#so its comforting to see that and see them find other ways

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

[loveemagicpeace]

Astrology Notes🎨

Capricorn rising- You don't like to show your emotions in front of other people. You don't like to feel vulnerable or weak. You hate it when others don't respect you. You try to help others but you don't like to feel like you don't get it back. You don't give second chances.

Having Moon in water sign means that you will feel best emotionally near the sea. You won't feel good in an area where there are too many people or things.

Cancer & Capricorn are actually quite similar. It's just that Cancer shows emotions outwardly and likes to show care for someone and is very loyal when they love someone. Capricorns show how much they love someone through actions, and in reality, they are very emotional, they just don't show it.

Moon in Gemini- They often express their emotions through words and often change their opinions and feelings.

Sun in 9th house you will find your path through spirituality, faith. Through things that are unseen and may not be so obvious at first, but their significance becomes apparent over time. Your personality grows through learning. Travel can be a big part of your life and bring you a lot of meaning.

Mars in 12th house- You have many more talents than you think and you may be hiding magic within yourself. People may not notice your energy right away, but they will feel it.

The 7th house is the house of things that are the hardest to achieve and we can have the biggest battle with.

Jupiter in your house can show you the way and a new way of believing when you lose hope. If a person has bad aspects with Jupiter, they can become very pessimistic and lose the will to live, which can often lead to suicide. This is often the reason why things like this happen. Because Jupiter is the planet that gives belief, will, meaning. And when it is badly aspected, it is harder for a person to find that because they can go through more difficult things to achieve it.

It is not Saturn that makes your life difficult, because it is a planet that is very direct with its actions and moves. Saturn does not hide but shows. When you see the lesson, you can quickly find what you are looking for. Saturn just helps you find something in a faster way.

Many times Neptune can be the one that makes things difficult for you in life. Because it is the planet of illusion, dreams, fantasy, escape. Neptune gives you the opportunity to escape and gives you the feeling of seeing through rose-colored glasses and when you think that what you have is reality, it can turn out that it was all a lie. That's why people who have a lot of Neptune energy have a harder time seeing the truth.

Its not when planets falls into someone's 7th house. You can have a good 7th house synastry with someone, but the relationship will not develop into something potential. Because the planets make a good relationship and a good feeling that you share with that person, it is not necessary that you see them as very potential.

But when someone embody the energy of your 7th house for ex.: you have 7th house in aries and the other person has a lot of 1st house, aries energy or mars energy. You will find more in common with this person and you will be more attracted to the person. You may not feel comfortable at first because the 7th house is the opposite of who you are, but the person will give you exactly what you need.

The Sun in the chart represents that person and his/her individuality. The Sun sign is that person for the rest of his/her life. The original Sun sign remains throughout life, but it is rounded, expanded, developed and changed as the Sun sign progresses. In whatever house the Sun is, this shows where that person shines best. The house in which the Sun is, shows in which area of life he/she must express himself/herself.

If the Moon at birth is caught between two evil spirits, no matter how far apart they are, this indicates that the person is going from one difficult change to another. This means that one should be very careful with changes, whether psychological, geographical or otherwise. If the moon is in conjunction with Saturn, the person will often feel lonely in the family and often emotionally abandoned. These people have trouble trusting and accepting someone into their lives.

Meanings related to the moon: shell, water, stream, bathing, foam, hotel, home, cauliflower, cheese, milk, salad, lily, liquid, queen, seabirds, sleep, sailor, cancer, evening, harbor, etc.

Meanings related to the saturn: age, responsibility, maturity, envy, cold, clock, calendar, earthly, fear, firm, farmer, disaster, depression, hunger, resentment, devotion to fate, worried, annoyed, ice, hatred, monument, past, mortgage, fainting, guardian, obesity, snow, skin, teeth, oath, yesterday, ancient times, etc.

The symbolic psychological meanings of Uranus, if positive in sign, house, or aspect, include progress, platonic love, intuition, magnetism, impersonality, love of freedom, scientific, ingenious, independent, insubordinate, inventive, reformed, restless, impulsive, altruistic, special, exciting, talented, metaphysical, clairvoyance, and premonition

Neptune has a lot to do with mysterious states, hidden natures, secret matters, detective work, research work, and anything related to the seas and spiritualism. Neptune, who is the symbolic ruler of the twelfth house of limitation, also rules hospitals. It is said to rule the film industry and the entire realm of metaphysical existence.

Neptune is one of the most recently discovered planets and many astrologers see in it a subtle nature similar to music. Therefore, Neptune brings feelings of idealism, spirituality, artistic and musical talents, which is similar to the planet Venus. Neptune and Venus are similar in that they can both be idealistic in love and go with the flow

The dominant planet says a lot about what characteristics a person carries within themselves. The energy that people usually express and emit naturally often comes from the dominant planet.

Rebekah🎨🌙💕

[igorluvr]

req for thanos x shy reader who wears glasses?

'SHRINKING VIOLET

PAIRING: choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

SYPNOSIS: you and thanos had been inseparable since middle school, watching eachother grow into adulthood. you'd been with eachother through good and bad, so what would happen if the both of you suddenly caught feeling for one another?

CONTENT: non-squid game au, childhood best friends awww, kinda corny, lots nn lots of fluff

AUTHORS NOTE: omg i loved writing this!! its super short bcs i wanted to hurry up nn publish your request but i hope u like ittt

[words: 717]

THE first day of school was always a nightmare, and being in a new city made it worse. You missed your old school, teachers, friends, and the comfort of familiar routines. Eighth grade was especially tough, as everyone else already had their friend groups established, causing you to feel like an outsider.

For the first few months, you floated around like a ghost, trying to avoid the rude kids. You went to a particularly large school, so your bus stop had at least 10-15 other people waiting there. Unfortunately, they were all the wrong types: smokers, gossipers, egotistical athletes—the worst of the worst. Already having a bad day, you decided to put in your headphones to tune them out.

Suddenly, someone slammed roughly into your back, sending you crashing face-first into the concrete. “Oh shit!” a voice shouted behind you.

Quickly, you gathered your belongings, but it was difficult. “Shit sorry, I tried to yell. Are these yours?” an older boy said, picking up a colorful skateboard. You noticed him presenting your glasses in his hand. With a small nod, you took them from him, but they were now crooked, making you groan.

“You okay? You went down pretty hard,” he asked, worry in his voice. “Mhm, sorry,” you replied quietly, not wanting to embarrass yourself any more.

His head tilted as he looked at you. “Aren’t you in my science class?” he questioned. You stared at him, confused. You weren't too good with remembering faces. “I’m Su-bong, Choi Su-bong. I sit next to the teacher?”

Now you remembered him—the boy who wouldn’t stop making pencil-beats on the desk during class, causing the teacher to move his seat up front by hers. He had a bright smile and a confident demeanor, one of the more outspoken kids. Embarrassed, you mumbled a quick 'sorry', wishing to disappear.

“Don’t be sorry! I recognized you. You’re the new kid, right?” he said with a chuckle, making you shrink further into your shell.

You expected him to laugh at your quietness, but instead, he leaned against the bus stop, looking genuinely interested. “Since you're new, let me be your first friend. I promise it'll be worth it,” he offered, a playful grin on his face.

Your first instinct was to walk away, to assume his friendliness was just an act or a joke. But he spoke with a sincerity that made you want to believe him. “Why do you want to be my friend?” you asked, hesitant and stuttering over your words.

“Because you seem cool,” he replied nonchalantly. “I hate seeing people alone at school, it makes me feel bad. C'mon, I can show you the best spots in the cafeteria, which teachers to watch out for. It'll be fun!”

Stuck between anxiety and hope, you struggled to find the right words. His enthusiasm chipped away at your walls, and the idea of friendship began to settle in your mind. “Okay,” you said shyly, feeling a mix of excitement and fear.

From that point on, you two were inseparable. From that first day you became friends all the way to graduation, you never left each other's side. You experienced everything together, helping him build his rap career as 'Thanos', going to your first party together, smoking together, even going to prom as each other's dates. It wasn't until your adult life that you started confusing your feelings for him.

Su-bong had always been good-looking; you couldn't deny that, but you never saw him like that. You loved him in a completely platonic way, or so you thought. It seemed as if your feelings for him had hit like a bus.

It was completely out of nowhere—a random Tuesday afternoon. The both of you were hanging out by an abandoned building, a place you visited regularly. Going to random places and smoking together had become a routine for both of you, but this time was different.

The way the golden light from the sunset hit his face just the right way, the deepness of his voice, the way your hands grazed slightly as you passed the blunt to each other—it did something to you. You couldn’t shake the feeling. It was like a revelation, constantly revealing desires and emotions you had long buried.

Of course, though, you’d never dare to bring it up. I mean, come on, all the years you’d been friends, what were the chances of you both randomly catching feelings at the same time? Every time he laughed or nudged you, it was a reminder of the line you couldn't cross. So, you kept your feelings hidden to protect your heart and cherished friendship.

After getting as high as the both of you could handle, you decided to go back home. As you got into the passenger seat of his car, the air was thick with unspoken words. The soft glow of the sky above illuminated his sharp features, and you studied every part as if he were on display at an art gallery. You could feel his boldness radiating, but he also sensed your shyness. As you fidgeted with your glasses, he smirked and broke the silence.

“Hey, you know,” he said, leaning back in his seat hazily, “those glasses of yours? They’re kinda cute.” There was a teasing tone in his voice that made your cheeks heat up and you looked away, trying to hide your smile.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, heart racing. Thanos chuckled softly, his mood shifting slightly as he took a deep breath. “Look, I gotta be real with you for a sec. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately… and honestly, I’ve been feelin’ more than just friends. Like, a lot more.”

Your heart stopped. Could this be it? “What do you mean?” you asked, curiosity overpowering your surprise. Something changed in you for sure, but did he actually feel the same way?

“I mean c’mon, we hang out all the time, I just can’t ignore it anymore. I really care about you. You’re my best friend and all, but I want more than that.” Thanos admitted, a smirk creeping on his face. That smile truly sent your heart in a whirlwind.

A million thoughts raced through your mind. The air in the car felt condensed, and you found your voice trembling just a bit. “Y-you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in a little closer, his strong gaze locked on yours. “I’m serious. And I hope you feel the same.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “I do. I really do,” you said, in disbelief of this entire situation. Maybe it was the weed getting to your heads, but this moment felt truly euphoric.

Before you could say another word, Thanos leaned in closely, lips brushing softly against yours. The moment your lips connected, everything around you faded; nothing outside of that car existed anymore.

The feeling was electric, sending waves of warmth through your body. All other thoughts left your mind, and you felt dizzy with the feeling of his soft mouth moving against yours. You were overly aware of everything—the way your heart raced, how his hand felt on your cheek, and the happiness bubbling in your chest.

When he pulled away, both of you were breathless, smiling at each other with surprise. The doubt that you felt faded into the background, replaced with an undeniable joy. His eyes sparkled with the same wonder and mischief that had always drawn you to him. You both smiled, the tension evaporating as laughter bubbled up from within.

“Wow,” he said, still grinning. “That was… nice.” You giggled at his loss of words. You'd never seen Thanos so nervous. “Yeah, nice,” you echoed, heart still racing.

With a sparkle in his eye, he took your hand, intertwining your fingers. Slowly, he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. The sweet gesture left you speechless, heart thumping wildly as you stared into his eyes.

“Now that feels nice, too,” he said softly, gaze locked on yours as he held your hand to his heart. “Guess that’s a proper confession, huh?”

You laughed, feeling light as air. “Definitely," you responded, voice slightly shaky due to the immense amount of happiness running through your veins.

The sweetness of the moment wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You felt shy and flustered, but also excited—excited for what was to come. His eyes held all the hope you could dream of, and in that moment, you knew you were ready for this new step with him. As you exchanged smiles, it hit you that this was just the start.

You couldn’t wait to see where this new chapter in your relationship would lead you both. Wherever it may be, you were ready to face it side by side, you two against the world. In that perfect instant of the moment, everything felt infinite.

And as the warmth of the moment surrounded you both, the sun lowered beyond the horizon, painting the sky with vibrant hues of orange and purple—a promising picture for your future. You both shared a knowing look, laughter lingering in the air as you realized that you were embarking on not just a journey of love, but an adventure of life that you were both willing to embrace with open arms.

[mapiforpresident]

Hi, Can i request a songfic? with the lyrics from „i cant help falling in love with you“ with R having to pick up drunk Leah or drunk Alexia (or Mapi choose whoever you want) from a party with their teammates and Alexia/Leah or Mapi tells R just how much she loves her in front of her teammates? And later a bit suggestive maybe? If its ok ofc. Love ur fics btw. Have a good day, evening or whatever

I Can't Help Falling in Love with You

Leah x reader

warnings: alcohol

~~~

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this situation. The party had started innocently enough, a celebration with Leah and her teammates after a long and hard-fought match. Everyone was letting loose and enjoying themselves. But somewhere between dancing to terrible pop songs and having a few drinks, things went from fun to... chaotic.

When you received the call, you didn’t expect to hear Leah’s slurred voice on the other end.

“Heyyyy, babe…” Leah hiccuped, the background noise loud with laughter and music. “I... hic I think I need your help.”

You frowned, looking around your living room where you had just gotten comfortable after a long day. “What’s going on, Le? You okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m… I’m fine, but, um, I can’t find the hic keys to the Uber… and I need to get home…” She paused, and you could hear her giggle faintly. “Also, I might have had a few too many drinks and... I might be in love with you… just, you know, casually telling you now. In case you didn’t know. I really love you.”

You smiled softly at her words, but you couldn’t help the concerned feeling rising in your chest. “Leah, where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“Right here! At the party… with my teammates… just… hic come and get me, yeah? I hic miss you…” Her voice was soft, almost tender, and you could hear the affection in it.

With a sigh, you grabbed your jacket and your keys. “Stay put, I’m on my way.”

When you pulled up to the party venue after looking at Leah's find my iphone, it was clear that Leah wasn’t the only one who had overdone it. The place was loud and filled with Leah's teammates, most of them either dancing, laughing, or finding their own corners to relax. You spotted Alessia first, sitting with Kyra and Vic at a table with drinks in hand.

But you didn’t see Leah.

Your heart skipped a beat as you walked toward them, trying to keep your cool. “Hey, have you seen Leah?” you asked, voice steady.

Alessia looked up at you with a half-smile, eyes slightly hazy. “She’s, uh, sitting in the corner by the window… She might have had a little too much to drink, but you know how she gets. She’s a mess.”

Kyra snickered, clearly enjoying this more than she should.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way through the crowd, weaving in and out of people until you finally saw Leah.

She was sitting on a couch, her head resting on her hand as she looked up at you with wide eyes.

“There you are!” Leah smiled drunkenly, her voice soft and sweet. “I knew you’d come… I really missed you… you look so beautiful tonight. I love you so much. You have no idea.”

You felt your heart swell as you crouched in front of her, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Le, come on, let’s get you home, yeah? You’re not in any condition to be out here anymore.”

“No, no,” she protested, shaking her head. “I’m not done having fun. You… you know what’s so crazy? I can’t help it... I just keep falling in love with you over and over.”

You raised an eyebrow, not able to resist teasing her. “Leah, you’re drunk.”

“I know,” she said, her smile softening. “But I love you. I love you so much, you have no idea how much.”

“I love you too, Leah,” you said, your voice soft. “But let’s get you home first, okay?”

She beamed, pulling you into a soft kiss that caught you by surprise. When she pulled away, she looked up at you with stars in her eyes.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in love with me too.”

“Maybe,” you teased. “But we’re getting you home now, okay?”

Leah giggled, nodding as she stood up, swaying slightly. “Okay… just promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll still love me tomorrow, when I’m not drunk and I can remember all of this.”

You chuckled softly, guiding her toward the door. “I promise.”

As you led her out of the party and into the night air, you couldn’t help but smile at how crazy your relationship had been from the start, how it was always filled with moments of pure chaos, and yet, in that chaos, you were constantly reminded of just how much you loved her.

And maybe, just maybe, Leah was right—you couldn’t help falling in love with her either.

