#eve: whats up chuck

[spghtrbry]

so i’ve been. THINKING lately.

you can find many similarities in both stories but there are also huge differences…

in cain and abel’s story cain murders his younger brother because of his jealousy and because god preferred abel over him, which is obviously similar to how chuck’s pride made him envious of jimmy because he’s more likeable and made their mom laugh etcetera etcetera..but i’d say abel was a pure guy, he didn’t do anything bad, he was like. basically the purest human being at that time (well it’s not really difficult to be the best person when there’s like 4 people in the whole world and two of them literally got kicked out of heaven but anyway). and cain murdered him. which is clearly not the case with jimmy and chuck because obviously in the legal point of view chuck is a better person than jimmy …

and we’ve got esau and jacob, which is i think a really underrated story. i mean i love cain and abel but i think people often forget about those two. esau, (technically) an older brother, always gets tricked by jacob. jacob buys his birthright and steals his father’s blessing that was meant for esau. and esau rages at him because. i mean. that’s not a nice thing to do. but in the end jacob becomes one of the Main Characters in the genesis… personally i think this story is more… idk, specific? there’s just something about the younger brother constantly tricking the older to get what he wants, even though the reasons not always are completely selfish. BUT! in the end esau and jacob made peace which is (spoiler alert😨) not the case with chuck and jimmy ………..and also jacob didn’t really have a redemption arc and esau just. idk. moved on with his life. got a family and all that. so he basically became a normie. but yeah ANYWAYS!

so yeah. i’d really love to hear ur thoughts and opinions on this one because i am a little bit insane about all this stuff as you probably noticed

(also if i messed something up or if im wrong anywhere please lmk lol it’s been a while since ive read the old testament…….)

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 4

Dropping Esme off at home turns into more than just a simple kiss and ride. She parks and walks Esme to the front door. The tears had petered out halfway home, but it had left Esme shaky and exhausted. And when Alex opens the door to welcome them home, she can barely get out a "how was it?" before Esme bursts into fresh tears and darts up the stairs to her bedroom.

Alex watches her daughter go, then turns back to Kara with an accusatory look. Kara sighs. "It's a long story."

"I'll put the kettle on."

Over tea, Kara gives her sister the rundown of the evening-- omitting certain bits of her own exhanges with Lena. By the end, Alex is stunned, but heartbroken for her daughter.

"The highest of highs, and lowest of lows," Alex moans. "I was already going to call her out of school tomorrow, but now I really need to."

Kara nods. "I hope she'll remember the night more for what actually happened than the fact she lost the pictures of it. She really did have a good time, til she realized."

"What a night," Alex sighs. "Well, thank you for stepping in. I know she appreciated the time with you, in any case."

"Yeah," Kara nods. "Me too."

"You should come over more. She's not the only one who misses you."

"Alex..."

"You're not the only busy, I get that, but it sucks being the only one to reach out."

Kara closes her eyes. They've had variations of this conversation before, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. It's been busy lately, the last few years. And she knows she's missing out on key times with Esme, but... she's never been very good at juggling.

"I know." Then, "I should go. I'll call the venue in the morning, see if maybe one of the cleaning crew finds the phone and turns it in to lost and found or something."

All Alex can do is nod. "Thanks."

All thoughts of the ticket in her pocket disappears until the next day. Her calls to the arena have been fruitless-- no one had found anything, and no amount of cajoling or bribery could make them devote manpower to look for it. So when she's emptying her pockets to run a load of laundry, she's so frustrated she's willing to chuck it into the sun.

Until she sees a loop of a swoopy letter written on it, half hidden by a folded crease. Puzzled, Kara smooths it out and flips it over-- and finds a phone number written across its face in silver sharpie.

Stunned, Kara stares at the offending digits.

"What the fuck?"

---

It's probably her manager, Kara reasons. Or her assistant, at the very least. But when she punches the number into her phone, driven by the echo of her promise to Esme in her ears, she instantly recognizes the voice that answers.

"Hello?"

Kara's mouth goes dry. "Uhhhhhh.... hi? Shit. I mean--"

"I'm glad you called," Lena interrupts smoothly. "I have a phone here that's sorely missing its owner."

"Oh thank god," Kara releases with a heavy sigh. "Thank you."

"Sorry we weren't able to catch you before you left. I didn't see it until late."

"Esme was heartbroken," Kara tells her, unnecessarily. "You've saved a life."

"Her life? Or yours?" There's a tease in Lena's voice.

Kara grins. "Both. Definitely both."

A chuckle rumbles across the line. "Well, how can we get this to you?"

"Oh, if you could ship it..."

"No need," Lena says simply. "We're in town for another day or so. Is there a place we can deliver it?"

Kara blinks, surprised. "Um, sure. I'll be at my office in an hour."

"Perfect."

Kara rattles off the address to her, then books it to the office, determined not to miss the delivery. She stays on edge for the first hour, but soon finds herself distracted by her work-- until her assistant knocks tentatively on her door before poking her head in.

One look at Eve's baffled and somewhat dazed expression sends a bolt of electricity down Kara's spine.

"Miss Danvers? Um... there's someone here to see you. She-- she says its a personal delivery?"

Kara is already on her feet. "I'll take care of it. Thank you, Eve."

"It's--"

"I know," Kara assures her.

"You... know her?"

Kara sighs. "It's complicated."

She makes her way to the lobby, finding Lena Luthor leaning casually against the front desk, completely unbothered by the gazes peeking at her from between frosted sections of the glass walls.

"If you'd have told me you planned to bring it yourself, I would've given you a different address," Kara says drolly. Lena looks up at her with a puckish grin. "You're about to give the entire office an aneurysm."

"Sorry, not sorry." Entirely unapologetic, Lena straightens, pushing softly away from the desk to face Kara directly.

Kara folds her arms across her chest, unable to help the smile spreading across her own features. Lena lifts an eyebrow, retrieving Esme's phone from her back pocket to waggle it teasingly.

"Thank you...." Kara reaches for it, only for Lena to tilt it out of reach. Kara rolls her eyes. "What?"

"I'm... gonna be honest," Lena drags out, smirking. "I didn't come here with truly altruistic purposes."

Kara resettles her weight, cocking one hip. "This is becoming a pattern with you, Miss Luthor."

"I'm only human, you know." She taps Esme's phone on her chin. "And I'm not above taking a teenager's phone hostage, if it gets me a coffee with a gorgeous woman."

Bold. Entirely *too* bold. But Kara can't quite bring herself to mind.

"You have me at a disadvantage," she returns. "I really need that phone."

"Then a coffee with a charming lady seems to be in your very near future."

Kara rolls her eyes. "Let me grab my purse."

Lena waits patiently, and Kara doesn't bother pausing to explain a damn thing to anyone. It's none of their business, and right now she's a woman on a mission.

To get her goddaughter's phone.

And absolutely nothing else.

[justalildumpling]

⇢ 3, 2, 1

synopsis: at this point of your pathetically unrequited crush on your popular friend, it didn’t faze you when you found out that he wasn’t going to be at the same NYE party as you. but when he suddenly turned up to come find you, did you start wondering that maybe you weren’t the only one with harboured feelings.

pairing: mark x reader genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff word count: 2.3k warnings: swearing, drunkenness/mentions of drinking and partying, the word sex was said once note: lmao the way i’ve literally had this idea in my wip documents since like last year… anyways, here’s a little soft boi mark to start off your year <33 happy new year everyone!!

It didn't really make much sense.

Well, according to the resident drunkards Haechan and Chenle that is, being sober on New Years Eve.

Or any house party for that matter.

"It's literally free alcohol Y/N, why not make the most of it?" Haechan protested, cracking open another can of Jack and Coke, letting out a satisfied hum after hearing the bubbles fizzing up to the rim of the lid.

"Cause some people want a functioning liver by the age of thirty Lee Donghyuck," You rolled your eyes at the tipsy boy, clicking your tongue in disapproval as he downed the alcoholic drink in his hand, "And actually be able to recall all the not stupid things I did the night before."

"What? Like accidentally telling our little Markie boy that you're head over heels for him?" Donghyuck fired back, shaking the last droplets of the drink into his mouth before chucking it in the kitchen bin, "He's not even with us tonight!"

Unfortunately for you, the little devil man dressed as your best friend was right. Mark Lee was nowhere to be found at the party, though you couldn't complain as you were already notified of his absence last Wednesday.

You and your group of friends sat basking in the sunlight outside on the picnic benches of the park, taking in the rare appearance of the sun within the rainy week.

"What do you mean you're not coming to Lele's?!" Donghyuck squabbled, letting his burger fall onto the wrapper with a thud.

Mark merely shrugged, guiltily scratching the nape of his neck, "Johnny had already invited me two weeks ago and I said I was gonna go, sorry guys."

You frowned at the boy's statement, swirling the fry that you had stolen from Jisung's tray into the ketchup tub.

Though Mark was an important member of your high school friend group, it was hard to align your meet ups with his hectic schedule. Sometimes you couldn't seem to understand your crush in question, how he managed to juggle his school work alongside the university basketball team, internship plus a somewhat abundant social life was a mystery in itself.

Mark Lee was a relatively popular figure at your school, good looks, a chill and caring personality and godly talented at everything he did. It was no surprise that his inbox was flooded with invitations all the time let alone the holiday break.

Despite this, he always made sure to keep in touch with you, checking in with you about how your day had been or if he's lucky to squeeze in an ice cream run by the beach with you, which you very much appreciated and made your heart swell just a little bit too much than the average person, not that he ever needed to know.

As if he sensed your disappointment within the group's chaotic wails and cries, Mark reached over to give your hand a little squeeze, sending you an apologetic glance.

It was things like this which made up your hopelessly harboured feelings for the Canadian, making you think that it wasn't just you that had pathetically pined over him but being the nice guy that he was, probably treated others the same way.

Jaemin and Renjun though seemed to argue otherwise, whining to tell the clueless boy about your feelings, saying that there's no way that he wouldn't like you back before you quickly shushed them, snapping to keep their delusions in their heads.

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?" A voice broke you from your thoughts, causing you to peer up from your seated position on the couch, eyes trailing up the body of a boy to meet an amused Jeno.

He held out your phone, his cheeky grin growing exponentially the more you stared at his hands in confusion.

"Lover boy texted," He finally explained, nonchalantly chucking the device onto your lap, "Figured you'd want to know."

You grumbled, throwing the nearest pillow at the boy in which he barely dodged as he chuckled at your embarrassment, slipping off to the kitchen, most likely reporting the incident to his best friend.

Rolling your eyes, you unlocked your phone to find a couple missed calls from Johnny, unsent message notifications from Yuta and Mark's little message.

markie: hey :)

you: hi!! how's johnny's?

markie: too loud, yuta kept tryinhg to kisss me and johnny keeps bullyibg me markie: so i left

You giggled at his poor attempts at coherent sentences, covering your mouth with your hand to avoid the potential teasing from your friends.

You've seen Mark drunk a couple times, mostly at Johnny's parties after finals week. He was a cute drunk, clinging onto your figure rambling on about things which you couldn't quite decipher, in turn making him an easy target for the playful teasing from his seniors.

Which now that you thought about it, explained the random notifications from Johnny and Yuta, the two culprits behind most if not all of Mark's misery.

you: mark, are you drunk?

markie: no, im repsinsible heh markie: you're still at lele's right?

As you started to type your response, a loud groan was made from the left of the couch, causing you to switch your attention from your phone screen to Donghyuck sitting cross legged on the timber floors with Renjun, who was holding the infamous vomit bucket in front of his mouth, disgust ridden over his face.

"How much did he have tonight?" Jisung asked, almost horrified by the older boy's pitiful state from across the room. His eyes quickly darted back to the array of party mix lollies and the lukewarm pizzas displayed on the dining table, as unidentifiable contents threatened to spill from Donghyuck's mouth.

"We've already lost count," Jaemin resonated from the kitchen, his voice slightly drowned out by the rushing water, "Lele's isn't doing much better either, he's currently occupying the toilet bowl instead of the bucket."

You shook your head, silently chuckling at your best friends' suffering.

you: i am you: lele and hyuck's drunk as fuck you: they're currently hurling their guts out you: one using the vomit bucket, one using the toilet bowl

markie: those idiots hahahah markie: btw could u come outisde for a sex markie: *sev markie: fuck markie: *sec

you: pfft and u said u weren't drunk you: also, ur outside?!?!?

markie: shut up im fine i djust cant type rn

you: lol whatever u say markie you: i'll be out in a sec

You sat up from the couch, quietly squeezing past the crowd formed around the unfortunate boy and up the stairs.

Slipping on Jaemin's drunkenly bought La Coste slides, you swung open the door. A shiver slivered up the small of your back as the cool breeze hit your bare arms, a contrast from the warm stuffy atmosphere from inside.

You spotted Mark standing by the gates of Chenle's house, the dim street light illuminating his facial features, making him look more ethereal than he already was. With a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you began making your way towards him.

The sound of gravel shuffling from underneath your feet caused Mark to whip his head around to face you, he was pretty certain that most of the alcohol in his system had disappeared on the walk from Johnny's house but why was it that as soon as he saw you happily skipping down the path, greeting him with the sweetest smile that made him feel so euphoric?

"I can't believe you came!" You exclaimed, bringing him into a warm embrace.

His reply came in the form of a shy laugh, tickling the back of your neck with his breath.

He held you in his arms for a few minutes, with only the occasional squawks from inside breaking the comforting silence.

"Can you believe it's already the new year?" You whispered in awe, pulling away from his body to face him.

"Yeah dude that's insane, it feels like this year went by so quickly," Mark replied, adding his favourite form of endearment to the start, "Do you think you're ready for it to be over?"

You pondered for a few seconds, reflecting back on all the events that occurred within the past year before shrugging your shoulders, "I'm not sure."

"Don't get me wrong, this years been great but I feel like due to school, work and whatever, I wasn't able to fulfil all the things I wanted to do."

Mark nodded his head at your words, resonating with every word.

You always seemed to have the right things to say to him, always so understanding about his hectic schedule but never failing to let him know that he was missed whenever he couldn't make his friend's gatherings. It was things like this which caused the gradual course of his feelings for you.

For a while, Mark believed that he had made his crush on you subtle, not overly flirting or showering you in gifts in front of your friends. But one friendly reminder from Jaemin about his drunk habit of becoming a koala and latching onto you as if his life depended on it, broke his oblivious bubble. He quickly realised that many people had caught on, with some making it more obvious than others.

"I'm telling you, she likes you back bro!" He remembered Johnny exclaiming a few hours back with Yuta nodding enthusiastically as he half hazardously sipped on his beer.

Mark, Johnny and Yuta were situated in the secluded areas of the host's bedroom, with the party hammering hard downstairs. He wasn't too sure how he had ended up on his bed getting lectured by his two teammates about love pestering him to confess his feelings.

"C'mon, just text her saying to meet up," Yuta encouraged, handing him his phone to unlock, "You saw what happens when Johnny and I have our phones."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the sheer panic he had felt when the older boys dialled your number on their phones a few moments back, threatening to spill his secret before he had lunged at their figures wrestling to press the red hang up button.

"You literally have the best excuse to kiss her tonight," Johnny huffed, flopping down on his bed with arms crossed, "It's New Year's Eve."

"No way dude," Mark flatly responded, slapping his phone against his forehead, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"As if a girl would ever reject you," Yuta snorted, nudging the sides of his arms with his elbow, "Now hurry up and text her you fool."

And here he was, standing in front of you in the middle of the gravel pathway, with his face flushed.

Though whether it was due to the alcohol or whether it was the thought of kissing you tonight, he wasn't too sure. But taking into account his palpitating heart in his chest as he waited anxiously for midnight, it seemed to lean towards the latter.

"Sorry for rambling on," You scratched the base of your neck, hoping you didn't talk his ear off.

Mark frantically waved his arms around, shaking his head.

A muffled shriek awfully similar to Chenle's interrupted your conversation, startling both you and Mark as you whipped your heads back to the house. It remained quiet for a few seconds before a range of shouts counting down from ten resonated shortly after.

You giggled, turning around to focus on Mark's smiling face once again as the both of you joined in.

"Three," Mark cleared his throat, wiping his clammy hands on the sides of his ripped jeans.

"Two," He grabbed onto your hand, taking in your sweet smile and the way you reciprocated his touch, clasping your fingers around his, your rings clinking with his.

"One, Happy New Ye-"

The moment his lips hit yours, it had felt like all the daze of the alcohol was wearing off. Regaining consciousness of the way his lips perfectly moulded against yours and how he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting the watermelon lollipop you loved so much. Gripping onto your waist and tugging you closer, his heart began to mirror fireworks, matching the way the real ones sparks crackled and thundered in the background.

Pulling away from your touch, the confidence he had going in had simmered down as he gingerly met your eyes once again.

"What was that about?" You whispered, your eyes carrying a sense of wonder.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that without your permission, but you just looked so beautiful and I've had a crush on you for god knows how long and I just couldn't help it. God what am I saying, you can slap me if you want-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his once again, jerking him forward by his hoodie strings.

"You kissed me," Mark's eyes widened, awestruck by the sudden gesture.

"I did." You replied, fidgeting with the hems of your shirt as you added, "You said that you liked me."

"I did," Mark confirmed with a shy smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Does that mean you like me too?"

You could feel your cheek heat up as you dipped your head in response, making him beam at the small motion as he brought you into his arms, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Happy New Year Y/N," Mark kissed your forehead, his hands resting on the top of your shoulders as he gazed into your eyes adoringly.

"Happy New Year Mark.”

permanent taglist: @polarisjisung @wooyoung-a @w3bqrl @xxxx-23nct @maeumiluv @produmads @shwizhies

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Let the Light In

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: Having stumbled back too late from the pub, Tom finds Lois and Douglas have locked him out for the night. Thankfully, the girl across the road takes pity on him.

Author's note: Day ten of the Smuffmas prompts - "bed sharing and accidental stimulation". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Lois! Lois! Come on, let me up, don’t be tight!”

