#modern flip up cabinets

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Peaceful as it Comes

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff)

Domestic moments with Sevikidiki. More than one scenario with head cannons at the very end. :))

Content: Sevika has both arms. Modern Setting. Lots of being in Sevika’s lap and having her hug you from behind. Minor age gap.

Proofread || Note: DAY DREAMING ABOUT THESEE!! Ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes 🙂‍↔️

Breakfast with Distractions

You lived in out in the country with a small, satisfying, house that came with a lot of land. You had your own garden in the backyard, fueled by the river than ran through it. Early in the mornings you’d find yourself sat on a wooden chair, that your wife had built you, with a cup of coffee in hand. The sounds of the birds chirping, breeze blowing the trees, and the soft clinking from the backdoor opening would make the moment further more peaceful. It was your wife.

Sevika approached, standing behind you and staring down at your figure. You had on the dress she’d gifted on your anniversary. A red and white long, flowly dress which you matched with a pair of brown boots. Your wife said it was her favourite outfit, so you wore it often. The smell of her cologne filled your nose and she smiled at your cozied position. Legs pulled up to your chest, cup on your knees, with your hair flowing with the wind that flew by.

Everything was peaceful.

“Morning, you’re already out here?” Sevika broke the silence, brushing a hair from your lips. “Thought I’d finish planting the flowers, I’ve only got a few left.” You answered, watching as she leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Y’have breakfast yet?” At her question, you flash a sheepish smile and raise your cup. Coffee was the only thing you’d had.

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah, pancakes sound good.”

Entering inside, you tie on your apron and pull out a pan from the cabinet. Your shared house wasn’t fancy, wasn’t fleshy built, but it was enough to satisfy your quiet life. Cracks were common, so were stains, and especially creaks. But it, honestly, only made it feel more like a home. Like you were actually living there.

“In my defence, I was waiting for you to wake up.” You muttered, mixing the milk and pancake batter. “And, you couldn’t of done that yourself?” Was Sevika’s sly response, with her hands on your hips she began swaying them. Guiding them alongside with her all the while peppering your shoulder with kisses. “Your wife’s a little busy.” Though you couldn’t resist it when she was so affectionate. “Oh? Is swaying your hips a distraction? Wouldn’t o’guessed.“ Sevika’s voice low and soft as her hands ran up and down your sides. “Did I say that?”

With the batter finally mixed, you pour some onto the heated pan and spread it into a circle. As the pancakes cooked, your wife turned you around and gave your hips a squeeze. “Still busy?” Forehead pressed against yours, back leaning against the counter with your hands now cupping her cheeks. You smiled. “Not as much as before, no.”

Your eyes met her pretty grey ones and you didn’t stop yourself from being pulled into a kiss. It was slow, just staring into eachother all the while sharing your breaths. Beautiful was what you called it. And when Sevika’s dark lips finally pressed against yours, your mind went blank for a moment. The pancakes didn’t matter. The flowers you had to plant could wait another hour. And, your grumbling stomach could kiss some ass. All you could really focus on was the soft taps your wife left on your lips. The way the warmth of her hands seeped through your dress and heated your skin. The way her breath felt against your face. And the way her lips tasted.

With a lingering peck on your lips, your girlfriend pulled back. “Love my days off.” She whispered, half her attention on flipping the pancake. “If it had burned I would’ve kicked your ass.” You joked, kissing her cheek one last time before going back to preparing breakfast.

“You’re a real distraction, babe.”

“And, you love me for it.”

Take a Break, Don’t ya?

Chores. Chores. Chores. And, some more chores. You’d made dinner, vacuumed the house, and even cleared out some of Sevika’s old papers from her office desk. Now, the last few things you needed to do were: clean the kitchen and sweep the floors. Those were easy tasks, and you were prepared to get them done.

Wiping the marble counters with a wet towel, you made sure everything was squeaky-clean. Made sure the ingredients were arranged perfectly, the sink was empty, and the dishes were where they were supposed to be. It took you about an hour, and in that time frame your wife had returned home and was freshening up.

A damp towel wrapped around her neck, she made her way to you. Wearing a tanktop and a pair of shorts, she looked exhausted. Sevika worked in construction, and that meant constant stress, sore muscles, and injuries. Though they were only minor, scratches and bruises were something you could handle. Not to mention how much muscle she’d put up, it was attractive. Made you horny even on your period.

“Haven’t seen you all day.” Her muscular arms tapping your backside to her front as she breathed down your neck. “How was work? Tiring as usual?” You, settling the pans and pots into the cupboard neatly, asked. Everyday was just as busy as the last, except for weekends; that’s when you and your wife could do whatever you wanted to.

“Y’guessed it,” pressing a heavy kiss on your cheek and pulling away to sit herself down onto the couch. “Hey, dinner’s ready. Grab a plate.” You’d already ate with content and now were waiting for your wife to. Afterwards, the two of you were free to talk and huddle up next to one another. “I will, just come here for a second.”

“You’re not the only busy woman in this relationship.” You flash her a look, tossing the towel into the washer before hanging your apron on a chair. There was more to do, and Sevika wanted you to relax with her? Well, you couldn’t really say no. Not when her legs were perfectly spread and her voice sounded so welcoming.

Plopping down onto your natural seat, your wife’s lap, you take a deep, long breath. It’d been a hot minute since you’d let your sore back slouch. Let your legs relax. “Take a break, alright? I know you’ve been at it for hours.” Sevika shifted on the couch, legs spreading further as she settled you inbetween them. It was like that everyday.

She’d come home, freshen up, and just sit with you for a few. It took your mind off of things, made your tense muscles loose. You appreciated how easily she could get. Also, because she said you’d have more wrinkles if you worked too hard. It was supposed to scare you.

Your cozy little home had one bedroom, one bathroom, and.. well, one everything. The two of you weren’t planning on having kids, not so soon anyways. Sevika knew she’d struggle with providing for them and you knew it’d only be a hassle. Considering you were in your early thirties and she was in her mid forties, she worried about you a lot. You were young and, sometimes, she even felt guilty for “taking away” your freedom. Which was a bit dramatic in your opinion. You chose marrying her, and you never regretted it.

“How was your day? ‘Nd don’t just say good, I know there’s more to it.” Your wife’s arm wrapped around your waist and she burried her face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent and savouring the closeness. Sevika was the kind of wife to call you every few hours when she was away, text you whenever she was on break, and even send you random pictures. Her selfies consisted her biceps, her coworkers, and silly faces. All taken for you to save and enjoy.

“My day? Well, don’t get me started on that creeky little door. I swear, everytime I open it it sounds like I’m in one of those horror movies. And, Sev, you promised you’d fix it and, again! You didn’t!” Your finger pointing to the storage room door that Sevika, somehow, broke by accident. She said she tripped and the whole door fell down. “I put some vegetable oil on the.. screw thingies. I saw it on youtube and, my god, it worked! At first I thought it was click bait but, to my surprise, it was the real deal.”

Your wife’s response to all of that? The occasional humm, a few chuckles, and an abundance of nods. She loved listening to you complain, even talk about the silliest things that happened throughout your eventful day. The thing she most adored was the fact that you’d tell her tiny details rather than the big ones. She remembered this one time where you were rambling on about something that had to do with the TV and had completely forgotten to bring up the fact that you’d cut your finger. You ended up getting a pink, princess bandage wrapped around your thumb.

“Alright, aright. I’ll fix it this saturday.” Her tone unbothered yet full of fondness. “Promise, love. Y’know I’ve been busy.” A laugh left her lips as she squeezed you with affection. It was like everything you did made Sevika completely and utterly happy. Be it wearing her favourite outfit, making her favourite food, or even walking around the kitchen, your wife found you pulling.

“Dinner’s gonna get cold, Sev. I worked hard on that thing.” Your hands giving her thighs a pat, you push off her lap and stand up— only to find yourself pulled back. “Where do you think you’re going? Few more minutes, we can always reheat?” She placed you sideways on her lap all the while nipping at your neck and causing you to giggle. “Vika! Eek!”

“Y’think you can escape me? Now I’ll have to eat you whole!” Her voice a playful gruff as her large hands began to tickle your sides.

“Hey! Hey! Not the—.. not the sides!”

Awsome-Sauce

The two of you decided to settle in an apartment, it was spacious and pretty damn expensive. And, Sevika being a business woman, she provided everything. From the rent to the groceries, it was her money you spent.

In return, the best you could give her was keeping the apartment clean and.. well, a home. Though, Sevika never asked anything from you— only your love and presence. That’s all she needed, and she’d told you that a million times. Whenever she was home, she wouldn’t let you lay a finger on anything that had to do with work. You wanna wash the dishes? Sevika’s alright got it covered. You need to fold the laundry? Your wife’s two steps ahead and even organized all the clothes. The kitchen’s a mess? She’ll be ready to scrub it clean. You never had to worry about a thing.

“Come on, it’s just sweeping. I do it every week day. When you’re not here? Y’know?” The least you could do was help the muscular woman who was cooking dinner, her hands busy with cutting the vegetables. “Nope, you’re gonna sit your pretty ass back on the couch, babe.” Her head turned to you, eyes narrowing at the sight of you holding a broom. “Babe.. seriously?—“ “Yes, seriously. You do s’much all week, take a break.” She motioned towards the couch before turning back to the cutting board.

“And you don’t? I mean, you’re at the office all week. Let me help.” Leaning the broom against the counter, you rest your head against her back and fiddle with her apron. Sevika’s response was a light chuckle, one that made you smile. “True that. But, I still don’t like it when you’re all.. occupied.” She placed the knife down and turned to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sweeping is all you’re doing, okay?” Her voice was so sweet that it convinced you to do what she said, sweep and sit your ass down onto the couch. “Got it. Just holler at me if you need help, do not hesitate.” You pointed a finger before you reach for the broom again.

A solid thirty minutes later, your girlfriend nudged you. “Dinner’s ready, hope you’re hungry!” Her lips curled into a bright smile, your wife went back to cooking and went all out. Cutting the vegetables, choosing the spices, to adding other ingredients. From the back, she looked smoking hot. Her shoulders toned from her tight black shirt and her muscles clear as day. You wanted her to rip off her clothes and focus on you.

But that could wait.

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s eat.” Sevika’s hand guided you towards the dinner table where you sat down beside her. Yes, she preferred you being right by her side. “The usual. Rice. Hope you like it, baby.” Arm around your hip before she pulled your chair closer.

The dinner table was set perfectly, and you were almost jealous at how easily she’d made the food infront of you. It looked good, as usual, and you dug right in. You were a big fan of Sevika’s cooking, it was like a five-star chef had made it specially for you. You’d never get used to her iconic rice, it was always so flavourful. She’d never share her recipe, though.

Dinner was a blast, and now your stomach was too full. Spread across the couch, head on the arm rest as Sevika sat under your legs, she gave you a smile. “Ate too much?” Her large, calloused fingers massaging your feet. “Wayy to much. But, it was worth it. You make the best damn rice.” You were sure it was the brand of rice, there was no way she could get the consistency so.. perfect. “Good to know you’re satisfied.”

Oh, you were more than satisfied.

“It’s late, y’wanna head to bed?” Her mother-like tone causing you to lazily groan. You were exhausted, but sleep wasn’t exactly what you needed. “Not until you..” a grunt escaped your lips as you sat up. “Tell me your recipe.” Your back cracked like an old lady’s, and you straighten at the sound.

“Recipe for what? The rice?” Sevika pulled you into her lap, you inbetween her spread legs as she brushed back your hair. “There’s no recipe. I wing it.” You snorted at that. “Wing it? You? A business woman? Are you kidding?” No, she wasn’t.

Matter of fact, she was being completely honest. After watching tutorials online, Sevika had picked up on certain aspects of the amount spices she need and what temperature the stove should be on. It was all practice, in her opinion.

“I’m serious.” She gave your back a few rubs, hoping your stomach felt better by now, all the while her opposite hand gave yours a squeeze. “But, if you really wanna know? I use this sause from the store downtown, it’s pretty good.” Her lips curled into a playful smile as she gave your back a pat

“It’s called awsome-sause. Have you heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her in the side.

“You’re an asshole.”

Kisses

Throughout your marriage, Sevika had grown softer, gentler as you changed and opened further up to her. Like, your new favourite things, new interests, she loved every bit of it.

One change you’d noticed about her was the way she kissed you.

From rough, desperate make out sessions to light taps on your lips. Her tongue would feel the curve of your skin before she’d ask for entrance, compared to before when she’d demand for it.

Don’t get it wrong. You loved when your wife man handled you, took charge and dominated you. But sometimes, all you could really want was her loving side. The side of her where she felt that too much pressure would break you. Where she was so gentle with you that it felt unreal.

Her preferred position was with you sat on the dinner table, legs dangling down and inbetween her own. She’d hold onto your hips, squeeze and rub your skin there before making her way to the back of your head. One hand palming it as the other rested on the small of your back.

Before the kiss would start, she’d just stare into you and whisper a few sweet nothings. A good example being; “I’m the luckiest woman alive.” She had said that almost every day.

Your wife would then pull you into the most beautiful kiss you’d ever experienced. She was nothing like the rough and tough exterior she showed off, she was careful.

She’d often let escape soft, bare audible, grunts. A humm of enjoyment, aswell. She wasn’t embarrassed, just a little self conscious that it made you feel icky— which, it didn’t. And to show so, you’d cup her face and make sure she didn’t pull back. The gesture always made her melt.

Sevika’s breath smelled like cigars and whiskey, the occasional sugar cookie that you’d bake for her. She couldn’t keep herself from loading up on those, that woman would take ‘em everywhere she went.

The few things you’d feel were the way her tongue moved so perfectly against yours, always leaving you squirming. It was something about the way Sevika would groan everytime you did so. Another thing being her lips. She’d used your lip balm and, at first, she didn’t think anything would happen. But, after a few more uses her lips looked plump and shiny. You couldn’t resist giving them a few rubs with your thumb and even a peck of a kiss.

[mamayan]

Shigaraki Tomura

cw: NSFW • Holiday Filth • Crush Shigaraki • Modern AU • dry humping • language • implied alcohol usage • pathetic virgin Tomura

Thinking about being Shigaraki’s little sister’s best friend.

Being invited over to her house and being so excited unbeknownst to your friend to see her nasty older brother. Tomura holed up in his room, feet up and knees bent as he sits in his fancy leather gamer chair spewing filth into the mic of his headset. Being given the most toe curling glare from him as he looks up from under his messy bangs and sees you peaking at him through a crack in the door. Sneering and telling you to “fuck off” and you do, scampering away to shamelessly rifle through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for any of his hygiene products. There’s not many. It doesn’t matter though, since he left his dirty clothes from last night in a bundle on the bathroom floor beside the shower and toilet.

Your friend babbling on endlessly about family drama but you can’t pay attention as dinner begins and Tomura is forcibly dragged down the stairs, eye bags heavy from lack of sleep, mumbling out vague answers on how college is going. He notices his little sister’s annoying friend though, you, who always seems to be judging him from the way you constantly have your eyes on him. It pisses him off, and he’s not afraid of outing you in front of everyone.

“Why don’t you find something better to stare at bitch,” and cackling as the home filled with relatives and friends erupts at his rude comment and language. His family is comforting you, telling you he’s just having a rough day, he doesn’t mean it, etc. Your friend is intent on vengeance but you assure her it means nothing to you. She’s used to the behavior and agrees he’s not worth the trouble, being pulled away by relatives intent on being nosy into her personal life.

Tomura did mean it though, and you know it too, and it still doesn’t stop you from sneaking away upstairs while the house slowly boozes up and begins to become rowdy. Tomura slunk away to return to his game he’d been playing with friends, some stolen snacks and a cheap bottle of vodka in his hoodie pocket he takes a straight swig from every now and then as he gets heated into his gaming match.

He’s nearly surprised to see you open his bedroom door and not his mom or sister intent on giving him a headache.

“Back to keep staring whore?” He’s snickering as he flips up the mic, his game paused for a moment while waiting on another friend to join the match.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t expect you to lock the door, a brow cocked up as he reassess you.

You’re much cuter now. The baby fat gone and a young woman blooming, barely an adult now but it didn’t stop his eyes from lowering to your chest that was rising and falling quite quickly. He’s always been so used to seeing you attached to his bratty shit sister that he’s never appreciated you before.

“Wanna do more than stare though.” He’s even more shocked to see you tossing the ugly Christmas cardigan you matched with his sister, the plain dress under easily lifted over your head and dropped too. Right in front of him.

“Ha, oh yeah?” He’s baffled but not upset, dropping his feet and manspreading wide as his cock hardens in his sweats. He’s shameless in palming himself through them, setting his controller aside and licking his dry lips as you come closer, cute little matching bra and pantie set doing little to hide your hard nipples poking through the fabric and pussy lips. “Fuck, look at you, all grown up huh?” His eyes on you as you slide the dainty fabric covering your cunt down and stepping out, removing your bra next slowly, letting him drink you in. You’re nearly vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and bright as you straddle him.

“Little pervert, you wanna ride my cock?” You smile, because he’s acting like he isn’t some loser virgin with trembling hands digging into the fat of your soft ass. You can feel he’s just as strung up now, his palms lightly sweating as they slide up and cup your breasts, eagerly pitching and pulling at your nipples while you roll your hips over his chubby cock. “D-damn, where’d’ya learn to act like this?” He’s nearly about to cum from touching your tits alone, but the feel of you grinding down on him is making him lose it.

“I watched porn.” He groans, finally losing patience and pulling his dick free from his sweats, ready to naively try and enter you without any prep. He’s huffing and breathing heavy as he rubs the tip through your folds and trying and failing to hump into you. He’s just bumping uselessly against your tightly closed entrance while he moans and buries his face in your chest, happy when you begin to run your fingers through his hair.

He’s coming a minute later. No penetration necessary for him to spurt his hot spunky load against your pussy as he nearly passes out from how hard he cums.

“Holy fuck—!” You nearly have to muffle his cry of pleasure as he grips you for dear life.

The banging on his door a minute later making you both fumble for clothing as your friend’s voice comes out in a battle cry for your location.

