#my dad is taking me to some pride events this year

[pastryfication]

HIIII so I was wondering If you could pleaseee write a dad oscar piastri x daughter (like four y/o) where he teaches her how to play chess and turns our she's so good at it just like Oscar was as a kid!

checkmate! | oscar piastri

oscar sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the chessboard laid out between him and your daughter. the pieces were neatly arranged, ready for the first move. his little girl, barely four years old, was sitting opposite him, her tiny fingers hovering over the pawns, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“alright, sweetheart,” oscar said softly, smiling at her focused expression. “this is how we start. the pawns move first, see?” he nudged one of the white pawns forward, showing her how it worked.

she nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. her hands were still so small, but she mimicked his move perfectly, pushing one of her black pawns forward.

from the couch, you watched them with a warm smile, your heart swelling as you saw the bond they shared. oscar’s patience, his gentle guidance, and your daughter’s eager determination—it was one of those simple, beautiful moments that made everything in life feel just right.

oscar chuckled softly, glancing up at you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “she’s a quick learner, isn’t she?” he said, admiration clear in his voice.

you nodded, your smile widening. “just like her dad.”

they continued playing, and as the game went on, you couldn’t help but notice how your daughter wasn’t just following oscar’s instructions—she was thinking ahead, planning her moves with surprising skill for such a little girl. you watched closely, fascinated, as she carefully moved her pieces, her little face scrunched up in concentration.

“daddy, look!” she suddenly exclaimed, her voice bursting with excitement. “checkmate!”

oscar blinked in surprise, his expression shifting from shock to a proud smile. “wow, sweetheart,” he said, genuinely impressed. “you’re really good at this.”

you couldn’t contain your laughter as you saw the joy in your daughter’s eyes. “looks like you’ve got some serious competition, osc,” you teased.

it don’t take more than a few minutes before “checkmate!” once again was declared triumphantly, her little giggles filling the room as oscar slumped back dramatically, pretending to be utterly defeated.

“you beat me!” oscar laughed, pulling her into his lap. “you’re amazing, you know that?”

you watched them cuddle, your heart full to the brim. there they were—your two favorite people, sharing a special moment that you knew would be one of many. as they whispered about playing again tomorrow, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

“we can play as much as you want, my little champion,” oscar promised, and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that your little girl was already following in her dad’s footsteps in more ways than one.

——

five years had passed since oscar piastri had first introduced his daughter to the game of chess on their living room floor. what had started as a fun bonding activity had quickly grown into a shared passion, and now, at nine years old, she was entering her first school chess competition.

the gymnasium buzzed with excitement as students and parents gathered around the rows of tables set up for the event. the air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel your own heart pounding as you watched her from the sidelines.

oscar stood next to you, his hand resting on your lower back affectionately, his face a picture of calm pride. “she’s got this,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, though you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes.

“of course she does,” you replied with a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand. “just like her dad.”

your daughter sat at her designated table, her chessboard in front of her, looking as poised and focused as you had ever seen her. she glanced over at the two of you and grinned, that same spark of determination in her eyes that she’d had since she was little. you waved back, trying to send her all the confidence you could muster.

the first match began, and you watched as she moved her pieces with a precision and foresight that left you in awe. every lesson oscar had taught her, every late-night game they had played together, all of it was coming to life in this moment. she was no longer just playing for fun; she was competing, strategizing, and, most importantly, enjoying every second of it.

as the match progressed, it became clear that she wasn’t just good—she was exceptional. one by one, her opponents fell, each match ending with a handshake and a smile, and each time, she looked over to the two of you with that same joyful grin. it was in those moments that you knew she was doing exactly what she was meant to do. and you couldn’t be more happy that you had chosen oscar to be the father of your children, because the beaming smile he received as she stood and accepted her trophy made your cheeks hurt from smiling. and when she later found her way back to you and sprinted into his arms where he held her tight, whispering to her that he was proud of his little champion, you heart was close to exploding with joy.

[mountsmase]

I’m Yours

a/n : hi!! I can’t believe I’m finally posting this fic! I’ve had this concept sat in my drafts since March and I went through a bit of a hard time with writing but I’ve now turned this idea into something that I’m really proud of 🥹 this is the first time I’ve attempted to write something where the reader and Mase aren’t already in an established relationship, so I really hope that I did it justice and that you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!! These two are my babies 🥺 I really hope you enjoy ❤️ feedback is appreciated as always 🫶🏻 (also it’s my first time trying an actual header so please let me know what you think)

word count: 14k +

genre: fluff and smut

“There you are”

The deep rumble of your best friends voice startles you, his suit clad body brushing against the bare skin of your arm as he appears next to you.

Mason pulls out the chair beside your own, sitting down with you in the secluded corner of the crowded room.

The Together for Short Lives gala is well and truly underway, the large ballroom decorated in elegant black and gold furnishings as people talk amongst themselves around the room. It’s packed, an amazing turn out for such a meaningful event.

The evening so far has been nothing short of special, with a dinner followed by an auction, all of the money going to an amazing cause. Your heart filled with pride watching Mason up on the stage and you’re so grateful that he chose to share this night with you.

“You disappeared on me” Mason pouts, glancing down at the cocktail you’re holding in your hands before taking it from you and lifting it to his lips.

He takes a sip and you giggle at the face he pulls as he clearly didn’t enjoying the sweet tasting drink as much as he thought he would.

“Sorry, I just went to get another drink and then I couldn’t find you” You tell him, taking your glass back when he offers it to you.

“You should’ve called me, I’d of come to find you” He replies, and you try to ignore the way your tummy flutters at his words.

“I know you would’ve, but I can handle being alone for a bit, I’m a big girl”

There’s a playful glint in his eyes when you look up at him.

“But what if I wanted to come and find you?”

“Well you’re here now, so it couldn’t of been that difficult” You grin, watching as he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and you’re briefly distracted when he reaches up to adjust his tie.

You and Mason have been friends for as long as you can remember.

Your dads used to work together when they were younger and they always had a close relationship both in and out of work, which led to your families becoming close as well. Your mums became inseparable when they were introduced, and a few years later, when you and Mason were born only a few months apart, you naturally became inseparable too.

You grew up together, your parents keeping you close despite the fact that you attended two different schools, and as you got older, your bond only grew stronger.

Some of your best memories are with Mason, you’d stay the weekend at each others houses, spend long afternoons doing homework together before playing in the garden, and there were even a few summers where your families had joint holidays.

It was the two of you against the world, and it had always been that way.

That is until his football career started to take off. You were so proud of him. Your friend was playing for one of the best clubs in the England and you were over the moon to see him doing so well.

But, it unfortunately meant that he became busier and was spending more and more time in London and away from Portsmouth. You tried your best to stay in touch, messaging all the time and video calling when you eventually got phones, but you can’t deny that it was hard not having him around anymore.

Things only started to get difficult when he went on loan to Vitesse when you were 18. It was harder to keep contact with him being away and being so focussed on football, but you’d never blame him for the fact you drifted apart.

You were in college at the time, spending any available minuet that you had on your classes, making sure you could pass your exams and get into the uni you’d always dreamed of attending.

It was difficult, you couldn’t be there for each other as much as you’d of liked to be, and as much as you’d both tried your hardest to stop it, it started becoming harder and harder as time went on.

You’d only see each other at family events like birthdays and weddings and it got to the point where you’d only talk once every few months or so. Even when he came back to the UK and was living in Cobham, you’d video call to catch up and then not speak to each other again for weeks unless you had something specific to talk about.

It was all part of growing up though. He was still one of your best friends, someone you knew you could trust and could call if you ever needed anything, and you were the same to him.

You both became increasingly busy, especially when he began playing for the first team and you were going through university, so it made sense that it became harder to make time for each other.

But, last year, it all changed.

After graduating from university and receiving your degree three years ago, you were presented with an amazing job opportunity in Manchester, which you just couldn’t say no to. It was a big change for you, moving somewhere so far away from home and having to start a new life in a new city, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You’re doing amazing at work, having received a promotion not even two years after joining your company, and you’ve got a cute little apartment that you’ve well and truly made your own.

You really didn’t think it could get much better, but you were proved wrong when Mason transferred to Man United last summer.

After a lot of uncertainty surrounding his career, Mason was relived to finally know who he would be playing for next season and was excited to start his new life up in Manchester.

You were one of the only people he knew in the city, and when he reached out, you offered for him to stay in your spare bedroom whilst he settled in and found a place to call his own.

He obviously took you up on your offer, loving the extra time he got to spend with you and the familiarity that came with being in your presence.

You had the best month living together. It was like you’d never been apart, all of those years of having distance between you forgotten. You’d cook dinner together, have movie nights, talk to each other after you’d had a bad day at training or work and even after he moved out and into his new home, you still spent as much time together as possible.

You had your best friend back, and you had truly never felt happier.

Now, fast forward 8 months, and you’re questioning if that’s really all you are anymore.

You’ve always known that Mason is an attractive guy. I mean, how could you not? He’s gorgeous.

But recently that attraction has grown deeper. And not only in a physical way.

The last couple of months have been filled with lingering touches and longing gazes, the line between friendship and something more slowly becoming blurred.

He’s no longer just Mason, your best friend, but he’s Mason, the guy you think, sorry, know that you’re in love with.

Mason is one of the few people who treats you like you’re somebody. He makes you feel like the most special girl in the world without even trying and you’ve had to remind yourself one too many times recently that there’s nothing more going on between you.

You haven’t mentioned your feelings to him because you’re scared. Scared of loosing him and ruining what is such an important friendship to you. Scared that you aren’t enough for him.

You didn’t have the best experience in your last relationship, and you know deep down that Mason would never treat you the way he did and that there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with you. You’re a pretty girl who has good morals and a good head on your shoulders.

But, the fear that you’re not good enough - that you wouldn’t be able to give him what he wants and needs - still clouds your mind, and it’s one of the reasons why you won’t admit anything to him.

And what if he doesn’t feel the same way? After the last couple of months you know deep down that he could, but the last thing you want is to throw away your friendship over it.

You just can’t ignore the growing tension between the two of you.

But…neither can he.

Mason has felt for a long time that there’s no one else for him but you, and his feelings for you just grew stronger after moving to Manchester.

You took him in and made him feel at home in a city where mostly everything was new to him, supported him through a tough transition period, and after moving out of your spare bedroom he found himself craving your company more than anyone else’s.

You feel like home to him.

Tough day at training? He wants to see you. He saw something funny on TikTok? It’s you he wants to send it to you. He burnt his toast that morning? He wants to tell you. You’re at the forefront of his mind all the time.

You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever set his eyes on, both inside and out. You’ve got a heart of gold and he would do anything in his power to protect you from the harsh reality’s of the world. You’re the most important person to him, he just wants to make you happy and see you smiling all the time.

This tension that’s been building between you recently has been killing him, and as much as he worries that you won’t feel the same way, he doesn’t think he can hold in his feelings much longer.

There’s been too many moments where he’s had to stop himself from leaning in and claiming your lips with his own, and it’s been becoming harder and harder to restrain himself.

Especially tonight.

He’d invited you to join him and Lewis as a plus one to the black tie gala, wanting to experience the evening with you and share something that’s always been so special to him.

When you stepped out of the lift earlier in the evening, his heart soared at the sight of you in your floor length gown. You left him speechless, and he’s not been able to take his eyes off of you ever since.

The black material hugs your body in all of the right places, perfectly contrasting against your tanned skin. You’ve matched it with a pair of strappy heals and silver jewellery, going for a simple yet elegant look.

There’s a slit down the left side, starting at your upper thigh, and the sight of your leg poking out from underneath the satin fabric has Mason’s mind wandering to places that he knows it shouldn’t.

You look absolutely stunning, and he’s been struggling to hold himself back all evening.

He’s found his attention drifting to you through out the night, more often than not becoming distracted from whatever conversation he’s having to admire you, and he’d quickly become captivated by your presence.

Sitting next to you now is no different, he can’t help but let his eyes drift down your body and your cheeks heat when you notice his wandering gaze.

There’s a look of longing in his eyes, one you’ve become familiar with, but until tonight you’ve always thought that you’ve been imagining it.

“You need to stop looking at me like that, Mase”

The sound of your soft voice has his attention snapping away from your body, and your heart skips a beat when his warm brown eyes find yours.

His cheeks flush from being caught, but his confidence doesn’t falter.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do if I don’t?” He whispers, loud enough for only you to hear and the teasing smirk that finds his lips has your heart racing in your chest.

You’re overcome by a wave of shyness, any response that you may have had dying in your throat as he shuffles closer to you, his knee nudging into yours under the table.

He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but the urge to touch you suddenly becomes too much to ignore. He finds himself reaching out, his warm palm landing against your exposed thigh as his other arm snakes behind you, resting against the back of your chair. Your skin burns under his touch, breath hitching in your throat when his thumb rubs in tender circles over the inside of your thigh.

Mason has always been a touchy person, you’ve seen and experienced it over your years of friendship, but there’s something about the way he’s touching you now that has your head spinning.

His hand ventures a little higher and you fumble to open your purse, pulling out your lipgloss and phone in a desperate attempt to distract yourself and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you’ve avoided his question when you open the camera app, using it as a makeshift mirror to reapply the gloss.

He watches as you swipe the applicator over your pink, plump lips, the action captivating him and it takes all of his self restraint to not lean in and kiss you right there and then.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Bambi”

You pop the lid back onto the tube and place it back into your purse - your distraction techniques having been unsuccessful - and look up and into his eyes.

The whispered compliment has butterflies erupting in your tummy, your lips tugging up into a smile upon hearing the nickname he’s always used for you.

It started when you were 10, you always loved the movie and had invited him over to watch it with you after school one day. About half way through you stood up to go and find more popcorn but being your clumsy self you’d ended up tripping over your own feet.

Mase took the opportunity to compare your clumsiness to that of the deer, and at first he used the nickname as a joke, but then it stuck, and now, even in your twenties he still liked to use it. And you love to hear it.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Masey” you tell him, letting your gaze drop briefly and you take allow yourself a moment to admire him.

Mason is handsome even on his worst days - you’re convinced that he could wear the ugliest outfit ever and somehow still pull it off - but there something about the way he looks tonight that has you breathless.

The suit he’s wearing is simple - perfect for a black tie event. A white shirt with a black jacket and trousers, a matching tie and some dress shoes to complete the look. The chest strap that he wore earlier in the evening has been abandoned, the jacket now undone allowing for more of a relaxed look as the evening goes on.

His hair is freshly trimmed, styled into a short quiff and his facial hair is neat, more of a long stubble than a full beard. The lighting in the room is dim, but you can still make out all of his features, the freckles that are dotted over his cheeks, his long lashes and the dimple that appears whenever he smiles. He’s utterly breathtaking.

“Remind me to thank whoever tailored this suit for you” You smile, gaze locking onto his again as you reach up, smoothing your hands over the lapels of his jacket.

“You like it?”

“I love it, you look so handsome” you let your hands drop back into your lap and he misses your touch immediately.

“Yeah?” His voice is barely above a whisper and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth when you nod gently.

You feel his arm move from behind you as he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment before brushing down your jaw and you become hyper-aware of how close you are when you feel his breath fanning over your cheek.

It feels as though the air around you has suddenly shifted, his gaze swimming with an emotion that you can’t quite place. The intense eye contact becomes too much for you, your eyes momentarily dropping to his chest but he brings them back to his with a hand cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so that you have no choice but to look at him.

His gaze drops to your lips, once, twice, and a third time, until the desire to feel them against his own becomes too overwhelming. He’s leaning in before he has a chance to stop himself, the lack of hesitation in your eyes only urging him on until someone clears their throat behind you.

“Hey guys” Lewis’ voice snaps you and Mason back to reality, the room around you coming back into focus.

His presence causes Mason to jump away from you, an unwelcome chill touching your skin where his hand no longer rests against your thigh. He groans in annoyance and turns towards his brother.

You release the breath you never realised you were holding, clearing your throat and fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress as Mason looks up at Lewis expectantly.

If he saw anything, he doesn’t let it show.

“Sorry Mase, there’s a few people asking for you”

Mason nods politely, standing up before turning to hold a hand out for you.

“You coming?” He asks, acting as though nothing happened - that he hasn’t just nearly kissed you.

It takes you a few more seconds to regain your composure, blinking up at him a few times before eventually nodding and taking his outstretched hand.

He helps you up, waiting until Lewis has turned away to lift your joint hands to his lips. He places a quick kiss to your knuckles, sending you a soft smile before letting them drop between you again and he doesn’t let go as you follow him through the crowd, fingers still intertwined as Lewis introduces you to an older man who you recognise as one of the event organisers.

You try your best to focus on the conversations that are happening in front of you. You really do.

But it’s hard to concentrate with Mason’s fingers still tangled with yours and the thought of what could’ve happened had Lewis not interrupted you a few moments ago.

That’s the second time you’ve almost kissed him. The first being a few weeks ago when he’d invited you and a few of your other friends over for a games night.

You’d gotten to Mason’s a little earlier than everyone else, wanting to spend a bit of extra time with him before the others arrived and you were in the kitchen, helping him find some snacks and drinks when your favourite song had come on shuffle through the speakers.

One thing led to another and you were dancing around the kitchen, singing your little heart out as Mason stood back and watched you, giggling at your terrible dance moves.

As the song went on you got a little more into it, accidentally crashing into him after tripping over your own feet and he’d reached out to steady you, the two of you laughing together as you found your footing and rested against his chest.

Your laughter had slowly died down, the air around you thickening as you looked up to find him already gazing down at you. The warm look in his eyes could only be described as endearment and what happened next was a bit of blur.

He was leaning in when the door bell went off, the others arriving at the worst time and ruining the moment without even realising.

You’ve thought about it every day since, wondering what could’ve been, and now here you are weeks later, still asking yourself the same questions.

You’re brought back to the present moment when Mason squeezes your hand, dragging your attention back to the conversation happening in front of you.

“You okay?” He mumbles close to your ear, hand letting go of yours to instead wrap around your waist and you melt into his warmth as he tugs you closer.

You nod, sending him a smile that says you’re cool, calm and collected, but it’s as much of a facade as it can be when inside you’re feeling the complete opposite.

“How about one more drink and then we head back to the hotel?” Mason suggests a few hours later, glancing down to his watch and noticing that it’s nearing 11pm.

“You guys go ahead, I’m going to go and talk to a few more people and then I’ll come and find you guys” Lewis tells you before heading to the other side of the room and you follow Mason over to the bar.

“Water?” Mason asks, voice low as you approach counter.

He knows you’re not the biggest drinker, only ever choosing to have one or two drinks when you go out, and you’ve already had a cocktail and a glass of wine with your dinner.

“Please” You smile, glancing over to him as he orders and pays for your drinks.

“Sorry mate, any chance we can grab a straw please?” Mason asks the bar tender when he places your water down in front of you, and you feel your cheeks warm at the simple gesture. You’ve always preferred drinking with straws, some people may think it’s weird, but to Mason it’s just one of the many things he loves about you.

You thank him as he slides the glass towards you, watching as he takes the paper wrapped straw from the bartender with a cheeky grin. He tears off the end of the wrapper, bringing the exposed end of the straw to his lips and you could predict what he was about to do from a mile off, but it still makes you jump when he blows on the straw, sending the paper flying and he laughs as it hits your cheek before landing on the counter next to you.

“Mason” You groan playfully, shaking your head at his childish behaviour. Still, you can’t help but laugh with him, and his heart soars at the sound.

It’s not long later that you’re leaving the venue after finishing your drinks and saying your goodbyes, stepping out into the chilly evening air as Lewis steps aside to call a taxi.

“Did you have a good night?” Mason asks, coming to stand beside you.

A gust of wind ruffles his hair, a couple of strands falling onto his forehead and you have to fight the urge to reach up and brush them away for him.

“Yeah I did, thank you for inviting me, it was special” you smile up at him, rubbing your palms against your bare arms in an attempt to keep warm when the wind picks up. The temperature has dropped significantly since earlier in the evening, and you’re now regretting your choice to not bring a second layer with you.

Mason doesn’t hesitate to slip off his suit jacket when he notices you shivering, slipping it over your shoulders before you can protest. You snuggle into it’s warmth, breathing in the scent of his cologne that still lingers on the fabric.

“Better?” He murmurs, making sure its wrapped around you enough before draping an arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you” You nod, melting into his side when he gently tugs you towards him.

The wait for the taxi isn’t too long, and you stay snuggled up to Mason’s side as he chats away to Lewis about your plans for getting back to Manchester tomorrow. You don’t pay any attention to their conversation though, too busy focussing on his little touches to listen to what they’re saying.

He holds you close, absentmindedly tracing patterns into your shoulder through the material of his jacket. You’re resting against his chest, and it rumbles underneath your cheek whenever he speaks, his soft voice soothing you.

You could stay wrapped up in him forever, but your bubble is popped when the taxi pulls up to the curb in front of you.

Lewis takes the front seat, letting you and Mason sit in the back together and you slide in when he holds the door open for you. He climbs in behind you, pouting as you settle into the far seat rather than the one next to his.

It’s only a short drive back to the hotel, and you spend it in a comfortable silence, stealing glances at Mason every now and then, unable to take your eyes away from him as the street lights shine through the windows, casting a golden glow over his features.

He turns his head suddenly, feeling the heat of your gaze, but you're quick to look away, cheeks blazing when you realise he’s caught you staring.

You start fiddling with your rings, one of the telltale signs that you’re nervous, but a warm hand intertwines with yours, stopping your fidgeting. Mason is already looking at you when you glance up at him, and your heart soars at the gentle look in his eyes. There’s a certain warmth behind them that tells you everything is okay, and you settle back into the seat, sliding your fingers between his and not letting go for the rest of the journey.

Mason is the first out of the car when you pull up in front of your hotel, quickly making his way around to your door before opening it for you and you accept the hand he holds out, letting him help you climb out. He quickly tips and thanks the driver before leading you into the hotel, through the lobby and towards the lifts.

You bid your good nights to Lewis when he steps out on his level, leaving you and Mason alone as the doors close behind him. You settle into another comfortable silence as you continue up to your floor.

The doors slide open and Mason moves aside, letting you step out in front of him before following you down the hall towards your room, wanting to make sure you get back safely.

You stop in front of your door, reaching into your purse to retrieve your room key before turning to thank him for walking you back, but the words get stuck on your tongue, not quite feeling ready to say goodnight to him yet.

“Stay with me tonight?” You whisper, not wanting to ruin the peaceful atmosphere that has somehow been set in the hallway, “we can order room service and watch something, just like we do at home”

He doesn’t respond straight away, and for a very brief moment you worry that you’ve crossed some sort of line, but you watch as his gaze softens, and he keeps his voice low as he says “Let me just go and grab a few things from my room and then I’ll be back, yeah?”

“Okay” you nod, watching as he heads back down the hallway before letting yourself into your room.

You feel giddy, buzzing with nervous excitement as you slip Mason’s jacket off and lay it over the back of the chair before busying yourself with tidying a few things away, making the room look a bit more presentable as you’d left it a mess in your rush to leave earlier.

You’re not sure where the sudden jitters have come from, it’s Mason. You’ve always spent nights at each others houses, snuggled on the sofa, talking until late before falling asleep in each others company. But something about tonight feels different.

You don’t have long to dwell on it though, hearing two taps on the door as you put the last few bits back into your suitcase.

His smile is bright as you swing the door open, stepping aside for him to come in and your eyes drop to his chest as he brushes past you. He didn’t bother changing, but his tie is nowhere to be seen, the top few buttons of his shirt now undone and his silver chain - the one that you brought him for his birthday last year - peaks out from underneath the fabric.

You click the door closed behind him, following him into the room and watching as he puts a few things down on the table beside the bed - his charger and what you think is his toothbrush, along with his wallet and a spare change of clothes for the morning.

“So, room service?” He asks, flopping down onto the bed and settling against the headboard.

He makes himself comfortable, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to just below his elbows as you grab the food menu from the desk in front of the TV. Your breath catches in your throat when you turn to face him, your mouth going dry as the dark ink on his forearm steals your attention.

A smirk ghosts his lips upon noticing your brief loss of composure, but he chooses not to bring it up, instead patting the spot next him.

You slip off your heels, putting them to the side before climbing onto the mattress to sit beside him. “How about pizza? I’m not too hungry so maybe we could share?”

“Sounds good, chips as well?” He suggests and you agree, trying to pass him the menu but he doesn’t take it from you, “You choose, I’m not fussed”

You decide on a classic margherita, letting Mason call downstairs to place the order whilst you reach over him and grab the remote from the table next to his side of the bed. He sucks in a sharp breath when your hand falls on his upper thigh, not so innocently steadying yourself as you lean over him. You can’t say that you’d meant to touch him like that, but you won’t pretend that you didn’t love his reaction.

“Sorry” you mumble, cheeks flaming as you sit back and busy yourself with turning on the TV, logging into your Netflix account whilst he takes a deep breath next to you and finishes ordering the food.

You put on an episode of a series that you’ve been watching together, catching each other up on some plans that you have for the next couple of weeks whilst you wait for your food to arrive and you eat in a comfortable silence when it does, Mason letting you have the last slice of pizza like always.

After clearing away the tray and placing it in the hallway, you lock the door behind you and settle back onto the bed, tucking yourself into his side when he lifts his arm for you.

“Thank you for coming with us tonight. I know it’s a long way from home but it means a lot to have you at these things with me” He tells you, a warm feeling spreading through you as he pulls you closer and rests his cheek against the top of your head.

His arm settles around you, holding you at the waist as you rest your head against his shoulder. You sling your arm over his torso, goosebumps erupting over your skin when his free hand comes to rest on your forearm, fingertips tracing over your skin.

“Thank you again for inviting me, and you know I don’t mind” You tell him, tightening your arms around him slightly, “I’d fly to the other side of the world with you if you asked me to”

He chuckles into your hair, his smile widening. “Yeah? Looks like I should ask them to have the next gala in Australia then”

“Yes! You know I’ve always wanted to go and meet Kangaroos”

“It’s a long flight though, you’d have to let me sleep on your shoulder the whole way there”

“Oh,” you pout at him jokingly, “you wouldn’t buy me a business class ticket?”

His fingertips creep up your waist and you giggle, thrashing against him when they tickle over your skin through the material of your dress.

“I’ll take that as a no then” You sigh dramatically, slumping back into his arms when his fingers relent.

“I’d buy you as many business class tickets as you want, Bambi”

Here we go again with the butterflies.

You settle back into a comfortable silence, Mason keeping his arms locked around you as he tries to switch his focus back to the TV, but it’s impossible when you’re cuddled up to him so closely.

There’s something about being in your presence that makes him feel so calm. There’s no need for him to fake anything, no need for him to worry. He can just be ‘Mase’ without any added expectations or anyone analysing his every move. You accept him for him, and he thanks his lucky stars everyday that your parents met all of those years ago because he’s really not sure what he’d do without you.

But tonight he’s nervous. He’s not sure what it is because these feelings for you are by no means new, but after he nearly slipped up and kissed you once earlier, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if it happens again.

He wants you. Physically, emotionally, whatever you’re willing to give him, he’d take it, and tonight might just be the night that he does.

He doesn’t realise that he’s been staring at you until you tilt your head to look up at him, having felt the heat of his gaze.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” He whispers, a soft smile sitting on his lips.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as they drop down to your lips, only for a millisecond before returning to your own and your heart rate quickens, a giddy feeling spreading through you.

“Maybe a few times” you tease, lips curling into a smile, “but you can tell me again”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, “You look gorgeous, always the prettiest girl in the room” He tells you, heart thudding in his chest as a shaky hand comes up to cup your jaw.

His nose bumps against yours as he leans closer. His lips are mere inches away, your heart beating so fast in your chest that you’re sure he can probably hear it.

When you show no signs of hesitation he closes the distance, touching his lips to yours in a tender kiss that you feel all the way from your head down to the tips of your toes.

You feel yourself melting into him as he works his lips over yours with ease, one of his hands cupping your cheek as the other gently pushes against your hip, encouraging you to roll onto your back and your arms wind around his shoulders as he moves to hover over you.

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling of his lips against yours after what feels like an eternity of waiting for this exact moment, your hand weaving into the short strands of hair on the back of his head to hold him to you.

He keeps it soft, your whole body tingling from how gentle he’s being with you as his lips move over yours with a certain tenderness that has you craving more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that” He breathes, forehead resting against yours when you separate to catch your breaths.

His heart flip-flops in his chest at the smile that paints your lips, unable to prevent his own as you gaze up at him with twinkling eyes.

“Then who am I to stop you from doing it again?”

You’re holding your breath, waiting for him to close the distance again, but when he leans forward he brushes a kiss over your cheek instead, a whine leaving you as you try and chase his lips but he only pulls back further.

“I need to know that you definitely want this Y/N” he whispers, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at you, “I know I do, but I’ll never forgive myself if later on you realise that you don’t”

His voice sounds small, the confidence that he exuded earlier slowly fading away, and your heart aches as rest your head back into the pillows to look at him properly.

You slide your hand up from his shoulder, cradling his face in your palm and your heart soars when he leans into your touch.

“Mason, my whole life I’ve known it’s been you” You tell him, gently brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek and a soft smile finds his lips at your words. “I want this, I want you”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure about anything” You whisper, watching as his features relax.

“I might have to change my mind if you don’t kiss me again though”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, not waiting another second before leaning back in.

It’s like someone has flipped a switch, all form of restraint gone as he claims your lips with a searing kiss that has your spine tingling. He coaxes your lips apart, easily slipping his tongue between them and he takes his time to explore your mouth, brushing his tongue over yours with slow, deliberate strokes.

His hand roams down your dress clad body, kneading into your skin through the satin like fabric and you arch your back into his touch, hands gripping onto his shoulders in a desperate attempt to feel him closer. His warm palm slides over your hip, finding the bare skin of your thigh, exposed through the slit of your dress, and he hooks your leg over his waist.

You moan into his mouth as he presses his hips into yours, the sound going straight to his centre and his length twitches in the confines of his boxers.

“You definitely want to do this?” He asks between kisses, his lips leaving yours to move over your cheek and down to your jaw.

You nod, tilting your head back to allow him better access as he trails his kisses down your throat.

“I need your words, Y/N” he urges, pulling back to look at you.

