#i am contemplating using it as a side table for the other side of the bed

[all-thestories-aretrue]

We are in the home stretch of operation get my shit together!!!!

Today's goal: the kitchen (my beloathed)

Clean oven

Clean fridge

Dishes

Wipe down counters

Clean sink

Flip sofa

Ikea trip??? For hangers and pillow and maybe more storage baskets

If time: clean shower, sweep, mop

Then tomorrow is easy stuff:

Food shop

Reorganize bookcase

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

��That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[yourplaceinaugust]

my roommate officially moved out yesterday (she hasn't lived here for a few months but her stuff was still here) and so i was finally able to buy a proper kitchen table and my parents helped me set it up today and im so excited ive literally just been sitting at the table for hours

[kkuras-gamer-gf]

Stress relief | Sophia laforteza

Smut. I am so sorry this is filthy. (Im not sorry)

G!pLawyer!Sophia, the suit stays on during sex, tie used as handcuffs, dom!Sophia who had a long day in court, just filthy, she spits in your mouth, breeding kink (pregnancy mentioned), overstimulation.

10:38 PM

Lying on your bed, you stare at the clock near the top of your dresser. Your TV was playing some movie you didn't bother paying attention to; you were too busy counting the minutes until your wife returned home from work.

A lawyer, her work almost consumed her; a case showed up on her desk a week ago, and you've only seen her in the deep hours of the night. But she called, the case already settled, and her voice dripped with exhaustion and a hint of excitement at finally seeing you before 3 am.

Finally the door lock turned; you heard the jingle of her keys and the clatter as she threw them on her desk. Dress shoes clicked on your wood floors, sending a shiver down your spine.

When she appeared in the doorway, your heart nearly stopped. Glasses hanging on the tip of her nose, red lipstick slightly smudged, her tie is loosened, and the top few buttons of her white shirt are open, exposing her chest, while her jacket is coming off and thrown to the chair in the corner.

A tired smile is on her face as she looks at you, abandoning her bag full of paperwork on the floor and quickly taking off her shoes.

"Hey, baby." Raspy and exhausted, kneeling on the bed and placing a kiss on your lips before sitting next to you against the headboard.

Taking the opportunity, you climb onto her lap, fingers immediately playing with the collar of her shirt.

"I missed you." You whisper, "How was work?"

"Same as always." She rolls her eyes, "My employees don't know how to do anything." Horrible listeners." A pout forms on her lips as she closes her eyes.

"My hardworking girl." Your hands now loosening her tie a bit more, "Sounds like you need some stress relief." Slightly grinding against her, she was already half hard, but you could feel her twitch at that, reaching for her glasses to set them on the side table.

"Yeah?" Opening her eyes, pupils dilated while some of the tiredness left at your suggestion.

You just hum in response, pulling on her tie so her lips meet yours in a kiss.

"I'm a good listener too."

Sophia's hips roll subtly at that; when losing control at work, she knew you'd be her good girl and do what she wanted. You were basically offering yourself up for her.

"Hm, how about you take this off then?" Her fingers pull at the hem of your, well, her, t-shirt.

Slowly, you pull it up. You shouldn't tease her; she had a long day. But you can't resist as you reveal your chest, bare as you were ready for bed.

"Fuck, baby." Hands reaching out as soon as the annoying fabric of your shirt was gone, "You're so gorgeous."

You throw the cloth out onto the floor, paying no attention to where. Only clad in your underwear now, a dark wet patch on them.

Your wife's lips wrap around a nipple, fingers twisting the other. Your own hand tangles in her hair, trying to pull her even closer.

"Soph," you whine, hips rolling over her.

"Be patient."

The Filipina's voice is demanding; you contemplate your promise of being a good listener, and truly you meant to listen, but your hands grab at her anyways, trying and failing to free her cock from the tight pants she's wearing.

Without warning, she flips both of you over. Hands pulling at the tie around her neck, a huff leaving her nose.

"Tired of people not fucking listening." She mutters, grabbing ahold of your wrists and wrapping the fabric around them, tying a knot to keep them together and above your head, "No touching." Pointedly looking at your now bound hands.

Finally the metal buckle of her belt jingles as she undoes it, unbuttoning and unzipping her nice dress pants. Not bothering to take them off, just pulling her cock out, thick and veined.

You can't help but lift your hips and try to rub against her; you're met with strong hands pushing you down.

"Be good and take what I give you, yeah?"

Her hands almost savagely pull at your underwear, and you can swear you hear them rip as she takes them off you. Throwing them to the side to join your shirt.

The stark contrast of your bare body and her nearly fully clothed one makes the tension in the air even thicker. Though you didn't need it, she let saliva drip from her tongue to your center. Taking hold of her tip to spread it through your folds.

Then slowly, her tip is pushing into you. Too slowly, and then it's gone. Only for a few seconds before she repeats the movement, she does this a few times. Eyes trained to where she's entering you, clearly fascinated by the site. A light brush of her thumb pad over your clit is what has you reeling.

"Please, Soph." You whine, too bratty and whiny in the Filipina's eyes.

"Shh." It's short but demanding and mixed with a glare that shuts you up quick.

It doesn't last long when she pushes into you again, this time allowing a couple more inches but freezing in place. Your tied-up hands reach down to her hips, desperately using the little movement available to try and pull her fully into you, which she stops quickly with a hand around your throat.

It wasn't fair to be a brat when she's tired and upset from work. But how else would you help her feel better? Other than to let her take what she wants, working her up so she can release all of that stress.

"You do this shit on purpose, huh? So I'll fuck you harder?" It's venomous, but it makes you clench around her. "It turns you on, doesn't it? When I turn you into my little toy?" Bottoming out inside of you as a form of punctuation with her dark voice.

"Fuck! Yes, yes!"

"Yeah? My slut wants to get ruined, right?"

Her own head is nodding, answering for you while you mirror the movement. Her cock finally thrusting in and out, the pace is quick, Sophia unable to hold herself back now that she started. The head hitting lightly against your cervix with every push.

You could swear she was made for you, specially sculpted to fit perfectly inside of you. Filling your pussy in just the right way. The tips of her fingers have just the right roughness as she reaches a hand to rub fast, tight circles on your clit.

The sound that rips from your throat can't be distinguished from a scream or sob as the hand on your neck tightens, strangling the noise.

"You gonna cum? Hm?" Looking down knowingly, the way your walls tighten and your hands ball into fists.

Tears now stream down your face as your first orgasm hits; you can feel the rush of liquid between you. Cries of pleasure echoing off the walls.

"Want my cum, baby?"

Her hips stuttered, fingers tightening wherever they were.

"Fuck, yes. Please, I want you to fill me up." Managing to get the words out in between tears.

"Shit. You'd look so pretty with my baby." That has you turned on all over again, which isn't unnoticed. "Yeah? Want my baby?"

Words don't come out, just a response of harsh head nods. And she fulfills the wish, only stopping her thrusts to empty herself inside of you.

Then she pulls out, letting the white liquid drip down; you swear you can see her pupils grow at the sight. It doesn't last long before she runs the head of her cock through your slit to recollect it, pushing it back inside of you.

See, Sophia wasn't one to deny an orgasm; I mean, she loved making you feel good. But you learned she uses that to her advantage, instead pushing you over the edge over and over again.

"S-soph, I c-can't." Hands now grasping at her hips to push her away, not that you actually wanted her to stop. Of course she puts a stop to that, hands gripping your wrists and forcing them to your chest as she continues her thrusts.

"But I thought you wanted to cum?" Faux confusion on her face, "Don't be fucking ungrateful." Her pace was getting rougher with each word.

It doesn't take long before you're cumming again, back arching off the mattress. Eyes rolling back, you can't even moan at this point. Your vision is a bit blurry.

"Wanna fill you up," Sophia mutters, not slowing her hips. It's overwhelming; tears line your eyes, coupled with moans that could be mistaken for cries.

"Fuck, you look so pretty like this." A thumb wipes at your cheek, making no effort for comfort but admiring her work and the way she ruined you.

"Soph, it's too much."

"I don't care." Proving her point by making her thrusts harsher, though slower, a torturous combination.

Bruises litter your hips from strong hands grabbing at you, the usual mark of a bad day at work.

Then she lifts your legs over her shoulders, pressing them to your chest. So you could feel it, really feel it, feel her. And you did. Everything.

The noises you want are completely involuntary and near animalistic as she rams into you. And as she fills you up once again, you shake again, your body going limp this time.

Sophia is shameless, leaning down as she pulls out and swirling her tongue over to collect your arousal, pushing in to lap up her own cum from you, mixed with yours.

It's what she does next that takes you by surprise, painted fingers still clad with rings grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. Sticking her tongue out so the mix of cum and saliva drips into your mouth, forcefully shutting it so you swallow, and spreading the liquid that escaped on your chin and leaving a light tap to your cheek, a wicked grin on her face.

Sophia takes pleasure in how wrecked you are, chest heaving and thighs shaking. Brown eyes staring in adoration, hands that were once harshly grabbing now gently massaging your thighs.

"Are you okay?" It was genuine, but there was a hint of pride in her tone, obviously proud of her work.

"Mm." Head nodding, barely. More than happy with the outcome.

"Thank you."

Still towering over you, still in that damn work suit with a wide, sweet smile as she starts to clean you up. Of course you'd be her stress relief.

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | none, just future brother-in-law! dick grayson reassuring your boyfriend!JasonTodd that it's the perfect time to ask you that special question. Edited but please ignore any errors. Enjoy!!

"What if she says no?"

"Pfft, I doubt it."

"What if she's not ready, though? You think it's too soon?"

"You've been dating for five years now, Jay, I think you're both more than ready for this." Dick says resting his forearms on his thighs. He leans forward to observe his little brother's nervous behavior. Pondering deeply and silently, he stared at the red velvet box held in his hand. Eager to ask the question he's been anticipating for a while now.

Marriage was never on his bucket list. It was never something he looked into doing but damn did he love you, you were his only exception. It took time for him to get used to the romantic stage in his life.

It took him at least a good 3 months for him to trust you before he felt comfortable opening up to you, dates were consistent, your schedules were aligned perfectly!... unless he had a long distance mission to take care of then it'd be awhile before you heard from him, but you weren't too worried about it. You understood from the very beginning his job wasn't anything to be taken lightly, he worked under intense, dangerous conditions. And though you were curious to know, you never pushed him to tell you. Which he was grateful for, your patience with him was everything to him.

It took a year...or two to fully tell you about his past and who he really was. It all made sense now why this mysterious "red hood" randomly came out of nowhere. The vigilante would frequently make sure you made it home safely. It was him, making sure his babygirl wasn't in any danger. I love you's were shared, the intimacy between you two was different, it changed drastically and it felt amazing. You knew how to calm him down when his mind was out of touch with reality. You both knew how to communicate with each other, knew when to give each other space, and acknowledged that you both were present whenever the other was feeling down.

A year later, you two had moved in together in a condo and bought two pets. You finally meet his family and vice versa. And now, coming up on five almost six years? It felt like marriage was the next step. He decided a long time ago, married or not, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were the only reason he was living day by day so it would only make sense to have you by his side permanently right?

Life would be meaningless without you.

Rejection wasn't something he could handle and just the idea of you... possibly...

Dick sighs, scooting closer to him.

"Look, she loves you, you love her. She knows...you would live and die for her, Jason. Get on your hands and knees to worship the ground she walks on. She knows damn well... you would drop everything just to come for her rescue. She balances you out, Jay. You two are meant to be and I believe as your supportive brother and hopefully your best man, this is the perfect time to do this."

Jason looks at him with heartfelt eyes, watching as a small smile of reassurance curls into the corner of Dick's lips as he holds onto his shoulder with a tender grip.

Jason sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and nods in understanding. Feeling a little bit confident with his decision.

"Yeah...you're right."

"Heh, I know I am." He states cockily, leaning back into the couch with a smirk and his hands behind his head and leg crossed over the other, rested on the coffee table.

Jason rolls his eyes in amusment, taking the small box in his hand, he placed it in the pocket of his camo pants, standing to his feet.

His movements were slow as he approached the open window. Placing his helmet back on, he had one foot out and the other in, contemplating on his next words, he looks over to his brother and says, "thanks, Dick...for everything." Before leaving out into the moon lit city to return to you.

And with a content sigh, Dick smiles, mumbling, "You're welcome, brother."

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Timid Flames

Summary - In a politically arranged marriage, they unexpectedly find solace in each other. As they navigate the storm of familial conflict, a night of celebration reveals desires and bravery, challenging the bounds of their union and the roles they play in a dangerous game of power.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2759

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had only been wed for three moons—a union born out of political necessity, carefully arranged to forge a fragile peace. 

The bride, Alicent Hightower's youngest daughter, had been offered as part of King Viserys's latest attempt to mend the rift tearing apart his divided family. 

After the bitter fallout from the petition for Driftmark, this marriage had been the king's insistence, hoping it might soothe the growing tensions.

Surprisingly, the match had not been as cold and distant as some feared. 

In fact, much to Jace's amusement, our marriage had become rather... agreeable. 

Unlike my more impulsive and outspoken brothers, I shared Jace's temperament—thoughtful, measured, and often preferring quiet contemplation over conflict. 

This similarity made it easy for us to find common ground, and more often than not, we ended up agreeing with one another on most matters.

Jace, though shy at times, had grown fond of me quicker than he expected. In quiet moments, when he allowed himself to reflect on our marriage, he felt grateful. 

"You know," he once remarked with a soft chuckle as we shared a private dinner in Dragonstone, "I expected our union to be just another duty. But it hasn't felt like that at all." 

He reached across the table, lightly clasping my hand. "I enjoy this... us."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "As do I. It's strange, isn't it? To be at ease in a marriage forged by others."

We were now bound for King's Landing, a return prompted by the upcoming wedding of my elder brother, Aemond. 

Though I could sense Jace and his brothers were not particularly eager to make the journey back to the capital so soon after leaving it, I longed to see my family again. 

I missed them—Helaena most of all, with her gentle spirit and enigmatic ways.

Standing at the ship's edge, I watched the shimmering blue waters stretch out before us, occasionally lifting my gaze to the sky. 

There, Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax flew overhead, their gleeful screeches piercing the air as they relished the freedom of the open skies. The sight of the dragons always stirred something in me—a mix of awe and pride.

"Are you happy to be returning?" Jace's voice came from behind me, softer than the wind that tugged at our hair. 

I turned to find him watching me with that familiar, shy look on his face. I nodded, sighing with contentment.

"I am," I said, offering him a small smile before glancing down. "I apologize if you're not."

Jace shook his head and joined me at the railing, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned beside me. 

His fingers, warm and calloused from dragon riding, lightly grazed mine, sending a wave of warmth rushing through me.

"I'm fine," he assured me, though I could sense the faint unease in his tone. "It's Luke who's not faring well with the journey." 

He nodded towards his younger brother, who stood further down the ship's deck, looking paler than usual, his face scrunched with discomfort.

I chuckled softly. "Poor Luke."

Jace smiled at that, but there was a quietness between us now, a lingering tension not easily dismissed. 

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The grand hall of the Keep was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as the celebrations for Aemond's wedding reached full swing. 

My brother looked every bit the proud groom, standing tall with his new bride by his side, but my focus wasn't on him. 

Instead, I was hyper-aware of the tension swirling around Jace and Luke, who sat beside me at our family's table, enduring a barrage of thinly veiled insults from my brothers.

Aegon, as usual, was at the centre of it, his words dipped in honeyed sarcasm as he spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear.

"How's the sea voyage treating you these days, Luke? Not planning on visiting Driftmark anytime soon, I hope," Aegon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The implication was clear—he was deliberately fanning the flames of the bitter conflict over Driftmark's succession, each word dripping with sarcasm designed to ignite tempers and deepen rifts, a cruel game that felt all too familiar.

Luke's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on his plate, refusing to rise to the bait.

Jace, seated beside him, wasn't faring much better. He sat rigid, his shoulders tense, clearly biting his tongue to keep from responding.

"Must be difficult, sharing the same roof with those who think you don't belong," Aegon continued, his grin widening as he lifted his goblet to his lips.

I shot a sharp glance at Aegon, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. 

Helaena, seated to my left, tried to offer me a reassuring smile, but even her calming presence wasn't enough to quell the frustration building inside me. I hated this constant tension, this incessant prodding from my brothers, who refused to let old wounds heal.

To drown out their jabs, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment, I reached for my goblet and took a deep sip of the rich wine. 

The warmth spread quickly through my body, dulling the edge of Aegon's words.

But one sip wasn't enough.

As the evening dragged on and the taunts kept coming—Aemond, more subtle but no less pointed in his barbed remarks—I found myself reaching for the goblet again and again, the wine a welcome escape. 

It made everything seem a little softer, a little less sharp. Even Jace, who sat brooding beside me, looked more relaxed in the golden glow of the torchlight as the alcohol dulled my senses.

By the time the feast was at its height, I was no longer just drinking to forget. I was enjoying the lightness in my limbs, the freedom of inhibition. 