The shouting filters through to her subconscious, and she grumbles, slowly blinking her eyes open, mind foggy with sleep.

“Lois! It’s freezing out here!”

She flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, lifting her watch to look at the time.

Almost 1am. Bloody pillock.

She has lived opposite the Bennett family her entire life, and though she doesn’t know them well, they’re neighbourly, exchanging polite “hellos” when they pass in the street. Though Tom’s is usually accompanied by a wink that makes her skin feel too hot.

Over the last year or so, she’s grown used to being woken up by Tom stumbling back home at some ungodly hour, waking her up as he shouts for his sister, Lois, to open the window and let him up into their shared bedroom. He knows he’ll cop an earful from their dad, Douglas, if he comes in through the front door. It’s usually double locked anyway, so his key wouldn’t work even if he were to try.

Lois has never left him out on the street for this long though, but she can’t blame her, she’s probably sick of it by now.

“Lois!”

Fuck’s sake.

There’s no point in leaving him out there, his shouting will wake up half the street. She considers it a good job that her own dad works nights, and that her mum has taken to wearing earplugs to bed so that he doesn’t wake her when he returns in the early hours of the morning.

She sighs, throwing off the duvet and stepping out of bed. She parts the curtains, lifting the sash window and shivers as the coldness of the air outside chills her skin through her nightdress as she leans out.

Tom stands outside of his house, leaning back with a lit cigarette between his lips as he stares up at his bedroom window. He’s about to shout again, when she interrupts.

“You’re gonna wake the whole bloody street if you keep on!” She hisses.

He turns, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhales a tight line of smoke through pursed lips.

“She won’t let me up,” he calls back. “don’t s’pose there’s any room at your inn? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, after all.”

“It’s Christmas Eve right now. Have you got any idea what the time is?!”

“Tomorrow doesn’t start ‘til I wake up, sweetheart.”

He flashes a lopsided grin up at her, and she has to fight the urge to smile back as she feels familiar flutters in her stomach.

Cheeky git.

“Wait there,” she sighs, sliding the window closed.

She wraps herself in her dressing gown, picking her way carefully down the stairs, before switching on the hallway light and opening the front door.

Tom is there already, leaning against the doorframe, the crushed butt of his cigarette inches away from his feet.

“You’re a star. Shall I take the sofa then?” He asks, crowding the small space in which her family hangs their coats as she closes the door behind him.

“Absolutely not. Last thing I need is dad coming back from work and seeing you sprawled out in the living room, he’ll throw a fit. Shoes off.”

Tom bends down, unlacing and kicking off his shoes. “Where you putting me?”

“You can kip in my room. Bring those with you.”

“Oh,” he smirks, “if you insist.”

She rolls her eyes, making her way back upstairs, with Tom following close behind.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she tells him, chucking him the knitted blanket from the end of her bed, and the extra pillow she sleeps with.

“Thanks,” he sounds almost disappointed as he catches them, setting them down and busying himself with shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it on a heap on the floor with his shoes.

She had expected him to sleep fully clothed, so she is shocked when she hears the metallic clink of him opening his belt as he lowers his trousers. Feeling her skin prickle with heat, and her heartbeat begin to race, she quickly turns away, shedding her dressing gown and climbing into bed.

She pulls the duvet up around herself, remaining facing away as she listens to the rustle of clothing as he pulls off his jumper, and arranges his bedding.

When it finally grows quiet, she leans over to turn the lamp off and lays back down.

“Night then,” Tom says quietly.

“Night.”

She lays there in the darkness, eyes closed, willing herself to fall asleep and yet it won’t seem to pull her under. It isn’t helped by the relentless shifting around and sighing she can hear coming from the floor beside the bed.

After five minutes of listening to Tom toss and turn, and grumble to himself, she groans and finally switches the lamp back on, leaning down to look at him.

“Can you not just go to sleep?!” She whispers in frustration.

He pulls himself to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s uncomfortable down here. And I’m cold.”

She presses her lips into a tight line, before exhaling loudly through her nose. “Fine. Come on then.”

Shuffling to the far side of the mattress, she throws the duvet back for Tom and he climbs in eagerly.

“Smashing,” he says with a wink, before turning the lamp off.

They lay back to back and, in her tiny single bed, the angle pushes both of them to the far edges of the mattress, neither one of them comfortably having enough space to stretch out and go to sleep.

“This is awful,” she complains quietly.

“Mmm,” he agrees. “Let me just…”

Tom rolls over and her breath catches in her throat as she feels his chest press against her back, his body slotting itself against hers.

Admittedly, it’s comfier like this, they both have more room, and yet she is certain she won’t sleep a wink with the heat of his body so close to hers. He must be able to feel the way her heart thuds in her ribcage.

He shifts slightly and she feels the press of a bulge against her backside, she knows precisely what it is, and it sets her pulse racing. Instinctively, without thinking, she presses back and his breath shudders hotly against the shell of her ear, his nose pressed into her hair.

Tentatively, his fingertips spread out over her hip, pulling her back against him as he rolls his hips forward, and she feels sticky heat pool between her legs as he hardens against her.

She’s not entirely sure why she’s allowing this, just knows that it feels good and she doesn’t want it to stop as they move rhythmically together, both chasing a friction that neither can quite achieve.

“Have…have you ever…” he whispers, trailing off.

She swallows thickly, afraid to disappoint him, but wanting to be honest. “No.”

“Can I touch you?” 

His hand tightens on her hip and she nods. “Yes.”

Slowly, his fingers trail down her thigh, until he reaches the hem of her nightgown. His hand travels the same path again, only this time upwards and against her bare skin.

She whimpers as he cups her mound through the cotton of her knickers, the pads of his fingers pressing against the dampness of the gusset.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he breathes shakily.

“Sorry,” she whispers back, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

“Not a bad thing, darlin’,” she can hear the smile in his voice, “nothin’ to be sorry for at all.”

His hand slides upwards, pressing flat against her lower abdomen, and then slides down again, creeping beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Fuck,” Tom grits out, as his index finger slides between her folds, gathering her wetness before circling her pearl.

She buries her face into the pillow, to stifle the moan that leaves her. She has touched herself before, but it has always been hesitant, secretive, just enough to feel nice. This makes her feel as though her body is on fire.

Tom shuffles behind her, and for a moment she wonders what he is up to, until she feels the brush of his knuckles against her back. She doesn’t need to look to know that he’s pulled his cock out and is stroking himself. The idea makes her throat run dry.

His breaths come in hot puffs, the slick sound of him pleasuring himself, coupled with the squelch of his fingers as they slide and circle against her is lewd, and she knows she ought to feel ashamed, but she is desperate to fall from the edge that he’s eagerly pushing her towards.

She screws her eyes shut when his digit slides inside of her, her walls clenching around him as he curls his finger upwards, dragging against her and making her thighs shake.

“So tight,” he groans, before withdrawing, circling faster against her sensitive bundle of nerves with newly applied arousal.

She whines, arching against him and she feels the movement of the hand he has on himself speed up, as quiet grunts escape him.

“You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Please…”

“Let go. Come for me.”

She bites down on the pillow, muffling the squeal that bursts out of her as her thighs clamp around Tom’s wrist, and her entire body shudders with the force of her peak. She feels like a bottle of pop that someone has shaken too hard, every part of her body coming apart in tiny bubbles.

Tom presses his face harder into her hair, his nose touching her scalp as he groans low in relief, his hips stuttering against hers as he finds his own release.

Slowly she turns to face him. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, his full lips slightly parted as he breathes raggedly. He leans in, brushing his lips against hers, but not quite kissing her as they lay there together in blissful, tired silence.

“You’ll let me in next time, won’t you?” He rasps.

The double meaning is not lost on her, and yet it does nothing to affect her answer.

“Yes.”

[greycloudsinwinter]

Hello if you don't mind me asking can you make a yandere marauders x Slytherin reader

YANDERE MARAUDERS X SLYTHERIN READER

🦁they met you in hogwarts when they were bullying your friend Severus snape.

🦁when you stuck up for them they were shocked and entranced by you.

🦁you were too amazing to be hanging around the low life snape.

🦁they start to send you anonymous gifts and when you chuck them away they are disappointed in them selves.

🦁one of them now lurks around you following you were eve you go. Ask them why they are following you and they will make up a dumb excuse like ‘I have detention this way’ or ‘wanted to make sure your ok?’ You scoff at there lame excuses and run off.

🦁they despise the fact so much they all wrote to dumbledore demanding you change houses to which he ignored of course.

🦁they will work together since they are such a tight knit friend group.

🦁rivals they beat up they won’t Jill them necessarily. Just break them till you can’t recognise them.

🦁James likes to public scream his love for you in the halls.

🦁Sirius likes to flirt with yo in class often making fun of others to try and make you laugh.

🦁Remus writes you long letters expressing his love and devotion to you.

🦁Peter prefers to hover around you and show his love for you by acts of service.

🦁anyone that speaks badly about you is done for.

🦁they all love how ambitious you are it really turns them on.

🦁terrifying yanderes to have because they won’t fight over you they will help each other.

🦁try and escape them and they may force you too take a love potion.

🦁there obsessive,observant and devoted yanderes so be careful about what you say about others too them.

Thank you for the request ❤️❤️



[bradshawsbaby]

What Christmas Means to Me, My Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You're determined to make your first married Christmas the best one yet. But when you start to overextend yourself, Bob steps in to remind you what's most important.

Word Count: 10.6k

Author's Note: Whew! The relief I feel that I was able to get this story completed before Christmas Eve! This is my contribution to @lewmagoo's A Lew Magoo Christmas challenge! It was inspired by the Stevie Wonder song, "What Christmas Means To Me." I hope you all enjoy!

(Special shoutout and thanks to @luminousnotmatter and @ryebecca for listening to me ramble when I was having a total meltdown about writing this story. I'm very thankful for you both!)

Warnings: References to being stressed during the holidays and a few brief innuendos, but it's mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

From the time he was a young boy, Bob Floyd had been cognizant of one very fascinating phenomenon—his bed never felt so comfortable or so warm as when his alarm clock was blaring in his ear, giving him a rather forceful reminder that it was time to get up and start the day. After he met you, that troubling phenomenon seemed to increase tenfold. As responsible as he was and as much as he prided himself on getting to work early each day, Bob would be lying if he said there weren’t times when he felt like chucking his alarm clock across the room and playing sick just so he could stay tucked away in bed all day, cocooned under the blankets and wrapped around your sweet warmth.

This morning, as his alarm started roaring at 7:00 on the dot, Bob let out a small grunt of protest, blindly reaching out from beneath the comforter to pound a resentful fist on the top of his alarm clock. Once it was silent, he rolled over in the bed the two of you had been sharing as husband and wife for nearly six months now and reached an arm out, fully expecting to wrap it around your soft, pajama-clad body. When he was met with emptiness instead, Bob blinked his eyes open in confusion and sat up slowly, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his vision as he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and slipped them onto his nose, albeit a bit crookedly.

“Sweetheart?” Bob called out, frowning when he was met with nothing but the early morning stillness of your quaint little home.

Immediately, he flung the covers back and climbed out of bed, padding towards the bathroom to see if maybe you were in the shower and couldn’t hear him calling you over the sound of the running water. That theory was quickly disproven, however, when he found the bathroom door hanging open, lights off and no sounds of a shower in progress. But as he flicked on the lights, Bob discovered that you must have been in there not too long ago, for the mirror above the sink was still beaded with condensation and the bathmat had the imprint of damp footprints.

“Honey?” Bob called again, thinking maybe you’d stepped outside to enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch. Although why you’d be up this early—and showered already, too—on one of your days off from work was beyond him.

Walking into the kitchen, Bob immediately spotted a piece of festive note paper resting on the countertop. He recognized it instantly, the cream colored paper outlined with a ring of cheerful poinsettias. You’d been ecstatic when you’d found it at the dollar store a few weeks ago—"You never know when something like this will come in handy during the holidays, honey," were your exact words. But what stood out even more was your delicate handwriting etched across the paper in dark ink. Picking up the note, Bob adjusted his glasses and read the message you’d quickly penned on your way out the door.

Good morning, honey! I decided to head out early to try to hit some of the stores before they get too crazy. There’s a lot that I still need to pick up, so I’ll probably be gone most of the day. Also, Lorraine and I are going to run over to check out the venue for our staff holiday party and finalize the menu. Speaking of which, I also need to finalize the menu for OUR party, plus Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Text me if there’s anything you want me to get! Hopefully I won’t be home too late. I love you!!!

P.S. I almost forgot—I packed some lunch for you and left it in the fridge! And there’s a pot of coffee ready to brew. Have a great day!!!

He sighed softly as he set your note back down on the counter, running a hand through his honey brown hair, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he silently lamented your early departure. He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words, chuckling to himself as he pictured you quickly gulping down a cup of coffee—in your favorite Christmas mug, no doubt—and shoving a piece of half-burnt toast in your mouth before running out the door.

You absolutely lived for this time of year, and all the hecticness that the season entailed.

Bob had known, almost from the very start of your relationship, how much you adored Christmas. It was one of the things, in fact, that had made it so easy for him to fall in love with you. Seeing the way you lit up like a firefly when a Christmas song came on the radio or when your favorite coffee shop started offering peppermint-flavored drinks made Bob’s heart melt in absolute love and devotion. He had never known anyone as whimsical or as full of genuine Christmas spirit as you. And your joy was infectious—Bob had never loved the holiday season so much as he did once he started celebrating it with you.

Waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, Bob couldn’t help but grin as he glanced around the kitchen at all the decorations you’d been putting up since Thanksgiving. They gave your home a warm, cozy feeling that had nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with the loving care with which you’d hung them.

To Bob, every day was Christmas so long as he got to spend it with you.

Which was why he sighed again as he poured a splash of cream into his coffee mug, brows furrowing above his glasses as he considered how little he’d seen you these past couple weeks.

With both of you working full-time jobs, it made sense that you couldn’t possibly spend every waking moment together. But Bob looked forward more than anything to your routine of dinner in the early evening and then hours spent lounging in each other’s arms, talking about your days or listening to music or watching a movie together. It was a habit you had gotten into even before you were married, and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that your lives were now entwined so intrinsically.

These past few weeks, however, that routine had been seriously upended by all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Bob knew you took this time of year seriously—and he really did love how happy it made you—but it seemed like this year more than ever, your schedule was jam-packed and filled nearly to bursting.

On top of the usual shopping that needed to get done—you bought gifts for everyone, even down to your mail carrier and the barista who made your favorite coffee—there were preparations for not one, not two, but three separate parties you had volunteered to host. First up was your staff holiday party. Your colleagues knew that no one loved Christmas more than you, and so they had unanimously nominated you to spearhead the planning, which you’d graciously agreed to, with some help from your co-worker, Lorraine. Then was the party for the Daggers and their families that you had convinced Bob it would be fun to host a few days before Christmas Eve. All of your friends couldn’t stop buzzing about it, and you were going to great lengths to make sure it was perfect. As if all that wasn’t enough, you were also going to be hosting both of your families for the holidays this year, parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and all.

“It’s our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” you’d told him one night, when he’d asked if you were really okay with all of the planning that would be involved. “I want it to be special.” Your smile when you said it warmed him from the inside out. As introverted as he could be, he’d gladly host twenty parties so long as it made you happy.

The reality, however, was that you were swamped. Every day after work, you were either running around to stores or scouring the internet for the best cyber deals or researching recipes that you wanted to try for Christmas dinner. One night, Bob had even found you making an alphabetized list of holiday games you could play at the parties.

“Are you sure you’re really okay?” Bob asked at one point, when he caught you yawning over your dinner. “I know I’ve been busy with work, but I can help more. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine, silly,” you giggled, waving off his concern with a hand. “I just want everyone to have a good time.”

“They will,” he told you, resting his large, calloused hand over yours. He looked intently into your eyes, sincerity shining in the blue depths of his. “They’ll have a good time no matter what. You don’t have to make yourself sick over planning.”

You had just smiled at him and given him a kiss, but clearly you hadn’t heeded his words because now you were even using your day off to run errands, waking up even earlier than your naval aviator husband to do so.

Rinsing his empty mug out in the sink, Bob frowned as he thought of how tired you’d seemed these past few days. Your joy and your sweetness never diminished, but he could tell just from looking in your eyes how exhausted you were getting. You were overextending yourself, and he was terrified you were going to burn out before Christmas even arrived. Not being able to fully enjoy your favorite time of year would devastate you, and nothing would hurt Bob more than that.

You needed to take a day for yourself, Bob decided as he let the warm water flow over him in a quick shower. No shopping, no planning, no organizing—just a day where you actually got to enjoy all your favorite things about this season.

That idea remained buzzing around in his head as he drove to work, hanging on the periphery of his consciousness even as he spent hours flying test runs with Phoenix and the rest of the Daggers. On his lunch break, he enthusiastically hunkered down in the rec room to research some of the plans that were percolating in his mind. And by the time he drove home that evening, he was wearing a smile bright enough to rival any of the Christmas lights twinkling in your neighborhood.

The fact that you still weren’t home when Bob unlocked the front door and carefully placed his work boots on the shoe rack only further solidified his plan. As if you could somehow read his mind, his phone buzzed suddenly with an incoming text.

Are you home? I’m so sorry I’m not back yet! I’m on my way now. I picked up some dinner from that BBQ place that you like 😋

Bob’s heart squeezed with affection as he read your words. You’d been up for nearly twelve hours at this point, and you were no doubt exhausted, but you were still always putting others ahead of yourself. He typed out a quick response as he walked into the living room to turn on the lights on the Christmas tree.

Yum! Thank you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for you to get home ♥️

About twenty minutes later, just as Bob was stepping out of your bedroom after changing into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt from his time at the Naval Academy, he heard your key jiggling in the lock and hurried to meet you.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise when your husband swung open the door before you could finish turning your key. “Hiya, honey,” you beamed, holding up the bag of take-out food you’d picked up especially for him on your drive home.

“Man, I tell you, these delivery people keep getting cuter and cuter,” Bob teased, drawing you close and taking the food out of your hands as he dropped a kiss on your lips.

