#the chicken scurrying past

[sir-walton-goggins]

That chicken is a paid actor

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part ii)

a/n: such a cute chapter seriously, kooky Claere tries very hard to fit in and nearly succeeds

Cregan Stark felt an unexpected warmth stir within him as he stood at the cold threshold of Claere’s chambers that morning. She hadn’t noticed him yet, past her table overcrowded with steaming choices for her finicky appetite, her attention fixed on her slumbering dragon outside the frosted window. It was the first time, in weeks, he had seen Claere appear so... alive. Always, she remained untouched by the glow of the fires or the company of others. Yet here, framed by the muted sunshine, she was no longer the spirit of assumptions, but something more tangible—more real.

Her ivory hair, neatly brushed and woven into elegant braids, glinted in the soft morning light. A rare flush graced her ashen cheeks, lending an unexpected warmth to her pallor, while her lips, usually discoloured, now hinted at a shocking vibrancy. Her thickset leather gown, tailored to fit, cinched snugly to her form, warding off the biting winter chill. One could question her sanity or wisdom—but never the timeless beauty that clung to her like a second skin, untouchable and undeniable.

"Leave us," Cregan announced, breaking the quiet spell that lingered in the room.

The subtle command had Claere's handmaidens hurrying to obey, scurrying as they retreated from the room. Only one remained—the worried young girl who had raised her concerns to him—hesitating for a breath as she passed him.

"My lady is yet to break her fast, my lord," she mentioned before slipping away, casting a fleeting glance at Claere as though she feared leaving her alone.

Cregan’s gaze wavered on the closed door before shifting back to his wife. Claere’s violet eyes met his unflinchingly, but there was something delicate beneath the surface, a thread of tension woven through the air between them.

He divested his weighted fur cloaks and sword, then turned his attention to the table. He surveyed the spread before him—an abundance of food, more than enough to feed a small army. Golden loaves of bread, platters of roasted meats, a tray brimming with two hot pies, and rich, steaming pots of chicken porridge adorned the surface. Yet, despite the lavish display, it all felt strangely hollow.

His brow furrowed as he took in the untouched offerings. “This is more than enough for a feast,” he said to her, casting a sidelong glance. “Yet you’ve chosen to starve yourself.”

She was gaunt enough, pale enough—he could not bear the thought of her fading further into herself. Claere did not spare him another look or a reply, tucking her knees under her chin and continuing to stare blankly at the grey skies beyond.

"Come, try this. The venison is one of my favourites, the best you’ll ever taste," he attempted, his voice quieter than he intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between them.

He skewered slices of the tender meat and placed them on her plate. "Especially rare this season. Smoked to perfection."

It was met with nothing. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink. It was like talking to a marble statue. Cregan’s tolerance waned, but his determination remained. He tried again.

"Perhaps some fruits from the capital?" His eager eyes flickered over her pale frame. She had grown up surrounded by the opulence of King’s Landing, maybe something from her past would awaken her hunger.

At last, a response—her gaze shifted, just barely, in his direction.

"Apples, cranberries. Oranges from Dorne," he murmured to himself, unaware.

That caught her. Her violet eyes brightened, if only for a second. Her head turned ever so slightly, just enough to show she had heard him. It was a faint glimmer of interest, the smallest shift in her otherwise impassive demeanour. Cregan seized the moment.

"Yes. Blood oranges, all the way from Sunspear," he continued, his voice gentle, as though coaxing her from some distant reverie. He reached for the bowl of oranges, their vibrant colour standing out amidst the endless grey.

"Sweet and ripe." He peeled one slowly, letting the tangy scent of citrus fill the room. "The taste of sunshine, I hear," he remarked, cutting into the orange and setting a few slices on her plate beside the untouched venison.

For a moment, the room held its breath.

He sat beside her, not prodding further, allowing the zest of the fruit to permeate through the chill in the air. It waited as a peace offering between the two of them. Although his hands itched to reach out, to grab her, shake her, force her to acknowledge the danger of her disinterest, he held back, knowing that force was not what she needed. Not now. He would start slow; small.

The moments stretched on, though his patient gaze never left her.

Then, slowly, almost unnoticeably, Claere reached forward. Her fingers touched one of the slices, and she brought it to her lips. The smallest trickle of juice touched the corner of her mouth, and something unspoken shifted between them. Another followed and another, until the orange slices disappeared.

Cregan said nothing, only watched, as though witnessing some small, hard-won victory. He reached for a second orange, peeling it with care, and setting the fresh slices in front of her.

"I don’t eat meat," Claere said suddenly, her voice clear as day, shattering the silence.

He blinked. For a moment, the absurdity of it all struck him. This was Claere Velaryon—the mysterious princess they all feared, who, in their minds, feasted on flesh like some beast from old Valyrian folklore. The one who terrified even her own attendants.

And here she was, delicately picking at oranges, refusing meat, no more grotesque than a rose bracing against the cold.

It hit him then—why she had not eaten a morsel at their wedding feast, why she never showed face at suppers, why she had been refusing to eat all this time. She wasn’t what they claimed, made of stone and shadows. She was simply, achingly, human.

Cregan stifled an amused grin, the irony too sharp to ignore. "Duly noted," he murmured, glancing at the untouched venison beside her. "I’ll take that."

He took her plate and switched his empty one with it. He managed to fill it with natural foods on the table—bread, butter, and fruits. Certainly, Northerners depended on their beef and mutton rather than daily grains. Anything hot and juicy to bear the brunt of the cold.

Whilst silently biting into a slice of buttered bread, Claere continued to scrutinize her drowsing dragon through the windowpane. Luna could’ve been mistaken for a snowy cliff by the treeline, her silver scales tough enough to brook the battering breezes outside. It should have been awake by now, trilling for Claere to come join her. Yet, peculiarly, the she-dragon continued to doze through the day.

Cregan followed her gaze, a frown tugging at his features. "Did you fly too far last night?" His concern edged through his voice. "It's been asleep too long."

Just then, Luna unfurled her leathern wings, flapping away the snow before digging her snout back into the earth. Steam sizzled off her throat and belly, a spot of the everlasting fire she harboured.

Claere took her time to respond, her voice almost proud. "She is overfed."

He scoffed under his breath. "That beast could swallow half the North, and still—"

"I took her out to hunt, my lord," she interjected, her tone soft but deliberate. "Just this morning."

His hand froze mid-motion, tightening ever so slightly around the knife as her words settled in.

"You took her to hunt," he repeated, glancing at her once he’d wrestled his wrath back under control.

She nodded, matter-of-fact, as though she were recounting an uneventful ride instead of defying his explicit orders. To Cregan, it was a quiet betrayal.

"You flew alone? Down to Castle Black?" His voice dipped into treacherous waters, barely containing his growing irritation.

"We only rode a little past Last Hearth, never crossed the Wall," she responded patiently, her tone so measured it made his irritation feel misplaced. "Luna caught some wild boars there. I reckon she’ll be sated for a few days."

Her calm, composed words felt like a blade twisting in his side. The frustration simmered beneath the surface, no longer containable. He leaned back, tossing the half-sliced apple onto the table with a heavy thud, the act punctuating the helplessness he felt. There was no forcing her, no bending her will—just standing by, powerless, as she made decisions he could neither influence nor control.

"Have I defied you, my lord?" she asked abruptly, her violet eyes watching him closely, an unexpected spark of interest flickering within them.

Claere held his gaze, unblinking, unperturbed by the smoldering in his eyes. There was no trace of fear, no hesitation—just that infuriating calm that always seemed to shield her from his concerns, as though the dangers of the world brushed past her without consequence.

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to dispel the misplaced rage bubbling up. She hadn’t crossed the Wall; she hadn’t endangered herself, not in the way he feared. She had simply done as she had always done—navigating the wilds with a certainty that unnerved him.

He sighed despite his frustration. "No, you have not."

He reached for a cluster of cranberries, carefully plucking them from the vine and placing them onto her plate, trying to make the gesture feel routine, almost tender.

"You are the Lady of Winterfell," he continued. "You have as much right to defiance as I do."

She studied the crooked smile tugging at his lips, her brows drawn in thought, as though she couldn’t quite decipher the mystery before her.

"Do I not repel you?" she asked quietly, her voice betraying the faintest trace of genuine curiosity.

Cregan furrowed his brow, caught off guard by her question. "Whatever made you think that?"

Her fingers touched her chest as if pointing out the obvious. "You think me mad. The way the others do."

Realization softened his expression. "If that were true, I would not be here." He paused, his gaze more intent now. "Just as the moon is to the night, you are, to me. Distant, yet always prevalent. I have come to be curious."

A slight frown creased her forehead. "Curious?"

"About everything," he said, the softness of his smile deepening. "I want to know everything."

The silence between them grew thick, loaded with things unsaid. She wasn’t accustomed to being seen this way—not with such intent. For so long, she'd been surrounded by whispers and wary glances, all feeding into the myth of her coldness, her distance. But now, here was Cregan Stark, looking at her not with suspicion, but with inquisitiveness. That simple admission seemed to unnerve her.

"You want to know everything?" she echoed, disbelief threading through her voice.

He leaned in slightly, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his face. "Yes."

Her gaze dropped to the plate of fruit he had arranged with such care. Her fingers toyed with the edge of a piece of bread as if contemplating whether to trust him with whatever weighed on her mind.

"There is not much to know," she murmured. "Everything is plain in sight."

His smile returned, warmer this time. "Then you're not as impervious as you appear."

Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but hesitation froze the words in her throat. For a brief moment, it seemed she was on the cusp of revealing something that had been buried for far too long. But just as quickly, the moment passed. She closed her mouth and turned her gaze away, her hands folding neatly in her lap, retreating back into herself.

Cregan watched the subtle shift, the way her posture tightened ever so slightly, the way her eyes retreated into that familiar, distant place. He had nudged the door open, but only a crack. It wasn’t enough to draw her fully into the light, but it was something. A start.

"You don’t have to tell me everything right away," he said gently, his voice shaking with laughter. "It will take time. And I will be here until then."

She looked at him then, a faint expression—almost like fondness—ghosting across her features. There was a tenderness in her eyes, nonetheless guarded, yet undeniably present. She gave a small nod, her voice quiet and uncertain.

"Perhaps one day, my lord," she promised.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Her gaze drifted back toward the window, back to Luna, her sleeping dragon. She seemed lost again, caught in her daydreams, her thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Cregan leaned back in his chair, watching her in silence, his gaze tracing the curve of her face and her breath's steady rise and fall. Luna and Claere, both wrapped in an ancient mystery he was only beginning to understand.

The barriers between them had not yet fallen, but a door had been opened, however slightly. For now, that was enough.

For the first time since their marriage, Cregan allowed himself to believe—perhaps, just perhaps—there could be something more than the looming noose of duty between them. Something honest. Something soft.

X

As winter’s dawn closed in, Cregan’s quiet affections for his wife burgeoned like an arrow loosed from a bow, swift and certain. As she was known to the people of Winterfell, Lady Stark remained the same distant figure veiled in cold beauty, a foreign wife to their lord, a creature of dragon lore. She made no effort to blend into their world, and they met her aloofness with cautious smiles and bowed heads, unsure whether to approach or retreat. Claere drifted through the castle like a morning mist, silent, elusive, always keeping to the shadows, never quite a part of Winterfell’s daily rhythm.

But unlike the rest, Cregan began to take notice. Rather, it was incredible to watch unfold.

Beneath the layers of distance and impassion, there was another side to her, subtle and easy to overlook if one wasn’t paying attention. Claere was still unfamiliar, avoiding scrutiny and taken by the darkness, yet she had begun to tend to her littler assignments as a lady of the keep. It wasn’t grand or overt—there were no loud declarations or public displays of command—but she moved with purpose.

She listened more than she spoke, and when she did, her words were often strange, riddles of foresight that left the common folk wary. To the unsure blacksmith, who sought her blessing for a new forge, she meekly said to him—"Strike iron before the bell tolls twice. On the third, the flames will consume more than metal."

Whispers continued to follow her wherever she went: the dragon witch, the phantom of King’s Landing. Still, Claere remained unfazed. She attended her duties with modest accuracy, stitching herself into the rhythm of Northern life, even if it repudiated her.

Gradually, some saw her walking the cold halls, her footfalls deliberate, attending to the tasks that had once been left to the servants. Lord Stark had heard whispers of her wanderings of late—through the kitchens in the early hours, startling the cooks who were not accustomed to their lady appearing so near the hearth. She frequented the stables, her pale eyes watchful of the stablehands, though she never interfered. Most strangely, she had taken to visiting the kennels where the pups—the direwolf cubs born just before the first snowfall—played.

It was an odd sight to behold: Lady Claere, who rarely engaged with the people of the keep, standing among the yapping pups. She never knelt to pet them, never extended a hand to ruffle their fur. Instead, she would watch, as if the simple act of being near them was enough to quiet her mind. The small, wriggling wolves nipped at her skirts, tugging with playful insistence, but she remained still, observing them. Understanding them.

"They are quite fond of you, my lady," the kennel master remarked one day, eyeing the scene with amusement.

Claere glanced down at the pups nipping at her fur-lined cloak, her expression unreadable. "Then why do they attack me so?" she asked, her voice lilting with dry bemusement.

The kennel master chuckled, tossing scraps of meat at her feet. The pups immediately abandoned her skirts, their attention fully captured by the morsels. They tumbled over one another, growling and yipping as they fought for the food.

"I hope that answers your question, my lady," he said, his grin widening.

She looked at the scramble of bodies and fur, her lips pressed in a thin line, as though she was still unsure.

And on the rarest of occasions, Cregan would find her by the ancient weirwood tree in the godswood, her hands clasped to her chest, staring into the carved face of the old gods. The white bark seemed to cast her in a radiance, a lone figure amidst the snow-covered branches. Her eyes, those pale violet eyes, seemed lost in thought, as though she communed with the far beyond, elsewhere.

Likewise, her deeds—those small, almost invisible deeds—spoke volumes. Cregan had once found a handkerchief waiting for him in his study after a particularly gruelling day. The little fabric was sloppily stitched, the pale blue thread forming what he could only assume was meant to be a dragon—Claere's touch, unmistakable. Despite the uneven embroidery, he carried it with him always, tucked close to his chest beneath his leather coat of plates. It was the smallest of gestures, but to him, it was the great deal of effort she had put in for him.

But formality, he decided, did nothing for them.

One night, he summoned all the courage he had left, sweeping into her chambers with a boldness that surprised even him. He found her sitting near the hearth, her slender fingers too close to the flames, seeking heat from the piercing frost that had begun to seep into Winterfell's very bones.

"I would like to," Cregan began, his voice betraying a touch of nervousness beneath its usual strength, "sleep here tonight."

She turned to him, startled, her violet eyes dashing briefly to the bed. She blinked, slowly understanding the meaning behind his words.

Her lips parted, and she spoke with faint surprise. "You desire an heir."

Cregan's heart lurched in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. "No. No, princess," he half-laughed, quickly stepping forward, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "You mistake me. I want no such thing from you."

She remained quiet, her gaze searching his face for meaning. "You do not?"

"I do, of course. In time, yes. Heirs." He scratched his jaw nervously. "I implied that I merely..." He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. His hand moved toward her, hovering in the space between them before finally resting gently upon her cold hand.

"I simply want to be close to you. No titles or expectations. You and I."

Claere stared at his hand on hers, the firelight dancing across her face, her expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and awareness. She had never imagined such a request from him. To her, as preached by her mother, marriage had always been about duty, obligation, and the future of his line.

"You mean to sleep here," she repeated, her voice softer now, doubtful.

"Aye, I do," Cregan replied, his hand still resting over hers, warm against the cold of the room. "I would like to be with you, as we are. If that would please you."

Her eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place—an emotion she rarely showed. Vulnerability, perhaps. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the flames.

"Very well," she whispered.

Then on, he cherished those quiet nights spent by her side, even while she remained true to her unstinting oddities. For all that surrounded her, she had, in her own way, become his constant.

The gentle strumming of her harp in the dead of the night became Cregan's personal lullabies, even if was hair-raising to the rest of them. He found her wandering through the corridors in the small hours, her movements slow, as though she drifted through her dreams. It should've unsettled him—the sight of his wife, half-asleep and roaming as if the world outside fell to nothing at her feet. Whenever the night sky beckoned her, she would climb the ramparts, sprawling herself across the ancient stone, her hands and eyes tracing the constellations. Sometimes, in the earliest hours of dawn, he would wake to find her already gone, Luna’s shadow a fleeting blur in the sky as she took flight.

"The court grows restless, my lord," the maester had said cautiously one time, his voice a quiet murmur as they stood in the Great Hall. "They believe Lady Claere's patterns... worry the people. A lady shouldn’t wander alone, especially not at such hours."

Cregan's rubbed at his brow, frustrated. "What would you have me do? Chain her to her chambers? Berate her like a child?"

"They mean no harm, my lord," he continued, trying to tread carefully. "You appease her too much. Her place is—"

"Her place," Cregan interrupted, his tone final, "is wherever she chooses to be."

He couldn’t bring himself to curb the parts of her that made her who she was. She wrought no trouble to anyone. Besides, stopping her could bring about dire consequences he knew little about.

One evening, after hearing her footsteps echo along the parapet walls, he quietly followed. Of course, for a dragonrider, such a height would not bother her, but his heart raced faster at the reflection of slippery death. Claere was already there, gazing up at the stars with a look of quiet reverence. He carefully lay beside her, trying to see the sky as she did, wondering what enigmas it held for her.