The wine had worked its magic, and I found myself smiling at Jace—really smiling, more freely than I had in moons.

"You're too tense," I teased, my voice soft and slightly slurred as I leaned toward him with a grin. 

My fingers toyed with the rim of my goblet as I looked at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Jace blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanour. His eyes widened, and I saw a flush creep up his neck. 

He wasn't used to this—me, this playful, open side of myself that rarely came out. 

Normally, I was thoughtful and composed, matching his temperament. But tonight, I felt like throwing caution to the wind.

"Relax a little, husband," I whispered, leaning closer than I normally would, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I spoke. 

My hand drifted lazily to his arm, fingers trailing along the fabric of his sleeve. "We're at a wedding. Let yourself enjoy it."

Jace stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of open flirtation from me, and certainly not in public. 

His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

"I—uh, I'm fine," he stammered, though his voice betrayed him. He sounded anything but fine. His face was a mix of confusion, surprise, and something else I couldn't quite place.

I laughed softly, delighted at his reaction. It was rare to see Jace flustered, but here he was—blushing, his carefully composed demeanour slipping with each teasing word I threw his way. 

 The way he tried so hard to remain serious only made it more fun.

"No, you're not," I teased again, my voice taking on a singsong quality as I leaned even closer, my breath warm against his ear. "You're all stiff and serious. You should loosen up a bit."

Jace's gaze flickered to the goblet in my hand, his concern growing. "I think you've had enough," he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine as he tried to take the goblet from me.

But I wasn't having it. I laughed, pulling the goblet back with a grin. 

"Don't be such a bore, Jace," I teased, the wine making me bolder than I'd ever been. "Don't tell me what to do, not when I'm having so much fun."

The way his face flushed deeper and his eyes widened at the playful lilt of my voice sent a thrill through me. 

For a moment, I forgot about the barbed comments from Aegon and Aemond, the lingering tension in the room. 

All I cared about was the way Jace was looking at me—flustered, surprised, and just a little bit helpless.

"I—I think you should rest," Jace tried again, his voice now tinged with nervous laughter. He was still trying to be the responsible one, the composed husband. 

But his usual control was slipping, and I could see the internal struggle in his eyes.

Instead of listening, I giggled and leaned even closer, letting my fingers dance up his arm. "Or..." I purred, a wicked smile curling my lips, "maybe you should dance with me."

Before Jace could protest, I was on my feet, pulling him up with me. He let out a startled laugh as I dragged him onto the dance floor, his hand clasped tightly in mine. 

His surprise was clear, but I was already spinning him into the centre of the hall, the music and wine making my movements feel light and carefree.

"Wait—what—" Jace stammered, completely caught off guard. He stumbled slightly as I twirled him, clearly not expecting me to take the lead so boldly. 

His eyes darted around the room, and I could see the mix of amusement and mortification on his face.

The people around us watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement, but I barely noticed. 

All I could focus on was Jace—how out of sorts he was, how flustered he looked, and how much fun it was to see him like this.

"I think I'm going to regret this," Jace muttered under his breath, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and affection, clearly at a loss for how to handle this version of me.

"Not if you have fun," I whispered, pulling him close as the music swelled. 

The wine had made me bold, and I relished the way he seemed to falter under my touch. For once, Jace was the one who couldn't keep his composure.

As the night wore on, I continued to flirt, to tease, to dance. Jace was a blushing mess by the end of it, his usual stoic demeanour completely shattered.

He loved the extra attention—I could tell by the way he kept stealing glances at me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, his lips twitching into an almost smile every time I laughed or teased him.

Even though he tried to be the responsible one, I knew he secretly enjoyed it—the way I made him feel tonight, how I drew him out of his shell. 

"Are you even trying to enjoy yourself?" I teased, glancing up at Jace as I pulled him onto the dance floor once again.

He gave me a small, shy smile, his hand resting on the small of my back as he followed my lead. 

"I am. Just... keeping an eye on you," he said gently, though I could sense his amusement beneath the worry.

"Keeping an eye on me? I'm your wife, not some unruly dragon," I said with a smirk, spinning away from him with a playful twirl. 

He caught me again, steadying me with the ease of someone well-practised in handling situations beyond his control. 

I leaned in closer, speaking just loud enough for him to hear, "But I like it when you watch me."

Jace's blush was immediate, his gaze dropping for a brief moment before he met my eyes again. He looked as if he wanted to say something—something meaningful—but just then, a familiar voice interrupted us.

"Seems you've had quite a bit of wine tonight," a deep, smooth voice said from behind me.

I turned, finding myself face-to-face with Lord Ormund Hightower, one of my distant cousins on my mother's side. His smile was easy, but there was something in his gaze that felt too familiar, too lingering as it settled on me.

"Perhaps," I replied, trying to maintain my composure as I felt his eyes linger a bit too long. "But it's a wedding. Surely a bit of wine and dancing is expected."

"Of course, princess," Lord Ormund said with a chuckle, his gaze sliding between Jace and me. 

"Though one might say your enthusiasm tonight stands out." His tone was light, but the implication was clear. 

His gaze flicked back to me, lingering in a way that made me uncomfortable, a hint of something more than politeness in his look. "I didn't realize you were so... spirited."

Jace's expression shifted beside me, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He moved closer, his hand settling protectively at my waist, but still, he said nothing.

"Spirited, perhaps," I said, trying to brush off the comment with a smile. "But no more than any other on a night like this."

Lord Ormund gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on me a beat longer before he added, "It's good to see you enjoying yourself. Though, if you're not careful, some might get the wrong impression of your... exuberance." 

His smile widened, a teasing glint in his eye. "Not everyone will see it as harmless fun."

Before I could react, Jace stepped forward, his posture straight and his tone steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"I think you've made your point, my lord," Jace said calmly, though his grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly. "And it's noted. But I would remind you that my wife's behaviour is of no concern to anyone here, except perhaps me."

The subtle warning in his voice wasn't lost on Lord Ormund, who raised his hands in mock surrender, the smile never leaving his face. 

"No offence meant, Prince Jacaerys. Merely a friendly observation."

Jace's gaze didn't waver, his expression unyielding. "Of course. But observations, when unnecessary, can sometimes be mistaken for something else." 

His voice remained level, but there was a quiet protectiveness in his tone that made it clear the conversation was over.

Lord Ormund hesitated, then gave a slight bow. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, both of you," he said before turning on his heel and walking away, though I could feel the weight of his gaze still lingering behind him.

As soon as Lord Ormund was out of earshot, I turned to Jace, my heart pounding not from fear but from the rush of the moment. I wasn't used to seeing him like this—so firm, so sure of himself. 

There was something deeply reassuring in the way he had stepped in, calmly but assertively.

"You didn't have to do that," I said softly, though I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through my chest.

Jace met my gaze, the tension in his expression softening now that we were alone again. "Yes, I did," he replied simply. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. Especially not from him."

I looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his jaw was still set, the way his hand remained at my waist as if he wasn't quite ready to let go. 

His protectiveness stirred something deep within me—a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more intense.

"You don't usually speak up like that," I said, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "I rather like it."

Jace looked slightly embarrassed, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

"Someone has to look out for you, especially when you seem determined to cause a scene," he said, though his tone was light, playful.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Perhaps I'm more trouble than you bargained for."

Jace's smile grew, and this time, it was genuine and warm, the blush fading from his cheeks as his confidence returned. 

"I knew what I was getting into. And, if I'm being honest, I don't mind it."

The confession, quiet and simple, hung in the air between us. It wasn't grand or dramatic, but it meant something. Jace didn't just tolerate my boldness tonight—he liked it. 

He liked me, in all my messiness and unpredictability.

For the rest of the night, his hand remained at my waist, steady and reassuring, a quiet but constant reminder that I wasn't alone.

That no matter what happened, Jace would always be there, standing by my side, ready to protect me from whatever—or whomever—tried to push me too far.

A/n - I need to stop with the marriage of convenience trope x

[saphiccarma]

- Devil Woman

Relationships: Agatha Harkeness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Based on a request. You had the ability to shapeshift, but as a result you take the life force of the creature you shifted into. Rio Vidal is curious when she can't collect your soul and you somehow cheat death.

Warnings: Nothing really?

A/N: This took forever and I am so sorry. I am currently working through all the lingering requests and I apologise for it taking so long. That said, this was pretty fun to write but also sorry if it's shit.

Your powers came at a price, you've known that since you were little. Life in exchange for death. Power in exchange for weakness. At this point you considered it more of a curse than a power, but it came in handy at certain situations. In an attempt to blend in with society, hide from curious witches and relentless questions, you worked at a diner in the middle of nowhere. Well, not the middle of nowhere, it was still quite populated, especially now as customers flowed in with the sun high in the sky.

You bustled about, a tray balanced on your hand as you passed drinks and food out to your tables. Approaching a new pair of customers, you froze and your eyes narrowed. A woman who wore white clothes sat there. Next to her was a teenager, his clothes a complete opposite to hers, dark and moody. It wasn't their stark contrast that threw you off. Rather it was the subtle pull of magic that you felt. Not only that but her eyes were trained on you, and as you looked closer you knew who it was. Everyone knew those icy blue eyes and confident smirk.

Agatha Harkness.

Inhaling sharply, you neared them, plastering a fake smile on your face, "What can I get you guys today?"

The teenager glanced at Agatha, unsure. The older witch leaned forward. Her hands crossed under her chin as she smirked and caught your gaze.

"Come with us," she whispered, her voice taunting and alluring, "We're venturing the road and we need a full coven."

You scoffed at her words, lowering your pen and paper into your pocket once it was clear she wasn't actually ordering anything. There was an infuriating smirk plastered across her pink lips. You rolled your eyes, you had never believed in The Road, convinced it was something fake. No one came back from it alive. It stood to reason that it may not even exist.

"I'll pass." You settled your hands on your hips, "Now did you want to order something?"

Agatha huffed, leaning back in her seat and waving a dismissive hand. You nodded in satisfaction, about to turn away, when you felt a piece of paper slip into your pocket. Just barely you caught Agatha's hand slipping away. She made eye contact with you, an infuriating sense of confidence radiating off her.

You stomped off the back, yanking whatever she shoved in your pocket out. It was an address, scribbled out in messy, small, handwriting. Despite yourself, you couldn't help contemplate heading there that night.

^_____________^

You ran your fingers along the intricate door, tracing the familiar carvings carefully. The coven, plus Rio, stood behind you, their eyes boring into your back.

"This yours?" Rio asked, her breath warm against the back of your neck. She stood directly behind you, pressing up against you and ignoring your sidestep to get away.

Faintly, you nodded, grabbing the handle and pushing it in. Your heart pitter-pattered at the familiar interior, black and white pictures lining the walls and furniture that others nearly bumped into. It was a cluttered mess, just like when you had first moved in. Despite your inner turmoil, you reached down and picked up a picture, gripping the wooden frame tightly. Your parents stood side by side, proud smiles on their faces as they held baby you - chubby cheeks and just a spot of hair. Your lips were pulled wide into a gummy smile in the photo and your tiny hand was gripping your mother's shirt.

A bittersweet smile danced across your face at the picture.

"Are these your parents?" Alice stood off to your right, her own hands tracing pictures on the wall. The coven was enraptured by the serene house, the only personalized one so far. All the other's had been purely random, but yours was a house you had lived in.

You nodded, your voice soft, "Yeah."

Jen scoffed, her nose upturned as she studied the photos, and you resisted the urge to lunge at her. She had no right to be judging your family. Teen bounced on his toes excitedly and warmth spread through you as he ran a finger over an animal in the photos.

"You guys had a cat?"

You looked at the photo. It had your mother standing next to your father, his arm wrapped around her waist as he held her close, his face leaning down and noses brushing together. It captured their love perfectly. But perched on your mother's shoulder was a cat, one white as snow, that seemed to be chirping indignantly. You remembered that day clear as day, your parents wanting to take family photos, but you had refused to change form.

Shapeshifting was something you had been cursed with since you were born. The ability to change from your human form into that of an animal, any animal you wished. Some people would call this a gift. You didn't see it as such. Every time you shapeshifted, the creature died, it's life force being added to yours. It granted you some form of immortality that you didn't want. You wanted to join your parents in the afterlife, but when your body forced you to turn it kept you alive.

You could feel Agatha's eyes boring into you as you answered Teen, "No, that's me."

"A shapeshifter?" Agatha licked her lips, taking a step closer, "Those are quite rare."

Rio eyed you from behind Agatha, her dagger curling in her hand as she poked her tongue against her cheek. Her brown eyes seemed as if they were trying to find out everything about you in a single look, trying to pry open your soul.

"It's not like I asked for it," you scoffed, feeling awkward with all the eyes on you, "Come on, let's figure out what this trial is about." You could tell that everyone else wanted to ask questions, to implore about your curse, but you didn't let them.

Meandering further into the house, you froze at the sight of a drink on the table. It was a faint pink, the liquid completely still inside the cup as a note sat perched next to it. Agatha picked it up delicately, her fingers curling around the paper and eyes scanning over it. She glanced up with a smirk and the cup in her hand.

"Looks like this is for you," she swished it around, handing it to you. You wrinkled your nose as a potent smell hit you. The rest of the coven was staring at it suspiciously and Lillia was oddly quiet as she stared off into space, Rio too. The woman stood at the back of the group, knife twirling between her fingers as she eyed you up and down. Reluctantly, you plugged your nose and downed the drink, jugging it all down.

Alice crinkled her nose, "If you get poisoned..."

"I am not making another antidote," Jen scoffed.

She rolled her eyes, and Teen hid a small smile behind his hand. Agatha's eyes remained trained on you as you gulped the entire thing down, gagging once you finished. For a moment nothing happened, just a strange tingling sensation that slowly spread through your body.

You knew it was happening the moment your heart stopped beating.

The bones in your body cracked, the sound popping through the room and you could hear Lillia let out a disgusted sound. Your limbs twisted and intertwined as you started shifting against your will. Over time, the process had gotten easier, but this time it was just as painful as the first. Biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, you squeezed your eyes shut and forced a scream down. It felt like everything in you was on fire.

Your body was shrinking. That was why it was a sharp pain, your bones breaking and reforming as smaller ones, your organs constricting until they were the right size. Once more, you exhaled before the pain stopped and you could feel the rapid beat of your heart again.

Everyone else was so much bigger as they stared down at you, awe and confusion written across their faces. You lifted what would be your hand into your view, only for it to be a paw. A black, fluffy paw. You were a cat. Great.

You tried to force yourself to turn back, but it wouldn't work. Even as you pawed at yourself and shut your eyes, you stayed as a stupid cat. A stupidly small one too.

Letting out a frustrated sound, which was really just a meow, a smirk crossed Agatha's face. She crouched down, her hand reaching out with a taunting coo. You were prepared for her to pick you up, but then your heart stopped again. The animal body you were in died.

Painfully, your human form came back, your body aching and sore. The witches were eyeing you oddly.

"That's weird," you muttered, and the back door opened on queue. It was confusing. Was that the trial? That couldn't be it. But there was a lingering voice in your head telling you secrets weren't meant to be kept. You weren't allowed to have secrets and the road forced yours out.

The coven exited and it wasn't long before a fire was set up, all of you huddling around it, most of them asleep. Rio was the only one awake, her brown eyes piercing from across the fire. You met her gaze, tilting your head. Memories of your parents replayed in your head every time you closed your eyes. Your mom's soft smile and dad's tender words. It made sleeping difficult.

"You died." She stated bluntly.

You blinked at her owlishly for a moment, "How do you know that?"

"Your heart stopped, you stopped breathing, you died," She squinted her eyes, a knife twirling in her hand, "You're not supposed to be here."

You had heard myths that Death took on a human form. You never believed them, but now you were starting to think they were true. There was no other way that Rio could have known that and there was always something odd about her. A certain air that drifted around that just reeked of death.

"You're death, aren't you?" You tilted your head in a dog-like gesture.

Rio shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips. She stood from her spot on the other side of the fire, rounding around to you. Crouching in front of you, Rio tilted your chin up with her knife, leaning close.

"Smart," she whispered, her breath right up in your face, "I should be able to collect you, yet I can't." Her fingers trailed up your legs, nearing your thighs before slowly tracing their way all the way up to your neck. "Why's that?"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you just barely managed to choke out, "I don't know."

Her knife was cold against the underside of your chin, and you flinched when she pushed the tip closer, a sharp, small, pain pricking there. You felt a droplet of blood form. Rio smiled at you, her lips curling upwards tauntingly.

"If I killed you now, would you come back to life?" She mused, pursuing her lips. You tried to flinch away, but Rio just chased you with the knife.

There was an annoyed throat cleared, "Leave her be Rio."

You didn't dare move, but you knew it was Agatha and you saw her move out of the corner of your eye, but you stayed focused on Rio. Death rolled her eyes, pushing the knife in just a bit deeper, before pulling back. She sat back on her shins with a pout. The younger witch studied you, her blue eyes icy and piercing. You blinked right back at her.