“Mmm,” you giggled against his mouth, kissing him back as you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders slowly dissipate. “Maybe this delivery girl can join you for dinner tonight,” you winked playfully, smiling when you felt Bob’s fingers lace through yours.

“I was counting on it,” he chuckled, tugging on your hand as he turned into the house.

“Oh, just give me a couple minutes, honey,” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering you’d left your car idling in the driveway, the backseat and trunk filled to the brim with your purchases of the day. “I just want to get everything out of the car.”

“Sweetheart, it can wait,” Bob insisted, glancing longingly between you and his dinner. “Your food’s going to get cold. I’ll help you unload the car after we eat.”

You bit your lip in hesitation, but finally relented when you saw the puppy dog expression on your husband’s face. “Okay, fine, let me just go turn the car off.”

A few minutes later, you and Bob were seated side by side at your small kitchen table, your legs pressing together and your fingers brushing against one another as you nibbled on wings and scarfed down some chili mac and cheese.

“How was your day?” you asked curiously, glancing up as you took a sip of water and wiped your fingers on a napkin.

You always asked that question so sincerely, even after all this time. It made him feel so seen and loved. Smiling, he rested his hand over yours and squeezed your fingers gently.

“It was good,” he said lightly, not yet ready to divulge the plans he’d been formulating all day. “You know, same old, same old. How about yours?”

“It was great!” you chirped, beaming brightly.

Bob smiled and nodded as you told him about the gifts you’d picked up for all the nieces and nephews, the menu you and Lorraine had decided on for your staff holiday party, the grab bags gifts you’d snagged for the Dagger party, the new gingerbread recipe you’d just heard about, and a whole host of other things.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you murmured sheepishly after you realized you’d hardly stopped for a moment to take a breath.

“It’s okay, I love it when you ramble,” Bob grinned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Mmm, I love it even more when you taste like barbeque,” he laughed, nudging your nose with his own.

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his with a contented sigh and gazed into his eyes. “Want to go find a movie to watch while I do the dishes?” you suggested.

Bob pulled back slightly to more fully look at you, though he kept his large hands wrapped loosely around your waist. “As much as I love the sound of that plan, I think we should call it an early night tonight, honey,” he said softly, reaching up to lightly brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You look exhausted.”

You pouted slightly, but couldn’t stifle the yawn that suddenly came upon you, which made the both of you laugh. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted ruefully, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment.

“How about you get started on the dishes and I’ll unload everything from the car? Then we’ll head to bed, alright?” Bob asked, hyper aware of the drawn look around your eyes.

“Deal,” you nodded, giving him one more kiss as you jumped up to clear the table.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up under the covers, the warm glow from the little battery-operated lantern you kept near the window casting a cozy feel over the room.

“Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Bob asked softly, running his fingers up and down your arm gently as you lay in his embrace. Saturday was the one day that the both of you had off, and he intended to make the most of it this weekend.

You let out a soft sigh, snuggling up further against his chest. “There are a few new recipes I wanted to try for dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas, so I figured maybe I should test them out ahead of time, just in case they end up being a disaster. Saturday seems as good a day as any to do that. Want to be my taste tester?” you grinned, eyes crinkling as you smiled over at him.

“Uh-uh,” Bob shook his head, a slightly mischievous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him. “Why not? You’ve got other plans?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his blue eyes twinkling, which you could see even in the dark of your bedroom. “I’m going to have a very full day.”

“Doing what?” you huffed jokingly, arching an eyebrow as you rolled onto your side, gazing at him curiously.

“You’ll find out,” Bob grinned, not letting the cat out of the bag just yet. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” you asked, clearly taken aback as your eyes widened once again. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled, leaning over to give you a quick kiss.

“Bob!” you exclaimed, nudging him lightly with your foot.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he grinned, rolling over and closing his eyes. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he heard you huffing softly beside him, clearly desperate to know what he was planning. Within minutes, however, he heard the sound of your breathing soften and deepen, your eyes closing in a deep slumber.

Turning back over, Bob watched you sleep peacefully and felt his heart clench inside his chest. You were going above and beyond this Christmas, and it was clearly taking its toll, whether you wanted to admit it or not. He was glad to see you sleeping so comfortably after such a long day.

You were striving so hard to make this Christmas magical for everyone else. This weekend, Bob was going to make it magical for you and remind you what this season was really all about.

Nobody deserved it more than you.

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, just as Bob had been anticipating. He’d been checking the forecast every day to make sure that nothing was going to interfere with his plans for today. The weather was better than he could have hoped for—the sun was shining bright, hardly a cloud in the sky, but the air had a nice winter chill as the temperature hovered somewhere between the high fifties and low sixties.

That was one of the only things you ever lamented about moving to San Diego—it was harder to make it feel like Christmas when it was still warm enough to wear shorts and go to the beach. But today’s weather, while certainly not cold by any stretch of the imagination, would at least give you an opportunity to wear one of those new sweaters you’d bought for yourself.

Grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, Bob quietly tiptoed into your bedroom, where he was delighted to see that you were still fast asleep, buried so deeply under the covers that only the top of your head was poking out. Swallowing back a laugh, he sidled over to your side of the bed and carefully placed the treats he’d set out early to procure on your nightstand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured softly, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the bed to avoid crushing you. You stirred slightly, but didn’t open your eyes, so he bent down to drop a kiss on the crown of your head, still the only part of your body exposed to the mid-morning light. “Honey, wake up,” he tried again, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Letting out a soft hum in response, you slowly pushed the covers back and ran a hand down your face before opening your eyes halfway, peeking up at your husband through hooded lids.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bob chuckled, ducking his head to peck your lips tenderly.

“Mmm, good morning,” you replied, your voice still heavy with sleep as you stretched with a satisfied little groan. You were so distracted by the extremely pleasant view of your handsome husband hovering above you that it took you a moment to realize how much light was filtering in through the windows, and to catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. Gasping, you bolted upright, looking at Bob with wide eyes. “Is that really the time? I thought I set an alarm!”

It was nearly 9:45am. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept in that late. Between work and all the other things you were usually running around doing, even on your days off, your internal alarm hardly ever let you sleep that long. Not to mention the fact that you normally had an alarm set. You could have sworn you had set it last night.

Bob had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at you with those big blue eyes behind the frames of his adorably gawky glasses. “You did,” he began slowly, glancing guiltily at your alarm clock and then back at you. “I shut it off.”

“Bob!” you exclaimed in astonishment, uncertain what would have possessed him to do that, especially when he knew how busy you were lately. “Why would you do that?”

“You needed the extra sleep, honey,” he said in a voice so sweet and filled with concern that you couldn’t even dream of staying mad at him. Reaching out, he took one of your hands between both of his, gently rolling the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ve been running yourself ragged these past couple weeks. I wanted you to get some real rest.”

You bit your lip, averting your gaze as you silently thought about how busy you’d been lately and how exhausted you’d been feeling. You’d had three cups of coffee at work yesterday just to make it through the day.

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded, your lips curving upward in a rueful smile. “I do feel a little bit better already. Thank you, honey,” you told him, leaning forward to give him a kiss of appreciation. That was when your eyes landed on the cup of coffee and the small red-and-white striped bag on your nightstand. “Is that for me?” you gasped in delight, looking back at your husband eagerly.

“Mhm,” Bob chuckled at your open excitement, reaching for the cup and the bag and placing them in your hands.

Your very favorite coffee shop in all of San Diego, which also happened to be the spot where you and Bob went on your second date, was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place not far from where you worked. From the outside, it didn’t seem like much to behold, but it was one of the city’s best kept secrets. Their coffee was brewed to perfection and their baked goods were a sweettooth’s dream. But what you loved most of all was the way they went all out for the holidays. The entire cafe was decked out in garland and bows and twinkling lights, Christmas music pumped through the speakers all day long, and their menu reflected everyone’s seasonal favorites.

At this time of year, your go-to order was a large peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and a gingerbread scone that you swore you wanted to be your last meal on this earth. Bob had gotten to the cafe just in time that morning to get a scone fresh out of the oven.

“Oh my gosh, it’s still warm,” you sighed happily, the spiced molasses melting on your tongue as soon as you popped it into your mouth. You closed your eyes in bliss, washing it down with a sip of the peppermint mocha. “Thank you, honey. This is such a sweet surprise.”

“The first of many, I hope,” Bob smiled, resting a hand on your thigh as you enjoyed your breakfast in bed. “I have lots planned for you today, Mrs. Floyd.”

“You do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow over the rim of your coffee cup.

He nodded, his smile only growing wider. “Don’t you remember what I said the other night? We’ve got a lot to do today. So as soon as you’re done enjoying your breakfast, you better hop in the shower. We don’t want to be late,” he told you, his gorgeous baby blues sparkling as he rose from the bed and started towards the door.

“Wait!” you cried,  jumping out of bed with your coffee and scone still firmly in hand. “What are we doing?” you called after him, chasing behind him in bare feet. “Bobby!”

“You’ll find out,” he laughed, turning around and resting his hands on your shoulders. “Just wear something comfortable,” was all the information he gave you.

You sighed in a purposely dramatic fashion, shooting him a playful glance. You knew from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to tell you anything else, so there was no use in trying to get the information out of him. Instead, you quickly gulped down the rest of your coffee and finished off your scone—still trying to savor every bite—before tearing off your pajamas and jumping into the shower.

An hour later, you were ready to go, dressed in a cute pair of jeans and a new red and white sweater you’d just recently purchased. The weather today finally gave you an opportunity to wear it.

“Is this alright?” you asked Bob as you stepped into the living room, holding your arms out at your sides. It was hard to know what to wear when you had no idea what you were doing.

“It’s perfect,” Bob nodded, smiling as he rose from the couch and took in your appearance. “Just like you,” he added, winking as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I could say the same thing to you,” you giggled, resting your hands on his broad chest. He was wearing a dark green crew neck sweater and dark jeans that fit his long figure exquisitely. “Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Bob just shook his head, laughing out loud when you released a groan of exasperation. “Patience, my sweet wife,” he teased, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You really hadn’t been sure what to anticipate when you climbed into the car with Bob. As many guesses as you tried to make to figure out what his plans were, your husband’s expression was impenetrable. He didn’t give anything away, no matter what you said.

What you hadn’t been expecting was to pull into the parking lot of Petco Park.

As soon as Bob put the car in park, you glanced over at him curiously, trying to figure out what you were doing here. Your husband wasn’t a big baseball fan. And even if he was, it was the middle of December.

“I’m guessing we’re not here for a Padres game?” you ventured with a playful smile, glancing around the crowded parking lot.

Your husband laughed, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Come on,” he told you, climbing out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side to open your door.

Slipping your hand into his, you followed his lead as he guided you through the milling crowd towards the entrance to the baseball stadium. He seemed almost giddy as the two of you got closer and closer to the park, glancing down at you every few seconds as if to check that you were still with him. You had no idea what was awaiting you, but his excitement was infectious and you found yourself buzzing with anticipation.

You weren’t disappointed.

As soon as Bob handed over your tickets to the attendant, you were swept up in the crowd of people surging towards Gallagher Square, where you were met with a breathtaking display of Christmas beauty.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, coming to a halt as you stared, wide-eyed and in awe of the beautiful market that surrounded you.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, a thread of nervousness in his voice as he looked at you, watching the way you were silently taking everything in.

Turning to face him, your face split into a huge grin and you threw your arms around him, peppering his cheek with kisses. “I love it! It’s so wonderful!”

It was as close to a German Christmas market as you had ever come, with vendors of all kinds set up in little wooden booths ringing the perimeter of the square. There were shopkeepers selling a whole assortment of things, from hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies to homemade candy to personalized ornaments to fine wine and jewelry. Amidst all the different stalls were small stages where performances ranging from choirs to magic shows were taking place, not to mention the life-size snow globes and the giant sleigh where guests could take pictures. And at the center of it all was a ginormous Christmas tree that had to be at least thirty feet tall.

It was magical. It made you feel like you were a little girl again, attending your town’s local Christmas fair with your family.

“I didn’t even know this existed!” you exclaimed, still holding tightly to your husband as you continued to gaze around you.

“I didn’t either,” Bob admitted, unable to stop smiling at how happy you looked. “But Phoenix and Hangman told me they took the kids here last week and had a blast, so I knew I had to get you tickets.”

“Oh, thank you, honey! This is amazing!” you beamed, wrapping your arms around him to give him an enthusiastic kiss.

Bob chuckled and blushed slightly as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his other hand resting on your hip. “Should we walk around?”

Nodding, you took his hand and practically hauled him across the square, bouncing from stall to stall and oohing and aahing over all the various trinkets and baubles.

“Oh, honey, look! We should get this,” you cooed, holding up a sweet ornament of a hand painted Christmas tree with a little banner draped across it that read Our First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.

It didn’t matter that you had three other ornaments with similar messages already hanging on your Christmas tree at home. Bob gladly pulled out his wallet to buy it for you, his heart fluttering at the gorgeous smile that lit up your entire face when the vendor carefully wrapped it up and handed it to you.

“Thank you, Bobby. I can’t wait to put it on the tree when we get home,” you told him, carefully slipping the wrapped ornament into your purse.

“Anything for you, honey,” Bob murmured softly, kissing your forehead. “Alright, what’s our next stop?”

You and Bob continued to wander among the stalls for the next couple hours, stopping on occasion to take a photo or grab a snack—"This is sustenance," you grinned, holding up the little brown bag of freshly glazed almonds that you’d purchased for the two of you to munch on.

At one point, as you were admiring the work of a local artist, you heard the sound of the sweetest voices imaginable. Following the music, with Bob trailing closely behind, you walked a bit further up the path before stopping in front of a small choir made up of the most angelic looking children you had ever seen. The sign in front of the platform declared that they were students from a local school for children with special needs.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, tears sparkling on your lashes as they sang the most beautiful version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” you had ever heard. Resting your head on your husband’s shoulder, you let the music wash over you, smiling brightly as they transitioned from one song to another.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there exactly—was it for three songs or six?—but when the children finally stopped singing, you and Bob burst into thunderous applause, prompting nearby onlookers to join in.

The pride on the children’s faces melted your heart as they shyly waved to the crowd and began making their way off the platform.

A little girl with Down syndrome, who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, suddenly broke away from the others and grabbed her mother’s hand, dragging her towards where you and your husband stood.

“Thank you for coming!” she said brightly, offering an adorable little gap-tooth smile.

“Thank you for having us!” you replied brightly, squatting down so that you were on eye level with her. “You all sounded amazing!”

To your surprise, the little girl lunged forward to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” her mother exclaimed, touching her daughter’s shoulder and trying to pull her back.

“It’s alright,” you smiled, patting the little girl’s back before she let go. “No need to apologize.”

“Thank you for staying to listen for so long,” the woman said, looking between you and Bob. “The kids worked really hard on their program for today, so it was nice to have such a captive audience.”

“We were happy to do it, really,” Bob told her, smiling down at the little girl as he rested a hand on your lower back. “Christmas music is my wife’s favorite,” he told her conspiratorially.

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Mine, too!”

You all laughed happily at that.

“Well, I hope you have an amazing Christmas and that Santa brings you everything you’re hoping for this year,” you told her, grinning at the way she lit up at the mention of Santa.

“Santa! Santa!” she cheered.

“That’s right,” her mother nodded, brushing her daughter’s hair back over her shoulder. “We should get going soon if we want to go see Santa. What do you say to the nice people who watched you sing?”

“Thank you!” the little girl said sweetly, giving both you and Bob another quick hug around the legs. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” you and Bob replied in unison, waving to both mother and daughter as you went your separate ways, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother one day,” Bob told you softly, the unadulterated adoration in his eyes warming you up from the inside out.

You just smiled dreamily in response, very much looking forward to the day when you would get to see Bob Floyd become a father.

“Well I think that was a very successful trip to the Christmas Market,” your husband said a few minutes later after you circled back to the center of the square.

“I had so much fun, honey. Thank you for thinking of this,” you told him, touched by the effort he’d made to bring you here and make it such a lovely afternoon.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but we better get going if we want to stay on schedule. Still have a lot to do.”

“Wait…what?” you questioned, startled. “There’s more?”

“I said I had a lot planned, didn’t I?” That mischievous twinkle had returned to his eyes. “You didn’t think this was it, did you?”

“Bob Floyd, what do you have up your sleeve?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and looking up at him with a quirked brow, trying and failing to mask the smile tugging at your lips.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, taking your hand and leading you back to the car.

If you had been uncertain about what your husband’s plans were when you’d arrived at Petco Park, you were doubly unsure what he had in mind when he turned onto the bridge connecting San Diego to Coronado.

“Are you taking me with you to work?” you wondered with a laugh, looking out the window at the afternoon sun sparkling on the San Diego Bay. You often told Bob that you were jealous of the view he got to enjoy on his commute to and from North Island.

Bob laughed at your question, but simply shook his head in response, turning up the radio as Mariah Carey began belting “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

“Hmmm, saved by the Queen of Christmas,” you joked, nudging him playfully as he took a turn off the bridge.

“Now, honey, you know that you’re the Queen of Christmas,” Bob retorted, winking at you as he made a few more turns.

“True,” you giggled, singing along to the radio until Hotel Coronado appeared in your sights, in all its glorious grandeur. You glanced over at Bob curiously, but he didn’t say anything as he searched for a parking spot.

“The suspense is killing me, Bobby,” you lamented, clinging onto his arm once he finally did manage to park the car. “What are we doing now?”

Turning to face you, Bob was struck once again by just how deeply he loved you. There was no one else he’d drag himself all over San Diego for on his day off from work.

“We’re going ice skating,” he explained, chuckling at the shocked expression on your face.

“You mean…Skating by the Sea?!” you gasped excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in your seat. “Bobby, you got tickets?”

“Sure did,” he nodded, pulling them out of his pocket to show you.

“Oh my gosh, how?” you breathed, reaching out to touch them as if you were afraid they would disappear.

“Mav knows a guy,” Bob chuckled, shaking his head affectionately as he thought of his boss and mentor.