"Do you see them?" Claere asked, not turning to face him.

Cregan followed her gaze, his breath clouding in the crisp cold air. "Their radiance comes to nought with your presence," he said in all honesty.

Her eyes still fixed on the heavens, simply nodded, offering no smile, no warmth—just that silent acknowledgement that always seemed to deflate him.

"Untouched," she told him, an awed confession, "since I first laid eyes on them. Even in King's Landing and Dragonstone. Here. Yet they tell me a distinct story every night. Of old, of the things yet to come."

Cregan found himself leaning closer on his elbow, her calm conviction tugging at his control. It was easier to touch her nowadays, never past a soft squeeze of her palm or shoulder, but nevertheless, he basked in her liberties to him.

He traced her hairline by her temple, tucking a curl behind her ear. He was afraid she was going to melt right through his fingertips, vanish into steam.

"What do they say to you tonight?" he asked.

"Iā gēlenka qogron," she replied, her Valyrian tongue as smooth as the silks she wore, getting across his skin like a breathy caress.

He shook his head. "I can't understand your language."

"A silver lining."

For the first time in a while, she looked at him, a faint smile playing at her eyes, like two streaks of comets in the night. An elfish smile spread on his lips, his soul wrecked and decimated at the mere sight of it. A softness that she allowed just for him.

The aforesaid silver lining came on two fronts, both owed to his good wife, though neither understood immediately.

The first glimmer of change came as Claere sat by his feet one evening, quietly weaving another garland of winter roses upon a vine. He wondered what significance it was to her, why she had taken a liking to such an absurd, sweet thing. It was rare in these parts, yet she always had a throng of them every fortnight.

Instinctually, he reached out to gently touch the back of her head, brushing his fingers down the silvery hair that was left loose from her plaits. That gesture was enough to impart the warmth from the chill around them. Then, without turning to him, she spoke softly; suddenly.

“You could grow things here. Even in the cold.”

Cregan frowned, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

She did not answer right away, her fingers hesitating on loops of the vines, thinking. "Like these roses. They rise out of the ice."

He flickered his gaze to the withered flowers in her pale hands.

“The hot spring beneath the castle,” she sounded off. “It could heat the glass. Protect the plants.”

“Glass?” he asked, perplexed, trying to piece together her words.

She saw her nod, turning her head just enough to catch the slope of her nose and bow of her murmuring lips. Such a distracting sight.

“A house of glass. With the heat from below and light from above, you could grow food. Even in the blackest winters.”

Cregan sat back, stroking his lip, unsure if she was speaking in riddles again or if there was some truth hidden in her quiet musings. A glass house? In Winterfell? He mulled over her words long after the conversation ended, unseeingly staring at her sleep, wondering if she saw something he didn’t, or if it was simply another of her cryptic thoughts, floating like a wisp of fog, impossible to catch.

Days passed before the idea began to take shape in his mind, the pieces coming together as he considered the hot springs that ran beneath the castle, the ancient warmth that had always been a part of Winterfell. The more he thought about it, the more her words made sense—elusive at first, yes, but not impossible.

“She has clever foresight beyond her years, my lord,” one of the builders remarked when Cregan indistinctly shared the concept, the man’s eyes widening at the simplicity of it. The Glass Gardens, so it was named.

“To grow fresh produce in hard frost… it could change everything. But it will take great labour, and the men—”

"Insignificant," he interrupted, anticipating the instant objections. "Use every muscle we have, builders and stewards alike. Stop at nothing. Winter is coming."

X

A heavy silence draped the great hall as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat together at the head of the long table, their presence commanding every eye in the space. The low light of the hearth flashed, candles careened, casting long shadows against the weathered stone walls, the flickers dancing across Cregan’s gruff yet relaxed features and Claere’s hypnotic beauty.

The hall was teeming with people, the sounds of clinking plates and jovial laughs—lords of vassal houses, bannermen, and their ladies—but not a soul dared to question their sights. They watched, breath held, as the husband and wife dined in quiet harmony after weeks of isolation. Yet, the silence wasn’t strained. There was something subtle between them, implicit but unmistakable, a warmth that didn’t need words to be discerned.

Claere, shrouded in a grey fur-lined cloak, a gift from Cregan, picked at the peas on her plate. To those watching, she remained in her customary quietude, never quite fitting into their climate. But Cregan saw something else. He could sense the effort in her posture: the way she held herself more present tonight, despite her usual evasive manner. She wasn’t quite comfortable, but she was trying. And he was prepared to help.

Cregan’s watchful grey eyes, sharp as winter but softening with each glance, rushed often to his wife. Though she barely touched her food, he noticed her little, doubtful movements—the way her fingers skimmed the rim of her goblet, the way her eyes lounged on the stagnating hearth, her mind a million miles away.

He tore a piece of bread and placed it on her plate, a routine gesture between them now. He gently squeezed her hand over the table, bringing her back to reality.

"You must eat something," he murmured, meant for her ears alone. There was no force in his words, only a gentle concern from his growing care.

Claere’s violet eyes flickered toward him, surprised at first, but she didn’t resist. She took a small nibble of the bread and sipped the spiced broth, hesitant under the weight of so many eyes upon her. Yet, when she met Cregan’s gaze, just for a heartbeat, something shifted. An unassuming smile tugged at his lips, softening the edges of his usually stern features.

The tension in the hall, once thick with curiosity and judgment, began to ease. The subtle exchanges between the lord and his lady had not gone unnoticed by their audience. How his smile grew when she looked at him, a rare sight for those who knew him.

It wasn’t until a shift in the crowd drew the noble couple's attention—an approaching woman with two small children clutching at her skirts—that the atmosphere around them began to change.

In their small hands, they carried something bright—gleaming in the candlelight like polished stones. As they came closer, Cregan's brow furrowed in confusion. The sight of what they carried made him lean forward, his voice low with disbelief. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bless me. Are those...?” he drawled out in wonder.

The woman’s hands shook slightly as she stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously between Cregan and Claere.

“Lord Stark,” she stammered, her voice trembling. She strained a pleading gaze at Claere. “This is too generous of a gift, my lady. We cannot accept this."

In her hands, and those of her children, were dragon eggs from Luna's most recent clutch—small, vibrant, coloured crimson and green. The sight of them made the hall grow quieter as if the very air had thinned with the enormity of the gesture. The children, however, clutched the eggs to their chests, unwilling to part with them. Their small hands curled protectively around the gleaming shells, eyes wide with the wonder of it.

Claere’s gaze flicked to the children, and then to the mother. "They earned them."

"They are unaware of what these symbolise to your bloodline," the mother refused. "Dragon eggs don't belong in the hands of people like us."

“Are you to refuse gratuity from your lady?” she said, with the quiet authority that left no room for argument. Claere regarded the children with a measured gaze, her expression still cool.

"They are gifts for your family. I owe the little ones a keepsake for their bravery today."

"Bravery?" Cregan questioned.

"We helped her locate Luna's clutch, m'lord," the young girl confessed in a mumble.

"And Lady Stark let us keep some of them," the young boy finished. "We found five so far."

"Two out of five is scarcely anything," Claere subdued the stressed mother. "I have plenty to spare."

The children, despite their mother’s soft pleas, clung tighter to the eggs, their fingers wrapped around them as though the treasures belonged to them alone. The mother’s face flushed with embarrassment, her hands trembling as she tried to gently pry the eggs from her children’s grasp.

“But, my lady, this is—”

Claere’s attention had already drifted to her plate. Her expression tightened for a brief moment, something unspeakable crossing her features—a subtle unease she hid from the hall, but not from Cregan. Ever observant, caught the unease settling into her posture, the slight tightening of her fingers around her goblet. He saw the far-off look in her eyes, and his heart sank.

Claere, at that moment, glanced down at the eggs in their small hands, and her gaze seemed to shift—becoming distant, as though she were looking far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Her eyes briefly lingered on the older boy, trained right through him, a flicker of foreboding.

Sensing this, Cregan squeezed Claere's thigh to summon her attention. When he did, he gave her the most infinitesimal shake of his head, searching her eyes. For a quiet moment, she remained frozen in place, still cold-eyed, as if deliberating some far-off future.

But then, with the smallest exhale, she relented. The tension in her shoulders melted, and her gaze gentled. Turning back to the woman, Claere’s voice was soothing now, in a way that almost made her seem more benevolent.

“Your son will grow strong,” she said, softly touching the boy's head. “He will see many winters, and live long." Then she nodded at the girl. "So will she. Great things await in their morrows."

The woman’s eyes filled with gratitude, her children clutching their eggs close as they looked up at her in awe. She bowed deeply, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Thank you, milady, truly," she said profusely. "Thank you.”

As the woman and her children backed away into the crowd, their wide-eyed wonder a stark contrast to the stunned silence that had settled over the hall, Cregan relaxed into his chair, his gaze still fixed on Claere.

He was the perfect blend of amusement and concern. “You mislike lying," he claimed.

Claere, still staring after the departing family, shook her head, her expression contemplative. “No,” she said, her tone almost introspective. “I do not care for it. The truth is simpler.”

Cregan arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile as he sipped his ale. “You avoided the truth."

"Akin to deceit."

He set down his mug with a sigh. "Fair enough. Whatever did you see?"

Her eyes tightened, toying at her sleeves as if thinking over revealing this to him. "The boy will live long... but he will be sentenced to takeing the black for assault. His path is laid."

Cregan absorbed her words, and the dinner noises got louder. He rubbed a hand down his mouth, nodding to himself.

"That boy's future is his to shape," he relieved, his eyes locking on hers. "No sense in weighing down tomorrow with troubles that haven’t come. Perhaps knowing less will allow him to make other choices."

She quirked a side of her lips to an imperceptible smile, a shared understanding evolving between them. "Perhaps."

He gently caressed the back of her head. "Maybe don’t make this a habit. I don’t fancy sharing my ale with a doom-monger every night."

Her laugh surprised him. It was soft, barely more than a breath, like a secret that had slipped free—genuine, and entirely unexpected. Cregan blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear it.

"You laughed," he noticed breathily.

Claere paused, her brows drawing together as though she hadn’t noticed it herself. “Did I?”

He nodded, still watching her, his eyes softening. “Aye, you did. A sound like that could warm even these old stones."

She looked down at her lap as if trying to recall the moment herself. Her fingers resumed their nervous picking at her sleeves, but there was a faint flush on her pale cheeks, a subtle shift in her usual guarded demeanour.

“I suppose I did,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Cregan leaned closer, nudging her arm, gentle but teasing. “Well, don’t stop now. I think I'm rather fond of it.”

Claere’s thin lips graced a vague curve, so sweet and humble, though she quickly turned her gaze away from him, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her dress.

Gently, unable to stop himself, he reached out, cupping the side of her pale cheek. This time, she did not flinch or shy away. Instead, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean into his touch, indulging in the warmth of his hand, even if just for a fleeting moment.

For Cregan, it was another crushing triumph. For Claere, it was the first time she permitted herself to feel something other than the cold isolation that had surrounded her since arriving at Winterfell. And for those watching, it was a glimpse of an undue union slowly becoming more than mere duty.

There it was: Cregan's second silver lining, with far less fanfare and more consequential than the first. A quiet tempest of affection began taking root in the frozen North, thawing what had once seemed unreachable—the first warmth of spring after a long winter.

X

[inc0gnitoo]

first off the list…

stardew valley <3

harvey x reader- doctors orders SMUT

youve been dodging your appointment for months now. an embarrassing amount. so, lucky for you, your neighbor shane is helping you out by forcing you to go!! aren’t you just lucky. now you have to try and pretend you DONT want to have sex with your doctor. have fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a screeching cry from your horse woke you from your slumber, bringing you a shocking way to wake up. shooting up from bed, you shoved yourself into some pants and scurried outside, the brightness of the lovely 6am sun blinding you. sure, farm life was great. the responsibility, the freedom, the cute animals you would take care of, it was nice.

your neighbour, shane, not as nice. especially on mornings like this, where his idea of helping out was trying to clean out your poor horses nails.

“y/n!! did i wake ya?” he chuckled a bit, knowing damn well what he started. he pulled himself up from the ground he held your horses shoes at, as it let out a huff of frustration. wiping his forehead, he grinned at you.

“thought ya wouldn’t mind if i helped you with your horse this time around. i usually deal with the chickens but..”

sighing, dramatically, you raised a brow. what an idiot. but, he was your best friend, and had always been since you first moved here. sure, he wasn’t doing so great when you first met, but he’s cleaned himself up a bit. thankfully. for your sake, and for jas.

“shane..” you laughed a bit, almost in disbelief at his attempts. “thanks, but i don’t think poor maverick deserves any of what you’re trying to do.”

giving you a somewhat cocky, but pouty expression, he practically dropped with sarcasm as he whined, “you don’t appreciate my hard work.” he strolled over, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“need me to give you something to do?” you asked, gesturing your head towards your coops, full of clucking creatures that would be oh so grateful if you decided to give them their morning due.

“actually,” he began, pulling out a crumply letter that you assumed he’d pulled from your mailbox. “the doc wants you to go for your checkup.”

“you went through my mail?” you huffed, crossing your arms. he had a tendency to do that, especially when he was the one sending it. he was confident in his ability to give you good gifts. like pizza. or that weird bun recipe? which you’ve never tried? and probably won’t?

his grin turning into a more mischevious smirk, he nodded his head. “sure did, farmer. i’m sure he’s gonna have a very important conversation with you today,” he wiggled his eyebrows, childish as ALWAYS.

sometimes you wish he stayed the emo alcoholic he was before.

“shane!” you began, flustered as you snatched the sheet from his hand, scanning it quickly. just a nice, quick and brief letter. no connotations whatsoever. but shane knew you would overthink it. that little crush you had on your doctor was no secret.

“and it’s first thing in the morning too. must’ve been thinking about you all ni-“

SMACK.

giving him a hard tap on the shoulder, you smacked him away, making your way past him, burning with embarrassment. steam practically seethed from your ears. “i. will deal with that. after YOU deal with the chickens, kay?”

rubbing his arm while wincing a bit, he began his walk to your coops. “boo. you’re no fun.”

no fun? no fun??

sitting in your doctors office, bouncing your leg with anticipation and nervousness was definitely your idea of fun.

the clock in harvey’s clinic was broken. not in the way that you couldn’t read the time, but the sound it made. the incredibly clacky ticks it would make like it was on its last legs. which it basically was. speaking of last legs..

“come back as soon as you need it, george!” harvey’s voice came from behind the door, creaking open as evelyn, pushing george through the door that harvey held for them.

“thank you, doctor harvey. you are too kind.” evelyn, the sweet old lady she was, always so generous with her words. it made poor harvey so bashful. it was cute.

she smiled to you, the anxious little farmer sitting in the waiting room, ignoring the shaking of your leg. “good luck, dearie.” george, much unlike his wife, completely ignored your interaction, crabby as always.

harvey snapped his head to face you. “ah, y/n. early, i see?” of course, you had shown up 25 minutes sooner than you had to. shane was starting to push your buttons, what else were you to do?

nervously, you cleared your throat, the ringing bell or the door to the clinic closing filling the room. you spoke, “y-yeah, haha. i just was excited to-“ he raised a brow, allowing you to pursue your sentence despite your obvious hesitation. “ah, see what you wanted from me.”

“excited?” your doctor had a smirk creeping on his face, “i surely haven’t heard that term before when used in my office, but it does have a nice ring to it.”

you were just as shocked as him, listening to yourself talk. sometimes you wondered how you even managed to speak to people with the things that came to your mind in conversation.

“glad to hear..” you breathed, standing up from your seat. “so.. you called me in for..?” you inquired, hands stuffed into your pockets uncomfortably as you shuffled over to him.

“mm, yes.” harvey hummed, making room for you to walk into his office, almost pressing himself into the wall. he was too polite for his own good. nonetheless, he spoke, “i just had a few things i needed to discuss. nothing to panic about.” he reassured you, knowing how you felt in his office. ever since you’d first moved to pelican town, you’d always been nervous going to his office. sure, 5 years living here, you’d think that you would be used to it by now.

maybe it wasn’t just the office..

oh, for sure. it was him.

you couldn’t help it. he was so gentle with you. the way he’d make sure you were comfortable with everything he was doing, everywhere he was touching. always asking questions, and he was so, so charming. and his hands-

“take a seat, please.”

his orotund voice instructed you, his hand held out towards the medical bed. as you made your way over, he grabbed his clipboard and set a sheet of paper under the clip.

“okay…” he mumbled, mostly to himself, sliding his pen down the sheet, almost as if he was observing a checklist. your leg, subconsciously, began to bounce.

sliding a chair up to the bed, he took a seat, huffing a bit as he did, almost getting relaxed in the chair and slumping his hips forward. he clicked his own, and gazed up at you through his glasses.

“just going to ask you a few.. introductory questions, as usual.” he looked back down at his sheet, taking a moment of pause before speaking up once again.

“what has your diet been like?” he asks, genuinely. he had a way with his clients, his patients, you supposed. he always cared, perhaps due to the size of the town, being so small and insignificant if you weren’t apart of it. he was interested in the lives of the people he worked with, or maybe he was just interested in you.

“ah, since it’s summer, i’ve been having lots of strawberries from the farm. corn, too. lots of corn..” you sighed, feeling a bit sluggish at the thought of returning to your farm and ripping off those corn stems again.

