#gold round cabinet pull

[rowbutt]

Bathroom New York Inspiration for a sizable transitional master bathroom remodel with furniture-like cabinets, blue cabinets, an undermount sink, marble countertops, and walls in a variety of colors.

[we-can-be-hysterical]

New York Bathroom Master Bath

[queen-moors]

Powder Room Bathroom Example of a small beach style light wood floor and brown floor powder room design with furniture-like cabinets, distressed cabinets, multicolored walls, a vessel sink, wood countertops, a two-piece toilet and blue countertops

[dear-slim]

I just know that Em would be the type of husband to feel freaky when you're in a cute lingerie with hair and makeup done

But he would turn into a touch starved man who never saw a woman when he see you angry, sweaty, tired, with an old pyjama roght after cleaning the house

Warnings: Smut, 18+, teasing, praise

Pairing: Eminem x fem!reader

The many days Em had been presently surprised by you in lingerie were stuck in his mind permanently, he loved to come home and see you on the bed, all spread out for him in a new set, not even for any particular reason, just so you could feel him nail you harder than ever.

But today? Well, today he was in a whole different mood.

You were grumbling under your breath, a stupid feathery duster in your hand, one of Em’s old t-shirts pulled over your body, hair pulled in a messy bun as you clean the bedside cabinets. “Well, look what we’ve got here,” you heard a voice behind you, turning to see husband.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and continuing your dusting as you huffed. “Mmm, dont ignore me,” he almost whined, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled your body back, purposefully dragging your ass over his crotch. “I’m cleaning,” you huffed, rolling your eyes as he groaned.

“I can see that,” he said, sitting on the bed and watching you, “and going look hot,” he lifted your shirt, taking in your lace panties as you pulled it back down, continuing with your cleaning. “Lookin’ tasty,” he hummed. “Oh god, shush,” you tutted, your hair falling messily into your face.

“Can’t help it,” he hummed, “your ass looks fat,”. Your cheeks reddened but you carried on cleaning anyways. “Fuck, will you stop that?” he huffed, pulling the duster from your hand, very nearly manhandling you onto your back on the bed as you protested.

“C’mon, let me have this one, I’ve had a long day,” Em said, his eyes staring at you pleadingly. How anyone could say not to those eyes, you never knew. “Fine,” you said, as he grinned, thrusting his trousers off, his cock springing eagerly into his palm as he tugged your panties off with his teeth.

“God, you damn animal,” you huffed as he hummed, staring at your glistening core. “All this time telling me to shut up and you’re soaking,” he sighed, aligning his tip with your entrance as you shrugged.

“I plead the vow of silence- Em!” you shrieked as he pushed fully in, bottoming out immediately, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, the gold rings in his ears glinting in the light. “Do you have…any fucking idea how hot you look when you do that?” he asked, leaning down to nip at your neck a you moaned.

“Doing what?” you choked out, nails scratching at his back a his hips pivoted, his cock ploughing into your folds again and again. “Fucking cleaning and being all moody and shit,” Em groaned, his hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back and give him more access.

“You’re a…fucking freak,” you mumbled as he chuckled. “Guess I am,” he nodded, the knot in your stomach tightening as your cunt clenched round him, your legs round his waist as you whined, your orgasm hitting like a bullet, his own thrusts becoming sloppier. He groaned into your neck, his seed spilling onto your thighs and legs as he panted.

“The washing machine needs cleaning…on the inside-,” he panted, as you hit him round the head. Jerk.

[ddarker-dreams]

play fighting — chrollo lucilfer.

Hot cocoa is a staple when cooler weather starts setting in. 

By your reckoning, it could find a place on every tier of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A warm, decadent cup with wisps of steam rising from the swirling surface. This mouthwatering mental image is what led you to the kitchenette. Dutifully following the package’s instructions, you rip into the chocolatey package by the serrated edge and get to work. 

All the while, a pair of inquisitive eyes track your every movement. You can’t imagine why the sight of you in fluffy pajamas pulling milk from the fridge has Chrollo’s rapt attention. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping on his own concoction. Earl gray tea, if the scent is of any indication. 

Your masterpiece is almost complete. Now, for the finishing touch — marshmallows. 

Alas. You’ve encountered a problem. The marshmallows are stored in a cabinet that evades your reach. To make matters worse, Chrollo has perched himself right where you’d need to climb up. Should you list clairvoyance among his many capabilities? Logically, you know that feat eludes him, but your suspicions remain.

“Is something the matter, dear?” 

Ah, you forgot that you’ve been silently squinting at him while the gears in your head spin. Round and round they go, never producing a viable solution. 

“No, not at all,” you dismiss. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he takes another sip of his drink. You can see it in his eyes, that ‘oh, really?’ look. You don’t appreciate that look, for you receive it often, thanks to your shenanigans. 

“Your drink’s getting cold,” he points out. 

Very astute of him. 

The way you see it, this can go a few ways. One, you could ask for his help in procuring your garnish. You could, but… he regards you with such bemusement, finding pleasure in every little thing you do. You’re tired of the court jester role. Asking him for something almost always guarantees that you’ll be putting on a metaphorical cap and bells. 

So you cling to your pride. You stand close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, as your target necessitates such sacrifice. Straining while on your tiptoes, your fingertips brush against the damnable cabinet handle, gold and mocking. Vigilant as your efforts are, they’re ultimately fruitless. Your prize remains just out of reach.

Huffing, you turn to face Chrollo, who has no right to look as innocent as he does. 

“Could you…” you trail off and shoo him with your hands. You hope that gets the message across. 

“Can I ask why? I feel perfectly content here.” 

Of course he does. 

You’re unsure what spurs on your next action. Pettiness? Irritation? Righteous anger? Who knows. You rest both your palms flat against his bicep and push, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle, which, in truth, is a fitting description. He doesn’t so much as budge. The full weight of your body and strength combined amounts to nothing. You can’t comprehend how hard his muscles feel beneath his shirt, it’s like you’re touching a wall. 

Although it’s quiet, you hear it. A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. 

Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as you go from your nice, secure spot on the floor to being lifted high. Two large hands settle right above your hips, holding you in place. Your reflexes kick in and you squirm. Fortunately, Chrollo’s grasp doesn’t falter. You realize what he’s getting at and make quick work of opening the cabinet and getting your stupid marshmallows. He brings you down. You only relax when your soles touch solid ground. 

Chrollo gives your hips a playful squeeze. 

“Try again,” he whispers near your ear.

You want nothing more than to scamper off, but his body envelops you, cutting off any escape. You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, clutching a bag of marshmallows, your Hello Kitty slippers askew.

You sigh.

Life certainly has its challenges. 

Should you start with elbowing him or stomping down on his feet…? 

[leighsartworks216]

Oh, Hold Me Now

Zayne x AFAB!Reader

Guess whose period just started haha The things I would do to be in Zayne's arms rn istg

Title from "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins

Warnings: menstruation, period fic, lots of domestic fluff, reader has a uterus but no other gender-defining things

Word Count: 1,726

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

With a whimper, you curl in on yourself. The pain in your abdomen rapidly ramps up. You clutch at your belly, willing it to stop, please god stop. It doesn’t listen until tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Then it slowly ebbs away, letting you breathe again.

You reach behind you, but all you find is a cold bed. You whine, annoyed with your emotions and just how upset you are that Zayne isn’t there. Even on his day off, he doesn’t sleep in.

You slowly slide out of bed. Your feet touch your warm slippers, a gift from your husband when you were dating and had just moved in together. They hug your feet in a familiar embrace, cushioning your weight as you force yourself to stand. You shuffle off to the bathroom.

It’s miserable and uncomfortable and you’re cursing your existence by the time you finish on the toilet. On top of that, you’re almost out of product, and what you have definitely isn’t going to last the day. You groan to yourself thinking about Zayne, on his nice day off, having to take care of you. He wouldn’t complain, but it gives you half a mind to change into real pants and go to the store yourself, just so he doesn’t have to deal with this. The other half is just oh so comfortable in your pajamas. You have enough stuff to last a couple hours, you’ll just go then.

After you scrub your hands within an inch of their life, you open the medicine cabinet and pull out some good ol’ painkillers. As desperate as you are to get rid of this pain, you’re not desperate enough to wash the pills down with water from the tap. Not yet, anyway.

Wanting nothing more than to be at the peak of coziness right now while your insides tear themselves apart, you throw on one of Zayne’s sweaters and leave the bedroom to face the cruel day ahead.

You see Zayne’s head peeking out over the top of the couch as he reads a medical book, as big as his head and as thick as your arm. You would chastise him for working, but he’d say he’s reading for his leisure. The threat of an oncoming cramp forces you to ignore him and turn to the kitchen.

“I already got you a glass of water,” he calls. He turns to look at you over the couch, expression softening with sympathy as you double over, hugging yourself as though you could compress all the pain into a tiny little ball. It grows in intensity for a moment, forcing a whimper from your throat, before finally receding. You take a deep breath and stand back up, continuing to hug yourself. “Come sit down, my love. I’ll make you some tea.”

How could you refuse? You shuffle over and settle down into the plush cushions. You almost whine when he gets up, but you bite it back. You do pout, though, which makes him smile despite your pain.

He rounds the couch and plants a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll only be a minute. Take your medicine.”

The water is still nice and cold when you take a sip from it. So cold you can feel it running down your throat. The pills go down smoothly, and you’re more than grateful not to be choking on pain meds today of all days.

You close your eyes and lean back into the couch, abandoning your slippers on the floor in favor of tucking your feet underneath you. You can hear the kettle starting to bubble as he opens and closes cabinets, gathering what he needs to make you the perfect cup of liquid gold to ease your suffering. The thought brings a mix of guilt and affection; both upset that he is taking care of you on his day off, and glee that he’s, well, taking care of you on his day off. If this was the weekend, maybe you wouldn’t feel as guilty. As it is, he has work again tomorrow, and he had work yesterday, so it’s not so much a day off as it is taking a house call.

He returns with a matching pair of mugs, steam rising from the tops and the warm smell of tea and bitter coffee filling the air. He sets his drink of choice down on the coffee table, but you greedily cradle yours to your chest, letting the heat warm your face and the scent relax your body. He sits back down beside you, drawing you closer to him while being extra careful not to spill your tea. He doesn’t say anything about you wearing his sweater, but he does playfully tug on the hem, signaling that he’s noticed.

You smile for the first time today and tilt your head up to kiss him good morning. “Thank you,” you hum, kissing him again for good measure, before adding, “and I’m sorry.”

He shoots you a disapproving look, softened from his lack of glasses and the morning light coming in from the windows. “Don’t apologize. It’s completely out of your control.” He slips his hand under the sweater to massage gently right where you need it. You relax into it immediately, practically melting against him as he takes care of you. His massages are always the best, and they drastically lessen the cramps that torment you this morning. “Do you need anything else, my love?”

You make a disgruntled noise at the reminder. “I need more product.” You quickly cover his hand with one of yours, heated from holding your mug, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. “It can wait a bit longer, though.”

He chuckles softly, but he makes no attempts to move. His fingers press gently into you, seeking out where you need it the most. You hiss as another cramp assaults you. You instinctively draw your knees up, leaning more of your weight into him as you curl up. He slips beneath the final layers of clothes to lay his warm palm fully over your lower abdomen. The heat sinks in slowly, but it does help.

“Can we watch a movie?” you ask as the pain comes back down, voice slightly rough. “Unless you wanna keep working.”

“Reading a book isn’t working,” he retorts, fully catching onto your jab. You point it out nearly every time you go to the library and he checks out something from the medical section.

“It is when it’s almost a thousand pages of nothing but medications and surgical procedures.”

He leans forward to reach the remote and passes it on to you. While you turn the TV on, he also grabs his mug, before relaxing back into the couch. “What do you want to watch?” he asks instead of continuing to pointlessly defend himself.

You hum noncommittally as you scroll through the library of films and shows, ready to watch at the press of a button. There were a few medical dramas you liked watching with Zayne, if only to listen to him correct the show or insult how unprofessional the main cast is, but they don’t really strike your fancy right now. Something funny would be nice. Or something comforting.

It’s only a matter of time before you put on a familiar movie you’ve seen about a thousand times. Zayne makes no comment on this. Instead, he blows gently on the surface of his coffee and takes a tentative sip. His coffee contains enough sugar to mostly negate the bitter flavor of the drink, but it’s just perfect for him. You drop the remote to the side and take a sip of your drink as well, humming at the perfect flavors that ease down your throat. The morning sun warms you both.

-

“Get up for a moment.”

You hum sleepily, looking at him with tired confusion. “The movie isn’t over,” you mumble.

He gives you a reassuring smile as he rubs your back. “I know, my love. I’m not leaving yet.”

With a gentle nudge, you pull your feet from under you and stand on wobbly legs. You watch as he lays out along the couch, legs parted, and gestures for you to lay back down. He can almost see the spark of excitement in your eye as you situate yourself on top of him, your legs between his and your head tucked safely under his chin. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch overtop of you, before wrapping you in his arms. One hand massages the tension from your lower back while the other pets your hair. It’s heaven, being in his arms like this. You melt fully into him, forgetting the movie in favor of hiding from the sun outside, burying your face in his chest and shoulder, and breathing him in deep. He smells warm and sweet, with the shock of his aftershave. He smells like home.

You scoot upward to hide your face in his neck. He welcomes you readily, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your day off,” you mumble.

He tilts his head toward yours slightly, hiding you further from the sun. “How did you ruin it?” he asks softly. “I get to watch one of your favorite movies with you while we cuddle. How is that ruining my day?”

“Cuz you have to take care of me…”

“I always take care of you.”

You huff. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.” He rests his cheek against you. His lips brush your forehead as he speaks, like little kisses with each word. “Why do you think taking care of you would detract from my enjoyment of being around you?”

You remain quiet. The only reason he knows you haven’t fallen asleep yet is because of the hand you have on his chest that traces shapes over his shirt. He stops massaging your back to catch it, holding it firmer to himself.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my day off.”

Your sigh fans across his skin, making the hairs on his arms raise. “I love you…”

He smiles. You feel it against your forehead as he kisses you again. “Get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll run to the store.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The decor of this 1982 home in Lloyd Harbor, NY is very fancy so it needs a buyer with specific taste, who is willing to spend $3m for it. 5bd, 4.5ba, 6,500 sq ft.

The entrance hall is castle like.

And, looking straight ahead, you can already see the Huntington Bay.

I don't know what happened here, b/c it certainly looks like the big rock thing in the living room was at one time a fireplace. From the living room you can walk out to the terrace.

Very large dining room.

The kitchen is huge with high end cabinetry. This home was built in the early 80s and the cabinets are timeless. My house was built in the late 80s and the dark, ornate, laminate cabinets looked hopelessly dated.

Then, there's a family room with a fireplace.

And, an office with rounded built-in cabinetry. Look at the gold accents.

The primary bedroom.

The luxurious en-suite is very big and also has a fireplace.

The large walk-in closet, includes a chandelier.

Not sure if this is another bedroom, but I think it is.

Interesting sink. There's no shelf in the shower- the shampoos are on the floor.

Downstairs there's a fancy rec room and a secret door is somewhere, but they don't say where, b/c it's secret, I guess.

Don't know what this room is. The 3 rooms they don't show are the media room, wine cellar, and home gym. Maybe it's the media room.

There's an interesting shower room down here.

And, a sauna.

Then there's this long underground hall, with a mural of the desert, that leads from the garage to the house. You'll see why in a moment.

The back of the home shows a perfectly maintained yard, plus terraces, and a patio.

There's a private beach with a very long pier. The property is 2.05 acres.

In the photo above this one, you can see how far the garage is from the house. Hence, the underground tunnel. That's odd. You can't pull up close to the house if you're moving in or bringing in groceries. The neighbor's houses aren't like that.

https://www.redfin.com/NY/Lloyd-Harbor/23-Sea-Crest-Dr-11743/home/21251705

[sunlightmurdock]

Bonfire | MFIY (Frat Boy) Bradley

Spookweek masterlist | My Future in You masterlist

*This is set within the universe of my fic My Future in You, but can be read as a standalone (and should be tbh as it doesn’t fit the canon of that fic).

Synopsis: Keeping your pregnancy and your hookups a secret proves to be a little difficult when a tipsy Bradley finds you at his frat house’s annual autumn bonfire.

Warnings: fratboy!bradley, accidental pregnancy, pregnant!reader, seresin!reader, alcohol/bradley being drunk and affectionate, no use of y/n, flirting. WC: 0.8k

“Hey, you made it!” Red cup in hand, equally red cheeks to match, he starts toward you with mud and leaves under his Nikes and a beaming smile on his face. He smiles like that when he’s inebriated.

That’s what you’re allowed to call it — since he ‘doesn’t get drunk’.

Just as quickly as he lifts his arms, they’re thrown around you, heavy in his fleece lined denim jacket. His cold cheek bristles yours as he pushes his one hand under your unzipped coat, his fingers skirting your waist, his lips grazing your neck.

Peering around the verge of his thick, denim-padded shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your big brother deep in conversation with a few of his buddies, talking wildly with his hands, the glow of the bonfire casting amber shadows across his face.

As he pulls back, Bradley’s free hand skims across the developing roundness of your stomach. Under the thick covers of your thermal layer and college branded hoodie, he can’t really feel anything, but his fingers linger there anyway. Sprawled across your belly, protective and affectionate in one touch.

“I missed you.” He murmurs, flickering shadows casting flecks of gold across the brown in his eyes. His lips twitch, boyish and sweet as he almost smiles, flexing his fingers where they sit. “Both of you.”

As much as the smile does its best to take over your face, you wrinkle your mouth and try to twist away from him. “Don’t be stupid.”

His lips part in mock offence, dark eyes glinting with mischief as he lets you go.

“What? — I can’t be excited to see the mother of my child?”

“Weird time to start, is all.” You hit back, physically too, jabbing at his arm as you try to pass him by.

He almost sighs, hearing your boots crunch against the leaves below you and knowing that you’re about to ditch him for another night of hiding behind your friends. He wants to talk. He wants to hold you.

“Wait! — Do you… want a drink?”

You spin to face him as he does the same, glancing down at your stomach. Even he isn’t that dumb.

“No, like cocoa or something? I think we have some.”

It’s becoming a more frequent thing for your open palm to find its way to your stomach, sitting there protectively. You raise your brows at him as your fingers rests against your growing bump. “You’re going to make me a hot chocolate?”

He breaks into a smile, almost giddy as he lifts his cup and shrugs his shoulders, gulping back a quick sip. “If you want one.”

You almost tell him no; you almost do the sensible thing and turn around to find your friends, and start to enjoy this evening while ignoring him like you’re supposed to.

But, it’s a rare occasion for him to offer to make himself useful. Pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek, you think on his offer while he swishes around the drops of beer left in his cup.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The kitchen in this place is almost always a mess, and today is no exception. An island littered with drinks and mixers, counters filled with used red solo cups. You follow him cautiously, tugging your jacket closer to your body.

He searches through the cabinets, clumsily letting doors slam as he goes until he finds what he’s looking for. “Ah, here — do you want marshmallows?”

“I want the whole works.” As he peers back to find you leaning against the wall with your arms folded and a shit-eating grin on your face, a strange feeling plucks at his heartstrings, something like butterflies in his stomach.

He smiles back, almost sheepish now, as he thinks to the long future ahead. “Noted.”

There’s something different about tonight. You don’t know what it is, and really, neither does he. He doesn’t know why tonight specifically is the night that he feels so differently, but he does know that the smile on your face as he passes you a steaming mug makes his chest feel tight.

Your lips stretch into a smile, all surprise and amusement, staring down at the mix of marshmallows and whipped cream — and M&M’s, because he didn’t have chocolate powder to dust, but had insisted on adding.

“This looks…” You shake your head softly, at a loss for words as you glance up at him. He smiles, cheeks pink. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Neither one of you is in any hurry to step back out into the cold, but you can’t hide in the kitchen all night. He follows behind you as you step out into the backyard, one hand on the small of your back as you go.

You’re not expecting for him to reach for your free hand, but he does. He guides you over to two camping chairs and all but demands that you sit with him. For the first time in a couple of months, he really talks to you.

He listens to you.

Amber flames casting flickering shadows over your face, your hands warm from the mug between them, your eyes solely on him.

He’s glad that he begged your friends to convince you to come.

[cheriladycl01]

Meet the Parents - Zhou Guanyu x JamaicanOlympicSwimming! Reader

Plot: Zhou wants to go on holiday to spend time with you, he’s never met your parents so of course a Caribbean holiday back to your home where your treated like a queen is the only correct decision!

"I'm very nervous ..." Zhou had told you on the plane ride over. You'd been pampering yourselves using up all the first class things available.

"You don't have to be my love! They'll love you and Jamaica is so welcoming! You'll love it!" you smiled at him as you helped him put the charcoal facemask on that you'd brought in duty free.

You spent the rest of the flight chilling and drinking champagne. And trying to prep Zhou for not only meeting your family but the pure weight of travelling with you around your country.

You were the first Jamaican Gold Medalist in Swimming so in a lot of peoples eyes you were up there with the likes of Usain Bolt. Your face was everywhere ... on local drink, in random village bars and people would be able to recognize you straight away.

Zhou was familiar with the fans and the pressure of being an athlete in the eye of the media, so he was expecting something familiar to his home crowd when he raced in Shanghai for the first time. But boy was he wrong.

You were treated like royalty, like a princess. The minute you stepped of the plane at Sangster Airport you were flooded with locals coming up and offering you Mango, Bananas or Rum. Paper was shoved towards you at many different angles and you were just laughing giving out hugs and kissing cheeks until airport security came running up to you and Zhou apologizing for being delayed.

You guys were taken to your childhood home which was right on the beach, there was a pool and you'd driven past an old beach bar that you used to sneak to during school.

"Mami!" you cried seeing her out on the porch to your home.

"My beautiful girl! Come here!" she cries and pulls you into a hug as Zhou carefully steps out the car pulling out all your cases and thanking the driver.

"Ahhh! Is this my handsome son!" you mother cries seeing Zhou and you nod with a massive smile on your face. She'd been dying to meet him for a while.

"Come here!" she says and Zhou waddles forward being pulled into the woman as he wraps his arms around her.

"Dad!" you grinned as your father came jogging from round the back of the house where the pool and garden was.

"Baby!" he cries picking you up and spinning you round.

"Oh my gosh you are more beautiful than the last time i saw you" he says as you land back on the ground and he looks over you before pinching you cheek lightly.

"Oh dad, this is ..." you start but your dad is already walking over.

"Zhou! Amazing to meet you son. How was the flight over? Not too long i hope!" he asks slapping his shoulder lightly making Zhou chuckle.

"Erm, yes. I'm used to all the travel. But Y/N actually showed me the face masks she always uses so my skin, not as dry" he rambles a little on edge and your dad can immediately tell.

"Zhou, no need to be anxious you are family now!" he grins pulling him into another hug.

"Well, we'll take your bags in, why don't you show him round the house and then we can all go to the bar! You've got some people who want to see you!" you mum smiles pulling your dad back towards the cases.

"Thanks mami!" you grin kissing her cheek while your dad winks picking up the first few cases.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Zhou asks kindly making your mum and dad laugh and push him further into the entrance.

