom and scurried off.

“Impossible,” he huffed as you snickered.

Leaning on your elbows over the counter, you addressed him, “Not that I don’t ask you this every day, but anything new with you?”

“Well, apart from the stuff with Claire and the RPD, it turned out that the background checks on the suspicious lady in red came up clean,” he reported.

“Wow, Kevin must be pissed.”

“You don’t say. Wesker kinda just lets her through too. The whole thing just screams trouble to me,” he admitted. “Guess you win some, you lose some.”

“Anyway, speaking of Kevin, he told me to pass you this.” Chucking a folded letter on the table, his icy blue eyes watched you like a hawk as an unreadable expression formed on his face.

“Huh, looks like everyone’s doing the rounds today,” you muttered, opening the paper to read its contents.

A telephone number was written down in bold black marker, followed by a “CALL ME ;)”

Your shoulders trembled as you burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. That guy had some nerve for pulling off such a stunt, unless…

“You gonna?” Leon quizzed, and you swore you could sense a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Whaddya think?” you smirked, closing the gap as your nose nudged against his.

His eyes fluttered, and he sucked in a sharp breath. You felt his lips barely graze yours until—

“So… are you, like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

All at once, you were back at square one, Leon having hastily distanced himself away from you as Sherry stared at the two of you inquisitively.

“Yes—no. I mean, no?” Leon stuttered, his cheeks burning crimson as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

You let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to leave them to their devices for the moment while you counted stock in the cabinets. At some point, Sherry wanted to go home and Leon took it upon himself to drive her back.

As you said your good nights, to your surprise, Leon wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you in for a spontaneous embrace. “We’ll talk about this soon—about us,” he whispered into your hair.

Soon could not come soon enough.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[plaguedocboi]

How are Lavender and Sage doing? (Also how did you come up with those names?)

Lavender is doing very well, she’s a zesty little girl who wants to eat me.

Sage is a toothless, underweight old man with chronic eye infections that I took to the vet last week and the vet was like Yeah we’re just gonna give you a bunch of refills on his meds and you need to medicate him indefinitely. But that’s pretty par for the course, Sage has had more health problems than any other pet I’ve ever owned and I’ve just accepted that he’s probably never going to be healthy.

Sage was already named when I got him (I got him when he was four and I’m his fourth owner) and when I got Lavender and her late brother, I decided to continue the plant theme and name them Lavender and Sesame Sid. My little herb bois.

[whalesforhands]

small drabble of mc tagging on a mission w megumi?? is megumi still a mamas boy even in his first year or does he treat mc js like he treats satoru and suguru?

YIPPEE I HAVENT HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO WRITE SMTHG LIKE THIS IN A BIT

“Did you all bring your bags? Do you need lunch? Oh, please keep the Jujutsu Tech uniforms on at all times, it’s supposed to be made out of special material resistant against—“

“Maaaa! We know!” Nanako’s pouting at you, flicking a strand of her blonde hair back as she huffs, trying to fix her bangs as the charms upon her smartphone jingle. “We’re not kids anymore!”

“But you’ll always be my children.” Your arms hug all of them impossibly tighter, squeezing around your teenaged children that you swore were barely up to your waist only just a while back…

Yet, they all shot up, with towering heights and healthy physiques paired with the vitality only spry young teenagers could have.

(You have to give yourself credit for raising them so well. Was it Suguru’s cooking that made them grow up so fast?)

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Megumi’s clearly embarrassed, eyebrows furrowed, and averting gaze despite the reddened tips of his ears as he lets you squeeze him and his sisters to your chest. “We’re gonna be fine.”

(He’s so glad that you’re doing this at home and not out in public…)

“It may be our first mission, but we’ve followed Papa and Dad long enough…” Mimiko’s voice is always soft, collected. Always trailing upon the same tone even when you finally let go to let her breathe properly once more, even when you pat down stray strands of her hair— And ruffle it again out of nervousness.

(Teenagers are so hard to figure out. How are they so calm? It’s their first mission!)

“It’s different from the ones you follow your fathers on, kids.” You’re sighing again as you recall the report sheet of the site, hand subconsciously rubbing and messing with someone’s hair as Nanako’s squeaks of complaints fall on deaf ears.

“How about this one?” Gojo Satoru has you on his lap, a hand on the small of your back and the other dangling another sheet of paper before your tired eyes, letting you scan through the nth Curse sighting— Of Grade 3 and below only, of course. “Not too difficult, piece of cake fodder, ya know?”

“Disappearances of 2 kids, Satoru. It might be easy to you, so I’ll take this mission on instead—“

“Ah, ah.” He tuts you, a waggling finger placed upon your lips and hushing you. “No refuting me! We had an agreement that if ya disagreed by the 5th one, I get full control.” His smile makes you uneasy as your bet dawns upon you.

“Plus, dear,” He brings you close, his whisper in your ear doing its best to try and soothe your still panicked state despite the blindfold upon his face. “There’s nothing to worry about if I’m the one chaperoning!”

(“…that’s the part I’m worried about.”

“Hmph! Have you no faith in your strongest husband? I’ll have you know that I have been chaperoning tons of these kids! And with only mild complaints and near death experiences—“ You let him trail off, patting his cheek as he continues on, and on and on— Until you briefly kiss him to stop him in his tracks, lest he went on a tangent about… Washing machines?)

They grow up so fast. You could swear it was only moments ago when you had a Megumi that needed help tying his shoes, a Nanako who always begged both yourself and your husbands to sit down for a makeover, a Mimiko who trailed after you wherever you went— And a Tsumiki who never wanted to let go of your hand.

Time really flies when you’re standing at the genkan, nervously fretting over their bags, giving their Jujutsu Tech uniforms several once overs, and watching your front door open as they slowly start to leave.

“We’ll be back for dinner, if you’re so worried.” Megumi’s quiet, almost muttering under his breath as he grumbles about his assurance to you, blue eyes averted away out of shy bashfulness.

“Gumi’s got a point, Mama! We’re gonna be back in one piece in no time! It’s a 3v1 sesh’ afterall!”

“Mhm.”

Ah, your kids really have grown up.

nvy’s aftertalk:

no i’m not back yet and my tests are in the following weeks so i’ve been studying like a madman hehe. (i hope whichever professor started the trend of surprise quizzes with weightages every week is only ever able to find one sock)

to all of u affected by the hurricane, stay safe!!!!

[randomness-is-my-order]

wwx is sooo smart! in a modern setting, what subject do you think he would teach? what about in college?

seriously, i can wax poetic about wwx’s intelligence, ingenuity and smartness any day!! and ooooh, your question puts me in a bind because i cannot just name one subject. i think wei wuxian is good at too many things and the younger generations deserve to have his mentorship for an array of subjects. but i’m gonna try my best to just discuss one for this post!

see, i don’t want to mention fine arts because i think wwx would be a hobbyist about it and prefer to be one of those guys hopping around museums and galleries and curating a small but insightful review blog to engage with that side of the arts. an aspect of him that his students would probably find a bit later once they go stalking their professor’s social media profiles (which wwx would be VERY lowkey about) and find that, oh, the cool professor is so much cooler still.

also, because this got me thinking way too much, before we get to the subject, imagining wwx as a full time faculty member–i’ll go out on this fanfic fuelled limb and say he would totally be the teacher coordinator for a university play and/or the debate society! the latter especially, because if the second siege showed us nothing else, it made clear that wwx knows how to frame his arguments logically w/o getting too personal/emotional (not that some debates don’t need an emotional input!) and knows how to keep the audience hooked to his words. the same goes for the deft way in which he handled his defence at the nightless city. so, yeah.

