#today a contestant in a competition show had that name and I rolled my eyes

[brokenyouth]

i swear i try to be normal about my crush but i see the mf's name EVERYWHERE which is crazy for a name that isn't even that common

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

aftermath 3

A flashy intro sequence reading “TTA Aftermath” flashes across the screen as a merry tune plays. A clip montage of scenes from the past four challenges play- mostly the humiliating ones. 

The screen glitches, and the camera pans out and down to a swanky studio. Former contestant Caesar is sitting on a suede couch in front of a clearly cardboard back wall. Former contestant Bonnie is seated next to him, holding an electric cattle prod. In the bleachers off to the side are every camper who hasn’t made it back, or who’s been eliminated so far- Courtney, Ass, Julia, Staci, Mal, Frollo, Kelly, Austin, McLovin, Michela, Sha-Mod, Joner, Patrick, Kitty, Fren, Max, and Peter. 

“Are we on?” Caesar whispers off to his side. Bonnie shrugs. “Alright, then! Welcome back, ladies and gents and everyone in-between or outside- I’m your host, Caesar Flickerman, and this is Total Takes Action: The Aftermath! Joining me today is my lovely co-host, Bonnie,” Bonnie zaps the air with the cattle prod for emphasis. “And our lively peanut gallery.”

“What’s that thing for?” Max asks pointing at Bonnie’s right hand. 

Caesar rolls his eyes and points behind the shorter boy, to where Patrick and Julia are holding hands behind them. Both are covered in little zap marks. 

“Anyway, we’ve got a great, action-packed episode today, so don’t tune out on their behalf!” he says. “For our first segment, let’s invite our newest peanut gallery citizen, Peter!”

Peter stands from where he’s seated beside Alistair and carefully maneuvers down the steps and into the hot seat- now a comfortable pink armchair. 

“Peter, darling, we all lost our minds back here at the studio when you willingly took the fall for Scruffy, stranding O- what inspired that decision?”

“Well,” Peter shuffles nervously in his seat. The camera focuses on Julia for a moment, who looks away uncomfortably. “I just felt like it was the right thing to do.”

“Brilliant. To hell with the competition, today let sportsmanship take the lead! We do have a question from our “frequent flier fan”, River: What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

Peter seems to relax at the change in tone and smiles, holding out his front-pocket picture to the audience. It depicts a short redhead. “Lois,”

The audience aws and Caesar grins. “It must be nice having your sweetheart at home instead of on national TV, huh?”

“It’s a huge relief,” he says. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being on TV, but-”

“Of course, I understand. I know I’ve had my fair share of… inopportune moments that are immortalized forever! Isn’t that right, Bonbon?” he turns to address the co-host. They nod. 

Caesar thanks Peter for his time and the squat gentleman returns to the stands. “Let’s see… Scary? Has anyone seen Scary?”

An intern rushes up and whispers something in Caesar’s ear. He nods curtly. “Okay, then- our next guest is known for his flair and fabulous talent- Alistair!”

The pink-haired gentleman comes down from the stands, taking a seat with his legs crossed in the chair beside Caesar and Bonnie’s couch. “Happy to make it,”

“You’ve been here since noon,” Bonnie says dryly. They are ignored. 

“From fan-favorite with your own bustling “frendom” to an underground method actor- how does it feel?”

“I wouldn’t call myself “underground”,” Alistair starts, chuckling nervously. Crickets from the peanut gallery. He clears his throat. “Well, it’s been a complete and true honour being able to test out my improv skills on this show. Though, I do prefer the stage.”

“Understandable. Let’s see some audience questions, shall we?” Caesar shuffles the cue cards in his hand. “Alistair- what are your thoughts on Patrick and Julia, and what are your thoughts on Patrick? Do you think he’s cute?”

The audience oohs and Alistair turns a little red. He chuckles. “I’m a bit out of his league, don’t we think?”

“You take that back!” Julia stands and points at him. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about!”

“You… want me to be attracted to your boyfriend?”

“Everyone should be attracted to my boyfriend! It’s how I know I’m winning!”

“Yeah!” Patrick chimes in. “Everyone knows the best way to rate your attractiveness as a man is by how many gays are into you.”

“Exactly!” Julia says. 

Alistair rolls his eyes. 

“Speaking of couples,” Caesar says, standing. “It’s time for the first game of the episode! If we could have Julia and Patrick, Michela and Max, and Sha-Mod and McLovin join us on the stage…”

The furniture begins to roll back by itself, and a large section of the floor disappears below before popping back up with three loveseats. The designated pairing give each other nervous glances, but none look more bothered than Patrick and Julia. They’re the last ones to arrive on the stage, and definitely the last to sit. Patrick puts his arm around her for good measure. 

Caesar paces the stage in front of them. “Welcome to Wedding Watchers- the ultimate compatibility test, designed by yours truly,” he places a hand on his heart, and then clears his throat. “Here are the rules.”

Bonnie weaves between the seats as he speaks, handing a white board and marker to each player. 

“I will ask a simple question based on compatibility- the partner in the right hand seat (my left, your right!) will have to guess how their partner answered it. For every correct answer, you get a point,”

“What do we win?” Max insists. 

“What happens if we lose?” Julia talks over him. 

Sha-Mod and McLovin are thumb-wrestling silently in their seats, as if they’d already forgotten what was going on. 

“Winner gets to choose something from our mystery voucher basket!” the camera pans over to a wicker basket full of envelopes. “The loser gets humiliated on national TV. Is that not enough? Or…” Caesar grins. “Should we bring out the sharks again-”

“NO! Humiliation is enough!” Julia snaps. 

“Kidding, kidding. Only teasing, Jules,” Caesar chuckles, then sighs. “Ready?”

The couples look between each other. Patrick leans in to whisper in Julia’s ear- “Follow my lead.”

Max sighs and Michela pats his shoulder. Sha-Mod and McLovin are arguing about who can draw a better T-Rex on their whiteboards. 

“Alright- first question. At what age did your partner have their first kiss?”

“WHAT does that have to do with compatibility?!” Max snaps. 

“Oh, nothing. I just love drama,” Caesar chuckles. “You have thirty seconds.”

A large metal divider slides up from the bench, separating the lovebirds. Patrick curses to himself and Julia whispers- “I can’t see over your shoulder- what now?”

“Guess,” he murmurs back. 

“And… time! Let’s see those answers, folks! Julia and Patrick?”

The metal dividers slide back down and Julia and Patrick stare, flustered. Finally, Julia holds up the board- in shaky handwriting- “never.”

“WHAT!” Patrick shouts. He turns around his board- 16. 

“Wait,” Julia reads the neat Expo marker handwriting. “Was I your first kiss?”

The audience aws. Patrick turns red. “No! Of course not! It was… someone else,”

“Either way,” Caesar cuts in. “No points. Maxchela?”

Max holds up his board- 12. Michela turns her around- 12. 

“I had a summer camp fling once,” she laughs nervously while Joner freaks out from the audience. 

“Sha-Mod and McLovin?”

The two look up nervously, then hold up boards with sprawling mathematical equations on them. “We forgot the question,”

“Hm… Peter, can you-?”

Peter is already jotting down notes on his hand from the audience, then looks up, flabbergasted. “I can’t believe it- both answered 14,”

“A point for Shalovin!”

“WHAT!” Julia yells. Caesar ignores her. 

“Next question- where is your partner’s dream wedding destination?”

The metal dividers slide up again, cutting off the pairs once again. After 30 seconds of hurried scribbling and thinking, they disappear once again. 

Patrick and Julia are first. 

[IN FRONT OF HIS MIRROR]

Patrick squints. “Why, you little-”

“Trouble in paradise?” Caesar pops up behind them. They both force smiles and shake their heads. Patrick turns around his board- [Cabo]. “Shame- zero points! Maxchela, you’re up!”

Max holds up the flimsy whiteboard again. [Vermont.]

Michela turns hers. [Trinity College Library]

“What?” Max asks. “I thought you said that was impossible.”

She shrugs with a smile. “I’m coming around to it,”

The audience aws. Caesar places a hand over his heart. “Adorable. But, unfortunately wrong. Shalovin?”

[the shadow realm]

Caesar blinks. McLovin turns around his board- [the shadow realm]

“Well. I guess that counts!”

"WHAT?! HOW?" Julia shouts in frustration. 

“How would that even work?” Bonnie asks from the suede couch, leaning against the back and casually watching the proceedings. 

“Our evil shadow world twins would be our best men!” McLovin states, matter-of-factly. Bonnie rolls their eyes. 

“Okay, next question- “What is your partner’s favorite color?””

After another hurried half-minute of scribbling, Julia holds up [NONE. BECAUSE COLORS ARE GAY]. 

“Patrick?”

[Red]

He stands and slams his board on the ground. “I DO NOT TALK LIKE THAT!”

“You called the color orange gay LAST WEEK!”

“That’s an objective fact!”

“Why do you say that every time we argue?! It literally isn’t a fact, it’s the actual definition of an opinion!”

“Like you would know, female!”

“I swear, call me ‘female’ one last time…”

Caesar holds back a chuckle and turns to Maxchela, who are watching the display curiously. Finally, Max turns back to the camera and holds up his board. [Black.] Michela turns her after another second of listening to Patulia scream and throw things at each other. [Black]

“Another point for you two- and Shalovin?”

The two look up from their boards in confusion, as if they’d again forgotten they were playing a game. They hold up matching drawings of a T-Rex with laser eyes. 

“Huh. Well, it’s the same, so I’ll count it,”

Julia turns. “OH MY GOD!”

"Why should we even have to play this dumb game? We don't have to prove ourselves to these freaks!" Patrick insists.

"You couldn't be bothered to ask one question about me since we've started dating and all you do is talk about yourself!" Julia snaps. "I don't care about your Valentino, gaywad!"

"Your hair is fake blonde!"

A little "I knew it" comes from Max.

"It is not! You're a terrible liar, a terrible contestant, and a terrible person! And guess what- if Scruffy were here, I wouldn't have even TALKED to you in the first place, loser!"

Patrick gasps. "You take that back!"

"Make me!"

We’ll be right back. 

---

“Welcome back to Total Drama Action- The Aftermath! I’m your very charming host, Caesar Flickerman,” he grins. Bonnie sits beside him, pointing the cattle prod at Julia every time she swipes at the pair. “And this is my lovely co-host, Bonnie.”

The stage is now back to normal, bar from Patrick and Julia being kept on either sides of it. 

"So, are you two finally calling it quits?" Bonnie asks.

"NO!" They both shout. They sigh and Caesar giggles with delight.

“Next up, we have a very special treat-” Caesar starts as a few interns roll in an outhouse. “That’s right, with just a few days before the big finale, we’re having all the former TTI contestants, and all the failed TTA contestants cast their votes for who they’re voting for- team O, or team Scruffy! Inside the outhouse, you’ll find a few more audience questions to, um, ponder on while you’re writing. Let’s go alphabetically, shall we?”

---

Alistair sits in the outhouse, flipping through a few dozen letters. He sighs. “Junk mail, junk mail, bill… my, my, how I miss my fictional frendom,” he tosses away the envelopes, completely ignoring the ballot box.

---

Austin grind the tip of the pen between his teeth while grinning, reading through his fan mail and giggling. He chews too hard and the pen explodes in his mouth. 

---

“You know who I’m rooting for? NO ONE! This entire cast is just a bunch of miserable hungry piglets sucking on the chapped teet of the talented,” Ass snarls. “Not me! I’m not letting this show run me dry!”

---

Bonnie shrugs. “I guess, O. I feel bad for Scruffy but they need to get a grip. Then again… maybe I’m not one to judge. I mean, I wouldn't start getting up at 5 AM to run laps around the studio, but I'm also not known for handling things very maturely. Maybe... I don't know, maybe Scruffy just needs some support,”

---

“Obviously O,” Courtney starts. “He’s dedicated, kind, generous… he’s an excellent person, and he knows how to put his foot down. I respect that! Now, what’s up with all these letters about me and… them?”

---

Frollo sits silently in the confessional, flipping through his Bible and drinking tea. His massive stack of letters sits untouched. 

---

Joner hums to himself as he sorts out his mail, laughing out loud at a few. “Man, these are crazy,” he pauses. “How much time do I have left in here? Oh, well- for the record, Jonah Boner was McLovin’s idea. He’s really good at coming up with nicknames,”

---

“Everyone here sucks. Everyone,” Julia snarls, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall. “But… I guess Scruffy deserves the win.”

---

“O, easy,” Kelly says. “We need a little more compassion in the world.”

---

Kitty sits in the confessional, chewing on the letters they’ve received. 

---

Mal sticks her tongue out at the camera. 

---

“O, I think?” Max says. 

Michela confirms with a nod. “Definitely O,”

---

“Tough. It’s tough, everyone’s so nice,” Sha-Mod ponders. “Scruffy? Or O?”

“You do one and I’ll do the other, so that way it’s even!” McLovin continues. 

“You’re so smart babe,”

---

“Whatever,” Patrick mutters. 

---

“O. No, Scruffy’s worked so hard- but O is my friend…” Peter thinks aloud. “Fine! O it is. Going with my gut.”

---

“Scruffy. What?” Staci asks. “They have some serious reps, they’re way smarter, and they’re doing it for a cause. It’s a no-brainer,”

---

“Looks like O is in the lead,” Caesar reads aloud the poll results as Staci leaves the confessional. “Not surprising. But, as luck would have it, this segment concludes today’s aftermath- don’t worry! We’ll be back again soon to host the thrilling end of Total Takes Action. For now, I’m your host, Caesar,”

“And I’m your other host, Bonnie,” Bonnie says from the couch, turning the cattle prod on Patrick as he growls from the stands. 

“And this has been Total Takes Action: The Aftermath!”

[harleysarchive]

To Fall in Love | Charles Leclerc

Fandom: Formula one Warning: None, quite long around 4500 words, but I didn’t want it to end😂  Pairing: Charles Leclerc x f!reader, slightly Daniel Ricciardio x f!reader Summary: You and Charles are slowly falling in love with each other.

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A/N: prompts 22 and 23 from Screnwriters list . I had a bliss writing this, really pouring out my fangirl feelings for F1 at the moment. So sorry in advance for the mushiness. PLEASE correct my french sentences if I have written them wrong, it’s been ages since I studied it. 

You had just started to work for McLaren’s formula one team, and you were a personal assistant for Lando and Daniel. You really loved your job and the boys were amazing to work with, even after they had had a bad race. They loved you back equally as much. You and Lando had gotten very close during the different races, because he felt like he could vent out his feelings before or after a race to you without feeling judged. He needed that from time to time. 

Right now the biggest competition was Ferrari, because McLaren was currently ahead of them on the leaderboard. Which made the team, and you, extremely happy. It felt good to be ahead of such a great team. 

You were helping them before the race and went to get a bottle of water for Lando and Daniel. You were so focused that you didn’t look where you were going and you walked right into someone. 

“I’m so sorry.” you said and looked up to meet a pair of mesmerizing hazel eyes looking back at you.

“No worries at all.” he said and you instantly recognized him. It was Charles freaking Leclerc, one of the Ferrari drivers. Your eyes widened and you felt your cheeks turn red. 

“I did not see you and my mind was somewhere else a-and...” you rambled. He smiled, making his dimples visible for you and you felt your heart tug slightly.

“It’s fine, really.” 

He looked at you and you almost felt drawn in by his eyes. You didn’t want to break eye contact. But you quickly realized why you had gotten there in the first place and grabbed the water bottles and left Charles with a confused expression on his face. You hurried back to the garage and gave Lando and Daniel their water bottles.

“You look rather flustered (Y/N), what happened back there?” Daniel asked, which made your cheeks turn even more red.

“N-nothing.” you stuttered and tried to breath slowly through your nose to calm yourself down. It wasn’t even the first time that you had seen Charles, but it was the first time you had talked to him and been so close to him. But what you didn’t understand was, why did you react like a schoolgirl talking to her crush for the first time? 

Daniel gave you a look that said he did not believe what you were saying. You didn’t want to look at him to reveal even more of your flustered state and they didn’t have time to pry anyway because the race was soon about to start. 

You walked over to the room where they showed the game on a big screen and the camera glanced over the drivers and you felt your cheeks became flustered again when the camera passed number 16, Charles number. Then the race started. All of the McLaren team sat on the egde of their seats, hoping for a good race for Lando and Daniel.  

All of you were ecstatic over the fact that Lando landed on P3 and when the cars returned to the garage he ran up to you and hugged you tightly.

“P3!!”

“Can you believe it?” You screamed back with as much enthusiasm as he did when he came back from the race. 

“Not really.” he beamed with the biggest smile on his face. You were so proud of him.

“You are amazing, Lando.” you said and hugged him again. 

“What, no hugs for the P6 contestant?” Daniel asked when he had gotten out of his car.

“Of course.” you said and hugged him. He tightened the hug lightly just for you to notice and you made a mental note about it. Odd. He had never really asked about hugs before, why now all of a sudden? 

“You did great as well today, Daniel.” you said and smiled at him. He already had his signature smile on his face.

“Thank you, I did it because I knew you were watching.” he said winking at you and you just rolled your eyes.

“Now go you two. You stink.” 

Daniel just laughed and he and Lando left. Lando had to get ready for the podium and you got ready to join the team back there in just a few minutes. 

You stood by yourself outside the McLaren building and watched people go by, either talking to others or looking intensely into their phones. 

“Hello again.” you heard a voice say beside you and you turn around to see Charles stand there. Your eyes widened again, but more this time in surprise that he was here by the McLaren building and that he was speaking to you. 

“Hi.” you said, thankful that you could answer him without being a stuttering mess and you could feel your cheeks become red. 

“You left in such a hurry that I didn’t quite get your name.”

“Oh, it’s (Y/N).” 

“Well, nice to meet you (Y/N). I’m Charles.” he said and held out a hand for you to shake. 

“I know.” you said and shook his hand. But you wanted a hole in the ground to swallow you whole over that comment. Why did you have to tell him that you knew his name?

He just laughed, making his dimples visible again and your heart did that tugging thing again, what was up with that?

“You did great today, P4 is amazing.” you said, breaking eye contact with him to not get even more flustered than you already were. 

“Thank you, but I would’ve liked the P3 spot, but I’m happy for Lando.” 

“Yeah, he put up a good fight.”

You looked at Charles again and his eyes had been on you since he saw you standing here alone. He had felt weird after you had just left him in such a hurry before and he couldn’t quite figure out why. So, when he saw you again standing here by yourself, he had to at least know your name. Charles was just about to ask you something when you heard Lando call for you as he was on his way to the podium. You called back that you were on your way.

“Sorry, but I have to go.”

“No worries.”

And once again you left Charles in such a hurry and again he felt confused. But not the same confusion as before, now he was confused by his thoughts and feelings. His mind was asking him so many questions. Why hadn’t he noticed you before? How long have you been working for McLaren? What did you do for them? He wanted to know more about you. He felt like he almost needed to know more about you. 

You ran to the crowd of the McLaren team and you spotted Daniel waving at you to get over to him. You walked past some of the mechanics and stood next to Daniel.

“Hey, you.” He said and winked at you. 

“Hi.” you said smiling and ignored his wink. 

“You look flustered again, are you sure nothing is happening to you?” he asked again.

“I’m fine, but thanks for your concern Daniel.” 

The two of you cheered when Lando got up on the podium and you almost felt yourself tearing up when you saw how happy he was up there. He had worked so hard to get it and he honestly deserved it. You looked around in the cheering crowd and in the distance by the side of the podium you saw Charles again. He was looking directly at you. You smiled and waved at him, which caught Daniel’s attention so he followed your gaze and saw what it was you were looking at, or more whom. Charles had waved back at you with a small smile on his face.

“Ah now I understand why you have been so flustered all of a sudden.” Daniel smirked.

“Huh?”

“You have a crush on Charles, don’t ya?”

“No.” You said way too fast for it to sound believable. Daniel just gave you a knowing smile. You just rolled your eyes at him. 

“No, I don’t. The first time I accidently walked into him, when I was grabbing water for you and Lando. Which made me feel embarrassed because I walked into him and now we were just talking a bit.”

“And why were you flustered about talking to him?”

You couldn’t come up with an answer without feeling your cheeks burn again. Daniel laughed and pulled you closer to him and all you did was pout over his silliness. He glanced to the side to see if Charles was still looking at you. He was, which made Daniel feel a slight joy in his chest knowing that Charles had witnessed the move he just did.

Charles, on the other hand, had felt something sting inside of him when he saw Daniel bring you closer to him and he didn’t like it. He turned around and walked towards the Ferrari building, feeling quite grumpy and annoyed. 

Daniel felt a smirk grow on his face when he saw Charles leave and you were so close to him. Lando got down from the podium drenched in champagne and with a big smile plastered over his face. He hugged the team and they cheered for him. He kissed the trophy he had gotten and then turned to you and you knew exactly what he was gonna do.

“Noooo.” you said and tried to back away from him but you felt Daniel holding your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“Oh it’s coming love, just embrace the stickiness and smell of champagne and sweat.” Daniel said, trying his hardest to keep you still as Lando came closer.

“NooooOOOOO.” you shrieked as Daniel let you go so Lando could hug you. You felt champagne and sweat stick to your clothes and hair. 

“Ewwh. Not nice, not nice.”

“Now you know how we feel.” Lando joked with a grin on his face. 

“I could’ve lived my whole life without knowing how that felt and now I have to get changed.” 

You pushed Lando away and tried to look as angry as you could at the both of them. But that didn’t last very long, because you were too happy for Lando. 

“Hey, are you coming with us to dinner tonight?” Lando asked.

“What dinner?”

“It's a dinner for the drivers, the bosses, and some of the employees tonight, but I’m sure we can bring you with us. You are a part of the McLaren team.” Lando answered.

You bit your lip, thinking about this dinner. Maybe Charles will be there? You shook your head at the thought.

“So, that’s a no?” Lando said and you could hear the disappointment in his voice.  

“No, no. It is a yes.” you said and the two boys beamed with excitement.

“But you two are telling Zak that you are bringing me along tonight, while I go get something appropriate for tonight. What time is it?”

“It’s around seven but we leave the hotel at 6.30, so be ready before that.” Daniel answered.

“Good, I’ll see you after six.” you said and started to walk towards the parking lot to get a taxi to your hotel room. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You heard the familiar voice call for you but you didn’t quite believe it at first. Knowing your mind can play tricks on you. But when you felt a presence beside you, you turned around to see Charles stand there.

“Hey again.” he said with a smile on his face and he looked at your shirt. “What happened to you?”

“Lando, he likes to hug when it’s the least appropriate time for a hug. So now I smell of champagne and sweat.” 

Charles laughed and you felt a smile growing onto your face. His laugh made your heart tug again. 

“Are you heading back to the hotel?” he asked.

“I am, I need a shower and some new clothes.”

“I can drive you if you want.” 

“No need, she already has a driver.” you heard Daniel say behind you. He and Lando had just asked Zak for permission to bring you along tonight, which he thought was absolutely fine. You could see Charles' posture stiffen and his look hardened when he saw Daniel stand next to you. You felt a little uncomfortable by the situation.

“Okay, well I guess I see you around.” Charles said and left the two of you alone. You turned to Daniel.

“What was that all about?”

“What was what about?”

“You know what I mean Daniel.”

“Is it wrong of me to want to drive you to the hotel?” Daniel asked and unlocked his car. 

“No, but it feels like there is something else going on.” you said and jumped into the passenger seat. He started the car and you could hear the engine roar and the music started to play. 

“You just wanted to be driven by your crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on Charles.” you said and you started to wonder, why was Daniel being so overprotective of you all of a sudden? 

“Besides, I have to make sure that he doesn’t snatch you over to Ferrari. What would we do without you?” he said, looking at you, but you just rolled your eyes. But what you missed when doing so was the look Daniel gave you. He felt true worry that Charles would snatch you away from him, and Lando. 

The two of you talked as normal during the ride to the hotel and Daniel kept on cracking jokes to make you laugh. It was the best thing he knew, your laugh and your smile. It could make his shitty day turn around and he felt happy again. He parked by the hotel entrance and the two of you got out of the car and walked into the hotel and into the elevator.

“See you in the lobby in a while?” you asked when you got to your floor. 

“Sounds good.” he said and the two of you seperated. You hurried to your room to get ready. You were so nervous over this dinner that you could die, but you were so excited as well. Imagining yourself showing up there with all the important people, and hopefully Charles would be there as well. You opened the door to your hotel room and rushed into the shower. Then while your hair was drying you looked for an outfit and got yourself ready before the clock struck six. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time and felt butterflies in your stomach when you remembered where you were heading. You put on your shoes and you were five minutes late.