“Yes Mason, please” You plead, just wanting to feel his lips on your skin again.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, dropping his head back into the crook of your neck and you shiver when his beard scratches over your delicate skin, his lips peppering kisses wherever he can reach and you whimper when finds your sweet spot, your sounds only encouraging him.

He sucks on the sensitive spot below your ear, teeth grazing over your skin before soothing the sting with his tongue and then he’s continuing his kisses down your body.

“As much as I love this dress on, I’d much rather it be off right now” he speaks when his kisses meet the neckline of your dress, the material obstructing his path and stopping him from going any further.

You attempt to reach behind you to undo the buttons that hold it together, but you can’t quite reach them, your position on the bed just leading to an awkward tangle of limbs. You huff out a breath, slumping back into the duvet as he watches you, clearly trying to hold himself back from laughing.

You send him an unimpressed glare, trying once more to reach behind but you only end up finding yourself in the same predicament as before.

“Help me” you pout, and he leans down to kiss it away, loosening his hold on your waist before getting off the bed.

“C’mon, jump up” He holds his hands out for you and you take them, letting him pull you up until you’re standing in front of him.

He moves you so that you’re stood with your back to his chest, his hands lightly brushing down your arms and you shiver under his touch, instinctively leaning back into his warmth.

“May I?” He asks softly, his breath tickling over your shoulder as he speaks.

“Y-yeah” you stutter, trying to steady your beating heart as he brushes your hair to one side.

He must notice the way you tense up as he reaches for the buttons, his lips pressing to your shoulder in an attempt to calm you.

“Relax sweetheart, it’s just me” he whispers, and you force yourself to take a deep breath.

But what if that’s the issue? It’s just him, just Mason. The man you’ve loved for years. You’re comfortable in your body, but what if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if he changes his mind? What if -

Your thoughts are cut off when he gently takes a hold of your waist, turning you around to face him and you’re met with his soft expression, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He whispers, trying to meet your gaze but you look down, eyes focussing on his chest as a wave of shyness washes over you.

“Hey, look at me” He says, keeping his voice gentle as he brings two fingers to lightly nudge your chin so that you look at him again.

“Sorry, I just…” you begin, and he’s patient with you when you stop to take a few deep breaths, “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, it’s just- the last guy I was with like this wasn’t the nicest and he had a fair amount of things to say about my body and - god I’m so sorry” You quickly cut yourself off when you notice you’re rambling, cheeks flaming when you release what you’ve just admitted to him.

Mason feels his heart breaking more and more with every word that leaves your lips. He could never understand how anybody could be so cruel. He feels himself growing angry at the thought of anyone treating you that way and frustrated with himself for not being able to protect you from someone like that.

He knows deep down that there’s nothing he could’ve done to stop it, but you should’ve never had to go through that, and it pains him to know that someone hurt you so deeply.

He doesn’t let his feelings show though, instead making a promise to himself to never, ever, make you feel anything less than beautiful. You deserve so much more and he’s ready to show you just how perfect you are and treat you the way you deserve.

“Listen to me angel, you have nothing to apologise for okay?” his voice is firm, making sure you’re looking right at him before continuing.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. No one should’ve treated you that way. You deserve so much more baby. You are the most beautiful person I have ever set my eyes on Y/N, and I need you to know that I’d never treat you like that.” He tells you, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he rests his forehead against yours.

You nod as best as you can, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to fight your smile as his words sink in.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight Y/N, if you don’t want to we can just watch another movie or something, I won’t be upset. All I want is for you to feel comfortable.”

Your nodding quickly turns into you shaking your head instead.

“No Mase, I want to do this. I want you.” You reassure him and he leans back slightly, leaving a lingering kiss to your forehead before lowering his hands to your waist again.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course” you tell him, gulping down the nervous lump in your throat and willing your heart rate to slow down.

“Okay, you still want me to take this off?”

His fingers fiddle with the thin straps of your dress as you nod, trying not to seem to eager. “Please”

“Turn around for me then angel”

You do just that, turning around so that your back is facing him again and his touch is gentle, barely there as he reaches up to brush your hair to the side once more. His lips find the nape of your neck, scattering kisses over your skin, and this time you don’t tense up as he reaches for the fabric.

He’s slow in releasing the buttons, his fingers skimming over your now exposed skin as he takes his time, undoing them one by one before finally reaching the last after what feels like a life time. His lips never leave your skin as his hands lift to brush the straps off of your shoulders, guiding the material down your body before dropping it to pool around your ankles.

Left in nothing but a pair of black, lacy panties, it takes all of your strength to turn and face him. He takes you in, allowing his gaze to drift down your body and he feels himself twitch in the confines of his boxers. The sight of you bare in front of him makes his head spin, feeling overwhelmed by the need to reach out and touch you.

“So fucking pretty” he murmurs, his words setting your body alight as his hand slays out on your waist.

There’s a bright look in his eyes as he draws you closer, guiding you to step out of your dress, and you forget why you were ever worried.

“Thank you for trusting me” he whispers against your temple, scattering featherlight kisses there as you lean further into his body.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he trails his kisses down your face, over your cheeks before landing on your lips.

You melt into him, his grip keeping you upright as you kiss him back with everything you have. Your hands creep up his back, one finding its way into his hair as the other clutches onto his shoulder. Nails dig into his skin through the material of his shirt but he doesn’t care, losing himself in the feeling of your lips on his.

Your fingers rake through his hair, tilting his head to get a better angle and his lips part on a gasp when your nails scratch over his scalp. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue between his lips, clashing with his own as you fight to take control.

It’s a little messy, but neither of you care, years of pent up feelings and frustrations being poured into the kiss until the burning desire to please him becomes too strong to ignore.

“You’ve still got way too many clothes on” you complain between kisses and he chuckles against your lips, reaching to unbutton his shirt.

“No, sit” you say, and he falls back onto the edge of the mattress with a gentle push of your hands against his shoulders.

He leans back, gazing up at you through his lashes, watching with dark eyes as you settle into his lap with a new found confidence.

You leave enough space between you to reach up and fiddle with his buttons, undoing them one by one as your lips scatter kisses over his jaw. His pulls you forwards by your hips, fingers digging into your skin as you continue to undress him.

You struggle a little due to how close you are, but you manage to get the last few buttons undone, working the shirt off his shoulders. It gets discarded behind you, joining your dress on the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

His shoulders flex as he leans back on his hands and you take him in, eyes dragging down his chest from the chain that dangles around his neck to the small tattoo that sits high on his ribs, there’s a light dusting of hair on his chest, his muscles softly toned.

You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times, but sitting under you now he has you unable to think straight. You have never been so turned on just by looking at someone.

Your need to please him becomes stronger by the second, your mouth having a mind of its own as you trail your kisses down his neck, lighting sucking on his skin until you find his sweet spot. A breathy whine falls from his lips, his fingers digging into your hips a little tighter and that’s when you know you’ve found it, your lips closing over the most sensitive patch of skin.

Your lips graze over the area, licking and nipping as you make your way down to his collarbones, careful not to leave any marks where they may be visible.

He shivers, trembling under your touch as your hands slide down from his shoulders and over his chest, your lips following their path. He sucks in a sharp breath as you tease at the skin right next to his nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a sneaky mark before continuing down to his tummy, making sure to pay special attention to any moles or freckles that you find on your way.

Your legs feel like jelly as you climb off his lap and lower to your knees in front of him, hands pushing his thighs apart to allow you enough space to settle between them. The carpet is rough against your skin, but you can’t bring your self to care as you shuffle around to get more comfortable.

He isn’t without your touch long, his muscles fluttering under your fingers as you graze your lips over the soft ridges of his abs, placing open mouthed kisses along the waist band of his trousers until he grows impatient, his hands aimlessly reaching for his belt.

“Let me” you murmur, moving his hands back to rest by his sides before finding the buckle.

You’re slow in pulling it from the loops, taking your time as you drop it behind you and move to undo the button and zipper, dragging it down at an agonisingly slow pace before sitting back and allowing him to lift his hips. You drag the fabric down his legs along with his boxers, mouth watering as his already hard length springs free from the confines of the fabric.

“Much better,” you drawl, and he lets out a whimper as your lips kiss a path along the inside of his thigh, ignoring the area he needs you the most before moving to the other.

“Y/N, please do something” he pleads, but you don’t need to be told twice, his thighs jumping when a dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock.

He feels thick and heavy in your palm when you give him an experimental tug, glancing up through your lashes to see his eyes fluttering closed, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

“Feel good, Mase?” You coo, and his eyes pop open again, the sight of you on your knees between his legs making him feel light headed.

“S-so good” he stutters, hips raising to meet your hand as you twist it over him again before releasing him all together.

You run your fingertips over the underside of his length and he lets out a breathy moan of your name, the sound going straight to your core as you swirl your fingers over his tip and smear the drop of pre cum that’s collected there.

“Fuck, Y/N” he curses, struggling to keep his eyes open as you move your hand back to his base, holding him steady as you lower your head, lips wrapping around his tip.

You flick your tongue over his slit, humming as the salty taste of his pre cum coats your tastebuds and he drops back, resting on his elbows and watching as you take more of him.

You relax your jaw, moving further down his length and taking as much of him as you can whilst your hand works what you can’t fit in your mouth. The sinful sounds that leave his lips only spur you on, continuing to bob your head as you gaze up at him through your lashes.

“Oh my-, fucking hell” he pants, his hand reaching for the back of your head to gather your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. “You’re so good at that”

His eyes squeeze closed when you take him even further and you gag, eyes watering as his tip hits the back of your throat before pulling back to catch your breath.

Your hands keep up their movements, twisting and tugging until you take him into your mouth again and you let him guide you this time, hollowing your cheeks as he lowers your mouth down his length.

You brace your free hand against his thigh, letting him pick up the pace slightly as you work him towards his release.

“Gonna make me come, Y/N” he sighs, the feeling of your warm mouth around him sending him hurtling towards his orgasm.

“I’ve got you, Mase, come for me” you coo, and he fights to keep his hips still as you pay attention to his head again, tongue swirling over his tip.

One final flick of your tongue over his slit and he’s cuming into your mouth with a grunt, hand tightening in your hair as you work him through his high, swallowing every last drop. You only move away when his hips start bucking from the sensitivity, leaving one final kiss to his tip before sitting back on your feet, taking a moment to catch your breath.

After a few moments of comfortable silence he smiles down at you softly, reaching out for you and you take his hands, standing on shaky legs before lowering yourself back into his lap.

“You okay?” he asks and you nod, leaning into his touch when he cups his hand over your jaw.

His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, his tongue moving over yours and he hums when he tastes himself on your mouth.

His hands trail up your thighs until he finds your panties, hooking his fingers under the fabric, pulling them back before releasing them to snap against your skin.

“Lets get these off” He mumbles, helping you climb off his lap and you move to stand in front of him, shimmying the scrap of lace down your legs as he watches you with crazed eyes until you’re completely bare in front of him.

“Lay down for me” he requests and you do as he asks, sinking back into the duvet as you rest your head against the pillows.

You watch as he stands, walking around the bed to pick his wallet up from the pile of stuff he brought with him earlier and he pulls out a shiny foil packet before climbing back onto the bed.

“Not so fast, baby girl” he tuts as you reach for it, trying to take it from between his fingers, but he places it to the side instead.

“Lay back and let me love on you a little bit”

He moves to hover over you and his lips are on yours in an instant, staying there for just a moment before trailing his kisses over your jaw and neck, sucking lightly and nibbling on your delicate skin as he makes his way down your throat.

“Mase” The moan tumbles from your lips, nails scratching the skin on the back of his neck as you bring your hand up in a desperate attempt to move him lower.

“What do you want, Angel?” He coos, voice vibrating against your skin as he kisses over your collar bones.

“Y-you, please”

“Patience, baby. Let me take my time with you”

And take his time with you he does, his lips dragging over every inch of skin that he can reach as he learns and memorises all of your favourite spots, the ones that have you making those sweet little noises he’s loving so much.

He mouths over your chest, kissing from one side to the other before closing his lips over your nipple and your back arches to meet his mouth as he licks over the sensitive nub, his hand sliding up your body to pay attention to the other. He gropes at your skin, pinching and tugging at your nipple before switching sides to pay them equal attention.

His other hand stays steady on your waist as his lips continue south, keeping you pressed into the mattress when his beard scratches over your delicate skin, causing you to squirm against him.

“Gonna let me make you feel good, baby?” He asks, and you glance down at him, mind reeling as he gazes back at you through his lashes.

You nod vigorously, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slides his hands up the insides of your thighs, separating them enough to settle between them and his breath fans over your core as he inches closer.

“Fuck, look at you” he coos, teasing two fingers through your folds to collect your wetness and your brain short circuits when he takes them between his lips, humming as you coat his tastebuds.

“Taste incredible”

He uses the same two fingers to circle over your clit, waves of pleasure shooting up your spine, and you can’t help the pathetic moan that falls from your lips, head dropping back against the pillows as he shuffles closer.

“Feel good, Angel?” He hums, his lips ghosting over the inside of your thigh.

“Yes Mase, fuck. More” you plead, and his mouth finally meets your centre, a barely there kiss being pressed to your clit before he licks a long stripe up your entrance.

His hands move to hold your hips down as he eats you out like you’re his last meal, no longer wanting to hold back and your moans only encourage him. He alternates between licking and sucking, sealing his lips around your little bundle of nerves before dropping to dip his tongue inside of you, his nose nudging against your clit which has you moaning uncontrollably, back arching to meet his mouth.

Your hands fly to the back of his head, needing something to hold onto, and he hums against you when you tug on his hair, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure that you’re feeling.

You’re unable to think straight, the feeling of his mouth against your core making you forget about everything other then him and how good he’s making you feel, and it’s not long until you feel your orgasm creeping up.

“Mase, oh fuck” you sigh, and when he brings a hand between you to slip a finger through your folds, you’re done for.

His other arm hooks under your thigh, holding you open for him as he slips his finger inside of you, pumping it a few times to stretch you out before adding another.

“I’m gonna cum, Mase, oh my god” you whine, and he doesn’t relent, pulsing his fingers inside of you, his tongue working in tandem with them as he swirls it around your bundle of nerves.

“Let go for me, baby” he encourages, and you cum on his tongue as he suctions his lips around your clit, seeing stars as your orgasm hits you like a wave.

He works you through it, licking you clean until you’re tugging at his hair and he moves away, crawling back up your body.

You lay limp underneath him, eyes closed and lips parted as you catch your breath, feeling well and truly spent from the orgasm he just gave you. Your cheeks are flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, and your make up is slightly smudged, but he still swears that he’s never seen anyone more beautiful, his heart fluttering at the sight of you underneath him.

“So pretty” he murmurs, peppering kisses over your cheeks and the butterflies - the ones that have made a permanent home in your stomach - come back out in full force.

You flutter your eyes open and the twinkle that you find in his own has your insides turning to warm, bubbly liquid, his expression swimming with fondness.

“How are you feeling, baby?” He asks, shuffling slightly so that he can rest his weight against one elbow before trailing his free hand up your thigh, massaging your hips where he was gripping before.

“Good” you smile up at him, fingers toying with the chain that still sits around his neck, “More than good, actually. But there is one thing that would make me feel even better”

He raises an eye brow, “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

You gather as much strength as you can in your post orgasm daze, hooking your legs over his waist to pull his hips down into yours and his eyes widen, realising what you mean.

“Needy girl” he tuts, hissing when you grind your hips and his hard length grazes over your core, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Please Masey. Need to feel you”

“I know baby girl, I’ve got you. Just relax for me”

He gives you a quick yet tender kiss before reaching over to pick up the foil packet from earlier and you shiver as he tears it open, squirming in anticipation as he sits back on his feet and pulls out the condom to roll it down his length.

“You still want to do this?” He asks you for what seems like the tenth time that evening, looking at you with soft eyes.

“Mase, what kind of question is that?” You chuckle, hand coming to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch when you brush your thumb over his skin gently, “Of course I do”

“Just double checking, Angel” he rests his forehead against yours, nose nudging your cheek and your heart soars at the softness of the moment.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, Mase. Need you”

You wrap your arms around his shoulder as he settles on top of you, spreading your legs for him to rest between as he finds a position that’s comfortable.

He runs a gentle, comforting hand over the outside of your thigh, using the other to guide himself towards your entrance and you suck in a breath as he lines himself up, his tip nudging against your slit.

Your quick intake of breath has his eyes snapping up to yours, concern etched onto his features. “What wrong, baby?”

“Nothings wrong” you reassure him, one of your hands finding its rightful place tangled in his hair, “It’s just been a while, just go slowly please?”

“We’ll go at your pace, baby. Just tell me if you need me to stop or slow down, okay?”

“Okay”

You reach down, encouraging him to move with a slow twist of your hand over his length and his lips are back on yours when he lines himself up with your entrance, swallowing your moans as he pushes in until only his tip is buried inside of you.

He gives you a few moments to adjust, not liking how you wince from the slight stretch, but you only nod up at him, encouraging him to keep going and you moan in unison when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. So tight baby” he moans, his raspy voice right next to your ear.

“Let me know when I can move” his thumb brushes in tender circles over your hip, his other hand pressing into the mattress next to your head and you reach for it, unwinding one of your arms from around his shoulders to side your fingers through his.

Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him in a way that has pleasure shooting up his spine and he drops his head into the crook of his neck when you give him the go ahead to start moving.

He keeps his pace slow at first, gauging what you enjoy and what’s comfortable. A slow push and pull of his hips as you learn each others bodies.

“You feel incredible, Angel” he grunts, head dipping into the crook of your neck as his hips press into you with every thrust.

“Mason, fuck” You scratch your nails over his skin, back arching as he gives one particularly hard thrust that has his tip brushing over your sweet spot, “right there”

“There?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he hits it again, a desperate moan leaving your lips as he keeps pushing deeper.

“Y-yeah, faster Mase, p-please”

Your stuttered request is barely audible over the sound of your moans but he hears you just fine, picking up his pace as you wrap your legs around his waist and the new angle allows him to hit deeper, finding that sweet spot with every roll of his hips.

Every single thrust feels incredible, his fingers now digging into your waist to hold you steady. The sounds of your moans and skin slapping against skin is all that can be heard as he works you both towards your highs.

“Fuck, Mase, I’m nearly there” you pant, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm and the feeling of him everywhere sending you hurtling towards your realise sooner than you’d expected.

“I’m right behind you, baby” he groans, pulling his head out of your neck when you tug on his hair, wanting to see him when you cum.

He looks ethereal on top of you, the bridge of his nose flushed as well as his cheeks, his hair a mess and falling over his forehead as that chain dangles between you. You reach for it, using it to tug him down and his lips collide with yours in a heated kiss.

“Mason…” you sob, unable to take your eyes off of his when he rests his forehead against yours.

“I know baby, I’ve got you. Let go for me” he encourages, his thumb finding your clit and that’s all you need to go falling over the edge, walls contracting around him as your orgasm hits you.

A wave of white hot pleasure rolls through you, your entire body trembling against him as he works you through it.

He isn’t far behind, pressing his hips to yours as the feeling of your walls fluttering around his length sends him toppling over the edge with a moan of your name.

His thrusts grow sloppy, hips faltering as he thrusts through it, thumb continuing to brush over your clit until you’re pushing his hand away when you get too sensitive.

With one final thrust he goes limp on top of you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, spent from his orgasm. Your hand finds the back of his head, lightly scratching over his scalp as you both take a moment to catch your breaths. Neither of you make any effort to move for a while, Mason staying buried inside of you whilst your heart beats return to a steady pace.

You wince from the sensitivity when he eventually moves to pull out of you slowly, the kisses that he litters over your forehead soothing you before he discards the condom and collapses onto the mattress beside you.

He reaches towards the end of the bed, pulling up the blanket and you don’t hesitate to shuffle into his arms when he opens them for you, settling against his side with your head resting against his chest as he holds you close.

He knows that he should get you cleaned up, but he can’t bring himself to move as you snuggle into him, one arm draped over his waist and a leg hooked over his thighs, so he lets you get comfortable against him, enjoying the warmth of your body pressed into his.

A couple of minuets pass and you stay in a comfortable silence, fiddling with his chain as you rest on his chest, growing more tired by the second as his fingers sooth over your skin. He wishes you could stay like that for the rest of the night, not wanting to disturb you, but when you start to grow heavy against him he knows he needs to get you up before you fall asleep completely.

“Come on” he hums, lightly tapping your shoulder to encourage you to move. “Got to get you cleaned up, bubba”

You don’t make any effort to move, quite content with staying in his arms and not leaving for the foreseeable future.

“I’m tired” You groan as he resorts to gently pushing you off of him, rolling off the bed completely before holding his hands out for you to take, but you bury your face into the pillows and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, missing his warmth immediately.

The bed dips under his weight as he kneels back onto the mattress, hands massaging into your shoulders before rolling you over to face him.

You pout up at him, shaking your head in protest. You know you’ll regret it in the morning if you go straight to sleep without properly getting ready for bed, but nothing sounds better than climbing back under the sheets with him and falling asleep.

“I know, but the quicker we get in that shower the quicker we can get back into bed” he tells you softly, fingers brushing your hair out of your face as you gaze up at him sleepily. “Let me take care of you, bubs”

His gentle smile and sweet words are enough to have you crumbling, holding your arms out for him and he doesn’t need to ask to understand what you want.

He effortlessly scoops you up, a kiss being pressed to your temple as he cradles you in his arms and carries you through to the en-suite bathroom, careful to avoid the clothes that are still scattered around the floor.

He switches the bathroom lights on, keeping them on the dim setting when he notices you squinting from the brightness and moves to set you down on the counter.

Reaching to the side, he picks up your make up bag, looking through it to find some of your makeup wipes before taking one out of the packet. You try and take it from him but he swats your hand away, tilting your chin up with his fingers before bringing the wipe to your cheek.

Your heart flutters at how gentle he’s being with you as he takes his time, swiping the wipe over your skin as he makes sure to get every last bit of makeup. His little focused face makes you giggle, his tongue popping out from between his lips as he concentrates, being extra careful when he gets to your eyes.

He presses a tender kiss to your lips once he’s finished, throwing the wipe into the bin before turning around to get the shower started and your mouth dries at the sight of his back when he faces away from you.

Red scratches decorate his skin, some travelling as high as his neck and you watch as his back flexes when he reaches for the taps to set the water temperature. You feel yourself heat from head to toe at the sight, struggling to keep your composure when he turns to face you again, instantly noticing your flushed cheeks.

“What’s up, bubba?” He asks, hands coming to rest on your hips as he moves to stand between your spread legs.

“I don’t think you should let anyone else see you shirtless for a couple of days” You tell him, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to hold back a giggle.

“Why? What did you do?”

He moves away from you to look at his reflection in the mirror, eye brows furrowing when he doesn’t find any hickeys or marks like he had expected to.

He looks back to you confused, but you wiggle your finger in a circle, telling him to turn around. He does, looking back at his reflection over his shoulder and you can see the moment he realises, his jaw dropping slightly as he takes in the scratches and marks left by your nails.

“You really didn’t hold back did you?”

“Sorry”

“Don’t be. Just means that I made you feel good” he says with confidence, winking at you with a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

You swat at his chest, not needing to admit that he’s right because you both already know the answer.

He holds a hand out for you, helping you off the counter and steadying you when you stand on wobbly legs, your body aching in the best way possible as he guides you towards the shower.

He steps in behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and your body slumps into his, face finding a home in the crook of his neck as the water cascades over you.

“You okay?” He mumbles right next to your ear and you nod in response, letting out a content sigh as you nuzzle into his skin.

You stay like that for a while, the water soothing your aching bodies before he reaches over and takes your travel sized shampoo from the little shelf behind you. He squeezes a generous amount into his palm, lathering it up before bringing his hands to your hair and you hold onto his waist, needing something to steady yourself as the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp sends you into a state of complete bliss.

He rinses it out after a couple of minuets - still way too soon for your liking - and repeats the process with your conditioner, letting you do the same thing for him.

As soon as you’re both washed off he gets out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around his waist before taking another and holding it out for you. Getting out behind him, you step into the towel, letting him wrap it around your shoulders.

You both get dried off, changing into the fluffy hotel robes before he moves to leave the bathroom, wanting to give you some privacy to finish up your nighttime routine, but you take a hold of his hand, not wanting him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, bubs” he reassures, noticing a faint look of panic on your features. He slides his fingers between yours, giving them a tight squeeze, “I’m just going to tidy the clothes up and grab you something to sleep in okay? I’ll be back in a few minuets”

“Okay, sorry” you mumble, loosening your grip on his hand, feeling silly for getting so paranoid all of a sudden. “I just don’t want you to leave”

His expression softens. “I’m not leaving, Bambi. I promise. Could never leave you”

He presses a series of kisses to your face, one to your forehead, one to your cheek, one of your nose - that one has you giggling - and finally one to your lips, making sure that you’re smiling again when he disappears into the bedroom.

You busy yourself with drying your hair whilst he picks up your abandoned clothes, placing them into a neater pile next to your suitcase so that they can be dealt with in the morning.

He grabs the spare blanket from the wardrobe and puts it on the bed, switching the main lights off so that only the beside lamp is left on before changing into his clean pair of boxers and finding his toothbrush and the t-shirt that he brought with him earlier.

You’re just turning the hair dryer off when he comes back into the bathroom, brushing through your hair as he places his toothbrush next to yours on the counter. The sight of them next to each other has your heart flip-flopping in your chest, the action oddly domestic.

The multiple bottles and pots of skin care products that you have laid out catch his attention when he comes to stand beside you and he picks one up, reading over the bottle curiously.

“What’s all this?”

“You don’t know?” You meet his eyes through the reflection, surprised when he shakes his head in response. But his skin is always so clear?

“Can you show me?” He asks timidly, watching as you nod before jumping up onto the counter again.

You spread your legs, pulling him to step between them and his hands rest against your thighs as you pick up the first bottle, squeezing some of the serum onto your fingers before massaging it into his face. His eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensation of you working the products into his skin, tracing the contours of his face as you tell him what each product is and explain what it’s used for.

He listens to your every word, loving how passionate you seem about it and making a mental note to ask you what they are again in the morning, so that he can buy some of the products for himself and keep some at his house for when you stay over.

You finish up with one of your favourite moisturisers before running through the same routine on yourself, letting Mason help when he insists and enjoying the feeling of being pampered by him.

“Thank you” you mumble, leaning forward to brush your lips over his in a soft kiss and he reciprocates, stepping back to allow you to jump off the counter when you pull away.

“Here, put this on” he says, handing you the t-shirt that he brought in, and you happily change into it, his scent lingering on the fabric and filling your senses as the material falls to your upper thigh.

The sight of you in his clothes is one he wants to see for the rest of his life.

You stand side by side at the sink and brush your teeth together, pulling faces at each other through the mirror as you do before following him back through to the bedroom.

You climb into bed first, getting comfortable under the duvet as he plugs his phone in to charge, begrudgingly setting an alarm for the morning. You both know it’ll be a struggle to wake up, but your flight back up to Manchester leaves at 10am, and you still need to make it to the airport before then.

But that’s a problem for the morning. All you’re concerned about now is holding him.

He settles under the sheets next to you, cuddling into your open arms and sliding you closer with an arm hooked over your waist. Your legs tangle together, bodies pressed close as he snuggles into you, his head finding it’s home in the crook of your neck.

He sighs contentedly, melting into you as you rest a hand on his arm and trace the outlines of his tattoos with your fingertips, his own sneaking under your (his) t-shirt to draw random patterns onto the soft skin of your tummy.

It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in weeks. The feeling of being in your arms bringing him a sense of comfort that he never thought possible, but he knows you still have something to talk about, and he’s about to bring it up when you beat him to it.

“What does this mean?” You whisper, the question that’s been on your mind for the past half an hour finally slipping through your lips as you raise your free hand and brush your fingers through his hair.

“It means I’m yours Y/N” he mumbles into your skin before pulling his head from your neck. He shuffles up your body slightly, moving so that he’s hovering above you. “If you’ll have me”

Your hand moves from his hair to instead cup his jaw, your fingertips lightly scratching through his beard as you gently pull him down to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

“I like you, like a lot” you tell him when you separate, but you keep him close, your arms wrapping around his shoulders

“I’m way beyond like, baby” He admits, a soft smile tugging at his lips and he knows it’s soon, but his heart feels like it’s bursting, and he can’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m in love with you Y/N, I have been for a long time”

He watches you carefully, waiting for any kind of reaction, and he’s a little worried when you don’t have one, your face staying neutral as his words sink in.

But then comes the smile, your lips tilting up as a look of complete and utter joy paints your features.

You’re overwhelmed by different emotions, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re smiling and you can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his again, stealing his breath away with a searing kiss.

The taste of your minty toothpaste still lingers on his tongue when he pushes it through the seem of your lips, working it against yours in slow, languid strokes as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, his fingers gently tilting your head back and your hand slides around to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair.

Your chest is heaving when you eventually pull back, looking up up at him through your lashes as you catch your breath. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed and his damp hair messy from you running your fingers through it.

“You don’t have to say it back, I know you might not feel the same but I-“

“Mason, are you kidding me?” You cut him off, cupping his face in both of your palms. “I’m so in love with you”

A breath of relief leaves his parted lips upon hearing your words, his heart rate settling as you look up at him with twinkling eyes.

“I always have been, Mase. You mean absolutely everything to me”

“Yeah?”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding up at him with complete certainty.

“Mason you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never felt this way before and I know that I won’t feel it for anyone other than you. You’re it for me”

His eyes shine with emotion, his jaw aching from how hard he’s smiling. He feels like he’s floating, your words putting him on cloud nine.

“I love everything about you, Y/N. You’re so fucking beautiful, but it’s not just that. You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re funny, you make me feel wanted in a way I’ve never experienced before, I’ve waited my whole life for this and now that I have you, I’m never letting you go”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours Masey”

You lean up, pressing your lips to his in one final kiss and when he rolls off of you, you move with him. He lays back against the mattress, arms opening wide for you to climb into and you settle against his chest as he adjusts the duvet over you.

“When we get home I’m taking you on a date” he tells you, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “I know you’re already mine, but I want to do this properly, and that includes you letting me spoil you”

Mine. You want to hear it over and over.

“Can I choose the restaurant?” You query, already making a mental list of places that you could go.

“Only if you let me choose the movie when we get back to mine after”

“Who said that I’ll be going back to yours?”