okay, so the subject i think wwx would teach has to be....

physics!!!!!

like this is the one that pops in my mind first and foremost and it fits wwx so well and not just in the realm of engineering. not that wwx’s inventing streak won’t be profoundly useful there but when it comes teaching the subject, when i say “physics” i mean the pure science. that would be wei wuxian’s jam!! he would come up with elaborate setups to simply but elegantly explain and exhibit a complex physics law or phenomenon. he would assign practical-oriented projects to his students and allow for fun which is sorely lacking in intensive pure science classes! he would make time to go over some relevant historic trivia about some theory a guy in the 18th century came up with and he would TOTALLY gossip about the scientists of the past and the scandals so many of them were engaged in. and the most important part!! he would conceptualise different and unique experiments for his class to practice for that part of their grade! alot of the time we forget how important the practical ingenuity of physics professors need to be when it’s not applied physics because the emphasis on the theoretical classes overshadows it. but wei wuxian would plan the practical course himself, even discuss the experimental configurations with his students, and design a whole booklet with them! and ykw?? he’d teach them coding too! which is one aspect of our technological era that i think wwx would excel at because there is so much craftiness required for coding and since coding is so essential for simulations and analysis in physics, wwx could teach them...some python, lol. 😭😭 also, i want to add, wei wuxian would 100% be that college professor with a league of papers published and held in high regard so that for each course he teaches, his own work could be a relevant reference which his students would find SO cool and maybe even funny.

okay, i’m done feeding you my physics professor!wwx agenda but i also think him teaching an ethics class would be fun. and also P.E. no but imagine a sociology course with wei wuxian? or a music major? the possibilities are literally endless but you probably won’t catch wwx anywhere near a culinary school.

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

Chapter 35 Preview

This is gonna be the only preview I release for the chapter but MAN is it juicy!

“So let me get this straight,” the star’s brows furrowed as the sounds of the crowded hall beyond the kitchen’s door filled the room, “You made a deal with him-,” he pointed towards her grandfather who scowled darkly. “For us to work in his bakery in exchange for the silence about a near assassination attempt today, so that your mother, of all people, doesn’t know that your life was in serious danger…” he frowned placing his chin in his palm before asking, “is that correct?”

“More or less,” she confessed, quickly pulling her braids into a high bun. 

“I’m not imagining things, am I? I mean I know I may be a little underqualified to say this but Asha this is an insanely bad idea! Maybe even terrible, and you know that’s something coming from me!” He exclaimed before turning to her still scowling grandfather, “Back me up here sir, this is a horrible idea isn’t it?”

Her grandfather growled, his eyes narrowing as Asha finished tying the ends of Valentino’s makeshift apron. 

“Why do you keep on escalating your adjectives?” she asked as she stood up and stretched. “The word Bad would’ve sufficed well enough.” “Look I know that it’s not the best or most reasonable course of action but I-…wait…Saba, where are you going?” she called after the old man’s retreating figure. 

“Hmph, where do you think I’m going? Between the both of us, someone here needs to pray for luck!”

“Luck?” Asha repeated. 

“Or divine intervention, whichever one comes first,” he grumbled as he continued to hobble before he came to a stop in front of the door. Searching through his pocket for his keys, she’d heard him mutter under his breath, “Hmph, I know I’ve done a lot of terrible things, some of which I’m not proud of, but this? I don’t know who I upset to deserve this walking apocalyptic kitchen disaster to come into my kitchen and have the audacity to make a valid point…” Capella pleated, walking towards him with the key in her mouth. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking it from her as he unlocked the door before him. “The things I go through Capella, I tell you…” he grumbled, slowly walking towards the hallway where the portrait of Geron hung..

“Saba,” she sighed as Capella followed after her grandfather, “he would’ve ended up in this kitchen one way or another. We need his help. Earlier, you yourself pointed out how he was far stronger than anyone else in Hamlet..remember? ”

Her grandfather had only turned around to give her one final glare before he’d firmly shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the kitchen with both the star and Valentino. Valentino cast her a sympathetic glance as she dragged her hand across her face. She knew her situation was bad if it had her grandfather agreeing with Cepheus of all people!

Ugh… this wasn’t going to be an easy night, was it?

“Asha?” 

“Yes, Cepheus?” 

“I saw quite a few other people working in here earlier,” he spoke as he glanced towards the bakery’s door. “If your grandfather is so adamant against my help, perhaps we could ask one of them for assistance instead.”

“No, those are the noble’s servants,” she sighed as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “They’ve already been given their set duties for the evening.”

“So it’ll just be the two of you then? Doing all that work?”

“Well, I’m sure Mom will drop by later when she’s done with work to help us out, so we’ll just have to hold down the fort until then,” she replied, opening the kitchen cupboards to pull out the needed ingredients.

“Only her?” 

“Yes… “ she answered before her fingers paused, mere inches away from grasping the bag of brown sugar. “Why do you ask?” 

“It’s nothing, but…Asha, isn’t that a bit…excessive?”

“Excessive?” she paused as she gathered the ingredients in her arms before setting them down on the table. “ What do you mean?” 

“I’m talking about your workload,” he stepped back, granting her a view of the packed hall on the other side of the door. The delicious scents of food and delightful music filled the air as the people chatted and danced amongst themselves. 

Servants scurried about, handing out food as they rapidly walked in and out of the kitchen. “There’s at least a hundred people out there who you’ll have to bake and serve for,” he spoke, bringing her focus back to reality. “ All the other chefs have at least groups of five or six people assisting them.” His point was proven as they’d stepped to the side, allowing for several severents carrying dirty dishes to pass by. “Yet there’s only two of you back here working on the pastries…Isn’t that a lot of work for just two people? Shouldn’t you and your grandfather have a team to help you as well?”

“Ideally Yeah…but having a team of servants to help you isn’t exactly a luxury we can afford Cepheus. So we make do with what we have, even when it’s not the most ideal.”

She wasn’t sure why her stomach had sunk so deeply at her own words as he’d closed the door behind them. 

Certainly, there’d been some truth to the star’s words, but she had no reason to worry. She’d catered to large groups of customers before. She could do this, that much she was confident of.

Carefully her eyes turned to the bookshelves tucked away in the corner of the bakery. Then, Swallowing her nerves, she’d pulled the old wooden stool to the front of the bookshelf before she’d begun searching the bookshelves. 

“So you’re saying that if you were a noble of sorts, then you’d be able to hire help?”

“Ha! If I were a part of the noble class of Rosas, I’d be able to way do more than just that!” she grinned. The nobles of Rosas were already rich, to begin with, but considering just how Rosas operates on little to no taxes, their wealth tends to accumulate far quicker than it would elsewhere. With that money not only would she not have to work for the king anymore, but she’d be able to fund her own projects, the thought in and of itself had her grinning as she spotted her cookbook 

“Speaking of noble class, if the king was so kind to your family, then where is your noble title?”

She frowned as her eyes continued searching the bookshelves over and over, unable to spot the cookbook she’d been looking for before she sighed, “The king can’t just randomly hand out noble titles whenever he feels like it Cepheus”

“Fair enough. But did he at least make an offer?”

“That’s not how it works, Cepheus,” she grumbled, as she shifted through the half-topped books on the bookshelf.

Sure she could technically become a  ‘new blooded’ noble, through an economic achievement or acts of service to the king, but given her rather lack of magical talents coupled with her grandfather’s distaste of both royal and noble, she doubted she’d ever received a title.