Your immediately welcomed by a wooden and beach living room, doors opening straight to the back garden where there are palm trees and wooden planks going to a crystal blue pool.

But Zhou's eyes are held on the trophy cabinet to the left.

"Are these all your awards?" he asks looking over them. There were tons as your parents refused to bin anything you won. Even when it was something you won when you were 4 years old.

Both of you Olympic medals were there for swimming. One Bronze, One Gold.

There were other national and international competition trophies from recent years in between the Olympics to support the vast amount of awards in the case.

"You are really special!" he smiles looking over everything and you lightly blush looking down.

"Thank you, you want to see where i learnt how to swim?" you ask looking over him, wanting to show him the white sandy beach awaiting.

"Of course!" he smiles and you take his hand in yours as you walk him down the wooden steps of the deck to the pool.

"I learnt in this pool and trained a lot in here when i wasn't old enough to go in the public pool ... but come with me! I think this is the coolest place you'll ever see" you grin and he nods following you down a cobblestone pathway that met sand.

The sight of a pure white beach following crystal blue waters met his eye and he was in awe.

"This is where i spent a lot of time as a kid. Swimming was a part of me..." you smile and Zhou cannot stop looking at you, he loved the raw passion on your face.

"You are glowing here..." he smiles and you just look over him confused as you sit down in the sand listening to the sound of the waves.

"I could get used to this" he says as he fully reclines relaxing all the season stresses off him.

"I love you Zhou..." you smile rolling onto your side and kissing his cheek.

y/user

Liked by zhouguanyu24 and others

y/user: Going back home is always an incredible feeling, first time my boy met my parents and got to see where i learnt how to swim. China next month!

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zhouguanyu24: Thank you for showing me everything so beautiful here. I cannot wait to show you around Shanghai

fan1: Zhou met the parents! I repeat Zhou met the parents.

fan2: they are literally so cute!

Instagram Story Caption:

Back in the homeland! Love you Jamaica <3

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[katz-chow]

how time passes

a/n: domestic price is the only price i will take, thank you very much. my submission for @glitterypirateduck's christmas fics. song? "love to keep me warm” by dodie & laufey. why? you'll see :) merry christmas everyone 🎄

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, cold, snowy night, leading up to a smut ;)

For John, there’s a certain aspect of life that he isn’t all too familiar with. Domesticity seemed like a world away, hidden almost. Of course, he sees it all around him; in how young couples shop for decorations for their first Christmas, or how older couples shop for grandkid presents for their nth Christmas, how candles are rare to find nowadays, all the colorful ones taken by menorahs sitting on windowsills.

He remembers it clearly when he first realized how teasing a normal life can be. It was on the same cobblestone street that he finds himself on right now, right through the glass planes of a small cafe. In a way, domesticity found itself behind a China cabinet, displayed and just an inch away from his grasp, and yet the veil between them remained locked. The feeling of being a lover, a husband just right on the other side, staring back at him like window shopping. How frustratingly fleeting it is.

The wind blew a bit more wildly back then, snow caked upon the roofs of the many buildings that surrounded him, all occupied with families. He remembers the way his hands would go numb from the hours that he walked around the market square, just to avoid the rickety radiator in his flat.

But that was years ago and the heater of the cafe he’s sat in seems unbearably warm. John sat himself in the corner, two drinks on the table and a tiramisu that he knew he had to get as soon as he set his eyes on it. Unconsciously, he looked at the gold watch on his wrist, just to check the time instead of looking incredibly pitiful alone in a room of company. He cleared his throat, then looked around; a Christmas tree with paper ornaments of children’s drawings littered through its branches, the electric fireplace that changed colors, and the soft jazz that played through the speakers.

His phone buzzed next to him on the small round table. He looked at the notification with a dash of his brow, a storm’s approaching. More snow. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat as he thinks of the irony of his first Christmas back in town almost 5 years ago, the same cold but not the same emptiness.

Almost as if on cue, the jingle of the bell at the door rang out and there you were to greet him. Still in your work clothes but with a long overcoat and a much too big scarf around you. If John could say it to you, he would say you look swaddled up like a baby. But he’s a gentleman and he knew that if he did say that, you’d refuse to put on the much-needed layers and opt to freeze to death.

He waves you down when he sees the way you stand there, hands in your pockets as your eyes wander around. He sees your eyes land on him and you bright up as you waddle over in your snow boots. He stands to pull the chair out for you, scooting you in.

“You look toasty.” He compliments, sliding the warm mug of a mocha latte over to you. He smiles even more when he sees you take off your coat and scarf, quickly grabbing the mug and holding it close to your nose. “Don’t burn your nose off.”

You glare at him playfully as you take a whiff of the chocolate goodness presented to you. “Maybe then I don’t have to smell you and that detergent you accidentally bought.”

John throws his head back, exasperated. Did he buy the wrong detergent and does it smell so obnoxiously strong you have to dilute it with an unscented one? Yes. Will you let him love it down? No, unfortunately.

He watches as you take a sip, sinking your shoulders down as you let the warmth fill you up. “This is really good, I’m glad you picked this place.”

“Saw it a few years ago, thought it’d be nostalgic to be back.” He replies simply, taking a sip from his own.

You place the mug down and narrow your eyes at him, “Nostalgic? You took your ex here or something?” You say accusatively as you place your hand into his palm on the table.

He winces at how cold your hands are compared to him. “Something like that…”

The last time he was here, he ordered one tiramisu and one latte. He then stayed for hours, watching people walk in and out, taking advantage of the buy one get one half off promotion that the young cafe had to offer. He thought about how unfair it was that even drinks came in pairs during the holidays and he’s still painfully alone. So, something like an ex.

“Your hands are freezing, Baby. Where’d you put your mittens?” He asks as he holds your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

You smile cheekily towards him, opting to stuff your mouth with a spoonful of tiramisu instead of answering. This caught his attention as he pressed on, a small chuckle following his words.

“I forgot them…” You mumbled, obviously, you did! You squeeze his hand back and look around the cafe, avoiding his gaze entirely.

You see him shake his head as he laughs, and you look back at him, laughing and smiling sheepishly along. The scene was unreal, music in the air, warmth filling every bone in your body, and your favorite person ever, holding your hand.

He lays out both his palms in front of you, signaling for you to take advantage and settle your own hands on his. You do and he cups them together, rubbing some heat into them. Softly as ever, his beard tickles your knuckles as he gives them a small kiss on his lips. You feel your cheeks heat up just a bit, stinging from the cold they were previously in. You slip your hands out from under him and place them on each side of his neck, he grumbles, annoyed.

“We’re so cringe…” You muttered quietly, now hyperaware of the public setting the two of you were seated in.

He grasps your hands again and holds them close. Deciding to completely ignore the comment you made, he switches over to pepper your knuckles in kisses instead. “Wanna get outta here then?”

You nod and he lets go off your cold hands, which you promptly stick in between your thighs to warm up. John waves to a barista, pointing out to the snowy scenery. She seems to understand as she gives the two of you two paper cups and a box for your cake.

The two of you link arms and he pulls you out of the cafe, bundled up even more than when you came in with his beanie on your head. His other hand holding the bag of your little treat.

Snowflakes gently and steadily fall on your shoulders and head as he leads you back to his car, you having taken a cab over from work. John looks around at the nearly empty streets, most people taking shelter within the shops or in the comfort of their homes. He looks at you, a content smile painted your face even if the tip of your nose was turning pink and your hands still cold in his coat pocket and in his own hands.

You didn’t seem to complain about the how Jack Frost nips at your cheeks. And even if you did, he knows it’s not all too serious as you still down the packed streets full of cars.

“You cold, Darling?” He leans down a bit to whisper in your ear.

You look at him, your eyebrows raises in the cutest way. You shake your head and continue to watch the way the two of you were headed.

John didn’t think much about anything else, just the way your thumb rubs over his hand in his pocket, the crunching of score under your boots. He didn’t even think about his movements as he turned and backed you into the nearest wall, his body shielding you away from the world as you felt his breath on the tip of your nose.

“You’re so beautiful…” He grins down at you. The to-go bag now hook onto your arm as your hands found solace in his pockets.

You giggle at him and kiss his nose, then both his cheeks. John’s hands find either sides of your face as he cups it. His thumbs rubs and pinches the apples of your flesh.

He leans down and gives you one good kiss on your lips, you quickly melt into it and your hands escape to wrap around his waist under his coat. The kiss rushes through your veins, your body not feeling so cold anymore.

He pushes your head back a bit more with the force of his kiss. Fingers sliding back into the locs of your hair and into the back of your head, cushioning it from the hard, cold bricks.

“I’m warm now…” You giggle as he pulls away from you. Your teeth makes in contact with your bottom lip and your eyes big and glossy to draw him in.

He laughs and gives you a kiss on your forehead for good measure. John gives out a shaky breath as he leans to the side of your face, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How about we hurry home and I warm you up more effectively?”

A breath hitches in your throat as you nod just a bit. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, pulling you into a u-turn when he realized y’all meant to take a right at the cafe.

[nhlclover]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

summary: the morning after with your boyfriend

warnings: some semi-nsfw content, sexual themes, mentions of sex

note: this became a lot more sexual than i intended lol but i actually love this one and i love him.

word count: 0.7k

There wasn’t anything much better than waking up in the same bed as my boyfriend. Our work schedules often conflicted, with me working long and odd hours and him being out of town so often, so we jumped at the rare opportunities we could spend with one another. Following the Leafs' win last night, we wasted no time in getting back to Matthew's apartment, our clothing being discarded not long after the front door had shut.

When I awoke in the morning, I was tangled in Matthew’s cotton sheets. I reached around for him, but only felt the mattress. I opened my eyes, finding him on the other side of the bed. Matthew was lying on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge of the bed. The morning sun beamed through the windows in his condo that he refused to buy curtains for because “we’re so high up no one can see us anyways”. The sun hit his unclothed back, making his skin seem a shade of pure gold.

I leaned over, tracing his toned back softly with my nails. He didn’t even stir. The idea popped into my head quickly, sliding out from under the sheets, grabbing Matthew’s shirt from atop the dresser that I had removed and flung across the room last night. I slipped out of the room, softly shutting the door behind me.

I went to the kitchen, pulling out the frying pan and pancake mix from the cabinet. I scavenged his pantry and fridge for toppings to add to the pancakes. He had chocolate chips but little fruit so I had to improvise by using frozen fruit typically used for smoothies. I mixed together the batter, decorating each individual pancake with some toppings.

“Is that my shirt?”

I jumped at the sound of Matthew's morning voice coming from behind me. I turned around, seeing him leaning against the counter. He now donned a pair of loose-fitting boxers that hung low on his hips, exposing his v-line and happy trail that I remembered tracing the night before.

“First item of clothing I saw.” I shrugged, turning back around and flipping the pancake in the pan. “Somebody tore my shit off when we were in the living room.”

Matthew looked to the couch where, in fact, my white jeans and the Knies Maple Leafs jersey sat discarded. He chuckles, his laugh coming out gravely. I hear his bare feet padding across the floor, getting closer to me until I feel his arms rope around my waist, pressing soft kisses into my jaw. I tilt my head away, giving him better access. He chuckles again, his laugh vibrating against my skin.

Matthew pulls me away from the stove, turning me in his arms to face him. He leaned down, softly connecting our lips. His lips are just as warm as the morning sun that was beating down on the city of Toronto. He snaked his hands down to my legs, picked me up off the ground and walked me to the island, placing me on it. Matthew's shirt had ridden up on me, coming above my hips so my bare legs were sat against the cool granite countertops.

He looks down, seeing that I had on no pants and instead the same white lace underwear that led to the discarded clothing the night before. He groaned, leaning his head back and smiling. I slowly let my legs spread a little wider, intentionally teasing him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Cause' it's working.” He says, his hands gripping my thighs. I giggle, his thumbs now tracing uneven circles into the inside of my thighs.

“How about round two?” He asks in a low voice.

I lean forward, nearing my lips to his before hopping off the counter and pushing past him to the stove. “After, because you’ve just caused my pancake to burn.” I say, taking the spatula and scraping away at the well-overcooked pancake on the pan.

“You are an incredible tease.” He says.

I snort at him. “You better get to work on frying the bacon or else no second round.” I warn.

He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smirk toying at his lips. He passes behind me, slapping my ass on the way by.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, getting the bacon from the fridge.

[cowgurrrl]

When The Sun Goes Down

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: cue Diet Mountain Dew by Lana Del Rey

Summary: Your first date with Joel doesn’t go exactly as planned [2.6k]

Warnings: Joel being an asshole, reader being (rightfully) mean to Joel, fake dating, a little (a lot) smoochy smooch

There's a knock on your door at 7:15. You think about giving him shit about being fifteen minutes late, but when you open the door, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand. You take a deep breath as you glance between him and the flowers. He cleans up nicely. He's wearing a sleek white shirt tucked into a pair of slacks and a gold chain peeking from his collar. "You look nice," he compliments with a smile. You glance around and spot a black van down the block with the unmistakable round lens of a camera up to the window. "Ready to go?" He asks, pulling your attention back to him. You smile and nod.

"Let me put these in water first, and then we can go," you say, turning on your heels to walk back into the kitchen. You hear him grumble and you roll your eyes the second you hear the door close behind him. "Did you buy these of your own volition, or was it contractually obligated?"

"It was my manager's idea." He says, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he watches you move around the kitchen. You pull a vase down from the top shelf of your cabinet, your black dress riding up just a little bit. You turn to the sink and catch his eyes on your legs.

"Well, tell Pauly I said thank you." You say, ignoring the unexpected attention.

"Don't call him Pauly."

"Why not? He's the only one who showed me an ounce of kindness yesterday."

"We really don't have to do this. Especially if you're gonna act like this."

"If you don't like the way I act, I'm sure we can find someone else who would happily take your place," you say, repeating his words from the day before. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth together, but he stays silent. You cut the stems on the roses and place them in the crystal vase before resting your elbows on the counter. "We need to set some ground rules before we actually start this."

"Ground rules?" He asks

"I don't care if you kiss me, hold my hand, or whatever PDA our team wants. I'm trusting you with that much," you say. You expect him to say something snarky, but he doesn't. He fiddles with his keys in his pocket and nods. "And I don't want you to touch me anywhere inappropriate. In public and in private."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." You grab your purse off the counter and walk to the front door without anything further. He follows behind you and opens the door before you can even touch the handle and plaster on a sticky sweet smile for the cameras. He walks you to his expensive-looking car and opens the passenger side door for you. You smile and squeeze his bicep.

The car ride is silent except for the low hum of his radio. It's set on a classic rock station, and he taps along to the drum line on his steering wheel. You watch the movement with curious eyes, and he catches you staring. He doesn't seem annoyed, but he doesn't smile at you, either. He just stares at you with his deep brown eyes like he's trying to figure you out. You look away first and mess with the chain of your necklace.

"How long have you been playing music?" You ask.

"We don't have to keep pretending when there are no cameras." He says, his tone suddenly harsh, and you roll your eyes.

"Jesus Christ, all I did was ask you a fucking question."

"My whole life. I've been playin' music my whole life," he finally relents. It's just enough information to satisfy you and just vague enough for him to be comfortable. You're surprised he even answered you. "How long have you been acting?"

"I've been in the industry for about four years now, but I was acting way before that." You say, and he hums. He doesn't follow up with a question, and you decide to quit while you're ahead. When you get to the restaurant, he makes a show of dutifully escorting you inside and giving his keys to the valet. The hostess gives you a hidden table in the back. It's out of earshot of anyone else, and there are lit candles in the middle. It's all very romantic, and you gush about it in front of the host so she has something to report back to news outlets when they find out about this. Joel thanks the host and pulls your chair out for you before he can cross the table. If this was an actual date, he would win major points for having such good manners.

You order a cocktail, and he orders some kind of whiskey before you guys scan the menu in silence. You're debating whether to get the Rissoto or the margarita pizza when Joel's foot bumps yours under the table. You look up and see him glancing at something behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that you two have an audience. You smile and reach for his hand across the table, his calloused palms sliding against yours. He doesn't hesitate to squeeze your hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your skin. "That tickles!" You giggle in a high pitch. He laughs, too, and rests your hands back on the table as the waitress comes over with your drinks. She takes your orders before disappearing to the back again, leaving you and Joel alone.

You two move closer and closer together until you're sitting on the same side of the table, your head in your hand as you gaze at him. You have to admit, he's very handsome up close. His salt-and-pepper beard is full except for a few patchy parts that you could find endearing. His nose is prominent and bumpy, and his lips are curled in a crooked smirk. Not to mention the fluffy curls that fall over his forehead just so. You understand why people throw themselves at him. He smiles and puts a hand on your knee as he nurses his drink.

"You're staring," he mumbles, and you scoff.

"I'm supposed to be madly in love with you. I think it's okay," you say so only he can hear, and he shrugs. You slip his drink out of his hand and take a sip, the dark brown liquor burning the whole way down. "What would you rather me do?"

"Where are you from?"

"Twenty questions? That's what you do on a first date?" You ask, and he laughs. For a second, you think it sounds real.

"Humor me, would ya?" His face is relaxed, and his hand is warm on your knee, and it might be the alcohol, but you decide to oblige. You tell him about your hometown, and he actually listens before telling you he's from Texas. You go back and forth even after the food comes out, asking about first loves, college, and even your worst talk show experiences.

"No, I don't believe you for a second!" You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You don't have to believe me 'cause it still happened."

"You were hungover when you did that summer concert for the Today Show?"

"Deathly. Even had to get an IV when we got off stage," he says, and you can't help but laugh at the image of him getting hooked up to a saline solution because of how sick he was. "What? What's so funny about that?"

"Everything! Don't you know the cardinal sin of morning talk shows is showing up hungover?"

"I know people who've shown up still drunk."

"Really?" You ask, and he hums. You glance around the restaurant and realize it's mostly empty, and the only people left are you and Joel. You uncross your arms and rest one on the back of his chair, turning to look at something behind you so you can whisper in his ear. "When you see the waitress coming back to the table, kiss me." He turns his head to look around before placing a hand on your jaw and turning your face toward his. His lips are on yours a second later. His mustache scratches you, and he tastes like whiskey and something dangerous. He's gentle and firm, but he doesn't push any boundaries. His hand stays on your face, his fingers grazing the skin of your neck, making your breath hitch. You faintly hear footsteps approach, and Joel turns away from you to look at the bright red waitress. You pretend to be embarrassed about getting caught and hide your face in Joel's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to drop off your bill and let you know that we will be closing soon." She apologizes, but Joel shakes his head and tells her not to worry. He hands her his black debit card without even looking at the bill, and she's off. You smile as you pick your head up and look at him.

"Alright, I have another question for you," you say. He raises his eyebrows like he's telling you to go on, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody's lurking. "Why'd you punch that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The guy that's the whole reason I'm here." You say quietly. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he thinks, but he schools his expression when the waitress returns with his card. He's silent as he signs the bill, leaving a 25% tip, and you bump him under the table to get his attention.

"I'm done playing this game." He snaps, his attitude completely changing. You're taken aback by his response and even more confused when he stands and pulls your chair out for you once more. You stand, and he shrugs out of his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders before escorting you to the front of the restaurant, both of you wishing the staff a good night. Cameras flash, and people yell questions at you the second you two step onto the sidewalk, and you grip Joel's arm as he steers you to the car. You can practically hear E! News gushing about how cute you look together when in reality your picture-perfect date just got ruined.

The entire drive back to your house, he doesn't say anything. You try to say something about how good that went, and you're sure the waitress will have a story to sell to whatever news outlet wants it. He doesn't even acknowledge you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, you're more than annoyed with how childish he's being over a perfectly fair question. It's not like you asked for his Social Security number. You asked a legitimate question about something that happened not even thirty-six hours ago. Hell, his knuckles are still swollen from the force of the punch. The second the car rolls to a stop, you unlock the door and get out.

"Have a good night, Joel." You say, ready to slam the door in his face, but he's already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Will you, at least, let me walk you to the door?"

"I thought you said we didn't have to keep pretending when there aren't any cameras," you say. You're being a little dramatic, and you'll be the first to admit it, but after the way he acted yesterday, you think you're allowed to. You fish your keys from your purse and walk to your front door. Joel calls your name and you roll your eyes. "Is there a reason you don't like me, or are you just an asshole to everyone?" You ask as you turn to look at him, the arms of his jacket swinging around you.

"Is this because I didn't answer your stupid question?"

"Or because of pretty much everything that led to tonight. The way you talked to me in the office, not answering my question, ignoring me the whole way home when I thought we had a pretty decent night. Do you even realize how fucking frustrating you are?"

"Right back atcha, sweetheart," he says, and you huff as you grip your keys. "Look, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can go back to my life, and you can go back to whatever big wig you had to sleep with to get here." You take two big steps to get in his face, your chests touching as rage rolls through you.

"Let's get one thing fucking clear: I've never slept with anyone to get anywhere. I studied, and I worked shitty jobs, and I went to every audition, and I lost years of my fucking life to be where I am now. I don't care if you think I'm some bitch who puts on dresses and plays pretend for a living, but you will not accuse me of fucking my way to the top. Do you understand me?" Your words are precise and cutthroat and hit right where you want them to as you stare at him. You worked your ass off to get here. You deserve to be here, and you will not let a man like Joel Miller tell you otherwise. Something flickers behind his eyes, and he swallows.

"Yes."

"Good, because if you ever say anything like that to me again, I will ruin your fucking life and have fun doing it," you say. Before you can get one last word in, you catch a pair of tires squealing down your block, and something deep in your chest tells you it's photographers trying to catch a goodnight kiss. Joel seems to have the same thought because he quickly crowds you against your front door, and you let him, despite the burning anger in your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek until you can taste blood. "You better make this worth it, Miller."

His last name gets cut off as he kisses you. This kiss is starkly different from the one at the restaurant. This one is bruising and clashing teeth as his hands splay across your ribs. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your dress. You pull him closer when you hear breaks squeak to a stop and know that the paparazzi are right behind you. His hand slides down your side, past your hip, and encourages your leg up to his hip. He bites at your lip a little too harshly, and you pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, a deep groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling. He dips his head to mouth at your jaw, low enough to look like he's kissing your neck from far away but high enough for you to allow it. His teeth scrape at your pulse, and your body involuntarily arches into him. You think you hear him chuckle as the photographer's car speeds away.

You can imagine how the photos will be captioned in the morning, how they'll all praise what a good couple you already are, and some will even make jokes about how they wish they could be either of us. But this doesn't feel romantic or dreamy like they imagine it does. This feels like war.

[thedevilrisen]

This is Embarrassing.

Word count: 1.3k

Description Jamie and Trevor help Trevor's daughter with her period.

Hornet POV: 

Thunk. “MY KNEE!” My dad cried after running into the living room coffee table while playing Just Dance. 

“HA HA! That's what you get for being a tryhard Z!” His best friend and Teammate Jamie Drysdale teased.

“Well at least I’m not stuck on one star!” My dad, Trevor Zegras fired back, continuing to dance, albeit awkwardly with his now sore knee.

“Why do I feel like the most mature person in a room of adults?” I questioned brushing my knotted brunette hair out of my eyes in a short lived attempt to see the television screen so I could continue beating my Dad and my technically not Uncle, Uncle, Jamie. 

