#this is so fluffy my teeth fell out in the first two paragraphs

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

[anyoneseenadam]

hello! may i request some azriel fluff 🥺 like mornings with him/ cuddling in bed, im in dire need of cute azzy fics. also i love 'home' it's actually the story that got me into reading acotar content!

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: pure fluff with a smidge of angst if you squint, mentions of blood/scars (very brief) but mainly just fluffy lovliness

a/n: okay so I kinda expanded on this a bit but it does have cuddling in a bed and mornings so I hope you like it! I’m always down for our boy getting some much needed love! 

----------------------------------------------------

It had been almost a month since you had seen Azriel. He was away on a mission for Rhys, always willing to follow his brothers orders even when your lip had wobbled at the sound of a month alone when he was in foreign territory undertaking dangerous tasks. A part of you felt guilty as he left, a pained expression on his face as he left you standing in the doorway, waving him off. You knew his job was hard and that he didn’t enjoy being away from you anymore than you did, but you couldn’t help but worry, especially after the missions where he came home with new scars and the darkness that you were working hard to rid him off returning to his eyes.

Tonight you were sat on your sofa, feet curled and a mug of steaming tea next to you as you flicked through a book. You had been reading the same paragraph for at least twenty minutes, the words not processing as your body reacted to the missing weight that would usually be curled against your side by this time of evening. Your gaze flittered over your home; perfectly clean as you had sought things to do while your heart was in another country, bookshelves lining the walls and paintings adorning any clear space on the walls. You closed your book, well worn as in your life you had read it many, many times. The pages had yellowed, and the spine was bent, yet the smell had remained and now as you read through it you could catch the notes Azriel had pencilled in when he had read it to please you. When you went to re-open it, unable to sit still, you smiled as it opened automatically on the most worn page, a quote circled and Azriel’s neat handwriting in the footnote, you traced your finger along the words, reading them with a soft smile.

              “No. No one likes being alone. But

              I’ve learned to live with it.” – now

              I have you I don’t believe I could

              ever be alone again. You could leave              

              me; steal my money, my heart, break

              me down and I would still come

              crawling back to you. You hold my heart

              now, please be gentle.

You felt tears sting your eyes as you read his words, the page already had tear stains from when you first saw the words, but now in the cold of your lonely house they sank in deeper. However, before you could wallow in your self-pity anymore, you heard the door push open quietly and quiet feet pad in, the tell-tale signs of someone who presumed you would be asleep, albeit it was nearing 1am. You quickly put your book down, standing and practically running to the door, grinning widely as you saw Azriel there, tugging off his boots with one hand braced against the wall. He looked up when he heard you and offered you a weak grin.

“You should be sleeping baby,” he smiled at you as you barrelled towards him, jumping into his arms.

“I can’t sleep alone anymore,” you muttered into his shoulder and he shook with a silent laugh, tightening his grip around your waist. You stayed in that position for a few minutes more before you slipped down, grabbing his hand, and tracing a thumb over the dark circles that surrounded his eyes, next to the dirt and dried blood that was drying and cracking in his hairline. “C’mon you stink.” You giggled leading him to the bathroom and turning the tap to fill the bath with warm water, sprinkling in salts that you swore would help, much to his manly grumbling. You turned and found him leaning on the door, eyes watching you carefully, taking you in as you moved to him and started helping him out of his clothes, tugging at the leather until it came down displaying his glorious body to you. Once he was naked you pushed him gently in the direction of the bath and he furrowed his eyebrows and made grabby hands when he realised you weren’t joining him, you just laughed and kissed him gently, promising to return soon as he began washing.

You moved to the living room first, grabbing your mug and taking a tentative sip, smiling when you found it at a drinkable temperature. Then you moved to your shared room, fluffing the duvet and pillows, and changing into one of his old shirts, then grabbing him some loose sweats and walking back to your bathroom, arms stacked. He was leaning his head against the edge of the bath when you re-entered and cracked open his eyes, smiling lazily at you through hooded eyes. You moved to sit beside him at the edge of the bath, taking a washcloth and gently wiping his face clean, before rinsing it off and moving it down his neck and chest, following with soft kisses pressed into his clean skin as he all but purred in delight.

When you finished you leaned your head on his arm, your sleepless nights without him catching up on you as you sipped your tea, breathing in the relaxing smell. You felt Azriel’s gaze on you and turned your head up to face him, he leaned down and pressed a longer kiss onto your lips, the two of you simply revelling in the taste of one another, lips and tongues languidly moving in tandem. When you pulled away he quickly washed his hair as you finished your tea, before standing and wrapping himself in a towel around the waist and draining the pink-tinted water, pulling faces at you in the mirror as you brushed your teeth in silence. Finally you fell into bed together, exhaustion creeping up on you as he wrapped you in his arms, kissing your head and holding you impossibly tight. ‘I love you’ whispered into the dark of the room as shadows settled around you.

When you woke, your legs were tangled in Azriel’s and you felt like a weight was lifted off you. You forgot the effect Azriel had on you when it came to sleep, he had a way of lulling you into a deep sleep that woke you up feeling better than ever and fully rested. You craned your head up to see Azriel still asleep, his face more restful than you remembered, the furrow between his brow smoothed and you couldn’t resist tracing it with your thumb as you admired him.

“Watching me sleep again?” You almost jumped at his gruff morning voice, but just huffed a laugh.

“Someone has to witness this beauty and I’m not big on sharing so…” You trailed off and he cracked an eye open, gaze filled with love. You leaned up and kissed him, neither of you caring about morning breath as you finally spent much needed time together again.

“I need to go see Rhys today, let him in on everything.” He whispered when you pulled away, resting you head on his chest.

“Not quite yet though,” you muttered.

“No, not quite yet.”

You woke for a second time a couple hours later as Azriel returned from the bathroom, slinging an arm over your waist, and pressing his chest to your back as he burrowed himself back under the covers and into the safe haven the two of you had created. He started leaving soft kisses down from under your ear and along your neck, moving over you shoulder with a soft hum as you drew patterns on his arms, clutching his hands in yours as you pressed them into your chest, against your heart.

You opened your eyes to look around the room and saw Azriel had opened your curtains, the light muted due to the fact there was snow falling outside, muffling all sounds except the ones created in your home, the soft whispers of Azriel’s kisses and your gentle breaths. You watched as a robin landed on a branch outside your windowsill, a small twig clutched in its beak. Such a small twig would go on to create a home for this bird, alike the small romance that had bloomed your and Azriel’s deep, unending love, turning the cold house you had been in the night before into the warm home you were in now.

“We should do some baking today,” you whispered to him, “maybe gingerbread.”

“Apple pie,” he muttered, his face buried in your neck.

“Isn’t that a bit on the nose?”

“I love apple pie,”

“What about Rhubarb crumble and homemade custard?” you asked, stifling a laugh at the pout you could practically hear from Azriel.

“Mmm you’re a genius.” He whispered, pressing a longer kiss into the crook of your neck.

“I know it’s a curse.”

“Not just yet though,” he repeated your words from earlier and you smiled.

“No, not just yet.”

[thesilencebeforeastorm]

The Light In My Life - Jean x Reader

A/n: Oh my god, this is so SAD. I PROMISE ya I will write a fluffy fic for Jean after this, I already got an idea from someone. It will happen! In the meantime, have some feels... College!AU

TW: Attempted Suice, Blood, Wounds, Cutting

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Nothing was going right in his life.

Of course he had you and he had his best friend Marco so that wasn’t so bad. You two were the best things that had ever appeared in his life but his situation back at home was unbearable. His parents hated him and always treated him like shit for no reason. He tried many times to work things out but it would always end up with one of them shouting at the other in a big fight. 

Jean found college as an escape. He was far away from that hell, enjoying the company of his friends, his girlfriend, and joining clubs to keep his mind busy, but when the semester was over or they were on a week’s break from school, his heart raced with anxiety at the thought of going back home. 

It was two days away from the spring semester being over and while students were packing up their stuff to go home to spend time with their families or do other summer activities, Jean stood alone in his dorm room, sitting on the floor with his back pressed to his bed. He couldn’t handle it anymore, he couldn’t handle life anymore. He didn’t have his own place as a permanent escape and so school was only temporary. Dark thoughts clouded his mind, unable to see any light and hope for a better future. It pained him to think that he would leave his girlfriend behind and his best friend who would suffer greatly if he was gone but at the same time, part of him just wanted to leave this world behind.

He sat there shaking, knife in his hand that he had found somewhere in his room, staring at the wall in front of him. His heart was racing, his hands and forehead sweaty for what he was about to do and when he would do it. He looked at a photo of the two of you on his desk, tears piling up at his eyes from the pain. He decided that he should leave you some kind of note, something that you could read. There was a little part of him that wanted to be saved from this hell and so he found the fastest way to reach you. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, letting the knife go for a brief second so he could type up his last words. Minutes went by and he had finally pressed send, resting his phone at his side before picking up the knife again. He gritted his teeth as he held the knife at his left wrist, his logical side of his brain telling him to stop. Fighting and winning the battle in his own head, he cut deep into his wrist, biting down on his lip harshly at the pain. He continued cutting, bringing the knife towards him on his arm and watching the crimson blood flow out of his veins, his breathing heavy as he did so. He suddenly felt weak, his vision becoming blurry and dizziness taking over as the knife fell from his grasp. His breathing began to slow down as he looked over at the photo again. At least it was going to be over... 

~

~

It was half past noon as you were eating lunch in the cafeteria at your university. You settled for a simple sandwich and a fruit since you didn’t really find today’s food appetizing. Everyone rambled on about what they were going to be doing during their summer break, whether it was parties, the beach or being with family. You rolled your eyes at them, chuckling softly before you realized what was to come. You were well aware of Jean’s situation back home and knew that he dreaded going there. You met his parents one time and it was a horrible experience, something that Jean swore he would never put you through again. You wondered where he was at since he had been quiet for most of the day but you figured he was busy packing his stuff. Getting up to toss your trash away, you walked back in the direction of your table to head on out of the cafeteria until you got a text message on your phone. Unlocking your screen, you saw it was from Jean and felt some joy that he finally wrote to you but noticed that he wrote to you an entire paragraph. You took the time to read it while you were still standing.

From: Jean

“Y/n… from the moment I met you, I knew that you were the right girl for me. The way your smile lit up a room only shed some light to my dark life and I finally felt some joy with you ....”

You smiled thinking it was a random love note he wrote to you. You continued reading the message. 

From: Jean

“With summer break coming up soon, the light in my life would be leaving back home and my life would be back in darkness… I don’t think I can handle going back there… To be honest I don’t think I can handle living at all…”

Your eyes widened at his words, wondering what he was referring to with that last sentence but not wanting to think the worst. You continued reading. 

From: Jean

“What I’m about to do isn’t your fault. It isn’t Marco’s fault either. You guys always tried your best, cheering me up when I felt low and letting me stay at your places whenever you could, no matter how far it was. I don’t want you to cry, even though I know that's impossible but I hate seeing you cry… I don’t know if I’m writing this to you for some kind of saving but.. I just want you to know that you did the best you could. I love you and always keep smiling okay?”