But it was fine.

 If  her father, the king’s closest advisor who had always assisted his friend, had  done so without receiving a title, then so could she. Although she truthfully wouldn’t hve objected to having a title if it’d meant having a bit of help to organize these shelves from time to time, she’d thought with a huff before she’d spotted it. 

“Found it!” she cried as she reached forward, and grabbed the book. “I knew it was over here!”

“You knew what was over where?” the star asked as she hopped down from off of the stool. 

“My old cookbook,” she explained, as she dusted off it’s old cover with her apron. It had been a while since she’d use it like this, but she couldn’t quite quench the sense of pride that had filled her as she’d flipped through the old cookbook that she’d carefully collected and curated. “Pretty neat isn’t it? It’s a compilation of all of the best recipes in Rosas I’ve collected all over the past few years!”

“Which recipe is that?” he’d asked, pointing to a page as it came to an abrupt still.

“This recipe?” she paused, her face warming as she recognized the familiar site of the cookies that had been drawn in the prince’s younger likeness.

‘Ignacio cookies,’ the scribbled title had read above the recipe.

She couldn’t believe she’d still kept the recipe! She’d thought in disbelief as the star tapped her shoulder. “Um Asha? Hello?”

“Ah! Sorry.” she grimmaced, silently thankful that the star couldn’t read the title as she’d shook her head, “It was just a silly old recipe I made a while ago, it’s nothing really.”

“It looks like a face…kinda look those cookies they sell of the king in the market place…”

“You mean Magnifico cookies? When in the world did you have a magnifico cookie?”

“Oh is that what they call it?  I was offered a few this morning by the girls in the market. The were very insistent to say the least…but this isn’t one of those is it?”

“No, well not exactly, you see it’s sort of a prototype…”

“A prototype?”

“Yeah, you see when I was younger, the queen decided to arrange for a royal visit to my school. It was already exciting to know that the queen herself would be visiting our small village, but when she’d announced that the prince was in tow with her, well, everyone was practically ecstatic. So many people made plans to impress and befriend him as the day neared, me included. I really wanted to meet him,  but when he arrived, I was too sick to attend school that day. So I missed out.”

“Ah, you must’ve been disappointed-,”

“Oh I was,” she smiled. “I cried all day, it’s a wonder I didn’t drive my family insane, but funny enough, the next day when I went, I was able to gather that I wasn’t the only one who missed out.  Much to the chagrin of all the noble children, the prince had focused his attention on the person who’d ironically was the least excited for his visit.”

“Who was that?” he asked, his breath baited with anticipation.

“My friend Dahlia. She told me that she thought he was bothering her because she’d always made it a habit to stay up late at night to bake pastries that she’d bring to school with her the next day. Something about her had brought out a different side in him, you know? Most people swore that he’d spent the whole day clinging to the queen’s skirts but after a few minutes or so of talking with Dahlia, well, apparently he’d been blessed with enough bravery to torment her!” she chuckled, remembering how incredulous Dahlia had been as she’d recapped the events to her. “She swore on everything she had that the cookies she’d brought had been the culprit for his change in behavior, so when the queen later announced a second visit. I thought, I’d give a shot. I mean it worked for Dahlia didn’t it?”

“Were they delicious? Your cookies I mean.”

“I thought they were, and I thought he’d like it too. But I never got to find out what the prince would think, because he spent the whole entire time with Dahlia.”

The star frowned, slightly leaning away from her as he balked, “So he didn’t even try any of your cookies?! Not one?”

She shook her head, “No, but it was pretty fun making them, I had a lot of good memories doing it! Dahlia was also able to get a referral to work in the castle bakery after that too…” she smiled briefly remembering the sounds of her family’s laughter echoing through the kitchen as they’d worked together on the cookies. Everyone had seemed so happy that night…

 If only she’d known it wouldn’t last, maybe she would’ve insisted on them all baking together more frequently…

Turning back to the star, she’d been surprised to see the small frown on his face as he stared thoughtfully at the page. “Is something wrong Cepheus?”

He shook his head, allowing a small smile to replace the frown as he confessed, “Oh nothing it’s just….rather funny to hear you talk so positively about the experience…” His smile faltered as he took his seat once more and focused his gaze elsewhere. Shifting uncomfortably he’d laughed, “Frankly I guess I just expected you to be rather incensed about the ordeal, that’s all, with all the broken and unanswered wishes and whatnot.”

She shrugged, taking a seat next to him. “Maybe I was a little upset at the time, but who could I be upset at? We were all just kids. I can’t hold it against Dahlia if the prince was giving her the attention that any girl her age would’ve wanted at that time.”

“Would you have wanted it?” He asked softly, as she felt his eyes rest upon her once more.

She smiled, turning her attention back to the drawing in her hands. “Maybe back then when it had seemed possible, but like I said, I got over it, just like I always do…But the recipe was pretty good though, maybe I should bake it again.”

The star leaned towards her, “Maybe, but have you considered it going in a new creative direction with it? Maybe doing it in a different likeliness?”

“Hmm I didn’t think about that,” She admitted as she took note of the rather self-satisfied smile on Cepheus’s face. “Do you have any ideas in particular?”

“How about making one that would definitely attract the attention of customers, and most definitely be just as if not more aesthetically pleasing than any royal, which in all honesty is a fairly low bar, but nevertheless still a great selling point!”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea! Alright I’ll begin work on the Sabino cookies right after we finish tonight!”

“Yes the Sabi-…wait WHAT!” he exclaimed, indignantly standing up. “Sabino cookies?! SABINO COOKIES?!”

“Hmm?” she stared at him innocently, feigning ignorance. “ Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed  Something is very much wrong! Why in the world are you going to make Sabino cookies?!”

“Why not? My Saba is pretty popular around here.”

“Popular yes but…isn’t there someone else you had in mind?”

“Someone else?”

“Yes! Someone amazingly talented and handsome who is currently in close proximity to you?”

“Actually yes,” she nodded. The star beamed with pride before she pointed towards the still-shut door her grandfather had exited. “My Saba is over there after all-,”

He stepped back. His eyes lowering as he released a sound that oddly reminded her of a very wounded yet angry animal.

“That better not be some sort of mating or summoning call!” Her grandfather snapped as the hallway door quickly creaked open and the old man peered in. “I have a strict no animal policy, so there better not be any funny business going on here!” 

[mangoshorthand]

Inspired by this post. When your daughter is eight years old, Five organises a family trip to County Clare, Ireland. His reasons why are completely transparent.

The Changeling | Five Hargreeves/Reader, Five Hargreeves & 8 y/o daughter Words: 7.7k

GIF by: @seance

It was Aoife’s first flight, and it was only through Five’s gentle persuading that you were convinced that it would be safe. At eight, he said, she was more than old enough to listen and control herself.

Still, just before you boarded, you knelt down in front of her and took her by the elbows. 

“Aoife, listen to me, honey.”

She blinked at you with Five’s eyes. She looked the picture of innocence, and if you didn’t know better, you might have been taken in.

“You cannot blink on this flight. You can’t blink on this trip at all unless it’s just me and Daddy in the room, but you especially can’t blink on the plane, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” she said, sulkily.

“Seriously,” you said, giving her a gentle shake, “If you misjudge it by just a tiny amount, you could end up outside the plane. You could fall and die.”

Aoife looked up at Five for backup but didn’t find it. He put a hand on her shoulder with a stern look that was uncharacteristic when aimed at her.