As Hotel Coronado’s most popular winter attraction, it was nearly impossible to get tickets to Skating by the Sea during the Christmas season, but when Bob had mentioned it at work, Maverick had promised that he would be able to procure him a couple tickets. How he managed it, Bob didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. All that mattered was that you were looking at him right now like he had hung the moon and the stars, and there was no better reward than that.

“Ready to go?” Bob asked, holding out his hand to you.

“Ready!” you cheered, placing your hand in his and holding on tight.

It had been quite some time since you had actually been ice skating, and you were a bit rusty, especially in comparison to your midwestern husband, who had grown up ice skating on frozen ponds every winter. Still, despite your wobbly knees, you were determined to enjoy every moment of this experience.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bob murmured encouragingly, holding tightly to your hands as he guided you onto the ice, sticking close to the wall in case you needed extra support.

“If you had told me we were coming, I could have brushed up on my skills ahead of time,” you teased, glancing down at your white rental skates as you carefully slid one foot in front of the other.

“And ruin the surprise and the look on your face when I told you what we were doing? Never,” he grinned, gently squeezing your hands as you slowly started to become more confident and steady on your feet. “You’ve got it, honey. Try looking up at me. I won’t let go,” he promised.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze from your feet up to your husband’s midsection, and then finally up to his face, that face that you adored more than anything else on this earth.

“There you go, you’ve got it. You’re doing such a good job,” Bob praised you, his confidence unshaken as he moved backwards across the ice. It was incredibly attractive how sure of himself he was out here.

“I think I’ve got it now. Want to try letting go?” you asked with a grin, feeling a little nervous but willing to give it a shot.

Smiling proudly, Bob nodded and slowly released his grip on your hands, letting you glide independently for a few seconds. You moved forward tentatively, your hands still out at your sides so that you could grab onto him—or the wall—if needed.

“That’s it, honey! Look at you go!” your husband cheered, making you laugh as you carefully made your way over to the opposite wall, which afforded you breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond.

Seconds later, Bob skated up beside you, resting with you against the wall and enjoying the same view. “Pretty beautiful, huh?” he asked, gazing down at you.

“Insanely beautiful,” you agreed, resting your hand over his and squeezing gently. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me, too,” Bob nodded, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “But it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I’m just so glad to be with you.”

“Honey,” you breathed out, touched by the sweetness of his words. They actually made you well up a little bit.

“I mean it, sweetheart. It’s not the things we do that make days like this special. It’s getting to do them with you. That’s all I really wanted. I’ve missed you these past few weeks,” he confessed.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, just holding you close and resting his cheek atop your head.

“I love you so much, you know,” you told him, lifting your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I know,” he nodded, his mouth turning up in a tender smile. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, you took his hand and started to push away from the wall. “Come on, let’s go show everybody what an amazing skater you are,” you laughed, nearly toppling over in your eagerness. Thankfully, Bob had some of the quickest reflexes you’d ever seen and was there to catch you.

He was always there to catch you.

You and your husband spent the next hour twirling around on the ice, you trying your best not to fall and Bob trying his best to keep you from falling. By the time your legs were starting to ache in protest, the sun was just beginning to set over the beach, the sky exploding in hues of orange, pink, and red.

“Isn’t that the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” you whispered in awe, resting your cheek against your husband’s strong chest and soaking in the moment.

“A close second to you,” Bob replied, chuckling at the adorable way you got all flustered at his compliment. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get those skates off you.”

Stepping off the rink, Bob carefully guided you to a nearby bench and sat you down before squatting in front of you to untie your laces.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked softly, reaching out to lightly caress his flushed cheek as he ministered to you.

“I ask myself the same thing every day when I get to wake up beside you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knee before pulling your skates off. He then rose and plopped down beside you on the bench, pulling off his own skates with ease.

After you returned your rental skates and collected your things, Bob stopped you on the pathway near the beach and looked down at you.

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite after all this,” he told you, a knowing smile on his face. “Because we’ve got one more stop.”

“We do? Oh, Bobby! This day has already been so special. I can’t imagine how it could get any better,” you declared, wondering what more he could possibly have in store.

“Wait and see,” Bob winked, taking your hand as you began strolling off hotel property and towards where you had parked “Oh, and I’ve got a little something in the car for you to change into.”

The last thing on earth you had been expecting when your husband handed you a small duffel bag out of the trunk of the car was to open it up and find the beautiful red dress you’d worn last Christmas—the one Bob hadn’t been able to stop gushing about or get you out of fast enough after Christmas dinner—and your favorite pair of high heels, plus the diamond studs and pendant he’d gifted you last year, the ones you only wore on very special occasions.

And yet, there you were, sitting beside your husband in the passenger seat of his car in your holiday finest, flying along the open road towards some unknown destination.

You weren’t the only one who had changed after your ice skating escapades. Bob had packed a second duffel, it seemed, for when you had returned from getting changed, he was waiting for you, no longer clad in his crew neck and jeans, but in a pair of black slacks and a dinner jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“For you,” he said with a wide smile, handing you a small bouquet of red and white roses—another surprise he’d been hiding in that trunk of his.

You held the sweet-smelling flowers close to your nose now as Bob made a few turns, heading in a direction that was not totally familiar to you.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered softly, a hint of emotion catching in your voice as you rested the beautiful bouquet in your lap. You couldn’t wait to put it in one of your Christmas vases when you got home and proudly display it on the coffee table in the living room.

Bob glanced over at you as he came to a red light, his blue eyes brimming with adoration as he soaked in how happy and content you looked. “You deserve it,” he told you, reaching out to rest a hand on your thigh, his fingers lightly stroking the inside of your knee. “You deserve all this and so much more. And I’m so lucky to be the man who gets to give it to you—or try anyway,” he added with a sheepish laugh.

Before the light could turn green, you leaned over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. “You succeed,” you murmured against his lips. “Every time. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I love you,” he smiled, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before returning both hands to the wheel, ignoring the disgruntled driver who was honking behind him.

You giggled as you settled back in your seat with a happy sigh. “I love you, too, honey.” You paused for a moment or two, then tacked on, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

“Nice try,” Bob laughed, shooting you a sideways glance. “I haven’t spoiled any of my surprises today. You think I’m going to start now?”

“Oh, fine,” you replied, heaving a dramatic sigh and then grinning. “I can’t wait to find out what it is though.”

“I have a feeling you’re really going to love it,” he said, his smile warmer than the San Diego sun as he tapped his hands excitedly on the steering wheel, his own anticipation building.

“I know I will,” you nodded, lifting the bouquet of roses to your nose once more and taking a delicate sniff. “I love anything so long as I’m doing it with you.”

A few minutes later, Bob made a final turn that led the two of you up a winding, gorgeously manicured road. Leaning forward, you gazed out the window eagerly, trying to place exactly where you were. At that exact moment, a large sign came into view that read FAIRMONT GRAND DEL MAR.

Gasping in delight, you practically had your nose smushed against the glass as your husband drove past stunning gardens and twinkling fountains, all decked out with the most darling, demure decorations you had ever seen.

Fairmont Grand Del Mar was one of the most luxurious and glamorous hotels in all of Southern California, and while it was basically right in your own backyard, you had never stepped foot on its grounds before.

You suddenly found yourself very grateful that your jeans and sweater were safely tucked away in a duffel bag. Thank goodness your brilliant husband thought of everything.

“Oh my goodness, Bobby!” you squealed, covering your mouth to try to control the delighted laughter that was bubbling up inside you. But it was no use. “It’s so beautiful here!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bob hummed in agreement, taking in the view as he slowed his pace along the property’s winding pathways. “A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Sounds about right to me,” he added, eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

You just smiled at that, a pleasant warmth rushing to your cheeks as you tried to take in as much of the views as you could. As if the hotel grounds weren’t breathtaking enough on their own, they’d clearly gone to great lengths to turn the property into a winter wonderland for the holidays and they had more than succeeded. You loved every inch of it.

Moments later, after Bob had helped you out of the car and handed his keys off to a valet parker, he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you into the lobby of what seemed to be one of the hotel’s restaurants. It was elegantly designed, with Persian rugs and cream-colored marble walls, scrolled detailing on the ceiling, and a roaring fireplace to give the room a cozy, inviting atmosphere. It was decorated for the season with class—golden candelabras, dark red poinsettias, aromatic garland wrapped in red ribbons and bows, giant wreaths practically the size of you hanging on the walls.

It felt like a little Christmas paradise.

You were thankful for Bob’s strong hand on your back, guiding you along as you tripped over your own two feet, gazing around the room in unabashed awe.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he whispered in your ear as you approached the host stand. “I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures of you in that gorgeous dress with this perfect Christmas backdrop,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I want you in the pictures, too,” you whispered back, grinning as you squeezed his hand where it was resting on your hip. “Too bad we didn’t think to come here for our Christmas card photo,” you added, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Next year,” Bob winked. He managed to tear his gaze away from you only when the two of you finally got to the stand and the hostess looked at you expectantly.

“Good evening,” she said in a voice that was calm, cool, and cultured. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Bob told her, squeezing your hip softly as he spoke. “Dinner for two. It should be under Floyd.”

The hostess checked her computer screen and smiled. “Ah, yes. We’re pleased to welcome you tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Please, follow me,” she said, leading you through a small maze of elegantly set tables, bedecked with what appeared to be antique tablecloths, romantic candles, and subtle hints of holly and garland.

The three of you finally came to a stop at a cozy table right near a window which overlooked the gardens, a twinkling Christmas tree right in your line of vision.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess told you as the two of you got settled in your seats. “We hope you very much enjoy our special Christmas menu here at Fairmont Grand Del Mar,” she added with a gracious smile before turning to head back to her post.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a soft smile, maintaining every ounce of decorum you could possibly muster until the woman was out of earshot. Then you let out a delighted squeal, the same sound you used to make when opening your presents on Christmas morning as a little girl. “Bobby! This is incredible! How did you manage this?” you demanded, gaping at him in amazement. Then you giggled. “Wait, let me guess. Mav knows another guy?”

“Actually this time, it was Payback who knew a guy,” Bob laughed, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your soft skin. “His cousin works concierge at the hotel, so he managed to pull a few strings.”

“Amazing,” you grinned, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Don’t let me forget to thank Mav and Reuben when I see them at the party.”

“Just Mav and Reuben?” he teased, pretending to be wounded.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as you told him, “Well I’m going to give you a proper thank you tonight.” Your eyes sparkled in tandem with the diamond pendant hanging around your neck.

Bob’s cheeks turned bright pink as he caught your meaning, and he reached up to tug lightly at the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat.

Winking, you leaned back with a smile. Your husband was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sudden appearance of your waiter, an older, dignified man named Antonio, who greeted you both warmly as he shared some drink recommendations.

Despite the fact that Bob hardly ever drank, he ordered the two of you a bottle of champagne that came highly recommended, which Antonio happily delivered along with a bucket of ice.

“To you, sweetheart,” Bob toasted, lifting the flute that your waiter had filled just a moment earlier. “This time of year wouldn’t be half as special if it wasn’t for you.”

“No, to you,” you smiled, raising your own champagne flute to mirror your husband’s. “Today was beyond words, and none of it would have been possible without you.”

“To us then,” he grinned, compromising as he tipped his glass towards you.

“To us,” you nodded in agreement, lightly clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious,” you murmured appreciatively, licking a drop of the champagne off your lip.

“Mhm,” Bob hummed, looking almost surprised. “I mean, not that I have much to compare to, but I’d say this is the best champagne I’ve ever had.”

“Better than at our wedding?” you joked.

“I stand corrected. This is the second best champagne I’ve ever had,” he chuckled.

You and Bob relaxed into smooth and easy conversation. Both your mothers would have scolded you for resting your elbows on the table, especially in such a fancy restaurant, but neither of you cared as you leaned in closer to one another, whispering over the candlelight as the twinkling lights outside the window illuminated your lovestruck faces. Faintly, in the distance, you could hear the soft sounds of classic Christmas tunes being played on a piano. It was the most perfect evening you could have imagined.

The food was some of the best you’d ever tasted. After much debate, you finally settled on the filet mignon with a bearnaise sauce, roasted vegetables, and what had to be the world’s creamiest mashed potatoes, while Bob selected the pork medallions with roasted garlic fingerling potatoes and a brussel sprout salad. Although really it was hard to say who had ordered what considering the way you kept picking food off each other’s plates.

By the time the sour-cherry cheesecake trifle that the two of you had ordered for the grand finale came out, you felt like you were going to burst right out of your pretty red dress. But like you always said, there was always room for dessert.

“You want to know the craziest thing?” you asked, looking up at Bob as you set your fork down on the plate resting between you and your husband. When he nodded at you, you went on, “I just realized that I didn’t think about any of my holiday planning at all today—the shopping, my work party, the parties we’re hosting, none of it. It didn’t cross my mind at all even though it’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few weeks. Isn’t that funny?”

Bob set his fork down as well and gazed at you from across the table, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Good,” he said, reaching out to take your hand in his once more, gently playing with your wedding band. “That was my mission, and it sounds like it was a success. I wanted today to be a day where you just got to have fun and enjoy this time of year. I know how much it means to you, and I also know that it’ll be over in the blink of an eye, so we have to make the most of it while we can.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you felt the corners of your eyes pricking with happy tears. Your husband was truly the most thoughtful, selfless, caring man you had ever known. You would never know what you had ever done to get so lucky as to find him.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, mimicking his actions and lightly rolling his wedding band underneath your finger as you reached for his other hand. You were quiet for a moment, then thought of his words from earlier, the words that had been niggling the back of your mind on and off since you’d left the ice skating rink. “What you said before,” you began slowly, chewing on your bottom lip, “about missing me these past few weeks. Have I really been that busy? I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Bob gasped, squeezing your hands tightly in his own. “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I’ve just been worried about you, that’s all. You’re always so happy this time of year, and I know how much it means to you, so I hate to see you running yourself ragged like you have been. I guess I was starting to be afraid that you were going to burn yourself out before Christmas even got here.”

Your heart constricted at the genuine concern in his voice, at the way he was always looking out for you, even when you weren’t paying careful enough attention.

“And I have missed you,” he added softly, lifting one of your hands to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to it.

“I’ve missed you, too, honey,” you whispered, your throat clogging with emotion as you thought of the many nights you’d come home later than usual after running to the stores after work, too tired to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with your husband or just get to enjoy his company. “And you’re right—I have been running myself ragged. I can feel it. I’ve been so tired, and I feel like I don’t even have the time to enjoy all my favorite traditions.” You sighed softly, shaking your head. “I just—I just wanted everything to be perfect this year, you know?”

“It always is perfect,” Bob murmured encouragingly, gently stroking the inside of your wrist with his calloused fingertips, his movements slow and soothing.

“I know, but with it being our first married Christmas, I guess I just wanted it to be really perfect. I got it into my head that we needed to start all these new traditions and that I had to keep on top of everything at all times to make sure that it happened, but now I’m realizing that in the process of all that, I lost sight of what’s most important about celebrating our first Christmas as husband and wife—you,” you admitted, reaching up to lovingly cup his cheek in your hand.

He smiled softly at your words, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of your palm. “Sweetheart, the good news is that we have a whole lifetime of making traditions together. So long as it’s you and me, then that’s all I need,” he promised you.

You nodded, a couple stray tears spilling down your cheeks, which you wiped away with a sheepish little laugh. “You’re right. Today was a pretty good start to some Floyd Christmas traditions, I think,” you told him with a grin.

Bob reached out to thumb away the tears sparkling like diamonds on your skin. “I agree,” he smiled. “But the truth is, I don’t care what we’re doing. We could go ice skating on the beach or watch a movie on the couch. We could have a five-star dinner at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar or eat take-out on the kitchen floor.” He glanced around for a moment, just to check if anyone had heard him, his blue eyes laughing as he turned back to you. “I just want to do it with you. That’s what Christmas really means to me, sweetheart. All the other stuff, that’s icing on the cake.”

“I love you so much,” you whispered, leaning across the table and capturing his mouth with your own, the taste of sour cherries and champagne still clinging to his lips.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he cradled the back of your head and kissed you back until you were both sitting breathless in your chairs.

“You’re the love of my life,” he told you. “No matter how many traditions come and go, that’s one thing that will never change.”

As soon as you and Bob got home that night, exhausted in the best way after a perfect day together, you both ran to change into the Christmas pajamas you’d worn last Christmas Eve, then curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of hot cocoa to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“Tired?” Bob asked softly as the Peanuts crew sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” while the credits rolled.

“Mmm, a little,” you nodded, lifting your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder.

“Ready to head to bed?” he yawned, pushing the blanket back and rising from the couch before turning to hold his hands out to you.

“Mhm,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your husband’s and allowing him to pull you to your feet. “But not to go to sleep just yet,” you added pointedly.

At your husband’s raised brows, you giggled softly.

“I still have to properly thank you for today,” you reminded him with a playful wink.

You had never seen him move so fast.

That Christmas turned out to be one of the best you’d ever celebrated. Your work party went off without a hitch, the Daggers were already talking about how they needed to make a party at the Floyds’ an annual Christmas tradition, and your families loved getting to spend the holidays together as one huge unit. Every gift you’d purchased was well received and every meal you cooked was touted as the best anyone had ever eaten.

But that wasn’t what made it so special.

As you had been reminded this year, Christmas was about so much more than the planning and the presents and the parties. Those things were nice, sure, but they weren’t what made this time of year so magical.

What made this Christmas so perfect was the handsome man with blue eyes and a wide smile waiting for you beneath the mistletoe.

He was the only gift you needed, today and every day for the rest of your life.

[asbeel]

My take on Michael and Adam's relationship

Sure destiel may be the main tragedy of supernatural

BUT DONT YOU EVER FORGET THE TRUE TRAGEDY OF MIDAM

Imagine spending over a thousand years with the same person in one confined place. I don't think it has to be said how long of a time that is. Adam and Michael developed mutual respect as equals and also fell in love (confirmed by our lovely #1 midam shipper, Jake Abel, because fuck CW), they are quite literally each other's world.