“Oh, OH, GET THE GOLD MOVE TO FINISH! LET’S GO BABY!” Dad cried while standing in the questionable ending position, his overgrown hair falling over his eyes. As the screen faded black then white to show the ending scores I moved to sit down and gritted my teeth as my lower abdomen cramped suddenly, moving to grab my water and take a seat next to an exhausted and couch-hogging Jamie I leant back and started sipping on my glass while pushing his feet away from me. He fell to the floor dramatically with a THUD, followed by an exaggerated groan. Jamie Drysdale the Professional Athlete my ass. This man can’t handle two rounds of Just Dance, how's he supposed to have the endurance to play hockey? I inwardly laughed at that thought.

“I’m going to get some more water, I’ll be back in a second.” Dad announced trudging off to the kitchen.

“Ok!” Jamie and I shouted back in unison,

I settled back into the couch and cringed when I felt a warm and damp sensation in my pants. I gasped and shot up, almost knocking a kneeling Jamie over as I rushed to the bathroom in my room.

“Sorry Jamie!” I rushed out shutting my room door.

“All good Kiddo!” He shouted back, still dazed from the dancing and falling on the floor. I rushed over to my wardrobe and grabbed a new set of underwear and a pair of black sweatpants so that way, if I had another leak it wouldn’t be super obvious. Groaning as I doubled over my dresser, I waited for a moment for the pain to subside before speed-walking into my bathroom, the cold marble tiles harsh against my feet as I recklessly put my clothes down on the stone countertop knocking over some items and even knocking my toothbrush off of the bench. I hissed, doubling over again this time leaning on the countertop, I yanked my top vanity draw open, eyes widening at the fact that the clear acrylic container that normally was full with everything I needed in this situation was empty. “Crap.” I mumbled under my breath, I completely forgot that I needed to get more pads and tampons as I ran out the last time I had my period. I needed to create a temporary solution so I changed into the new clothes and made a makeshift pad out of toilet paper while I figured out how to ask dad to go and buy me some. This is going to be embarrassing. 

Trevor’s POV: 

Wandering into the kitchen I walked over to the glasses cabinet and pulled down one of the basic IKEA glass cups with my right hand and opened the fridge door with my left pressing the glass to the dispenser button for the chilled water. Once the glass was nearly full I pulled it away and lifted it to my mouth and took a sip, “WHO WON!” I shouted back into the living room as I made my way down the hallway.

“WHO DO YOU THINK!” Jamie yelled back. I walked around the corner and saw my daughter’s silly-looking icon with her nickname Hornet written on the screen under the gold first-place badge, mine followed and as expected Jamie’s weird punk-rocker dude was last. I sighed out a laugh, 

“She’s too good, dude!” 

“I know it’s crazy.” he murmured looking up at me from his position leaning against the couch.

“What are you doing on the floor anyway?” I asked, the couch would be much more comfortable.

“Hornet pushed me off,” he replied. “Then, when I tried to get back up she rushed off to her room and knocked me in the process.” 

“Right then,” I extended my hand to help pull him back up, which he accepted gratefully and did just that, almost making me spill my glass of water over both of us. Once he was up I moved over to the hanging chair that Hornet insisted we get because it would be fun, I do have to admit though, the gentle swinging can be quite soothing. Jamie flopped down onto the couch and moved his hand around looking for something.

“What are you looking for?” I inquired.

“The TV remote, so I can turn this wretched game off.” he grumbled, continuing to move his hand aimlessly looking for the remote. “Z,” 

“Mm?” I hummed, turning my head.

“Is your knee bleeding?” he asked, lifting his hand, fingertips covered in a deep red substance. Glancing quickly down to my knee that was spotless, I looked back up with wide eyes.

“Where did that come from?” I shot up from my seat, sending the hanging chair swinging into the wall as I rushed over to the couch taking in the bloody stain on the gray material. “You're not bleeding are you?” I questioned as he got up and started down the hallway to the kitchen, I walked in after him to see him scrubbing his hand with soap.

“No, I’m not and have no reason to, that’s why I asked about your knee.” he explained.

“Oh.” I replied as I shuffled over to the linen closet across the hall to grab some bleach and cleaning rags from the shelves.

“Oh indeed.” Jamie replied from his spot in the living room, where he was using paper towels to wipe the excess blood off of the chair. Once he moved out of the way I knelt down and screwed open the bleach container lid, putting it on the floor next to me and pouring some of the bleach into the cleaning rag and using it to scrub the red-ish brown stain from the soft material. Putting my weight down through my arm I used the added leverage to scrub harder causing the majority of the stain to begin to lift, using some left over paper towel to wipe off the excess. I folded over the cleaning rag and poured more bleach into the soft fabric and turned back to continue scrubbing the stain.

“You're really putting your back into that aren’t you?” Jamie remarked, observing from the hanging chair on the other side of the room.

“It’s tough to get out!” I exclaimed, whipping my head around to look at him while still aggressively scrubbing at the material. “It’s almost out now though-”

“What’s almost out?” Hornet asked, awkwardly standing in the doorway.

“The mysterious blood stain that was on the couch.” I responded, “there, that is as good as we are going to get I reckon.” I threw the rag onto the couch and stood up, dusting off my knees. Reaching back down to grab the rag and bleach bottle, shuffling out from between the coffee table and couch to return the bleach bottle to its spot on the linen closet shelf and making my way into the kitchen to rinse the cleaning rag clean of the bloodied bleach.

“Hey dad?” Hornet asked, timidly for her normal self.

“Yeah,” I turned off the faucet and turned to hang the damp rag over the oven door handle, turning back around drying my hands on my shorts noticing the visible wince on her face as she moved to sit down on one of the barstools, “what’s up?”

“I-uh this is really embarrassing, but uhm y’know the blood you just cleaned off the couch.” she looked away embarrassed. “That’s uh my blood, because my period started early and I had a leak.. And I kind of don’t have any pads or tampons left. So, I was wondering if you could maybe go get me some… please.” 

“That solves the blood mystery then, doesn’t it?” Jamie conceded as he walked into the kitchen. Hornet's face was filled with pure mortification as she looked down at her hands that were clasped together. Jamie eased himself into the seat next to her and grabbed one of her hands from its bundle to hold it in both of his to assist in calming her down. 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about Hornet, it’s natural. Are you sure you have nothing left?” Jamie asked, stroking his thumb tentatively up and down her hand. 

“No, I was meant to get more the last time we went to the shops but I forgot.” Hornet responded quietly.

“That’s all good kid.” I responded in the same tone of voice “What do you need me to go get you?”

“I’ll write it down, just wait here.” She mumbled sliding off her chair and disappearing down the hallway. 

“It’s weird to see her so quiet.” Jamie admitted “I mean, considering half of her came from you.” 

“You say that like all I do is talk.” I replied, turning to face him.

“I mean, you are the enemy of silence.” He replied in an amused tone. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face.” I snapped back, walking around the other side of the island counter, pulling out a chair and sitting down as Hornet walked back into the room with a list written on a green post-it note.

“Here you are, that’s everything and the brands are important.” She emphasized pointing to the brand names in brackets.

“Okay, alright” I mumbled reading over the list. “I can do that.” I stood up and walked to the shoe rack pulling off slides and chucking them on the ground so I could slip my feet into them. Grabbing my keys off the wooden hook next to the door, I opened the door “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Two voices responded in tandem with ‘Ok!’ I shut the door and walked down the short driveway to my car, unlocking it, swinging open the door and hopping in. The engine roared to life, I shifted the gear stick to reverse and pulled out of the driveway, changing the gear back to drive and speeding down the road. 

Hornet POV:

I walked down the hallway and into the living room, around the front of the couch and tried to sit down but a hand stopped me.

“Just wait a sec Hornet, let me get a towel just in case whatever you’ve done in the meantime falters.” Jamie requested, as he looked at me for confirmation, which I gave in a nod, and he rushed down the hall, heavy footsteps followed by the squeak of hinges as a cupboard door was thrown open and the squeak and slam of the door being forcefully shut. “Here we go, Hornet.” He stated, leaning over the back of the couch laying the towel over the soft gray material for me to sit on. Jamie walked around the couch to the large rattan basket that was against the wall in the little alcove next to the hanging chair and opened the basket to pull out the ashen gray weighted blanket. Walking back over and draping half of it over my knees for me to adjust how I want, he sat down next to me and pulled the other half up and over his knees and lap. “Want to watch a movie?” he asked, holding the TV remote and pointing it at the screen.

“Could we watch Shadow and Bone?” I requested. 

“Sure!” He smiled, opening Netflix and going into my account clicking on the show. “I like this show. It’s very thought out, like the story line.” 

“Eh, I prefer the Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom Duology.” I return, Bringing my knees to my chest. “Y’know, Ben Barnes kind of looks like Tyler Seguin.” Jamie laughed at this, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling the blanket up a bit higher on me so I could cuddle up to his side, and get as comfortable as possible in my current condition. 

“Do you need anything, or are you good for now?” He inquired, turning to look down at my head which was poking out of the blanket enough to see the show.

“No, I’m ok. I should be fine till dad gets back.” I mumbled in response.

“Alright.” he whispered back in the same tone, gently running his hand up and down my arm in a soothing motion.

Trevor’s POV:

Tick, Tick, Tick. I looked at the little green indicator around on my dashboard as I waited for a break in the traffic so I could turn into the parking lot. After the red car. Driving up the first lane I couldn’t find any parks so I turned left down another lane, three minutes of diving around the parking lot and one stolen park later I found a park under a tree. Grabbing my phone, wallet and the green post-it note I opened the door, minding the car next to me shut it again, locked it and ran towards the glass sliding doors. Grabbing a basket from the stack and looking at the list before deciding to take a quick detour heading to the confectionery isle I grabbed a packet of strawberry creams, snakes alive, melody pops, two Cadbury marvelous creations and two caramilk marvelous creations bars, as well as packet of milky bar kids. Each landing in the basket with a plastic THACK. Scanning the aisle for anything else Hornet might want, maybe something minty I thought,

“A-ha.” I whispered to myself reaching to grab a darrell lea mint-choc bar. Walking down the aisle I turn left looking at the signs hanging from the roof for the toiletries, wandering past a few aisles quickly scanning the signs sparing fast glances to make sure I wasn’t going to run into anyone. About five aisles down the overhead sign had toiletries in bold white on the black background. 

“That’s the one.” I smiled to myself, walking down the aisle at a fast pace, stopping at the feminine products and pulling out the list. Looking between the list and the shelves I determined what I needed and grabbed double what she wanted just to make sure Hornet had what she needed for the foreseeable future. Grabbing the last packet off the bottom shelf, I stood up and placed it in the basket with the other items and briskly walking to the self checkout lane, grabbing a paper bag as I walked past the shelf. Scanning all the items, I pulled out my wallet and from the pocket my card and held it up to the eftpos machine to pay. Seeing the green tick I slid my card back into my wallet and my wallet back into my pocket, grabbing the paper bag filled with items in my left hand and pulling my phone out of my back pocket with my right I sent Jamie a message as I walked to the car.

‘Got the goods + extras. On my way home now.’

Jamie POV:

PING, glancing over my shoulder at my phone on my right side which was haphazardly thrown onto the couch next to me when we sat down I noticed Trevor’s icon. Picking up the phone and swiping up to get to the home screen I clicked the green messages icon on my taskbar then Trevor’s icon, skimming over the message and then looking at Hornets small figure curled into my side I whispered,

“Your Dad’s on his way home.” She looked up at me, stretching out slightly, visibly wincing when she wiggled the wrong way.

“OK.” she mumbled, getting comfortable again. 

“Do you need me to get you anything?” I queried the small ball of girl who looked like she was actively trying to crawl out of her skin. 

“Could you get me a heat pack, please.” she mumbled.

“Ok.” I said, trying to  get up, “Y’know you’re going to have to let go of me?” Reluctantly unclasping her hands from my side and dragging them timidly back to her small, curled form, silently allowing me to make my way down the hallway into the kitchen to retrieve the wisteria coloured heat pack from the top cupboard and place it into the microwave, setting the timer for two minutes. My attention was drawn from the spinning glass plate to the front window when I heard a car’s engine pull into the driveway and the porch light turned on. 

“Hornet! Your dad’s home!” I called the living room.

“Tell him he’s not allowed back if he doesn’t have chocolate!” she called back irritably. I locked eyes with my teammate who was standing in the hallway with two shopping bags in his left hand and a pair of shoes in the other.

“Good thing I thought ahead then! I yelled out, placing his shoes on the rack and walking toward the living room with the bags. I heard some distant mumbling and then the shuffle of feet down the hallway along with a door opening and closing.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Turning around to the microwave and pressing the button to unlatch the door I grabbed the purple heat pack out, throwing it up in the air a couple of times because it was too hot to hold in my palm. Walking back down the hallway and meeting Hornet at the entrance of the living room I handed over the heat pack and she moved to sit down in between the corner of the L corner of the couch and her dad who handed her a packet of strawberry creams. Walking around the couch and settling myself a respectful distance from Z getting comfortable, I looked at the two Zegras’s and asked. “All good?” 

“Yeah, Thank you.” Hornet responded with a weak smile.

“Anytime kiddo.” Trevor responded. “Now, what are you watching?”

[thebawdybaldurian]

Liars Night (Halloween Special Part One)

Tav and family get dressed up in costumes to spend the holiday at Astarion’s family manor. They catch up with old friends and find new drama and conflict.

Content and Warnings: lactation fetish, vaginal fingering, discussion of difficulty conceiving/orgasm denial/group sex/breeding kink, oral sex, PIV sex, light bondage, double penetration, anal sex, tit job, squirting.

NSFW Pairings: Femme Tav x Halsin, Tav x Halsin x Astarion, Wyll x Femme OC

“Do you need help in there, darling?” Astarion asked as he knocked on the door to the nursery.

“Just a minute!” Tav called from the other side of the door with a loud huff.

Astarion could hear the tinkling bells from their infant daughter Elsben’s costume and assumed Tav was still getting her dressed. He was anxious to see both his wife and daughter in the Liar’s Night costumes he’d made for them. Shan had been in his all day, deciding to dress up as the family cat, Wisp. The fluffy tail of wire and fake fur had already knocked a few things over, but thankfully nothing that was fragile. Halsin had been goaded into joining his son with an animal-themed costume and was currently waddling downstairs dressed like a bright yellow duckling. Astarion, Tav, Ben, and Ava had gone with their own theme, centered around Ava being a princess. She had been ruling over the house since lunch, her enormous and elegant gown swishing everywhere she toddled around. Astarion was the king, a crown of fake gold set atop his curls and an elegant ensemble and cape to match.

Tav finally emerged from the nursery with their court jester, little Ben currently holding onto one of the curling tails of her hat, making it jingle over and over. “That is going to get old really quickly,” Tav sighed, looking radiant in the crown, gown, and milk-engorged breasts pushed to the sky. Tav noticed Astarion starting at the latter and handed their infant off to him. “She wasn’t hungry enough to get these down to a reasonable size,” Tav motioned towards her jiggling décolletage. “I suppose I could try expressing them before we left, but we are running late as it is.”

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion grinned, leaning over to give her a kiss as they headed downstairs. “Those things are getting us plenty of extra candy.”

Halsin had the exact same reaction as Astarion, his eyes immediately focusing on Tav’s breasts. “Daddy, I want candy!” Ava whined, sat regally on the couch.

“Soon enough, little princess,” Halsin couldn’t stop staring and went over to Tav for his own kiss. “You look incredible, my heart…good enough to eat…or drink.”

“Mmmm, that treat will have to come later tonight,” Tav grinned, hearing the hungry growl in his voice as he pressed his round, stuffed belly against her.

“Are we waiting for your mother to come through the cabinet or is Rolan taking care of her arrival?” Astarion asked, bouncing Ben in his arms.

“They’ll be coming from Ramazith. I think she’s been staying there more often than in Reithwin,” Tav made a gagging face.

“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to insatiable lust,” Astarion teased, knowing how much Tav loathed hearing about her mother’s recently renewed sex life.

“What’s wust, daddy?” Ava asked, always ready to repeat everything he said.

“It is something that I expect is going to make Daddy’s hair fall out when you kids are older,” Astarion sighed.

“You’ll be the most handsome egg there is,” Tav teased back, mussing his crown. “Let’s get a move on,” she fastened her own sumptuous cape to her shoulders. “If we want to stop by houses on the way and still make it to the party at a reasonable time.”

“Did you set out the candy cauldron already?” Astarion asked, putting Ben in the pram and going to the icebox.

“And lit the candles in the pumpkins,” Halsin nodded.

“What is that?” Tav asked, as Astarion pulled out a sack that reeked of sulfur.

“Just a little something for anyone trying to give the kids raisins instead of candy,” Astarion smirked.

“Ewwww stinky!” Shan grabbed his tail and used it to cover his nose.

“At least put it in an enchanted bag so we don’t stink up the entire neighborhood,” Tav crinkled her nose.

The family headed outside, Ava insisting on riding in the pram with Ben because she didn’t want to walk. The candy cauldron was full to the brim with treats and the family’s pumpkins sat along the porch. “You really think that sign is going to work?” Astarion asked, pointing to the ‘just take one’ sign set against the cauldron.

“I cast a glyph under it, so if anyone is particularly greedy, they will be in for their own stinky surprise,” Halsin laughed.

Astarion pushed the pram while Halsin walked beside Shan, who enjoyed walking much more than his twin haughty sister. They stopped at several houses who were offering candy, receiving handfuls in the children’s pails and some handed directly to Tav as the owners leered at her chest. Halsin took those to eat, quickly giving himself a stomach ache as they reached the Upper City on their way to the Ancunin residence. “Your parents are so kind for hosting this party,” Tav said, nibbling on an entire pastry someone had brought out for her wonderful bosom. “I know this is more of a Northern tradition.”

“They lived in Neverwinter for a short time after my…adventure. And they were excited to learn you’d grown up there,” Astarion replied, stopping for a moment to stare up at a large manor house. He reached into the enchanted bag that kept his rotten eggs at bay and chucked a handful of them at the windows. Tav looked at him curiously, seeing a bit of tension in his jaw. “The magistrate that first introduced me to Cazador lived in that house,” Astarion replied, his hand trembling slightly. Tav took it in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“In that case,” Tav reached her other hand into the bag and added a few more eggs across the stonework.

The official story that they’d told Astarion’s father and all of their acquaintances who recognized their newly reappeared son, was that his death had been a ruse. He’d been kidnapped by a gang of thugs and had his memories stripped away, living the life of a cutthroat and adventurer for two hundred years before having his memory restored by the tadpole. Those that had seen the production of Tav’s play, where he was portrayed as a seductive vampire, were told that it had just been artistic liberty to boost female interest. Only Astarion and Tav’s mothers knew the truth and they had sworn Mrs. Calthrenis to secrecy under the threat of never seeing her grandchildren again.

The family stopped by a few more houses of family friends, showing off the children and accepting more lavish gifts from the Upper City residents. They arrived at Ancunin Manor at dusk, the front of the house decorated with gourds, masks, and stuffed mannequins in various costumes. “Your mother really pulled out all the stops,” Tav grinned as they knocked on the door.

“She loves to entertain, just like you,” Astarion smiled, the brief memory of his past overshadowed by his beautiful family.

A servant opened the door, an older gnomish woman who was dressed as mouse. “Oh no! A kitty cat!” She squeezed Shan’s cheeks, standing barely taller than their enormous toddler. “You promise not to eat poor Malira?”

Shan just giggled, accepting a treat from Malira’s pocket. She adored the children as much as Astarion’s family did and spoiled them more rotten than the bag of eggs. “Oh good, you are finally here!” Astarion’s mother, Delise came ambling down the stairs. She was dressed like a fairy and had long wings trailing behind her.

“Hello DeDe, the house looks amazing and so do you,” Tav embraced her. “Thank you again for hosting.”

“Of course, my dear,” she gave both Astarion and Halsin a kiss on the cheek before looking over the children. “Look at my little angels,” Delise cooed.

“I’m a pwincess!” Ava declared, climbing out of the pram to accept some sweets.

“You certainly are,” Delise beamed, reaching into the pram to pull the sleeping Ben into her arms. “And my little jester,” she peppered Ben’s forehead with soft kisses. “Has she been eating well?” Delise glanced at Tav’s swollen bosom.

“For the most part, but just very slowly,” Tav blushed, her breasts feeling even fuller than when they had set out. “I overproduced even with the twins, so I have to express them at least once a day.”

“Better than not making enough,” Delise noted. “Come into the ballroom. There are plenty of games and magicians to entertain the kids and I have so many friends waiting to meet you.”

“There’s my boy,” Astarion’s father, Avaelin, came down the stairs. “And my littlest star,” he took Elsben from Delise and held her close.

“You’re looking well, Papa,” Astarion gave him a half hug.

“Well enough for your mother to convince me to put on hose again,” Lin replied, who was also dressed as fairy. He showed off his green tights. “They are damned uncomfortable, aren’t they?” He shook Halsin’s hand, gently rocking Ben in the crook of his arm.

“My wife can convince me to do just about anything with only a smile,” Halsin rubbed his hand along the tight orange hose of his duck legs, giving Tav a look.

“A pleasure to see you as always, Addy,” Lin reached out to kiss her hand, trying not to notice his daughter in law’s prominent chest. “Do you need to feed little Ben or should I find a quiet place for her to rest?”

Before Tav could answer, more guests arrived behind them, dressed as a troupe of mimes. “I recognize that regal attire!” Gale greeted them, holding little Mara in his arms. Syma was at his side, her black dress barely concealing a new, swelling bump.

“Aren’t mimes supposed to be silent?” Astarion laughed, giving Gale a hug and grabbing Mara to coo at.

“We were a little rushed in our costumes,” Syma replied, giving Tav a careful hug. “We’ve been so busy.”

“I can see that!” Tav grinned, putting her hands on Syma’s belly. “How many months along and why wasn’t I the first to hear?”

“Four months. We wanted to hold off…since Mara is still so young,” Syma glanced back at Gale with a wink.

“Still in the honeymoon phase, I see?” Tav whispered, pulling her to the side for some quick girl talk.

“We can barely keep our hands off one another,” Syma bit her lip. “And Mara is still nursing. I can only assume what Gale’s colleagues think he is doing when he’s not teaching.”

“I’m sure they can guess,” Tav laughed.

“Not talking about me, I hope?” Gale came over to greet Tav with a kiss on the cheek. “You are looking well, Tiddy, I mean Addy,” Gale blushed deeply at his slip of the tongue.

Syma smacked him playfully on the chest, pulling him in close to whisper “don’t make me put you in a cage again…”

“You think I’d protest?” he growled in her ear, furtively gripping her ass.

“Is this the Gale I’ve been hearing so much about?” Delise wandered over when formal introductions hadn’t been made.

“It is,” Tav nodded as the couple pulled themselves apart. “Delise Ancunin, this is Gale Dekarios and his wife, Syma.”

“So lovely to meet you both and congratulations,” Delise gave them both a warm hug, lingering with Gale for a moment longer. “I can never repay you for restoring my son’s life to him,” she whispered. “Anything you ask, you shall have it.”

“A cold drink and a chair for my lovely wife would be wonderful,” Gale answered.