“Your mother’s right, cara. This is life and death. And even if you try it and don’t die, we’re going to go straight back home again as soon as we land. There will be no trip at all. You hear me?”

“I didn’t even do anything yet!” she said, indignantly.

“Yes, and I’m sure you won’t because you’re my good, sensible girl,” you said, hoping she’d live up to the label. 

“I’m just making sure you understand what’s at stake here, kid.” Five said, “ Non sto scherzando . Now, repeat it back: tell me what’s gonna happen if you blink.”

“I’ll die,” she said, with petulant impatience.

“And if you blink but don’t die?”

“No trip,” she repeated.

“Correct,” Five said, “we won’t even leave the airport. We’ll turn right around and get on the next flight home.”

“I know you’ll be a good girl,” you said, kissing her on the nose, “you always are, aren’t you?”

You kissed once, twice and three times until her pout was replaced with a smile. 

As it happened, once the initial excitement of being airborne had worn off, Aoife fell asleep almost immediately, the early morning catching up with her. She was leaning against you, chest rising and falling slowly, and would remain so for all but the last hour of the flight. 

Five was also quiet, staring out of the window at clouds in the odd light of changing time zones. 

Ever since suggesting the trip, he’d been a closed book. He was still himself - still loving, and still every inch the husband and father you knew -  but he was more insular, more like he was before you got married; keeping the internal workings of his mind under wraps. 

With Aoife against you, you couldn’t reach out to offer him any physical affection, so instead, you spoke to him over her head.

“You okay, sweet guy?”

He looked over at you and plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his impatience with the question.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You pulled a face at him, one that told him you weren’t an idiot. He didn’t exactly need to tell you for you to guess what this trip was really about. 

Five couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by your knowing look. It was galling to know he no longer held any mysteries for you. He leaned his head against the plane’s wall and closed his eyes. 

It wasn’t that he was shutting you out, it was more from a strong sense that this was something he had to do alone. 

It came up in therapy a couple of times. Maybe it was his age, or maybe it was being a father, but he found himself coming back to this idea of history. Aoife’s family tree on his side was more of a hedge: extremely wide but only one generation tall. He wanted to give her an anchoring in this world beyond a strange experiment by a billionaire that resulted in her mentally unstable father.

On his mentioning these feelings, Dr Daley asked him whether it was possible he was projecting, but Five dismissed this.

To him, being Irish by birth didn’t mean much. It might explain his liking for Guinness, but that was about it. And who didn’t like Guinness? 

No. If he’d grown up in Ireland, he’d be a completely different person, as alien to him now as anyone else. For better or worse, Five was the sum total of his experiences. If Reginald was his father along with the harsh life he’d offered, then the apocalypse and all its horrors may as well be his mother. 

The woman who’d birthed him sold him for a couple of grand. He couldn’t imagine it as he glimpsed Aoife out of the corner of his eye. The first time he held his newborn daughter was transformative. He’d felt his entire world crash down and reform around her. He knew she was his on an animal level that left reason entirely behind. His very skin cried out for her.

And yet…childbirth was a bloody, agonizing mess. He’d watched you go through it, and it wasn’t exactly trauma free, even after months of mental preparation.The idea of it happening, all in the space of a few minutes, to women who had no mental preparation was nothing short of horrifying. Now he thought about it, it was amazing that so many of the other October 1st children seemed to have been kept.

But still, when he looked at Aoife, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

He looked up again, and caught your too-understanding eyes. This time, he smiled at you,  irritation giving way to affection. Over ten years you’d grown to know him better than he knew himself. You’d been there for every step as he tried to rebuild his mental health, every tough therapy session, every new drug, and every addition to his laundry list of diagnoses.

You’d known what this was about as soon as he mentioned the trip.

“Can you get the week commencing the 12th October off work?” he’d said, over his cereal one morning, around six months ago.

“I think so,” you said, surprised, “why?”

“We’re going to Ireland.”

“What?” you said, and then, “What about school?”

“They’ll be fine. Call it an educational trip,” he said, “We’ll have Aoife do a project or something.”

“What brought this on?” 

He shrugged, and the way he looked down at a newspaper on the table gave you the distinct impression he was trying to avoid your eye.

“I’ve booked seven nights in County Clare, staying in this huge castle. Dates back to the 17th Century. Aoife’s gonna lose her mind.”

You studied him for a few moments as he sipped his coffee, eyes stock-still on the newspaper, not really reading it.

“Weren’t you born in County Clare?” you asked, gently.

“Mmhm,” he replied, blandly, turning a page.

You waited, and when he didn’t elaborate, you just stuck out a hand and laid it on his forearm. *** When you arrived at Shannon airport, it was raining. It rained like a veil of mist, pin-pricking your faces in a moist cloud of chill wind. It was mid morning, though the foggy skies made it indistinguishable from any other time of day. It made Five glad of his coat, and he paused outside the terminal to zip it to his chin. 

Aoife rubbed her eyes and looked around at the gray, concrete parking lot

“Where are we going?” she asked, in sleepy confusion.

“Not far,” you said, squeezing her hand as Five wheeled your luggage.

The rented Skoda estate was comfortable enough, although not what Five would prefer to be driving. Still, it did the job. As you helped Aoife strap into a booster seat, he had to concede that, on unfamiliar roads, it was more important that style give way to safety.

The thought made him smile to himself as he loaded the luggage into its roomy, sensible trunk. Sometimes it still seemed odd to find himself having such daddish thoughts. It was odd, but good too. 

The environs of the airport faded into the misty rain behind you, and you very soon found yourselves in country that more naturally sprang to mind when you imagined Ireland. 

The landscape was mostly flat and green, damp fields stretching out to the horizon on every side. Short but lush trees and hedges lined the dual carriageway, occasionally leading to taller trees and more advanced woodland, but it mostly served to insulate the surrounding farmland from the road. 

“Do you think there are fairies in those woods?” you asked Five, conversationally, eyeing Aoife out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hm,” Five said, playing along, “It’s possible.”

“Fairies?” Aoife said, her interest piqued as you intended. 

“That’s right,” he said, “there are lots of stories of fairies in Ireland.”

“Will we see some?”

“Probably not,” you smiled, “but it’s fun to pretend.”

As you got deeper into the countryside, stone walls ran along the roadside. Every few miles or so, the fields gave way to the occasional, squat house; all rendered in white with gray slate roofs. They were small, asymmetrical; clearly built for function over form. Once or twice a chimney smoked, bringing with it the smell of peat smoke on the air. 

As you traveled, the sun started to cut through the haze, although the rain didn’t let up, coming down in those same misty clouds. The trees began to thicken, until the land on one side of the road was completely obscured with woodland. At last, you came to a grand iron gate. 

“We’re here.” 

Aoife shuffled excitedly in the booster, trying to peek out from behind the passenger seat to see ahead.

You passed a gatehouse, and soon the thick trees gave way to a simple avenue, leading you up a drive surrounded by lush lawns, upon which small brown rabbits were dotted, those nearest the drive lolloping away from the skoda as it crunched along the gravel.

Aoife was predictably excited by these, and it took some stern words from you to stop her removing her seatbelt and blinking from the car to chase them.

But as you rounded a corner and Ballycarnane castle became visible across the small lake surrounding it on two sides, the rabbits were completely forgotten.

“Look!” she said, in high-pitched awe, “It’s a castle!”

“So it is,” Five said, as if only just noticing it.