“You fucking asshole! You hurt her feelings and now I can’t find her!”

You both only look at one another in amusement and embarrassment.

“Try looking up your ass since her face is always buried there!” He shouts back, and you have to bit back the comment you want to yell at him. Little does anyone else know the true reason you love going to the Shigaraki house when Tomura is home.

[archangeldyke-all]

i had a crazy thought–imagine sevika's wife saying something that annoys/peeves her just a tiny bit and ceo!sevika doing the most over the top thing the next second.

imagine they live in a huge expensive modern penthouse and sevika's wife says "how come we live in the same house but we don't see each other?" and on the next day sevika is already taking her around to go see houses for sale 😭😭

or when her wife trips over the huge glass coffee table in the middle of the living room, and it's gone in the next hour and replaced by a smaller, cuter coffee table

i just wanna see sevika simping for her wife pls im begging i think she's so so cute 😭😭😭 like a grizzly bear 😭😭😭

this is like the epitome of ceo sevika i love her so fucking much

men and minors dni

you shouldn't be surprised.

this has been happening long before you and sevika were even dating, back when you were just assistant.

you can still remember the first time sevika did this to you. you ran into the office, discombobulated and late, worried that sevika would be upset.

she wasn't upset, though. it was the oppisite. she sighed in relief the moment you walked through the door wrapping you up in a hug. "fuck, i was worried you'd been carjacked on your way here! i can't lose you. not before the board meeting."

you laughed and relaxed in her arms, breathing in her expensive cologne. "sorry. my phone is fucking ancient and can't hold a charge anymore-- it died overnight and my alarm didn't go off."

"hmm." she'd said. at the time, you thought that was it.

then you got home that night, and found three brand new cell phones sitting on your doorstep.

you blinked down at the boxes, confused. a small envelope caught your eye, and you picked it up, flipping it open.

pick your favorite. -s.

the extravagance only grew once you got together.

"ugh, my back is killing me." you complained one morning.

"'s wrong?" sevika asked, a worried look in her eye. you shrug.

"think i pulled something yesterday while restocking the cabinets above the copier." you say.

that night, you pout in confusion as sevika takes the wrong exit off the highway. "where're we going?"

"you'll see."

"awe, sevika, i can't do a date night tonight baby, i feel like shit."

"it's not a date. well, it sorta is... just trust me, okay?" she'd asked. you nodded.

"of course."

sevika pulled the car into a spa parking lot. you frowned. "spatopia? aren't they closed this late?"

"i made a few calls for us." she said with a shrug, kissing you over the center console and then hopping out of the car. she ran around the car, pulling open your door and walking you to the store front.

two hours and two couples' deep tissue massages later; you were both too relaxed to drive home and you had to call an uber. it was one of the nicest gifts of your life.

now that you're married, it's only gotten worse.

you make a passing comment about your couch being stiff, and sevika's taking you furniture shopping that weekend.

you trip over a (incredibly expensive) persian rug in sevika's study more than once and she's rolling it away and buying one that doesn't snag your toes.

you once complained about the lack of legroom in her fucking porsche, so she bought you an suv. she's fucking insane.

and now she's done something truly crazy.

"you bought us a fucking house!?" you squawk. sevika shrugs with a smile. "sevika, we have a house!"

"we have a penthouse. penthouses don't have gardens. you want a garden."

"wh-- i do?!" you ask. sevika laughs.

"yeah, you do. remember? you told me on our first date what your dream house would be. you said something with charm, something you could make your own, something with a yard big enough for a garden and some pets."

the memory is so distant and blurry to you-- at the time you'd mostly just been talking out of your ass and fantasizing. but sevika remembered. because she's incredible.

"y-you're fucking insane." you cry. sevika smiles.

"good or bad?"

"sevika." you break down in tears, wrapping your arms around your wife. she laughs against you, rubbing your back. "y-you can't just buy a house without asking your wife!" you scold. she giggles.

"most people can't-- but we've got the money for it. i could buy you a dozen houses if you wanted."

"no!" you squeak. she laughs. you rip out of her arms to glare up at her. "you have got to stop doing this shit sevika, you're gonna give me a heart attack eventually!"

"you're gonna have a heart attack when you see the main bath in this place." she whispers with a sweet, excited smile. you burst into laughter and pull her in for a kiss. "if you hate it we can just put it back on the market, y'know." she mumbles. you snort.

"well... at least let me see the place first."

sevika grins, big and wide. you shake your head at her, in love and endlessly endeared by her. "i love you. i'd spoil you in any life, but i'm glad in this one i got the money to treat you the way you really deserve." she says.

you sigh dreamily and cup her face. "please tell me there's already a bed in there."

"...yeah, why?" sevika asks. you grin.

"i'm gonna ride you until you're paralyzed from the waist down, baby. c'mon. show me around my new house." you request, tugging sevika into the house by her tie.

sevika follows you with a dopey smile and hearts in her eyes.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel

[seancekitsch]

Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER FOUR: Sat in Your Lap

Y/N Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen and Y/N Stark. Inseparable since both eldest children met at Kings Landing University, until they weren’t. One night of drunken passion ruins it all.

Five years later, Aegon is coming off a broken engagement to Larissa Lannister and sends a risky Instagram DM to none other than Y/n Stark.

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, more to come as needed

You’re pacing back and forth in the dimly lit store, your boot heels clacking against the hardwood as you nervously keep checking your phone. It’s an hour past closing time, and five minutes until Aegon arrives. You reach for your emergency perfume stash- always in the drawer under the till. After living here for almost ten years, you still cannot get used to how even chilly weather in King’s Landing is warmer than Winterfell’s summer. You spritz yourself frantically all over, making several passes over your hair and pits. You flap your hands and flip your hair, hoping that it isn’t obvious what you’ve just done. This is you frantic, this is you nervous. 

One drink couldn’t hurt, right? You have a wine fridge in the back for private appointments. You could uncork one bottle and have a glass so maybe your hands wouldn’t shake when you go to open the door for him. You could have two glasses and still maintain poise in conversation. Three and you could still talk your way out of an argument. This justifies what you need it to as you walk over and gladly grab the bottle, wine glasses already perched on end tables for decor. The cork is impaled and easily slides out, the motions like a second nature to you, wine not lasting long at all in your clutches. 

The bottle glugs as you unceremoniously pour, and then silences when you place it down, your hands replacing it with the glass. You resume your pacing, easier now than it was with your phone in your hand. You put the wine to your lips and take a deep sip, savoring the mouthful before swallowing. It’s Dornish, but not overly expensive. A bottle that costs more than your bills has never been your desire, despite the fact that all the wine you knocked from cabinets in the cellar as a kid easily cost more than your current flat. You take another sip, and step over towards the couch, finally ready to sit. 

But just as soon as your boots hit the rug, you’re stopped by the rapping of knuckles on the wooden doorframe. Behind the glass, Aegon stands on the sidewalk bathed in the reddish warm glow of your shops outside lighting. Like this, his hair looks red like his mother’s, his face looks gaunt and haunted. Even still, handsome as ever. You sigh, fingers flexing against your wine glass. No way to change your mind and escape this. Traversing the hardwood is easy, easier than it should be. It feels almost as if your body is ready to welcome Aegon back, despite all the hurt still stored in your heart and head as your hand makes quick work of the locks and open the door. 

“Started without me?” he asks, tipping his chin towards your wine.

“I’ll— I’ll pour you a glass.”

You don’t spare him another glance as you walk away from him, autopilot back to the wine fridge as you go back to your opened bottle. You eye it up, then turn to look at him. If Aegon is watching you, he’s doing an amazing job of hiding it. He looks around the dim shop, face turning from one rack to another. You decide to top yourself up again before you pour his glass. 

You offer it to him with a clearing of your throat. Now that he’s here and in front of you, words leave you. What to even say to him? You feel small, like the sad graduate who waited all day and night for him to return. You feel the same way you did when you packed up his belongings to leave for him at his parent’s doorstep. 

Aegon reaches for the glass, his fingers just barely brushing yours. Your first instinct is to rip your hand away, but the need to not shatter the glass against your floor stops the impulse. 

“Cheers.”

“Yeah, cheers.”

Silence settles over the two of you, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. For as loud as you and Aegon made things in university, there were just as many times where it was the two of you quiet and lounging, indulging in blunts or a bottle of wine and just decompressing together. Entire nights spent in Aegon’s lap drunk and escaping whatever drama your friend group had created, a break up, or worst and most commonly a call from your respective families. Granted, that was secret. Those moments were just for you and Aegon and no one else. 

“You did it,” He whispers, hand gesturing all around before sipping his wine. You nod. Yes, you did. Part of you excitedly wants to talk business with Aegon, your first supporter and first wearer of your designs, but instead you just take a long drink. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells you, his smile warm and his eyes sincere.

“Why are you here?”

“You invited me?” he looks confused, pouting as his brows scrunch up, “you said this was neutral ground to talk. But I don’t even know what you mean by that. We’ve never needed —“

“No; I mean…” you gather your courage with another sip, “Why are you sliding into my DM’s? Why are you back? Why are you being kind to me when I’m nothing but cold towards you?”

“I don’t care if you’re cold to me,” he scoffs, “Everyone’s cold to me.”

He rolls his shoulders, as if shrugging off a shroud. He finishes his wine quickly. Aegon contemplates his words, his eyes traveling your body as he does, his lip sucked between his teeth as he sighs.

“I couldn’t let things end the way they did with us.”

And how did they end? Did they end at all? Even real break ups came with closure, this gave you nothing but an aversion to the color green and a heightened need to hide from the tabloids. Countless times since graduation your father had called you, begging you to bring your business up north if you would not join the family business, to get away from paparazzi that chase heiresses with a penchant for club hopping. Though you cannot blame him, he’s lost all three of his children to the decadence and fast pace of the south. More or less, to the way of the Targaryens. 

“Your sister told me that my name is a curse,” you bring up, annoyance growing, “Apparently you lot seek out Starks lately.”

Aegon sighs again, and places the wine glass down as he runs his hands through his hair. He nods as he squeezes his eyes shut, and you down the rest of your wine, gulping it down. 

“Has been since I left your flat, if I’m being honest,” he chuckles, his lips pouting, “basically destroyed my life because I missed you.”

You nod in understanding, a tear escaping the corner of your eye as you take him in, getting a really good look at him. The other night he had been blurred by streetlights, obscured by rum. Now his features are laid bare to you, now you see the real him. He looks tired, in every sense of the word. His hair is unkempt, clearly due for a hair cut. There are deep circles under his eyes, and if you didn’t know better you’d think they were bruises. 

“So why now?” you ask, your voice struggling to keep an even tone, “Why blow your life up and come find me now?”

“Would you believe that Aemond set me straight?” He asks, and you shake your head. No, of course you wouldn’t. Aemond is stoic, and as far as you know, has always completely hated you. More than a few times you’d stumbled into the Targaryen summer house absolutely hammered, hanging onto Aegon as you sang bantered and made Aemond lose sleep for the entire night. You annoyed the serious son.

“I mean, I had a model influencer for a fiancee, I had good standing in the company, a fuckin’ Lambo!” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in his voice, “Yet all I could think, every hour on the hour: Where did it all go wrong?”

You cannot help but chuckle at that. It would be a lie to say you don’t find yourself asking the same question from time to time. 

“You’re what went wrong, by the way. Aemond pushed me to reach out after the stunt I pulled, even though I told him you probably hated me.”

You’re going to have to send Aemond some kind of basket or something, or pay for an excursion for him and his fancy older professor girlfriend. But Aegon was right too, you had hated him, or at least convinced yourself that you did. When his father died, you only sent condolences to his mother; you debated burning everything of his that he’d left in your flat; you refused to make any of your designs in green, in irrational fear that it would signal forgiveness or yearning. His lack of presence had never gotten easier though, and the yearning only got easier to ignore but not extinguish. Hells, you’d even been stupid enough one night to fuck Martyn Reyne, and after that unsatifsying night the rest of Aegon’s friend group had kept their distance from you as well. You lost all of your close friends in a short span of time, you’d refused to go home despite the city feeling like a ghost of your past. 

More tears escape, and Aegon is immediately drawing you into him, pulling you close as he whispers to you in a vain attempt at comfort. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tells you, or maybe tells both of you from the raggedness of his breathing. Your arms weakly return the hug, first circling him gently, then returning his hold. The two of you hug tightly, pressing yourselves together like it’s the last time, and maybe it will be. 

“Why did you leave that day?” you ask him, more abrupt than you had wanted to, but the words are out there. The moment of truth.

“I didn’t want to,” he says, and his voice sounds so fucking small. Somehow, that enrages you. His sadness, his pain at this situation you’re both in. 

“So why did you?” you ask, pulling back, voice sharp as a needle. 

Aegon appears pricked by it, good. He clenches his jaw, and backs away. The distance between you mere inches but also cavernous. 

“I got her fucking pregnant, alright!” His voice raises, but you don’t flinch. The truth finally out, filing the cavern.

Your chest feels hot, heavy, like a stone. 

“Aegon?” you had roused him from his silence, a blunt passed between the two of you as you you lounged on your bed. He hummed as he opened an eye, his sock covered feet tapped a beat against your wall. 

“What do you want for your life?” you had asked. Aegon had shown up miserable, ready to fight and rage, and you had tamed him with a blunt. Only then did he tell you his parents had ended their lunch visit by berating him about his future.

“Not work at the fucking company,” he scoffed.

“Well obviously,” you rolled over, leaned on your elbows as you examined his face. 

“Neverending party?” He phrased it like a question. 

“Boring,” you poked his nose, “We already have that.”

“A family?” another question, “Be a better parent than mine, I guess.” You nodded, then ducked your head down to rest your face against his shoulder. 

“The fact that you’re even thinking of that tells me you will be,” you told him. 

Aegon tilted his head to lean against yours. 

“And I want you in my life.”

You promised him you always would be, and cuddled closer as the blunt fizzled out. 

You recall that conversation the moment the words leave his mouth. Suddenly, you don’t blame him for ghosting you. You and your love for him did not fit into an equation where Aegon was going to have a child with Larissa Lannister. You want to cry again as you nod at him, your eyes searching his, desperately hoping he can see the sympathy in yours. The anger you felt takes a back seat to clarity.

But wait…

“Then where is-?”

“She didn’t even end up having the kid, but she sure ran straight to her father and mine about it,” he interrupts you, bitterly recalling the events as if the words were poison in his mouth. 

“I just…” He pouts, a hopeless face, “I couldn’t face you and they all finally liked me, and then even that wasn’t worth it. So I wrote a speech about everything I wanted to say to you and I read it and Otto tried to make Mum disown me.”

You had already heard about that. All of the puzzle pieces now finally fell into place. He had hurt you, he had probably hurt Larissa many times, he had hurt the company. It’s no wonder Helaena had called your name a curse. But now, Aegon is free from burden, yet he doesn’t look like a man at ease. 

“Can I have another glass?” He asks you, and of course you oblige. You lead him to the back room, and let him select what he wants. He picks a sweet one, a sangria blend. 

“Take the whole bottle, I’m about to,” you tell him, and grab yourself a dry one that tastes of oak and the berries back home. He uncorks both of them, and walks back into the main store room to retrieve the glasses. He pours yours first, nearly filling the wine glass. He then pours his to the brim as well. 

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“I had a date planned.”

You nearly spit your wine back into the glass at the confession. 

“A date? When?”

A part of you is worried that he has a driver out there waiting to take you to somewhere lavish or to one of your old spots, maybe even the pier. 

“That day. I was going to take you around the city to all of our spots, grab a drink at each, and I was gonna tell you something over every drink.”

“Like what?”

“Like how I realized I wanted to be with you when I watched you take a blowjob shot at Sylvie’s in Fleabottom. I was so angry at the way I saw Martyn watching you that night. Wanted to kill him for looking at what’s mine.”

You laugh, genuinely. You remembered only part of that night; a drunken stupor of karaoke, dancing, shots with your hands behind your back, and then clinging to Aegon as he held you up by the end of the night. His arms saving you from your knees hitting cobblestones, his continuous joking stopping you from falling asleep on the train. You had almost kissed Aegon that night; his haircut was fresh and his aftershave minty and intoxicating, you hung onto him even before you needed his help walking. That was sophomore year.

Aegon takes a long drink from his glass, and stares at the floor. 

“She was at my dorm when I got back to change. So was Dad.”

In the four years of university that Aegon attended, you’d only ever heard of Viserys Targaryen going to see his children from his second marriage a total of twice, and both were for building dedications and not actually to see his children. You take a longer drink than his last, letting the wine fill your mouth in gulps. 

“I wish I had known,” you say between gulps, “But I don’t know how much that would have changed things.”

He nods, the understanding hanging in the space between you. Aegon finishes off his glass of wine, his eyes searching you the entire time. Maybe, you think, this is his first time seeing you without the rose colored glasses of nostalgia as well. Five years of life to take in. Would he notice your tattoo? The changes to your hair? The inevitable beginning signs of wrinkles that smoking like a chimney gives you?

Insecurity creeps up your skin like a rash, heat flooding your system at the scrutiny. Your mind swirls, but more than anything you wonder: Does Aegon like what he sees? Does Aegon like what he sees? Does Aegon like what he sees?

“I have loved you for so long,” Argon’s voice cracks as he speaks, his eyes glassy and wide, “Its good to see you again.”

Your mind stops, heat remaining under your skin changing into something else. Part of you wants to throw your cares and your wine to the wind and rush forward to embrace him, another part of you wants to react like a woman scorned. 

“I loved you too,” is all you offer instead, finishing off your glass of wine as well. Your bottles sit on the table, almost empty at this point. The lamp light illuminates the wine golden, almost sparkling. You focus on how it glitters, the way both of them sit with their liquid below the label. 

“Loved?”

There’s a tear in the corner of his eye, threatening to fall down his cheekbone. 

“Aeg,” you shake your head, not sure how to say the words, “I… I spent so much time trying to hate you.”

Aegon steps forward, closing the gap between you. His fingers twitch, as if he’s going to reach out for your own, yet the contact doesn’t come. 