~~~

Feel free to leave a tip here. Not required at all and I still will write requests without it, but they are greatly appreciated and these requests are guaranteed in 2-3 days.

[xxstylefntsyxx]

Daisuke Darling, You're My Bestfriend

A/N: Part 2, Yall a lot has been going on Jesus if I had a close friends I'd tell yall but just know I'm back for good and I'm sorry to stray! Now yall been clawing up the doors for this one so... TADAAAAAA!!!

Themes: NSFW, Fluff and Admitting feelings *sorry it took so long*

Bestfriend!Daisuke

Who's been pondering his feelings after that day and has been super awkward. You took notice and wondered if you did something that made him this way. Lots of are you okays and are you sures'; you just couldn't put your finger on it, and he was just being a major blocker about it. So you dropped it for some weeks, still worried about him, though.

Meanwhile, this boy was fighting the demons of hell. Your touch is too good for him now, and he felt so unworthy of your smile. He wanted to crumble and sob to you about how he got off with just the smell of you and that he was just wanting to hold you and touch you and! And!

"Daisuke! Pay attention!" Swansea yelled. He slipped up and fell off the small ladder, hitting his ass. "Ow!" He yelped. Swansea rolled his eyes, "Keep your head out yer' ass and keep going! You're not done!" He said, pointing back to a piece of the air shaft he told him to fix.

"Ah shit sorry! It just- like, have you ever been in love like super hard?" He asked. He wiped his knees and checked his ass for any dust. Swansea huffed, "Kid, I have a wife. Of course I've been in fuckin' love before! What do ya' want!?"

Daisuke set down the flame tool and leveled himself with Swansea, "I fell in love with my best friend. Look I'm not asking for a coach, I'm asking for a...dad."

Swansea stopped in his tracks. His face once was angry, and now was sullen and stern. He walked towards him, with his fist clenched around a singular wrench, "Look... I- what do you want to know? I'll tell you, but then you're back to work! Got it?"

Daisuke nodded happily, "Girls are complicated, and I recently found myself liking her. But like I don't know how to tell her."

Swansea grunted, "Son, you're grown. Other girls like her are a flirt away."

"But not like her! She's so nice to me and kind and comforting, and I love her smile. She makes me giggle, and I don't mind getting in trouble with her if it means that I can be with her every single day." He said, thinking about you and sighing in love. Swansea could almost see the hearts in his eyes as he thought about you.

Swansea let a little chuckle out, "Alright son, I see it, I see it. You're in love like I was. I asked my pops for the same advice and he told me the same thing. Guess I thought it would be okay to tell you too. I see you need Swansea Advice, not my dads..."

"Look, I'll be honest. Women are complex creatures that work on scales a bit higher than ours. Course being in love comes easier to them than to us. We wanna bawl up or just flirt it off our shoulders. But then she gives you those eyes of love, that touch that makes you feel alright. She gives you feelings that - yeah, I'd follow her. If that's the one, then you go to her and you tell her. Don't just wait. Never wait cause when you don't see her again, you'll wish you did."

Bestfriend?Daisuke

He pondered about what to do for weeks. He decided he'd own up and tell you! Fuck how everyone else feels. He was sick of the constant running and hiding! You're that girl who can only come once in a life! Its only a matter of time before their back off this dump, and he never sees you again.

"Hell yeah! Fuck it! Time to find her and-"

"RUN!" He heard you yell from down the hall. He squinted hard to see what was behind you. As you got closer, so did the figure.

"What the-"

before he finished, you grabbed him. Then he realized, "Holy shit! Is that Jimmy!?"

He didn't have time before you were whisking him along with you. "Y/N! What did you do!?" He yelled. You laughed loudly, "Fuck that bitch! He yelled at me, so I tipped his coffee, and it fell on his feet! It burned him, and now he wants to kill me... and you because I involved you."

(Insert that meme of the dog with its eyes closed, poor daisuke)

You two ran around a corner before stopping and sliding into a small room. You hushed him until you couldn't hear jimmy. "It was a good prank! I fucking got em'" You were giggling and laughing quietly under the darkness of the room and not noticing just how close you and daisuke was.

Bestfriend?Daisuke

Freak out? Now? Yes.

Shit! This isn't how he wanted to admit his feelings to you. Not in a- what the fuck is this!?

The space was too close, and he only had enough room to slightly move away, but you were pressed against him like a sandwich. He didn't understand what this room was for, but whatever it was for, it wasn't - He felt around, and then he sucked his teeth, sighing. It's a closet for the brooms... why the fucking closet room for the brooms of all places!?

When you were done, you turned somewhat around to face him. "What's wrong, Dai? Are you okay? We can find another hiding space!"

You were almost if it wasn't for the little bit of space granted from moving the brooms close to his chest. He breathed out a, "No! No, please, I'm just... really close to you, don't you think?"

He was flushed out. You were so sexy right there. So cute. He has to tell you, has to tell you how he feels. Before, he never sees this sexy beiw ever again, unless in his dreams. Or his horny flustered events in his room.

You pondered, "What's up with you? Afraid I'll give you cooties? Dick."

Your face turned sour, but he shook his head. "NO! please, no, that's not it! I swear!" He was stammering. You pressed closer, chest entirely too close to his, "Then what is it!?"

"I- I-!"

Bestfriend?Daisuke

"Y/N! Fuck man I've been holding this for weeks okay! I like you! When you're close, you make me feel flustered and very confused, and I don't know if it's cause I like you or if I like you! I've even taken asking Swansea! I'm crazy! I know, but i-"

He stopped. Fuck, he just spilled like a can of beans to you. Poor daisuke, never could keep to himself. You were happy he did it first. Cause now you could tease him for being the loud mouth. Since he likes to call you one.

His face was a deep shade of red. He let go of your hands and wiped them off on his shirt. You did the same because he sweated so bad. "Well, now we know who the real loud mouth is." You tempted, still processing everything.

Even though you felt the same for the past weeks, his offness and blushing got to you. It made you slightly frustrated because of how cute he looked. Made you mad someone so handsome could look so cute when he was in love. But you weren't gonna admit it first. You just couldn't wait anymore.

"Dude, I like you. What's up?" He whispered. You jolted from thought, "Uh! I- I mean, yeah, me too!"

"That sounds so unconvincing!" He half yelled.

You scrunched your nose, "At least I don't sound like a fucking baby! Oh! Y/NN! I likeee youuu! Mwah mwah mwah!" You made fun of him. He scrunched his nose back at you.

He pinched your leg, which made you yelp and hit him. You and him caused a bit of noise, fussing and yelling. You hit his shoulder, and he pushed back against the broom, which scuffed against the floor.

"Ow! You pinch me one more time Daisuke! And I'll-!"

*Eeerrrrrrkkk!*

"You two are in... SO much fucking trouble."

Shit...

"Jimmy." You two said in unison.

UPGRADE LVL.1

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two went to work, scrubbing and cleaning the walls of the tulper until Curly felt tired. That's what Jimmy said-

"I don't want you two to stop until curly walks down these halls to his room to sleep! Even then, you will clean behind him before you even think of escaping. Shitty brat, I should end your fucking life! And you! Daisuke!" He pointed at poor daisuke on his knees, shirt wrapped around his waist, crying and sniffling.

One thing you know about daisuke is that he hates cleaning even when Swansea makes him. Cries like a little bitch. Spoiled kid indeed. You've occasionally heard him whine and cry while Swansea yelled at him to clean his tools until they shine. Poor thing shaking and crying over tools, snot and drool I mean the whole diva works.

Looked like he went through the worst heartbreak ever when, it's just a snobby boy who never cleaned a dish a day in his life, but will climb in a capsule and fix whatever an old fart tells him to.

Choosy snobby fuck.

"I'm sorryyyy!" Here he was again. Poor daisuke, apologizing for something he didn't even fucking do and crying at the fact that he had to clean. Jimmy berated him, causing him to bend down and wipe his tears off the metal floor, sloppily and half-assed.

You were wiping some of the windows, looking out at the galaxy. You felt a hand around your neck, two quick squeezes, "I'll end you. Don't ever fuck with me!"

You winced but mustered a bastard smile, "Polle says-"

Jimmy growled, "Shut up!" His face was red.

Earning a sniffled snort from daisuke. Jimmy turned around and daisuke went back to sniffling and wiping the same spot.

"YOURE NOT EVEN CLEANING SHIT!" He yelled.

"Polle says-"

"Y/N!"

After doing Jimmy's dauntless task, you two were tired. Yes, but now you two had each other.

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two were now sitting in his room, cuddled up, talking the day away. He asked you questions about your life at home, and you told him more than he already knew. That comfort you once felt was now filled. His laughter, his sadness, and loving nature showed straight. Why didn't you think of dating your best friend anytime sooner?

Boyfriend!Daisuke

(Alright, I'm tired of the slow jams. We've established it... let's get dirty bitches.)

He turns the music high enough to drown you guys out. You two had fallen into kissing long into your 'Hangout.' He just wanted to make sure their was ambiance so that it could cover up what he was gonna do to you.

"You sure? You can tell me to stop anytime, you know?" He asked you in a low voice. You were breathless, jumpsuit opened, and shirt pulled up. He trailed hickeys down your neck and your collar. You were breathing heavily and nodding, pulling him closer for another heated kiss. He unzipped the rest of your suit to slip his hand underneath it.

Trailing over your cold thighs, he found the lace of your panties, groaning into the kiss. You gasped, swallowed by his tongue and mouth. Lightly his fingers danced over the fabric, warm with your slick and cunt. "Fuck you're hot." He moaned.

He pulled back, and you could see the hardon growing desperately hard in his shorts. "You wanna take it off for me? Give me a show?" He asked with a smirk. You were a bit dizzy from the kissing. Surprisingly, he was good at what he did.

You slowly started stripping, giving him a run for his money. You rubbed your clothed ass, shaking it slightly.

"You're so beautiful~ I never thought I'd see this view ever." He whipsered. Your face felt hot from his words. You turned around now in a shirt and underwear. Straddling his legs, he bounced them slightly., "You're really fucking pretty." Kissing the middle of your collar bone, making his way up with kisses to your neck.

You were moaning, rolling your hips in his firm hands. You gripped his hair when his teeth fond a peice of your neck to bite. He flipped you over on your back, kissing you cheek before winking, "Be back!"

You didn't know what that meant. Like, was he leaving the room? His face slowly disappeared, along with the feeling of your panties sliding down.

"See if I remember what I'm doing... tap me if you need to breathe♡"

Oh

Boyfriend!Daisuke

Oh lord, that's what he meant. Shaking and moaning, he was working your cunt skillfully. Licking long prideful wet stripes up your folds. He circled your clit, sucking it slowly, earning whines from your jolting body. His hands found purchase in your thighs. Crescent moons left angry marks as he held you down with your legs on either side of his head.

"Dai- It's too! Much, fuck! Please!" You whined, trying to remove him. The tufts of his soft hair were delicious. Almost made you cum again, this would be the fifth or sixth? Who cared, it felt so good. Too good. Like crying good, stars in the eyes, you were overstimulated.

You tapped his veiny hand, and with that, he released you. He was panting, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

No shirt on, body glistening, eyes low with lust and plush lips wet with your juices. He looked so damn good. "I... want you. In me, okay?" You said breathless.

PART THREE IMMEDIATELY I RAN OUT OF WRDS!?

[solargeist]

Do you ever think about Grian accidentally going parent mode on the older versions of Xelqua? I don't know if that is like a thing that would happen in your au but I find it funny to think about Grian going dad voice at like EVO Xelqua or even Saint Xelqua

(also any expansions on that idea of Xelqua being system-like are super cool and interesting if you wanna)

Grian absolutely parents the other versions of Xelqua adjgkajksg it can't be helped !!! None of them know how to behave. Grian feels like a big brother regardless, even tho the Saint is older.

The Evo version gets the most of it, he rly is too bratty and wild, Grian is always making him do chores.

Grian also teases this version the most, its funny and hes the least likely to take it to heart. This version didn't experience the Watchers, so he's argumentative.

Grians gotten fairly patient with Saint Xelqua, stressing him out makes him more unstable, so he doesn't usually pressure him. After parenting kid Xelqua for so long, Grian can't take the Saint seriously anymore, theres no threat behind him. So they've gotten very chill. Grian also uses.. a little bit... of gentle parenting with him. Saint Xelqua also surprisingly does quite a lot that the kid version does too, they both like digging in Grian's closet or chests, or looking at photos on Grian's communicator. They both like affection and usually feel comfort being around Grian.

As for system stuff.... I'm not the most knowledgeable abt it so i don't think i have a lot to say, Xelqua is sorta like an allegory for it. Grian keeps him updated on the other versions, he has photos and videos he shares, but i think its all one-way, the other versions don't know about the Saint, probably.

Grian does see each version as their own person, but the dynamic is still roughly the same, Grian has 3 brothers and a son adkjgkadjg

[forgotteneffigy]

Train Home

⋆ kento nanami x classmate!reader - the final part !! ⋆

word count : 588 ⋆₊˚⊹

before you read : jjk spoilers, not proofread, but made with love !! ⋆ read part one and part two !! <- here !! ⋆

You latched onto the idea of working at the same company as Kento ever since he suggested it.