It was huge, robust, and square in formation, built with solid gray stone with battlements topping sturdy towers on rising ground. Fountains, trimmed hedges and perfectly mower-lined lawns decorated its immediate environs. At the top of the tallest tower, an Irish flag flew. 

“Is there a princess in there?” Aoife asked, breathlessly, kicking the back of your seat in her glee. 

“Ci sarà presto, cara.” Five said, quietly, a smile playing about his face. 

“Are we staying near here? Can we go visit? Please?”

You looked at Five. He was loving this, you knew, as much as he tried to hide his self-satisfied smile. He gave you the nod to deliver the final bombshell. He was always sweet that way: his daughter’s glee was all the reward he needed. He didn’t need to take the credit too.

“We’re staying right here.” you said. 

“IN THE CASTLE?”

“That’s right,” you chuckled.

Aoife exploded, letting out a series of shrill shrieks that made both you and her father wince.

“Ouch,” you said, at the redoubled kicks to the back of your seat. 

“ WE’RE STAYING IN A CASTLE!”

“Esatto, principessa,” Five replied, pulling into one of the parking spots, “and it’s a very fancy place, so best behavior, okay? You gotta act just like a real princess.”

“CAN I WEAR A PRINCESS DRESS?”

“We’ll see,” you said, “now calm down , sweetie.” *** The next couple of days passed in a blur of sight-seeing, fairy-hunting and princess games. You and Five made excellent ladies in waiting, or else the king and queen, knights, or whatever else Aoife decreed.

Always unable to resist giving his daughter anything she asked for, Five bought not one, but two princess dresses from the ridiculously overpriced boutique attached to the hotel. He also returned with a beautiful, pure silk dressing gown for you, although you suspected this was partly to buy you off after spoiling Aoife.

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday, you and Five stood on the lawn watching as Aoife tripped over her grass-stained skirts as she climbed a tree stump just for the joy of jumping off. 

“I think I’m going to walk into town,” he said, casually.

You looked at him. 

“Into town?”

“Yes.”

He caught your eye, and his expression was unreadable enough to be perfectly legible to you.

He stood a little apart from you, hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. He looked unlike himself, standing there in sturdy walking boots and a thick, oversized cable knit sweater over a flannel shirt. His hair played around his face in the slight breeze, masking and then revealing his face. 

He looked into your eyes, and you saw the grim determination there.

“Do you want us to come with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, calmly, “you enjoy yourselves here. I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, approaching him and putting a hand on his upper arm.

“Yes darling,” he said, calmly. 

You understood. Five’s tendency to try and face things alone was a habit born of the apocalypse. He was insular; self reliant to an unhealthy degree, but you suspected that this wasn’t like this. 

This was no impending apocalypse, this was something intensely personal. Processing it himself was no bad thing. This was about him, and part of you knew that he was only standing here at all because he had the security of knowing you’d be there, whenever he was ready to let you in; be it tonight, tomorrow, or months from now. 

“Okay,” you said with a reassuring smile. *** It was a four mile walk from the castle itself into Ballycarnane. He walked almost as the crow flew, across fields; down farm lanes and public footpaths; through wooden gates that creaked with age. The rain spat occasionally, and even the hood of his coat couldn’t keep it from blowing into his eyes. 

As he walked, he couldn’t let his mind drift: it was caught in the features of the landscape, keeping him present in every step. He was struck by the wilderness of it all, even as its habitation was constantly declared by the presence of tarmac and the occasional lonely dwelling.

He tramped over damp gorse and heather, taking detours whenever the ground became too marshy to walk on. His walking boots were good quality and supportive, but that didn’t mean he needed to brave the outskirts of a bog when he could retreat to serpentine, single track roads. 

He’d thought the land was relatively flat when he arrived yesterday, but no sooner had the marshy areas fallen behind him as he walked into rugged, rocky countryside, dotted with pine woods.

This might have been his home, he mused. He might have been familiar with this environment, these roads and the ever-present stone walls, as sturdy as they appeared ramshackle. How might he have spent his childhood? This rain on his face, these clouds above him. Green as far as the eye could see. 

Gradually, more and more signs of habitation sprung up around him: the roads became fractionally wider, the houses more varied and frequent as he approached the outskirts of the town. Now he was on streets, the hedges neatly kept, and there were road markings too, single tracks leading onto dual carriageways. 

At last, he passed a sign welcoming him to the town proper, and he began to pass others bustling around him, speed humps, housing estates, white vans and churches. A woman with a stroller thanked him quietly as he stood aside off the sidewalk to let her pass.

He passed a convenience store, an undertakers, a shop selling fancy cheese and wine, and then he saw it: across from a pub was a butcher’s shop. 

Though many of the shops and houses on Ballycarnane’s main street were painted in bright colors, and many other buildings were of the dull concrete variety he’d grown used to back home, the default building style in this area seemed to be those single story, white rendered buildings with those gray roof tiles. His mother’s butcher’s shop was one of these, with a large window displaying wares. 

Below the building’s blue gables, a mural on the outside of the building depicted a cow, sheep and pig. To Five’s mind, they looked inappropriately happy to be depicted, given the context. Above them, in hand-painted italics read: ‘ Jones Family Butchers’, beneath them, ‘ Est.1979’.

He knew her name was Efa Jones, but seeing the name was odd. He was here. *** “Okay, princess Aofie,” you called, as Five’s figure retreated down the gravel drive, “we’re going to get started on your school project.”

“But Mooommy,” she said, gesturing to the tree stump as if there were depths to its joys she had as yet not discovered. 

“What if we did it about the fairies of Ballycarnane?”

Aoife still looked skeptical.

“You remember John from this morning?”

Aoife nodded. She had exchanged a hearty conversation about the rabbits and deer that roamed the grounds with the old man working as the hotel’s senior concierge.

“Well, he told me there’s a fairy fort nearby. You want to go?”

“Yeah!” she said, enthusiastically, jumping from the tree stump one final time, bounding towards you taking your hand. 

“And,” you continued, setting off, “he said once we’d been to go and find him, and he'd tell us a story all about it. If you write his story down and draw some pictures, that can be your project to show Mx Leyton.”

*** Five finished his third Guinness. 

He’d been nursing the beers for over two hours, looking out of grimy windows into the butcher’s shop across the way. He could see movement within, but no detail. Only two or three customers had been in and out in all the time he watched. 

The pub was a spit and sawdust kind of place. The Weaver’s Inn had a cheap paneling on the walls, mismatched dark wood chairs and a carpet that looked like it hadn’t been changed since before the butcher’s shop was established. 

On a Wednesday daytime in October, there had been only one other patron when he arrived, an old man who looked at him with slight suspicion as he entered, but now, as five o’clock drew nearer, people began to trickle in, and there were over five tables occupied. 

He looked into the bottom of his glass. It was now or never.

He recognised her from the newspaper clipping he found as soon as he walked into the store. She must have been pushing seventy, only five or six years younger than himself. 

Her back was bent into a painful curve over her butcher’s block, though she scrubbed at the salted wood with her metal-bristled brush with more than enough vigor. As his entrance caused a bell above the door to give a little trill, she looked up. 

Her wrinkled face was dominated by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, white hair scraped back beneath a hairnet. Her brown eyes were slightly misty with the beginnings of cataracts.

“It’s just the pre-cut now,” she said, nodding towards the block, “you’ve left it late.”

“No problem,” Five said, watching her lay down her brush with the air of one not keen to be interrupted. 

He approached the counter slowly, forcing himself to look down through the glass at the meat on display. 

“What’ll you have?”