“Oh my god…” you whispered as your heart literally dropped right there, trying to process the message you just read. Your heart then began racing at the idea of Jean, your Jean taking his own life. You were frozen in place for a second but eventually snapped out of it and ran out of there in a panic. You ran as fast as you could, not caring who saw or spoke to you to ask you what was wrong. You just had to find Jean.

You dashed across the halls, eventually finding his dorm room, knowing that that was the only place he could possibly be at. You tried to open the door but realized it was locked and that drove you more mad in fear. 

“Jean! Open the door!” you yelled out as you pulled on the door handle forcefully, trying to pry the door open. It didn’t work and you didn’t get any response.

“Jean god dammit, open the door!!”. Your screams were becoming louder with every passing second, banging on the door now for him to open it. If he wasn’t opening the door by now, it meant he was either about to harm himself or the harm had already been done. 

“Y/n!”

In that moment, you heard your name and footsteps running towards you as fast as they could from the end of the hall. Looking at who it was and hoping they would help you, you noticed it was Marco. 

“Marco! He’s trying to kill himself!” you yelled out to him, panic racing though your body.

“I know, he texted me. Move back!”, he called out, his own fear written all over his face. You moved back as he charged through, his side making contact with Jean’s door as it finally opened. What you saw next was something you had wished to never see in your life.

~

“NO!” you screamed as you saw Jean sitting on the floor, his back pressed to his bed. You saw the crimson colored blood flowing out of his veins and onto the floor, wondering how long he had been like that and if he was already gone. Not wasting any time, you ran to his side while Marco froze for a second. 

“Jean! Jean!” you cried out as you cupped his face to see if you would get some type of response since his eyes were closed. You placed your finger on his neck to check if he had a pulse and finally felt one thought it was very weak. At least it was a sign that he was still alive.

You noticed Marco was frozen in that second and you had to snap him out of it.

“He’s still alive! Marco, go find something to tie up his arm with, a sock, a tie, anything!” Finally snapping out of it, he went to check for what you requested. You focused your attention back at Jean.

“Jean, baby please look at me” you pleaded as he finally took in a weak breath and opened his eyes. He tilted his head slowly to look at you, tears staining his cheeks, the light in his eyes slowly fading out but still holding on. He was pale as ever, his color fading the more blood flowed out from his arm.

“What did you do Jean.. why”, you asked him through your sobs, knowing why he did it but still not accepting the scene before you.

“I got something! Here!” Marco yelled out, handing you two pairs of socks while he had his own. Letting go of Jean’s face, you looked at his arm horrified at what he did. The cut was pretty deep with no means to stop bleeding. You lifted his arm slowly but shaky, wrapping the socks under and around it, tying it tight to stop the bleeding. The blood would eventually seep through but the socks but it was what Marco could find. You were almost done when you saw Jean’s head tilt to the side from the corner of your eyes causing you to hand off your last sock to Marco before cupping his face forcefully, his blood now staining his cheeks.

“No no no, don’t you dare close your eyes on me, Kirschtein! You stay awake for me, you hear me!?” He opened his eyes once more, fighting the battle to stay awake before he finally said his first words.

“Don’t cry…”, he whispered, only causing you to cry more.

“We gotta take him to the nurse so they can call for more help from there. I gotta move him.”

Listening to Marco’s words, He placed his arm carefully on his stomach as he went to pick up Jean from his right side. He lifted him up, both of your hands covered in his blood as you left the room and rushed to get him some help…

~

~

It had been hours since Jean attempted to end his life. The nurse did all she could before calling an ambulance to take him to a hospital. Jean ended up needing surgery because of how deep the cut in his arm was, which only made your heart ache with anticipation as you waited in the waiting room with Marco. His blood still stained your hands even though you had tried to wash it off, Marco’s hands being in the same state. Staring off into space, Marco finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I’m gonna talk to my parents to see if Jean can live with me. He can't go back home, especially in his state”, he gritted through his teeth, his hands balling up into a fist. He cursed at Jean’s parents in his head.

“Right…” you slowly said in response to him.

You wanted to know what Jean told Marco in his last text message so you asked him for his phone. Handing his phone over, you read through it, Jean telling him how he was the best friend he could never ask for and asking for him to take care of you after he was gone. Your eyes became watery again, realizing that he had a whole plan laid out after he was gone. Handing the phone back to Marco not being able to read the texts anymore, the doctor came into the waiting room, causing you two to stand up and rush to him.

“Is Jean okay??” you and Marco asked him at the same time. 

“Mr. Kirschtein will be fine though he lost a lot of blood. He needed a blood transfusion but he is out of danger. You’ll be able to see him soon.”

“Oh thank God” you replied, your hand clutching your chest as more tears fell from your eyes and leaned into Marco. 

“Do you know his parents contact information?” the doctor asked. “We went to check his records but he didn’t have any”.

“We’re his family” you said, disregarding that he still had living parents. If they didn’t care for him when he was alive, they wouldn’t care if he was dead. “We take care of him”.

“I see,” he replied. “In that case, I’ll notify you when you can see him, he’s still asleep from surgery.”

You nodded in response before turning over to hug Marco tight as a sob escaped your lips once more. He cried too.

~

Some time had passed before the doctor notified you that Jean was awake.Heading over, you walked into the room slowly as your eyes widened to see Jean on the bed, your breathing slightly unsteady. His face was facing the window, his arm bandaged up heavy before turning over to you two. The doctor gave you three privacy as you walked over to Jean’s side.

“Hi baby… how you feeling” you softly said, brushing his short light brown locks away from his face. 

He opened his eyes and blinked slowly as he sighed at your touch, giving you a soft smile. “Tired”, he said in a whisper. He took notice that Marco was standing next to you. “Hey”, Jean said to him.

“Hey.. you gave us a scare there man… we thought we lost you.”

He blinked in confusion as to what Marco was talking about before he slowly looked down at his arm and then back at you, realizing what he had done. He didn’t have a perfect memory of the events that happened but he remembered the pain that he felt in his chest and the photo he saw of you two. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry… I -”

“Don’t be sorry… you have to focus on getting better for yourself, for Marco, for us” you replied, holding his hand softly, fearing not wanting to hurt him. 

His mind then remembered that he had to go home soon. His breathing slowly sped up, the monitors numbers changing ever so slightly.

“Hey hey what’s wrong, you’re heart rate is speeding up”, you said, eyeing the machine in concern before cupping his face.

“Home”, he said, his eyes becoming watery.

“You don’t have to worry about going back there ever. I already spoke to my parents about it and you’re coming to live with me. We’ll take care of your stuff and you too”, Marco said.

His heart rate became steady again before looking at Marco and then back at you, as if he couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. His face started becoming red as he let out a sob. 

“Oh, Jean”, you replied, holding him close but conscious about his arm. You kissed his lips through the tears and then on his cheeks, tasting the salty tears on your lips. “It’s gonna be okay…”

~

And everything did turn out okay. Marco took care of Jean’s things back at the university and at his home, hearing harsh words from Jean’s parents but he didn’t care. Jean eventually got cleared to go home and being given a second chance at life with you and Marco at his side, maybe he could finally feel pure happiness once again.

~

~

Tagging: @humanitys-hottestsoldier @paopufruittt @mysteriousmagicx @angelanimedesaray @huntersbunker @final-fantasy-xv-nut

Masterlist

[orwocolor]

happy birthday, baby

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, spanking, unprotected sex, a dash of breeding kink (18+ ONLY)

Summary: It’s your birthday, and even though Joe can’t be there for you during the day due to his filming schedule, he has the night to make it up to you.

Author’s Note: This fic was requested ages ago by the darling @queenspur. I am so terribly sorry it took forever! But here we are, two months later. I also need to be frank and admit that the idea behind gifts mentioned later on in the fic is 100% copied from one of britishfilth’s audios. The rest (well, most of it - I listened to that audio quite a few months ago and I may have accidentally been more inspired by it than I remember 😂) is a creation of my imagination and dirty mind.

the gif is mine

You were staring at yourself in a mirror, mesmerised by the way your new lingerie hugged your body and accentuated your curves. The small thing that could barely pass as an item of clothing left very little to the imagination. It was a black set consisting of a lace bra with an intricate pattern and decorative strings leading from the bridge of the bra to the straps and crossing the top section of your breasts, a matching garter belt which fitted the line of your hips perfectly, and sheer black thigh-high stockings with ribbons of the same colour interlaced into the fabric near the hem and tied into small bows on the back of your legs. There was also a dark plum satin robe, currently resting on your bed as you couldn’t tear your gaze away from your reflection in the bedroom mirror.

When the mailman had brought your delivery, you expected a new set of kitchenware that you’d been eyeing for some time and which you’d mentioned to Joe a while back when he asked you what you wished for your birthday. But the white box had a suspiciously large satin bow on its cover, and it was way too light to contain colourful kitchen utensils and pans. You dialled Joe’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. He must have been filming at that moment. You hung up and sat down on the floor, cross-legged and ready to inspect the box. After a few seconds of turning it in all conceivable ways, a note slipped away from underneath the bow and fell on a soft carpet. You reached for it and slowly picked up the paper card.

Happy birthday, my love! Open the box and follow the instructions inside. J.

Once you finished reading the note, you eagerly grasped the ends of the bow and tugged. The satin skimming down the box, you lifted the lid and spread open the extra thin featherlight paper, impatient to see what was inside.

Breathlessly gasping, you stared in bewilderment at the beauty right in front of you. The lingerie was laid out in the box so that the bra, garter belt and stockings were at the display, placed over the purple robe. Your fingers grazed over the lace of the bra cup and you slightly shuddered at the thought of wearing it tonight.

It hadn’t escaped your notice that a pair of knickers was missing, and you had to chuckle out loud. You hadn’t expected anything else from Joe, and truth be told, the image in your head of you wearing the lingerie got even racier.

You pulled out the delicate pieces of fabric and spread them out on your bed, thus finding another sheet of paper at the bottom of the box.

Joe’s instructions were clear as day. You were to enjoy your special day to the brim. He wouldn’t have time to go out for dinner with you as he’d initially planned, since his filming schedule did not allow him to, but he promised he would make it up to you in a few days. He’d booked a table in your favourite restaurant and called your best friends to go out with you in his stead.

The corners of your lips gradually rose as you skimmed through his words, pausing every now and then to decipher his handwriting. When you reached the last paragraph, you were forced to do a double-take.

After you return, get ready for me, birthday girl. When I get home, I want to find you in our bedroom wearing the lingerie I gave you and waiting for me, on the bed, on all fours. Eyes front, no peeking back. There are more gifts to come, baby, but you must show me you deserve them. Be a good girl and don’t let me down.

There was nothing else added, no signature or anything, and the last four words resonated in your head for the rest of the day.

The moment Joe had found out you loved being bossed around in bed every now and then, he didn’t everything he could to be the perfect dom for you. Although truth be told, sometimes, the façade slipped and the Joe you knew and loved shone through, but that was what made all those moments special and unique.

To say you enjoyed your birthday was an understatement. You had a free day, which meant there was no shift for you to cover, only the amazing amount of time dedicated to your little self. You went out shopping, browsed through the new IKEA that had opened recently, watched your favourite film, called your family, and met up with your friends for dinner.