"You are certainly interesting," she mumbled, her eyes never leaving yours.

A sudden movement from Rio brought your eyes back to hers. She grasped your chin, tilting your head towards her, "When this is all over, would you let me study you?" Although it was phrased as a question, and the suddenness of it caught you off guard, you nodded hesitantly.

^_______________^

Your entire body ached as you sat in Agatha's backyard. You were splayed out, hands at your sides, as Agatha and Rio were somewhere. You honestly weren't sure. Their fight was intense, one that was brutal and you regretted being in the middle of it, and it ended with Billy being taken.

As much as you were sad about, you knew it was the natural cycle of life, but that didn't stop the guilt. According to Rio, you disobeyed the laws, but she couldn't collect your soul since you were still alive. You only died when shifting, and even then, it wasn't long enough for her to gather your soul. Squinting, you stared up at the figure obscuring the sun - Rio smirked down at you, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I've dealt with the child," she said flippantly, her hand extended down to you, "Now time to deal with you."

You had agreed to let her study you, although you weren't quite sure what that entailed, and she was holding you to that promise. Reaching up, you grasped her hand and the moment you did, the world swirled around you. Green mist was dispersed as you gathered your bearings, suddenly standing, and not in Agatha's backyard.

Large dark walls loomed over you, going well above your head, and Rio's hand was cold in yours. The air was musty and chilly as you shivered, drawing your arms close and studying the area. Rio leaned in close, her breath hot in contrast to the cool area, "Let's get started, shall we?"

^____________^

Turns out being Rio's "study" was an excuse for her to mess with you. She had been "studying" you for several years, and in all that time, not once had the two of you made an interesting discovery. Agatha liked to help out, often visiting Rio's abode with some sort of trinket for you and assisting in the "studies."

The three of you studied more than just your abilities.

You were sitting at a desk, scribbling on a piece of paper as you concentrated. None of it made sense. While you hadn't thought about it much before, and offhand comment from Rio the other day got you thinking. She said that she didn't collect animal souls. For a moment you thought that was why she couldn't collect yours, but Rio waved that away, claiming that she felt your soul die. The human one.

Was it something you should have thought of earlier? Yes. Did you? No.

There was a pair of hands placed over your eyes, "Guess who?" A voice chirped.

"Hi Rio," you greeted, gently prying her cold hands from your face, placing a tender kiss on each of them. Your girlfriend smiled as she dropped herself into your lap, arms wrapping around your neck and grinning up at you happily.

"What are you working on?" Her voice was low as she leaned close, pressing a kiss to your lips before you could respond. She tasted of fresh flowers and smelled of the earth. You wanted to melt into her touch, absorb the warmth she was giving you, but your mind was still spinning. Returning her kiss for only a moment, you pulled away gently and ignored her pout.

"Is it possible for a human soul to fuse with an animal soul?"

Your question caught her off guard, you could tell by the slight widening of her eyes, and she pursed her lips. Rio tilted her head, squinting her eyes, before shrugging.

"Never thought about that," she said flippantly, trailing her fingers up your chest. You sighed in exasperation, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"Is Agatha going to be home soon?" Rio hummed against your lips, a very faint answer to your question, and this time you let her kiss you until you had to pull apart for air. Still, you were trying not to get distracted.

"Is it possible," you began, trailing off as you bit your lips, "That my soul fuses with the animal's? And that's why you feel me die, but can't collect it?"

When Rio realized, you weren't going to drop it, she took on a thoughtful expression. It took a moment before she slowly responded, "I believe so."

"You believe what?" Agatha's sudden voice startled you, and you wiped your head around. She stood in the doorway to your office with a small smile. Striding over to you, Agatha bent down and placed a kiss on your forehead before doing the same with Rio.

"Our darling girl has a new theory," Rio informed her. Your face flushed a delicate pink at the term of endearment.

"Not really," you shrugged awkwardly, still not used to their attention after all these years, but after Agatha's prompting look, you continued, "I think that my soul may be fusing with the animal's when I shift, and then like de-fusing when I return."

Agatha smiled pleased, "You're so smart," she praised, pressing another kiss, but this time to your lips, "We can explore that some more, alright?"

You nodded, happy with her response. Both of them looked at you with so much love, so much praise, so much care. You adored it. They didn't care that you had a weird ability. They were only curious and only loved you.

"I love you," you whispered, "Both of you."

[darktrashsoulbear]

The Abyss Of Affection

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)

This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Allusions to smut

Word Count: 2308

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went. 

The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.

Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.

Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.

She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.

“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.

The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.

Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”

“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.

An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps… 

She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.

She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.

Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.

“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.

Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.

Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.

Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.

“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.

“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial. 

Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.

Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it. 

After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.

The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.

Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.

This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.

As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.

After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.

Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.

If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.

As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.

As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ So Kiss Me | OP81

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: McLaren's annual Christmas party means failed gingerbread houses and confessions in the snow.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The McLaren Technology Centre was buzzing with excitement. Fresh off the high of their constructors’ championship win, the annual Christmas party was in full swing. The sprawling MTC was unrecognizable, decked out with garlands, fairy lights, and a massive Christmas tree standing proudly at the entrance. It was festive, loud, and decidedly not where Y/N wanted to be at the moment.

She leaned against a high-top table near the edge of the room, nursing her drink and watching the crowd. As a PR coordinator for McLaren, she’d spent months working tirelessly managing their socials and was supposed to be enjoying herself. Instead, she was contemplating the pros and cons of sneaking out early when a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.

“Y/N, you’re not entering the gingerbread contest?”

Caroline. The thorn in her side. Caroline worked in marketing and had perfected the art of weaponized politeness. Tonight, she was wearing a sparkly red dress and an infuriatingly smug expression.

“Nope,” Y/N said flatly, hoping the conversation would end there.

Caroline tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “Oh, I see. I guess some people just don’t have the creative touch for it.”

Y/N’s grip tightened on her glass. She didn’t care about the contest… except now she absolutely did. Caroline’s subtle digs always had a way of lighting a fire under her.

“Actually, I’ve decided I’m entering,” Y/N said, forcing a smile.

Caroline blinked in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, how fun! Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

As soon as Caroline walked away, Y/N’s bravado crumbled. What was she doing? She didn’t even have a teammate.

She scanned the room, hoping to spot someone who wasn’t already paired up or too deep into their drinks. No luck. Her usual work friends were either tipsy or engrossed in other activities. After a fruitless search, she retreated to a quieter corner of the room, sulking.

“Why do you look like someone stole your Christmas cookies?”

She looked up to see Oscar Piastri standing in front of her, hands in his pockets and a curious smile on his face. He looked effortlessly good in a suit, the tie slightly loosened around his neck.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, not wanting to admit her predicament.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, stepping closer. “Come on, Y/N. Spill.”

With a sigh, she relented. “Caroline made some snide comment about me not entering the gingerbread contest, so I decided to prove her wrong. But I don’t have a partner, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to embarrass myself.”

Oscar’s brows lifted in amusement. “That’s it? Easy fix. I’ll be your partner.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No way. You don’t have to do that. This is your party. You should be… I don’t know, celebrating.”

“I am celebrating,” he said with a grin. “And what better way to celebrate than helping you crush Caroline?”

She hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes won her over. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m terrible at this stuff.”

“How bad could it be?”

Very bad, as it turned out.

“This wall won’t stay up!” Y/N groaned, holding a piece of gingerbread that stubbornly refused to stick to the icing.

“Maybe we didn’t use enough icing?” Oscar suggested, frowning at their rapidly deteriorating structure.

“I think the problem is that we’re bad at this,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Speak for yourself,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “I’m an innovator. This is modern architecture.”

“If by ‘modern’ you mean it looks like it’s about to fall over, then yeah, you nailed it,” she shot back, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her grin.

They both burst out laughing as the roof caved in, sending a handful of gumdrops skittering across the table. Around them, other teams were building masterpieces: sleek houses with intricate frosting designs and perfectly placed candies. Meanwhile, theirs looked like it had survived an earthquake.

“This… this looks like something a five-year-old made blindfolded,” Y/N said, choking on laughter as she gestured at the crumbling mess. “It’s somehow defying gravity in all the wrong ways!”

Oscar wheezed, leaning on the table for support. “Hey, it’s abstract. We’re pushing the boundaries of what a gingerbread house can be.”

“Right, because ‘falling apart’ is such a bold statement,” she teased, wiping tears from her eyes.

They tried to salvage their creation, but every attempt made it worse. Oscar’s attempt at adding a candy cane chimney resulted in the entire roof collapsing again, while Y/N’s decorative icing turned into an unintentional Jackson Pollock painting.

“This is a disaster,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t stop laughing.

“The best kind of disaster,” Oscar said, his tone warm. “Seriously, who cares what it looks like? We’re having fun, right?”

Y/N looked at him, her laughter fading into a softer smile. “Yeah, we are. Thanks, Oscar. You’re a really good friend.”

His expression shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something more, but the moment was interrupted by Caroline sauntering past with her flawless gingerbread mansion.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s so cute that you’re trying. It’s all about having fun, right?”

Y/N forced a tight smile as Caroline walked away. “I hate her.”

“Hey,” Oscar said, nudging her gently. “Forget her. Look at what we made. It’s got… personality.”

Her smile returned, though it wavered slightly as she glanced at the crumbled mess of icing and gingerbread. “Personality is one way to put it.”

Noticing the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, Oscar leaned in, his voice lower and more earnest. “Hey, don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it.”

Y/N gave a half-hearted shrug. “Easier said than done.”

Oscar studied her for a moment before straightening. “Come on. Let’s get out of here for a bit. Fresh air might help.”

The chill of the night air was sharp against Y/N’s cheeks as she and Oscar wandered the grounds of the McLaren Technology Centre. The party noise had faded into the background, leaving only the quiet sounds of leaves crunching beneath their shoes and the soft rustle of wind against the nearby trees. Y/N hugged her arms around herself, her thoughts drifting as she glanced over at Oscar. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze attentive.

Oscar broke the silence first, his voice warm and conversational. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “Just… everything. The party, the season, life. It’s been a crazy year.”

“Tell me about it.” He shot her a small grin. “But hey, at least we’ve survived.”

She laughed. “Barely. Some days I wasn’t sure I would. Between the endless PR work and trying to keep up with you drivers, it’s a miracle I’m still standing.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased. “You love it. Admit it.”

“I do,” she admitted, her tone softening. “It’s exhausting, but it’s worth it. Especially when I get to see moments like tonight. You guys deserve it, you know?”

Oscar’s smile turned bashful. “Thanks. It still feels a bit surreal. I keep thinking I’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be a dream.”

“If it is, it’s a pretty damn good one,” she said.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation meandering from the highs and lows of the season to lighter topics. Y/N found herself laughing more than she had all night, her usual guardedness slipping away in his presence. It was easy to talk to Oscar, too easy, and she felt a familiar flutter in her chest every time he smiled at her.

Snow began to fall, light and gentle, dusting their hair and coats. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she stopped in her tracks, tilting her face upward. “It’s snowing!”

Oscar chuckled, watching as she spun in place, arms outstretched like a child. Her laughter rang out, clear and bright, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was beautiful, her joy infectious, and for a moment, he forgot about the cold entirely.

“You’re going to freeze,” he called out, amusement lacing his tone.

“I don’t care!” she replied, still twirling. “Look at how perfect it is. It’s like something out of a Christmas movie.”

Her spinning slowed as she stumbled slightly, and Oscar stepped forward instinctively, steadying her with his hands on her arms. She looked up at him, her breath visible in the cold air, and suddenly the world seemed to shrink around them. The snow fell quietly, the moment suspended in time as their eyes met.

“You’re shivering,” he said softly. Without waiting for a reply, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His hands lingered for a second, his touch warm against the cold fabric.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart raced as she stared at him, the closeness between them making her acutely aware of every small detail—the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his breath hitched slightly as their gazes locked.

Her mind raced, a chaotic swirl of emotions. She’d always felt something for Oscar, but she’d buried it under layers of professionalism and self-doubt. Now, standing here with him, she couldn’t deny it any longer. She liked him. She more than liked him. And judging by the way he was looking at her, the feeling might just be mutual.

Before she could overthink it, Oscar leaned in. The kiss was sudden, catching her completely off guard, but she melted into it almost instantly. His lips were soft, warm against the chill of the night, and the world seemed to blur at the edges as her heart pounded in her chest.

When they broke apart, her breath came in shallow gasps. “Oscar…” she began, her voice shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, stepping back slightly. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” she interrupted, reaching out to grab his hand. “Don’t apologize. I… I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You have?”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I just didn’t think you…”

“Are you kidding?” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Y/N, I’ve liked you since the day we met. I just didn’t want to mess things up.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a giddy rush of joy that made her want to laugh and cry all at once. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” she said, her tone playful.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me that is.”

She didn’t reply with words. Instead, she pulled him into another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. His hands found her waist as hers tangled in his hair, the world around them fading into insignificance. She pressed against him, her back meeting the rough bark of a nearby tree as their kisses grew more heated.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their faces flushed despite the cold. Oscar rested his forehead against hers, his hands still on her waist.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “do you want to head back to the party, or…?”

She hesitated, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “But this is your celebration party. Everyone’s here for you.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’d rather celebrate in a different way.”

She stared at him, half in shock and half in amusement, before bursting into laughter. “Oscar Piastri, I didn’t know you had game.”

He laughed with her, his hand slipping into hers. “Come on,” he said, tugging her gently toward the parking lot. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they walked away, hand in hand, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in quiet magic. For the first time that night, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[thedensworld]

Revelation | C.Sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, office romance

Summary: What started as an office romance escalated quickly when there are news about Choi Seungcheol, your boyfriend, is suddenly the heirs of the company where you both work.

Another Revelation

You grumbled as you opened your eyes, feeling the chill on the other side of the bed where Seungcheol had been sleeping. Unconsciously, your lips formed a pout, not quite pleased with Seungcheol's disciplined approach to work, which often meant leaving you alone in the mornings. But you knew he was just steps away, getting ready in the bathroom. Despite the fever weighing you down, you summoned the willpower to rise and prepare for the day. However, your feverish body rebelled, refusing to cooperate as you attempted to prop yourself up. It was the same cold that had brought Seungcheol to your side last night, yet now it seemed to mock your efforts to start the day.

"Getting better, love?" Seungcheol's voice drifted from the bathroom as he emerged, shirtless, a towel loosely draped around his lower body. You managed a nod in response, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt for his concern.

As he drew closer, his hand instinctively reached out to touch your forehead. His expression soured at the lingering heat. "You're still burning," he remarked with a furrowed brow.

"Let's call you in sick for today."

You shifted your body fully to watch him, a smile spreading across your face as you admired his effortless grace in dressing. "Maybe it's because my boyfriend is so hot that I'm burning," you mumbled playfully, the words audible to Seungcheol as he adjusted his pants.

Seungcheol chuckled, turning to you with a raised eyebrow. "Really? Am I that hot?" he asked, a hint of playful vanity in his tone as he pulled back the duvet covering your body, his ego clearly enjoying the compliment.

"Really hot, to the point where I can't help but work to protect you from other women," you teased, preparing to rise from the bed. But Seungcheol was quicker, gently pushing you back under the covers with a soft yet firm touch, his concern evident in the way he hovered over you.

"I'll order you some food for breakfast. Let's have you rest for today, love," Seungcheol suggested, his voice soft with concern as he hovered near the bed.

You raised your brow, a flicker of worry crossing your features. "Didn't you say you had to pay for rent? Don't use that money for me," you reminded him, your concern for his finances clear in your tone.

Seungcheol met your gaze with a warm smile, brushing off your concern. "Yes, but it's okay," he reassured you, his eyes reflecting his affection for you.

Shaking your head slightly, you insisted, "You know I can pay for myself, right?"

Seungcheol nodded in understanding, his expression gentle. "You've told me that thousands of times already," he reminded you with a soft chuckle.

"Baby, if you need anything, you have me, alright?" you affirmed, reaching out to him with reassurance. He responded by pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his actions speaking volumes as he nodded in agreement.

Seungcheol headed off to work after ensuring you had a healthy breakfast on the way. He reassured you that he'd already taken care of the payment, urging you to simply enjoy the meal and remember to take your medicine afterward. As you sat at the dining table, a pang of guilt settled in your stomach. You couldn't shake the knowledge that Seungcheol was facing financial challenges of his own, yet he never hesitated to take care of you. The thought weighed heavily on your mind as you contemplated his selflessness, a mix of gratitude and concern swirling within you.

Reflecting on the journey you and Seungcheol had taken together, you couldn't help but marvel at his unwavering determination and work ethic. You both started as interns at the company, navigating the challenges of entry-level positions while trying to make ends meet. But while you struggled to find your footing, Seungcheol dove headfirst into every task, his relentless drive and dedication setting him apart.