“Just because it’s our ‘first’ -” he lifts his hand, making air quotes, “ - date that doesn’t mean I’m going to do the gentlemanly thing and drop you home with a kiss to your cheek after”

“Looks like you’re picking the movie then” You pat his chest, giggling as he mumbles a quiet ‘good’ and you settle back onto his arms with a yawn.

He leans over to turn the lamp off, the room overcome with complete darkness as he pulls the blankets up to your chin.

“Get some sleep, bubba. Early start tomorrow” He whispers with a kiss to your forehead and you groan into his chest.

“Don’t remind me. Can’t we just stay here forever?”

That really does sound like the best idea ever. Here. As in the little bubble that you’ve built together in this hotel room. You’re not ready for it to pop.

“I wish we could Bambi, but I want to get home and take you on that date”

“I wonder what Lewis will say” you murmur.

Your families have been rooting you you both to get together for years, so you know he’ll be happy for you, but telling him as well as the rest of your families somehow seems really scary.

“Well, I was thinking-“

“Oh no” you cut him off, and he chuckles, chest rumbling under your cheek.

“How about we keep this to ourselves for a bit?” He suggests, fingers sliding between yours where they lay against his chest. “No one needs to know just yet, we’ll just take it slow and tell them when we’re ready”

“I like the sound of that. Just me and you for a little while”

“Exactly” he sighs, already looking forward to getting you home and exploring this new dynamic with you.

He feels whole as he glances down at you through the darkness, a wide smile painting his lips and he doesn’t think it’ll be leaving any time soon. He’s spent what feels like a life time waiting for this, waiting for his person, waiting for you. He’s not sure he’s ever been happier than he feels in this moment, all of his worries forgotten about as you lay in his arms.

He can just about manage to make out your features and his heart is bursting at the seams with love for you as he leans down to press another kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, Bambi”

“Night, Mase. Love you”

———————

a/n: If you have made it this far I just want to say a massive THANK YOU! I really do hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻 Feedback is appreciated as always 🤍

[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

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

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

[hisunshiine]

—college nights, diner fights | jjk

pairing: waiter!jungkook x waitress!reader au/genre: diner au, e2l, angst, smut, fluff rating: M wc: 9,664 warnings: POV switches (obvious, tho) mentions of domestic abuse and alluded infidelity (parents not pairing), JK's mom has terrible boyfriends and his dad is a petty "Disney" dad, Reader's parents are better but not around often, mentions of Jungkook having to protect his mom from the bad boyfriends, mean teachers, enemiesssssss, triggering middle school memories can be brought up upon reading the banter of middle school JK and reader LOL but also not LOL, swearing, vulgar statements, forced proximity, secret mutual pining, a drunken physical altercation/assault at work (mild), mentions of blood, minor cuts/scrapes, kissing, tattoo tracing SMUT warnings: oral (f receiving), praise an: shoutout to my beta readers @colormepurplex2 @downbad4yoongi @mrsparkjimin18 @peachiilovesot7 for helping me get this thing done in time despite me being on vacation and dragging my feet! thank you all so much for the motivation, for brainstorming, and just all around positive feedback! summary: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen! You and Jungkook have been enemies for as long as you can remember—elementary school even—and when Seokjin hires him despite knowing this, you have to call a truce during working hours. When an incident at work leads Jungkook, and you, to put things into a different perspective, will the heated diner fights become a passionate college night? Or will it fizzle before it can start?

Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by ME of @bangtanwritershq

My Big 3 are: Sun (Member): Gemini- Jungkook, Moon (How They Met): Scorpio- Late Night Diner, Rising (Trope): Libra- Enemies to Lovers

Part 1: Elementary School

Elementary school is supposed to be fun. For you, 11 years old and in the fifth grade, elementary school is perhaps the best time of your life so far. Your dad signed up for career day, and you are excited beyond measure for him to come in and meet with your class to talk about his job.

It’s rare that you get to spend time with your dad, as his job keeps him pretty busy. The fact that he was able to show up today was a miracle in and of itself, but he negotiated presenting first so that he could leave first to get to work. 

“Everyone, please welcome our first parent speaker, Mr. Cha.”

Your classmates applaud as your dad steps forward to the podium in the front center of the classroom and you beam from ear to ear. He looks all spiffy—hair styled well, suit pressed, and shoes shined. 

“Good morning, boys and girls, I am Mr. Cha, and I am here to speak to you about my career. To be honest, I have two jobs,” he pauses as the kids, including you, look at him in both awe and confusion, “I am the father to that little girl right there,” he points to you and you giggle. “That is a full time job all on its own, but for the other time spent working, I am a plastic surgeon.”

You can’t help the pride you feel from your classmates clapping as your dad shares. He talks about the schooling needed to get to his position, shares study tips for the transition to middle and high school, which—while still some time away—will be good to begin practicing even now. 

“You’re so handsome, Mr. Cha! Have you ever had any work done yourself?” one of the students asks during the question time.

“Ah, great question! I have tried some of the treatments that we offer at my clinic, because if I don’t believe in it, why should others have faith in me and the services I offer?” he explains. “I had a colleague of mine fix my deviated nose bridge, which I injured playing basketball in college, and I maintain my skin with various anti-aging treatments as well. It’s important to start taking care of your skin even at this age! Princess, come help me please.” Your dad gestures to you, and you rise from the chair, only a little embarrassed at him using your nickname. “Help me pass these out to your classmates.”

You begin walking around the room, placing the small cardstock printouts on each of your classmates’ desks as your dad continues speaking.

“These are coupons for my office. You can give these to a family member, or if your parents will allow you to come in, we offer a free consultation to check your skin, and a reduced rate for any skin care products or procedures for any of my princess’s classmates and their family.” He wraps up his presentation there, pulling you into him for a side hug as he smiles at your classmates and the other parents waiting in the wings to present. “Thank you for letting me present, I’ve got to run because I have a rhinoplasty scheduled today, and I need to prepare, but I had a lot of fun talking with you all today!” As your dad kisses your forehead, he whispers a quick goodbye as he leaves your classroom. You’ve never felt so proud.

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“Okay, everyone, let’s line up for P.E.,” Ms. Kim directs, and you jump in line with your peers to walk down to the field. Your classroom teacher disappears for his break as Ms. Kim takes over, and thus ensues a battle between your class as you play ‘Capture the Flag’. 

“The rules are simple,” Ms. Kim explains, “a ball is placed on each side of the field in that box.” She points at the four cones creating a safe zone with a kickball inside of it. “Once the game begins, players have to cross the midline into ‘enemy’ territory to try and capture the ball and bring it back to their side. The other team has to stop you from stealing the ball by pulling the flags to remove your waistband—no tackling! Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Kim!” 

“Good. If your belt is pulled off, you stand off to the side at the cone here, okay? That’s the jail. To rescue your teammates from jail, you have to high five them. You must return to your side before attempting to go after the ball again. Once a player enters the box, they are safe, but they cannot stay in there forever…” 

You tune out Ms. Kim because you already know how to play, and instead busy yourself with wrapping the tan belt around your waist, adjusting the position of the three blue flags hanging from it. The red team moves to their side of the midline, and you stretch your legs idly as you wait for the teacher to blow her whistle. 

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Huffing, you pout as you walk to the jail cone, re-attaching the waistband that your classmate pulled off. He’s put you in jail several times now, almost as if he’s targeting only you during the game. It’s getting a little irritating, since Jeon Jungkook is the fastest boy in the fifth grade, but he’s spending all of his time chasing you instead of helping his team win. Even now, he’s guarding the jail so your best friend can’t come to save you again.

“Dang, JK, you pulled her flag again?” Kim Taehyung snickers loudly as he jogs over to where you’re held captive.

“Can’t let the princess get everything, now can we?” he taunts, a sarcastic tone to his words.

Kim Taehyung, unable to whisper to save his life, leans into Jungkook and asks, “Do you think her dad worked on her face? No way she’s that pretty on her own.”

Your feelings are split between irritated and pleased at the backhanded compliment. 

“She’s not that pretty, it looks more like her dad messed up her face, ‘cause she’s so ugly,” Jungkook counters, and it’s hard to decipher if his cheeks are red from playing or from talking about your looks.

“But, you said last week that she was—”

Ms. Kim’s whistle blows to end the game, and you miss the end of Taehyung’s statement. Walking away from the two fools, you barely get a foot outside of the jail zone when a sharp tug at your waist stops you in your tracks. You look down and see your belt missing, and hear a soft thud a few moments later as it hits the grass in the opposite direction several yards away.

Taehyung is laughing, his large boxy grin behind his hand as Jungkook smirks at you. 

“You lost.”

The two then take off towards where your teacher is collecting the game belts, leaving you to backtrack to get yours.

“What took you so long? Everyone else has already returned to the building. Taking your time  to head back to class is not good sportsmanship.”

“But, Jungkook—”

“No excuses. Hurry up and get inside.”

Jogging back to the building, you get another scolding when you reach the classroom, with your teacher telling you that just because your dad is a surgeon and came for Career Day does not mean you get to behave this way. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Jungkook eats up every second of the scolding, seeming to enjoy the way you wilt as it continues. As you walk back to your seat, you don’t see Jungkook stick out his foot, and you trip loudly as the desks and chairs nearest you clatter and clang as you try to regain your footing.

As the boys snicker at your forced clumsiness, you vow to yourself that Jeon Jungkook is the worst person to exist, and you will hate him for as long as you live. 

Part 2: Middle School

Jungkook’s had a hard week. Chuseok just ended, and he had to spend it with his dad’s family instead of with his mom this year, per their divorce agreement. He’s partially thankful because it allowed him a moment to rest. His hypervigilance with his mom’s new boyfriend is tiring, and his grades are suffering for it. But Jungkook is tired of these men sniffing around for a piece of the ‘supposed’ alimony his mom receives from his dad, because everyone was aware when the CEO of Jeon Industries divorced his wife and married his secretary. Jungkook begged to switch schools, but his parents refused, despite it being reported on several news outlets for a month in sixth grade. 

Eighth grade hasn’t been so bad for him though, no one talks about the divorce anymore, and Jungkook is able to be just Jungkook, known for his athletic abilities and gaming. He was able to guilt his dad into a new gaming computer, since he forgot to take him back to school shopping, and Jungkook is able to help his mom pay the bills each month with the earnings he makes betting on Overwatch. 

So when he returns back home, tired of hearing tales and seeing pictures of the trip to Cancun with the new baby that conveniently interrupted the planned shopping trip, to see his bed holding a Nike box with the shoes Jungkook begged his mom to get at the start of the year, he’s elated. He erupts into shouts and whoops of excitement, running to the kitchen to hug his mom.

“Ouch!” she can’t hide the wince as Jungkook pulls back from the embrace.

“I didn’t even squeeze you that tightly, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, you know how clumsy I am, I ran into the dining room table the other night—”

Jungkook doesn’t even think as he reaches for the hem of her shirt, barely lifting it to see an ugly burgundy bruise spreading across her abdomen.

“Mom! Did he do this to you?” Jungkook demands, fury building in his body. 

“N-no, honey, you know how I c-can be,” she stutters through the lie, but they both know the truth. 

“Mom, if he did this because of money, just return the shoes, it’s fine.”

“No. I bought those for you. You deserve them.” His mom is resolute, turning away and adjusting her shirt as she goes back to cooking dinner. “Plus, we broke up. He won’t be back.”

Up in his room, Jungkook readies the shoes for school tomorrow. He has a few nice things, his dad is a CEO after all, but after the divorce, Jungkook chose his mom, and his dad took it personally. His dad didn’t understand, but the choice was clear to Jungkook. His dad had a new wife, but his mom had no one. Jungkook couldn't leave her too. But his dad became spiteful after that, and so Jungkook can’t take most things his dad buys him to his mom’s house, including certain clothes and shoes. 

It’s why he’s so upset about his dad missing back-to-school shopping, because those were usually the only things he was allowed to take to his mom’s, but this year he has nothing new. Not until his mom bought him the Nike Dunks he’s been coveting. Jungkook is happy, proud of his mom for choosing him over the newest boyfriend, and lying in bed, he finally feels like maybe his life isn’t so bad. He hears a knock at the door, and his mom’s tired feet shuffling to answer it.

“Please, Jongyeon-ah, I promise, it won’t happen again.” 

Jungkook rolls over, grabbing his headphones to drown out the sounds of the pleading, good for nothing, weaseling himself back into his mom’s life.

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 “Yo, Jungkook, those dunks are fly!”

Jungkook props his shoes up on the desk next to his in class, showing off the brand-new kicks to Taehyung.

“Yeah, they're limited edition.” Jungkook knows his response is a little douchebag-esque, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted these shoes for the longest time, and after all of the bullshit he dealt with during Chuseok and now waking up to see that greasy slimeball his mom said she was done with shirtless at the table for breakfast, he just wants to pretend for once that his life is perfect. 

“Take your crusty shoes off my desk,” you scoff. Jungkook ignores you for a few seconds, leaving his feet where he has them propped on your desk. He hates that you called his shoes crusty, knowing that they’re not. They don’t even have a speck of dirt on them! He made sure of that upon his arrival, being overly cautious with each step and wiping away any blemish he perceived to be there.

“Awe, is the princess jealous she doesn’t have the limited edition dunks?” Jungkook can’t pinpoint when this rivalry started, he just knows that for as long as he can remember, the two of you have been enemies. 

“There’s a reason the supply is limited. It’s because they’re ugly and they stopped making them once they realized someone would have to be an idiot to wear them. You sitting here with them just proves this point.” You push his crossed feet off your desk and he lets you, but Jungkook holds you in his glare.

“One day you’ll stop being a hater, drowning in all that Haterade you’ve been drinking,” Jungkook makes a play on words, and his friends ‘ooooh’ and high five at his middle school burn.

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At lunch, Jungkook precariously steps between the seats to avoid damaging his shoes. His shins are starting to hurt from how he’s walking to avoid creasing his sneakers, but it’s worth the pain to him. He’s successfully avoided getting any food on his shoes from the sloppy eaters, and as he makes the last stretch to the door, a loud yell catches him off guard.

“Watch it!”

Nayeon, one of your lackeys, warns everyone as she’s bumped by you and her red sports drink goes flying. Jungkook is stuck between tables, backpacks cluttering the aisle and Nayeon’s body flailing taking up all of the space. It all happens in seconds—a hip check, a flying drink, and the contents now strewn across the floor and Jungkook’s new sneakers and laces now stained a bright red, dripping across the leather and fabric of his brand new, limited edition Nike Dunks. 

“Oh my god, Nayeon, you are so clumsy!”

Jungkook gawps at you, unbelieving, as your annoying voice fills the silence that took over the room only moments before.

“So sorry, Jungkook. Nayeon bumped into me and then she spilled her haterade—I mean Gatorade—all over your new shoes! I hope those weren’t hard to get or anything! I’m sure your CEO daddy can get you a new pair.”

Jungkook storms from the room, seething at your audacity. If you had any idea about his life, would you treat him this way? He wishes you could walk a day in his shoes, maybe you would realize that life outside your perfect, princess bubble is not always sweet, and would think twice before being a bitch to him, but it’s too late for him to change his view of you. You are the devil’s spawn and Jungkook has never hated someone as much as he hates you.

Part 3: High School

Getting into BTS-U should be easy for you, what with your dad being an alumnus, but you don’t want to rely on nepotism. You’ve been working your ass off for good grades all four years of high school, and the final determination of your competency is about to start. Only one student can represent your high school as the Youth of the Year, winning prestige and honor by being granted early admission into any four-year university in the country of their choice without needing CSAT scores. 

The last of the trials, the oral interview, is scheduled for today and as you sit outside the room in the creaky, overly hard chair, your heart pounds. Of course, the final two students competing for this merit would be the two students who despise each other the most in the school, making the competition that much more important to you. 

You cannot lose to fucking Jeon Jungkook.

“We’re ready for you!”

The chipper voice startles you from your thoughts as you steel yourself to go into the final challenge. 

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“Thank you all for your participation in the Youth of the Year program. As you know, the contenders were all very high achieving and will have plenty of options available to you for your future. Do not let not being named deter you from the future awaiting you all. Now, today, we interviewed the two finalists from this wonderful school, and while both were outstanding, one student really opened up and shared a vulnerable side to him that inspired us. He has already begun an incredible journey in his young life, showcasing a will to succeed. Jeon Jungkook, please stand.”

The crowd in the auditorium bursts into applause as you burst into tears. The one good thing about this ceremony is that the finalists do not sit on stage, so in the chaos and celebration, you are able to sneak away to the bathroom. Jeon Jungkook looked so shocked to have been chosen, but you knew that he couldn’t actually be shocked. His mom stood up with him, hugging him with pride, and your parents couldn’t even be bothered to show up for such an important moment. 

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal, that you have done well and will most likely have the same options for college as Jungkook does, but being a Youth of the Year finalist is not the same as being the Youth of the Year. What really hurts you the most is that if the roles were switched, Jungkook’s mom would be there to hug him and tell him he did great and fought hard. If you had been chosen, you still would’ve been alone, but at least the loneliness wouldn’t have hurt as much. 

The judges who interviewed you must think you don’t need the help, that you have everything you could ever want, so why would they choose the spoiled little rich girl? Why would they choose the girl who eats dinner with the maids, who read bedtime stories to herself growing up, the girl who has everything—everything except a family that loves her more than their careers and supports her unfailingly?

Facing the mirror, you reach for your purse and pull out the small makeup pouch so that you can erase any evidence of the sadness you feel today, brimming with the unshed tears of yesterday, and prepare your battle face to go back out there and be cordial as the runner up. Another battle you’ll face alone. 

Part 4: College at BTS-U

“Welcome to Jin’s Diner, have a seat wherever you’d—what the fuck are you doing here?”

The chiming of the door opening caught your ear, so you’d turned to greet the newest customer, except instead of an overly tired trucker or a group of post-clubbing college students, you’re faced with one Jeon Jungkook.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, eyebrow pitched and smirk full of snark.

“No, I kiss your father with this mouth. Now get out.” You go back to wiping down the counters, ignoring the stare of your arch-nemesis as you finish cleaning.

“Now, now, Baby Cakes, let your new coworker into the diner so you can finally get the help you've been asking for.”

You turn to the owner’s son, Kim Seokjin, mouth gaping open in confusion. “Coworker? I thought you read through the notes I made on all of the applicants?”

“Yes, I did, and they were very helpful. He’ll be working nights with you, so show him to the back while I grab a lock for his locker and a uniform.”

“Sir—”

“Now, Cakes.”

Seokjin disappears into the hallway towards his office, and you turn back to Jungkook, who’s standing smugly with his arms crossed watching you.

“Ugh, keep up, small fry.” 

Jungkook’s black boots squeak along the freshly mopped floor as he hustles to catch up with you. The doorway behind the counter opens into the kitchen, where the two line cooks, Hoseok and Yoongi, work diligently. Hoseok is sitting next to the recently delivered products with a clipboard in hand as he counts the items, while Yoongi is wiping down his area before the rush begins. You clear your throat loudly to gather their attention.

“We have a new waiter, his name is Jeon Jungkook, but he shall go by Small Fry, I think.” The smile on your face is devilish, and the two men snicker as they take in the newbie rushing in behind you.

“Wait, why am I ‘Small Fry’?” he asks, only a little out of breath from having to round the counter and catch up to you.

“Because everyone who works here gets called a food nickname, helps with the creeps, especially on nights.”

“I’m Suga,” Yoongi greets, “and this here is Hobi-Honey, but we just call him Hobi for short.”

“And I’m Baby Cakes, as you heard bossman say.”

“What’s your real name again, Small Fry?” Yoongi asks, his platinum hair shining in the fluorescent kitchen lights.

“It’s Jungkook,” he answers, emphasizing his name as he glares at you.

“Hmm, Baby Cakes, I think he might be better suited to Cooky…”

“Isn’t that too close to his name?” you argue, hoping to keep Small Fry, but when you see Hobi shake his head, you know you’ve lost.

“Fine, Cooky it is then! Next new hire will be called Small Fry no matter what!” you concede, waving Jungkook to follow you towards the back of the kitchen.

He trails you quietly as you push a swinging wooden door with a circular window in it and lead him into the employee lounge. Seokjin is whistling to himself as you enter, twirling a metal lock around his finger. You look around the room, surprised at how quickly he had everything ready.

“Great, you met Suga and Hobi then?” he asks, nodding at the door you just entered.

“Yes, I figured it would be best to do that first on the way here.”

“So, Jungkook—”

“He’s Cooky,” you interrupt, but Seokjin just shakes your rudeness off.

“—Cooky, this here’s the lounge. The door you just entered is used while you’re on shift for breaks and such. When you arrive for your shift and leave for the night, it should always be through the door behind me.” He gestures to a purple-handled door. “To the left are the employee cubbies, and to the right, we have the laundry station, small kitchenette, and door to the staff bathroom.” 

You nod at the TV mounted on the wall next to the swinging door. “The remote always stays on this table,” you tap the main table in the room that seats six, “and we typically keep the TV on ESPN, MTV, or my personal favorite, HGTV.”

“Thank you, Cakes. Now, your Jin’s Diner gear stays here, we’ll wash it for you after each shift you work.” Seokjin points to a stacked washer and dryer in the corner. “Just throw it in the wash after your shift each night. We’ll put it back in your cubby for you once dry.”

Jungkook nods, but he looks a bit overwhelmed from all of the information. You take the lead and sit down first hoping he’ll follow you. You know Seokjin talks fast and moves through the employee information even faster, and despite not liking Jeon Jungkook, you need the help on your shift since Mochi quit to focus on his last semester.

You grab a permanent marker and white label from the center of the table, tossing it across to Jungkook with a little more force than necessary.

“We each have a cubby, with a small locker inside. Use this to write your name and then claim an empty spot, and you can also write your name on the tags of your uniform.”

Seokjin grabs plastic-wrapped clothing articles from the cabinet next to the laundry station and approaches the table, too, tossing down the new clothing. 

“Your gear. Shirt, apron, and a ballcap. If you want a visor instead, let me know. Black, khaki, or blue jeans, black non-slip shoes, keep the blingy jewelry at home.”

“Dammit, I was planning to choke him with his chain after the first shift.”

Seokjin levels his gaze at you, and you know you’re pushing your limits with him. 

“I’ll have you follow Baby Cakes around to learn the drill for taking orders, but mostly you’ll be bussing tables tonight. I’ll work on the final processing of your paperwork in the meantime. Cakes, come with me while he changes.”

You follow Seokjin out of the lounge and back towards the office. He opens the door and steps back to allow you to enter first, shutting the door behind him as he follows you into the room.

“You need to tone it down. I know you said that you and he have some bad blood, but we need the help and he’s the best applicant we have.”

“It’s deeper than that, Jinnie, he’s literally been tormenting me since elementary school. We work with heavy-duty machinery and cutlery. You might come in one morning to find that one of us has stabbed the other to death.” You push out your bottom lip and give him your best, roundest, watery puppy eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

“What I want is to have a fully staffed evening shift so that my best girl can stop having bags under her eyes and complaining about her feet hurting every shift.” Seokjin smiles teasingly at you. “Plus, you need a good annual review to get a raise, and training new employees looks good to the owner.”

“Your dad is the owner! You can just tell him to give me a raise!”

“I could…but this is so much more fun. Who knows, he’s kinda hot…maybe you find out that the reason he’s picked on you your whole life is because he has a crush on you.”

“That fallacy is just a way for the patriarchy to continue to push abuse acceptance and the ‘boys will be boys’ agenda.” You cross your arms, but overall you know Seokjin is right. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to adapt well to situations, put a fake smile on when you need to deal with rude customers or your parents missing another monumental event in your life. “But fine. At work, it’ll be a ceasefire. That’s about all I can promise you.”

“I thought you said there would be a ceasefire!” Seokjin yells at you from where you sit in his office. Jungkook is seated next to you, slouching in the chair with his head turned away towards the wall. You can see his jaw clenching every few seconds as Seokjin continues berating you. “Instead, I got a call from a family friend that you two were so busy yelling at each other for not doing your jobs that you effectively stopped doing your job!” 

You huff as you roll your eyes, turning away from Jungkook’s severely hot—no—aggravating jawline, (where did that thought even come from?) to respond to Seokjin.

“That’s not even what happened last night! This idiot decided to fuck with the seating and of course, since the big game is tomorrow, we had a lot of people stop in and it was noisy. I was trying to seat the guests who were being louder and rowdier on one side so that our regulars,” you glare at Jungkook, who’s still refusing to look at either you or Seokjin, “could dine in peace, but when I ran to the back to restock the napkins for the bar top, he seated people himself. He’s not the host. He’s still a newbie! It’s been, what? Three, four months?”

“...Four,” Jungkook mumbles, but you ignore it.

“And so then poor Mrs. Hana ended up dealing with the hooligans who disrupted her meal, and yes, it was when I was trying to explain to him how seating works—”

“I know how seating works, it’s not rocket science!”

“So then why would you mess with the flow of the diner and seat them there?!”

“Because you,” Jungkook finally breaks the stoic act and turns to face you abruptly, so much so you almost visibly jump, “kept seating the large groups in your sections, which meant that you were giving yourself the better tips and leaving me with the geriatrics who barely leave anything!”

“Are you serious? You think I was trying to take tips from you? I hate dealing with the sports crowd! I would have gladly traded with you if you had said something to me, but you were too busy ignoring me when I was trying to talk to you about dividing up the floor—”

“—you talk to me like I’m a child, so of course I was ignoring you, you dolt—”

“—really piss me off, you think I would stoop so low, probably because it’s what you would do—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Seokjin’s eyes have a hardness to them you are not used to seeing. He’s usually laid back, but the stress lines on his face speak to an underlying tension you aren’t aware of. “Look,” he takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his eyes briefly, “this can’t happen again. Mrs. Hana could’ve broken her hip slipping on the spilled soda, and her son is debating suing us. My dad is obviously handling this situation, but that means your jobs are on the table. If her son demands it in exchange to avoid a lawsuit, I can’t stop it.”

It settles on you at that moment, how severe this is. You know that the little, old lady regular slipped and fell, but both you and Jungkook rushed over to help her up, comping her meal and walking her outside to sit quietly and assess how she was feeling while waiting for her son to arrive. Not only that, but he didn’t seem mad when he picked her up—just worried about if she was in pain and if she needed to go see a doctor. Apparently, after the shock wore off, his anger set in.

“I’m sorry, Seokjin. It won’t happen again.”

“Get to your shift, I’m sure Nam—I mean Porkchop—is ready to go. Remember, Suga will be late today, the championship game is tonight. So no more ignoring the hooligans and Cooky,” Seokjin gives his leveled glare to Jungkook this time, “Baby Cakes is in charge. I know you’re eager to prove yourself, and you’ve done well so far, but she’s worked the aftermath of championship games before.”

Jungkook stares back at Seokjin, a low humming tension filling the room before he answers with a “Yes, sir.” 

The diner is louder than Jungkook’s ever heard before as he goes around clearing tables now that the game is over. His coworker, Yoongi, did amazing from what he saw on the screen. BTS-U wore their white home jerseys with purple and black lettering, so it was easy to see when number 3 hit the game-winning three-pointer. 

Now, as the same white jersey is stepping into the diner, all of the fans cheer and bang their cups and silverware to congratulate the MBC Cup National University Basketball Championship’s MVP for the win tonight. 

Jungkook looks across the dining area, where he sees you kneeling on the countertop clapping your hands above your head. The uniform dress that you chose for tonight has risen higher up your thigh than normal—probably from the way you climbed up onto the counter—giving Jungkook a pretty good view of the skin leading up to what he’s sure are lace panties. He’s walked in on you changing one too many times to not know your preference. 

He can’t look away from you; something about the sheer energy radiating off of you is magnetic, as if you’re lit from within, and before he knows it, he’s moving closer to you. Jungkook knows he can’t stand you personally, but physically? He’ll never admit this aloud—not since Taehyung almost told you the truth back in elementary school— but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder your looks as you bring two fingers to your lips and let out a loud wolf whistle, setting you off balance with the action. Luckily he’s already been pulled into your orbit, because he catches you with two strong hands on your waist before you can fall off the counter.

“Thanks, Cooky!” you say, eyes alight and voice pleasant, as if you’ve forgotten who Jungkook is to you, and who you are to him. 

“No problem, Baby Cakes.” Jungkook helps you climb down, and when you bend forward to place your palms on the counter to dismount, he sees his hypothesis on your panties is right. His eyes remain on your ass as you extend a leg to the floor, and despite the trouble the two of you got into before your shift, Jungkook can’t seem to care to remember why he shouldn’t be enjoying the view.

“Congrats, Suga!” Jungkook watches as you launch yourself into Yoongi’s arms, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Thanks, Cakes, that last shot was for you.” He winks, and Jungkook doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so affected, but he wants to blame it on those panties you unknowingly flashed for the irritation he feels toward his friend for flirting with you. She’s your enemy, Kook, get it the fuck together.

Jungkook stalks away, grabbing his bussing bin and rag so he can clean up the table of the group in line to pay.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

“Fuck you and your sorry-ass school!” 

Jungkook turns his head to see you standing feet shoulder-width apart with your arms crossed, looking so much like the evil bitch he’s come to know. Only this time, it’s directed towards an EXO-U fan, by the looks of the silver and black shirt he’s sporting.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

You command the space well, and had the man been sober, he probably would have listened to you when you gave him the polite option to leave on his own two feet. As luck would have it, the man grew more belligerent with each passing moment, causing Jungkook to run and grab Yoongi from the back to help handle the situation. Jungkook doesn’t like what he’s hearing when he returns to the front.

“You dumb cunt, we don’t have to leave! Come over here, baby, suck my cock like you suck their players, bet that’s why they won, huh? Saw you all over their star player earlier, let me get a piece, bitch.”

Jungkook wants to lunge at the man, but Yoongi beats him to the table, effortlessly grabbing the man by his arm and neck to yank him from his booth seat.

Jungkook gets to his other side, helping the man walk towards the double glass doors as Yoongi mutters menacingly at the patron.

“Best not show your face around here again, if you know what’s good for you. Find another place to eat, and we won’t beat your ass.”

Yoongi lets go of the man once they clear the sidewalk into the parking lot, the man’s friends stumble out behind, but Jungkook shoves the man hard, and he falls to the ground. He feels no remorse for the man; he reminds him too much of the creeps his mom dealt with: stench of alcohol on their breath that grew with each vulgar word that rolled out of their mouths, animosity leeching from their greasy skin—Jungkook needs to wash his hands and splash his face. 