“Right this way,” Delise motioned, giving his hand a thankful squeeze.

“Why don’t Halsin and I put the girls in a spare bedroom and join you all?” Tav suggested, her breasts starting to ache slightly.

“There’s a quiet room just down the hall,” Delise pointed, ushering the others towards the ballroom.

Halsin took Mara from Astarion and Tav took Ben from Avaelin before they left. They set both infants on the bed and bolstered them with pillows so they didn’t roll off. “Alright,” Tav began unlacing the back of her dress. “You get to drink just enough to relieve the pressure, but not enough for anyone to suspect that it was daddy who was hungry.”

“I think I can do that,” Halsin smiled, following her into the nearby closet.

His lips went to hers at once, helping her to loosen her dress further. Her swollen breasts spilled out with ease, her creamy flesh extra warm and pliable. He cupped one in his hand, gently squeezing the intoxicating fluid into his mouth with a hungry moan. His other hand found his way up her dress, reaching under her panties to softly rub her. “Ahhhhhh, I can’t believe you are doing this to me dressed like a duck,” she moaned, both from the relief and the probing of his fingers.

“You can dress me up in whatever you like for a taste of this,” he growled, switching breasts and suckling her just as hungrily.

“Come here,” she whimpered quietly, needing something to keep her cries muffled as he fingered her faster.

He released her breast from his lips and let her lean against him, circling his fingers with precision as she squealed into the plush fabric of his costume. “Oh…oh…you ducking druid, you make me feel so ducking...” She trembled wildly, leaning further against him to keep upright as her climax buckled her knees. She panted against him for a moment, her breasts heaving as he sucked on the fingers that had been inside her.

“Nothing like a little milk and honey to settle the stomach,” he smiled down at her and nuzzled her nose.

“That doesn’t mean you get to fill up on sweets again though,” she grinned up at him. “I’m going to need some serious butter churning before bed.”

“Double creamed?”

“As usual.”

He quickly helped her stow her wondrous mounds back into her dress, giving them both a thankful kiss first. They exited the closet and found the two girls still fast asleep. Tav left the door slightly ajar so they could hear them if either of them awoke and headed towards the ballroom, arm in arm. More guests had arrived and were mingling, the children entertained in the corner by both a magician and Gale’s attempts at miming his spells. Karlach and Dammon had arrived, dressed as a Phoenix and knight, respectively. They were talking to Syma, who was sat in a chair watching her silly husband pretending to cast a Dancing Lights spell and reaching for the imaginary globes. “Hey, alright, another bird!” Karlach hugged Halsin as they came near. “And you,” Karlach looked Tav over. “You could feed an army with those things!”

“I’m sure,” Tav blushed deeply, giving Halsin another smile. “You two look great!”

“I thought a Phoenix was quite fitting for her,” Dammon beamed at his wife. “And I just threw on some stuff from the forge.”

“Auntie Kowwack!” Ava’s attention from Gale and the magician’s antics had waned and she came running over, nearly tripping on her long dress. Astarion deftly scooped her up in one arm, without spilling a drop of his wine.

“Hey, there’s the little angel!” Karlach grinned, taking Ava from Astarion’s arm.

“I’m a pwincess!” Ava protested again.

“You can be both, sweetheart!” Karlach raised her above her head. “So you can still fly!”

Ava cheered and giggled happily as Karlach flew her around the ballroom, all of her friends and family thankful she’d been given a second chance at life through Dammon’s skill. The display drew the attention of all the other children at the party, who requested their own flights. “Gods damn that cat is heavy!” Karlach finally returned, panting slightly after soaring Shan through the air. “What do you feed him?”

“Let me get you a cold drink,” Dammon kissed her cheek and went off for libations.

“Are you two still considering adoption?” Astarion hesitated to ask, knowing it was a sensitive subject. “The kids adore you.”

“I think we’re both content to be Auntie and Uncle to this growing brood of youngsters you all keep making,” Karlach nudged Gale in the stomach.

“If this one is another girl, we were thinking about naming her Karlach,” Syma rubbed a hand over her belly. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Hells yes!” Karlach swore, forgetting that the twins were nearby and covered her mouth with her hand.

“They hear worse at home,” Halsin grinned, looking to both Tav and Astarion.

Dammon returned with drinks and Delise on his arm, who was inquiring with the smith about placing new ironwork on the house. “You have the most wonderful and talented friends,” Delise gushed, letting Karlach have his arm. “I understand how you all saved the city together.”

“We’re a good bunch,” Tav glanced over to see Wyll arriving with his wife, Giyzlyn. Wyll hadn’t had time in his busy schedule for a costume, but donned a pearl mask that matched his wife’s shimmering unicorn ensemble. Tav waved at the couple, but the newly appointed Grand Duke was swarmed by other guests and it took him a few minutes to make his way over to them. “Hey you!” Karlach gave him a hug that nearly took him off his feet. “Glad you aren’t too important to hang out with us Lower City types.”

“Still the best fried fish in the city,” he smiled, giving everyone else a less boisterous hug and was introduced to Astarion’s mother. “You all remember my wife, Giyzlyn?” Wyll gently nudged his shy wife into their circle.

“Lovely to see you again, Lyn,” Tav greeted the petite woman, trying not to smash her breasts into her face as she gave her a light hug.

“How are the little ones?” Lyn asked quietly, playing nervously with the long, white ponytail attached to her horn headpiece.

“It sounds like one of them just woke up,” Tav heard crying over the low clamor of the party.

“Bets on which one it is?” Syma went to stand, holding a hand to her belly.

“Five silver on Mara,” Tav helped her up. “Ben clearly hasn’t been hungry lately,” Tav added as her breasts jiggled in her tight dress.

“Do…you mind if I come along?” Giyzlyn asked as the men and Karlach had become engaged in looking over Wyll’s new sword and Delise had gone to mingle.

“No, please,” Tav took her by the arm.

Aside from Giyzlyn’s shyness, it had also been hard for her to entrench herself among the group, who had all been apart of the Absolute Crisis in one way or another. She had just been a resident of the city when the attack happened, cloistered safely in her family’s manor. She and Wyll had also been trying for a baby for several years since their wedding, but nothing had born fruit yet. She was deeply envious of the two women that walked beside her and was already preparing a slew of questions after seeing Syma’s belly. By the time they reached the bedroom, both girls were crying, their tiny fingers gripping each other’s in solidarity. “Oh dear!” Syma cooed, scooping up Mara who had fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She quieted a bit in her mother’s arms, opening her mouth to indicate she was hungry.

“Oh gods!” Tav exclaimed when she picked up Ben, smelling a soiled diaper instead of seeing a hungry mouth. “I should have sent Halsin in,” she gagged slightly.

“Does he change all the diapers?” Syma laughed, pulling her dress down to give Mara a meal.

“Unless he’s not home…and Astarion can’t be convinced,” Tav breathed loudly out of her mouth.

“I can help,” Giyzlyn volunteered, standing next to the door.

“Oh, I’d hate for you to soil that lovely white dress,” Tav held Ben as far away from herself as possible and laid her across the dresser to change her.

“I’ll be careful,” Giyzlyn promised.

“There are clean diapers under the pram,” Tav motioned towards the stroller that had been wheeled out of the hall.

She got Ben’s romper undone, shaking her head at the greenish brown stain on the backside. “My sweet baby, there is only so much Prestidigitation can do and mommy just ate a lot of canapés.”

“Here you go,” Lyn set the diaper down, unfastening the soiled one. “I volunteered at the relief camps after the Elder Brain attack. There were so many babies that lost their parents.”

“That’s where you and Wyll met, wasn’t it?” Tav stepped away slightly to let her work, casting a quick spell to clean up Ben’s backside.

“It was. I didn’t recognize him at first…because of the horns. But he was just as handsome as I remembered him from my father’s council meetings. I tried to peek in as often as I could…but couldn’t even muster the courage to introduce myself.”

“You still got him in the end, though,” Tav smiled, sliding the dirty diaper into the enchanted bag that had been alleviated of its rotten eggs.

“I just wish…” Lyn sighed, getting the new diaper fastened. “We both want to start a family…but…how did you two do it? I feel like we are doing something wrong. We’ve been trying so much but…my bleeding still comes every month. You’ve both been blessed twice…and I am starting to think there is something wrong with me…or Wyll.”

Tav looked back at Syma with a sympathetic frown, Mara still suckling on her breast. “It isn’t your fault…even if there is something biologically going on. Stress can have a lot to do with it,” Syma replied. “Gale and I tried for a while without success. We tracked my cycle, took my temperature, I put a cock cage on him to save up his seed until the time was right.”

“A what?” Tav and Lyn said almost simultaneously.

“It’s a little metal cage that goes around his…thing,” Syma motioned. “Some people use it for…kinkier reasons…but it prevents them from getting fully hard and makes orgasming much more difficult.”

“You didn’t let him jerk off?” Tav wondered, getting Ben’s romper done back up.

“I didn’t have the benefit of two donors,” Syma smirked. “And even that didn’t help much. We would argue about which position was best and it started to put a strain on our marriage. Sex became a chore for us. It wasn’t until we started having fun with it, while still trying to keep an eye on when I was most fertile, that it actually happened the first time. We hadn’t quite planned on this one just yet,” Syma burped Mara and clutched her stomach. “But having a house full of love and constantly swollen tits…this one happened the old fashioned way,” Syma grinned.

“Tell me about it,” Tav sighed, glancing down at her breasts that were already beginning to swell again. “Booba?” She looked at Ben for any indication she was hungry. Ben just grabbed at her hat again, jingling the bell on the end. “Oh my gods, child, are you and your father in cahoots? He already had some milk earlier!”

“They…drink from you too?” Syma wondered, gently rocking Mara back to sleep. “Isn’t that…strange?”

“It’s different,” Tav blushed, feeling a tingle in her nipples at just the thought of it. “It’s not like when Ben does it. I know I am feeding her body. With them…it’s like feeding their soul. It’s intimate…and usually a relief when I’m all swollen like this.”

“And they…like it too?” Syma sighed quietly, furtively tracing a finger over her nipple. “Gale still fondles and stares at them, but he seems reluctant to put his mouth anywhere near them.”

“It might not be for everyone. Astarion only does it on occasion…but Halsin…he’d suckle me dry if not for her.”

“Hmmmm,” Syma bit her lip, glancing towards the ballroom wondering what Gale was up to now.

“So, I just need to get bigger breasts?” Giyzlyn chimed in quietly.

“Oh gods, no,” Tav sighed, derailing the topic of conversation with her engorged tits. “I think it helps if you just really focus on the intimacy. Encourage the love to grow instead of forcing it. None of my children were planned, my husbands and I just enjoy each other’s company…a lot.”

“I enjoy Wyll a lot too, but…having to drag him to bed all the time…it does feel like a chore…even when we are both in the mood,” Giyzlyn replied.

“Mara was conceived on a desk,” Syma grinned, setting her daughter back down on the bed. “And I think this one was on a chaise lounge. It doesn’t always need to be in a bed, on your back, cleric-style. Let it be spontaneous and passionate.”

“What about yours?” Lyn looked shyly at Tav. “Even if they weren’t planned. You were able to get twins!”

“You know those dual plows that also lay seeds after?” Tav blushed deeply.

“Tav!” Syma grinned widely. “Dual?!”

“The twins were…consecutive plowings, upside down, in my loft. Ben was both…at once, on bed.”

“Wow,” Syma sighed deeply, her cheeks blushing under her mime makeup. “I suppose we could try it with a Simulacrum…can you excuse me for a moment?” She kissed Mara’s forehead and left the room, her tail swishing behind her.

“Do you want to hold her for a bit?” Tav held Ben towards Giyzlyn, who was taking this all in with both wonder and confusion. “She usually wants to eat shortly after she poops, but not right away.”

“Yes, of course,” Lyn eagerly took the infant, who was babbling happily and still jingling her hat. “So Wyll and I should just focus on each other…and not on getting pregnant?”

“You can keep it in the back of your mind and do things afterwards to help encourage it to happen. I think it is more about connecting with one another on a deeper level than having them make you come over and over after so that the contractions encourage the sperm up…but that can be a connection too…if you make it one.”

Tav gave her a few more anecdotes and positions to experiment with, before Ben was finally hungry enough to reach out for her mother’s swollen bosom. Giyzlyn returned to the ballroom, finding Gale and Syma making excuses for an early departure, their hands grasped tightly and a bead of sweat on Gale’s brow. “Hello, my love,” Wyll gave her a kiss. “Helping with the little ones?”

“Mmmhmmm. I can’t wait for us to have our own,” she nodded, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you mind if we grabbed some air? Changing that diaper has me feeling a little queasy.”

“Of course,�� Wyll smiled, squeezing her hand back. “If you will excuse us for a moment?”

“Us as well,” Gale grinned, looking at Syma with a hunger. “Perhaps we can have breakfast at the cottage if the invitation to stay there still stands?” He began pulling her away.

“Leaving already?” Tav returned, seeing the vibrating tension between the couple. “Ben had two sips and was done.”

“Random pregnancy craving,” Syma rubbed her belly. “If I don’t get a sausage or two inside me soon, I’m going to be sizzling. I think I saw a place that is open late on the way to your cottage.”

“I understand completely,” Tav grinned. “Those cravings can be powerful. There is a spare key hidden under the bench in the garden. The loft will have a great view of the fireworks…and since Mara is back asleep, why don’t we keep her for a night and let you get some much needed rest?”

“That would be wonderful,” Gale dabbed one of his mime gloves on his brow, smearing the face paint slightly.

“Thank you again, Tav,” Syma kissed her cheek goodbye. “We’ll try to keep it down,” she whispered.

The couple walked out of the ballroom after bidding Astarion’s parents a regretful early goodbye, Syma’s tail already tickling behind Gale’s ear. They briefly peeked in on Mara, sleeping peacefully next to Ben and then made a swift exit, their hands groping one another as they passed Rolan and Tav’s mother, Saera. “It isn’t over already, is it?” Saera asked as they passed without a word.

“I’m sure the second greatest wizard in the land has more important things to do, like practice,” Rolan laughed, nuzzling Saera’s cheek. “I’m sorry I made us fashionably late, but that costume is quite becoming on you.”

“Just like you were earlier,” Saera laughed, having secretly borrowed one of Tav’s bard costumes. “Ha, I made a pun! Or is that a double entendre? My daughter acts like it’s so hard to be clever all the time.”

“I think it’s the latter,” Rolan replied, knocking on the door. “Do you hear something wet?” He asked as Malira opened the door.

“Late arrivals or party crashers?” Malira asked, chewing on some candy with her mouse ears askew.

“Lady Saera Calthrenis and Sir Rolan of Ramazith Tower,” Rolan tipped his wizard hat. He was dressed only slightly more elegant than normal and had attached a fake beard for whimsy. Malira was thoroughly unimpressed, but welcomed them in, recognizing Tav’s last name.

As Malira let them in, the wet smacking grew louder, Wyll’s lips pressed tightly against Lyn’s as they made out in the side garden. “I thought you just wanted some air?” Wyll grinned, Lyn’s hand rubbing against his codpiece. “What’s gotten into you, Giyzlyn?”

“I was hoping you would fill that role,” she cooed shyly, undoing one of the buttons on his trousers.

“Wouldn’t you prefer we go home first?” He asked as she undid another, reaching her hand in to rub him directly.

“Home is boring,” she purred, sinking to her knees to pull his cock out. “I want passion…and a baby.”

“Ahhhhh…anything you desire, my beauty,” he moaned, moving her horn aside so he could hold her hair back.

She sucked him loudly, lacking experience, but having plenty of enthusiasm. “Mmmm…haaa…ahh,” Wyll moaned, pulling her mouth away before he burst. “We’ll need to switch to something else if we want to make that baby,” he panted, brushing his fingers along her cheeks.

Giyzlyn stood up with a smile, slipping her panties down under her dress. “Come here, my duchess,” Wyll knelt to help her, tucking his head under her skirt.

“Wyll!” Lyn whimpered, grabbing onto a nearby trellis to keep steady as his tongue licked between her legs.

They’d rarely taken the time in the past few months to simply give one another pleasure, skipping straight to penetration in hopes of producing an heir. Giyzlyn tried to keep her cries to a minimum, shaking the trellis as Wyll continued to tongue her. “Please Wyll,” she begged, needing to feel him inside her.

“You’re just so wet tonight,” Wyll reappeared from under her skirt, giving his excited cock a few strokes. “I couldn’t get enough.”

“You can have as much as you want after you end inside me,” she lifted up her skirts, propping one of her feet on the trellis and grabbing onto it with both hands.

“What did you three talk about in that room?” Wyll smiled, teasing himself along her hungry slit.

“Just some….ahhhhh….friendly advice for a would-be mother,” she moaned as he eased inside her, gripping the long tail attached to her dress.

He started off slow at first, kissing her neck and gently pulling her hips back. The passion ignited as they heard guests coming out onto the balcony above them to smoke pipes. “Don’t stop, Wyll,” Giyzlyn whispered, the trellis creaking slightly as Wyll fucked her.

“Give me your lips then, my love,” he pulled out and spun her around, picking up her hips and kissing her deeply.

They silenced their moans between their mouths, the trellis tapping gently again the stone wall. The party goers laughed and clinked glasses, oblivious to the scene below them. Someone was watching them, however, seething with brimstone as she plotted. Wyll erupted inside Giyzlyn with a muffled moan, gripping his hands firmly into her hips. “Let me finish you with my hand,” Wyll huffed, moving to set her down.

“No…stay inside me,” Giyzlyn asked, reaching down to circle around her clit. “The contractions will help move things upwards,” she grinned, tilting her hips a little.

She came quietly against his lips several times before she was also completely spent. She lay her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath, gently stroking the back of his neck. “That definitely wasn’t boring,” he smiled when she looked up at him, finally slipping out of her and letting her legs down.

“It was wonderful, my Wyll,” she kissed him deeply. “Should we go back inside or head straight home to do it again?”

“I’ll meet you inside,” he bent down to pick up her panties, pocketing them. “I still need to catch my breath.”

“Don’t be long,” she left him with one last kiss, straightening her horn as she slipped back inside.

Wyll watched her disappear with a smile and then changed his expression, putting his sword back on his belt. “What are you doing here?” He asked without looking away from the door she’d gone into.

“Wyll, is that any way to treat an old friend?” Mizora crept from the shadows, wearing her human form tonight.

“Go back to the Hells,” he spat in her direction. “I am sick of smelling you where ever I go.”

“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” she picked up the mask he’d discarded during his lovemaking. “You changed your hair?” She slid her hand over the tight twists that fell over his forehead.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” Wyll put a hand to the sword.

“That wife of yours is making all kinds of changes I don’t like,” Mizora purred, prowling around him.

“If you so much as look in her direction…”

“Relax pup, I don’t have any interest in her…she’s just in my way.”

Wyll lashed out, grabbing Mizora by the throat, which only seemed to spur her on. “Oh Wyll, you know just what I like…having me out in the garden just like her.”

Wyll threw her backwards, but she was instantly able to reappear at his side. “Now, now dear. Don’t throw me out until you hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t care for anything you have to say. Leave me in peace,” He turned towards the doorway back inside. “Our contract is over.”

“Not even about that baby you both so desperately want?” Mizora called.

“Say another word and I will cut your head clean off,” Wyll drew his sword in a flash. “I doubt you are here on Zariel’s behalf, so do her protections still stand, Cambion?”

“Your wife is hiding things from you…that is the answer to your nonexistent heir,” Mizora smiled, planting the seed she’d intended and disappeared in a flash of brimstone. Wyll sheathed his sword without a word and headed back inside.

The party was still in full swing inside, much to the delight of the late arrivals. The twins had been lured back to the magician with more candy, leaving the adults to drink and chat. “Gale and Syma are going to fuck on every surface of the cottage, aren’t they?” Astarion sighed after they’d left. “What in Gods name did you talk about in there? Even Wyll’s wife looked ready to ride him in the middle of the ballroom.”

“Just mother stuff,” Tav fibbed slightly, hoping both couples were having fun. “And I helped change Ben’s diaper too.”

“I’m sure you were very hands on,” Halsin teased, fiddling with the laces on the back of her dress, eager for more milk.

“You’re getting sassy with me too?” Tav purred. “Sassy bears don’t get milk with their good night tea.”

“This sassy bear will distract your mother for the rest of the night if I do,” Halsin motioned towards the door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tav swore when she turned and saw her mother enter the ballroom with Rolan. “That’s one of my costumes!” Tav stormed towards her, her tits bouncing with each step.

“If they fight, what are the odds one of her tits falls out?” Astarion smirked, slightly tipsy from the wine.

“I’ll take that!” Karlach laughed. “The left has been sitting a little higher.”

“No, it’s got to be the right. That’s the one that always makes its way out of her chemise when she sleeps!”

“Does Tav know you talk about her like this?” Shadowheart wondered, having arrived shortly before Gale had left. She was dressed like a cow and was late due to an incident at the farm.

“Oh, she loves it!” Astarion grinned. “Halsin?”

Halsin made a silent grumble in his throat, disapproving of the bet, but watching Tav stride across the ballroom. “Both…they are equally swollen and the hem will come down with the slightest pull,” he licked his lips, remembering how easily they burst forth earlier.

“Addy!” Saera waved when she saw her daughter storming towards her. “You should cover those up, dear. Are you not feeding her enough?” she reached out to pull Tav’s cape across her cleavage.

Tav slapped her hand away and stood with her hands on her hips. “Just what in the Hells do you think you are doing?” Tav asked.

“It’s Liar’s Night, darling. We’re supposed to be people we aren’t.”

“But that is MY costume! How did you even get it?”

“I was looking through the closet for something to put on Ava a while ago and knew I needed a costume. You weren’t using it. I was just surprised that it fit!”

Rolan quietly slipped away to get drinks, leaving the mother and daughter alone. “You could have asked first…and…are those hickeys on your neck?” Tav pulled away the ruffled collar of the doublet.

“Why do you think we were late?” Saera blushed.

“Gods, it is bad enough that you are seeing a man more than half your age, but then you show up late to something Astarion’s mother painstakingly planned and invited you to when she didn’t have to…”

“You are married to a man half your age,” Saera smirked, also putting her hands on her hips. “And I’m fairly certain that is a bite mark on your breast and Ben hasn’t gotten her milk teeth in.”

“Argggh!” Tav screamed quietly, storming off again. Astarion and Karlach had been watching her closely, poised to see if there would be a cat fight. “What are you two looking at?” Tav hissed.

“They took bets on whether one of your breasts would fall out if it came to blows with your mother,” Shadowheart tried to stay out of it, while also stirring the pot.

Tav screamed in her throat again, pulling one of her breasts out angrily before storming off towards the room where the infants were sleeping. She nearly ran into Lyn, who was holding her skirt folded inwards. “Oh Addy, is everything alright? I was hoping you might be able to do something about this?” She unfolded her skirt, revealing two grass stains around her knees. “We tried passionate and spontaneous.”

“Yes, sure,” Tav took in a deep breath, casting another Prestidigitation spell on her skirt before ducking back into the bedroom.

“I think that still counts,” Astarion smiled after Tav stormed off, knowing she was just taking out her annoyance with her mother on them. “And it was the right one, so I win.”