Once you returned home, you still had some time before Joe would arrive and so you ran yourself a bubble bath, lit up several scented candles, and played some relaxation music, decidedly pampering yourself as much as you could. Yes, it all smelled of a cliché, but it was your birthday after all, and a cliché here and there had never hurt anyone.

Humming, you exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your torso. You halted at the foot of the bed, your eyes tracing the lace laid on the sheets as silence fell over you. Biting your bottom lip, you untucked the corner of your fluffy towel and tossed it aside.

You put on the lingerie with great care; you wanted to look perfect. It reminded you of your first school days when you’d still had the energy to make the effort and the desire to make jaws drop with a little smirk and a single wink of your eye.

After you put on some mascara, you applied a dark red shade lipstick on your lips, spreading the substance with your fingers and resisting the urge to bite at them in the anticipation of what was to come. Not being able to hold down your excitement, you felt a pleased smile tugging at the corners of your lips as they revealed a set of teeth, and you pressed your palms to your cheeks, feeling the heat spreading there.

The moment you added the finishing touches, you rushed to the full-length mirror to admire Joe’s gift and your handiwork. Your reflection left you slightly breathless and you couldn’t tear away your gaze.

With not a single clue of how long you had been standing there, admiring yourself, you heard a key rattle in the front door, your head shot up, and your heart stopped beating for a split of a second.

Blinking away your frozen-like state, you jumped to the bed, hastily put on a pair of patent stilettos which you’d dug out from the deep bottom of your closet, slipped on the plum robe, the satin kissing your heated skin soothingly, and tied the smooth belt firmly around your waist. Initially, you had thought that the robe would ruin the whole look, but the moment you bent down, you realised that in the position like that, it reached the middle of your bottom cheeks, leaving your pussy bare and in plain sight.

You crawled onto the bed and placed yourself in the centre, your legs slightly spread as your knees rested against the soft sheets and your fingers dug into the throw pillows. You positioned your body in such a way that your arse would serve as the most delicious welcoming sight for Joe’s eyes to fall onto the moment he would enter.

The rustle of air that pierced the quietness of the room as you took a deep breath to calm your restless heart and buzzing nerves was the last sound you registered before the bedroom door swung open and Joe entered the bedroom.

And then, you did not dare to breathe.

Seconds dragged, each one of them agonizingly slow, and you stared at the headboard right in front of you, waiting for Joe’s next move. You’d heard the door open, but it seemed like he froze in the doorway, taking you in.

“You’re sure it’s not my birthday today?” Joe chuckled, but the sound of his voice had a dark edge to it, tinged with desire matching your own.

Footsteps could be heard, muffled by the carpet as he inched closer, and a light thud sounded in your bedroom as he dropped his jacket to the floor.

The mattress underneath you dipped with his weight and you registered the rustle of fabrics as he crawled towards you.

Without touching you, he grasped the purple satin between his fingers. As he slowly lifted the hem of your robe, he exposed your arse to his eyes and a small groan rumbled in the back of his throat. He pushed the satin up and let it rest on your lower back as he admired the view.

Joe was kneeling behind you; you could feel the heat radiating from him as he made no move to touch you yet. It seemed like some kind of twisted torture to you, sweet, delicious torture that caused you to crave more. To be touched, kissed, caressed, groped, and just properly fucked.

You almost jumped out of your skin when a feather-light touch of his fingertips made contact with the back of your thighs. Gasping, you relished in the feeling of Joe’s fingers dancing up and down your heated skin as they left trails of goose-bumps in their wake. Every time his hands inched closer to your bum, you shuddered involuntarily, the sensation going straight to your core, settling there and causing you to tremble as you sank your teeth into your lip, holding in the noises that were gradually forcing their way out of your mouth.

Leaning over you, Joe pressed his front against your back, and you threw your head back, rubbing your temple against his newly grown out stubble. The aroma of his shampoo and skin enveloped you and you breathed in the familiar scent.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Joe’s words brushed over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, which involuntarily caused your hips to buck as your arse firmly pushed against Joe’s groin, the coarse material of his jeans shifting your focus to the bare state of your core. The sensation made your mind race. This time, with clear intention, you moved your butt up and down, pushing yourself against the outline of his cock covered by the denim. Your walls clenched in a vice-like grip around thin air when your skin made contact with the cold metal buckle of his belt, and your arms started to shake. You weren’t sure how long you could stay in that position.

“Oh my, look at the mess you’re making,” Joe rasped and cleared his throat when he drew himself up again. He must have been just as hot and bothered as you were, the teasing having made you both ache with want for something more. “You’re already dripping wet, my love. Ah, your juices are all over my crotch.”

You twisted your neck and turned your head to look for yourself. The view that greeted you sent another jolt of pleasure into your core and your breath hitched. Joe was wearing a simple black t-shirt, the short sleeves revealing his strong biceps, and a pair of blue jeans, the leather jacket that he had disposed of earlier lying in a heap on the floor. His fingers were splayed on your buttocks, fitting perfectly as if they were carved by gods for one purpose only – to grope your arse and never let go. His hair was ruffled, his eyes sparkling and mouth slightly agape as he stared in bewilderment at the result of your grinding.

That was when you noticed the wet patch on his trousers, your arousal glistening in a nightstand lamps’ light, and you moaned, almost inaudibly.

Smack.

Your jaw dropped and you jolted forward, taken aback by the sharp sting on your butt cheek which sent a burning sensation across your skin.

“Did I give you permission to turn around?” Joe grunted and gave you another spank with the flat of his palm, hitting you harder this time.

“No,” you whined into a pillow and braced yourself for another blow.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Another smack hit your other cheek. “Do you know what that means, baby girl? A birthday or not, I’m gonna have to punish you.”

You nodded, wordlessly accepting whatever was to come.

“I think ten spanks will do but I want you to count for me. Think you can do that?” His voice turned sugar sweet for a moment and his hands were stroking your buttocks. Until another sharp blow landed on your skin.

“One,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Come again?” Joe demanded and the following slap was so hard it sent you forward, your arms giving up as you burrowed your face into the pillows.

“Two!” you sobbed once you freed your mouth, and you almost came in an instant when Joe chuckled darkly behind you.

With each slap on your tender skin and each syllable falling from your lips, you felt yourself growing wetter. A blow after blow, you reached number ten and collapsed on the bed. You realised Joe was showing some amount of restraint, since usually after a session like that you would be feeling the sting all over your arse for a few days. However, it still hurt slightly, but the pain was bearable.

“Good girl, you’re my good girl. Shhh, baby, shhh, I’ve got you.”

He soothed his hands all over your body, dragging them against the smooth material of the robe you were still wearing, the lace of the garter belt, the nylon of your stockings, and your exposed burning hot skin.

“Come here.” He pulled you up by your waist and you leaned against him, his chest firm against your back. You tilted your head and chased his lips, moaning into the kiss once he finally granted his permission and opened his mouth to welcome your exploring tongue.

He kissed you like that for a few moments, catching your bottom lip between his teeth every now and then and tugging at it playfully. Soon, you were breathless again, so you broke the kiss and took great gulps of air into your lungs. Joe’s lips moved to your cheek and eventually latched onto your earlobe, sucking relentlessly.

His hands weren’t idle either. They groped your breasts, squeezing and pushing them together, and it didn’t take much for you to feel your nipples getting hard under Joe’s ministrations. After a minute, he untied the satin belt, pulled it out of the loops, and opened the robe, growling desperately into your ear. Pushing it down your arms, he slipped the piece of fabric away from you and tossed it aside, the satin pooling on the floor.

“Oh god, you should see yourself,” he growled into your ear and gently bit on your earlobe, “so sexy in your pretty gift,” his fingers sent shivers down your spine and you rocked your hips against his crotch, “and needy,” he chuckled.

You moaned loudly as his fingers dug into your sides and you arched your back.

“I know I promised you more gifts, but I need to taste your first,” he whispered hotly and rubbed his hands against your arms, reaching your wrists which he promptly pressed to each other in front of you. He retracted the satin belt of your robe and tied them together.

“Lie on your back,” he instructed, and you did so, right after he gave your arse another playful spank. God, it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of your backside tonight.

It wasn’t an easy task with your tied hands to change the position, but you managed. Hissing quietly, you scowled when your butt landed on the soft blankets, but you refused to concentrate on that.

“Good girl,” Joe praised and grabbed your wrists, pushing them above your head and attaching the belt to the headboard. You gave it a few experimental tugs to see how rigorous he was. Admittedly, quite a lot; it would be hard to free yourself on your own. Not that it would ever come to it and you would need it, but the thought of you being completely putty in his hands excited you to no end.

His fingertips ran down the exposed skin of your arms, making you shiver and whimper lightly. Drawing intricate patterns on your soft skin, Joe made sure you felt every brush of his fingers, locking his eyes with yours.

Not dropping your gaze, you poke out your tongue to wet your lips, the movement not escaping Joe’s scrutiny as you prolonged the action more than necessary, leaving your mouth invitingly open afterwards.

Your breath hitched when he leaned in closer, pausing mere millimetres away from your mouth.

You started to lift your hand to run your fingers through his auburn hair, pushing him forward and closing the distance, but the restraints did not allow you to. You giggled at your fail attempt and Joe joined, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Even without your aid, he bent down and caught your bottom lip between his lips, sucking on it before his tongue forced his way into your mouth. Deepening the kiss, Joe moaned, the sound muffled by your mouth which responded in a similar fashion.

Eventually, he broke the kiss and straightened his back, his palms pressing against your thighs, opening your legs for him. He was still fully clothed and your need to tear down his shirt, jeans and boxers reached indescribable heights. But your hands were tied, literally, and all you could do was wait for him to undress.

He, however, did no such thing. Pushing your stocking-clad legs deeper into the mattress, pinning them down, he bent over and latched his lips onto your opening, the wetness that had developed there over the past moments letting him push his tongue inside you with ease. Your eyes rolled back when he lapped at your juices, swirling them and tasting them, the sound of him swallowing the evidence of your desire bringing you faster to the edge than you would like to admit.

His fingers replaced his tongue as he pressed two digits into your heat, relentlessly bending them in the come-hither motion, while he positioned his tongue to your clit, flicking the nub at rapid speed. His eyes locked on yours, he gauged your reaction, every intake of breath and every tremble.

You were sure to go mad any moment, the sensation sending you reeling. You whimpered and moaned and screamed and sobbed, occasionally chanting Joe’s name in a desperate prayer for him not to stop.

Your body was mindlessly tossing on the bed as if your limbs could not settle upon one position, a fuzzy feeling settling in your stomach, making your toes curl in your shoes and your arms flex as they pulled at the satin belt.

You felt yourself fast approaching orgasm. Biting your lips, you arched your back as Joe kept sucking on your clit, hard, as if his life depended on it. You found yourself at the edge, all you needed was a little push.

“Ouch!” Joe suddenly yelped and tore away from your core, pain in his eyes.

“What is it, what happened?” you asked breathlessly, panic settling in your stomach as you shook, the unsatisfied anticipation vibrating through your veins.

Joe took hold of your legs which had apparently wrapped around his shoulders at some point, his fingers gently but firmly separating your intertwined ankles.