“so, mostly your own crops, then?” he raised a brow, curiosity swirling in his eyes. he’d always been so fascinated with the idea of living on a farm. it was appealing, being in control of your own business. to him, at least.

nodding your head, you looked at him, for the first time this appointment, already feeling your face grow hot at his intense eye contact.

“yes, usually.”

scribbling a note into his clipboard, it felt like the silence was collapsing in on you two. it was hot, you felt hot.

he clicked his tongue, seemingly satisfied with whatever he wrote down, and looked back up.

“i’m assuming you’re good with exercise, of course. your body is great.”

he hesitated, a bit, seeming to overthink his words.

and with good reason, the implications of his sentence gave you a chill down your spine, feeling flustered and uncomfortable in your seat, suddenly. like you had to jump up, go for a run.

“uh, health wise, i-i mean. not that you don’t look great.” he corrected himself, a bit breathless as he spoke, knowing damn well he’d just made it worse. he couldn’t help but put emphasis on his words. either way, he hurriedly moved on, observing his sheet once more.

you sat in anxious silence, still bouncing your leg. there wasn’t much in his office. not much noise, except if you listened, his breathing. it was heavy, much like your own. like he’d been the one being examined this entire time. yet, he was the one with his eyes on you.

“are you.. sexually active?”

feeling yourself grow hotter by the second, you cleared your throat. “um, n-no. not currently.” why did you say it that way? why did you overthink your words so much, too? he’s asked you this question a dozen times, every appointment, and for some reason, you felt so, so, on edge just from his voice. the way he asked you. his voice was low, as usual, but it was gruff. like he’d been talking too much.

“mm.” he hummed, again, scribbling on his board. his face was pink, his ears mostly. which really sold him out. he’d like to think he was more nonchalant, especially when it came to appointments with you. he was glad nobody else had to come in today. he could take his time with you.

“just to confirm, you are aware this is a physical exam, yes?” he cocked his brow, almost inquisitively. like, he knew you weren’t aware. he was dying to touch you already, even if it was strictly kept professional. something about the way you would shiver every time his hands grazed your skin gave him a sense of superiority. he liked it.

but you, a tad shock stricken, nodded your head. “ah, i’m aware now.” you murmured, fiddling with the ring on your finger, feeling awfully shy, worse than before. now he has to touch you, and oh god, you weren’t sure how your body would react.

“i did give you a warning on the letter, don’t stress about missing it,” he said as a gentle reminder, setting down his board. he stood up, adjusting his jacket before taking it off, smoothing it out as he set it down on his desk.

slowly, almost trying to antagonize you, he began rolling up his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs. looking back over at you, shaky leg and all, he chuckled a bit. he grabbed another chair, sliding it in front of you. this one was a bit more at your level. when he sat on it, he was taller than you now.

“no need to be nervous, y/n, we’ve done this before.”

harvey attempted to put you more at ease, which was of course, helpless. he knew you wouldn’t relax. as much as he wished you would. not like he could help it though, he knew how you reacted around him. it’s not like it was a secret.

every physical between you two was the same. his cold hands against your warm skin, giving you the chills. he’d apologize, and you’d breathlessly apologize back, for being so nervous. and he’d say, “no, please, it’s okay.”

as you began snapping back to reality, there he was standing in front of you, pulling on a pair of medical gloves. leaning down to your level, he made himself face to face with you. a snap came from his wrist as he gave you a smile. voice low and pleasant, he spoke,

“i’ll be gentle.”

your helpless attempts to keep yourself still were.. to say the least, pathetic. he started off normal, as most appointments go, but the moment his hands went to feel your waist, you lost any sense of normality.

as soon as harveys hands grazed your waist, your back seemingly out of reflex, arched forward, causing you let out a gentle gasp. he looked up at you, again, through his glasses, raising his brow. frantically, you immediately went to apologize,

“i-im sorry. i get-“

he squeezed your waist a bit, almost teasingly, like he was scolding a dog for stealing a treat off the counter.

“ah, ah, no apologizing anymore. doctors orders.” he was stern, commanding. that wasn’t a recommendation, that was a demand. and you weren’t about to ignore it. especially with how he looked at you as he spoke. his eyes were slightly hooded, almost as if he was tired and had just woke up moments prior. but he was focussed, hyper aware of every movement you made, and even more hyper aware of every apology you’d been mumbling each time you’d make a sound.

saying nothing, you nodded your head, making a slight ‘mhm’ in response. his brows furrowed a bit, as he sat up. suddenly, it didn’t feel like you were in the doctors office anymore. he seemed on the verge of cracking, feeling a sort of lack of confidence in his professionalism. one more word from you and he was sure he’d break.

“good job.” he purred, pulling his seat in closer. he set his hands on your knees, he was above you now, from this angle, looking down at you as he spoke,

“i’m going to have to get a bit more invasive, i’m sure you don’t mind, do you?” he inquired, knowing full well your answer. taking a large breath, a shaky one, you spoke,

“please.”

without a moment of hesitation, you were kissing your doctor. every time you’d thought about it, you’d never imagined it would be like this. his hands on your thighs, locked lips so hotly you could barely breathe. the both of you didn’t want to separate, feeling so nice together. harvey refused to let go of you, his hand sliding up your hip to grab your waist.

he took his time feeling you, letting his hands praise your body. it was different than during your check ups, now. he was able to go wherever he wanted, however he wanted. learn your body more than just how the textbooks said it would feel.

“ah, i’ve felt this.. aching, for months.” harvey crooned through kisses, only taking a bit of a pull away to look at you, admiring the redness of your cheeks, and how hot you felt, and how beautiful you were.

“i cant believe i let myself take forever to touch you like this.”

god, he was making it difficult to stay quiet. your mind was foggy, swarmed with thoughts of what he was going to do next. where his hands were going, how hard he was going to kiss you, and where. and how his lips tasted when they were connected with yours. and how he’s just as desperate as you are, and how you wanted him more than anything right now.

he stood up slowly and almost hesitantly, keeping his head down to yours, not allowing your lips to keep themselves apart. his breath was minty, fresh and it tasted just the same. it was delicious. as he stood, his knee slid between your legs, moving his hand to your back to push you further into it, more against the edge of the medical bed. “mm, much better.” he whispered, mostly to himself, feeling the heat between your legs against his knee.

quietly, you let out a little noise, taking hold of his arm and gripping his dress shirt with your nails. harvey, sucking in air through his teeth, pressed you further up against him, your chests together.

“please don’t stop grabbing me like that.” he whispered, placing a final kiss on your cheek before lowering his head down, nuzzling himself into your neck. his hand was teasing you, pressing and rubbing circles into the nerve in your hip, sending waves of pleasure into your groin. he knew the body so well, and man, were you grateful for it.

his knee left your thighs as he pressed his tongue to your neck, giving you a shiver of arousal down your spine and earning a gentle moan from you. “ah, so you’re sensitive there?”

��e-everywhere, doc.”

he felt the hairs behind his neck rise as you spoke, “doc? you want to keep me in charge, do you?”

whining a little, you nodded, “i want you.” your voice was so scratchy, feeling weak and unable to breathe. but in the best way, knowing it was him that could make you feel like this. vulnerable.

“mm.” his voice was lustful as he crooned to you, “you do, do you? how about you get on your knees then? doctors orders, y/n.”

a chill crawled up your neck, arousal burning through your veins. you were so willing to listen to him, immediately making your way to the floor, sitting on your knees with your hands set on your lap.

he tilted his head to the side, strumming his thumb across your cheek. “good,” he whispered to you, sliding his thumb across your jaw. you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and just leaving yourself there, only for a moment, before took his hand away.

slowly, harvey began to unbutton his work slacks, looking down to you. “you’re okay with this?” he asked, his hand stuck on his zipper. how sweet of him. he was so reassurance, always fining you a way out. even in his appointments, your check ups, he would always make sure you were doing okay.

of course, this situation was.. much different.

“yes. of course, harvey.” you purred, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “i’ve been wanting this just as much as you.” you insisted, unable to calm the giddy feeling in your chest at the thought of pleasing the man you’ve been obsessing over for the past.. way too long.

he groaned, a slight whine in his eagerness, unzipping his pants and pulling them down, revealing the tent that you gave him. you leaned forward, taking the initiative, and allowing yourself to take his cock yourself.

lucky for you, he was the perfect size, something you had problems with other men before. as you gazed up at him with admiration, he was holding his hand against his face, redness pouring into his cheeks. he was looking away from you, hiding his gaze.

you chuckled a bit, wrapping your hand around his length. “shy?” you teased, before opening your mouth and teasing the tip with your tongue.

“haah..” he breathed, immediately looking back down to you. your eyes, with batting eyelashes, were sending him spiraling, he could barely contain himself. “beautiful, y/n.” he whispered, placing his hand on the back of your head.

you teased him for a bit longer, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet. it was payback for all those times he’d done this to you during your check ups. all those times maru had interrupted just as his hand would slide up your thigh. all those times he’d murmur in your ear, knowing the implications behind his phrases.

“ng, no more of that.” he grunted, pushing your head further onto his cock. you hesitated, just for a moment, before finding a steady rhythm, swirling your tongue around him. his low and guttural moan told you he liked it.

“that’s good, that’s sooo good, don’t stop.” harvey sighed, rocking his hips back and forth slowly, but surely, as he found grip on your hair, pulling it up into a bundle in his large hands. each time your hand would twist a certain way, it would elicit a content moan from your doctor, and a mumble of praise. he knew where he wanted you to touch, where he wanted your mouth to go. and he would lead you there, pushing your head down, filling your mouth more with his length. it was addicting, his praise. his touch. you were willing to do anything for him at this point. anything to hear that pretty voice of his call you perfect.

“ha..” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, ruffling it a bit. “y-you keep doing that, i don’t know how much longer i can-“ he groaned, through his teeth, his brows furrowing. you had found a new pace on his cock, one that he particularly enjoyed. “ahg, last..”

you smirked a little against him, finding a sick pleasure in his weak points. seeing him made humble. it didn’t last long though, as his grip on your hair tightened, pulling you in.

“y-yeah? like seeing me all bent out of shape because of you?” he gasped, feeling himself drawing closer to his finish. “wanna make me.. nervous?” he panted out, a whine laced in his tone. he was less confident now, his voice shaky and weak.

pulling away with a pop, you smirked, “i really really do-“ you said with a mischievous grin, feeling proud of yourself.

sadly, that pride didn’t pursue much longer. he took the opportunity of you soaking in your pride to take you by the jaw and pull your face up to look up to him. you gasped in shock, though he had a soft expression, he had a smug smile smacked on his face.

“your turn.” harvey purred, helping you pull yourself up with the grip on your jaw and allowing him to hold you closer, wrapping his hand around your waist and squeezing it as he spoke, “go on, sit. you don’t need me to make you, do you?”

“no, sir,” the words fell out of your mouth so effortlessly, like you weren’t thinking before you spoke. and you weren’t. it was humorous, really, how you could go from so confident to needy and obedient so quickly. he loved it.

the nickname ‘sir’ gave him chills, giving him that sweet feeling of superiority over you. sure, he had his fair share of sex in college, but he was never confident enough to be able to actually execute the fantasies in his mind.

but now, he had you.

and you were all his.

with zero hesitation, you were pressed on the bed, the plastic sheet crinkling beneath you. your back was already arching just from the thoughts rushing through your head. what was harvey going to do now? how much better was it going to feel? your eyes went to his hands, watching him as he slowly removed his gloves.

“cant have those..” he mumbled to himself, tossing the gloves aside before crawling above you on the bed. his shadow fell over you, enshrouding you in him. his hip bones pressed up to your own, leaning his head down to your ear, mustache brushing against your skin as he whispered,

“stay still.”

as harvey found his place with his lips buried in your neck, you could feel his hand slide down your waist, sensitivity making you suck in from his touch. you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, just from knowing what he was going to do. it was like a dream, you felt crazy. your brain couldn’t comprehend anything now, except how badly you wanted his hands to keep going.

and they did.

harvey tugged on the hook of your farm slacks, giving you the opportunity to pull them down yourself, and wrap your arms around his back underneath his own. feeling your hands on him, he let out a sigh. “i love when you touch me, y/n.”

“i love touching you.”

letting his mind wander for only a brief moment, harvey groaned, his thoughts going everywhere but appropriate places. he was glad he was living it, instead of just imagining it. sitting at his desk, thoughts of you invading his mind. poor maru, asking why he was so zoned out.

he was teasing you, holding his hand just above your crotch and the brink of your panties,leaving it there. your legs shook, and you bucked your hips slightly forward and up against his palm.

“please.” you whined, feeling an overwhelming tightness building in your groin. it was paralyzing, almost, the way you felt so weak. and it irritated you, how he was treating you like this. of course, it was him doing it, so you didn’t mind. he was spoiling you just by allowing you this opportunity.

just as much though, you were spoiling him. he was so grateful he was able to touch you like this.

harvey chuckled a little, pleased with your whimpering. he slowly pressed his finger against your clit, the fabric rubbing up against it as he slowly drew circles on it. you gasped, your back immediately arching up. you cursed a bit, under your breath, gaining a sinful sigh from him as he smiled at you in satisfaction.

you tugged on the band of your panties, hoping he’d get the hint to remove them. “harvey..” you whispered, pathetically.

he raised a brow, a straight expression screwed to his face. “hmm?”

“take these off.” impatiently, you spoke, in a slightly stern tone, finished with all this teasingly vague touch. harvey, startled at your sudden tone, blew up in red, clearing his throat. “ah, aha.. if you insist,

y/n.”

you had to admit, you liked how flustered he became. how you could feel his grip tighten on the sheet beneath you. how his brows furrowed because of how flustered he became.

as harvey slid down your underwear to your ankles, you kicked them off the bed urgently, adjusting your position to be further up against his hand, earning an amused hum from him. he was reminded of you, and your position beneath him, and it gave him a delicious feeling of warmth in his groin.

his hand returned to his place between your legs, beginning a sort of circular motion on your clit with his thumb before slowly sliding a finger inside, eliciting a sweet moan from you. he hummed, quite satisfied with himself, and created a gentle rhythm.

harvey was talented with his hands, there was no doubt about it, you thought, grateful that your doctor was the man he was. you were lucky, for sure, having such a dexterous man being the one finding his place inside of you. and you showed him your gratefulness, rewarding him with moans of ecstasy just from his hand.

he got comfortable, inserting another fing-

“doctor harvey?” a knock came from the door.

you jumped, breath catching in your throat, causing his finger to twist upwards pressing into your g spot, causing a moan you couldn’t help to begin to slip from your lips. harvey hurriedly slapped his free hand to your mouth, giving you a stern expression.

“y-yes, maru?” he stuttered out, his thumb almost subconsciously continuing to massage your clit, screwing your eyes shut in pleasure.

“i was just wondering if you needed any extra support with your paperwork.. i know you’ve been busy..” she sounded hesitant, like she had more to say.

“no, no. i’ve got it all covered,” he said, so casual, despite the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and the occasional hard swallow. he looked back to you, the smallest and most mischevious smirk on his face.

slowly, he put another finger in, curling them up into your g-spot, making you buck your hips forward up into his hand, almost on instinct, like a reflex.

“ah- harvey-!” you gasped into his hand, and he simply pressed it harder onto your mouth.

“keep it down, y/n.” he whispered, “cant have maru hearing you whimper like that, can we?”

slowly, maru wrapped her hand around the handle, beginning to twist it, “are you sure? i can-“

“i-im quite sure! thank you! i believe you have work to do, don’t you?” harvey rushed, a shot of fear running through his body at the thought of his assistant catching him like this with a patient.

with you, at that. yet, a rush of excitement ran through his mind at the same thought.

“if you insist..” she let go of the door, her footsteps clicking across the floor as she made her way back to the office.

you let out a sigh of relief into his hand as he removed it, boiling up a bit of anger. “h-harvey! what were you-“

“sh.” he whispered, “don’t act like you don’t like the rush.. i know i do.” he sighed, breathing a huff of air. “as nervous as it makes me..” he mumbled the last half under his breath, as if you weren’t sharing your most vulnerable parts together. he still wanted to be perfect for you. taking his fingers out, causing you to sigh in frustration, he fumbled a bit, grabbing your hips.

“can i…?” he asked, his eyes trailing down to his length, feeling overwhelmed with the idea of being inside of you. he’d been waiting too long, and knowing now that maru had the potential of coming in, he didn’t feel like waiting anymore.

any anger you had against his insane ideas washed away at the thought, and you whined a bit. “oh my yoba, please, yeah.” you groaned, letting your head knock back.

he positioned himself, taking a moment to ensure you were comfortable. “is this… okay?” harvey whispers, only a tad on edge from the almost immediate loss of his job earlier.

“yes, yes, please! how many times are you gonna make me ask?”

“i like the way you say please.”

with that harvey was eager, eager to finally feel himself inside of you. slowly, he began to push his length into you, as you immediately squeezed on him, unable to control how your body naturally reacted to his cock. it was mesmerizing, and thanks to his treatment of you earlier, you weren’t in pain.