After escaping the cage, the two of them probably found a peaceful life away from otherworldly drama and lived in domestic bliss. Again, they are together all times of the day for a thousand years!

Adam changed Michael like how Dean changed Castiel. Michael learned the true nature of humanity, the ups and downs, via the eyes of Adam. In season 5, Michael was more than willing to kill off half the human population because that's what he believed to be right and to be God's will. After his time in the cage with Adam, he doesn't kill what is arguably an unimportant amount of people after they witness him smiting Eve. This is definitely not God's will, considering Chuck HAS killed off the same amount of people for less.

On top of that, Adam is able to convince Michael that his father, God, isn't as great as he originally believed. This shows how much Michael had grown in the cage as a person, willing to hear out a human regarding his father's righteousness. It also demonstrates just how much respect Michael has for Adam, because there is no other human in the world who could diss God in front of his most loyal follower. One could argue that the only reason why Michael agreed to help the Winchesters is because of Adam, for Adam.

So when Adam suddenly gets killed by Chuck, Michael is alone for the first time in over a thousand years. Adam, an essential part of Michael's life, gave Michael a new meaning to life, away from heaven. Loneliness like could drive anyone mad, and it's jarring to lose someone like that so suddenly.

As much as I think the canon reason for why Michael betrayed the Winchesters is utter fucking bullshit and definitely a cheap escape the writers didn't think much about, I wouldn't lie if I said it kinda fits. Adam may have changed Michael, but development isn't a straight path uphill, and grief makes people do a lot of things. Adam's death leads Michael to become lost without purpose so much so that he returns to God for a new purpose, to be "God's favourite son" again. Michael is desperate to never be alone again, and God is all powerful, so it isn't far-fetched to assume he had lost hope to get Adam back and resorted to the next best thing, Chuck (if you can't beat em, join em ahh)

Ngl sometimes I think about midam and become sad

Anyways I wanna see some discussions

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Canvas of imagination (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: On the eve of Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon decides the best gift he can give to the father of the bride is a dreamer. A shame said dreamer does not seem to share the joy of the occasion.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Period typical misogyny. Violence. Unflattering depiction of characters (You might hate me for this)

A/N: Remember please, Daemon is an unreliable narrator. Here is where things start to get dark. I researched genetics for this and ended up really insecure. Read the previous part here.

There are many ways of silencing women. Murder is, of course, one. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is an effective one. It ensures the victim takes her secrets to the grave. Daemon likes to think himself more elegant than that.

There is, too, the possibility of a ruined reputation. But that strategy is one that is only effective towards women of a certain standing. You can hardly ruin what are already damaged goods, and a bastard certainly counts as damaged goods.

Daemon still could chuck you off Caraxes mid-flight. Yet, it does not seem like a good idea, either. Each one of your servants saw you get chained to his saddle. Not even Viserys’s intervention could save him from the angry mob of commoners that would await his return to the Vale.

Besides, he likes you there, mounted on his dragon. For once, quiet, too scared of screaming and disturbing Caraxes. Daemon likes the lack of noise, but he likes your presence much more. It would be foolish to silence a dreamer forever.

You need other kinds of chains. To tie you to him. Silencing you, when he does not want to hear. One often used for Targaryen women.

Marriage. A Bronze Bitch for another. But not exactly, is it? Not if you can truly see the future.

Perhaps this was meant to happen, then. As a way of honoring his ancestors. Grabbing a pretty maid, one with Valyrian gifts and…

Well. Children are another kind of chain, right? He is still not sold on the perks of bedding you. You are wrong. Too dark, too different. Nothing like Rhaenyra, and slightly older than her. But Daemon knows the children you will birth him will be strong. The gift on you is, after all.

To be able to look so far into the future speaks of a power unseen before. Targaryens have not been blessed by many dreamers in the last generations, and the few times they were, their gifts were fickle and weak. Not far enough to allow them to see further than days. The last time someone was able to look further was in the age of Aegon the Conqueror.

It must mean Valyrian descent. Nothing else is an acceptable answer. Even if you don’t look it.

Daemon mounts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel soft in his arms. Perhaps bedding you will not be as bad. He had been afraid that you would be like Rhea. Those inquisitive eyes of her, the body as hard as the body of any man. They were not features he enjoyed on a female partner. It always turned him off.

It was not that he had refused to consummate the marriage. He wasn’t able to bed her, the awful bitch. Not only were her features off-putting, but her attitude. She was constantly trying to sit on his hips, push him down, and he couldn’t stand it. Daemon felt trapped. Emasculated.

He had to chase the shame, the powerlessness away, somehow. That was how he got started fucking whores, collecting maidenheads. It was much better when women were maidens. Easier. He likes the contrasts, Daemon has realized. Half women, half children are always more entertaining to play with.

You are not Rhea. You feel different in his arms. Your body is soft, all sweet limbs. There are no harsh muscles on your arms, and you smell like fresh baked pastries. Rhea always smelled of horse.

You are a girl, not a warrior like your sister was. Yet, you share her wild spirit. All the delicious curves of womanhood are already formed, a delicious pair of tits and hips that could drive any man to insanity.

Your parentage is a bit more undesirable, though. As the daughter of a whore, your innocence could be sullied. Daemon would have to ask if you were passed around when younger. He doubted it, but just in case. If you had not, bedding you would be the most fun he had in years. Open-minded, hot-blooded, but pure. It was not often you found that in a woman.

You try to squirm, but are too well bound. Getting too comfortable for his liking.

“Soves. ” He orders. Caraxes obeys. You shriek in terror, and Daemon hugs you harder against him. That, too, he likes. The helplessness, the honest reaction of someone who was denied her birthright. The amazement, once you settle down and notice that Caraxes will not drop you.

Riding Caraxes is always a thrill. It’s even more thrilling when he has a captive audience. There is something about it that does it for him. Showing others the might of true Targaryens always makes him proud.

He wants to show you all the things you have missed, being born of a whore and a Royce. It’s clear you don’t belong here, among the bronze piles of the Vale. You belong with him, on dragonback. And no one is taking you away from him.

The servants, your servants, according to the Bronze Bitch’s will, can only watch as the dragon rises in the air. No one dares deny Targaryens anything, not when faced with the truth of their strength.

Daemon perches his chin right on top of your head, so close his chest is flush with your back. Your screams do not bother him. You might be terrified, after a life spent living on the ground. But Targaryens are born to be in the skies. You will get used to it.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs, you have much to learn.” He kisses your temple, once you have screamed your throat raw and finally quieted down.

The first time he had ridden Caraxes, Daemon had, too, screamed until his voice gave. He had thought back then, like many Targaryens did, that if his egg didn’t hatch, he would get no dragon. The moment is clear in his memory. Heart beating loud in his chest, screaming commands in High Valyrian, and the absolute certainty that Caraxes was going to burn him to a crisp. Then, as he came down from sheer terror to amazement, he understood why his egg didn’t hatch.

It was a lesson. To take what he wanted, what was his by right. Targaryens were conquerors, not whiny children. It was what had got him thinking about Lady Laena, in the first place. The amount of confidence one needed to claim a dragon that big, it spoke of a power within.

Not as yours was, of course. You may lack the confidence, but you had power in spades. Dreamers were often like that. Or they were supposed to be, according to his studies. Daenys had been. A fragile little thing, scared of shadows and set on leaving Valyria behind. It had been what saved them, in the end.

Daemon wonders what it must be like to be haunted by terrors in your sleep. Some real, some imagined. How could one possible tell the difference between the two? It would lead a fragile mind to insanity.

What had it done to you? Seeing your sister’s death, thinking it a nightmare, and then watch it come to life in front of your eyes?

Fear. Horror. A cornered animal reaction, wanting to fight an opponent that could crush you like a bug if he so wished. Your loyalty to Rhea was commendable, though.

The thought of you having to go through that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the death of a sibling upsets him. Viserys. Oh, Viserys. Can’t live with him, but can’t live without him, either.

No. He needs a distraction. He is not willing to go down that road now.

“Dracarys!” Daemon screams, fighting to project his voice over the wind. As expected, you flinch and let out a tiny scream. He hides his smirk in your hair. He wonders if you would squeal like that when he took you.

A bit of fear makes for a better fuck. Lovers tend to turn pliant in the face of pain. Women's cunts flutter delightfully when choked. And you are already so responsive.

“This cannot be happening.” You mutter, under your breath. Your voice sounds small and confused. Lost. “This defies all the laws.”

“Targaryens have married sisters before,” Daemon speaks over your ear. Despite knowing that's not how dreamers work, he can't help but taunt you. It's amusing to him, how you struggle and huff. “You must have seen this already. You will make a good wife, in time.”

“I am not a dreamer!” You scream, and if he could see your face now, he would bet you are scowling. It matters not, really. Whatever you say. You would do anything to get him to let you go.

Daemon knows the truth. He has done his investigation about you. It would be no good, if he were mistaken and presented Viserys with something less. His good gesture would be ruined.

You would earn him his forgiveness. Daemon is willing to share you with Viserys, if that's what Viserys wants. He wants to keep you, so Daemon wouldn't gift you to him. But share you? It's a good gesture to show the honesty of his words.

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen is not humble in victory.

“Deny it all you want.” Daemon turns a finger over the middle of your back, making you shiver and try to move away from the touch. Oh, such a fierce spirit. A shame it's wasted, with how well you are tied to the saddle. “You have some Valyrian blood in you.”

“I do not!” You scream, and tilt your head to the side to glare at him. You have pretty eyes and the most enchanting nose. Closer to a goddess than a woman. How can you not be a Targaryen?

Your hair is the wrong shade. So are your eyes. But most of the time, First Men features overpower Targaryen ones. Dammed your father. Useless rat, that Yohn Royce. But at least he had given him you.

“You will birth me silver haired babes.” Daemon can do the math. With you being half Valyrian, the odds of you giving him what he wants are higher. He places his hand on your stomach, sneaking it behind the apron and touching the soft linen dress you wear.

Daemon imagines what it will be like, to see you swell with his child. The skin over your womb is warm and soft. You are young, closer to Rhaenyra's age than his. You look healthy and strong. A good environment for a child to grow in. And by the look of your bosom, you would produce good milk, too.

The thought makes him suddenly hungry. His cock twitches in interest. Ah. Good to know that your coloring won’t bring forth the same performance issues Rhea’s had.

This time, you squirm harder. Your ass rolls against his hips. Daemon rolls his hips against you, delighting in the friction. "Oh, you temptress.” He laughs.

He can't wait to have you, pinned under him and forcing you to take and take until his seed breeds true. How you would struggle, hips trying to escape him before surrendering to the sheer pleasure of it all.

“You are disgusting!” You buck against him, all wild mare. You have yet to be mounted and it shows. He bets once he does, you will be all sweet. Daemon is not cruel enough to deny you the pleasure. But you seem upset, and so he tries to reassure you.

“Just think, how strong, how true our children will be. With the blood of Old Valyria, flowing through their veins.”

It seems like the thought is not as reassuring for you as it is for him, since you start tearing up. He will have to tread more carefully. It’s clear your time with the Bronze Bitch has affected you. Perhaps, too, growing up in a whore’s house. You must have some strange ideas of women not needing marriage, or men, to lead their lives.

It was good, that Rhea got you when she had. You could have been sold or auctioned like any other woman. Taken up the profession of your mother. But you hadn’t. He knows it by the way you flinch, when he trails his hands over your ribs, when he presses his lips to your temple. Whores are used to touches like those. They melt into them. Not you.

“I’m not Valyrian!” You scream, trashing. Daemon smooths your hair down, tenderly. Perhaps this will soften you, he thinks. Many bastards share the longing for learning about their origins, after all. You should be no different.

“Your mother was, though.”

“What? No, she wasn't!” Your shrill tone makes him flinch. Gods, what a pair of lungs you have. And you are so set on disguising your origins, too. As if Daemon can’t tell. As if he can’t recognize one of his own when he sees them.

“I asked the servants about you.” He squeezes your shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. He wonders what it must be like, to carry so deep a shame you are set on denying the obvious. If Daemon had been born of a whore, without his Targaryen blood, he would be ashamed too. “They said you bathed every day. Only whores do that. And you don’t keep male company.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Your voice comes out high and questioning, confused. Oh, his poor, sheltered girl. Thinking your behavior was normal.

“You must have learned it somewhere.” He brushes his thumb against the shell of your ear. It’s a tiny thing, and soft. You give a sweet shiver, and it confirms his suspicions. You have not been touched in such a way before. Not a whore. Only the daughter of one. "Your father was said to frequent a brothel in King’s Landing, one that I’m well acquainted with. They only have Valyrian stock.”

You splutter, and whip your head to the side. You are not allowed much movement, with your binds. But gods, you try. The sliver of your face he can see is twisted in righteous anger. Similar to when he confessed to finishing the Bronze Bitch.

“Stock? How can you refer to women like that!” And it comes out so righteous, so fierce. His little warrior. Yes, it’s clear he is right about your origins. No one else would launch themselves in such a passionate defense of whores. A shame, he can’t seem to resist to riling you up.

“Oh, I have much lovelier names for women. I called your sister the Bronze Bitch.”

You let out a fierce little scream, now bucking and twisting and shifting, trying to get any kind of retribution for the slight. What a joy you must be in the sheets, all that unbridled force and passion, turning into a single objective. You just have to learn to aim it right.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that! She is the most…” And you choke up a sob, realizing that Rhea was, not is. You do not speak the words, curling into yourself like a scared child. Hurt and sad for the first time since he took you.

“Was.” Daemon says, very quietly, and this time he is unable to distract himself from the thought. Daemon thinks of Viserys, of how angry he would be were someone to hurt him. No matter if they had parted in anger, no matter if they had not spoken a word.

He hugs you to him. You fight him, at first, but then you are sobbing too hard, too panicked to do anything about it. He presses a kiss to your nape. Even in tears and sweaty with your efforts, you smell perfect. All sweet pure maiden.

Eventually, your body sags. Daemon wonders if you accepted your fate or merely fell asleep. He doesn’t ask. The rest of the ride is uneventful. You wake up, later on, squirming in your bounds before sagging in defeat. No more words are exchanged between the two of you.

Landing is quite the interesting experience. Lyonel Strong, wearing the Hand's brooch. Next to him, stands the Kingsguard and a couple of Citywatchs.

“Is that a serving girl?” Crispin, Chris, whatever his name is, asks. He must think himself so sly, muttering under his breath.

“You were vanished.” Lyonel deadpans, eyeing you with vague interest. You scowl at him and tug on your bonds, again. Admirable persistence.

“Ah, Lyonel.” He gets off the saddle and carefully unchains you from it, making sure that your hands remain bound. Daemon keeps a tight grip on the chain from your cuffs, as he pulls you down into his arms. You kick and scream. The Kingsguard look vaguely concerned, but the gold cloaks don't even blink. They had been his men a few years back. They are used to such things.

He is not getting any younger, Daemon realizes. With you, he might need to get a better training regime because he is winded from the struggle. It's almost thrilling. You will keep him on his toes.

Daemon addresses Lyonel once again, dragging you forward.

“Summon Viserys, would you? I have something to show him.”

Good thing it’s not Otto Hightower anymore, or else he would have been detained on the spot. Lyonel is slightly softer to him, too honor-bound to let his personal feelings get in the way.

“Another of your whores?” The man asks, face unchanged. He would look at ease were it not for the way he is pressing his lips together in a grim line. No doubt remembering the Mysaria episode.

You keep struggling, rubbing your poor wrists raw. Daemon will have to tend to that later.

“Help! Help! Please!” You plead to Lyonel, once he is close enough. His lips twitch. Ah, the Strongs. Always ready to jump in rescue of a fair maiden. Your cries seem to be weakening the resolve of the Hand, and Daemon can’t have that.

Daemon places a possessive arm over your hips, showing you off. The possessive gesture will distract Lyonel from his rescue attempt, he is sure. No one gets between a Prince and his lovers, willing or not.

“No, actually. This time, the Lady is still a maiden. Although she won’t be much longer.” He smirks.

You flinch, your whole body tensing under his grip. Lyonel looks torn. He can’t order Daemon to let go of you, as for all he knows, you are but a serving girl. If you were a Lady, what he is doing might mean war. No one here cares about commoners.

Surprisingly, your rescuer is another. The dornish knight, jumping in, without the bow of his commander or the Lord Hand.

“I’ll go get the King, Lord Hand.” Good gods, what were they teaching the dornish these days? Not an ounce of respect on that one. He was getting too cocky for Daemon’s liking. He might have unseated him, but he lacked manners.

Daemon glares at Lyonel. Lyonel glares right back. The Kingsguard square behind Lyonel, menacingly, but the City Watch remains undecided on the side. Daemon grips your cuffs harder.

Crispin, Chris, whatever, comes out again after a few minutes, with an aggravated looking Viserys. You start shrieking, again, and trying harder to escape. No one pays you any mind.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” Viserys says, but his eyes crinkle. He has cooled down. Daemon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He still has everything to play for. Forgiveness is on the way.

“I think she might earn my forgiveness.” He tugs at your cuffs, bringing you slightly forward. You scowl, fiercely. “A gift, brother.”

“You come to offer me a whore? You are insane. Or drunk. Or both.” Viserys arches an eyebrow, but takes a good look at you. Daemon can’t blame him for it. You are a pretty thing, young and healthy.

Despite someone who claims offense at being offered a whore, Viserys surely looks interested. He steps closer to him, trapping you between them both. It’s Viserys, in quite the bold move, who tilts your chin up with a finger. You snarl at him, bucking backwards and right into Daemon’s chest.

“Careful. She bites. Special breed, from the Vale. All bitches.” And it’s not even funny, but it makes Viserys laugh, and that’s all that matters to him. Viserys’s laughter prompts the rest of the sycophants knights to do so as well. Only Lyonel and the dornish man remain disapproving.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, brother.” Viserys steps back, giving Daemon a long look. Unable not to twist the knife because otherwise they wouldn’t be related, he adds. “I’m in the middle of planning a wedding.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order, then. Think of this as a wedding gift to the father of the bride.” Daemon pushes you forward, and then, insistently, to kneel. You resist, impudent little thing that you are. He pushes harder, until you kneel in front of Viserys with a sullen expression. “What better omen for a marriage than a little dreamer?”