Perfect, you thought and headed towards the lobby. You were also nervous for Lando and Daniel to see you all dressed up. They had only really seen you in your work outfit, casual wear, or some comfy outfits when you were traveling together, but this was a whole different story. The elevator door opened and you pressed for the lobby. 

Lando and Daniel were talking to each other when Lando’s eyes widened his eyes. His stare made Daniel wonder what was going on so he turned around and saw you coming from the elevator. You looked absolutely breathtaking and both of them just stood there with their mouths slightly open and eyes locked at you. 

“Hey guys” you said and you could feel their gaze on you. “How do I look?”

“Absolutely gorgeous, (Y/N).” Lando said and Daniel just nodded his head. You smiled at them. You talked for a while before it was time to leave.

“Shall we go.”

They smiled and you linked your arms with theirs and headed towards a taxi that waited for you. Zak was already waiting for you in the taxi. 

The ride over to the venue was pleasant, all four of you talked and joked together. When you arrived the waiter’s offered all of you a beverage of your choice. You looked around and all the drivers and bosses were there. You saw Max talking to Christian and Daniel soon joined them, Lewis and Toto discussing something not super serious because they were laughing, and Lando asked if it was okay from him to go talk to George.

“Of course.” you said and Lando walked over to the Williams driver. 

You let your eyes wander again and glanced over by the bar and you saw… your heart made a jump and butterflies were going nuts in your stomach… you saw Charles and Pierre joking with each other. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you could see his dimples when he smiled over something Pierre said. You smiled to yourself, feeling the butterflies coming back. 

Pierre's eyes wandered around the room and locked eyes with you. You avoided his gaze, because he had caught you staring at them. You could feel yourself become flustered and focused on the drink in your hand.  

“Wow, she looks gorgeous.” he said which made Charles follow Pierre’s gaze. He almost choked on air when he saw you here and how beautiful you looked in your outfit. You felt eyes on you so you looked up to meet Charles' gaze. You smiled at him and gave him a little wave. Charles left Pierre by the bar and went straight to you. Pierre gave him a puzzled look but Charles didn’t care.

“Hey.” he said when he reached you.

“Hello again.”

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight.” 

“I wasn't, but Lando and Daniel invited me so here I am.”

You and Charles looked into each other's eyes, but broke off the stares when you heard the host announce everyone welcome and to enjoy the evening. Everyone clapped their hands and continued with their conversations as if nothing had happened.

“Do you want a drink?” Charles asked.

“I would love to.” you answered. You would be needing it to calm down your nerves. He placed his hand on your lower back to lead you towards the bar and Pierre, who was still standing there with a more amused look on his face now. You were very aware of where his hand was and his warmth felt so comforting. 

“(Y/N), this is Pierre. Pierre this is (Y/N).”

“Pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).” he said and shook your hand.

“The pleasure is all mine. You are an excellent driver.”

“Thank you very much.” Pierre smiled.

“So, what can I offer you to drink?” Charles interrupted, which made Pierre laugh. He hadn’t seen Charles act like this over someone before. 

“Champagne if you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.”

“Vous êtes un connaisseur?” Pierre asked.  

“Well champagne is one of the few drinks that I enjoy and don’t get a nasty hangover from.” you answered.

“You speak french?” Charles asked as he handed you a glass of champagne. It tasted amazing and the bubbles went straight to your head, making you feel more confident.

“I studied it in school for five yeas but I can barely manage a conversation.” 

The two boys laughed at your statement. 

You continued to talk to Pierre and Charles for a while, explaining what you did for McLaren and they talked about themselves and racing - of course. Pierre heard someone call for him so he left you and Charles to yourself. He gave Charles a knowing look, which you didn’t notice but made Charles blush a bit.

“You look beautiful tonight.” he said, taking a sip from his drink. 

“Thank you, and you look great as well. But you always do.” 

WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?! you screamed at your brain, luckily for you Charles just smiled and blushed a bit. 

“Thank you.” he said, trying his best not to blush even more. He looked at you, examining your face and features. Your eye color, hair color and smile. It made him feel warm inside and he couldn’t deny the butterflies going wild in his stomach. How your outfit fitted you perfectly and how lovely your personality was. He was used to people making themselves better or fake around him to impress him. But it hardly worked because their true colors always showed in the end, but you were genuine. He liked that a lot about you. Your eyes met and you could feel how you were moving closer to him, until you heard a voice calling for you.

“(Y/N)! Come over here.” Daniel called, which made you take a deep breath. Why did he have to interrupt right freaking now? Classic Daniel. 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” you answered back and turned your attention back to Charles. He had a disappointed look on his face and his smile was gone. 

“I’ll see you around, Charles.” you said, not sounding too happy to leave him.

“Of course.” he said, as you were about to leave he grabbed your hand. Which he realized he did and he didn’t intend to do that. His surprised expression over his action made his cheek turn bright.

“A-are you coming for next week's race?” he stuttered, not letting go of your hand. You rubbed your thumb over his hand, making him melt on the inside.

“Of course. I’ll be in the McLaren building.” you answered and let go of his hand. He felt a mix of happiness and jealousy over your answer. Happy that you would be there, but jealous over the fact that you worked for McLaren and not for Ferrari. He imagined how it would be if you worked for Ferrari so he didn’t notice Sebastian coming up to him.

“So, who is the lucky lady that has the Charles Leclerc weak in the knees?” he joked.

“(Y/N), she works for McLaren.” Charles confessed, there was no denying it anymore and not to Sebastian. Pierre joined them too.

“I knew that you had a thing for her after the look you gave her before. God, I thought you would drool all over the place.” Pierre said and Charles just pushed him on the arm and rolled his eyes. He watched you as you conversed with Daniel. He had introduced you to Max and the Redbull team and Daniel had one hand on your lower back.This caused Charles to feel that sting of jealousy again and his facial expression couldn’t hide it either. Pierre looked over to see why he looked like he had sucked on a lemon.

“Ah.” was all he could say, because he knew exactly what he was feeling. “Jealousy is a cruel emotion, mon ami.”

Charles just huffed and turned away to talk to Pierre and Sebastian. You were talking to Max about the race today.

“Congratulations on your victory today, you were fantastic.” you said to Max.

“Thank you so much. It felt amazing to win here in Italy.” Max said and took a sip from his drink. “When did you start working for Daniel and why didn’t you work for us on Redbull?”

“I started this winter actually, so I’m quite new to the formula one world, but it has been a great time so far and I really enjoy it.” you beamed making Daniel smile even more. You could feel him pull you closer and again you thought it was odd. Then the host announced that dinner was ready and the crowd started moving to the tables further away.

“Where do we sit?” you asked.

“I think you can sit wherever.” Daniel said and pulled out a chair for you. You thanked him and watched Lando come over to sit by your side.

“Not sitting with George?”

“Noo, I’m here with you remember, and I want to eat together with you.” he said and smiled at you as he sat down next to you. Max joined your table with Sergio Pérez. Conversation flowed throughout the evening and you and Max got along well. He cracked jokes and talked about embarrassing things Daniel had done when he was a Redbull racer, which made both you and Lando cry with laughter. You almost felt embarrassed over how hard you were laughing at Max’s jokes. Your eyes looked around to ensure that no one was looking at your table with annoyance, but no one seemed to care, except for one table. 

Charles sat two tables behind you and he could hear your laughter, which again made him feel jealous that it wasn’t him that made you laugh like that. When dinner was over Daniel and Max continued with their conversations at the table with Sergio. Lando excused himself to talk to George again and you wanted a drink.

“Excuse me for a second, gentlemen.” you said and made your way over to the bar, hoping that a certain someone would join you. 

“Can I have a glass of champagne please?” you asked the bartender and he poured you a glass and you thanked him. Once again Pierre noticed you standing alone and poked Charles with his foot under the table. Charles gave Pierre an annoyed look. Pierre made a gesture with his head for him to look over at the bar. Charles turned and saw you alone again, but he hesitated to go over to you. You locked eyes with Charles and you took a deep breath before heading his way.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked when you reached the table.

“Not at all.” Pierre said. You sat down next to Charles and opposite of Pierre. You started talking to the boys. Charles carefully put his arm around your chair and you felt your lips tug upwards over his gesture. Your chest filled with a warm feeling. As if the gods had heard your wishes, Esteban called for Pierre to talk. He excused himself to leave you and Charles alone. You turned so you were facing Charles fully.

“Are you enjoying the dinner?” you asked.

“More now honestly.” he said and you felt his thumb grace over your shoulder. The warm feeling in your chest grew even more. “But it’s been enjoyable to hang out with Pierre and the other drivers.”

“It’s so surreal to be here honestly. To see you all in the same place and not competing against each other.” 

“Well we try at least to be civil.” Charles joked and you smiled. His other hand was on the table and you laid your hand over his. He froze for a second over your action but then carefully took your hand in his and caressed it with his thumb. You went even further as to intertwine your fingers together. Charles pulled you closer with the arm resting on your shoulders and you followed. The gap between the two of you closed slowly, but as if on queue to destroy your moment, Lando called for you that it was time to leave. You felt your heart break slightly over the fact that the evening was coming to an end. You turned around to tell him that you were on your way.

“Unfortunately I have to leave.” you said sadly, meeting his eyes. Your eyes were flickering between Charles eyes and his lips, that were so close to yours. 

“But I will see you next week in Portugal, yeah?” You tried to hide the sadness in your voice as best as you could. Charles didn’t want the evening to end either but his team was also on it’s way to leave.

“Of course you will.” he said and kissed the back of your hand. You just stared in shock over his actions and your mind couldn’t comprehend what just happened or anything that just had happened. You rose from the chair with a last goodbye and walked back to Lando. You could still Charles warm lips on the back of your hand, giving you almost a burning sensation that you didn’t want to fade. 

“So you don’t have a crush on Charles, eh?” he said and nudged your side.

“No.” you said and stole one last look at him before you left. He was still watching you and it made you blush. You smiled back at him and then turned to Lando.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” Lando said again grinning like a child and the two of you left the venue. Knowing Lando you would not hear the end of this. Pierre came back to talk to Charles one last time.

“Are you in love, my friend?”

Charles let out a deep sigh and looked down at the ground with rosy cheeks, smiling like a fool. He would repeat this evening in his mind the whole week until the next time he would see you again. He knew it.

“Oui.”

But next time his mission was to get a proper kiss from you. 

A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it all the way through! 🥰

[l0vemin]

those two god-forsaken words

summary: you join a baking contest with your best friend. but why are his eyes so pretty lately? and why does he keep making your heart flutter?

pairing: jeongin x female reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, baking au(?)

warnings: cursing word count: 4k

The bakery has always been your home. The warm smell of fresh bread as you walk through the door, the cookie dough on the counter always waiting to be kneaded, and the warm giggle of your best friend as you scold him for overcooking the pumpkin bread again; these were aspects of your day to day that you could never replace. You’d spent most of your youth in your parents’ bakery, so much so that you’d been able to memorize all the recipes to perfection. You could make your grandma’s famous key lime pie with your eyes closed; even that chocolate and caramel tart you had just added to your menu a week ago you’d already perfected. Honestly, it was only because Jeongin challenged you everytime a new recipe came through. As if it wasn’t hard enough, every Wednesday he would challenge you to a competition, to see who could bake the recipe better and faster.

Of course, this Wednesday wasn’t any different. You walked through the door of the bakery, turning the “open” sign to now display “closed”. As you reached the kitchen, you left your bag on the counter and reached for the apron with your name on it. You walked back outside as the front door closed again.

“Hey, how was it today?” you ask, leaning on the front counter. Jeongin closed the opening of the pastry displays to face you.

“Boring as always when you're not around,” he smiled cheekily, as he always does. You rolled your eyes, fake barfing as you do when he overindulges you with his “sweetness”. His dimples deepen and his eyes disappear as he lets out a chuckle. “A customer tried our new matcha cheesecake today and guess what they said,” he raised his eyebrows, leaning against the counter next to you.

“Woah! This is the best thing I have ever let my tastebuds experience,” you leaned back, placing a hand on your forehead dramatically.

“Well… It was more along the lines of ‘This is the worst thing I have ever let my tastebuds experience’... but you were close.”

“Ugh, I worked really hard on that one…” you frowned. Jeongin slid his hands around your back, pulling you into a hug and swaying you from side to side.

“That gives us something to work on today. Let’s see who can better this recipe, deal?” he asks, squeezing your shoulders.

“Yeah, okay. But I’ll win,” you say, looking up at him, still wrapped around his arms, which, to your surprise, seemed bigger today than you’d remembered.

“Of course,” he says, pulling you away from his embrace, “you always do.”

“HA!I’m done! You haven’t even plated yours yet!” Jeongin sings in victory, hands flexed into the air. “LOSER!” he adds. You slap the counter annoyed at him.

“Shut up, I’m almost done,” you sigh as you place the cheesecake on the plate. Lastly, you drizzle the white chocolate glaze over the cake and raise your hands up.

“Not even a minute after you,” you roll your eyes. “Anyways, the taste is what matters,” you shrug. You walked over next to Jeongin, facing both plates of cheesecake.

“Present your dish,” you pronounced, deepening your voice to mimic the host of those cooking shows you always watched. Jeongin grabbed his dish, stifling a chuckle. He waved the plate around your face. It looked like it had details of red, which you assumed was some  sort of berry.

“Today I’ve prepared a marbled matcha and raspberry cheesecake topped with a raspberry coulis and a matcha whip,” he stated, hands behind his back and his expression stone cold.

“It certainly looks delicious, chef,” you utter, without breaking character. You grab a spoon and scoop a bite of the cheesecake. It’s softer than the original recipe. The bitterness of the matcha was perfectly balanced with the tartness of the raspberry. The whip added a perfect lightness to the thick consistency of the coullie. It was perfect. You couldn’t help the slight smile that erupted as you swallowed the bite. You locked eyes with Jeongin, who’s eyes were filled with anticipation.

“Well, chef, it is simply delightful,” you nod. A smile breaks out in his face. “The flavors and consistencies are perfectly balanced. And all the elements are perfectly cooked. I couldn’t have imagined a better taste,” you say, voice still indifferent. Jeongin’s jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?” he whispered, breaking character.

“I couldn’t be more serious,” you answer in a whisper. “Try it yourself.” He took a bite and immediately his eyes widened.

“Did I make this?” he muttered, hand reaching to cover his mouth.

Though Jeongin was always talented at baking, he could never beat you. It was a fact you both accepted. You just had different circumstances. You were raised in a kitchen and Jeongin just tagged along after meeting you. But now, you thought not even you could beat him. This was on another level. You both tasted your dish after the amazement his had left you. But the magic in Jeongin’s eyes wasn’t there anymore. His eyes had a hint of pity as he swallowed.

“It’s certainly cooked perfectly and the color combination is beautiful,” he says, holding back. There is an awkward silence as you wait for him to say more, but nothing comes out.

“Jeongin, just be honest.”

“The flavors don’t really go together. I’m sorry,” he says, in the softest way possible. He knows baking is something you’re sensitive about since it means so much to you. So, he tries not to cross that line. It was something you always appreciated, he always knew your limits.

“I guess we’ll have to change our recipe to yours,” you sigh in defeat. “I’m really proud of you Jeongin, it was better than I expected,” you smile at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. You were proud of him. So proud of him. Of course, you were hurt, it’s your passion. But his dish was perfect, and you couldn’t have been more happy for him.

“Yeah. Thanks, y/n,” he smiles, his hand brushing yours. His eyes met yours as your hands made contact. His eyes grew the slightest bit wider and you felt something odd in your chest. It felt like you’d been looking at his eyes for hours, though it had probably been less than a minute. Suddenly, he broke eye contact. And everything felt different. You took your hand off his shoulder, eyes meeting the floor. Jeongin took a step back, clearing his throat.

“I forgot I had something to show you,” Jeongin claimed, walking towards his bag. He pulled out a piece of paper, resembling some sort of flier and held it out towards you.

“A baking contest?” you ask, as you read the flier.

“Yea! We should go for it! We have enough experience and I think it’d be fun,” he said cheerfully, “plus, we could use the money for the business.” You hum as you think of all the pros and cons of joining the contest. It would be aired on television, meaning everyone you knew could see it, which wasn’t something you were insanely excited about. But, the money could help the business, and it would be an amazing experience.

“Hmm… Ok! Let’s do it,” you nod, ”but only if we win.”

…

“Ok! First things first, what dish will we be focusing on?” you questioned sitting down on the bakery counter. It had been a week since you had decided to enter the baking competition with Jeongin. Since then, you’d decided to meet every Wednesday and every weekend to prepare for the baking competition. Since you both had classes earlier during the day, you’d sneak into the bakery and meet later at night; sometimes even helping each other study for tests.

“We should pick a few recipes we love and focus on perfecting those. Maybe even improving them?” Jeongin suggested, leaning across the counter. You nodded, and proceeded to take out the yellow legal pad you kept under the counter. This was where you usually planned recipe ideas, on your handy-dandy legal pad. Jeongin eyed the legal pad and you think you saw a smile from the corner of your eye, but chose to ignore it.

“I’ve narrowed it down to nine recipes,” you declare, dropping your pen. Jeongin takes a peek at the notebook trying to read what’d you’d written.

“Y/n, that’s way too many, firstly. And secondly... can you fucking learn to write? All I understand from this is ‘coffee’, ‘rainbow’... and ‘crocodile’?” he scoffs, a slight hint of humor in his voice.

“First off, I wrote nine down so you can then help me narrow them down to five,” you roll your eyes, “Secondly, that says chocolate, how did you even get crocodile? That’s an ‘h’ and there aren’t any ‘r’s or ‘d’s,” you continue, pointing at the words.

“There is absolutely no way that’s an ‘h’, that looks like an ‘r’,” he says in between chuckles. You noticed the way his little laughs sound like a hiccup, making you chuckle on the inside. You found it quite... endearing?

“Jeongin, we have no time for this,” you say, trying to keep a straight face.

“Could you just read the recipes then?”

“Yea, whatever,” you sigh. “Ok so starting off, we have our iconic chocolate fondant tart.” Jeongin hummed in approval.

…

“Ok, so we’ve decided to focus on: the chocolate fondant tart, the brown sugar pavlova with caramelized apples, the pear pie with plum compote, the pineapple and coconut macarons and last but not least…” you motion Jeongin to begin a drumroll with his fingers, “Jeongin’s matcha raspberry cheesecake!” You both clap dramatically as you finally reach an agreement.

“How about we focus on the macarons today, we haven’t done those in a while,” he suggests, standing up beside you to begin baking.

“Yea, those sound good,” you smile to yourself. “Let’s get started!”

After trial and error in baking your favorite macarons, you succeeded perfecting them, at almost 10pm at night. You figured out that the key in making these taste the best they could, was adding an odd ingredient. Brown sugar, though not typically found in macarons, was the key to creating a softer macaron that melted in your mouth.

“We finally did it,” Jeongin sighed, leaning back on his chair. You chuckled, noticing the bit of yellow batter that laid on his cheek. “What?” Jeongin raised his eyebrows at you.

“You just have a bit of batter on your cheek,” you giggled. Jeongin reached for his cheeks rubbing in all the wrong places. “No, just a bit higher,” you helped him, but he still couldn’t get rid of it. “Here, I'll help you.” You leaned forward, grabbing his face with one hand to keep him still and rubbing with your other thumb. “All done,” you smiled. But as you were about to let go of his face, you felt his gaze on you. Your eyes instinctively fell upon his. His eyes seemed so much brighter than they usually did, just a bit prettier this close up, just a bit more full of love looking at yours. Your eyes darted from his left to his right eye before you realized how close you were to him. You could hear his breath, and you were scared he could hear how fast your heart was beating. But for some reason, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt comfortable, just right. Just right. No... no. You dropped your hand from its place on his cheeks, and parted your eyes from their gaze at his. Looking at him couldn’t make you feel that way. Why did your heart have to beat a little faster around him lately? Had his eyes always been this pretty? You heard Jeongin sigh, making you turn around.

“Uhh.. I’ll get going now, Y/N. Mom needs me to bring her some rice from the grocery store,” he smiled shyly, walking towards the door, “I’ll see you... tomorrow.” You wanted him to turn around, to look at his pretty eyes just a second longer, but before you knew it the door closed behind him.

…

Since that day, you had tried to keep calm and act as usual around Jeongin, your best friend. For the most part, you had succeeded. The days at work were spent like normal, aside from the few awkward silences here and there, and the heart flutters as you accidentally made contact with his hand. Through those past few weeks you had been able to perfect four out of your five chosen recipes. Today, two days before the competition, was the last day you’d be meeting with Jeongin before the big day, and you only had one recipe left to work on. Jeongin’s cheesecake.

“Ok, firstly let’s go over the steps and ingredients one by one,” you started, taking out your yellow legal pad. You noticed Jeongin’s eyes on you, which wasn’t anything new. But for some reason, this time felt different. There were funny little things flying around your stomach and you couldn’t stop it. You knew you should ignore those feelings, though. There was no way you’d ruin such a precious friendship for you. But the way those eyes looked at you? It made you want to risk it all.

“Y/N?” Jeongin asked with a slight smile. Oh, of course. You’d been staring too long. You chuckled, internally rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly. “What were you saying?” Jeongin’s laugh filled your ears.

“I was saying: I already wrote the recipe in your little notebook,” he said.

“Jeongin, it’s called a legal pad,” you remarked, “And I spilled coffee on it yesterday, so I had to throw it out,” you said with a small pout.

“Wait Y/N, you forgot; I’m the best best friend ever,” he said with a cocky smile. “I got you a new one,” he smirked, pulling out a legal pad, who’s first page had already been filled top to bottom. “I know that’s where you put all your recipes, and I know how much it means to you. So I rewrote all of them here, including mine” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. You noticed he held a reddish tint on his cheek.

“Jeongin..." you started, but you were speechless. He was your best friend, but why did you never realize how much more he cared about you than anyone else you’d met. It was the simplest detail. Well, maybe not the simplest. You could imagine him sitting at his desk at home, writing each and every recipe. Trying to read your unreadable handwriting that was even covered in coffee. He’d have his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed as he concentrated on writing everything perfectly, in a handwriting you could both read. Picturing that scene made you swell up with emotion. You didn’t even think about it, and you threw your arms around his neck, enveloping him in a hug. You cuddled into his sweater, inhaling his warm scent.  “Thank you so much, Jeongin,” your voice muffled into his chest. “It really means so much to me.”

“Yeah. Of course, anything for my... best friend.” Best friend. Again, those two god-forsaken words. How much you despised those two words. You took a step back from him, dropping your arms beside your sides.

“Well, anyway, let’s get started on our business.”

…

“Do the honors, ma’am. Go on and taste it,” Jeongin said, adding a small bow. He placed the small metal spoon in your hand, fingertips touching for just one second. You scooped up a bite of the green-powder-covered cheesecake, making sure to get a taste of the raspberry coulis on the side. The pure pleasure you felt as your tastebuds melted the sweet taste of the cheesecake was incomparable to anything you’d ever tried before. You’d tasted his dessert before, but he was able to top that and outdo himself. You were sure of it. There was no way you wouldn’t win.

“Jeongin…” you started, forcing a sad look in your eyes. You heard him sigh in disappointment. “It’s so fucking good, I might cry,” you fake sniffled. Jeongin let out a small giggle, but something about him seemed odd. “Jeongin, I’m so proud of you,” you suddenly felt your heart swell up. “I know how hard you’ve worked and I’m so proud to be your... best friend.” You noticed a slight sadness behind his smile as you spoke, his smile disappearing in no time. You noticed the way his eyes suddenly darkened, and he avoided your gaze. You suddenly stopped. “Is something wrong?” you asked, reaching for his hand. He stepped back.

“Y/n you just- you- ugh,” he grunted in frustration. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Stop fucking calling me that,” he finally let out. You took a step back. Why was he suddenly like this?

“Calling you what?”

“You know!”

“I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about”

“Stop calling me your best friend,” he cried, holding his head. ”I don’t wanna be your best friend,” he confessed. What? You felt an unfamiliar pinch in your heart. You don’t know what you did wrong. Why was he suddenly so done with you? You didn’t even realize it but your chest felt heavy and your eyes were suddenly dewy.

“W-what?” you managed to speak out, voice cracking in the middle of it.