Now you're resting your head against his shoulder, fingers interlaced by the knuckles. He holds you tighter, and the picnic basket in your lap jumps with each bump of the train as it moves.

“When we get older, let's retire here.” You say, sounding tired from your day. Kento smiles quietly.

A low chuckle leaves his chest. In his other arm, he holds the rolled up hibiscus patterned blanket.

“Thinking about retirement already?” he asks, amused by your sudden declaration.

“Why wouldn't I? You already have everything else planned, don't you?”

You look up at him to the best of your ability. Kento finds your attempts endearing.

“I guess so.” He answers in agreement.

“Though..” Kento trails off, looking out the train window. Okinawa's scenery was a blur, colored in a dusty hue. The sun was fully set now, and you and him were going back. Back home. To your grandparents' house.

“I've always wanted to go to Malaysia.” He confesses quietly, his pointer finger running up your knuckle in a comforting gesture.

“Malaysia?” You repeat, pulling your head from his shoulder to look up at him. He can see the renewed freshness in your eyes. The lines under them seem to soften.

“Yes.” Kento nods, his hair getting in the way of his face. “I heard Kuala's beautiful this time around.”

With a gentle swish of your hand, you brush the hair out of his eyes. You always did, and if you didn't, it felt like something from your day was missing.

“I'm gonna stick to you, whether you like it or not. I hope you know that.” You put the last part jokingly, trying not to laugh.

Kento smiles more as you pull your hand away, placing it on the picnic basket. “Kuala it is, then.”

You nod in agreement, leaning back in your seat, looking content with how things went with today's events.

A soft, loving sigh leaves his lips. Kento doesn't know that it's love right now, but it is.

“How will you ever manage without me, (Y/N)?” he asks.

Immediately, you reply, “That's the thing!” You point a finger in his direction, Kento expects an answer, but all he's met with is a stop for thought.

“I haven't quite figured that out myself.”

The pause of registration makes you both laugh loud enough to make the old couple beside you look over from their seats and chuckle to themselves.

“So,” you turn your attention back to Kento. That same shine you had when you were second-years still in your eyes. “If we get uniforms, are we matching or what?”

The idea of matching uniforms was absolutely absurd to him. Coming from anyone else, he'd probably shake his head and say no.

But for you, he replies, with “I’ll think about it.”

“You better.” He hears you say, Kento feels you poke his shoulder repeatedly, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

He retaliates back, returning the favor by flicking your nose with the least amount of force possible with his finger and thumb.

The train reaches its stop. You scrunch at the contact. “Ow!” Hearing your yelp of pain makes Kento pause. He thinks he genuinely hurt you until you let out a hearty laugh.

The sound of your combined laughter fills the carriage again, the doors swish open for passerby to hear.

Kuala can wait. He had you.

⋆ i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i had while writing it!! this is really short , but i hope that's okay with you all !! i might open requests soon , depending on the character (^-^)

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

from scratch | chef luca x oc

Summary: Emily Tyler had to completely start over nearly three years ago. She got fired from her job as a sous chef in New York, had to move back in with her mother in Chicago, and the father of her unborn child was a complete asshole. Now she is a private chef for a wealthy family, has her own apartment, and her little boy Henry is the most precious thing in the world to her. But what about her love life? (wc: 10840)

Warnings: single mom!oc, inaccurate cooking and chef world things, food and eating mention, language, i gave luca a last name, SMUT 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI (f oral receiving, chef luca king of pussy eating, possibly too many eating metaphors, pinv, use a condom unlike these dummies, Big Boy Luca)

✎……welcome back will poulter phase it's good to see you 🫡 um yeah there's prolly gonna be more of this oops

The only time Emily ever felt truly relaxed was when she was cooking. It was like making art — only this art could be tasted and enjoyed by so many. Who didn’t like to eat? Who didn’t find some comfort in sitting around a table with friends and enjoying some food? If the preparation was the part she liked the most, watching the looks on people’s faces as they took the first bite had to be a close second.

As she cut the gnocchi with the pasta spatula she bought in Florence over five years ago, the ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Setting the tool down, she wiped her hands clean of flour before jogging down the entry hall to answer the door. She knew who was there, there was no need to look at the keypad next to the door showing the live feed of the front stoop.

“Hey, Carmy, how’s it goin’?” she asked with a smile as he stepped inside.

He looked just the same as always. Shorter, stalky, covered in tattoos, curly hair falling in his eyes. He smelled like cigarettes — no doubt having smoked one just before he came inside. She always hated that he did that, but he never listened when she advised him to quit. 

“I’m gonna die sometime anyway.”

It made her shake her head even now before pulling him in for a hug.

“S’good, s’good,” he sighed as he patted her on the back, then he pulled away with a look of awe on his face. “This is where you work?”

Emily turned to look into the house as well. She had gotten used to the sight over the past two years. The grand staircase, the baby grand piano sitting perfectly polished in the entry hall, the crown molding, and vaulted ceilings. She remembered that she couldn’t help but gawk in her first few weeks. Now it was like any other house to her. Even if there were ten bedrooms, two kitchens, and an entire wine cellar.

She started making her way back to the kitchen and Carmy trailed after her hesitantly, hands shoved into his back pockets like he was afraid to touch anything. And she really couldn’t blame him.

“Yep, this is it,” she responded. “He owns three businesses here in Chicago and two in Indianapolis — and now he’s running for congress. He bought this place five years ago and completely redid it.”

“Fuckin’ insane,” Carmy muttered under his breath, eyes darting all over the kitchen. With its black and white marble countertops, flat white cabinetry, and beautiful gas-burning stove. It was a home chef's dream. “And the wife doesn’t even work?”

She went to the other side of the island and went back to her work on the gnocchi. She laughed, “Nope. She’s at some mommy and me yoga class right now with their youngest.”

He watched her work for a minute. Her hands moved swiftly and accurately as she rolled out the little balls of dough and pressed them with a fork to get that signature shape. It was just like back when they worked in New York. Like nothing had ever changed. 

Only everything had changed.

“H-How’re things goin’ here?” he finally asked, setting himself gently down on one of the barstools pulled up at the island.

“Good. The whole…Private chef thing is workin’ out well despite what you said,” she replied, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Carmy’s face pinched. “Wh-What did I say?”

“That the private sector is where good chefs go to die.” Emily smirked as she scooped up the gnocchi and placed it in the pot she had waiting.

“Ah,” he huffed, resting his arms on the marble and fiddling with his fingers. “This…This seems like a good gig.”

“The hours are still shit but I get paid way better than any restaurant I ever worked at, so…I’ll take it.” Emily snorted as she began working on the next batch of gnocchi. “They actually just asked me to move into the place above the garage. Said it would be easier for everyone while John’s working on the campaign.”

“No shit?”

She shrugged. “They’re crazy rich people.”

“You considering it?”

“Maybe. It’s nicer than my apartment now. Way nicer.”

Carmy made some noise like he understood and they fell into silence while he watched her work. She was slower now than she was when they worked at Empire. She took her time and made sure every gnocchi was handled with care. He supposed that was what happened when you only had to cook for one family instead of dozens of diners every night. When you weren’t being yelled at or bullied or told you were worthless. He asked quietly what she was making like it might disturb the process. She had a small smile on her face when she described her play on steak and potatoes. Potato gnocchi, steak cooked in herbs and butter, button mushrooms, and fennel. HE wished he could try some. Emily finished the gnocchi and wiped off her hands.

“So, uh…What’re you doin’ back in Chicago?” she asked with a small smile as she leaned on the island across from him.

It was like Carmy stared straight through her as he said, “Mikey died.”

“Oh, fuck.” The smile instantly dropped from her face. “I’m so sorry, Carmy.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. He uh…He left me the restaurant, so…”

Her brows furrowed. “The beef place?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Emily looked at him in that way he always hated but craved. In that way like she cared. In that way like she would genuinely do anything for him at that moment. She always had understood him. Even when they were in high school together. Even when she came over to his house and had to stand there and watch as his mom lost her mind on him. Even when she saw the worst of him in New York. Even when he did nothing when she got fired.

And Carmen looked right back in that way she knew so well. In that way she knew he was ignoring it. In that way she knew things were shit but she wouldn’t push. In that way she was like the sun he could barely look at. Her family had known the Berzattos since before she was born. How could she not understand him in some almost complete way?

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently.

He licked his lips before he replied. “Yeah, I — I want you to come be my Chef de Cuisine.”

Her expression instantly changed to one that screamed really? Brows furrowed over her blue eyes and her lips downturned on one side. He knew that expression well too. It nearly made him laugh.

“Your CDC? At the…Beef shop?” she questioned.

“I’m thinking about gutting the place,” he said, sitting forward in his seat. “Turning it into something high end. Classic. My own restaurant.”

“Do you have the money for that?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a few years.” 

“Carmy, I love you…” She trailed off and sighed, ringing her hands in the fabric of her yellow apron. “But no.”

“Em, come on, you’re a fuckin’ great chef. Creative, organized, patient. I never understood why Empire let you go. I mean there was that honey incident but that was an accident —”

“Carm, Carm.” He stopped talking and looked up at her with raised brows. “I didn’t get fired because I got honey everywhere and people’s shoes were sticky for a month. And I didn’t get fired because I took some liberty with the recipes either.”

He shrugged. “Then what was it?”

“I was fired because I got pregnant.”

“The fuck?” he was instant in his reply, sitting up straighter in his seat with his face pinched in anger. “What the fuck?”

Emily sighed as she moved over to the fridge to get out the mushrooms for cleaning and cutting. “He who shall not be named, when I told him, said I wouldn’t be as dedicated so he told me to pack my knives and go.”

“What the fuck?” Carmy repeated.

“Yeah,” she sighed again, taking the mushrooms to the sink. “It was for the best. My mom’s here and I found this job…Lets me be with him more.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Henry.” She smiled, showing all her teeth, when she said her son’s name. 

Carmy had seen pictures. He never had thought much about kids but Emily’s was cute. Curly blond hair like his mom, big brown eyes, and dimples on his cheeks. He was curious and, from pictures he had seen, loved to help in the kitchen. Had been helping cut fruit and making sauces since he could hold a spoon. There was a video of him making pizza that he had to show the entire staff of Empire at least three times.

Another silence filled the space between them. Carmy’s eyes were trained on her as she cut the mushrooms from their stems but his mind lost somewhere else.

Then he suddenly muttered, “I still think you’d make a great CDC.”

Emily chuckled. “I appreciate that, but my answer is still no.”

“I thought working in a restaurant was your dream?”

“It was, when I was younger and had no responsibility except myself,” she answered, “I don’t have the freedom to take that kind of risk anymore. I have Henry to take care of. Restaurants have always been risky business and this job is stable. They pay me way more than they probably should and have offered me a place to live for free. I can’t…I can’t give that up.”

More silence. Filled by the soft fump fump of mushrooms landing in the saucepan as they were cut. That was another thing about Emily. She never beat around the bush, she never softened the blow, she never gave any room in an argument. Soft but hard. Kind but stern. It was something Carmy had needed in New York. Back when he thought he was the shit but he was miserable. Back when everything was falling into place but he still felt empty. And then she left…And it was even more empty than before.

“I understand,” he said, quietly. 

She cut her eyes over at him from her spot at the sink. “You do?”

“It’s a good gig. The beef…It could all fall to shit.”

“Thanks, Carm,” she smiled, then added, “If you ever need my help though, just let me know.”

Emily walked into The Bear kitchen with her knife bag thrown over her shoulder to complete and utter chaos. 

Richie was banging on the walk-in door handle with a hammer, yelling about how he was going to get someone out of there. Three chefs were still trying to make food but were clearly behind. Dishes were piled up yet clearly missing elements. All the while the CDC was still trying to call out orders and call for hands amidst the screaming from Richie and the loud banging of the hammer on the metal door.

It was the most chaotic kitchen she had ever seen. And she didn’t expect anything less from Carmen Berzatto.

She knew at least part of what happened from the very loud call she had received not twenty minutes ago. The Bear was opening that night and one of their line cooks had suddenly been fired. She wasn’t about to ask why. All she knew was that Carmy needed her help and that she could give it. So, with her mother there to watch Henry, she left her client’s house wearing a chef’s coat for the first time in nearly three years.

“Cousin! Hey!” Richie yelled when he spotted her standing just inside the back door.

Emily waved with a tight smile, unsure what the hell she was getting herself into.

��A-Are you Emily Tyler?” the CDC called out from the stand.

She walked further into the kitchen with a nod. “Yeah, I am. Where do you need me?”

“On the line. Tina will fill you in.”

Tina was a small, older woman with short curly hair. She had a motherly air about her and seemed calm enough despite the disarray. Emily quickly went to the empty station and unrolled her knife bag. Tina flashed her a smile but got right to business, telling her what to cook and how to plate the dish that was her responsibility. It felt like getting back onto a bicycle for the first time in over a decade. Did she even remember how to do this? Did she remember what the CDC’s calls would mean? Would she be able to handle the pressure? But it was just like getting back on a bike. She remembered just what to do. It felt like second nature to start the dish and get it together.

“Where’s Carmy?” she asked the pastry chef as she put together a sauce by his station.

He glanced at the walk in while fiddling with some needles. “Locked in there.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Halfway through service, she glanced up at the clock. Just beneath it, there was a corkboard hung up. And on a crumpled piece of paper there was her number and clearly Carmy’s handwriting that said: 

If we ever need help, call Emily.

It made her smile.

“So did Carm tell you why he wanted you to stage with me today?” Emily asked lightly as she tied her apron around her waist.

Sydney, the CDC of The Bear, stood beside her behind her client’s kitchen island also wearing an apron. She looked unsure as she tied her hair back with a multicolored silk scarf. But she also looked tired — and for good reason. It was five in the morning. The sun hadn’t even come out yet, the birds weren’t even singing. The large house was quiet and still. All of the lights dimmed save for the kitchen and breakfast nook.

Just another price paid for being a private chef. An absolutely absurd call time to get breakfast on the table before John had to be at work and Cindy had to be…Wherever she was going that day.

Emily had been in the kitchen long before Sydney had arrived. The kids had requested her homemade bread with the dish she was making that morning and she really was a sucker for their puppy dog eyes. So the rustic loaf was already in the oven and close to being ready.

Sydney sighed. “Not explicitly. He just said you were good at making up dishes.”