Fleeing inside, he bypasses you cleaning up the mess the rowdy table left behind, unable to hear the words you say clearly enough to decipher them. He knows that it’s almost time to close up and he has a few tasks to do to help speed up the process, but he’ll get to them in a minute. He just needs a minute to shake off this feeling, and then he’ll be okay to do the final cleaning for the evening, and find out what you said.

You’ve always hated dealing with the championship game guests, but always loved being with the crowd because of the thrill and your love for the game. The shift wasn’t terrible work-wise, as Jungkook really pulled his weight throughout the shift, allowing you to be in charge as the hostess and main waitress, filling in where you needed and bussing tables as the guests rotated through the double doors.

And you can’t lie, when you almost lost your balance on the counter, it was kind of hot that he was there to catch you, and help you down safely. With his jawline that can cut glass and his warm hands sitting large on your hips, you were a little sad to have them drop away, but you hid your disappointment in congratulating Suga and then moved on with the shift.

Of course, such a perfectly good shift had to end with a douchebag. To your surprise, when you turn to look to Jungkook for help, he’s already approaching with Suga in tow. And damn your worst enemy if he doesn’t do the second hottest thing of the night, vanquishing the drunkard with the sailor’s mouth from your sight, his foul friends trailing behind. 

You clear off the table, the half-eaten food discarded in the trash and you realize that it needs to be taken out now before the last of the tables are done. Jungkook speed walks past you, so you call out to him, “Cooky, take the trash out, please!”

You finish sweeping under the table, then wipe down the booth’s table as Suga also returns inside, pausing to check on you.

“Everything good, Cakes?”

You nod, placing a hand on your hip as you reflect on the incident. “Yeah, he was a real fuck boy, but you and Cooky saved me just in time.”

“Always…I’m surprised Cooky was so worked up when he called me from the kitchen. Usually you two are at each other’s throats, I would’ve thought he’d enjoy seeing you deal with a rude customer.”

“Well, we did get yelled at earlier by Jin for last night, so we promised to work together and drop whatever rivalry we have during working hours. So maybe that’s it.”

“Mmm…maybe. Well, let me go help Hobi, this last wave will keep us later if I don’t.” Yoongi takes a few steps to round the counter, then calls back out to you, “The trash is about to overflow, Cakes!”

Frowning, you notice that Jungkook has yet to return to take out the trash. Glancing around the room, you see most of the tables are in stages of eating or waiting for their food. They all seem well and distracted with clips from the post-game coverage, so you decide to take out the trash yourself. Maybe the truce between you and Jungkook isn’t as intact as you think. 

Grumbling to yourself, you tie off the bag and lift it from the bin, foot angled to keep the wheels from sliding across the floor from the tug. You eye the replacement black bag, but decide to put it in once you return from the dumpster. 

You hate taking out the trash; you love feminism but some tasks are just made for men. You refuse to use the loud trolley with the janky wheel, so you carry the bag gingerly, resting it down every few steps as you make your way across the sparsely lit back parking lot.

“Well, if it isn’t the bitch who didn’t let me finish my meal.”

You snap your head around, eyes roving for the source of the raspy words, finally landing on the douchebag discharged from the diner only 10 minutes ago.

“We didn’t charge you for it, so I suggest you leave before this turns into a real problem.” You keep your eyes on him, watching as he shifts around on his feet, inching closer to you. You hold your stance, refusing to look weak in case he decides you’d make a good target.

“Maybe if you come suck me off like a good girl, I won’t leave a bad review online about how much of a cunt you’re being. Matter of fact, throw in some pussy, let me fuck you properly and I bet all that attitude will drop. You just need someone to tame you.”

The man lunges for your left arm, his meaty fist closing around your wrist and you pull back to break the contact but he’s strong. You yell out, stumbling back away from the trash bag and he follows, heavy footfalls adding to the sounds of the evening. 

“Let go, you freak!”

You jolt your arm, wrenching it in as many directions as you can to try and relax his grip but he pulls you closer to him until you can smell the ethanol on his breath as he places his other hand forcefully on your shoulder. 

“I said I wanted you on your knees, stupid bitch,” he utters, and reflexively you punch him in his dick. He groans and releases you, hunching over in pain. You make out a figure stepping through the service door, and you call out for help. Attempting to step around the man, you only make it a few steps before you feel the weight of the man bearing down on you again.

“You stupid bitch!”

You try to run, but the man has the back of your dress in his grip so instead, your shoes scrape the asphalt in the same place repeatedly. A loud thwack of flesh on flesh sounds right before you’re released, dropping the short distance to the concrete. Your palms and knees feel the sting of the gravel but the relief of being out of the man’s hold overpowers any lingering pain as you scramble to your feet. 

Behind you, Jungkook is pummeling the man in the face, and you pause for a moment in shock before you rush back to him, grabbing his bicep to stop him from swinging again.

“Cooky, stop, I’m okay! Jungkook!”

He freezes, turning to look at you as if to see if your statement is true, and seeing that you’re serious, he appears to deflate a bit, no longer an attacking watchdog but a protective knight, making sure his charge is unscathed.

“Let’s go.” He gestures for your hand and you place yours in his, letting him guide you away from the groaning sack of trash and the garbage bag on the ground.

The fluorescent lights of the break room are blinding after the darkness of outside. Vaguely you hear Jungkook yelling at the others working, followed by the clattering of kitchen items, but you’re so out of sorts you don’t even realize that Jungkook has maneuvered you into a chair and is gently checking your knees, palms, and arms. He brushes off the remaining dirt from your skin.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

His voice sounds pained, and this pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present with him. 

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Where all did he touch you? It might not hurt now, but once the adrenaline dies off, you might feel it.”

“Um, my arm, my shoulder, I can’t…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, let me check your neck…he grabbed your dress and pulled you, so I wanna make sure it won’t bruise.”

He takes your face in his hands delicately, tilting your head to expose your neck to his view. The proximity has your head spinning, his cologne enveloping you as he leans closer, a hand leaving your cheek to allow a finger to trail across your neckline. You know he’s just checking to make sure that there’s no lingering marks, but you don’t think that the after effects of tonight will be anything anyone can see. He grabs a glass of water for you, and you sit quietly while he tends to the minor cuts on your palms from the jagged gravel in the parking lot. 

Time seems to pass as you’re deep in thought, but you’re not sure how much until Seokjin appears, his purple and white painted face replacing the doe eyes and clenched jaw. He looks frazzled, as if he just left an after-party for the championship and was pulled into work. You realize after a moment that that’s actually what happened, and chuckle at yourself. He says your real name, pulling you out of your laughter.

“I’m so sorry this happened, luckily Jungkook was there. I don’t know what I would've done if something happened to you.” Seokjin pulls you into a hug, and you reciprocate, squeezing him tighter as the feeling of being held feels good. He pulls away sooner than you like, but he continues talking to you about what’s been going on since you’ve been sitting in the employee lounge.

“Look, don’t worry about staying and cleaning up tonight, okay? We’ve got everything under control. Hobi called the cops and Yoongi made sure the guy didn’t flee before they came. He’s in their custody now.”

“What about Jungkook?” you ask, uncharacteristically using his given name.

“He’s giving his statement to the police now. They’ll want to talk to you too, but I can put it off for tonight if you need,” Seokjin offers kindly, but you want to get it over with.

“It’s okay, I’ll speak to them now.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll grab one of the detectives now and they can take your statement, and then I’m sending you home. Jungkook will drive you, okay? You’re still a bit shaky.”

You look down at your hands, seeing the tremble Seokjin is referencing and nod. There’s no use in putting up a fight. All of the men you work with have now proven that you’re safe with them. Seokjin walks over to the door, popping his head out to call for an officer, and he paces quietly as you recount what happened, starting with the attacker growing belligerent in the dining area. Once finished, Seokjin grabs Jungkook from where he’s talking with Yoongi outside the door, ushering him to take your belongings and get you home.

You follow along, compliant, waving goodbye to the others as Jungkook pulls off into the main road back towards campus.

“You live by BTS-U, right?”

“Yeah, at Omelas, next to the train tracks.”

Neither of you speak again until he parks, turning off the engine to his jeep.

“Here, let me help you.” Jungkook grabs your backpack and climbs out of the SUV, coming around to the passenger side door to open it for you. You jump out and lead the way to your first -floor apartment. Unlocking the door, you flip on the lights as you toe off your non-slip work shoes.

“My roommate is out of town visiting her parents this weekend.”

Dumping your purse onto the kitchen counter, you walk further into your home, Jungkook trailing you slowly. He kicks off his shoes, socks shuffling quietly along the carpet as he enters your living room after closing and securing the front door lock. He places your backpack on the couch, and the two of you stand there awkwardly.

“Um, do you want some water or something? I have juice, milk, beer…” you trail off, uncertain.

“Water is fine, thanks.”

You grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it with ice water to return the favor from earlier as you bolster your courage to thank him. You hand him the glass and before you can think too hard, you just start speaking.

“Jungkook, I just wanted to thank you, for coming out there and, you know, saving me. I know we don’t get along much, but you really came through and I appreciate it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, blinking up at you from where he’s sitting on your couch. He takes a long sip from the glass, and he seems uncertain if he wants to speak but does so anyway.

“It was nothing, really.”

“Why, um, why did you help me, I mean—I’m just saying, oh this is coming out wrong—”

“Look, I’ve had a lot of practice dealing with creeps like him. I’ve had to do it plenty for my mom, and I just don’t like to see anyone getting hurt, not even my arch nemesis.” Jungkook tries to joke it off at the end, but his tone reveals so much more to you about what he’s not saying.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was like that for you back in high school.” You sit down next to him, closer than you normally would with your backpack taking up part of the seat, but you don’t mind it. You feel safer being closer to him.

“I mean, why would you know?” he asks, leaning back into the couch and taking another sip. “You have a perfect family, I’m sure nothing like this happened on the weekly at your place.”

“No, but like, my perfect family isn’t what everyone thinks it is, either. My parents didn’t pay attention to me, always busy working and what not. Honestly career day, back in like fifth grade was the only time one of my parents made it to something, and even then, it was so my dad could advertise his business. I felt so sheltered growing up, like I had no life skills. It’s why I work at the diner.”

Jungkook digests your words, understanding blooming through his chest. 

“I get that. It’s funny, I remember that day so well, I was so jealous of you, because your dad showed up for you. I guess our dads are the same though…I think if I had grown up with my parents still together, I would’ve felt like you do. My dad kind of left me behind when he remarried, you know? In a way, that made me less sheltered, because when I was with my mom, I had to grow up fast. I couldn’t always have the nicest things because she couldn’t always afford them.”

“I didn’t realize that you had to split time between them. One of my friends, Jimin? He told me about how your dad wouldn’t let you take things back and forth between houses.”

“Why did he do that?” Jungkook looks a little scandalized, and you’re sure it’s because Jimin is one of his best friends. He’s the one who recommended that he apply to Jin’s Diner in the first place, and how you knew to warn Jin to not hire Jungkook, not that it worked. “I didn’t know you were close with Jimin!”

“We used to work together…you actually replaced him. It’s why we were hiring in the first place. But, he told me that because he was trying to get me to ease up on you one day. I was complaining about something and he was trying to make you more human, I guess.”

Jungkook just nods. You know he probably realizes there’s no reason to be mad, it was all in the past and Jimin was coming from a good place when he revealed that.

“Well, it’s true. My dad is kind of the worst. My mom saved up to get me some Dunks back in middle school because my dad couldn’t be bothered to take me back to school shopping. As if I didn’t grow a foot and 3 shoe sizes.”

“Oh fuck, you know, I’m sorry for making Nayeon spill her drink on your shoes. That was really evil of me.”

“We were like 13? 14? All middle school girls are evil.” Jungkook chuckles. You’re relieved at how gracious he’s being, but a little annoyed. You turn to him to say as much, but he continues to speak. “Honestly, I don’t even know why we went toe to toe like that. We probably would’ve been best friends if we had combined our smarts. You were really great during the Youth of the Year competition. I’m sorry that you didn’t win, I think you deserved to.”

Jungkook is looking back at you now, with his pretty doe eyes, sitting so close to you. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, instead focusing on his star-filled eyes and the way they’re staring into your own. His arm moves slowly, lifting to bring his hand to your face, curling a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“It’s getting pretty late now, I should get home,” he starts, but his eyes speak volumes and it doesn’t seem like he wants to leave just yet. “But there’s still one more thing I need to apologize for.”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to what incident it could be when his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, not too forceful but not shy either—just the right amount to let you know this isn’t a mistake. It takes you a few seconds to respond, but when you sense Jungkook about to move away you pull him in closer, keeping his lips where you can access them. It’s not enough though, so throwing caution to the wind, you straddle him as your tongue swipes for entry, pushing him further into the couch as you lean into his fit body. He groans at your boldness, large hands planted firmly on your ass as the kiss deepens. You feel dangerously high, lacking oxygen, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop. He’s intoxicating.

His fingers tighten imperceptibly, and you know he, too, is at the end of his air, so you break apart, chest heaving as you stare at his lips, red and plump from the kiss. 

“That was your…apology for? Or you were…apologizing for…kissing me?” you pant, trying to catch your breath.

“Both?” he says with a cute, bunny-like smile, “one, for hating you all these years, and two, for kissing you out of the blue.”

“And if I want you to apologize to me more?” you half-question, half-goad, and Jungkook gives the right answer, leaning into you once more so he can kiss you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away.

“That’s something I can do.” Jungkook uses his strength to flip you onto your back on the couch, knocking your backpack out of the way and onto the floor. “Is this okay?” He searches your eyes for your consent to his hands on your thighs, fingertips skimming the hem of your dress. 

You nod, and he trails them higher until he’s grasping the band of your panties and sliding them down without haste. You enjoy the commanding presence he takes on, unlike the people you deal with on a daily at work, indecisive with what to order, he knows exactly what he wants, and when Jungkook pushes up your dress and buries his face between your thighs, it takes everything in you not to climax right then. His tongue flits around your clit, teasing you as his hands massage your thighs while keeping them wide for him. 

“Jungkook,” his name is a breathy whisper in the air as your fingers curl around his locks, tightening your grip when he flicks closer to where you need him. “Please.”

You wiggle your hips, searching for more friction from his tongue but he just pulls away, tutting his tongue at you for being bad. You sit up slightly to glare at him.

“Patience, baby.”

Whining, you lay back on the couch with a huff. “This is why we hated each other bac—oh, fuck me,” you finish with a moan as he flattens his tongue across your pussy and stimulates every nerve he can cover. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he begins to suck, gently flicking his tongue every few seconds as he positions two fingers at your dripping center. Delving inside of you, the plunge of his fingers reaches the ache inside of you, causing your legs to tremble as he fine-tunes your body like an instrument. 

“Feels so good, mmph, fuck,” is all you can manage to say as he continues to pump his fingers, the squelching of your walls suctioning them back in with every tug out only making you wetter. Jungkook hums, and the thrumming sensation curls your toes. Arching your back, you tug his hair hard as you mewl loudly from the impending orgasm.

“You can do it, baby, cum for me,” Jungkook praises, “you’re doing so well, squeezing my fingers so tight, watch me.”

When his mouth once again finds its rhythm on your core, it takes just a few seconds of making eye contact with Jungkook, doe-eyes wide as he watches you enjoy his tongue, before you shiver and melt into the euphoria he’s bringing to your body. 

“That’s it, fuck—you look so pretty, baby.”Body spent, you stare up at the ceiling blinking as you come back to earth. Jungkook tucks himself behind you, holding you in his arms. You look down at the arm over your waist, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his exposed full sleeve. You can feel his bulge, know that there’s so much more…apologizing you both need to do after years of being enemies, but you have all night for that. And in the morning, you don’t know what will happen, if there will be more to come after tonight, but what you do know is that at this moment you don’t hate Jungkook; not even a little bit, not even at all.

🍽️🍽️🍽️

© hisunshiine 2023. All rights reserved. 

thank you for reading!!!

[romana-after-dark]

Dead Dove December 2023 Masterlist

Hello everyone!

So sorry it took forever to get this out, but it took me 5ever to read through these fics bc I was expresso depresso and working a lot LMFAOOOOOOO

Anyway, THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR EVERYONE ENTRIES!!! I adore you so so so so much. I am SO HAPPY with how this worked out and the amount of response! I hope to hold another event this March with @for-a-longlongtime at @triplefrontier-anniversary for the TF anniversary over at my main account @romanarose, and an event in June for pride, so if those interest you, follow my main page or this one, or @romana-updates

NOTE: I was unorganized so if I forgot someone's fic, IT WAS NOT ON PURPOSE. I know right now there discourse right now the Pedro fandom specifically, about different people not liking others or small writers or big writers ETC, but I want you to know no one was left out on purpose!

Note 2: If I put your fic here but forgot to reblog LET ME KNOW! I want to make sure everyone gets a chance to shine.

Without further ado, the fics and art!

ALL OF THESE ARE DARK SO SOME DEGREE FROM CNC, DUB CON, TO VIOLENT NON CON! HEAD WARNINGS!

The Last of Us

The Burglary by @aurorawritestoescape and @milla-frenchy: Two men break into your house and take more than just your valuables.

Fight Club by @anama-cara : Post outbreak set in the Boston QZ. You decide to go against Joel in an underground QZ fight club for some extra coin. Joel doesn't take kindly to the competition and decides to punish you in his own special way.

Deja Vu by @milla-frenchy : After a bad experience with a former boyfriend, you meet Joel who makes you trust him fully in the bedroom

Silent Night by @kewwrites : Despite the way he always acted around you, you find it hard to say no to Sarah when she invites you home to her dad's house for the holidays. Surely nothing would happen while she's with you.

Training Day by @koshkamartell : Set in AU, no outbreak. You get more than you bargained for after trying to make Joel jealous.

Code Broken by @auteurdelabre : You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

The Art of Breaking by @corazondebeskar-reads : Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

Cry Harder by @romana-after-dark : While keeping you captive, Joel's sex drive is insatiable, and the sex seemed to be never ending. You tried to warm him you needed to use the bathroom... he didn't listen.

Nightmare Before Christmas by @katiexpunk : As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness. Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked.  Most of the time.  Tonight is not one of those times.

Locket by @toxicanonymity : Dark!Reader dugs her friends hot dad Joel

Run, Rabbit by @justagalwhowrites : It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They're harsh, they're cold and they're killers. But, as a nurse, you're a valuable person to have around and they're not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

Godless by @javier-penas-wifexx420 : You work at a brothel that operates above a saloon in your town. Joel is the leader of a group of outlaws that come periodically to collect payment and wreak havoc. One visit, you catch Joel’s eye and he decides he has to have you.

Across the Spiderverse

After Dark by @runa-falls : He wants you. and he knows you need him.

Triple Frontier

Deep Seeded Issues by @djarinmuse: Summary: At an N.A (narcotics anonymous) meeting you recall a dark and embarrassing memory, not knowing the connection in the room.

My Blood Would Teach Me How to Love by @winniethewife : Santi finds you self harming, blood kink ensues.

Room's on Fire by @romana-after-dark : Cult AU, Pope, Frankie, Will and Ben are cult leaders and need a virgin to breed who will birth the savior: the Madonna. Initially honored to find redemption, the Madonna has to learn how to navigate all four men and a circle of other people at the house.

Goodnight, Princess by @melodygatesauthor : Your dad's best friend accidentally discovers that you're a sex worker. He tries to let it go, but it eats away at him until things go way too far.

The Card Counter

Bad Bet by @boredzillenial and art by @lunar-ghoulie4art : William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

Getting Whats Mine by @winniethewife

Lightening Face

Puppy by @darkuselesssomebody : In which the reader is a manipulative bitch - and basil snaps because of it

Mojave

Cruel Intentions by @hon3yboy : You're on a soul seeking journey, just another young, pretty, thing. All alone and stranded in the desert, ripe for the picking and ol' Jack has his eyes set on you.

Moon Kight

Death to Dignity by @juneknight : An intruder (Marc) breaks in to your apartment.

*************

I cannot thank you enough for your support and interaction for htis series!!!!! I had SUCH a good time reading all these, you are all so talented!!!

I hope to do more events soon as it's really helped me make some friends and get to know people here!!!!

Please remember to reblog these authors, and if you're tagged here, be sure to check out more! Lots of great content here!

[mxlissaliss]

Happy Mother's Day ft. Hades, Poseidon and Adam (RoR)

Notes: Just some headcanons of your sweet self choosing thoughtful gifts for your momma with the company of your dad, yippee. A bit too long, perhaps.

• That's it, and Happy Mother's Day y'all!

☠️ Hades

-These kinds of events were considerably insignificant for the Gods. They were immortal beings that have existed for eons, entire lifetimes of knowledge and infinite experience.

- Not for Hades, though, because both he and Persephone were so in love with you the moment you were born that, all of a sudden, counting the days started to make sense.

- Every year for Mother's Day, both you and Hades would work together to get Persephone a ton of presents that you knew she'd love.

- However, this year things went a little differently.

- There you were, walking through your private garden, meticulously picking different flowers for a beautiful bouquet you wanted to make for her, going through each one to examine it carefully. Your fingers inspected the petals, their texture, their color, how they smelled… Oh, and that was just a little detail. A servant behind you was carrying at least six bags filled with jewelry, perfumes, sweets and even more flowery gifts for you angel of a mother!

- And guess what, out of all those presents, your father had only chosen two. The rest of the contents inside those bags remained a mystery to him because an emergency meeting delayed his arrival to the shopping spree, and you already had those bags when he made an appearance.

- Speaking of your father, he was standing a few meters away from you, observing from afar. To say that he was shocked would have been an understatement.

- He was FLABBERGASTED because how in all of Helheim did you manage to outthink him when it came to choosing gifts? And for his beloved wife, no less?! Nonsense! He married Persephone eons ago and knew her better than anyone else, he was absolutely sure! So, uh…

- How the hell did you think of all those other gifts?

- Alright, you were as witty and thoughtful as him, that much he knew. His chest would swell with a warm feeling of pride whenever you managed to beat him at a chess game, or hold a discussion about usually difficult-to-talk-about subjects without stuttering at all.

- He also knew that you guys had similar taste for an awful lot of things, such as music, art, colors, decoration, literature, history, and so on. But even so, how could you possibly think so quickly about this huge amount of things for your mother when he couldn't?

- Wait, no, he was not going to act like a competitive idiot with his daughter. After all, he had promised Persephone last night to take her out for a fancy dinner, then an intimate walk through Helheim and, lastly, some fun time alone in their bedchambers.

- Still! Did you get the advantage because he was too focused on his endless workload that he somehow neglected a part of this special day for his beloved? Or was he finally getting old and doomed to be beat from now on by his own youngling?

- Oh, the sheer horror…

“Papaaa, is someone home?” You waved your hand before his eyes with a raised eyebrow, not knowing why your father seemed so out of it for a moment there. That was uncharacteristic of him.

Hades blinked a couple of times and sighed heavily, before cracking his serious expression with a proud smirk that made you smile, “It seems that you have surpassed your old man this year with the presents. Good to see, my child.”

You stared at him for a minute or two, before waving a dismissive hand with slightly colored cheeks, “Oh, no, none of that. You just wrote down the list of gifts for this year and left it unattended on your desk. Cerberus brought it to me last night thinking that it was a list of chores, and I came to realize after reading it that most of your ideas were the same as my own. Crazy, isn't it?”

- Oh, so that was it. He had to laugh loudly at that because it was so simple it became a joke.

- By the time you made it home, Persephone barely had a chance to speak before you jumped straight into her arms, grinning widely.

- Hades followed behind, handing her half of the gifts while you gave her the other half.

- In the end, the majority of the gifts you chose were the same ones he wanted to buy first, which earned you a hearty laugh and some head pats.

- Cerberus, of course, also received his well-deserved snuggles and belly rubs. What a good hellhound.

- While your mother opened her presents in delight, you recalled your father's words earlier today on the way home.

“It seems that we had the same ideas, huh? Well, let's just say that it all came from your wallet this year… Next time, though, it will be my treat.”

🌊 Poseidon

- Mother's Day? Gifts? Dinner date? What the heck were you even saying?

- Your father was known for a lot of things, but if you ever had to list the most important ones, you'd go with: first of all, a very busy man; second, a serious, powerful deity that rules his domain with an iron fist. Never doubts, never stutters and won't ever stand for any kind of bullshit; and third, an a*hole.

- You loved him, you really did, and you knew it was mutual. Out of all his offspring, you were the only one that he openly cared for (Triton also made it into that list, but not nearly as close as you).

- You also knew that he loved Amphitrite despite his apparent inability to show it. It was difficult to understand until you reached a more mature age, but even so, you couldn't help but wonder why out of all his brothers, your father was the worst when it came to being affectionate.

- This God could be so stubborn and irrational sometimes, he immediately declined all the offers you did without time for explanations.

- Nevertheless, all you had to do was use your ridiculously adorable and convincing puppy-dog-eyes to get him to go shopping for gifts with you a day before the occasion.

- The things is, presents have become an almost insignificant thing for your father, and you couldn't blame him for it, in a way.

- Wealthy like no other, feared and respected by every single deity out there, it was tacit that anything and everything would get straight into his hands should he ever ask for it. So… Choosing gifts for Amphitrite was not easy because it probably didn't even cross his mind. He could get her anything she wanted, whenever she wanted, so what was the point of doing it for a specific day?

- On your side, you had very good ideas and got a rather large selection of gifts for your beloved mother. She wasn't all that complicated to please, really. Handmade details and useful presents were her favorite, and you already had those prepared months back in your chambers.

- But your father was having a rather… Difficult time with this entire ordeal. You could say it was almost comical to see him glaring at a necklace made of blue pearls, as if it would burn from his gaze alone.

- Though, more than disgust or contempt, it was a look of condescension.

“Papa,” you approached him with a little smile, trying not to laugh at his expression, “I can tell you're having a hard time choosing something for mom… Need any help?”

- No response, he simply scoffed and turned around, leaving you alone with the servants at the boutique.

- Whatever, you kind of expected a reaction of sorts so you just shrugged it off and continued to look around for more presents. Your mother deserved to be spoiled, and everything was going as planned.

- Except for one little surprise you definitely did not foresee for the night; your father, sitting at his desk with a painfully focused expression as he inserted a new pearl in the thin, delicate and almost invisible silk threads. The gems gleamed with a soft blue light, but they also had this purple tone to them that turned pink at a certain angle. It was so beautiful…

- Wait, was he making a necklace? Ooooh, so that was it. He was glaring at the jewelry earlier today because he thought he could do better than that. Typical move from your tyrant of a father.

- But what made for a truly heartwarming sight was the tiny hint of a smile on his otherwise stoic face when he finished the necklet and held it up against the moonlight that entered through the skylight, and how he made sure to set it down gently inside a small gift-box that he grabbed from a drawer.

- Once again, you simply smiled and quietly leaned against the doorframe, not making a sound as to not disrupt his little moment.

- You immediately knew that your mother was going to be elated to receive a handmade gift from her usually cold husband.

- … Well, even if you knew that he was most likely going to deny the love allegations and hide it all behind a predictable “doing it out of pride and not because he knew that his wife liked handcrafted details” bullshit argument.

- The gift was what mattered, anyways!

🍃 Adam

- Quite the opposite from the other two, your father was even more excited than you at the prospect of Mother's Day.

- He loved Eve so dearly that any excuse to spoil her rotten with riches and gifts was valid. And you thought the same, because your sweet mother deserved it.

- However, Adam always ended up making it feel like a competition, which wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that he's always loved to rub it on your face every time he felt like he won.

- But this year? You wouldn’t let it happen again. You had enough!

- You grabbed your bag, your absurdly long list titled “present ideas for mama Eve A.K.A. Best Mama Ever” and headed out.

- … Welp.

- Time skip to six hours later, you had practically run through almost every single store your could find, and always came out with at least two items.

- Purse? Empty. List? Overdone. Brain? Fried? Blood circulation? Cut short because of all the heavy bags you were carrying. What's it called? Yeah, a successful shopping trip.

- Life was all sparkles, birds chirping and smiles, until…

“What?! You did not just get all of that for your mother!” That was your father's voice, and much to your utter surprise, he was holding lesser amount of items in his own arms (barely two or three bags less than you, actually).

“Papa! Do you need help carrying th-“ you paused, taking a few seconds to process the sight in front of you before an almost wicked smirk formed on your face. “Hah! I win, you old man! Time is up and I got mama the most things!”

- Adam was visibly irked by your mockery, but you were right, time was up because Eve was probably home waiting for the two of you, and taking extra time to get her more stuff would only allow you to go home to her faster. Crap.

- … You guessed right again. A race, which ended up in a tie after you both slammed the front doors open at the same time and with the same intensity (insanity).

“Mama!”

“My love!”

- At the sound of your voices, Eve came downstairs immediately. She was getting ready to go out after Cain and Abel suggested to go out for dinner, to celebrate the special day as a family.

- And oh, how beautiful she looked with her long, blonde hair styled up with soft curls, wearing a mesmerizing emerald green dress, and her angelic smile that always managed to outshine the sun itself.

- Your mother was the most beautiful woman in the universe, and both you and your father sighed contently at the sight of her.

“You are finally home! I was starting to get worried wh- ah!” Before Eve could continue, you shoved a flower bouquet in her arms while Adam quickly stood behind his wife, holding up her hair momentarily to put on a beautiful necklace with a leaf charm on her snow-white neck.

- Just like that, twenty more minutes passed, with you and your father practically burying your mom under her gifts one by one, until she had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The two of you looked so comically concentrated on the gifts that all Eve could was grin warmly while being showered with your gentle (not really) affections.

- The sound of her laugh was enough to snap you out of your little trance, and seeing Eve so happy, overwhelmed with joy, you two finally toned it down a bit.

- In the end, you looked up at your dad and laughed in sync, not caring anymore about your silly little competition. At least, not for the time being. All that mattered was that your mother was happy and ready to enjoy a fancy meal and some quality time in family.

- Next year, though, you were definitely going to crush that old man of yours.

[starcurtain]

Some Speculation on Kaveh’s Father

I actually started this post right after the Parade of Providence event last year, but never got around to finishing it. However, in light of Kaveh still not appearing on a banner, I decided to dust this one off and get it finished, so that I’d have at least a little Kaveh content in my life after being so cruelly denied by Hoyo.