“No... y/n,” he whispered as he saw the glimmer in your eyes. He approached you, slowly, with caution. His arms reached your waist, wrapping themselves around you. You let him.  Your arms didn’t bother to hug him back. This was second nature, a hug from your best friend. “Y/n, I don’t wanna be your best friend cuz ... cuz I’m fucking head over heels for you,” he whispered over your shoulder. You froze.  Suddenly you forgot how to breathe. Your heart was thumping so loudly against his chest, you could barely listen to the words he whispered next. “I’ve fallen in love with you. And every day I fall deeper. I can’t fucking stop it.” You pulled yourself away from his hold to look him in the eyes. They were genuine, pure. They looked at you with adoration. There was that smile you knew. That smile that could make you risk it all. And you were suddenly filled with love and adoration. But still his eyes were tinted with a hint of disappointment. His eyes desperately searched for some kind of sign from you, darting between your eyes. You reached your hands towards his, intertwining your fingers in his. You looked up at him, glaring into his eyes. And you broke into a smile, a smile that could last forever. “What?” Jeongin smiles awkwardly.

“Y’know, I was really starting to hate those two words, too,” you chuckled. Your arms wrapped around his neck. His eyes were still full of confusion. “I’m fucking head over heels for you, Yang Jeongin,” you confessed. You felt his warm touch as his fingers reached your cheeks, holding them in his hands. And his lips pressed onto yours. They were warm, soft against your lips, making you melt against him. It was a small, gentle kiss, but it felt like home. After a few seconds you pulled apart. The corner of Jeongin’s lips turned upward as he stared back at you.

“You taste sweet. Like cheesecake,” he chuckled. You punched him on the shoulder, laughing at his comment.

“I think we have a competition to prepare for,” you smiled, pulling apart from him.

“A competition we’re gonna win.”

…

“Jeongin pass the raspberry coulis,” you say as you plate the cheesecake, wiping the plate clean. Jeongin passed the raspberry coulis and you drizzled it onto the cheesecake. Jeongin finally powdered a bit of matcha on top of the cheesecake and…

“Time is up!” the host of the competition proclaimed. You threw your hands up and turned to hug Jeongin. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his arms slid around your waist.

“We did it,” you whispered in his ear. You felt Jeongin squeeze your waist a bit as you uttered those words.

“Yes, we did. And I’m so proud,” he responded. You let go of him and turned to the host of the competition.

“Congrats, bakers! You’ve finished the last round! Now, we’ll let the judges taste your desserts to find out who’s leaving with the 3,000,000 won,” the judge boasted and the contestants cheered.

The four other teams’ desserts had already been tasted and it was only you and Jeongin’s dessert left. Only one of the other desserts had an amazing reaction from the judges and you were hoping -no, praying- that your dessert could surpass theirs. It was your turn, so you presented your plate to the judges.

“Today we’ve prepared a marbled matcha and raspberry cheesecake topped with a raspberry coulis and a matcha whip,” Jeongin stated as he placed the desserts on the table. He then returned to stand next to you. The judges’ poker face as they tasted the dessert was making your heart pound faster than it already was. They took about two minutes to taste the dessert but the shaking of your hands and the pounding of your heart made it feel like two hours.

“I must say, this dessert is one of the best I’ve tried in a while,” said Han Seokmin, a great baker you’d always looked up to. Your heart dropped, the tension in your muscles started to relax.

“I agree. Everything is perfectly cooked and all the elements perfectly balance each other. Great job, guys! I don’t even want to stop eating this!” said Jeon Jia, the owner of the world-famous pastry shop, Sweet Cheeks. You turned to see Jeongin give you the sweetest smile.

“Bakers! The judges will now take some time to discuss what dish was the best. You may return to your station,” said the host.

…

You stood before the judges, Jeongin next to you, along with the four other teams. “Contestants! You’ve all worked hard and baked amazing desserts for the judges, but in the end only one was on top. And that team was…” Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate, you felt like you were sweating an abnormal amount and your chest felt so heavy. Jeongin seemed to notice, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours and giving you an affirming squeeze.

“The winners are Yang Jeongin and Y/N L/N.” You immediately jump into Jeongin’s arms. He wraps his arms around your waist as you wrap your legs around him. He twirls you around once, as you both overflow with happiness, letting out small giggles.

“We did it, loser,” he whispers in your ear. “We won.” You give him a small smile as he puts you down.

“Congratulations bakers! You’ll be receiving the prize of 3,000,000 won.”

You couldn’t stop beaming as you walked out of the event holding hands with Jeongin.

“Where do you wanna eat?” Jeongin asked, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“I’m really craving ramen, let’s go to the restaurant next to the bakery, yeah?”

“Alright,” Jeongin agreed. “Y’know Y/N, I’ve been thinking,” he started. You hummed to signal you were listening.

“We never really established what we want to be,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What do you want to be?”

“Well, I don’t really wanna share you with anyone. And I don’t really want to be shared with anyone…”

“That’s kinda selfish of you Yang Jeongin,” you say, pretending to be serious.

“Y’know what I mean, loser. I’m saying I wanna be your…boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I like the ring of that. Yang Jeongin, my boyfriend. Sounds much better than Yang Jeongin, my best friend,” you cheesed.

“I do, too.”

[contemplativepancakes]

number one wiener eater

written for the @lambertbigbang, with art by the amazing @geralt-of-riviass here! Make sure to check it out :D (also a ginormous thanks to @hoomhum for betaing and helping me work out the extremely complicated logistics of bathroom stall sex). Read on ao3 here!

When Lambert loses the hot dog eating contest that he’s won for the past three years in a row, there’s nothing he would love more than to find who beat him and punch them in the face. Unfortunately, he was too busy throwing up to know who the winner was.

All he knows is that he’s kind of maybe in love with the guy who held his hair while he puked. (8k, explicit, lambden, cw: vomiting, semi public sex)

Lambert’s gonna puke. He keeps stuffing the buns in his mouth, but they’re like glue, and his jaw refuses to work. He swallows, but nothing goes down. He takes a desperate gulp of water and sputters on it. Jerking his head up to glance at the countdown clock, he silently curses as he sees he has seconds left. He shoves what he can into his already full mouth, raising his hands up as the judge shouts for them to stop.

He takes a second to glance down the long line of other competitive eaters, but a wave of nausea hits him, and he looks at the ground, determined on keeping everything down. He keeps chewing and working to swallow as the judge takes away the plate to weigh it. Another comes down the aisle casting a critical eye at their tables, making sure that not too much food went onto the ground or table instead of their mouths.

It’s blazing outside today, and sweat coats Lambert’s face. Acid burns up his throat, but he chokes it back. He’s not a lightweight.

Lambert’s won this contest the past three years in a row, and he’s pretty sure he has this one in the bag. It’s no Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest, and he’s no Joey Chestnut, but he’s at least good, and the prize money is decent enough. He’s had his eye on an inflatable jacuzzi—for the women, Geralt. And the men—and he’s excited to make his maybe ill-advised purchase.

He waits for them to announce the winner, bouncing his foot on the ground to give himself something to focus on besides the rising wave of whatever’s churning in his gut.

When the judges stand up on their small podium, a hush falls over the small crowd gathered. Lambert directs his attention to them, but a bright burst of nausea hits him and sends sweat dripping down his back, and he doesn’t manage to hear anything after that.

He pukes.

“Oh jeez, are you okay?” a voice comes from somewhere on his left.

“Fine,” Lambert grunts, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the burning taste left in his mouth. Definitely more pleasant as the hot dogs were going down than up.

“Are you sure? You seem shaky.”

“I’m fine,” Lambert grumbles, and finally looks up at the guy, who puts his hands up in surrender.

“Just checking.”

He starts to heave again, and he reaches for the pail thoughtfully provided for them by the contest sponsors.

“Yep, you sure seem fine!” the other man chirps.

Lambert retches one more time, and the man hands him a napkin. Lambert takes it suspiciously, wondering if this is a reporter or something. He’s not sure why someone would want to deal with this.

The man hands him a bottle of water next, and Lambert purses his lips as he twists the top off. He squints at him. “Who are you?” he finally asks.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Aiden.”

All that does is give Lambert a name, not answer his question, but he doesn’t comment further, just offers his own name in a grunt.

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“You a fan?”

“You could say that,” Aiden says with a grin, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“They didn’t tell me competitive eating gets you groupies.”

Aiden gives him a full throated laugh at that, and Lambert curses himself when he catches himself thinking that it sounds kind of nice. Those are exactly the kind of thoughts he doesn’t want to be having. Especially not for some weirdo that stopped to what, hold his hair while he puked? Who does that? If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up in an ice bath one kidney short.

Lambert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand again, surreptitiously checking his breath. It’s not peaches and cream, that’s for sure.

Lambert sets the pail down and faces Aiden, trying to flat out dislike him at how white his teeth are, how perfectly coiffed his dark curly hair is even in this heat, but he fails as Aiden continues to be nothing but nice to him, making small talk as Lambert tries to pull himself together.

After Lambert’s fully sat up instead of half way hunched over, expecting another vomiting wave to hit him, Aiden straightens up, too. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then, huh?”

Lambert’s confused for a second, because he’s never seen Aiden before, but he decides he’s going to take this as a good sign. Or maybe a bad sign for the fate of his kidneys, whatever the case may be.

“I would hope so,” Lambert settles on, deciding that sounds like a good mix of hopeful and not at all like he’s desperate for a little human contact.

Aiden gives him a little half wave that has no right to be as adorable as it is when a grown man does it, and Lambert frowns and tamps down the feelings rising in his gut. No, he’s not going to call them butterflies. He’s not a twelve year old; he doesn’t get crushes, and he certainly doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach.

Lambert eventually manages to get up and walks away from the contest, sadly bereft of the prize money. He missed the announcement of the winner while he was busy throwing up, but he caught the disappointed looks some of the spectators were casting him, so he knows it isn’t him. He doesn’t even want to know who it was. He’ll just dwell endlessly. His stomach is still roiling as he clambers into his car, but at this point, he’s not sure why.

It’s what he ate, he’s sure.

-

Lambert slams his kitchen cupboard door shut. “I don’t want to talk about it, Geralt,” he mutters.

Geralt always wants to hash every detail of his competitions, and while normally Lambert is happy to indulge him, he just doesn’t want to talk about this one, okay?

It has everything to do with him losing and absolutely nothing to do with Aiden. Nothing at all.

“Okay, fine,” Geralt says, raising his hands and backing up. “No need to get so grouchy about it.”

Lambert scowls. “I’m not grouchy.”

“Right. Prove it.”

“Fine.” Lambert crosses his arms.

Geralt grins. “Return my library book for me? It’s due today, and there’s no way I’m making it over to that side of town today, I’m slammed.”

“Yeah? You’re so slammed you had time to come here and harass me?”

Geralt reaches forward to ruffle Lambert’s hair, and Lambert knocks his hand away. “Not harassment. Just brotherly concern. Have you seen the wikipedia page for competitive eating? And you expect me not to worry?” Geralt scoffs.

Lambert rolls his eyes. “Stop being so over protective, mom.”

“Deal. If you return my book.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, but he takes the book. He looks down at the title, then back up at Geralt, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Twilight?”

“I didn’t even think you knew how to read, Lamb,” Geralt deflects.

Lambert huffs. “I don’t know if I want to embarrass myself by returning this, but whatever. If anyone asks, it’s my sister’s book. You owe me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one in the lead on favors.”

“I doubt it.”

Lambert makes a show of taking the book between his pinched thumb and forefinger, Geralt rolling his eyes all the while. “I know, I know. You hear vampire, and you can’t help yourself,” Lambert says.

Geralt shrugs before clapping his hands on his thighs. “All right, I better get going. I have to pick Ciri up from school.”

“And you couldn’t have gone after to the library with her?”

“She has martial arts.”

Lambert sighs. He can help Geralt out this once, he supposes.

Geralt leaves and Lambert eyes the book setting on his coffee table. He guesses he might as well go now, and he can poke around and see if there’s anything that catches his eye. He hasn’t been to the library in nearly a year, but it might be a nice change of pace.

Lambert clambers to his feet, stopping to grab his wallet and keys before walking out to his car.

He hits every red light between his apartment and the library, and his good mood has nearly evaporated by the time he gets there. That changes when he walks in the door and sees who’s sitting at the front desk. “Aiden?” he doesn’t squeak.

Aiden looks up from where he’s typing furiously at a computer, and his face breaks out into a wide grin that makes Lambert’s stomach flip. “Lambert!”

Lambert looks down at the book he’s carrying and immediately hides it behind his back. Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him. “Got a return?”

“Yes, well, I mean, no—”

Aiden stretches out a hand, and Lambert resigns himself to his fate. He gives Aiden the book. Aiden barely glances at the cover, just gives Lambert a small smile and scans the barcode.

“I’m returning that for my brother,” Lambert can’t stop himself from saying.

Aiden glances back up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Aiden nods once. “Likely story.”

Lambert splutters and then stops when he sees the shit eating grin Aiden’s giving him.

“Hey, all reading is good reading,” Aiden says. “I’m not going to rag on you.”

“It’s my brother’s,” Lambert mumbles again, but he shakes his head in defeat.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Lambert would normally rather die before asking for help, but he thinks it might be okay if it's Aiden he’s asking for it from. He wouldn’t have offered if he was busy or something, right?

The organ harvesting alarms start going off in Lambert’s brain again, but he dismisses them. Someone so nice surely isn’t going to cut anything out of him. And even if he does, Lambert would bet Aiden would give the good drugs, so he wouldn’t even feel it. He seems nice like that.

Yeah, that’d be okay.

Lambert moves farther into the library, going between the stacks where no one can see him. He’s not sure what books he should get to try and recover the remaining shreds of his dignity.

He whips out his phone and searches long classic books. He scrolls down the page a little frantically until he lands on War and Peace. He’s heard of that before. He’s pretty sure it’s a well regarded book. What if Aiden thinks he’s a pretentious dick? Okay, maybe he is, a little, but he doesn’t want to give him that impression right off the bat. Lambert’s already ruined his first, and second impression, he doesn’t want to mess up the third.

Lambert makes his way down the aisles, squinting as he looks for the Ts. He pulls out the book with a flourish after he finally finds it, weighing its impressive heft in his hand. He cracks it open and finds it to be suitably dense. He makes his way back up to the circulation desk, where Aiden’s scanning in returns from their self service slot.

Why didn’t Lambert just use that? He could slap himself. Well, he guesses he wouldn’t have seen Aiden if he did that, so at risk of sounding like a creepy stalker, he’s glad he came in.

Lambert thunks the book down on the counter. Aiden looks at it, then up to Lambert, a grin spreading across his face. “Just a bit of light reading for you then?”

Heat rises to Lambert’s cheeks, not sure if he’s being mocked or not. He shrugs. “It’s been on my list.”

Aiden holds a hand out, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Uh…”

“I need your library card,” Aiden says patiently.

“Right. Um, let’s see here.”

Lambert hasn’t been to the library since the last time he came with Ciri to pick out movies they were going to watch while she stayed with him, and he pulls out his wallet. He holds it open to thumb through it, wondering why the fuck he feels the need to carry so many gift cards around that he’s never going to use. Foil crinkles as he goes through everything, and he resolutely does not make eye contact with Aiden.

It’s no use, though. “You’re not supposed to carry those around in your wallet, you know,” he says conversationally. “Wears holes in them.”

There’s a quip on Lambert’s tongue about using them often enough that he doesn’t have to worry about that, but he bites it back. He’s not a creep who would say that at someone’s job.

After another painful ten seconds, Lambert gives up on finding the card. He thinks he remembers them giving him a miniature one for it, too, so he looks on his key chain instead, filled as it is with at least twenty different discount cards and various baubles Ciri’s made for him.

“I can tell you’re a fine connoisseur of our goods,” Aiden comments.

“Shut up,” Lambert grouses, finally finding the little card and setting the whole thing down for Aiden.

Aiden scans it, keys and cards jingling against each other, and frowns. “It’s expired,” he says apologetically.

Lambert wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole, especially as Aiden fingers the rooster on it that Eskel gave him after he came out. He should get around to cleaning off his keyring.

“I guess I know you really were returning that book for your brother?” Aiden offers.

Despite himself, Lambert smiles. “I guess you do.” Lambert swallows. “So what do I have to do to renew it? I think I might have to start coming here more often.”

Aiden gives him a tiny grin, and they get the card renewed, then the book checked out. “I’ll be expecting a report on how it was when you return it,” Aiden says of War and Peace, tucking the receipt into the book.

Lambert’s not sure if he had been entirely convinced he was actually going to read it, but he finds himself saying, “You bet.”

Aiden flashes him a smile that Lambert would best describe as feral, and as he walks out to his car, Lambert wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

-

Later that night finds Geralt back on Lambert’s couch. “I thought you were so busy,” Lambert complains.

“Well, Ciri’s at her martial arts class now and your apartment was close. What do you have to eat?”

Lambert rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove Geralt’s feet off his coffee table. “Nothing for you.”

Geralt gets up to survey the refrigerator.

“If you put a finger on my burrito, I’ll end you,” Lambert threatens.

Lambert can practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Do not drink out of the jug either.”

Geralt groans again. “Like you don’t?”

“Well, I’m the one who buys it. All you do is come over and eat my food like you don’t have any of your own.”

Geralt comes back to the couch after some muttering and putting something in the microwave. Lambert resists the urge to strangle him. When Geralt comes back, it’s with chinese takeout that’s been in the refrigerator for at least two weeks. Lambert doesn’t say anything.

He watches with a raised eyebrow as Geralt slurps down the noodles, mildly impressed at his stomach of steel. He’s always thought Geralt would be a good competitive eater.

When Geralt finally puts the chop sticks down and comes back up for air, he brightens and reaches into his pocket. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Geralt hands a folded up newspaper clipping to him, and Lambert scowls upon seeing the picture of the hot dog eating contest sign. He crumples it up and tosses it at Geralt’s head.

Geralt’s hand automatically comes up and bats it away, making it fall to the floor. “Jeez, I try to do one nice thing…”

“Don’t act like being nice was your motivation.”

Geralt gives him a cheshire cat grin. “You’re too easy to rile up, you know that?”

“Yeah, thanks a lot for that, shit lips. By the way, you’re welcome for taking back your book. I nearly got laughed out of the library.”

Geralt smirks at him. Fortunately for Geralt, there’s nothing for Lambert to throw at him again within arms reach.

“I see you even got a book. That’s some heavy reading,” Geralt says, a look of mock seriousness pasted on his face.

“Shut up.”

“That’d take you at least three years to read.”

“Shut up,” Lambert says again, putting his hands over his ears.

“Almost seems like you got that just to impress someone; I’ve never known you to have an interest in the classics before.”

Lambert looks at the book sitting on the coffee table and considers just braining Geralt with it. Surely a jury would be understanding that sometimes you just have to hit your stupid as fuck brother upside the head with a three pound book.

Not guilty, for sure.

Lambert snaps out of his daydream to look pointedly at the clock. “Exactly how long is Ciri’s class?”

Geralt checks his watch. “Shit, I gotta go.”

Lambert grouses as Geralt puts on his jacket and leaves his bowl on the table for Lambert. “I’m not a maid!” he shouts after Geralt’s retreating back.

Geralt flips him off and then blows him a kiss, leaving Lambert to wonder if he’s just broken a record for the world’s longest eye roll.

Lambert looks back to the book. He guesses he has nothing better to do…

-

Lambert makes it through the book much more quickly than he anticipated; once he gets past the dry as fuck language, it’s actually kind of interesting.

He’s excited but also dreading going back to the library. This time he should probably be better prepared when he goes in, so he doesn’t have to frantically flick through his phone hidden in the middle of the stacks trying to find something to check out that’s not going to make him look like an idiot.

He searches for something interesting sounding, but maybe something that’s not going to make Aiden laugh at him this time. Well, maybe he can make him laugh in a good way instead of making fun of him, Lambert muses as he scrolls through book titles.

And so, the next time when he goes to the library, he surprises a laugh out of Aiden when he slams A Treatise of Cocks and Hens onto the counter to check out.

“You into animal husbandry now?” Aiden snickers.

“I’ve been considering some laying hens,” Lambert says in mock seriousness. “Why, you got any advice?”

“Ah. Eggs, nature’s perfect food,” he says sagely. “I am sure that is the only reason why you’ve chosen this particular book.”

“Yep.”

Aiden grins. “Huh. Very interesting. Well, I’ll be expecting a report back. By the way, how was War and Peace?”

“Surprisingly not terrible.”

Aiden drums his fingers on the counter, scrutinizing him. “Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh?’”

“A man can’t say ‘huh’ without being ruthlessly interrogated now? What is this country coming to?”

Lambert shakes his head at the dramatics and finally remembers to hand over his library card. Aiden scans it, then his book, a small smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. The receipt prints, and Lambert holds out his hand for it, but Aiden takes it and scribbles something down before tucking it in the book.

“Just...personalized service for our valued members,” he says with a wink.

“I’m not paying for anything; I don’t think you need to try that hard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Lambert shakes his head hastily. “Definitely not.”

Aiden slides the book across the counter to him. “Come back soon,” he says with a cheeky wave.

Lambert barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him, and where did that come from, but he manages to make it out of the library without making a total ass of himself. When he gets out to his car, he slides behind the wheel and takes the receipt out of the bag.

On it is a number, one Lambert hopes like fuck is Aiden’s and not just some cruel joke, and the words, Text me what you learned from this book. I want to learn all about it (;

Lambert traces his fingers over the word cock on the cover.

He can’t believe that actually worked.

-

When he tells Geralt the news, Geralt howls with laughter.

Predictably, Geralt is eating his food again, and is being absolutely no help in assisting Lambert with choosing the clothes he should wear on his date. He had somehow worked up the nerve to text Aiden, and after a week of sending waffling texts back and forth, they’re going to a bar together. Shit, Lambert hasn’t been on a date in forever.

“Calm down,” Geralt says around a mouthful of pasta from Lambert’s bed, watching his eyes dart back and forth around his closet. “Wear a button down,” he advises. “That’s respectable.”

“Not like I’m trying too hard?”

Geralt hums. “Maybe.”

Lambert scowls at him. “Why are you even here if you’re not going to help?”

Geralt points a fork to his bowl. “Dude, you made bolognese. Where else am I going to be?”

“Don’t you have a kid or something you need to watch?” Lambert asks, but it’s without heat.

“She’s with Yen tonight. I wanted a front row seat to this shit show, and they’re going to an opera or something. I don’t ask questions.”

“Wow, thank you for your enthusiastic support.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care this much before,” Geralt observes.

“Yeah, well, he’s nice. I’ve never dated someone who’s nice before.”

“I can only hope he rubs off on you.”

Lambert nods. “We can only hope.”

Geralt throws a pillow at him. “Don’t be a pervert.”

“Hey! You’re the one who said it, not me.”

Geralt sets the bowl down, balancing precariously on Lambert’s bed and claps his hands over his ears. “I do not want to think about you doing any of that. You’re going to be 12 to me forever.”

“Geralt, you are six years older than me.”

“And?”

Lambert shakes his head as he pulls out a polo before discarding it.

Why the hell does he even have that? He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a fucking polo.

In the end, Lambert settles on nothing too out of the norm from his typical style. He doesn’t want Aiden to get the wrong idea, and he’s sure Aiden won’t hesitate in making fun of him if he tries too hard. He wets his comb and runs it through his hair, but it’s really too short to stick up in odd angles, which is exactly the way he likes it.

He shoos Geralt out of his apartment as he leaves. “I can’t leave you unsupervised to poke through my things,” he says, and Geralt doesn’t even argue with him about it, which is highly concerning because that means it’s true.

Lambert’s heart is jackrabbiting against his chest as he walks out to his car. He gives Geralt a gruff goodbye before ducking into his car, plugging his phone into the radio and cranking the volume up. He tries to focus on the lyrics instead of the pounding in his chest that he can feel pulsating in his wrists. He scrolls through his songs until he finds something by Minor Threat so he can turn it up and drown out the rest of his thoughts.

He’s meeting Aiden at the bar, because Geralt told him it was weird to pick someone up on the first date, and that Aiden was an Independent Man, whatever that meant. He probably shouldn’t listen to Geralt.

He beats his fingers in rapid bursts on his steering wheel in time with the music until he gets there, and then he checks his phone to see it’s way too early to go in yet. God, he’s messing this up already. He scrolls through his social media feeds while he waits until his phone buzzes with an incoming picture. He clicks over to it, to see—himself, hunched over behind the steering wheel of his car. It’s taken through a window, and it’s sort of definitely mega creepy.

Aiden: you coming in, or do you just plan on sitting out there all night?

Lambert checks the time again and verifies that no, he’s still 20 minutes early. A small smile crawls across his face.

He gets out and walks into the bar, looking around. Aiden waves to him, and he’s sitting at a booth, not even at the bar.