You watched with admiration as he worked tirelessly, often taking on extra shifts and projects to support himself financially. Despite the long hours and occasional setbacks, his perseverance never wavered. And it was this unwavering commitment to his goals that slowly but surely began to capture your heart.

As you got to know him better, you realized that behind his stoic exterior was a heart of gold. Beneath the surface of his determined facade, Seungcheol was kind, compassionate, and fiercely loyal to those he cared about. It was these qualities, coupled with his unyielding work ethic, that drew you to him like a magnet.

And now, as you sat at the dining table, contemplating the sacrifices he made for you without a second thought, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and admiration for the man who had stolen your heart. Despite the challenges you both faced, Seungcheol's unwavering support and dedication had never faltered, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

"I must have gone to war in my previous life, right?" you mused aloud, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips as you opened the meal and began to savor it.

***

As you stepped into the elevator, the buzz of morning gossip greeted you, swirling around the confined space like a whirlwind of speculation and excitement. Your colleagues chattered animatedly, their voices rising and falling as they eagerly exchanged the latest news. You stood at the back, content to listen rather than participate, silently absorbing the juicy tidbits being shared.

One particular piece of gossip caught your attention, causing you to perk up with interest. The grandson of the President Company was set to become their director. The news rippled through the elevator, eliciting a mixture of surprise and curiosity from your coworkers.

You had never been particularly interested in the inner workings of the company's hierarchy or its familial ties, but you couldn't deny the significance of this development. The President Company, a prominent entity within the Choi Corps conglomerate, held considerable influence over the various companies under its umbrella, including the advertising agency where you worked.

The mention of Mrs. Park potentially being replaced by this new director sent a ripple of anticipation through the elevator. Mrs. Park, the current director of Choi Ads, was notorious for her strict demeanor and cutthroat management style. The prospect of her departure was met with a mix of relief and excitement, evident in the hushed whispers and knowing glances exchanged between your coworkers.

Should everyone throw a party then?

"You can't believe what happened yesterday!" Soonyoung exclaimed as he approached your table, his excitement palpable.

"I heard it in the elevator," you replied calmly, shooting him a look that silently urged him to lower his voice.

Soonyoung cleared his throat and glanced around before continuing, his voice now subdued. "Everyone was taken aback but relieved at the same time that Mrs. Park and Mr. Yang won't be here anymore."

Your brow furrowed at the unexpected news. Mrs. Park and Mr. Yang, both gone? It seemed the changes within the company ran deeper than you initially realized.

"Mr. Yang too?" you asked, seeking confirmation from Soonyoung, who nodded in response.

"Everyone is finally getting into their proper positions! Mrs. Kim definitely deserves the general manager position. And you, Ms. Assistant Manager, should be a team manager," Soonyoung continued, his enthusiasm undiminished as he recounted the events of the previous day.

Despite Soonyoung's animated explanation, your mind struggled to process the flurry of changes that had occurred in just one day. Replacements, promotions, announcements—what had you missed during your brief absence?

"I'm glad that I treated Seungcheol with all my heart, or should I start calling him Mr. Choi?" Soonyoung mused aloud.

You threw a glance to him, "what do you mean? Seungcheol? Mr. Choi? I'm not following, Soonyoung," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

Soonyoung's eyes widened in disbelief. "Girl! Assistant Manager Choi is the President's grandson. He was here to announce it. The formal announcement will be held next week, and I'm in charge of the event."

Your jaw dropped in shock, and you instinctively reached out to grasp Soonyoung's arm for support. "What?!" you exclaimed, barely able to contain your surprise. "You're kidding, right?" Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat.

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Oh, babe, I wish. But I'm happy for him. I thought he was just some hardworking dude at work. Turns out he's the heir to this company," he explained, his tone a mix of astonishment and admiration.

As Soonyoung's words sank in, your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. How could you have been dating Seungcheol for four years without knowing such a significant detail about his family background? The realization left you feeling stunned and incredulous, as if a veil had been lifted to reveal an entirely different side to the man you thought you knew so well.

Images of Seungcheol flashed through your mind—his warm smile, his unwavering support, his tireless dedication to his work. You had always admired his resilience and determination, but now, knowing that he was the grandson of the company president, it added a new layer of complexity to your relationship.

Questions flooded your mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why hadn't Seungcheol ever mentioned his family's connection to the company before? Did he deliberately keep it a secret, or was it simply an oversight on his part? And most importantly, what did this newfound revelation mean for your future together?

As you grappled with the shock of this unexpected discovery, a sense of uncertainty crept in, mingling with the lingering warmth of affection you felt for Seungcheol. Despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, one thing was certain—you needed to have a conversation with him, to clear the air and uncover the truth behind his hidden identity as the grandson of the company president.

As you made your way through the office, your mind still reeling from the bombshell revelation about Seungcheol's true identity, you were taken aback when you almost collided with a familiar figure—Seungcheol himself. The shock of seeing him, coupled with the knowledge of his impending promotion to director, left you momentarily speechless.

The surprise etched on your face didn't go unnoticed by Seungcheol, who seemed poised to offer an explanation. But before he could utter a word, he was intercepted by a member of the company's secretarial staff, beckoning him away with an urgent summons.

For a moment, you stood frozen in place, torn between the impulse to confront Seungcheol and demand answers, and the realization that now was not the time nor the place for such a conversation. With a heavy heart, you watched silently as he walked away, the weight of the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air between you.

As he disappeared from view, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you—confusion, disbelief, and a gnawing sense of betrayal mingling with the remnants of affection and longing. You couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed in an instant, and yet, in many ways, nothing had changed at all. With a sigh, you pocketed your phone, the call to Seungcheol forgotten for now as you grappled with the complexities of your newfound reality.

***

As interns at the company, you and Seungcheol had embarked on your professional journey together. You were the only one accepted after a rigorous testing and trial period, while Seungcheol's presence in the internship program had come as a surprise to you. However, at the time, you were too focused on the competitive nature of the training system, which dictated that only one intern would be chosen every six months. It hadn't occurred to you to question Seungcheol's sudden appearance.

Seungcheol's reputation as a hardworking man preceded him, and it was evident in the way he threw himself into every task with determination and grit. While you didn't doubt your own work ethic, you couldn't help but acknowledge that you often relied on your natural talent to excel. Gifted in design, management, administration—there seemed to be no limit to your abilities, while Seungcheol had to work tirelessly to match your level of competence.

Despite your differences, the company saw fit to keep both of you on board. You found yourself assigned to the design team, while Seungcheol carved out a niche for himself in PR. Despite being the youngest members of your respective teams, you and Seungcheol soon found yourselves spending nearly every night in the office together, preparing for presentations, brainstorming ideas, and tackling whatever tasks the higher-ups threw your way.

In that year of late nights and shared struggles, you and Seungcheol had seen each other at your worst—unbathed, hair unkempt, with ketchup stains from French fries or coffee splattered across your shirts. But through it all, you found solace in the fact that you only had each other in this relentless corporate world.

A significant project had brought you together once more—a short film project to advertise a makeup product. As the clock struck 10 p.m. and the office remained deserted save for the two of you, Seungcheol was deeply engrossed in mind mapping ideas for the presentation in two days, while you found yourself daydreaming about your warm bed.

Seungcheol's voice cut through the quiet of the office as he watched you begin to tidy up your table. "You're going home?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

You nodded, exhaustion creeping into your voice. "I need my seven hours of sleep to come up with a better idea," you explained, already feeling the pull of fatigue tugging at your eyelids.

But Seungcheol wasn't ready to give up just yet. "You haven't contributed anything, Y/n. Let's work a little longer until we find the perfect premise," he pleaded, his determination evident in the furrow of his brow.

A pang of guilt gnawed at you as you drew closer to him, trying to catch a glimpse of the ideas he had jotted down on his iPad. With a scoff, you remarked, "Is that all you can come up with?"

Seungcheol's glare pierced through you, his frustration palpable. "So you have a better idea? Go ahead, miss," he retorted, handing you the iPad with a challenge in his eyes.

You settled yourself into Seungcheol's armchair, dangerously close to him, as you pulled the iPad towards you, eager to share your ideas. As you wrote down keywords like "Lips Product," "Lips stain", "Backstreet," "Office romance," and "steamy," you glanced up at Seungcheol, seeking his reaction.

"What do you think about office romance?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity.

Seungcheol slowly shrugged, his gaze meeting yours. "Never experienced it before," he admitted, his tone neutral.

You sighed softly, mumbling to yourself, "Me either."

"Many people find office romance exciting and adrenaline-fueled. But why?" you continued, your words growing more animated as you delved into your idea. "Because they're often secret relationships, hidden behind work contracts and professional facades."

Seungcheol listened intently as you explained, his expression thoughtful. "And what's the closest thing a couple can do in the office?" you posed the question, your eyes alight with excitement. "Kiss. Yes. A kiss leaves a stain—a lingering mark of passion and desire."

As you continued to speak, Seungcheol found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on your words. His gaze lingered on your lips, drawn irresistibly to their sensual movements as they formed each syllable. The proximity between you felt electrifying, your perfume mingling with the scent of his cologne, creating a heady atmosphere of intimacy.

Despite his best efforts to focus on the conversation, Seungcheol's heart raced faster than usual, his senses overwhelmed by the closeness between you. He tried to shake off the sensation, willing himself to concentrate on your words, but the allure of your presence proved too strong to resist.

Suddenly, you stopped speaking, and Seungcheol realized with a start that your faces were only inches apart. Your whispered question sent a shiver down his spine, and he met your gaze with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.

"Seungcheol..." you breathed, the sound barely audible in the quiet of the office.

His brows raised in response, but his eyes remained locked on yours, unable to tear himself away from the magnetic pull of your gaze. "Hm?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you still want me to be here?" you asked softly, your words hanging in the air between you.

Seungcheol bit his lip nervously, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again. "Do you want to be with me here?" he countered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"I guess," you replied, your own voice barely audible as you closed the gap between you and Seungcheol, surrendering to the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you.

***

Seungcheol cautiously slipped into your studio apartment, his heart racing as he finally had the chance to face you after the whirlwind of work and avoidance. He knew he had to explain everything, but deadlines and commitments seemed to conspire against him. Now, on the eve of the announcement event, he couldn't delay any longer.

You weren't home when he arrived, so he took the opportunity to prepare a simple dinner, hoping to ease the tension that hung heavy in the air. As you walked in, the aroma of food greeted you, mingling with the unexpected presence of Seungcheol.

"Go change, I'll wait for you here," he uttered awkwardly, his hands fidgeting as he busied himself setting the table.

Minutes crawled by like reluctant snails as Seungcheol anxiously waited for your return. When you finally emerged, he straightened up, trying to compose himself as he watched you take your seat and begin to eat.

"Thanks for the meal," you said, your tone tinged with a hint of detachment that didn't escape his notice.

Seungcheol felt a pang of guilt gnaw at him as he realized the extent of the hurt he had caused you. He longed to reach out, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but the weight of his own mistakes anchored him to his seat. All he could do was watch, silently hoping for a chance at redemption.

"I can't do this," you uttered, setting down your utensils with a heavy clink, your hands reaching up to rub at your face in frustration.

Seungcheol's heart plummeted at your words, a cold dread creeping over him. Was this it? Were you about to end things between you? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"Can you— please don't show your face when I'm around," you pleaded, your head bowed, unable to meet his gaze.

Seungcheol felt like he'd been punched in the gut, the weight of your request crushing him with guilt and regret. He had hoped for a chance to explain, to make things right between you, but now it seemed like an impossible feat.

He sighed heavily, the weight of his mistakes bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. He knew he had let you down, had failed to prioritize your feelings over his own ambitions. The truth he had meant to share with you, about the sudden change in his circumstances and the responsibilities thrust upon him, now seemed like a feeble excuse in the face of your pain.

As he looked at you, your expression filled with hurt and disappointment, Seungcheol realized the depth of his folly. He had let his own ambitions blind him to the needs of the person he cared about most, and now he was paying the price. All he could do was nod silently, a silent acknowledgment of the chasm that now separated them, knowing that he had brought this upon himself.

"Are you—" Seungcheol began, his voice tentative, his heart pounding in his chest as he braced himself for your response. Was this the moment when everything would unravel between you?

Before he could finish his question, you let out a piercing scream, the suddenness of it jolting him to his core. Confusion etched across his features as he watched you dramatically cover your ears and sink to the floor.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to you, but you shook your head vehemently, your actions and words shrouded in incomprehensibility.

"No, don't talk to me!" you exclaimed, your voice muffled as you buried your face in your arms, your distress palpable.

Seungcheol knelt down in front of you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to make sense of your outburst. You muttered something indistinctly, your words lost in the folds of your arms. He leaned in closer, urging you to speak louder, desperate to understand.

"Don't talk to me, it's so embarrassing! I'm embarrassed!" you finally managed to articulate, your cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment.

Seungcheol's shock morphed into a mixture of surprise and amusement as he processed your words. He couldn't believe you were feeling embarrassed when, in reality, he was the one who should be hanging his head in shame.

"I feel so stupid right now. How could you—" you started, your voice trailing off as you hid your face once again, leaving Seungcheol hanging on your unfinished sentence.

A soft chuckle escaped Seungcheol's lips as he watched your adorable display of shyness. He couldn't help but find your reaction endearing, a welcome relief from the tension that had gripped the room moments ago.

"Hey, it's okay. What do you want to say, love?" he reassured you, pulling you gently into his embrace, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of your pout.

You met his gaze with a mixture of bashfulness and sincerity, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm feeling stupid right now because I've been treating you like shit when you technically own the company where I work!"

Seungcheol's laughter bubbled up from deep within him, the absurdity of the situation washing away the remnants of tension between you. He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes twinkling with fondness as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

"You have nothing to feel stupid about, darling," he whispered, his voice warm with reassurance.

"And no, you're not. You never treat me like shit," he insisted, his smile softening the edges of his words.

But you shook your head, your embarrassment still lingering like a stubborn shadow. "You don't understand! I've been insisting on paying the bills every time we go on dates. I even casually offered to pay your rent. Oh my god!"

Seungcheol's laughter grew louder at the revelation, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's what you were worried about?" he exclaimed incredulously.

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of your embarrassment pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. "This whole week, I've been thinking about how many times I've hurt you by paying for your groceries and dinner. Your masculinity isn't hurt, right?"

Seungcheol's hands were gentle as they cupped your cheeks, his touch a comforting reassurance amidst your swirling emotions. "Thanks for everything, my love. Now your boyfriend will be the owner of the company you're working for. Let him treat you like a princess," he said tenderly, his voice laced with sincerity and affection.

You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping you like a protective cocoon. "I love the sound of it," you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude for his understanding and support.

Seungcheol held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Let's finish your dinner, and I'll get you your favorite dessert from that expensive bakery you showed me last time," he suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of spoiling you.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of love and contentment wash over you. With Seungcheol by your side, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have each other to lean on. And in that moment, surrounded by his love, everything felt right in the world.

[chuellas]

Fine Line | Chuuya is always overworking himself, always choosing work over you and you’re finally fed up with it.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, term “doll” used, a tiny itty bit suggestive if you squint, hardly edited, WC: 5k

A/N | I had no idea where I was going with this one when writing it but I had so much fun writing it

You’re sitting at the bar now. You moved from your reserved table after an hour of waiting, figuring it could go to a couple that actually planned on spending the evening together. You let out another sigh into your gin and tonic. You’ve been at this restaurant for about 2 hours now and haven’t eaten a single thing. It’s your date’s fault, really, they were the one that never showed up. You don’t know why you even try anymore. Dating was pointless in your line of work anyways. 

But sometimes going on dates warded off the loneliness and that incessant craving you get for normalcy.

You check your watch for the time only to find it’s now past midnight. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you finally make the decision to pull out your phone and call the person you actually wanted to spend the evening with. You're pleasantly surprised when he picks up on the first ring.

“Thought you had a date.” You’re greeted with a tone that’s laced with exhaustion but something else jumps out too — annoyance, maybe? Or maybe you’re just imagining things after downing your third drink of the night on an empty stomach.  

You hum, pointedly not answering his question directly, as you signal for the bartender to close out your tab. “You still in your office working on that mountain of paperwork?”

The pause from the otherside of the phone is a long one, it’s a contemplative pause you conclude, you can tell he’s trying to decide whether to humor you or to push his own question. It would be a waste of his time to go with the latter, you had no intention of breaching the topic of you being stood up yet again. This time especially stung with it being a woman and all. You thought she would have known better, or at the very least have the common decency to warn you of her impending absence, knowing very well how long it takes to get ready for a first date. You shaved and took an “everything” shower for this occasion.

A soft sigh of defeat is heard from his side and you grin widely, Chuuya is much smarter than he’s given credit for. “So what if I am?”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” You don’t give the executive room to argue as you hang up on him. 

As if on cue the bartender brings you the receipt and your card, after signing you leave a generous amount of cash in the tip jar with a smile. You leave the restaurant the same way you came, without a word as the manager babbles on about how much of a pleasure it was to have your patronage. You wave him off with the same smile that’s feeling more forced by the minute as you step into the elevator.