Viserys goes suddenly serious, the hint of a smile at his antics long gone. This time, when he looks at you, his eyes are much more searching. First, to your hair. Then, your eyes. Then, to his face, incredulous.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Daemon…”

Daemon gives him a look. He would not joke about it, knowing how much Viserys has longed to be connected to that side of their heritage. He never understood it. Dreams were a powerful tool, but could be hard to differentiate from just nightmares. And what had made them conquerors had not been dreams, but dragons. That had been the part that interested him.

They had talked, once, of sharing a woman. Back when they were much younger, much less troubled. He tried to let that shine in his eyes, too. This was not something he was keeping to himself, it was a gift to his brother. If Viserys asked, Daemon would say yes in a heartbeat. Anything to make him happier. To protect him. Your dreams might not get him another kingdom, but would help keep Viserys safe and secure Rhaenyra's claim.

The silence stretched. Then, Viserys, looking absolutely fascinated and dumbfounded, stepped aside.

“Inside the throne room. Anyone else, leave us!”

As the guards scrambled to obey, Daemon tugged you inside. Viserys entered the room first, and grabbed the chain, as Daemon made sure to close the door after them. Working together with a fluidity not seen since the days of their youth.

Daemon smiled. Not even a day in your company, and you were already fixing things in the way he had wanted you to.

Viserys let go of your chain, eyeing you with quite a bit of precaution. All for naught. Instead of attacking, you tried to flee. Daemon grabbed you, and spun you to face him.

“You say she is a dreamer.” Viserys sits down on the throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She is. The bastard sister of my newly deceased wife.” Daemon can’t help but boast. He is proud of finding you. Of the smile that has formed on Viserys face. “You know how it was. Yohn Royce and his precious Silver Dragon.”

“Lady Rhea is dead?” Viserys frowns. Still, he doesn’t look too upset. Perhaps a bit angry, but Daemon knows he will forgive him for it. What is the murder of a woman no one loved to the acquisition of a dreamer?

“He killed her!” You scream, unable to help yourself. Ah. Curse him, he was mistaken. Someone loved the Bronze Bitch. But it didn’t count. You were her sister and she had rescued you from a brothel. You were morally obligated to. It didn’t count.

“Shut up, little girl. I didn’t.” Which, yes, he had, but it would be better to give Viserys plausible deniability. Safer that way.

“Yes, you did. I saw.” You grin at him, menacingly. Daemon arches an eyebrow. It seemed your nap had given you the energy to be defiant. Again. Good gods, you were like a child. Having to be put to bed, pacified, taken care of. On and on the list went. Daemon was not sure that he was ready for the responsibility of parenting a recently legitimized Targaryen. Your manners were atrocious, and you were so young and so soft.

Rhea had taught you nothing of use. Perhaps to read books and ride horses, but it was clear she hadn't hardened you as she was. You had no idea of politics or respect for your King. Soft. Sheltered. A blessing in disguise? Or a curse?

“That will be a problem, dreamer or not.” Viserys interrupts. It’s clear what he means. Daemon has to fix it. Because the Seven forbid Viserys is the one to get his hands dirty. He likes to believe he is above Daemon, in that sense. That he has some sort of morals that go beyond caring for Rhaenyra.

He has not. His tastes are the same as Daemon's. Fire and blood and all that came with it, but with the delusion of having some great sense of morality.

“Give her to me. The Bronze Bitch left her everything she had. I can keep the Vale and the little girl in line.” Daemon quickly says, ignoring your indignant yelp and trashing. “I’ll marry her.”

“Allow you to own a dreamer?” Viserys raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Don’t you think it’s too much? If she truly is one, of course…”

“Show him, Lady Cuffs.”

You remain in obstinate silence. Daemon feels the urge to scream. Clearly, the Royce genes ran strong because Seven Hells you were infuriating.

“Didn’t you say you could keep her in line?” Viserys taunts, amused. Oh, if Daemon could, he would spank your pretty arse red from that defiance. Little brat that you are, it would be a fitting punishment.

He can’t do much more, not without endangering you. Neither Viserys nor him are experts on dreamers. They have been oddities during the history of their house. Their lessons on them were far less detailed than on dragons.

The upkeeping and care of one would require research. But some things are clear from the start. Dreamers shouldn't be hurt. Or too traumatized. They might get nightmares, and that would make their powers wane.

Daemon needs to scare you into thinking he will hurt you, but not actually do it. How to scare you into compliance and punish you, but not hurt you? He looks at the Iron Throne, and suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. You are, in many ways, a child. And a man is allowed to discipline his wife.

Daemon unsheathes his sword, making as much noise as possible. You flinch, clearly recognizing the sound. He bangs it against your vulnerable behind, making you jolt forward and yelp. Not only it must have hurt, but the sound echoed in the throne room. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, surprised and a little teary-eyed. Viserys smiles.

"Answer his question. Properly." Daemon orders. You look between him and Viserys, clearly unsure. He gives you a few moments, but when you are taking too long for his liking, Daemon raises his sword again. The words nearly tumble out in your haste to speak.

"I… Your wife. Aemma, she held on to you and begged you to not let them cut her. You held her down. Monster.” You say to Viserys, now openly crying. Daemon blinks. Now that was something he didn’t know.

Viserys’s anger at the “heir for a day” comment is suddenly framed in a new light. Guilt. The fool. Daemon would never do something like that to you. A dreamer is too valuable of an asset.

“Something more pleasant.” He orders, swinging the sword. You try to dance away from the hit, but you are unable to. You give another cry.

“You have a dagger. With Aegon’s dream. And the Lady Alicent visited you in your chambers, wearing one of her mother’s dresses, after Aemma passed.” This time, Daemon keeps a close eye on Viserys’s face, instead of you. His face is slack, jaw hanging open. Apparently, you are telling the truth. He wonders what other seedy secrets about him you know.

Daemon raises his sword, ready to hit your bottom again.

“That’s enough, Daemon. You proved your point. You can marry her.” Viserys says, voice shaky. He is clearly overcome by what you know and by the methods needed to extract the information from you. Viserys is about to give you to him. He has realized he will not be able to handle you.

Daemon doesn't mind. To be kept safe, every King needs someone willing to get their hands dirty. He has done much worse, and that was not even in the hopes of protecting Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“No, no, no…” You protest, pitifully. Your whole face is streaked with tears.

“Thank you, brother.” Daemon answers, smirking. Never has he felt more victorious. He gives another slap to your behind, this time with his hand. Viserys nearly smiles at your indignant shriek. “Oh, Lady Wife, no one asked for your opinion.”

[once-upon-a-thigh]

She sees you when you’re sleeping

Summary: You’re home from collage to spend Christmas with your family and your older brother’s best friend, Natasha.

Genre: Smut

Pairing: AU Natasha Romanoff X Fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+, she/her, pronouns used, afab, dub-con, pervert! Nat, somnophilia, small age gap (19/24), swearing, groping, fingering (r receiving), strap on sex (r receiving), degradation, santa kink???

Here’s your Christmas gift sluts, sorry for the pause.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel in front of you tightly, an index finger tapping along to the Christmas tunes playing softly through the radio. You mentally blamed your nervous driving on the icy roads, but you knew the truth. Your brother Tony had his old college friend, Natasha, staying over for Christmas this year. You hadn’t seen her for years, but this didn’t stop you from remembering the intense crush you used to have on the older girl whenever she would visit home with Tony. Used, you chucked to yourself. As if you haven’t been stalking her instagram, guiltily touching yourself to any photos that revealed her strong arms and nimble fingers.

With the redhead on your mind, the drive went by quick as a flash. Before you knew it, you were pulling in to the freshly shovelled driveway, greeted by the various expensive cars owned by your father.

With a sigh, you stepped out the car and heaved your bag from the back. You dragged your feet to the door that had already been opened by your anxiously waiting mother, careful not to slip. You couldn’t help the grin that slipped on your face as soon as your waiting mother pulled you in to her warm embrace, smothering your cold cheeks with loving kisses.

“Oh Y/n, I missed you darling. Come in, come in quick before you catch a cold.” She tugged you inside and slammed the door shut, resulting in a yell from your father who had yet to notice your presence.

“Maria! What have I told you about slamming that damn door!” He came barrelling in to the hall. “Oh, Y/n dear, welcome home.” His frown turned upside down when he noticed you, trudging forward to pull you in to a hug. Your heart grew sore with the amount of love you were receiving. You had missed being home.

“Oh sister!” An elongated yell sounded from the lounge. You recognised the voice of your annoying man-child of a brother. You hesitated on greeting him, knowing that the woman of your dreams will most likely be there with him.

With an ounce of courage, you stepped in to the room, trying your best to keep your eyes from immediately darting to the woman sat next to your brother.

“Hi Tony,” you smiled, before finally letting your eyes slip to the redhead “Hey Nat.”

Your cheeks immediately flushed as red as her hair when you noticed her ivory greens were already piercing in your direction. She stood tall, taking a couple swaggering steps towards you with her hands in her pockets as her gaze shifted up and down your almost quivering body.

“Hey Y/n, long time no see.” She paused for a moment, eyes stopping on your chest as she sucked in her bottom lip. “My, have you grown.”

Your breath caught, all you could let out in a reply was a quiet whimper.

You brother shoved Nat in the arm, though she hardly moved and her stare didn't shift either.

“Can you stop flirting with my sister? She’s a kid.” He grunted.

“I’m not a kid Tony!” You clapped back, embarrassed he would say such a thing.

“Oh please Y/n, you still believe in Santa Clause.” He rolled his eyes.

“I do not!” You yelled back, fists clenched.

Your mother’s voice interrupted your argument from the kitchen. “Children! There will be no arguing on Christmas eve!”

Feeling totally humiliated, you turned on your heal and made a run for it upstairs to your childhood bedroom. Flopping on to your princess themed bed, you glanced around the room that was still painted pink, stopping briefly on the collection of stuffed animals piled up in the corner. “No wonder they think I’m a kid,” you muttered to yourself.

Your wallowing was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Sitting up on the bed and ringing your hands together, you called them in. Much to your delight, and embarrassment, it was Natasha who stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“You forgot this detka.” Her bulbous bicep strained as she lifted your duffle slightly in a gesture. Your mouth watered at the sight, thighs clenching at the nickname.

“Thank you.” You murmered, your gaze dropping to your lap.

Much to your surprise, she took a seat on the edge of the bed, watching you. After a moment of silence, you gasped quietly when she laid a strong, veiny hand on your thigh. She sucked in sharply through her teeth as she squeezed the flesh roughly. “I don’t think you’re a kid, by the way.”

You glanced up at her with innocent eyes. “You don’t?”

Her grip loosened, her hand now trailing up towards your centre slowly. “No, you’re all grown up, aren’t you sweetie?”

You gulped, lashes fluttering. Suddenly, it was like the lustful cloud had dematerialised, and she snatched her hand back. She stood up quick, walking to the door in a hurry. Half out the door, she looked over her shoulder with a grin.

“Do you really still believe in Santa?”

Still recovering from whatever the fuck just happened, you only gawked at her, mouth open.

With a chuckle in amusement at your lack of reply, she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Soon it was time for dinner, which went by achingly slow with your parents smothering you, and your brother embarrassing you at the same time. It wasn’t all bad however, as the whole time Natasha was sat next to you, brushing her hand against you discreetly every chance she got. The back of your neck as she rested her arm on the back of your chair mid-conversation, your breast as she reached across you for the salt, or your thigh, for seemingly no reason at all.

Natasha had become completely enthralled by you from the moment you stepped through the door. The naive girl she had once known now grown, a beautiful woman that she wished to be between the legs of. She felt like such a pervert, wanting nothing more than to fill every hole of her best friend’s little sister until she begged for her to stop.

She watched the bounce of your ass and the sway of your hips as you carried the dirty plates to the kitchen. You volunteered to clean the dishes like the good little girl you are. She briefly fantasised about stealing you away, forcing you to become a housewife that would clean the dishes as she used your filthy body to get herself off.

“I’m going to help her.” Nat smiled as she rose from the table. Brushing off Howard and Maria’s protests, she made her way in to the kitchen.

You hadn’t noticed her, too busy scrubbing away at a plate under running water. Glancing behind her and ensuring she was out of sight from the rest of the family, she snuck up behind you.

You went rigid when you felt a warm body press against the back of you. You already knew it was the woman you had been pining after, who else would it be? Not sure as to how to react, you carried on washing the dishes with a red face.

Your whole body flushed when you heard her moan gently as she grasped at your tits, squeezing and shaking them like they were toys.

“N-nat? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She replied, rubbing her nose in to your neck and laying gentle kisses between sentences. “I’m just fulfilling both of our fantasies. You think I never noticed you staring detka? Did you think I wouldn’t notice when you liked that old photo of mine on insta?”

You instantly cringed at the memory. You had been looking at, using, a photo of her at the beach that had been posted a year before when you accidentally brushed your thumb against the like button when you reached your peak. You were quick to retract the like, but it seems the damage was already made.

“Did you touch your pretty little pussy when looking at it malyshka? You just couldn’t help yourself, huh? Well you don’t have to worry about that now, I’m here to make to all better.”

Your breathing quickened as one of her hands released your breast to trail down your stomach, it was just breaching the waistband of your jeans before she jumped away from you. You were quick to turn around, ready to berate her for stopping, only to realise your mother was walking through the door.

“Sweetheart, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, are you feeling alright?” She sped towards you, pressing her hand against your forehead. “Y/n, you’re all flushed. How about you go to bed early? I don’t want you unwell on Christmas.”

Glancing at Natasha, you saw her facing her boots, biting her lip to hide a grin. Looking back at your mother, you nodded your head, feigning exhaustion. “Yeah, okay.”

It was late into the night when the older woman made a move to feel you again. The rest of your family had resided to their own beds, leaving the house in a barely creaking silence.

Unbeknownst to you, you had made things all the much easier for her. Sneaking in to your room and pulling the covers off your soundlessly asleep body left Nat feeling a little guilty. You looked so cute, so peaceful. But, when she saw your attire, all guilt had disappeared. There you laid in only a top and panties, like you had been waiting for her. Soft thighs slightly parted, practically inviting her in. She stifled a groan at the sight of you, already desperately removing her clothes as quiet as she could with such haste.

Her knees dented the plush mattress as she settled between your own. She positioned your spread legs how she liked, leaving a trail of goosebumps as she brushed her fingers along your skin. The toy strapped around her hips was so large it had already settled against your clothed centre, the weight of it causing enough stimulation to have you whimpering in your sleep, a wet patch gradually growing on the cotton beneath the foux cock. Breathing heavily, she leant forward, bracing herself on her forearms so her body was flush against your own. She was surrounded by your scent, and utterly obsessed. The redhead breathed in against your neck as she began to grind against you, feeling the base of the dildo rock against her throbbing clit.

"Gunna spread you open." She whispered seductively against your ear, before grunting and thrusting once a bit too hard, unable to hold herself back. "Going to rip that pussy apart."

Out of everything, it was the hotness of her breath against your lobe that had you begin to stir awake. Natasha paused momentarily, shuffling up so she can stare down at you expectantly, but her grinding didn't stop.

"Mm," your eyelids fluttered open until you curiously looked at her with hooded eyes. "What's going on?"

Thankful for your calm state, the predator's movement only increased, now moving so roughly against you your body shifted across the mattress inch by inch. "Shh sweetheart, go back to sleep. It's just Santa here to give you your present."

You rubbed your eyes with your fists, and she grinned at your cuteness. "What are you doing Nat?"

She was a bit sad that her game of pretend had finished so quickly, but that disappointment didn't last when you let out a quiet moan, suddenly moving your arms around the woman and gripping at her muscular shoulder blades. "I- I-"

She interrupted your stutter by pressing her mouth against your own, thrusting her tongue inside and tasting you with a moan. You immediately melted in to the kiss, moving your lips against hers hastily in order to catch up. Now having realised what is happening, you were ecstatic, lifting your hips in an attempt to further rub yourself against her length. "That's my girl," she pulled away to to whisper.

Sitting back on her feet, she pulled down your panties, watching in awe as your slick caused the fabric to stick to your cunt. Whilst she was gawking at your puffy lower lips, you were watching her. Your gaze drifted down her bare body, admiring her round breasts and toned abs. You flinched when she pressed two cold fingers against your slit, watching your reaction when she gathered your wetness and prodded at your sopping hole. You practically sucked in her fingers, whimpering as she moved them in and out slowly, flexing her fingers so she could stretch your walls ready for her cock.

Pulling her digits out, Nat pushed them into her own mouth next, moaning at the taste of your arousal. Releasing her fingers, they grasped at your hips next, flipping your over so you were lying flat on your stomach. You yelped loudly at the sudden movement, causing her to throw her body over your own so she could slap a large hand over your open mouth.

"Quiet now, malyshka. You wouldn't want me to stop, would you?" She threatened with a buck of her hips, causing the head of the dildo to breach between your thighs and press against your newly stretched hole. You shook your head, tears beginning to fill your eyes due to desperation. Grunting in response, she began to slowly press her hips forward, causing her cock to submerge inside you, You let out a long whine as she continued to press forward until her pelvis was pressed tightly against your ass, which was smothered by her palm.

"Fuck, listen to that little pussy. You're so wet for me." Squelches sounded as she shallowly thrusted against you, breathing heavily into the side of your face, laying a sloppy kiss wherever she could reach after every few thrusts. Her knees locked in on either side of your thighs, the hand that was not covering your mouth wrapped underneath you to grope at your tits and keep you closely tucked in to her chest. She had you in such a tight hold you could hardly breathe, but you didn't care, you would keep letting her fuck you until you passed out and after if it meant she would visit your room again the next night. She gripped your jaw tighter to the point where it was painful as your moans became louder as you began to reach your peak. Natasha's hips stuttered as your walls squeezed and hugged her in even deeper.