“Wow. Classy.” Lambert comments as he slides in next to him.

Shit, should he have sat across from him? Aiden apparently doesn’t mind by the way he immediately presses against Lambert.

“Can’t believe I got you out of your academic setting,” Aiden smirks. “How goes the chicken husbandry?”

“I’m considering building a coop,” Lambert says on reflex.

“I can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

Lambert grins. “Only mostly. Don’t you think that would be cute, or whatever?”

“What, you in a frilly apron collecting eggs? Yeah, I could get behind that.”

Lambert’s face gets hot almost instantly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I think it should be.” Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him in challenge, one which Lambert immediately cops out of.

“What do you want to drink?”

Lambert stands up with Aiden’s order and goes to the bar to get it, wondering what Geralt’s opinion on how the bill should be split is.

When he comes back, Aiden’s checking his phone, but he quickly sets it down when Lambert slips in beside him again.

“Just letting my friend know I’m not dead,” he says brightly. “I sent her the picture of you, and that’s already shady enough to be perfect for America’s Most Wanted, so I’d keep that in mind.”

Lambert snorts. “Noted,” he says, passing over the beer.

Aiden takes a gulp, and Lambert’s gaze doesn’t linger on how Aiden’s lips wrap around the bottle, not one bit.

Aiden sets the bottle down on the table with a clunk, liquid making its way dangerously close to the top, but none splashes out.

“So tell me about yourself, besides the fact that you eat too many hot dogs, read long books in the hopes of impressing librarians, and are blue printing a chicken coop.”

Lambert drums his fingers on the table and shrugs. “I’m not that interesting. And who said I was trying to impress you?”

Aiden shrugs and takes another drink of his beer, setting it back down and swiping a finger through the condensation. “Aren’t you?”

Lambert stands up abruptly. “Come on, pool table’s empty.”

“I think you’re going to have to show me how to handle my stick.”

Lambert groans and shoves at him. “That was so bad. That was terrible. I’m not rewarding you for that.”

Aiden grins at him, and they play pool, with Aiden exaggerating his cue handling the entire time. If Lambert has to watch him run his hands down its length one more time…

“What exactly are you angling for, here, hmm?” Lambert asks, sidling up next to him and nudging him out of the way so he can take aim for the cue ball.

Aiden shrugs. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I’m easy.”

Lambert squeezes his eyes shut for a second at the mental image that provides before gulping. “I, uh, haven’t really been with anyone in a while. Might be a little rusty.”

Aiden crowds behind him and wraps his arms around Lambert’s waist. “Just like riding a bike,” he says into his ear.

Lambert leans down and hits the cue ball, knocking the black eight into the middle pocket. “Well, shit.” They both know he did it on purpose.

Aiden takes Lambert’s hand for a second, and Lambert has to make a conscious effort not to short circuit. “Meet me in the bathroom,” he murmurs before turning away, leaving Lambert to fidget uncomfortably. He knocks all the balls into the pockets and hangs up their cues, dithering a little to try not to make this too obvious. Jesus, he feels like he’s 22 again, only this time he’s doing it with someone he actually likes and not just to get a reaction out of his dad when he found out.

Lambert sets his hands on the pool table and takes a deep breath before heading to the bathroom. He walks in, noting that no, this isn’t a single stall, and anyone could walk on them. His heart beats a little faster.

Aiden’s at the sink washing his hands, and Lambert walks up behind him, mouthing at his neck and wrapping his arms around him.

“Took you long enough,” Aiden says, leaning back into him. “Come on.” Aiden tugs him into a stall and slides the lock shut behind them.

It’s a tight squeeze, two grown men in one tiny stall, and to be honest, it’s a little disgusting. Lambert leans past Aiden to close the toilet seat so he doesn’t have to look at the piss stains.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Aiden’s grin drops for a second. “You want to do this, right?”

Lambert tugs Aiden against him sharply and kisses him hard before pulling back. “Oh, yeah. Enthusiastically. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Lambert yanks Aiden’s shirt out of his pants, putting his hands on Aiden’s torso, enjoying the soft flesh and moving his way up until he can brush his thumb over Aiden’s nipple. Aiden leans back in to kiss him again, shoving his hands down Lambert’s pants where he’s growing steadily harder.

Aiden strokes him inside his underwear, and Lambert forgot how fucking good this feels. He still has one ear on the door, waiting for someone else to come inside the restroom. He’s not sure what they’re going to do if that happens, so he supposes he better move this along.

Lambert leans his head back against the stall door as Aiden jerks him to full hardness, their kiss turning into something uncoordinated and sloppy.

“Feel good?” Aiden murmurs.

“Fuck, yeah,” Lambert says, and his eyes get wide as Aiden drops to his knees.

Aiden pulls him out of his pants, finally unbuttoning them and relieving some of the pressure. Lambert winces as he looks down at the mystery stains on the floor, but Aiden’s unaffected. Lambert bites down on his lip as he looks down at Aiden, leaning forward to take him into his mouth.

“Wait,” he says, and his voice sounds far away. He fumbles for his wallet, thumbing through it to find the condom from the other day.

Aiden laughs and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a new one,” Lambert says defensively.

Aiden takes it from and tears it open, rolling it down Lambert’s length. “Good?” he asks, and Lambert eagerly nods.

Warm heat envelopes him, and he instinctively threads a hand through Aiden’s hair. Aiden seems to like that, and he starts doing something to the sensitive spot just under Lambert’s head that has him panting after a minute.

The door to the bathroom creaks open then, and Lambert tugs on Aiden’s hair urgently, but Aiden doesn’t let up, if anything, just increases whatever he’s doing down there until Lambert can barely see straight, let alone keep his noises to himself.

There’s the sound of someone unzipping themselves, and Lambert looks down at Aiden incredulously. Does this person really not notice them? Judging by the intensity of the stream they let out, Lambert’s guessing not.

Aiden brings his hand up to stroke the part of Lambert’s cock not in his mouth and keeps up the steady rhythm of his mouth. It feels incredible, tight wet heat around his cock, and Lambert’s concerned his lip is going to bleed if he keeps biting it this hard. A whine starts emanating from him as Aiden increases his speed.

The urinal finally flushes, and Aiden determinedly licks at the underside of Lambert’s cock, making him gasp. Lambert gives a little yank on his hair; he knows Aiden did that on purpose. Aiden looks up at him as innocently as he can with a mouth full of cock.

It’s obscene.

The person doesn’t even wash their hands before they leave, but Lambert can’t find it in him to bemoan their lack of hygiene, he’s just glad for some semblance of privacy again as he lets out a broken moan.

Aiden keeps it up, bobbing back and forth and twisting his hands around Lambert’s cock until he gasps, coming as his legs nearly give out from underneath him. “Fuck,” he says vehemently, panting as he tries to catch his beath. “Mild mannered librarian by day... But you’re sure something else at night, huh?” Lambert tugs a hand through Aiden’s coarse curls, delighting in the way they’re so pullable and soft.

Aiden hums and pulls off, Lambert’s eyes catching on the trail of saliva that follows Aiden’s lips, still connected to Lambert’s cock. “I don’t know about mild mannered.”

Aiden pulls off the condom and knots it, tucking it back into its original foil and putting it on top of the toilet paper dispenser before Lambert fists a hand in the collar of Aiden’s shirt and pulls him to his feet, kissing him messily and reveling in the taste of Aiden’s mouth. He reaches down between them, surprised to find Aiden still fully hard. He maneuvers Aiden around until his back is to the stall door instead of Lambert. Lambert squeezes him before getting to his knees himself, clumsy and unpracticed.

It’s been too long.

Lambert’s knees hit the hard floor, the cold tiles leaching warmth from his legs, even through his jeans. He finds himself not even caring about the ever present ammonia stench and the piss stains everywhere he looks. He unbuttons Aiden’s pants and unzips them, trying not to roll his eyes at the fact that he wore slacks to a bar. How difficult does he think Lambert is to impress, exactly, because Lambert would be the first to tell you it’s not that hard.

Speaking of things that are hard...Lambert jerks his fist along Aiden’s cock a few times, before pulling out another condom and putting it on him, moving forward to take the head into his mouth.

“Jesus, how many of those do you carry around?” Aiden asks, a little breathless.

Lambert pulls off for a moment. “I used to be a boy scout.”

“Liar,” Aiden hisses, but then his head is thudding back against the stall door as Lambert does a particularly clever twist of his fist. He keeps it moving along Aiden’s cock as he gets the head sloppy with spit, paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the underside.

Aiden twitches under his ministrations, and Lambert looks up at him, satisfied as he sees Aiden’s head is still leaned back against the stall door, his eyes squeezed shut.

Lambert hums as he takes more into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth as he moves his hand farther back to play with Aiden’s balls. He rolls them gently in his hands, running his thumb over the soft skin.

When he looks back up at Aiden, he’s staring at Lambert with undisguised want and he’s visibly restraining himself from being louder. Lambert’s just glad that no one else has come into the bathroom. There’s no question about what’s happening here, not with the slick sounds they’re making.

Lambert starts to suck on Aiden’s cock, then, and a quiet swear comes out of Aiden and his hands fly down, scrambling for purchase in Lambert’s hair, but it’s too short for him to do anything but comb at it uselessly. He ends up with one of his hands on the back of Lambert’s head, just resting there, his fingertips coming down occasionally to brush at Lambert’s neck.

Part of Lambert rebels at the tenderness, but another part of him revels in it, and he keeps the steady motion up until Aiden’s hips are starting to jerk minutely.

Lambert presses a hand against him, holding his hips in place against the stall while he tongues the vein on the underside of Aiden’s cock. He comes after what seems like both a small eternity and no time at all, a moan punching out of him.

Aiden brushes his thumb over the corner of Lambert’s mouth and brings it back up to suck it into his own, Lambert tracking the movement with the corner of his eye. Lambert buttons up his pants and attempts to straighten his shirt, but it might be a lost cause with how many wrinkles are in it from how Aiden had rucked it up. Lambert pulls the condom off and wraps it in toilet paper, setting it on top of the one from earlier.

Lambert cracks the stall door open to throw the condoms into the trash, wincing when he misses.

“That was literally three feet away, dude.”

Lambert scowls at him as he gingerly picks it up and places it in the bin. “Don’t call me dude after I just sucked your cock.”

Lambert shuts the stall door again, waiting for Aiden to be a little bit more presentable.

Aiden tugs his shirt down and smoothes his hand over it, and Lambert tucks him back into his pants and buttons up his pants for him. “Thanks, babe,” he says with a shit eating grin.

Aiden pats Lambert’s hand fondly, and it gives Lambert a warm feeling even as he rolls his eyes. Lambert unlocks the door, and they stumble out together. Aiden leans against him, still very much in Lambert’s personal space and with his hair a mess. “So. You want to do this again sometime?”

All Lambert can do is nod.

-

“Sometime” happens quite frequently over the next several months. After...years of not being in a relationship, and certainly not having regular sex, Lambert’s not complaing.

He brings Aiden lunch at the library occasionally, since he has to work weekends, and Aiden ends up at Lambert’s cooking meals for him more than once in a while. Geralt appreciates the variety, at any rate.

When Geralt met Aiden for the first time, Geralt did a double take, and Lambert still doesn’t know what that’s about, and he doesn’t think he wants to know, either. If Geralt has ever slept with Aiden, he...doesn’t know what he’ll do. Scream, at the very least.

They’re at Aiden’s tonight, and Lambert’s digging through his refrigerator. “Why the fuck do you have all this lettuce? You’d think you were the professional eater,” he gripes as he shoves no less than six heads of the lettuce out of the way to get to the milk.

Aiden snorts behind him. “You’d think, huh?”

Lambert’s distracted from the discovery by Aiden’s arms wrapping around his waist. Lambert turns around in the hold to put his arms around Aiden’s neck and tug him even closer. Aiden grinds his hips against him, but Lambert pushes him back a little. “We haven’t even eaten supper yet,” he chides.

Aiden sighs, a long, put upon thing. “I’m going to die of blue balls.”

“I think you’ll be just fine.”

“What’s next? You say you have a headache?” Aiden puts a hand over his forehead dramatically.

“No, I’ll just tell you to fuck off if I’m not interested. Don’t worry.”

Aiden leans in to bite at Lambert’s ear lobe, and Lambert shoves his face away. “Fuck off.”

“Aw, Lamb,” Aiden wheedles.

“Food, then sex. God, you’re insatiable.”

“Thank you.” Aiden looks entirely too pleased with himself, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you love me,” Aiden says in a sing song voice.

Lambert groans, burying his face in his hands. “I never should have told you that.”

Aiden sobers for a moment. “I’m so glad you did. I love you, too.”

“Stop being such a sap and help me make supper.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it; you’re allergic to feelings. I see how it is. You tell a man something once after the best blow job of your life and then just expect him to forget about it.”

“It was really nice,” Lambert admits.

“That would be because I am the number one wiener eater,” he says proudly.

Lambert shoves him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Aiden just grins at him unabashedly, pulling the chef’s knife out of their drawer and brandishing it a little too familiarly for Lambert’s comfort. Lambert rolls his eyes. “Here, chop these for me.”

Aiden sets to work and within an hour, they have a comforting meal pulled together. Lambert portions the pasta out onto plates, and they make quick work of it, both of them having tiny portions. Lambert is mainly on semi solids and liquids in preparation for his next contest, and Aiden, he guesses, is being supportive. When they’re done, Aiden looks at his watch and stands up, yawning. “I’m going to have to take a rain check, if you’ll survive.”

Lambert rolls his eyes at him. “I think I’ll live. It was your idea, anyway.”

Aiden makes a face at him, but pulls him into a kiss anyway. “I have a few last minute prep things to do for tomorrow.”

“Like what? Do you need help?” Lambert asks, frowning, wondering if Aiden is making a celebratory cake for him, or something. That might be jumping the gun a bit.

“Hey, I can’t give away all of my secrets, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Lambert says, squinting at him.

“All right, well, I’ll see you then. We can ride together, okay?”

Lambert nods his assent as Aiden practically shoos him out the door. It’s still light outside, and this is possibly the first time he’s left Aiden’s apartment while the evening light has shined on him the whole time he’s known Aiden. He squints into the sun as he clambers into his car.

Well, whatever. He has stuff he should be doing, anyway. Eyes on the prize, he coaches himself as he pops in a few sticks of gum. He’s got this. He’s so, totally got this, and nothing is going to distract him from winning.

-

The next day finds Lambert frowning at his phone, as Aiden tells him something, speaking way too quickly. “Sorry, I know I said I would ride with you but Gunther is out sick and I’m going to have to work up until, like, the very last minute before the contest…”

“Well, you don’t have to come,” Lambert says, concerned that maybe expecting Aiden to attend is asking too much, especially when his work is short staffed.

Aiden just laughs. “I bet you’d just love that, huh?”

Lambert is a little puzzled on why Aiden would say that, and he’s trying to think of a reply when someone shouts something in the background of the call. “Hey, I have to go. Love you, bye!”

There’s the beep of a disconnected call, and Lambert brings the phone down from his ear to stare at it. That was… a little bizarre. Well, whatever. He can’t have anything distracting him now. There’s no way he’s going to lose two contests in a row, not after he had to wait months for the next one to come around.

Lambert drives to the contest, pointedly not noting how empty his passenger seat is without Aiden in it. He looks forward to spending time with him, so to have it cancelled always leaves him feeling melancholy.

He clenches his jaw and turns up the radio, his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm on the wheel.

By the time he arrives, anxiety is coiling in his gut and he’s already sweating. He sits in his car for a moment, blasting the air conditioning. If he loses again, is he officially a has been? He takes a deep breath as he gets out, walking up to the judges and turning in his paperwork.

He turns to look for Aiden in the crowd, but he doesn’t see him, so he must not be here yet. Lambert sighs as he searches the table lined with hot dogs for an empty seat, stopping when he sees—Aiden?

Lambert stares at Aiden with a slack jaw. “You’re—you—competing? What?”

“Lamb, what are you talking about? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Aiden pushes his chair back and hurries over to him, bringing a hand up to put on Lambert’s forehead, but Lambert swats him away.

“When did you sign up?” Lambert finally gets out.

Aiden squints. “Right after the last one? For real, are you alright?”

“The last one?” Lambert echoes.

“Yes. The last one. The one that I won?”

Lambert’s mouth flaps.

“That you won?” he practically screeches. He’s feeling a little dizzy.

“Did you get hit on the head?” Aiden asks, looking around nervously like he’s trying to find someone to ask for help. “Who do you think won that last contest, Lamb?”

Lambert sputters. “I don’t know; I was a little preoccupied!”

“Did you not look it up after? Oh my god, I thought you knew,” Aiden says in horror.

Lambert wants to cry, honestly. “It was you?”

“I felt bad when you were throwing up! You were puking and you didn’t even win! Sue me for being nice!”

Realization dawns on Lambert that this is why Geralt could barely contain his laughter after meeting Aiden. He did try to give him that newspaper clipping, after all. Surely it had a picture of the winner in it.

“Why did you think I was even there in the first place?” Aiden finally asks.

Lambert lets that settle over him for a moment. He still feels a little sick, but inexplicably he feels better, now that Aiden is in this with him. He pauses for a second of it. Now that he’s aware Aiden is in this with him. “Well, no one is allowed to beat me but you.”

“Deal. Hey, what did I tell you?”

Lambert groans. Aiden tells him lots of things, and his brain is not exactly cooperating with him at the moment. “I don’t know.”

Aiden nudges him with his elbow and gives him a meaningful raise of his eyebrow. “No, I think you do. Go on, don’t be afraid to admit it.”

What it must be pops into his head, and Lambert heaves a long suffering sigh, and he hopes it's one he’s going to be continuing to give for quite a while. “You’re the number one wiener eater.”

Aiden beams.

[idontblushsrry]

Request fic

Anon asked: 

Would you do a Hiei from YYH fic where Hiei and the reader are in "will they won't they" stage since they clearly like each other but she's not going to push Hiei and Hiei wants to ignore his feelings but he can't once he gets blatantly jealous when Shishiwakamaru makes a comment about her during the Dark Tournament after she turns him down for "not being her type"?

A/N: I kinda messed with somethings because I haven’t seen Dark Tournament in a hot minute.

Word Count: 1624

“Hiei, you’re glaring again.”

“Shut it Kurama. I’m not glaring, merely observing.”

An exasperated Kurama smiles at his friend who despite, verbal assurances that he was “merely observing” seemed to be growing increasingly irritated. Demonic aura rolling off his friend in waves as Hiei’s hand twitched to grab his sword.

The object of Hiei’s ire stood there completely unaware of the death looming over his head. Or maybe, he was all too aware. Shishiwakamaru had no issues when it came to taunting his rival team. You were no exception, the fact that you happened to actually catch Shishi’s eye was nothing more than icing on the cake.

The fact that Hiei looked ready to turn him into a sword sheath made this interaction all the more sweet.

All the while, you were caught in the crossfire between the 2 demons’ mind game/ ego contest. You continued your conversation with Shishiwakamaru out of pure politeness, every question he asked, you answered bored and disinterested, each answer getting shorter and shorter as time stretched on. To be truthful, you’d rather be back at the hotel, you were wasting the team’s precious training time by being here. You tried to shoo them off but Kurama insisted for the sake of being a gentleman and Hiei stayed because he wanted to “scope out the competition”.

Now the competition had more than ended and neither of them had any real valid reason to remain here, demons long gone, any stragglers you’d be more than able to avoid on your way back to the hotel. But you figured the same reason you were still here was why Hiei stayed around. Kurama probably just stayed behind to make sure Hiei didn’t add any extra charges to their long list of crimes.

“If you’re done wasting oxygen, Shishi, we’d like to head back now.”, Hiei, fed up with Shishi’s persistence speaks.

“If you’ll excuse me, your presence is no longer required. I can escort my Y/N back to the hotel if you’re that busy.”, Shishiwakamaru was all too aware of the underlining irritation in Hiei’s voice, more potent than his usual cadence.

That seemed to be the tipping point for Hiei because he grabbed his sword and nearly lopped off Shishiwakamaru’s head if it weren’t for Kurama placing a hand on his shoulder with a look that said ‘save it for the arena.’

Alright, this had gone on long enough, “Actually Shishi, I was thinking of heading back with them, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t wanna be here at night with just you...”, you mumbled the last part out a little awkwardly and gestured towards the exit where Hiei and Kurama stood.

Your “excellent” moderator skills seemed to have worked though because Shishi didn’t put up a fight. He smiled at you before gently taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on the palm of it. “Until we meet again Y/N, you hold my heart in your hands.” With a final smile directed at you, ignoring the way Hiei’s glare intensified, he walked away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of his actions.

The aftermath being one pissed off fire demon named Hiei.

As you all made your way back to the hotel, you could tell that Hiei was very pointedly, ignoring you. He trailed behind you and Kurama before completely disappearing into the trees going who knows where.

The walk back with Kurama was silent but not unpleasant. You were mainly lost in your own thoughts, Kurama offered you a sympathetic smile but otherwise didn’t bother you. Any advice he could’ve given you would be repetitive, the both of you being closest to Hiei and knowing how he operates.

Upon coming back to the hotel, you note with nary a concern that Team Urameshi’s common room was completely empty. Fine, you needed to be alone with your thoughts anyways. All you wanted was tea, after that, you’d leave.

It did not appear that the universe was on your side as Botan appeared by your side with a cattish grin that said she’d found a new piece of drama to prey upon. 

“So, Y/N, me and the girls were playing truth or dare. Since everyone else is out, we were wondering if you’d like to join us?”

She said that all too innocently, it seemed she was either trying to lower your guard or she’d finally put her paws away. It did sound nice though, hanging out with Keiko, Yukina, Shizuru, and Botan in a situation more relaxing than hoping your boys don’t die every time they go out to fight.

“I’m sorry, I have to say no. I’m feeling a little tired from today and honestly, I’m just gonna pass out on the nearest surface, preferably a bed.”

She looked a bit disappointed, but understanding. “It’s just that I wanted you to see that Yusuke’s spirit beast had finally hatched.” 

“Oh, good for him, but I’m sure I can see it tomorrow. Aren’t the best things worth waiting for?” She looked a bit confused at your usage of the quote and you took that as an opportunity to leave. As interesting as Yusuke’s spirit beast sounds, you honestly were hoping to wait up for Hiei so you could talk to him about today.

Mind made up, you sped to your room, catching the faintest sight of a black puff of hair atop a blue...blob, before closing the door. You set your tea down to let it cool while you changed into your sleepwear. Pacing all the while and triple checking that your curtains were pulled back and your window was open.

“Why do you look so nervous?”

The sound of Hiei’s voice causes you to jump up in fear, tea cup almost spilling and dropping to the floor as a result. You turn around and see Hiei, perched on the windowsill, as dramatic as ever but also as serene as he’d ever been.

“Hiei, y-you’re here.”, a little caught off guard, you beam at the sight of him.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”, he states that as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the implied affection doesn’t go unnoticed by you either. He jumps down from the window and enters your room, but that’s it. He puts his hands in his pocket and makes no moves to get closer to you beyond that.

Is he-? It’s faint but if you squint and the moonlight hits him just right, you could swear he was blushing. Hiei? Blushing?? You must be more tired than you thought because in what world does Hiei blush?

He opens his mouth to say something before closing it and you’re reminded, this is the world where Hiei blushes. The same world that forced him to compete in a tournament that could cost him his life. And the same world where he cares for you and you him but neither of you acting upon it.

“Hiei I-”

“Y/N look-”

At that you both laugh, feeling some of the tension in the room ease a bit after doing so. You try to urge Hiei to go first but he insists you speak, so you do. 

“I just wanted to say that I don’t have any feelings for Shishiwakamaru.”, you figured being blunt would be the best approach, Hiei appreciated it despite him being one of the most roundabout people you knew, “You know I only have eyes for you right?”

At your honest admission, Hiei looks a little guilty, eyes flitting about the room before settling back on you. His blush intensifies as a pout forms on his face, “I know that, I’m not an idiot like Kuwabara.”

Despite him looking like he wants you to finish this conversation for him, you remain silent. He had more that he needed to say to you, even if he didn’t know it.

His eyes took another trip around the room and he fixed you with a glare that said ‘seriously?’. You just smiled innocently and waited for him to continue.

“Listen Y/N because I’m going to say this once.”, he clears his throat, standing up straight and removing his hands from his pockets to point at you. “I find that you’re more tolerable than others. If I let my guard around you...I trust that you’d watch over me.” As soon as he finished, he looked away and plopped onto the floor, legs crossed.

You tensed the slightest bit, this subject was new to both of you, before forcing your body to move and making your way across the room to Hiei. You sat in front of him and placed a daring hand atop his.