“Only try?” he snorts in laughter, smiling; not smirking, not sneering.

“Trying didn’t really suit me,” you tell him, tilting your head as you joke. 

A half hour later, both bottles as well as the first bottle you opened are done, and Aegon is holding the door for you as you both finally exit the shop. The tension between the two of you is gone, yet no boisterous laughter or singing commences. What remains is subdued, a reconciliation not translated to a restoration. He stands protectively over you as you lock the door a final time, as if you do not do this alone almost every night, as if this is not a safe posh neighborhood. He sways on his feet, the wine definitely having gone to more than just his head. Yet, he remains cautious. 

“Listen, if I walk you home safe, can we be friends again?” He asks, and you pretend to think about it. 

“I think we can try.”

“Try? Try, you’ve said you try things,” he mumbles, the drunk leading the drunk as you giggle at his rambling. He uses a hand against the window to stabilize himself as he tries to turn towards the train stop the next block over, however his feet dont quite cooperate. You make a point to jingle your keys a little extra before dropping them into your bag, rolling your eyes at him and his doubts. 

“C’mon, let’s catch the train,” you tell him, stumbling as your toes catch on one another as you turn. 

You can try to be friends again, you think. 

[i-luv-p0tat0es]

Glassheart Modern Prep School AU!!

This is just an idea I’ve had, it probably doesn’t make much sense without context but I’m posting this anyway!

Chloe has always had one goal. Be perfect. She knows it’s unrealistic, her therapist tells her it’s not the best goal to have. But it’s the standard that she sets for herself, and for the past 16 years she’s been doing a damn good job.

It’s funny how her entire world is flipped on its head when a new girl comes to town and shows her that her flaws are what make her perfect.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Chloe suddenly regretted not accepting her father’s help with her bags. She had to haul her copious amount of luggage down the long and familiar halls of Auradon Prep. Eventually, she got to her dorm and set them down, she pulls out a small keycard and slides it into the lock. She waits for the green light to flash as she hears a click. She opens the door and starts to put all of her stuff down as she breathes in the familiar smell of her room.

With a content sigh she took in the space around her. It was mostly the same as when she left it, the walls were still that same off-white color, the beams still had the intricate wooden texture, and the windows had the same view she loved looking out at in the morning. She made sure to check the kitchenette first, looking for any faults, making sure the sink was running and the fridge was cold.

Chloe remembers her parents telling her about someone sponsoring the school, their child would be attending this year, and they had paid to put new equipment in all around the building. It showed when Chloe opened the cabinets expecting a loud squeak, but was met with silence instead.

Heading up to the loft she looked at the plain beds sitting up there and the door that leads to the balcony between them. She jumped onto the one she had claimed when she first moved in, sinking into the memory foam she reminisced on the past few years.

She remembered how happy she was to have no one sharing this space with her. It got lonely sometimes, but it made her cherish being on her own. So what she only had 2 real friends, one of them being her cousin, she was fine by herself. She talked to a lot of people, and people loved talking to her. Her last name had irony to it and it was not lost on her. But the conversations she had were only ever surface level with them. No one ever really stuck around.

And Chloe was perfectly fine with that.

She got up and walked into the bathroom, making sure everything was in good shape. Once her small check was done Chloe pulled out her phone and took a picture in the mirror smiling. She sends it to her family group chat, and grins as replies start flooding in.

Papa 👑: Theres my pretty girl!!

Brobear 🧸: nerd

Mommy💙: Hi darling! How’s move-in day going?

She’s about to reply to her mother when she hears the door click from downstairs. She goes out to check who entered when she’s met with a head she’d never seen on campus. She knew everyone on campus.

“Excuse me? Who are you?” Chloe called as she walked down the stairs to talk to the girl.

The girl whips her head around and Chloe freezes for a moment. When the girl’s fiery red hair falls to frame her face Chloe knows. She knows this must be the new student because she would have remembered that face. Chloe can’t help it when her eyes start to look over the girl, her amber eyes are glowing as the window lets the sunlight peak through the blinds, her nose ring standing out against her skin. And, God, the lips that start turning upward into a smirk. Chloe’s gaze flicks back up to the girl’s eyes when the lips start moving.

“W-What?”

“I said my name is Red,” Chloe blushes as she chided herself for not paying attention.

“You’re the new student?” She asks the obvious question because her mind is still trying to catch up after seeing the girl. She already knows the answer as Red nods. “And you’re staying here?”

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 8

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 5841

Warning: Angst, longing, some Fluff. Not much that I can think of. Although, you might need some tissues.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

The city records office wasn’t exactly what Dean expected. Sure, it had the usual stale air and fluorescent lighting, but instead of towering shelves stuffed with dusty books, the space was clean and modern. Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls, each labeled with meticulous precision, and a few workstations sat along the far side, their monitors casting a dim glow against the neutral-toned walls.

Professor Alaric Saltzman sat at one of the desks, a thick file open in front of him. He glanced up as Sam and Dean settled in, his sharp gaze flickering between them. “I take it you’re here because of Y/N.”

Dean didn’t respond. He was already at one of the cabinets, flipping through files labeled Alpha—Touched. He wasn’t here to talk—he was here to find answers.

Sam, ever the diplomat, leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “Yeah. We need to understand what’s happening with him.” He nodded toward Dean, who was flipping through a file with his usual impatience, his fingers tightening around the pages every so often.

Saltzman exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple before shifting through a few files of his own. “I figured as much. And I assume this has to do with his wolf recognizing her.” Dean stilled for half a second, then kept reading. He hated how easily Saltzman saw through things. But then again, the guy was one of the experts when it came to Touched, alphas, and omegas.

Sam nodded. “It shouldn’t be possible, right? Given everything we know about Touched and how the mutation affects an alpha��s ability to bond with their wolf?”

Saltzman’s lips pressed into a thin line. “In my professional opinion, I think he could bond with his wolf, it’s just harder.” He tapped a finger against the open file in front of him. “Y/N asked about information on her pack’s Touched when she was fourteen. I didn’t think much of it at the time—plenty of young Touched are curious about their lineage. But now?” He turned his gaze to Dean. “Now I wonder if she was already searching for answers she didn’t know she needed.” Dean’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t known that. It shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow, it did, settling in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Saltzman slid a file across his desk toward Sam, his expression unreadable. “After that day, I went back through the records. The Touched of her pack? They only ever met their true mate when he was in wolf form. There are literally only three other cases of both having the Touched mutation.”

Dean’s grip on the file tightened a little, but relaxed the moment he saw Saltsman’s glare. He instantly felt like a scolded pup, with just a look, and carefully placed the file back in the filing cabinet. Now far more interested in what the professor had to say. “And?”

Saltzman leaned back in his chair. “And you might not be as disconnected from your wolf as you think,” He stated, studying Dean carefully. “Let me guess—you felt it, didn’t you? That bond she already has with your wolf.”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Dean looked up, something flickering behind his eyes—something raw, uncertain. But he didn’t say anything. He just turned back to the filing cabinet, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, what do you suggest?”

Saltzman leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Dean. “I suggest that Dean starts listening to his wolf. If it helps any, watch some documentaries on wild wolves and pay attention to how they interact with their pack. Then, pay attention to your wolf. We learn this as kids, but since Dean never did, he’ll need to start somewhere.”

Dean muttered something under his breath that probably wasn’t suitable for polite company as he pulled another file. Sam was the research guy. The documentary guy. Not him. “Come on, Sam, let’s go,” he grumbled, putting the file away and heading for the door.

It wasn’t the answers he wanted, but they were the answers he needed. And he swore that his wolf had huffed a laugh in the back of his mind the moment he stepped outside, breathing in the fresh afternoon air. 

The drive back was quiet. At least, on the outside.

Inside, Dean’s head was anything but.

He stared out the window, arms crossed, fingers twitching against his bicep. The truck rumbled beneath them, the steady hum of tires on asphalt filling the silence between him and Sam. Normally, Dean would’ve thrown on the radio, bitched about Sam’s taste in music, or at least had something to say. But now? Now, he couldn’t shake Saltzman’s words.

“The Touched of her pack? They only ever met their true mate when he was in wolf form.”

His wolf had met you first.

For three years, he’d been meeting you at that damn fence line, lingering like some lovesick pup. And for almost three years of that, you’d talked to him—just talked—pouring out your thoughts, your worries, your damn soul to him like he was someone who mattered. And for nearly a year of that, when he shifted back in the morning, no memory of the night before, your scent was there, all around him, both comforting and infuriating.

Dean exhaled sharply, jaw tight.

Sam noticed. Of course, he did. “You good?���

Dean scoffed, still watching the scenery blur past. “Peachy.”

“Right. And I’m a damn omega.” Sam tried not to chuckle at his brother’s predicament.

Dean rolled his eyes, but the usual snark wasn’t there. He couldn’t find it, not with this sitting in his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to carry.

“Let me guess—you felt it, didn’t you? That bond she already has with your wolf?”

He had. Shit, he had. He just hadn’t known what the hell to do with it. Still didn’t.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Sam said after a beat.

Dean frowned. “What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend you’re not thinking about something when it’s literally all you can think about.” Dean huffed a laugh, but it had no real bite. “Shut up, Sammy.” Sam didn’t push, but Dean knew his brother well enough to know that wouldn’t last forever. He already knew his brother was trying to find a way to help him with it all, from the moment he had stormed into Sam’s cabin after leaving your place. 

He shifted in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. His wolf wasn’t helping, either. The damn thing had been restless since they left, pacing in the back of his mind, chuffing like it was amused.

Like it knew.

And maybe it did. Maybe it always had. 

Dean swallowed hard, watching the road stretch ahead of them. Because for the first time in a long time, he had something he hadn’t had before. You had sought answers, too. His mind drifted back, nearly ten years, to that one full moon where his wolf was more than restless in his mind. It had been so bad that he’d been pacing his room that morning, unable to relax. 

In that moment, no matter how terrified he was, he made a decision. He was not only going to get over this fear of bonding with his wolf, he was going to find a way to talk to you about it, and about that first night, nearly ten years ago. He had to know what had made him so restless and why you hadn’t come back.

—----------------------------

A sharp knock rattled the cabin door, followed by Jess’s unmistakable voice. “You better not be dead in there, ‘cause I will break this door down.” You groaned, barely lifting your head from the couch. “Go away, Jess.” The door creaked open anyway. “Yeah, no. Not happening.” Jess stepped inside, already zeroed in on you, sprawled out on the couch, your face half-buried in that blanket—the one you’d given to Dean. The one she knew was your favorite.  Her mind instantly putting the pieces together—it didn’t smell like you anymore.

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

You huffed. “What?”

Jess kicked the door shut behind her, arms crossing as she moved closer. “You’re just gonna lay here, lost in your head over this morning? Spill.” Her voice was firm, but not unkind—she knew you too well to let this go.

You groaned and blindly reached for the nearest pillow, lobbing it at her without much effort. She dodged with a smirk. “We didn’t talk. I somehow made him uncomfortable, and he left, alright?”

Jess’s expression shifted, softening as she took a seat near your feet on the couch. She hadn’t seen you after his truck pulled away, and when you never showed up at her place, worry set in. “What happened?” she asked, quieter now.

With a sigh that bordered on a whine, you rolled over, draping an arm over your forehead, feet resting in her lap. “I suggested he let me claim him… so he could bond with his wolf and get those memories back.” Your voice dropped slightly. “Then he just… left.”

Jess frowned, sympathy flickering across her face as she studied you. “I’m sure Sam’ll help him figure it out,” she offered. A pause.”He told me some stuff… but you probably already know.”

That caught your attention. You pushed up onto one elbow, curiosity momentarily overtaking the turmoil swirling inside you. “Like?”

Jess hesitated, shifting where she sat. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she suddenly focused too hard on a crease in her shirt. “Well…” she exhaled, clearly debating whether she should say it. But you were his mate, like Sam was hers. The packs were family now. It should be fine. 

She glanced at you. “...Sam said that after that one full moon—the one you told me when you heard him answer your song—Dean got weird.”

Your brow lifted, curiosity outweighing hesitation now. “And? Come on, Jess, you can’t leave me hanging like this.”

Jess bit her lip, still fidgeting with her shirt. “Sam said it was like… his wolf lost interest in other omegas,” she mostly mumbled, like saying it was somehow betraying her mate.

The words landed like a gut punch, twisting guilt through your stomach where worry had just sat moments before. You had been fourteen, just following instincts, singing to the moon without knowing what it would mean. You hadn’t considered what it might do to him—how it might have changed things for him before either of you were ready. You’d only thought about yourself, about how you weren’t ready.

Jess saw it the second it hit. “Don’t do that,” she snapped, sharp but not unkind. “You were fourteen. It’s not like there’s a handbook on how any of this works.”

You looked away, curling in on yourself as you pulled your legs up to your chest, chin resting on your knees. “I hurt him, though,” you murmured. “Even if I didn’t know I was.”

Jess didn’t bother moving the blanket as she slid closer, wrapping her arms around you. “Just… talk to him. I know I keep saying that, but…” She sighed, squeezing you gently. “He’s your true mate. I don’t think he’s capable of hating you.” You sank into her warmth, closing your eyes against the whirlwind in your mind. Why did life have to be so damned unfair? Was that enough, though, being true mates? Could it fix this? The questions kept coming, nagging, refusing to let you go. 

Eventually, you pulled yourself out of it. You packed up the last of the turnovers you’d made for Dean that morning and shoved them into Jess’s hands, finally convincing her to leave you alone for a while. You needed space—needed to get your head straight.

So, you wrote.

First, in your journal, spilling every tangled thought onto the pages in a desperate attempt to quiet them. Then, on your laptop, fingers flying over the keys as you poured everything out—the weight of living with this mutation, the loneliness, the questions that haunted you since childhood, and the answers you wished someone had for you back then.

You wrote as if you were speaking to someone, though you weren’t sure who. At the time, it was just for you, a way to process it all. But years from now, these words would become part of something more—a book meant for others like you, like Dean.

Dean never came back that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

You buried yourself in writing, in distractions, in preparing for the celebration on Winchester land. Sam had stopped by to visit Jess the day before, letting you know it would be casual—nothing like the formality of the Winter celebration. A different world, a different kind of gathering.

Briefly, your thoughts drifted to Dean, seeing that blanket on the other end of the couch. Does he even want to see me? You shook your head, pushing away the doubts that tried to take root. He’d said it wasn’t goodbye the other day, so that was what you held onto, even if you hadn’t heard from him.

—--------------------------

The day of the celebration arrived with the crisp scent of the promise of autumn lingering in the air, only a month away, mingling with the unmistakable aroma of bonfires and roasting meat. Winchester land had been transformed for the occasion, the clearing filled with long wooden tables draped in deep red and earthy brown fabric, lanterns strung overhead casting a warm, golden glow.

Laughter and the hum of conversation wove through the space, the energy thick with anticipation. This wasn’t just any gathering—this was a rare, once-in-a-lifetime event. The mixing of the bloodlines. Two packs who had never crossed, now linked together through two Winchester alphas and two Winter omegas. 

Dean stood at the edge of the clearing, bottle of beer in hand, watching as his pack moved easily around him. He should’ve been mingling, should’ve been reveling in what this night meant, but his thoughts were a tangled mess he couldn’t unravel. His wolf paced just beneath the surface, agitated and restless, like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

Sam’s voice cut through the din, low and knowing. “You’re thinking too much.” Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he took a pull from his bottle. “Yeah? That what your fancy degrees tell you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Nah, that’s just basic observation. You’ve been like this for days.” Days. Ever since they’d gone to see Saltzman.

Dean clenched his jaw at the memory. The old professor had laid out the truth of things in a way Dean wasn’t sure he was ready to face. The bond between you and him wasn’t rare—it was something entirely different, something that had only happened three other times in the history of the records.

The way his wolf had reacted to you, the way your song had called to him all those years ago, had changed things before either of you had known what it would mean. And now, the more time he spent away from you, the more it gnawed at him.

“She’s here, you know.” Sam’s voice was gentler now, less teasing, more understanding. “Has been for a little while.” Dean exhaled slowly, nodding. Of course, you were. His senses had told him long before Sam had. For a brief second, his mind drifted to the blanket. The one he’d left with you three days ago. Maybe it was stupid, his hope that you’d brought it with you. He’d told you he would come back for it. So, it was probably still at your cabin, probably sitting on the couch in the same place you had picked it up from the night you gave it to him.

The documentaries hadn’t helped much. If anything, they’d only annoyed him. He knew all that stuff—that wild wolves had no doubts when it came to their mates. They followed. They protected. They claimed. And then there was how they interacted—loving, tender, caring, and no aggression with pack members. Dean wasn’t some damn animal, but his wolf sure as hell didn’t agree with that assessment.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Dean admitted, voice rough, barely audible over the classic rock and chatter. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Y/N, turns out I’ve been half-feral for years ‘cause my wolf imprinted on you when you were a teenager.’”

Sam shook his head, leaning against one of the long tables. “I think she deserves to hear it in your own time, man. But you gotta talk to her at some point.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. You stood near Jess, the two of you caught up in conversation, the firelight playing off your features, making you look like something out of a dream. His chest tightened at the sight, and his wolf howled in his mind.

You looked happy. Relaxed.

And then, as if sensing his stare, your gaze lifted, locking onto his. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, tentatively, you offered him a small smile.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to make something inside him settle, even for a moment.

“Start with that,” Sam said, nodding toward you. “See where it takes you.”

Dean exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped forward. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this night wasn’t about having all the answers—just about taking another step toward finding them.

You had chosen a comfortable pair of jeans and a simple blue tank top, layering it with the red flannel Dean had given you that first night. You left it unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. The fabric worn soft from use. The evening air was warm, so you’d only pulled your hair back into a ponytail, keeping it easy, effortless—though your thoughts were anything but. For the past hour, you’d kept an eye on Dean, even when you told yourself not to. He stayed at a distance, his presence a constant weight just at the edge of your awareness. So, you respected that space, choosing to keep away as well.