So, without further ado, some stuff about Kaveh’s father I did not see discussed elsewhere but which I think is especially interesting.

1) Kaveh’s father likely first became depressed/disillusioned with humanity after witnessing (or possibly being the victim of) a murder attempt.

Without knowing the full situation and reading all the additional text from the Parade of Providence event, I feel like this might have been easily missed, but the entire “Kaveh’s dad became disillusioned and depressed and retreated to the desert to help people” seems--at first--like it came out of nowhere. He had a lovely family, was the pride of his darshan, and was eager and excited to win the crown to bring it home to his son. Yet theoretically, he did not win the crown (and, in fact, the crown was stolen before the last event and may not have been there during the Avidya Forest fight, so when, as the non-winner, would Kaveh’s father have come into contact with it to encounter Sachin through it in the first place?) Why would Kaveh’s father’s personality take such a massive turn all the sudden? What would drive an excited, happy person to suddenly withdraw from everything he loved and everyone who loved him, if he didn’t actually win the diadem to be influenced by it in the first place?

The event implies there was a trigger:

Huvishka’s friend (who is described as “honest and kind but vulnerable and sensitive”--obviously Kaveh’s father) went into the Avidya Forest with the other contestants, where no one was watching, and we’re not told what happened except that the Akademiya responded to whatever occurred by shutting down the entire competition and banning any sort of events in the future that cause contestants to become so desperate they would “fight to the death.” 

This is a pretty obvious implication that Kaveh’s father either witnessed two other contestants attempt to kill each other or was the victim of an attempted murder himself, which prevented him from winning the competition even though he was the favorite to win by a long-shot. This feat of betrayal, demonstrating the depths to which humanity would sink, likely shook the idealistic world views of a sensitive person such as Kaveh’s father. This brush with death and with humanity’s capacity for evil in the forest would have been the exact trigger needed to make Kaveh’s father particularly vulnerable to Sachin’s message of nihility and despair, leading to the downward spiral that sent Kaveh’s father into the desert.

- 

2) Sachin may have way more culpability for Kaveh’s father’s death than Kaveh realizes. 

For a while after the event, I was under the impression that Kaveh’s father must have met Sachin’s consciousness through the diadem and that’s where he got the idea to go into the desert. However, something was always a bit odd about the timeline, because...

Sachin was still alive when he gave the Akademiya his estate. This is why no one actually knew/believed he was fully dead, even to the present--because he willed the Akademiya the estate while he was alive and told them he was going to be personally watching over the contestants to award his estate to them if he deemed them worthy successors to himself. 

So did Kaveh’s father run into a fragment of Sachin’s consciousness... or did he run into Sachin himself? The game doesn’t really clarify:

The fact that Sachin’s recording recognized Kaveh’s appearance as familiar makes me think it is much more likely that the consciousness preserved in the diadem already had knowledge of Kaveh’s father at the time it was preserved. Aka, Sachin actually met Kaveh’s father in person. This also makes sense of why, even though the diadem was stolen away during the last event and Kaveh’s father did not win it, he would still know about Sachin and Sachin’s research. (However, as a counterpoint, I guess we could say that the Diadem!Sachin had enough sentience to maybe have its own memory, separate from the real Sachin? And reached out to Kaveh’s father mentally even though he didn’t win the diadem? Maybe?)

Still, there’s one really notable aspect of the timeline that I think is important: Right after the Interdarshan Competition twenty years ago, the one which Kaveh’s father competed in, we know that Sachin went back out to the desert. 

Who else went out to the desert exactly 20 years ago? Kaveh’s father, obviously.

This overlap in the timelines makes it seem very likely that Kaveh’s father, who failed to win the competition because of a murder attempt (and therefore never got the diadem), was nevertheless reached out to by the real Sachin, who saw in Kaveh’s father the kindred disillusioned idealist he was looking for to pass his research torch onto. From this connection, Kaveh’s father was driven to either directly accompany or at least pursue the still living Sachin into the desert. (This works even if we say it was only Sachin’s consciousness he was contacted by--in either case, he would have been driven go to out to the desert to meet the real, temporarily still living Sachin to join his quest to help the desert people.)

Only for Kaveh’s father to meet his end there while trying to aid a caravan that had fallen into trouble. What a tragic coincidence, a completely unpredictable twist of fate.

Or... was it?

How odd, in the same quest that Kaveh’s father’s connection to Sachin is discussed, that we’re given an account of a caravan that appears to have been deliberately sabotaged, where money was taken (from Sachin) and somehow sparked a betrayal, a “trial of human nature” that caused many people to die, with the takeaway being the exact belief Sachin wants to pass on and reinforce in others, that humans are horrific creatures who can only make the world a worse and worse place. 

We know that Sachin’s “research” specifically consisted of doing this exact thing, manipulating situations to test humans’ moral character, conducting trials/experiments on “human nature” to reinforce his belief that humans were fundamentally selfish beings.

(It’s no accident the merchant ledger we receive uses the exact same words as Sachin does, “trial of human nature” and “experiments on human nature.” We’re supposed to assume what happened to the caravan in the note was deliberate sabotage on Sachin’s part, to create a scenario where he could observe the cruelties of humanity.)

Why would the game go out of its way to give us an account of a caravan being deliberately sabotaged and used as an experiment if there was no connection at all between what happened with this caravan and what happened to Kaveh’s father, who was also killed helping a floundering caravan?

It’s just too much of a coincidence to accidental. I think the implications of the ledger Dori gave us and the similarities in the language on that ledger to Sachin’s ideas was supposed to lead the audience to wonder:

Could Kaveh’s father have died in one of Sachin’s final “human nature experiments”? 

Was the caravan Kaveh’s father tried to help one that Sachin deliberately sabotaged, expecting to observe humanity’s selfish, self-preserving nature?

I think there’s enough evidence in the story to suggest that we players are at least supposed to consider this a possibility. (There’s no reason to give us the ledger about the manipulated caravan otherwise.) And if you consider this a possibility, it would mean that Sachin didn’t just indirectly cause Kaveh’s father’s death--he would be the direct cause of Kaveh’s father’s death, an actual murder brought about by Sachin’s beliefs that humanity’s self-centered nature made everyone beyond saving.

This idea transforms Kaveh’s father’s sacrifice into the ultimate rejection of Sachin’s beliefs. This would mean that, even in a situation manipulated to bring out the worst in human beings on purpose, Kaveh’s father gave everything to protect the lives of others, for no gain at all of his own, doing everything he could just to desperately try to make the situation (the world) better.

SO yeah. I’m not saying we have hard evidence here, but I think the quest was trying to lead players to speculate very, very hard on the possibility that Kaveh’s father’s death was no accident.

-

3) Finally, a cuter piece of speculation to brighten things up after that despair bomb I just dropped: it’s highly likely that Kaveh’s father had more than one Aranara buddy!

During the Parade of Providence, we hear about an Aranara who learned to read from Kaveh’s father:

However, this is a bit confusing, because later in the event, we hear someone else say that Kaveh’s father taught an Aranara to write specifically when he was a child:

While of course it is possible that Kaveh’s father taught the first Aranara, Arakasyapa, to both read and write, I think there’s also another possible answer here about why Kaveh’s father would separately mention teaching an Aranara to write:

Because there is an entirely different Aranara in the story which was taught to write by a “good Nara” who was a child--Arashakun, from the quest “Courage is the Heart.”

In this sweet little world quest, the Traveler discovers a flower talisman that has been snatched by some hilichurls, and seeks to return it to its rightful owner, a timid and shy Aranara named Arashakun. 

We learn that Arashakun once had a kind-hearted “good Nara” companion who taught him to write (sound familiar?), and who, in order to encourage the poor Aranara, gave him a single flower dubbed “courage.” In describing this child companion, Arashakun specifically states that his companion was no strong warrior like the Traveler’s twin, but instead a gentle, comforting presence who never teased the Aranara.

All of these descriptions line up particularly well with Kaveh’s father, who the game repeatedly describes as vulnerable, kind-hearted, and giving to others.

To drive home the possible connections to Kaveh’s family even further, this quest takes place very, very near to the Palace of Alkazarzaray. 

Although we don’t have any guarantee, I think it is strongly implied that the “good Nara” mentioned by Arashakun is indeed Kaveh’s father, and the “courage of the heart” that he extended to Arashakun as a child is the very same courage, kindness, and generosity that drove him to reach out to the people of the desert, hoping to make a difference in their lives--even at the cost of his own.

The takeaway? Kaveh’s father was a truly good person who aided everyone he came across, from timid Aranara to people whose very lives were in danger. He never meant to leave his family, and especially not his son, but repeatedly fell afoul of the worst humanity had to offer and was driven into a situation in which all he could do was offer his very life to uphold the altruism that was central to his idealism--the same idealism and goodness that Kaveh carries as “courage” in his own heart.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hi, I discovered your writing today and I loved it. So I wanted to request the frist years with a partner who is gender fluid.

First Years With a Genderfluid Partner

Characters; Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

Content; Genderfluid reader (I don't use pronouns though, since everyone's experience is different), fluff, crack, romance, some implications that strangers are rude but not in detail

Word Count; 600+

Author's Note; Sorry that these are pretty short anon (brain is being mean), but I hope that you enjoy!

Ace Trappola

He’s still a little imp, regardless of everything else. But he’s perceptive. He notices the small things; and he’ll reaffirm you as well.

“Huh, they’re not all that bright if they can’t see that you’re obviously the coolest person around,” he’d scoff. “I mean, my dad only allows me one gender- OW WHY DID YOU HIT ME?!”

But he would say things like that, but he does in fact think you are the coolest person around. 

He does take mental notes; of what terms make you happy (pronouns and pet names), what clothing makes you comfortable, and more. No, he doesn’t keep a little notebook, but he has it memorized. 

Deuce Spade

Always checks in to make sure that you’re comfortable; he doesn’t want to screw up, even if it’s something you may consider small. He’s just trying his best and wants you to be happy.

“Wait, do I call you my boyfriend, girlfriend, joyfriend, partner? I want to make sure that you’re okay with it.” He asks that question pretty often, since he wants to make sure that you’re okay with it; you always come first.

He learns more about your identity, only because he’s curious and feels that he needs to do so. Please tell him to put the books down and just come and hang out.

Well-meaning but a little too gung-ho. He just doesn’t want to mess up, but he also wants you to be happy. 

Jack Howl

The most normal of the group; he likes you for you and nothing changes really. He’ll touch in though, making sure that you’re comfortable.

He would let you (within reason) try out some hairstyles or makeup that you want to try out on him. He doesn’t really mind, plus sometimes it takes looking at someone else to realize that that look is indeed a look and a great one at that.

Jack is a pretty large guy, so if you’re smaller than him he raises a brow at you stealing his clothes. But if you’re larger than him? He might wear one of your outfits (he likes lowkey matching outfits couples do).

Super understanding if you have ‘blah’ days, and will let you vent to him. He may not have much to say, but he’s there when you need him.

Scary dog privilege #1

Epel Felmier

He would come to learn more about your identity throughout your friendship before the two of you started dating. May have messed up here and there at the start, but not anymore.

The accent will be coming out if someone is being rude towards you, and Epel doesn’t care if he gets scolded or not; no one treats you rudely and gets away with it.

Pomefiore also helps him understand that gender is a spectrum; nothing is wholey masculine or feminine, that they blur, and that blurring is beautiful. 

“Pardner” is one of his go-to endearments; you’re his partner (in both the romantic, but also if either of you feel like committing felonies).

Scary dog privilege #1.5 (scary like a very yappy pomeranian way)

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek definitely knows a few people who are genderfluid back in Briar Valley; fae live for a long time, so playing with gender is pretty normal. He commends you for being honest with yourself.

Now, he is putty in your hands, absolutely WHIPPED for you. You thought the praise he was singing for Malleus was bad? Well, multiply that by fifty.

But it’s quiet, not shouted. Yes, it is still obvious for anyone to see; the way he holds your hand and looks at you. You are the royal of his heart; his Monarch, King, and Queen.

Would be semi-awkward if the two of you went to a pride event; he just doesn’t know what to really do. He's having fun, just awkward.

Scary Dog Privilege #2

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Tag List; @afunkyfreshblog @bloomstruck @eynnwwyjth @ithseem @krenenbaker @leonistic @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @xxoomiii

[momotorin]

momos recent post has me thinking… gp ceo momo x ceo sana being like rivals in their industry and hate fucking each other

like sana invites momo over to a huge party she’s hosting in celebration for winning a big award for their company that momo IS PISSED she didn’t get and sana is soooo petty while telling her about how proud she is in her team

so momo ofc being momo brings sana to some bathroom, no one noticing the hostesses sudden leave because hello there are so many people there and momo fucking the shit out of sana while muffling her moans w her hand ;((

i want them both sooooo bad

you're so right for this omg....

stocks!

gp!ceo!momo x ceo!sana

MEN DNI!!

it's the 27th annual kansai tech gala, and the biggest names in japanese and worldwide technologies were in attendance. one of which, minatozaki sana— the president of minatozaki industries, an established technology provider under a new ruling.

speculations say that the minatozaki empire has a new challenger: hirai tech, a start up in kyoto, owned by the hirais and anchored by the ceo— hirai momo.

sana doesn't really understand the weight of the governor's award, since she has a couple of it on the desk alongside national awards that the company has been winning in the past years.

momo, as an aspirant in the tech and business, looks at the award as something significant and a first for her company. if she wins, it'll be something monumental for her as finally, she could bring something at the family dinner table.

with pride and name up on the gamble for the gala tonight, sana can't miss the way that momo's eyes glisten in awe knowing recent tech inventions from other companies.

she should hate her, but why does she need to look that damn attractive with the coat and dress set she's wearing. damn.

as the night deepens, the gala brings out each event, which doesn't really pique sana's interest that much.

what intrigues her was the way momo held her martini.

"lonely night, superstar?" sana greets, teasing the woman as she sits by her side.

"hello, minatozaki," momo feigns a smile. "what brings you here?"

"wanted a breather from all the talk," sana sighed, signaling the bartender to get tequila. "why haven't you been around?"

"dunno, really didn't feel it with everyone," momo shifts her attention to the laughing men at her table. "it's awful and they smell like my dad."

sana laughs, finding momo genuinely adorable at this moment.

"saw that you haven't looked around too," momo mentions, taking another sip from her drink. "what's up with you, minatozaki?"

"didn't feel like it, either," sana chuckles. "can't really fit in with the chatter."

it's always going to be 'oh! the new minatozaki!' and 'oh! the hirai... is that the youngest, with the startup? not doing pretty well, i see..'. comments from these men who talk like their mouth is on their ass.

to say the least, it's suffocating. momo, as much as she hates being in the same room with minatozaki sana, wanted to stay in this bubble of tequila and martini side by side.

sana smiles at her, "you know, you're not so bad yourself."

"why do you say so?" momo chuckled at sana's randomness.

"i mean, this event is limited to tech pioneers only, like look... japan's finest are here," sana teases. "so being here is great already."

"well, that's a good point," momo just sighs. "but you know damn well why i'm here, right?"

"i know that very well, sweetheart," sana, in her head, flusters at the little slip. "but i bet it's me again this year, don't you think so too?"

turns out, she was right.

although momo's sales in record were reaching highs, and her startup gaining Invertors by the day, she still wasn't chosen by the judges at the kansai tech gala.

it was quite the disappointment.

later in the same week, momo accepts an invitation from her assistant to go to minatozaki sana's party with one thing in mind: hatred.

but blame the heavens for making sana much more attractive than any individual to walk on planet earth.

it was a real, full house, with a dj and smashing drinks type of party. momo, alongside her other executives, get drunk on free drinks. momo's head was fucking spinning and she's getting crazy at the fact that she hasn't seen sana yet.

the music stops for a moment, and sana, in all her dramatic glory, enters the stage with a cocktail in hand.

"hope you're having a nice night, everyone!" she was beaming, momo seeing her in that sparkling dress was like the second coming of christ. she can't believe she's saying those words in her head, but momo is already going crazy at the fact that she couldn't even hold sana. "this party," sana sighs, getting herself in a more comfortable position as she stands at the middle of the stage. "we need to have fun and reward ourselves because once again we've won! thank you everyone, thank you to my co-executives, the board, the managers, the staff, and everyone who makes our company great— this night is for you so, enjoy!"

sana gives out a toast to everyone in attendance, and momo just stares at her. not of ill intent, but with some want that only sana can satisfy.

and fuck, the way that dress fitted on sana made momo's stomach churn.

"hey, having a nice night too?" sana greets, teasing her again by tapping her shoulder. "you're smashed, aren't you?"

"probably?" momo says, half drunk and half conscious. "congratulations on the.. everything."

"aw, thanks," sana nudges at her. "glad you're not mad."

"you know what?" momo's tone suddenly deepens as she dismisses the glass off of her hand. "maybe i am mad. i'm mad at the way that you won and you just party. meanwhile, i have other things to worry about because i built my own ground without my parents and now they're shaming me because i didn't get your useless award," momo chuckled lowly, her disappointment in herself, her parents, and everyone was so evident that it broke sana. "so yeah! maybe we do have a problem!"

and fuck, the way momo raises her voice made sana almost wet her dress. she can't deny it, the woman is fucking hot.

"mo-"

before sana even continues her sentence, she gets dragged by the wrist by momo to the club's spacious bathroom, and now, she's pinned against the door, with momo's hands on the sides of her waist, and their breaths just an inch away.

"god," momo smirks, seeing sana's flustered state. "what would they think if they saw you like this, hm?"

"momo, ple-"

"what?" momo teases, running her hands along the exposed back of sana's dress. "look at you," she says, dragging them carefully to make sana look at herself in the mirror. "you wanted this, didn't you?"

"fuck," sana mutters under her breath. "yes, you don't know how much." sana doesn't know what she's talking about anymore. what matters is that she feels momo's hands trail to clasp her hand, interlocking it with hers as she faced momo's eyes.

momo's breath stilled as she kisses sana, hands tightening on her waist to pull her closer and raise her to the marble countertop.

it's all so intoxicating, all so overwhelming; momo doesn't know if she's drunk or she just wants to get drunk on sana and her undeniably delectable vanilla perfume.

"hmm," momo hums, feeling sana arch her back as she leaves marks on her collarbone. "i should've done this during that award night."

"y-you should've," sana stutters as momo slips off the almost non existent strap of her dress from her shoulders, revealing her supple breasts. "oh, fuck, baby." she moans, throwing her head back as momo kneads her other breast and her lips sucks on her nipple.

momo continues to hum, playing with sana's tits to tease her more. sana was so sensitive under momo's touch and that amused her.

"shit," momo sighs as she parts her lips away from sana's breast, seeing sana's blushed out form. "ah, i'm so hard," she laughs, pulling her pants down to reveal her boxers, her 10 inch cock printing on the fabric. sana licks her lips. "want it?"

"yes," sana fidgets with her fingers, but momo took her hand to palm on her length. momo's breath staggered as sana removed her boxers, her hardness springing to her clothed lower stomach. "hmm, so hard for me," sana began to wrap her hand around momo's length, feeling the girth of it, the veins, and momo's budding precum. she swipes her finger above momo's tip, and momo shudders. sana places her finger to her tongue, tasting momo. "you're fucking delicious, baby."

"don-"

"shh," sana says, just pulling momo closer by a kiss as she removes the rest of her dress, revealing her black lace panties. she guided momo's hand above her wetness. "feel how ready i am for you."

momo feels the wet cloth on her hands, and hooks her fingers to remove it from sana. "fuck, you're so wet," momo spreads sana's soaked pussy lips. "you dreamt of this, didn't you?" she kisses sana once more as she slides her length along her wetness, feeling it spread on her cock.

"i-inside please," sana pleads, her arms wrapping around momo's shoulder as momo inserts her length inside her hole. "fuck!" she screamed, feeling momo sink inside of her. "you're going to break me."

"fuck," momo says, pulling her length out of her pussy. "so fucking tight," momo enters again, burying her cock to the deepest part of her walls as sana moaned loudly. "going to fucking break you."

momo held sana by the waist, her thrusts gradually speeding as she felt sana tighten her pussy walls around her. sana was full on screaming that she was sure people could hear them.

"so loud," momo stops for a while as she flips sana over the counter, her ass now facing her as they see each other in the big mirror of the bathroom. "you're so fucked out already," momo teases, holding sana's hair up to relieve her a little. "should i stop, sweetheart?"

"no, fuck," sana sighs, pulling momo closer by tapping her thighs. "fuck me more."

"hmm," momo chuckled lowly, putting her length inside sana's wetness once more. "fuck." she thrusts, feeling sana pulse her walls against her cock. "are you g'nna cum, baby?"

"yes!" sana shouts, and momo pulls on the makeshift ponytail she made for her, making sana arch her back. sana continued to let out screams, as momo pounded her cock inside of her, hitting every spot she hasn't even known before. "fuck, fuck," sana moans, her grip on the marble was tight because of the pleasure. "more!"

"fuck yeah, baby," momo says, pulling sana up for her to be held by the waist. "you're going to make a mess on my cock, hm?" she whispered on sana's ear as she continued to thrust. "look at your pretty face," she says, making sana look at the mirror. fuck. it was so hot; momo's cock going in and out of her, her smudged lipstick, her messy hair, the marks... sana thinks she's never been better. "shit, you're getting tighter, baby? you like that?"

sana just hums, biting her lip down to at least suppress some of her moans because she knows that she has been so fucking loud. it was useless still.

there was a slam from the door, "sana? you there?"

"shit," momo immediately puts her hand on sana's mouth to muffle her moans as she continues to thrust inside of her. "keep quiet, pretty." momo whispered as her other hand made its way to part her pussy and rub her clit. sana screams on momo's hand.

"no," momo loudly answers, her cock still buried inside of sana's tight pussy. "she's not here!"

the person shouts from the outside, "oh, okay."

momo thrusted faster, with the thrill of knowing that someone was outside. sana's grip on the counter was so tight, and her pussy was literally closing up on momo's length.

"you'll like it even when someone catches us, don't you?" momo teases, whispering again as her fingers rub tight circles on her clit, urging her to cum. "fuck, cum."

sana screams on her hand, her cream spreading on momo's cock as momo continues to thrust inside of her, chasing her own high.

"mmgh," sana moans in the sensitivity as momo removes her hand to put on her waist, thrusting inside her pulsing pussy further. "shit- ah," sana reached out for momo's hand, holding it tight for some sort of support. "i'm fucking sensitive, baby, st-"

momo slaps sana's ass, a red mark leaving on her as she trusted, "i don't fucking care," momo growls, her cock already so wet and soaked with sana's juices. "i need to cum inside of you."

"fuck, yes please!" sana screamed as momo's thrusts stuttered, now focusing on hitting her g-spot. sana comes once more, and momo's cock pulsed, white ropes of cum shooting inside of her.

"haah," momo sighs, holding sana close as she feels sana lose balance. she removes her length away from sana's pussy, so wet and trickling with both of their bodily juices. she held sana once more, helping her to get on the marble countertop, making her sit. "wait, fuck," she said, getting a couple of tissues from the tissue box and helping sana clean up their mess. "we made a mess."

"thanks," sana stares at momo, who was cleaning up the inside of her thighs and slipping her panties back on. "you're not as bad as i think you would."

"you really thought that i suck at fucking?" momo laughs, also cleaning her soaked dick before tucking it away inside her boxers.

"you look like a loser, can't help to think that you fuck like one too," sana teases, kissing momo's cheek. "what about... taking this to my place?"

"good offer, champ," momo chuckles, helping sana zip up her dress once more and fix her hair. "but you've got a night to finish."

"oh shit," sana curses at the realization. "how long were we out?"

"like," momo looks down at her watch. "i dunno, 45 minutes? someone was finding you by the door a little while ago."

"ah, alright, they probably wouldn't mind..." sana chuckles, her arms wrapping around momo's shoulders as they kiss once more. "see you next time, loser."

"sure," momo laughs. "g'nna fuck you 'till you break, next time, baby."

[geekgirles]

Slipping Through My Fingers

Read on AO3

Word Count: 12241

Summary: Of all the ways Alibert expected his day to go, a visit from his son and his girlfriend was not one of them. Especially when said son suddenly looked like a grown man instead of a 12-year-old like last time he saw him, barely a few weeks ago. But the more time passes and the more Yugo shares the events leading up to that moment, the more Alibert is sure of one thing:

You're never too old to need your dad.

“Do you think they’ll recognise me?” 

Even now, it was so weird to listen to his voice. Somehow, it managed to be both completely foreign and deeply familiar at the same time. It definitely sounded older, deeper, a man’s voice. But it was also undeniably sweet and soft, with a velvety quality that caused shivers to run down her spine, especially when he focused his attention solely on her and the two of them tuned out the rest of the world around them. It was still the voice of the man she loved. 

A voice tinged with genuine doubt and even a hint of fear. 

Smiling sweetly up at him—another thing that would take some getting used to—, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Of course they will, Yugo. You haven’t changed that much.”

“Um, I have grown about a metre and a half, developed muscles that were definitely not there last time I saw them, and now I wear a bodysuit and a cloak.” He deadpanned, using his free hand to gesture at himself from head to toe—and blushed slightly when the Sadida’s eyes still shone appreciatively even now. “Pretty sure anyone would have a hard time recognising me, Amalia.”

Amalia only rolled her eyes, though there was no malice behind the action. “The people who know you best will immediately be able to tell it’s you, Yugo.”

“Dally, Élely and Goultard were convinced I was Oropo.” He groused. “Their first instinct was to beat the living snot out of me!”

She huffed. “Okay, I’ll rephrase that: the people who know you best and aren’t Iops will immediately be able to tell it’s you, Yugo.”

“How can you be so sure? Only Adamaï can sense my wakfu.”

“Precisely because only Adamaï can sense your wakfu and yet, Ruel, Eva and I had no trouble figuring out it was you.” Amalia said with a self-satisfied smirk, knowing it’d be impossible for Yugo to argue against her logic. 

When she chanced a glance his way and noticed he had averted his gaze, however, her own brow furrowed in concern for her love. He was clearly worried about encountering his adoptive father and little brothers again, especially once they took notice of the obvious physical changes he had undergone during his time away and he’d be forced to relive the events that took place just a few weeks ago.

But there was something else, something the newly-crowned Sadida Queen—a title that, although she would wear with pride for as long as she lived, still brought a painful pang to her chest with the implications behind it—couldn’t quite put her finger on. There was something else on Yugo’s mind. Something he didn’t feel like he could confide in her, at least not just yet. She just hoped he would be able to talk about it with his father. After all, they were heading his way precisely because Yugo suggested they visit him just a few days ago.

Truth be told, Amalia expected Yugo to rejoin his family much earlier, once they were done picking up the pieces from their war against the Nécromes. Of course, the process was easier said than done. Everyone deserved some much-needed rest after such an unforgiving battle, as well as quality time with their families to let them know the nightmare was finally over. They had won, the Sadida Kingdom would live to see another day. 

The young queen almost broke down in tears when her friends promised to remain by her side until her kingdom was back up and running again. Had they all left shortly after their victory, Amalia didn’t know what she would have done once it truly sunk in the fact that, for the first time in her life, she would be all alone in the palace. With no family to keep her company. 

Fortunately, even though she was the last Sheran Sharm, the family she found within the Brotherhood of the Tofu was still there. 

Following some days of celebrations and respite—which included her brother’s funeral, followed shortly after by her coronation ceremony—, it was finally time to rebuild their lives before Toross Mordal drew a target on her people’s backs. They cleared away the remnants of their battle, except for Rotalström’s encased form, which would forever remain as a monument to Armand’s sacrifice and love for his people. They entered their forests once more, using every ounce of their power to determine if there was any way to heal their trees, an ongoing investigation, while planting new ones to symbolise the Sadida still had a future to look forward to.

Everyone made sure to do their part in helping the kingdom get back up again, even the Eliatropes. Amalia and Yugo found themselves sharing meaningful, touched looks when her people all sincerely thanked and celebrated his people for their bravery during the war, saying they would never be able to repay their kindness. It was a little sad to watch the way the young Eliatropes’ eyes widened and shock was plastered across their faces at the genuine kindness and acceptance they were being treated with by the Sadida. 

Their brief experience overseeing the World of Twelve and dealing with everyone’s prejudices had been enough to make them realise they might never be welcomed. Which made the fact that at least one kingdom was appreciative and welcoming of them all the more overwhelming. 

That was all Amalia needed to assure Yugo that his people could remain in the Sadida Kingdom for as long as they wanted. If there was anything she’d learned recently, it was that both their peoples were practically outcasts among the other races, and the only ones willing to help each other out. The least she could do was ensure both races remained together. 

And so, in the midst of bringing her kingdom back to its former glory and bidding the Percedal family goodbye, at least for the time being, as well as finally being able to navigate her and Yugo’s budding relationship, the Sadida was taken aback when her beloved suggested it was time they went pay his adoptive father a visit.

That was two days ago. Knowing how important Alibert and Yugo were to each other, the Sadida Queen immediately understood he should be in the know of what had been of his son’s life in the last few weeks since they last saw each other. And thus, after making sure Chamberlain Toufdru would be able to handle everything for a day or two—with the help of Canar, Renate, and Adamaï—, the two finally entered the portal leading them to Emelka.

And Yugo had been uneasy the whole time. The fact that whenever they crossed paths with one of his neighbours they all gaped at the ‘handsome stranger walking alongside Yugo’s Sadida friend’ certainly didn’t help matters. Still, Amalia did her best to be there for the Eliatrope just like he always did for her.

Although the pensive frown stretched over his brow wasn’t all that reassuring to her either. They would be arriving at Alibert’s inn shortly, and the generous Enutrof was sure to worry if he sensed something was wrong with his son… If he didn’t have a heart attack at the sight of his youthful-looking son suddenly looking his age, that is.

No matter how you looked at it, Yugo acting like this just wouldn’t do. So, right as they finally reached their destination, Amalia did as any good queen and girlfriend should do and she took charge of the situation. 

Yugo was about to push open the door to the inn and welcome them inside, when he felt his queen stop, practically digging her heels into the ground. He perked up at her sudden action and turned his head to look down at her questioningly, only for his eyes to widen as Amalia reached out her free hand to him and cupped his cheek. He could already feel himself melting at her touch, his worries being washed away by that gentleness she reserved for a select few. 