“I love you, birthday girl, but we’re gonna take these off, okay?” One by one, he took off your stilettos. As he stretched down to place them on the floor, you noticed a long red line marking his back. Oh, fuck! You must have hurt him with your heel! There was no blood, thank God, but you still felt like the worst girlfriend ever.

“Joe, baby, I’m so sorry,” you kept repeating, truly regretting it.

“Nah, babe, it’s nothing. But I haven’t even given you your present, yet! Would like to do so without getting any injury,” he chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, freeing your wrists from the restraints as you scrunched up your nose, his beard tickling you.

“Does it mean I’m going to get my gift now?” You grinned at him, glee in your eyes.

“Gifts, love. Plural.” He kissed you soundly on the lips, pressing softly his forefinger against them afterwards. “Wait,” he whispered and with a wink left the heat of your body as he bent over the edge of the bed and sunk down, rummaging in his bag.

“Are the knickers in one of them?” you asked matter-of-factly, rubbing your tender wrists.

“I beg your pardon?” Joe said, lifting his head to give you a confused look over his shoulder.

“The knickers that go with this set,” you explained as your hand vaguely pointed to the lingerie that you were still wearing. “These things usually include knickers.”

Joe chuckled at your deduction. “Yeah, you’re right, there was a pair knickers there as well,” he admitted, and you gave him a triumphant smile. “But how could it be your birthday gift if I intend to take it back?” He pulled himself up on the bed and turned to you, his hands hiding something behind his back. “No, baby girl, I’ll let you wear them one day, teasing you the whole day, making you incredibly wet, and then I’m going to take them back once they’re properly soaked.” He smirked mischievously and an audible gulp you made gave away your apparent interest and excitement over that scenario.

He closed the distance and gave you a hungry kiss, your fingers finding their way to his hair, burrowing in his locks and enjoying the newly granted freedom.

He sat up on his heels, and you followed him, not a having a single ounce of desire to let him go.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered against your lips, nuzzling his nose into yours with affection.

Darting your eyes downwards, you found two boxes in his palms. They were neatly wrapped up in quality paper and cute little bows were stuck at the corners.

“What’s in them, then, if not the knickers?” you inquired, suspiciously staring at the two boxes.

“Open them and you’ll see.”

Carefully, you reached for one of them, the package heavy in your hand and you proceeded to tear down the wrapping paper, the bow flying somewhere behind you. Joe was watching your every move intently, but the moment you lifted the lid, he brought his eyes to your face, paying attention to your reaction.

All you did was stare and frown, no sounds coming out of your slightly agape mouth.

After a few beats of silence, you turned your focus to Joe.

“Scissors?”

He chuckled at the deep line that had appeared between your eyes as your eyebrows contorted in incomprehension, and he placed a soft kiss there. “Maybe you should open the other one, it will make sense.” He was so anxious about the presents, he was literally bouncing on his heels, the energy that seemed to never leave his body rushing through his veins at extra speed.

“Look, Joe, if that’s your way of telling me you wanna attend origami classes, there are other ways,” you giggled, stripping the other box of its paper, still unsure what this was about, and gave him a playful nudge. It wouldn’t be the first time of him announcing you some new hobby of his in a rather unconventional way.

“God, woman, you can’t help yourself, can you? You’re gonna ruin the whole surprise. And besides, in what universe do you use scissors for origami?! It literally translates as ‘folding paper’,” he scolded.

How dare he, correcting you on your birthday. The audacity! You blew him a raspberry. “Somebody’s already an expert, I see.”

Shifting his weight, he moved behind you on the bed, pulling the shirt over his head and discarding it on the way, and hugged you from behind, watching over your shoulder as you opened the other box. Your breath hitched slightly before you finally got to it, his exposed skin against your back sending warm sensation right to your pussy. Blinking, you shifted your focus to the gift.

There were condoms. Lots of them. Unused, thank God, but all taken out of their packages.

“Okay, care to explain the gifts to me? ‘Cause I don’t get it.”

“Well,” he started, and you craned your neck to find a light blush gracing cheek, “the thing is, you know, it’s a symbol. I want you to cut them. Shred them into a million pieces.”

“And I’m supposed to do that because…” you asked as Joe placed the scissors into your palm.

His lips drew closer to your ear, his hot breath making you shiver and your eyes close.

“Because tonight,” he whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you raw.”

You swallowed audibly.

“I’m gonna shoot my load into you,” Joe continued, renewed confidence seeping through his voice as you kept your eyes shut. “I’m gonna paint the lovely walls of your cunt with my cum. And who knows,” he chuckled darkly, “maybe I’m gonna put a baby inside you.”

You whimpered at the notion, feeling your legs closing as they rubbed against each other, relieving some of the tension. When you pressed your back against Joe’s form sitting behind you, he dropped his hands down to your hips and squeezed them in between your thighs, spreading you open for him. His fingers slowly walked up your inner thigh until they reached your aching pussy, rubbing your folds and spreading the wetness there.

“You want that, don’t you?” Joe’s voice enveloped your whole being and all you could focus on was his words whispered hotly into your ear and his fingers playing with your clit. “Ah, my love, you’ve wanted this for a very long time. I know, I know,” he cooed with understanding when a soft moan passed your lips. “Show me how much.”

He wrapped his palm around the back of your hand and guided you to take hold of the scissors. With no need to be told twice, you dug the condoms out of the box and proceeded to cut them.

The bedroom was filled with the sound of the scissors and your occasional bursts of laughter. It was so absurd, yet the sensation extremely freeing, as you felt the latex give in under the sharp blades of the scissors while Joe’s fingernails dragged along your thighs, leaving a trail of goose-bumps in their wake, and his mouth was sucking dark hickeys along the column of your neck when he wasn’t hiding his pleased smiles at your glee into your skin.

After a few moments, the box was full to the brim with tiny pieces of latex and you unceremoniously dropped the scissors down on the floor, slinking down against Joe’s torso, your chest heaving and the strings of your bra digging into your breasts with every deep intake of breath. He wrapped his arms around and caressed your cheek.

“So, how do you want me, birthday girl? Are we going to go with the classic and do it the old missionary-style? Or do you want to be on top? Or maybe you’d like me pounding into your little pussy from behind?” he waggled his eyebrows at you and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or moan with desire at the notions.

Eventually, your lips curled into an amused smile and you turned around in Joe’s arms, realising how much you loved this ridiculous man when you saw his beaming face, and yet his eyes were dark with lust matching to yours.

“I want to ride you,” you whispered against Joe’s lips before you opened your mouth and captured them, moaning softly and urgently into the kisses.

Pressing against his shoulders, you pushed him on his back and straddled him, your hands quickly finding their way into his hair as you kissed him soundly. It was then when you realised that he was still wearing his trousers, but you set your mind to making short work of them.

Joe helped you as much as he could, even though it proved to be a tougher proposition than you’d expected as his skinny jeans clung to his toned legs.

With a few fits of giggles and an accidental kick in your thigh, for which Joe apologised profusely, you finally managed to get Joe rid off his trousers. You eagerly reached for his briefs and pulled them down too, his erection springing free and leaking precum.

You could not resist but taste the liquid that streamed down his cock, dragging your tongue up his shaft and swirling it around the slit. You placed a gentle kiss there and grabbed him by the base, feeling him throb and harden as another stream of precum poured out of his slit, right into your ready mouth.

The desperate moans and whimpers that were coming out of his mouth seemed like a symphony to your ears, and so you opened your mouth wide and pushed his cock inside, swallowing and feeling the head hitting the back of your throat.

He gasped and shoved his fingers into your hair, before he changed his mind and begged you to stop.

“Wait, wait, wait. If you really want me to fill you with my cum and make you pregnant, you really, really need to stop.” The last syllable was a mere sob as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard on his cock, your grip on his shaft firm and adamant.

He had to sit up and swat your hands away when you released his cock with a wet pop. Grabbing you by your hair, he pushed you up and crushed his lips against yours, swallowing your complaints. Shuffling up his body and playfully biting his lip before you pushed him back, you grabbed his cock again, giving it a few pumps, and placed it at your entrance.

Taking a deep breath, you sank down on him, a delicious inch by a delicious inch, until you bottomed out, your toes curling and eyes rolling back. You clasped your muscles around him and the whimper that rewarded you put a victorious smile on your face.

“God, you feel so good,” you moaned as a shudder ran down your spine at the sensation of being filled by Joe’s cock, feeling every ridge of his shaft in your welcoming heat as he stretched your walls.

At first, you rocked gently against him, getting used to the feeling of his bare cock buried deep inside you, gasping as you rolled your hips and tried different angles.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and groaned. You looked like a goddess of darkness in that lingerie, getting what you wanted. You watched with excitement as his cock disappeared in your aching cunt, again and again.

Joe reached for your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours, his thumb caressing the skin on the back of your palm. You promptly pushed yourself up and slammed back against him, this time with more force, which caused you to moan in unison.

You both had been so riled up that it didn’t take long for you to quicken the pace and get closer to mind-shattering orgasms. You bounced on his throbbing cock, up and down, up and down, using the hand in your grasp as leverage. Eventually, you felt the familiar tingle in the tips of your toes and fingers, the warm sensation unfolding and capturing every fibre in your body. The knot in your lower stomach tightening, you were almost at the edge and based on the grunts and veins that had popped up on Joe’s strained neck, it was safe to say that he wasn’t far behind with his release.

“I’m gonna empty my balls, baby, right into your pretty little fertile pussy, hm?” he grunted.

You nodded, your throat tightened with vigour and anticipation. Joe knew you like the back of his hand and could tell all you needed was a little push to reach your orgasm

And so he dropped one of his hands to the place where your bodies were joint and his fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing at it at speed to match your thrusts, while he brought the other hand u your body and wrapped it around your neck, squeezing.

It was all it took for you to fall over the edge, shaking against Joe’s body as a wave after wave of pleasure spread into your body like wildfire, licking on your insides. You tossed your head back and screamed, the muscles in your cunt spasming uncontrollably around Joe’s relentlessly pounding cock as he grasped you by the garter belt and kept pushing his hips upwards, chasing his own release.

“God, darling! You’re gripping me so tight. I think I’m gonna, I’m gonna—”

He did not get the chance to finish the sentence as his cock twitched deep inside you and soon enough you felt hot sticky ropes of cum covering your walls. Your legs were no longer able to hold you upright and you collapsed on his lying form, your body still trembling with the aftershocks while Joe’s cock kept spurring his seed deep inside you.

You lay there like that for a few minutes, neither of you willing or having the energy to move.

It was Joe who first came to his senses, pushing slick hair out of your face and rubbing your back as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, your eyes closing and eyelashes fluttering in joy over the affectionate gesture.

Gently, he rolled you over and pulled out his cock, a flush of your mixed juices immediately trickling down your thighs and making a mess on the bedspread. Joe perched up his head on his arm and watched you with utter love and adoration. He rested his other hand on your stomach, his fingers dancing across the soft skin.

“I can’t wait for us to be parents,” Joe admitted in the quiet of the room and you found yourself agreeing with him.

“Do you think we already…” you prompted.

“Who knows,” he said with a smile and pressed a kiss to your stomach. His fingers bumped into a piece of synthetic fabric and his smile grew wider as he placed the bow that had fallen of his presents earlier underneath your belly button. “Maybe in no time, you’ll be giving me one of the greatest gifts in the whole wide world.”