The Winchester pack had been welcoming, their kindness genuine, even as you made sure to stay downwind to lessen the effect of your scent. The adults, especially, were gracious—though you didn’t miss the way some of them flinched just slightly before smoothing their expressions. 

When Ellen had come over and handed you a beer, she’d cleared her through a little too deliberately. You caught the briefest flicker of discomfort before she masked it with a warm smile. You could only return it with an apologetic one of your own, murmuring a quiet thanks.

Still, no matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, your thoughts kept circling back to Dean. Every time you caught a glimpse of him—leaning against a table, nursing a beer, gaze fixed somewhere that wasn’t you—it hit you all over again. He was avoiding you.

Jess had tried to reassure you. He’ll come over. He’s probably just overthinking. Sam said he does that a lot. Maybe she was right. Maybe he would. But after the first hour had passed, you weren’t going to let yourself hope anymore.

“Jess?” Bobby’s voice cut through the chatter, drawing your best friend’s attention.

She turned, brow raised. “Yeah?”

“Need you a sec, kid,” he said, tipping his head toward one of the tables where a few of the pack’s older members had gathered.

Jess hesitated, looking at you as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave you alone, but you gave her a small smile and a reassuring nod. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” With a reluctant glance, she stepped away, leaving you by the fire’s glow.

A few moments later, you felt someone settle beside you, the movement quiet but intentional. This was the closest anyone had gotten to you all night. You turned and found Mary Winchester, her expression soft, eyes warm with understanding.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice gentle, but weighted with something more—like she already knew the answer.

You swallowed, glancing toward where Dean stood, still at a distance, his brother beside him. “I’m fine.”

Mary hummed, unconvinced, following your gaze. “My son can be stubborn. Always has been,” she said, taking a slow sip from the drink in her hand. “Gets in his own way more than he should.”

You let out a breath, looking down at the beer bottle you held. “I don’t know what I did wrong.” The words came quieter than you intended.

Mary shook her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She nudged your arm lightly, her touch grounding. “Dean’s always been the kind to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when no one asks him to. And when something—or someone—means too much to him, his first instinct is to protect. Even if that means keeping his distance until he figures out how.’

Your fingers tightened around the bottle as you processed her words. “So, what do I do?”

Mary’s smile deepened, something affectionate in her gaze. “Be patient. Let him come to you when he’s ready.” She reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, a mother’s touch. “He’s already yours, sweetheart. He just needs to catch up to the fact.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, unexpected and comforting all at once. You met her eyes, finding nothing but certainty there. She already saw you as part of this family—whether you and Dean had claimed each other or not.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip as you wrestled with the questions that had haunted you for days. Just the fact that she remained so close, offering steady reassurance with her presence alone, made you feel a sense of belonging you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. 

“I… I had offered to claim him,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended. “So he could get those memories back, and bond with his wolf.”

Her gaze flicked toward her sons, an almost knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Sam’s been keeping me updated, without Dean’s knowledge, of course.” 

You blinked at that, watching the way she watched them. Love radiated from her in a way that made your chest ache, but there was something beneath it, something you couldn’t quite name. You wondered if your parents ever looked at you like that—like they already knew the path you were meant to walk, even when you didn’t.

“Roughly six months after Dean presented, something in him changed after that full moon,” Mary murmured. “No one in the pack could help him. John and Bobby even tried following his wolf during shifts, but his wolf is smart, always giving them the slip.” 

She turned to you then, hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that has something to do with you.” Her voice softened. “Dean’s scared. Even if he won’t admit it. A mother always knows.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, a slow, gnawing ache. You dropped your gaze to the ground. “That was the first full moon where I sang,” you whispered, the words barely escaping. The memory pressed against you, sharp-edged and heavy. “I… I didn’t—”

Your breath hitched. A tear slipped down your cheek just as Mary pulled you into a warm embrace.

“Shh,” she soothed, holding you tightly, her hand moving in slow, comforting strokes down your back.

The dam broke. You clung to her, unable to hold back the sobs, unable to put words to everything you felt. For the first time outside of your own pack—outside of Dean—you were being held. No expectations, no judgment. Just comfort. Just understaninding..

Your arms instinctively wrapped around her as you cried into her shoulder. Even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to speak through the tears, to give voice to the ache twisting inside you.

A shift in the air.

Dean’s head snapped up the moment a light breeze carried your scent to him. His wolf reacted before he did, instinct sharpening, muscles tensing. His eyes locked onto you, curled into his mother’s arms, your distress unmistakable.

His feet moved before he could think. The beer in his hand was forgotten, left sweating on the table as he crossed the space of the celebration. Sam barely hid his knowing smirk.

Jess had turned, too, already halfway to her feet before a firm hand landed on her shoulder. 

“Dean’s got this, kid,” Bobby murmured, nodding in Dean’s direction.

She hesitated, watching, torn between instinct and trust. With a quiet sigh, she sank back into her seat, though her grip on the bottle in her hand tightened.

“If he screws this up, I’m gonna break his nose,” she grumbled before taking a long swig of her beer.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna fit in fine around here.”

You felt his presence before you saw him. Mary pulled back just as Dean reached you, giving you space but not stepping far. You barely had time to wipe at your face before he turned you, careful but firm, pulling you against his chest. 

His arms locked around you. Warm. Steady. Safe. 

“M’sorry, mega,” he murmured against your hair, nuzzling his cheek against yours. The word slipped from your lips in a whisper before you could stop it. “Wolf.” 

It wasn’t just surprise—it was recognition. The nuzzling was something his wolf did with you, even through the fence.

Dean didn’t fight it this time. Not like he had been. The distress in your scent had unsettled him in a way he didn’t have words for—an ache in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. 

The problem was, he had no clue how to comfort you. 

But his wolf did.

Gently, he led you away from the celebration, his arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. He paid attention, watching how his wolf interacted with you—how it took the lead when he didn’t know how. It was protective, but not possessive. Gentle, not demanding. It just wanted to keep you near, to soothe you. Nothing more. And that puzzled Dean. 

There was no aggression. No need to snarl at anyone or tuck you away from the rest of the world. No blame, no frustration. Just this instinct�� an unwavering need to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured as he finally stopped, leaning against a tree. He let his wolf guide his movements. His hand slid down your arm, the other finding your hand, slowly pulling you closer so you were against him again. Holding you.

He rested his chin on your head. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly, knowing you were listening. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you if you claim me.”

Your head rested against his chest, one hand on his side, the other near your cheek, his racing heartbeat beneath your touch. For a moment, you said nothing, searching for the right words. 

Then, softly, as if it was the simplest truth in the world, you whispered, “Your wolf won’t let you hurt me.”

And somehow, you knew that. No doubt, no hesitation—not after this.

Dean let out a shaky breath, trying to see past the fear tightening in his chest. “I’m afraid to take that chance,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not,” your voice was quiet, but confident.

His wolf preened at the sound of them, all but purring with pride.

Slowly,  you shifted in his arms, looking up at him. Gingerly, you reached up and cupped his cheek, letting your thumb brush away the tear that had slipped down. When his eyes met yours, the breath was knocked from his chest. 

Your expression was so soft, so tender, but the conviction in your eyes took him by surprise. His wolf howled as another tear slipped down his cheek, proud of his mate. You gently wiped that one away as well, smiling up at him.

“He needs his mate, just as much as you do,” you whispered. “I’ll be there, when you’re ready, and every day after.”

Dean couldn’t say anything, too choked by emotions he typically never let anyone see. He buried his face in your neck, holding you close and breathing you in. Yeah, he still had questions he wanted to ask you, but in this moment, he just needed you to ground him, keep his head above everything swirling inside that threatened to drown him.

“Thank you,” he finally whispered once the lump in his throat had diminished. Dean just couldn’t find any other way to say it—hoping you understood just how much those two words held.

You gave him a gentle squeeze, then just held him close. Slowly, the tension eased from his body, his wolf guiding him—guiding this bond it shared with you. A bond Dean almost envied, like he was missing out.

When he finally let out a shaky breath, letting his body relax completely, he pulled back to look into your eyes. It still took his breath away with how you looked at him, like he meant something to you, not just his wolf. Again, he let his wolf guide him, slowly leaning closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. 

He gave you plenty of time to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned up on your tiptoes, meeting him halfway, closing your eyes as his lips met yours. It wasn’t one of those desperate kind of kisses. No. His wolf guided him, slow, tender, loving. Something else he paid attention to was how you returned the kiss—a bit hesitant, a bit unsure, confirming that you really hadn’t been with anyone before, putting him at ease. His wolf, on the other hand, let out an amused huff in his mind.

This is gonna take some time getting used to.

After a few tender moments, he pulled away, realizing just how much having you in his arms eased not just his turmoil, but his wolf’s restlessness too. “We should get back,” he murmured, still letting his thumb rub over your skin. 

The celebration carried on around the two of you as you and Dean made your way back to the gathering, the steady thrum of voices, laughter, and music filling the night air. The scent of the bonfire mixed with the aroma of roasted marshmallows, the occasional crackle of burning wood punctuating the sounds of the pack. It should’ve felt the same as it always did—familiar, comforting.

But something had shifted.

Dean felt it in the way his wolf settled as soon as you walked beside him. He didn’t have to force himself to keep his stride slow, didn’t have to remind himself to match your pace. His wolf did it naturally. Instinct. Just like Saltzman had said.

He nearly scowled at the thought. Damn it, he hated when that bastard was right. Dean almost wanted to argue with it, shove it down like he always had. But the truth settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t ignore. Ignoring it meant ignoring you, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right anymore.

But it wasn’t just the professor’s words creeping in. It was his own awareness—of you. Of how his wolf reacted to your presence, how it no longer clawed at him the way it always had. How had he ignored it for so long? Dean let out a breath through his nose, resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face. He wasn’t ready to fully unpack that, not here, not now.

Beside him, you stole glances his way, observing. Not in a way that felt heavy or expectant, but rather… thoughtful. Like you were piecing things together, the same way he was.

And, you were.

You noticed how, before, Dean seemed to fight his instincts—how he tensed when his wolf pushed to the surface. But now, there was something different. He was letting it guide him, even if reluctantly. It was in the little things: how he adjusted his pace, the way his hand rested on the small of your back, his thumb brushing once, just barely, before retreating. The way his wolf rumbled in contentment, so quietly that no one else would hear it.

It wasn’t possessive. Wasn’t demanding. It was simply… present.

You held onto that realization, even as the two of you stepped back into the glow of the firelight, where curious eyes followed you. Glancing across the fire to Jess, sitting with some of the older Winchester pack members, you gave her that promising smile. The one that said you were good.

“About time,” Benny smirked around a bottle of beer, his knowing gaze flicking between you and Dean. “I was startin’ to think you two got lost out there.” Dean shot him a flat look but didn’t pull away when you leaned slightly into him.

Charlie, perched on a log near the fire, nudged Jo with her elbow. “Okay, but did you see that?” she muttered under her breath, though not nearly quiet enough.

Jo huffed a small laugh, arms crossed as she watched them with an appraising look. “Oh, I saw.”

Dean sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “You guys got nothin’ better to do?” Charlie grinned. “Nope. Don’t worry. We’ve been picking on Sam, too.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but the amusement in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Garth, passing by with a plate stacked high with food, gave the two of you a thumbs-up. “Lookin’ good, lovebirds.” Dean groaned, tipping his head back toward the sky. “I swear to—”

You finally let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “They’re just being affectionate.” 

He wasn’t used to being the one those sorts of remarks were aimed at, even if he had tossed a few similar ones out over the years at other newly bonded couples. Instead of griping about it, or letting the amused huffing of his wolf get to him, he wrapped his arm around you, his hand resting comfortably on your waist. 

Unbeknownst to you or Dean—or even to Sam and Jess—your parents, her parents, and the brothers’ parents had slipped away from the celebration, drawn to a quieter area. There were things to discuss, pack matters that, while not urgent, carried weight. Sam’s bond with Jess was already certainty; by the time they left for college in the fall, he would have claimed her, and their packs would officially be one.

That meant changes—like finally taking down the dividing fence. But their conversation wasn’t just about Sam and Jess. Quietly, without pressure or expectation, they spoke of making the place where their Touched had met her soulmate. Even if you and Dean hadn’t claimed each other, even if no plans had been made… some things were worth honoring.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 9

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[ghostofskywalker]

Life Day Wishes

Hunter/Fem!Reader

Words: 4,478

Summary: [Modern/Neighbors AU] You had long since become a true member of Hunter's family, even if it took him over five years to actually admit to you how he feels.

Prompts: gift exchange || "i hope you know how much i love you" (which was slightly modified to fit the fic - i hope that's okay!)

Note: this is one of my contributions to the @cloneficgiftexchange life day exchange, which i ran! i was so excited to receive @captainpains as my giftee, and i wanted to write something silly, fluffy, and fun for you :) hope you enjoy!

Clone Troopers Masterlist

Holiday advertisements were playing on practically every channel as you flipped through the stations on the TV, different snippets of Life Day music being cut short with each press of the remote. It’s not that you were tired of the holidays or that you disliked them, but right now everything was a constant reminder of the fact that you wouldn’t have anyone to spend them with this year. Your sister and her family would be spending the holidays at a soccer tournament for your nephew, so you didn’t really envy her, but it still meant that you would be spending Life Day completely alone for the first time. 

An infomercial for a fancy kind of chiller was lighting up the screen as you turned back to check on Omega. Hunched over the kitchen table with homework spread out in front of you, she was hard at work. You worked at the school she attended (though you didn’t usually see her at all during the day), so you drove her home in the afternoons and made sure she didn’t accidentally set the house on fire until her dad got home from work. 

“You almost done over there?” you asked, a smile on your face. This evening, Hunter had told you that he would be home a little later than usual, so you had a small surprise for Omega. 

“Just two more math problems!” she called back, still focused intently on the papers in front of her. “I already did my social studies homework.” 

You hummed in response as you turned your attention back to the TV, not wanting to bother her while she was still working. Despite the fact that it was a Friday and she technically didn’t have to finish everything, you had heard stories in the past of forgotten projects and her rushing to get everything done before bed on Sunday night, which you weren’t looking to facilitate. 

A few moments later though, you were getting up from Hunter’s (incredibly comfortable) armchair and pulling a folder out of your bag. “Since it’s gonna be us this evening, I thought we could order a pizza and then make some Life Day cookies,” you said, watching Omega’s face light up at the idea. 

“Yes!” Omega said, running over and throwing her arms around you as you pulled out a cookie recipe. “Can we get the tooka shaped pizza from Dex’s?” 

“Of course!” You said, returning her hug. You knew that Hunter tried his best to be there for her, but the fact that he was a single dad certainly made things a little more difficult. He had confided in you that he picked up some overtime to make sure he could get the best Life Day gifts for Omega, but she didn’t know that, and you could tell she was probably feeling a little sad that she didn’t see him as much.

A little while later, after the two of you were done tearing into your adorably shaped dinner, ingredients for cookies were being removed from cabinets as you asked Omega about her plans for Life Day. 

“My uncles are going to come over and we’ll have a big dinner,” she said. “I think next weekend my dad and I are going to put up the decorations.” 

“That’s great,” you said. “Do you know what you’re going to get your dad and uncles yet?” 

Omega shook her head. “I don’t, and I don’t think the holiday market at school will have things they’d want.” 

You laughed; she was certainly right about that statement. The school holiday market, which was great for getting kids used to handling money and making a budget based on how many people they had to buy gifts for, was not the best place to look for meaningful presents. “I’m sure your dad and uncles would appreciate anything, as long as it came from you.” 

You weren’t lying about that. Living next door to Hunter and Omega for the past five years meant that you were also close with her uncles and even some of her extended family, and many a summer night had been spent sitting around the fire pit in their backyard, drinking with Hunter and his brothers as Omega hung out with her friends on the swingset. You knew for a fact that even if she handed them a pile of painted bantha shit, Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and even Crosshair would smile and pretend she had gifted them a priceless artifact. 

“I know,” she said, placing her measuring cup in the container of sugar and starting to scoop out what the recipe required. “But I still want to get them something nice.” 

“Why don’t you ask your dad to take you out shopping?” you asked. “He’s spent enough time with his brothers to help you pick something out.” 

Omega nodded. “That’s a good idea.” 

“And if you want, I can help you out when it comes to shopping for your dad,” you said. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get him anyway.” 

Your statement was not one you considered to be scandalous or abnormal, but Omega stopped what she was doing to stare incredulously in your direction. “Why are you getting my dad a gift?” 

The real answer was considerably more complicated, but you didn’t dare get into that with a middle schooler as you stood in the center of her kitchen. “Because we’re friends,” you said. “I got him and your uncles something last year, why would this year be any different?” 

“Oh,” was Omega’s response, and the way she latched onto your words certainly struck you as odd. There was no way she picked up on your feelings for her father, you had done so well hiding them from everyone (yourself included, since you didn’t even realize you liked Hunter until a little over a year ago). “I forgot how long we’ve known you.” 

“That’s okay, sometimes I do the same thing,” you said, a smile on your face. “You can make it up to me by telling me what your dad might want for Life Day though.” 

The young girl paused before speaking. “There is this caf machine he’s been looking at,” she said. “But I think it’s pretty expensive.” 

You nodded as Omega tried to remember the name of the machine, but it just wasn’t coming to her. “Don’t worry about it,” you said. “If he talks about it again, let me know and we can look for it when we go shopping. If you still want to go shopping with me of course.” Omega nodded brightly, and the conversation trailed off as things began to require your full attention. 

Hunter walked in the door about an hour later, and the house was alight with laughter as the two of you rolled out cookies and dipped them in sprinkles and sugar before placing them on baking sheets. The moment she noticed her dad, Omega dropped her rolling pin and ran over to tackle him in a hug, effectively covering him in flour as it transferred from her clothes. 

“Hey Megs!” Hunter said, happily returning his daughter’s powdery hug. “Having fun?” 

“We’re making cookies!”

“I can tell,” he said, gaze meeting yours as he surveyed his (now very messy) kitchen. 

“We’re almost done,” you said warmly, holding up the last dough ball that has yet to be shaped. “Do you want to do the honors?” 