“mmgn.. yes..” he whimpered quietly, his head cocking backwards in pleasure just from feeling how you wrapped around his cock. “ahh.. ah- i don’t know..” he whispers, slowly beginning a steady but sloppy pace, “how long.. i can last with you.”

you moan softly, placing your fingers over your mouth. “please please just fuck me while you can.” you gasp, breathless as the feelings overwhelm you, but in the best way. harvey was big, and you didn’t realize it until he was inside of you. but god he felt good.

with absolutely zero reluctance, harvey sped up, panting out gasps and moans, and little whines in between. he lowered himself down to your ear, his breath hitting the cusp of it hotly, his whimpers crisp for you to hear. it was intoxicating. he was intoxicating.

“y/n.. y/n, y/n, y/n..” harvey murmured, the words coming out of his mouth slurred and seductive, bringing a tightness to your groin that made you clench around him.

“don’t stop.. please, doc.” the nickname slipped from your lips again, earning you a satisfying groan in your ear from your lover above you, his thrusts growing faster and harder. his hips grinded against your own, as you brought them into his in a passionate rhythm.

his moans began to sound more like whiny gasps, his confident demeanor diminished. he was so entranced, so desperate to feel good, feel you. and those moans of yours and how tight you felt around his cock and the feeling of your bare skin touching and how hot-

“y/n.. so..so close!” he begged, almost expecting those cries to get you to help him cum, and his voice brought you closer to your finish yourself.

his name left your mouth thoughtlessly, reaching your arms up to pull him close to your chest, nails clawing into his bare back. “yes! yes! like that-ah!” you cry, your legs wrapping around his waist as you cum on him, and he joins in unison.

harvey slows his pace almost immediately, growing quick with fatigue as he pulls himself out of you, shivering at the feeling.

about as exhausted, you shift yourself slightly to sit up, feeling an apparent ache in your body. letting out a huff, you become increasingly aware of how loud the crinkling was on the bed. and then it hits you.

“harvey?”

“y-yes?” he gasps, breathless.

“you.. DO have sound proofing right?”

FIN.

[ayedafuq]

Hamzah imagine I’m sorry god

POV: You got invited up to Toronto by your friend (Y/F) who hangs in the same circle as the Slushy Noobz crew, u n Hamzah meet at a party, get a little too tipsy, and you flirt just a taaaad .

——

(Y/F) : bitch come out the room and DRINK

Currently hiding away in her room (where I’ve been a freeloader for the past 2 days), I see Y/F’s text to come and join the pregame she’s having in her living room. She moved from our hometown to Toronto, a place I haven’t been before this, and I’m visiting her for the week. I came up on Wednesday and after our playful time catching up together for the past two days, she decided it’d be a good idea to go out with some of the friends she made. She currently has about 8 people in her living room playing drinking games, and I’m sitting on the floor staring into her full body mirror, ready to go to the bar, nervous as FUCK about meeting her friends.

After ignoring her text for approximately 30 seconds, she comes into the room. “OOOO GURRRRL YOU LOOKIN GOOOOOD” she says. I know she knows I’m nervous.

“Wait close the door” I say to her, and she does. “Dude, what if they don’t like me.” My anxiety is clearly getting the best of me.

“Fuck do you mean what if they don’t like you? You’re quite literally my twin. If they don’t like you then I’ll KNOW they secretly don’t like me. And they love me, so chill the fuck out. Get up” she picks me up out off the ground and pulls me out into her living room.

“Guess who’s heeeerrrree” she says to the group, and they all start to cheer. “There she is!” One of the girls says. A guy chimes in, “The visitor has arrived!”

Y/f drags me around the party to share names, my nerves subsiding. Everyone here is really nice. Why was I even worried?

“Hey, I’m Mandy. I work at the animal shelter with y/f. I’ve heard so much about you!” The girl says. I reply telling her I’ve heard about her too. “Y/f says the only reason she goes there is to pet animals and hang out with you” I tell her. “Yea sounds about right, I do the same thing.”

Me, Mandy and Y/f chat for a couple minutes sharing some laughs and stories, until the guy who chanted earlier and his friend come up. “Y/n, this is my boyfriend Martin. And this is Hamzah, avoid him.”

I give my hellos and introduce myself to Martin. We banter for a quick second before I turn to Hamzah. “Hellooo, I’m Y/n.” I give him a quick smile he returns. “Hey Y/n, how do you like Toronto so far?”

Before I can even answer, Y/f interrupts. “I’m gonna need you guys to shut up and grab a drink. We’re leaving for the bar in 30, and me and Y/n still need to demolish half the party in flip cup. Grab two seltzers from the fridge” she tells me. “You better lock in, I told everyone you never miss a flip.”

—

Two hours later and we’re at the bar, and it’s safe to say I’m feeling preeeetty nice. Her friends are so sweet, and I can’t help but feel so happy that she found these people.

Mandy, y/f, Hamzah and I are standing by a high top table, and I take the liberty in sharing some stories of me and y/f from parties in high school.

“When I tell you I turned my head for 3 seconds and y/f was gone, I mean it. I’m running through the party like a chicken without a fucking head, looking like a maniac asking everyone where she is. Mind you, I’m like 17 and hammered, so I was probably acting like the hulk.”

“Jesus Christ y/n don’t..” she says.

“After 10 minutes where do I find this bitch? Asleep in this random bitch’s closet with her head, quite literally, in a bucket.”

Hamzah and Mandy are cracking up. “You didn’t even know who threw the party?” Hamzah asks between laughs.

“Not a fucking clue. Y/f felt right at home though” I say, giggling myself.

“Girl I hate you, but yea I did. That bucket was my crib. Need to go to the bathroom?” Y/f asks me.

I tell her I’m alright for now, and Mandy tells her she needs to go so they scurry off together.

“Wow, so you guys have been friends for a while huh?” Hamzah says, still smiling from the story.

“Yea, we’ve been through a lot together. She’ll never get rid of me I fear” I say back.

“Damn, that’s awesome. Y/f is super cool, I’m happy she moved up here. When’s it your turn?” He says, his smile becoming more of a smirk. It hasn’t gone over my head that this kid is fucking adorable, but hes been acting pretty shy all night. The sly comment took me by surprise.

“Man I wish I could. It’s been on my mind a lot since she moved here” I reply.

“What’s stopping you?” He asks.

“I guess I’m just scared. It’s a big move, and she’s got the balls to do it. I’m not sure I do.”

“I felt the same way too, I pretty much hauled ass across the country of Canada at 18. I lived out of my car for a bit actually, it was a nightmare. I’d do it all again though, it was the best decision I’ve made. If I could do it, a pretty girl like you could too.”

Pretty girl?

“Pretty girl?” I say back, a little smug. The drinks are getting to me I fear.

“I’m sorry, was that weird?” He gets a little shy again. I giggle to let him know it wasn’t.

“Not at all. Thank you, pretty boy” I playfully shove his arm. I cringe in my head. I gotta be fucking kidding.

“Pretty boyyy I see I see” he says with a smile. “You think I’m a pretty boy?”

“Only a little bit. Like, this much” I pinch my fingers together the closest I can without having them touch.

“Well, thiiiis pretty boy” he mimics my fingers, “thinks you should move to Toronto thiiiis much” he separates them a little more. “Because he’d like to see you more thiiiiis badly” he separates them as far as he can. Damn, he has nice hands.

“Wow that’s pretty badly” I respond. Thank god I have makeup on because this cheesy shit might be making me blush.

“Yea, it’s alarming. Think about it, pretty girl” he tilts his head towards me playfully as he says pretty girl, getting a little close and then backing his head away swiftly. His smirk is fully activated and the eye contact we’re making is pretty hot. I smile back at him with my tongue touching my canine (do yk what I’m talking about like that lil sexy smile), tilting my head slightly to the side as if to say oh, ur flirting with me, noted. and just as I’m about to respond, y/f and Mandy return from the bathroom.

“Stop harassing her Hamzah she’s never gonna want to come back” Mandy says. “Come on, we’re gonna go back to y/f’s and play drinking games. This bar is boring.”

Hamzah follows after Mandy, glancing back at me quickly with a cheeky smile before turning his head. Y/f gets in my ear.

“Hamzah likes you. Mandy can tell. She told me in the bathroom.”

—-

Okay guys hi this is like so bullshit but I was feeling playful idk I hope you enjoyed if you made it this far

-ayev

[giamee]

𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🎐 )

even though you don't talk, they'll still find a way to listen

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | mute reader, jus some fluff really, bit on the short side

requested by @/anon

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ ok i should nawtttt have used this colour scheme im squinting like a rat at my screen tryna see what i'm saying. the title is 'cigarettes out the window' (shoutout tv girl) if u couldnt read it which i do not hold against u

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

it's simply in his nature to look out for others, to ensure that everyone is alright. and when he meets you, he's thrown for a loop a little. because you are fine.

the first time he sees you is in serval's workshop- you're just leaving, and something compels him to make sure that he speaks to you, even if it's for a few fleeting moments before you leave and he most likely never sees you again.

it's a simple question of how your day is, but you simply offer him a small smile before ducking past him, scurrying out of the door that he held open.

he's puzzled at first- maybe it's something to do with him? did you not want to talk to him? but then his sister explains that you're mute, and now he feels like a fool.

and thus begins his attempts to talk to you.

he writes you little notes to begin with. luckily for him, you're a regular at serval's shop, always seemingly having some device or another broken and in need of repairing. serval rolls her eyes at the pair of you- at gepard for being an idiot (you can still hear, you don't need notes), and at you for your attempts to run into her brother as often as possible (those machines weren't really broken).

despite this, it was somewhat amusing to watch the pair of you attempt to flirt with each other. and somewhat cute when your attempts worked.

you kept each and every one of gepard's notes to you, as redundant as they were. his handwriting was a little scruffy, and if you looked at them hard enough you could spot the little tremors where he tried to make the lettering neat.

a special treat was when he decided to add little doodles to them. it was anyone's guess as to what they were supposed to be- you were pretty sure that one of them was supposed to be you- and your heart warmed amidst the chicken scratch and stick figures.

you decide to write your own note back to him. in the top right corner is a little sketch of him, on a similar level to his own creations, that you hope he'll appreciate alongside the note.

you give it to him along with your best smile, mentally capturing the look of joy on gepard's fave at your little gift to him. you were gone by then, shyness overtaking your urge to stay, so you could only imagined his face when he realised that what you had written to him was a formal request to take him out on a date.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DAN HENG.

for dan heng to open up to someone new, several criteria have to be met.

for starters, he had to be at least a little bit comfortable around you. receptive, but not too probing or overbearing. rational, but not judgmental. open, but not too much.

in many ways, he was like a cat. you had to let him come to you.

and luckily for you, you seemed to fulfil those criteria.

as one of the newest additions to the astral express, you were in some sort of in-between phase of being one of them and a stranger. you communicated in your own ways, but you found yourself withdrawing to your room. it was overwhelming, this new environment.

it was only natural that you felt more drawn to dan heng more than anyone else. he had similar qualities to you- more introverted, tended to keep to himself. and, as you later found out, you both had a tendency to burn the midnight oil.

it became almost routine to run into him when you're both up late, wandering the astral express for some peace of mind. brief encounters with little nods sent your direction gradually evolved into longer moments spent basking in each other's presence, mostly in silence. but not always.

you both had your reasons to be up late- on the nights where dan heng looked more frazzled, a certain look in his eye, is when you began to piece him together.

he'd lend you some information of his own volition occasionally, telling you about the nightmare he had, recurring or not. there was just this certain quality to you, a look in your eye that made him feel like you truly did listen to him.

and he wouldn't trade your late-night rendevous for the world.

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[bigfan-fanfic]

Tradition and Ritual (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

Could I request a full fic where Dean does the classic asking his bf's very approving dad for permission before popping the question? Just full, teeth-rottingly-sweet fluff.

Dean isn't necessarily dense. He can be pretty clever at times, though he's not a great wit.

But there is just some kind of mental block when it comes to your father.

Maybe it's his own awful relationship with his own, but he seems almost afraid of your dad.

This is despite the fact that the man is a total sweetheart, and has been your biggest shipper since you first told him you were going to ask Dean out.

Your dad loves Dean - he's always talking him up to you about his skill with cars at the machine shop.

When you and Dean got a place together, your dad has been super excited, certain a proposal can't be far behind.

"Daaaaad!" You protest, and he chuckles.

"What? He's an old-fashioned kind of guy, despite his past. I bet he wants Sweet Child O' Mine played when you walk down the aisle."

You roll your eyes. "Maybe we don't count my chickens before they hatch?"

"You mean your rings before they... get fingered? Nope. Not that."

Your dad chuckles at the weird phrasing. "You two going on another date later?"

"Yeah, he's taking me to dinner tonight."

"Oooooooh..." your dad teases. "Proposal alert!"

"Dad...."

"Fine, fine, just teasing. I won't blab to him at work, don't worry."

"Thank you." You say, smiling as you say goodbye as he heads off to the shop.

Dean is already there prepping when he arrives.

"Heya, kiddo." your dad grins at Dean.

"Ah! Sir."

"Whoa, you're jumpy today."

Dean chuckles nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."

Dean tries to play it off and leave his nervousness behind, but he's anxious all day.

He's clumsy today, accidentally dropping tools more than once and jumping when addressed.

Your dad is pretty concerned about him, and asks him to take his lunch break at the same time as him so they can talk.

"Hey, Dean-O. You doin alright?"

Dean sighs. "I... Look, I know I'm not a very... appealing guy, you know, for your son."

"Whoa, what are you talking about?"

"I'd be protective too, and I-"

"Dean! Dean. Calm down."

Your dad reaches across the table to put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him.

Dean looks at him. "It's... there's a right way of doing these things. And I... I love your son, sir. I really do. I know we moved in together and all, but... You have been so kind and welcoming to me, and... honestly, a lot more like a dad to me than my own dad was. And I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't..."

Dean runs out of words or breath, and falls silent, trying to calm himself.

"Say what you need, Dean-O." your dad says softly.

"I want to ask for your blessing. To marry your son. I was planning on proposing tonight."

"Oh my god!" Your dad jumps up and practically scurries around the table to draw Dean into a big hug.

The poor man is so stunned by this enthusiastic reaction, his eyes wide, arms hanging limply by his side.

"Kiddo, this is fantastic! Oh, god, he's gonna flip!"

"So, you... you're okay with-"

"Absolutely! You don't need my permission or my blessing, but I give it wholeheartedly. I'm so happy for you both, kiddo."

Dean tries not to cry, but his eyes are misty, and your dad isn't exactly unmoved either. It's something Dean has loved about him - your dad is masculine enough in his eyes to own and enjoy running an auto shop, but he doesn't feel ashamed at all about showing his feelings.

"I'm so proud of you, Dean-O."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah! Ah-ah. You gotta call me Dad now."

Dean blinks several times, before he breaks out into a grin. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks... Dad."

Your dad is all smiles that evening when Dean leaves to go shower and pick you up for dinner.

But not as happy as Dean, who is practically glowing. He's about to join himself to you together, and even more, he finally has another father figure in his life who actually cares about him and supports him.

[shortcakesturns]

𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 & 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐌. 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂

𝐘/𝐍, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤.

warnings: mentions of suicide, corruption, suggestive (might make this a series with smut if you want) religion mentioned (preachers daughter) , misogyny, death mentions.

this is inspired by the one and only … @chemicalsturniolo and these head cannons

inspired by born to die album by lana del ray ❤️

this is part 1, part 2 is in the works 😋

Sunday morning in church, the bright beams of sunlight shines through the blinds. The pues are filled with people desperate to praise Jesus and rebuke the devil. In front row you could always find y/n with her pink bible, her hair pulled up in a bun just the way her momma used to. A white skirt and pink top with no makeup on because according to her daddy it’s ungodly, since women should be “natural.”

Every sunday she’d mind her business and emerge herself in the world of her father’s preaching. Overall the devil was a monster. the only monster and she never thought anything of it. This particular sunday morning an eerie feeling filled the church because yet another body was discovered half eaten. This time a member of the church fell victim to the devils doings.

——

“The devil, he’s invading this town and we’ve got to keep him out. You see Jesus banished the devil to the fiery pits of hell. So why can’t we.”

You nod along with the sermon, “amen.” echoes throughout the entire room. A figure walks past the window closest to you and your eyes dart to the side in attempts to see who it was. Maybe a farmer. You glance around the room and everyone’s just emerged in the sermon so you try to focus back on your father.

“Now in Jesus name amen, that concludes today’s sermon. have a wonderful evening everyone!.” you snap out of your thoughts and stand up to say your goodbyes to all the middle aged and small children and then the elderly. Helping out if you have to before walking out the wooden church doors to the farm house you live in next door.

You begin working on lunch for your daddy, he believed all women should serve men. It pissed you off but it was all you knew since your mother took her own life under the family tree. You wash the pans and glance into the fields and the family tree, your thoughts are interrupted by the slamming of a door and your father going to his office for next weeks sermon.

You move the pan to stove, you grab a couple of fresh eggs from the chickens that you had gotten earlier this morning and crack two. You watch as the white part bubbles up turns into a solid white color notifying you that it’s done. Swiftly you plate the eggs and bring them to daddy.

“daddy? I made lunch.” you spoke softly.

“set it down and go.” he points to an open spot on his desk and then you scurry out of his office.

You head up the wooden stairs with eerie creaks with each step and walk down the hallway to your pink dimly lit room. With a plop on your bed, you slowly drift off into the void.

“y/n…y/n..”

the decaying feet away in the wind.

the rope is tight.

her eyes wide open.

her body cold.

Sweat beads roll down your forehead as you jolt up. You look out the window next to your bed to see daylight has fallen and it’s now dark and gloomy outside.