“I’ll go calm her down,” Halsin sighed, handing Astarion his honey mead.

“Keep the teeth below her décolletage this time,” Astarion whispered, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be in shortly.”

Halsin found Tav sitting in a chair with her head in her hands, both children still fast asleep and her crown tossed aside. “What’s wrong, my heart?” He knelt in front of her, reaching under her dress to rub his hands soothingly along the tops of her thighs. “Your mother?”

“I have a list,” she sighed.

“Start from the top then,” he whispered, pushing up her chin to look at him.

“This was supposed to be a fun night, but everyone is staring at my chest, wondering why my baby won’t nurse from me, like I’m a bad mother. And I am! I can’t even change a diaper without nearly retching. My own mother gets to go off and do as she pleases, while I’m stuck in place. I want to work again. I want to wear my old costumes and sleep in after being up all night. I want to go on adventures and write books about them, not just try to rehash the stories I’ve done before. I love the kids to death, but I don’t want to start resenting them for keeping me stuck at home all the time. I’m just a selfish fucking asshole.”

“I don’t think anyone believes you are a bad mother,” he gently caressed her face. “We discussed child-rearing duties even before the twins were born. I am more than happy to take care of it all and it doesn’t make you any less of a mother to them if you don’t do any of it. I know it seems overwhelming right now, but we have three very young children that are a lot of work. They will get older and more self-sufficient though. You can start working again and go on adventures without myself and the kids.”

“But I don’t want to go on adventures without you…and make you feel like you have to stay at home all the time either. You’ve already made enough compromises living in the city.”

“I’m happy with the life I have now. I have my family. I can look forward to adventures at your side when they are older, but I am happy right now.”

“I am too,” Astarion stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. “Yes, it is a little boring staying at home making clothes all day, but it beats bleeding on the side of the road and eating dried meat. We have plenty of time to get into mischief…and we still have a lot of fun together, don’t we?” He knelt beside Halsin, gently stroking her calf.

“Yes,” she smiled, stroking both their faces. “But everything is starting to seem a little routine. We wake up, get the kids settled for the morning, you work in your shop and Halsin does housework, I try coming up with new ideas that are shit. Lunch, then back to the same stuff, dinner, put the kids to bed, make love if we have the energy, rest and repeat. Seeing all our friends…I guess it just made me nostalgic…for not knowing what was coming next. Back when I didn’t have to deal with these!” She motioned towards her swollen, aching breasts.

“Those can easily be taken care of,” Astarion smiled, reaching up to loosen the back of her dress. “As for everything else, we can start to break up the routine. We can work on new costumes together, get Karlach and Dammon to watch the kids for a few days while we slip out of the city. Whatever you need. You’re the wet, sticky glue that keeps this family together,” he purred, letting his other hand stroke between her legs. “So let’s make some more to fill in the cracks.”

“Come here, my queen,” Halsin pulled her out of the chair, leading them all back to the closet.

They pressed both of their mouths against her, kissing together as they freed her breasts. Halsin took one in his mouth to suckle on, as Astarion untied the crimson sash on his waist and used it to gently tie her wrists to the closet rod. He then claimed her other breast, suckling hungrily on it and leaving his own teeth marks. They both worked at getting her panties to her ankles, fingering her front and back as they alleviated the pressure in her tits. She moaned quietly, needing to be used and controlled and fucked silly. Once Halsin had tasted his share of her milk, he sunk to his knees for more of her honey. Astarion unbuttoned himself, letting Halsin stroke him while Astarion continued to finger her ass. “Do you need a gag, your highness?” Astarion asked, finished with her breast and now focused on her neck.

“Uhhhuhhh,” she whimpered, her legs trembling as Halsin sucked hard on her clit. He set her legs on his shoulders so she didn’t need to stand, probing his tongue deeper and getting Astarion fully hard with his hand.

“Do you want us both to fuck you?” Astarion whispered, knotting his silk pocket scarf and putting it in her mouth.

“Please,” she panted through the gag, gripping tightly to the closet rod.

“What a polite, good girl,” Astarion moved behind her, lifting up the back of her dress and cape. He made himself slick with her honey, teasing against her tight asshole as Halsin rose from his knees and began pulling off his duck costume.

“Wait for me, Astarion,” Halsin growled, pulling the plush fabric past his hips and revealing a stiff cock. “I want to enter her at the same time.”

“Ready for an adventure, daring?” Astarion nibbled on her ear, still teasing his tip against her puckering hole, waiting for Halsin to pick up her hips.

“Mmmmm!” She moaned, feeling them push into her in sync, suddenly tight and full.

They pulled her back and forth between them, their mouths at each of her ears as they whispered filthy endearments. The excitement of the party just outside spurred them on, pounding her faster as the closet filled with wet slaps and low moans. She soaked through the gag, her chin dripping with spit as she whimpered and moaned. They finished together this way quite frequently, so Astarion suggested they switch things up even more. “Do you want him to finish in your ass while I cum between those beautiful tits?” Astarion asked, knowing she hadn’t taken Halsin that way very often due to his size.

She nodded enthusiastically, so overwhelmed by pleasure that she couldn’t even speak. They slowed their hips for a moment while Astarion untied her wrists, allowing Halsin to pull her to the floor. He lay her gently on her back and pulled out of her cunt, his cock slick and throbbing. “I’ll go slow,” Halsin whispered, squeezing his thick tip into the hole Astarion had just spread. “Until you want it fast…”

She nodded as he pushed further inside, Astarion hovering over her to watch her eyes roll back in her head. “Mmmmmm, look at her,” Astarion growled, stroking Halsin’s hair as he began fucking her again. “You think she’ll have something to write about now?”

“I…hmmmmnnn…think she will…and we’ll have to come offer relief again once she starts dripping onto the floor…” Halsin moaned, letting his slick fingers play with her cunt as Astarion slipped his trousers all the way off and straddled her chest.

“Up against the windows,” Astarion grinned, settling his cock between her tits as Halsin nuzzled his neck. “So the neighbors can see what a slutty little housewife we’ve made her into.”

“Hmmmmm…she is isn’t she?” Halsin growled, pulling her hips a little faster as Astarion pressed her tits together. “Willing to get on her hands and knees to work…or be worked.”

She grinned at that, her lips curling around the gag as her husbands looked down at her with an equal mix of devotion and lust. She was their wife, first and foremost, and they would do anything she wanted, even work her over in a closet while their friends and family were on the other side of the wall. She might not be able to fully embrace being a mother, but they would pick up where she couldn’t. She took each of their hands in one of hers, Astarion’s pressed against her tit and Halsin’s against her hip. She needed them, she needed this life, even if it didn’t mean constant adventures and a never-ending well of ideas. They were joined forever, by their bodies, by their love, and by their children.

Halsin squeezed her hand tightly, leaning against Astarion’s back as he erupted into her ass, his fingers hooked against her g-spot. Astarion grinned as Halsin moaned against his neck, seeing Tav’s climax also nearing as she bit hard into the gag, closing her eyes tightly. She squealed and shivered as fluid soaked Halsin’s hand, coming all over him. “Late as always,” Astarion groaned, spending across her neck and chin as she still shivered from climax.

She grinned up at him, squeezing her tits tighter together to get every last drop on her and pressing her legs against Halsin’s back to keep him inside her. They caught their breath together, their hands gently caressing the mess they’d made. “I love you both so much,” Tav mumbled through her gag, her eyes blissfully fluttering.

“What was that, darling?” Astarion smiled, pulling her gag out and teasing a bit of his cum across her lips.

“I said, who is going to clean this up?” She grinned, licking it off and begging for more.

“I think we need to call in professionals this time,” Halsin teased. “I knew I should have brought my maid outfit instead.”

“Could you make one for him?” Tav’s eyes lit up as she sucked more cum off Astarion’s fingers. “A really short dress and apron…thigh-high stockings?”

“I can picture it already,” Astarion chuckled, turning his head to give Halsin a kiss. “What do you say?”

“I say, if we are going to start incorporating outfits into our sex life…I have a few ideas of my own,” Halsin growled.

“Until then, I suppose it will have to be a group effort,” Astarion groaned, climbing to his feet. “This really has the potential for some top-quality smut,” he made a frame with his hands. “The queen, on her back, covered in cum from two suitors.”

“Go on,” Tav giggled, putting her hands behind her head.

“One is a king from another land…the other…some sort of duck god,” Astarion looked down at Halsin, dressed only in his bright orange stockings. “The rest of court is waiting just outside with bated breath.”

“They are all ‘bating too?” Tav teased.

“If you wanted to write a court wide orgy scene, I suppose,” he grinned. “There’s some sort of intrigue…she needs to sign a treaty or something…”

“That’s some very loose plot structure, but I like it so far.”

“Oooo! A masquerade!” Astarion suggested, bending down to pick up his trousers as Halsin wiped her chest and neck clean with the untied silk gag. “They could pass notes while they danced…using their mouths.”

“Oh, I like that,” Tav squirmed, looking down at Halsin as he dabbed the cum dribbling from her asshole.

“The story or this?” He purred, stroking her slit with his knuckle.

“Both,” she bit her lip. “Just one more…since I’m such a slutty little housewife?”

“You’re going to overfed our bear,” Astarion knelt beside Halsin after buttoning up his pants, Halsin continuing to stroke her slick lips. Astarion leaned down, teasing his tongue across clit.

“Another group effort?” Halsin smiled, slipping a few fingers back inside her and circling them.

“Yeah!” She whimpered, arching her back as Astarion sucked on her excited pearl.

She was spent again in moments, whimpering into her palm as her legs kicked in the air. “Mmmmmm,” Astarion took one last nuzzle of her clit. “One of us should get back to party before someone comes looking…I suppose that will be me, since I am already dressed.”

“Will you make some excuse that I just needed to lie down for a moment?” Tav asked. “Your mother went to all this effort and I’ve been in here half the time.”

“Of course, my love,” Astarion got up after giving them both a kiss. He slipped out of the closet, poking his head back in to tell them that one of the infants needed a diaper changed.

“That’s my cue,” Halsin got up, grabbing his crumpled duck costume from the floor.

Tav stayed reclined for a moment, listening to the sweet cooing of Halsin as he changed Mara. She knew she didn’t need to force herself to be the perfect caregiver to be a good mother, she just needed to be there, unlike her mother had. She slowly climbed to her feet after unfastening her soaked cape. She folded it up and stowed in under the pram, grabbing some wipes to do a little more clean up on herself. Halsin had already gotten Mara changed and was bouncing her on his knee. “How did you get so perfect?” Tav asked, cleaning up the floor of the closet as best she could.

“I was surrounded and nurtured my entire life. That was life in a druid grove. When my parents passed, there were others to care for me, even when I hid and only talked to Thaniel. It can’t be easy to suddenly become the mother to three children when your own was hardly there,” he replied, trying to keep Mara from sucking on her tail tip.

“I wish I could have met them,” Tav went over to him, seeing that Gale’s daughter was hungry. She offered a breast, which Mara reached for.

“Here,” Halsin gently handed the tiefling off to her and offered her the chair. Mara latched right away, uncaring that it wasn’t her mother’s familiar breast. Halsin gently stroked Tav’s hair, running his fingers through the knots their lovemaking had caused. “I know they would have loved you as much as I do.”

“Do you think the kids would be better off growing up somewhere like that? Instead of the middle of the city?” She looked up at him as Ben awoke and began to fuss.

“I think the little grove we’ve made is perfect enough,” Halsin scooped Ben up in his arms, only making her fuss louder. “And I think someone is finally ready to eat.”

Halsin helped get their own daughter situated against Tav’s other breast, making sure she got a good latch. “Just a moment,” Halsin called when there was a gentle knock on the door. He draped a nursing blanket over Tav’s chest and then answered the door.

“Astarion said you were feeling a little dizzy, so I brought you some tea,” Delise stepped into the room. “But I see you have your hands full.”

“I’ll drink it after, thank you,” Tav smiled.

“You must’ve gotten a lot of practice with the twins?” Delise set the tea on the nearby table. Halsin ducked out of the room, letting Tav have a moment with her mother-in-law and to search for honey for her tea, just like Tav preferred.

“They thankfully weren’t as fussy as Ben has been, but they were still a handful. I regret that you didn’t get to see them as infants.”

“I still get to watch them grow quite a bit. I wish Gale and his wife had been able to stay longer, I owe him nearly as much as I owe you for helping my son back from the darkness. But it was kind of you to offer them a night off, especially with this one teething.”

“I’m just starting to realize that,” Tav winced, Mara done suckling and trying to bite for more. “They’ve been amazing friends to have over the years and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of other opportunities to get together.”

“The Winter Solstice will be here before we know it and I throw a great party,” Delise smiled as Tav wrested Mara’s sharp teeth away, offering to take her.

“We’ll look forward to it,” Tav replied as Delise carefully pulled Mara from under the nursing blanket. Tav checked on Ben, who was still sipping at a slow pace. “Ben might be done with this breast by then,” she sighed.

“You know, Astarion was a leisurely drinker as well. He’d suckle for hours if I let him, but get immediately angry if I stopped…the little brat,” Delise laughed.

“She certainly is,” Astarion gently guided Ava into the room, her cheeks wet with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Tav asked, sharing a smirk with Delise.

“Shan say….I….not a…weal…pwincess,” Ava began blubbering again, more tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face in Delise’s lap and collapsed in her usual dramatic fashion.

“You are in this house,” Delise rubbed her back for comfort. “Your father was the little prince here when he was your age…we might still have the throne he made us get.”

“You had a throne?” Tav grinned.

“I think it was just a really nice chair,” Astarion pretended not to suddenly remember holding court over a pile of stuffed animals.

“It was a throne,” Delise mouthed to Tav. “I’ll have grandpapa look for it in the attic and the next time you come over, you can see how you like it, alright?”

“Awight,” Ava sniffled, her temper tantrum successfully defused. “Can I hab mow candy?”

“I think you have had enough sugar for today,” Astarion palmed a few cubes to Tav for her tea. “They didn’t have honey, but Halsin said this would do.”

“Thank you,” Tav smiled, mixing the spoon around to disperse it. “Hopefully I will feel good enough for a waltz with the king before the night is up.”

“My arm awaits,” he bowed, picking up Ava. “Until then, I’ll take this little one for a spin.” He spun her around as he walked out the door, making her giggle.

“They are so much alike,” Delise beamed, Mara growing sleepy in her arms. “You have my sympathies for the next few years.”

“I’ll try to prepare myself,” Tav laughed, checking on Ben again, who was barely latched and falling back asleep. “I think she’s about done,” Tav took a long sip of her tea.

“This one certainly is,” Delise got up to put Mara back on the bed. “You know, I think Astarion started nursing better once I started eating more ginger. Maybe it gave my milk some extra flavor?”

“I’ll try anything,” Tav laughed as Ben’s mouth popped off and her head sagged against her.

She got up and put her back on the bed next to Mara, careful to keep the blanket draped over her breasts so Delise didn’t have to see the bite marks her son had left. She tucked herself back into her dress and returned out to the ballroom with Delise. “So let me get this straight?” Karlach asked Rolan, as they chatted in a group. “You dressed like a wizard and you are a wizard…where is the fun in that?”

“I’m a different wizard,” Rolan sighed, pulling his beard down to take a long drink.

“Sure,” Karlach nodded, her mood brightening when she saw Tav returning with Delise at her side. “You feeling any better, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Loads better,” Tav blushed, realizing the entendre she’d just made.

“Yeah, Astarion and Halsin looked pretty pleased with themselves,” she whispered lowly, nudging Tav with her elbow.

“Is my daughter finished with her temper tantrum?” Saera returned with another drink for Rolan and herself.

“She just finished nursing two infants,” Delise snapped, still at Tav’s side and not a fan of Saera. “I can’t imagine you took the time to do that with her when she was a babe?”

“She received a very special formulation of milk, alchemical boosters, and a hint of the Weave to boost her spell power. She was casting 2nd level spells at five,” Saera boasted.

“I was six,” Rolan said proudly.

“Congratulations,” Delise smirked. “You’ve come a long way in so few years.”

Both Tav and Karlach guffawed at Delise’s dig at their age gap. Saera scowled at Delise, making a quiet grumble in her throat after taking a long sip of her drink. “We aren’t all so lucky to be able to buy our children into good schools,” Saera shot back, glancing over at Astarion still dancing with Ava.

“And he was still top of his class,” Delise challenged, taking a step towards Saera.

Both mothers seemed keen to continue their verbal jabs about their parenting, so Halsin tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “This little gourd-shaped pastry is quite good,” Halsin noted, chewing happily. “Did Malira make them or did you buy them from a shop?”

“It’s an old family recipe,” Delise turned her attention away from Saera. “I will have her copy the recipe down so Addy can make it at home.”

“My stomach would certainly appreciate it,” Halsin smiled, feeling Tav give his hand a thankful squeeze at defusing the bickering. “Though my waistline might not.”

“I like you a little squishy,” Tav replied, pressing herself against his padded, plush belly. “Though not this squishy.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 7

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut across the series. This particular part is smut adjacent (mentions of BDSM, kinks/fetishes)! Mentions of parental neglect, and alcohol abuse across the series as well.

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Calum checks his watch. The face stares up at him in blinking gold and lets him know he’s still got a little over an hour before he should pull the plug on work and get ready for the date. The black dress shirt he wore for sessions is overkill for the date. He’d already promised that you didn’t need to dress up. Besides, if Calum’s honest the starch on his collar has made it stuff to the point he’s worried he could chaff him. Thankfully at this point in the day, he doesn’t need it buttoned up so he takes a moment to undo a few buttons. The air rushes in, cool as it skates over his now exposed chest. 

78% of constituents responded no when asked if they felt Cabinet responded in a timely fashion to major crises (historically). The cursor stares back at Calum now. The data’s on his other monitor. He could see it with just a glance of his eyes, wouldn’t even have to move his head entirely, but something about the words feels hollow. They’re true. It doesn’t feel like it’ll be enough. Calum’s not lying, nor is he stretching the numbers to fit his narrative. It’s a haunting thought that no matter what Calum does it will never be enough, yet, this is all he’s got. This is what all his effort is culminating; this is all that he has left for this vote. 

It’s the anxiety, Calum knows. If so much weren’t riding on this, Calum is sure he would continue on with ease. But there are stakes. Every word feels like it must carry twice the weight. So Calum’s twice as slow to put the words down on the page and to string together sentences. By the time he gets another two sentences down, the blink of the cursor is burned behind his eyelids. Calum can recite the paragraph by heart as he reads and rereads the sentences that precede each new one he writes. 

This isn’t a new anxiety; Calum feels it when he has to deliver a speech at events. The intent is very much different. Calum is not speaking to a crowd, gathered for the same agenda. He is antagonizing. He is directly pointing a finger and it will no doubt cause a ripple. People will squirm. They’ll push back and rebel. He can imagine the disappointed stares, the murmurs that might arise between members. But this is what they need--a fire, a disturbance. Someone’s got the rattle the cage in a way that they’ll actually fear. 

Though, Calum can’t rattle a cage with a cursor blinking at him with no words. 

A knock sounds from his door. He huffs before pushing up out of the chair. No one should be at the door. He’s not late to any meetings. His phone and email would’ve alerted him to that. It could be someone from the cleaning crew coming through for quick rounds but they usually make last rounds around 6:30, sometimes 7. “Coming,” he calls out as he rounds the edge of his desk. 

The other person remains quiet. With another glance at his watch, Calum wonders if this will be good enough to call it quits. He still needs to change. He’s got half an hour but he worries that if he forces it, he’ll become so frustrated nothing will come. The door creaks and Calum just happens to take note of the shoes first before taking the long glance up. There you stand, sneakers and jeans with a button up and motto jacket to seal the deal. The jacket looks well worn, molded around you, but well kept. While there are some spots that look a little lighter than others, Calum knows when leather’s been polished after doing it to his own jackets plenty of times. 

“Hey,” Calum greets, pulling the door open further for you. 

“Hi, I know I’m early. Is it okay if I hang out with you until you’re ready to go?”

“Of course, baby. C’mon.” 

Your steps are slow as you cross the threshold, head circling to take in the sights. Calum knows his office isn’t that impressive. A lot of the decor was well established before he acquired the office--namely the desk, office chair, wall color, couch, and table. There are a few pieces--pictures of family, Duke, and friends-- that Calum’s framed and put up. The thought pops up to do more, but Calum never gives into the command.

“If you’ve got suggestions for how to decorate an office I’m all ears.”

“It’s nice,” you return with a laugh. It’s soft as you spin on your heel to face Calum again. “May need a new paint job.”

The beige walls are a bit drab, but they do their job nonetheless. “Got a color in mind?”

“Red,” you answer. It’s definitive, leaves you with little hesitation. 

Calum whistles at the answer, pressing on the door until the locks click. The noise of the hallways--mostly folks shoes on the floor--is shut off from the interior. “That’s bold.”

You settle into the couch, right on the edge as you peel out of the jacket. “I’ve heard that about myself a time or two.”

“Is it cold out?” Calum asks. He doesn’t imagine it to be that cold. Not yet anyway. There were hopefully still a few more weeks left before the chill of October descends. Granted, Calum’s always liked the warmer weather anyway. He doesn’t want it to go away ever. 

You shake your head. “It’s my fanciest casual jacket,” you return. 

Calum pauses. He has a hunch, but doesn’t want to come across as insensitive. You don’t have any need to worry about what you dress like. That’s not a concern of his, but more and more he wonders if this is a manifestation. “You can always borrow something from me if you want,” he offers. “But I don’t think I have anything as cool as that jacket, so.”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” you return, placing elbows onto knees as you hold your face up on your knuckles. 

“What is?”

“To worry.”

Calum has guesses on what it is that you worry about. Yet, again, he won’t make assumptions. “About?” he asks. 

“My looks. I’m not really dating the public, am I?”

“Technically, no, you’re not. I know the pressure exists. If they’re talking about me and scrutinizing me, whomever I date gets some fall out too.”

 You nod, falling back into the cushions now. If this didn’t feel so important, Calum might make a joke about it being a fainting couch now with how you’ve thrown yourself into the corner of the arm and the back piece of furniture. However, it is serious, so he reframes. 

“It’s just the worry talking. I know it is. I know it doesn't matter.” It’s soft as it leaves you, deflating your chest as you push air behind the words. 

“Worry’s got a loud mouth sometimes,” Calum concedes. It is a loud voice at times, even for him. 

“That it does. How’s it going with you though? I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Perched onto the edge of his desk, Calum shakes his head. “I’d never dare call it an interrupt. Perhaps, a distraction though.” It leaves him with a grin and your smile is all the return Calum needs. 

“Oh no, I’ll leave and bug Janet instead.”

The threat doesn’t sound hollow either. “I’ll behave, I swear. You need anything? Water? A snack?”

“I still technically work in that kitchen and this palace for at least another two weeks, I can get it if I need anything.”

“Fair, fair. I have to ask though. As your boyfriend, it is my duty.”

“A job you do very well,” you whisper. The space hardly carries it to Calum’s ear, but when it does settle it makes his chest warm. “Now, you do have work I suppose, right?”