 Hunter nodded, walking over to you (after a quick detour to the sink, where Omega made him wash his hands) and taking the rolling pin from where it had been discarded before, and with a little bit of help, the last cookie took shape. 

Once the kitchen had been cleaned and the cookies lay cooling, it was just you and Hunter. “Thank you for doing this with her,” he said sincerely. “I know she can tell I’ve been gone longer than usual.” 

You nodded. “She doesn’t blame you, but I think she worries.” 

“I know,” Hunter sighed. “Maker, I wish things were easier.”

“You’re definitely not alone with that sentiment.” 

“I have the week after Life Day off, I think I’m going to see if she wants to do anything special.”

“That’s a good idea,” you said. “I know things get busy as you’re planning everything for the holiday.” 

Hunter nodded. “Yeah. At least you only host half the time.” 

“And this year I don’t have to do anything,” you said, continuing when Hunter shot you a quizzical look. “My sister and her family are going to a soccer tournament over break, so I’ll have the day to myself.” 

“You should come over here,” was his immediate response, followed by a rushed “only if you want to.” 

“Please, you know I enjoy spending time with your family,” you laughed. “I don’t want to be any trouble though, if things are already planned.” 

Now it was his turn to scoff. “You could never be a bother,” he said. “I promise.” 

“Then I’ll be there,” you said. 

The smile he gave you in response nearly stopped your heart right then and there. Now your gift for him definitely had to be perfect. 

***

The rotations until Life Day were slipping away faster than Hunter could have ever expected, and it still felt like he hadn’t even started preparing. There was still so much to shop for, plan for, and don’t even get him started on the pile of gifts for his daughter slowly accumulating in the trunk of his car and the back of his closet (that would all need to be wrapped when she wasn’t around to peek at them). 

It was something of a relief when you offered to take Omega shopping for Life Day presents one weekend, because that meant he could recruit his brothers to help out in other ways and he didn’t have to worry about Omega walking in and seeing any of her gifts.

Tech and Crosshair were in charge of gift wrapping, and they operated like a well-oiled machine as they sat on the floor in the living room, tinsel, bows and patterned rolls of paper spread all within arm’s reach. The mountain of presents had been pulled from their hiding places, and it appears that Hunter may have gone a little overboard this year when shopping for Omega. 

Echo and Wrecker were in charge of the menu and the grocery list for Life Day dinner, and Hunter could hear the playful bickering between the two as they squabbled over how many side dishes they should have and whether or not three dessert options was too much (Wrecker believed there should be at least five options, a sentiment Hunter did not disagree with, if he was being honest). 

His job out of all this was looking at the gifts already purchased and making a list of people he still needed to shop for, along with making sure the gifts they had for Omega’s teachers were done. Omega would (hopefully) be returning from her outing today with presents purchased for all her uncles, but that still meant Hunter had to buy something for them, as well as for a few other friends. He had just finished the list of people he would need to shop for when he heard Crosshair’s voice over his shoulder. 

“I expected that we’d be low on the list of priorities, but your girlfriend? That’s just mean.” 

Hunter, his mind still running through a list of all the people he knew in an effort to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anyone, looked up at him with confusion. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

Crosshair raised his eyebrows, and everyone else in the house stopped what they were doing to stare at Hunter, because they knew exactly where this conversation was heading. “Really? Where’s your kid right now?” 

“She’s with-” Hunter started to respond before catching on to his brother’s implication. “How many times do I have to tell you that we’re not together?” 

“You could be, if you just asked her out already. Honestly, if you keep at this pace Omega will have bought a house of her own before you even think about making a move.” 

A heaving sigh left Hunter’s mouth. “First of all, I don’t like her in that way.”

Before he could continue his statement, the house erupted with laughter (a reaction that Hunter did not appreciate). “Give it up Hunter,” Echo said as he looked up from the menu he was penning. “Omega practically calls her mom and you get a stupid look on your face whenever you mention her.” 

As much as he would have liked to continue denying his feelings to protect his pride, Hunter had to admit that his brothers were right. He had been absolutely smitten from the first moment he met you five years ago. You had knocked on their door to introduce yourself, with homemade muffins in your hands and a smile on your face, and he had almost forgotten how to talk. As the years went by and you got closer and closer to him and his daughter, it had become increasingly more difficult to ignore the attraction he felt. “Fine, you di’kuts are right,” he said. “But she doesn’t feel the same way, and I’m not going to ruin the positive relationship she has with Omega. Besides, I can’t afford an actual babysitter.” 

“Omega is more than capable of spending the afternoons by herself, and she could take the bus home after school,” Tech said. “Also, you are decidedly incorrect about her not feeling the same way.” 

“Guys-” 

“It’s true!” Wrecker boomed. “We’ve spent enough time with her at your summer barbecues to catch how she looks at you.”

“And now she’s coming to Life Day dinner,” Crosshair said. “Face it Hunter, you’re in love.”

“I invited her because she didn’t have anywhere else to go!” 

“Two things can be true at the same time,” Tech said. 

“Maybe you could say something on Life Day,” Wrecker cut in. “What are you going to get her?” 

There was a significant pause before Hunter responded, his voice much quieter than it had been before. “I don’t know.” 

Hunter loved his brothers, he truly did. But right now, as they rattled off endless suggestions of things he could get you, he wanted to be anywhere else but here at the moment. 

The feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket provided a welcome distraction, and he looked down to see your name on the screen. Omega and I are going out to lunch and then we’ll be home, you’ve got about an hour left to finish wrapping her gifts, the text message read. 

Thanks for the heads up, he texted back. I’ll make sure things are all cleaned up by then. 

No matter how hard he tried to hide the smile that crossed his face, it was an impossible feat, as was getting his brothers to stop teasing him and get back to work, since they really didn’t have much time to get everything done. 

He still needed to think about a gift for you, and time was certainly running out. Trying to ignore the way his brain wandered towards easy daydreams was another unattainable goal, and he couldn’t help but play through all different scenarios in his head of you and him, hearts and souls intertwined in domestic bliss. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his brothers were right. Five years was long enough, he just needed to find the courage to actually tell you how he felt without chickening out, and maybe this Life Day he would prove successful. 

***

Hunter’s home was less than a minute walk for you, but your heart was racing as you stepped up to the front door, as if you had run a marathon on the way. But the homemade cake you had brought was balanced precariously atop the gifts in your hands, and a single misstep could have spelled imminent disaster.

Thankfully, the door opened before you had finished ascending the porch stairs, and Hunter immediately pulled the cake from the top of the gift stack. “Need any other help?” he asked.

“No, but thank you,” you breathed, stepping inside and immediately walking through to the living room. Once the presents in your arms were deposited safely next to the tree, you were nearly tackled in a hug. 

“Happy Life Day!” Omega said brightly, arms tight around your middle. 

“Happy Life Day to you too,” you said, unable to keep a goofy smile from appearing on your face. Despite the fact that you didn’t live here, something about this space, and especially these people, felt like home in a way you could never truly articulate. 

When Omega finally let you go, you turned to Hunter. “Am I the first one here?” Even though you lived next door, you would have thought someone else would be here by now, especially since you arrived a little late (trying to close your own door with the gifts and cake was quite a challenge, but you managed). 

Hunter nodded. “The others aren’t supposed to be here for another half hour,” he said. “Omega wanted to give you your gift as early as possible.” 

You looked back at Omega, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “Well, I can’t leave her waiting any longer, can I?” 

After being directed to the couch, you watched Hunter sit down on the armchair across the room with a smile on his face. As Omega brought over a small box wrapped in tooka-patterned paper, you jokingly shook it, feeling something heavy rustle around. As you tore open the paper and opened the box, your eyes widened. 

Glittering in the light of the tree across the room were two crystalline statues of your favorite animal. You had spent many hours doodling with Omega when she was younger at her kitchen table, and it was clear that this gift was her idea, as she had seen enough of your attempts at drawing these to know they were your favorite. “I love them,” you said sincerely, placing the statues on the couch side table before sweeping her up in a hug. “Do you want to open your gift now?” you asked, and her eyes lit up. 

Hunter watched in amusement as you walked over to the tree and presented Omega’s two gifts to her. She was much less gentle with the wrapping than you were, but that didn’t really matter. “Wow!” she said as she realized what it was, eyes wide as she took in the present, a high-quality set of paints, paintbrushes, and a pack of canvases, since she talked all the time about how much she enjoyed painting in art class. 

Hunter opened his mouth, probably to prompt his daughter to say thank you, but she beat him to it, wrapping you in a hug once more and babbling excitedly about what she’s going to paint with her new supplies. 

When she finally let you go, you got up from the couch and stepped over towards the tree, where you picked up a large box and presented it to Hunter. His eyes widened. “For me?” 

“Yes!” you said. “Omega helped me pick it out, so technically it’s from both of us.” 

He took the box from you. “It’s heavy.”

You watched with bated breath as he ripped open the paper, a smile crossing his face as he realized what it was. “Omega spilled the beans about you wanting a new caf machine,” you said. “And I’ll admit, we did get a slightly better model than the one you have now.” 

“That’s an understatement,” he said, staring at the graphics on the box that outlined all the different things this machine could do. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I wanted to,” you said, and the two of you locked eyes for a moment. There was so much you wanted to tell him, but you didn’t exactly want to do it with an audience.

“Thank you,” he said warmly, putting the box down to get up from his chair. He moved to hug you, but his daughter beat him to it. You had hugged Omega so many times today that part of your mind wished Hunter was the one to wrap your arms around you, but you tried to push those thoughts away. 

After the moment had ended, you immediately moved to grab the used wrapping paper from the floor, and Omega took off somewhere else in the house, excitedly talking about how she couldn’t wait for her uncles to arrive. 

You and Hunter worked like you could read each others’ minds, something you only noticed when you realized that you had wordlessly begun setting out hors d'oeuvres on the table in preparation for the rest of the family to arrive. Maker, things just felt so right here, with him, so much so that you never wanted to leave.  

“Hey,” Hunter’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You didn’t open all your gifts yet.” 

You looked at him with a confused look on your face. “But-” 

He shook his head. “We- I have one more thing for you.” 

You took note of the way he corrected himself, watching as he left the kitchen and returned with a small box in his hands. It was completely silent as you tore open the paper and popped open the jewelry box to reveal a simple necklace, your first initial hanging from a silver chain. 

“I didn’t know what to get you, and then my brothers got in my head about making sure I got something good, so-”

“Hunter,” you said softly, cutting off his rambling. “I love it.” 

He breathed an obvious sigh of relief, and you gently put the box down on the counter before moving towards him, throwing your arms around him and breathing in his scent. He returned the hug, and you felt as though you might die right here and now. You had hugged Hunter before, but they had always been quick goodbyes and polite greetings, never something like his. 

As you moved to pull away, he gripped your side a little tighter. “Wait,” he said, voice soft. Your faces were much closer than they had ever been before, and you wondered if he could hear the way your heart was beating faster than usual. 

“What is it?” you breathed.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Despite having daydreamed about him saying those words to you multiple times since you met, it took a few seconds for you to register that they were actually leaving his lips at this moment. “Yes,” you responded, allowing him to close the gap between you. 

Kissing Hunter was like coming upon an oasis in the desert, the feeling of his lips on yours suddenly becoming a desperate need. If you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up. One of your hands moved to his hair as his tightened around your waist, every ounce of passion that both of you had been keeping locked away finally bubbling to the forefront. 

The sound of excited shrieking was what finally detached your lips from each other, and you both turned to see Omega standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a smile on her face. “Does this mean I can call you mom?” she asked, looking expectantly at you. 

Hunter shifted where he stood. “Omega-” 

But before he could say anything, you jumped in. “If you promise not to say anything to your uncles, yes.” 

She nodded excitedly and ran up to the two of you for a hug before mumbling something about giving you space, leaving the room as empty as it had been a minute ago.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” you said quickly. “If you don’t want her to call me that I can tell her I was mistaken.” 

“I was about to tell her that it was your decision,” he said warmly. “I don’t want you to think that just because we kissed I was expecting anything more.” 

“What if I wanted something more?” you asked. “Hunter, I’ve cared about you for so long now I barely even noticed my feelings until a year ago. But there’s no mistaking how I feel anymore, and I want you to know how much I love you.” 

He pulled you into another hug. “I think I fell in love with you the moment we met,” he said. “My brothers have been bugging me about you for longer than I want to admit.” 

You laughed, only imagining the types of teasing he has endured over the last few years. “Then let’s go for it.” 

Hunter responded by leaning down to kiss you again, and you certainly weren’t complaining. 

The next thing to grab your attention was the sound of the doorbell ringing, and you pulled away from Hunter (who, swear to Maker, emitted something of a whine as he lost contact with your lips). “How long do you think it’s going to take Omega to spill the beans?” you whispered as you heard her footsteps through the house, no doubt moving to open the door for whichever of her uncles had arrived first. 

“Seconds, probably,” he whispered back.

You laughed. “Come on, let’s go see who it is.” 

“Do we have to?” 

Playfully swatting his shoulder as his face morphed into a pout, you nodded before pulling away from his touch.

You greeted Crosshair with a bright smile and a polite hug, and he didn’t say anything about knowing what had just transpired between you and his brother moments before, so there was a small sliver of hope that Omega had been able to keep your secret. 

However, the moment you sat down on the couch with a plate of snacks, you could feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and a text from Crosshair to both you and Hunter reflected on the home screen. 

Have a good makeout session? 

Before you could think about what to say, a response from Hunter followed. 

Did Omega tell you?

Crosshair, who was sitting on the armchair as Omega rooted around under the tree for his gift, just smiled as he typed back. 

She didn’t have to, one look at your hair told me everything I needed to know.

Hunter quickly tried to tame his hair where your hands had mussed it, and Crosshair just watched with an amused smile. As the doorbell rang once more and Omega ran to greet the next arrival, a sincere smile appeared on his face. “Congrats you two.” 

“Thanks,” you said sincerely. “We finally figured things out.” 

As Hunter sat down on the couch next to you and intertwined your fingers with his, you realized that you couldn’t have dreamed of a more perfect Life Day, and you would never again have to consider spending the holiday alone.

- the end -

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[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Fifteen: A Really Shit Spider-Man SS: 3 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.2K Content Warnings: kissing, talks of sex

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Chan flicks on the light, revealing a sleek, modern penthouse bathed in warm tones of gray and black. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city skyline glittering with lights, and the furniture is minimalist and clean. Leather, steel, and glass dominating the space.

Ayame steps inside, her heels clicking softly against the polished hardwood floor. Her gaze sweeps over the pristine living room, her expression unreadable. "Wow," she says finally, turning to Chan with a raised eyebrow. "I expected something different. Like... a moat. Maybe a dungeon. Chains on the walls. You know, the full evil overlord package."

Chan chuckles as he shrugs off his hoodie and tosses it onto a sleek grey armchair. His tank top clings to him, still damp from his run, and his sweatpants sit low on his hips. "Sorry to disappoint. The dungeon's on backorder. You're stuck with this for now."

Ayame crosses her arms, scanning the immaculate decor with a scrutinizing eye. "You know, for a guy with such a messy life, this place is suspiciously tidy."

Chan smirks, leaning against the wall. "I keep my chaos external. It's a system."

"Do I get to snoop?" Ayame asks, already wandering toward a towering bookshelf neatly arranged with hardcovers and sleek binders.

Chan raises an eyebrow. "You wanna snoop?"

"No," Ayame replies too quickly, her hand already brushing along the spines of the books.

"You wanna snoop," he teases, pushing off the wall. "Go ahead. Fair's fair—I snooped at your place."

Ayame glares over her shoulder. "That's because my place has personality. Yours is like a fancy Airbnb."

"And yours is like an explosion of childhood trauma and Smurf worship," Chan counters, grinning as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Ayame gasps, clutching a book to her chest dramatically. "How dare you insult my Smurf collection? They're soldiers in the war against bland decor like this."

Chan laughs, pulling two whiskey glasses from a cabinet. "Just for that, you're getting whiskey instead of tea."

"Tea would've been insulting after everything we've been through," Ayame quips, crouching down to inspect the lower shelves. Her gaze catches on a small collection of vintage matchbox cars displayed neatly among the books. She grins, running a finger over the edge of a tiny red Corvette. "Oh, now this is interesting. Your dirty little secret is you like tiny cars?"

"They were my grandfather's," Chan says as he pours the whiskey. "He gave me one every year for my birthday until he passed."

Ayame softens slightly, brushing her fingers along the cars. "That's... really sweet, actually."

Chan walks back over with the glasses, handing her one. "Yeah, well, it's got nothing on your Smurf army."

Ayame snickers, taking a sip of her whiskey. "Careful, or the army might deploy a counterattack."

Chan leans against the shelf next to her, swirling his drink. "If they do, I'll just call in my matchbox air support."

She cackles, flipping through a random book on the shelf. Her eyes widen when she realizes it's a medical textbook. "Whoa. Is this what you read for fun? You're out here brushing up on the anatomy of dicks?"

Chan's grin widens, his voice dry. "Knowledge is power. Besides, I went to med school for a year."

Ayame chokes on her whiskey, her eyes wide. "Wait, wait, wait. That's why Haechul calls you Dr. Chan? I thought it was some fucked-up inside joke!"

Chan shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. "One year. Dropped out. Haechul likes to remind me I didn't live up to my 'full potential.'"

Ayame snorts, leaning back against the bookshelf. "Oh, please. My eomma wanted me to be a lawyer. Imagine her disappointment when I got a master's in classical lit."

Chan freezes mid-sip, lowering his glass. "You have a master's?"

"Yeah," Ayame says, sipping her drink. "Finished a few months ago. I don't talk about it much. It's not exactly the most useful thing in a corporate office."

Chan steps closer, raising his glass. "To overachieving in ways that make our parents question their life choices."

Ayame laughs softly, clinking her glass against his. "I'll drink to that."

Ayame downs the last of her whiskey, setting the empty glass on the bookshelf with a soft clink. She grins mischievously at Chan, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the heat of their banter. "You know, if you were a real doctor, all of your patients would have astronomical heart rates."