The tree from your nightmare in view, the cornfield that goes on for miles and the church. A few tusks of corn sways around. The wind. Yet, something steps out of the cornfield. Someone.

A boy, your father did not want you anywhere near a boy unless he was godly, the few boys that did come to church were far from godly though. Plus they all were getting married off.

Being the good samaritan your father taught you to be, you changed into your nightgown and slipped on your bunny slippers and grabbed a flash light. Your thick hair falling to your shoulders as you rush down the hallway. Gently walking down the steps careful not to let a creak slip out. Once you reach the hallway you see your father in his office asleep and you walk past silently opening the back door. He still stands there.

“Hello?” You yell out.

No response.

You walk closer to him seeing the beaten down clothes. His discolored skin and the bones that peak through his hollowed face. The veins that popped out and were a purple color yet no blood ran through them. He grabs you so your up against him and covers your mouth and backs into the cornfield. He crouches down and muffled screams come from you.

“shhh…not..safe.” he points to the lifeless corpses that wonder around the church. How have you never noticed this. “come..with..me..” he groans.

He holds your panicked stiff body against him as he walks towards your house opening the back door slowly.

You switch the roles and put a finger up to his lips, and mouth.

“Don’t make a sound.”

You grab his hand and slowly walk past your father’s office and then slowly back up the stairs and push him to your room.

“okay what the hell who are you..what. are you?” you spit out.

“okay..listen..” he slowly slurs out putting his hands up.

“don’t..freak..out..please..” he follows ups.

“okay, can you get to the point?” Your confusion grows by the second.

“I’m..not..technically..alive..” he shrugs.

“are you fibbing to me, I don’t like liars.” your eyebrow raises

“no..i’m actually…dead..” he smiles, his bones visible with a smile.

Your mouth drops in disbelief, as he goes on to explain how he was in the town drive in and started choking on some french fries, and then his date left him there to die.

“okay..okay wait stop. french fries? you died because of french fries.” A smirk grows on your face and then quickly wiped it away.

“erm..yes.” he laughs.

“were they good?” you inquire.

“yes..delicious.” he leans back on my bed.

a smile creeps up on your face, and a laugh comes out as you fall next to him on the bed no longer scared.

“so..just have a question to ask you zombie boy. how come if the devil is the only monster your here?”

his eyes narrowed. “not..monster..first of all…second of all..the devil is NOT…the only..monster..” he glared.

“okay well sorry, but my daddy the preacher said the devil is the only monster in this world.” your eyebrows raise in confusion.

“your..daddy..he’s..he’s bullshit..” your mouth drops at that.

“don’t cuss!” your eyes widen.

“shit..fucking shit..your daddy..is a..cunt..” he grins.

You glance at the ceiling, “you’re ungodly.” your eyes roll.

“boo..fucking..boo..” his eyes flashed.

you look over at him..he was handsome, dead but pretty. So handsome. So what if he had a few bones sticking out of his body. nothing you couldn’t fix. Maybe the makeup you snuck from your mother’s bag would fix him up.

“what’s your name? I never asked.” you replied.

“matt.” he slurs.

“y/n.” you smile.

—-

months later, you got matt to attend church by putting makeup on him to make him look real. He thought it was complete bullshit but he wanted to see you in the daytime.

you guys started to secretly date and you would sneak him in through the house each night to sleep next to you. he was hellbent on corrupting you, matt was very ungodly and you were angelic. He couldn’t stand it. By the day he became one step closer to corrupting you by doing small things.

Sneaking out : check

buying weed: check

smoking weed: check

using your pretty privilege to steal: check

but there was one thing he needed. Trust me, he loved you but he was also dying to take that virginity of yours. Corrupting you entirely. maybe he was zombie, but that didn’t stop him from acting like a normal teenage boy.

[janeyseymour]

Won't You Be... My Neighbor?- pt 3

Part 1. Part 2.

Summary: You head to Melissa's to celebrate the big victory.

WC: ~2.05k

After leaving the court room, you promise the Schemmenti family that you’ll be over to their apartment to celebrate. First though, you do have a bit of business to get done while you’re technically still within the parameters of your workday. Just because one case doesn’t mean that you get to slack for the rest of the day- there’s always more to do.

“I’ll have dinner made by the time you come,” the redhead promises you.

You smile warmly at her. “I’ll see you around six. What kind of wine should I bring?”

“Champagne,” she tells you. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

The rest of your workday is boring and tedious, much more so than they usually are. All you want to do is go home, change out of your stuffy courtroom attire and into your comfortable clothing, and celebrate the huge success that happened today with two of your favorite people.

Finally, 5 o’clock rolls around, and you don’t think you’ve ever run out of your office faster. Your boss actually shoots you a dirty look as you scurry past her in order to leave. You stop at the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine before you set off in the direction of your complex.

Once you’re parked, you notice an old car that isn’t usually there, but you figure it’s just a visitor for another tenant in the building. Older, more beat up cars aren’t necessarily uncommon in this area. You shrug and grab your bags before heading up to your apartment. 

You’re quick to change into your comfortable clothes and take off all of your makeup, and you swap out professional Y/N for a more casual you. After today’s hearing, you absolutely deserve to just relax. You give yourself a once over in the mirror, ensuring that while you’re more comfortable you’re still presentable enough for the beautiful woman just two doors down. Grabbing the bottle of champagne and your nice champagne flutes, you head down the hall and knock.

Melissa is quick to open the door with JJ on her hip and a smile that competes with the bright lights of center city. The little boy is immediately squirming to be held by you instead of his mother, and you chuckle as you take him into your arms.

“Miss Y/N!” he squeals with delight.

“Hi, sweet boy,” you chuckle as you take in the sight of him. He’s practically drowning in one of your sweatshirts from your old university, and he looks absolutely precious.

“Mister wanted to wear his favorite person’s sweatshirt to celebrate the fact that we won and he gets to stay with Momma,” the redhead tells you with a chuckle. Then she conspiratorially whispers, “He refused my Abbott sweatshirt when he told me he was cold.”

You giggle at that little fact before tickling JJ’s stomach. “Silly boy. I’m sure your momma’s sweatshirt is way more cozy.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “Nope. Miss Y/N’s.”

The teacher rolls her eyes at her son’s antics. “Well, come in. Dinner’s ready and on the table.”

Melissa had whipped up chicken cacciatore, and it is heavenly as usual. The little boy insists on sitting between the two of you as he eats happily, wiggling in his seat and giggling at the silly faces you make at him.

“Oi,” the redhead huffs playfully. “You two need to eat, and stop making funny faces.” She glances to you. “I swear you’re just as bad as him.”

“But you still love me, Momma!” JJ exclaims, throwing his fork (his very full fork) up into the air with emphasis. It comes plopping down onto the table, and you can’t help the fit of giggles that you dissolve into as you grab a napkin to start cleaning it up. 

“JJ,” Melissa sighs, exasperated. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Bud. We talked about how you can’t throw your arms all around during dinner because then this happens.”

The little boy shrivels, but only slightly, as a guilty smile appears on his face. “Oops?”

“‘Oops’ is right, my dear,” the mother rolls her eyes playfully as she picks up his fork and hands it to him.

“But you do still love me, right?” he asks a bit more quietly.

“Of course I do, hun,” Melissa smiles down at him, any frustration already left behind. She leans over to pepper his face in kisses, her smile only growing at her son’s full-out belly laughter.

After dinner is cleaned up, the three of you settle in on the couch for a movie- The Lion King, to be exact. Once JJ had learned that you had never seen his favorite movie, he absolutely insists that the three of you watch it all together. He acts out the beginning, even going as far as grabbing his stuffed lion from a previous trip to the zoo and holding it up like Simba, but by the time Mufasa falls he’s curled up in your lap and asleep.

“There’s a reason I never saw this movie,” you mutter to the redhead next to you as your head lazily falls to her shoulder. “I knew the Dad died, and I was terrified.”

“Oh, hun,” the woman chuckles a bit sleepily. She reaches for the remote, but you stop her. 

“It’s fine,” you laugh. “I guess I should watch it if it’s your son’s favorite movie.”

You watch the movie in silence, allowing the redhead to rest her head on your shoulder as she lets the events of today wash over her and the tiredness takes her from the waking world.

As the movie credits roll, Melissa stirs just slightly, but her son stays dead to the world and remains in his dreaming state as he snuggles into your chest impossibly further.

“Sorry,” she blushes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You chuckle softly. “Not a problem at all. I actually did enjoy that movie.”

She sits up just slightly to look down at the little boy still sleeping. “He’s out?”

“Like a light,” you tell her.

“I guess I should get him to bed,” the redhead smiles softly. She reaches for him and gently pries his grip off of you. “My sweet boy.”

“I suppose I should head back over to my own apartment,” you say a bit sadly.

The mother gives you a look. “Stay?” she requests softly. “Just for another glass of wine, and maybe an adult show?”

She looks hesitant and nervous. At your nod though, those emotions written into her face melt away. “Just give me a few minutes to get him tucked in, and I’ll be out.”

“You want another glass of champagne, or would you rather me pour you a glass of red?”

“Champagne,” she replies softly over her shoulder as she heads for the back hall.

While she’s putting JJ to bed, you pour two more glasses and then settle back into the couch cushions that squeak just slightly due to the plastic covering them, reaching forward to change the channel. 

When she returns, the redhead slips onto the couch right next to you, and due to the two cushions joining where she sits, the two of you dip just slightly, and you’re hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. You both let out just a small chuckle before sobering slightly.

“Congratulations,” you say softly as you raise your glass.

She raises her own, clinks it with yours and takes a sip. “I really don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

You smile to yourself knowingly. Melissa is not going through a messy divorce anymore- she’s a newly single woman who has been flirting with you throughout the preparation for her case. She has in fact told you in confidence that she is bisexual, although it’s been quite a while since she’s been with a woman due to her marriage to Joe (even though he at one point tried to convince her to participate in a threesome with her sister- that should’ve been the first telling point that he was going to turn into a dirty, rotten cheater, she would tell you). And… she’s not your client anymore. You won her case, she gets to keep JJ, and she specifically asked you to stay later just to sit and spend time with her. “Go out on a date with me.”

“What?” the sleepiness that was just in her emerald eyes disappears in a flash, and her jaw is slightly dropped in shock.

“That’s how you can repay me,” you tell her. “Go out on a date with me.”

She bites her lip nervously. “Are you being serious right now?”

“You know when I’m messin’ and when I’m being serious,” you tell her. “I’ve had feeling for you since I first saw you, and I’m fairly certain that you have feelings for me if you’re flirting is anything to go by. I just never acted on it because you were in the middle of your divorce, and you were my client. But now… none of those things are a problem.”

“Wh- why would you want to go on a date with me?” Melissa asks, and you can see in her eyes that she’s genuinely shocked you’ve taken up an interest in her. 

“Why would I not?” you ask her back.

She quirks her lips up a bit before letting them fall, and her eyes go to her hands in her lap. “I’m… me. You’ve seen me when I’m tired and stressed, not with a face full of makeup on, a mess. I’m a mess, really.”

“Melissa, you just went through an extremely tough time,” you tell her gently, laying a hand over hers. “And through it all, I’ve seen you be wonderful with JJ. And besides… I’ve already seen it all. I know what you look like when you’re tired and overwhelmed, I know you have a four year old- who I already adore. I know the little quirks you have and how to handle them… those are all of the tough parts of a relationship to find, and I’ve already found them and love them.”

The redhead looks back up at you, and this time her eyes shine brightly with tears. “You do?”

You nod and smile at her warmly, trying to convey just how much you genuinely mean your words. “So?”

“I think I’d like that,” she whispers. “I can have Barb watch JJ tomorrow if you wanted to try to go out tomorrow? If not, over the weekend, my sister can take him.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow,” you tell her. “Be ready.”

“I will be.”

The two of you sit there for a bit longer, just sipping on your champagne and enjoying each other’s company when she reaches over and takes your hand in hers. Her fingers absentmindedly twiddle with the ring that sits on your middle finger as you watch whatever program is on the television.

After a short while, her movements stop. An arm gets slung around your waist and her head hits your shoulder. You look down, and she’s fallen asleep again. With the softest lips, you press a kiss to her hairline. You suppose you’re stuck here now that she’s asleep- you aren’t going to disturb that. So, you maneuver the two of you so that you’re laying down on her couch, reach up to grab one of the blankets draped over the back, and then you close your eyes yourself.

It’s around two in the morning when Joe slips in, ready to get his revenge on the redhead sleeping on top of you for taking his son away. It’s amazing that he’s able to enter nearly silently given the amount that he’s had to drink.

But then he catches a glimpse of the two of you sound asleep on the couch, Melissa’s arm draped over your stomach, your arms holding her protectively.

He knows his ex-wife always keeps baseball bats around for self-defense, and he easily spots the one that’s right under the couch the two of you are sleeping on.

You’re woken up to Melissa’s absolutely earsplitting scream. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦: 𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴

Rating: G Pairing: Mountain, Dew and Soot. Words: 1.1k

Featuring the return of Soot from The Day Dissolved.

Mushy May brought to you by @forlorn-crows Divider by @ghuleh-recs

Also available on AO3

Mountain doesn’t usually have trouble befriending the Abbey strays. He’s got a cadre of crows and ravens who bring him trinkets. A raccoon who thinks he’s a pet. Squirrels and chipmunks who are always happy to come up and take nuts right from Mountain’s outstretched fingers. 

So one little cat shouldn’t be a problem, but she is. 

Mountain’s tried everything. Three different kinds of cat food. Tuna. Raw meat. She eats all of it–but won’t come anywhere near it if he’s within earshot. He catches her little black shadow darting around the grounds. In his greenhouse even, keeping to the shadows. Mostly he sees her in the abbey graveyard. 

A fitting place for a black cat. 

She’s tiny. Mountain isn’t sure if she’s still a kitten, or just small. She’s fluffy, black, with big green eyes that stare at him from the underbrush as he walks closer. She never hisses, never swats. But she also shows no interest in him. They’ve had several stand offs in the oldest section of the graveyard. Mountain holding raw chicken between his outstretched fingers and this little cat turning her nose up at it and scurrying away. 

He isn’t sure why it matters. At first he tells himself it’s because he wants to make sure she’s safe and healthy. That he feels a duty to protect the living things in the abbey grounds. And also–he doesn’t love the idea of a stray cat around. Bad for the birds–and he knows how upset Cirrus gets when the cats go after them.

He’s followed her all the way to the crypt today. Trying to stay far enough back that he doesn’t scare her off. She knows he’s there–she’s a cat. But she doesn’t seem to care as long as he doesn’t get too close. He’s got more treats in his pockets. 

She stops at he steps to the crypt that holds all the past papa’s. She turns and looks at him, head tilting. He crouches down, reaches into is pocket and pulls out a chunk of salmon. God, Aether would kill him if he knew he was stealing meat to try to entice a cat. 

“Come on little one, I promise it’s better inside. All the salmon you could ever want, a warm bed. I’ll pet you as much as you want.” 

This is ridiculous he realizes as he talks to her. Bribing her. It isn’t because he just wants to keep her safe, or because he doesn’t want her out here hunting Cirrus’ birds. It’s also because it’s a challenge he can’t seem to win. Every other animal comes to him without any effort. What is wrong with this cat? The more she turns her nose up at him the more he wants to impress her. He wants to gain her favor, and when he thinks about it like that he feels more than a little insane. 

The little cat sniffs the air–takes a couple steps closer to him. Hope swells in his chest. He extends his hand even more, reaching for her. 

“That’s it, little one. Just a little closer.” 

The smell of cigarette smoke hits him. The little cat keeps coming closer and then walks past him, giving him just wide enough berth to avoid rubbing against his leg. Mountain startles, stands, turning as he does.

The little cat is winding between Dew’s legs. Nuzzling against his well worn boots. A warm purr reaching Mountain’s ears. The little cat looks up at Dew like he is everything and Mountain feels something sour in his stomach. 

“You?” 

Dew takes a drag off of his cigarette, he’s trying not to laugh–Mountain can tell. It doesn’t help. 

“I told her not to tell you.” Dew says, like this is all somehow the cats fault. “I knew you’d be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous I’m just…you?” 

“Rude,” Dew stubs his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot then bends down to pet the cat. She nuzzles into his hand. When he scoops her up, Mountain feels something akin to shock. Dew? Really? 

The little cat headbuts him, pressing her face right into Dew’s until he’s sputtering on cat hair. Mountain stares, watching her lick at Dew’s nose. Dew scrunches his face up. 

“Ok, Soot, you made your point. Enough.” 

“Soot?” 

“Yeah, because she looks like she rolled around in a fire place.” 

Mountain can’t stop staring. Can’t stop feeling the heat of betrayal in his chest. It’s all so stupid. He shouldn’t care–doesn’t really. Is glad this little cat has someone. But he knows he’s lost. It will never be him. 

“You can probably pet her now.�� Dew nods to the little black fluff ball in his arms. 

Mountain gets closer, he offers his fingers too Soot. She untucks herself from Dew’s shoulder and sniffs at his fingers, little pink tongue darting out to lick the salmon juice from them. When he offers her the fish, she chops down on the chunk greedily. Purring happily as Mountain scratches her between the ears. 

“She’s a little brat,” Dew says, but the fondness in his voice makes Mountain’s chest feel warm, not jealousy this time. Dew really loves this little cat–even though he’d probably say otherwise. Maybe it’s ok that Dew has this–Mountain doesn’t need Soot. But Dew definitely does. 