With a shrug, Calum lifts from the desk. “I mean there’s always work. But if you’re asking where my priorities are, it’s not with Cabinet bullshit.” It’s a bit of an odd angle to bend over the couch, but Calum does it, holding himself up by the back of the couch and the arm, effectively caging you in with his body. 

“How dare I do such a thing?”

“How dare indeed,” Calum whispers in return before pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’ll help pick out my outfit, yeah? Once I get done?” It’s a small request, but he hopes it helps. The two of you can be on the same caliber this way. It’s more symbolic and still Calum prays the offer is enough. 

“Of course.” You press another kiss to his lips and then slip back down further into the plush cushions. 

“I can take a hint,” Calum laughs.

He does take the moment of your soft laughter to gently nip at your cheeks, it’s just his lips, but he still takes a little chomp before pushing up. At his desk, settled back into his seat, Calum watches the way you curl up into the arm of the chair. Your socked feet slip a little on the leather, but it doesn’t take long for you to settle. 

“I’m not the work,” you laugh again.  

Calum huffs, but does turns back to face his screens. It doesn’t help that he can spy you out of the corner of his eye. It really doesn’t help that the cursor is still a blinking curse. His fingers settle onto the home row of the keys and the dread trickles back in. The first draft doesn’t need to be perfect. He has two days before he’d address the Cabinet. Yet, he does still need to get the first draft done. Just a first draft, Calum reminds him. He just needs a first draft. His fingers are slower this time. The tap of the keys holds a longer echo, but the words start to fill the page. 

With another half page filled, Calum glances at the time. It’s about eight minutes from when he originally said he’d stop and get dressed. Though he could press on, he’s worried that he’d lose track of time too much. So he saves the document and jots down some mental notes of the things he wants to mention next. It should be enough when he comes back later on tonight to help jog the memory. 

A bit of moment catches his eye and he turns, to find you peering up at the bookshelf in the office. It’s a lot of legal stuff. There are some history books scattered amongst the shelves, with the occasional self help and nonfiction books. It’s a rather boring collection, but they’ve all got their own practical uses to Calum. There’s more interesting ones in his collection in his room, he knows. But you seemingly hold each one with a high regard of interest as you trail a finger down the spines. 

“See anything interesting?” Calum asks. 

“You’ve read all these yet?” you ask in return. 

“Most of them. There’s a few I didn’t finish all the way, but keep as references.”

“Well read,” you tease as you rattle off one of the nearby titles. 

It’s a book about the political soundscape of grassroots movements at the turn of the century. It’s outdated now by a thousand miles and reminds Calum to see if the authors have anything more recent that they’ve published. 

“All a part of the job,” Calum laughs. It can feel like a boring part, but a part nonetheless. “But I’m at a good stopping point right now. Okay if we leave out a little earlier?”

Your nod is immediate. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

It’s a rather quiet walk up to his room, palms pressed into each other as your fingers thread through his. It’s a welcomed and comforting silence, warm as it fits between the two of you. Calum lets you into the room first and then follows with an immediate action to remove the dress shoes. The exhale is heavy from his chest. “Hate those things,” Calum mutters to himself. 

Calum stops behind you. There’s a bit of anticipation, how you’ll stay rigidly at attention in the threshold of his closet, but you lean back just a little. It’s just enough to bring the scent of your detergent to Calum’s nose. The heat of you starts to seep through the dress shirt. Then there’s another small step back. Your back is pressed snugly against Calum’s chest. The touches have always been easier here, in private. Yet, they still always send a surge of electricity through Calum’s body. They never get old. 

“I’m going to get you out of these button ups,” you remark. Your fingers slip through the racks. “I don’t care if it kills me.”

“I’ll care,” Calum whispers against your ear.

He watches as you pull out yet another button up shirt. The red snake stitched into the collar stares back at Calum. It feels so silly to say the snake knows the exact secret Calum is holding. It’s more than likely less that the snake knows and more that Calum’s uneasy about withholding from you. It’s all for good reason, but it still makes his stomach quake. Nonetheless, the shirt does not fit the particular atmosphere of the restaurant.

“No, too formal,” he interjects. 

“Is this fucking Gucci?” you hiss. It sounds less like an accusation and more like disbelief. 

The name is tacked into the back of the shirt. Calum squeezes gently at your waist. He'd forgotten that he had been given this shirt previously. It'd just been hanging and he hadn't worn it a year. “If I say no, does that change anything? I think that was a gift, if it helps.”

“Oh,” you return and then place the item back onto the rack. You eventually settle for a yellow button up and hold it up to Calum. He takes it with ease. 

“That doesn’t sound like a very convincing answer,” Calum states. The long sleeves of the dress shirt roll a little as he peels himself out of it. The black ribbed tank underneath will be fine even with the new shirt. But he will not be leaving the ends tucked in. 

“No, I am convinced.” It doesn’t take long for you to pull a pair of jeans down from the tiered rack. They’re more of his work jeans, given by the hole forming at the knee, but Calum doesn’t object to the item as he takes it from you. “Only time I’ve seen Gucci in real life was from a window. Call it disbelief.”

It’s all you say before you pass Calum his pair of black Doc Martens. How utterly simple: call it disbelief. Perhaps, that’s all it is. The reality of the two of you wrapped into one phrase: call it disbelief. Disbelief that you felt so bold enough to reciprocate when Calum cracked open the door. Disbelief that when you needed slow, you were given iy. Disbelief that even the threat of outside voices have not yet broken inside. 

With the boots laced, Calum grabs his keys and wallet from the desk. You’re leaning against the door, arms folded over your chest. While it could be so easy to say that you look displeased or bored even, Calum sees what’s just behind those eyes. There’s a small twinkle. Your lips turn up and Calum can’t think of a time he’d fight his own grin in return. “Do I look good?”

You nod. “Really good.”

Calum’s yet to see himself fully. But he doesn’t need to. “Hair looks okay?”

Like a dog, you tilt your head just a little. Calum wonders if the angle is to hear or to see better. It’s only a few seconds later that you’re pushing up and towards him.  It only takes a few rakes of your fingers before you smooth and comb through the strands. “There you go.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

Oh--that’s a pet name that Calum’s not sure he could get used too. It’ll always make his stomach flutter. It’ll always make his heart race. His tongue becomes heavy and awkward in his mouth, so much so that he doesn’t trust himself to even work through a response. He takes your hand instead and just smiles, feeling the heat lick at his cheeks. 

“Oh, he’s blushing,” you tease, but walk through the opened bedroom door hand in hand with him. 

There’s nothing to say, no way to deny the truth so Calum continues on down to the elevators. He’s always happy to accept his fate with you; that is no shocking revelation. There’s no need for disbelief with the thought. 

“I did some research on Forest,” Calum confesses as he pulls out of the back lot. 

Your laughter is soft. “I’m sure you did.”

“The owners seem really caring. They do a lot of community events.”

“That’s what Turner said too.” 

He knows that. You relayed it to him. “And you’re sure this is a good fit for you? Seems like a great place, but I also don’t want you diving into just any old thing.” Calum’s sure if it weren’t the right option you’d know. You sounded so enamored after the interview; he just wants to make sure that none of that has faded. It’s his responsibility, a duty to make sure that regardless of what you were doing it was the best thing for you. Even if it changes, of course. 

“Does the perfect job really exist?”

Calum knows he doesn’t have much experience to articulate an answer. But he waits. He knows there’s more. Perhaps, there is no perfect job--just better and better fit ones. 

You continue on, “I don’t think it’s perfect, but it’ll work for now. And if I hate it, no one says I have to stay there forever. I could always move on.”

“How freeing of a thought,” Calum returns. For you, he means. You don’t have to say some place that’s not working for you forever. 

“Are you now saying you regret your duties?” 

A valid question, even Calum can admit that. “No, I think it's a job with flaws though. Things that would be nice to change about it, but ultimately, I’d waste more energy on those things than truly necessary.”

“If you ever do start to hate this, taking the throne, could you not leave?”

“Hadn’t considered the thought,” Calum returns honestly. He never had much of a reason to consider what it might be like should he leave. Calum’s not even sure if he’d ever want to leave. Not without something major of course. It’s not his own volition that would send him away. It’d be something external, something that weighed more and mattered more than his own sense of responsibility. 

Your hum acknowledges Calum’s answer. But the more the streets unfold in front of him, and the more Calum considers the thought, he wonders if you’re asking something else. “Do you not want this? You can tell me truthfully.” It's not meant to corner you, just to open up the conversation should it need to be had.

“I want you; I’ll tell you a thousand times if you need it. I understand what comes with it.” It’s such a simple response, but it levels Calum. You have the ability to speak plainly, to say if something wasn’t working. You are aware that each choice you make has its own consequences.

Calum knows it’s ridiculous to keep dancing around the same fire. You are more than capable of making your own decisions, of understanding what comes with it. The hard reality to face is that Calum knows it’s not fair. He knows you’re not asking for scrutiny just because of him. He knows you’re not asking for crushing worry or guilt because of him. He assumes if given an easier option, you might choose that. Perhaps, that’s the true fear. This is not the easy choice. It’s not the choice Calum thinks he would make if he were you. Maybe he’d taken it slower, much slower than the two of you are right now.

Yet, you continue to make the choices that all lead to him. Yet, he continues to make the choices that all lead to you. 

“Worry has a loud mouth,” you state at the red light. You cup his cheek.  

Calum can feel the sting behind his eyes. He turns to you, blinking away the haze of tears casting shadows over his eyes. “Yes, it does.”

Over the console, you stretch and press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m still here. I’m still choosing us.” 

It’s a whisper over his skin--a prayer Calum wishes to carve into his bones. When the light turns green, Calum takes just a second longer to take in the warmth of you before facing forward again. The confession bashes at his teeth, but today’s really meant to be a celebration. It’s about you. It’s about the victories you’re facing. Besides, Calum’s worried about what he’d choose if he were in your position, a path that his life hadn’t lead him down. No one knows what they’d choose if their positions were different. It is a terrifying beauty of life. The worry of his what-if is not from a position of current reality. 

In the parking lot of the restaurant, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. You are choosing him and he is choosing you. You nudge his face upwards from the kisses along the back of your hand and the two of you share a small kiss. 

“Love you,” Calum whispers against your lips. 

“Love you.”

“Now, don’t move a muscle, I’ll be on your side in a second.” Calum offers the command knowing the risk of it falling on deaf ears. But he does command it anyway. As he shuffles to the passenger side door, he finds your head peering out of the car. He helps close the door behind you though. “You don’t listen too well, I see.”

“Only when I know it doesn’t matter too terribly.”

Calum’s gut reaction is to take your hand, lead you inside, but he remembers. That you need things to be slow. His only concern is that undoubtedly the longer he’s here the more word will spread about the location. It’ll get busy, but not unbearable. “Let’s head in, yeah?”

“Please.” The simple phrase is coupled with you reaching out to hook your pinkie around his. 

“Of course.” Calum’s sure to keep you side to side with him as the two of you take the short walk inside. It’s a hole in the wall kind of place. Run by one family for the last sixty years or so. But the food’s always good and the patrons that frequent are usually older--a softer and quieter place to visit. Even with the sports on and the older men grumbling at the bar, there’s very little in the way of ruckus. 

“Just the two?” the hostess asks. She’s new--Calum can tell that much. But she doesn’t seem phased by his presence which is more than welcomed. 

“Yeah, just the two of us,” Calum returns. 

“Booth or a table then?”

He turns to you and you shrug in response a fraction of a second before you speak, “Booth, I’d guess?”

“Booth,” Calum confirms and lets you walk in front of him as you’re directed on where to sit. 

Settled into the cracked and squeaky leather of the booth, you and Calum both take a moment to look over the menus. Though it’s a menu Calum’s seen a hundred times, he still eyes it to see if his favorite mushroom stew is still on the glossy lamented menu. Once he’s sure it is, he takes a look up at you. He watches you, the way you’re looking over the menu and everything threatens to come up this throat again--the secret in the back garden, the worry on the drive over earlier. It’s all too easy to think you’d make space for it. But he withholds. He can bring that up all at a later time. 

“What do you suggest?” you ask, looking up finally. 

“What are you in the mood for? Soup and salad? Burger? Something else?”

“Burger,” you return. 

“The Double Stacked is pretty good. It’s thick though, so if you don’t want too much meat, I’d suggest Barn Raised. It’s got a fried egg on it.”

“You clearly come here often.”

“It’s good food,” Calum defends. 

“I’ll try Barn Raised. I don’t think I have the appetite today for Double Stacked.”

“Everything okay?” He hadn’t asked about your day before. By your early entrance and his work, it hadn’t been a topic, but it wasn’t off his radar. 

“Yeah, things are good. I just, I have to tell Janet. A little nervous about that.”

Janet won’t be an easy person to tell about your departure. He doubts anyone on staff would be happy to hear about you leaving, though he’s sure they’d all know the reason behind why.  Though Janet especially is not easy. A benefit is that she was there when Calum advocated for you to have more time and better benefits in your severance. Yet, he distinctly recalls that she left that meeting with a wobbly chin. 

Calum nods, reaching out across the table. It’s an offer, if you want his comfort through touch. “It does sound hard. I know she cares about you a lot.” 

“I care a lot about her. And everyone else. I stay late a lot to help folks out, things that don’t feel like they should be a problem, but are.”

The confusion pulls at his brows. Calum feels the frown on his own face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you know the last time new uniforms were ordered for the folks that work in the kitchen?” you ask. 

Calum’s not sure how this is supposed to answer his question, but he pauses. He hasn’t looked into anything about kitchen staff if he’s honest. Not at least in a year or so. No one had brought it up as something that was pressing. “I-I don’t remember the last time. At least a year.”

“Two,” you correct. “I mend what I can when people need it, but new uniforms haven’t come in in two years for us hosting. Do you know how many people eat at the castle because the chefs over prepare?”

Yet another question Calum can’t answer. So he shakes his head no, though it’s already starting to dawn. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I’d hazard a guess that about 60% of your staff live with roommates because they can’t afford it on their own. Another twenty percent or so, have second jobs. Some are still at home. And it’s not to say that we aren’t paid or we’re getting scraps. We’re just not getting enough sometimes. People have other responsibilities that money goes to first. You, Calum, are not immune. As much as I don’t want to hurt you, you are not immune to economic disparity blindness. It has always been right around you. You just never knew what to look for. Not in your own home.”

It feels like sinking, Calum realizes it only after the drinks have arrived. Only after he’s spun his cup around, stunned into inadequate silence. He’d been right in the middle of his own web. The very thing he was about to accuse a Cabinet of doing, he’d done it himself. He wants to say something, wants to disprove the point. Yet, he can’t. He doesn’t recall the last time he spoke to anyone or anyone had spoken to him about the budget for salaries inside the castle. He can’t recall a time where there wasn’t an overabundance of food in that kitchen at breakfast and lunch for everyone to eat. It always felt purposeful, like they were doing this because it was the right thing to do--give the folks there a good meal or two for their shift since they were working and the food would be there. Calum considers-a bit selfishly-it was the right thing to do at some point. At some point it is just a thing they did because it made the most sense, but now it carries on out of desperation.

Now after ordering food, after he’s worked open his jaw from its clenched state, something like disbelief works itself over his tongue. “But-” and yet there’s no real rebuttal. He could ask why no one’s brought it up before. But why hadn’t he looked into it himself? Why hadn’t anyone demanded higher wages? But why did someone else have to do all the work? Calum knows he can’t do it all myself. He’s one person. It’s too much weight for one person to bear. Yet, none of his advisors had brung it up. 

To say, I’ll look into it, feels too dismissive. Though it bashes against his teeth and it is true, Calum can’t say that. He doesn’t want to belittle the sentiment or the vulnerability needed to express your thoughts. Instead he nods, lifting his gaze from the worn wooden table of their booth. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Thank you for listening.”

The sip of Calum’s sweet tea is sour. Not that the drink has gone bad, but because the guilt coats his tongue. He is not immune, not that he’d been willfully ignoring obvious signs. He hadn’t been taught what to look for. He hadn’t questioned it because it hadn’t been questioned to him. He just simply did not know; an ignorance born out of circumstance. An ignorance Calum can’t afford to keep swimming in. If he wants to make real change, he’ll have to start with himself. 

The whole night isn’t soured thankfully. You hum around the first bite of the burger you’ve ordered and note that you plan to come here without Calum more often. It’s a bright spot to see the delight crossing over your face. He’s glad that you’re enjoying the food. He hadn’t run into an issue with the place and enjoyed it, but there’s always an unknown with others. It’s warming to know that so far, you’re enjoying the place. However, no celebration is complete though without dessert. The dessert and drink menu coexist and Calum memorized the desserts by heart at this point. But he still slips it closer to you. 

“We can’t call it a celebration and not get dessert,” Calum teases. 

“I think we could.” You take the menu though. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

Calum laughs with a shake of his head. “Get whatever you want.”

“Would you have some of what I got?”

“If you were sharing, of course. If not, I’d lick up the crumbs.”

You snort. “God, Calum. I wouldn’t torture you like that, unless you asked of course.”

“Well, I’ve considered dabbling in masochism once or twice.” It’s not a whole lie. He has found himself vaguely intrigued by the idea, but has never once seriously considered it enough to bring it up to any previous partners. Not that they stuck around long enough for him to consider breaching the topic with them. It’s not all inherently malicious of his or their own doing. Most of the time it’s quite clear what lines should be crossed and which ones shouldn’t. 

But something dances in your eyes. Calum watches the way you watch him. You seem to dance down from his face over his neck and chest down the length of his arms. He wonders if you’re imagining something different than the scene in front of you; would it include rope or wax? Perhaps, there’s something much more sinister behind the deep irises. 

“Are you saying all I need to do is ask?”

“I’m technically implying it, but yes.” 

It’s a heavy stare that you level him with; intense eye contact and a smile that lifts one side of your mouth higher than the other. He knows that look, knows what it means. His toes curl in the boots and the cracked leather under his thighs is suddenly way too hot. The denim feels damp when he shifts a little and the stiff construction of the jeans brush over his growing erection. He is damned but it does not matter. His heart races, a prickle of sweat forming on the end of this nose and under his pits. Yet, Calum feels no obligation to move. The panic doesn’t make him want to flee. He wants to be consumed. Swallowed whole by whatever desires you have. 

“But perhaps another time,” you shrug and then smile as the waiter approaches. 

“Oh, looking at the dessert I see. Anything catch your eye? I recommend the apple pie. Best thing on that menu,” the waiter comments. 

You hum, casting a quick glance down to the menu with a nod. “I’ll go with that then. Is it served with ice cream by chance?”

The water nods. “Sure is. Always,” they laugh. 

“Perfect. Could I get it with two spoons?”

“Absolutely you can. I’ll be right back with it.” 

Calum is sure he resembles a stone carving, held in place by a prickle of fear that if he’s not careful more than just pictures of a date may surface. Something caresses his ankle, it’s a dulled sensation thanks to the thick leather of the boots but the pressure remains as the movement traces up along his shin before it drops. There’s an uproar from the bar, men and women huffing about some game. It’s not quite football season yet. Teams should be headed into conditioning now and games starting in about October if not a little earlier. But the noise is a perfect backdrop. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss the back of it. The action is coupled off with a tease bite--hardly with enough pressure to cause redness, but just enough pressure to start the recognition of pain-- and the whimper slips. It’s swallowed on the outside of the booth by the roaring crowd but inside of the booth the sound resonates. 

“There he is,” you tease, reclining back into your seat.

Before Calum can blink himself back to the reality of the restaurant, the plate is settled into the middle. Two spoons sit off opposite sides of the apple slice. The dollop of ice cream is starting to melt and trickle over the sides. All Calum feels capable of doing is staring. His muscles are locked, part of it is a small bit of embarrassment. He’s hoping no one heard it, and another part of him is wondering what happens if someone did. What might the world think of him if they only knew?

“C’mon,” you encourage. 

Calum blinks now and sees the spoon near his face. It has a good scope of ice cream and pie on it, too much that it looks like it’ll topple at any second. But a balanced portion of both items. The ice cream drips just a little onto your lower, waiting palm. It feels like it falls in slow motion until it hits the crevices of your palms. Time speeds back up. The noise of people talking, the clink of forks on plates sound back up in Calum’s ears. Always a sneaky one, you are. Always looking for those buttons. And you always find them. Calum never shies away from their exposure. 

Calum inches forward to swipe the sugary concoction into his mouth, but not without taking hold of your now sticky palm. The urge to lick your palm clean hits Calum. After swallowing down the bite Calum swipes up the melted ice cream onto two fingers. He sucks his fingers and watches the shift of your weight from your side of the booth.  “Tastes better that way,” he grins and then takes a spare napkin to dab up the excess. 

“I am sure it does.”

The pie doesn’t last long between the two of you. While it was a decent size slice, the apples are cooked to perfection; melting every so slightly with minimal chewiness. They don’t melt instantly, but they are soft and cooked thoroughly without turning into a slurry mush. It’s all too easy to take scoop after scoop. The spoons settle against the empty plate with a perfectly synced clink. 

“Anything else?” Calum asks. He starts to rattle off about the fudge brownie they have but the shake of your head is vigorous. 

“No, no, if I eat anything else I’ll pop,” you huff. 

Twilight is settling by the time Calum and you push off the leather seats and start back to the car. The purpling sky is interrupted by the distinct flash of a camera only a few moments after Calum opens the door for you. It’s clear to tell the sight startles you and he takes your hand, sliding now to block your body with his. 

He wishes he’d prepared you more for this. He’d prayed that no one would show up. Yet, as fate would have it, someone always does. The second flash is slow to come. There's probably just one person hanging around. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’ve got you if you want to keep your head down. Just…just stay close, alright?”

Another flash blinks through the darkening evening. Your step is small but inches you into Calum’s space. “Okay.”

Thankfully, it’s a short walk. You stay just a half step behind him and the entire walk is just bursts of light. There’s a voice that calls out, but Calum ignores it, listening instead for the thud of your shoes on the concrete. Calum’s already palming the fob to his car to be ready to have the doors unlocked and get you inside as quickly as possible. Two more shutters sound before the pair of you get to the car. The lights flash as Calum unlocks the doors and helps you inside, still attempting to shield you as much as possible. 

“C’mon, Cal. Give me something. We’ve been at this a long time together.”

The voice of the pap is clearer now and when Calum does look up, only briefly, he notices it’s the same guy who started a rumor nearly two years ago about Calum out with a friend, Nicole. She and Calum met in college. She went off to Physician’s Assistant school a year or so after they graduated college. Nicole comes back into town for the holidays to see her family. It’s usually then during that break that she and Calum get together anymore--usually for dinner with other friends if they can all manage a good day in their schedules.  That one dinner, which had dwindled down to just Calum and Nicole due a bad flu season, had been captured on film though that year. Like fire only needs oxygen--the platonic dinner went up in tabloids like a new sparkly romance. Save for the fact that weeks went by with no new updates or sightings so it quickly quieted down. 

“Fuck off,” Calum returns to the pap and lifts up into the driver side of the SUV. 

“I take it you don’t like him,” you quip after Calum’s pulled out of the parking lot.

“I don’t think I really like any of the paps that harass me. But him in particular, I don’t care for.”

“What’d he do?”

The thing about the photos is that it hadn’t caused a ripple in the slightest for Calum’s life. Though Nicole did have to eventually move practices where she was working for safely. “Jeopardized a friend’s safety,” Calum answers. “He didn’t doxx her, but it was still pretty bad.”