She exuded a stern, no nonsense attitude. Customer service might be in her job, but not in her nature, it seemed. 

“Uh,” Five said, uncharacteristically unsure, “steak,” he said, suddenly.

“What type and how much” she prompted, approaching the counter. 

“Uh-” he said again.

“Tourist, are you?” she said, shrewdly.

All the Irish accents he’d heard until now were lilting, but hers lilted differently. 

“Is it that obvious?” Five smiled, looking back down at the counter.

“American?” she asked, as if it were an accusation. 

“Yup.”

“Staying at the castle, I’ll bet.”

“Correct.”

“Sure. You’ve got that silver-spoon look about you.”

Five let out something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Well, you might say I landed on my feet.”

“You telling me they let you cook steak in those fancy bedrooms?” she asked, skeptically.

Five shifted uncomfortably. She was inconveniently shrewd. 

He guessed he knew where he got it from. 

“We’re self-catering,” he lied, and then, as it came into his thoughts, “I’d say you’re not local yourself, Efa.”

“How d’you know my name?” she asked, suspiciously. 

Shit.

“The bartender at the Weavers Inn,” he said, with a tight smile - she had him on his toes in the way few people could manage - “I told him I wanted a good steak and he said you were the lady to talk to.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“That’s as nice as Liam Moore’s been about me in thirty years,” she muttered “So my beef’s good enough for out-of-towners but not good enough supply his dive of a pub?”

 But then, in answer to his question:

“You’ve got a good ear. I was born in Caerphilly.”

“Wales?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Wales indeed,” she said briskly, “Now, I’ve got a nice rib-eye, fillet’s only thirty-five euro per kilogram today, and this sirloin’s nicely marbled. What will you have?”

Five didn’t process this, “You’re Welsh?”

“Half.” she said, slightly perturbed, “Mam was Irish, Dad was Welsh. We came here when I was ten.”

It all clicked into place. 

“Efa’s a Welsh name,” he said, coming to the conclusion out loud, “That’s why you’re not Aoife.”

“That’s true,” she said, “I was named for my father’s mother.”

She watched him curiously as he cast his eyes back down to the counter. 

“My daughter’s name is Aoife.” he said, in an attempt at off-handedness.

There was silence then, and Five lowered his eyes. 

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

He swallowed. ***

You warmed yourself in an armchair by the fire, while Aoife’s cheeks were still pinched red from the cold outside. 

John sat beside her on one of the couches in the hotel foyer, flanked by two suits of armor.  He was smart in his gray waistcoat, a gold name badge catching the light at his lapel. His white shirtsleeves were immaculate, his thin, white hair combed over his bald head. His bright blue eyes seemed permanently crinkled into a smile.

“Before we begin, I wonder if I can arrange a hot drink for you both? Will you have a cup of tea, coffee? Hot chocolate for the little one?”

“Can I have marshmallows?” Aoife asked you eagerly.

“She has to have marshmallows, Mammy,” said John, twinkling at you.

“Of course,” you said, “And I’d love a coffee, thanks.”

“A baileys coffee?”

“I shouldn’t,” you said, though very willing to be persuaded.

“You’re on your holidays,” John said, waving aside your diffidence. He caught the eye of one of the junior concierges, motioned him over and made the order.

“Now,” he said, resettling himself, “this is rather a recent fairy story,” John said, “One my mother said happened when I was only a lad, going on for fifty years ago, I’d say.”

You looked at Aoife. Predictably, she looked astonished. To her, fifty years previously may as well be prehistory.

“This story’s not for the faint of heart,” John continued, “Can you handle a spooky story, little one?”

Aoife nodded, wide eyed, her pen poised ready to take notes over a freshly bought notebook. You looked quickly over at him with a small, doubtful grimace. 

He smiled and nodded back at you, taking the hint. 

“Just be assured that this is only a story, now,” he said to her, “It’s not real, it’s just something to tell one another for a bit of fun, alright? I was sixteen when my Mam told me this, and she acted like it had only just happened. It was just to scare me out of walking home late at night. You understand?”

“Yeah,” she said, eager for him to begin.

“The fairies you might have heard about before are not like these fairies. Our fairies are not gentle or very kind. They don’t grant wishes and they’re not to be tangled with.”

Slowly, Aoife wrote down a note in her large, uneven cursive. 

“Fairy forts like the one you visited today are supposed to be where creatures from the fairy realm gather. Did you see any there today?”

Aoife shook her head.

“I thought not,” he said, “they’re supposed to gather at night. And that’s when the story starts. Mam said there was an old man walking home to Ballycarnane and he walked too close to that fairy fort.”

John paused as Aoife laboriously copied down what she’d heard, watching her write and offering the odd prompt to aid her memory. The drinks arrived in this interval, and you sipped your coffee gratefully as you watched them.

“Now this fella wasn’t local, you see,” John continued, “he lived nearby but he wasn’t born around here, so he didn’t know you needed to give them a wide berth. And then the poor fool was confronted by a banshee, wailing.”

“What’s a bant-shee?” Aoife asked.

“A banshee ,” he said, “a terrible fairy. Always a bad omen. They look like women with long hair, and they appear to people, screaming and crying. The story goes that if you see or hear a banshee, it means someone you love’s going to die.”

Aoife scribbled this down, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Remember it’s not real though,” he added, reassuringly, adding a little cold milk to cool her hot chocolate for her, “that’s just what they say.”

“What did the man do?” Aoife asked, too transfixed to take the drink from him when he offered.

“Well, he knew what a banshee was, alright, and he knew what it meant. So he tried to beg her not to take his wife or daughter, only it was too late. The banshee wailed, ‘oh no, you’ve disturbed us, so now you’ll pay the price: either you choose a death, or you’ll give the fairies a newborn child of your blood before the sun goes down tomorrow’. ”

He paused to allow Aoife to write down this last, and then pushed her drink towards her. 

“Drink up, pet.”

Aoife took the hot chocolate from him and took a gulp, leaving foamy residue around her mouth, still watching John with wonder in her eyes. The cup wobbled in its saucer, and you leaned forward to help her put it back on the coffee table, lest her princess dress get covered in even more dirt. 

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Well, this old man and his wife were too old to have any more children, and their only daughter was grown, and she certainly wasn’t going to have a newborn baby so soon, so he thought he had a chance of beating that banshee.”

You could tell even from several feet away that Aoife’s writing was becoming more and more illegible in her haste to hear the rest of the story. You sensed that some translation and aiding of her memory might come in useful when she came to write up the project.

“So the old man agreed. He said, ‘you can have a newborn of my blood before the sun sets tomorrow,’ thinking he could cheat the fairies out of their due. And what do you think happened next?”

Aoife shook her head, unknowing.

“Well, that man fell into an enchanted sleep, and woke up by the fairy fort at mid-afternoon the next day. No sooner than he woke up did he hurry home to check on his wife and daughter.”

Aoife wasn’t even writing notes anymore, hanging on John’s every word.

“And he found a terrible scene.” John said, ruefully, “While he slept, his daughter had given birth to a changeling, though she certainly hadn’t been pregnant the day before.”

You sat up. 

“What’s a changeling?” Aofie asked. 

“A baby the fairies leave when they steal a human one. They’re supposed to be cursed children, sometimes they’re evil and naughty, and sometimes they have strange powers.”

You leaned forward and opened your mouth to speak, but John spoke before you could ask him anything. 

“And then, the old man realized what he’d done: when there was no newborn to take, the fairies took away his daughter’s future firstborn instead, forcing her to birth the changeling in its place.”