When the doors slide shut after what seems like an eternity, you’re finally able to relax for a moment. The disappointment of another wasted night sinks into your shoulder, making them cave in. You deflate in defeat, having to resign to a fate that’s been set by some stupid carrot topped man that has to use his ability to reach the top shelf of overhang shelves. He’d never admit it but you’ve actually caught him doing it before. 

This was all somehow Chuuya’s fault. If he ever did anything other than work you wouldn’t seek solace in other people. You would be able to let yourself actually explore the feelings that stir in your chest when you’re around the ginger. But instead you’re stuck calling him after failed dates to see what he’s up to and if you can get away with bugging him. 

Headquarters is just a few blocks north of where you’re at, it shouldn’t take you more than 10 minutes to get to Chuuya. Well, maybe 20 since your favorite ramen place is on the way and you know they’re still open. So you have to stop there for two bowls because not only have you not eaten but you know Chuuya probably hasn’t either, being too engrossed in his paperwork to remember that basic bodily functions exist. 

Another 5 minutes after picking up the ramen and you’re making your way up yet another elevator to the floor that holds both your office on one side and his on the other. You take a moment when the doors open to decide whether you want to go straight to Chuuya’s office or if you want to stop at yours to change into something far more comfortable than the dress you’re currently wearing. Your stomach ultimately makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. The ginger’s office it is.

You don’t even bother with knocking, too tired, hungry, and impatient to wait on him to answer. The door creaks as you push and then groans out a complaint when you kick it shut behind you. Chuuya isn’t even fazed when you enter, his nose still buried in his paperwork. Thankfully the pile was no longer a mountain, more of a small hill now. It still looks like an hour or two’s worth of work. You’d offer your help if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re drunk. 

Making yourself comfortable without a word you saunter over to his desk and choose to sit yourself on top of his scattered paperwork, plopping the ramen in front of him.  

Chuuya freezes, staring at the bag of food in disbelief before turning his accusing glare at you. “What the f-”

His words die in his throat when his eyes finally land on you. Even in your slightly, maybe more, inebriated state it’s hard not to notice the way his eyelids droop as his dual colored eyes scan your figure. He must be really tired, he’s usually far more tactful when he checks you out. 

You swing your legs where they dangle from his desk, pleased with yourself and his reaction. “I brought you some dinner. I didn’t get a chance to eat so I figured neither have you. Looks like I was right!”

Chuuya has to practically tear his gaze from you to see what you’re talking about. You untie the bag to reveal two containers filled to the brim with ramen. You lean in to read the labels to make sure you were taking the right container but in the process it gives the executive a nice view right down our cleavage. You have to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch at your lips when you hear the way his breath stutters. Maybe now you’re the one not being tactful but you figure someone deserves to appreciate the way you look in this dress since the intended party will never get to. 

“You stop at that shop down the road?” Chuuya clears his throat as he waits for you to grab all of your things before reaching for his own container.

You kick off your shoes and jump off his desk to pull a chair up to the opposite side. “Yeah, thankfully they stay open late. Can you clear some of the papers up? Don’t wanna get them stained in ramen broth.”

“Really makin’ yourself at home, aren’t you, Doll?” He raises a brow at you in amusement but clears his desk off regardless.

You hum and nod your head, too busy taking a bite of your ramen. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and you let out a pleased hum at the flavors dancing along your tongue. The savory taste of the broth alone almost completely washes away the lingering bitter aftertaste the last few hours left in your mouth. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you had stepped foot into that shop. Now you are famished and even the most bland of foods would taste absolutely divine in this moment. You’re so absorbed in your meal that you don’t even take notice of the way the ginger sitting before you is watching you so intently that he hasn’t even touched his own food. 

It’s not until he clears his throat that you peer up at him. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

There’s that question again, you suppose you gave him too much credit earlier. He wasn’t smart enough to just let it go. Or maybe he really was just letting his curiosity get the best of him. Either way there was no way in hell you were going to tell him that another date bailed on you. So instead you smile sweetly.

“You know how small the portions are at those types of restaurants, I took like two bites and it was all gone. Had some drinks after too. So, yeah, I’m famished. I know you are too. Eat.”

Your tone leaves no room for question. You’re both dancing around touchy subjects. Chuuya knows if he wants to get you to admit what really happened he would have to swallow his pride and admit he was overworking himself and he'd be damned if he ever let that happen. 

Or at least that’s what you thought. 

You watch him through your lashes as he opens the ramen and takes a bite, and then another, and then another. He hardly ever eats when there’s work to be finished. This is definitely a rare occasion and you have a sneaky feeling, somehow during the few seconds of your exchange in challenging glances, something shifts between the two of you. 

You stare at the other executive absolutely gobbed smacked at the fact that he’s actually listening to you. Your eyes are wide, your jaw is dropped open, and the chopsticks you were using to eat fall from your fingertips and splash into your soup. A few drops from the broth fly into your eye and you let out a hiss at the sting from the spices and temperature. 

The moment the two of you just had ends just as swiftly as you fan at your eyes frantically and then hold out your hand to Chuuya. “Eye drops- Oh my god your eye drops. Now, Chuuya.”

The ginger is jolted from his stupor when your voice becomes sharper. He reaches into the drawer to his left and produces a small bottle of eye drops, something you knew he keeps around due to his frequent late nights burning the midnight oil. It’s how he keeps his eyes from getting dry with exhaustion. 

You snatch the small bottle from his hands and throw your head back to all but squirt the soothing solution into your eye. It takes a moment to work, the sensation getting worse before it gets better. But after a moment you’re good as new, maybe even better than before. 

It’s a truly sobering experience and any left over buzz you were holding onto sadly fizzles out. You’re now stone cold sober and kicking yourself for coming here this late, know the only outcome is getting sent away so the ginger could finish his work in peace. You’re nothing but a distraction to him.

But if that were true, why even let you into his office, his space, in the first place?

“Thanks…” You hand the medicine back to Chuuya and pick your chopsticks back up to continue eating, pretending like nothing happened. “So, how many nights in a row have you slept here this week?”

You tilt your head to the couch that has a head pillow and blanket set up on it — inviting, almost, if you didn’t know how incredibly uncomfortable that couch was. It couldn’t be good for his back. You know he already deals with the residual chronic muscle pain he experiences after using his ability, especially after using corruption. You wish he would slow down, his body already pays for his ability, it doesn’t need to suffer because of his excessive working habits too. 

But then you would just sound like a broken record. 

Chuuya never really listens. He’s stubborn that way and it’s not just his body that pays for it, his social and love life pay the price for it too. It’s frustrating to care so deeply for someone who would rather think of others and their work than their own wellbeing. 

What’s worse, though, is that you’re selfish. You’ll take the heated stares and intimate touches in the dead of night on the rare occasions he’s not spending them at his desk over nothing at all. Maybe it isn’t selfish, maybe it’s self-deprecating but you can’t help yourself. You’ve tried to move on — that’s what you were trying to do tonight. But the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, so you once again find yourself in his office during the devil’s hour.

Suddenly you hear a muffled voice and you’re thrusted back to reality. Chuuya looks at you expectantly and you furrow your brows at him. “What?”

“I said: I figure you wouldn’t be eating with me right now if your date went well, you’d be over at his place, right?”

Your eye twitches in irritation and not from the soup broth that landed in it just moments ago. He’s trying to evade your question. Of course he was actively avoiding it, why would he ever admit to you something that you don’t think he’s admitted to himself. 

What’s worse is he’s pushing his question from earlier. Wording it differently to mask his nagging curiosity. His gaze is hypnotizing, something shifts again. You don’t think you care for the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. The usually light and exciting flutter of their wings now feel like razors slicing their way up your throat. It burns and you might throw up.

It’s so unfair, the way he makes you feel is unfair.

You don’t know what possesses you but a single syllable flies past your lips in response before you can catch it. “Her.”

“Her?” And this man has the audacity to look semi-amused as he says the word back to you in a questioning tone. 

In that moment you know he knows and you watch in abject horror as his amused expression twists into a knowing one. Now you’re sure, he’s aware that you know he knows. 

Your eye almost twitches again at the way his brow raises in amusement at your answer and suddenly you feel defensive. You don’t give a shit if he knows what you’re trying to do by dating around. You don’t care if he knows that each attempt has ended in failure. You don’t care that he knows that each failure ends in you crawling back to him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You steel your expression, eyes becoming sharp as they bore into Chuuya. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a woman I was meeting tonight.”

“Well she’s an idiot for not showing, especially when you look like that.” His tone sounds sincere and it makes you want to throw up.

You let out an incredulous scoff — you can’t believe that he just said that, of all people. “She’s not the only idiot.”

“She’s not?”

Now he’s really starting to piss you off, his smug expression tells you all you need to know. This must all be a game to him. He’s toying with you, he has to be, and he has been for a while now but you’re finally sick of it. You’re tired of the constant back and forth but not getting anywhere because he would rather stubbornly overwork himself half to death to have an excuse to avoid you than admit his obvious feelings for you. 

The revelation sends your whole body into a fit, you’re trembling and seething and it’s pouring out the seams. You’ve cracked. You should congratulate him, really, no one has elicited this much emotion from you before.

Chuuya’s demeanor changes when he notices how worked up you seem to be getting but he’s too late. You’re already past the point of being settled down because you’re shaking like a goddamn chihuahua. Your nostrils flare in irritation and ears flush in anger. 

“No, she’s not the only idiot that’s managed to fumble me. Look in a mirror and you’ll know who the other person is. Enjoy overworking yourself to death. I’m going home.” 

All at once the blazing rage that washed over you burns out when Chuuya makes no indication of moving to stop you and immediately you wish the ground would just crack open to swallow you whole. Suddenly you’re all too aware of your response to his play. It was more of an overreaction. How embarrassing? How is it that he’s able to elicit this strong of a reaction from you. 

How can he not follow after you like he has better things to do?

But he does have more important things to do than console you, doesn’t he?

For the second time tonight you’re mortified, but unlike earlier, this one was your own doing. You just threw a fit, had an actual tantrum, over someone who has made it clear he’s not ready for something that you think you are.

Maybe selfish is the right word.

You contemplate halting in your spot and apologizing but your pride keeps you from doing so. You should have never put all your cards on the table. You curse yourself for ever letting your true feeling for the ginger slip that one drunken night several months ago that when asked about the next day you had conveniently forgotten all about it. Something tells you that he remembered it clearly, so, if not stopping you was his final response to your confession then you have to accept that. 

Your hand reaches out for the door knob and you almost flinch when it comes in contact with the cold metal. He’s really just going to let you leave like this. Your head is a mess— no, your whole body is a mess. Your head is filled with fog, a mist of endless thoughts descending on you to make everything blurry. Your chest is like a tsunami of emotions washing over you in sharp waves. Then there are those damn razor sharp butterflies that are still threatening to claw up your throat. 

But just as you start to turn the knob, a gloved hand covers your own and halts your actions. Your breath hitches when the anxiety you’d been feeling just a moment ago completely dissipates. Chuuyas chest is pressed against your back and his forehead falls to your shoulder. 

“Chuuya wha-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your question when he mumbles out, “I don’t need a mirror to know that…”

Oh. 

Is he really implying that he knows he’s been a fool? Is the world coming to an end? Chuuya? Admitting to being an idiot? You thought there was a higher chance of getting struck by lightning before hearing anything of the sort from the executive himself. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, you think your brain’s been fried, convinced that Chuuya can see the steam rolling out of your ears as you short circuit. “For what?”

You croak out the short question, words catching in your throat. It surprises even you when a sob follows. You hadn’t realized that the emotions you were feeling hadn’t dissipated but instead had been forced out in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“I…I’m sorry for…” Chuuya trails off and curses under his breath, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry for not putting you first.” 

His voice trembles in something akin to fear. Something in your chest tears at his tone and it hurts. You look up at the ceiling to try to blink away the water that’s blurred your vision and take in a sharp breath after getting winded from the sudden blow. Your hand finally falls from the door knob and you both stand there in silence. The only noise is the grandfather clock that stands tall on the far end of his office, if it wasn’t for the loud ticking, everything would feel frozen. Something about the silence on your part is agonizing, you want to respond, but your voice is caught in your throat, swallowed dryly as you try to wet the dry patches stinging the lining of your esophagus.

Funny how your eyes feel too wet while your throat is too dry. 

You try to take a few breaths to calm yourself down enough to speak but you can feel the impatience radiating off of Chuuya and it just makes you even more anxious. It almost physically pains you but you take a step away from the ginger and stride across the room to an open window. Fresh air, something you always appreciated about Chuuya is that he prefers open windows and fresh air to fans or air conditioning if he can help it. The executive doesn’t follow, he hasn’t even moved from his spot. His head is still drooped down from where it was resting on your shoulder and suddenly your mouth and throat flood with saliva. That familiar feeling of nausea hitting you like a freight train once again.

You clear your throat to speak but realize -- how the hell do you respond to that? Are you really upset with Chuuya? Yes. Are you upset with yourself for letting things go this far? Also yes. So, as much as you want to blame all of this on the gravity manipulator, you can’t. 

Your shoulders slump and your gaze stays glued to the twinkling city lights in the skyline as you finally speak. “You always chose work. Always.”

Chuuya looks up at that. Your words seemingly hit a nerve as irritation flashes across his face before he can contain it. You bristle at that, preparing for an argument. You’re exhausted and don’t want to argue but you will if you have to because although you know you’re at fault too, you’re not going to just let this asshole get away with his part in all of this.

Luckily, the ginger simmers down easily and slumps again, showing you how truly exhausted he is. “That’s not entirely true, I chose you…Sometimes….”

“You think I should be grateful for that? You only chose me instead of work ‘sometimes’ to make yourself feel better about stringing me along.” You’re not looking at him when you speak, too interested with the view, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.  “Or to get your mind off of work. I was just an escape to you. Nothing more.” 

This time you don’t have to look back at him to feel the frustration radiating off of him in a similar way gravity manipulation does when he activates it. It’s hot, his frustration, you imagine if you reached out there was a chance you’d get burned. It’s rare to witness Chuuya losing his cool like this, the only other person besides yourself that could get him riled up like this long gone from the organization. Thinking about him makes you even more bitter so you take another stab at Chuuya.

“You certainly put on a convincing act, though. So congrats for that I guess.”

Snap. 

You imagine that’s the sound that would’ve been made when Chuuya’s patience finally breaks. His steps are heavy and you almost think he’s activated his ability. You almost forget how fast he is because you barely have time to turn around before he’s got a firm grip on your face. His hold is unrelenting as he forces you to look at him. 

Chuuya looks like a wreck, so many emotions written all over his face but most of all he’s hurt by your words. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be lashing out at him like this but a part of you is pleased that he looks just as devastated as you feel. This is not your proudest moment by far and you’re sure you’ll feel ashamed over it later. Right now, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty in the slightest. You said what you said and you're going to say it with your whole chest.

A shaky breath is let out by the executive standing before you. “That’s unfair. You’re being unfair.”

There’s no way this man is accusing you of being the unfair one here.

“You were unfair to me first. I’m tired. Be straight with me or just leave me alone, Chuuya.” Any fight you had in you moments ago vanishes as you finally give up.

Chuuya’s reaction shows you that he sees it, the way you’re letting him hold all the cards in this, making this his decision, the final one when it comes to this situationship. You’re done, you’re tired and now you just want this shitty night to be over with. If you had a white piece of fabric on you, you’d wave it like a flag, surrendering completely. 

He’s not good with his words, Chuuya has never been as articulate as some of the others, but he is good with actions. His actions have always spoken volumes for him, so why wouldn’t that work for him now? The executive pulls you in and crashes his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to convey to you what he couldn’t speak.

You’re a little slow on the uptake as your brow furrows and you attempt to pull away. You look at him incredulously but the expression he’s making has you halting altogether. His eyes are screwed shut and his brows furrowed in concentration and maybe a little bit in fear by the way you can feel his lips and hands slightly trembling against your face. It clicks then.

Chuuya Nakahara is finally choosing you over his work. 

This was him telling you in his own way that he’s not letting you give up like you wanted to. And if you can claim to know anything about Chuuya, it’s that he always makes good on a promise. That’s what has you melting into his hold and returning his kiss with just as much fervor. 

You both stay like that for a long while and you feel like Chuuya is trying to devour you whole in this one single kiss. As if he’s scared that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip from his grasp forever, but that would be impossible with the way he’s holding onto you for dear life. Even if you wanted to, which in this moment you didn’t, you couldn’t escape him. But you do need to pull away for air though. You shift your face the best you can away from his and even though he tries to chase your lips, you manage to separate from him.

You instantly bring your hands up to his wrist and nuzzle your face into his hands, showing him you still have no plans of going anywhere. The tension in his body dissipates and he watches you closely, patiently waiting for your response. As if you kissing him back wasn’t enough. 