Oh, how lucky he was to be part of that exclusive group. 

He was so engrossed by the warmth emanating from her skin, by the time he registered the sound of rustling fabric and the breeze weaving through his hair, it was already too late. 

Amalia had taken advantage of his distracted state to pull his hood down, exposing his wings. 

“Amalia!” He screeched as he hastily put his hood back in its rightful place, mortified, and for a moment he could have sworn he sounded like he used to before Toross and Efrim harvested his wakfu. “You know I don’t mind you seeing my wings, but I still feel uncomfortable showing them to just everyone!”

To his immense consternation, she just chuckled. “Yugo, look around; there’s no one eating out today.” 

A quick swipe with his eyes was all he needed to realise she was right. There was no one outside. Just then, his ears picked up the sound of loud, animated chatter coming from inside the building. 

“Come on, you know I’d never pull your hood down if I thought it might make you uncomfortable. Especially not after it took you so long to reveal what was underneath your hat the first time.” Amalia reasoned. 

The Eliatrope sighed, knowing she was right, again. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, Amalia…” Then he turned sheepish, raising his free hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling a blush coming to his cheeks. “But…um…why exactly did you pull it down? I mean, you know I really don’t mind when you touch them but, um, that seems hardly appropriate right now?”

Luckily for him, he wasn’t the only one feeling a little flushed at the moment. 

Her own cheeks gaining a reddish tinge, the Sadida Queen had to clear her throat before speaking. “For your information, I just meant to illustrate how you could always just show your wings to Alibert, Chibi, and Grougal if they don’t recognise you.” Shifting her weight and placing her hand on her hip, she sent him a pointed look. “Or do you know many other people with wakfu wings on their heads?”

“The entirety of the Eliotropes and Eliatropes…” He muttered to himself, thankful she didn’t seem to have heard him. Given how horrified she’d been after learning how Oropo had manipulated her on such a personal level due to his own twisted ‘love’ for her, the less Amalia knew about his melding with the Eliotropes, the better. Louder, he admitted defeat with a sigh. “I suppose you have a point, though.”

Once again, his mind skidded to a halt at the feeling of her hand lovingly cupping his cheek. When he looked down at her in surprise, it was all he could do not to drown in her warm, chocolate eyes staring deep into his soul. 

“They’re your family, Yugo. They’ll know it’s you.” Then, she added with a giggle. “At the very least, the sight of the two of us together should tip them off, don’t you think?”

For the first time since they left her kingdom, the Eliatrope allowed a small smile to grace his features. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Their eyes remained locked on each other, neither daring to move an inch. Actually, that wasn’t true. They did move, only they both moved forward and towards each other, glazing down at each other’s lips fleetingly. They were about to close the distance when—

“Oh, get a room, you two! Some of us just want to get a bite to eat, not a full show!” A grouchy Enutrof scolded them, rudely pushing them aside and letting himself into the building. Even from the other side of the wall, Yugo and Amalia could still hear him grumbling obscenities about ‘damned young people and their damned hormones; always getting in the way…’

They exchanged one last confused look before bursting out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, their cheeks on fire. Once his laughter had finally subsided, Yugo stared at a still giggling Amalia for a minute, smiling fondly at the sound of her laughter. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been laughing much ever since the battle against the Nécromes. Not like he would ever blame her, given everything she lost, but it was still nice to see the fun-loving, smiling princess he met all those years ago, even if now she had blossomed into the most beautiful queen in the World of Twelve. 

When Amalia’s giggles dissolved into nothing, she found Yugo’s offered hand before her. Trailing her eyes towards his smiling face and feeling her own grin tugging at the corner of her lips, she took it. 

“Are you ready?” She asked him, just to be sure. 

With one last deep breath, he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And so, he finally turned the doorknob of the inn and the two lovers took their first few steps inside the restaurant he grew up in. 

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was the same as always. Bustling with customers talking about everything under the sun while they enjoyed Alibert’s dishes, the sound of utensils clinking as they devoured their meals filled up the room. And the few customers who had yet to eat would immediately shut up and start salivating the moment they got their own serving of gobball stew delivered to them. The chef and mayor in question must have been busy in the kitchen, for he was nowhere in sight, not even behind the bar, tending to the customers who just wanted some bamboo milk to wash away the day’s heat. 

Everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations, and yet, it felt as if they all quieted down and turned to look at the new arrivals in unison. Scrutinising them.

Logically speaking, Yugo knew they were just curious as it wasn’t every day you saw a Sadida in Emelka—let alone one as well-dressed and regal as the actual queen; not like they needed to know that. The fact that her companion was a young man of no discernable race, wearing a cloak and a battlesuit must have only added to their curiosity. 

He knew this, he really did, and yet, he still felt observed. Even though for the first time in years he felt right when he saw himself in the mirror, even though he finally felt like his body was his and not an old husk he should have long outgrown, people’s reactions to his appearance still upset him. He knew he looked different, and sometimes, he felt different, too. As if in spite of his mind never ceasing to mature even as his ageing slowed down, he had still become wiser upon growing, somehow. 

Before his thoughts could spiral down any further or Amalia could try to shake him off of his current spell, they were interrupted by the sound of childish, excited voices. 

“Amalia! Dad, look, Amalia’s here!” a little white-haired boy with a black hat bigger than his body exclaimed before throwing himself into the arms of the Sadida, an equally small but quite feisty black dragon following close behind. 

At the sight of the little Eliatrope and his dragon brother, Amalia wasted no time crouching down on the floor with one leg to welcome them in her arms. As she and Chibi hugged, with Grougaloragran hovering over them, the queen remembered, not for the first time, how adorable Yugo was as a child, too. 

“Chibi! By Sadida’s trees, you’ve grown so much!” Breaking the hug slightly, she carefully scratched Grougaloragran under his chin, knowing how volatile he could be. “You too, Grougal.”

The little black dragon simply grunted in contentment in response. Privately, Yugo couldn’t help but wonder if it had taken Adamaï as long to learn how to speak back when he lived with his mentor in Oma.

With his tiny arms still wrapped around her, Chibi giggled. “What are you doing here, Amalia? Yugo’s not home.”

Sneaking a glance her boyfriend’s way, knowing he might be worrying over his baby brother not recognising him already, the queen replied, “Oh, we’re just here to talk to your dad, that’s all.”

“‘We’?” Chibi echoed, arching an eyebrow and sharing a confused look with Grougal. For the first time since he first spotted the girl his big brother loved (even if he kept trying to deny it), he noticed the Sadida girl wasn’t alone. Tilting their little heads up, they finally took a good, long look at the boy her age standing by her side and smiling awkwardly, though not any less fondly, down at them. 

“Hey, Chibi. Grougal.” He gave them a little wave with his hand.

As his two baby siblings kept staring blankly back at him, Yugo feared for the worst. It looked like Amalia had been wrong and not even his own family would be able to tell it was him. Which, coupled with the fact that he had come hand-in-hand with the woman they knew he was in love with, promised they would act from polite but distant (in Alibert’s case) to downright devious (in Chibi and Grougal’s case) towards him. 

He still remembered how supportive they’d been of him when he retold how he almost lost Amalia forever to Count Harebourg. Alibert had heaved an evident sigh of relief, saying how, even though he understood why Amalia accepted his proposal and even praised her for putting her people first, she had definitely dodged a Rogue’s bullet. Chibi and Grougal weren’t anywhere as diplomatic, however; they outright blew a disgusted raspberry at the idea of the then Sadida Princess marrying anyone else. 

However, just as he was mentally preparing himself to endure their tricks until he got them to believe it was him, instead of another ‘girlfriend stealer’ (as they had not-so-lovingly dubbed Harebourg), his eyes widened in surprise at the two’s reactions. Their dark eyes shimmered in delight and awe, a pair of matching smiles stretching over their lips as they stared up at him, almost as if he had lowered the moon for them.

“Yugo!” The white-haired Eliatrope exclaimed happily, throwing himself into his big brother’s arms. Meanwhile, Grougal kept chirping and flying around the older Eliatrope just as enthused, clearly as happy as his twin to see him. 

While Yugo was momentarily frozen from shock, looking at his little brother in awe, Chibi simply nuzzled his face against  the nook of his neck, enjoying his cloak’s softness. “Yugo, we missed you!” 

In his dazed state, the Eliatrope King chanced a look his love’s way, who was smiling warmly at the scene and limited herself to mouthing an ‘I told you so’ to him. Returning her smile with one of his own, Yugo had never been happier to be wrong. 

It wasn’t long until Chibi broke the hug, though. “What happened? You look so old now! And your cape’s so cool!”

Yugo let out an awkward laugh. “Thanks, Chibi. I’m glad you like it.” There was an even more awkward pause. “Um…about the other thing, uh, it’s a bit of a long story.” He said simply. While he knew he definitely needed to talk to their father about what he’d been through, he’d much rather spare his little brothers the gruesome details until they were older. Making a show of looking around, he asked, “Say, where’s Dad?”

The twins shared an unimpressed look, knowing their big brother was purposely avoiding the question, but ultimately just shrugged. They’d go along with it for a little while longer; they could always just eavesdrop when he inevitably spilled the beans to their father, after all.

Just as Chibi was about to answer, however, Alibert’s booming yet warm voice echoed from the kitchen, “Alright! What can I get you, Tristan? The usual?” Followed shortly after by the kindly Enutrof peeking his head from behind the counter as he addressed the customer in question. 

“Ya know it, Alibert!” The customer, an Ouginak named Tristan, replied, joviantly slapping his knee as he let out an uproarious laugh. “Oh! And do keep ‘em bamboo milk glasses comin’, will ya?”

“But of course, though, only if you keep your promise and actually pay your tab this time…” The innkeeper sent his guilty-looking customer a pointed look. His eyes only narrowed further when Tristan avoided his gaze while whistling with forced nonchalance. Nevertheless, though not without some heavy sighing, the Enutrof reluctantly served him yet another glass. 

“Ruel is right, this is no way to run a business.” Alibert grumbled to himself, before adding, “Although it’s not like he has much room to talk; he’s the one who owes me the most around here…”

“Dad, look who’s here!”

Perking up at his young son’s excited cries, the smile returned to his face as he laid his eyes where he was. A flash of forest green coupled with mahogany skin from behind Chibi’s black hat alerted him of their visitor. Locking eyes with the beautiful Sadida Princess he’s oldest son cared so much about, the old Enutrof’s smile only widened…only for his whole visage to freeze in shock at the sight of her companion. 

The figure—a handsome young man with dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes clad in a body-tight suit with golden lining and a long blue hooded cape who was tall enough to dwarf even the Sadida girl—took a step forward. And another. And another. In less than a minute, he had crossed the distance between himself and the restaurant’s counter and he was looking straight at the old innkeeper, albeit a little uneasily. 

His face contorted into a timid yet oddly endearing expression as he offered him a small smile. “Hi, Dad.”

Amalia watched the interaction with bated breath, worried for how Alibert might react and how that might affect Yugo in turn. Her worries were unfounded, however, for after a beat had passed, Alibert joyfully cried out, “My little piwii!” right before engulfing a flushed Yugo into a bone-crushing hug. The Eliatrope sent her a death glare when she giggled at the cute scene, his face on fire at having his father call him by his childhood nickname even when he finally looked like the adult he was, but it soon softened as he returned the hug with as much vigour. 

Soon after that, a good chunk of the people gathered at the inn crowded around Yugo, marvelling at his new grown-up body—in particular, a few young ladies couldn’t help but ogle at him hungrily, causing a miffed Amalia to discreetly use her vines to get them to tear their eyes off her man—, while others observed from afar. 

After a while of Yugo doing his best to answer their many questions and politely declining anything that felt too personal to reveal (like the reason he had hit such a complete growth spurt out of the blue, for starters), Alibert had finally had enough. Sensing his son’s unease, he loudly stomped his shovel on the floor, drawing everyone’s attention to him. 

“Well, that’s about enough, don’t you think?!” He grumbled. “Come on, people, give him some space! He’s barely just arrived and you’re all bombarding him with questions; let him have something to eat while he catches up with his old man first, at least!”

With a few more grumbles and muttered apologies, the other patrons finally returned to their seats, giving Alibert and his newly-arrived guests some privacy at last. As the last of his customers focused back on their food, the Enutrof smiled at the two. 

“I’m so glad to see you, you two.” He smiled, before turning around and beginning to rummage through the kitchen in search of ingredients. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

“You know I can never say no to your famous gobball stew, Dad.” Yugo chuckled as he sat down on the stool in front of the counter, though not before moving Amalia’s own stool for her under her expectant gaze and receiving an appreciative nod for his troubles. 

“I expected as much, my boy. The day you tell me you don’t want some, it’ll be the end of the world!” Albert laughed with his back still turned to them, his hands busy gathering all the ingredients he would need. As he began with his son’s meal, turning back around, he focused on Amalia. “And what will it be, my dear? Another serving of stew?”

Amalia just shook her head politely. “No, thank you, Alibert. I’ll be happy with just a serving of your cawwot soup.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He chuckled fondly. Then, he sighed wistfully. “You Sadidas and your love for vegetables and fruit. Had it been your father, he certainly wouldn’t have refused some meat, let me tell you.” 

Since Alibert’s back was once again turned as he began to peel and chop down the cawwots he would be using for the girl’s dish, he failed to notice how Amalia’s expression clouded over at the reminder of her late father, nor did he see the worried look Yugo regarded her with before placing his hand over hers comfortingly. He did turn around, however, just in time to catch them sharing a meaningful, loving look. 

His smile widening at the sight, the innkeeper winked at his youngest sons knowingly, the three of them having a silent conversation regarding the two lovebirds. Usually, Alibert knew better than to push Yugo’s buttons when it came to his feelings for Amalia, for he knew it could be a very painful topic for him, but even he wasn’t above some teasing when the two made how head over heels they were for each other this obvious. 

“It has certainly been a while since I last saw you, Amalia.” He began nonchalantly. He had to stifle a laugh at the dazed expressions on their faces, as if they had completely forgotten they weren’t alone. “If you permit me, Your Highness, I must say you get more beautiful each time I see you. You have grown into a true vision of loveliness, as I’m sure Yugo can testify.” He added that last part with a wink his eldest son’s way, whose face immediately erupted like Brakmar’s volcanoes at his father's not-so-subtle insinuations. 

Meanwhile, the Sadida practically glowed at the compliment. “Thank you so much, Alibert. That means a lot.”

“I only speak the truth, my dear princess.”

“And again, thank you. Growing up, I was always somehow overshadowed by Evangelyne in the beauty department. So I guess I sort of got used to never being as pretty as her.” Amalia admitted, acting uncharacteristically bashful about it. “Even Yugo can tell you how many people used to be more interested in capturing or winning Eva over than me, the actual princess.”

“But that was only because back then you were still growing while Eva was almost a woman already.” Yugo protested, not liking it whenever Amalia looked down on her appearance. So what if growing up Evangelyne was always turning heads or her chest was more, ehrm, developed? To him, Amalia had always been gorgeous, and she only got prettier in his eyes each passing day, as his dad said. 

“The moment you were a little older, you soon became one of the most beautiful royals in the entirety of the World of Twelve.” He blushed sheepishly at his own admission, even though he meant every word.

Amalia just waved him off, but the grateful smile she gifted Yugo with was genuine, as well as the small blush dusting her cheeks. “I know, I know. Even back when we were children and Eva was first blossoming into a beautiful girl while I was still a child, my mother used to assure me that one day I would be the most beautiful flower in Sadida’s garden.”

“And she was right.” Alibert nodded along to the late queen’s assessment. “But I can understand it must have been difficult for you, princess. Watching Evangelyne grow and become the centre of attention while you still had a long way to go.” As he said that, father and son shared a meaningful look, understanding the true hidden meaning behind his words. 

“Well, I did blossom into quite the beautiful young lady, didn’t I?” Amalia winked mischievously before giggling. Although her impish expression didn’t last long, since she then sighed heavily and let her head rest against her open palm. “Although, looking back, I really had it good back then, too. I had no idea how taxing it could be to become the object of someone’s affections, especially when they’re more ‘psychotic’ than ‘charming’.”

“Yeah, tell me about it…” Yugo agreed with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Even now, there were times when he couldn’t help the residual jealousy he still felt towards Count Harebourg and Oropo for almost bringing Amalia to their side and away from him. 

“Now, now. Let’s let bygones be bygones.” Alibert said placatingly as the gobball meat sizzled on the pan. He distinctly remembered Yugo’s heartache over almost losing the princess to that Xelor count, and from what his son had told him, discovering he never intended to keep his end of the deal to her people must have deeply hurt the Sadida as well. 

“After all,” the Enutrof continued, his voice carrying a certain cadence Yugo couldn’t help but feel suspicious about, his stomach churning with dread. “I’d say everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Just as he said that, he looked down at their still intertwined hands meaningfully, laughing uproariously when the young couple broke away as quickly as if they’d been burned. They might as well have; their faces were redder than Brakmar’s soil!

Shyly tucking a strand of forest green hair behind her ear, Amalia was the first to recover. “Is it really that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear.” Alibert smiled kindly back at her. “You two haven’t been as openly affectionate with each other since you were both kids.”

Neither commented on that, since they all knew exactly the reason why that changed as they grew up—or rather, as Amalia grew up while Yugo remained physically the same. While the Sadida Princess would have loved nothing more than to remain as close with the Eliatrope as they were in their late childhood to early teens, the latter always made sure to keep a safe distance between them, always too afraid of his child-like body hampering his crush’s social standing. 

“I suppose that’s true.” Yugo admitted calmly, staring back at his love while their hands found each other again under the counter. “A lot has changed since then…”

“You’d better believe a lot has changed, young man!” Alibert wagged a scolding finger at his son with one hand while he stirred Amalia’s soup with the other. “Although I am particularly interested in learning what brought on this particular change exactly,” he gestured at the two of them with his ladle, bits of cawwot soup flying around with the movement. 

While Amalia giggled, her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, Yugo simply used his free hand to gesture down at himself as way of answer. “Let’s just say that once I finally looked my age, all the lingering barriers between us came crumbling down.” He turned slightly in his stool and reached out for his girlfriend’s free hand, coming to hold both of hers in his. “I had way too many close calls already, I don’t want to waste any more time now that we can finally be together.”

Her heartbeat was beating so loud at his words, Amalia honestly couldn’t believe nobody heard it over the restaurant’s animated chatter. She must have looked like a lovesick fool, she knew it. And even though such behaviour was usually unbecoming of a queen, she couldn't care less; she had waited far too long to be able to call Yugo hers. To listen to him admit he couldn’t live without her any more than she could live without him. 

Her already elated expression softening even further, no doubt showing her adoration for this wonderful man, the Sadida Queen decided actions spoke louder than words anyway and, without saying anything, leaned forward to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. Relishing how that could get him to blush slightly even now. 

While Chibi and Grougal made a show of rolling their eyes and pretending to gag at the public display of affection, respectively; good old Alibert was at the verge of breaking down in happy tears at the sight of his little piwii finally getting together with the woman he loved. 

Fanning himself with his hands, for he had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, he forced himself to appear far more nonchalant than he felt and said, “By Enutrof, King Oakheart must be beside himself with joy at this development, isn’t he? While we never openly talked about you two ending up together, I know for a fact all your father ever wanted for you, princess, is that you got to marry for love just like he did with your mother.”

Immediately after saying those words, Alibert realised something was wrong. The warm, joyful atmosphere had changed considerably, now feeling cold and stuffy. A dark cloud had settled over Amalia, even when her smile remained in place, not helped at all by Yugo’s own heartbroken expression, his dark brown eyes reflecting waves of sympathy for his beloved before settling back on his father’s as he motioned for him to cut it off.

And that’s what he remembered what Yugo told him the last time he came to visit.  

Oh, Enutrof, take me now… He mentally bemoaned after realising his terrible faux pas. Outwardly, however, he was flusteredly fussing over Amalia. “Oh my, I am so sorry, my dear. Yugo told me, but I had completely forgotten. Oh, me and my big mouth…” He moaned, wishing to be anywhere but right there at that moment.

Amalia just shook her head, although her beautiful brown eyes had turned glassy from unshed tears. “It’s fine, Alibert. You didn’t mean to…”

Despite having already put his foot in his mouth, the innkeeper knew there was something else going on under the surface. Of course, losing your father was always a heart-wrenching experience, but something else seemed to weigh heavily over the princess’ shoulders. 

The old Enutrof knew he was walking on a Rogue’s minefield. He knew it, but he wouldn’t be able to figure out what was wrong unless he asked. “Uh, princess? What’s the matter?”

“You see, Alibert,” Amalia started, her voice was soft and kind, yet it belied the kind of evenness a monarch should reserve solely for diplomacy, not light conversation with her demi-father-in-law. “I’m not a princess anymore.”

The old Enutrof’s bushy eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. “What do you mean by that, my dear? Did something happen? Have you lost your title, by any chance?”

But Amalia simply raised her palms up as she shook her head vehemently. “No, no. None of that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just not a princess anymore because…” A pregnant pause. The effort of swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m the new Queen of the Sadidas.” She admitted at last.

Alibert just stared blankly at her, shooting Yugo a quick glance asking him for confirmation. After a solemn nod from his eldest son, the innkeeper’s shocked expression slowly morphed into cautious elation. “But that’s just wonderful, Amalia! You’ve always taken great care of your people! I suppose you were crowned after your father’s passing?” Then, amidst the myriad of questions, he added, almost as an afterthought, “But, wait a minute, didn’t you have an older brother…?”

Seeing the Sadida Queen flinch painfully at the mention of her family, realisation finally dawned on him. Again. He wanted nothing more than to smack himself with his shovel for his complete lack of tact. The smile didn't disappear from Amalia's face, but it became more strained, sadder. So much hid behind that smile, and yet Alibert could tell exactly what had happened from a single look.

“Oh, my dear. I am so sorry…”

“It's alright, Alibert. You didn't know.” Amalia was quick to silence him by raising her hand, though not unkindly. She turned to Yugo and her smile became more genuine. “I should leave you two alone. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“What about your soup?” Yugo asked as he squeezed her hand tighter, pouring every single ounce of love and support he could into that small gesture. 

“I trust Alibert to let me know when it’s done.” She sent the cook a wink, and although father and son could tell it was meant to be playful, the cheeriness behind it just felt forced. Wincing slightly at their reactions, the young queen forced herself to act as natural as possible. Peeking from behind her boyfriend, she locked eyes with Chibi and Grougal; even they looked worried for her. Willing her smile to become as reassuring as possible in her bittersweet state, she told them, “Yugo told me you guys built a brand new home for Az and his family. Care to show it to me?”

Their expressions brightened up at that. It was clear from their engineering skills their talents as inventors in their past lives lived on with them, a fact that while they still didn’t know the full scope of, they were very proud of. So with matching grins and a nod, Chibi and Grougal jumped from their stools and, grabbing Amalia’s hand, dragged her to where Az had been watching the entire exchange with his family.

And with a wink her boyfriend’s way, the Sadida Queen let herself be dragged by the enthusiastic twins. For their part, the little ones were more than happy to spend some time with their new playmate. As she sat down and marvelled at Chibi and Grougal’s ingenuity, gracefully accepting some happy nuzzles from Az and his chicks, a heavy silence settled over father and son. For the time being, it looked as if both of them preferred to just watch the green-haired beauty enjoying herself after revisiting such painful memories. 

“King Oakheart died while Amalia was busy helping us save Eva and Flopin from the demigods.” Yugo eventually spoke up, reminding his father of their last conversation, his brow furrowed in regret at the painful reminder it was because of him she couldn't bid her father goodbye. With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he looked his father in the eye. “Her brother, King Armand, died defending their kingdom from the Nécromes. She was crowned because her sister-in-law abandoned them mid-battle.”

Alibert shook his head regretfully. “My poor child... I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for her.”

Yugo couldn't argue there. It killed him inside whenever Amalia excused herself to visit her family's tomb trees, as she would spend hours mourning their loss. The only thing more painful was when he learned what happened to Armand upon returning from the Necroworld and how he, once again, couldn't be there to console his love when she needed him most. 

“At least she's 22. It's not the same as when she lost her mother.” He tried to be optimistic, but it sounded hollow even to his ears.

“You're never the right age for seeing your loved ones die, Yugo." Alibert surmised. “It would have hurt just as badly had she been in her old age.”

At his father’s words, the Eliatrope couldn’t help thinking back to Qilby and what he’d explained about his and Shinonomé’s ‘gift’ once the truth was out about his true nature all those years ago. Qilby was thousands of years old and, what’s more, remembered every single lifetime. And yet, it was clear the loss of his loved ones over the years had greatly contributed to his deteriorating mental state, never becoming easier to overcome. It was funny, in a way; not that long ago thoughts of Qilby were filled with nothing but resentment for what their people had gone through because of his selfishness; rage for being manipulated into giving him exactly what he needed to do it all over again, with no remorse whatsoever over destroying the World of Twelve; and guilt because, despite his many terrible deeds, the idea of sealing him once again in the White Dimension, while a necessary evil, still left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

It would be safe to say Yugo tried to avoid thinking about his brother as much as he could. And yet, ever since their reunion and being saved from Toross and Efrim by him, the young king found himself thinking about the eldest Eliatrope more than ever. And to think both his people and the World of Twelve had suffered so much only because their divine heritage made them different… Maybe the Twelvian monarchs had ample reason to fear them and want them gone. He did come to realise they were right in refusing his mother’s help, he thought with a sneer. After all, it wasn’t like she’d actually been much help when they needed her most. 

Maybe he was putting Amalia and her people in danger by accepting their generosity. Maybe it would be for the best if he and his people left. Maybe he was a fool for thinking they could ever—.

“I’m guessing Amalia didn’t just leave because the conversation was turning difficult for her, so I’ll be here to listen whenever you feel ready to talk, Yugo.” 

His father’s kind words cut through his thoughts like a knife, grounding him in the here and now before he could spiral down his own concerns and fears. Before he could dwell on what he believed was best but might end up hurting Amalia—his beloved flower, blooming beautifully as she laughed in the presence of his little siblings, praising them for the wonderful home they made for Az and his family—, even after vowing to himself to never put her through the same kind of emotional torture she went through while they were stuck in Oropo’s dimension.

Despite himself, Yugo chuckled. “How can you always tell when I need someone to talk to?”

“I raised you, Yugo. I was there before the portals, and Nox, and the Brotherhood of the Tofu… And I always tried to be there for everything that followed.” His father sent him a knowing smirk from over the pot where he was stirring the rice. “What kind of father would I be if I weren’t able to tell when something’s troubling you?”

The Eliatrope’s laugh was more genuine now, causing his shoulders to shake. “Fair enough.”

“So, what is it, Yugo? What’s on your mind?”

Alibert could only raise an eyebrow in confusion when, at first, it looked like Yugo just turned around in his stool instead of answering. A beat passed where the two remained in silence, his eldest son just observing the restaurant, its patrons and, more importantly, his girlfriend. 

Even as he finally spoke up—just when the Enutrof was about to repeat his question—, he never took his eyes off of her. “I suppose you must be wondering why I suddenly look my age.”

Allowing a reassuring smile to curl at his lips, Alibert just shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t say I’m not curious. It’s a little bit hard to believe you got a sudden growth-spurt from drinking your milk every day. Calcium is important, but it doesn’t do miracles!” He joked. 

“Oh, don’t I know it?” Yugo played along, smirking in amusement, “I used to try all kinds of tricks to grow up sooner before Adamaï explained to me we just aged more slowly!”

“As if I could forget!” Alibert roared with laughter, Yugo following shortly after. “There was a time I half-expected you to start wearing heels!”

“Psh, as if!” Yugo waved the mere notion off with his hand. “Eva almost broke her spine wearing those things back when we were trying to pass off as ugly princesses. That’s about the last thing I need!”

Father and son burst out laughing at the memories, feeling nostalgic at how what once was a life-threatening mission could now feel like simpler times, unburdened by the struggles and fears tied with growing up—or not growing up properly, in Yugo’s case.

And with that sobering reminder, as soon as his laughter quieted down, he said, “Remember those things that attacked the town a few weeks back?” 

Although his voice was perfectly even and casual, the practised calm imbued to it gave Alibert pause. Whatever Yugo said next would be of utmost importance. 

“The ones immune to your wakfu-based attacks, you mean?”

“Nécromes.” Yugo confirmed with a nod of his head. “They came from the Necroworld, a twisted reflection of the World of Twelve. Once, they were just like you and me, until their leader, Toross Mordal, misused his Dofus to the point he completely ravaged his people and their world, turning them into monsters obsessed with draining wakfu to sate their hunger.”

“‘Obsessed with draining wakfu’?” Alibert echoed, incredulous yet bracing himself for the worst. “I don’t understand, my boy. What does that have to do with how you look?”

Deep down, the worried father knew he would not like the answer. His fears were only confirmed when Yugo went on explaining. 

“They set their sights on the Sadida Kingdom—because of course they did.” He scoffed. Why was everything wrong in this world always happening to the peaceful tree people the woman he loved just happened to rule over? “But we couldn’t understand how they even made it to our world, at least, not until it was too late. We investigated the Sadida Kingdom and found a giant portal leading to their world.”

Alibert didn’t like where this story was going. He didn’t like it one bit, but knew he had to listen to his son until the end. 

“So, we arrived there and met Toross for the very first time.” He paused, clearly reliving that agonising battle and everything that followed. “We barely made it out alive.”

“But that’s not all that happened, is it, Yugo?”

The innkeeper’s heart sank when his son could only shake his head. 

“Just as we were about to make it, Efrim, Nora’s dragon brother who had been turned into a Nécrome when they freed our mother, prevented me from escaping. Then, they chained me to a tower and began to drain my wakfu to feed themselves. Just thinking about it is excruciating.” As he heard his father’s horrified gasp at the revelation, Yugo couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye, too tragically engrossed in the memories haunting him. Too afraid of what he might find if he met his gaze. “I don’t know how long I was there; could have been hours, could have been days… All I know is it felt like years had passed. And, in a way, they had. When I could finally take a good, long look at myself, I realised I had suddenly aged significantly; before I even knew it, I looked like a young man in his twenties, instead of a kid.”