"That's it, cum around my cock you dirty slut. Who knew you would turn out to be such a whore huh?" She grinned against your ear sadistically before biting it, screwing her eyes shut as she came alongside you. She continued to rut in to you animalistically, pushing you both through your orgasms before her hips stilled. You both collapsed further into the mattress, if that's possible, now just a sweaty heap of limbs.

She brushed her nose against your damp neck, moaning lightly in content. "You're mine now."

Your lisps lifted into a soft smile. "Best Christmas gift ever."

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

New Years Day - Billy Butcher

A/N: Happy New Year, friends! Hoping that this year brings nothing but the best for all of us. Here is a little New Years gift, albeit a little late. I want to push myself to write more this year, on here and not, so hopefully you'll see a little more of me!

TS Prompt #2: New Year’s Day

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: New Years morning with Billy <3

The first thought in Billy Butcher's mind when he wakes up is that if he tries to open his eyes, his head will explode. He groans as he turns away from the light streaming in through the small apartment's bedroom window and chances a quick peek at the room.

His head has not exploded, but it is pounding. After a few seconds to get used to the cruel light of day, he rolls back over on his back. The sheets smell of whiskey and something else he can't place, but definitely a smell from the party last night.

He reaches out, expecting to find you lying next to him, probably just as hungover as he is, and hopefully as naked as he had left you the night before. His hand only brushes over the coldness of your pillow.

He sits up quickly, which is a mistake, as the drinks from last night threaten to come back up. As his stomach settles, he climbs out of bed and follows the light coming from the hall. There is rustling and clinking coming from the kitchen, much quieter than the clinking glasses from the night before.

He finds you here, a trash bag in hand, and a fluffy robe wrapped around you. You glance up at him when you hear his shuffling and give him a tired smile.

"Happy New Year," you whisper.

"Is it?" he asks. He stops in front of you and leans down to kiss you. "What are you doing up so early?"

"The sunlight woke me up," you say with a shrug. "Figured I'd get a jump start on cleaning up the mess of our party."

"You don't have to do that all on your own, love," he says, taking the bag from your hand.

"I also figured you'd be pretty hungover. I didn't expect to see you for a while."

"Are you not hungover?" he asks, quickly recounting in his mind how many drinks each of you had. You might have had a few less, but he had a higher tolerance. If he was hungover, you had to be.

"Oh I am," you say with a pained expression, "Which is why I took four Tylenol this morning and why I couldn't fall asleep after I did."

"Rest, let me clean up," he says, steering you towards the couch. He sits you down and kisses your forehead. As he does, he sees the mess of beer bottles, wine glasses, and anything else one can imagine scattering his living and dining room.

"Remind me why we had this party?"

"Because it's what you do on New Year's Eve," you say, standing back up, "Like how on New Years Day, you clean up all the bottles your friends left."

"What are you doing?" he asks as you walk back into the kitchen and grab another bag.

"This one is for the trash, you work on the bottles."

"Who brought plum flavored beer?" he asks in disgust, chucking the can into the bag.

"Oh, my work friend brought. It was not actually as bad as you'd think. I could have sworn you tried some."

"No," he grumbles, moving on to the next five cans.

"You were definitely there when she was passing them around."

"I'm telling you, I was not. In fact, the only time I saw you at the party was when it was over and you finally joined me in bed."

"Don't say finally like you were in there all night," you say with a roll of your eyes. "You partied well past midnight."

"Well how could I not?" he asks, "The music never turned down once until everyone left."

"You're even grumpier this year than you were last."

"It's the hangover, love," he quips. You laugh and then immediately put a hand on your forehead. Billy watches you wince and comes over to your side.

"Maybe you need more than just Tylenol."

"I'll be fine. I figured we'd get some greasy breakfast food after this is all picked up and then get back into bed," you say. Billy raised an eyebrow at you. "No, not like that. The only kind of pounding going on today will be the one going on in my head."

"That's fair," he says, kissing your forehead.

"Also," you say, grabbing his hand before he walks off to pick up more leftover drinks. "We spent more time together last night than just at the end of the night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, dumbass, you kissed me at midnight."

"That wasn't me, darling," he says, dropping his garbage bag on the floor. He notices smatterings of glitter all over his floor, and knows that it will be an even bigger mess to clean up, but doesn't care as he wraps his hands around your waste. You drop your own trash bag and look up at him.

"I'm pretty sure it was."

"I would have remembered that," he says, "But now I know there's someone from last night who is getting the ass-beating of a lifetime."

"Oh shut up," you say, shoving him gently. "Remember, everyone started counting down and I pinned you down--"

"Ooh," he says gruffly, pulling you closer. You roll your eyes.

"I pinned you down, meaning I finally found you, in the kitchen, and dragged you back out here for the countdown."

"And then what happened?"

"And then the clock struck twelve and you kissed me. Just like this." You close the gap between the two of you and tilt your head up to kiss his lips softly. His hand travels up into your tangled hair and you melt into the kiss for a few more minutes.

"Just like that," he hums when you break apart.

"Mhm."

"Expected something a little more wild for a New Years kiss."

"Oh, believe me, it got wilder when everyone left."

"Yeah, I'm remembering now." He thumbs at the opening of your robe and sees that it is the only thing you have on.

"Remember what I said about pounding," you say, reading the look in his eyes.

"Seems like we could have foregone the party and just spent the night together. No headaches, and all the pounding," he says with a wicked smile. You laugh and fall into his arms. "Unfair I only get you at midnight."

"You can have me at all your midnights. And I know I left you alone for a lot of last night, but I knew I'd get you all to myself this morning, that we'd clean up bottles together on New Years Day," you say, rubbing his back gently.

"I feel honored," he says sarcastically.

"No one else I'd rather clean up with," you say, looking up at him before breaking away.

You are quiet for a while, cleaning up your unspoken half of the mess. It isn't until Billy brings his full bag back into the kitchen that you speak again.

"You know, my friend with the plum beer told me something interesting."

"Yeah?"

"Well, she had been dating someone at work and they broke up after a few months. She said the break-up had been fine, but that after it was over, she had to ask to be transferred. She said she couldn't stand hearing his laughter, even four or five offices down."

Billy grunts in response, not sure what to say.

"After she told me, I found myself picking out your laugh in all of the noise last night." You sigh and Billy turns towards you. "Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I can recognize anywhere."

"Y/N," he says gently, taking you in his arms again. "Never. I love you."

"I love you, too." He leans in to kiss you once more, his grip on you is firm as he deepens the kiss, making it more meaningful than the quick one at midnight, or even the ones he scattered over your body last night.

"Happy New Year, love."

"Happy New Year, Billy."

[in-jail-out-soon7]

Merry Christmas!

In which you celebrate Christmas morning with the Sano household.

Manjiro Sano x GN!Reader

Warnings: Cursing & tooth rotting fluff

Being shaken awake, violently- Wasn't really what you had in mind for Christmas morning. Hissing as your blanket was ripped off of you and the cold air of Mikey's room attacked your bare legs.

The worse part about your boyfriend's room being in a literal garage/shed is that whatever temperature it was outside it was the exact same temperature inside.

Finally gaining some consciousness, you stared up at Mikey who was kneeling on the mattress over you. "Wake up, (Y/N)," He groaned, discarding the blanket he had just stripped from you to the floor.

"Mikey." Stretching your limbs and popping your joints, you stared annoyingly up at Mikey. "What time is it?"

"Why does it matter?"

You groaned and turned over on your other side to face the wall. The mattress raised and the old bed frame squeaked as Mikey jumped out of bed.

Mikey had spent nearly the entirety of Christmas Eve trying to convince your family to let you stay the night and spend Christmas morning with Him, Emma and his grandpa. A box of your mother's favorite perfume set, that he definitely made either Draken or Emma buy- not that he'd admit it- was what made her cave.

However if you knew it would be like this you would've chucked the gift right out the damn window.

You were definitely feeling the effects of staying out until two in the morning riding on the back of Mikey's bike through the city. He had also dragged along Draken and Mitsuya, their's and your complaints about the cold fell on deaf ears. You all knew of the tradition Mikey had formed with his older brother, Shinichiro, and Baji of riding through the winter snow on Christmas Eve.

So despite all the complaints, nobody had left his side until he was ready to return home with you.

A yelp left your lips when ice cold hands gripped the back of your thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. Mikey flipped you onto your back, your legs falling over the edge of the bed and your feet landed on the hard floor with a thump.

Left in a weird position with your upper body on the bed and the lower hanging off, your hips tensed then popped. You swung at him with an open hand. "Fuck, Mikey, go back to sleep!"

Mikey slapped your hand away easily and pouted. Without a word he placed a leg on either side of yours and flopped down on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're The Grinch," he whispered playfully.

"Whatever."

Mikey kissed your collarbone and giggled, vibrating the skin. He stood, but before he could pester you more a voice called from outside the shed.

"Manjiro! Emma wants you and (Y/N) inside for breakfast!" The voice was low and scratchy. Mikey's grandpa.

Mikey called back, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Okay, Grandpa!" Now you had to go with him.

You and Mikey slipped on shoes and jackets over your pjs for the two second walk to the house. The snow crunched under your feet as you made you way to the front door. Mikey opened it, after being out all night and sleeping with no heater both of you sighed contently at the warmth before removing your shoes and jackets.

Following the scent of breakfast through the living room to the kitchen, having to grip Mikey's sleeve so he didn't run head first into the pile of presents under the tree.

As you both took seats around the table the clock on the wall caught your eye.

6:34 A.M.

You don't think you've ever seen Mikey up this early before, and if you have he never went to sleep to fucking begin with. You silently glared at Mikey who was too distracted with the food Emma was currently stacking onto plates.

"Merry Christmas, you two," She said happily turning to face the table. Over a white sweater and black leggings she had on a red apron with a small christmas tree printed in the upper middle. She placed plates of waffles and eggs in front of everyone.

Mikey immediately reached across the table for the can of whipped cream, you pulled your own plate towards you. "Thanks for cooking Emma." You smiled at her as she took her own seat. Their grandfather, Mr. Sano, nodded in agreement, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Scooping some egg into your mouth, Mikey picked at the edges of his waffles. A mess of whipped cream on his plate. "Emma," he whined. "You made the edges of my waffles too crispy."

Emma huffed, pouring juice into her glass. "Than make it yourself next time, and where's that old towel? Not that I'm complaining, you really need to throw that garbage away." She drizzled syrup on her waffles. Mr. Sano chuckled from down the table.

"(Y/N) threw it on the floor."

"I did not!"

Mikey shrugged and stuffed more waffle into his mouth, he ignored the eggs.

Emma turned to you and poured juice into your own glass. You thanked her, took a sip and sighed. "Next time you see it throw it out for me, (Y/N)."

"I will."

Mikey gasped dramatically through a mouthful of food. "No you won't!"

Everyone laughed at Mikey's pout. The four of you continued to chat idly throughout breakfast.

When everyone finished Emma cleared away the dishes, dismissing any help you offered with clean up. Mikey dragged you into the living room, Mr. Sano following close behind after refilling his cup of coffee.

Mr. Sano turned on some random reality TV show and sat in his recliner while Mikey pulled you onto the floor next to him in front of the christmas tree.

"Now, hold on," Mr. Sano said stopping Mikey from ripping open the first present he found with his name on it. "Wait for Emma, Boy."

Mikey sat the present in is lap and groaned. "Emma hurry up!" The sound of Emma rinsing the dishes was the only response he got. Mr. Sano chuckled.

Mikey hung his head, his messy hair covering his eyes. You laughed softly and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

Looking down at the gift in his lap, you pointed at the tag. "I got this one for you." Your finger traced over your name written in fancy cursive- that Emma had insisted on writing for you so all the gifts matched.

Mikey tapped on the middle joint of your finger that traced the letters. He reached under the tree, knocking some presents aside until found what he was looking for.

He hands you a small gift with a poor wrapping job. "And I got this for you." You smiled and squeezed the gift softly trying to figure out at least the shape underneath the wrinkled paper.

"Emma didn't get onto you for this?" You giggle.

He shrugged. "I think I did great." You shook your head and sighed. Mikey poked at the present in your hand. "She said if I got to wrap it she got to hide it behind everything."

You laughed at that.

Emma walked into the living room holding a tray of three hot mugs of hot chocolate. "'Kay, I'm here!" Mikey exclaimed a 'finally!' then reached for the mug with the most whipped cream. You took one as well and thanked Emma.

When everyone had their first gift in hand, including Mr. Sano, Mikey was the first to rip the wrapping paper off his. You followed alongside him while Emma and Mr. Sano chatted behind you two on tne couch, opening their own gifts.

"Oh," Mikey said quietly. You looked at him. He gazed down at the now unwrapped gift in his hand: A toy airplane still in it's box.

Your heart dropped at his reaction. "You use to have one right? You told me it broke." Mikey nodded. "Shinichiro gave it to you." He nodded again.

"Yeah."

"Yeah." You repeated. "Sorry."

Mikey shook his head and sighed. Before you could respond about the change of mood an icy hand found it's place on the back of your neck, and warm lips on your own. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like forever before he pulled away. His lips were still sticky from breakfast earlier.

"It's the best." He said finally.

"What?"

"The gift. It's the best."

"Oh, good!" You sighed in relief. Turning back to your own gift, you discarded of the last few pieces of paper. You were finally left with a small box. You opened it to find a purple charm. Identical to the one Mikey has been carrying around since Baji's death.

"Open it," Mikey says softly from besides you.

Turning the charm over in your hand, you pull open the slit at the top and pull out a folded piece a paper. You began unfolding it.

It was a picture of twelve year old Mikey and you riding the old moped he use to have before he got a real motorcycle. The photo must've been taken by either Baji or Kazutora because they were the only two not in the background, but you chose not the voice the observation. Draken, Mitsuya, and Pah were blurry figures in the back, but you could still recognize who was who.

You traced over the faces of yourselves, clearly enjoying the experience despite both of you struggling to both fit on the moped. A smile stretched across your face. It had been the day you had tagged along with them to the beach. When Toman was only six members big.

"I didn't even know this photo was taken," you laugh.

Mikey reached into his shirt and pulled out his own charm that contained a photo of all the founding members or Toman. The same charm Baji carried around before his death two months ago. "I found it in here."

Taking a deep breath you refolded the picture and slipped it back into the charm. You turned to you boyfriend.

"Thanks, Mikey."

Before he could respond a flash caught you guy's attention. You both turned around to Emma giggling and Mr. Sano holding a camera.

"Grandpa- stop-" Mikey's exclaim was cut off by the doorbell.

Confused, Emma stood and disappeared into the foyer for a few moments while Mikey continued to pout at his grandpa.

"Throw it away, Grandpa."

"Nah," Mr. Sano said waving around the photo that had just finished processing.

Emma returned a smile reaching up to her eyes. A voice boomed behind her.

"Are we late!?" Draken, Mitsuya, Chifuyu and Takemitchy walked into the living room. All of them holding gifts.

Brushing his messy hair aside Mikey jumped onto his feet and made his way over to the group to greet them.

While everyone else was distracted in conversation you approached Mr. Sano.

"Came to try and throw it away too?" He asks holding the photo teasingly.

You shook you head and laughed. "No." You held up your charm.

"There's somewhere I want to put it."

[nite-puff]

fuck it! gay robots!

ishimondo wall-e au! it came to me in a dream.

mondo (… M.O.N.D-0???) is the last robot standing cleaning up earth when he gets a surprise visit from a rocket ship. on that ship is taka (��� T.A.K.A???) who has been sent to find any proof that earth can support life once again. the two meet and shenanigans ensue. maybe they fall in love???

anyways, more rambling from me about these two under the cut.

okay! so my main thing with mondo and his behavior is that it’s all based on him being the last being on earth, so he really doesn’t have anyone around him (other than his pet cockroach, chuck!) and therefore doesn’t feel the need to act a certain way to impress anyone. so this is version of mondo is if he didn’t have a whole bunch of self-image issues and just was his funki and cringe self. he literally is cringe and free.

after years having to clean up earth, he’s grown an affinity for the little things to pass the time. like collecting little knick-knacks he finds on the job to bring back home or making figures out of the cubes of trash he makes. he’s a little artist and collector.

taka on the other hand is at first rigid and is set out to complete his directive because it’s what he was made to do. he has a whole population back on the axium counting on him to find any traces of life on earth (or so he thinks). he does occasionally display some signs of humanity and happiness. he feels warmth in the little things as well, like a cockroach or bubble wrap or a lighter. he’s enthralled and wants to know more about this strange place but can’t because he has a job to do. maybe the strange little robot guy he meets doesn’t throw him off his course.

design stuff! i know i made mondo look less… anthro ig??? in his design than taka, but i wanted to make up for it by “personalizing” him a bit. he’s doodled all over himself and he thinks his trousers make him look nice. maybe he thinks the doodles look badass because they’re like tattoos. i also did that to contrast more with taka, who looks spotless. i was considering giving him legs, but remembered that of course he would have wheels. biker, and alla that. he was born to roll around. and i don’t think it’s noticeable, but i tried to make his arms and hands bigger than wall-e’s because he’s a little stronger. in this au, mondo doesn’t do the trash compacting his his little cube body, but with his hands (to keep with the idea that mondo likes to work and creat stuff with his hands). so he needs to have bigger and more efficient tools. also, i changed his wheels to be diamond shaped.

taka meanwhile was super easy to design. he and eve have sorta similar design qualities, like a majority white color palette and very simple shapes with not a lot of detail going on. very easy to mix the two. the idea of his design is what spurred me into thinking about this au. the one thing i’ll point out is that i made eve’s little dots that pop up when she scans things vertical so that it can sort of resemble taka’s medal. idk i thought it was neat.

(also, if im being completely honest with myself, if taka was actually any wall-e character, he would be MO. just an angry gremlin that musters up the courage to stray off his path because he is so determined to clean up wall-e’s mess. and then they become friends at the end. he just gives off taka energy.)

anyways, that’s it for right now. im pretty satisfied with taka’s design, but im considering changing some things on mondo’s. mainly the color palette.

am i gonna turn this into a full-fledged story??probably not, but maybe i’ll add more onto it in the near future. like assigning other characters.

wall-e’s a cute movie. gotta put the blorbos in it.