“You piss me off, y’know that?” Chuuya lets out a chuckle at your statement and leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes bore into yours and there’s something there that you’ve never seen before, a sort of adoration you think he’s been holding back for a long time now. “Yeah, I have a confession to make that might piss you off even more…”

You stiffen in anticipation for the worst, staring up at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. What was it now? You wrack your brain thinking about what he could possibly still be holding back. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him and now you do. So what else would he be hiding from you?

“It’s, uhh…Well it has to do with your date tonight, and maybe all of the other first dates that stood you up…” The look on your face must tell him that you’re picking up on where this is going and his grip on you tightens once again. “It was fucked up of me, I know. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you…I’ll take you out on two dates for each first date I ruined.”

Oh. 

You can’t even really find it in yourself to be that upset. It clears up a lot of inconsistencies for you. You have full confidence in your personality and looks, so it wasn’t adding up why you were being stood up so much. Even with you being a part of the upper echelon of the Port Mafia, that’s not public information. So, intimidation was ruled out too. You are becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of it all.

Maybe you should find it in yourself to be more upset about this…

Your expression displays just how unconvinced you are by his words, Chuuya can clearly see it and sense it so he tacks on some extra sweet talking to sooth your overthinking. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for anyways.”

Your previous statement of Chuuya not being very good with his words is a lie. You were lying. The simple statement is enough to have you melting into him again. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe you’re just that down bad for him. Or maybe it’s all of the above. Who knows (you do).

Either way you find yourself giving in again for hopefully the last time tonight, but not before you decide to add a condition for your own benefit. “...Fine. But any trip or out of town get away counts as only one date.”

“Don’tcha think you’re getting greedy now, Doll?” Chuuya lets out another chuckle, shaking his head a little.

You shrug with a soft grin on your lips. “No, you owe me. Plus, it’s like you said, got a lot of time to make up for.”

[astonmartingf]

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability. 

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty. 

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions. 

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth. 

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends. 

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?” 

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.” 

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?” 

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy. 

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

[witchezandwonderz]

The Crown’s Rebellion

Pairing: Jacaerys x Reader

Summary: Prince Jacaerys is forced into a marriage he does not want, bound by his family's schemes. But as they come to know each other, they forge a bond that defies expectations.

Word Count: 1908

A/N: In this story, Jacaerys is 18+, I am unsure of his age on the show as of last but I do not feel comfortable writing for a character under 18. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed:)

“You have done what, exactly?” Jacaerys breathed, one hand gripping the stone table in front of him and the other rubbing his temple in attempt to prevent the headache that he knew would arrive momentarily. His mother, Rhaenyra scrunched her mouth up and sighed, showing signs of both empathy and sympathy towards her son before stating “it must be done, Jace”. Her words seemed to hold the tone that she was trying to convince herself, rather than him.

Jacaerys did not want to marry, nor had he met a suitable, loving lady in which he wanted to dedicate his life towards. His mother did not offer much detail about the future Queen, however, the information that she did divulge to him was anything but telling. He were to marry ‘a fine lady, from house Massey of Stonedance’ which were his mothers exact words. Jacaerys knew that an arranged marriage would always come at the most random of times, but did not realise quite how little he would have to say in the matter.

“I must be honest with you my son, although the Masseys have in fact pledged their loyalty to me” Rhaenyra paused for a brief moment in order to sip her wine and then continued her words “I am unsure of the truthfulness behind it” Jacaerys blinked at his mother response, unsure of what to say or think. He knew what he wanted to say, but considered the fact that the woman in front of him was not only his mother but the Queen, and that meant that he had to keep his words respectful. Jacaerys used both hands to push strands from his dark hair from his eyes before responding, “mother, are you insinuating that I am to marry, simply to acquire information about your allies?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he spoke. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side, contemplating the question before briefly nodding “I am afraid that this is exactly what I mean”. This led Jacaerys to feel a multitude of emotions, the main one being betrayal; his mother has always acted with pure love and kindness towards him, and he never would have thought that she would promise him to a complete stranger as though it he had meant nothing. But, he thought, she had changed significantly in recent years.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the house of Massey had the exact same plan. On one icy, somewhat drab morning, Y/N was approached by her father and had a very similar conversation to the one in which Jacaerys had with his mother. Y/N knew the way in which her family were viewed- loyal in the moment and then as soon as there is a change of power, more often than not, so does the Massey’s loyalty. Y/N did not act like this however, she was genuine and kind. She secretly always thought that the only reason her family were branded with such views is due to her father and her father only.

Y/N and Jacaerys did differ, despite the way that they were told being very similar, Y/N felt happy. She had been longing to leave Stonedance and explore what is beyond- she had always been constrained to the walls of her chambers. Despite this, a sadness lingered within her as she remembered that leaving this place, meant having to marry. Y/N had loved before, but the seeming love did not mean much to her father and when he discovered that she had a secret relationship with a ‘commoner’, he sent her love away.

Perhaps it was not love, she thought. I should have been the one to decide that.

The night prior to the wedding, and in turn their first meeting, felt like it lasted a lifetime to Jacaerys for he wanted to meet his wife, and the lack of information given about her sparked the curiosity within him. He sat at dinner playing with his food like a child, as he could not bring himself to eat. Not one person on the table had spoken in, well, the entirety of the dinner. Normally, Jacaerys would not be able to speak before being interrupted by his mother’s husband, and uncle Daemon with one of his peculiar remarks. Unfortunately, Daemon has been gone for a while, with no one sure as to whether he was even part of this ‘family’ anymore.

All individuals who attended left gradually, leaving just Jacaerys and his mother alone. He watched as she swirled her wine around in her cup, a blank expression upon her face. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and asked “can you at least tell me her name”, coming across more like a statement or demand. Rhaenyra replied in a quiet voice, “Y/N”.

They both sat in silence for a moment longer while Jacaerys nodded his head, Rhaenyra proceeded to briefly explain that he had met Y/N before, when they were much younger at an apparently very awkward dinner. Jacaerys tried his best to recall meeting her, but he could not.

The task of having to get married, and only meeting your betrothed the moment that you must marry them proved to be quite difficult for the pair. Both for different reasons, of course. Jacaerys was petrified due to a multitude of reasons but Y/N was scared because not only did she have to impress him, but she had to also ensure that all of those who attended the ceremony took a liking to her, as they all had loyalties to him, but had no idea of who she was.

The moment he lay his eyes on her, he thought she may have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The moment she laid her eyes on him, she thought he may have been the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Hours later, the two had still not spoken as they were preoccupied in conversation with various other people. In addition, neither had yet found the courage to engage with the other. One of them would have to make the first approach, and neither party wanted to, as they were too nervous to do so. Eventually, Y/N found the courage to approach her new husband, shyly walked up to him and touched his shoulder gently, causing him to turn around. She thought he had kind eyes, but the expression upon his face contradicted them as he looked most displeased, which consequently displeased Y/N. Both looked at each other for a moment, before Jacaerys said “hello”. Y/N laughed, as she thought it was a pathetically funny attempt of an interaction. Jacaerys seemed to not find this amusing, but secretly did.

“Hello” Y/N smiled before continuing, “I thought that if I did not talk with you now, we may grow old never interacting” she jested. Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small smile, “I in fact should have approached you first, my apologies”. Both of them awkwardly nodded towards each other before Y/N boldly asked “when did you become aware of our marriage?”. Jacaerys told Y/N the story of being told, emphasising much about the recentness of it while not discussing other aspects of the conversation. Y/N mimicked this, also telling him about her conversation with her father. Y/N surprised Jacaerys with her genuineness as she admitted to him that she could not wait to leave her home land. He found himself becoming more fond of her as she spoke, he watched her face closely, analysing her features. The two spent a while getting to know one another, as best as they could while being surrounded by many others.

The time to resign arrived, and although they had been conversing the entire journey towards their chambers, they felt slightly uncomfortable with each other when arriving, as they had not yet been alone and shared the same feeling of nervousness.

Nothing happened between them that night, despite Jacaerys placing his hand on Y/N’s for a short while, the pair still did not know each other well to begin getting too close. It is fair to say that neither of the two accumulate many social skills, and in turn, romantic skills are also lacked.

The first week of their marriage was filled with many enjoyable conversations, they were getting along very well and both felt as though they could begin to become more vulnerable. On one evening, the two were sat within their chambers, sitting close to one another as Jacaerys focused upon Y/N face as she explained her distaste towards her father which included the reasonings as to why. She felt quite emotional, as she had never until that moment divulged such information to anyone other than her own thoughts. Jacaerys did not like to see her become upset, and so he leant forward and gently held her face with one hand, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. When she had finished speaking, he took the opportunity to plant his lips upon hers and they shared a sweet kiss. Y/N repositioned herself, closing the gap between them, nuzzling herself in him while letting out a happy hum.

Jacaerys kissed Y/N upon her head and said “I was terrified to meet you”. In response, Y/N lifted her head and moved upwards so that she was looking at him before agreeing “me too”. He laughed, causing her to also laugh as she continued, “I remember briefly meeting you as a child, but not much. I was worried that you would be different to how you are” she admitted. It felt strange to Jacaerys that a week prior, he had been dreading the marriage, whereas now he was becoming not only extremely fond of his wife, but eager to know what the future held for them both. The soothing sound of Y/N's voice interrupted his thought process, "I must admit something to you, but you must swear on the gods that you will not repeat it" she spoke, her voice becoming slightly sterner towards the end of the sentence. Jacaerys nodded, "yes, I swear". Y/N proceeded to explain that her father had instructed her to acquire information, which in turn, led to Jacaerys to divulge what he had also kept from her. Y/N was not surprised nor was she angry that her husbands mother did not trust her, as she knew the personality of her father better than anyone. The two mused at how similar they were.

Despite being content about his new marriage, the way in which his mother conducted this entire ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to get revenge, nothing awful, of course. He just wanted to get under her skin, slightly.

That night, they gathered with their close family and friends and ensured that they kissed and hugged as obnoxiously and exaggerated as they possibly could. Jacaerys knew it was highly inappropriate to act in such a manner, but he did not care. Not only did he want to ruffle his mothers feathers, he also very much enjoyed having his wife by his side, so close to him.

Rhaenyra looked on, disgusted but thankful and grateful that her beloved son had taking a liking to Y/N, but cursed as she realised it meant that no new information would be sought.

Jacaerys, once again, grabbed Y/N and crashed his lips onto hers, which left her with butterflies swirling around in her stomach. He pulled away and grabbed her face with both hands, gently pecking her forehead and smirked as he said,

"I will absolutely get used to this, my love".

[aventurineswife]

Could I request Welt, Aventurine, Argenti, and Dan Heng learning that their lover made loads of beautiful artwork (paintings, sketches, etc.) of the boys?

“Draw me like one of your French girls”

Summary: Your partner discovers personalized artwork created by you that highlights their unique qualities and emotions. As they react to the paintings, feelings of admiration and affection are exchanged, revealing the beauty and complexity of their personalities.

Tags: Welt x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Artist!Reader, Romance, Emotional Connection, Art as an expression, Self-discovery, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Possible Fluff, Emotional Themes.

A/N: OMFG ITS GRANDPA WELT!! 😍❤️

Welt Yang

Welt returned to his quarters aboard the Astral Express, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. As he entered, he caught a glimpse of something vibrant against the muted colors of the room. His heart skipped a beat. Scattered across the table were a series of paintings and sketches, each depicting him in various poses, some in deep contemplation and others caught in laughter.

You, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiled sheepishly. “I thought you might like to see how I see you.” you said, glancing at the artwork with a mixture of pride and nervousness.

Welt picked up a sketch of himself wielding his cane, a confident grin on his face, his eyes twinkling with humor. “You’ve captured me beautifully,” he remarked, his voice warm with admiration. “I had no idea I could look this… heroic.”

“Heroic?” you teased, nudging him gently. “You’re more than that. You’re wise, caring, and you always know how to lighten the mood.”

Welt chuckled, his heart swelling with affection. “Well, you certainly know how to brighten my day. This is remarkable.” He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both admired the artwork together, the bond between you deepening with every stroke of the brush.

Argenti

Argenti stood in the center of the makeshift gallery you had created in the heart of your home. A series of paintings and sketches adorned the walls, each one capturing a different facet of him—his unwavering resolve, his moments of vulnerability, and even the times he lost himself in the music of his lute, his voice echoing like a gentle breeze.

He reached out to touch a painting that depicted him gazing into the distance, the golden light of dawn illuminating his features, a rose cradled lovingly in his hands. “You’ve seen so much of me,” he murmured, turning to you with wide, appreciative eyes. “This is truly breathtaking.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest. “I sought to reveal your nobility, to show the world how beautiful you are, both in spirit and heart. Your dedication to beauty inspires me, Argenti.”

A noble light shone in his emerald eyes, and a soft blush crept onto his cheeks. “I am honored by your words,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “Yet, it is you who helps me see the beauty that lies within myself.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, stepping closer to him, “but your heart shines brightest, even in the darkest of times. You are a beacon of hope and resilience.”

He smiled, his expression gentle yet filled with determination. “Then let us stand together, side by side, as champions of beauty and honor.” he declared, his voice resonating with conviction. You both admired the artwork, where every stroke and shade told a story of valor and grace—a shared journey of healing and hope, bound by an unbreakable bond that reflected the essence of true knighthood.

Aventurine

Aventurine entered the luxurious apartment he shared with you, his mind racing with the day’s strategies and negotiations. But as he stepped inside, a glimmer of color caught his eye. There, on the walls, were a series of paintings—each one more stunning than the last—depicting him in various poses, from suave and sophisticated to playful and carefree.

“Wow, you’ve been busy.” he said, his voice laced with surprise and delight. His eyes sparkled as he approached a painting of himself lounging with a deck of cards, a devilish grin plastered across his face.

You peeked from behind a canvas, blush creeping across your cheeks. “I wanted to capture every side of you,” you confessed, glancing at the artwork with a mixture of shyness and pride.

“Every side?” Aventurine smirked, leaning against the wall with a playful tilt of his head. “I hope you included my best side—the one where I’m winning at cards.”

You laughed, the sound brightening the room. “You mean the side where you’re charming everyone out of their money?”

“Precisely,” he said, stepping closer to you, the air thick with unspoken affection. “But honestly, this is incredible. You’ve turned my life into art. Thank you.”

As you stood together, the colorful canvases framed your world, a testament to the love you shared—where every brushstroke spoke of adventure, risk, and undeniable charm.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng sat quietly in his corner of the Astral Express, a book in his hands, when you burst in, barely able to contain your excitement. “I have something to show you!” you exclaimed, breathless.

Curiosity piqued, he set the book aside and followed you to a small alcove where a collection of drawings rested on an easel. Each piece showcased him—his focused gaze while on duty, the serene moments of solitude he cherished, and even a candid sketch of him smiling at a passing bird.

“Did you… make these?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

“I did,” you said, your eyes sparkling. “I wanted to capture the parts of you that you don’t often show. You’re so much more than the stoic guardian everyone sees.”

Dan Heng felt a rare flush of warmth on his cheeks. “You see me,” he said, the words heavy with unguarded emotion. “I don’t often share these parts of myself.

“Maybe it’s time you do,” you encouraged gently, reaching for his hand. “You deserve to be seen.”

In that moment, surrounded by the delicate art that illustrated the depth of his character, Dan Heng felt a sense of acceptance wash over him. With you by his side, he knew that perhaps he could learn to embrace the person he was—past and all—starting with the love reflected in your eyes.

[ladylooch]

Messing Up a Good Thing - Jeremy Swayman

Summary: Jeremy and his best friend have been in love with each other since college. With a new, secure future on the horizon, suddenly taking this new leap seems as inevitable as them.

Word Count: 4.5k

Main Trope: best friends to lovers

If there is anything I’ve learned about life in the 26 years, I’ve been on this Earth it’s that life really is all about timing. 

Both the right time and the wrong one. 

Since I met Jeremy Swayman, we’ve always seemed to fall into the latter category. 

Jeremy and I met at the University of Maine our freshman year in college. I was the quiet, reserved wallflower and he was the athlete running into our literary class at the last possible second. He sat down next to me and immediately asked to borrow a pen and piece of paper. I took one look at his Maine hockey jacket and resisted an eye roll.

Another athlete skating his way through a college degree on his way to the NHL.

But the next class, Jeremy brought in my “borrowed” pen and a piece of fresh, notebook paper.

“I know you have college ruled notebooks, but I only have wide so… let me know if you want two pieces.” He said as he tossed his own notebook onto his part of the table. I stared down at the two, torn sheets of notebook paper, unsure what to do with them or him as he pulled out the chair to sit next to me again. The room was still mostly empty.

“Um, there’s more spots open. You don’t have to sit here.” I point out to him.

His hazel eyes had stayed on me for a beat too long and then he shrugged. 

“Why mess up a good thing?”

Our “good thing” extended out into being partners for any small group discussions or projects. Jeremy would have the most ridiculous takes on the dystopian novels we suffered through that had me belly laughing so hard I was crying. Then when the professor would call on him, he would present this wildly accurate portrayal of literary themes. He would get kudos and I was left breathlessly in awe of how funny, smart, and talented he was. 