As he retold those horrific events, Yugo’s eyes never strayed from where Amalia sat down with Chibi and Grougal, playing with Az’s chicks and laughing at his family’s antics. Now more than ever he needed her to ground him like only she could. Reliving the torture Toross put him through caused a fresh wave of memories to wash over him. Namely, how even as he battled Oropo and Bouillon to keep his mind sharp and focused on anything other than the agonising pain, his thoughts still strayed back to Amalia, to the terrifying prospect that he might never see her again. By the time he escaped and began recruiting their friends, he was so busy riding on adrenaline he forgot he would actually get to reunite with her after all; the possibility only becoming a reality when she took his hand after his mother left and, once again, reminded him she was there. 

She was with him. She would always be by his side when he needed it most. Just like he swore he would always be there by her side. No matter what. 

“I’m going to ask Amalia to marry me, Dad.” He said out of the blue, causing his adoptive father to almost choke on his own spit out of sheer mood whiplash. 

Still, the tone his son used was not the one you’d expect from what was usually such joyous news. “Then why does it sound like you might never see her again?”

“Because maybe that’s what I should do instead.” 

“Now, Yugo—”

“The World of Twelve has been terrified of my people ever since Qilby revealed his true colours.” He interrupted, too absorbed in his own demons to register what his father was trying to say. “And the more time passes, the more I’m beginning to think they’re right to fear us. I mean, our technology doesn’t work without copious amounts of wakfu, enough to either completely ravage entire kingdoms or even planets! 

“Same thing with our Dofus, in fact.” As Yugo rambled, his voice dripping with frustration, Alibert didn’t miss the way he absentmindedly toyed with the golden button on his chest. “I almost destroyed the world using them, just like Toross did with his. And then there’s our mother! Of course, I know what happened. The other gods sealed her away in the Necroworld to feed the Nécromes all this time until Nora and Efrim rescued her. But try looking at things from everyone else’s point of view:

“The goddess of the one non-native race to their world not only appears out of nowhere, but uses her powers to constantly spy on the World of Twelve in order to ensure it’s safe for her children. And even though she promises all she wants is a peaceful world, the second things get too hard, she loses all composure and the best solution she can come up with is to abandon this world and its inhabitants, leaving them all to suffer a fate that’s her fault in the first place!”

Yugo was breathing heavily by the time he was done with his anguished spiel, his volume rising with each word he uttered drawing the patrons’ eyes to him. But even as his hands were nestled in his dishevelled hair and his eyes fixated on the counter, he could see a concerned Amalia rising from her seat with the clear intention of consoling him from the corner of his eyes. Locking eyes with her, he simply shook his head, silently telling her to remain where she was. 

While normally he would love nothing more than to let Amalia melt all his sorrows away, right now he couldn’t bear the thought. Not when she was partly related to said sorrows. 

Seeing the pitiful state his son was in and knowing the last thing he needed was to feel as observed as an Iop on a game show, Alibert shot a withering glare at his customers, silently forbidding them from saying a word. His brow softening as he looked down at Yugo, he tried patting his shoulder reassuringly to offer some comfort. 

“I understand how you might feel that way, my boy.” Adding the rice and vegetables to the pan with the gobball steak, he began to stir-fry it all together. “You’d expect the inhabitants of such a multiethnic world to be more tolerant, but alas, that is just not the case.”

All Yugo could offer from his position against the wooden counter was a muffled sound of agreement.

“Even so, I’m sure people will learn to accept Eliatropes soon enough. After all, you’re the Eliatrope King and one of the greatest heroes this world has ever known!”

“You don’t understand, Dad…” Yugo protested with a defeated sigh. “They hate us! Despise us, even! When Nora and I tried to warn them about the Nécromes, they blamed it all on us; Queen Astra from Bonta wouldn’t even let Nora rise from her bowed down position!”

“Oh, that’s bad…” Alibert muttered uneasily, wincing. 

“And the worst part,” Yugo continued, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation, “they were right. It was our fault.”

“Now, Yugo. You don’t know that—” Alibert tried to say, only for his words to die in his throat at the defeated shake of his son’s head. 

“No, Dad. I do know that. Remember Efrim?”

“He was Nora’s dragon brother, right? The one that got turned into a Nécrome?”

The Eliatrope nodded. “Turns out, the reason the Nécromes ever made it to our world was because of his and Nora’s efforts to locate our mother. In sacrificing himself so she and Nora could escape, Efrim unwittingly provided Toross with exactly what he needed to feed his people: Nora and her portals.”

Horror flooded the Enutrof’s face as realisation dawned on him. 

“He’d been using her since the very beginning to reach the World of Twelve.” Yugo stated somberly. He gritted his teeth at the memory of his sister, encased in stone, helpless against that monster taking advantage of her all over again upon locating his next target. “So, there you have it. Even though it was an accident, it was because of our people that the Nécromes ever made it here.

“It was because of me Amalia lost her brother.” He choked out, his voice breaking under the weight of the guilt he carried. “If it weren’t for us, Eliatropes, the Nécromes would have never arrived, the Sadida’s trees would have never been drained of their wakfu, and the kingdom would have never been under attack. If it wasn’t for my people, we never would have had to use the Eliasphere and Amalia wouldn’t have had to lose her entire family in quick succession.”

Alibert’s heart broke at the sheer pain laced with Yugo’s voice, all the regrets he carried and how, deep down, that was holding him back from fully enjoying the special bond he shared with Amalia. Even now that his physical appearance was no longer a problem, Yugo’s psyche was still playing tricks against him. As the tortured Eliatrope went on with his retelling, the old innkeeper chanced a glance the Sadida Queen’s way. When their eyes met, he could see Amalia was just as torn up about Yugo as he was. But, more importantly, he could see how, much like him, she would never be able to forgive herself if she knew how much he was hurting for her sake.

“Tell me, Dad. How could I possibly be so selfish as to ask her to marry me after all she’s lost because of me?!” Even though he was asking his father, his question seemed to actually be addressed at the Gods Themselves, begging them for a solution. 

For a moment, Alibert said nothing, just stared back at his son and saw him, although not for the first time, as the man he truly was. Even though his desire to always put others before himself had turned against him more than once, his adoptive father couldn’t help but be proud of the man he raised. 

However, despite Yugo no longer being a child, not even physically, it was clear he still needed his old man’s guidance now and then. And Alibert just knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he let Amalia go. After all, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the heartbreak in his face whenever it looked as if the Sadida would slip through his fingers was unmistakable. 

So he did what a father did best. He tried to be there for his son.

“I imagine that’s also how Amalia must have felt, too.” He said simply, checking in on Amalia’s soup. Five more minutes and it’d be ready. 

That gave Yugo pause. “What do you mean?”

He made a show of shrugging. “You said you got captured just as you were about to escape the Necroworld. Tell me, was Amalia with you?” After a speechless nod from Yugo, he went on. “Then, knowing her and how much she’s always cared for you, I’m willing to bet my chef’s hat she must have felt horrible for not being able to save you.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Yugo protested, scandalised. “It wasn’t her fault! She couldn’t have predicted Efrim would capture me!”

“Just like you and your family couldn’t have predicted that freeing your mother from those things would lead them straight to our world.” Alibert looked at him pointedly even as he poured his stew onto a plate. “Just like you couldn’t have predicted her brother would die protecting his people.”

The young king visibly deflated at that. “But I did. Qilby died from overusing the Eliasphere, that’s why I told them not to overdo it when drawing power from it, because it would cost them their lives.”

“All I’m hearing is further confirmation none of this is your fault.”

“But—!”

“No, Yugo. Listen to me!” He told him sternly, making good use of his Authoritative Dad Voice. Even now, it still worked like a charm, for Yugo could only squirm in his seat under his gaze. His expression softened into a small smile. “Yugo, don’t you see? You didn’t even know where the Great Goddess was for most of your life. You couldn’t have known your siblings were trying to free her, nor how that would play out. But once you were fully aware of the situation, you did everything in your power to remedy it. 

“Same thing with Armand. This time you were aware of the risks and told your friends as much. But Armand was a king, and a good one, I gather. Even at the risk of his own life, he was more than willing to go down fighting as long as his people got to live another day. His death wasn’t your fault, Yugo, Armand made his choice. There’s no doubt in my mind Amalia will agree with me.”

Even though his father’s words brought some peace to him, Yugo couldn’t help but laugh mirthlessly. “Amalia’s too good for me. Always has been.”

“Even when she was still a bit of spoiled brat?” Alibert couldn’t help but raise an amused eyebrow. Though, a part of him hoped beyond hope the Sadida Queen didn’t hear him. She was a sweet girl, no wonder his boy fell so hard for her, but she was a force to be reckoned with when angry. 

Yugo chuckled. “Yes, even then.” Despite himself, his haunted expression softened, giving way to a lovesick smile and a fond glimmer in his eyes as he talked about his beloved. “She’s amazing. After being crowned queen, her first course of action—besides dealing with the aftermath of the battle, of course— was preparing her kingdom to serve as residence for the Eliatropes as well. She’s been doing everything in her power to ensure we have a place to stay. 

“She’s always saying, ‘You and your people have done more for us than any other kingdom, Yugo; the least I could do is welcome you into our home!’ And she means that.” He chuckled at the memory. “In fact, whenever I try to tell her we’ll find something, she always brings up how her own people already see both races as one. Apparently, the fact that our goddess chose their kingdom to build her shrine, where the Eliasphere is now guarded, is a great honour for them.”

“Sounds to me like she’s ready to butt heads with the other nations just to ensure the Eliatropes and Twelvians can finally coexist.” Alibert noted with a fond smile. 

“Sometimes I fear that’s exactly what she would do.” Yugo sighed, though the smile didn’t leave his face. 

“And much like her brother, she would be making her own choice, Yugo. You’re not strong-arming her into anything. Judging from what you’ve told me, you’re not even her consort yet and she’s already looking for ways to welcome your people—with her people’s full support, might I add.” Alibert pointed out. 

Even as he tried to remain as firm as possible, the furious blush on the Eliatrope’s face caused by being described as Amalia’s ‘consort’ still caused him to lose some authority. “But I don’t want her to have the entirety of the World of Twelve against the Sadida Kingdom!”

“Except they more or less already are.”

Father and son were so engrossed in their conversation, they completely failed to notice the Sadida Queen in question approaching them. Therefore, the sound of her voice intervening in the conversation was so sudden they both almost jumped right out of their skins, never mind they were both grown men who’d been on their fair share of adventures. 

“Amalia!” Yugo exclaimed, looking as flushed as a hormonal teenager caught staring at his crush. How much did she hear?! “W-what are you doing here? I-I thought you wanted to give us some privacy… What about Chibi and Grougal?”

“It was their nap time.” She replied simply. “And I do want to give you some privacy, but I also had the feeling you were beating yourself up about something out of your control and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I-I see…” He answered timidly.

“Also, I’m pretty sure my soup is about done anyway.” The queen shrugged. 

“I see.” He replied flatly. 

“And you would be right, Amalia.” Alibert agreed, amused by the scene. Excusing himself for a moment, he poured the cawwot soup on a plate before taking Yugo’s already served gobball stew and placing both dishes down on the table and in front of his guests. 

With a quick ‘thank you’ sent the Enutrof’s way, Amalia turned her attention back to her boyfriend. “So, what’s that about the World of Twelve turning against the Sadida Kingdom?”

Noticing the serious look on her face and knowing she would not let the matter go until he gave her a satisfying answer, all Yugo could do was admit defeat, his shoulders shagging slightly. 

“I was just telling Dad about your efforts to welcome my people…and how that might cause trouble for you with the rest of the rulers.”

“I see.” Amalia said simply. After taking a spoonful of soup and marvelling at its richness, which baffled the Eliatrope, since it felt as if she couldn’t care less about the topic at hand, she finally continued. “In that case, yeah, I was right. They’re pretty much against us anyway.”

“Amalia!” Yugo screeched, scandalised. Noticing everyone’s eyes on him yet again, he shrank back down on his seat, embarrassed. “How can you say that?! Except for Bonta and Brakmar’s weird rivalry, the Twelve Nations are allies!”

“And we all are. On paper.” She made sure to empathise. “The last thing I want is to go to war against anyone, and as long as it’s possible, I still plan on fostering positive relationships with the other kingdoms—.”

“Then how can you say you’re only allies on paper?”

“I was getting to that.” She flashed him a pointed look, though the smile remained on her face. “The thing is… Well, you saw it yourself! The Council of Twelve is supposed to work together as one, especially in times of crisis. And yet, in recent years, whenever my people needed their help, the only ones willing to come to our aid were the Brotherhood of the Tofu—in other words, my dearest friends— and Master Joris! 

“When the Nécromes attacked, both Armand and I explicitly asked the Osamodas King for help; we asked him to alert the other nations! And what did he do? He neglected to even send some troops of his own to aid the allied kingdom his own daughter was queen of.” Amalia sheethed through gritted teeth, it was clear what happened with the animal taming race was still a sore spot for her. Not like he could ever blame her. “Is it any wonder I say we’re allies only on paper? As much as it pains me to admit it, Armand was right; the other nations just don’t care about the Sadida.”

“Amalia, you know that’s not true.” Yugo tried to console her, to make her see reason before her heartbreak over what happened caused her to do anything she might regret in the future. “Even if it wasn’t the overwhelming support your kingdom rightfully needed, you still got so many people from different races helping you.” He grinned at the cute little pout on her face, knowing he was slowly winning her over. “Remember? You had some Iops by your side—including their god and his current vassal—; your best friend is a Cra who’ll always be in your corner; an old Enutrof thought it was more important to help you than earn a quick kama; then, there’s Master Joris—who, to be honest, I’m not even sure what he is…”

“And I got the one and only Eliatrope King rallying up his army and dragon brother to help us.” Amalia finished for him, looking up at him adoringly but with a mischievous glint that told the Eliatrope King in question he had been had. 

With a soft chuckle, he finally relented. “Yeah, I suppose that too.”

“Do you see now why we Sadidas don’t mind things becoming a little tense between the other kingdoms and us for your people’s sake, Yugo?” She took his hands in hers. What she was about to say was of utmost importance and she wanted him to hang onto her every word. “Even when everyone made it very clear we didn’t want you here, you and your people stayed and helped us in our hour of need when no one else would. We are immensely grateful for that and want to repay you.”

“I know, Amalia, I do. It’s just…” He trailed off, averting his eyes, not trusting himself to speak. 

“It’s just what, Yugo?” She urged him to continue, placing her hand on his cheek to get him to look at her again. 

He sighed. “I just don’t want you suffering the consequences for my sake.” He confessed. 

“It’s not suffering the consequences if I want this. And trust me, I desperately want this. If you ask me, for all intents and purposes, Eliatropes and Sadidas are already one.” The young queen admitted, bringing his hands to her cheeks to feel his warmth. “Besides, if we’re really going to get in trouble for keeping your people near, then all the more reason to do it.”

“What does that even  mean?!” The Eliatrope laughed at her enigmatic choice of words, his heart feeling lighter than it had for weeks. 

“We outcasts must stick together, don’t you think?” She winked at him with a smirk, causing him to laugh even harder. Only this time, the Sadida beauty soon followed in on the laughter. 

Alibert, who had remained quiet while they talked, knowing they needed to get some things out in the open, smiled broadly at the scene. Watching them be this openly affectionate and in love was such a turn of events from when he would catch his then 17-year-old son staring after the Sadida Princess like a lovesick puppy, only to immediately backtrack and deny he harboured any romantic feelings. And now, even if he understood his son’s concerns, he was glad his little flower managed to knock some sense into him. She was right, of course, Eliatrope and Sadida had become one the very day the two lovers first crossed paths. It was only natural they remained together. 

After a few more minutes where he just allowed the couple to flirt shamelessly, as they had probably forgotten he was there in the first place, he finally decided it was about time he reminded them of his presence. 

Clearing his throat, he tried to hide the amused smile creeping on his lips at the way they just seemed to freeze at the same time as their faces turned crimson at his interruption. “While I’m sure you still have much to talk about, as Yugo can attest, I’ve always believed it’s just not right to discuss heavy topics on an empty stomach. So, come on! Dig in! Before your food gets cold!”

Not needing to be told twice, the couple finally dug in with much gusto, the conversation between the three eventually drifting off to much more pleasant and varied topics.

............................................................................................................................

A few hours had passed and Yugo and Amalia were getting ready to go back. There was still much to be done in the Sadida Kingdom, especially in preparation for sharing their living spaces with the Eliatropes. While Amalia was busy saying goodbye to Chibi and Grougal, promising to come back soon, Alibert took the chance to talk some more with his eldest son before he left. 

“So, tell me, my boy.” He began, looping an arm around his suddenly much taller son and not liking one bit how old that made him feel. “Are you still having second thoughts about popping the question?”

Yugo smiled down at his father, his cheeks colouring slightly at the reminder. “I’m doing better. I mean, I suppose I’ll always worry about Amalia and what’s best for her, but at least now I know we’re pivotal in each other’s happiness. I really can’t imagine my life without her.”

Alibert couldn't help but grin. “Is that why you came all the way here, to tell me about your plans to propose?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I at least wanted to let you know you might have to prepare yourself for a wedding.” Although the smile didn’t fall from his face, it became a little strained. “I really wanted to talk to somebody about this, especially since now I can’t even ask King Oakheart for his blessing…” Then, he added, almost as an afterthought. “Thinking back, I’m not even sure Armand would have given me his blessing. I never could figure him out…”

“Please.” The old Enutrof just scoffed, rolling his eyes in amusement. “As if Armand would’ve been able to tame his sister. She’s just as beautiful as she is wild, you know?”

“Believe me, I know.” He nodded with the dopiest, most lovesick smile Alibert had ever seen on a person. He had to stifle a laugh; his pretty flower had him wrapped around her little finger…

“For all it’s worth, she has my blessing.” Alibert joked, smacking his shoulder so hard, Yugo almost toppled over despite his new body mass.

After that, father and son just looked each other in the eye, their gazes reflecting the deep love and care they shared, and closed the distance between them with one big hug. It was so weird, in a way, that despite no longer engulfing the entirety of his son’s body like he used to, he still felt like he had more to hug now. More to love.

He knew it the moment his little piwii was entrusted to him. He would only come to love Yugo more each passing day. 

Now that they were in such close proximity, however, he whispered in his ear. “Whenever you feel ready to talk about what you went through in the Necroworld, son, I’ll be there.”

Instead of saying anything, he just felt Yugo hug him tighter. 

“Well, ready when you are.” Amalia made her presence known, staring at the scene lovingly but with the smallest tinge of sadness for what she would no longer be able to do with her own father. 

“Right.” Yugo said, breaking the hug yet not being able to resist squeezing his father affectionately one last time. “I’ll be back soon to keep you posted, Dad. I promise.”

“You’d better!” Alibert laughed jovially. Then, he turned to Amalia, offering her a kind smile. “Please, take care of him for me, will you, Your Majesty? You know the kind of trouble he tends to get into.” He winked at her conspiratorially. 

Amalia just giggled cutely in response. “Don’t worry, Alibert. You can count on me.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He clapped his hands loudly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t let this old Enutrof keep you for much longer; I’m sure you’re very busy back home. Oh! And tell Adamaï he’d better come visit, too!” He called after them. 

“Will do, Dad!” Yugo replied, waving him goodbye as they made their way out of Emelka. 

As Alibert watched his son and his, hopefully, soon-to-be fiancée walk away hand-in-hand, smiling widely and laughing as they grew smaller against the horizon, the old innkeeper couldn’t help but lay his eyes on Yugo. 

The way he now dwarfed his beloved, albeit only by a head. His broad shoulders. The confidence with which he carried himself now. The sheer power he radiated. The maturity of his decisions. The immense adoration he regarded his girlfriend with. His willingness to finally take the reins of his own life and remain by her side after so long of denying himself that simple wish. 

He saw it all and couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, that old saying was right:

They really did grow up very fast. 

[blackbird-brewster]

Queerminal Minds Fics

I loved seeing this CM Pride Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins ! And since already written pieces are being collected too, I figured I'd make a list of some of my fics that fit these prompts. [Content Warnings are in the fic tags and/or noted in chapter notes for long-fics.]

Fooled Around (and Fell in Love) - Series

Main Ship: JJ/Emily/Tara (Side ships: Spencer/Luke, Derek/Luke, Spencer/Maeve, Tara/Rebecca, JJ & Elle)

Summary: A queer rom-com AU series exploring sexuality, gender, and polyamory. Focusing on Je T'Emily (JJ/Emily/Tara), but also featuring an ensemble of other CM characters. (aka The AU where everyone is gay)

Prompts Filled:

(JJ's) marriage mutually comes to an end when they come out... now what?

(JJ) Coming out is so much harder the second time

Describe (JJ's) first kiss with the same gender

(Penelope) gifts (JJ, Tara, Emily) something colored like their pride flags because “the colors reminded me of you”

(Tara, Emily) buy (JJ) specialty gender affirming lingerie sex toy

(JJ, Elle) fear it’s too late for them to live authentically, and (friends) assure them that’s not true

The couple is looking for gender neutral nicknames (for JJ)

(Elle, JJ) Character is casually referred to with an appropriately gendered nickname for the first time

Why Am I Like This? (Tara/Emily)

Summary: A look at all of Emily's past relationships that led her to believe one undeniable truth, Emily Prentiss was broken. (Or maybe, she's just not as straight as she always thought she was)

Prompts Filled:

Describe (Emily's) first kiss with the same gender

(Emily) fears it’s too late for them to live authentically, and (Tara) assures them that’s not true

“It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.”

Friend Like Me (Tara/Emily)

Summary: Tara and Emily have a routine of going out for a drink and playing wing-person to each other, even though they're both hiding their true feelings for each other.

Prompt Filled:

(Emily) goes to a bar with (Tara) as a wingperson (or maybe they want them, themselves?)

HEATED (Tara/Emily)

Summary: Garcia convinces Tara and Emily to let her throw them a 'bachelorette' party. A queer party bus, copious amounts of tequila, and Rossi's AmEx Black Card -- what could possibly go wrong?

Prompt Filled:

Penelope goes a little overboard on rainbow decorations at (Tara/Emily’s) (Bachelorette Party)

Here is Home (JJ/Tara)

Summary: After her divorce, JJ finds friendship and companionship with Tara, but things become complicated when she realises she's developing romantic feelings as well. How could JJ let herself fall for Tara, when Tara runs from absolutely any and all serious relationships?

Prompts Filled:

Child realizes that not every kid has two moms/two dads and they have a lot of questions about it

“It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.”

Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at? ("She" by Dodie)

Between You & Me (JJ/Tara)

Summary: When JJ comes back to work after maternity leave, Tara takes an interest in her, offering to be her confidant, and the two become fast friends. What neither of them expected was to fall in love in the process.

Prompts Filled:

Describe (JJ's) first kiss with the same gender

(JJ) comes out at the same time they announce their new relationship to the team

[Bisexual JJ] gets irritated when people reduce their sexuality to their current partner

“You're still the person I love. Nothing will change that.”

“It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.”

Quiet Love (JJ/Tara)

Summary: JJ and Tara have been dating for nearly four years and they're perfectly happy with their relationship, but a series of events start to make them question their firm stance about never getting married.

Prompts Filled:

Penelope goes a little overboard on decorations at (JJ/Tara) wedding

Queer characters have a hard time deciding what their child should call them and come up with fun ideas

New Emotion (JJ/Tara)

Summary: With the help of Penelope and Emily, a BAU Girls' Night leads to Tara and JJ realising how they truly feel about each other.

Prompts Filled:

(Emily, Pen) go to a bar with (Tara,JJ) as wingpersons

“Are they… flirting?” “Big time.”

The Disposition of Emily Prentiss (JJ/Emily)

Summary: JJ has a crush on a woman she met at a bar and employs Morgan and Garcia to help her figure out if she stands a chance with the alluring brunette.

Prompts Filled:

(Pen, Derek) go to a bar with (JJ) as wingpersons

“There is no heterosexual explanation for that.”

To Catch an Unsub (JJ/Emily)

Summary: Sparks fly when JJ and Emily go undercover as a couple in order to catch an unsub in a rural Alabama town. Will the simple undercover assignment create something long lasting or was their attraction to each other just part of the ploy?

Prompt Filled:

[Asexual Emily] explores different forms of non-sexual intimacy

Coming out is so much harder the second time

A Series of Unfortunate Events (JJ/Emily)

Summary: A series of unfortunate events (or how the team found out). This is a series of stories which details how each member of the BAU found out about JJ and Emily's relationship.

Prompt Filled:

The team realizes that (JJ/Emily) were more than roommates friends

Other CM Fic Recs and Masterlists below the cut:

Past Friday Fic Recs:  [Friday Fic Recs - Tumblr] || [CM Fic Recs - AO3 Collection]

Rec Lists: [JJ/Emily] || [Tara/Emily] || [CM Femslash]

My Fics: [Jemily] || [Temily] || [Jara] || [Smut] ||  [All]

[back-on-my-bullsh-again]

Some thoughts about kink at Pride....

This past weekend, we took our 1 year old to Pride for the first time. She had a lot of fun. She enjoyed herself. As long as people didn't talk to her, she was okay with all the people. It was when they talked to her that she wasn't sure about everything. She's a shy tot, for sure.

Taking her to Pride for the first time I wasn't sure if my perception of things was going to shift. I've heard from other people that they don't like that there's half dressed people or kink at Pride because there are children there. I wondered if I was going to go there, see someone in a puppy mask and have a desire to shield my child's eyes- like I've heard from other parents.

But honestly, I had the opposite reaction. We saw people in puppy masks and leather that barely covered anything. We saw exposed breasts and exposed asses. People leashed. People wearing tails. We saw vendor tents with leather and kink wear. A vendor tent prosthetics for trans femme and trans masc people. A vendor tent that had crochet dicks and tits. And so many other things I've heard people complain about. But none of it bothered me. There was nothing that I worried about my toddler seeing.

In fact, I was glad that she was able to see all of these people. All of them able to be themselves and live freely and publicly, even if it's just for this event. All over Pride, there were people of various ages and races and life paths. Some of the people there have lived through a time when they weren't safe to be themselves. Some came from regions where it's still more common to see a confederate flag than a rainbow flag. But on Saturday, they were safe to be themselves- whatever that meant to them. And I am so so grateful that I get to show this to her. My kiddo gets to witness the beauty and diversity of our community. She gets to see people who love freely. She gets to watch people stand in the sun, maybe for the first time in their lives, as the person they are.

The one thing about Pride that I wish she didn't have to witness is all of the people falling into the arms of a stranger wearing a "Free Mom/Dad Hug" shirt and sobbing because their own parent wont hug them and say they're proud of them. I wish she didn't have to live in a world where people are still being rejected for who they are. I long for a day where the parents offering free hugs go unhugged. A day where everyone from the puppy masked and leather-clad to the most prim and proper queer is free to be themselves and is accepted as they are. But until then, I'll keep taking her to Pride. I'll keep being glad that she's able to see so many types of people. And I'll keep getting emotional over the love strangers have for each other.

[star-kissed583]

Prideful event | Dark + Yandere

Summary: “ Yandere stood in front of Dark, having puppy dog eyes as she stood holding a hair brush and some hair ties.”

Yandere every year goes to the pride event in the city, usually going with Wilford. But now with Wilford out of state for a while, she’s determined to convince her mom, Dark, to come with her this year.

——————————————————————————————

| 3rd Person POV |

Dark was sitting in his office, simply finishing some files that he had left.

Papers were strewn about on the desk-yet there was a three picture frame sitting on his desk that was protected from the mess.

One of the pictures was of him and Wilford and a little boy, Yandere, that was being cradled in Dark's arms.

The second picture was of Wilford and the little Yan during Christmas time. Wilford was dressed like an elf while Yandere had a Christmas dress on with a Santa hat. Yan had basically begged to get that dress.

The last picture-Yandere had taken the pic. It was of Dark and her out in a park for a picnic. She was already grown as a teenager girl. Both had flower crowns on that Yandere had made.

Dark glanced at the picture frame with a soft smile.

Until suddenly his door was slammed open.

In came a teenage girl running. Her trans colored skirt fluttering softly while her hair was in a loose.

"Mom!!" The girl, Yandere, giggles happily.

Dark sighs and turns to his daughter, "How many times do I have to tell you not to slam my door? What's so urgent?"

"Well, since papa isn't in state right now-he can't go to the pride event happening in the city with me. So can you come with me? Pleeease!!"

Yandere stood in front of Dark, having puppy dog eyes as she stood holding a hair brush and some hair ties.

"I'm sorry princess but I don't think I can. I have a lot to work on-". Dark tried explaining

"You only came to one once! C'mon mom! It will be fun! You'll love it!"

"Princess, I would love to but I have all this work to do" Dark looks at his daughter, seeing her pout.

"Can you at least do my hair??" Yan asked, holding up some hair ties and a brush.

Dark was about to reject again, only to see her puppy dog eyes once more. With a sigh, he nods and stands up. He lets Yan sit on his chair while he grabs the items, "Why don't you call your dad while I do this. A braid correct?"

Yan nods, pulling up Dark's computer and FaceTiming Wilford.

After a couple of rings, Will responded with a bright smile, "Oh my two darlings! How are ya?!"

Dark smiles softly, "Hello Will" he responds as they worked on Dutch braiding Yan's hair-letting Yan speak about her day.

"-And today is the annual pride event in the city!"

"Oh sounds like fun, I'm assuming Dark and you are gonna go together this year!"

"Well...mom says he can't go cause of 'work'!" Yan gave a sad pout as she huffs softly.

Wilford stops doing whatever he was doing and looks at the screen, "Really? Now Darkling, why would you say that! Why not take a break and go out with our girl! You deserve a break"

Yandere turned to look at Dark with pleading eyes, seeing the internal conflict of her mom.

After a bit of thought, Dark sighs and nods, "alright fine...we'll go" he mumbles but smiles at seeing how excited Yandere got.

Wilford chuckles, "Take pictures for me and tell me how it goes. I'll leave you two to get ready" he says, saying goodbye to his daughter and husband before hanging up.

Dark smiles as he shakes his head, "Let me put things away and we can get ready"

Yandere clapped her hands, helping Dark tidy up the desk.

When they both were finally ready to leave, Dark's body had shifted just a little. They fixed the suit they had on, making sure the pins that Yandere gave them showed. It was the gender-fluid flag and a gay flag.

Dark had driven them to the city in their fancy car. It was a struggle to find a parking spot-but finally they did. Along the way to the event, Yandere was in charge of the music. Dark always had an interest to hear what type of music their daughter liked.