~

Taglist: @lv7867

[theladyofdeath]

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ and I decided to team up for a sweet daddy Ro OS. We went back and forth - sometimes sentence by sentence, sometimes paragraph by paragraph - for this fluffy collaboration. I love writing with my bff. She reminds me why I love writing so much. I hope you all enjoy. :)

————

Based on the prompt: “Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

Aelin sat in her study, a book resting on her rounded stomach, a strong pot of cumin tea steeping on the table beside her. It was rumored to induce labor, and after the longest 9 months of her life, she was willing to try anything. Of course, sex and long walks also induced labor, but drinking a cup of tea sounded far less exhausting, even though Rowan kept suggesting the former. With a heavy sigh, she set her book down and ran a hand over her belly. There was a sharp kick to her ribs in response.

Aelin groaned, loud, long, and dramatically. “Rowan!”

When he didn’t answer, she yelled his name louder, “Rowan!”

The sound of heavy footsteps and something that sounded suspiciously like their dining table being scraped across the floors reached her. The door of the study burst open.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?” He was looking her over and seemed to realize she wasn’t in any mortal danger. “Is he coming?”

The excitement in his voice brought a warm smile to her face.

For just a second, Aelin forgot about the utter state of agony she was in and said, with a gentle smile, “No, unfortunately not. But, I’ve got to get up and move around. I feel like I’ve been sitting here for days.”

She had never been good at sitting still. Or relaxing in any way.

Rowan’s shoulders sagged as he laughed softly. He crossed the room and perched on the rolled arm of Aelin’s chair. Squeezing her shoulders, he crooned, “And what can I do for you, my queen?”

The purr in his voice had Aelin rethinking her chosen method of attempting to induce labor, but she held her hand out and said, “Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

Rowan chuckled and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet. With her hand on her lower back, Aelin whined. Her feet hurt. Her ass hurt. Her breasts hurt. Her legs hurt. The heartburn was so bad that Aelin wanted to set something on fire, just so it would know how her insides felt.

“Get this baby out of me,” she begged, to no one in particular, but Rowan lifted a brow. Sensing his thoughts, she rolled her eyes. “A walk. Let’s take a walk.”

He smirked, but wrapped and strong arm around her waist and walked her outside. From across the gardens, she saw Fenrys talking to a slim woman with grey blue eyes that seemed to burn with a fire so unlike her own. The sound of tiny feet running towards them distracted her from the elegant stranger and before she knew it, a small body had slammed into her husband and wrapped itself around his legs.

“Daddy, Rayna is here!” Layten cried, his green eyes - his father’s eyes - sparkling in the winter sun.

“Of course she is, sweetheart,” Aelin crooned, running a hand over his blond hair. “She’s here with her mother and father so she can meet your baby sister when she finally decides to make an appearance.”

“Or brother,” Rowan cut in, throwing a wink at his son.

“I wanna sister,” Layten said, small arms crossed. “And a brother. I want a sister and a brother.”

Aelin cringed. “Sorry, sweetheart. Momma’s only having one,” she said, with a muttered, Thankfully, underneath her breath. Carrying one was hard enough. Two at one time? No, thank you.

She heard Rowan chuckle under his breath and opened her mouth to call to Lysandra and Aedion, who were crossing from the magnificent fountain that sat in the center of the gardens, when she felt a sharp pain, unlike the kicks she’d begun to grow accustomed to. She gasped and looked to Rowan, squeezing his hand tightly.

Rowan froze, green eyes growing wide, scanning every inch of his wife.

“I-“ she began, gritting her teeth until the pain began to ease. “Call- call for the midwife!”

————

Rowan had been pacing in their rooms for over eleven hours. A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was well past three in the morning now. After her fifth round of contractions was so sore that Aelin almost lost consciousness, Yrene administered a tonic that was supposed to help relax her lower body. Shortly after, she and Elide had kicked Rowan out, and a hesitant knock on the door ended with him snarling at a now-terrified servant, coming to offer dinner to the growing royal family and their guests.

Rowan fell into a chair, and looked around before he let his head fall, holding it in his hands. Dorian and Manon were dozing on the small chaise in the corner. Lysandra and Evangeline had volunteered to watch Layten and Kerayna, as well as Chaol and Yrene’s son, Velian. That left Aedion to prowl the rooms just as Rowan was, a worried mess for his cousin and queen.

The telltale shink of a blade being sharpened filled the room repeatedly. Rowan lifted his hands and glared at Lorcan, where he sat on an adjacent couch, whetstone in hand.

“Must you do that right now?” He asked, his voice as cold as the steel in his corner commander’s hands.

Lorcan blinked, halting his sharpening, only for a second before continuing and saying, “What else are we going to do? We’ve been waiting for hours and I’m sure we’ll be waiting for hours more.”

Aedion rolled his eyes from where he paced on the far side of the room. “Can’t even be pleasant on the day a child is entering the world?”

Lorcan didn’t look up as he said, “No.”

Fenrys just laughed from where he sat at the small dining table. “I can’t wait until you get Elide pregnant so we can all see how on edge you get when someone-.”

The doors leading to Rowan and Aelin’s suites cracked open.

Elide’s tear stained face peeked out from behind the door. Both Rowan and Lorcan were instantly on their feet, albeit for vastly different reasons.

“Is she okay?” Rowan asked, the words so soft that he was worried her mortal ears would hear them. Dorian was nudging a groggy Manon and Chaol was noticing he was leaning on his cane much more than he had been an hour or two before.

Elide’s eyes softened as she smiled. “Would you like to come and meet your daughter?”

————

As Rowan entered the room, Aelin’s lips were pressed against the small tufts of silver hair, murmuring quiet oaths of love and protection as she cradled their newborn daughter.

When the door quietly clicked shut behind him, Aelin met his gaze, turquoise eyes shining brightly.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered, back, sitting on the edge of their bed and pressing a soft kiss to his mate’s forehead.

His fingers brushed the top of their daughter’s head, and she opened her eyes in response, revealing eyes identical to her mother’s. “She’s so beautiful, Fireheart, I’m so proud of you.”

Aelin’s eyes welled up as she rested her forehead gently against her husband’s.

Yrene and Elide had left the room, allowing them a private moment with the young princess. Rowan ran a gentle finger down her arm as Aelin said, “We didn’t plan any names for a girl.” She pressed a soft kiss to her nose. “What’s your name, sweet girl? Who will you be?”

The name left Rowan’s lips in a reverent breath. “Raisa, the beloved.”

“Raisa,” Aelin breathed. “Raisa Whitethorn Galathynius. Princess of Terrasen.”

They sat together for a long while, staring in awe at the beautiful creation they had created. Once Aelin had drifted into a much needed sleep, Rowan rocked Raisa in the corner rocking chair, unable to set her in the bassinet due to pure adoration.

The others had visited throughout the early morning, quick visits just to see the newest addition to their court, their family.

It wasn’t until the sun crept up from behind the hills of Orynth that the door creaked open and a small, green-eyed boy entered the room with a smile on his little pink lips.

“Daddy!”

Rowan huffed a laugh, pressing a finger to his mouth. “Let momma sleep, use your quiet voice.”

Layten nodded, pressing his own fingers to his lips before dramatically tiptoeing to the corner of the bedroom, where Rowan sat.

“Meet your sister, Layten,” Rowan smiled, watching his son’s reaction. “Raisa.”

“Raisa,” he repeated, high voice light and gentle. “Sister.” He looked over to Aelin. “Is Mommy okay?”

“She’s perfect, buddy, just very tired from having Raisa.”

“Oh okay.” His little lip pulled in between his teeth as it so often did when he was thinking. “Daddy, where do babies come from?”

Rowan coughed, trying not to startle his sleeping daughter as he scrambled to answer Layten’s question.

“Ask that again when you’re much, much older,” came a sleepy voice from the bed.

“Mommy!” Layten cried, and climbed up onto the bed. “I met Raisa.”

“I see that, sweet boy,” she smiled, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes.

“Is she a prince, too?” For the first time, a little wariness crept into his green eyes.

Rowan perched on the edge of the bed, still cradling Raisa as she began to fuss, began to wake up. “No, she’s a princess. And she’s yours to protect, just like Uncle Aedion protects mommy. Can you do that?”

He jumped to his feet on the bed and stood proudly. “Yes!” He looked down at the tiny bundle in his father’s arms. “Can I hold her?”

“Sit down,” Rowan ordered. His son quickly, excitedly, obeyed. “Put a pillow on your lap.”

Aelin fondly handed her firstborn a bed pillow and he sat it on his lap, wiggling his fingers in Raisa’s direction.

A smile tugged on Rowan’s mouth as he laid Raisa in Layten’s arms.

“Be careful,” Rowan whispered. “Be gentle.”

As she settled in Layten’s arms, Raisa’s eyes opened. She gazed up at her older brother and opened her mouth in a wide yawn. “Hi, Raisa,” he said, not quite able to pronounce her name. “I’m your big brother.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she began to doze. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Rowan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she began to cry, seeing the bond that was already forming between her children.

Never in a millennia of years did she think she would be lucky enough to call this her life.

“It’s real,” Rowan whispered, sensing her thoughts through the bond. “It’s real, we’re here. We made it.”

They had conquered hell itself for this life, and it had been worth it.

[pinknerdpanda]

Pie’s Pie

Word Count: 1600

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Warnings: Fluff, mild pie-related angst

A/N: This was a random thought I had the other day when I was getting ready for @wheresthekillswitch’s visit and we had so much fun together, I didn’t get a chance to get it on ‘paper’ until today. This is for you, Soul Sister! (Also this was supposed to be a drabble, but then...ya know...words happened)

Tags are at the bottom - please send me an ASK if you would like to be added (or removed).

Beta’d by: @hannahindie - “I loved this entire thing!! So fluffy and cute!” thank you so much babes!

x

Pie’s Pie

Dean’s face froze mid vamp-rant as the aroma of baked goods filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes and breathed the deliciously scented air as a vulgar sound fell from his lips.

“Dude,” Sam grimaced as he leaned across the table and snatched the open book from his brother’s hands. “You have a problem.”

“You’re right Sammy, I do have a problem,” Dean grinned, sitting back and kicking his feet up on the edge of the table. “The problem is, there’s so many kinds of pie and I only have one stomach. I wonder what kind she made this time. I saw some of those store bought pie crusts in the fridge yesterday. I mean I prefer homemade, but pie’s pie, ya know?”

“Dean, we really need to focus. This vampire case really needs to take precedence over pie,” Sam scolded. One look at Dean and he realized it was no good; his brother was already long gone.

“I could go for a blueberry pie. Are blueberries even in season right now? Or peach,” Dean stared dreamily toward the kitchen where he suspected y/n was hard at work crafting a delectable sweet treat for him to enjoy. “Is it too early for pumpkin?”

Sam slammed the leather bound volume on the table, startling Dean and tearing him from his flaky fantasies. “I’m serious, man. People are dying. Can we please figure this out before you get diabetes?”

Dean frowned, but pulled another book from the stack on his right and set back to researching. After skimming the first paragraph for the seventh time, Dean was once again assaulted with a smell of increasing deliciousness.