Chan snorts, leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed. "Oh yeah? Let's test that theory. I think I'll have to diagnose you with a raging case of horny."

Ayame's grin widens. "Serious, is it?"

"Very," Chan replies, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I think your condition may require bedrest."

"Will I die?" Ayame asks, mock horror painting her face.

Chan's eyes glimmer with amusement. "Not if you're careful. A few days in bed should do the trick."

Ayame gasps theatrically. "Oh my gosh, I wanna see your bedroom."

Chan gestures toward a door down the hallway. "Be my guest, shortcake."

The heels of Ayame's shoes click softly on the hardwood floor as she strides into Chan's bedroom, her laughter ringing lightly in the otherwise quiet space. She kicks them off with a casual flick, sending them skittering across the room before flopping onto the bed. The deep green walls surrounding her contrast sharply with the minimalism of the rest of his apartment, making the room feel unexpectedly warm, even intimate.

"Nice colour," Ayame says, her tone teasing but genuine. "Didn't peg you for someone with taste."

Chan leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watches her settle in. "Didn't peg you for someone who'd end up here."

Ayame grins, stretching languidly across the plush duvet. "Life's full of surprises."

Chan pushes off the frame, stepping closer until he's perched on the edge of the bed. He watches her for a moment, his gaze tracing her face, her playful smirk, the way her cherry earrings glint in the faint light of the room.

"Alright," she says suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Truth or dare?"

Chan raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. "What is this, a slumber party?"

"Scared?" Ayame taunts, propping herself up on one elbow. Her hair tumbles over her shoulder, the movement drawing his attention.

"Hardly," Chan replies, leaning back slightly on his hands. "Fine. Truth."

"Coward," Ayame mutters, pretending to think for a moment before her eyes narrow. "Why did you quit med school?"

Chan exhales, the smirk fading from his face as he runs a hand through his hair. "Alright, but you asked for it. My dad thought it would be great to throw me into the coroner's wing for a day. First autopsy, I puked inside the cadaver."

Ayame's face twists into a grimace. "Holy shit. That's disgusting."

"You're telling me," Chan says, laughing softly. "That was the moment I realized I wasn't exactly surgeon material."

"Good call," Ayame says, sitting up fully now. Her tone lightens as she teases, "But you've got the hands for it. Look at these." She grabs one of his hands, inspecting it like she's appraising fine jewellery. "Strong, veiny. Hot hands."

Chan smirks, letting her inspect him like a specimen. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Both," Ayame shoots back, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of his palm. "Alright, tell me the muscles." She pokes his bicep. "This?"

Chan groans but indulges her. "Biceps brachii."

"This one?" she presses, moving to his forearm.

"Brachioradialis," he replies, smirking as she continues poking.

The poking escalates into light pushes and jabs until Ayame suddenly straddles his lap, her hands on his chest as she grins down at him. "Okay, Dr. Bang, what muscle is this?" She presses a hand flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his thin tank top.

Chan props himself up on his elbows, his smirk deepening as his hands settle instinctively on her hips. "Pectoralis major."

"Impressive," Ayame says softly, leaning closer until their noses nearly brush. Her voice drops, quieter now. "Maybe we should just fuck and get it out of our system."

Chan's smirk falters, replaced by something darker, more serious. His grip tightens slightly on her hips as he looks at her, his voice low. "You think that's the answer?"

"Why not?" Ayame asks, her tone almost pleading now. "This tension, it's not going anywhere. Let's just get it over with."

Chan studies her, his dark eyes searching hers for a long moment. Then, with surprising gentleness, he lifts her off his lap, setting her beside him on the bed. "Ayame," he says softly, his voice calm but firm. "It's not happening. Not like this."

Ayame blinks, her face flickering with frustration and something else. Hurt. "Why not?"

Chan stands, running a hand through his hair. "Because this isn't just tension. And you know it."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ayame snaps, sitting up now, her voice rising.

"It means I'm not going to be some experiment for you," Chan replies, his voice sharpening slightly. "You think this is just about sex?"

"Isn't it?" Ayame shoots back, her tone cutting. "What else is it supposed to be?"

Chan exhales, his jaw tightening. "You tell me. You're the one playing games."

"Unbelievable," Ayame mutters, sliding off the bed and grabbing her heels. "You bait me, you flirt, you kiss me like it's the end of the fucking world, and then you pull this shit?"

"I'm not baiting you," Chan retorts, his tone steady but firm. "You're the one who's scared to admit what you want."

Ayame glares at him, slipping her heels back on with jerky movements. "You know what, Bang? Fuck you."

Chan steps aside as she storms past him, her coat flung over her arm. The door slams behind her, leaving the room in heavy silence. Chan stands there for a moment, staring at the empty space where she'd been.

"Fuck," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face as he sits heavily on the edge of the bed, staring out at the glittering city lights beyond the window.

Ayame's heels echo sharply against the wet pavement, the chill of the night biting at her exposed legs as she mutters under her breath. Her irritation clings to her like a second skin, her breath clouding in the cold air as she walks toward the neon-lit sign of a small, rundown bar. The glowing red letters buzz faintly, their light reflecting off the slick ground, adding an eerie warmth to the dreary street.

She shoves the heavy door open, the creak of its hinges lost beneath the low hum of conversation and the faint crackle of an old jukebox playing a bluesy tune. The smell of stale beer, whiskey, and decades-old wood hits her like a wall, and she sighs, stepping inside.

Her coat slips off her shoulders as she slides onto a barstool, the smooth leather cold against her thighs. She props her elbow on the counter and gestures to the bartender without looking up. "Whiskey," she says flatly. "Neat."

The bartender, a grizzled man in his late forties with salt-and-pepper hair and a face carved by years of hard living, raises an eyebrow but doesn't question her tone. He grabs a glass, his movements practised and deliberate, and pours her a generous amount of amber liquid.

"Rough night?" he asks, sliding the drink toward her.

Ayame snorts softly, wrapping her fingers around the glass. "Rough everything," she mutters, lifting it to her lips. The first sip burns, its heat spreading through her chest, and she winces slightly but doesn't stop.

"That bad, huh?" the bartender presses, leaning on the counter as he wipes down an empty glass.

Ayame downs the rest of the whiskey in one go, setting the glass down with a faint thud. "You ever meet someone who gets under your skin? Like, burrows in there and makes a fucking nest?"

The bartender chuckles, his voice low and gravelly. "Sounds like a hell of a person."

"Hell is right," Ayame mutters as she gestures for another. "The smug bastard thinks he knows everything. And the worst part? He might be right."

The bartender raises an eyebrow but says nothing, pouring her another glass and setting it in front of her.

Ayame takes a slower sip this time, the warmth of the whiskey dulling the sharp edges of her frustration. "I'm overthinking it, right? Like, this is just me being stupid."

"I don't know," the bartender replies, shrugging. "Depends. What did this guy do to piss you off so much?"

Ayame scoffs, swirling the whiskey in her glass. "He kissed me like it meant something. Then he fucked with my head like it didn't."

The bartender whistles low, shaking his head. "Classic."

"Classic?" Ayame repeats, narrowing her eyes. "What, you've got a whole book of assholes doing this shit?"

He grins, holding up his hands. "Hey, I've seen a lot in my time. Sounds like he's in your head."

"Yeah, no shit," Ayame mutters, taking another drink. The whiskey burns less this time, its warmth settling into her chest like a heavy blanket. "But I'm not letting him win. No way."

"That's the spirit," the bartender says, smirking as he moves to serve another customer. "Another round?"

Ayame nods, her lips twitching into a faint smirk of her own. "Keep 'em coming. I'm not done yet."

As the night stretches on, the whiskey flows freely, each glass blurring the edges of her anger into something softer, hazier. The jukebox switches to a slow, melancholic tune, and the buzz of the bar fades into a distant hum.

Ayame leans back on her stool, staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar, her mind a chaotic tangle of frustration, longing, and that infuriating smirk she can't seem to forget.

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[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 26 - Music:

The Gramophone:

Sir Charles Topham Hatt loves his railway. The North Western Railway had flourished under his tenure, with the Knapford Harbour being rebuilt and the Arlesburgh branch being reopened. His father’s legacy was secured, the railway was insulated from British Railways and its baying diesels. All in all, a grand career.

But Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western.

One early morning, The Fat Controller arrived at his office in Tidmouth to find something new sitting atop his filing cabinet. It was an old-fashioned gramophone, the kind that had been popular three decades ago. It still had the great big old brass horn that had been superseded by more dynamic sound output systems in the ‘60s, making it seem far bulkier than it really was. Sir Charles walked over, and checked it for a note, or a message, or anything! But there was no hint of who had left it.

A quick check with the station staff revealed that none of them had put it in his office either – though that left all of them with no real explanation as to how exactly the weird old thing ended up in Sir Charles’ office.

“Perhaps it’s a gift from your wife,” offered the stationmaster eventually. “Your sixtieth is coming up soon, sir.” Sir Charles considered. He supposed it was something his wife would do – she’d surprised him with a holiday to Spain for his fiftieth, and he had been collecting a few records in his office recently. She must’ve seen them during their last lunch date. “It must be,” he agreed. “And the note must’ve fallen off somewhere.”

With that, Sir Charles settled in to start his day’s paperwork. He paused in front of his record collection, and selected the most recent Elton John album, popping it on the old gramophone and setting everything up right. To his amazement, the record fitted perfectly on the turntable. That seemed a bit odd – most old record players weren’t built for the size of modern vinyls. But it fit, and when Sir Charles placed the needle down, the record began to play with no complaints at all. The Fat Controller smiled fondly, and sat back down to work.

All through the day, Sir Charles played music while he worked, flipping out recent records he’d bought on a whim for older classical pieces that reminded him of his youth and the songs his father would play for him while they sat at home. The music flittered out of the office, filling the station concourse and intriguing even the engines.

At the end of the day, Sir Charles placed all his records back, turned off the gramophone, and caught the Edward’s train bound for Wellsworth.

The next morning, Sir Charles arrived at the Big Station to find Henry waiting nervously on the goods line. He seemed very startled. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles. Henry’s eyes darted around, and then he let off steam. “I heard… I heard something weird last night. When I came through with the Kipper. It sounded like… like me, from when Sir Topham… when he…” Henry broke off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Sir Charles frowned, not sure what to say. “You heard father? When he… bricked you up?” Henry sighed. “Yes. It was awful! I could hear his voice, but it was twisted… he was threatening me, telling me horrible things… I thought it was imagination at first, but it was definitely here.”

Sir Charles nodded grimly. “Thank you for telling me, I will look into it. For now, I’ll ask the signalman to reroute you around the station. It’ll mean you can’t get up to speed as quick, but it may be for the best until we can get to the bottom of the noise.” Henry agreed, and steamed away to start his day. Sir Charles made his way to his office, and paused.

There was a record on the gramophone. It was one of his oldest, a recording of an opera from back in the 20s. Sir Charles gently put it away, confused. His office had been locked, and the stationmaster knew better than to enter without permission. No one else had a key, and nothing else was out of place.

“Did I… leave it there?” asked Sir Charles aloud, not sure what else to think. Sir Charles swapped it out for a Supremes record, and began his day. He tried to investigate the odd, terrible noises that had haunted Henry – but he couldn’t find anything that might’ve caused it.

“Maybe some children…?” pondered Sir Charles, before shaking his head. No, children wouldn’t know what his father had sounded like. With no idea what had caused the weird noises, Sir Charles decided to simply reroute Henry around the station and shelve it until he could find some more evidence.

At the end of the day, he once again packed up his records, locked his office, and headed home.

It was a shaken and pale Bear that met him at the Big Station the next morning, looking very ill. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles, immediately worried for his engine. “I – sir it was terrible! I was coming through with the midnight goods, when… when… I heard Swindon!” Sir Charles waited patiently for Bear to elaborate, now worried and confused.

“It was when I was being built – they were scrapping steam engines there too, and I heard them. I could hear their screams, and their pleas, and their hatred of me… I had to get out. I don’t want to pull the midnight goods again, sir.”

Sir Charles was now very worried – Bear was not one to try and ask for changes, he loved all work he got. Something very serious was going on, and Sir Charles needed to figure it out. First Henry, then Bear – who would be next?

Not even playing music on his gramophone could came Sir Charles down; he was trying his best to figure out what had caused such horrible noises and scenes to ring out across the station – but nothing could have done it!

Sir Charles was so preoccupied that he completely missed the fact that one of his old Bobby Lewis records had already been sat on the turntable when he entered his office. He spent all day working, balancing his usual work with his investigation, even as interrogating the station staff revealed that only the night guard had even been on the property, making his rounds.

An old, half-buried memory bubbled up – his time in the Middle East after the war had left him with many stories, including one of people’s tortured pasts manifesting into demons… or was it something else. Could such tales be a reality?

Sir Charles scoffed, and brushed it off. Such fantasies were for bedtime stories and frightening tourists – they were not real, and they could not help.

And then James came to him the next day, refusing to even steam under the canopy of the Big Station. “Sir! Your station’s haunted!” snapped James crossly. “It was… it was… it was a recording of my accident, playing all through the station! My accident on my first day, with all the screaming from my brakes and trucks and my crew trying to stop me…” Sir Charles rearranged the schedule to shift James away from the Big Station immediately, and retreated back to his office, mindlessly placing the needle on the record on his gramophone before pausing as an old jazz record played.

“Isn’t this from 1925…?” mused Sir Charles under his breath, before shaking his head and knuckling down to work. He’d been so worried about his engines that several important missives had gone unanswered, and they took even longer as his mind just kept drifting back to his engines and the frightening incidents that they been forced to relive.

The day ticked by, and then dusk came and went. Sir Charles stayed in his office, unable to head home without finishing the stack of reports that had been due the day before but were really needed the next day.

Bit by bit, the station went silent. The last of the passengers boarded their trains, the station staff clocked off one by one. The night guard arrived, greeting Sir Charles and headed off to start making his rounds.

Sir Charles switched out the record on his player mindlessly, not checking what he put on the turntable.

“We'll meet again Don't know where Don't know when But I know we'll meet again some sunny day Keep smiling through Just like you always do 'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello To the folks that I know Tell them I won't be long They'll be happy to know That as you saw me go I was singing this song

We'll meet again—”

The song suddenly jumped, the nostalgic record going silent for a beat. Then, a scream filled the office. Sir Charles jumped, his eyes wide. The roar of gunfire filled the room, the rumble of tanks and the thunderous commands of his superior officers. The screams of the men as they were shot and left to die of their injuries, the nurses unable to get onto the field. The whine of shells as they pierced through the air, falling indiscriminately on the men as they tried to evacuate. “CHARLIE! GET BACK!” Sir Charles clamped his eyes shut, holding his hands over his ears. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” he begged, but the record didn’t stop. The sounds grew ever louder, the fighting getting closer and closer to the Royal Engineers as they tried desperately to evacuate the soldiers and get them to the beaches. The thump of boots of cobblestone, the whistling of flung grenades, the harsh snarl of German commands as the enemy closed in – it was all too much.

Sir Charles blindly lunged for the gramophone, grabbing at it and sprinting at the door. He kicked at it, the old door groaning at the force before Sir Charles managed to force it open and fling the gramophone away from himself. His ears were ringing, the bullets whizzing past him with bare inches to spare.

The gramophone smashed against the platform and shattered, the pieces flying in all directions. The night guard came running, his truncheon out and his eyes searching for the source of the smash.

He found Sir Charles curled up on the floor, rocking back and forwards while holding his arms over his head, covering his ears.

“Sir? Sir!” “Make it stop!” bellowed Sir Charles. “Has it stopped?!” The night guard looked around, perplexed. He couldn’t hear or see anything wrong, apart from Sir Charles and his destroyed gramophone.

“It’s stopped,” assured the night guard, waiting patiently until Sir Charles uncoiled and looked around, eyes wide and face pale.

The pair looked down at the gramophone, and then Sir Charles took a deep breath.

“We’re breaking this apart more and tossing it in the nearest dumpster,” he ordered. “I will not have such malevolent disturbances on my railway.” The night guard nodded slowly, and offered up his truncheon. Sir Charles brought it down on the old gramophone again and again and again until it was in splinters, before helping to quietly sweep it all up and toss it out.

Sir Charles Hatt hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway. During the Second World War, he had been part of the Royal Engineers, working near the front lines to keep the troops moving. It had been on the 30th of May, 1940. Charles had been with his unit when the Germans had launched a surprise attack – the lines had broken, fallen back; Charles was the only man of his unit who survived. He never liked to remember the horrors of that day, the entire thing too gruesome to bear. He never spoke about it to anyone either, even as he made it home to Sodor and quietly married.

Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway; once upon a time, he’d been a young man who’d been sent to war.

Back to the Master Post

[fuzzkaizer]

Conn - Multi-Vider

"All the way back in 1967, C.G. Conn wanted in on the decidedly nascent effects scene, and they wanted to do so with a bang. The company partnered with Jordan Electronics of Alhambra, CA to release an octave effect for wind instruments. The resulting circuit is a truly interesting piece of gear history. It needs to be said that Conn went into manufacturing, thereby ending its partnership with Jordan (at least according to all the paperwork) and the result was two different MultiViders. The differences on the surface are minute: the first model is grey and looks like a piece of dictation equipment, offering “bright” and “dark” input modes, a top-mounted Sensitivity control, and a plethora of battery gadgets. By contrast, the much cooler-looking model “914” did away with the frequency selector, opting for a switch called Unison and a power supply input.

Both models contain “Soprano,” “Bass” and “Sub Bass” switches, and corresponding volume for each. The 914’s Unison mode is essentially a dry signal control. The “grey box” model is a little more convoluted about it but the job is effectively identical. However, the way these two models go about these identical tasks in different—yet similar—ways.

This original “grey box” model contains a duo of ersatz flip-flop circuits, which the unit relies on for its octave down effects. The circuit utilizes some rather intense gain staging to convert the signal to a crude square wave and then use the flip-flops to divide the frequency in half and then in half again. In the later 914 model, much of this circuit is switched to a CD4013 chip, an all-in-one CMOS device. It’s interesting that the first draft of the MultiVider contains what amounts to a discrete imagining of the CD4013, and what it all adds up to is the first-ever octave effect for an electronic instrument. There’s also a wah inductor on the 914, which is connected to the sub-octave circuit somehow; I dare not remove the board due to extreme rocker switch fragility. I love stuff like this.