Getting out of the car, Dark saw the bright happy smile of Yandere. She grabbed their wrist, happily leading them to the festival.

Entering the event, it was a splash of colors and loud music. It almost convinced them to back out, but seeing how excited Yandere seemed made them stay. Dark let their daughter direct them around, buying her anything she wanted.

A Yelp escaped Dark when suddenly Yandere's arm wrapped around their shoulders, seeing she was holding a camera in front of the two.

"Picture mom! I want to hang this up on my bedroom with my other family pics!"

"Alright, anything ya want hon."

And Dark smiled, allowing the camera to capture the moment.

Even though Dark resisted to come to the event before-they didn't regret joining their daughter to the event. On Dark's desk sat a new picture in a small, rose gold picture frame.

[romanarose]

Lil Bit O'Cream

Santiago Garcia x Fat!Francisco Morales

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist (full of plenty of gay shit)

For week 4 of my Oscar Pedro Pride Event Week 4, Food, Fashion Fun if the theme!

AND

To celbrate my dear friend @beefrobeefcal !!! Happy one year of your blog my pal!!!! I love you so much, thank you for all you do to spreadyt he fat p-boys agenda!

Summery: Frankie doesn't think he deserve extra whipped cream, Santi proves him wrong.

Warnings: Food play, making out, illusions to sex. Body insecurity, Remains 18+ even if we don't get down and dirty!

Hosier referece in there for you sluts.

Devider by @nekokabuuuri

Dinner went well.

It was dessert of straweberries and cream that got Frankie in trouble.

Frankie had noticed that since dating Santiago, he had gained a little weight... And by a litttle, it was a lot. There was so much wasted time, so many years he and Santi missed out of together, they spent the time they had just... Being, having fun. They ate a lot of food... Frankei always knew Santi could cook but damn.

What was frustrating was how Frankie seemed to gain and gain and gain and no matter the chilles rellenos and barracho Santiago ate, he remained the same. Little bit of softness, but overall fit. Frankie was never that fit. In the air force, he always struggled to keeo up with fitness regiments and as soon as he got out he stopped trying too hard. He had to keep a certain level of fitness for a while... but that wained as Santiago's calls for missions did.

Then Colombia happened, and Frankie never wanted to go on another godforsaken mission again, lest he lose Ben, Will or Santi, or leave his daughter without a dad.

Santiago went radio silent for months, no one heard a single word... And then one day, he showed up again at his doorstep, and suddenly lips were on Frankie's before they made it inside the door.

Now, where he was worried about his daughter not having a dad, she had two.

She was away with her mom for the week, leaving Santi and Frankie with some alone time. Alone time Frankie was not that eager to get into. It wasn't that he didn't want Santi. He did, he really fucking did. Sex with Santi was incredible, and it had been a few weeks due to the rush of life... but Frankie was now accutely aware of his weight gain after his last pair of jeans busting a button. He didn't want to take his shirt off to find Santi no longer wanted him.

Dinner was done at the table with a few candles with Our Lady of Guatelupe and Martin De Porres staring at them, housewarming gifts from Frankie's mother to show her support for the couple.

For dessert, Santi sat Frankie down at the couch, put on Breaking Bad, and soon joined him with strawberries and and can of whipped cream. Frankie panicked. He did not need whipped cream right now as his stomach folded over the wasteband of his sweats.

"Um, I'll just take the strawberries, no whipped cream." He requested as Santi's ass bounced as he sat down on their couch.

His partner turned to him, a brow raised. "What? No whipped cream? The strawberrie are just an excuse to eat the whipped cream in the first place."

He was onto him. Frankie resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair; Will had informed him once that this little habit was a tell when he was uncomfortable and/or lying. "Well, you know me. Whiskey neat, coffee black. It's too sweet for me."

Frowning now, Santi set down the bowl, still grasping the tin can of spray cream. "Frank, you slurped down an iced Caramel machiatto in record time today."

"It was sugar free!"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots, then his face softened. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Frankie sighed. "Fine." He slouched in the couch, stomach protruding out. "I just think if I'm gonna eat whipped cream, I should probably earn it."

"Earn it?"

"Yeah, you know, like going for a run or something."

Santi burst into laughter, "A run? Fish, you haven’t run since Lorea's men shot a gun at your ass."

Huffing, Frankie tries to get up as his face flushes, burning at the embaressment of his lover acknowleging his sedentary lifestyle, but Santi's hand catches him.

"Hey, hey now, I'm sorry. That was rude." His voice was sincier, pulling Frankie down to the couch again. Frankie still wouldn't look at him, staring instead at the strawberries on the table while the bad is breaking on the tv in front of him. "Talk to me, baby."

Face on fire, the older man just mumbles. "I got fat."

He expects Santi to deny it, to say no, you havn't you look just the same. That would make him feel worse, the idea that he was fat and sensitive enough he needed to be lied to. But Santi knew that, because Santi knew him. He shrugs.

"I love the way you look. It suits you. I always enjoyed the fact you had meat on you. I honestly feel don't even notice much, it just feels like this is how you were meant to be."

Now the warmth on his skin was a nicer form. "But... I mean, I get that people like dad bods or whatever, but this is beyond that. It's not a beer belly, I'm just fat."

Santi nods. "I know, and I still think you look great like this. But, what I think isn't really important, although I'm happy to boost your spirits and tell you I think you're hot." He punctuated his point with a pat to Frankie's tummy. "The important part, is how do you feel?"

He considers this for a while, thinking earnestly. He doesn't stare at himself in the mirror hating his body. He doesn't find it's hard to do tasks he enjoys, like running around with his little girl or... activities... with Santi. He can still fit comfortably in the pilots seat even if his uniform has gone up... a few times. He doesn't need a seatbelt extender but he doesn't think he'd mind one. He can happily do the things he loves and although he's not exactly admiring his form, he doesn't hate it.

"I feel like... Like I shouldn't like it. I'm fat, Im supossed to want to-"

Santi stopped him by squishing his cheeks. "I didn't ask how you should feel, amor. I asked how you actually feel."

When Santi let go (after squeezing his cheeks enought to make his lips puff out and planting a kiss) Frankie answered. "Neutral, I guess. I don't pay much attention to it but... I'm comfortable."

Santi begins to smile at that. "Bien. And do you want to lose weight? Because I'll help you, I'll diet with you-"

"No!" Frankie responded, all too quickly, eyes wide enough to make Santi laugh. "I... I like how you look. a lot. Especially your ass."

Grinning his shit eating grin, Santi climbed up to straddle Frankie's stomach and lap, whipped cream still in hand. "Good, because I like your ass too, Fish." His voice drops lower, sultry and suggestive. "So, are you gonna let me feed you whipped cream?"

Frankie felt much better, grabbing that ass of Santi's that he loves so much and matching the energy, "I'll feed you some cream"

"Fucking idioto" Santi grumbles before his lips crashed into Frankie's, devouring him in a kiss, licking into his mouth like there was already something to eat. He raised the whiped cream can, taking it to Frank's mouth and spraying it until the white overflowed his mouth, dribbling out the sides and down chin. When he went back to sloppy making out, the impact to his face caused whipped cream to go everywhere, their tongues finding each other in the cloud of white while Santiago ground his hips against the swelling length in his grey sweats. Santi felt Frankie's fat stomach roll against his, running his hands over every bit of flab he could get his hands on.

Santiago absolutly adored how his boyfriend looked, drinking in his body every time he stepped out of the shower, how big he was, how thick fucking everywhere. He loved how, when Frank topped him, he could feel his other half's stomach on his lower back and ass, how he could hear the slap of skin to skin other than from thigh to ass. He loved sucking him off and bobbing up to kiss the low-hanging tummy. He loved hugging him and the way his finger tips barely touched. He loved him so goddamn much.

As soon as Frank's shirt was off, whipped cream was on his chest. Santiago lapped all over him, swirling his tongue around his nipples while palming the erection. He'd never heard Frankie so... Loud. Frank maybe be neutral about his body, may be unaccfected and comfortable now that he was certain that Santiago was more than still attracted...

But as Franks moans grew louder, his cock twitching in Santi's right hand while the left cupped his pudgy face... His goal was to make Frankie love the body he was in.

HAPPY ONE YEAR B DAY BEEF!!! I LOVE YOU!!

Hope you enjoy my gay shit!!!!

Follow @romana-updates to keep up with my works, and follow or check out #OscarPedroPrideEvent2024 here for othercool works! plenty of time to participate if you desire, lots of fun themes!!

Follow my dear @beefrobeefcal for more fat pedro content!!! Her dark frankie is *chefs kiss* (pun intended if you read the story)

Like fat/ chubby frankie? Like dark? come read Room's on Fire !!

Love you all!

[texas-writes]

Right Enough for Me

CW: no outbreak, murder, domestic violence, descriptions of violence (Joel’s the good guy, I promise)

This fic is based off the song Wait in the Truck by HARDY and Lainey Wilson

Joel Miller liked to believe that he was a good man, that he tried his damndest to do the right thing, but as he sat in his truck parked by the bank of the Colorado looking down at the still-warm pistol in his trembling hands he’d wondered if he’d done wrong. In the eyes of the law he had, sure, but morally, truly, was it wrong?

He sighs as he climbs out of his truck and walks into the river until it lapped just below the tops of his work boots. It was eight a.m. on a Tuesday. There were no sunbathers, nobody playing in the water, nobody to see him wind his arm back and hurl the gun into the river. Hopefully the lifeblood of Texas would take his sins far east and spill them into the Gulf.

As Joel made his way to his jobsite he couldn’t seem to keep his mind from running. Part of him wanted to clam up and try to forget what he’d done, but another part wanted to clear his conscience. If he went to a confessional they weren’t allowed to go to the cops, but the penance they’d give wouldn’t absolve him. He could probably confide in Tommy, he was sure to understand, but what if he didn’t? Instead he just sighs and wipes the nervous sweat from his brow and goes to decide today's agenda. Despite it all, despite the horrible, horrible events of the morning, he was still the first one to work with ten fresh boxes of Carpenter’s nails and the crisp receipt to go with them. Maybe things would be okay.

One Month Earlier

A knock at the door raises Joel from the breakfast table, wordlessly ruffling Sarah’s hair as he passes on his way to the door. He swings the door wide and lets a dopey smile spread across his face when he sees you with your usual beer can sized rollers still in your hair. He takes notice of the split in your perfectly lined lips.

You weren’t prideful, but he knew you’d be humiliated if he mentioned it. He’d been there before, after all.

“Mornin’ Darlin’,” he greets, waving for you to come in. “We’ve still got plenty if you’re hungry,” he offers, gesturing to the dining room table where Sarah was strategically drizzling syrup onto a sausage link.

“Nah, I’m alright. Already ate with JP. I’ll take some coffee if you’ve got it though”

“Alright then.”

You give him a smile and join Sarah at the table while Joel fixes your coffee just how you liked it, sliding it in front of you before disappearing upstairs.

“Y/n,” Sarah questions, looking up from her plate.

“Yeah kiddo?”

“How’d you meet my dad again?”

“I grew up down the street, but we met ‘cause of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You was real little when I started watching you, ‘bout three I think. Your dad needed someone to watch you and I’ve been your babysitter ever since.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

She grins in response. “Seven years. That’s a long time. Why don’t you marry my dad, he really likes you, plus you’re basically my mom already.”

You cover your mouth in a feeble attempt to not spew coffee all over the naive girl in front of you.

“Honey, you know I can’t. I’m married to JP. He’s a good man.”

Her eyes narrow. “If he’s so great how come I’ve never met ‘em”

“He don’t like rugrats. You done eating?”

“Oh I see how it is, and yes. Can I go watch TV?”

“Go brush your teeth and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

You can’t help but smile as Sarah slides out of her seat and runs upstairs. It was almost seven and you knew she didn’t want to miss the newest episode of Inuyasha. You get up and scrape what's left of her plate into the trash and put it into the dishwasher, smiling to yourself when you hear Joel jogging down the steps in his heavy boots.

“Alright Darlin’, I’m outta here,” he calls, punctuated by the jingling of his keys as he pulls them from their designated hook. “You got her?”

“Always do Joel,” you respond, giving him a lazy grin as you head into the bathroom to finish your hair.

Sarah knocks on the door and you let her in, telling her she can watch TV as long as it isn’t too loud and she already has her backpack together. She thanks you and scampers off, leaving the door open behind her, which was probably for the better since your hairspray was starting to choke you.

After you get Sarah off to school you head to work for another exciting day of taking phone calls and sharpening pencils, then using said pencils to record notes of said phone calls and then do it all over again the next time the phone rang.

Dale had come in again, bug-eyed and skittish as usual, trying his damndest to chat you up despite your obvious disinterest, pressing about how things were with you and JP, if he’d want to have beers with him after work sometime, how your tomatoes were, and on and on. Finally you’d gotten him to get to what he was there for, which was getting his truck's registration update put on file, and you’d promptly shooed him out after everything was squared away.

You’d finally gotten off and picked Sarah up from school, cracking open one of Joel’s High Lifes and propping your bare feet up on the coffee table to watch General Hospital while Sarah worked on her homework. Time crawled on and Sarah finished up and went outside to play on her tire swing before coming in and laying on the floor beside you with her copy of Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret, that you had gotten her last month. You figured you'd stop and get her Starring: Sally J Freedman as Herself next. It was always your favorite.

Around five fifteen you had called JP and let him know that you were going to be late getting home since there was no sign of Joel and he still hadn’t called. He’d gotten upset, so you just told him you loved him real sweetly and hung up and started dinner for Sarah.

Finally Joel got home around six and thanked you for staying late.

When you’d gotten home JP was furious, backing you into a corner and shouting into your face, calling you every name under the sun for God knows how long before he got bored and went back to the couch, demanding dinner and a beer.

JP had been a decent man for so long, you dated throughout highschool, parted ways, reconnected and got married at twenty-four. Things had been falling apart the last couple months and it had you looking for an out, hell you had the divorce papers shoved in your trunk under the spare tire, you were just too scared to tell him what you wanted, scared he wouldn’t let you leave, on the sunny side of a black bag at least. He got in your face like that for some reason or another at least three nights a week, and he'd busted your lip the night before over dinner being late. You knew it was too late to fix whatever you two used to have.

Things cooled off after that for about a week, then he came home drunker than a skunk and when you’d gone to get the mail the next morning you’d noticed a giant dent in his back bumper and that the front of his truck was barely an inch from the side of the trailer. You’d quietly made breakfast and went and woke JP when it was ready. He’d staggered his way into the kitchen and flopped into one of the chairs at the table.

“JP did you back into something last night?”

“What does it matter, woman?”

“You ain’t supposed to drive like that, you could’a hurt somebody, you could’a gotten hurt.”

“Last I checked this was a free country.”

“Last I checked, it's illegal to drive drunk.”

“Its only two miles back from Wyld’s”

“You almost drove through the damn house, JP.”

He’d risen sharply from his chair and come around the table, following you as you’d backed away from him. “C’mere, don’t act all scared now,” he growled, catching you by the arm and spinning you to face him and landing a heavy slap across your cheek. His breath still reeked of booze, and the look in his eyes told you that he was still extremely drunk, and that was probably what was keeping him from winding back on you. He was almost never drunk when he’d hit you.

“Teach you to fucking get smart with me again, bitch.”

It had only gotten worse from there, angry red marks became black eyes and hand-shaped bruises around your elbow that you’d so masterfully covered with more makeup than a Rodeo Queen, blotting your eyes when they’d water, and wearing those big sunglasses of yours as much as possible.

Joel had invited you and JP to a cookout at his place later that week and you’d both gone. JP played nice with the Millers and their friends until Tommy jokingly referred to you as ‘Sara’s new mama’ and then he’d dragged you inside, growling accusations under his breath at you while you tried your damndest to tell him that Tommy was just poking fun because you’re always looking after her. You open your mouth to tell him he didn’t mean nothing by it, but before you can speak he’s grabbed you by a fistfull of Texas-sized curls and you don’t have time to put your hands out before your face collides with the cold tile of the kitchen counter.

JP turns you loose and you stagger back a couple of steps, resting against the fridge to steady yourself as your vision swims, tinnitus setting in louder than it's ever been, and you’re vaguely aware of the warm ooze crawling down your top lip.

Finally your vision steadies some and you see that JP is gone. You wipe your nose on the back of your hand and feel around for fractures while you look around slowly, trying to remember where you are when you see Joel standing at the foot of the stairs

“How long’s he been doin’ that to you,” Joel questions, taking your clean hand and leading you into the bathroom, easing you to sit on the lid of the toilet and closing the door.

“It keeps bleeding,” you murmur, complying when Joel puts a wad of toilet paper in your hand and brings it to your nose, gently urging you to look down.

“You need to go to the hospital,” he informs you, steadying your chin and inspecting your eyes.

“I’m okay.”

“He slammed your face into the counter.”

“You seen that?”

“I heard it. You still bleeding?”

“No.”

“I’m gonna go get you some ice, just try to stay awake.”

“‘M’kay.”

He returns with a rag full of ice and gently presses it to your forehead in a couple places before focusing on your nose.

“I love you Joel,” you slur, finally giving into your heavy eyelids.

“No. No, hey. Look at me.” He taps at your cheek, sighing with relief when your eyes weakly flutter open again.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m calling nine-one-one,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

Your hand flies out and grasps his wrist as harshly as you can manage, making your head throb. “No, mhmh, can’t. He’ll kill me if he knows anyone knows.”

“Then we’ll just tell everyone you slipped and hit your face on this sink here, how’s that?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Listen I can keep him away from you, but you’re goin’ to the hospital and that’s that.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

You don’t remember much of what happened after that, but JP never found out that Joel knew, and Joel was pissed when you’d left the hospital and had him take you back to that trailer instead of letting him take you down to your parents in San Antonio like he wanted to.

“Honey, please let me take you to your mama.”

“Joel…”

“He didn’t even bother to come get you.”

“I gotta be strategic about this. He’s crazy. He’s got boys in Galveston that make it snow all over the state with guns you can’t buy.”

“Fuck, Jesus, fuck. Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“I’ll think about it for you.”

Current Day

JP hadn’t put his hands on you in the week you’d been out of the hospital, which was likely because the bill you’d been sent home with was more than hefty. Life was so close to back to normal, sending him off to work and looking after Sarah, who believed the sink story that Joel had made up for you.

Joel.

You’d finally said it that day, what you’d been feeling all those years but too scared to say, words that could have saved you all this trouble if you’d just said them sooner, sitting there in his bathroom thinking every word out of your mouth would be your last, you’d told him. You hoped he felt the same, but maybe he just thought it was delirium.

You’d decided to go home for lunch today since you’d forgotten to pack one and your deli meat was about to expire. When you pull into your driveway you’re surprised to see JP’s truck sitting there in the driveway. A dread bubbles up in your belly, but you steel yourself and climb the stairs to your door.

It’s unlocked. Weird.

You go inside and go straight to the fridge, pulling the meat, cheese and mayonnaise out, spinning around and closing it with your hip. As you look up your hands jerk, leaving everything you were holding to the mercy of gravity as you let out a scream. Your right hand reaches out, finding the wall to steady yourself, tapping around, seeking the phone before finding it and pulling it from the hook and calling the cops.

You explain the situation to the operator as best you can, periodically looking over your shoulder to make sure that you’re not just seeing things, but every time you look, JP’s still laying in the bedroom floor, his eyes wide and glassed over, staring directly at you, blood seeping into the creme colored carpet and flowing with the bow of the floor onto the dark linoleum of the hallway.

Finally the cops show up and start their investigation while one officer pulls you outside for questioning. After the investigators have all they need from the body, the coroner shows up and carts JP off.

They told you you couldn’t be there while they continued so you went back to work. You told your boss why you were late getting back and he told you to take the rest of the day, but you couldn’t go home, so you went to Joel’s.

You spend the rest of the time before you have to go get Sarah thinking about a lot of things. Finally your mind settles and you realize that no matter what, he can’t hurt you again and that’s good enough for you.

When Joel gets home you already have dinner made and Sarah’s finishing up setting the table. You can tell by the look of him that there’s some weight on his shoulders, but you can’t place why. You’d surely know before the end of the day. Joel was never one to keep things from you.

He thanks you and asks if you’re staying. You nod and take a seat, gesturing for him and Sarah to fix their plates first. After your own plate is settled, you reach out your hands.

“I think we should pray.”

Joel gives you a funny look but still takes your hand and bows his head. You can feel him knock his foot into Sarah’s and she takes your hand too.

You pray silently and signal your finish with an audible “Amen,” which the Miller’s echo.

“What’s got you feelin’ Grace again, Darlin’,” Joel questions, raising another forkful of meatloaf to his mouth as he speaks.

“Mysterious favors, I reckon.”

He shrugs and tries to give you a smile despite his concerned expression.

“Fair enough.”

After dinner is put away and Sarah’s been tucked in by the both of you, it’s just you and Joel downstairs, sitting at the dining room table in awkward silence, looking up at each other when you can’t stand the silence anymore.

“Joel,” you question, meeting his eyes with your own. They’re darker than usual and the lines around his eyes seem much deeper than they did the day before.

“Yes, Darlin’?”

“JP’s dead. I went home for lunch and…found him.”

“I’m sorry that you saw that. That’s God-awful.”

Something you’ve never felt bubbles up inside you, heavy, sore and unknown, not fear, not anger, but something dangerously toeing the line between them and something positive. There was nothing God-awful about finding someone who had died naturally, sad maybe, but not horrible. God-awful was ruined carpet and a gray splatter across the side of the dresser. Joel knew what you had seen.

It was always Joel, no matter what problem you had, he would take care of it.

“Joel?”

“Yes?”

You drop your voice to a whisper, scared that someone will hear, despite being in his home, terrified that he’d lose it all over you. “Did you do it?”

He drops his gaze from yours. “Did I do the right thing?”

“It’d been me if you didn’t.”

“That’s right enough for me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as they finally meet his gaze again. “I’ll protect you too.”

His eyes fall shut and he sighs, dropping his shoulders.

“No matter what I know you got Sarah.”

“I won’t have to. What’d you do with it? Was it yours?”

“It’s on its way to the Gulf, and no, dug it up on a site last year. Never did know why I kept it. Reckon I’m glad I did though.”

You take his rough hand in yours and squeeze, giving him a soft smile as you get up from the table. He follows without hesitation.

“Joel, I gotta get going.”

“You ain’t scared of me, are you,” he questions, his expression pained, his eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’d never be scared of you, no matter what you do. That day in the bathroom, that wasn’t the concussion talking. I meant what I said.”

Joel’s breath catches and his hand tightens around yours, lifting your arm even with your shoulder. Your fingers stiffen instinctively, and then relax as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and then lets go.

You start making your way to the door and like always, he follows, opening the door for you and leaning on it. His face lacks its usual crooked smile, it’s somber as you step out onto the porch and turn to face him.

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

“Will you pray for me?”

“I’d do anything you asked me to.”

“Be safe gettin’ home, okay?”

“Always do” you call, making your way down the walkway to your car, noticing how Joel watches from the door as you duck in, only closing the door when you start backing out of the driveway.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Hiiii!!! How're you doing? Good I hope!! ahh I'm seeing these amazing reblogs on your page and with College and my F1 brainrot I haven't been able to read Irondad fics 😭😭😭 is it okay if I ask you to give me some recommendations? preferable whump or sickfics (with fluff, lots of fluff) 👉🏼👈🏼 or like which fics did you enjoy the most this year/past 6 months 💙💙💙🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sorry for the delay in answering! I just needed to find the right time to really sit down and make a *good* list. Haha. Here is a list of what I've read recently and enjoyed a lot. Some of it fits better into your criteria than others, and some of them are still in progress, but here's the list! Don't forget to kudos and comment!!

[fic list with links below the cut!]

Paradigm shift by Bergen (T) In Progress (I love where this one is going! Lot's of fun surprises)

Peter got a Stark phone when he was ten. Adrian took him to a big store with lots of TV screens that all played the same video of Tony Stark declaring to the world that he was Iron Man. They ducked behind the microwaves, both of them giggling as Adrian stuffed the phone under Peter’s sweater.

They walked right out the door without tripping the alarm, and Adrian bought him ice cream to celebrate

After his parents die, Peter is taken in by the Toomes’ family. Things slowly, then quickly spiral out of control. All Adrian wants is to take revenge on Tony Stark. All Peter wants is to do the right thing. Why is that so much harder than expected?

Spaghetti and Red Wine by arthropodwithapen (M) In Progress (Lots of good whump moments but also some fluff and angst!)

After Peter's precarious position goes from bad to worse time and time again, he is left all alone with nothing but his anger and resentment at the world to keep him company. He wonders how much more he can take and whether the growing grudge between him and the Avengers will be enough to finish him off for good. Will he be able to complete his mission in time? Does he even want to anymore?

Of course. He is Spider-Man and he has a job to do. And he'll do it even if it kills him. For everyone else's sake.

Strands in the Rope series by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara (T) Complete (this whole series and its follow-up are super great. Lots of angst, misunderstandings, and of course, a whole ton of fluff)

A collection of insights starting after the events of Homecoming, mostly from Tony's perspective. The relationship that Tony and Peter had built by the time Infinity War happened (or not - I'm not a big fan) wasn't built on any big world-ending events, but on countless lab sessions, movie nights, smaller emergencies, and conversations. All of these combined to form a bond between them just as strong as blood ties, and just as unbreakable. I feel like we missed out on all that on-screen, so I can never read enough stories that would maybe cover that period. There is a follow-up series called, Unbroken Strands.

Please, Help Me by Muikelle (Not Rated) In Progress (So. Much. Whump.)

Mj watched as they pride apart the car. Her car. The only car she had, the one Tony had gifted her as a graduation gift. The car she and Peter first- well. Anyways. Then Peter was being moved out of it, and slow motion had taken over once more. She was standing to go get to him, he needed her. She needed him. But a man stopped her, told her to sit down, or something of the likes. She was pissed off when they closed the ambulance door and finally took off with her inside, she didn't need to be in there, she needed to be with Peter.

Or Mj and Peter get into a car crash when coming home from spring break.

Iron Dad: Coming Home by JAWorley (T) Complete (I just started reading this but so far it's really great!)

Cold, tired, hungry, and homeless, 14 year old Peter Parker gets taken in by Adrian Toomes and his crew. Mr. Toomes is a great guy who teaches Peter how to survive on the streets, and Peter loves him for it, despite that Mr. Toomes hates Peter’s hero Iron Man and says Tony Stark is out to line his own pockets by stepping on the little guy. When Iron Man appears one day and presents Spider Man with an opportunity too good to pass up, Peter finds himself having to make up his mind about what ‘helping the little guy’ really means. Peter also begins to find out some ugly truths about the things Adrian Toomes and his crew are making, and has to decide if the safety Toomes offers is worth throwing Spider Man’s mission and morals out the window. Can he find that same safety with Mr. Stark? So much of Peter’s future hangs in the balance and depends on the choices he makes. An anti-hero and an anti-villain are just one step over the same line in a different direction.

Double-sided Coin by kingdomfaraway @asyouleft (G) Complete (I have never read anything like this before and it was so so good!)

The Iron Man rarely had assignments that weren’t direct kill orders.

Usually he was given a weapon and a target, with the strict instructions of leaving no one alive, target and witness alike. They didn’t expect him to make too much conversation, to integrate himself into the person’s life, to find a way to gain the target’s trust. He was not a spy. He was a machine made to kill, to take down threats to HYDRA, and to preserve the Greater Good.

When the assignment came from high up to kidnap, not kill, a young boy, Peter Parker, he was a little baffled.

(or How to Make a Deadly Assassin Adopt You: A HYDRA!Tony fic)

How to Get Banned from Monaco (again) by niniblack @niniblack (T) Complete (This is so funny and so perfectly in character. I love it.)

Tony texts Rhodey before they leave for Monaco:

two rules for this trip

don’t let Peter out of your sight

don’t let him do anything Pepper would get mad about

Rhodey: that second one doesn’t leave many options

will you make me a lot of pancakes (when we meet again?) by Peng_Peng (G) Complete (This is some great Ironfam whump, right here!)

Five times hurting you + Five times receiving your kindness.

Peter knew from the first time they met that the kid wasn't going to like him. But Peter could do that. She was his first and only sister after all.

A New Point of View by waitingondaisies (T) Complete (This one is si so fun with lots of funny and serious moments. It's a good balance)

Peter rushes out of school to join Tony in fighting the aliens that appear over New York, leaving behind the problems that plague his life.

He ends up leaving them behind for far longer than expected when an alien substance causes him to swap bodies with Tony. They agree to live each other’s lives to keep the mishap under wraps, giving each of them an up-close and personal view of the other’s hidden problems.

Peter will come to learn that Tony’s life isn’t as glamorous as it appears, and Tony will come face to face with all of the things that Peter never told him about: bullies, unfair teachers, and economic struggles.

Saving the World Does Not a Hero Make by Azure_K_Mello (M) Complete (This isn't an Irondad fic so much as it's an older MCU/X-Men Crossover but I read it again recently because I love it so much)

Years ago, Tony Stark created a brutal weapon. Even when he was the Merchant of Death, he couldn’t bring himself to put it on the market. But, when S.H.I.E.L.D. learned of its existence, they wanted it. Deciding Spider-Man was the weakest link in Iron Man’s armor, Captain America, Black Widow and Falcon were sent to apprehend him — hoping he either knew where the weapon was or that they could trade him to Tony for it.

But, apprehending a fifteen-year-old is more correctly be termed as kidnapping. And what S.H.I.E.L.D. called interrogation was, in actuality, torture. And, when push came to shove, Peter had to save himself when no one else was going to help.

And my shameless self-promotion...

Threenager by happyaspie (G) Incomplete

While on patrol, Peter is struck by a spell that turns him into a toddler. Or mostly into a toddler. His memories, intellect, and experiences are still intact. Unfortunately, that makes being trapped in a toddler's body, with a toddler's motor skills that much harder. His legs are too short, and his fingers are too uncooperative. He can’t ride in the car without a super claustrophobic car seat. He can’t even wash his hands without help and it's all very frustrating. Between the teasing, Tony does his absolute best to help.

I could add so much more to this list, but I think I'll stop here. Haha. As far as sickfics go, @sicktember is coming up soon and I know *I* will have plenty to add to the genera during that event!! So be on the lookout for that, my friend! And Thank you so much for asking me to compile this list!!