I don’t think I really need to say this, but yeah, I fell in love with him quickly. 

Through college, we never even got close to dating. I pined after him agonizingly for the first year we were friends, but he did what college athletes do and built up a decent roster of prettier girls than me. Rather than compete with that, I took my place by his side as the friend. It’s a place I’m more comfortable in anyway. Jeremy had a girlfriend or two throughout college. I had a few boyfriends, but between the two of us, nothing really stuck.

After his junior year, Jeremy turned pro. The distance sucked but we made it work. Whenever I could, I dragged myself up and down the East Coast. But more than that, we FaceTimed every single day that we were apart. We still do now, even though we live in the same city again. As I was wrapping up college in Maine, my entire job search focused on Boston. I ended up getting a job at a local engineering firm in an entry level position right as I graduated. Jeremy came to cheer me on and gifted me the most gorgeous Louis Vuitton brief case as a token to my hard work.

Although it’s never been spoken between us, I’m smart enough to know that we’ve both had more than friend feelings for each other over the years. It’s just never been the right time. One of us was in a relationship. Or Jeremy was too busy. Or he was going to turn pro. Or I was contemplating a move oversees to London with my company. 

The timing has never fit. As I go through another swing of being hopelessly in love with him, his contract situation is the latest road block. What if it doesn’t work out between him and the Bruins? Am I going to uproot my life for someone who isn’t even mine? I hope it doesn’t come to that, but the longer this drags out, the less it feels like Jeremy really has control in this situation.

I rub at my eyebrow as I work through editing an important, department wide email about a new process change. I pick at a few stray eyebrow hairs above my eye lid, trying to ignore the consistent thump of a tennis ball against the wall. 

Thump. 

The ball pops off the neutral paint to my left and my dog, Grizz, rushes after it. He snaps his teeth a second too late then runs back across the room to try to catch it before it hits Jeremy’s hands.

Thump.

Grizz’s paws scratch against the floor. 

Thump. 

“Jer?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not?” I ask without removing my eyes from the screen.

“Is this bothering you?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

“Does it make it hard to work?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

“If I keep going will it mean we get lunch sooner?”

“You really need to go back to being employed.” I mutter to him.

“Hey! I’m trying here… they’re being obstinate.” He huffs.

“You’re trying?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow and looking over at him.

Thump.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve picked up the phone and talked to them?”

“No.. Lewis said I shouldn’t.” He speaks of his agent that I worry is playing more hardball for his own interest and less for Jeremy’s.

“I think you should.”

“Are you saying that so I stop throwing the ball?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

I grab a stress ball from my desk and whirl it at him. He catches it as effortlessly as he catches 99 mph slap shots. 

“Get out.” I point towards the front door to my apartment.

“No! I can’t be alone!” He wails dramatically, falling to the rug. Grizz bolts over to him and begins lapping at his face aggressively. His tail whips and flails at Jeremy’s bent legs. “Ow! That thing is a weapon!”

With the ball discarded away, I am able to go back to editing my draft communication memo. In a few clicks, I send it off to my manager to review, then lock my computer screen.

“Lunch?”

“Yes. See what happens when you let me work? I get done faster.”

“I’ve learned nothing from this.” Jeremy says from the floor where Grizz is still licking his face.

“You know he licks his butt right?”

“Dogs mouths are cleaner than humans.” Jeremy insists.

“I know what that dog eats. There is no way.” I shake my head, then head over to the door to grab Grizz’s leash. He’s a great patio dog and will be happy to come with us to a dog friendly spot down the block. “Let’s go. I have to be back by 1 for a team meeting and you’ll have to decide if you can be quiet enough to stay or if you’ll need to go back to your place.

“Booooo.” He wails. I throw him a look to silence his complaining. “I’ll take a nap with Grizz in your bed.” 

My stomach flip flops at the thought of Jeremy in my bed. He’s been there plenty of times, both with me and without. The thought of sliding into those sheets again tonight and inhaling his lingering scent has a low buzz forming in my body.

“We need to get this contract done.” I mutter. As much as I love having Jeremy around more, he has been incredibly distracting the last week. It’s been hard for me to avoid my feelings with his constant presence. He’s been paying for all my meals, ordering groceries for us, taking Grizz out for walks, and doing odds and ends tasks around my apartment. It’s like we are a couple. Except we’re not.

Nothing reminded me of that faster than when he was showing me different hydroponic herb gardens and his Raya notifications kept blowing up from some girl named Ava. That’s such a hot girl name. Ava. Ugh.

With Grizz leading the way, Jeremy and I head down to a lunch spot with good soups, salads, and sandwiches. It is a hidden, unknown spot in a quiet part of the city so our chances of being bombarded by fans is slim. I head up to the counter to order for us and Jeremy sits with Grizz on the patio. Grizz loves all things patios, sunshine, and Jeremy, so his happy, signature smile takes over his whole face as he lazily lays sunning himself on the concrete. The man holding his leash looks equally as adorable with his black sunglasses, tightly trimmed beard and dark hair. 

From beneath those dark lenses, I can feel hazel eyes on me. They watch my approach in a way that has my palms starting to sweat. Moments like this, I wonder if we could ever be more. What it might be like to sit across from him as more than just friends. But then the worst case scenario smack me out of fantasy land. 

I’d rather have Jeremy as a friend than lose him to circumstances or realities of how difficult relationships are for professional athletes.

“Did you get my son his bowl?” Jeremy asks.

“Your son?” I snort.

“He’s practically mine too.” 

“Yet you’re never around when he’s suddenly barfing at 2:00am after giving him too many table scraps.”

“Alright. Fair. I’ll sleep over every night I’m in town so we can co-parent this dog.”

“I doubt Ava would like that.” I purse my lips the second the words are out of my mouth. Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

“Ava?” He asks, shaking his head slightly. “Who is that?” 

“Seriously, Jer?” I whine back slightly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what? Who is Ava?” He holds a confused hand up, palm lifted to the sky.

“The girl who was blowing up your Raya inbox the other day.” 

“Oh.” He shrugs as a staff member comes to bring our meals to us, Grizz included. He starts scarfing it down quickly. “I’m off Raya again as of yesterday. Guess I don’t remember that one.” 

“He’s off Raya again, folks.” I make a joking type announcement to the patio. 

“It doesn’t seem to have what I want.” Jeremy says with a shrug after a bite of his turkey sandwich.

“You’re picky.” I point out to him.

“Okay, what’s your excuse?” He asks as he chomps on a chip.

“I’m career driven.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and he laughs.

“You try to quit every other week.”

“I could too if Grizz’s food wasn’t so expensive.” Never mind the rent in Boston.

“Ah. Blame the perfect dog. Mama is so mean to you.” Jeremy scratches between Grizz’s ears. “Dad would never.” He whispers to Grizz who licks his chops after demolishing his bowl. 

“You’re weird.”

“We have a connection. Also you only have this dog because of me. So I feel like I get to claim half of him.” It’s true. My first winter in Boston, I struggled. Jeremy helped by encouraging me to look at dogs for companionship. It helped for the lonely nights and to make friends at dog meet ups, pet stores, and neighbors in my apartment building. 

“I guess I should be asking for puppy support then? Mr. Millionaire."

“Send me a bill.” He chuckles around another chip. One hand stays between Grizz’s ears, scratching at him there until he sighs heavily, leaning into Jeremy’s leg. 

Jeremy is the only guy Grizz has really shown interest in my life. Of the few dates I’ve had here or there in Boston that have made it to meeting Grizz, he hasn’t liked a single one. Jeremy is a little too smug about that fact. It adds to his puppy daddy complex.

We continue to banter easily to each other as we finish lunch. Jeremy grabs a refill of his Arnie Palmer then we walk home to my place so I can get back to work. The rest of the afternoon, Grizz and Jeremy disappear into my room. I have to wake Jeremy up at 3pm because his phone has been buzzing non-stop on the kitchen counter where it had been charging. He groggily comes out, hair mused, eyes soft from sleep. 

“Oh! Damn!” He mutters, rubbing at his face as he clicks on his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Sorry I was- yeah?” He stops, listening. Slowly, a huge grin breaks out onto his face. He starts silently fist pumping, giving me a thumbs up and a smile that makes me melt in my spot. 

I love when he’s happy. I love when he’s this happy because I know what’s going to happen next.

After he clicks off the phone, he starts to laugh and cheer excitedly.

“Staying in Boston, baby!” He exclaims, crossing the kitchen to me. I throw my arms around his shoulders and he picks me up. His hands go to the back of my thighs to support my weight. Grizz barks and yelps excitedly, pawing at Jeremy’s thighs. “8 more years here!” He fills me in.

“Wow!” I exclaim with a bubbly laugh. “Wow, Jer… Congratulations.” I rest my cheek on his shoulder as he slows us down to sway together instead of of spin. “I’m so proud of you.” He stops his movements completely, causing me to pull away. We both realize how close our faces are. Yet we don’t move. Our lips hover mere centimeters apart. His part slightly. Our eyes search each other. I blink, looking away first. He clears his throat, releasing my thighs so my feet touch the floor again. 

“I loved fun-employment with you.” Jeremy says as I avoid his eyes by petting at Grizz to calm him down. He still pants happily, jazzed by our excitement.

“I can’t say the same.” I tease for a moment. Then shake my head. “I loved it too. Now, back to reality.” We look at each other. 

I mean it in a few more ways than hockey. Back to the reality of pining for each other and never doing anything about it. Back to sharing him with the world. Back to missing him when he’s all over North America. 

Back to business as usual. 

+ + +

I haven’t seen Jeremy in a few days now. He went right from my place to his place so he could take care of what needed to be done. The next day he was back at the Bruins offices, making social media videos, chatting with the media, and putting ink to paper to solidify the next four years of his life.

He texted, telling me we will celebrate soon. 

I’ve worked, walked Grizz, and tried to push aside this weird, grey sadness that has filled me since. I’m happy about this. I’m happy for him. But something is still missing. His life is molding firmer into all his dreams coming true and I feel like I’m lagging behind… being left behind is maybe a better way of saying it. 

Tonight, Jeremy played in his first game back in Boston. He asked if I wanted tickets - I guess they’re in high demand with the rest of his friends too. He wanted to make sure I could be there if I wanted to be. I said yes. 

He won, but admittedly looked a smidge off on his timing. A few snuck through that he normally would have had easily. It made me nervous sitting in TD Garden, wondering what Boston fans were thinking. Were they blaming him? Were we all moving forward? 

If so, why did it feel like my feet were stuck in cement.

After the game, I waited for him. He had a bunch of other people wanting to chat with him and congratulate him. They were all going out after the game with some of his teammates. I watched from the sidelines, soaking it all in. The way he makes sure everyone feels included. How he makes sure to ask every person something about their life and what they are up to. When he gets to me, he hugs me and exhales heavily. I can feel him relax in my arms. He holds on a few moments too long- we both do- then he pulls away, rubbing my back.

“Are you coming out with us?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I figured. Work.” He murmurs, understanding completely. I’m always tired on Friday from the work week. I’m a much better version of myself on Saturday mornings. 

“Thank you for the invite though. I’ll see you…?” I trail off because I’m not sure. He’s about to head on the road again.

“I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow?” He suggests.

“At noon?” I chuckle, knowing he’ll be out late and unavailable earlier.

“Fair.. I’ll bring you… something.” He chuckles.

“How about you call me when you’re up.”

“Better idea.” He confirms. “I’ll walk you to your car.” 

“No, I’m good!” I park in a special lot garage for families, so there is no need for concern of safety. I don’t even have to go outside. Jeremy frowns, glancing back at the group of his friends then he nods.

“Okay. Text me when you get home.”

“I always do.” I murmur, reminding him of our agreement, no matter where we are in the world to tell each other when we are safe. I toss a small wave to him, then a bigger one to the group who tries to get me to stay as I spit out excuse after excuse. But I do need to get back to Grizz. 

No one is more excited to see me than that fluff ball and he practically takes me out at the legs when I get home. We go outside so he can get his bathroom break and some sniffs in. Then it’s time for the couch and a mindless TV show. I pick Brooklyn 99 and despite the chuckles it pulls from me, I’m falling asleep before I know it. 

I’m not quite sure how long I’m sleeping, but it feels quick when a knock at my door is awakening me. I jolt, disoriented and confused at who it might be. I glance at my phone, blinking the sleep away. I see a few texts from Jeremy, heading to the door, assuming it’s him. 

I look out the peep hole and am confirmed with the sight of my best friend.

“Hey?” I say, opening up the door. I squint at the hallway light, hating how intrusive it is to my sleepy eyes. Jeremy stands on the other side in a jacket, black T, dark jeans and gray sneakers. In his left hand is a bottle of champagne.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His voice has a huskiness to it. I briefly wonder if he is drunk. My eyes float up to his but they’re clear and sober.

“Um, I fell asleep watching Brooklyn 99 on the couch.” I admit. “Long week.”

“I probably didn’t make it easier.” He murmurs, hazel eyes softening as he takes in my tired face. I shrug in response then move aside for him to enter the apartment. No he didn’t make it easier. But I wouldn’t have traded this week with him for anything. It was magic in the way time with him always is.

“Thought you were going out tonight?”

“I did.” He says, setting the bottle on the counter. He motions to it, asking if I want some. I nod. He leaves the chilled bottle there then goes to the cupboard my glasses are in. He pulls out two stemless wine glasses, then goes back to the bottle. “But turns out, you’re the only one I want to celebrate with tonight.” A small, meaningful smile tilts the corners of my lips up. 

“Mhm.” I murmur as Grizz comes over, tiredly nudging at Jeremy’s hand for some scratches. “You sure it’s not for him?”

“I’m sure. It’s you.” He says simply. 

My heart seems to pause for a beat in my chest then begins rapidly pounding. Jeremy works open the bottle of champagne. 

“Woo!” He cheers at the controlled pop. Then he is rushing through pouring out two glasses for us. “Cheers, cheers.” He murmurs, handing me one. We clink our glasses together and take sips together.

“How did it feel tonight?”

“Good. Thank you for being there. I don’t think I got to say that at the arena.”

“You’re welcome. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Yeah. You’ve always been there for the big stuff. It means so much to me. You know that?”

“I do.” I nod. “Not many people stick together through moves, new cities, new jobs… It’s like everything has changed over the years, but not us.”

“Yeah, not us.” Jeremy echos. “Why mess up a good thing?” He repeats like that second class we had so many years ago now. I nod slowly. That may have contributed to our friendship continuing over the years, but it’s also become my biggest excuse. Maybe his too. 

“Wanna sit?” He asks, flicking his fingers towards the couch. I follow him there, tossing the blanket I had around my shoulders to the side. I click at the TV, turning the volume down on the episodes that have kept rolling while I slept. 

“Do you want to watch something else?”

“No.” Jeremy says. He takes a sip of his champagne, then sets it off to the side. He grabs my cup, doing the same. I frown in confusion. “I got you something.” He informs me, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a black jewelry box, putting it between us on the couch. “As a thank you for putting up with my annoying ass all these years, but especially the last few weeks. This all would have been so much harder without you. Every time I was spiraling, or unsure, you talked me off the ledge. You’ve always believed in me and this feels… as much yours as it is mine.”

“I feel lucky I get to share all this with you.” I tell him honestly. My fingers touch the velvet box, then pop the top open as I pick it up. Hugged by the plush fabric is a necklace with his number. It’s gold with a sleek black filling- Bruins colors- and obviously expensive. 

This isn’t a gift you get a friend. I know this and as I raise my eyes to his, I know he does too. He slides closer to me on the couch. Our legs touch. He reaches for mine folding them into his lap to get us as close as possible.

“What are you doing?” My voice sounds foreign, laced with wonder and worry.

“I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He whispers. He hesitantly reaches for my face as I sit stuck to the couch. His fingers brush my jaw and I shiver. My eyes close briefly, trying to absorb the difference in his touch now. I can hear every hitch of his breath as he pulls in a deep breath. “Babe, I’m in love with you…” The last word trails off between us. 

I’m overwhelmed by the emotions that flow through me. Internally, I’m sprinting for joy. I’m throwing up from anxiety. I’m screaming like I just won the Stanley Cup. Then it all comes crashing to a halt as I realize this is it. He’s taking the leap. We’ll either come out of this together or lose everything. 

Despite that, I know what I need to say.

“I love you too.” My voice cracks a bit so I clear my throat. “I always have.”

“Like a friend?” He whispers back. He hangs on every sound coming from my mouth like I hold the key to his survival from this point on.

“No. So much more than that. But I’m afraid to ruin this.” I admit quietly as his thumb traces my mouth. He watches his appendage go around my lips, his slightly parting before his eyes raise to mine. His bright hazel orbs have a look of finality in them.

“I’m not.” 