[garricks4thwingqueen]

A.M. Smooches - Garrick Tavis

Prompt:   Smooching them all over the face, because that’s the only thing that gets them to wake up. 

*Here’s a small work for my first post into the fanfic world! This is what I came up with for Garrick Tavis from Fourth Wing. Feedback is appreciated especially since this is my first fanfic post. *

  You smiled waking up on the couch in the living room of Riorson house. Your long term boyfriend Garrick Tavis, still asleep on your chest. Being Xaden Riorson's younger sister wasn't easy but Garrick had always made it bearable even with him being Xaden's best friend. 

    It was the end of your first year at Basgiath and the start of Xaden and Garrick’s fourth, which would mean you'd soon be separated again. But for now it was a welcomed reward waking up in your childhood living room in Aretia. As always when your group (Xaden, Garrick, Imogen and Sloane) feel asleep like this in the main room you were always the first to wake. You took in the difference of your group Liam now gone, and Violet Sorrengail surprisingly added to the mix. You still weren't sure how she fit in besides the soul fact she was bonded to your brother till death do them apart now.  “You better start kissing him so he wakes up. wouldn't want the other 100 cadets to see how soft he gets for you.” Xaden teased waking up. 

   “Oh shut up.” You giggled and grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at your brother. “Hey. Watch it y/n!” Xad chuckled. “Never.” You smirked and looked down at a still sleeping Garrick. Sometimes what Xaden had said was true Garrick didn't wake up until you started smooching all over his face and you did. You had placed several smooches on his face before going to his lips which finally woke Him up.

  You giggled at his grumbles as he stirred and whispered a “Good morning my little one.” Garrick said through a raspy voice and started to return your smooches all over your face. “Careful Gare Bear my brother doesn't want the other cadets To see how soft you get for his little sister. “Eww I don't want to see it either. Don't you two have a room?” “Good Morning, Immi.” I smirked at my best friend. “Fuck off.” She groaned. “Oh Imogen forever our morning person.” You snickered toward your friend. “Maybe Imogen is right.” “What do you mean my sexy Gary?” You smirk knowing fairly well that your boyfriend only allowed that nickname in the bedroom. “I mean that we could have properly woken each other up then.” Garrick smirked, kissing your lips.  “Eww gross that's my sister Tavis.” Xaden mocked “Plus time for all you lazy asses to get up anyways. Rebel meeting in 15.” “Xad It's not ev-.” “Don't bother my love, it's not worth it and you know it.” Gare smirked peppering kisses all over your face and down your neck as he picked you up and finally carried you to your room if only to get ready for the day.

[procyonloser]

Adamsapple mini ~space~ au that maybe I'll adapt into an actual fic after I'm done with eve of Adam.

Read more below the cut

Klaxons were blaring and the ship was painted in flashes of red and blue. His soldiers were running around like headless fucking chickens, trying to contain the fires and the leaks before they got out of hand, but bodies lay on the ground and they were drifting on no life support.

"Sir!?" His first officer screamed, holding her bleeding arm. Her eyes were wide in fear, fury, and a resolution that was quickly leaving him. But, they still shared a similar need for revenge.

They were outgunned. The traitors and outcasts had won, the scum of the fucking galaxy. Disgusting hybrids and freaks.

And the worst of all of them...

Adam stumbled to the front of his ship, stepping over the body of his navigator. He'd not live much longer, a piece of metal had gone straight through him in the last barrage. Lucifer's lead ship, the Morning Star, stayed locked onto them. He'd gotten a few good hits in on Charlie's ship, she'd not be able to warp out of here.

Adam stared out the window, and decided he had one song left in him.

"Attention, this is your fucking Captain speaking. Abandon ship. Get to your escape pods and get your asses back to Peter's Gate space station." Adam barked out, feeling a sharp pain digging through him with every word. Lute started to protest behind him, but he carried on. "I'm not leaving the ship, I wouldn't survive the trip anyway. Lute is your new acting Captain. Now - fucking go already!"

There was chaos as his soldiers realized all hope was lost and the fight was over for them. Lute had tears running down her face, but Adam just shook his head.

"I gave you an order. Get out of here unless you want to die too." Adam said, without looking back up at her. Instead, he focused on yanking the chuck of metal out of his stomach. His white and gold suit had been stained a deep red. The only spot of human blood on the ship.

"Sir-" Lute moved closer, but Adam just flopped down into what was left of the Captain's chair.

"I'm not going down without one last trick up my sleeve. Get out of here before I bleed out. I'm giving you one minute to get to warp." Adam finally met her gaze with a weary grin. She knew what it meant, and it took her a moment to find the courage to do what she knew she had to.

Leave.

By the time he saw her escape pod launch from the port, and eventually flash away in a beam of light, Adam's vision had grown hazy. His entire body felt cold from blood loss, or maybe it was just the systems of the ship failing in the depths of space.

Either way, he had enough in him to punch in the self destruct codes.

Hopefully, he'd damaged enough of their ships warp cores that one wouldn't be able to flee, maybe even Charlie's ship. He doubted Lucifer's ship was damaged enough, but he could always dream. That's about all he'd be doing soon.

Adam sighed and looked out the window, wondering what Lucifer was thinking right now. It didn't need to be like this, if he hadn't rebelled, hadn't fucked Lilith and made that revolting hybrid. Lucifer could have been King of more than just the trash of the Galaxy. Lucifer had been more than that to Adam, once upon a time.

"I'll see you in hell, Lucifer." Adam said to himself, closing his eyes, as the countdown neared zero.

But explosion followed, none that Adam remembered. Which meant, he thought, that he'd died beforehand. Or maybe the nuclear blast was enough so that he died instantly before his brain or body had the chance to catch up with the feeling.

So, then, why was he thinking?

Adam opened his eyes to a bright white light, which he remembered from ancient human history as the description of an afterlife, before they'd mostly given up on religions. Two pairs of eyes seemed to appear above him, floating there in the brightness.

"God?" Adam mumbled in confusion.

"No, but you can call me that if you'd like, sweetheart." Lucifer said mockingly, and Adam's vision became more clear. "I saved your sorry ass before your ship went kablooey. You're now a prison of my Kingdom and my ring of coalition planets, Adam. We'll be seeing a lot of each other from now on. How's mercy taste?" Lucifer's grin was sharp, pointed, predatory.

Adam remembered that ancient humans used to have another name for the devil.

Maybe he was in hell.

[ananke-xiii]

The natural order is absent fathers.

I’ve been trying to understand what the heck “natural order” means in Supernatural until I’ve finally realized I was giving it too much thought than necessary because it was much simpler than what I had in mind: the natural order in Supernatural is…. Supernatural from s1 to s3.

I can explain.

First of all, the natural order is an “arrangement”:

EVE: You misunderstand me. I never wanted that. Not at first. I liked our arrangement. SAM: What arrangement? EVE: The natural order. My children turned a few of you, you hunted a few of them. I was happy.

Eve turns up in s6 after s4-5 madness and she’s unhappy: the arrangement has been broken. This leads me to think that the key-factor in keeping the natural order alive and well is honoring deals. When Crowley starts crossing boundaries in s6 Eve steps up to put him back in his place. However, she doesn’t realize who her real enemy is until it was too late for her. As always, the enemy of the natural order, the breaker of deals, the one you cannot expect to keep his word, the snake in the grass is our very Castiel.

Billie shares Eve's storyline. She’s also unhappy about the discombobulation of the natural order and she takes it on the Winchesters and then later on specifically on Dean. What's more, with Billie we see that uncontrolled resurrections without deals are a real problem for her. She fails to realize who her mortal enemy is twice: once when she’s a reaper and Castiel stabs her in the back and in so doing he’s breaking a stupid deal; the second time when they die together in s15. This time, though, they die because Cas is honoring a deal, but he’s doing it on his own terms, not waiting around wondering what true happiness is but taking matter into his own hands.  Although I have things to say about how happiness is framed in “Despair”, I’ve got to admit that, in its own convoluted way, it was a badass move.

Interestingly, when it comes to Chuck we don’t see the same respect and passion for the natural order that Eve and Billie seem to share. This is also where I think the writers sort of dropped the ball. In s11 it was established that Chuck had created nature and then nature “created on its own”. Here he seems to respect nature and calls it “divine”. In “The Trap”, however, he says the following things:

SAM: It'll be better. It'll be better. It'll be better. If we win – When we win – When we beat you, I will make it better! CHUCK: You can't, Sam. You, Sam Winchester, have been playing fast and loose with the laws of nature and magic for a very long time – you and your brother. Always breaking the rules. And that's what I love about you, Sam. It's so heroic. It's so...Promethean. But there's still so much about the fabric of the universe that you don't know... that you can't know. 'Cause you're only humans. But I'm God. Think about what I showed you. Look beyond the Mark, beyond you and Dean fanging out – heartbreaking, but not the headline news. SAM: The monsters. CHUCK: The monsters. CHUCK: Without me, it's a law of nature – dark forces prevail, monsters rule, and you, your brother, and everyone you love will die. Can you really live with that?

First of all I find it fascinating that Chuck, of all people, likes Sam and Dean precisely because they break the rules (but then he can't stand Castiel, looool, much to think about). He’s eventually angry at them because they don’t follow his script but he’s ultimately invested in these characters to such a degree that he calls them “Promethean”. Now, lol because didn’t Prometheus die, like, in s8 or something? But also: Prometheus is the hero who got impaled on the mountains of Caucasus because he defied Zeus (*cough* like *cough* Dean Winchester*cough*). So whether Chuck likes their "heroism" or not he only likes it up to a certain point (and this certain point is when their actions reveal his secret desires for self-destruction but that's for another day). For sure he wickedly enjoys when he vicariously breaks the rules and the natural order arrangement via Sam and Dean's actions. Not so much when it's Castiel who inserts himself into the fabrics of his story.

Secondly, “without me, it’s a law of nature”. What does that mean? I promised I wasn’t gonna go too philosophical so I went for the simpler route. If we leave aside the “dark forces” and “monsters rule” shit, what Chuck is saying is basically that without him the natural order will prevail. Which should be a good thing, right? Right?! Which also means that he himself is as much of a disruptor of the natural order as Castiel (oh-oh). Just like Billie, Chuck likes breaking the rules only when he or one of this favorite characters break them. Unlike Castiel and the Winchesters, however, he’s on a different plane of knowledge (therefore power) because there’s so much more about the fabrics of the universe that they can’t know but he can. After all, he is God and he (according to SPN) has created nature itself. So what’s Chuck’s signature on this "divine" masterpiece? What are the foundations of the natural order? I think the answer can be found in “Free to be You and Me”:

DEAN: The hell did you do? CASTIEL: I don't know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father Gene ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office. DEAN: Oh, no, man. CASTIEL: What? DEAN: This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's, it's the natural order.

That’s it, that’s the natural order according to Supernatural: it’s about absent fathers. It’s on their absence that “this whole industry” runs. Which not so incidentally is also the premise of Supernatural and, like, the whole plot of the first two seasons (and beyond but I'm talking "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home for a few days" type of absent father, that is John Winchester).

So if my understanding is correct, it’s accurate to say that Billie won in the finale because the natural order was re-established: nobody is resurrected, they all eventually die and Sam and Dean go on a hunt guided by their absent father’s journal, something we haven’t seen in ages, on a case that John himself had worked on something like maybe 20 years prior? Which is what they did in the first seasons of the show. They even meet a vampire from S1 who was there to signal precisely that: they're back in the past, only not in a positive way because it's a fictional past. A past with a mask.

Yes, the natural order is just the past through rose-colored glasses, a “let’s go back to the fun times of season 1-3 before all that angels-and-god-non-sense”. Which is technically possible but practically anachronistic. These two men are not in their 20s anymore, they're fully grown adults who've been through... let's just say a lot. It's a glorification of youth and a "forever young"ism that I find quite worrying. Moreover, with these premises Castiel couldn’t ever come back because, together with Chuck, he was one of the main disturbers of the natural order, aka the way Supernatural was before S4. Chuck's mistake was precisely inserting himself into the narrative because, in so doing, The Father is no longer absent while he must stay so according to the rule of the natural order. That's the arrangement. Chuck and Castiel's narrative fates are thus weirdly knotted together because the arrangement excludes deal-breakers/father-figures like them. Ironically, the ultimate absent father is not God but John Winchester, period. His absence is Order. It's the Law, aka what gives meaning to reality.

The implications of the finale are problematic because why on earth would you end your series like that? It's not even a positive "full-cycle" moment, it's just sad and uncanny in the freudian sense of the word. I know and understand that Dabb was working on his retelling so that we could all go back to the beginning but what is the point to go back without growth? Or to go back and then die? Or to go back and just leave? To me it doesn't make sense from a storytelling pov. I repeat, why would the people involved in this series decide to go down that road I cannot know. I suspect that they took the emotional, fake-happy ending road because Covid had destroyed the world as we know it so maybe they opted for an ending that would comfort people ("comfort" in the sense that's familiar to people, it follows an established path that's recognizable and doesn't destabilize them, which, for the record, I think they failed to do). Or maybe the intent was precisely the uncanny, that feeling of something disturbing and unsettling in what should be familiar and comfortable for us. As in: the story ends like it began, nothing has really changed and everything can only get resolved in the after-life. True happiness is not in the having, it's in just being (dead in Heaven with your brother). I don't know, two things can be true at the same time, but I'm not gonna lie I smell traditionalism, conservatism and heroism as a cult of death that's very Ur-fascist.

Not that anybody has asked for this but, unlike Eve and Billie, I’m actually quite happy because I’ve managed to find an answer to one of my own questions.

[evilsniigura]

Adam fucks his daughter because he made her. He owns you, you came from his balls so you're going to be fucked with the cock that made you. And you'll like it, you were made to like it because he says so.

Caine and abel get to fuck you very rarely but that's only because adam acknowledges that you're rebellious and he would rather you fuck your brothers than some random loser.

Caine is rough and likes leaving marks on you to make a point to adam, he would cut his name into you if he could.

Abel is softer but obviously tries to be like adam yet fails, hes better at watching than fucking (dont tell adam he refuses to have a cuck for a son)

Dont get me started on grandfather chuck who spoils you, who sits you on his lap for every family photo holding your hips down, who pays for your college tuition, your books, outfits, anything you need but not for your brothers. Adam doesnt know what you do with your grandfather and that's okay because every daughter rebels at some point

i went INSANEEEEE OVER THIS ASK. i basically built a whole backstory about this i’m unwell. this takes place in my mind in like a human/modern au wiejdnweidunweidundewiundwenijwdenijwed

bro okay. okay. okay. basically:

in my mind in that specific scenario the backstory is like: eve cheats and leaves adam as a single dad of three. he’s losing it of course 😭 reader since she’s the girl gets burdened at a young age of running the household. parentification and emotional incest until it escalates to straight up incest 😭 adam over sharing about his hook up and how horrible woman and everything else is like thanks you’re 13

cain and able (cain more) riddled with mommy issues and adam hating everyone and everything 😭 favourite deadbeat

who needs woman when you have a cute daughter actually

adam doesn’t care about annoying complaints. you should be thankful he preps you before fucking you with his thick cock. maybe if you don’t want to be treated like his wife you shouldn’t act like that smh

cain and able UGGGHHHH

cain to one up adam takes readers anal virginity since adam took the actual thing. very rough, very kinky, surprised at the end why adam doesn’t let him fuck his sister ofzen and the poor thing is covered in a worrying amount of bruises, bite marks, scratches and hickeyys

cain desperately wants like matching tattoos with reader isdhiashd all three siblings attend the same college and live at home. cain and able live at home because reader isn’t allowed to move out and they can’t let their father win

cain in my mind dates around and he’s HORRIBLEEE to other girls. he’s yearning for his little sister but adam is so vigilant 😒 he needs relief somewhere

able sweet boy….fr nobody tell adam about his cuck son IHSQSSHIQIJ the most sub one. feels bad for reader so let’s her ride him however she likes and lives with his face buried inbetween those thighs. he’s a bit horrible in that he uses the excuse of his non confrontational behaviour to get off to the noises of reader being nonconded by their father and brother lmaooo

adam calling his daughter rebellious and all she wants to do is wear crop tops, move out, doesn’t want a curfew, as an adult college student. how dare you even think about leaving??? loses his mind over everything. he’s so insufferable

GRANDFATHER CHUCK!! WHY DID I NEVER THINK OF THAT AAAAAAAA my ovaries……reader is fr his fave. the best thing adam has ever done, according to chuck lmao. adam low-key jealous of his daughter like he’s on thin ice with his dad and reader just has to sneeze and chuck is all over her ihshuashijas

it’s totally non of adam’s buismess what reader and chuck get up to in private. it doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s kept in the family. he doesn’t visit that often, he’s busy after all, but it has been more since reader reached that sweet adult age lmao. reader majors in what chuck wanted to keep that favourite status hasidhsu

reader has rh4 choice to move out of adam’s home into chucks but chuck is much much stricter. it’d be a worse prison, but she’d have to just keep one guy happy…..

i just imagine reader harbours a lot of resentment against eve. like she left you in that house, with that man. sure, he’s your father and in some twisted way you love him but still. maybe this whole mess could’ve been prevented

and adam and eve trying to date again SUHAUSHUWS poor reader happy to just be left alone now hopefully?? and adam still makes his way into readers bedroom and i just imagine reader straight up decks adam in the face

the whole house wakes up to adam over the sink his nose bleeding with reader unhappily holding a rag in her hand. eve is worried and fussing over adam and reader is like „he tripped >:(" able and cain immediately know what’s up and poor eve confused and worryied

cain wants to high five reader so bad and he straight up laughs in adam’s face. wraps his arm around reader all provoking and able rubs readers arm in comfort DHISIJSSWISJ

it doesn’t take long for adam to break up with eve and return you both were you belong: entangled in the sheets