“Is he particularly fond of stalking your favorite places to go?”

“Sometimes.” He’s not there often, but he is there frequently enough that Calum knows him by sight now. Though Calum can’t pinpoint the car the guy drives, Calum can always pick him out in a crowd now. 

“Are you okay? Guy seems like he comes up a lot then.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you? I know the flash can be dizzying.”

“I’m okay. The first time it went off it was a lot. I finally understand why deers freeze sometimes. I would’ve been roadkill.”

“Sorry I didn’t give you a proper heads up.”

“No harm, no foul, Calum.” 

He catches that. No pet name and though Calum is dying to hear it again, he understands. It’s still a nice sound, the way you say his name--soft like coaxing a scared animal out of hiding; needing to exude as much gentleness as possible as not to unravel the fragile moment. 

“Sounds like you’ll need some new hang out spots though? A place you can just breath with no nosey Nancy’s around.”

“I had a place,” Calum returns. “Well, I guess I still have it. It still exists. Just needs some sprucing up.” He could say that, though it is in the middle of already being renovated. And it’s not really his anymore as it is something he’d like to share--something he can include you in on. 

“Could I see? I know it won’t be in the most pristine condition so you literally don’t need to warn me.”

It is killing me. He wants to show it to you but he thinks about what your reaction might look like should it be revealed when it’s all done. Calum knows he can't keep this secret for too long. It'll kill him if he does. He wants to tell you about all the updates on the project.

The roof was repaired a couple weeks ago. Now there’s some paneling in the midst of being fixed up. Once that’s done the outside can be painted. The inside’s been gutted and waiting for the wall and the floors to go down. Next he’ll see what he can do about getting at least a space heater and a tiny area for at least a kettle in the winter and a fridge. It may be more than  It’s not a long project but it is one they’ll need to get complete before the weather gets too cold or the rains come. Fall can be weepy at times and would only serve to set them back if the take too long to finish it.

Perhaps, you’d enjoy knowing now. Calum knows he would. He’d appreciate not trying to hide on the calls the work he’s been doing or trying to shower before he sees you, a bit more difficult given that he works on the renovations mostly on the weekends and you’re at the castle too at the same time. You’re working usually, or asleep in his room, but it’s still right on the edge of being caught it feels. 

“You don’t have to show me. I don’t want to push you,” you state. 

“I-No, it’s not that. It’s not that I don’t want to. I started some work on getting it in good shape. So, just be warned,” Calum laughs. “It’s still a little rough.” He doesn’t know when the project will be fully done anyway. But the building still stands, there’s still a place Calum goes when he wants to get away. 

“I’ll be sure to give it some extra grace.”

It’s like you give either a little extra grace lately with him. Calum is grateful to hear you say that, the way you don’t seem phased at the prospect of something not being complete. Calum guesses the irony in all of this is that nothing in your life has probably felt complete. Maybe you don’t worry about that because even when you get somewhere that feels like you could settle it’s pulled out from underneath you. Maybe turbulence has become akin to peace. The only hope Calum has is that he can ease the rocking seas, that he can help you get to a point where you’re not always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He can’t brute force it. You’d asked him to promise that and he wouldn’t break his word. Yet, as the skies continue to darken and the light of dying stars twinkles above his head, Calum hopes this can be a small respite. A small place for you to have peace like he did here. The garden’s aren’t necessarily lengthy as they are wide. To walk it lengthwise would only take a couple of minutes, but to take in its depths is a journey of many more yards. There are rows of bushes and flowers outlined on the grass path. There are containers that rest above the ground near the back. It’s easy to spot their shadowy figures amongst all the flora around. There’s some vegetables his mother grows. She likes to still work the land with her hands when possible, so they keep up the container gardens for her. 

But back in the depths, back behind the new gardening shed lies the place Calum used to escape too. Even before the old shed was gutted out and replaced, he’d walk the soft path down and down and down until he reached the edge. The old shed remains only because Calum insisted on it. Had it not been for him, they’d taken it down fully, used parts of the innards and exterior for the new one. But Calum asked to keep it up. So when he couldn’t sleep, when the worries pressed so loud in his own ears, he’d walk using stars as light to the old shed. Even in the rain, bundled in a coat, his boots sloshing in the wet grass, Calum would come out to the old shed. He’d unhook the latch, shimmy his way inside and watch out the window across from the one folding chair he kept at the ready to the stars. He’d listen to the sounds of the night--in the summer chirps of crickets, in the winter the soft whisper of snow.

“Your mother’s spinach might be ready to pick.”

Calum turns to the right, where he knows his mother’s planted spinach just a few weeks prior. “How can you tell? I can’t tell ever when it’s ready to be picked.”

“Just a guess since it’s dark right now. I watched her when she planted them and I know they won’t last too much longer if they aren’t picked now. The night and morning temperatures are getting dewy.”

“Do you garden?” You hadn’t mentioned it before. Calum would be intrigued to know if he might be able to find another link between you and his mother, something else to keep you two close. 

“Mrs. Shirley did. I’d help her sometimes.”

“And Mrs. Shirley, were you close with her?” Calum can’t place the name, but wants to be sure he hadn’t missed something important. He also doesn’t want to be made a fool if she���s important.

“She’s who taught me how to make the biscuits. It’s her recipe.”

“Oh, wow. Was she an instructor in culinary school?” Calum never considered to ask where it came from. Just knew that yours were vastly different than the last chef--sweet without sacrificing the savory integrity. Soft, but never chalk-like. 

“No, I met her when I was volunteering at a homeless shelter while in school. I worked early in the morning to help prepare breakfast like I do now.”

“You’ll have to tell her that her biscuits are a big hit amongst our family and the entire staff in general too.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll let her know.” 

Your eyes look a little glassy, not quite like tears are falling. But they could. They are threatening at the edge. Calum pulls you in closer, hands slipping down to your waist. The jacket has kept you well and warm, as he can feel heat radiating off you. “What is it, baby?” Calum asks. 

“I just--I haven’t talked to her in a while. I hope she’s doing okay, you know?”

“We can call her next week. How does that sound?” He doesn’t want to put the onus just on you. There’s few things in life that a five minutes spared can’t help or fix. The least he could do is be there as emotional support if you needed it. Calum presses a soft kiss to your forehead, nose burying just a little in the hair at the top of your head. 

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Anytime, baby. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

It’s past the probably ripe spinach, and the containers of cabbage when the newer, brighter green building opens up, Calum continues on down, off the grass onto the gravel. Just behind the hedges that outline the gardens rests the old shed. There’s lumber still out, leaning and resting against each other. The work table is stationed a yard away to the left. The power tools are tucked inside or housed separately in the garage. But the old shed still looks like it used to in some ways. Still a rectangle with chipping blue paint. 

“I didn’t know this old shed was still up. I thought they tore it down,” you comment. “Or at least that’s what I was told that it was torn down.”

“I asked them to keep it up but they told me the only way to let it stay was to put the new one directly in front of it from the farther vantage points so it’s not so much of an eye sore.  But I come here, when I want to get away. The inside’s a lot cleaner now too, thankfully.”

“Inside? Who do you have working on this project?”

He watches you take a few steps closer over where the bench usually holds the blueprints. They shouldn’t be still out, given that this week did have the potential for rain in the later half. From what Calum can tell, they've been collected. “Well, it’s me and a few others actually,” Calum answers. 

You hum as you softly inch closer and closer up. “Any plans for it once it’s restored?” Your cough is swallowed by the innards as you poke your head inside. Calum holds onto the door so you can cross through fully. 

“Uh, not sure yet,” he cautions. “But could I run some ideas by you?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. But I mean it’s your spot, so whatever you want will probably suffice.”

Calum nods. He is sure whatever he did choose would be okay. But still he wants to make sure he’s going in the right direction for you. “I just need a second opinion, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m happy to assist.”

“So, here, I’m thinking about adding a little mini kitchen island. Cabinets at the button and an outlet for a little mini fridge and maybe at most an electric kettle. The back wall would be mostly storage--shelves. Books, or something.” Calum shuffles to the wall opposite of him, where he normally sits but is currently now housing more lumber, stain and miscellaneous tools. “I might keep something else on those shelves too.”

“Like what?”

Calum shrugs. “Some art supplies. Don’t know. But here,” Calum motions around him. “I’m thinking of a little couch. I don’t know. Some kind of seating. I was considering building some benches into the wall like in the kitchen with a little table and then some stools or other chairs to be scattered about. Just a little cozy spot to hang out.”

You’re nodding, attention elsewhere as if you might be trying to picture what Calum is describing. But Calum’s breath is caught in his throat like a pill that didn’t get washed down with enough water. It is a lump, poking, and Calum won’t be able to release it until you address the one little line, some art supplies. 

“Is there a safe way to get the power out here? Looks like it could get awfully cold in the winter. There isn’t much else around to break the winds.”

“We’re looking into some solar panels. I’ve got a time scheduled with an electrician next week to make sure it’s all good.”

He wants to tell you more--how he envisions you out here, stopped up on a stool or possibly standing while he’s on that bench in the corner, watching. The strokes of your brush are faint in his imagined scene, but the windows are open with a spring breeze coming through. Perhaps another puppy is soaking up sun at Calum’s feet.

Yet, you haven’t cracked the code. 

“Good. Sounds like you’re really going to breathe new life in this old place.” The smile that you bestow on Calum is bright. 

“I’m going to try. I figured there’s decent space to share too.”

“With friends?” you ask. “Is there anyone else you know who likes to paint?”

There it is. That’s what Calum was waiting for. His shoulder drops and he waves you over with a wag of two fingers. You shake your head with a laugh, backing into what’s almost the center of the gardening shed.

“I think an easel stand would look good here, don’t you?”

Calum’s response is a nod. It’s where he imagined one too. “I’ve got an old buddy from college that’s into the arts too.”

“Ceramics? Illustrations?”

“Music, actually. But I think he knows another guy who is into ceramics now that I think about it.” The gap is short to close and when Calum’s pressed into your chest, he wastes no time to wrap you up into his arms. “So what’s your second opinion?”

“I think you should match the original blue when you paint the outside again.”

“I’ll take that as you like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod, taking Calum’s cheeks into your palms. “I do like it. Thank you. For thinking of me. I don’t know what else to say besides thank you. I can’t imagine the effort it’s taken and will take.”

“I figured you’d like a little bit more elbow room than what your room has right now. It’s not all that hard if I’m honest. The guys are a good bunch; even when I’m slowing them down.”

“Is this what I have to thank too for the deliciously sweaty photo that may or may not be my home screen background now?”

Calum laughs, quick and from his chest before shrugging. “It may or may not be.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, “my love.” 

 ______________________________

Irony is how the paper shakes in your grasp, how you’re knocking but not quite sure if it’s loud enough and you want nothing more than to slip the page under the crack at the bottom of the door, but your feet don’t carry you an inch out of place. You are here, now, bolted to the floor in front of Janet’s office. You can’t back out of this, can’t just slip it to her. Not after how integral she’s been in you securing the new job, in how long you’ve stayed, in getting you out of the monotonous routine you had for yourself. 

“One second,” Janet calls back. Her keys click though as she shuffles about. The door creaks open a few seconds later and when she sees you, the single page in hand, her face crumbles. “No, stop. Already? I thought--oh,” she sighs. “I wanted you to get something else quickly. I know it’s gotta be stressful, but I don’t think I’d ever be prepared.”

“That makes two of us.” Your throat quivers as you try to force the words out and you know the words are all shaking too. “This-this is for you.” The words feel like concrete, heavy thuds as they fall to the floor. 

Janet nods, taking the letter. You watch her read over the words, the date for the middle of September sticks out like a sore thumb you know. It was the last part you put in, knowing that once you put that down your fingers wouldn’t be able to type anymore so you came back to it. Janet’s eyes are glassy when she looks back to you. “I’d ask if there’s anything we can do to keep you, but it might be a useless question.”

“I’d never go as far as to say useless. The priorities are different.” They’re vastly different now. No longer is this a game of pay, of trying to find the top dollar and best benefits. It’s a matter that’s utterly out of even your own control. You want to see how far things will go with Calum. You want to go on more dates. You want to see how that old shed comes together. You want to have him in your kitchen, laughing as popcorn sounds in the microwave and the movie is queued up. You want a simplicity you’ve never fucking had--even if it means gardening with Joy and being a terrible caddy with David. 

Janet nods, arms opening up. “Can I have a hug?”

It’s easy now, to slot yourself into her embrace. Though you two hadn’t previously been this affectionate, there was always a jab or two, you can’t deny such a simple ask. Her hold is firm, a squeeze around your shoulders that feels like it could crack your bones. You don’t object though. You hold back tighter. Even though Janet was a boss, you know that you’re not just leaving a job. You’re leaving a little piece of your family-- a family that you choose but you’d choose a thousand times over. 

The sob racks up your chest. It’s a cry that blindsides you but you don’t hold back. Janet gently shushes in your ear. “We’ll still be here. I’ll call your new job like a mom and tell them not to overwork you and to not let you overwork yourself. We’re not going anywhere.”

Janet’s words are comforting, but you know that you’re not crying because it’s change. You’re crying because this places feels like home. It’d never dawned on you--not even as you dished up everyone’s individual breakfast orders or stitched buttons back onto uniforms or tagged in to help set up for events. But now it’s all crashing down. This was a job and it will always be just that. But the folks here have become home. 

“Thank you,” you sob into Janet’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is tight and you think she might be crying too. “Tell him he better not ever break your heart or I’ll make sure the next breakfast shift makes burnt pancakes for him. Everyday. No one will fix them for him either. I promise.”

Your laughter is choked, torn between the amusement and trying to suck back down the snot and tears. Only Janet would ever consider such a thing. “I’ll let him know.” You try to break the embrace, peel back because you know without a doubt Janet’s business. 

Yet, Janet squeezes you tighter. She clings to you and you don’t fight it. “You have to visit us. You can’t forget about us.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

It takes you ten minutes in the bathroom to get the stains off your cheeks and for them to lose the flush thanks to your tears. The cool water is a welcomed addition to the heat that’s flooded through your body with the emotions. You know soon you’ll need to get into the kitchen, not that your shift is anytime soon, you’ll actually need a nap between now and then, but there’s a CCTV in there to watch. With the voting happening, everyone’s wondering if the ratification of the emergency funds will go through. It’s been dire straits now to think about what you could do with the cash--your dental bill’s been paid off now, all important bills are up to date. Perhaps you could get ahead on the Christmas shopping or save it for a rainy day. 

There’s commotion as always in the kitchen, the creak of the door seems to hardly register as the crew’s gathered around the kitchen island. Declan’s at the stove, manning dinner it appears. Yvonne and Cyprus are at his right and left, dawned in their chef coats too. “You feeding the whole Cabinet today or what?” you ask, leaning against the wall next to Declan. 

He laughs. “Nah, not today. Gotta get the meat ready though now.” His focus remains on the hunk in front of him for a moment. You can spot oregano, basil, thyme, salt, pepper, and a few other spices that already decorate the cut. “Janet would’ve lost her whole head if we were, you know that already.” His brows furrow as he takes you in. “You okay? Your eyes are a little red?”

You nod, though your throat threatens to close up again on you at the thought. You’ll have to tell him, and everyone else soon too. Before the week is out of course. They’ll need to know. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you squeak out and then clear your throat to relax the muscle. You can’t cry again. Not here. 

The TV crackles a little, voices still far away come floating in through the speakers. You watch for a moment as members of the Cabinet come filtering in. You spot Joy and David, and find yourself with your heart racing trying to spot Calum. He’d been long gone by the time you gained full consciousness though you barely remember giving him a good luck kiss before he left in the morning. 

“You don’t sound okay,” Declan counters. His voice tears your focus from the screen back to him. “Did you and him get into a fight? I’ll kick his ass.”

“No, not that. Also, Declan, I think I could hold my own in a fight if it came down to it.”

“You can tell me what’s going on, you know? Whenever you’re ready of course. But if it is the prince, just let me know. I know some guys,” Declan teases with a wink. 

“Declan I will deck you if we don’t got the rub together before the new fucking year,” Cyrpus snaps. She stalks over, a mixing bowl held to her body as she whisks away at the bowl. You’re not sure what it is, but think it may be a dessert. 

“It is my turn as head cook. Things get done when I say they get done not the other way around,” Declan huffs, but turns back to his work of getting the rub on. 

“But he still listens to me,” Cyprus teases in your direction. The door opens behind you, you catch the squeak in the hinge. 

“Good afternoon,” Calum’s voice cuts through the chatter of the kitchen. The silence falls instantly around the room. A hand rests on your shoulder and you know Janet’s joined the room too. “Thank you for joining me today. I know we are here today to vote on a long debated and much needed issue. I understand for the members of Cabinet present here today that me taking the lead on this voting is a little bit different to previous times. And I greatly appreciate your willingness to hear me out today as the last speech; it is an honor. Over the last few weeks, we have borne witness to an economic leap--one that’s leading our constituents to face decisions no one should be forced to make. Should they get grocery? Are they able to forgo medications? How much can they pay on a bill before the service gets cut off fully? Questions that should not be plaguing the people we, in these roles, take responsibility in helping. 

“I wanted to write this speech with two matches under it; a fire to make big progress and prove to myself that I could be a good leader and to prove that I could make real change. I had an image of myself built on the years I spent in university where I am aware of the crevices. I’m reading up on the latest news. I’m watching what laws go into effect and watch what the impacts are. I’m watching how the people I am meant to lead and care for are impacted by the small things. I suppose, I had an imagine of myself with quite a high nose. I thought just because I was younger and just because I was aware of political issues that we collectively in the Cabinet have historically shied away from or stayed conservative on, that I somehow was immune or better than. However, I spoke with a dear friend recently.”

You feel the entirety of the kitchen look back at you even as you keep your gaze lasered in on the freshen shaven face of Calum. You point back to the TV. Even if it is true that you are who he is referring to, you are not the focus. There’s small bouts of laughter as they turn back to Calum. 

“It came to my attention in that conversation that the budget for the staff that works for us, here, in the castle, gets reviewed every three to four years. Which, from a business perspective, is appears to be a perfectly balanced system. It’s just enough time for things to change and, theoretically, just enough time to respond to them without it cutting into the margins and profits substantially. The reality is that a schedule like this calls for sacrifice. Someone has to stitch buttons back on when they’ve fallen off shirts. Someone inevitably comes into work hungry because the money they do get goes towards their children, or nieces or other family members. Someone picks up a second job. Someone picks up extra shifts--even if it means they work 15 or so hours straight. 

“In reality, even a system that seems perfectly balanced is creating a sacrifice. A system built on someone having an over means someone else has the under. In the very same place, we discuss, we meet, we theorize, there is someone else doing the sacrificing. In the very same place where I lay my head down each night, there is someone sacrificing. I polled the current landscape of the staff in the castle. Out of 165 staff members polled, 49 members reported having a second job. 73 reported that they have come into work without a meal prior to their shift. 86 of my staff live at home or with roommates and this still does not always save them money. Over 100 members of my staff polled reported that they have had meals prepared by the chefs at work or saving leftovers from events in order to make ends meet. I am not immune to the propaganda. I am not immune to the smoke and the mirrors. You are not immune to them either. 

“In a poll conducted just three weeks ago,” Calum starts. The screen cross fades to bring up the graphical visual. “78% of the constituents who participated stated that they did not feel the Cabinet responds to major crises in a timely fashion. This based on a sample size of 5,923 participants, a small but mighty sampling. Those that did state that the Cabinet responded quick enough, noted that most of the help received only marginally impacted them. Upon reviewing the response to the medical pricing surge, five years ago in which we worked to help regulate some the pricing on medications, I found that the national insurance coverage received over 11,000 complaints on deductible changes as it impacted the cost of prescriptions. According to formal insurance regulations, 11,000 complaints is not quite significant enough to constitute an internal investigation. Instead, it took several grassroots advocates, with 42,000 signatures in tow, to bring the issue to our door. 

“In the 18 weeks we debated and worked on solutions, there were 53 deaths directly connected to improper access and usage of prescriptions. Doctors reported that the people who passed did so because they were not regularly taking medication needed for health. I don’t know how to reconcile the number 53 after rattling off numbers in the thousands, and tens of the thousands. One might dare say that 53 could not be hefty. Yet, there are 35 of us in attendance. That is one and a half Cabinets dead. 53 direct deaths. 53 grieving families. 53 mothers who have lost children. 53 fathers who ask themselves if there was anything they could’ve done to save their child. 

“You,” Calum emphasizes with a single digit to the members in front of him, “are not immune. I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to think about the staff in your own homes. Do you know the last time they skipped a meal? Do you know the last time your staff did not fret at the emails and paper statements in their inboxes and mailboxes? Do you know the sacrifices being made in your very homes while you sit here and talk theory? What have you turned a blind eye to in order to maintain your over? Who is under? I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to vote not just for yourselves but the people who need this relief the most. I urge this Cabinet,  as you vote,  to consider the 53 families who received the news of their loved ones dead because we waited. I urge this Cabinet to consider that it has already been five weeks since we started making substantial strides to get money back into the hands of those who need it. I urge this Cabinet, as you vote, to consider who’s family might get this relief too late, just in time for a debate about what pine box they should get, if we drag on longer.” 

The kitchen erupts into cheers, the hoots and claps echo well above your head. You can hear Declan’s laughter, his shouts of “Someone had to finally tell those old crusties off in a way they understand!” but you are focused on Calum. The fire that stays lit in his eyes, the distinct lack of a closing gratitude, the hard line of his mouth. That is a man with two matches under him. That is a man ready to make waves--damn the boat if it tips over. 

The screen flickers to the floor and you can see the specs of the Cabinet members in their seats. You imagine that the room is tense, that they may be swaying in their seats after such a direct and open flogging. They have to make smart moves now because the man fit to take over the helm will no longer be playing a game of handshakes and behind closed deals. There’s a sense of pride. You feel it in the base of your gut. You know Calum worried himself to death about his speech, about what to say to get through. And surely he delivered. You hope he feels the same way at the end of it too. 

The members of the Cabinet--one by one-- cast their votes into the box. You watch them all. Count every single one of the 35 slips as they fall into the box. The part that you hate, the part that you know will stir your gut with anxiety is the count. As the names are off with their vote, your heart lurches. You wait for the name and the call for ‘nay’. 5 for, 6 against. Then 7 for and 6 against. 8 for, 6 against. 10 for, 9 against. 11 for, 12 against. 15 for, 12 against. 16 for, 13 against. 17 for, 13 against. 17 for, 14 against. 19 for, 16 against. 

A tight vote, a race to pull through by a hair. The thing that you realize is some victories, even brutally won, are still victories. This is still a win for Calum. Even a few of the stark and staunch most moderates, swing in favor of economic assistance. Your feet are shuffling, your weight shifts and you know where Calum is vaguely. You know that it’s just a few wings over. You could get there in about ten minutes or so. Yet you stay, you watch on the screen as Calum and David embrace. The smiles they both wear. The cup of David’s hand on Calum’s cheek in pride is a sight you’re glad you get to witness. 