Then his lips collect mine in a tentative kiss. That first touch of our lips rocks my world. It explodes planets. It shifts moons and stars across my galaxy until the center of the universe is Jeremy Swayman. His right hand comes up to cup my neck, then he rolls his tongue out of his mouth to taste more of me. 

“Yes.” He murmurs into my lips. “So good. So right.” He pulls me in tighter so I collapse onto his chest, then he lays back on the couch with me on top of him. My knees slide to the sides of his hips. I straddle him confidently and start to kiss him back in the ways I’ve been envisioning for years. His hands wander everywhere on my body. They don’t stay suck on my hips; he takes his purchase of me like he owns me now. 

Fuck, I want him to own me. 

My hips roll against his lap and his run down my back to my ass, taking a hearty squeeze.

“Shit.” He suddenly says as he pulls away. My heart leaps into my throat. “Too fast.” He says breathlessly. 

“How can that be too fast? We’ve been slow burning for seven years, Jer.” He chuckles, looking up at me above him. He reaches up to tuck my hair back behind my ear. His fingers collide with my cheek and he smoothes the tips of them down my face to my lips swollen from his.

“I want to be able to tell our kids in another seven years that I did this right.”

I still, eyes growing wide at the confidence he says those words with. I put a hand on the center of his chest, feeling his wild heartbeat beneath my palm. I swallow thickly, then slowly nod.

“For our babies.” I agree, then slide off his lap. 

He sits up next to me, chuckling as he does. Grizz sits over on his bed, watching us with curious eyes.

“Our first baby doesn’t seem surprised.” The nonchalantness of it all is so Jeremy. It’s so us, really.

“I don’t think anyone will be.” I answer as I tuck my feet under my thighs. Jeremy reaches for the necklace box that fell to the floor when we got carried away with our kiss.

“Probably not.” He finally answers my statement. “Turn, please. Wanna see me on you…” I hum in appreciation, holding my hair up so he can secure the clasp. The weight of the necklace can’t even hold me down as I float on cloud 9 from how right this feels - the resolution of his contract, the necklace, him.

Our dog lazily smiling at us across the room.

Jeremy wraps his hands around my stomach then pulls me back into his body so we are cuddling together. Our glasses of champagne sit forgotten on the coffee table. 

All we care about now is holding each other in this way for the first time.

Jeremey’s hand trails up to my face, cupping my chin to turn it so he can kiss me again. This one is softer, more patient, knowing we have time to explore all of this together. His fingers move from my chin to his number on me. He traces the single digit then quietly whispers. 

“Finally mine.” 

I smile, unwilling to pinch myself to know if this is all real or not.

“I’ve always been yours.” 

The way Jermey beams back at me is all the proof I need to know it is anyway. 

More hockey fics of mine are here for your enjoyment.

[ambernotember]

a stupid mistake

I am going to blame @alchemistc and specifically this post for this. oh, and angst week. also on ao3

Tommy woke up to an empty bed. Normal. He stretched his arms out and was surprised to discover residual warmth on the other pillow. He pushed himself up to look at the other side of the bed. Pillow — indented. Sheets — in disarray. Fuck. It hadn’t been a dream.

Tommy was five shots deep already, on top of the beers he’d started with. He’d barely been at the bar for two hours. He was in his forties, for christssakes, drinking like a college kid away from home for the first time. He’d come to the bar in hopes of a distraction, maybe see some of his trivia buddies, but not wanting to appear so desperate for company that he’d actually texted anyone to see if they were planning to be there. He’d sat down at the bar to have a beer or two, chitchat with the bartenders he knew, spend a few hours out of the house. He’d nursed a beer for the first forty five minutes, and then they’d walked in.

Evan. And Ravi. They’d met a few times while Tommy had been dating Evan.

And now they were here, together. Evan, his arm around Ravi’s shoulders when they’d walked in. Evan, buying their drinks. Evan, leaning in close across the table to talk to Ravi, eyes glimmering, a smile on his face.

Tommy couldn’t get to the door without heading in their direction — neither of them had noticed him, seated in the back corner on the other side of the bar, the shelves of glasses and liquor bottles in the middle of the u-shaped bar hiding him from their view.

So. Another beer. And another. And another. God, couldn’t Evan just get up and go to the bathroom or something? Ravi was facing the wrong way to notice him, Tommy was sure he could sneak by.

So. Shots.

Lee, his favourite bartender, gave him a look when he ordered shots four and five.

“You didn’t drive here, did you? Do I need to confiscate your keys?”

Tommy shook his head. “Ubered. Worked too many wrecks to ever consider it.”

Lee poured him the shots. “Can I ask what brought on the heavy drinking?”

Tommy laughed humourlessly. “My ex is here. With someone else.”

“Yikes,” Lee hissed through their teeth. Lee poured him a sixth shot, then poured themself one and clinked glasses with Tommy. This was why Lee was his favourite. Understanding, and only judgmental about drunk driving. They drank their shots together. “Why aren’t you just leaving then? Not that the till minds your contribution.”

“Can’t get to the door without passing them.”

“Well shit,” Lee said, scooping up Tommy’s empties and depositing them in the sink. “Want me to get them thrown out?”

Tommy chuckled, small but genuine. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Lee said, heading down the bar to take care of another customer. Tommy sipped his next shot, knowing it was just delaying the inevitable.

He finished shot five — six, technically, after the one Lee had shared with him — and was contemplating going back to beer. Nicer to his wallet, possibly his liver, but the rest of his body was definitely fucked for tomorrow.

“I thought that was you,” a familiar voice said next to him. He startled, and turned a little too fast to see Ravi leaning against the bar. “Buck and I have a table, you should come join us.”

Tommy had never wished so hard for a freak meteor to fall from outer space and kill him.

“Uh,” he said eloquently.

Lee swooped in. Yes, they’d save him.

“Are you the ex?” Lee asked, eyes narrowed. “Tommy said I couldn't throw you out but if you’re bothering him I will.”

Not a save. Just more embarrassment.

“The ex?” Ravi looked confused. “No, not the ex.”

“You’re not Evan?” Lee asked to clarify.

“No, I’m Ravi — wait, you and Buck broke up?”

Oh. That hurt more than expected.

“Yeah, after Halloween.” Tommy said gruffly.

Ravi’s eyebrows rose. “Wow, switch shifts and it’s like they forget you exist. I just got back on A shift,” he explained, seeing Tommy’s look. “I’ve been floating B and C since — well. Just after Bobby.”

Tommy nodded. Ravi hadn’t had to deal with Gerrard then. At least one of them had escaped unscathed.

“Well, that makes my invitation a little more awkward but… I really think you should join us.”

Lee placed a cup of water in front of Tommy. “I’m closing your tab,” they informed him kindly.

“I thought you liked me,” Tommy complained, drinking the water anyways.

“Look, Buck has seemed mopey all shift and I thought it was because of everything happening with Maddie and Eddie and Bobby but,” Ravi shook his head, “I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on now.”

Tommy tried to parse that, only to realize he hadn’t heard anything about the 118 in a while, and had absolutely no idea what Ravi was talking about. Lee refilled his water, which apparently he’d finished at some point. He pulled out his wallet, tapped his card to pay for his drink, and pulled two twenties out for Lee. He paused, and pulled out a third one. He wasn’t convinced the night wouldn’t end with either him or Evan or both of them getting thrown out of the bar. Might as well make someone’s night better.

Ravi ordered two of the beers on tap, as well as four shots. “What?” He asked when Tommy looked at him. “I’m ninety five percent sure it’s the best way to get him to talk and a hundred percent sure I’ll need it to deal with the two of you.”

Lee laughed as they took Ravi’s money.

“I’ll bring the drinks over, you two go sit,” Lee said.

“Traitor,” Tommy hissed as he followed Ravi away from the bar. Lee’s laugh followed him to the table where Evan and Ravi had been set up. Ravi slid into his previous seat, across from Evan, and Tommy hesitated briefly before taking the seat next to Ravi. There was no way he was going to sit next to Evan.

“What took so long?” Evan asked Ravi, before his eyes caught on Tommy. His eyes widened, mouth open with an unasked question.

Lee came over with a tray of their drinks, splitting the shots between Ravi and Evan, placing another water in front of Tommy when they put down the beers Ravi had ordered.

Evan grabbed one of the shots and downed it, then sputtered at the taste.

“Ravi, what the fuck is that?”

“Peanut butter whiskey,” Ravi said, unbothered, as he sipped his own shot.

“That’s… no. That’s not for shots,” Tommy said.

“Sorry I have taste buds,” Ravi shot back.

Evan took a sip of his beer and slid the other shot towards Tommy, who alternated it with the water. It was actually good whiskey, it just wasn’t meant for shots.

“So, how’s Eddie doing in Texas?” Ravi asked Evan, zero segue, and Tommy knew he was watching for Tommy’s reaction.

“Fine,” Evan muttered, playing with a coaster, eyes focused on the tabletop. “Lots of work to be done on the house. He’s trying to do it himself but I think he’s going to have to hire someone. He’s not that handy.”

“Chris staying with him yet?” Ravi pressed.

“Friday and Saturday nights. The rest of the time he’s still with his grandparents. You know, we talked about all of this at work. You can just tell him,” he jerked his chin towards Tommy. “You don’t need me to do that.”

Ravi sighed and turned towards Tommy. “So Eddie bought a house in El Paso and moved back to be closer to Chris, which is why I’m on A shift again. Bobby’s mom is apparently the leader of a mega church and a con artist, and we got called out to a scene at her church today. Oh, and Maddie got kidnapped by a serial killer and almost died, but she and the baby are fine now.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Tommy asked, not harshly, but even for the 118 that seemed like a lot.

“Oh, and Buck moved out of the loft and took over Eddie’s lease so he could go to Texas. Did I miss anything?” Ravi directed the last question to Evan.

“Denny got his cast off and should be able to play baseball this summer,” Evan added, still looking down.

“That all — that seriously all happened since November?” Tommy asked.

“Honestly, most of it was in the last month,” Ravi said.

The three of them fell into an awkward silence as Tommy tried to think of what to say to Evan. “I’m sorry” didn’t feel adequate, and “are you okay?” felt pretty heartless.

“So, what have you been up to?” Ravi asked Tommy, putting Evan’s focus back on him.

“Oh, uh, nothing much,” Tommy said, playing with the straw in his water glass. “Uh, fixed up two cars for a collector. Work. That’s pretty much it.”

Silence fell again.

“Well, you two are super fun,” Ravi said. “I’m getting more drinks.” He abandoned them to their awkwardness, heading for the bar even though his and Evan’s beers were barely half empty and he still had a shot.

Evan sucked in a breath then looked shocked when Tommy looked at him.

“Maddie’s really okay?” Tommy asked, thinking that was the safest thing to start with.

Evan nodded. “Physically, yeah. She’s still shaken up. She’s taking some time off work.”

“She and Howie are having another kid?”

“Yeah, uh, a boy,” Evan smiled down at his beer, avoiding eye contact with Tommy, but the smile was genuine. “Jee seems to think he’s going to be full grown, I think she’s only used to Denny as the idea of a brother, but she’s excited.”

“That’s great,” Tommy said softly.

Ravi returned with Lee and more shots — not peanut butter whiskey this time — and some of them were for Tommy this time, though Lee did still give him another water and a reproachful look that told him if he didn’t finish it, Lee wouldn’t be so nice the next time he came in.

They muddled through a surface level conversation, avoiding any more discussion of the topics Ravi had mentioned. More shots appeared at the table, and waters for all of them, not just Tommy. It was just past midnight when Ravi called it quits for the night, ordering an Uber and closing out his tab. Evan and Tommy waved as he left the table, sitting in comfortable silence before they both realized this wasn’t a normal night out for them. The awkwardness settled in quickly, and they pulled out their phones in near unison to get their own rides.

Evan groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked, on high alert after everything he’d heard from Ravi.

“Nothing, uh, my phone just died,” Evan said.

“My place isn’t that far from Eddie’s — from your place,” Tommy corrected, “we can share a ride and it can drop you home after me.”

Evan hesitated and looked at him, expression unreadable.

“Just a ride,” Tommy said.

“Okay,” Evan nodded, following him as Tommy stood up from the table and walked out of the bar. Evan had settled his tab when Ravi did, so they didn’t need to stop at the bar. Tommy saw Lee clock them walking out together, raising an eyebrow at him, an expression on their face that meant Tommy was definitely going to have to talk about this the next time he was there.

Maybe he’d find a new bar. Lots of places did trivia, after all.

The uber arrived quickly, and Tommy held the car door open for Evan. It wasn’t a small car, but their hands ended up brushing together in the backseat anyways.

Tommy wasn’t sure who started it, but before they’d gone three blocks, their fingers were firmly linked together and Evan was tracing patterns on the back of his hand. It was just a ride, Tommy reminded himself. He had this for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes, depending on the route and the lights. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be faster or longer. Either way it would drive him crazy.

When they pulled up to Tommy’s house — thirteen minutes, the shorter route but more red lights, his brain helpfully catalogued — Evan followed him out of the car, thanking the driver before he left.

“Can I come in?” Evan asked. Tommy’s heart flipped painfully. He told himself it was from the alcohol.

“Sure,” Tommy said, not mentioning when Evan linked their fingers together again as they walked up the front path.

“Want to plug your phone in?” Tommy asked, when they were standing in his living room.

Evan moved silently towards the side table where Tommy kept his charging cords, bending at the waist slightly to reach the cord. Tommy stared at his ass, the way he had when they were together. The alcohol had slowed his reflexes some, and he didn’t manage to tear his eyes away before Evan turned back around.

“Thank god,” Evan said, crossing the room to him and crashing their mouths together like he had when Tommy had shown up at the hospital for Howie and Maddie’s wedding. Tommy moaned in surprise, hands flying to Evan’s hips immediately, pulling him closer. Tommy’s awareness narrowed down to the points of contact between him and Evan, unable to think of anything else until Evan pulled back enough for them to take a breath.

“I wasn’t — I didn’t plan this,” Tommy said.

“Duh,” Evan scoffed. “I invited myself in.”

“This is just going to make things harder,” Tommy had to make him understand.

“It’s making something harder,” Evan said, a smirk on his face now.

“Evan,” Tommy tried again.

“Tommy,” Evan said back to him, a hint of mockery in his tone, but sounding overwhelming desperate.

Tommy could blame the alcohol running through his system, right? He could say he was doing this for Evan. It was what Evan needed.

When Evan reached for him again, he went willingly. They shed their clothes as they made their way through Tommy’s house to the bedroom, bumping into walls and picture frames. There was never less than two points of contact between them, Tommy’s skin alight with the heat rolling off of Evan.

They tumbled into bed holding each other closer than Tommy thought physically possible. Tommy felt like he was trying to burrow his way into Evan’s body, like he could meld them into one being and stay there forever. Was there a way he could keep this? Was there something he could say to take away the hurt he’d caused? Was there a way to keep Evan in his bed, in his life? Evan’s hands on his body brought him back from his thoughts, focused on the righthererightnow.

Buck slipped out of bed the next morning, silently collecting his clothes and his phone. Tommy was still asleep as he moved through the house, a ghost in a now unfamiliar place. It made it easier, almost, or so Buck told himself. He closed the front door carefully and ordered an Uber, setting the location to the coffee shop a block away, and the drop off point as Maddie’s house. He didn’t want to bother her but… he felt like she was the only person he could talk to.

Every step away from Tommy’s house made him feel heavier, like he was wearing his work gear in quicksand. He thought he’d feel… better about it, somehow. This time it was his choice to leave. With every house he passed his stomach roiled, not the feeling of a morning after heavy drinking but the feeling that something was wrong, that he’d made a mistake.

But Tommy had been the one to walk away first. Tommy had decided he wasn’t Buck’s last. Wasn’t Buck just… proving him right? Wasn’t that what he wanted?

Buck walked into the coffee shop and got a large coffee and a greasy breakfast sandwich for himself, a little pastry for Maddie to make up for dropping all this in her lap with no notice.

The driver was waiting for him when he left the shop, and he slid into the back seat, alone this time. He was silent on the drive, thanking the driver when they arrived. He was glad to see Chimney’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

He let himself in with his spare key and called a hello to Maddie. She was sitting in the kitchen, still in her pajamas, hands around a cup of coffee — Chimney had at least let up on that this time around. He handed her the pastry bag and sat across from her, hands still wrapped around his take out cup.

She looked down at what she clearly knew was a bribery pastry, then up at Buck.

“Buck? What’s going on?”

“Maddie, I did something stupid.”

It was fair, Tommy thought, that Evan was the one to walk away this time without letting Tommy say anything to stop him. He'd clearly seen that Tommy was right, had spent the night in Tommy’s little house, the garage the biggest part of it, and realized, yeah, Tommy wasn’t his last. Tommy had been right. Tommy had been right that Evan would break his heart.

Tommy had just been wrong about how much it would hurt.

tag list: @chimneyz @bucktommyscones @swagmaster9k @geekwarrior107 @racerchix21 @fan-of-a-lot @bybobbysbeard @desert--moonchild @deans-hoodie

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