“Oh, God,” Emily laughed as she opened the fridge and pulled out the ingredients she needed for the breakfast she wanted to cook. “Well, he picked a good day I guess. John is hosting a dinner tonight for the biggest donors for his campaign. He told me to go all out.”

“What’re you making?”

“Salmon Wellington,” she replied with a knowing smile.

Sydney guffaued. “What? How does that even work?”

“Listen, I tried it once years ago when I was working at Ever. The first dish I ever put out there. Andrea Terry called it ridiculous but it stayed on the menu for a few months.” Emily began to chop up the peppers and then pointed with her elbow towards the large tomato out on the counter. “Since you’re here — could you dice that for me?”

She got straight to work, pulling the proper knife from her bag and beginning to cut the tomato easily. They worked in silence for a while. Once the peppers and tomatoes were cut, Emily threw them into a pan with oil and butter. The combination was mashed once it was cooked down and eggs were added into the pan. The eggs were cooked until just done and then Emily added hunks of feta cheese to the top and let them melt.

“That smells amazing,” Sydney added as Emily cracked fresh pepper on top as well as some red pepper flakes.

“Thanks,” she smiled over at her. “This is a recipe I learned in Turkey. Menemen. I ate it almost every day I was there.”

“When did you go to Turkey?” Sydney asked as the timer for the bread went off. 

“After I stopped working at Ever but before I worked for Empire,” Emily sighed, pulling the loaf out by the end of her apron. “One of the best years of my life. I traveled all over Europe. Learned from some of the best in the world.”

“What made you come back to work at Empire?”

Emily looked over at her with a smile as she tapped the bottom of the bread to make sure it was done. “Carmy. He called. Said he got CDC and wanted me on his team.”

“Carmen? Seriously? You dropped everything just because he called?” Sydney scoffed.

“Yeah, I did. It’s Carmy. We’ve…Known each other since we were kids. He’s the one who introduced me to cooking. I would do anything for him.” Emily looked down at her watch. “Now get the jams and juices out of the fridge, please. They’re gonna be down here in like ten minutes.”

They worked quietly. Sydney set the table while Emily finished up with the bread and Menemen. Eventually, the entire spread was set out on the table, just before the Yotter family came down the stairs to enjoy it. They all said their thanks to their two chefs before they disappeared back into the kitchen where Emily broke out a diet Coke and a bit of cottage cheese for herself.

“It’s seven in the morning,” Sydney commented with a grin about her drink of choice. 

Emily sighed. “Sure is.”

“I gotta know. Did you and Carm ever…Ya know?”

Emily nearly choked on her Coke. She coughed and spluttered and thumped her first into her chest. All while shaking her head. 

“No. God, no.”

“Okay, okay, okay — just checking,” Sydney said with a smile.

They moved through the rest of Emily’s typical day. Tending to the garden in the courtyard. It used to be just a patch of grass, but after the Yotters had tasted the fresh produce from the farmers' market, they wanted the stuff as readily available as possible. And gave Emily the free reign to grow whatever she wanted. Herbs, peppers of all varieties, squash, tomatoes, and berries. 

Going grocery shopping for dinner that night. Buying fresh salmon, savoy cabbage,  shrimp for a pâté, beurre blanc, salmon caviar, and Robuchon potatoes. Sydney could picture the entire dish in her mind and worried whether or not they would be able to pull it off. But Emily seemed calm as a cucumber, even going so far as to pick up flowers for a centerpiece at the table. Sydney wished she could be like that when it came to making a dish. Wished she wouldn’t overthink every little detail or 

Visiting her son Henry at her apartment where he was being watched by her mother over the lunch break. He screamed with joy as soon as his mom opened the door, running as fast as his little legs would take him so he could get to her faster. Emily laughed as she scooped up her son, peppering his face with kisses and listening to him giggle. They had mac and cheese with hotdogs and peas for lunch. The eating life of a chef. Just bought caviar but they’re having box mac and cheese for lunch.

“How did you…Do it?” Sydney asked as they say at the dining table, watching Henry play.

Emily looked over at her. “Do what?”

“Have this job and take care of a baby?”

It made Emily laugh softly as she turned back to her son. A thousand memories rushed through her mind. Being exhausted down to the bone. Henry screaming for hours. Her milk drying up from the stress and having to switch to formula. Feeling like a terrible mother. Not knowing how anything was going to work out. She could nearly feel the tiredness of that time creeping back in as she sat at her dining room table. Nearly a year removed from the worst of it. 

Now she didn’t have to cook lunch for them. Now she had Sundays as a half-day and Tuesdays completely off. Now her mother was able to watch Henry instead of paying almost all of her salary for daycare. Now her life as a single mother was finally falling into place instead of completely falling apart.

She looked back to Sydney with another, smaller, smile. “I honestly have no fucking idea.”

When they got back to the Yotter residence they needed to start the prep for the dinner. Deboning and skinning the fish, making the pastry dough, all of the mise en place that needed to happen. Emily was more than happy to have the help. There were going to be ten people at that dinner and usually by this point she would be a giant ball of stress. But with Sydney’s help, she felt at least slightly more calm.

Nearing the end of the day, when the Wellington was only a few minutes away from coming out of the oven and the guests had already been served the soup course, Emily looked to The Bear’s CDC and smiled. 

“There’s honestly no way to become great at coming up with dishes,” she said, “It takes years upon years of trial and error. Knowing what would go well with something. Experimenting and failing miserably. But you can’t give up…Even though you might want to with Carmy around.”

Sydney cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Carm is…He’s the best. Gifted. It’s really easy to feel like you can’t do shit around him.”

“I —”

“Just trust your gut and tell him to fuck off every once and a while.”

Sydney sighed with a grin like some weight was being lifted from her shoulders. The timer went off. The Wellington was ready. And only a couple minutes later did they hear, all the way in the kitchen as they prepared dessert, that all the guests thought it was amazing.

Emily got the call about Ever closing its doors when she was home for lunch. Of course, she felt her heart sink at the restaurant closing and people losing their jobs — but she also felt glad for Chef Terry. She was a hardworking woman, and a brilliant chef, but owning a restaurant was hard work. Stressful. All consuming. Emily understood, maybe more than some, the relief Terry must feel at being free from what she had worked for all of her life.

So, of course, she accepted the invitation to Ever’s farewell dinner. She bought a new dress. Finally got a curling iron. Her mother even offered to watch Henry at her place so she didn’t feel guilty about staying out late or getting some well-deserved rest.

But when she stood outside the restaurant doors that Friday night, she felt like she didn’t belong. 

She was freezing, and her coat felt like it was doing nothing to stave off the chill. Didn’t help that she had no layers underneath the wool. Just her satin, olive green dress. Nearly felt like she was naked standing in the middle of Chicago, shaking in her platform boots.

Everyone in there was going to be working in a restaurant. Or owning a restaurant. Executive chefs. CDCs. While she was just a private chef. No James Beards. No spots in Food & Wine. Just somebody who cooked for a wannabe politician and his wife who couldn’t be bothered to work or be a homemaker.

She shouldn’t go in there. She would just embarrass herself when she was asked what she was doing these days. Three years ago, she was an up-and-comer. Carmy’s right-hand woman. A brilliant culinary mind that, if put to enough practice, would have made it big. But instead, she got pregnant. Decided to keep it. And faded away into nothing. No one. 

What was she even doing there? Standing outside the restaurant where she was told she was a great chef — where she worked tirelessly day and night to be worth something to anyone. 

Now she was nothing to no one.

Emily took one step back away from the door.

“Are you going inside?” a voice asked from down the sidewalk.

The voice had a deep timbre, lilted by a British accent. It made Emily jump as she looked over wide-eyed at whoever spoke. He was smiling slightly, hands raised at his sides like he was approaching a wild animal. He wore black pants and a coat, wavy hair streaked in blond cut in almost a mohawk.

She knew him. 

He worked as a line cook at Ever when she came in as a commis. They only overlapped for a few weeks but she remembered. Remembered that she thought he was attractive but never made a move. In fact, they never even really spoke to one another save for him telling her he needed more of something for a dish. But she still got invited to his farewell party when he went to work at Noma in Copenhagen. 

If only she could remember his name.

She nearly hated that she thought he was still attractive now. Maybe even more so — somehow, despite not having changed much. He took a few steps closer and she reddened to realise she hadn’t said anything yet.

“Y-Yeah, I’m just…” Emily looked back at the front door and tucked her lips between her teeth apprehensively.

“Petrified?” he offered as he stepped up beside her.

She chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

“Me too,” he sighed.

Emily looked over at him with raised brows. “Really? Why?”

“Some of the best chefs have come out of Ever or are friends with Andrea Terry. And they’re all gonna be in there.” He pointed at the door and she got a glimpse of the bell pepper tattooed on his hand. “Fucking horrifying.”

“Do you wanna…Go in together? There’s strength in numbers,” she suggested with a small smile.

He grinned back, showing nearly all his teeth. It lit up his entire face almost too bright for her to look at. God damn it, what was his name? It was on the tip of her tongue. Something with an L? He probably remembered hers and she’s just the dick who forgot. 

“Let’s do it,” he said as he took the few steps towards the door and opened it for her. And as she passed by him he asked, “Wha-What’s your name again?”

Some relief flooded her at the mutual forgetfulness. “Emily — Tyler. We worked here at the same time for a few weeks, actually.”

“No shit? God, can’t believe I don’t remember working with you.” There was something unspoken there in the way he looked at her as they paused beneath the dried fruit and other assorted items hanging from the ceiling. He stuck out his tattooed hand to her. “Luca D’Arcy.”

“Nice to meet you.” She grinned up at him as they shook hands.

Luca’s blue eyes glinted in the dim lighting as they caught on the decorations above them. “Just like it was back then, huh?”

“This one was always my favorite.” 

She reached up and lightly touched the ball of what looked like cotton candy. Just beside his head. He looked over at it with a crooked smile. 

“Excellent choice,” he said. 

Humming lightly with pursed lips, Emily walked further into the dining room. There were already about a dozen people scattered about. Standing with glasses of wine or champagne — chatting about food and restaurants and travels and spouses and children. Everyone was finely dressed and looked like they popped right out their articles in the Chronicle or New York Times or the Michelin Guide. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked out at the sea of famous culinary faces. She was nobody in this room of somebodies. She was even sure Luca had gone on to do amazing things with his talent.

Her breath shook slightly as one of the staff took her coat and gave her a ticket for it. Luca had his coat taken as well, only to reveal his rolled-up sleeves and tattooed arms. A cap, a merman, a nurse, a stick-figure walking up stairs, the Roman numeral four, a rowboat. Random and weird and she wanted to know the story behind every single one.

“Strength in numbers, remember?” Luca spoke low with a wink thrown her way. 

It made her smile but it also made her heart pound even harder.

They ordered drinks. A white wine and a champagne. While they waited, they looked through the picture collage out in the entry hall. Emily laughed and recounted the memory of the day a bag of flour ripped on the shelf above her head in the pantry and it got all over her. There was picture proof to prove it. And Luca told the story about how he cut off the tip of his finger, nail and all, just before service. He had to wear a glove the rest of the time and get it sewn back on the next morning.

“So, what are you doing now?” she asked, drinks finally in hand and standing off in a corner of the dining room alone. 

She knew the question would be asked back. But if it was from him she didn’t really care. 

“Still at Noma, actually,” he replied after taking a sip of his wine. “Finally figured out what I actually want to cook.”

“And what’s that?”

“Dessert.”

“Oo, a pastry chef, nice!” She laughed and he did too. “De Partie or Sous?”

Luca pumped his brows once. “Sous.” 

“Oh, damn, okay, chef,” she joked for a second then reached out and patted his arm. “That’s amazing, though. Figuring that shit out is so important.”

“Yeah, I mean, the people at Noma have been so great at helping me grow.” He nodded and sipped some more of his wine. “What about you — what’re you doing?”

Emily looked away from him and decided to stare at the painting on the wall behind him instead. She knew he was going to ask. Part of her thought that maybe he would understand her life choices. But what if she was wrong? What if he told her, like any other chef she had spoken to in the past three years, that she just needed to take the risk? That she just needed to get back into the restaurant game. That she was just wasting her potential. 

When she sighed and finally decided to look back at him, he was looking at her with furrowed brows. Concerned and patient. It nearly made her ribs crack.

“I’m…I’m a private chef now,” she spoke quietly just in case someone else might hear. “Work here in Chicago. Keeps me cooking but ya know…Keeps me sane.” 

She decided not to mention anything about Henry. Even though she very well could have or maybe should have. But tonight was her night to be selfish, as her mother even told her as she went out the door. Tonight she was talking to a cute guy she used to work with. Tonight she wasn’t a single mom who hadn’t had a date in three years. What Luca didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him anyway.

The pinch of his brow released at her words. Eyebrows ticked up his forehead like she just said the most interesting thing in the universe. He took another sip of his wine while she took a gulp of her own drink in an attempt to calm her nerves. 

“Private,” he said, “I’ve always wondered about that. What’s a typical day like?”

He wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t questioning her decision. He was just genuinely curious about the job. It made her heart soar, feeling lighter than she had all evening as he looked at her with a quirk of his lips and his hand in his pants pocket. So she described a day in the life. Four o’clock wake up time, lunch break, gardening, grocery shopping, meal planning, almost event planning.

“And their house is literally insane. Like, baby grand piano in the entryway insane. They even have a separate apartment above their garage with a full kitchen and two bedrooms.”

“Fuck me,” Luca groaned with a grin. “That honestly sounds amazing, Em. Good for you.”

Em. Nearly everyone in her life called her that. Everyone who knew her for more than ten minutes called her that. But when Luca did it? It made something inside of her flutter. Butterflies or moths or something else with wings that were threatening to escape. And they partially succeeded in the way she looked up at him with a massive grin she couldn’t control and inched ever so closer to him without even really noticing. 

He didn’t seem to mind, however. In fact, he seemed to be of the same accord as he pulled himself off the wall to be nearer to her. For her to smell his cologne and the slight hint of wine on him. 

But then he spotted someone over her shoulder and he excused himself with about three different apologies. She told him not to worry and watched him go, seeing Carmy standing out in the hall looking at the collages. 

There really was strength in numbers. She felt alone in a room full of people without him. Not seeing anyone else she knew, she sat down at a table tucked against the wall.

So many days and nights were spent in that restaurant. Doing mise en place, cleaning, eating family meals, goofing around with friends, making mistakes, learning new things, and garnering an entirely new love for food. Ever was her very first fine dining job. Andrea Terry was her very first mentor in how to create a true eating experience. It made her heart heavy to think that after that night there would be no more mise en place, no more cleaning, no more family meals for this restaurant. Ever was done. She was thankful for the place, despite her attempts to block out the memories because they made her bitter. Thankful for it all.