“How’d you get her to come up to you?” 

“I didn’t. She just started hanging out with me when I came to the crypts to…you know…visit. And I knew you were trying to catch her so I just…I felt bad you know? This is your thing.” 

Mountain shrugs. He pulls his hand away and Soot tucks her face back against Dew’s. Cheek to cheek. 

“It’s fine. It’s a good match. You're both picky brats. You can bring her inside you know. Papa doesn’t care.”

Dew laughs. “I know…I’m not sure either of us are ready for that kind of commitment yet.” 

“Typical.” Mountain says, stepping around Dew and heading back toward the greenhouse, intent on leaving Dew, and Soot, to their crypt visit. “Just…don’t do it again ok?” 

“What befriend an animal?” Dew rolls his eyes. “Not like I can control which animals like me better!” 

Mountain shakes his head. “Just…stay away from my ravens.”

“Oh, is now a bad time to tell you that one of them brought me money the other day? Do they do that to you?” 

Mountain groans, not dignifying that with a real response. His whole walk back to the greenhouse is filled with the sound of Dew’s distant laughter.

[admistedenslush]

Saddle Tramp

Cowboy!Dark!Aegon/Reader

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the outlaw with a penchant for indulgence, stumbles upon a lonely saloon where he is determined to satisfy his needs

Tw: non con, fem!reader, guns

━━━━━━━★━━━━━━━

In the vast expanse of the wild west, Aegon Targaryen emerges, his golden locks tousled and his visage of breathtaking beauty. Whispers of his notorious charm echo through the dusty saloons, yet the true depths of his wickedness surpass even the tales.

Mothers warn their daughters to stay away from his path, while good men caution their sons not to follow in his footsteps.

The townsfolk lived in constant fear, never knowing when Aegon would strike next. He became an emblem of the darkness that lurked in the shadows, a reminder that evil could manifest itself in the most alluring of forms.

He played with the desires and vulnerabilities of others, using them as pawns in his wicked game. No one was safe from his treacherous pull, as he effortlessly weaved his way into their lives, leaving destruction in his path.

Aegon Targaryen could make the devil himself blush in shame.

⊹

As you navigate through the speakeasy, a gentle murmur of small talk fills the air, blending with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. With expert finesse, you deftly serve the familiar faces that frequent this hidden establishment, their preferred beers and plates of rancid chicken.

As the last server closing tonight, you felt a slight unease. It's understandable to worry about the safety of a girl, regardless of age, being alone at this hour. However, as the last drunken men bid their farewells, your nerves started to calm. Now, back to the task of sweeping the floors, you found solace in the serenity of being alone once again.

As you hummed to yourself, carefree and oblivious, the loud thud of the double swinging doors abruptly snapped you out of your reverie. Without even turning around, you curtly declared, “We're closed. And mind you, don't dirty these floors with your mucky boots.”

A dark, unsettling laugh echoed through the empty saloon, causing you to slightly turn your head, feeling agitated. However, your irritation quickly dissipated as you caught sight of the figure standing just a few feet away. Your grip on the broom loosened, and it fell to the ground with a clatter that rang in your ears.

“My boots are clean, dear,” the fair-haired man remarked, his voice dripping with mischief. “Had a lass licking at them just a fortnight ago.”

Silence enveloped the room, and fear began to take hold. “What's the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” the man taunted. “Well, I'll let it slide this time. I want a cold whiskey.”

Your voice quivered as you stuttered out a response, your lip trembling. “We… we don't have any ice.”

Aegon clicked his tongue in a gesture of disappointment as he made his way towards you, and an overwhelming sense of dread coursed through your veins.

Instead of confronting you, he simply walked past, nonchalantly settling into a booth. With a casual air, he propped his feet up and slouched in a relaxed manner. Your heart raced as you scurried over to the bar, your movements resembling those of a skittish mouse. Hastily, you reached for a glass, but before you could even begin pouring, the man interrupted you, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "No need for a glass. I'll take the bottle.“

Reluctantly, you acquiesced to his demand.

As you placed the bottle of whiskey on the table, your hands trembled slightly, and you found yourself unsure of where to put them.

“Please, have a seat.” he said, looking up at you with a twisted smile that sent a shiver down your spine. You took a seat as far away from him as possible in the cramped booth.

The man took a hearty gulp of the liquor, and the sight of it nearly made you gag. Aegon placed the bottle on the table with a satisfying pop, and then he spoke, “Have a drink.”

You furrowed your brow, and he immediately noticed your confusion. “You don't drink, do you?” he asked. Once again, fear rendered you unable to answer, unsure of what to say.

Silence hung in the air, and Aegon grew increasingly irritated, smacking the table in frustration. “Speak when spoken to, girl,” he demanded, his anger palpable. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, drip by nervous drip.

“No, sir. Only in church, the blood of Christ,” you managed to splutter out, shocking both him and yourself. His laughter faltered, but a sly smile remained on his face.

“Sir… I like the sound of that,” he mused.

Aegon took another swig, causing a hiccup to escape his lips.

"Do you know who I am?" he slurred, glancing down at your chemise. Not wanting to provoke another outburst, you replied, "Yes, you're Aegon Targaryen."

He smiled at that and continued, "Then you know. Good. The truth is, I'm craving some company."

Immediately, you knew where this was heading and abruptly stood up.

"If you're looking for company, there's a brothel just a few miles from here," you suggested, hoping to divert his attention. "I want you," he yelled back like an insolent child.

Fear began to grip you as Aegon swiftly drew his pistol, aiming it at you.

"Don't test me, girl. I've put a bullet through a pretty thing like you before," he spat, his mouth wet like a rabid dog.

His lazy demeanor transformed into a determined one, causing you to gulp. "Come here, my dear. You're so easily frightened. Come sit on my lap," he beckoned. You approached him, clutching your skirts, and settled onto his strong thighs. And there, you felt something hard underneath.

"Can't you sense the impact you have on me? My cock is as hard as a boulder," he said, holding his gun up to your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Part your lips" he ordered, as tears streamed down your cheeks.

His fingers gently caressed your cheek as you complied, opening your mouth.

"Let's see just how far down the rabbit hole we can go," he chuckled, placing the big iron in your mouth.

"Savor it, darling," he whispered.

Aegon squeezed your mouth open as he rammed the gun down your throat, making saliva drip down the sides and choking you.

The blond cooed at you, almost giddy as he watched the act.

He rubbed his clothed cock under you and suddenly yanked his gun out of your lips as you could hardly breathe and he preferred his lover to still be warm and alive.

Aegon swiftly turned you on your stomach and deftly laid you on the table as you urgently pleaded, “Please.”

Your desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as he callously lifted your skirts above your backside, squeezing your ass cheeks apart.

“Fuck Yes,” he groaned, attaching his lips to your sensitive bud. He ran his tongue down to your leaking cunt, and you clenched at this.

Little gasps and moans fall from your parted lips as you grip the edge of the table to ground yourself.

Aegon pulled back to admire your creamy cunt, basking in the scent of your musk before diving back in.

You unleash a torrent, Aegon drinking as much of your nectar as he can.

There’s so much, it seeps around his mouth and on his shirt. He doesn’t care. He could drink from you forever, and unbeknownst to you, that’s his plan.

Aegon rose to his feet, and just when you believed the ordeal was finally over, you heard the faint sound of his rustling belt. Timidly, you glanced back at him, feeling an odd mix of emotions. Nausea twisted in your gut, yet a twisted pleasure also coursed through you.

"What are you doing?" you asked shyly, your face growing warm.

A grin formed on his face as he giggled.

"I'm going to claim you as my own, my dear maiden," he whispered, his words laden with a darkness that made your blood run cold.

"No!" you cried out, your voice filled with desperation and defiance.

“No?” He gave a sultry chuckle and stroked his cock as he bent his knees. With a forceful slam, he crushed your face against the table, the sound reverberating through the room. Your cheek pressed uncomfortably against the wooden surface, nearly melding with it as you laid there, feelings mushed and trapped.

You whimpered as he pulled his hand away and pressed the head of his cock against you. He wrenched your head back so that you were forced to arch your back and guided himself to your entrance.

As he forcefully plunged into your cunt, his moaning overpowering your pitiful cries.

Your entire body shook as he fucked you. He was vicious. As if punishing you. His hand slipped from the back of your head to your throat, and he pulled you against him.

“Such a tight cunt,” he muttered.

You were sore, battered. From head to toe. Your entire body ached and your pussy thrummed. His flesh clapped against your ass, the flesh raw and tender.

He growled as he felt the sudden gush and your walls pulsed around him. He sped up, and he snaked his arm around you.

He tore your chemise down to your stomach, grabbing your tit as his pace picked up again.

“Fuck-!” He exclaimed and came with a spasm. 

His hips slowed as he rode out his climax, his hand even tighter around your neck. He bottomed out as he sighed in relief and reluctantly let go of you. He pulled out and let you drop against the booth.

Furthermore, he chuckled and you heard the subtle rustling again. You shakily sat up and cradled your face as you looked up at him. His cock was already tucked away, a wet spot forming along the front of his pants.

His come dripped from you, and you pulled down your skirts with a shudder. To hide yourself. To hide your shame as he stretched the crick out of his neck and settled on another stool, elbows on the bar.

You gazed at him, overwhelmed with a sense of profound disorientation. Your mind was a blank canvas, unable to grasp even the simplest of thoughts.

“Here's some spare change,” he tossed the money carelessly in front of your feet.

You glanced down at the money, a wave of disgust washing over you.

“I'm not a whore,” you retorted.

“Then it's for the whiskey bottle,” he replied, and in an instant, he stumbled out of the saloon.

━━━━━━━★━━━━━━━

not proofread

[kyufessions]

summer soccer

synopsis: soobin’s friends don’t believe he’s actually dating someone

pairings: non-idol! soobin x soccer player! g.n. reader

genre: fluff !!

word count: 0.8k

warnings: reader is described as being shorter (5’3 specifically) than soobin

a/n: thought of this dynamic as i watched txt content, soobin’s so cute </3

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

“i swear they’re real!” soobin defended himself, a shy smile spreading across his lips at the playful teases from his friends.

“you always do this,” taehyun starts after finishing the last bite of his chicken breast. “you say you’re dating someone but then show us a picture of some random idol.”

yeonjun chuckles at soobin’s dramatic gasp, watching the conversation happen around him for a while in amusement. although he’s not saying anything, he agrees with taehyun’s statement. multiple times they’ve all been excited for soobin when he would tell everyone he has a date or started seeing someone- only to be shown a picture of heo youngji followed by a mischievous giggle. but when the new semester started and everyone met back up from after their summer vacations, soobin admitted he started seeing someone.

“youngji is not a random idol, she’s an icon.” he rebuts before quickly moving on. “and i swear i’m not lying this time. i met them over the summer at the on-campus daycare center.”

“are you dating a dilf or something?” beomgyu asks, earning an elbow nudge from yeonjun.

soobin shakes his head, his bottom lip popping out. “no, as i would close up for the day they’d pass by after soccer practice.”

“you struck up the conversation?” hueningkai chuckled, imagining the shy man approaching literally anyone first.

“they’re an athlete?” yeonjun finally chipped in, his eyes widening with curiosity and shock.

soobin’s cheeks reddened as his eyes drifted to the wooden table below him, his dimples popping out more prominently. “they’re one of the top athletes, and not necessarily. they were walking in the rain with nothing but a bag over their head so i walked them to their dorm with my umbrella.”

“gentleman soob.” beomgyu teased, nudging him with a foolish grin. he watched as soobin rolled his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest in embarrassment. “when can we meet them?”

eyes darting to his phone to check the time, he starts stuffing his notebook and pens in his backpack. “i’m supposed to meet them in ten minutes after soccer practice, we can all walk there together?”

-

luckily, todays practice was easier than others. you weren’t sure if it was the cooling weather that made the suicide dribbles easier to accomplish or if it was the adrenaline rush you were getting from seeing soobin today. with the big game coming up and a new school semester, you hadn’t seen soobin within the past week. to say you missed him was an understatement and to finally be able to see him again- to hear his voice right in front of you instead of a phone speaker, is enough adrenaline to fuel a bullfighter.

as the five minute mark hit before practice was over, you spotted your boyfriend from the bleachers waving at you enthusiastically. your friends watched as you returned it, then laughed at you being scolded by the coach for doing so. some people might’ve not known it was their partner waving, or even be too shy to wave back, but you could tell it was him from a thousand miles away.

when practice finished up, you quickly scurried over to your bag and started packing your items as your friends spoke.

“you know, at first i didn’t know what you saw in soobin.” one of your friends commented as she sat down on the bench.

you didn’t give her a glance, just a mere giggle. “why?”

“you guys are just really different.”

“how-“

“the dynamic between you two is very different but it’s cute- you guys mesh well together.” she interrupted as she tied up her changed shoes. “a 5’3 soccer player and a 6’1 education major who seems to be bad at sports.”

you looked at her shocked as you threw your bag over your shoulder, adjusting the straps. “how would you know he’s bad at sports?” you knew he was, but how did she know that?

“i saw you trying to teach him how to dribble one afternoon before practice. told me everything i need to know.”

you just laughed before parting ways, running as fast as you can to the other side of the field where soobin sat in the bleachers. as you approached closer, he and his friends walked down to greet you in the grass- well, soobin ran while the others walked but same thing. the smile never dissipated from either one of your faces, cheeks and ears red from pure joy.

hueningkai leaned up against the metal bars behind him as you both hugged, tsk’ing at the scene out of disbelief. “wow, he wasn’t lying this time.”

“i know,” taehyun replied as he finally made it to the ground. “and the star soccer player too. i’m shocked.”

yeonjun nodded, watching you both talk over each other before started to meet them halfway. “good for him, it’s about time.”

“i can’t believe i’m the only bitchless person left.” beomgyu mumbled, dragging his feet along the field.

[bluebirbo]

time for me to scurry out of my nest and talk about Hazbin Hotel! just kidding, I’m here to discuss a possible way to actually incorporate chickens into Mimzy’s character after Viz dropped that bomb of a fact on us

obligatory warning that I haven’t seen Hazbin after episode one and I’m not well versed on the 1920s so take what I say with a grain of salt!

first let’s start with how we have to reconstruct Mimzy as a character to actually mess with her design

Mimzy is supposed to be a sinner from the 1920s, particularly a flapper. I honestly don’t hate this idea but the execution of the flapper area isn’t as clean as I think it could be

flappers are often associated with being the politically rebellious, sexually liberated, free girls of their century. while that’s a pretty generalized and stereotypical way of portraying them it’s still a start. Mimzy does have some of these traits, from what we can tell she’s a heavy party person and drinker. However, I’d like to see her dip into what she did in her past more. Case in point, maybe have her and Husk get along as Mimzy acts as someone who points out the inhumanity of Alastor’s acts to Husk. OR keep that tension between them, have Husk point out how Mimzy is supposedly a fighter of freedom (referencing flapper’s fights for women’s rights during the 1920s) but she side eyes Alastor’s treatment of Husk. Mimzy can get all serious and say “hey I fought my battle”, it makes it her a bit of a jerk but if everyone in the main cast wasn’t so weirdly nice for hell it wouldn’t!

alright I hear you, let’s ACTUALLY a talk about the chicken thing!

I think instead of Mimzy being based off chickens she should just be a woman who likes chickens. it’s stupid but hear me out

Mimzy could have had a pet chicken in her human life, think 1920s boudoir dolls. like an obsessive pet owner Mimzy surrounds her whole aesthetic to this chicken. her flapper outfit has it’s feathers and she makes sure it has a little bow on. personally I’d vote for it to be a silkie chicken, they’re often pets and they feel like something you would see a girl carry around in her purse like a crusty little white dog

I’d like to see Mimzy as this once great flapper. she was a spunky, women’s rights activist, party girl with a statement pet chicken who now enjoys more laidback club activities in hell. she knows Alastor may not be the best guy but he showed her support at some point and who’s she to shame a friend? I get that’s what her character is supposed to be but she sounds way to active and insincere in her lines to seem remotely genuine about much of anything.

sorry, this kinda just turned into a Mimzy rant instead of a Mimzy chicken rant! I hope my point still came across, give my girl a chicken! as always I’ll say that your entitled to your own opinion, if you like Mimzy or would do a rewrite of her differently that’s great!

[wanderingxiao]

-Petty Lil’ Shit-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~

Summary: Scara is having a pretty bad day, a talk with you gives him an idea to make his day better and get a little bit of... revenge

Pairing: College! Scaramouche x Female Reader

Warning: lots of foul language, degradation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, Scara being a meanie and sweetie <3

Word Count: 4k

Enjoy~

“You may have this back when you learn to behave appropriately in class, Kunikuzushi.” A harsh growl came from the back of an indigo-haired boys throat as his phone and keys were taken from him by the teacher. His purple irises glared daggers into the back of the retreating older woman’s head, not once relenting his hateful glare towards her. He held back the urge to kick his desk out of irritation and annoyance for the old hag he was forced to listen to. The teacher proceeded with the lecture as of nothing had happened, ignoring the fact one of her students was radiating a pissed off aura that made the entire classroom shrink away from him as much as they could. After a grueling hour the class was finally over. “Kunikuzushi-“

“I’m coming, fucking hag.” The boy mumbled, scoffing at the sound of his real name being called once more by the older woman who just turned her nose up at him when he approached. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood in front of her desk until everyone had left in a hurry. “Give me my phone and my keys back. Those are mine.” The teacher gave the boy a stern glare as she crossed her arms across her saggy chest. How disrespectful! You’ll get them back when you’re respectful to your elders. Now please Kunikuzushi, I must prepare for my next class.” The boy stood frozen as he stared at the teacher in disbelief over the nonsense she just spotted out of her wrinkly lips. His expression turned dark, and he stomped his way out of the classroom, students scurrying out of his way before they got caught in his rage.