“Apple!” Dean exclaimed excitedly, slapping his bare palm against table.

“What?” Sam’s face scrunched up briefly and melted into a classic Sam bitch-face. “Enough! I can’t handle researching with you. I will be in my room. Please don’t bother me unless you found something good!”

Dean shrugged as he watched his brother tuck his stack of books under an arm and march out of the room. His gaze dropped briefly to the pages of the book in his hands, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he made up his mind. When the sound of Sam’s footsteps had completely faded into silence, he stood, set his book on the library table, and wandered toward the kitchen.

He paused in the doorway, his arms crossed as he silently watched y/n work. Her hair was twisted up in a hasty ponytail and, with her back to him, he could make out the black straps of the apron she wore. It had been the first gift he’d bought for her and secretly he’d worried she would see it as a purely self-serving gift. He’d been relieved when she’d opened it, her eyes glittering with excitement as her fingers trailed over the embroidered Wonder Woman logo. Two years later, and the memory still brought a smile to his face.

The soft sound of humming filled the room as Dean approached her quietly. She was so focused on her task that she jumped when his arms wrapped around her waist. He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Something smells good in here,” he pecked her cheek once more before stepping back to watch her. “What’s the occasion, beautiful?”

“I was just in the mood to bake,” she smiled as she continued to stir the contents of her bowl. “We’ve been so busy lately, I figured I would take advantage of the time we have at the bunker.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice echoed through the hallway seconds before he appeared in the doorway.  “I think I’ve found something. Hey y/n.” He nodded in her direction and Dean sighed.

“You go on. I’ll bring you a piece when it’s all done,” she winked at Dean and blew a strand of loose hair from her eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” Dean kissed her hair again and followed Sam out the door.

“I know you don’t,” y/n’s voice called after him and he grinned.

-----

An hour later and the brothers were nowhere closer to finding a solution than they’d been before. After a little digging, they’d realized that Sam’s supposed lead had been a dead-end, though Dean was surprised to find his motivation fortified by y/n’s promise of pie-delivery.

“I think I’ve read the same sentence seven times, and I still couldn’t tell you what it says,” Sam groaned as he palmed one side of his face.

“Well then, it sounds like I am just in time,” y/n’s voice was a cheerful interruption as she bustled into the room and set down a plate in front of each of them.

Dean grinned up at her. “That’s my girl. You always know just what…” Dean stopped, his smile vanished as he looked at the plate in front of him. “What the hell is this?”

“I made it,” she frowned at him.

Dean surveyed the food occupying his plate. It certainly resembled pie. But where he’d expected to find layers of flaky, browned crust and steaming, golden apples, he found a bumpy, yellow mass with unidentifiable flecks of green, yellow, and grey.

“Where’s my apple pie?” Dean looked horrified as he poked at it lightly with a fork.

“I didn’t make you apple pie,” y/n said, her hand planted firmly on her flour dusted hips. “This is quiche.”

“Excuse me?” Dean stared at her incredulously.

“It looks delicious, y/n. I think I will eat mine in my room,” Sam stood quickly, grabbing the plate from the table and making a beeline for the door.

“Quiche, Dean. You know, eggs, cheese, veggies, maybe some meat,” she quirked an eyebrow, silently challenging him. “This one is ham and cheddar with spinach and mushrooms.”

“It’s not enough that you made a, a…” Dean stuttered, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. “An egg pie?! But then you had to go and defile it with rabbit food and, and...fungus?”

“Egg pie?! Defiled?! I’ll have you know, Dean Winchester, that I make a damn fine quiche and you are acting like an ass.”

Y/n turned and stormed out of the library, leaving Dean alone in the low-lit room. He looked back at the plate still sitting on the table, the fork he’d jabbed into it leaning at an odd angle. He huffed out a breath and kneaded at his forehead with one hand. He really was an ass.

He sat back down, removing the fork and examining the quiche carefully. He liked all of the things y/n had said was in it on their own - eggs, cheese, ham. Even spinach and mushrooms could be tolerated in moderation.

Determined to at least give it the benefit of the doubt, he scooped a forkful and brought it slowly to his mouth. He paused for the merest of seconds before taking a bite. As the flavors hit his tongue, his entire world seemed to break apart. He’d fully anticipated severe disappointment at the taste of a savory pie, but was shocked to find his taste buds dancing with delight. The saltiness of the quiche filling contrasted beautifully with the  light sweetness of the pie crust that would have been otherwise overlooked had the pie been sweet.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and took another heaping bite.

-----

Y/n frowned as she looked into the library only to find Dean and his so-called “egg pie” were long-gone. She should have known better than to expect a different response from Dean. The man practically lived on pie, beer, and Telemundo and change was something of a dirty word for him.

As she made her way to the kitchen, the sound of running water caught her attention. She stopped as she entered the doorway, the sound of Dean’s humming obscured as he scrubbed a dish. Y/n smiled as she noticed the black strings of her apron, tied carefully around Dean’s waist and she suspected that the neck strap was hidden under the collar of his flannel shirt. She cleared her throat and moved to stand beside him.

“Whatcha doin, Dean?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, all challenge from before now replaced with a genuine curiosity.

“I just figured that since you went to all that work to bake for us, the least I could do would be to clean up,” Dean glanced sideways at her as he placed the last plate into the drying rack and shut off the water.

“Thanks, Dean,” she leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his scruffy cheek and smiled, sheepishly. “I’m sorry I called you an ass.”

“Don’t be. One of my favorite things about you is that you call things like you see them,” he turned to face her and y/n stifled a giggle at the sight of Dean Winchester in a Wonder Woman apron. “I’m sorry I was being an ass. The quiche you made was delicious.”

“Wait, you ate it?” Y/n exclaimed, astonished.

“I even came back for seconds,” Dean stepped closer to y/n, snaking one hand around her waist.

“I thought you were firmly in the ‘anti egg pie’ camp?”

“What can I say, sweetheart? I am a creature of habit and pie’s pie, ya know?” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

“So you like it better than my apple pie?”

Dean stiffened, his face becoming very serious. “Now now, princess. Let’s not get crazy.”

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[loireramblings]

Galettes des Rois

In France Epiphany (twelfth night) is still a recognised date in the calendar of Bank Holidays. This year it fell on a Saturday and so was just another weekend day except for the bakers, of which we are lucky enough to have quite a few in Amboise. Every single one was filled with Galettes des Rois, the cake for the Kings, and it is delicious. A golden, buttery, rich flaky pastry enclosing a delicious, rich frangipane cream.

Hidden inside the cake a small charm called a feve or bean is hidden. Traditionally the cake is not cut until the youngest child of the family is hidden under the table. The child calls out the name of each person present at the table and their piece of cake is allocated. Whoever receives the charm (mind your teeth when eating this delicacy) wears the crown and is king, or queen, of the gathering.

Traditionally the Galette is eaten on the twelfth night with a glass of pettilant or cider, but you will see it start to appear in the supermarkets long before this and the boulangeries long after. When I go to the bakers on Sunday for some bread the queue is three deep and out of the door. I ignore the queues for patisserie , or patisserie and bread and join the queue for bread. It does not move quickly, because of course people have joined who want galettes. They make their choice from the display across the other side of the shop, the vendeuse wraps it and they both return to the bread queue, one to ring it in to the till and the other to continue with her bread choice. I feel like I could be here a long time just for one measly baguette.

We do not need to buy a galette, yesterday we ate our fill at our local village association AGM. The meeting was long (if I’m honest too long) and much discussion took place. Events agreed for the coming year, fund raising ideas discussed. The neighbourhood watch scheme, which the village is now part of,  explained. Someone asks how do we contact the officers of the scheme to report any suspicious goings on. Will we have their ‘phone numbers? I have been wondering this myself. The answer is no, ‘phone numbers will not be given out. The explanation for this is one we like, though I don’t know how others feel; This is a small village,  there are six people who can be reported to, so none of us lives far away from an official. Above all we are a community and this is a community association and therefore reports are to be made by knocking the door of  one of the recognised officials and we are to talk with them in person about those suspicions. After all, we are told, the whole idea of our association is to bring people together, to get us involved in our community and picking up the phone just doesn’t replace a face to face interaction.

Anyhow, once all the important matters are out of the way the even more important matter of eating and drinking is undertaken. Galettes des Rois  are cut, bottles of cider opened and serious talking begins. We have now been to enough events to be fully included, bisous (kisses on cheeks) are the order of the day, no handshake dilemmas here for me. I have pleasure in introducing Caroline, our neigbour and though not new to the area new to our association, to all those whose names I can remember. I have a feeling of great satisfaction at how many names and faces I now know, even if many struggle with my name. Those who really have no idea how to say our names, even of they can remember our faces, call us Les Anglaises. I have read elsewhere people taking offence at this, but we certainly don’t. It is never said, to our faces at least, disparagingly. It doesn’t bother me in the least, back in England I am used to people struggling with my name. It is what happens when your parents choose a less than common first name.

We are invited to a talk on the following Sunday, I am not sure what on, but it is part of a funded  cultural event, “A Thousand Winter Lectures,“ where authors come and read, on just this one night in towns and villages all over France, and discuss their books. We will not attend, the strain on our language will be too much for us. It is hard to enjoy a book reading when all of your thought processes are concentrating on understanding the language. By the time we have processed and understood a sentence or two, the author will be on the next paragraph, or even the next page.

Of course after the book reading there is a supper and no doubt a glass or two of our local wine will be consumed too. It will no doubt be another convivial event, even if we ,Les Anglaises, are not there. 
We are also invited the next afternoon to  Caroline and Xavier’s for Galette de Rois and petillant (local fizz). Odette and Serge are invited along too. Caroline is an ex chef and now a sommellier. The galettte will be home made and the petillant she chooses to go with it excellent.

We readily accept, their company is always good and who can resist another opportunity to indulge in french pattiserie? Certainly not us.

Recipe for Galette des Rois

Ingredients 400g ready-made puff pastry 100g softened butter 100g caster sugar 1 egg yolk beaten 100g ground almond 2 tbsp cognac or dark rum (optional)

Heat the oven to 200C/fanC180/gas 6. Divide the ready-made puff pastry in half, roll out each piece and cut into a 25cm round. Put one round on a baking sheet. Beat together the softened butter and caster sugar until light and fluffy, then beat in the egg. Stir in the ground almonds and cognac or dark rum. Spoon the mixture over the pastry base spreading it evenly. Brush the edges of the pastry with water, then cover with the second piece, pressing the edges to seal. Mark the top of the pastry from the centre to the edges like the spokes of a wheel or in a zig zag pattern, then brush with beaten egg. Bake for 25-30 mins until crisp and golden. Serve warm or cold

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Andrew Garfield x Female Reader: Forty-Fucking-Three

A/N: I’ve promised myself that I wasn’t going to write anything until I’m finished with my thesis. And I really tried to keep that promise. But I guess that when your imagination hits you, it hits you bloody hard. Also, I’ve been looking for any Andrew Garfield imagines since my undying fangirling for Young Remus Lupin seemed to have generalized (fuck you very much, Desmond Doss, I blame you), and all i found was maybe a couple of short paragraphs. So here’s to you, beautiful people looking for something, centered around Andrew Garfield. He probably deserved better, but I felt stressed and angsty and I had to spill it all out. Also, I don’t mind writing more parts of this (although it might take time), so hit me up if you’re interested in what might follow. I really hope you enjoy, lads xx WARNINGS:  2448 words of hideous English, a third of which are probably curses. And the stuff is kind of angsty. Oh, and I respect Emma, everything’s that’s written is purely for plot purposes.