For as cool as this whole thing sounds, there are some drawbacks, as one might expect with the first pedal of any type. As previously stated, the MultiVider is a horns-only instrument, as is to be used with Conn’s proprietary woodwind pickup. While the “grey box” model serves up a battery option, the 914 is adapter-only, and it’s a doozy—only a 12-volt eighth-inch style phone plug will do. Thankfully there are workarounds for both; if you can solder, the power situation is a cinch and the microphone issue can be circumnavigated by hitting the MultiVider with a hotter input signal. Even then, a large belt clip on the back of the unit dictates its preferred method of implementation. With all that said, synth players are at an automatic advantage with modernizing the MultiVider.

Of course, the MultiVider was an advanced device for its time, and so it was used by artists that had explored brass instruments to their fullest. In particular, the MultiVider was used by Zappa’s band, the Mothers of Invention. It was also used by Miles Davis on 1970’s The Complete Jack Johnson Sessions. Of course there are others, but with a resume like that, stick to your strengths."

cred: catalinbread.com/blogs/kulas-cabinet/conn-multivider

[shveris]

sukuita, modern au with no sorcery, smoking 🍃 while fucking

warnings: drugs, cigarettes, incest, underage

“wow, you actually cannot be serious.”

honeyed eyes squinted at dark brown ones and there’s the idea of smashing a head in with the physics book on the table.

“‘fuck’s that s’pposed to mean?”, yuuji leaned back in his chair, the wood pressing against his spine uncomfortably, “you knew exactly what you left me here with.” ‘what’ being the project they were assigned to do and ‘you’ being his usual ungrateful relative of a twin.

sukuna responded with a grunt, signalling his annoyance, before he finally sat himself down opposite of his brother. he put his cigarette back between his lips so his hands were free to grab yuuji’s ipad. the screen showed his notes program and a page that was far too empty for something due to the next day.

he took a hit from his cancer stick, blew out the smoke — right into yuuji’s face because of course he would — and proceed to flip over the open physics book with his other hand as well: “i knew you’re stupid but this truly is a new high.”

“me? the stupid one?”, yuuji snorted, “if i wouldn’t know better i’d say you’re the stupid twin, the way you left me to do all the work as if you didn’t even know where to start yourself.” sukuna shot his leg forward, an attempt at kicking his twin in the shin, but yuuji could read him like the back of his hand and had already retracted his limbs.

“you act like a brat, are you sure you’re my age?”

yuuji rolled his eyes and accepted the cigarette as sukuna began scribbling away on his ipad screen. their grandfather would rip their heads off if he knew they were smoking inside the house and their older brother would slap sukuna to sunday and back if he saw the twin enabling yuuji to smoke.

“you shoulda left some of those amazing brain cells of yours for me in the womb, ya know?” yuuji’s words were laced in smoke, his tongue coated with the bitterness of tobacco, and sukuna huffed in amusement.

“at least you’re admitting i’m smarter than you”, he mumbled, eyes darting between the open pages of the book and the messy notes in front of him. focus was a good look on him, the honeyed one decided.

yuuji finished the cigarette while he watched his twin research the variability of mass and how some stupid ‘drive a car into a wall’ example could prove shit — not that he cared.

he stretched his arms and legs, thinking he was probably looking like a starfish, sighed in satisfaction, and pushed his chair back while getting up.

“wha’do you wanna eat?”, he asked as he walked to assess their fridge and cabinets. they would need to grab groceries tomorrow after school, preferably before sundown.

“dunno, udon?” yuuji hummed and grabbed everything to prepare the dish, mindful to add more spices to his twin’s portion.

their days and weeks and months would pass like this, with their grandfather six feet under in a family grave, and their brother on never-ending business trips for a job he didn’t like but took to provide for his little brothers.

two brothers who probably shouldn’t be having each other’s tongues in their mouths, one pressed against the counter of the kitchen, utensils scattered across;

two brothers who were too eager to stumble to the nearby couch, hands gripping at the hems of their clothes, lips exploring every inch of free skin.

“physics gets you horny, seriously?”, yuuji couldn’t help his chuckle when his twin pulled him down to sit on his hips, dick hard and pushing between plump cheeks.

“your cute ass acting like a whole husband got me horny, fucking idiot.” the honeyed smiled when their lips crashed together, happily taking in his brother’s compliments.

sukuna glumly removed one of his hands from yuuji’s tights to dig in between the cushions of the couch, searching for a familiar bottle of emergency lube they’d stored (read: forgotten) after their last fuck on it.

yuuji moaned into sukuna’s mouth when he felt his twin’s dripping fingers open him up keenly, obviously desperate to get his dick inside as fast as he could — not that he’d blame him.

groans and whimpers echoed back into their ears with each skilled movement of sukuna’s wrist, the sound of slick and skin on skin accompanying yuuji’s voice beautifully. sukuna could listen to this the whole day and never get tired of it.

“you’re gonna look so pretty when you ride me”, sukuna whispered, lubing up his cock with a graceful amount, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips when yuuji just hummed in agreement. he grabbed his twin by his waist, guiding him up a little before letting out a hiss as yuuji grabbed his dick to line him up with himself.

“urghh, fuck”, yuuji’s loud groan almost tuned out the moan that slipped from his twin’s chest. the honeyed continued lowering himself and sukuna let his left arm slide down, too focused on yuuji’s blush and blown pupils — and suddenly, he got reminded of something. he let his hand wander lower until he grazed the fabric of his cargo pants that were dropped onto the floor earlier and searched for the thigh pocket that contained his malboro.

yuuji, too focused on getting every bit of his brother’s dick into himself, didn’t notice sukuna fumbling with the red cigarette pack. the click of a lighter finally caught his attention and he let out a loud laugh: “is my ass that bad?”

sukuna grinned after blowing out the smoke, the joint in his hand being offered to yuuji’s lips.

“nah, just figured we could double the fun.” dark eyes watched as yuuji took a deep hit before exhaling with a content expression. sukuna expertly shifted his own hips a little, earning him a high pitched yelp and slap on the chest, but he felt satisfied upon seeing how well his twin was able to take all of him. he debated on wrapping his other hand around yuuji’s length but then decided to just let his brother deal with it himself or make him come untouched — either way, yuuji would enjoy it, he knew.

“c’mon, move”, he demanded instead, taking another hit from the blunt. yuuji muttered a “desperate” under his breath but started with small bounces. his knees were gripping sukuna’s sides with enough force to keep both of them grounded for a bit, all while he leaned closer and closer to his twin’s chest and face.

sukuna let him nip at his bottom lip before putting the joint between them. he inhaled a good amount of it before smashing their mouths together, letting their breaths mix the drug in their mouths. yuuji moaned in earnest, hips now moving up and down with new found vigour.

neither cared about the ash leaving marks on the couch and wooden floor, the lube wetting the sofa’s fabric, the neighbours potentially hearing their voices through the open kitchen window.

all that mattered were the frantic movements of their hips, their exchanged breaths after taking turns on the joint and the pressures in their guts screaming for release. but the more time passed, the more tired yuuji could feel his muscles become, or the way his eyesight began to swim objects into each other — it was a welcome and familiar effect but he’d rather have his orgasm before getting mulled into the weed’s influence completely.

“can’t move. tired.” yuuji buried his face under his twin’s chin before biting down on the junction between neck and shoulder. sukuna groaned, pleasure spiking up his spine at the sudden pain. he quickly finished the joint before tossing it onto the glass table next to them. his body felt heavy when he flipped them over but he didn’t give it much of his mind when his fucked out brother was looking at him like he carved out the sun and the moon and the entire night sky.

“it’s okay, i gotchu”, was all he mumbled against yuuji’s lips before starting a vicious pace. the honeyed moaned in content, weak hands grabbing at everything and nothing at all before setting on sukuna’s underarms. they tasted the weed of each other’s tongues before sukuna dove down to sink his teeth into every patch of skin they could grab.

“touch”, yuuji’s mind was melting away with every thrust, “‘kuna, please- ah- please touch me.” and how could such a request ever be denied?

sukuna grabbed the base of yuuji’s dick, making him mewl at the new found contact. his fingers weren’t as tight as he wanted — blame the weed — but it did the job. he could feel his brother tightening up around him, noting that he was close to coming. he himself was almost there as well and he pulled his lips away from yuuji’s nipple to catch his expression.

“fuck, fuck, fuck”, the boy chanted, golden eyes crossing, “‘kuna- i’m- i wanna cum, please-“ tears started pooling down his temples and catching themselves in his ears so sukuna licked them from his skin, humming at the saltiness.

“go ahead” was all yuuji needed before completing arching his back from the couch and spilling all over his abdomen and chest. sukuna used the new tightness to drive himself in and out at a rapid speed, enjoying the slapping of their sticky skin ringing in his ears.

yuuji’s sobs about it being ‘too much’; yuuji’s body shaking from his orgasm; yuuji squirming from overstimulation; yuuji’s nails digging into his arms painfully; yuuji’s ass clenching around his pulsing dick so perfectly; yuuji’s mindless blabbering and pleading.

it was all sukuna needed to jump over the edge and letting himself fall into the heaving chest of his brother. catching his breath was an easy task with yuuji there to guide them, fingers combing through his sweaty hair as they did so.

“shit, that weed’s strong.” the deep rumble underneath sukuna’s ears slowly dragged his mind back to the present and he propped himself up to look at yuuji. his pupils were blown impossibly wide, a ring of amber gold all he could make out as he let himself be pulled in for some kisses.

yuuji brushed his lips along every inch of his face, tickling sukuna, and the honeyed grinned happily when he heard his twin chuckle silently at the notion.

“ah, i don’t really wanna get up and continue cooking”, yuuji admitted. he’d rather bask in the warmth of his brother’s body on top of him, the weight of the boy making him feel comfortable. his mind was reeling back any complex thoughts he might’ve wished to have, the only thing he could think of was sukuna.

“i’ll take care of it.” and with that yuuji was prompted with a kiss on his forehead.

[vialae]

would anyone like a little Gort monologue of him being hypocritical in a modern setting?? (alternatively titled I wrote this but will probably never develop it into a full fic, so)

cw for gun use

“Do you have a type, Miss Bormul?”

No response, and so Gortash continued.

“I do. I enjoy strong, efficient people. Those who are independent and deliver well without much guidance or too many questions. All of your peers would have you believe that constant talking would be the hallmark of intelligence; that whoever keeps the room engaged for the longest must then know what they are talking about. And of course, I can play that game just as well as any old fool within the Upper City. But alas, I do not believe that you - nor anybody that you consort with - are correct.”

“You know who you really should be looking out for, Miss Bormul? The quiet ones.”

The sound of a gun cocking. The sensation of cold metal pressing against the back of her skull.

“They ask so few questions because they already know the answers. They came prepared, and they are the smart ones. I like spending my time with those who are worth it. Those who are efficient. And you, Miss Bormul, have not been.” Gortash stepped away from his desk, making his way over to the drinks cabinet.

He opened a drawer, pulling out a folded up sheet of plastic. “It is rather disappointing, in a way. You showed such promise at the beginning with all those pledges you made. And yet, you simply did not keep your word, and so now we all must follow the natural consequences that come with failure.” He shook open the sheet, flipping it up in the air and draping it over the entirety of his desk in one movement.

“You only have yourself to blame for this, Miss Bormul.”

[audrey-carr1]

Prize (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: I have decided that this is going to be a slowburn. RIP to y'all's sanity.

warnings: fem!reader, Hetty x Reader, AU Modern Era, slowburn

word count: 2.6k

Want to read on AO3? Here

3 weeks ago

Hetty is up late working when a text notification comes through on her Macbook. 

“Thank you for tonight. I had a great time.” It reads.

Immediately Hetty knows that Elias is cheating again. Hetty sighs to herself as she clicks on the green message icon. Though this isn’t the first time he has taken a mistress, she hoped that the threat of divorce from his last affair would have curbed the behavior. 

She begins sifting through texts that seem to have been going on for the past 3 weeks. Through her scrolling, Hetty discovers that her penthouse in New York is being used to keep his mistress housed nearby. Hetty could almost laugh at the gall of Elias has to open up her penthouse to house his mistress. For someone who was so smart at cutting corners, he made up for it in foolishness in other aspects of life. 

Hetty decides that her threat of divorce should become a reality. Why should she be made the fool over and over again? Hetty’s blood begins to boil at all the ways Elias has mistreated her in their marriage, and she wants her payback to hurt. 

Hetty just needed a little more time to gather evidence of Elias’s scamming before she could file for divorce and leave him penniless. First, she needed to clean up all the loose ends and get rid of the mistress. The last thing she needed was someone whispering about alimony in Elias’s ear. 

The next day, Hetty skims through the texts once more to see if there is a name attached to this mystery woman. Hetty could almost kiss the screen once she finds it. She screenshots the texts and quickly sends them to her private investigator to dig up some dirt on the girl. Every one of Elias’s last mistresses had some kind of debt or some skeleton in their closet they did not want to be disturbed. It was easy for Hetty to offer them the money and make their problems go away in exchange for a signature on a legally drawn document stating they would never contact or affiliate themselves with the Woodstones or their company again. 

She couldn’t help but to be baffled when her private investigator, who is supposed to be the best in the state of New York, comes up empty-handed.  The little tart is clean. She is educated, comes from a well-off family so she doesn’t need money, and top it all off she is gorgeous. No wonder Elias fell for her. 

“She’s a wannabe actress looking for her next big break. Why she’s here in New York instead of California, who knows,” Her investigator says

To gather more evidence for her divorce case, Hetty sends her investigator out for pictures of the affair. Over the next couple of weeks, Hetty receives photos of Elias and his mistress together. Pictures of Elias making her laugh, gifting her jewelry, and ushering her into cars. 

Hetty cannot even remember the last time Elias came home with a gift for her. However, there was something different though with these pictures. Something is missing, and Hetty cannot seem to put her finger on it. 

Hetty gets up from the living room taking the file of pictures with her. She enters her office and unlocks the file cabinet in the corner. She digs through files before finding what she is looking for. She pulls out the three files she had on the previous mistresses and begins sorting through looking for the missing piece. She flips through them and finds the same thing in all three, immediately Elias is able to bed them. There were pictures of lingerie-clad women, paired with pictures of passionate kisses, and more. This is what the most current mistresses file lacked. Passion. 

The timeline was off. Usually by this time Hetty already would have all the evidence she would need to go for the kill. Now it was going on six weeks, and there is nothing besides fluff. This certainly would not do. Hetty doubts that Elias is being more careful than before, in fact, he is starting to get sloppy. On more than one occasion she has found receipts for restaurants and florists in his pants pocket. 

Hetty’s Macbook dings again with a notification. Hetty rushes over to her computer, opening the app to watch the conversation in real time. 

You: Since you could not make it to our date, can I take the keys to the Porsche and hit up the Club Soleil with my friends?

Elias : Which color?

You: The red one? It’ll match my nails.

Elias : Ofcourse. What will I get in exchange?

You: What you always get. A hug and a well placed kiss on the cheek. 

Elias : Nothing more?

You: I could throw in a firm handshake

Elias : You are funny, but I was thinking of a different kind of firm

You: Elias we’ve talked about this… 

Elias : Yes, you are right. I will wait until you are ready. I’ll have the porsche delivered, and let me know if you need an more money for your night out on the town. Have fun.

You: Thank you Elias! *kissy face emoji*

“I guess the tart is a bit of a prude,” Hetty says outloud to herself reviewing the pictures laid out on her desk. 

Hetty has to admit the little tart had Elias eating out of the palm of her hand. She’s been receiving gifts with, currently, no sexual favours. If she weren’t about to crush her, Hetty would applaud the woman. 

“Hetty!” A voice calls from the hallway.

Hetty quickly puts away the pictures in their appropriate files before she meets the disembodied voice. 

“Hetty, there you are girl! We are going out tonight!” Her friend Alberta says. 

“Out where?” Hetty asks. 

“Club Soleil! My manager wants me to get a vibe for the club before I close the deal for my performance contract,” Alberta squeals in excitement.

“Oh, this can’t get any better,” Hetty smirks to herself. 

“I’ll get ready!” Hetty says, “Come. Help me pick something to wear,”

Alberta is a bit surprised at Hetty’s response. Usually, she has to beg and almost drag Hetty to come out with her. Instead of questioning her friend's behavior, Alberta just shrugs and follows her friend to her closet. Hopefully Hetty will let her borrow a purse. 

—--------------

Present day

After explaining her side of what has been going on for the past six weeks, Hetty lays out the contract on the table, pen in hand. You sit in silence gathering your thoughts on what you’ve just heard. 

You clear your throat before speaking, “So you slept with me to get back at your husband, which also makes you a cheater by the way, and now are you blackmailing me into signing these contracts?”

Hetty thinks for a moment. 

“Yes that is exactly what I’m doing,” Hetty smiles, “Now if you could sign these and be on your way.”

“You used me,” You whisper. 

“Excuse me?” Hetty tilts her head at the accusation.

“You used me to get me to sign this stupid contract!” You say standing up from the chair. The chair scrapes against the floor causing Hetty to cringe slightly. 

“I did not,” Hetty says standing up in her own chair. 

“You just said, you knew that I didn’t have skeletons in my closet to produce a bribe. Other than the fact that I have been dating your husband you have no leverage for me to end this besides me sleeping with you,”

“I know very prominent directors in the film industry,” Hetty begins. 

“I do not care about that! I do not need some handouts. I had Elias to keep me company, that is all. The restaurants, the fancy cars, and all the gifts were a bonus. Sure yes maybe I am using him too, but it is not the same. I liked the attention of being noticed. A foolish mistake of a girl in a big city, and if I could take it back I would,” You say. 

“You weren’t going to sleep with him?”  Hetty prods. 

“No! I just saw your faces plastered all over some gossip magazine before I got here. I wanted out as soon as I saw he was married. I am no one’s mistress…knowingly,” I add. 