To your relief, he didn’t seem opposed and even tangled his fingers in yours. Now both of you were staring into each other’s eyes, waiting for someone to make a move or say something. 

An unrestrained smile broke out across your face as you savored the feeling of Hiei’s hand in yours, the warmth of his calloused hands sending a fresh stream of butterflies up your arm and into your stomach. 

Hiei smiled too, a smaller one than yours but the happiness in his eyes more than making up the difference. It seemed like the two of you would sit there lovesick forever until Hiei, in an unprecedented show of boldness, leaned in and placed the gentlest kiss onto your lips.

It was clumsy, too firm at one point and angle a bit awkward, but it was so remarkably Hiei. The kiss was so brief that you were left dazed and wanting for more.

Hiei didn’t oppose when you pulled him in for another kiss, nor did he oppose the many that followed.

[chrizbang]

Pairing: Seo Changbin x female reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: mature content, masturbation, drinking, swearing.

Word count: 1559

Author’s note: let's pretent that Changbin is not also known as SpearB for it to make sense, lol. English is not my first language, there might be some grammar mistakes, I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear your feedback!

Changbin went home after practice, he was tired and his body ached but he was excited. Some of the boys wouldn't be home, and the others were sleeping already. After he entered his room, he locked the door, he needed privacy.

He took a shower and for a moment, he was in doubt about what to wear. He eventually decided on a simple black shirt and some jeans, he didn’t want it to look like he was trying too hard. Changbin turned on his notebook, feeling butterflies on his stomach from the anticipation. He logged into his account and waited for the page to load. His favorite cam girl, Y/N, waspromoting a competition between her followers.

She wanted her followers to write her a poem and the best one would win a video chat, that she promised would be like a date. Changbin didn't want to lose this chance, so he put his heart into that poem. She was a little late so he scrolled through his phone for a while until he saw that she was finally online. "Hey guys, sorry for being late. I was getting ready for my date," she said, showing her pretty smile to the camera. Changbin couldn't take his eyes off her, feeling amazed by her beauty.

"Some of you guys weren't taking this contest seriously, as I can see," she rolled her eyes. "But, some of you guys of you were so good, I'm really happy to see that I have so many talented followers." Changbin could hear the excitement in her voice. "I chose the one that caught my attention the most. This poem had personality but it was delicate at the same time. Aaaaand, the winner is SpearB! Thank you so much for your poem," she finally announced. "I'll be waiting for you in the private video chat, can't wait to meet you." she smiled. He would never get tired of the way she smiled with her eyes. Changbin started to feel nervous, he was going to meet her, she would finally acknowledge him. He didn't know if she knew anything about him and Stray Kids, but he couldn't risk it, so before going to the private chat, he adjusted the camera, so she could only see his body from the neck down.

"Hello!" she said after Changbin entered the chat. She waved her hand at him, she looked so cute with such a small gesture. "Hey. I hope you don't mind if I don't show my face," Changbin said, feeling a little insecure that she would be disappointed if she didn't see his face. "It's okay, anything that makes you feel comfortable," the cam girl smiled at him, making his cheeks burn. "So.. this is a date, so I prepared some pasta and I'm going to drink wine. Are you going to eat something?" "I'm not really hungry." "Okay, I'm starving, so I hope it's not a problemif I eat it." "Go ahead" he said. "How was your day?" "It was okay, I went to college in the morning then I cleaned the house," she took a bite of the food. "And now I'm on a nice date with you." "You go to college?' "Yes, I'm a Literature student." "That sounds nice but you don't look very happy talking about it," he said, noticing her expression. "Oh, it's nothing. I don't want to bother you with boring stuff." "I want to know more about you," Changbin told her in a soft voice. She seemed taken by surprise by his interest in her life. "It's just..." she hesitated. "Some of my classmates discovered that I'm a cam girl, so they are being rude to me. Making comments, dumbjokes. It's annoying." She sighed, thinking for a bit before speaking. "I'm not ashamed about what I work with. It's not my dream job but pay the bills. I wish they would just get over it." "That's none of their business anyway," he said. "Don't listen to them. You are doing great."

"Thank you," she said before taking a sip from her glass of wine. "How about you? How was your day? If you feel comfortable telling me." Changbin thought for a moment but decided to answer. "It was tiring, I worked a lot." "May I know what you work with?" she asked making a cute face, it was hard for him to resist. "I work with music." "Oh really? That's so nice. Do you have a band?" "Something like that," he smirked. "I love listening to music and I love singing too." "Are you going to sing for me?" "Maybe next time," she laughed, feeling shy. "Do you wanna see my outfit?" Changbin nodded, feeling excited. She got up and started to show her dress, it was a pink flowered dress that barely covered her legs. Changbin could see her pink stockings that went up to half of her tight, with little ties on them. He could feel his dick twitching on his pants. "Do you like it? I brought it especially for our date." "Yeah, you look gorgeous. You are beautiful." She looked flustered by his words. "Thank you," she sat again on the chair. "Do you work out? You seem to have a nice body." Now it was his time to feel flustered. "Yeah, I like to work out, makes me feel good." "You know, I'm really enjoying this date, I'm glad that I got a chance to know you, SpearB." She had a pretty smile on her face, her words sounded sincere on Changbin's ear. "I'm glad to hear this." "Do you wanna choose the toy I'm going touse today?" "You can use your favorite one, I want you to enjoy your time with me." "Okay, I'm gonna use my pink dildo then." She got up to get her toy and Changbin started to feel nervous. He watched her touching herself plenty of times, but it was never something directed to him and now she was going to do it for him, while she would see him watching her.

She got back, sat in the chair, and moved away from the camera so she could show her full body. She spread her legs, showing her pink panties. It was delicate but sexy, just like her. She started to rub her dildo into her folds, holding a moan. Changbin couldn't take his eyes from her, his dick getting hard. "I wish you were here so you could fuck me," she said before biting her lips. Changbin unbuttoned and lowered his pants. She could see the outline of his penis under his underwear, he had an average-sized,thick cock. He licked his lips before taking his underwear off and started to stroke his dick, he was already dripping precum. "Hmm, so good," she pulled her panties to the side and pushed the dildo inside of her pussy, stretching her cunt for Changbin. His mouth watered, he wanted to taste her so bad.

She put her leg on the chair arm, moaning while she felt the dildo going inside and outside of her. "Take off your panties," Changbin demanded. She took it off and spread her legs again. "Do you want me to take off my dress?" she asked him. "Fuck, yes." She took off her dress, sitting there wearing just her bra and her stockings. Changbin tried to keep with the rhythm she was fucking herself, stroking his dick faster. "Fuck, you're so good, fuck me," she moaned, closing her eyes. Changbin moaned, loving to see her moaning for him like that. He was getting close but he didn't want to cum before her, so he slowed down. She touched her tits, pushing her bra down so she could expose them to him. "Are you going to cum for me? If you were here, I would love to see you cum on my tits." "F-fuck," Changbin moaned. "I'm close." "Can you take your shirt off?" she asked. He felt unsure for a moment, but he wanted to please her, so he took it off. He saw her looking at his defined chest and big arms, desiring him. "I'm gonna cum!" she exclaimed while she started to touch her clit, without stoping her dildo from going inside of her. "Cum for me, baby girl." She came all over her dildo, moaning loud. It didn't take long for him to cum, dripping cum on his hands, chanting her name. "Fuck, that was so good," she said. She adjusted her bra and put her panties back on. "I really loved our date, SpearB." Changbin cleaned his hands with the tissues next to his notebook. "Me too." He was looking at her, feeling sad that it was getting to an end. "Can we do it again, sometime?" "Sure, I think you deserve it, after making me have such a good time... and making me cum so hard," she laughed. "You are amazing, I hope you know that." "Stop," she hid her face in her hands, feeling shy with his words. "You are such a philanderer." "I'm just being honest," he said before putting his shirt back on. "So, when is the next time you are going to be free for our next date?" she asked him. Changbin smiled at her, happy to know that he was bonding with his favorite cam girl.

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Hi Merry!! I love following you and reading all your stories! Today’s my birthday and semi final 2 for Eurovision. Could you write a small Drabble of Jaskier and Geralt watching Eurovision?

Hi! HAPPY BIRTHDAY (for a few days ago)

I give you: The Continent Song Contest. (1.2k, Rated T, v. mild spice towards the end, includes drinking)

~

“What,” said Geralt, holding the luridly coloured pack of gel pens in one hand and the notebook in the other, “is all this?”

Jaskier paused in the doorway, a beer in one hand, a fizzing vodka lemonade in the other, and an enormous bag of Tesco's own Doritos wedged under his arm. He looked down at Geralt, sprawled across the sofa.

“For notes,” he said, passing across the beer. “Obviously.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows as he took the beer - one of the nice ones that Jaskier had picked up for him from their local microbrew. “Notes?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, shoved Geralt’s feet aside, chucked the bag of cut-price chips at him and slumped onto the sofa with a sigh.

“So I don’t forget my favourites. Give them here.”

He extended his hand, and Geralt passed the pens and notebook across.

“I hadn’t realised that the Continent Song Contest was so much work,” he said.

Jaskier smirked. “Only for those enlightened enough to take it seriously, Geralt.” He flipped open the notebook to an empty page. “Don’t come crying to me at the end of the night when it’s time to vote and you can’t remember if it was Ebbing or Zerrikania who had the vampire grandmas.”

Geralt hesitated, the beer halfway to his lips. “...Vampire grandmas?”

“Or something along those lines.”

Jaskier shuffled on the sofa, tucking a threadbare pillow beneath his arse and balancing the notebook on the tatty arm before placing his drink on the floor beside him. Geralt winced as he did, fearing yet another stain on their already ruined carpet. Once he was settled, he reached across and grabbed the remote from Geralt’s lap, switching the TV over just in time to catch the presenter announcing the start of the show.

Apparently ready, Jaskier popped open the first pen - a bright pink colour - placing the lid between his lips. Geralt couldn’t help but stare at the way his mouth pursed around the little bit of plastic, altogether too tempting. He quickly shoved the cold beer between his legs and reached for the chips, ripping open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending bits of not-quite-dorito scattering across the sofa and floor.

Jaskier, caught utterly by surprise, gave a little laughing snort - shooting the lid across the floor - before grabbing the chip closest to him and shoving it in his mouth.

“Honestly,” he said, giving his fingers a quick lick, “You’ll love it, I swear.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked away, grabbing his beer and taking a swig - more to keep himself busy than anything else. “If you say so.”

Jaskier scribbled down something on his notepad - the name of the first kingdom performing, Geralt presumed - and shot him a quick, cheeky grin.

“I do say so.”

~

“What do you mean you think Lyria was best—”

“Geralt, did you not see their costumes? And their dancing?!”

“That guy had a glittery ukulele, Jaskier! Glittery!”

“Exactly!”

Jaskier stared at Geralt across the suddenly expansive space of their sofa. Just moments before, his head had been rather nicely nestled against Geralt’s chest - and he’d been trying not to think too hard about how he’d come to rest in such a precarious position - but then the voting numbers for the competition had flashed upon the screen of the TV, and all hell had broken loose.

The issue, largely, was that Geralt was certain that the Kovir entry had been best - all leather and guitars and screaming rock - while Jaskier was enamoured with the brightly coloured pop darlings from Lyria.

And Geralt was wrong, of course. Utterly wrong.

“The song was awful,” Geralt said, his voice only a little muddled by the three strong beers he’d seen back over the evening.

Jaskier gaped at him. “And?”

“Is it not supposed to be good?”

“Of course not! It’s supposed to be…” he fluttered his hands in the air, trying to find the right words, “It’s supposed to be Continent Song Contest-y! Which means drama and silly dances and funny outfits!”

Geralt stared at him, for just a second. And then he reached for his phone.

“Well I’m voting for Kovir.”

“Like hell you are!”

Jaskier wasn’t sure what caused him to throw himself across the sofa - if it was the excitement, or the alcohol, or the adrenaline still coursing through him after spending most of the night pressed to Geralt’s side - but suddenly he was on him, hand grabbing for Geralt’s phone, virtually straddling him.

Geralt held him back easily, grabbing his wrists and supporting his weight like it was nothing at all. With a little twist - a move that Geralt had taught him himself - Jaskier managed to slide a knee beneath Geralt’s thigh and then, suddenly, they were both tumbling from the sofa and onto the stained carpet, Jaskier pinned down beneath Geralt.

Jaskier froze. Geralt was - fuck - so close. He had Jaskier’s wrists above his head, holding them down, his knees pressed to either side of Jaskier’s hips. The phone, which Geralt had dropped as Jaskier had pushed them both from the sofa, was a few feet away, totally forgotten.

He smelt of beer, and sweat, and that cheap yet strong deodorant he favoured. His hair had fallen from the bun he usually kept it in, framing his face, tickling Jaskier’s cheeks. Jaskier could only stare up at him, heart pounding, chest tight, his breathing suddenly laboured.

And then Geralt grinned. It was that smug, oh-so-sure, cocky smile that he only ever treated Jaskier to when he knew he’d won - especially when he knew he’d won yet another of their foolish, petty arguments. Usually, it would be easy to pretend it didn’t send hot little shudders of desire fluttering down Jaskier’s spine, but trapped beneath him, pressed against him, Jaskier couldn’t pretend any more. He couldn’t ignore it. Geralt’s hands were wrapped around his wrists and his thighs were squeezing around his middle and - gods - Jaskier felt like his skin was on fire, like if he opened his mouth the only thing he’d be able to do was whimper.

“You were saying?” Said Geralt, peering down at him.

Jaskier couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

Geralt shifted, getting a better grip around Jaskier’s wrists, shuffling his arse over his lap, and then - gods - Jaskier realised with horror that there was one part of him left that was fully and enthusiastically capable of moving. He bit back a swear, feeling his face flush, and Geralt suddenly froze above him.

He looked down. And then, dragging his eyes slowly and confidently up Jaskier’s body, he caught his gaze. Jaskier’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips almost unconsciously, hyper-aware of the way Geralt followed the tiny movement. There was a blush growing on Geralt’s face, too, mottling his cheekbones, his chest. Jaskier swallowed, a hot little ache in his core.

“So…” he said, his tongue unwieldy, trying to sound confident. “Did you love it?”

Geralt finally released Jaskier’s wrists, placing his hands flat on the carpet beside them, and lowered himself down until their faces were just a scant inch apart. Jaskier could feel his breath hot and enticing on his lips.

“I could see myself becoming a fan,” he murmured.

“Fuck, Geralt—”

And then his words were smothered beneath Geralt’s lips.

[tedesquire]

Hi! Could I please add another request to my list? :D it's based off a Hey Arnold episode in which Bill and the reader are on a week long school vacation and they run into each other at the beach and Bill develops a crush on a pretty girl who befriends him but the reader finds out the girl's only using Bill to win a sandcastle contest in order to be on the show Baywatch. The reader tries to tell Bill but he won't listen and he eventually overhears the girl talking with her boyfriend and tells her off only to win the contest with the reader and they confess their feelings? 💕💕

Summer Lovin’ 

Words: 2554

Warnings: cursing, female pronouns (but no genitalia mentioned and no skin color specified) a bit of angst (fluffy ending though)

Author’s Note: first of all, I fucking love Hey, Arnold! and definitely love Helga G. Pataki with all my heart. She’s a weirdo and I love it. I knew exactly what episode you were talking about. I can't believe you got me to write 13 pages of fanfic for such a specific and niche fandom, but hey, I don’t do this for the fame. I do this for the little bit of serotonin my brain gets when I imagine myself in scenarios with fictional characters because real men are disappointing. (Mod Olivia)

-

You hated Bill. You hated the stupid way his stupid blonde ringlets caught the California sun, the stupid vacant look in his stupid sapphire eyes at almost all times, the stupid fucking sliver of tan skin he exposed with his crop tops that he somehow got away with at school. Not to mention you loathed the stupid fucking grin that he gave to his best friend Ted, the one that proceeded the ridiculous laugh the stupid boy had.

All these things you despised, detested, and loathed with every fiber of your being. Simple annoyances beginning since kindergarten snowballed into a big, white burning ball of hatred for the boy. Hatred that made your cheeks heat up and stomach churn, just as it was doing now.

You had been so excited for Spring Break, your family deciding to travel 5 and a half hours to a beach house in Half Moon Bay. A week of the sun, sea, shopping, seashells, boardwalks, and salt-water taffy, with no Bill to bother you.

 So, naturally, when you had reached the beach after a long day of travel, the sight of Bill sitting on the sand in nothing but a swimsuit, skin glowing with tanning oil, made your heart stutter. Okay, perhaps you didn’t hate him… despise him, detest him, or loathe him entirely. From an outside perspective… some might even say that you were… in love with him. 

Oh God, it was true. You couldn't stop thinking about Bill. He looked like he was sculpted after an angel. A prince charming on a white horse. And what he lacked in academic intelligence he more than made up for with kindness. He always treated you with the utmost respect, while you paid him back in nothing but sarcasm and insults. 

You didn’t know exactly why you were so mean to him. Perhaps it was your nerves trying to stop you from getting overeager and admitting your crush. One day you were going to have to either man up and confess your feelings or get over him but that day didn’t seem to be approaching anytime soon. 

You were intent on pretending he wasn’t here, setting up your own place to sunbathe until you heard your name fall from his lips.

“Y/n!?” Bill walked up behind you, prompting you to turn around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“Bill.” You stated dryly, “My family and I are staying nearby.”

“No way! My family’s right over there!” He pointed at a nearby beach house, a young woman who you recognized as recently-graduated and newfound wife, Missy Preston making out with Bill’s father on the porch. Ugh.

“Yes way.” You responded dryly. “We’re over there.” You pointed over your shoulder. “Isn’t this a coincidence, my ideal vacation ruined by the one person I didn’t want to see.” You noticed a flicker of disappointment flash in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself even if you tried. “Don’t get any weird ideas about getting all chummy with me, trying to hang out or anything. Just because we’re staying at the same beach and all.” You scoffed, causing him to flinch.

“Uh, yeah. Fine with me, y/n.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before walking off. You eyed him, sighing softly. 

“What is the matter with me?” You mumble, setting yourself down on the sand. This would have been the perfect moment to get closer to him if only you didn’t have to open your stupid mouth.

[Bill’s POV]

As Bill walked off, he felt most confused. He could never remember what he did to make you dislike him so much, but tried to get back on your good side. Thankfully, with the sun, sand, and waves surrounding him, Bill couldn’t stay too upset for too long. 

He had decided to finally get in the water, heading towards the crashing shore when he had stepped on something.

Huh. Bill was met with the sight of a brightly colored bucket and shovel. Excellent! There was nothing more resplendent than a nice sand castle. Ted was going to be so jealous when he heard. All he was doing for the week was staying at home watching Deacon. 

Too caught up in his new activity, Bill barely noticed someone approaching him.

“That’s a stellar sandcastle you have there.” Bill’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. Growing up in California he had seen his fair share of tan beach babes, but this one took the cake. A total babe. Talking to me.... Say something, dude!

“Thanks.” Bogus. Thank God Ted wasn’t here to see him blow his shot so odiously.

She pushed her sunglasses down her nose to look over the lenses, her bright eyes meeting his. “My name’s Summer.”

“Bill S. Preston, Esquire.” He puffed up his chest, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Well, Bill S. Preston, Esquire, you seem to be a pretty great artist. That’s the best sandcastle I’ve ever seen.” His dark brows knitted in confusion, looking over her to see if she was teasing him. “I bet you’ll walk away with first prize from the sandcastle competition at the festival thing later this week.”

“Sandcastle competition?”

“Yeah! Whoever wins first place will get a guest appearance on Baywatch! But that’s not until the end of the week. How about, in the meantime, you can show me around the beach? It’s my first time visiting the bay.” Baywatch? That’s only the most triumphant show on television! Ted was going to be so jealous. 

“Sounds most excellent! However, It is also my first time visiting the bay. Perhaps… we could explore the area together?”

“I like the way you think, Bill.” She winked, sitting on the sand next to him, the pair getting comfortable.

“What the hell?” You mumbled, looking over your book to watch Bill cozying up with a stranger. Your heart twisted painfully, swallowing thickly, You had no right to be jealous, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not to mention you were cruel to him in every interaction, but that didn’t stop a bitter taste from forming on your tongue. 

You stood, collecting your things and trekking back to your beach house, the beach having lost its luster.

-

You were so over this vacation. You would have given anything to stay at home. It seemed everywhere you went, Bill and that girl seemed to be infecting the air with their infatuation. 

For the past two days you’ve had to suffer watching the pair on the beach splash each other with sea water, build sand castles, and sunbathe with each other; However, that was nothing compared to today.

You and your family had decided to spend the afternoon on the boardwalk. There you had to endure the couple on the carousel holding hands, feeding each other saltwater taffy, and watching the sunset by the wharf. Most fucking heinous. 

It was early evening, and thankfully, Bill and whatever her name was were nowhere to be seen. You didn’t know if you would vomit or cry every time Bill had given her that award-winning smile, the one you so badly wanted to be the recipient of. 

You didn’t think it could get any worse, until you had leaned against the pier, ears picking up a familiar voice, Bill’s. Your heart fluttered, only to sink back down when you realized he was still with her under the boardwalk, back on the beach. 

“Isn’t this amazing?”

“You are.” You scoffed at Bill’s attempt at flirting, ignoring the tightening of your throat.

“I’m so glad I met you.” She giggled. “I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone.” 

If it had been any other couple, you might have enjoyed such a romantic conversation. This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been such a bitch to Bill on the first day, perhaps it would have been you and him hanging out at the boardwalk. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here!” 

“Excellent!” You heard him scat in that ridiculous, high-pitched way he did with Ted when they mimicked a guitar. As he walked off, you smiled, not noticing you were crying until a tear slid down your cheek.

You were such an idiot. If only you were able to act normal for a fucking minute and effectively communicate with Bill about your feelings. You had fucked up, it was too late. 

“Hey!” You had heard her speak again, wondering if Bill had returned.

“Hey, babe.” That was definitely not Bill.

“It’s all going according to plan. I do believe Bill is falling head over heels for me.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” You rolled your eyes, angrily wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“He thinks I really like him. What a moron.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was she talking about?

“If he’s as good as you think he is, we’ll for sure win the contest and end up on Baywatch.” It only took you a second to connect all the dots. This jabroni was clearly her boyfriend, and she was only flirting with Bill to win the stupid castle contest.

You had heard enough, running back to the beach in hopes of finding Bill. 

-

Fuck, all these beach houses looked the same. If Bill hadn’t pointed out which house he was staying at you would have no idea how you would find him.

You knocked on the door, praying you remembered the right house, and that Bill would answer instead of his hormonal parents. 

“Y/n?” Thankfully Bill did answer the door, hair wet from what you assumed to be a recent shower. “How’s it...hanging?” He stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey. I’m sorry about being a dickweed earlier.” He seemed as equally surprised as you were by your apology. “Um, I guess I was just thrown off at your presence… that’s not really an excuse… anyways, the whole reason I’m here is about that girl you were with earlier.”

“Summer? What about her, dude?” Oh my gosh, of course her name was something as pretentious as Summer. 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this, but… She’s using you. I was on the boardwalk, and I had overheard you leaving, and I guess her boyfriend came up to her.. Long story short, she’s going to try and get you to build her a sandcastle to win that festival thing at the end of the week and take the credit so they can win the roles on Baywatch.” You met his eyes, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.” 

He stayed quiet, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“That’s heavy. I mean, I’m not stupid. You’re usually most cruel around me, and now you’re acting all...nice? I do not think I’m falling for this one.”

“You don’t believe me?” You couldn’t believe it. “I know I could be less of a bitch to you, but I’ve never lied to you in all the years I’ve known you. You just met her three days ago!”

“Y/n…” He spoke carefully. “I think you were correct when you said we shouldn’t try to hang out just because we’re staying at the same beach.” Your throat tightened, that sour taste returning to your tongue.

“Fine!” You hissed. “I don’t even know why I wasted my breath and time trying to warn you. God, I wish we had never come to this stupid fucking beach!” You ran off his porch into the sand, face burning with shame.

-

Bill couldn’t stop thinking about your interaction yesterday. He was barely paying attention to anything Summer was saying to him. He wished Ted was here. He always knew what to say.

He walked beside her on the boardwalk, eyes glued to the crashing waves, mind replaying the scene over and over again.

“Bill, are you listening?” Bill blinked, turning to face her, cheeks flushing.

“Sorry.”

“I said I’m going to get more sunblock, you’re looking a little pink.”