Theodore “Teddy” Buchanan was easily the most sought-after professional in the industry. His broad-shouldered, bold-headed persona seemed to retain an aura of mystery no matter where he’d be or what he’d wear. Rumors were clinging to him the way busy bees would hang on to their hive. Some said he had worked for M6 before giving up his governmental missions for the sake of becoming a bodyguard; others argued that after all the horrors he’d seen during the war in Vietnam he wanted to engage in something more down-to-earth, even though the flashes of the paparazzi cameras must have driven him nostalgic, forcing him to recall bombs exploding a couple of meters away from where he stood.

You, on the other hand, didn’t give a flying fuck about where one of your favorite persons in the world came from.

When Teddy first started working for you, he kept his professional distance. Eventually, the two of you became rather close – soon enough the menacing, bloodthirsty-looking man became nothing short of your unofficial father, saving your ass from especially eager journalists and other crazy-ass folk. When after a particularly nasty day he first gave you a nice hug, his nickname was born – Teddy, a huge, fluffy, sweet bear of a man.

As you walked back and fourth in the empty VIP Lounge of the LAX airport, downing your third champagne glass and struggling to keep your dry eyes open, Teddy sat back in one of the huge leather chairs, wearing a beach holiday attire. The agreement was that once he accompanies you to LA, you meet up with your friend and then he leaves for Majorca, where his lovely wife and three kids had been waiting for him since yesterday.  

As usual, it was your friend who had been fucking up the entire situation.

Trying to keep calm, you pressed the phone so tightly to your ear it was sure going to leave marks. The sound of apathetic lady’s voice, suggesting you should leave a message, had you questioning whether she was your real friend, answering your calls more often than that motherfucker did lately. Suppressing a growl, you threw your head back and drained your glass. Gulping down the last mouthful of the bubbly liquid, you sent your phone flying into your beast of a Valentino bag, scattered, open, on the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Ted,” you finally said, placing the empty glass on the table. Burying your face in your hands, you sat down in a chair next to his. “You could honestly leave with the next flight, I’ve got it covered”.

Teddy’s brown eyes sparkled with sarcasm as he gave you a kind once-over. You hadn’t slept for nearly 24 hours by now, arriving from Paris, and all the consumed champagne wasn’t exactly making you feel energized. You barely had any strength left to be mad – all you wanted to know was whether the idiot was going to show, and if you needed to reserve a Presidential Suite at Ritz if he didn’t. Because a king-sized bed, more champagne and a good tear jerking chick-flick movie sounded a lot like heaven right now.

“You need to stop straining yourself over this”, you heard Teddy speak. When your eyes met his, he gave you a warm smile. “He must have been held up by something, or maybe it’s a weather condition issue, fuck knows”, he shrugged, looking calm, cool and collected. “I’m sure he’s gonna show any minute now”.

You eyed him skeptically before shifting on the chair next to him, trying in vain to make yourself feel comfortable.

“What kind of asshole promises to put you up and then refuses to appear?” you said, massaging your closed eyelids. “I swear this is the last time I’ve ever believed anything that Garfinkel says…”

Teddy laughed out loud, throwing his head back. You opened your eyes, curious to know what had put him in such a merry state.

“Bringing out the legendary family name I see… You must really be pissed at him then”, you wondered again and again how Teddy managed to stay calm when all you wanted was to throw things around and murder people. You clasped your hands tightly together, barely keeping yourself from gritting your teeth in yet another fit of irritation.

“Pissed doesn’t even begin to cover it”, you muttered under your breath, closing your eyes again, your head resting firmly against your hand.

And that was when the shit had hit the fan.

It was safe to say you first felt Andrew calling you, rather than heard – your iPhone’s vibration sent shivers up your leg, as your Valentino bag fell over, smashing against your foot. Then you heard the ringtone blast within the four walls of the lounge. You bended over, gripping your cell tightly, seeing the moron’s shit eating grin light up on your screen. 

“Give him a chance to explain, Y/N”, you felt Teddy’s gaze and rolled your tired eyes, as you took the call. Inhaling deeply, you half-closed your eyelids, leaning back in your chair.

“Let me guess, your airplane crashed and you somehow got away alive. And you’re now on your way here, with at least one broken leg,” you stood up, pacing in front of your bodyguard, probably making him dizzy. God knows if you stopped, the anger inside you would have tore you apart.

“I am so sorry”, the minute you heard his voice coming from the other end of the line in waves of British accent, you immediately regretted not being able to strangle him. Desperately trying to keep your armored streamliner of rage behind a mental gate, you bit your lips, saying nothing, stopping dead in your tracks. “I swear I’m the biggest assholic idiot out there. I am also insensitive, irresponsible and completely unreliable. A fucking pathetic excuse for a man for leaving you stranded, Bee’s Knees”, your head still fuming, you felt your lips curl in an involuntary smile at the mention of the nickname. Whatever, you thought. You still had it in you to kill the moron, even if he was your favorite so far, despite all the stupid things he had done.

“I really wish I could call you sooner”, Andrew rambled on and on, and you could almost touch the guilt in his voice. But this wasn’t even nearly enough for you to forgive and forget. “Are you mad at me?” he finally asked in a tiny voice, trying to assess your current state of mind. You could almost picture him biting his lips, his dark eyes barely blinking as he stared at the wall, waiting for your answer.

You puffed your lips, and the sound seemed to break the tension, which had built up in the room. Torturing him by not saying anything, you returned to sit in a chair, Teddy’s eyes still following you. 

“I’d say mad is so three champagnes ago, but you know I’d be lying. Where the fuck are you, Garfinkel?” you narrowed your eyes at Teddy as he smirked at you heartily. “In case you’re wondering what the right answer sounds like, it’s the noise of your steps as you walk into the VIP lounge.”

The line went silent. You felt your stomach drop, a sharp sting of something you couldn’t quite place hitting you like a runaway train. 

“I won’t be able to make it tonight”, he whispered your thoughts in your ear, as you exhaled sharply, biting your lip till it hurt. 

“Of course you won’t”, you muttered, covering your eyes with your free hand. “Why am I even surprised”, you reprimanded yourself bitterly, staring in Ted’s now darkened, rigid eyes.

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me, Y/N”, Garfield maundered, as if trying to save you from the disappointment, already sitting on your chest. “I swear to you, if I only knew… Listen, how about I pay for your hotel room? And anything you’d like? And tomorrow morning, when I land, I’m gonna come get you and I’m going to take you out for breakfast and then we’ll go to Ellen’s together. And after that, I’ll…”

“You’ll go fuck yourself!” you exclaimed, brushing your messy, entangled hair back, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. Andrew went radio silent, probably shocked at your sudden outburst of emotion. “You promised me”, you tried to keep your voice leveled but failed, “I sure hope that wherever the fuck you are, it’s worth losing my faith in you, once and for all”, you noticed Teddy furrow his brows at your stone-cold facial expression. He’d probably break Garfield’s nose if a) Andrew were here, b) he weren’t English, thus eliminating all possibility of national solidarity. 

And right then, a soft murmur reached your ears.

A faint echo, no more than a reverberation really, you might have even imagined it for all you knew. 

“What the fuck was that?” your eyes grew wide as your heart skipped a beat. It can’t be, a tiny hope crossed your mind, but deep inside you had an answer for your question already. Andrew didn’t speak, and the feeling of dread consumed your entire being.  

“Y/N, I had to stay. She needed me.”

This ain’t a secret that Hollywood loves shitty chick flicks, disguised under the pompous name of independent drama, a genre involving a pseudo-bad tragic hero and a weeping girl. It’s just how it is. You still remembered that very Jane Austenish historical motion picture you starred in along with your ex Dane Dehaan – both the guy and the movie belonged to your mile-long list of wrong choices, but both seemed to be the manifestations of God’s largesse at the time. Just like any other independent drama, the movie had those life-changing words that were supposed to ring in the air and make the audience cry for their mothers at a given moment. When the time came, you thought you did a fantastic job showing the emptiness Dane’s words left you with when, following the script, he told you he didn’t love you anymore. You thought you knew how it ought to be played because you could imagine what it felt like. You’ve got a Golden Globe nomination for that scene alone, for fucks’ sake.

As you stared blankly at Teddy’s alarmed face, feeling that treacherous pinching in your nose, you suddenly realized you didn’t know shit. It felt like the weight of the entire universe fell on your shoulders and you could almost hear your spine crack under it. Something just broke in you, no longer functional, making it hard for you to catch your breath. With your temples pulsating in the deafening silence surrounding you, you realized you were about to deliver the performance of your life, worth so much more than a fucking Oscar, at least because you weren’t on Stage fucking 9 anymore. 

“Twenty-fucking-six, Andrew”, you said, your expression unreadable. “That’s the number of premieres, presentations and charity galas I accompanied you to this last month alone, pretending to be your girlfriend so nobody learns how much of a fucking heart-broken sissy you are. Fifteen, wanna take a wild guess what this number represents?” tears of anger and irritation, but mostly fatigue welling in your eyes, you let you question hang in the air, met with complete and utter stillness. “Yeah, I thought so. That’s the number of times I had to put my personal life on hold, so you and I can be caught on photo playing happy couple somewhere in the streets of Rome. Six,” you looked up, fighting an urge to let your self-pity tears out, and finally conquering it, “That’s the number of times I had to turn amazing guys down because we are fucking fake-dating and there’s no way I’d compromise your image and the Breath movie the contract for which I was stupid enough to sign”, you were avoiding Teddy’s stare at all costs now, looking down at your feet. You therefore missed him tapping something on his phone. “I did all that, as it turns out, for forty-fucking-three times you left me explaining to my own publicist and press what the fuck my supposedly loving boyfriend was doing, coming out of his ex’s place in New York in the morning, looking thoroughly fucked!” you finally spit, your speech transforming into a full-blown scream. “I have no fucking idea why I was waiting on a different kind of story this time!” you jumped back on your feet, as if it was going to make you feel better to actually feel the ground under your feet. As if the sensation were going to assure you this wasn’t a just a bad dream.

“Y/N, please, just let me explain…” you heard Andrew speak as though he were standing right next to you, in a voice too strong for someone who had just fucked up big time. “She really needed me this time, okay? I couldn’t just…”

“I needed you too!” you screamed bloody murder, tears rolling down your cheeks freely now as you felt your head blaze with a mind-numbing pain. “Just like all those forty-three times before tonight! So fuck you, Andrew!” you snapped, your anger reaching its apotheosis. “I’m out! And I hope that will fucking damn near kill you! I am gonna come to Ellen’s show tomorrow, because I promised, but that’s gonna be the last you’ll see of me! And if you’re gonna try and contact me again, I will have you castrated! Oh and say hi to Emily for me, asshole! You’re all hers now!” before Andrew could say as much as a no or a fuck you back, you hit the end of the call button and threw your cell on the leather chair you had been occupying for the last three hours, waiting, as it turned out in vain, for your friend to show. 