“Emily Tyler,” a voice spoke from across the table. 

There was a self-assured air about the voice. She looked up, startled. Only for her face to fall at the sight of David Fields.

“Chef,” she responded, quiet and small, with a nod.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you would be…I don’t know…Making sandwiches for the hubby or something.” Fields grinned at her, wicked and cruel.

“Nope.” She knew if she said anymore it would just encourage him.

“But, seriously, I heard you’re a private chef now.” He sat down in the chair across from her and she had to resist everything in her body not to groan. “So what’s it like to throw away all your potential?”

Emily glared as hard as she could, but he didn’t even blink. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me? For what? I’m not the one who gave up.”

“You are the one who fired me — for a piece of shit reason, by the way,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

Fields shook his head. “You need to be dedicated in my kitchen. You couldn’t have been with a kid.”

“Fuck you,” she repeated.

“Is that all you can say?”

“It’s all I’ve wanted to say for three years.” She shrugged, eyes focused on the little candle on the table between them. “I…I was scared, okay? And I stupidly came to you because — because I looked up to you and thought that maybe you could…Help.

Fields’ face softened for the first time.

“Couldn’t tell Carmy 'cause he’s — fucking Carmy. My mom probably would have lost her shit if I told her over the phone. And I thought…I thought you gave even an iota of a shit about me, so I came to you when I didn’t know what else to do, and you fucking fired me. So yeah…Fuck you.”

Some understanding passed between them then. Some pent-up confusion and rage and hurt went up like smoke as Fields nodded and sucked his teeth. He didn’t say he was sorry. And really he didn’t need to. It was enough for him to know how she felt.

Then he got up from the chair and straightened out his jacket. “Have a good rest of your night, chef.”

And she watched him go with tears burning the backs of her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. Blinking them away hard as she twirled the stem of her half-full champagne glass between her fingers. She had imagined that conversation with her old boss too many times for her to count. Sometimes she imagined punching him in the face. Other times she imagined him begging for her forgiveness. But this, what happened at that table, was what she expected. At least she no longer had to picture it. Now it was over and done. She nearly felt free.

Luca sat down beside her with a smile. “They’re about to bring out the first course. You alright?”

He looked concerned again, searching her face for something she hoped wasn’t there to begin with. Sniffing back the last of her tears she smiled with a nod. 

“I’m good. I’m good. Just thinking.” She watched him settle into his seat, legs spread so wide his thigh nearly touched her own. “You don’t…Have to sit here you know. I’m sure there are far more interesting people to talk to here tonight.”

“None as interesting as you.”

He looked at her like he knew that was smooth. And he was right. She felt her cheeks burn as she looked down into her lap.

“Good Lord,” she muttered, hands reaching up to cover her red cheeks.

She heard Luca chuckle from beside her as he leaned in close. “Did it work?”

“Yes, it worked,” she whispered, catching a glimpse of him with a grin between her fingers.

“Come on, now, peach, don’t hide,” he spoke low and sweet in her ear, taking her wrist in his large hand and pulling it away from her face. “Lemme see how cute you look.”

Peach. No one had ever called her that before. And she didn’t know why, but she liked it. Liked the way it made something tingle between her legs. Liked the way he looked at her when he said it. Like she really was the most interesting person in the room. Like he didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Like she was a summer peach sweet and ripe for the taking.

Luca didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he took it and began to fiddle with the turquoise set ring she wore on her middle finger for a moment. Adjusting the way it sat. Then he set it down gently in her lap. 

“Do you do this with all the girls?” she asked, almost sounding like she was out of breath.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. I — actually this is the first time I’ve done this in a long time. Been too focused on my career for all that love and dating stuff.”

“Been a long time for me too,” Emily answered, “Don’t even think I remember how.”

“I’d say you’re off to a pretty good start, peach.”

A few more chefs joined their table. Their conversation was interrupted by greetings, introductions, and handshakes. A few minutes later, Carmy and Sydney joined them. Emily of course hugged them both. Then the table talk started as the first course was brought to their table. About first dishes and when people knew they wanted to be a chef and funny stories from the kitchens everyone had worked in over the years. 

And Emily felt like she belonged among them. Among these accomplished chefs who owned restaurants and published cookbooks. Who tried and failed just like her. Who didn’t judge when she said she was a private chef. Who asked her about her time in the professional kitchen and even remembered some of the dishes she created.

All the while, Luca’s chair had somehow scooted closer and closer to her own. Somehow his thigh became pressed against her own — only a few layers of silk and wool between them. It made her skin feel like she had just been freshly sunburned. Tingly and alive and warm. He caught her eye from time to time. Over the rim of his wine glass. Around the fork in his mouth. It was always some knowing look like they shared some secret. 

And maybe they did.

Then she noticed that Carmy had barely said anything all evening. That he hadn’t even really touched his food — even though it was beautiful and delicious. 

Leaning over so she could look at him past Sydney she asked, “You okay, Carm?”

“Yeah, who are you staring at?” Luca chimed in.

“Just a fucking asshole over there,” Carmy replied, nodding his head at the other side of the room.

Emily looked, and there was the executive chef of Empire sipping on his wine.

“David Fields,” Luca sighed.

“Oh, shit, from Empire?” Sydney looked over at Emily and she nodded.

Luca leaned back in his seat, arm thrown over the back of Emily’s chair. “Yeah, he’s a dickhead.”

“Yeah, he’s the fucking worst — and one of the best chefs in the world,” Carmy went on, eyes laser focused on his former boss across the room. “Total prick. Fuckface. Bastard. Made me very, probably, mentally ill. Dead inside. Cold. Never turns it off. Accomplishes more by ten AM than most people do in a lifetime. I don’t think he sleeps. I don’t think he eats. I don’t think he loves. Hates black pepper for some reason I’ll never understand.

“Did-Did you know he was here, Em?” Carmy suddenly asked, leaning on his arms against the table.

“I did,” she sighed, trying not to notice Luca’s fingers lightly dancing over her bare shoulder. “We…Talked earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, you worked for Empire too,” Sydney said, looking over at Emily.

“Yep. Most intense ten months of my entire life.”

“Oh, fuck, he’s getting up,” Carmy suddenly said, jumping up from his seat and going out into the hall, ignoring everyone's calls of his name and warnings for him to leave David Fields alone.

Sydney sighed as she turned back to her nearly empty plate of food. “Yeah, that’s not going to end well, is it?”

“Nope.” Luca took a drink of his wine.

“Absolutely not,” Emily replied.

Then Christina Tosi, the founder of Milk Bar, leaned across the table with a smile and a hand outstretched towards Emily. “So, I’ve actually wanted to meet you for a long time.” 

“Me?” Emily put down her drink with an unbelieving smile. “Why?”

“I ate at Osteria when I was traveling in Italy four years ago — you were staging there at the time. Girl, I have been thinking about that campfire peach cake with the blackberry compote and pistachio cream every day since.” Tosi patted the table with a laugh. “It was seriously one of the most amazing desserts I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, wow, um — thank you.” She glanced over at Luca to see him already grinning at her. “Gosh, I didn’t think anyone knew I made that dish.”

“I made Fousto tell me.” Tosi winked. 

“Well, thank you, I really appreciate that.” 

Emily would have to remember to make that for her client's family come summertime. She was sure the kids would love it — would maybe even want to help her make it. 

“How did you do it? Those crispy edges that were just a little bit burnt — my God.” 

“They’re not called campfire cakes for nothing,” Emily laughed as the next course was brought out. “The individual cakes are cooked in these small Dutch ovens that are set directly into a fire. They bake for maybe fifteen minutes max and while they’re still warm you add the compote and the cream so it's all nice and melty and delicious.”

“How many times did you catch something on fire?” Tosi asked.

“I think I singed like five aprons that summer.”

The other chefs around the table began discussing how much harder it is to make desserts than savory dishes — how most of them don’t even really like to do it. Christina Tosi had a lot to say about that. But Emily was quickly pulled away from the conversation when Luca put his hand on her thigh. Lightly, he just wanted to get her attention, his touch was gone in a moment. But it made a fire shoot up her spine as she nearly jumped to look over at him. 

“Peach cake, huh?” he asked with a smirk.

“I do really like peaches. You got me on that one.”

“Would you mind if I stole your idea?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s like rule number one in the chef’s code. Don’t steal someone elses idea.”

“Yeah, but…What if I named it after you?” Luca cocked his head, little grin on his face as his arm returned to the back of her chair. 

“I’ve never had a dish named after me before,” she replied, trying not to show how affected she was. “An honor. Sure you wanna name it for a girl you just met?”

“The girl I just met is pretty amazing.”

The meal finished and the previous employees and friends of Ever began to mill about the restaurant once more. Emily ended up speaking with Cristina Tosi more about Italy and her stage at Osteria. About desserts she had come up with since being a private chef. About the Milk Bar and Tosi’s cookbook, they didn’t seem so different from one another. 

Eventually, Emily ended up in the kitchen. Memories rushing back to her of late-night prep, family meals, inside jokes, and cut fingers all rushed back to her. Making sure no one was looking, she ducked under the prep table and looked underneath. There, dozens of names were stuck to the bottom of the table with tape. She found her own rather quickly, still stuck near the edge. Her name was written in her usual bouncy letters, bracketed by little flowers she had drawn. Carmy’s tape was towards the middle — letters small and chicken scratch. Luca’s was close to hers, nearly overlapping on one edge. His letters were in all caps and thin. Reaching up, she smoothed down one peeling side. She hoped the next owner of that restaurant never found them.

When she stood back up, Luca was standing beside her with a grin at the corners of his mouth. She knew someone had walked up and she expected it to be him. 

“Looking at the tape?” he asked. 

Emily stepped closer to him, close enough to touch, with a nod. “Do they have something like that at Noma?”

“I think almost every restaurant I’ve worked at does,” he replied, “On Noma’s pantry wall is the signature of everyone who’s ever worked there.”

“Osteria had a book in the owner’s office. So many famous chefs signed that thing.”

“Including you,” Luca said, scooching in even closer — nearly chest to chest.

Emily looked down and shook her head. “I am not famous. I…I’ve gotta be honest. When I was standing outside I almost turned around and left.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a private chef. Because I walked away from the restaurant world and I don’t know…I just felt a little less than, I guess.”

She looked back up at him then and his face was so soft. So endearing and open. His blue eyes bore into her and she nearly wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. It was impossible to. Even as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“From everything I’ve heard tonight, you are not less than. You are an amazing, talented chef.” He squeezed her hand again and tugged her into his chest. “Besides, who gives a fuck what they think? There’s an after-party at Sydney’s place and we’re going.”

Emily beamed up at him. “We are?”

“Yeah, we are.” Luca reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she felt the burn of being seen for the first time in nearly half a decade. “Still can’t believe I never talked to you when we worked together. Wanna kick myself.”

Taking a deep breath to collect herself, regather her thoughts, and stop her knees from turning to mush, she said, “You’re talking to me now. That’s all that matters.”

Why did it feel so natural with him? Most of the time, when a man tried to hit on her, she turned tail and ran. It scared her to think about opening herself up to someone like that again. To open up Henry to someone being in his life with a good chance they might leave. She couldn’t put herself or her boy through that. Not again. But that night, without her son, an entire night, and an apartment to herself, she didn’t feel the weight of all of that. She felt free to flirt and lean into his touch and just for a moment…Just for a moment…She wasn’t a mom. She didn’t have any responsibilities besides her work and herself. She could let Luca, the kind and mellow pastry chef, slip his fingers into her hair and draw her in for a kiss. 

She could let him take her to an after-party with a keg of beer, music, and dancing. She could play dice and win. She could help Andrea Terry and Sydney Adamu make frozen waffles and pizza. She could let Luca pull her into his lap and get yelled at for making out on the couch. She could stay out until two in the morning and come home with a boy trailing behind her — his hands on her hips as she unlocked the door.

It was dark inside the apartment, and Emily was glad for it. In the shadows, he couldn’t see the dinosaurs and play construction vehicles all over the floor. The light over the kitchen island was still on. If he noticed the drawings on the fridge he didn’t mention it. She hoped he would think they were from her client’s children or something like that.

After kicking off her boots, Emily opened the fridge and pulled out a container, attempting to delay what they set out to do to wrangle her nerves into submission. She could do this. She could have a one-night stand. She could do this.

“What’s that?” Luca asked as he leaned against the island with his palms flat against the quartz countertop.

“Rosemary syrup cake with mead cream.” She opened the container and put one out on a napkin. “My client had a bunch of his college buddies over for dinner a couple nights ago. He said to make a manly dessert — whatever that meant.” 

He smiled as he looked at the dessert then he nodded for her to come closer. “Feed it to me.”

She had to stop herself from rubbing her legs together before she walked up to him with the pastry in hand. Looking down at her with a smirk on his pink lips, he hooked his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter. Those tattooed hands never left her, fingers bunching up the satin of her dress as he clutched her thighs in his wide palms. For not having done this in a long time, Luca was very good. He could have led her into a burning building and she wouldn’t have cared as she looked into those deep blue eyes. And she tried her hardest to hold that eye contact as she held the cake up to his lips. 

He took a bite and licked the cream off his lips. Then his eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned. 

“Fuck me!” Luca licked his lips again and she laughed. “That’s fucking delicious. Can I steal that one as well?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, taking a bite herself. “I worked hard to make this manly dessert.”

“Mm, can I have another?” He pointed at the cake still in her hand. 

She nodded and held the cake back up to him. But before she could finish it off with the next bite, Luca leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted like rosemary, mead, and cream. It made her moan soft in the back of her throat from the taste as well as the feeling of his lips on hers. She could feel his smile against her lips as he pulled in closer, chest to chest, hands eclipsed on either side of her hips. His tongue slipped in easily, more rosemary and cream, as she dropped the dessert and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging softly. 

One of his hands trailed down and down her leg until he found the slit in her olive green dress. Until he pushed it up and up to find the seam where her leg met her hip. Her hips rolled forward of their own accord, some stunted noise muffled in his mouth as his fingers danced over her inner thigh. Luca broke the kiss just to trail his sugar-sweet lips across her jaw and down her neck — Emily easily tilted her head to the side with a sigh. Hands falling to feel the planes of muscle beneath his shirt and fiddle with one of his buttons.

She parted her legs even further for him at his urging, and she jumped only slightly when he ran his deft fingers over the core of her. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked, peach,” he muttered in her ear.