“What did you expect, Scara? You’re on your phone in her class all the time and never turn in anything on time.” A deadpan look crossed your face as he sat in front of you fuming boyfriend. He took an aggressive bite out of his chicken sandwich and sent a cold glare towards you. “Her class is easier than counting to one, it’s pathetic really. And to have to sit there and learn from a saggy tit granny? Hah! I could give two shits about her or the damn subject she teaches. I feel sorry for the old bastard she’s married to.” You sent a questioning look towards Scaramouche. He was being WAY harsher than normal. Usually, he’d just call her an old hag, but she must’ve REALLY pissed him off today for him to be chucking insults every other word. “Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

Your boyfriend snapped his head in your direction, sending a cold glare your way, getting more irritated at your lack of reaction from his piercing gaze. You had known Scaramouche for years, hell you’d been dating for 3 years and living together for about 1 year.  If you hadn’t gotten used to his bratty and controlling personality you wouldn’t still be sitting here with him in a university bench. Often, when he was being a brat or being a bit harsh, you would play along with his games and say harsh things about yourself. This always made him upset to the point where he would pout and come and cuddle you, telling you those things weren’t true and he was only being an asshole. Which he was. But you wouldn’t love your bratty short man otherwise.

“Very funny, brat.” Scaramouche scoffed and stuffed the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth, his cute pale cheeks full as he chewed. You couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness. He was the real brat. “Awe, c’mon Kuni…” He flinched slightly at hearing his real name slip past your lips instead of his other name. You were the only person allowed to say his name like that. He was forced to have his real name on his college transcripts. He loved how you said his name. “I know you don’t mean that, baby.” You got off the top of the table you sat on outside, wind blowing gently as other students passed by, paying you two no mind as they listened to their music or scrolled over their phones. You sat beside him and rested your hand on his chest, running your hand up and down his sternum. “You love me. You crave me and my touch constantly… like a drug you’re addicted to. You couldn’t live without me even if you tried.”

“In your fucking dreams, worm.” He scoffed harshly as he swallowed the rest of his sandwich quickly. His cheeks hinted a soft pink indicating that your words were in fact true, he was just too prideful to ever admit such embarrassing things. Your lips curled slightly hearing him call you a worm, that was your shy boyfriend for you. “I’m only your worm.” You lifted his chin gently and placed a quick peck on his crumb-littered lips. You licked your lips to get the crumbs off and sat back down, looking out over the courtyard as you waited for him to finish. Scaramouche was now unfocused on finishing his meal and more focused on your reply. “Hah! Never would’ve thought you would admit to being my slimy little worm. Spineless and cowardly.”

Your expression deepened with a frown. “Spineless? I’m not spineless! I do a lot of things out of my comfort zone, especially with you.” He knew you were referring to what you both did in the bedroom. Scaramouche was rather sadistic and possessive when it came to sex. He viewed the act as claiming possession over you and your body. Every inch of you then and there belonged to him and only him. You had been tied up, gagged, choked, pulled by your hair, smacked, and even once took part in role playing as Scaramouche’s slutty “secretary” and being bent over his desk until you couldn’t stand anymore. “That’s true… but-“ A handsome and suggestive grin spread across his perfect pale lips as he leaned over the table. His gentle and slender fingers curled under your chin, bringing your face closer to his as his lips grazed your ear. “You won’t have sex with me here, will you?”

His breath was hot against your skin, his tongue coming to lick slowly against the shell of your ear, an embarrassed heat rushing between your legs at the suggestion and his sexual advances on you. “H-Here? At the university…” Your voice was unsure and nervous. It sounded exciting though. The thrill of having to hide, the thrill of being quiet in order not to get caught. Your mind weighed heavy on the thought, but ultimately a voice in the back of your head screamed no. “Yeah, here. You’re always so willing to become my little slut at home, why not here as well? Maybe you don’t love me enough…” His voice began to trail off, encouraging you to retaliate against his statement and do whatever he wished. You could feel his hot breath ghost over your neck as he hovered his mouth over your pulse point. “You don’t love me enough to help me?”

“Y-You know it’s not like tha- ah!” You gasped in surprise when Scaramouche cupped your right breast with his warm hands, squeezing and grinding his hand against it. A flustered heat rose quickly to your cheeks, sending him a glare and grabbing his wrist tightly to stop his motions. “Are you crazy?! We’re still outside in the middle of the courtyard!” The indigo-haired boy didn’t seem to care and continued fondling your boobs until your grip tightening and started to push him away. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a frustrated snarl. “Are you honestly resisting me? Wow, I never thought I’d see the day you turn away a good dicking down.” He removed his hands from your breasts and grabbed your hands instead, pulling you up and shoving your things in your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Scara, wait-!” He didn’t wait for your reply, only dragging you along in his oddly strong grip towards an empty classroom. You tugged on your wrist embarrassed, heads turning your way at your struggle. Nobody bothered to save you as your boyfriend threw you into a certain empty classroom and slammed the door closed. In mere seconds your back was against the door, a pair of soft lips molding onto yours so perfectly you couldn’t help but fall into his touch. Feeling your body begin to submit to him, he slyly slid his cool hands up your waist, his thumbs coming to hook under the middle of your bra. His thumbs slid outward and towards your back, unclipping your bra and letting the material loosely hang on your shoulders underneath your shirt. He pulled away, “Lift those pretty little arms for me. I wanna see those perky tits.”

“Kuni…” You whined softly, slowly lifting up your arms and letting him remove your shirt and bro with one swish of his hands up. Your lips curled inwardly, pressing them together and turning your head away to try and avoid his intense stare. His fingertips glided over your erects nipples, touch feather light as he grinned at the way you shivered. “Mmm… I fucking love these tits. Look how hard your cute lil’ nips are for me.” He cruelly flicked your hardened buds, making you gasp and arch your back against the door, your chest presenting itself more for him. Scaramouche licked his lips and dove down to kiss down your chest and over the swell of your soft squishy mounds. “Hah… you smell so damn good…”

You moaned quietly as Scaramouche lifted one of your boobs and attached his mouth over your hardened bud. Your back arched, eyes closing as your fingers ran through his soft indigo locks. His warm tongue circled and flicked over your nipple while his other hand pinched and rubbed your other. A sticky wetness began to pool into your panties, hands shaking against his hair as they struggled not to move. You knew he didn’t like it when you touched yourself. If anything, he would do it for you and make you cum from his tongue, his fingers, or better yet his deliciously big dick. A slutty moan slipped past your wet lips when his knee harshly came between your legs, grinding you against his thigh while giving your tits his undivided attention.

“S-Scara please… Mmm! I-I want you…” Your needy pleas for his dick made him groan against your tits, pulling off with a pop before smacking your boob softly and moving to the other, giving it the same treatment. His other hand now went to slip down your pants, slender fingers skillfully finding your clit and rubbing sensational circles over your little love button. “Mmm! Fuck! Hah… Scaramouche! Ngh…” Your body shook, head turning side to side quickly as his fingers took you to edge of your euphoric bliss. You almost couldn’t take it anymore with how good he rubbed your clit. “That’s it…” He pulled off your nipple and started to leave bite marks and hickeys along your chest and the sensitive sides of your boobs. His face nuzzled into your neck, heavy pants almost searing your skin. “Fucking come undone from my fingers… that’s it baby… hah, fucking cum for me!”

“K-Kuni!!” You cried out his name as you creamed all over your smooth cotton panties, fingers trembling against his shoulders as you gripped him for support. Scaramouche dipped his fingers down to get his fingers wet before he removed them, admiring the contents of your climax over his fingers. “Hah! Look who’s enjoying all the fun over there. Cumming so quick just from having your slutty little clit played with. Pathetic.” His eyes lowered seductively, his tongue coming out to lick his slightly swollen lips. You could immediately feel heat rush to your cheeks when he slid his tongue over his tainted fingers, licking up your juices with a sexy glare. “I think it’s time for you to return the favor. Since I was so kind to give you the satisfaction of cumming without me.” Before you knew it, his hands were on your ass and pulling you up and against him, forcing your arms around his neck.

Your boobs smushed against Scaramouche’s neck as he expertly guided you both to lay you down on the teacher’s desk. His erection bumped against your clothed core as he carried you, making you hornier than you were previously. Once you were down, he got to work on stripping himself of his shirt, a thin layer of sweat already glistening on his pale toned body. Your hands reached out to run down his shoulders to his pecks, all the way down to his V-line. It was then you finally made eye contact with the obvious tent in his pants. “You like what you see there, slut?” He could practically see the drool coming out of your mouth as you stared intently at his clothed erection. Cool touches lingered against your hips as his slender fingers hooked onto your pants and slid them off with your panties. a deep moan erupted from his throat as he stared longingly at your sopping cunt. “Oh fuck… look how wet you are, all for me too? That’s so damn sexy...”

“D-Don’t look…” His beautiful view was interrupted by your hands as you covered your glistening lips with your hands, face flushed and turned away for him not to see how embarrassed you were with his gaze. A low growl rumbled through his chest as he pulled your hands away and slammed them down beside you. “Dont ever hide yourself from me again. Your body belongs to me. Not even a single hair on your head is to be called yours. You’re completely… and utterly, mine.” His voice dropped as he stated his claim over you, his dark lavender eyes lowering to study how magnificent your natural essence was. Trimmed pubic hair outline the area around your crotch and your lovely folds. The curves of your cunt had him mesmerized, how slick they were with your arousal, tiny clit now swollen from indescribable pleasure. The last thread of any restraint to be somewhat gentle snapped as your lips breathless called out his name. “Kunikuzushi, I’m yours… please… stop looking and just put your dick in me… I want you… I need you so badly, baby.”

“Ah fuck… you sound so fucking hot when you beg for me like the whorish slut you are.” His fingers made haste with unbuckling his belt, deep heavy pants leaving his mouth feeling his cock head twitch in anticipation. Relief washed over his figure feeling his hard dick be freed from the firm constraints they were previously in. The red tip twitched at the feeling of cool air blowing against it, his eyes twitching slightly as he bit his lip. You copied his movements as your lip caught between your teeth, pussy clenching on nothing as you anxiously shifted. “Kuni… Kuni please-“ a harsh slap came to your plump thighs as he jutted his hips against your lower regions, his dick slapping against your slick folds before rubbing the underside up and down. “Shut up. I’ll fuck you when I damn well please. Now hush and let me do as I please with my pretty little girl.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips at his words, your legs spreading a bit wider for him to have more access to your womanly parts. He obliged happily, stepping forward and reaching a hand down to grab the base of his dick. He rubbed the shaft up and down your folds, groaning at the feeling. He forced his tip to poke at your entrance before flicking it up to bump your clit, chuckling deeply as he watched your body squirm underneath him. Your mind suddenly flashed with remembrance, and you pushed against his chest earning a frustrated glare. “W-Wait, do you have any condoms?” Your worries were crushed with a glare from your boyfriend. He took your hands away and gripped your thighs, digging his fingers into your flesh as he started to press harder against your entrance. “We don’t need it this time.”

“What?! Scara what happens if I get pregnant? I’m not ready to be a parent!” Scaramouche looked up in thought, and a small loving smirk graced his lips. He looked back down to you, his eyes only reflecting his love for you despite his harsh teasing and cruel smile. “Then I’ll take responsibility. It’s not like I ever planned to let you go anyways. Trust me, (Y/N).” Your heart hammered against your chest at his loving and sweet words. Your resolve melted when he leaned down to kiss you lovingly as a measure of reassurance. The pressure against your entrance continued until you felt a firm thrust sheath his dick inside, forcing a small groan out of your mouth at the stretch. His large hands moved their way up to grab your hips, lips departing from yours as a string of saliva snapped between your mouths. “Sh-Shit it’s always so good… fuck I can’t control myself…”

“Kuni, mmm… feel so full inside.” His thrusts were slow and unbelievably deep at first. A wet sound came from below you as his dick came in and out of your sloppy insides. Your hands went around his neck, fingers entangling in the soft tussles of his indigo hair. The grip on your hips tightened as he started to set a new snd faster pace. Low groans rumbled in his chest while needy pants dropped from his lips. “You feel good, (Y/N)? Bet you’re feeling f-fucking amazing right now… ahhh, yeah, you’re my dirty little girl, aren’t you? You’re my dirty slut.” His hips were smacking against yours now, his eyes heavily lidded as he focused on the way your boobs bounced with each thrust, he sheathed into you. Your face was morphed into a blissful and fucked out expression, your eyes barely able to be kept open as you couldn’t help but solely focus on the pleasure Scaramouche was giving you. “Y-Yes Kuni, I feel so good… hah, oh my god, M-Mmm!”

“What else?” He called out harshly, his cold hands coming to grip around your neck, apply a gentle pressure to stimulate your eyes to snap open. You made eye contact with his gorgeous dark lavender eyes, half closed as he stared intently at you with lust swimming around the contents of his irises. His pupils were blown out with lust, threatening to swallow the lovely color of his eyes full. Strands of his indigo hair stuck to his forehead as sweat glistened on his pale skin. “I-I’m your dirty girl… all yours Kuni, all yours, hah!” He huffed out a strained chuckle, wincing as he unconsciously squeezed tighter around your neck. “Hngh! Fuck!” Scaramouche let go of you completely and slammed his hands on the desk, a loud crack being heard as he caged your body and thrust his hips faster. “Ahh! Kuni-“

“Just let me grab my papers out of my office.” A hand slapped over your mouth as quick as you first noticed a voice had sounded from outside. Your whole entire body froze, eyes blowing wide, pupils shrinking as all sense of arousal left your body. Your boyfriend squeezed your mouth tighter, clenching his teeth together harshly as he tried to withstand the unrelenting squeeze you had around his dick at the moment. The door handle jiggled, your legs coming to try and push Scaramouche off, but he wouldn’t budge. Your heart pounded harshly in your chest as you waited to be caught in such an embarrassing act. “Well, hey there teacher! My professor asked me to come get you! It sounded quite urgent… it seems somethings wrong the scantron reader, it’s giving all the students A’s. It’d be a shame if it was left the way it is.”

“Ngh… n-now I owe that nosy… f-fucking brat…” Scaramouche cursed as he let go of your mouth, panting and lightly trembling above you. Your lungs clawed at the opportunity for air, taking shallow gasps as you tried to stay quiet. The two figures outside retreated. It sounded like… “W-Was that Heizou?” A scoff came from Scaramouche as he clenched his fists together against the table. He curt nod came as he finally brought his eyes back down to connect with yours. You could feel his body tense up as he rocked his hips again with yours. “Where were we?” He whispered, letting out a soft groan before he leaned over you, his hair tickling your forehead, husky breath fanning over your face. Your hands grabbed his face, pulling him close to engage in a sloppy heated make out.

Scaramouche pushed your hip down with one hand while the other came around your shoulders to squeeze you tightly against him. A low grunt echoed in his throat, tongue swirling and flexing over yours as he started to pick up his pace. One of his knees came to rest on the desk to plunge himself deeper, snapping his hips brutally against yours, almost feral the way he desperately chased his release now. He shoved his face into your neck, panting harder and moaning into your neck, his hips stuttering slightly as they became sloppy and all the more desperate. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m so close… you’re squeezing, hah, the fucking life… o-outta me, ahhh… I’m gonna cum.” Your legs wrapped around his hips, arms wrapping around his head against your neck and sending your hands to claw at his back. “M-Me too! Mmm! Feels so g-good Kuni!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, cumming… cumming, gonna fucking cum.” You tightened your grip on him and came with a loud moan and squeal of his name as he fucked your sensitive walls after your god-like climax. He pulled up away from you quickly, hands slamming and pushing your hips roughly against the desk as he ripped his dick out of your throbbing insides. “Sh-Shit!” He came quickly after, spurts of sticky white coming from his twitching tip as cum splattered against important documents on the desk and all over the teacher’s keyboard and screen. You were too fucked out to even notice what he’d done. Your chest rose and fell heavily, trying to catch your breath and calm the trembling in your legs from how good Scaramouche fucked you. He collapsed on top of you, panting against your chest and neck as he too tried to regain his composure. “That was… fucking amazing.”

“I-It always… is baby. You’re always so a-amazing.” You panted out in agreement, a small smile on your face as you kissed his sweaty forehead, combing his sweaty bangs out of his face. He lazily rose his head up and placed a soft kiss to your lips before reluctantly pushing himself up. “C’mon, let’s get you dressed.” Scaramouche was oddly sweet when it came to aftercare with you. He knew he was harsh and a little mean when he got really into sex, to make up for his roughness, he tried to be a little kinder in aftercare not to make you think he was heartless. He helped you put your panties and bra back on before letting you get yourself dressed while he fixed himself up too. “Oh, Scara you came all over the teacher’s desk… we better clean it up before they come back.”

“Leave it. That old hag deserves it.” He opened the desk and pulled out his phone and keys, smirking at the work he’d done making a mess on the teacher’s desk.