“Oh, thanks, babe.” He heard her walk off, zoning out again. You had looked so betrayed when he didn’t believe you, but, it couldn't be you were telling the truth. Why would you do something like that? All you seemed to do was glare at him, brush him off, and scoff at his jokes. It was clear he wasn’t your favorite person.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts once more, looking around to see if Summer had come back yet. His eyes caught her figure walking up the beach and he raised his hand to wave, stopping when he saw her wrap her arms around some unknown guy. He was too far away to hear what they were saying but knew what it meant when she had kissed him. Y/n was right. And I was so non-non-non excellent to her.

-

Sweat was dripping from Bill’s brow, his chest heaving as he panted. He could not remember where your house was, even if it was supposedly close to his own. It was the third time he had run up and down the coastline, trying to remember where you had pointed four days ago.

This was ridiculous, he was never going to find you… until Monday, when you both would be at school. But that was days from now!

“Y/n!” He fell to his knees in the sand, trying to catch his breath. 

“Bill?” 

“Y/n!” It was a miracle. He noticed the basket in your hands, having collected odd rocks, seashells and glass while walking along the shore. You had been trying to explore away from your house, hoping not to run into the very man who was looking for you.

“How’s it… hanging?” You asked awkwardly, scanning the area for the female that was usually seen by his side. “Where’s Summer?” He scrambled to stand in front of you.

“Y/n, you were most veracious last evening. Summer had been pursuing me with malicious intent. I caught sight of her embracing her boyfriend and I knew you were speaking the truth. I regret the way I treated you. I should have trusted you.”

“I mean… You had reason to doubt me. It’s not all your fault. Besides, it seemed as if she really liked you. I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.” You coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your head sheepishly. “Um, to be honest, I really only acted so bogus because I… like you.”

“No way…” He breathed, trying to recall any instance where it seemed you had a crush on him.

“Uh.. yeah. Yes way.” Your cheeks pinked. “But I obviously don’t expect you to return the feeling. I just get really nervous around you so I guess I figured I should treat you like dirt instead of trying to talk to you like a normal person. But I was worried you would think I was too weird, or that I talk too much, or-” You were cut off by a pair of lips. It was so foolish… and so Bill. 

“What about Summer?” You asked once he had pulled away.

“What about her?” It was just like Bill to not stay too upset for too long. 

His gaze was burning, his lips curling into that perfect, knee-melting, pearly smile. That smile you couldn’t stand. That smile that you couldn’t believe was finally directed at you.

[burnedbyshoto]

Winner Takes it All

pairing: todoroki shouto x cam girl fem!reader

warning: smut, face sitting, 18+

word count: 3,032

a/n: this is my part of the collab for the server, its hella late because idk what being on time means!!! thank you to @secondhand-trash for putting it together, and make sure you read this before going on, or not, it’s all good!!! just know shouto won a contest where the prize is getting to have you sit on his face

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Your eyes focused on the flashing green light of the camera on the monitor that sat on the dresser by the T.V.. It held the perfect view of the bed, for sure they were going to get a show today. You had never, ever, done a cam session with another person before -- no matter the number of enticing offers you had.

As soon as you had received the text, you had begun your Livestream. Many of your loyal viewers had joined immediately! Some already donating and commenting about how they had lost today’s tournament but had rented a room nonetheless to watch what was happening. Something about being in the same building as you was enough to stir them on, and so as you waited in your terrified excitement, you flirted with your viewers.

Your hands threaded through your hair as you gave a few different poses for those watching. It was a trademark yet straightforward look of yours. A large white sweatshirt that covered up until your ass, the sultry curves of your supple cheeks peeking out from the bottom, teasing those with what could be a sight. The white shone against your skin, and it contrasted deliciously against the dark red lingerie you wore.

It was a simple lace set with an accompanied garter belt and stockings. But of course, the viewers did not know that.

“I don’t know where they are,” you sigh as you tilt your head as you read the comments about how you should just start the session without him. “Wow, m.m. you’re quite bold today, aren’t ya?”

The door then unlocked, and you had to will everything within you, not to shriek and snap up. Calming down as much as you could, your eyes focused as a man walked through the door, his eyebrows scrunched as the door closed behind him.

“Hi,” you smile as you turn towards him, and in the corner of your eye, you can see the chat exploding.

“Um, hi?” He spoke, his voice low and deep. The timber was enough to cause a delicious shiver to go down your spine as your eyes swept across his body. You were examining the very, very attractive stranger in front of him.

Red and white hair, heterochromia eyes, a scar on his left eye, and a body most definitely sculpted by the gods. Turtle necks indeed left nothing to imagine sometimes.

“I won something? Am I in the wrong room?”

Seeing that he was not moving towards the bed, you felt confused as you walked over towards him slowly. His eyes seemed solidly neutral, nothing was slipping from him, but you could see him tensing and how he wanted to step back with your sultry strides.

“No, I don’t think so,” you whisper as you step in front of him. Fuck was he tall, and your sweater covered palms pressed onto his chest as you smiled softly. “You won the tournament, right?”

“Y-Yeah…” You held onto his hands as you lead him to the bed backward, but his steps were slow, unconfident, and almost resistant. “W-What exactly did I win?”

Your eyes blinked rapidly as you paused, your hands dropping as you felt the bed hit the back of your legs.

“You don’t know what you won?”

“I… um, well, I was dared by my friends to join, we were just in the area, and there was that tournament, and well. They’re -- we’re -- competitive, to say the least. Everyone kept saying that the champion prize was to die for, so… here I am?”

His eyes were truthful, jarringly open as you studied him with pursed lips as you folded your arms. You were unsure whether to drop the provocative facade you wore with this character you played as you wanted to make sure this was something he actually consented for. Or else you’d finish off the Livestream alone.

Your attention drifted to the chatroom that was exploding on why the candy cane looking idiot was just standing there like some idiot and not letting you sit on him already. But it seemed it had also caught his attention.

“You’re going to sit on me?” He asked, scaring you slightly at the confusion and pure innocence dripping from his tongue as your face exploded in heat, was he for real? “I mean, I think it’s a weird prize, but I guess you’re some professional cuddler or something? My friends have told me I have a pretty comfortable lap, but they could be lying…”

There was no way he was serious as your eyes snapped back to the chatroom that was exploding in humiliation for the poor man in front of you.

“It’s kind of weird that there’s a live stream of you sitting on me,” he continued as he ran a hand through his short locks. “My name is Todo--”

“SHHH!” You cry slamming your hands over his mouth as your eyes widen as you shake your head, this was so embarrassing! Standing onto your tiptoes, you brought him so that his ear was to your lips. “Do not use your name when the camera is on.”

“Why?” He asks back, his face shifting to the camera as you shove him off-screen then.

With enough distance to speak at a low voice without the need to be whispering, and with the ability to relax from your persona, your arms crossed across your chest.

“It’s not lap sitting, or cuddling,” you explain immediately as his eyebrows scrunch in confusion as you rub your throbbing temples. It seems that management really fucked up in explaining the grand prize. “The winner of the competition gets to make me sit on their face.”

That changed everything.

His face turned just about as red as his hair and the scar on his face as his eyes seemed to bug out from his skull. “I won… I won that?!”

Nodding your head, you sigh before giggling softly as he looks everywhere in the room, but you and the set up as everything are finally clicking in his head.

“That would explain the pure rage from some of those people… and the wolf whistles…”

“Well, if you weren’t informed, and if you don’t wish to do it, I guess I can let you leave,” you tease as you step back, allowing him to escape if he needs to.

“You won’t get in trouble?” He asks tentatively as he moves towards the door, his hand resting on the handle.

“Nah,” you promise with a kind smile as you feel the slightest bit upset that you wouldn’t be able to be face fucked. “The viewers will be happier to know that it’s a one-man show again.”

He nods his head as the door opens, and it takes everything in you to not wilt at the notion that he was leaving.

“Um, I’m Todoroki Shouto,” he offered a bow as you returned it, your cheeks pinching into a smile as you return his introduction with your own. “I’ll… see you around?”

Agreeing with him, you seriously doubted ever seeing him again as he slipped through the door. Sighing, you returned to the camera, where the viewership had only increased in the time that you had left.

“Hi lovelies,” you greet them again as you climb onto the bed. Your smile broadening in its facade as viewers both rejoiced and rejected the fact that Shouto had left.

You flirted back with your viewers for a bit, teasing, bantering, and taunting them as you refused to take off the sweater just yet. But as you lifted the white sweater over your head, the door opened and shut quickly, and you panicked as you ripped the sweater over your head.

Blue and grey eyes meet yours as the sweater dropped to the bed, “What are you--?!”

His lips attached to yours in this nervous, passionate affair, and you gasped as you stiffened as his lips pressed against yours. It took no time for you to melt in his hold, your arms stretching out to grab onto his toned shoulders as his fingers played with the red lingerie you wore.

Shouto groaned against your tight hold, his lips moving to keep up with yours. His fingers digging into your hips as the two of you rose up to your knees, your lips continued this passion-filled engagement.

His lips are fervent against yours, and your mind spins from having his mouth against yours. Shouto’s hands move from your hips to cupping your ass, your eyes barely manage to open. They’re heavy with lust, laced with growing desire as your lips part. Shouto’s hands feel like fire against your growing heated skin; you let him massage your ass as he starts another impassioned kiss.

Shouto was absolutely gravitating, somehow he managed to keep pushing and pulling you in with every movement of his lips. He draws you closer, and soon enough, you’re climbing on top of his lap. Pants expel from your mouth from the higher position of being on the lap of a boy who was making your heart beat faster than any strenuous activity. How you were so flustered when you were so used to doing this alone was beyond you. As you settled down, his hands are strong against your ass, and he pulls you against his hard cock, and you shudder.

You’re gasping now, sharp breathing as you try to calm your nerves. This man set your body on fire despite not knowing him, and you were now drowning in his lips. His mouth dissipating all the worry and disappointment you once held in mere seconds. Your mouth opens, and your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, pleading for entry, and his mouth opens, granting you entry.

Tongues crash together in the middle. Dominance riding high on both of your parts, neither one of you wants to let the other into each other’s mouth. But lord, is his tongue working magic against yours. Your body shuddering as your hips roll languidly, your crotch pushing forward to grind into his pelvis. His budge is prominent against your barely covered core, and both of your moans tumble into your mouths.

“You get really fucking wet,” he chuckles as his fingers slip under the fabric and trace your slit soaked with your essence. You moan softly as you buck into his fingers, but Shouto doesn’t press further into you, choosing to instead trace the dripping slit between your legs. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

A pool of heat began to sit heavy in your panties as he shifted so that he was on his back, and you sat straddling his waist.

“I believe I won something,” he murmurs as his hands grip the curve of your ass and you audibly whimper at the sudden strike of pleasure that shoots through you because of the small movement,

Shouto chuckles as you sit up, moving your hair out of your face as you feel the bright red blush on your face. This was so easy in private, but having someone beneath you with viewers none the less was getting to you. With shaky fingers, you removed the thin strip of fabric that you called your panties and threw them onto the floor. You couldn’t help but look back over at the chat that was now begging for more, asking the two of you to do more than just kiss and face sit.

Inhaling, you regained your center as you looked down at Shouto, who was trying to guide you onto his face.

“I hope you fuck as good as you look,” you wink as you sink onto his face before he can interrupt you.

His bruised lips part as you tremble slightly above him, and then you felt his tongue tease the center of your lips. You moan under your breath as you hold onto his hair as you slowly shift your hips, wanting to let him adjust to this new position. Then Shouto’s tongue pushed against your slit, not pushing through, but just enough to lap at the essence that had already gathered. And then a soft groan escaped him as the tip of his tongue pushed against your cavern, and you whined at the way it vibrated through your core.

Your head tilted back as you ground your hips, weak bucks shifting through your body as to not overwhelm him as he got situated. His left hand gripped your soft thighs, trying to hold your moving body in place as his right hand curled towards your desperate sex, and he chuckled at the way your body moved to press his fingers into you.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan loud enough to be heard as the tip of his nose brushes against your clit, his teeth nipping at the skin of you fold as you grind downwards. But the slow and almost hesitant pace does not last long as Shouto moves quickly.

His tongue suddenly pushes through your softly throbbing core and twirls against your spasming walls. Then you’re also met with his fingers that run against the opposite wall of his tongue. Your cry of pleasure was loud as you yanked at his hair, your hand landing hard on the mattress as your hips slam against his face. But it doesn’t deter him, nor does it slow him down.

You struggle to keep your eyes wide open as the pleasurable sensations continue to crash into you as he continues this assault on you. And as you try to reign in your mind, so that you could take control, he enters another finger into you.

Guawfing loudly, you nearly scream at the way his fingers scissor within you, or how his tongue laps at your secreting juices as if he was a starving man.

“You taste so good,” he moans against your dripping sex, and you almost scream his name at the way his words cement within your center. “Does this feel good, sweetheart?”

The pet name is basic, nothing special to it, but the way he uttered it was almost threatening, dark, sinister, and you only panted in response.

The hand holding your right thigh moves to pinch and twist your clit, and you shriek as your hips buck wildly as sharp pleasure rips through you. Despite your lack of response, your action was enough to make Shouto pleased as he continues to whisper in tongues to you.

Your eyes lulling to the back of your head as the tightened pressure and blazing heat within you only grows with every push and flick of his tongue and fingers. But its the chuckle that reaches you truly as you will yourself to take back control.

Gasping, you grab a handful of hair and yank his head backward, his tongue now reaching you at a new angle. Your eyes come down to meet his, and the lust and excitement in his eyes affect you as you bite down harshly onto your bruised pink lips. You then begin to bounce against his face in short yet hard jumps, your pussy grinding against him as his eyebrow arches.

“W-Who said you were in charge?” You gasp as you swivel your hips, and you can feel his lips smirk as his tongue twirls in rejection.

Rolling your eyes, you wipe the sweat off your forehead as you focus onto the monitor and see the massive amounts of tips you had pulled in just from this.

Take off your bra was the repeated comment, and so, with a smirk of your own, you released the red bra and pressed the cups over his face, prohibiting him from seeing. “Let’s see how you keep up, pretty boy.”

Your hips were relentless as you rode his mouth, his tongue slurping and lapping into your moving cunt as your fingers remained firm in his hair, and the free one now playing with your nipples. You twisted and tugged on the sensitive nubs as you rocked forward and backward. Your panting was growing with the increased pleasure in your body became electrifying, and Shouto wasn’t just taking this new domination.

His fingers remained within your cunt, firing in and out of your spasming walls until he curled them the right way and hit your g-spot. Shouto could not doubt what he hit as your reaction was evident as you not only shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, but your thighs came slamming against his head. But Shouto carried on his he pushed a third finger into you, stretching out your dripping cunt as you mercilessly rode him out.

He hit your g-spot again and again, the accuracy mindblowing as the slurping of your cunt hit your ears in the most ludicrous of ways. Your fingers dug into his skin as you drowned him between your thighs, and then it hit you.

Your release ripped through you the second he hit your g-spot again. The pleasure in your belly too overwhelming, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure as you sob into your hand. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much, and your vision turns white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent.

It feels like an eternity before you fall off Shouto, your nearly naked body falling onto the bed as breathless pants are shared between the two of you. Your eyes look over at Shouto, whose face is painted in your cum. You giggle loudly as your eyes eventually train onto the painful-looking boner in his pants. You sit up and look at the green flashing camera with a devilish grin as you look back down at Shouto.

“I think that’s it for tonight,” you tell the camera as you give a pointed ‘i’m not talking to you’ look at Shouto. “I hope you enjoyed the show ‘till next time!”

The last thing the viewers saw was the slight sheen of sweat on your breasts as you turned off the Livestream, but it was not the last bit of action that you and one Todoroki Shouto had that night.

Nor was it the last bit of action that the two of you would have with each other.

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

A Worst Cooks in America O’Knutzy AU

The Sweater Weather Discord group helped me come up with this idea like two months ago, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. All credit goes to @lumosinlove for her amazing characters!

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

Chapter 1: Don’t Go Bacon My Heart

The Day Before the Competition

Interviewer (off camera): Finn O’Hara and Logan Tremblay for their introductions.

Logan: * taps on microphone* Is this mic working?

Finn: How do you still not know how to work a mic? You deal with them all time.

Logan: I signed up to compete in a cooking show, not to deal with your chirps.

Finn: You love ‘em. *winks*

Interviewer: So basically all we want from you guys is a brief introduction for the viewers. I’ll ask some questions, but most of this should be you guys just talking. We can edit things out later, so don’t worry about anything like that. Why don’t you guys start with your names and careers and we’ll go from there.

Finn: Yo, I’m Finn O’Hara, and I’m a terrible cook. *finger guns* Although I guess that’s a given, seeing that I’m on this show.

Logan: *mumbles in French, head in hands*

Finn: This asshole – shit, no – fuck! Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be cussing. This is a family-friendly show.

Logan: Dear God, please stop talking. I’m Logan Tremblay, the unfortunate boyfriend.

*Finn pouts*

Interviewer: And you guys play hockey?

Logan: Yeah, we play in the NHL. Gryffindor Lions.

Finn: That’s how we met, actually. Through hockey. We played together at Harvard, then got drafted to the Lions about a year apart. We’ve known each other for eight years and have been together for three of them. Can’t seem to get rid of this one.

Interviewer: And you’re not worried about being rivals on this show?

Finn: Rivals is a strong word… I mean yes we’ll be competing against each other instead of being teammates, but we know going in that it’s not personal. Just a little healthy competition.

Interviewer: So what made the two of you sign up for this show?

Logan: We didn’t. Our teammate Dumo and his wife Celeste did. They thought it would be funny. *pause* They’re probably right.

Interviewer: Out of the two of you, who is the worst cook?

*Finn and Logan point to each other*

Logan: You can’t be serious.

Finn: You once cooked pasta so much that it turned into literal paste!

Logan: You tried to cook pizza rolls in a toaster.

Finn: That’s what it said in the instructions!

Logan: It said toaster oven, you - *more French*

Finn: English, Tremz. How many times do I have to tell you that? I guess we’ll find out once and for all who the better cook is by the end of the next eight weeks, right? *mouths “it’s me” to the camera*

Logan: Whatever, Fish.

Interviewer: I think we’ve got all we need guys, thanks. Start time for tomorrow is 10:00 am, but plan on being here forty-five minutes to an hour early to get ready. We’ll see you then.

Competition Day

“Are you nervous? I’m nervous.” Finn stated, running a hand through his hair and looking around at the studio they’d be in and out of for the foreseeable future. There were cooking stations everywhere and he could already see tools and machines that he had no clue how to use. There were twelve other contestants that he didn’t know and the crew scattered everywhere, running back and forth trying to get everything ready. “God, how am I sweaty already? Is this normal?”

Logan rolled his eyes but still reached over to grab Finn’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “Relax. It’s not so bad.” Finn smiled down at him, glad that they were at least here together. How in the hell did he get so lucky?

“Besides, you’ll be sent home soon enough. So don’t stress too much.”

Finn laughed. “Wow, I hate you so much right now.” He betrayed his words with a quick kiss. “You’re going down.”

Those green eyes flashed at the challenge, but right as he opened his mouth to respond-

“Good morning, recruits!”

All heads turned towards the voice. Three figures stood towards the front of the room: one they both recognized as the producer, who was flanked by who Finn assumed to be the chefs, seeing that they were wearing chef’s outfits. Chef’s uniforms? Did their uniforms have a technical name? Finn made a mental note to google that later.

Anyways, one was a short woman with dark ringlets tied back in a ponytail and an undiscernible expression on her face. The other was tall, blond, and had legs for days Jesus Christ-

“Welcome to your first day of boot camp! This is chef Dorcas Meadowes and chef Leo Knut; they’ll be your team leaders. We’re going to start with some footage of you all walking into the kitchen, so if you all would wait out there until you’re allowed to come back in. Cameras will be rolling, so be ready! After that, our chefs will explain the first challenge and then you’ll start cooking.” He clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s get this show started!”

“Why did they make us come in here just to send us back out?” Logan grumbled, following the other shuffling contestants out into the hall.

“Probably easier to give directions to the main studio instead of saying ‘hey, just wait out in the hall.’”

Logan hummed noncommittally. “I guess.” He wasn’t overly excited to be here; most of this (besides the initial push by Dumo and Celeste) was Finn’s idea. And god knows he could never say no to Finn. One look at that pout and brown puppy-dog eyes and he was done for. Logan didn’t like cooking, but he did like Finn. And they’d probably remember this for years to come. It didn’t matter what he was doing, as long as he was with Finn and making memories with him he’d do just about anything.

“Wonder what the first challenge is.” Finn mused, his eyes locked on the doors.

Logan laughed. “Always so impatient.”

“I’m a New Yorker,” Finn grinned, leaning into his accent. “It’s in my blood.”

The doors opened and contestants began filing back into the kitchen. Finn made sure to wave enthusiastically at the chefs with a wide smile. Logan noticed the tall one (god, he’d already forgotten the guy’s name) give a little wave in return as the other chef commanded the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Good morning, recruits, and welcome to boot camp! I’m chef Dorcas Meadowes, and this is chef Leo Knut. He’s the rookie of our crew, but don’t worry – he’s still qualified to teach all of you. Even though that’s not saying much.”

There was a smattering of laughter and chef Leo smiled, revealing dimples Logan could see from where he stood. “Hey, y’all. I’m very excited to see what makes all of you qualified to be put on this show. Who knows? Maybe you’ll give me more gray hair.” Dorcas laughed and ran her fingers through the tuft of gray hair at his temple.

“When did you get this? I don’t remember seeing it when we were in culinary school. Is it from Iron Chef?”

“Nah, this is from having Gordon Ramsay come to my restaurant.”

“Truly a terrifying man.” She shuddered. “Anyways, you guys be nice to this giant ball of sunshine. Even if he’s new, he’s still able to eliminate you from this competition.”

“In order to pick our teams, we need to see what kind of skills you have.” Leo winced. “Or don’t have. So today, we want you to make your favorite dish. Easy enough, right?”

“Oh god,” Finn murmured into Logan’s ear. “What’s my favorite dish? Do I even have one?”

“Finn.”

“You all have an hour to complete this task.” Dorcas said, glancing down at her watch. “And your time starts… now!”

“Fuck.” Finn stated emphatically, dashing off to the pantry.

Fuck was right. God, what was Logan going to make? He was wracking his brain for something while he grabbed two aprons from the back. He tossed one to Finn and took the station beside him before hurrying to the pantry. Chicken was always a safe bet, right? Celeste made a barbeque chicken recipe that was to die for. That couldn’t be too hard. It was just chicken and barbeque sauce. And maybe green beans on the side? He could get those canned ones and they’d taste fine if he rinsed them. This was fine.

He guessed on the temperature for the oven. 350 seemed good. Then he dumped two chicken breasts into a pan, poured the barbeque sauce over them, and put them into the oven.

“What are you making?” Logan startled at the soft voice, turning to see chef Leo at his station.

Blue eyes.

Logan blinked, Leo’s question forgotten. “Quoi?”

“You speak French?”

Why was his brain refusing to work all of a sudden? Get it together, Tremblay. “Uh, yeah.”

“What are you making?” Leo asked for the second time, but now it was in French. Weirdly worded French.

“Barbeque chicken.” Logan responded in French, then switched back to English. “What in the world was that?”

Leo flashed him a grin. “New Orleans, born and raised. We speak French there, too. Now tell me how you’re making that chicken.”

“Uh.” He had never said the word ‘uh’ so much in one sitting. Merde. “I put it in a pan, spread barbeque sauce over it, and I’m cooking it at 350.”

“How do you know when it’s done?”

Was this a trick question? It felt like a trick question. “Uh.” Fuck. “It has to get to a specific internal temperature, right?”

The chef nodded. “And what’s that?”

“145?"

Something in Leo’s expression flickered, but Logan couldn’t figure out what it meant. “Well, good luck. Logan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“See you at the judging table.” He said with a dimpled smile before moving to Finn’s station, which was already a mess. “Oh my. How are you doing over here?”

Finn laughed a bit hysterically. “Not good. Not good at all.”

“Ok. What’s going on?”

“Well I’m trying to make carbo’hara, and –“

“Really, Fish?” Logan called from his station. “That’s what you’re making?”

“What’s carbo’hara?” Leo asked as he watched Finn put bacon in a pan.

“Oh,” Finn waved a hand carelessly. “It’s just carbonara, but a pun on my name, O’Hara. Get it?”

Leo laughed, crossing long arms over his chest. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, but it makes me happy. My parents used to make it every night before my brother or I had hockey games.”

“Oh, that’s right. You guys are hockey players.”