“L-Like I said…Been a long time,” she replied breathily, leaning back slightly on her hands. “S-Shouldn’t we go to the bedroom?”

“I always have been better in the kitchen,” Luca was quick to reply, but then he looked up at her in his gentle way. “Unless you would feel more comfortable there.”

Emily had had this specific wet dream many times before. Only the face of the guy was a generic blur and his voice always matched the sound of whatever audio porn she was listening to those days. But there Luca was. Tall and handsome and wanting to fuck her right there in her kitchen. Her heart was going a million miles a minute. Would she feel more comfortable in bed? Probably. Did this, right there on the kitchen island, scratch some itch she had wanted to for years? Absolutely.

“N-No,” she finally replied, “Here is…Good.”

“Okay,” Luca laughed softly. “You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

All she could really do was nod as he leaned back in and kissed her. Soft and slow, taking his dear sweet time as he moved his lips against her own. Something like a growl got caught in his throat as she tugged at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. And he couldn’t help but grin at the way her breathing picked up as he pulled at the zipper of her dress.

She only hopped down from the counter for a second so her dress could easily fall to the floor, and then Luca picked her right back up and set her on the cold quartz. Underneath the dress, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her underwear, and Luca groaned like he had about the cake at the sight of her. 

“Fucking beautiful, peach,” he muttered as he smeared kisses along her neck and collarbone.

At his gentle urging, she laid down on her kitchen island. She could barely breathe let alone think as he trailed his tongue and lips down her chest and stomach. That hand tattooed with a pepper ghosted up her side, only to come to rest beside her chest. His thumb passed over the pebbled flesh and Emily could not stop the breathy moan that escaped her.

“Luca,” she gasped as he nibbled at her hip bone, his hand kneading her breast like dough. 

Her entire body tingled like static on an old tv screen. Her center cried out for attention. She could feel her desire dripping out of her.

He released himself from her flesh with a soft pop. “Doin’ alright, peach?”

“Uh-huh —” But then she shook her head. “Need…Need you to…”

“Need what?” He peppered a line of kisses along the line of her underwear. “Need me to eat you out like your dessert?”

Emily couldn’t nod her head fast enough. He chuckled lightly against her skin, then he peeled her underwear down her legs and kneeled down on the floor. At first, he simply pressed a few experimental kisses to her seam. Making her wriggle and whimper against the counter. But then he parted her with his tongue and her spine curved of its own accord — her hands fisting into his hair as she gasped. 

He dipped his tongue into her hole then swirled it around her clit, like he was eating ice cream, then pulled away to practically pant into her inner thigh. 

Making sure to catch her eye he whispered, “Taste so sweet.”

A moan hadn’t even fully left her lips before he dove back in. Lapping at her like he was starved for it. A craving finally satiated. He groaned into her like she was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Hands gripping onto her thighs hard enough to leave marks. He drove her closer and closer to release with every lick, suck, and kiss. Her hands pulled and tugged at his hair as the pleasure tingled at the base of her spine.

“L-Luca! Oh!” she gasped, back arching off the countertop as he gave her clit a hard suck. “So good — So good. Fuck.”

He groaned into her flesh again and this time it shot all the way up her back and made her see stars. It had been so long since she had been with someone like this. She thought that, maybe, she could get at least one orgasm out of it and they would pass out. But no. Luca was taking his dear time with her — memorizing every sound and every reaction. He was eating her out for God’s sake, something she had to beg and plead with her last boyfriend to do on a rare occasion. But Luca wanted to do it. Enjoyed it, clearly, from the way he shoved his face into her so far she feared he couldn’t breathe. 

Her toes began to curl and her entire being began to feel molten hot as he pulled that sensitive little bud between his lips again. Her breath came out in stunted little gasps as she moved her hips against his face. 

“I’m — I’m gonna —” she tried to get out, tried to warn him. 

But he paid it no mind. He just kept going until she cried out and went stuck still beneath his expert tongue. And didn’t stop until she was pushing at his forehead and whimpering at the back of her throat. 

Luca pulled away with one final kiss to her now oversensitive clit. It made her whine and he laughed softly as he wiped at his chin. She felt boneless as she lay there and stared up at the ceiling, trying to collect herself. But it felt like she was in a haze as he tugged her to sit up and smoothed her hair back behind her ears. 

“That good, huh?” he questioned as he took her hand in his, smiling when all she could do was nod. “Good. Want you to feel good.” 

“Want you to…Feel good too,” she managed to string together as she reached out and tugged at his belt.

“Trust me, I feel great.” But when she cupped him, hard and aching, through his wool pants, his chin dropped to his chest. “Mm, fuck.”

Emily’s eyes widened as she felt the size of him. For a moment, she wondered if she would be able to take him. But then Luca was scooping her up by the backs of her thighs and she didn’t have time to think about it anymore. Not when he was mouthing at her neck like that and asking where her bedroom was. Down the hall on your left. Not when he brought her to release with her spread out on her sheets on his fingers. Not when he revealed hard muscles and even more tattoos scattered across his skin like so many stories. Not when he pushed in nice and slow and gave her all the time in the world to gasp and whine and tell him it wouldn’t fit. 

“I’ll make it fit, peach,” grumbled against her jaw as his fingers connected with that bundle of nerves once more.

No, she really couldn’t think about it at all once he was buried to the hilt and she felt so fucking full. And she told him so — it made him twitch inside her into something no boyfriend had ever found before. He made her see stars and constellations and entire planets as he hit that spot again and again and again. Until she screamed and cried and couldn’t say anything other than his name.

And when he spilled inside her with a groan and his hand so soft around her throat — she felt on the edge of consciousness. Tired down to the bone but in the best way possible. 

She didn’t even bother to say anything as she curled into his chest and let him pull the covers over them both. In the back of her mind, she knew she should have told him to leave. Told him this was fun but it was time to go. But she just couldn’t. It felt too good, too natural, too everything for him to leave her bed after that. It almost felt like he was supposed to be there.

And in some ways, she told him so, when he kissed her forehead and she burrowed deeper into his embrace.

Luca woke up before her the next morning. The sun was up and looked like it had been for hours. Her bedroom was a mess of clothes and empty water bottles. It made him smile to see a photo collage of all her travels and some of her favorite dishes on the wall. 

But it made his brow furrow to see pictures of a baby up there too. 

Maybe it was her nephew or something?

Luca was careful as he got out of bed and put his clothes back on. He didn’t want to disturb her — she looked so peaceful. Tangled up in a homemade quilt with her hair fanned out on the pillow, mouth slightly open as she breathed deeply. He smiled as he looked at her, not really wanting to leave but knowing that he should.

Then he spotted a notebook and pen on her bedside table. Probably filled with recipe ideas and dreams scribbled down in the middle of the night. He only thought for a split second, knowing if he did it any longer he would chicken out before he scooped up the notebook and wrote down his number on the next available page.

Out in the main room, he gathered up his coat and shoes, noting the toys scattered about the space. Dinosaur figures, little construction vehicles, plushies of some cartoon dog he didn’t recognize.

Maybe the nephew had been over recently and she hadn’t had time to clean up?

He wanted to stay and study the space. Learn just a little more about her before he left. But he didn’t want to be there when she woke up. Didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.

So he went out the door with his coat in hand, smiling to himself thinking of the blush on her face or her reactions to his touch. Emily really was amazing. Talented, accomplished, confident, calm, and sincere. He wasn’t a praying man, but as he walked down the hall to the elevator he hoped that she would text him.

Pressing the call button for the elevator, he stood back with his hands in his pockets. It had to go up five stories, so it would be a bit of a wait. And while he did, the door to the stairwell opened.

An older woman with grey hair and a toddler stepped out. He wore a backpack that was a little too big for him and she looked tired but happy. The woman smiled at Luca as they passed and he returned it with a nod. He even waved slightly at the little boy and he did so tentatively back.

The two of them went down the hall from whence he came and he watched them go. The boy was cute, with curly blond hair and a freckle-covered face. He reminded Luca of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Not until the older woman opened Emily’s apartment door and the little boy ran inside with a shout of “Mommy!”.

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[storiesabouteli]

Misconnection. // Noel Gallagher X Reader.

prompt: (contains smut in a succinct form, it is not a predominant attraction) in which two people find comfort in each other after dysfunctional relationships and realize together what is best for them individually. it was heavily inspired by lost in translation.

words: 5.6K

Noel noticed you quickly.

His room was across the hallway, and over the past few weeks, he had assumed you were alone in the city. Every time he made noise with his guitar or tried to work through something, you would either crack your door open slightly or casually stand in the corridor. You didn’t seem to be hiding, but you also didn’t make yourself too easy to see.

One night, he considered stepping out to talk to you, but the moment he opened his door, you had already disappeared into the elevator.

You exchanged polite smiles in the lobby. It wasn’t flirting—it was more of a silent acknowledgment that you both saw each other. You knew that he knew you listened to him sing and that you liked it. But maybe you weren’t quite aligned enough to join in just yet.

"Everythin' alrigh' there?" Noel asked, forcing a smile—one that, unbeknownst to him, wasn’t exactly natural.

He had noticed the ring on your finger before, but now, up close, as you hugged a box of macarons, it seemed to hold more weight. It reminded him of when he was younger, in his first marriage, believing that decision was for life. Though he had no regrets and had managed to keep things amicable, he appreciated how, over the years, it had become just another detail in the long stretch of his life. It also made him think that, even now, with a ring still on his own finger, things would be alright soon enough.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to stay here—I really am sorry."

Your rushed apology made him laugh, this time far more genuinely than before. You were wrapped in a large sweater and loose-fitting pants, looking completely at ease. Your face carried a hint of exhaustion, the darkness beneath your eyes more pronounced. Standing there in front of him, studying him with quiet curiosity, you looked undeniably endearing. He couldn’t deny he had thought that from the very first time he saw you.

"Did y’come t’listen t’me?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he realized how odd that sounded. His cheeks were certainly tinged with color, but you only gave him a shy smile and nodded.

There was something about the moment that was hard to put into words, yet it all felt so natural. The way you stepped into the spacious room, took a seat at one end of the couch and made it easy for him to grab one of the macarons and take a bite. You stuffed your hands into your pockets to keep them warm. You were fun to watch.

He didn’t play for you, but the two of you ended up listening to random albums together, discovering a shared taste in music. The conversation stayed light, shifting from the weather to how the city felt during tourist season, to how the newspaper vendor beside the hotel was surprisingly friendly. (Your fiancé would have never given importance to that detail, and you made a mental note of it.)

"Does yer ring go on t’other hand?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a pulse of electricity through your body like a reflex. His skin was rough yet delicate as he turned the pearl between his fingertips for a few seconds. You wished his curiosity was about you and not just the correct placement of an engagement ring. Maybe you had wanted to be noticed by him from the start, back when you first saw him play at that crowded pub nearby.

"I’m not married yet. It’s a tradition for some—an engagement ring goes on the right hand, and only on the wedding day does it move to the left."

He listened intently, and you couldn't remember the last time you shared that without feeling ridiculous.

"So… is this a dream o' yours?"

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, and he found it endearing how you handled words, as if everything he said carried a weight of its own.

"Getting married?"

He laughed.

"I mean, yeah, but… everythin’ ‘bout it seems special t’you. The tradition, the way ya smile while talkin’ ‘bout it. Feels like ya planned this, thought ‘bout it for ages."

You swallowed hard. Something so simple, and yet he figured it out just by exchanging a few sentences with you. You ran your fingers around the ring, turning it slowly.

"Yeah, I guess so. I like the idea of being in love, but I wouldn’t even know about the ring placement if it weren’t for this newlywed woman who once came into the café where I worked. She was so happy—it made me want that for myself, even while being happy for her."

He smiled, a small, knowing expression that softened the lines on his face. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His presence alone made you feel heard.

"The ring ‘e chose is proper beautiful. Hope you’ll be dead happy."

You slipped your hands back into your pockets, not wanting him to see it anymore. The ring had been your choice, and honestly, if you hadn’t had that conversation with your fiancé about your years together and what the future held, you weren’t sure if it would even be on your finger right now. But there was nothing to complain about—wasn’t this what you wanted?

Noel noticed the flicker in your eyes and cut in.

"Well, Ah’m gettin’ divorced."

He held up his own ring, relieved when your gaze met his again.

"Why?"

Your voice was quiet, but there was a certain ease in the way you asked, making it clear the question wasn’t intrusive.

"Feel like… if it weren’t for ‘er, I’d still be with ‘er, y’know?"

It was a force of habit, and Noel reminded himself that, given your age, you probably hadn’t even lived half of what he had.

"She got tired, li'ul by li'ul. Ah-I was around, but it weren’t enough."

You nodded. His expression was tired, but not necessarily sad.

"Did you try to win her back? You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?"

He chuckled at your tone before continuing.

"I tried. She 'ad someone else in mind. I don’t miss 'er, but I miss the life 'round 'er. We were together for over twenty years."

You looked at him with warmth, and he accepted it.

You couldn’t quite grasp what it meant to be with someone for that long—an amount of time that was, in some ways, close to your own lifetime. You didn’t know what to say, but you understood why he still wore the ring.

"I’m sorry."

He simply gave you the same gentle smile as before.

Your arms brushed, something comfortable, and you let it happen. Neither of you knew where the line between safe and dangerous was, but this moment was cautious, measured.

"Are you always at the hotel? Never go out?"

His laugh was slightly nasal, soothing in its own way.

"Ah-I came t’record some tunes. Use me time ‘ere t’relax, rehearse a bit, an’ make some tweaks before headin’ off somewhere."

Your hands slipped back out of your pockets, and he took that as a sign that you were at ease.

"Did you write about her?"

He nodded.

"Loads. Don’t think ‘bout ‘er the same way no more, but she were, uh, was, a big part o’ me life. There’s loads o’ ‘er in the tunes."

"Do you regret it?"

He studied your eyes, trying to decipher what the question meant to you, but he couldn’t quite tell.

"Nah. It were a good part o’ me life, even if we ain’t together no more."

You licked your lips absentmindedly.

"I wish someone wrote songs 'bout me. It seems very romantic."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, realizing he hadn’t felt this kind of nervousness—the kind that made you hold your breath before speaking—in a long time.

"What’s the most romantic thing he’s done for you?"

Your gaze dropped to the floor. A brief silence, but noticeable. Your hands returned to your pockets.

"We planned this trip about nine months ago. He was supposed to come with me, but there was a work emergency—it happens a lot."

Your voice was calm, free of bitterness, but there was something tired in it—something that sounded like an ending.