“…you really are a petty lil’ shit aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up.”

“…you really are a petty lil’ shit aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

halloween, 2024. (ao3 link)

Athena and Bobby host a Halloween party this year and Buck offers to help them get ready for it and tells Eddie he will see him and Chris there. However they're late, and Buck's costume doesn't quite work without the Diazes. When will they arrive? And, when they do, will Buck be happy to see them?

Buck slips mitts over his hands as Bobby’s oven dings over the soft, spectral music pumping throughout the house.

            “I got it!”

A blast of hot air escapes the oven as he opens its door that he doesn’t brace for, that smacks him in the face like an oncoming wave while he takes out trays of finger foods and sets them aside to cool. Pigs in blankets. Pizza muffins. Spanakopita and Chicken tenders.

He spies Chimney out the corner of his eye reaching for a pig in a blanket.

            “No.” He smacks his hand away. “Not until they’re plated.”

            Chimney hisses and clutches his stinging hand to his chest. “I was just getting one for Jee,” he tells Buck. “You know. Your niece. Your hungry, starving niece who’s… wasting away because her cruel uncle took forever getting the food ready?”

Buck looks past Chimney and further into the Grant-Nash household, spotting his sister dressed in the neon pinks, limes, and blues of her Barbie leotard, similar to the Ken one Chimney wears, kneeling as she adjusts the ears of Jee’s Bluey costume.

            “I think Jee doesn’t mind having to wait.”

            “Then what about me?”

            “I think you should take a note or two from your daughter.”

Chimney huffs. He snags a pig in a blanket despite Buck’s warnings and scurries off to hide behind Maddie before Buck slaps him with a mitt.

Hen wanders in a moment later and lifts the brim of her Indiana Jones-style fedora as she scans the crowded counterspace.

She whistles. “Damn Buckley. You feeding a small army here or what?”

“The way our crew packs it in? This won’t even be enough...”

They chuckle while stepping around each other towards opposite ends of the kitchen. Hen grabs another soda from the fridge. He slides chicken tenders onto a waiting serving platter.

She asks if he’s thirsty and Buck shakes his head ‘no’.

            “Sure you don’t want something?” She snaps the tab of her Coke can, tosses it into the recycling bin. “Not even water?”

            “I’ll grab something when I’m done.”

            “When will that be, once the last person’s gone home?”

            “Hardy-har-har.” Buck ducks away, avoiding her attempt to muss up his hair. “I’ll be done in a second, once I’ve restocked the snacks.”

            “You’ve hardly left the kitchen since I got here. It’s not even your party.”

            “No, but I don’t mind helping out,” he says. “Sides, not like Bobby can do much of anything with the costume he’s in.”

Bobby stands, surrounded by a few of their coworkers undoubtedly entranced by his detailed Batman suit. It looks exactly like what Michael Keaton wore in his films with the foam pointed ears, thick latex cowlneck, the black neoprene layered over his body. Athena creeps up behind him in her complementary Catwoman suit, stitched together from an assortment of shiny leather, and drags her nails across Bobby’s bat symbol.

            “Would any of you believe it if I said his first choice in costume was George Clooney’s Batman?”

            “Except I couldn’t find anywhere that would ship a codpiece here in time.”

Nearby laughter startles Buck and, in his shock, he drops a spanakopita. He curses under breath as he bends to pick it up and, without thinking about it for too long, shoves it in his mouth.

Hen sees it all. She arches her brow at him.

            “I’m fine,” he reiterates.

            She snatches the tray from his hands and places it back on the counter. “Go.”

            “But –“

            “No buts. I don’t want to see you in here for the rest of the party.” Then she tags his hip with the butt of her whip. “And go put your damn costume on, too.”

            “My costume is on.”

She scoffs and drags her critical gaze up and down his body in excruciating silence.

            Buck crosses his arms. “It’ll make more sense when Chris and Eddie finally get here.”

            “I’m sure it will,” she says, sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes in response, which earns him a thwack from her whip as she chases him out the kitchen to mingle with the crowd.

It’s not like he had been avoiding this the entire evening, had been preparing more and more fixings and snacks to pass the time since Eddie texted him five minutes after the party started, three hours after Buck left to help Bobby and Athena with party preparations, warning that he would be late, that – despite them being roommates and spending weeks discussing their Halloween costumes, arguing about them, compromising – there was an issue with Christopher’s. But maybe Buck was conscious of everyone’s eyes on him, how their faces scrunched in confusion trying to guess his costume, wondering if he even had a costume on like Hen had, and when he finally explained their expressions went blank. They then muddled through some short reply before lapsing into an awkward silence as both thought of some new topic for conversation. Maybe it was easier staying in the kitchen until Eddie and Chris arrived.

Hen won’t let him.

She corrals him over towards Karen, May, and the crew’s latest probie Fernanda chatting near the staircase. Karen spots him first and deftly draws a toy blaster from its holster and aims for him. She fires. It whirls and trills and lights up.

            “I shot first.”

            “Don’t you always.” Hen wraps her arm around Karen’s shoulders and kisses the crown of her head. “My sweet Nerf herder.”

            “Oh Doctor Jones…”

Buck trades glances with May and Fernanda, all three of them biting back smiles. When they’ve calmed down, Buck turns to better face them.

            May lifts her glass in greeting. “Nice to finally see you out of kitchen, Buck.”

            “Well, someone has to make sure everyone’s fed.”

            “I thought that was Bobby’s job,” Fernanda asks.

            May leans in close and whispers, badly, “Dad wanted to cook, but Buck booted him from the kitchen the fourth time he tripped over his cape.”

            “It’s a walking fire hazard and he should know better.”

            “It’s a good costume, though,” Fernanda says. “Makes me feel like I didn’t put in enough effort…”

May disagrees. She tells Fernanda her witch costume is amazing, much better than her witch costume. Fernanda says the opposite. Buck wants to ask if they had planned to both be witches for tonight’s party, or if it was coincidental they wore (what seemed like almost exact from the traffic cone hat right down to the cobweb skirt) costumes.

He doesn’t say anything about their costumes in hopes they don’t mention his.

He’s not that lucky.

            “What about your costume Buck?” May asks. “Are you going to go put it on?”

            “Oh – well… about that.” Buck regrets not taking a drink now, so his hands could fiddle with it rather than dance around lamely in the air, off-beat to the music. “I’m kinda in my costume.”

            “You are?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Who are you supposed to be?”

            “I’m –“

Buck’s phone vibrates. He reaches for it as there’s a knock on the door. He unlocks it and reads Eddie’s message while Ravi, closest to the door, moves to open it. Buck hears Ravi greet Eddie and Christopher and lets his tension melt away in his next breath.

            “One sec,” he says, “you’ll totally get it once I’m standing next to Eddie.”

Eddie is not wearing the costume they agreed he’d wear.

            “What happened?” a scowling Buck asks, “Why are you in the trench coat and wings?”

            “Long story.”

Ravi lifts his shades, glancing between them. He hitches his boogie board underarm and jerks his thumb inside.

            “I’m just gonna go… get back to the party.”

They release him. Eddie maneuvers the tiny wings through the threshold and shuts the door behind him. The black crepe paper and glitter feathers look ridiculous on him, because they weren’t meant for Eddie. Buck made them with Christopher in mind.

            “We both agreed,” Buck says, stepping into Eddie’s orbit to deny prying ears any chance of overhearing them, “that since neither of us could agree who’d be Cas, neither of us gets to be Cas.”

            “I know.” Eddie lets loose a long-drawn sigh that sounds far too rehearsed for Buck’s liking. “But at the last second Chris said he wanted to be Sam.”

            “Is that true?” Buck looks to Chris. “Did you want to be Sam?”

Chris grins past a curtain of cheap bangs off the dollar-store wig Eddie was supposed to have worn.

            “He really wanted to be Sam,” Eddie insists.

            “Did you?”

            “Dad said if I let him be Cas, he’d buy me the new Battle Royale game.”

            “Chris!”

            “What? You didn’t say I couldn’t tell him…”

Buck pins Eddie to the door with his glare, its heat burning stronger than the ovens. Eddie flushes almost instantly, a noticeable sheen of sweat dripping from his forehead, down his face, and into the collar of his starched white Oxford shirt.

            “That’s a dirty trick you pulled there, Diaz. I thought you were better than that.”

            “Look, I was desperate. I didn’t want to be Sam.”

            “You lost the coin toss fair and square. That meant you had to be Sam!”

            “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Eddie says. He presses his hands to Buck’s chest, as if to push him away, only he runs them across the wrinkles of Buck’s plaid shirt. “You like Dean. You should be thrilled to be Dean.”

            “Yeah, I like Dean,” Buck says. “But I like Cas more.”

            “I like Cas more than you,” he argues. “I should get to be him. Besides, I’m more like him anyway.”

            “The hell you are!”

Chris ambles down the staircase while Buck and Eddie argue in front of the entire party.

Hen and Karen drift closer to Chimney and Maddie for a better view of their friends’ spat.

            “What does this make it now?” he asks her, “Their fourth or their fifth couple’s costume?”

            “Sixth. They dressed as Crockett and Tubbs for your bachelor party.”

            “Did they?”

            “It wasn’t that cute,” Karen says. “Buck’s jacket didn’t fit, and the shoulder blades made it look like he had no neck.”

            Maddie agrees. “It’s a good thing it got ruined.”

Fernanda softly gasps from behind them as she recognizes their costumes.

            “Oh, they’re those guys from that CW show. The boyfriends.”

[ccalxx]

Celebrating AlHaitham Day!

Warnings: Spoiler on Haitham's Bday Dialogue (Tweaked it a bit), Nicknames for s/o (my lil bookworm), Gender neutral reader, OOC Alhaitham sry ill prolly remake this

a/n: Happy Birthday to the one and only akademia scribe, AlHaitham 🌱! Posting my first fic on Haitham's bday! Hope you like it!

Prologue: You were living on Alhaitham's abode as well as Kaveh for a long period of time. He was basically one of your friends before becoming your s/o. You were one of those few people that can understand how Alhaitham mind works as well as know his past. You wanted to surprise Alhaitham on his birthday, one that isn't too grand, just for him to experience, since he's special to you.

------

Alhaitham woke up finding his house empty of bickering noise that usually wakes him up everyday. He went out to the kitchen, seeing pre-brewed coffee, plates with butter chicken and pita pockets, and a small mint green colored note that says "Good morning Alhaitham! It's your birthday is it not? Well happy Birthday! I know you don't celebrate your birthdays too grand so we I made you some butter chicken, pita pockets, and I even pre-brewed your favorite coffee! I apologize beforehand as something came up with Kaveh's project, and he asked for my assistance early in the damn morning, so I couldn't greet you when you woke up, nor I think we can't celebrate your birthday a little later. I really apologize, I'll make up to you really!" He read your note with a very small smirk in his face, although the smirk was washed away by a hint of sadness as he could not see your face early in the morning nor even spend time with you later. It is true that both of you were working on a project despite you being a Spantamad scholar and Kaveh as a Kshahrewar scholar. Alhaitham went on his original routine, after his morning coffee and ate the food that you made, he scurried to his office to see application forms piled up on his desk, after minutes of rejecting majority of the proposals, he went to the library to quietly read books.

You and Kaveh didn't actually do his near-due-project, both of you were preparing for a surprise for Alhaitham, since you knew that he hasn't experienced being surprised even when he was little. You knew that this was either a hit or miss situation, but you already decided that whatever Alhaitham might say, you wouldn't take it to heart. "Y/n? Y/n! Are you listening to me?" Kaveh shook you as clearly you weren't listening to him. "Sorry, I was deep in thought, what was it?" you gave Kaveh an apologetic look. "Ah! I was asking what food should we buy later, and the cake, the decor-" "Kaveh, I'm sure Alhaitham doesn't want a grand surprise, lets just make it simple? Simple decor like party streamers, and Alhaitham isn't really picky with food so we can probably make Lambad cook up some fish roll and ask some specialty from our friends, like Nilou, Cyno, Dehya, and Tighnari!" you cut Kaveh as you were walking down the Grand Bazaar "Right, Do you think they'd even agree to that? As that man clearly has no sense of emotion! Not even sense of style nor design! Did you see how he took off the magnificent piece of..." "Kaveh not right now....." Kaveh begins to rant how both of you were preparing for a guy that he clearly hates.

Alhaitham on the other hand, still is on the library, reading his usual range of books. His reading pace is quite slower than normal though. His mind is quite clouded today, as there are times that he thinks about you being unusually unavailable and he's probably thinking of increasing Kaveh's rent in the process. He shook his head, his irrational thoughts getting into him. He actually looks up to you a lot, and you actually gave him the key of feeling emotions, not that he'd give up rationality of course! It's not wrong to say that you made him feel emotions he's not used to feel. Alhaitham noticed that it's passed his office hours, so he packed up and made his way home.

While AlHaitham was spending his last minutes at the library, You and Kaveh were decorating his house; the place was quite tidy, party streamers were hung up, and a variation of food was across the table. You even manage to whip up some gifts from your friends.

Kaveh was on the watch, he saw Alhaitham coming home, he hurriedly sprinted towards the house signaling you "Y/N! He's coming!" he said as both of you hid behind the table.Alhaitham noticed Kaveh's stare from afar and he knew that something was up but he kept it to himself and let Kaveh do his thing.

When Alhaitham was on the doorstep, getting his keys, he could sense something was fishy. He turned the keys, opened the door, switched on the lights only to hear you and Kaveh yelling out "SURPRISE!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALHAITHAM!" For once, Alhaitham was stunned and speechless, however that quickly changed and went back into his usual cold demeanor. "Wouldn't it better to save your enthusiasm on my birthday, to everyday of your lives? In that case Kaveh wouldn't cram his architectural projects and you to wake up early every single morning" Alhaitham said, as a small smile crept his face. "HEY!!" "I sometimes wake up early, mind you!" You both shouted at Alhaitham.

All three of you were hanging out on the living room, talking and chatting how the day went. You noticed how Alhaitham was a bit more quiet than before so you decide to approach him.

"Hey? Everything alright, Haitham?" you questioned him while wearing a worrying look

"It seems so, what made you ask?"

"Well you're more quiet than usual..."

"Mhm? Nothing gets passed by you, doesn't it? Well to be frank, I just don't know how to respond in surprises like this, since I didn't really ask for it" Alhaitham bluntly says.

"Oh wait did we...did I upset you? Sorry I just really want you to experience being-" Alhaitham cupped your cheeks.

"Nonsense, my little bookworm, I just didn't expect you to surprise me, let alone have Kaveh to help you, I apologize if I didn't make myself clear enough" he continues to cup your cheeks and he gives a little peek at Kaveh before giving you an Eskimo kiss. You blush at the action he made and you remembered you still have one surprise left. "Haitham wait...I have something to show you" You led Alhaitham at the backdoor of his house, "I know this wouldn't really be that special to you since...." you opened the door, revealing a small picnic area under the starry skies. "I know... I know you're going to say that stars are just big chunk of rocks on the outer space, and the light reflects on them so you we can see them...but!! I really want to spend this time with you...for once! Under the beautiful night sky!" You gave him a look that's hopeful, he made a small smile, thinking you wouldn't notice and said "The night sky indeed does not appeal to me..." you frown "However... the light from the moon and the stars above illuminate how alluring you look" Your face becomes red as a tomato and Alhaitham slowly slithers his hand to your waist and gave you a forehead kiss. "S-stop! Since when do you talk like some Snezhnayan man!" you cover your face as Alhaitham chuckles.

Both of you were sitting on the picnic-like setting, you were sitting on Alhaitham's lap, his head on top of yours, and his arms around your waist "Thank you..." you heard Alhaitham murmur, "For what?" you looked up to him "For surprising me, I haven't really had any enthusiasm in birthdays since I do believe that enthusiasm is best used in everyday situations; however I acknowledge your efforts" "Oh my... Are you getting sappy? THE Alhaitham thanking me for the surprise?" you made a small smirk and he tackles you and tickles you making him on top of you.

He stopped tickling you and made a cold look "I'm being serious" he told you "I know" you said as you rubbed your nose onto his. He lift up your chin, getting ready to kiss you, and you close your eyes only to hear a slam of the back door, "Y/N I GOT IT I HAVE AN- Ewww are you two making out, like out in the open?! Haitham since when were you this bold-" Kaveh, currently semi-drunk, interrupted the moment he shouldn't have. "KAVEH!!" Both of you screamed, you throw something that was near your grasp and it hit Kaveh's head, making him unconscious (it was a Zaytun peach). "Oops, oh well!" you said while you suddenly kiss Alhaitham, who in exchange also melted in the kiss. Once you were both out of breath, you both suggested to continue this inside, as both of your hands linked with each other and leaving poor Kaveh outside to sleep.

Bonus (the next day):

"Ouch...my head hurts" Kaveh said as he was rubbing his temples. "Hey, Y/N...remind me why was I sleeping outside? And why was there a Zaytun Peach near me...." Kaveh asked you "Oh, I don't know! Maybe the peach fell on your head and knocked you unconscious" You explained to Kaveh while trying to hide your laughter. "Oh I see, thanks Y/N...wait... ZAYTUN PEACHES DOES NOT GROW ON TREES, Y/N COME BACK HERE, WHAT DID REALLY HAPPEN?" Kaveh chases you as you began running when he realized. Alhaitham came out of his room and saw the two of you running around, "It's too early for this..." he said as he turns around and close his room.