“What happened?” you asked. 

John looked over at you, surprised by the sudden seriousness in your tone.

“Well, the old man and his wife died without any grandchildren. Their daughter never married, and their line died out.”

“What happened to the changeling?” you asked. 

“Nobody knows,” John said, returning his gaze to Aoife with a smile and mysterious tone. ***

“I’m Five.”

There was a long silence. He chewed his lips as he looked down at the meat, not willing or able to meet her eyes.

At last, just to say something that might break the tension, he motioned to a pile of beef.

“That brisket looks good.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, her no-nonsense voice was firmly back in place.

“It’s the best in the county,” she said briskly, “you can’t beat Irish beef and won’t find a nicer cut, especially when it’s slow cooked.”

“Sounds good,” he said, awkwardly.

“Will you have a piece of that instead of steak?” 

“Sure,” Five said, relieved to have the decision made for him.

“To serve how many?” 

“Just three,” he said, watching her hands as they reached into the display of meat. 

They were just like his. The same long, bony fingers. The same bones and tendons standing out on the back of her hands as her fingers flexed. 

“This piece will do you,” she said, decisively.

Five risked a look up at her, and her brown eyes met his green. 

He must have got his eyes from one of his grandparents, he thought, and then Efa looked away from him quickly. 

“I have a secret recipe for brisket” she said, as she took the beef to the scale and weighed it, “Falls apart in the mouth. It was my mother’s, and I only got it out of her on her deathbed, she prized it so much.”

Five couldn’t resist this opening. He had to know:

“Will you pass it down to your kids?”

She paused for a mere fraction of a second and then she turned to ready brown paper in which to wrap the meat.

“I don’t have children,” she said, firmly, her back still to him, “I was never the marrying or the mothering type.”

As she folded the first layer around the brisket, Five blinked rather rapidly. There was a tight fist somewhere in his abdomen. 

When he mastered himself, he spoke again.

“I understand.”

She nodded, still facing away from him, wrapping the brisket carefully in brown paper, still facing away from him at a plastic table.

“Still,” she said, quietly, “it seems a crying shame that nobody should taste my Mam’s brisket after I’m gone.“

She stuck a label to the wrapped beef, holding the paper in place. Then, from behind her ear, she pulled a stubby pencil, knife-sharpened into a rough, angular shape. 

She tore another small portion of brown paper and began to write with the sort of fevered energy Five himself used to write equations on the concrete walls of the Argyle public library. 

“Now, this is to serve six or so, but you can scale as you like.”

Her pencil clicked smartly along the paper.

“You start with a rub. Dark brown sugar, onion powder, mustard powder, garlic powder, cayenne pepper and salt. Mam would usually leave it there, but I’ve had success with paprika too.”

She looked up at him, pausing in her writing, eyebrows raised imperiously.

“Only you make sure it’s smoked paprika, alright?”

“Of course,” he said, slightly taken aback at her forcefulness. 

“Good,” she said, “And the key is to leave it coated in the rub for at least twelve hours in the fridge. Then, when you cook, a lot of recipes would have you use beef stock, but for my Mam’s recipe, it’s beer or nothing: a nice ale. None of that crap excuse for lager you lot try to pass off as beer.”

“Got it,” Five said, catching her flow, “No American beer. Would Guinness work?”

Efa pulled a face.

“You can try it, I suppose,”

She fell silent as she jotted down the final instructions. 

Five watched her as she worked, jaw set, and eyes intense. She finished the recipe with a flourish, folded the paper and handed it to him smartly across the counter. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“And that’ll be thirteen euro forty-five.”

He reached into his pants pocket and handed her the money as she placed the parcel of meat in a paper bag and handed it over. As she searched in the cash register for the change, he watched her lined face, the rim of her glasses obscuring her eyes.

When she put the coins in his hands, her cold fingers brushed his.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

He looked at her, trying to do…he knew not what. He only knew that if he was going to drink her in, now was his opportunity to do so.

“Goodbye,” he said and, with it, there was finality. He wouldn’t come back here. This was the first and last time he’d see her. 

His mother.

“Goodbye Five,” she replied, and her lips twitched into the first smile she’d given him. 

It was small, sad, and spoke no love, but it spoke good will just as clearly.  *** Five arrived back at the hotel just before seven. You were sitting on the four poster bed in your new robe, reading a book. Aoife was already asleep in the suite’s adjoining room, the hangings of her own bed drawn around it. 

“Hi,” you said, as he entered. 

“Hey,” he replied, as he closed the door behind him. 

His boots were muddy, his hair damp and windswept. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I already got Aoife dinner. She’s tuckered out. Long day.”

“Me too,” he said, heavily. 

He turned back to the door and the coat hook on its back. He made as if to take off his coat and hang it with the rest. But instead, he sagged and leaned against the door, his forehead against Aoife’s coat.

You sighed sadly, placed down your book and crossed the room towards him. 

“Come here, sweet guy,” you murmured.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and laid your head against his, occasionally planting kisses at his hairline. Five let out a sigh of his own at this, and you felt him relax into you slightly.

“How about I run you a bath? I’ll order us room service and a bottle of wine.”

“That sounds nice,” Five said, voice muffled against Aoife’s bright blue raincoat.

You helped him off with his own coat - oddly heavy, you noticed - and put down on the bed. 

“I’ll go run the bath. You get those clothes off okay?”

“Thanks dearest.”

When you returned from the bathroom, where a piping hot bubble bath was already running into the claw-foot tub, Five had stripped to his underwear, sorting his laundry.

“Will you order the pinot noir?” he asked.

“Still don’t trust me to choose wine?” you asked, amused, returning to his coat, “not even after ten years?”

“Never,” he said, smiling.

“Why do you have almost two pounds of meat in your pocket?” you asked, having fished out the brown paper bag emblazoned with: Jones Family Butchers, Est.1979.

“Long fucking story,” he mumbled, “just put it in the trash. I don’t know why I bought it.”

“And what’s this?” you asked, finding the piece of folded paper.

“Nothing,” he said, simply, removing his underwear and putting them in with the dirty clothes, “can you just put it with our passports?.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

Ignoring his request to put in the trash, you put the meat in the fridge that contained the extortionately-priced minibar, thinking you’d deal with it in the morning.

You opened the folded piece of paper as you went to hang his coat. At first, you thought the handwriting that recorded the recipe was his: there were the same bold lines, the same frenetic energy in the triple underlining of the word ‘smoked’ in ‘smoked paprika’, but the more you looked, the more differences you saw. This wasn’t his handwriting.

You refolded it, opened the room’s safe and filed it along with your passports and boarding passes. *** The helpful voice on the other end of the phone informed you that dinner itself would arrive in around forty minutes, while the wine would be sent straight up. Just enough time for you to place Five’s pajamas on a radiator to warm before a knock at the door announced its arrival.

Bottle and glasses in hand, you joined Five in the bathroom, settling on the low bench beside the shower, fogged up with the heat coming off the bathwater.

Five’s eyes were closed, lying with his head against the rim of the tub, breathing the steamy, fragranced air deeply.

“Wine,” you announced.

“Mm,” he said, contentedly. 

He opened his eyes, his submerged left hand surfacing to receive the large glass you’d poured him.

“Thanks beautiful,” he said, looking up at you, eyes lingering for a moment at the cleavage visible where your robe met at the chest. 

You raised an ironic brow. Clearly he wasn’t totally cut up over this. 

As he took his first sip, he let out a small moan.

“Good?” you asked, amused.