“Go Lions!” Finn cheered, taking a spoonful of butter and throwing it into the pan with the bacon.

“Are you putting butter on bacon?” Leo asked with a raised eyebrow.

Finn responded with full confidence, “I didn’t want it to stick to the pan.”

“Ok. Got it. I… I look forward to seeing what you make.” Finn watched as Leo bit his lip and tried his hardest not to laugh.

Cute.

Finn felt his cheeks flush and blamed it on the steam from the pasta.

The last thirty minutes of the task were absolute chaos, but both boys got it done. Finn’s looked messy, which accurately summed up his cooking style. Logan was pretty proud of how his looked; he just hoped it tasted good. He gave Finn a smile and a fist bump. “Ready to be judged?”

Finn laughed, looking down at his plate. He grimaced. “Not really.”

“We’re all bad cooks. Chances are someone else’s dish is worse than yours.”

“That… actually helped. Thanks.”

***

 Finn was chosen to be judged before Logan. He brought up his plate with a sheepish smile and placed it on the table in front of the chefs. Dorcas raised an eyebrow while Leo prodded the pasta with his fork.

“It’s carbo’hara.” Finn stated with pride.

“Well, Finn…” Dorcas met his eyes. “This looks like a mess, but let’s see how it tastes.”

Finn cringed as they both took a bite of his food. Dorcas frowned as she chewed and Leo tilted his head, a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t know how you did it, but this solidifies in my mouth like glue.”

“Oh god, please don’t eat any more.”

“You definitely put a lot of effort in and you have a lot of potential,” Leo said with a small smile. “I think you were just a little too ambitious for this first round and it got away from you.”

“That’s fair. Thanks for the input.” Finn grabbed his plate and made his way back to his station. He wasn’t too upset by those reviews – he already knew he was a bad cook. But he had potential, so at least he had that going for him.

Logan grinned at him back at his station. “I can’t believe you served the judges glue pasta.”

“At least I’m not serving them canned green beans.”

“They taste just fine, thank you very much.”

“Lo, they’re professionals. You’re not getting away with something lazy like that.”

He definitely got in trouble for using the canned green beans. Dorcas looked down at them like they were worms. Leo gave him the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ look, which was even worse, please don’t look at me like that.

“Canned food is a no-go, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“And this chicken isn’t cooked all the way.” Leo said, showing him the pink meat. “You said earlier that you’d cook it until it reached 145 degrees, but chicken needs to reach 165 at a minimum.”

“I’m sure it tasted fine, though.” Dorcas added. “You can’t really go wrong with pre-made barbeque sauce and chicken.”

Ouch. Logan grabbed his plate. “Right. Thanks.”

Finn was predictably cackling at his station. “Tremz, they couldn’t even eat yours. Celeste is going to be so disappointed in you.”

“Shut up.”

 ***

As soon as they were back into their hotel room, Finn kicked his shoes off and faceplanted into the couch. “I can’t believe that took so long.”

“Yeah,” Logan sat down and grabbed his take-out. “Who knew cooking all day would make us so hungry?”

Finn made grabby hands at the other food container. Logan laughed and handed it to him. “I haven’t been this hungry since playoffs, fuck.”

They ate in silence and were finished in record-setting time. Finn collected their trash and stood up to throw it away. “So blue team, huh? I’m kind of surprised they put us on the same team.”

“Me too. But Leo seems like a good teacher, so I’m glad we’re on his team.”

“Yeah, he seems so young, too.” Which sounded ridiculous to say; Leo couldn’t be that much younger than them. “If he’s already winning competitions and starring in cooking shows at that age, he must be pretty good.”

“Winner of Iron Chef America, Chopped, Guy’s Grocery Games…” Logan read off his phone with a low whistle. “He graduated culinary school early and opened his own restaurant a year later.”

“Damn.”

“There’s a video of one of his competitions on here.”

“Play it!” Finn said excitedly, flopping back down on the couch and peering over his boyfriend’s shoulder. Logan gave him a strange look. “What? Maybe we’ll learn something useful.”

“I think this is going to be way too complicated for us, but ok.”

So they sat on the couch watching cooking competitions for hours, learning skills and techniques that went way over their heads. Logan wordlessly switched to Leo’s cooking show Cajun Cooking, watching episode after episode of the blue-eyed chef teaching traditional New Orleans recipes.

Little did they know that halfway across the city in his own apartment, Leo Knut was watching Youtube highlights of the Gryffindor Lions, keeping a sharp eye out for number seventeen and number ten.

[musette22]

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet

You Make My Heart Skip a Beet

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky)

Word count: 3.8k

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: Based on this lovely prompt by @greyhoundsgirl​. I have to be honest here, I’ve never actually seen Top Chef though so I thought it would be safer to make up a new fictional amateur cooking competition which I’ve titled Chef Wars :p 

No warnings to speak of, apart from maybe for awful food puns, but it is a bit of a cracky piece, and it’s in Sam POV (poor guy). Hope you enjoy!! 💗 Huge thanks to the amazing @rainbowsandcoconut​ for brainstorming, food puns and awesome beta’ing, as usual 😘

Read on AO3

Summary:

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

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

When Sam and Steve had first been approached about being guest judges on an Avengers-themed special of Chef Wars, they’d spent a full fifteen minutes jumping around the common room in the Tower like a pair of overgrown kids on a sugar high.

Guest judges. On Chef Wars.

It so happens that Sam and Steve watch Chef Wars religiously. In fact, Steve even mentioned this in passing in one or two of his more recent interviews when asked how Captain America likes to spend his downtime, which is probably how the show’s executives had thought to invite them in the first place.

Sam’s love for cooking and cooking shows was passed down to him by his mother Darlene, and he, in turn, passed it on to Captain America – though if you’d told ten-year-old Sam that, he would’ve thought you were nuts. Poor Steve isn’t exactly the culinary sort of guy himself, but once Sam started turning up on his doorstep three nights a week to keep him company and make sure he didn’t sink further into depression, he’d slowly started to enjoy the shows Sam insisted on watching with him. Sam figured the familiarity of the actions and the low stakes of an amateur cooking competition would be perfectly suited to someone trying to integrate into a new century, while still being just exciting enough to hold the attention of an adrenaline junkie like Steve.

And he was right. So now, every Thursday night, the two of them chill on Steve’s couch, yelling at the TV and pretending they‘d do a better job of it than the contestants. Which, to be fair, Sam probably would, but Steve decidedly would not. What Steve lacks in culinary skills, though, he more than makes up for with his crazy supersoldier metabolism, rivaled only by the Other Guy and sometimes Thor, once he’s cracked open the mead. Steve can eat, and he does so with relish.

So needless to say, when they got the invite, they’d both jumped at the chance. Who wouldn’t, when presented with the opportunity to do the thing they did every Thursday night for funsies, but this time for realsies? And after weeks of giddy anticipation, today is finally the day.

Filming day.

The whole thing had gotten off to an excellent start. The sun was shining, Steve had actually been whistling on their way to the studio instead of nervously drumming his fingers on the dashboard (something which got on Sam’s nerves like nothing else), and they’d been offered some quality Italian espresso when they arrived. The show got on the road as soon as they’d gotten a quick tour of the studio, and after lights, camera, action, the contestants were introduced one by one.

There is Bernadette, a Missouri housewife who turned out to be somewhat of a BBQ expert and who reminds Sam of his Aunt Jenna; there’s Bob, a big, burly dude from Kentucky who wouldn’t look amiss on a Pro Wrestling show but who ends up surprising them all with a surprisingly delicate edible flower-dish dedicated to his lovely wife; and Yulia, a tiny, fierce girl from Bulgaria with some mean knife skills who Sam suspects could very well be a distant relative of Natasha’s.

And then there’s Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes is a thirty-one-year-old physical therapist from Brooklyn who’s looking to change careers and get into the restaurant business full time. He has that whole hipster vibe going on: long, meticulously conditioned chestnut hair in a messy top knot, designer stubble, sleeve of – admittedly awesome – tattoos on his left arm. His cool, blue eyes and sharp cheekbones give him a model-like appearance, and yet there’s something soft and disarming about him.

Steve certainly seems to think so, at least.

The moment Barnes came walking through those glass doors, Sam heard Steve suck in a sharp breath at his side. A quick glance at Steve’s slack-jawed expression told Sam all he needed to know, since the dude is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. He’d elbowed Steve in the side until he looked over and pretended to wipe some drool from the corner of his mouth. Steve’s eyes went wide as he hastily mirrored the movement, missing the joke by about fifty yards. Oh, boy.

From that moment onward, Steve’s brain seemed to have gone through a blender, turning it into a rainbow smoothie – which was pretty unfortunate, considering they were going to have to interact with the contestants in a way that was suitable for daytime television.

The thing is, Steve is not exactly what you’d call a people person at the best of times. He’s fine with someone he’s known for a while and feels comfortable with, but with strangers he’s just… a little awkward. Credit where credit’s due, Steve is one of the most loyal, sweet, funny and whip-smart guys Sam has ever known – and let’s not forget stubborn as hell – but he’s also very, very bad at social cues. It’s not his fault, of course. Steve had gone from growing up pretty isolated without any real friends to speak of, to suddenly spending years surrounded only by his army buddies, which wasn’t at all representative for how normal people interacted with each other (Sam knows this from experience).

While Steve’s many social faux-pas are an endless source of entertainment for Sam, he’s not a total asshole, and he has tried to help Steve practice his social skills. Unfortunately, giving him well-meaning advice like “just be yourself” seems to be a sure-fire way to ensure Steve will put his foot in his mouth somehow.

That’s why Steve prefers to put on his Cap persona for public interactions. When he’s Captain America instead of Steve Rogers, all he has to do is look commanding and sort of friendly and say bland things like “I’m very happy to be here” and “You did well, son” and no one would be any the wiser that beneath that righteous exterior, Steve was floundering and wondering when he could reasonably leave whatever social engagement Pepper had sweet-talked him into attending, and head home to the comfort of his armchair and his sketchbook.

For today’s engagement, Steve had wisely adopted this approach as well, and the fact that he was genuinely excited to be there helped to loosen him up a little – so really, it should’ve all been fine.

But then Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn walked into the room and turned his big, blue eyes in Steve’s direction, and Steve promptly seemed to forget who or what a Captain America even was.

So far, Steve has already missed his cue twice, and it’s taken Sam stepping on his toes to get him to focus. To be fair, though, Steve puts in a valiant effort to pull himself together, managing to ooh and aah in all the right places when talking to the other candidates – sheer dumb luck, if you ask Sam. But as Steve’s best friend and confidante, Sam sees right through it. He hasn’t missed the way Steve’s gaze keeps drifting in Barnes’ direction, and coupled with the blush creeping up the back of Steve’s neck whenever Barnes’s eyes meet his, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Cap has got himself a Manhattan-sized crush.

Now, most people probably aren’t aware that Captain America is also attracted to men, but Sam has a feeling that by the end of this episode, that cat will be most definitely out of the closet. Steve’s never purposely hid his sexuality; it was more of a question of it never having come up yet. It sure as hell has come up now.

And what makes this even better is that Barnes is just as bad. He stuttered his way through his introduction, very obviously starstruck at meeting Captain America, but also very obviously gay as hell for him, if the way his eyes lingered on Steve’s chest and thighs is any indication. Sam, for his part, is incredibly amused by it all. Not only does he get to be on the set of his favorite cooking show, he also gets to rib Steve, throwing in as many food puns as he possibly can – most of which go over Steve’s head because he’s too busy drooling over Barnes. Sam’s wit is wasted on his friends.

Then, it’s time to judge. In the first round, the contestants are supposed to make something which represents why they got into cooking in the first place.

Sam can feel Steve practically vibrate with nerves at his side as they walk up to Barnes’ station. Feeling magnanimous, Sam decides to have mercy on his muscly pal and take the lead on this one.

“Mr. Barnes,” he says, giving Barnes an encouraging smile. “Tell us about your dish, if you please.”

“Call me Bucky,” Barnes says, returning the gesture with a quick quirk of his lips.

Next to him, Steve repeats the name in a whisper, most likely unaware that he’s even doing it.

Sam has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.

*****

Bucky’s confessional

“I grew up in Brooklyn, as the eldest of five kids. My dad left when I was fifteen, and while I was still in school, my mom had to work three jobs to provide for us all. She wasn’t home much, so it was kind of up to me to make sure dinner was on the table most nights.”

Bucky plucks at the seam of his black skinny jeans, lost in thought. “I think that’s why my specialty is comfort food. Nothing unnecessary, just hearty, nutritious food, y’know?” With a tilt of his head, he adds, “Although since all my siblings moved into their own places I’ve been cooking mostly for myself and my cat, so I’ve been experimenting with adding some twists to my tried and tested recipes.” He laughs, right hand clasping the back of his neck in a bashful gesture. “I’ve had… mixed success. Luckily Alpine has loved all of it. She’s my cat.”

“My first dish today is Irish soda bread with sage butter and Himalayan sea salt,” Bucky continues. “Bread was something we could never have enough of in our household. Five growing kids, y’know? And also, um...” A slight blush creeps its way onto Bucky’s cheeks, his eyes flitting around nervously. “Well, I guess you could say I used to be a bit of a history nerd growing up. I was super interested in World War II, particularly, uh, Captain America.” His blush deepens, spreading upwards from the neckline of his white t-shirt to the tips of his pierced ears.

“I, uh, I basically read every Steve Rogers biography I could get my hands on, which is why I learned to make things like soda bread because, y’know, Steve Rogers was Irish. Is Irish,” he corrects himself. Bucky’s eyes glaze over, taking on a faraway look. “Man, I couldn’t believe it when Cap was found a few years ago,” he marvels, “and alive. I don’t think I slept for a week after I found out.” He stares into space for a moment before shaking himself. He clears his throat, eyes refocusing on the person behind the camera. “Anyway, so when I heard that Chef Wars was doing an Avengers-themed special, I immediately applied because Steve – Cap, I mean- Captain America. Um. Yeah, so Cap mentioned in a few of his interviews that he watches Chef Wars, so I figured there would be a good chance he’d be watching this one too, you know? And then I got the email that I’d been selected and that he was going to be the one judging us, and I just…” Bucky trails off, looking a little faint, the blood draining from his face as quickly as it had risen.

“God, I just can’t believe I’ll finally get to see him in the flesh.” His eyes widen. “In person, I mean," he hastily amends. "And I’m excited about my dishes too, of course. I really hope Cap will like them. And the Falcon. Him, too. Yeah.”

*****

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

When Steve puts a piece of bread into his mouth and chews slowly, he sniffs, eyes turning a little watery. “It tastes exactly like my mom’s,” he says in a hushed voice, sounding like he can’t quite believe his taste buds. Sam pats Steve’s back consolingly, before scooping up some sage butter with his own piece of bread and taking an enthusiastic bite.

“Hmm, nice,” he says, giving Barnes an appreciative nod. “And the butter? You make that yourself, too?”

“You butter believe it,” Barnes replies, then immediately looks horrified, like he can’t believe he made a pun that bad on national television.

Sam cackles, holding out his fist for Barnes to bump. When Barnes has recovered enough to return the gesture with his left hand, Steve stares longingly at their touching hands, before letting his gaze trail over the tattoos on Barnes’ exposed forearm. Since he's not exactly subtle about it, Barnes catches him looking and gives Steve a tentative smile when their eyes meet. Steve chokes on absolutely nothing and launches into an impromptu coughing fit. “Crumbs,” he wheezes, thumping a massive fist on his massive chest, “wrong pipe.”

Sam just smirks at him, before turning back to Barnes. “That was delicious,” he tells him. “Can’t wait for your next dish, man.”

“Really, really, good,” Steve chimes in once he’s caught his breath. “Well done, Bucky.”

Barnes goes as red as a tomato, eyes trained on the floor as he awkwardly shifts from foot to foot. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Steve, please,” Steve implores.

Barnes bites his lip, looking up at Steve through his lashes. “Thanks, Steve.”

Sam's pretty sure Steve stops breathing altogether right then. Christ, it’s like there’s an electrical current running between the two of them, the air crackling with it. Thunderbolts and lighting, very very nauseating.

Sam claps his hands. “Right,” he says loudly, “moving on to the next contestant now… Yulia, what have you prepared for us?”

*****

By the time the second round rolls around, Steve has had a series of meltdowns and Sam has spent precious time he could’ve been exploring the set and taking pics for his mom on talking Steve out of a bathroom stall. Damn, he’s a good friend. It takes all of Sam’s VA-honed therapist skills to convince Steve that he’s doing fine, he’s not embarrassing himself, and no one but Sam has noticed Steve’s massive heart boner for Barnes yet. Sam actually isn’t entirely positive about that last one – or the first two for that matter – but Steve doesn’t need to know that. There are still two rounds to go.

In the second round, contestants are asked to make a dish that represents who they are as a person.

While the contestants are cooking up a metaphorical storm, Sam and Steve walk around their stations to chat with everyone some more, camera crew on their heels. Steve manages to get out at least three complete sentences, and Bernadette and Bob are too in awe of him to notice the few times he says something that doesn’t actually make any sense. Yulia has given no indication that she even knows who either of them are, and Sam can practically feel the relief radiating off of Steve. He guesses that’s part of why he and Natasha get on so well.

When they round on Barnes’ station, Barnes has just started seasoning his dish. There’s a checkered dishcloth slung over his right shoulder and a focused look on his face, which turns into one of low-key stress the moment he spots Steve and Sam coming towards him. Leaning his hip against the counter, Sam settles in to watch Steve make a fool of himself. He's not disappointed.

“Wow,” Steve says inanely, gesturing in the direction of Barnes’ hands. “That’s- you’re- you’re really good at that.”

Barnes pauses his turning of the peppermill to give Steve a slightly panicked look. “At… grinding?”

At Steve’s strangled cough, Barnes seems to realize what he just said, his bewildered expression morphing into one of abject mortification. The poor guy looks like he’d very much like the ground to swallow him whole right about now.

Honestly, these two deserve each other.

When they've finished chatting to everyone and it’s time to taste, Barnes is asked to explain his dish and how it represents him. He seems to have pulled himself together somewhat since their last encounter, his stance a little more confident now and his eyes only drifting to Steve’s pecs every other sentence.

“I’m a simple guy,” he tells them, somehow managing to make it sound genuine instead of cliché. “I enjoy the little things in life. I like taking care of people, making them feel good and comfortable, and I think that’s reflected in my cooking. I enjoy making comfort food, the hale and hearty stuff.” He licks his lips, meaningfully adding, “Although, don’t get me wrong. I do indulge occasionally. I’ve got my guilty pleasures same as everyone else, y'know?” That last part is directed at Steve, who nods dazedly, like he knows exactly what Barnes means. Gross.

“So I guess you could say you’re just… arugula guy?” Sam grins, cheerfully ignoring the growing sexual tension.

Barnes stares at him for a beat, and then snorts. “You know what?” he says, returning Sam's grin, “the s’more I get to know you, the s’more I like you.”

Sam has a very real moment where he thinks he might actually fall in love with this guy himself. It’s only Steve’s doe-eyed look that keeps him from proposing to Barnes there and then. Okay, and maybe the fact that Barnes is clearly smitten with Steve, and also Sam is straight and very happily dating Nat, who would not hesitate to gut him if he decided to elope with some pasty hipster dude.

Barnes’ dish – mac and cheese with black truffle and locally sourced cheeses and fancy cuts of bacon – is mouthwateringly good, and Sam tells him as much. Using appropriate words to do so. You know, like a normal person.

Steve, on the other hand, moans loudly around his bite and then, mouth still full, he blurts, “That’s exactly what I thought you’d taste like.”

In the painfully awkward silence that follows, Steve and Barnes blush so hard the combined heat of their flaming cheeks could probably power most of New York City. This time, Sam can’t contain his laughter. He crows as he gleefully slaps his thighs, and even some of the crew is hiding having a hard time staying professional in the face of such blatant dumbassery.

Shaking his head, Sam grabs Steve by the bicep and herds him towards the backroom. “Come on, Casanova,” he says. “Let’s get you some ice for those burns.”

*****

For dessert, Barnes goes all out.

He actually makes Captain America cake pops, shaped and decorated like Steve’s shield with blue, red and white frosting. Steve’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees them. Barnes explains how they’re “sort of an adult version” of normal cake pops, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. He’s been on the internet. He unfortunately has seen adult versions of all kinds of Captain America paraphernalia. Fortunately, Barnes just means that his cake pops have some sort of liquor in the center, “for a punch, you know?”

The starry-eyed look Steve gives Barnes clearly conveys just how clever he thinks that is, and Sam surreptitiously rolls his eyes. No game whatsoever, either of them.

“I’ve never had a cake pop before,” Steve says, carefully picking up one of the treats and inspecting it curiously.

“Oh,” Barnes says, blinking at him. “Well, normally you’d eat them in one go, but these are a bit bigger than usual because of the shape of the shield, so you probably won’t be able to fit -”

The rest of his sentence sort of peters off into a stunned silence as Steve proceeds to stick a whole-ass giant cake pop in his mouth in one go, letting out an appreciative grunt as he chews and then swallows.

Barnes’s mouth goes slack. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his eyes glazing over, and Sam cracks up. Again.

The cake pops are actually surprisingly good, despite their garish (sorry, Steve) appearance, and then it’s time to retreat and deliberate. As was to be expected, Steve has a crisis of conscience.

“I can’t vote for him just because he made my mom’s soda bread and he practically raised his baby sisters by himself and he cooks for his cat and he has pretty eyes, Sam!” he laments, voice muffled into his massive forearms. Sam makes the filming crew promise not to air this bit. It takes some doing, but finally Sam manages to convince Steve that Barnes’s food was simply the best. Better than all the rest. He even does a little Tina impression to get his point across, and that seems to do it.

When they announce the winner, Barnes smiles so wide it transforms his whole face and makes Steve melt into a puddle of Gü.

Sam has to nudge Steve again to get him to say his line, since he’s too busy mooning over Barnes to notice the autocue changing. “Ah, yes!” Steve says loudly. “First prize is a substantial sum of money, sponsored by Tony Stark, which we hope will go towards opening your own restaurant–"

“… and a weekend stay at Avengers Tower, also sponsored by Tony!”

Steve’s head whips around to him in surprise. Sam winks at him. “Including a private tour of the premises by none other than Captain America himself. Isn’t that right, Steven?”

A beat of silence, and then Steve.exe starts back up. "Right,” he nods, drawing out the word. “Yes. That’s right.” Sam pats his arm. Good man.

Stepping forward, Steve takes Barnes’ hand and shakes it slowly. “Congratulations, Bucky. I look forward to seeing you again soon," he says, adding, after a quick, bracing inhale, “and maybe when you visit, I can make my mom’s stew for you? If- if you like?”

Sam feels a surge of pride. Look at Steve go, being something almost in the vicinity of smooth.

Barnes laps it up, beaming at Steve. “I’d really love that,” he says in a low voice, still holding Steve's hand. “I’m sure you’re delicious.” His eyes widen. “It’s delicious. The stew – not- not-" Abruptly, Barnes stops babbling, then seems to come to a decision. “Oh, fuck it,” he mutters, and pulls Steve towards him, crashing their mouths together in a scorching kiss.

Over the noise of the assembled crowd's whoops and cheers, Sam gleefully calls, “And that, my friends, is a wrap!”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (End) - Dating Game

Woo Doggy! This has been fun to write and I mean FUN. Having no real holds barred and getting really silly was a lot easier than I expected and I had a great time with this arc. 

One of the biggest complaints in the mobile game fandom is the Main Story offers no love interest for the MC and it trails off at this part as the MC is reduced to a go-fer for every NPC’s sidequest. Well I say NO MORE, you will be quite literally the center of everyone’s attention from here on out.

Cars lined up around the entire block of the street and women were lined up along the sidewalk for their tickets. From 8 to 10 p.m., the busiest time of the night was when the stage was filled with shows by the performers, from ancient erotic dramas like Cleopatra and Marc Antony to Chu Zihang's swordplay; off stage, the guests were already drunk. The guests who came late were often groups of girlfriends who had eaten dinner elsewhere and came to join the singing and dancing party in Takamagahara, the performers had to go over and greet them, there was a shortage of manpower everywhere. Both the escorts and waiters were running to work, Whale was roaring outside the dressing room backstage, like the circus troupe master. 

The message of the Romanceable MC Contest had caught fire and boosted to epic proportions. Princess Night was in full swing and featured all the top names in Male Escort business. Even before they got out of the cars, the women were screaming and taking pictures having lined up for hours.