…

The silence lingered, broken only by the sound of breathing and the room’s ventilation. You felt good, even with the weight in your chest. It was the lightest you had felt since the proposal.

After a while, Noel rested his cheek on your shoulder, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. He looked peaceful, but you didn’t know that he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. That was a reaction to you. That feeling of warmth and being seen—it was mutual.

Your fingers traced the bridge of his nose, then moved to his hair, almost more gray than dark now. You found him beautiful, but there was a distance to that feeling, something that kept it from fully taking shape.

His scent had already settled into your clothes, and you knew that if you stayed, you’d finally get the kind of sleep you hadn’t had in a long time. But recognizing this moment as a dangerous threshold, you chose to leave.

…

Daylight had already started to seep in, and Noel felt the emptiness in his chest, knowing you were no longer there. Maybe you’d come back the next time he played.

He thought about going downstairs for breakfast, but instead, let the weight of exhaustion dissolve him bit by bit. If not for the soft knocking at his door, he might have spent the entire day in the same position.

Annoyance flared at being pulled from bed, but it faded the second he saw you standing there. His fingers curled into a tense fist—he recognized that feeling. He had liked you enough for your pain to drain any energy from him.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your eyes didn’t meet his. They were distant, lost somewhere in the room, drowned in tears. You were still wearing the same clothes, except now just a tank top. It was clear you had been crying and restless for hours, and he hated that you hadn’t come to him sooner—as if he could’ve made it all go away.

"Come 'ere, love," he murmured, opening his arms. You folded into him instantly.

That familiar scent wrapped around you again, his fingers pressing into your back as he pulled you inside. He thought he knew what it was about, even if not entirely.

You left a small damp spot on his shirt, but he kept holding you close. It wasn’t a desperate kind of crying, which somehow made it worse.

The bed was low, and when he set you down and knelt in front of you, it left you at just the right height to hide your face against him. His hands moved along your back, his chin resting on top of your head, while your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt. The small gestures grounded you, bringing you back to reality.

“I called him,” you sniffled, pulling back just enough to see him.

His hand rested lightly at your waist, keeping you close in a way that didn’t feel improper, especially with your fingers still playing with the buttons of his shirt. He waited patiently for you to continue, and that was something you liked about him—he didn’t ask out of curiosity, he just wanted you to speak if you wanted to.

“He’s not coming back here. He’s too busy. Said he can see me when I get home,” you paused, swallowing a bit.

Noel watched you carefully, not with pity but with an understanding you weren’t used to anymore. His eyes calmed you. He was wearing a long-sleeved button-up, the collar open enough that a hint of chest hair peeked out. He wiped your face with the edge of the fabric, showing you, without words, that he was here.

“I didn’t enjoy any of this trip 'cause I kept waitin' for him to be here, y’see? I thought things would be different. I don’t want it to always be like this. I don’t want this for myself.”

Your shoulders loosened, and to him, your face looked lighter, like speaking was helping you make sense of it all.

"Y’ve talked t’ ‘im ‘bout this loads, ain’t ya?" He asked, remembering you saying it was a recurring problem.

You nodded. “Yeah. My whole last year has been about this.”

Your eyes dropped, hesitant to admit you had let yourself get into this situation. He brushed your hair away, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Ah’m not gonna judge ya. But ‘e don’t seem like someone t’take serious, if I can say that. Why’d he wanna marry someone ‘e don’t even listen to?"

Hearing it out loud, from someone else, made it sound so simple.

“Do you think he’s marrying me out of convenience?” you asked, your voice quiet as your hand slipped from his shirt.

You were exhausted. As you looked at him, Noel gave a small, sweet smile. You settled into the bed beside him, the scent of his sheets huggable. When you moved to get up, he simply touched your arm and told you it was okay. You already knew the answer to your question.

"D’ya think ‘e loves ya?" his voice was low, steady. “D'ya love him?”

All you could hear was his breathing.

“When did you realize you didn’t love your ex-wife anymore?” you asked.

He lay down too, just an arm’s length away. When he turned onto his side, he was all that filled your vision.

“Dunno,” he admitted. “I think it faded lil' by little as I realized she didn’t feel the same no more—and didn’t care to show interest. But every situation is different.”

Noel found himself hoping you’d see that maybe this wasn’t the man for you. But he also had to remember he was not, and would never be, someone in your life.

He touched your face, more for himself than for you, and you closed your eyes, letting it happen. His fingers traced along your cheek, then moved to massage your shoulders.

“I don’t know if I love him,” you murmured. “I don’t know if I believe his words, either. He always says he’ll try harder, but it always ends up the same way I’ve come to hate. His indifference makes me want to be alone, and I don’t think he would’ve proposed if I hadn’t confronted him about it. Maybe marrying me never even crossed his mind. I don’t want to be someone’s uncertainty.”

The words came easily, revealing that you had thought about this more than you wanted to admit.

Noel squeezed you, a bit content that you could see things for what they were. You were still young, and you had time. You still had your chances.

“Don’t let your kids grow up to be bad people to others,” you whispered, pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

He didn’t mind. He liked having you close.

“I won’t,” he murmured, and for a moment, you were struck by the weight of the fact that he was more than old enough to have kids. That was something you didn’t want to think about.

…

Your back didn’t feel as heavy as before. Your face was pressed into the sheets, arms wrapped around one of his pillows. His scent—woody, warm—filled the entire room. It was nice.

Your body still carried the lazy memory of being close to his, of drifting off in the middle of the night with his lips pressing against your forehead and his arm firm around your waist, like he was afraid he’d leave you behind if he let go.

"Ow’re ya, li’ul one?"

His voice was smooth. He had changed clothes—still wearing buttons, still a pleasant sight. His hair was damp, and he was jotting something down in a small notebook.

“Good,” you murmured sleepily.

He laughed, glancing at you, and whatever he was writing became secondary now that your voice had settled into the room. It was intimate—bearable, even.

“Wot d'you do?” Noel asked, cautious. He was sure knowing too much about you wouldn’t do him any good, but it was impossible to resist. “You mentioned the café, but said you’re no longer there...”

“I work at a bookstore,” you said, staring at the ceiling.

You could hear the sound of his fingers skimming across the pages, and even without looking, you could picture the shape of his hands perfectly—the wedding band, the red-stoned ring.

When you rubbed a hand over your face and looked back at him, he was watching you, his gaze soft. He had noticed—your engagement ring was no longer there. It hadn’t been since the moment you decided to come to him.

“I’m a pianist,” you said, voice steady. “I’m trying to get a spot at a theater in London. I’m really excited about it. Anxious, but waiting on the results.”

He smiled, genuinely. “I’d love to 'ear you play. I bet you’re dead good. I’ll save a seat next time I'm in London.”

He took a moment before saying it, wanting to be honest without making you uncomfortable.

You smiled back, a mirror of his own expression.

Noel briefly considered suggesting you work on something together but held back. He also couldn’t remember the last time he had felt truly drawn to a woman.

You kept watching him—the roundness of his cheeks, the way his fingers moved as he worked.

He was a stranger. He shouldn’t have this much of an effect on you.

…

You had put on one of your new dresses—fitted at the waist, flowing just enough. You liked how it looked on you, how it made you feel confident. It was one of the pieces you had carefully chosen for this trip, for the dates you were supposed to have with your fiancé, who, theoretically, should have been with you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared at the hotel phone. Your fingers were cold. You had been ready for a while now, wanting to visit a café you’d spotted nearby. You were determined to go home and at least be able to say you had experienced something of this place.

But suddenly, your fear wasn’t about missing out on seeing the neighborhood anymore—it was about missing him, about not getting to be with him in the short time left before you had to leave.

"Ah can ‘ear ya breathin’, but we can stay quiet if y’ prefer."

His voice came through the receiver, confident, amused.

You twisted the cord between your fingers, unsurprised that he recognized you without you having said a single word. Somehow, you knew you would have recognized him, too.

His breathing filled the silence between you, steady and calm, making your thoughts settle. He understood this—the simple need to be close.

“I’m going to visit a café nearby. Want to come?”

You probably sounded like a stalker, but Noel had to admit to himself that he had considered asking someone at the hotel for your number. The thought of you having to craft a story convincing enough for them to connect you to his room amused him.

"Alright, Ah’ll grab a jacket an’ meet ya downstairs, li’ul one."

You straightened up as soon as you saw him, a smile tugging at your lips. He looked relaxed, his usual furrowed brow still faintly marked, eyes focused ahead—until they found you. Your heart warmed a little when his expression softened, when his lips curled into a small smile that smoothed out the lines on his face.

You wished you could take him home with you. Maybe no one would even notice.

His gaze traveled over you—not in a way that made you self-conscious, but in a way that felt good.

"Is this wot takin' off a ring does?" he murmured, and you felt your cheeks burn.

He took your hand in his, and you noticed his wedding band was gone too. Then, with an easy motion, he made you twirl in front of him. When you stopped, his eyes hadn’t drifted far—they remained on your smile.

And so, the first steps were taken with the careful distance of two people still pretending they weren’t walking towards something. He kept his hands behind his back, and you found yourself a little too nervous to speak or gesture much. But it didn’t take long before your arms brushed, and his hand found a comfortable place on your back, guiding you along with him.

"Isn’t pumpkin supposed to be a vegetable?" he frowned at the orange hue of your drink, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

He had ordered nothing but black coffee, refusing even a small cake.

"It is," you shrugged, taking a sip. "But it works in drinks. And desserts."

You nudged the cup toward him, inviting him to try.

He was dressed in black as usual, his hair a little longer, giving it a soft volume at the top. He was attractive—undeniably so. And knowing he had spent over twenty years with someone by his side made you believe he must be a good person to have around.

Sitting across from him, avoiding him was impossible.

He took a hesitant sip, pretending to deliberate.

"You liked it," you teased. "Not as much of a grumpy old man as you wish you were."

He let out a low, unguarded laugh, and you liked being the reason for it.

"It tastes like dessert. Too sweet," he admitted.

You nodded in understanding, and he pushed his own cup toward you—black coffee.

You had never been fond of it, but you hesitated, curiosity getting the better of you.

The bitterness hit instantly. You had taken too big a sip, and your eyes watered in protest.

Noel regretted it immediately, which only made you laugh as he rushed to pour you a glass of water and snatched his cup away from you.

"No wonder you only wear black and walk around looking permanently annoyed," you teased, watching as amusement flickered in his eyes.

He liked everything about you—how effortlessly you spoke to him, how you weren’t trying to make him think you were someone good.

"Ya look proper stunnin'," he murmured, brushing a napkin against your chin to wipe away brownie crumbs.

It felt right to say it, though he should have said it earlier.

Your eyes flickered away, unable to meet his directly. Instead, you cut the brownie in half, offering him a piece.

"Eat. We’re trying more of these."

He nodded, knowing he had endured worse things in life than indulging in a few sweets for a girl. 

…

You were wrapped in one of his button-up shirts, loose and comfortable around you. There had been no need for words—just a quiet, mutual agreement that you would stay. Your hair was tied back, still damp from a shower, and he found you just as endearing as ever.

There was no hesitation when he sat beside you, close enough that the small couch felt even smaller. His hand ran over your arms, then down your back, and soon your head rested against his chest, as if it had always belonged there. He pressed a kiss to your hairline, his body unwinding as your arms curled around him.

A few days ago, Noel had been uneasy about what was ahead—unsure, directionless. But now, all he could think about was tomorrow, and the fact that he would get to talk to you again. You made him see past all of it. Two divorces weren’t the end of the world, though they had left him exhausted just thinking about them.

Your fingers trailed up his chest, finding the collar of his shirt and twisting the fabric idly. Your scent was starting to settle into him, a quiet imprint. Your palm found warmth against his skin, fingers playing absently with the fine hairs there.

He brushed your hair back, taking in the peaceful way your eyes remained closed. And for the first time in a while, he felt the same.

"Y'alright?" he murmured.

Your gaze lifted to his, wide and searching, and you nodded. He kissed your cheek, and when you sighed in quiet satisfaction, he did it again—dragging his nose along your skin, leaving lingering kisses along the path.

The faint stubble on his jaw scraped against you in a way that was more pleasant than not. And when he finally pulled back, you were still smiling at him, calm and close.

Too close.

He realized it at the same time you did, and he started to move away. But your fingers found the back of his neck, keeping him with you. The furrow in his brow deepened, and you pressed soft kisses there until it smoothed out again.

"You’re probably never going to see me again."

You had thought about saying more but left it at that. There was nothing else that needed to be said. You both understood this wasn’t something that could work. He had a life, a country, children, a career that had nothing to do with the world you lived in. He might even go back to his ex-wife. And you—maybe you weren’t ready to give up on marriage as an idea.

It was complicated. You both knew that.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you in for a kiss.

His nose brushed your cheek, his lips soft, the warmth of him seeping into your lungs. His hand cradled the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, holding you there—not in urgency, but in something slower, something indulgent.

Something that felt like exactly what you both needed.

 His fist closed in your hair, pulling firmly to give him more space to go deeper. Your chest felt heavier, your breathing more desperate, your hands gripped his arms, between fabric and flesh, hoping that this would be enough of a sign for him not to stop. The kisses went down to your neck, spreading to your collarbone. He was so gentle, his fingers traced over your skin as if pressing too hard might shatter you, as if the wrong touch could make you slip right through his hands. 

 You held on tighter to him, and his nimble hands on your waist guided you closer. His thigh between your legs, your body pressed against his, he trailed his lips down your shoulder, your arms, every visible point of skin. Your thighs flexed against his in response, and soon your face grew hot, even though you could feel his jeans against your skin and your body was melting into him with no much shame.

 Noticing you pausing, he pulled back slightly, his tongue wetting his lips as he let his back rest against the couch. His thumb traced slow circles on your waist, his gaze darker as it settled on you–this was good.

 He squeezed your waist a little tighter, and you saw encouragement in it.

 He tensed the muscle in his thigh, adding more to it. Your fingers tightened around him, tighter than before, and you wrapped your legs around him, letting out a pleasant sigh. He bit his lip, his gray hair falling a bit over his forehead, sweaty. In a slightly more abrupt movement, you could feel your raw skin brushing against his jeans, making your sigh louder and your head fall onto his shoulder.

 "Ah've got ya, princess." He comforted you, his rough, thick hands running up your thighs, rising ever so slightly, until he held the hem of your shirt and pulled it up over your hips. His lips were at your ear, he whispered how good of a girl you were. He moved the fabric out of the way, digging it into his fingers along with the strength with which he held your waist and made the movement for you.