The feed cuts a few minutes later with the count as the last display. The kitchen is slow to resume back to it’s normal pace. Everyone’s still drawn into the now dark TV. You wonder when you held so much anticipation that the bill wouldn’t get passed through. Where had all that pessimism been hiding? Its a shock to see the votes, 19 to 16 still burned into your retinas. “Hell of a speech,” you hear from a cluster at the kitchen table. 

“I’d sure as hell would vote for him if I could,” someone else laughs in return. 

“Alright, if you keep hanging around this stove, I’m going to put you to work,” Declan teases to you. It’s clear he’a ready to get back to work, even after such a rousing speech. The reality though is that the world keeps turning. Even after wins and even after losses, the earth still rotates on its tilted axis waiting for no one. 

You slide away with a laugh and move a bit closer to the kitchen island. THere’s still a crowd around it but you’re hoping to be absorbed into that crowd, make light conversation until you can slip back away for a nap. “No need to tell me twice.” 

You can feel the hover though and turn to find Janet in the space between you and Declan--like a mother torn between her children. You nod her over to you, scooting to a corner of the kitchen island. “If Declan burns the food, just give me a call,” you tease. 

Janet’s laughter is small, but she nods, hand clasping yours. “I know you won’t be far.”

Her comment will raise suspicions and you notice the looks from a few other staff. “Oh, did someone melt your heart outside of the prince now finally?” Yvonne teases. “I’m hoping so.”

You know she means well. Yet Yvonne looks at you the same way Declan did--like they know but don’t want to say what’s going on. “Oh, for a moment, it sounded like you might care.”

Yvonne shrugs. “And if I did?” she huffs, but pats your shoulder as she passes. Perhaps, it’s less about telling them and more about accepting the fact that things have changed drastically. You’re not just the person who comes in when they need it. You’re not just a coworker all the time. Though it feels much too little too late for that. 

“Tell me; are we losing you before or after Christmas?” It’s Val who asks. She’s seated right next to the corner that you’re tucked into of the crowd around the kitchen island. 

“Before,” you return. “Mid September.”

She nods. “Do you think if I took your shift there’s a second prince in the family to fall in love with me?”

You snort at the question. “Worth the shot, I guess. They do say lightning can strike twice.”

“A rarity, but I could try,” Val returns. “We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll still be around. I won’t be going far.”

“Where’d you land?”

“Forest; downtown--couple blocks from the town center.”

She nods, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard about it. Good food, allegedly. I’m sure you could make it better.”

You shake your head and wrap an arm around her shoulder. She’s the youngest of the group, recently joined for the mid-day shift mostly but takes whatever shifts she can get. You don’t know what her home life is like, but in her, there is a mirror. You see yourself--the person working to escape life. “I’ll just be a line cook and potential bartender to start out. Highly doubt I’d be in the near anyone high enough to influence the menu.”

“You’ll get there soon enough.”

“Maybe. But it’s neither here nor there really. If you really want my spot though, I’ll give you my recipe for french toast.”

“But not your biscuits? I see how it is.” The two of you share a teasing grin but Val nods before speaking, “Deal. You work tonight?”

“When am I not here working?” you return. 

“When you’re upstairs getting smooches,” Cyprus interjects. 

“Who’s getting smooches?”

The voice nearly startles you but you catch the cologne; it soothes the ache in your chest. He’s not directly pressed against you, but now that you’re aware you can feel him behind you. You release Val and turn to face him. The grin’s lifting your cheeks before you can stop yourself. “Congratulations,” you offer first. “Hell of a speech.”

Calum reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and produces a pack of matches. You’d jokingly bought a matchbook of them from an antique shop that you happened across in search of second hand canvases that you might be able to use and to find something to replace the desk lamp in your room; you’d come up on a bust for either one of those but did manage to find the matchbook. The matchbook had small individual packets in them. And now the white cardboard of the match pack is tucked between Calum’s fingers. “I had my good luck charm.”

You gingerly take the pack from his fingers, and flip it open. “If only now you had something to light with them.”

“I think it might defeat the purpose of them being a good luck charm.”

“Only one way to find out.” It’s not lost on you about the box also tucked into that inside pocket of Calum’s jacket. You press the match back into Calum’s chest, over the box of cigarettes. “But seriously, that was fucking incredible. Perhaps, not all politicians are bad.”

“Well,” Val teases from behind you. “I don’t know about all that.”

You snort and Calum’s laughter shakes him too as he takes hold of your hand still pressed into him. “I’d say I’m offended, but I’m far from it,” Calum states. “Can I steal you away for a second? It’s nothing bad and can wait if you’re busy.”

“I can spare a second.” You follow behind Calum as he leads the way out. The crowd lets out a few whistles and the urge to flip them all off wins out against the better odds. You raise the single middle digit into the air briefly and there’s a roar of laughter from the group. 

Calum leads you down the hallway, like one would take to get to the front of the castle but ducks into a small offshoot of the hallway. Around another corner, a door reveals itself and it’s not long before the two of you are outside. It’s a side of the castle that none of the windows in the kitchen face, which is a plus. Here you press in a little closer to Calum, daring a grasps at his waist. The belt presses into your palm as your fingers catch around the loops. 

“How do you feel about that speech?” you ask.

Calum’s exhale is heavy. “I-I don’t know how I really feel. Relieved. A little stoked.  A lot of emotions right now I think that I can’t pick apart if I’m honest. I wanted to find you immediately, but it took a little while to do the rounds.”

You shake your head. “No it’s okay, Calum. You have to do those formalities. I get it. But I hope, once you’re able to dissect those emotions a bit more there’s pride in there too. You were phenomenal.”

“It wouldn’t be the same speech it was if you hadn’t asked those questions. If you had made an accusation, or kept quiet, I think I’d be looking at a very different outcome.” 

“Well let’s be glad I didn’t do any of those things.” 

“I am. I’m very glad.” 

The gap between the two of you inched closer and closer together. And like magnets the final push happens together. You reach up towards Calun and he reaches for you. The kiss is soft, a gentle press of lips slotting together. As much as you want to give in, press your body into Calum's, you settle for the quick squeeze at his hip. A teasing hiss falls from his throat. “Tell me you’re staying through the day?” 

You nod at Calum’s question. “I am.” 

“Good, I want to properly show you my gratitude.” 

The exhale of laughter is quick. “I haven’t forgotten about the diner either. You little masochist.” 

“Tricks up your sleeves? Or are you just a sadist with nothing to back it up?”

A hum falls from your throat. “That’s a lot of lip coming from the guy that’s begging.”

“Well, not yet I’m not.” Something buzzes from Calum’s pocket--his phone you assume. He ignores it, coming in again for another kiss. It’s deeper than the first, but still chaste enough. “Tell me, how long did you know?”

“Know about what?”

“The smoking,” Calum answers. 

“I had suspicions when I took us on the picnic. Was confirmed when I got in your car the other day by the smell”

“I’d say I’m trying to quit.” Calum offers it with a grimace. You don’t mind the habit much. You shrug at the statement. He’s probably on and off on the habit as the smell is not overpowering in the slightest. And there’s no reason to force him into something he wasn’t ready to give up yet anyway. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to be a liar.” There’s another buzz. “Someone’s trying real hard to get in contact with you,” you tease. 

Calum huffs a little. “Yeah, apparently.” 

His half step back to gather the phone from it’s pocket gives you enough time to look him over. The navy blue suit, as always, is tailored to perfection. It’s clear he means business, and you hate the way he’s lately been wearing the dress shirts with the top couple of buttons undone. You don’t actually hate it, thought more often than though the thought of tracing the valley of his chest with your tongue has come to mind. The thought doesn’t linger long, as you trail your gaze up to his face again. 

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper to him. 

Calum’s snap is fast--so fast you think he might drop his phone. But he looks up at you, eyes wide. “What?” he questions. 

“I said I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, baby.” You swear for a second you see his chin wobble, but Calum grins in return, slipping his phone back into the pocket. “I’ve gotta head back, but I should be done before 5:30. Do you think you’ll still be up?”

“If I’m not up, you have permission to wake me.” It’s about 3 right now, you figure. Maybe a little before, but definitely not quite four. You don’t think you need that long of a nap, but you do know you’ll need sleep. 

“No, no. If you’re still asleep, I’ll get you up after dinner then. No need to interrupt your sleep. Did it go well with Janet?”

“We both cried. But, she understands.” That’s about well as it could go, if you’re honest. “I didn’t realize I’d miss all of them so much.”

“You all are like a highly dysfunctional, yet functional family. I wish I could say you don’t have to give it up. But you don’t have to stop being friends with them. That’s not something I want for you, given how much I’m part of the reason so much of your life is being uprooted.”

Your worry though is that things will shift. When you go and if things with Calum get more serious, you worry that the relationship will have to change then. It’s a worry that you can’t afford to hold onto right now. You don’t know where things are going. You know you want to carry this torch with Calum for as long as it’ll burn. You want every second you can with him. But the future is evasive--the murky waters that don’t clear until your waist deep in them. You just need to wait until you’re waist deep in it. 

“They’re nice.” You want to try and find a way to continue whatever relationship you’ve built with them. 

Calum cups the back of your head, lips pressing into the skin of your forehead. “They’re your friends, baby. You’re allowed to call them that. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ll bring you a plate if you want.”

“Check the meat first. Declan’s cooking dinner.”

Calum’s laughter is soft against your skin. “I’ve yet to get sick from anyone’s cooking. But I’ll check it before taking the first full bite. If it’s all clear I’ll bring you a plate. Let me walk you back, okay?”

“Okay.”

The hallways are quiet, but you know the kitchen is always alive. Calum cracks open the door to the kitchen and lets you in first. Yvonne, Cyprus, and Declan are still bouncing around the kitchen. A few others are already gone, most likely only hanging around for the vote after their morning shifts. Calum doesn’t cross fully into the kitchen, leans into the door he’s got cracked open. His smile is soft. 

“Play nice. I don’t want any calls from Ms. Janet,” Calum teases. 

You shove at his shoulder, the heat flooding your cheeks. “I’ll have you know it’s only a problem if you ever get caught.”

“Well, then, I guess don’t get caught then.” He winks and starts to back away from the door. 

Once the door closes, you exhale. You didn’t want him to go yet, but you know he has too. “Oh you’re not even going to get a kiss goodbye?” Val shouts from behind. 

“Oh,” you groan. “You lot are going to be insufferable from now until eternity I take it.”

“You wouldn’t have us any other way,” Cyprus laughs. And, you know that you wouldn’t. Not in the slightest. 

______________________________

Calum takes the door handle tight in his palm, easing his weight into it. The light under the door is still off and he’s not sure if it’s from your departure from his room this afternoon or if you’ve returned and gotten the nap in like you said you might. So he takes the steps into the room carefully. There’s a small shuffle from the sheets and Calum’s quick as he can to get the door closed. The light from the hallway fades as he sweeps the door closed. 

I’m proud of you. The soft utterance has echoed in his mind the entire afternoon. It’s played like a loop--the soft look and ooze of pride on your face. It’s not that he thought he’d done terrible. He felt good about the speech. A couple people approached him and tld him how rousing it was. The close vote didn’t exactly help his vote of confidence either. Yet, Calum still felt an odd mixture of emotions--some of them a lingering anxiety that he now considers something he’ll be dealing with for quite some time. He’ll always be concerned about how what he says is received. He’ll always be worried that he’s not doing enough. 

But you’d stilled most of that concern with such a simple phrase, I’m proud of you. He had done good. He’d won the vote like he wanted. It is still a victory nonetheless. 

“No,” you groan as Calum settles onto the bed next to you. “No, you’re too handsome right now for me to resist you.” Your voice is thick with sleep. 

“Just one kiss,” Calum barters. 

You blindly reach for his face. “One.”

Calum captures your lips in a kiss, once, and nearly goes in for a second you, but you fall back into the pillows. He kisses your cheek instead and pushes up from the mattress. I’m proud of you, feels almost as good as the first time the two of you shared an ‘I love you’. So Calum lets the thought carry him to his bathroom where he strips from the day and showers. He doesn’t need your approval for everything, he knows. But it’s nice to hear it, to have that verbal affirmation to what he knows the two of you share. 

Changed into an old T-shirt and flannel pants, Calum slips onto the bed next to you. He stays above the covers, but does press another kiss to your temple. This time you don’t rouse awake. He knows in another hour or so your alarm will ring if it’s set, so he settles against the pillows. Like clockwork his right hand falls to the top of your head, light scratches against your scalp as he picks up his phone in his left hand. 

Calum checks through is texts first--a few from friends who also watched the voting today and congratulating him. One reminding him of his dental appointment next week and then one from Michael--outside of the group text. Don’t ask how I found this. Attached to the message is a link. Calum doesn’t like the look of things just from the preview and when he opens it, pictures from the date the other day load up first--one of Calum walking you of the restaurant. Your face is mostly hidden. 

So Calum scrolls on, down until a hot pink headline catches his eye: Even as summer cools off, things with this pair are heating up. 

His heart thunders in his chest as scrolls down. A picture of you kissing Calum’s hand is the first one after the headline. It’d be passable if not for the look on Calum’s face. He knows immediately without a doubt people will scrutinize the hell out of it. Though he should be embarrassed about his own pleasure being captured on film--not with his own consent involved of course--the thing he’s worried about is that this causes issues for you. 

You just landed that job and hadn’t even started. The thing Calum doesn’t want are these photos to ruin your shot. They aren’t the most scandalous photos ever--far from it. But they are particularly revealing the more Calum scrolls, pictures of the teases and taunts. Calum tries to remind himself it is tame. There’s no nudity, no sex tape, or sexual photos that have gotten out. It just feels like a warning that nowhere in public is truly safe for you.

The first thing Calum wants to do is call Forest, see if he can get in contact with Turner and ensure that your position stays secure. And the second thing he thinks about is his promise. How you asked him to only be a knight in shining armor when you asked. Right now, Calum knows that he’ll need to tell you when you wake up. He only needs to talk to you and then everything else will be done together as a team--whatever you want. Calum just hopes nothing bad comes as a result of this. There’s no reason for this to get in the way of your new job. Your face isn’t that clear in some of these photos. It wouldn’t be hard to piece together who you might be, but it is a worry that even with your job as a line cook that things might get crazy fast. 

The chime echoes around Calum and he spin from his desk chair to the bed. You push up from the covers to turn off the alarm. When your arms hit the mattress, you sit up. “Why are you way over there?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Calum returns. He crosses the short distance to your open arms. 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you whisper into his shoulder. 

“Oh, it can wait a minute. You just woke up.”

“Pictures of our date are surfacing online,” Calum mutters into your neck. “I’m worried it’s going to hurt your chances with Forest.”

“Show me, please?”

It’s hard to piece together your thoughts, not with the furrow of sleep still on your brows as you scroll through tabloid on Calum’s laptop. But you do release a snort after a moment and tip the device so Calum can see the screen. “I’m kissing and nibbling on your hand, baby. I thought it was the picture of you sucking my fingers or like ass out photos.”

“Okay, first, we’ve not been ass out in public so unless they’re deep faked that wouldn’t get out there. Second, there is a photo of me sucking the ice creams off your fingers if you scroll down far enough. Third, there’s going to be more people interested in trying to get the next most scandalous shot of us. The sharks can smell the blood in the water now.”

Calum watches over the top of the screen to the photo in question. It's clear as day with him licking the ice cream off your lingers, the spoon does just enough to block anything that could be construed as too graphic, but it's as close as Calum can get being caught red-handed without having the paint on his hand.

“Hmm, yeah, I can see your concern especially about people knowing that you're really into ice cream now," you snort.

Calum knows it's your attempt to diffuse the situation. The insecurity isn't lost on him, but you've always covered up that fear with a bit of a deprecated humor. It's a smoke and mirror tactic. Though perhaps now some levity isn't harmful. It is, on the face of it, not an appealing photo of Calum--the angle is terrible and if it there weren't high stakes he could find it himself to laugh. These photos are truly child's play to what has come out in the past about people of interest and celebrities, but it's you--you are cost in the crosshairs this time.

"But, I mean, in all seriousness," you continue on, "the first photos plus these don’t make it exactly hard to maybe piece together what I look like. However, if Forest wants to take back a job offer because of pictures of me with my boyfriend then maybe it’s not a good company. I mean, we’re in the business of service. As long as I can cook, then I don’t think my chances are hurt that much.”

You know more about what something like this can mean for your chances. Yet Calum’s not ready to let go of the voice in the back of his head. What if it does hurt your chances? What if after all this you don’t have any income anymore? Calum’s more than happy to help cover whatever expenses you have until you find a job or arrangement that suits your needs best. But you’re going to want to work and find something fast. 

“But,” you start and then stop to clear your throat. “But thing I can do right now is I could try and call Turner and get ahead of this on their end. We can’t stop the folks who do this, but we can take precautions. Go to places a little further out of town. I’ll be a bit more careful about taking bites out of you if you promise to instead suck toes in private. We can figure something out.”

Calum gathers a throw pillow from the floor and whacks you in the shoulder with it. "I highly doubt this situation demands a joke about sucking on toes. And if there's something you want to tell me, please by all means do so. But yes, we could take more precautions."

Your laughter chokes you, a broken but delightful sound. Calum hands over his glass of water. He’d gotten it in the hour-long fret session he’d been down. Michael offered his help too, keeping an eye out for any more sites that post the photos and so his best to collect them for Calum. Calum could then go to Miranda with a clear list of who would be slapped with whatever legal red tape she could give them of course. 

“Would you be okay if I went to Miranda and see what she can do? She’s got connections to places we dare not think about.” 

You nod, swallowing down your sip. “Yeah, that’s okay. Just keep me posted on what she says, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay, baby.”

“I’ll call Turner tomorrow after I get home and I’ll let you know what happens there too.”

There’s a plan, as you and Calum settle down into the kitchen and Calum warms up the plate of the food Declan made, he reminds himself there is a plan. There is a plan and the two of you would work it together. 

"So," Calum starts around the plate of cookies he put together himself to snack on while you eat. "We have a plan."

You nod around a bite of potatoes.

"We have a plan," he mutters to himself. It's real. Tangible. A plan. You'll call Turner. He'll go to Miranda. Whatever happens after that just has to come after that. For the most part, you should be okay. It might not be hard to piece together who you are, but it's not easy. There's still time.

There's still time.

"We'll be okay, love. We'll be okay," you offer, taking his hand.

Calum squeezes at the pres of your digits into his palm. "We will."

[johannestevans]

Monstrous May Day #3: Hypnotised

An assistant bartender is drawn in by a vampire.

1k, M/M, rated M. Some sexy hypnosis for the purposes of public blood drinking — no sex. An entry for Day #3 of #MonstrousMay.

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He’s a vampire, the sort that you can see is a vampire from a glance. Leon watches him from behind the bar as he comes in, grateful for the fact that he’s half-shadowed by one of the pillars and the screen that blocks patrons’ view of the kitchen. The bar isn’t super busy, but there are people regularly filtering in and filtering out, and there’s smoke thick on the air.

The vampire knocks two white knuckles against the bar to get Han’s attention, and Han goes to serve him immediately, leaning in to listen. The vampire’s voice doesn’t carry at all over the hubbub and chatter in the pub, let alone over the sound of the dishwasher as Leon stacks the glasses inside and loads it, setting it to run.

Han opens a dusty bottle from the back of a cabinet and makes a show of displaying its label the same way he might a bottle of wine: when he pours some of its contents into a sherry glass kept still and steady between two of the vampire’s fingers, the liquid is vibrantly green.

The vampire’s hair is a dark, rich brown, the curls to it luscious and catching the shine of the yellow-tinted bar lamps so that they take on a golden sheen; his fingernails are long and sharp, delicately attended to; his skin is starkly white, and there’s a grey undertone to his skin that gives his skin the appearance of stone.

Grey shadows his eyes, and he has bags underneath them that are grey-purple; his lips are a similar colour, a dark plummy colour that looks dusty, mixed with the grey. He holds the sherry glass delicately by its neck as he brings it up to his lips and tips it forward.

Leon watches, unable to tear his gaze away, as his throat moves – its stark white colour reminds him of a length of fresh chalk, the sort that never used to last at school that would often be broken as soon as it was pulled out of the box.

Han watches the vampire, who finishes the bit of drink in the glass, his tongue seeming to move behind his lips as he tastes its remnants on the back of his teeth, and then gives an inclination of his head. When he closes his eyes, the backs of his eyelids are the same dark, purple shade of grey as his lips.

He takes the bottle by the neck and walks away with it, sinking into a single seat at one of the round tables for one. Leon tries to focus on something else, goes and clears out the line for one of the kegs, keeps on top of the washing up, serves at the bar when a few people come in at once.

Regularly, he’s distracted by the vampire, keeps looking over at him – for some time, he reads a cloth-bound book as he works his way through the contents of his bottle. He makes idle small talk with people who greet hi first, but he doesn’t invite anyone to sit with him or talk to them.

When he lights a cigarette, Leon loses all hope of concentrating on anything else – he’s utterly hypnotised by the delicate way the vampire holds the lit length between his fingers, the way his perfect purple lips touch against its butt and wrap around it. When his cheeks hollow with the sucking motion, inhaling, Leon feels a heat rush downwards at the dark shadows that show in them.

He keeps looking over at him when he’s meant to be serving drinks or bussing tables, can’t stop his head from turning and taking in every angle of him, of his mouth, his cheeks, his dark eyes, his hair, the column of his neck, the rich black of his clothes.

Leon looks over at him at one point, just in time to see the vampire snap his fingers. It goes through him like a static shock, making him jump, and he stays frozen in his place, his hands grasping loosely at the tray on the table.

The vampire is looking right at him with dark brown eyes – like his hair, they’re lit up gold by the light.

Leon’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Come,” orders the vampire, and Leon is moving before he even knows what he’s doing, his feet stepping across the floor almost without his permission. The vampire’s voice has no problem carrying now, but nonetheless it comes in a whisper.

The vampire sets his knees to one side, out from under the table, and he gestures – once more, Leon, utterly bound up in his spell, sits down on his thighs. His skin is burning, his cheeks blushing bright red, and he can feel other people looking over at him, feel people in the bar staring, but he can’t look back at them because his gaze is fixated on the vampire’s face. With just his index finger, the vampire makes a little gesture, and Leon feels his head pulled one way as though it were on a wire, obediently turning it away and baring his neck.

He makes a small noise of pain as the vampire flicks his nail down the side of Leon’s throat, cutting him, but the pain is immediately soothed – the vampire closes his lips around the cut and sucks, and Leon whimpers.

His body is hot all over, more heat sinking between his legs, his cock suddenly so hard he can feel it straining in his jeans as the vampire steadies him with one hand on his waist and the other at the base of his neck. His thumb is resting at the hollow of Leon’s throat, the nail threatening to dig in, and Leon’s head is spinning at the obscene pleasure of it.

“Good boy,” says the vampire in his quiet whisper, although he can’t possibly be actually saying it when his lips are closed tight around the cut, the tip of his tongue lapping at it in a way that makes his body surge. “Do as you’re told.”

The vampire’s hand grips a little tighter at the side of his waist, and Leon moans aloud, his head tipping back as the vampire sucks at him greedily, using him, drinking from him with far more hunger than he had from the bottle of absinthe.

Leon closes his eyes and gives himself over to it.