“Well look at you. You have morals. This city will eat you and those morals of yours alive,” Hetty scoffs taking a sip from her glass. She notices that your glass sits has sat untouched for some time. 

“Don’t you remember? You beat the city to it, and you have quite the voracious appetite,” You quip.

Hetty blushes behind her wine glass remembering the night you had together. You take the pen from her hand.

“I would have signed it you know…without your promises of some fancy schmancy film director. Or without you trying to one-up Elias by sleeping with me. I did not know he was married, honestly,” You say beginning to sign the papers.

You sign the last required spot, “You are out of my life, and I am out of yours. Good riddance.” 

“Why did you sleep with me?” Hetty asks. 

You place the pen in her hand searching for an answer. You hold her gaze for a second, but you break it. Even when you once find your answer, you know it’s not worth either one’s time.  

“I’m going to pack up my things, I’ll be out by morning,” You avoid her question, and head towards the bedroom to pack. 

Hetty is shocked. No shouting, no crying, no negotiating, or threats of security. This is the easiest contract signing that Hetty has experienced in all her years in the business world. 

“ She really is different.” Hetty thinks to herself. 

She finishes her glass of wine and puts the contracts in her bag. Though she is able to smile, she is still left unsatisfied. This does not feel like a victory. 

In the bedroom, you do not even bother folding your clothes. You throw your clothes in the suitcase, leaving what Elias bought you behind. You throw away the flowers and begin the process of changing your number. You do not even bother texting Elias before doing so. 

You leave the keys to the penthouse on the table and leave once and for all.

—------

A week later

“How about we go out to clubbing? That always helps when I’m down in the dumps,” Trevor says.

“Trevor, you just want to talk to hot girls,” You say scrolling through an app on my phone.

“And maybe you will talk to someone hot and get over this messy love triangle you narrowly avoided,” Trevor says making a triangle with his hands. 

“It was not a love triangle,” You reply looking up from my phone

“I’ve read the Hunger Games and it was definitely a love triangle,” Trevor says matter-of-factly.

“It was not a love triangle, I was not in love with Elias…” you  pause, “Or Henrietta,”

“Close enough,” He shrugs.

“You are insufferable,” 

“Insufferably hot! Boo-yah!” Trevor says.

“No one says ‘Boo-yah’ anymore Trevor,” You say with your face in yours causing your words to muffle. 

Trevor ruffles your hair, “Yeah well I’m bringing it back. Now get dressed I’ll call Crash to see if he wants to be my wingman.”

You groan at the thought of going out. You just want to sit and stew in your feelings like a normal person. Trevor snatches the phone from where you placed it on the catch and tells you you’ll get it back once you’ve gotten dressed to go out. You narrow your eyes at him as he dangles the phone out of reach, and after a few attempts of trying to retrieve it, you give up. Trevor chuckles to himself and goes to his room. 

“You make me happy that I never had brothers,” You call out as he enters his room. 

“Aww, that’s so sweet. Now get dressed,” Trevor closes his door. 

 An hour later, you’re riding a passenger in Trevor’s car as drive through New York City traffic. Not the best idea, but Trevor navigates the ride with ease.  

“What club are we going to?” You ask out of curiosity!

“Club Soleil of course!” Trevor says nodding his head to the song playing currently. 

“What? Trevor, no! I don’t want to go there again,” You say. You wonder if she’ll be there tonight, and your heart drops to your feet. 

“I wonder if I can walk home if I jump out of the car now,” You think. 

“Oh come on, what are the odds that your hot lady one-night stand is going to be there? Zilch. If you had crashed at my place like we planned, none of this wouldn’t have happened you know,” Trevor says weaving through traffic. 

“How many times do I have to say that you were right?” You roll your eyes a bit annoyed he keeps bringing it up

“Until I get tired of hearing it,” Trevor says as he pulls up to the valet.

Trevor leaves the keys with the valet and checks his reflection in the car window. 

“You done yet, Prince Charming?” You ask sarcastically.

“Just getting started, Princess,” Trevor responds unbothered. He ushers you towards the entrance and gives his name to the bouncer. 

He and Crash meet up immediately and leave you to go scouting for potential hook-ups. After spending more than an hour at the club, you discover yet again that Trevor was right. Getting out of the house and hitting the dance floor with a couple of cocktails, was just the pick me up you need. You would never give him that victory though. He has already been bragging enough. 

Before trying to find where Crash and Trevor went off to, you go to the bathroom to freshen up your makeup. You thank your lucky stars that the line is nonexistent leaving the bathroom open. You dig your makeup bag out of your purse singing to yourself while reapplying your make-up. 

Your mind begins to wander and think about Henrietta. At first, you admired her. As cliche as it sounds she was the most beautiful woman you had ever met. She approached you with so much confidence. The way she talked to you as if she has known you forever, and her eyes. You fight to keep yourself from swooning. 

“Not again. She used you, and you let her,” You tell yourself.

You throw your brushes back into your makeup bag, and your makeup bag back into your purse. You give yourself a once over and mini pep talk before going towards the door. But while you’re exiting the bathroom, you bump into someone. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” You say quickly 

“Oh no, you have nothing to be sorry about. I am the one who caused the collision,” The woman says, “I’m Alberta Haynes,”

“Hi, I’m (y/n), nice to meet you,” you respond and then what was said finally catches up to you, “You’re Alberta Haynes!”

“I’ll never get tired of that,” Alberta says smiling, “Anyway I heard you singing in there. I was wondering if you wanted to be my new background singer. One of my originals is out on maternity leave, and I need a replacement quick.”

“You want me to be your background singer?” You repeat.

“Yes, now what do you say?”

It wasn’t acting, but you have to make your start somewhere. 

“Yes! I would love to,”

“Perfect, meet me here tomorrow and we’ll get you signing contracts and on the payroll,” 

“Thank you so much,” You gush, “I’m singing with Alberta Haynes!”

[thefreakydeaky]

After the Thrill is Gone

Part Nine

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Negan Smith x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: From the first moment you laid eyes on Negan you were inexplicabley drawn to him. The passion between you is hot and only grows more intense the longer you see each other. There is only one problem, you're both married to other people.

Warnings: Dark Fic , Stalking, Stalker behavior, Smuttyness, Adult Language...

You placed the chicken into the oil and let it fry. You peeked in on the boys and saw them playing on their gaming console while Millie played with her giant legos on the floor. A soft smile formed on your face. Your kids seemed to be content. Though giving up what you had with Negan had seemed to be a sacrifice at first, now that you had seen how relentless he could be, it seemed the bad out weighed the good in him.

With a pair of tongs, you flipped the pieces of chicken. You heard Daryl drive up and put down the metal graspers. You barely let him get in the door before you pulled him against you and kissed him. He reciprocated your hungry kiss with enthusiasm. His hands were at your hips. You parted your lips, letting his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was hot and wet.

"What'd I do to deserve that?" He asked quietly.

You shook your head.

"Just happy to see you. That's all."

"Mhmm..." He kissed your cheek. "Happy to see you too."

You felt a little hand on your calve and looked down to see Millie tugging on Daryl's pant leg.

"Milliebug."

He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

"Daddy!" She grinned at him. There was glee in her eyes as she looked into his face.

You heard a pop and remembered the chicken. You hurried back to the stove to take it out of the pan.

You heard knocking and knowing Daryl would get it, you set about warming up the mashed potatoes and corn.

You heard the door open and then a voice spoke.

"Hello."

"Hello." Daryl echoed.

"I debated coming here, but I have to say something,"

Your stomach twisted with anxiety.

"And well," Negan continued, "It's better if I come inside."

Daryl stepped aside to let him in. Your heart rate picked up, going faster with every step he took into your home. Your safe space now sullied by his presence.

"Wyatt mentioned that Mrs. Dixon wasn't too keen on him joining the baseball team. I thought I should stop by so we could have ourselves a chat and hopefully put some of those worries to rest."

You froze. It took you a moment to take in his excuse. You would have to go along with it if you wanted this to end well.

"Sure." Daryl said.

You could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Dixon." Negan said as he came around the cabinets. "May I?" He pointed to a chair at your table.

You clenched your teeth, but nodded once. There was such a look of satisfaction on his face at the sight of your discomfort. It made you sick.

"So, what is it you're worried about?" Negan inquired. "There isn't nearly as much potential bodily harm at risk as there would be in football."

"But there is some bodily harm at risk?" You made yourself say.

"Yes, of course. As with any physical activity there is some risk, but -"

"You can't promise me that no harm will come to Wyatt. It is beyond your control." You pointed out.

"That may be true. However the most common injury is just a sprain or strain. Nothing the boy can't heal from."

You stirred the mashed potatoes.

"It is also my understanding that it is difficult for you to pick your son up after practice?"

You turned off the burner and turned to face him, glaring at him.

"Where'd you hear that?" Daryl asked.

"Well, Wyatt's grandmother was telling me about it when she picked him up."

"Your Mom picked him up?" Daryl inquired.

"Yeah. I had to go get Hunter. Wyatt would have had to wait till at least five thirty."

"He can stay with me until you get back or I could give him a ride home?" Negan offered.

You shook your head at the idea.

"It's no trouble. Really. It's just that I think being on a team will do him some good. Don't you agree?"

Daryl nodded.

You turned away.

"I agree and if it really isn't trouble for you then we would appreciate it if Wyatt can stay with you until my wife can pick him up."

"That'll be fine." He told Daryl.

You went back to cooking.

"Any other concerns?" Negan patronized.

You shook your head.

"Sounds like you have got it all straightened out. Thanks for stopping by." You dismissed him without turning around.

Daryl said your name sternly.

You ignored him.

You heard Negan get up from the table.

"Thank you for hearing me out. You all have a good evening." He said, sounding pleased with himself and left.

Daryl didn't press you on the subject of your inpolite behavior and you didn't bring it up either.

That night as you lay beside Daryl, you turned to face him.

"Do you... do you want to do our homework?" You asked.

He turned toward you.

"Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to do it if you don't wanna." His green eyes searched your face.

"I want to. Do you want to?"

His smirk answered your question.

He moved closer to you. You were hesitant to put your hands on him. He took your hand and placed it on his bare chest. You took a shakey breath.

"I'm sorry, I, I don't know why I'm so nervous." You laughed quietly.

"It's alright. It's been a while. We gotta ease into it." His arm went around your middle.

You stroked his chest down his pec through the light trail of hair, stopping at his belly button and bringing your hand back up the path it had previously taken. his hand explored the patch of skin exposed between your spaghetti strapped top and pajama shorts.

You tensed when he touched your lower belly. The flesh there was much less firm than any where else on your body. After three pregnancies your body was not the same. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to apologize for something you couldn't control. The last time you had really touched each other like this was when Millie was still in your belly. You tried to cover the area with your own hand. Daryl pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Don't do that, Sugar. Every inch of you is beautiful to me."

Your eyes watered with emotion. You put your arm around his shoulder and hugged him to you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck.

He was tense at first, but you kept holding onto him. Slowly, he relaxed into your embrace. His hand stroked up and down your back in a comforting gesture.

"I love you." You said against his skin. "Do you know that?"

"Wasn't sure you still did." He told you.

"I do." You confirmed. You wanted to kiss his neck, but knowing it was a weakness of his and where that would lead, you held back.

"I love you. I always will." He kissed your cheek.

The moment was so filled with warmth it should have been enough to melt your heart and yet there was an ice patch in you that just wouldn't thaw. You felt guilt so keenly, so deeply and you couldn't even apologize for it.

[boba-tea-addict-1004]

🔥🎃Carving Pumpkins with Rengoku 🎃🔥- Gender neutral reader

A/N: I wanted to do some autumn fluff couple stuff

This is also a Modern AU

a little light angst at the start but otherwise as fluffy as a marshmallow

Hope you enjoy

.

.

You and kyojuro have been living with each other for a while now. this was your first Halloween together and you wanted to keep it simple. just a movie while pumpkin carving (maybe some snacks).

simple enough right?

Kyo had gone out to grab the snacks while you were setting up the pumpkin carving. you had a wide range of tools meant specifically for carving. however you had little to no idea on how to use them. you looked through the DVD cabinet and flipped till you a decent black n white horror movie. you sat down checking your phone and saw a message from kyojuro

-

Kyo 🔥

Hey Sunshine, might be a bit late dew to traffic

-

You

Yeah nbd just long as you get home safe, freaks come out at night so be careful

-

Kyo 🔥

No worries i'll be fine 😘

-

.

.

A good half hour past and nothing still. you tried not to worry about it and put your headphones on and listened to your playlist. still the intrusive thoughts didn't leave your mind.

'Okay i'll text him again.. just to be sure' you thought

right as you were about to you heard the door knock. you quickly ran over and opened the door.

however the moment you did you saw a man with a mask and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. you screamed for a split second the swiftly the man removed the mask to reveal the very person you were worried about a moment ago. he chuckled "Sorry i know that was a bad idea"

you huff playfully punching his arm "You scared me!"

he ruffled your hair "yeah i know, uzui suggested it while i was out"

"you ran into him at the store?"

Kyo nodded pulling out a few bags of popcorn and candy "so, sha'll we continue with tonight's plans?"

you nod sitting down with him starting the movie "imma be honest with you.. you worried me.."

he grabbed one of the tools and his pumpkin "oh.. how so?"

"..i was just worried something happened is all"

he smiled "you have nothing to worry about, it's going to take a lot to keep me away from you sunflower." he kissed you then brightly smiled "Now then, lets get started!"

As the night went on you two talked a bit and carved. at some point a jump scare happened and that caused you to mess up on the mouth of your pumpkin. kyo laughed for a minute then messed up his to make you feel better

when your pumpkins were done you put them on the kitchen counter and lit a little candle inside them. your pumpkin was a little wonky but kyo insisted it looked pretty good for your first time. kyo's looked a little better but it was the mouth the threw it off. to you however it looked perfect.

you both sat back down and watched the rest of the movie and as you leaned on his shoulder munching down on snacks you'd probably regret eating that much of later he rubbed your head as he mutters small 'umai's' as he took bites of popcorn. a small moment but a sweet one you enjoyed.

though craziness was still rampant, it's moment like that you hold onto and keep close.

Pixel art by Fuck Yeah Pixels! on Tumblr

[snowleopardcrk]

Angst time!

This is for @janayuga ‘s modern au. This is just a ficlet with no images but that is coming up.

Pure Vanilla sat down the pile of mail on the countertop, he slowly went through them one by one. Mostly advertisements, this month’s bills and today’s newspaper. His hand levitated over the newspaper, hesitant to pick it up. Police officers and other people in cave exploration gear carrying a stretcher with someone wrapped in blankets in the national park. He turned his head, placing his shaking hand down on the newspaper.

“Cao Cao? I think you want to see this.” He called out, feeling a bead of sweat running down his forehead. It was silent for a moment before Dark Cacao appeared in the doorway with a raised brow. Pure Vanilla sighed, picking up the newspaper and showing it.

“They found her?” He questioned with arms crossed, he nodded and flipped the newspaper open.

‘After a daunting search through the unmarked and unexplored cave, the victim has been found. The body was finally retrieved this morning and brought out of the cave for autopsy. One of the volunteers commented briefly to the reporter on scene that “It’s truly horrific, but I hope her father finds some peace now that she’s at least home.”, as of currently her father has continued declining comments.’

Pure Vanilla looked upwards and towards Dark Cacao who had vanished, he raised an eyebrow and looked towards his side. He was leaning forward slightly, reading the newspaper in his hands.

‘The police are still on the hunt for the suspect, they’re looking for a male standing roughly at 5’9 with caving experience whom was wearing a tight, black long shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, beige hiking boots and dark brown hair.’

He handed the newspaper over to Dark Cacao and placed his hands on his hips in thought, Dark Cacao rolled up the newspaper and placed a hand on Pure Vanillas shoulder.

“We should visit Datura-flower once he is home.” Pure Vanilla crossed his arms as he spoke, he took a moment to reply but nodded.

“There’s more on your mind.” Dark Cacao brought up, pulling Pure Vanilla into a gentle hug. An audible sigh emanated from Pure Vanilla.

“It’s just, why would someone do that..? And then being dumped into a cave…There’s no humanity in that.” Pure Vanilla mumbled, letting go of Dark Cacao. He began rummaging through the cabinets, Dark Cacao watched on for a moment before shrugging.

“Some people simply don’t have an ounce of humanity.”

————

The doorbell rang. Pure Vanilla stepped away from the open window and hurried to the door. He opened the front door with a smile.

“Hello!” He chirped, but didn’t recognise the man in front of him. A lankier man in business casual with traces of rainbow glitter on his shoes.

“Hey. I’m the new neighbour next door..I just wanted to introduce myself.” His hand was jittery and his smile awkward but well meaning. Pure Vanilla perked up.

“Oh? I’m Pure Vanilla. I’m so glad to meet you.” He reached his hand out. The man took his hand and shook it gently.

“I’m Datura-flower, and you might’ve already seen my daughter run around?” He let go of the handshake, he paused for a moment in thought.

“The little blonde one in a pink tutu that kicks a ball around?” Pure Vanilla questioned, leaning on the door frame. Datura-flower nodded enthusiastically. He smiled and clapped his hands once.

“Yeah, Moonflower. I hope she isn’t being too noisy..” Datura-flower cracked his knuckles, Pure Vanilla blinked and chuckled.

“Not at all! On the contrary, it’s nice hearing a child laugh. While I have enjoyed my peace and quiet now that my youngest is in their final years of high school, I do kind of miss the house being a little noisy.” He rambled slightly, Datura-flower nodding along.

“She’s currently in the backyard so I need to run back, I hope you have a nice day.” He whipped around, still carrying a slightly flustered smile and hurrying off.

————

Yes I was sneaky and made a small additional segment of when the two moved in next door to Dark Cacao and Pure Vanilla. Definitely a noisy child who might’ve developed a habit of scaling the fences later on, and yes, Datura-flower is a single dad and loves his lil child. Always will.

This is low-key spoiler territory but, Moonflowers case eventually goes cold too :(