 Your knees ached from the friction, but you were so wet that the contact with his jeans still allowed a muffled, wet sound through the silent room. You could hear his gasps, with each time your body moved forward and slowly back, as he controlled it. Sometimes the rhythm allowed you to feel how hard he was getting, and you had to admit it looked painful. He went back to kissing your shoulder, while you bit his, leaving his shirt damp, every now and then he pressed his fingers tightly into you and you wished you had his marks on your skin later. 

 Your body was starting to tremble, the spasms in your hips were no longer as controlled, your face and chest completely immersed in his body as he held you steady. Everything was slow, calculated by him, so that every second would take longer and he would have more time with you. He stood up, your arms and legs joining him like a puzzle piece, and delicately he placed your back on the bed. 

 You held him close, his weight on you was moderate—comforting. He looked at you with desire, but also as if he appreciated you being there, as if you weren’t going anywhere and had more to give. You thought of him as more than just this moment, so it felt mutual. His gaze made you feel attractive, even like this—messy hair, wearing clothes that weren’t even yours.

"I wish you were my age."

The melancholy in your voice made him shake his head immediately.

"Ya would’ve 'ated me at your age. Ah was annoyin', drank too much, 'nd took my worries out on other people."

You shifted him, considering how this—whatever it was—was all you had. There were no "what ifs." He kept his leg between yours, the closeness a quiet reminder that he was here.

He moved briefly, and you traced a line from his chest to the mark you had left on his jeans with your eyes. His thick thighs made you imagine other things too. He opened his shirt wider, you bit your lip and he chuckled lightly. You could feel the elastic of your panties a bit out of its place and that was a good reminder of minutes ago.

He lifted your shirt again, kissing your knees and thighs, taking his caresses to your belly. Your eyes closed with the texture of his mature skin brushing where you were sensitive and then his nose lightly tapping the spot. He kissed you cautiously over the fabric and his eyes went up to you, his expression relaxed, as if he thought about being between your legs often and he whispered, "Is it alrigh’ if Ah-I carry on??" and all you felt was your heart bursting and your wetness like never before.

…

He didn’t hesitate to take you to the airport. Things were heavy, though there was an air of hope between you—not because there was any chance of being together, but because you saw things differently now.

You couldn’t bring yourself to touch him. You were too close, close enough to hold his gaze, but if you reached for him, it would break you.

"Y'know, I’ll come see ya when ya play at the London Theatre."

He touched your arms, pulling you into him. Your vision blurred slightly.

"I don’t even know when that’ll be, and you’ve never seen me play, so you can’t say that." You joked, unsure how to take it.

"Ya saw summat was off, like with your relationship, an’ handled it right. Yer workin’ outside yer field ‘cos ya believe in it. Yer determined—don’t seem the type t’ hesitate. If not now, then one day, you’ll get there. Ah believe in ya."

You inhaled sharply, the tears never making it down your cheeks because he wiped them away first. His eyes were watery too. It made you realize how little you had accepted in past relationships.

Your fiancé once mentioned how important a stable job was—you had seen it as a valid concern, but he had always seemed to hate having an old piano taking up space in the living room.

"You won’t remember me," you murmured.

He shook his head, making that small sound with his mouth that told you to be quiet.

"Ah-I will. I feel relieved that I got to talk to ya these past few days."

He wiped your face, watching as you tried to steady yourself, though your hands were trembling.

"'nd I need to see ya play."

You laughed.

He told you he’d be in Tokyo for a while, dealing with record label matters. You told him you’d be going back to North America. He lived in England—far from you. Your mind tried to map out the distance as something manageable, but the truth was neither of you would fit into each other’s lives. He wasn’t going to get married again, and you couldn’t handle the fact that he already had a family.

It was hard, but there wasn’t much to discuss. There was no space for bitterness.

"Ah brought ya summat." his voice echoed in your mind as he kissed you right there, in front of everyone. It was slow, your fingers tangled in his hair, grazing through the gray strands. You needed a moment before facing his flushed lips and reddened nose. Your lungs felt empty.

You couldn’t look at him when you said goodbye.

All you had was the plastic bag he had given you, filled with the same macarons from when you first spoke to him, with revived dreams, and a cassette tape with your name on it—signed by him, with the words "For the good memories."

It was cliché, but it was him, you felt loved.

[utilitycaster]

As many others, I am processing my disappoint with C3 and especially choices in the finale. Do you have any recommendations of narratives (tv, books, movies, video games, actual play, etc.) that you have really enjoyed and might recommend as something that really sticks the landing? My recommendation to others who might see this ask would be the Mistborn book trilogy, as I felt it had an incredibly satisfying ending that was surprising but also so clear in the narrative once you looked back. Love reading all your meta!

I do love Mistborn so that is a good one; some others

LOTR; this is obvious but like, I know where I come from (also very good in a sense of You Will Be Changed And Can Never Truly Go Back)

Vorkosigan saga 4ever; this is a bit of a commitment because to get the incredible middle section of it to properly land (Memory/Komarr/A Civil Campaign) you do sort have to read everything that came before, which is good but doesn't make me eat drywall

I have played 2.5 video games in the past decade as discussed extensively but I personally do feel that Veilguard, while weak in some parts, did stick the landing for me, and Disco Elysium did as well and very much hits a lot of the cathartic/comforting elements I just mentioned in my previous ask.

I Saw the TV Glow for a film I saw relatively recently that lands an ambiguous ending very well

The Fifth Season (trilogy) by NK Jemison

for standalone books: Both Piranesi and Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke; and The City and the City by China Mieville all manage to land bittersweet and/or weird endings and are genuinely unique concepts

Comic series: if you came away from C3 like "wow I actually really loved the scenes in the finale with the gods talking about what this means for them, and wish the concepts of divinity and cycles had been explored in depth" run don't walk to pick up The Wicked and the Divine (completed)

TV shows: Mad Men is good throughout and never misses the mark, though i will admit it's like I'm so glad I watched it all the way through as it aired, and I don't know if I'll ever do a rewatch? but also I'm not a massive rewatcher. Succession also sticks the landing. It's a dark landing, to be sure, and one that never flinches from, well, consequences, but they do stick it. It's been a hot minute since I watched the Wire and iirc it gets uneven in parts (though still excellent throughout) but also people should just watch The Wire.

Other actual play: all three seasons of NADDPod stick the landing, but especially the first nails it. I like TAZ but I do think it can sometimes soften its blows, though the tone of the show is such that I'm more forgiving. I also find myself saying "I really enjoy D20, but endings are not necessarily the strong suit" and that's maybe something I should explore. The other actual plays I watch either I haven't finished, or they haven't finished, which is wild to consider.

Fiction Podcasts: Penumbra podcast, Midst, Silt Verses - I'm a bit of a broken record but all three of this end in a way that is, above all, true to the work and deeply satisfying.

[lacesoflove]

guess who’s back on tumblr after trying to unalive themselves 😍 i don’t really wanna talk about my absence and go into the depths of the reasoning why, so i’ll just talk about why this account was made - which was for hamzah and slushy noobz. i want to have my own little thinkpiece on the match as well as my place in the slushy community moving forward

i want to say the match and the production is the reason why i love them soo much. they have such an ability of creating cinema with their videos, hence why one of my favourite video from them is the camping video (i tend to watch this video more for comfort rather than for humour though) – and there’s an immense amount of payoff as a viewer watching their content, you can see all the layered inside iokes (i.e having aldo, and nettspend’s producers) and internet jokes culminate in something so carefully crafted (like the way chase’s commentary was genuinely good??). and then the obvious reasons as to why i liked it, hamzah looked so damn good, and he knows it too (i also find martin attractive too, i’d just prefer not to talk about it too much in respect to his relationship). there’s something so beautifully boyish about their content that i can’t find something else (as much as i love them and before anyone says it, no - the dancing gamers cannot replace hamzah and martin and that’s okay!)

however this video kind of cemented why i don’t think i’ll continue regularly engaging with their content. this video kind of felt like a bittersweet ending to one of my favourite eras in my life (watching them). and before i proceed, ik the reddit fans are gonna be annoying - on a side note of the reddit fans i feel like the reddit community is so pedantic over small stuff and because of the few, genuine bad eggs in the community, they over correct and just get so bitter and mad about everything (i.e them being so cruel to fanfic writers) and call everyone chronically online whilst they use the same old “*insert trending braintrot joke* 💜”. i feel so aged out in a fandom even though i’m 18 - i can’t imagine how the slushies who are actually around hamzah and martin’s age feel when their fandom is so reminiscent and full of the same 14 year olds that i’m convinced are the reincarnations of the 2021 14 year old dsmp fans. definitely more sane, i’ll give them that. but community aside, at least reddit community, i want to talk about something another one of my mutuals mentioned recently in their own post and it’s how money hungry they seem. two things can exist at once, let’s get that straight - hamzah and martin don’t get a lot of sponsorships but also being upset that so much of this well awaited come back was heavy promotion for the patreon which, mind you, had a decent amount of members subscribed (i do commend hamzah for encouraging people to unsubscribe over the break!) and also they get money off of ad revenue. i just personally find it egregious that their hoodies, the out of character ones, which are at least unique designs unlike them literally reselling temu shirts like the “find x” shirts, are the same price, in my currency, to the essentials fear of god hoodies.

for any south africans here, it was around like R900 for a hoodie! which is gross im sorry :)

there are also other reasons im distanced from them, and its their associations with chase and claire - i made a, now deleted, post about this before but chase has this annoying tendency i notice in white ‘queer’ (i think he’s queer lmao) men where they speak in blaccents, which was heavily highlighted to me when he was a commentator and he was able to speak in a ‘normal’ white accent, and claire made weird ass comments about black women. as well as having fucking idubzz (who im not sure why was even invited when like sm people are like “who even is he??”) who literally had to make an apology about the fact he created a racist culture with his platform, years after the damage was done. i also have other smaller issues with them that would definitely actually get me cancelled (not even over on the reddit but here). but idfk, what are yalls thoughts?

[confusionism]

“That was a long flight.” Not to mention another crazy project that had her working from coast-to-coast in under two weeks. “—And then I figured customs and immigration might’ve done you in.” Say what you will about Heathrow being a leader in airport facilities; it’s still filled with grumps that could put Aiden to shame. “—So I mean—” he really doesn’t know what else to say, but between the airy laughter she pulls out of him and the playful half-nod, half-shake of his head, “—yeah.” Understatement of the year.

But also, he’s definitely not complaining. Quite the opposite.

If Anna’s sudden appearance has him frozen in utter shock, then her words have the exact opposite effect, melting away every bit of bad that’s built up throughout the evening. The anxieties, the annoyance. Even the mild heartburn from eating the weird slop they’d named ‘dessert,’ despite setting it on fire. He takes to her presence like a plant does sunlight, reveling in warm comfort and blooming under the rays of her inspection. By the end of it all, one would think that he’d just broken the record for a lap around the pitch. The faint pink on his cheeks only adds to the effect.

“You’re always a ten to me.” He isn’t saying it just to say it. Anna possesses beauty in its most obvious forms, with a prize-winning natural smile and a relentless charm about her. It’s part of what makes her successful— how she seamlessly blends into every theme and still strikes the hearts of her audience, sets herself apart in a way that makes everyone, everything, the background. Then there are the other ways that she attracts him — the more important stuff — the details that the spotlight ends up leaving in the shadows. Beginning with her heart and ending with her endless devotion. Smitten. Aiden’s terribly, totally smitten.

He has to refocus before she notices that he’s staring.

“I, uh— I gotta say, I don’t think we’re gonna have much luck with the food. I’ve been scoping out the place—” like a true, tried and tested introvert, “—and I think the best you’ll find are the nuts in my pocket.” A beat passes. “Actual nuts. Cashews. Not— you know.” Not to crack a dirty joke in the middle of a very fancy, very high-budget occasion… But he knows her. Knows them. And speaking of, “—Oh!” he brings his hands up to shoulder-height, showing off the new silver gracing his cuffs. “Check it out. I got a couple compliments on ‘em.”

Leave it to Aiden to be more enthusiastic about small things when there were two chart-topping musicians on-stage a few hours ago. Priorities will be priorities, however, and he won’t be told otherwise. Caught up in his eagerness, he scoots closer and rests a hand on her hip, telling her, “Thank you for coming.” Because really, there’s no combination of words that could capture the depth with which he feels, just seeing her— much less being graced by her generosity and thoughtfulness all day.

What is it about Aiden that makes her hold her breathe, as if she's bracing for the rug to be pulled out from under her? It happens so quickly, verging on a split second, that no one would notice. Hell, Anna wouldn't, if not for the way her heart tightens in that second. Equal parts anticipation and anxiety, bubbling together into one. Excited to see him, paranoid that he wouldn't be happy to see her. She feels it when she arrives, after two weeks away.

Then, he's looking at her. Smiling. Open. With eyes she can get lost in, for days on end. The feeling dissipates, replaced with this overwhelming feeling of happiness. Because he's not a picture on her screen, or something in her imagination. Aiden is present, in the flesh, and dressed beautifully in a suit and tie.

"Surprised to see me?" She guesses, when they find a quieter corner. If there weren't hundreds of reporters and nosy gossips around, Anna would jump into his arms. The over-excited, child-like reaction she has after a long few weeks of separation. But Petra poured too many hours to getting his suit look just right, so she settles for a brief nuzzle against his neck when he pulls away.

"Remember that airplane I was on?" Anna teases, like she doesn't know what he means. "Wait, let me take a look at you first." Because that's half the reason she ran through heaven and Earth. "Wow." Just... "Wow." Anna repeats, inspecting the simply beauty of his suit and the pine scent attached to his aftershave. "You clean up real good, babe." An understatement, Anna has to pull her jaw up from the ground. A gentle squeeze to his arm, she finally nods.

"I got here as fast as I could. I wanted to be here, for you." Sure, the event is nice too, and celebrating people's successes means something. This, however, is a distant second reason. "I almost got away with it, too, if not for the shoes." Maybe she can pass it off as the latest trend? "But I'm here, dressed to the... Sevens?" Can't exactly call her a ten, when she's mismatched with rain still tangled in her hair. "I got your back. Small talk. Avoiding personal questions." Smirking, she adds coyly; "Flagging down the waiters with the actual good food." Anna suspects it's more deconstructure, avante-garde bullshit.

Another breathe. A sip of water from the bar. "It's really good to see you." Simple words, but they come from the heart. Aiden could be wearing his usual clothes, snuggled up on the couch, and Anna would say the same thing.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[guinevereslancelot]

decided to leave my job and i'm gonna fr gonna cryyyyy