Hitting the leather surface like a rubber ball, your iPhone landed on the floor right next to your bag as you just stood there, in the middle of the lounge, looking at Teddy, your safe boat, like he, out of all people, knew what to do now, after the world had finally ended.

“I’ve gotten you a suite in Ritz. The limo’s waiting outside”, he stood from his chair, his holiday attire contrasting sharply with the determination his eyes were exuding. You were thankful to him for not wanting to give you one of his bear hugs like he would normally do, because God knows, this small act of kindness would have turned you into dust. He grabbed your two leather suitcases, and handed you your bag, having slid your phone inside. You watched him silently, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“Ready to go?”

You nodded, not producing a sound.

Who fucking cared how many people Teddy might have killed in his past, when the reassuring sound of his voice and one look was all it took for you to feel safe and peaceful again?

[taeguboi]

Best Of Me: J-Hope x Reader

Request: Hi!!Can I have a fluffy scenario with Hobi based on their song Best of me. I have been having some serious feelz for this ball of sunshine and idk this song is just idk.

I felt like it’d be suitable to link this to my last J-Hope song request fiction: ‘Oops’ [by Little Mix], so if anyone wants to request another song for a J-Hope fiction to carry it on, it could be like a cute little series haha [or you could request a fic based on a song for any member?] 

‘Best of Me’ is set before ‘Oops’ but can be read afterwards as a flashback or before as a chronological story.

There’s a link marked with an asterisk* fourth paragraph in. If you follow this link for the back story, keep in mind only the confession plus angst and angst-smut outcomes, not the fluff below.

Best Of Me

Fluff [with implied angst] ¦¦ just under 2k words ¦¦ ft. 95 line

What a lovely day. The day is full of sunshine, and that’s not just the weather when Hoseok is in the company of his friends. In fact, they decided the weather was so beautiful today that they should act on a whim and head to the beach.

It took some time getting here, but the 2 hour long bus journey was worth it, even if that meant being stuck in a closed space with y/n. Not to say this in a horrible way of course, but  because of the back story.

Unbeknownst to Jimin and Taehyung, Hoseok and y/n had something of a fling going on, yet never anything serious he guesses. Though it never showed on the surface; they treated each other as they did the other two, and no one became any the wiser, kind of.

There was the occasional teasing however from that one night*, a good several months ago now, that y/n may have had a bit too much alcohol and full on made this confession to Hoseok. The next day, she managed to brush it off so coolly, adamant that it was the booze causing her to talk senseless nonsense. It never left the room that, after the other two boys had made their exit that night, something did indeed happen.

That something led to more somethings; it couldn’t be helped. There was something with y/n that Hoseok needed to be reminded of every now and then. Something that other lovers or one night stands just couldn’t quite do, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Thank you!” y/n says to the man at the ice cream van before making her way over to Hoseok and the boys.

“Really? Strawberry?” Hoseok disapproves teasingly.

“Yeah, why not?” y/n questions, taking the first lick on the sweet dessert.

“Why have something that tastes like fruit when you can have…”

“The greedy bastard’s choice of vanilla and chocolate?” y/n sasses back.

“Hey, don’t knock it til you’ve tried it!” Hoseok protests. “I think you should try some!”

“I’m good thanks” y/n lightly chuckles cutely as the four friends begin to travel down the beach.

“No no no, I insist” Hoseok asserts, forcing his ice cream at y/n’s face, causing it to make a blob on her nose.

“Hey! You are so dead!” she exclaims, ready to chase him as he begins to run away, forcing her ice cream into Taehyung’s hand.

“What about your…?..” Taehyung sighs, not even bothering to finish that question, y/n and Hoseok having long gone.

Jimin and Taehyung simply watch them, grinning, as they run down the beach towards the sea.

“I love how they seem to think it ain’t obvious” Jimin remarks.

“I know right? They’re obviously fucking or something” Taehyung bluntly replies.

“Tae!” Jimin gasps, surprised at the sudden turnaround in the conversation’s appropriateness. 

“What?” the younger innocently asks.

Hoseok and y/n still run across the sandy landscape, completely out of hearing distance from their other friends.

“I think you should get in the ocean to wash that mess off your face!” Hoseok booms, trying to eat his ice cream and out run y/n at the same time.

“No way! I just need a napkin!” y/n protests as Hoseok ultimately drops his ice cream by accident and so rushes back over and towards y/n to swiftly pick her up, heading straight for the ocean. “Hoseok! No!!!”

“Hoseok, yes!” the boy counters, still managing to run with y/n in his hold.

“At least lemme get out of my clothes!” y/n urges through gritted teeth, now speaking with less volume.

“You would want to do that for me, wouldn’t you?” Hoseok teases into her ear.

“Inappropriate!!!” y/n exclaims, volume back up to almost maximum, feeling her feet touch the ground as Hoseok finally puts her down.

Lifting her shirt over her head to reveal half the swimwear she came prepared in, Hoseok finds himself unable to avert his eyes, watching in awe, unsure whether this is the beginning of another one of his less appropriate dreams.

“Problem, Hobi?” she asks, hands firmly on her hips after discarding her shirt.

“Um, n-nope” he stutters, removing his own shirt as a means of distraction, revealing a tanned and toned chest.

“Good” replies y/n, moving onto her shoes and then shorts. “You wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea now, would you?” she winks.

Shuffling about to remove his own shorts, revealing a pair of trunks, Hoseok doesn’t even care to make a neat pile of his own clothes, set on continuing his mission to get y/n in the ocean.

“Of course not” he smiles, reaching out to pick her up again, but y/n thinks ahead and scoots backwards, out of his reach. “Come on, you look like a dork”

“I didn’t shove ice cream onto my own nose now, did I?” y/n defends, picking up Hoseok’s shirt and using it as the much needed napkin, eliciting a disapproving look from Hoseok.

“Really?” he grunts.

“I thought you loved vanilla” y/n smirks.

“Not on my clothes!”

“Well, oops” she responds in monotone.

“Hmm…”

“What?” she grins.

“Your nose will still be sticky, so… I guess you’ll have to go in after all” grins Hoseok with a shrug, then managing to pick y/n up without her escaping.

“Jung!!!” she screams, legs kicking in the air, knowing her fate if she doesn’t escape.

Meanwhile, Jimin and Taehyung are strolling behind, picking out only y/n’s screams from hers and Hoseok’s conversation.

“Oh no, the last name… That can’t be good” Taehyung tuts, but not without smirking.

“That’s probably not what she’s shouting when we’re not around” Jimin laughs.

“...and you scolded me for being inappropriate?” Taehyung scoffs, finishing his ice cream, holding up y/n’s ice cream to Jimin for them to share, figuring she probably won’t be coming back for it any time soon

“Don’t you dare Hoseok!” y/n still continues to scream, getting nearer and nearer now, almost at the shallow end.

“Look y/n-ah! It’s the sea!” Hoseok squeals, now feeling the more moist sand on his feet, giving him a feeling of anticipation.

Y/n simply screams as Hoseok begins to swing her about as he climbs further and further into the water, meaning that he’s most likely to literally throw her in and is building some momentum.

To her surprise however, after the biggest swing, all Hoseok does is gently lower her into the water, only allowing her lower half to get wet…

*splash!*

...for now.

It takes a moment for y/n to register that Hoseok has full on splashed a load of water at her face, and she just stands there dumb-founded.

Deciding they’d rather not get involved with the water splashing just yet, Jimin and Taehyung take a stroll across the sand, chatting about little things.

“All better” Hoseok smirks at a drenched y/n.

“You’re the worst” she states, fighting back with a splash of water at him in return.

“No I’m not” he smiles, splashing a lighter wave of water over her.

“Nope. I hate you” she huffs, arms folded, head facing away, trying her hardest to not let a grin emerge.

“You don’t” he counters, not without another splash of water at her.

“Right…” she hums uncertainly. “I totally love you and your evil--”

“Who you calling evil?” he interrupts with a nervous laugh, feeling somewhat lightheaded, as though his head were in the clouds.

“You always did interrupt me when you know I’m right” she chuckles, swashing away through the water, maybe or maybe not purposefully splashing water back at Hoseok again.

The conversation goes silent for a few seconds as she wades through the water, appreciating her surroundings; the sun, the sky, people all around having fun… The sounds of her movements increase and that’s when she realizes someone is coming up behind her.

Running away the best she can, Hoseok chases after her playfully, hastily wading through the sea. Y/n glances frequently behind her to see how far ahead she is. Unfortunately for her though, he seems to be running faster than she is, and the glances behind cause her to lose her balance. When she takes half a turn on the last look behind, she steps onto a bumpy object, causing her to her lose her footing, twist, and fall backwards.

A strange feeling overcomes her when she doesn’t feel herself dropping in the water though. Eyes squinted, expecting to have dropped beneath the surface, she hesitantly opens them to find Hoseok’s face right in front of hers. Surely enough, he had caught her and stopped the backwards fall.

She looks up at her friend, placing her arms around his neck to lighten the weight for him to pull her back up into him, and inevitably, intense eye contact is made.

“We’re starting to make a habit of this y/n” Hoseok finally voices.

“Huh?” y/n questions.

“It’s like that time a few months back when you almost fell down the stairs and I was there to save your clumsy ass” he reminds her matter-of-factly, barely an expression of humour in his face despite the phrasing of his words.

“God, don’t remind me; I’m still traumatized” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Better than still being hospitalised if I hadn’t’ve saved you”

“Right… my hero…” she sarcastically remarks. “Also, it was winter, so the evenings were darker than I was used to; it’s not my fault I couldn’t see the first step… Damn, maybe I am a klutz…” she says to herself, having a something of a small epiphany, only looking down to the waves of the water, yet not finding the will to remove herself from Hoseok’s hold. “I should probably work on that…” she thinks aloud, the self doubt showing on her face, leaving an open silence.

Hoseok gazes at y/n, watching her admire the sea and listening to her tutting to herself, before realizing the potential for this moment with her in his arms to become a bit weird, you know, with them being just friends and all that.

“Don’t change” he abruptly tells her, mouth racing ahead of his mind.

Y/n smiles to herself before looking back up at her friend. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah” he replies. “I don’t want any of my friends changing” he continues, not wanting to come across too strong, or anything close to that at all… He’s still unable to let go of her though, despite already having helped her return her balance.

“Fine… I’ll remain the same old accident prone child you know and love” she chuckles. “Though I’m sure you just like to watch me getting injured or something…”

“Yeah, totally” he says with a tone that renders the words meaningless, gaze still lingering on her face. First her eyes, down her cheeks and then held on the sight of her lips as he runs his tongue subtly across his own bottom lip. Risky it may be with the other nearby, Hoseok cannot help himself and just has to pull y/n in closer to initiate a gentle kiss.

The world around them continues to get on with their day, building sandcastles, swimming and playing volleyball, their laughter resounding across the scene paired perfectly with the soothing waves of the ocean. All forgotten to Hoseok and y/n as she keeps her arms on his shoulders, hands locked behind her neck and lips pressed onto his.

@taeguboi’s Fiction Masterlist