“Heavenly,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

He might not be so distraught that he couldn’t appreciate a nice view of boob, but he still needed this. You scooched your bench closer so that you could run your fingers through his hair.

He hummed appreciatively as you petted him, and you sat that way for several minutes, watching him unwind and fall into gentle repose. 

Who could give him up? With that smooth skin, that dimple on his cheek, his parted lips, his keen eyes, framed by lashes as thick as his soft hair. 

Not you.

At last, when he had worked his way sufficiently down his glass, you topped him up and asked:

“So, how was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully, “it turns out I’m a quarter Welsh.” *** The sun came out for the last couple of days of the trip. On your final full day there, you were taking a few hours in the hotel spa. Five, however, was to be found being chased around one of the lawns by his daughter, he laughing, she screeching in delight.

“Come back!” she said, in mock outrage, “you need to have YOUR SHOTS!”

He barked, back bent and arms out in front of him like forepaws.

“Never!” he yelled, deploying a perfectly executed commando roll to evade her. 

Unfortunately for him he commando-rolled straight into a large rhododendron bush.

“IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHOTS YOU WILL GET SICK AND DIE, YOU BAD DOG.” yelled Aoife, holding a small stick clasped in her fist like it was a knife she was about to go full-psycho with.  

“But I don’t want to!” Five whined, trying to disentangle himself as Aoife advanced upon him, “you’re a big meanie vet! Woof!”

“I’M A BIG NICE VET, ACTUALLY.” she said, as he wriggled away from her once more, “YOU’RE JUST A BIG BABY.”

“I’m a big baby who’s getting away!” Five grinned, looking back over his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at her as he darted away.

And then he tripped over a tree root and fell with a thud onto the soft grass. He flipped over, laughing, as Aoife approached. 

“A-ha!” she said, triumphantly, taking advantage of his compromised to jump on top of him, stick raised. 

“Oof!” he said, winded as she straddled his waist. He tried to grab her wrist, but it was too late: she managed to poke the stick into his upper arm.

“There.” she said, “Now what was all that fuss about, little dog?”

“Owwww,” Five cried, pouting and whining like the dog he was supposed to be. 

“Pull yourself together!” Aoife said, affecting a clipped, professional voice, “Or you won’t get a candy.”

“I'm a dog, I'm not allowed candy! I want a treat!” Five replied, indignantly. 

“WELL YOU HAVE TEN MORE SHOTS FIRST.”

“Surely this is unethical?” Five expostulated, his childish affect replaced by a more adult one as she held his arm down and ‘injected’ him (stabbed him repeatedly through his sweater).

“I am NOT un-effable.” 

“Unethical,” Five corrected, rarely able to stop himself from taking advantage of any teachable moment, “it means morally wrong.”

“What does morally mean?” she said, with a small roll of her eyes.

“Ouch. It means how you behave. If you’re morally wrong then it means you’re behaving wrongly.”

“Then you’re being unethable!” she said, triumphantly, “because if you don’t get your shots then you’ll make other doggies sick too.”

“But do the ends justify the means?” Five mused, grinning. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you for my shots. I’m feeling much better, even if my immune system has eleven different attenuated pathogens to deal with.”

Daddy, you always talk funny,” she said, sounding equally amused and irritated with him. 

He put his arms around her and pulled her down onto his chest. 

“E’ vero, cara.”

He kissed where her hair parted at the crown of her head, feeling the deep damp of the soil beginning to soak into his sweater, but not caring at all.

“Usi sempre parole così grosse,” she replied, and he could hear you in her tone, the loving mockery in it. 

He held her to him tighter and kissed her again, harder this time.

“I love you,” he said, feelingly.

“I love you too,” she replied, smiling down at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling as she did.

He felt his chest heave as he looked at her, and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t quite his own.

“Being your Dad is my favorite thing about myself. And it's my favourite thing to do.”

And it was. He’d saved the world for the love of his adopted family, but perhaps he’d fought so fiercely because some part of him longed for this. Being a father and husband felt intrinsically, cosmically right, and made more sense than any mathematical logic. 

Perhaps his daughter was always written there, deep in his DNA. He didn’t believe in fate, but still, some part of him knew he was supposed to be here, his daughter in his arms and days upon days of rain soaking from the earth, through his sweater and onto his skin. 

He rocked her slightly, there on the grass, one hand in her hair and the other at her back; his baby girl, no matter how much she grew. 

This was what he needed. You and her. You were both his reward and privilege to love.

Aoife considered his words, slightly taken aback by his sudden affection and not really understanding his intensity. After a moment, she spoke thoughtfully:

“Mine is my hair.”

“What?” he asked.

“My favorite thing about myself. I like it because it's curly but not too curly.”

Five laughed, and she laughed too as she was jostled by the movement of his stomach. She shuffled up his body, causing him to flinch away from a potential knee to the balls but, thankfully, she avoided that. 

Instead, she crawled so that her head was level with his, grabbed him by each ear, and kissed his face.  *** At dinner that last night, Aoife coloured the pictures she’d drawn for her project, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tried her best to color within the lines. The pencil crayons you chose for the job were tactical: unlikely to mark the pure white tablecloth. 

The waiter brought your drinks. As he did so, he caught your eye and nodded conspiratorially towards the door, where Five couldn’t see him. 

You looked over subtly. John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, motioning to you that the prepared surprise would be only two more minutes.  

“Can we see the menu?” Five asked. 

The waiter hesitated.

“I actually ordered for us all,” you said.

“Hm,” Five said, looking curiously up at you, “what are we having?”

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, dismissing him for now. 

You turned back to Five, and he was watching you with curious eyes. You caught his significantly, and spoke to him now with lines under your words. 

“It seemed a shame to throw away that brisket you brought back the other day.”

He drew in a breath through his nose. You could tell he was unsure how to feel. You placed your hand over his.

“I copied the recipe too,” you said, softly, over the scratch scratch of Aoife’s pencil and the quiet chink of knives and forks on plates, “I thought you should try it before we go home.”

Five looked down at the tablecloth and put his other hand on top of yours. When he looked back up at you, his jaw gave a slight tremor.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, “truly.”

You smiled, relieved.

“Are you happy?” you said, checking nevertheless.

Five gave one slow outward breath, and in those green eyes that low light sometimes disguised as blue, you saw an intensity of feeling that was hard to witness without bringing tears to your own eyes.

“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, so earnestly that Aoife looked up in surprise.

He wasn’t just talking about the brisket, you knew.

You smiled, losing the battle and swiping away a tear as you and Five squeezed each other's hands. 

“Good,” you said, sniffling, “because I tipped the kitchen way too much money to make this happen.”

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom, @kaybreezy3000

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

Disclaimer: As an English person, I was conscious of the potential for unintended xenophobia as I wrote this, especially given the fast and loose attitude I've given to folklore. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get any Irish sensitivity readers before posting this though. I have a lot of Irish family and have visited many times in my life, but I'm aware I have blind spots just by nature of being English. If any Irish folk want to discuss anything that made them uncomfortable, my DMs are open :)

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 19: Work

In a city of endless rain and mysteries, a detective’s work is never done.

[rist-ix]

https://www.tumblr.com/rist-ix/749015401700229120 not you reblogging this when you ship bloom with the man who murdered her family 😭

Bloom's into ppl who slay! Hope this helps :3

[buckleyskin]

officially 9-1-1 day, how we feelin? 😀

[zefforuins]

Very interesting to me how Jason even when he’s like very much not in the right state of mind and in his I need to kill Bruce era he’s still feels the need to help people