The  white Cadillac Escalade stretch limousine rolled like an anaconda and reflected the millions of electric lights of the Tokyo night. It took up half the block, but there was space left for cars like this, reserved for the VIPs of the Takamagahara elite. No one could park there on pain of towing and a hefty fine.

A man in a hooded cloak pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. His bright green eyes scanned the crowd waiting outside. He crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back. “What percentage of the fans out there are mine?”

“From the ticket sales it seems that you are about 30% of the crowd today, Master Inoue.” The driver, a veteran and son of drivers, had been there for him since he first made it big hosting the Bliss Hall. This driver was so skilled at avoiding paparazzi that he put him under a lifetime contract. Now he was much older, but his driving was still as sharp as ever.

The man in the back seat was barely visible, dressed in all black and keeping the lights down so that it looked just like an empty limo. He huffed with a slight smirk. He crossed his arms and looked down. “Wow. And I’m supposed to have competition?” 

“You are the top male escort in Tokyo, Master Inoue,” rumbled the driver again.

That sharp green eye flicked up to the rear view mirror. “Second… to the top. If you would, sir. But apparently Ruri Kazama isn’t competing.”

Ruri Kazama. The name was so legendary among the escorts of Japan that they scarcely dared to utter it. Although he rarely appeared outside private showings, the man reigned supreme as the king of the male escort business.

“He’s unlikely he would have been able to respond on short notice, Master Inoue…”

“No one skips the Takamagahara…” He looked back outside, pushing back the thick velvet curtain slightly.

“You’ve skipped it by 3 hours sir.”

“I”m only here to see one woman. There’s no need to see any others or stay here too long. I come here, win her little heart, and leave with my prize money.”

“You’re really not going to entertain your fans, sir?”

He grinned, his radiant and white smile shining in the dark of the limo. “There’s value in scarcity. If I popped up in full all the time, there’d be no chase. And as you know very well, my most excellent driver… It's all about the chase! If you would, please?”

The driver put the truck in park and stepped out in his sharp suit and driver’s hat. He pulled the handle on the pearly side door and opened it.

Shining black cowboy boots covered in sparkling rhinestones stepped down from the limo. He moved as smooth and graceful as a dancer in skin tight leather pants. His black leather jacket was open to reveal his bare chest and sculpted abs. His hair, bleached white streamed from a black cowboy hat decorated with shark’s teeth.

His appearance sparked immediate mayhem, screams, and mad panting. Dozens of hands reached out desperately, stretching their fingers towards him as though they were pulled by an extremely powerful magnet. They were all screaming, “Diamond!”

Master Inoue - or to his fans, Diamond - stood still as a statue, hat tipped over his eyes, listening to their desperate pleas with his eyes closed.

It seemed arrogant, but for him, it was always like this. From the time he was a child, people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. When they caught sight of his brilliant green eyes they were drawn to him before he even knew the difference between boys and girls. Sitting in the stroller, all he had to do was smile and the women would come and coo and smile and ask, please, can I hold him. Please!

“Please! Hold me, Diamond! Never let me go!”

Diamond lifted his head toward the voice. It was a woman in her thirties, tears in her eyes, begging with the desperation of a leper before Christ. If he just wanted to, he could heal her broken heart. He walked casually towards her and saw her eyes get bigger and bigger and then he took her delicate hand in his and gently kissed it.

The woman, struck with a Pentacostal frenzy, trembled and fell to her knees sobbing in desperation, clutching her hand and rocking back and forth. She would probably never wash that hand again.

The little favor revved the up crowd even more and the bouncers hurried to line up and make a barrier. That kiss was all he would grant. He turned and walked through the velvet rope staffed with burly workers with black masks over their eyes. They opened the doors to Takamagahara and he stepped inside. Immediately, two more workers turned to lead him to the VIP area.

“So who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Deep down, he was quite excited. His clients were usually 35 and older. For thousands of dollars, he would have dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks in some VIP Lounge. Or he would be asked to clean the house naked. Or pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. There was the common misconception that his clients were old or undateable. But that wasn’t his experience at all.

People who had $5,000 to spend on a naked butler could have anyone they wanted.

And they wanted him.

This challenge was new for him. The club picked his woman and they would be paying his escort fee. 

His only task would be to ‘Love her.’ If she felt that then she would give him tickets. Whoever got the most tickets was the winner. When she picked his ‘route’.

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

It wasn’t that you got a private party, MC. This was a show.  You were on the floor with everyone else. Rather than sticking to the edge of the crowd you got your table in the shape of a figure 8 in the middle of a raised platform filled with fish swimming about and surrounded by plush red couches in the shape of women’s lips. And already, the bottles were open. 

You’re wearing another dress, not a cheongsam this time. It was a light green satin tube dress that hugged your figure and barely covered anything. Your hair was long and down your shoulders and your make up again was light. For such a simple look, you had spent hours in the spa that day while they made sure your hair was softer than it ever had been. You smelled like lilac and roses. 

A man with short blond hair cropped above his ears, blue eyes and a black shirt so tight it conformed to every muscle in his body yelled above the music. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Russia!”

“Russia! Woooow! Are you some sort of Oil Baron?”

“Yeah!” You yell figuring nothing you said mattered. They wouldn't remember anything anyway would they?

He flicks his wrist and produces an unopened rose stem, seemingly from thin air and offers it to you. “To me you’re worth more than all the oil in the world. I hope we get to know each other well, MC.”

Below the shirt, He wore pale form fitting jeans that hugged his considerable muscle just like Caesar’s outfit did. But his shoes were casual sneakers without ornamentation.

You accept the rose he offers you, feeling a bit shy.

Another man in a golden blouse that is made of fabric so sheer you could see the belly button piercing underneath, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He puffs out a perfect ring of smoke between his thin lips. “That would be Oil Baroness, Calypso…” He says. “She must have more pull than just money to bring us all to the same table.” His voice was deep and carried through the noise. He pulled another drag and sipped his liquor. But he was looking at you with calculating dark eyes.

A silver coin goes spinning on the table. A man in fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail, puffy red coat and a long chain over his bare chest lifts his chin at you. His eyes are as silver as that coin. “Heads or Tails, MC?”

“What am I betting on?” You ask.

His smile spreads further. “I just said heads or tails.”

“Hey, go easy, she’s new!” The man in the skintight black shirt returns with a bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass.

The redhead slaps his hand over the coin. It’s painted with an elaborate henna tattoo, elaborate, like stained glass. “You’re not going to win by going easy…”

The smell of the vodka is the mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Light a match and it might produce a plume of flame! You lean away, repulsed, but the man next to you brazenly pours himself a glass and downs it. Sighing roughly like he might breathe fire, he grins. “That’s the good stuff! But you must drink it every day right?”

“Yeah!” You take cautious sips but the burn builds and builds until it overwhelms you and forces you to stop and cough into your arm.

Caesar, Mingfei and Chu Zihang were nowhere to be found. It was clear this club was over occupancy and over staffed so there was no rescuing you. All the waiters were running around. From somewhere in the hall, glass breaks.

A finger taps your shoulder. You’re met by a bright green gaze in a pale face.

You flinch as a crown is laid on your head.

“Your Majesty…” The man bows to you.

“Your Majesty!”  They all echo with bows and kittenish smiles. For years, you’d never considered trying to date anyone. You lived like you were preparing for war. Then the war came and never let up. Now, you’re surrounded by men who could honestly be called the handsomest in Tokyo who were placing their hands on their broad chests and bowing their heads in fealty.

Off stage, the women on the floor whooped with delight.

Cowboy hat tipped over one eye, shirtless in his jacket, with a bare hairless chest, the man who gave you the jeweled tiara leaned over the couch. Every muscle stood out in carefully carved relief and your eyes followed them down to where they disappeared below his waist. The elastic band of his boxers peek up from the pants. You’d seen naked people before. But they were all familiar, people you knew and were fine with. This is the first time encountering the bare chest of a complete stranger and he’s so close you can smell his sweat. “Wow…” He says quietly, in a low purr next to your ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are… beautiful.” His eyes roamed about your body with a lopsided smile, his eyebrows raising. “I have to say I am caught by surprise.”

If your face gets any hotter it might catch fire.

He vaults over the couch, plops next to you and leans in, filling your vision. He gives a quick wink. “I’m yours for the night.”

“Diamond is always this forward but the truth is, he’s the most inexperienced of all of us.”

Diamond shoots the yellow shirt a glare. “I’m experienced in everything she would possibly want, Armani.”

“Yes, but we must go gently, gently…” The black shirt lightly rustles your hair. “We don't want to scare her off.”

“I’m here to do what she wants me to do…” Diamond waves the other men away before addressing you again. “Well, what’s your name?”

You tell him.

“Beautiful… let me guess? Russian?” His hand crept over to envelope yours in a steady grip. His fingers were so much larger than yours and soft like they were bathed in milk every day. There were no calluses. When Mingfei or Caesar touched you, there were roughened, thick patches of skin from hours of practice at the shooting ranges. His nails were even, shining and unbroken.

He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me, Diamond.”

“Okay, Diamond.” You glance up at his eyes. He follows your gaze down when it falls again, trying to hold it as much as possible to the point where he leans over and tilts his head to do so. Every time you look up, those eyes are there, to catch that glance, like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

He holds your drink out to you and you accept it with thanks.

“Are you cold? I noticed you’re keeping your feet tucked under.”

“Yes, it’s… a little cold.”

He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over your shoulders. It was very warm and you realized that the smell of the cologne he was wearing surrounded you like a thick heavy fog.  You could now see his body in all its glory. You belatedly realize that the observation of your being cold was just an excuse for him to remove one of the few pieces of clothing he had!

His shoulders.. The way his neck curved into them and then down to his back. You’d seen shoulders like his before but for some reason, in seeing someone new, made your eye rest on it that much longer, on the way the muscle hugged his bone . The cold in the room made his nipples stand out and...

“Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Your Highness?” He stayed turned to you. The way his abs wrinkled. That little valley on his side that disappeared when it met the leather pants. You were naturally observant. Everything you saw was getting laser etched into your mind. In an effort to stop it, you return to his eyes but even that wasn’t safe. He was so close, you could notice small flecks of blue and gold that enhanced the color. 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” You say this, but it doesn’t sound right even in your own ears. It wasn’t really his eyes you wanted to say something about.

He gives an easy relaxed smile, his eyebrows lift once. “Your eyes are prettier.”

“No they’re not.”

“I think I’m gonna barf. Let a pro show you how it’s done.” The redhead plants one arm between you and Diamond and ignores his furious glare.

His lips were really pink, almost cherry red, but you don’t see any sign of gaudy lipstick that Caesar wore. Everything about this man was gorgeous, even the light smatter of freckles on his nose. And everything about him was natural, save his hair color. The breath from his nose tickles your lips. He’s not backing away, he only tilts his head a bit.

You start to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. He draws a bit closer… closer. You close your eyes and wait. Wait… nothing.

“Can I?” He asks, quietly pleading.

“Uh...huh?” You press the words out from a stomach that was already squeezed tight like a fist.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind for later.” The redhead pulls back and sashays back to this spot on the couch, giving Diamond a sharp snap of his fingers, just inches on his face. “Get on my level.”

“Alright, Alright, point taken.” Diamond pours himself some vodka.

The man in the yellow blouse, Armani, tilts his glass a bit. “Popularity is just a sign of good marketing and ubiquity. None of us can doubt your social media prowess, Diamond, but this is much higher class.”

He’s then staring at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Perhaps the baroness should accustom herself to someone who has dined with high officials. The ones with real power.”

“Okay…” You whisper, you’re completely captivated, unable to move.

“But that’s boring.” The Redhead sighs. “She needs to have more anticipation and suspense!”

“Your name is Chance because whether or not you’re any good is a complete crapshoot.” Armani sips his whiskey.

“But you could hit the jackpot.” He winks at you. “I’m one in a million.”

A loud popping sound  made you suddenly duck but he held you close. Confetti and glitter rained from the ceiling and cascaded over your skin. You look at your arm and watch the play of the disco lights on the sparkle.

“It’s time to give out Star-Heart Tickets! Who is the Ikemen who’s won this round?!” Whale is still emceeing this event and apparently was watching you. A waiter comes by with a basket full of stars with hearts in the middle.

You look at face after glorious handsome face. They were all leaning forward, smiling, waiting. Off stage people were yelling. Bets were being taken. “Diamond! Diamond!”

“PIck Armani he’s the best!”

“You’ll love Calypso!”

“Go with Chance!!”

“I don’t know…” You say, your voice weak. You look at your glass but it seems like the level has hardly moved even though you already feel dizzy.

“No one!” Whale shouts loudly. 

There must be a microphone because you’re not sure how he’s hearing what you’re saying. A gasp ripples through the crowd surrounding you and they fall to a confused silence. All the men sitting around you sit up straight, their faces each registering different levels of surprise and consternation. Save Chance, who whooped loud. “Yeah! Now this is what I’ve been waiting for! Let the games begin!” He pumped his fist.

Chance makes a mighty leap on the table and stands in front of you, all six feet of masculine bravado. “Let me give it to you straight. It’s true, I’m not always everyone’s cup of tea, I go buck wild sometimes.” He sweeps his arms across the table at the other men. “But if girls just fall into your lap at the first sight, how do you know how to compete? Ya don’t!”

Armani stares up at Chance and slowly sets his whiskey down. The others also suddenly changed their demeanor, grave determination and desire in their eyes.

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Let Them Eat Cake Part i  (Wolfstar Bake off AU)

Welcome back to the newest season of The Great British Bake Off.

Remus walked into the iconic tent, holding his breath. He had quite literally grown up watching this show - it was a staple in the Lupin household and now here he was, about to be on it.

He wasn’t even sure if it had properly hit him yet.

He made eye contact with one or two of the other bakers, some of whom he had begun to get a little acquainted with, all of them smiling nervously back at him and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. This was really happening. He wandered over to the bench he had been assigned, running a hand over the wooden worktop reverently. It was pristine now - all the surfaces were, but Remus knew for a fact that the particular sparkle they boasted would be gone quick enough.

“Welcome bakers!”

Remus looked up as the two presenters; Sirius Black and James Potter waltzed into the room, followed closely behind by the two judges; Minerva McGonagall and Dumbledore. Remus’ breath hitched in his chest in a cacophony of feelings and somehow all he could think of was ‘does Dumbledore have a first name?' Remus had certainly never heard of one.

“It’s lovely to have you all here for this season’s Great British Bake Off.” James said, picking up from where Sirius had left off. “I’m sure you all must be very nervous to meet your judges, but let me assure you,” He paused to look around the room seriously. “The only person you need to impress here is me.”

The room let out a nervous laugh - a quick release of tension and James grinned. “In all seriousness, it is great to have you here. Now, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to our judges.”

McGonagall and Dumbledore both stepped forward, smiling slightly. “Welcome, everybody.” Dumbledore said, looking around the room. “It is with pleasure that I announce that this week is our cake week.”

Remus nodded. They, of course, already knew this, having practiced their showstopper challenge about a million times each (or precisely sixteen and a half in Remus’ case) but this was for the benefit of the viewers. He had to admit, it was really strange looking around the tent he had familiarised himself with long ago and seeing a bunch of cameras and microphones. He had expected them to be there of course, but it was still slightly off putting having someone with a big metal stick follow you around.

“For our first challenge, Dumbledore and I want you to bake twelve individual muffins, with six of one flavour and six of another.”

“Each cake must be identical,” Dumbledore continued, “We’re looking for a lovely even bake with a nice firm inside and of course,” He said looking around teasingly, “No soggy bottoms.”

Remus chuckled along with everyone else in the tent and the two presenters stepped forward once more.

“The time has come Jamie, are you ready?”

“I most certainly am Sirius, but the question is… are our bakers ready?”

Sirius looked right at Remus and grinned. “I suppose we’re about to find out.”

“On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“Bake!”

Remus set off, measuring his ingredients and pulling out bowls and whisks as the tent broke out into a flurry of movement. He was careful not to let his nerves get the best of him - he would stay calm and take his time, rushing wouldn't help anything. He was vaguely aware of the camera crew moving around the room but he was in his own little bubble for the moment.

“Hey, Remus yeah?”

Remus looked up at the familiar voice and fuck, Sirius Black was talking to him.

“Um yeah, that’s me.” He laughed, trying to pull himself together because there was a camera trained on them and he would be damned if the entire nation saw him make a fool out of himself.

“So, what’re you making today?” Sirius asked, leaning his hip against Remus’ worktop and essentially looking like one of Remus’ many daydreams about the man in that very same leather jacket.

“Enchiladas.” Remus deadpanned and was delighted when Sirius laughed. “I’m making lemon and blueberry and also bacon and maple syrup muffins.”

“Bacon and maple syrup?”

Remus nodded, his face flushing a little. “Yeah, I've been making these ones for years actually. When I was a kid I used to put maple syrup on literally everything so it’s really not surprising that it made an appearance in my baking.”

Sirius grinned at him and began to move away. “I’m excited to try them so.”

Remus smiled, biting his lip before shaking his head and getting back to work. He wasn’t here to chat to Sirius Black. He was here to bake.

Baking had always been one of Remus’ pastimes. It was like his own little form of therapy. Whenever he was stressed - he would bake. Whenever he was really stressed, he would mix everything by hand. All that beating was really cathartic (Also it gave him really strong arms but that's besides the point). He whipped up the batch of lemon and blueberry first - they were a staple in his house and he could make them with his eyes closed. He used his time chopping walnuts to relieve any remaining nerves that lingered after talking to Sirius Black for a mere minute.

“Hey Re.”

Remus whipped around to face Lily, the contestant right behind him. They had met last night - in the ‘Bake Off Bubble’ after everyone had moved in and Remus had known straight away that they would be friends.

“Hey Lily,” Remus glanced at her counter. Well, what he could see of it, the entire surface was covered in a layer of cinnamon and sugar, left behind after she had dusted one set of cakes. “How’s it going?”

Lily leaned forward a bit giggling. “I’m afraid to say this, because I’ll totally jinx myself, but it’s actually going really well so far.”

Remus grinned. “I’ll say it for you instead.”

Lily nodded solemnly. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She paused, grinning, to stop her mixer, running her spatula along the edges of the bowl a few times in quick, practised movements to ensure all the batter was being thoroughly mixed before turning back to Remus. “Have the judges been over to you yet?”

Remus shook his head. “Not yet, just Sirius.”

Lily wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, having chats with Sirius, are you?”

Remus rolled his eyes. Pre-competition bonding, alcohol and a curious redhead did not go well together. Remus hadn’t even been here a full twenty four hours and he had already exposed the fact that he used to have a bit of a crush on one of their presenters.

“Oh hush you, they’re coming around to all of us.”

“Indeed we are, Mr Lupin.”

Remus whipped around, his face burning to see the two judges standing in front of his bench. “Oh, hello.”

“Good morning.” Dumbledore said, smiling warmly. Remus pretended he couldn’t hear Lily sniggering in the background. “What will you be presenting today?”

The pair listened, nodding along as Remus told them of his plans, only stumbling over his words once and managing to restrain from toying with the cuffs of his sleeves. He knew the cameras were on him.

“I must say, I’m surprised at the lemon and blueberry choice, some people would say that it’s a little predictable.” McGonagall said, peering at him over the rim of her glasses.

Remus didn’t blush, he had known this comment would come. “That’s true I suppose, but they’re my favourite. I’m a coeliac and this was the very first recipe I got right with gluten free flour so they’ve always had a special place in my heart.”

Dumbledore smiled, meeting his gaze and Remus was startled at how incredibly blue his eyes were. “I look forward to trying them.”

Remus glanced back at Lily once, as they left in a ‘please tell me they didn’t overhear our conversation’ but Lily was no help, she just laughed at his pain. Remus just sighed and set back to work. He lined his muffin trays with strips of bacon, making sure they were all nicely covered before pouring in the batter. He popped the trays in the oven, taking a moment to appreciate how well everything here worked - all the doors slid seamlessly, every knife was deathly sharp and every tool was gleaming. Back at home, there was nearly always something broken or in a state of disrepair that would make Remus have to improvise a little bit. He put the lemon and blueberry muffins on a cooling rack and having already made the maple filling he set about making a cup of tea.

“Oh can we have a cup too?”

Remus looked up to see both James and Sirius at his bench, grinning wickedly at him.

“Yeah, of course.” Remus pulled out two more mugs and dropped a tea bag into each. Strong or weak? He asked as he left his to brew.

“Weak please.” James said while Sirius went for strong. Remus slid James’ mug and milk across the counter while he removed the tea bags from the other two mugs before adding a fair amount of sugar to his own, causing Sirius to raise an eyebrow.

“What?” He defended himself. “I’m on Bake Off, it can’t be a surprise that I like sweet things.”

Sirius’ laugh was like a lovely little reward for saying something even remotely funny and the little fanboy inside Remus perked up at the sound. “Besides, who drinks black tea these days? I thought only dramatic movie characters did that.”

James nodded along as he swung himself up to sit on the bench. Remus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “That’s what I say! I think he’s too pretentious for his own good really. It’s the same with his coffee - ‘Black for Black’.”

“Wow.” Remus said, smiling into his cup even as Sirius hot James’ shoulder playfully. “That’s dedication if nothing else.” Before Sirius could reply, Remus’ timer went off.

“Ooh muffin time!” James sang, hopping down from the counter and out of the way as Remus opened the oven and pulled out the muffins. Not to brag or anything, but he thought they were perfect.

“We’ll leave you to it.” They said, taking their mugs with them and moving out of the way. Remus was a little disappointed, but also glad because he needed to focus and he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do that if Sirius Black had stayed to watch.

He placed the hot muffins on their own cooling rack and filled a syringe with the maple syrup concoction before injecting a fair amount into each one. It was ridiculously satisfying to watch them swell a little as he filled them, but he had to remember to pull back lest he add too much and throw off the delicate balance.

“Bakers, you have two minutes left.” James called and despite being nearly finished, Remus felt that little spike of panic flow through him. Where had the time gone?

He quickly transferred both sets of muffins onto his plate for presenting them, lining them up in four rows of three, quickly dusting just a faint hint of icing sugar over the top and moving away.

“Bakers, your time is up, please place your cakes at the end of your bench and step away.”

Remus sat down on the stool he pulled out from under the bench and took a deep breath. He made it in time. His cakes looked okay. He could totally do this.

The judges entered the room and started making their way around the tent. Remus smiled at Lily nervously before tucking his hands under his thighs to hide the fact that they were trembling softly. He tried to pay attention to what the judges were saying to the others but really he could only hear his heart pounding in his ears. They moved away from the first contestant and then a few minutes later, from the second and then they were standing right in front of him. This was it - his first chance to prove himself.

“Hello again Mr Lupin.” McGonagall smiled as James and Sirius flanked the judges. There was a tense silence for a few minutes as each judge picked up a cake.

“They’re all identical, which is really nice to see.” Dumbledore said, right before halving a muffin. “Lovely even bake through this.”

McGonagall cut open a bacon and maple syrup and the sweet filling oozing out of the cake. “Look at this,” She said, “Really lovely work there. And I really like how the cake is wrapped in the rasher.”

Remus held a breath as they each took a bite, barely able to breathe.

Dumbledore smiled and relief flooded through Remus’ system. “Some excellent work here today Mr Lupin, well done.”

“Thank you,” Remus stammered, hardly able to talk though the beaming smile that had taken over his face. The judges moved away but James and Sirius lingered a moment longer.

“Can we try?” Sirius asked, pointing to the cakes. Remus nodded and while James went straight for the bacon and maple, Sirius paused.

“You said the lemon ones were your favourite, right?”

How did Sirius even know that? He wasn’t even there when Remus had mentioned it to the judges… he must have overheard. Nevertheless, Remus nodded and tried to hide a confused little smile as Sirius plucked a lemon and blueberry.

“Oh my god this is unreal.” James moaned as he started to walk away, clapping Remus’ shoulder. “Well done mate.”

Sirius closed his eyes, smiling as he chewed his. “They’re my favourite too.”

Remus was glad he was sitting down. Having anything in common with his celebrity crush was in itself nearly too much for him to handle, but said celebrity crush liking his baking? Well, not to be repetitive but; Remus was glad he was sitting down.

“That was crazy.”

“I know.”

“Like… So crazy.”

“I know.”

Remus and Lily were sitting outside on the lawn, eating their lunch before they had to take on their next challenge and they had both been saying the same thing for a solid two minutes.

“It’s just so crazy!” Lily exclaimed. “We just did our first challenge! And it went well!”

“I know!” Remus was still in shock himself. He had given all his cakes to the crew - all the bakers did, bar one for themselves. Remus had eaten his gluten free lemon and blueberry muffin, savouring the fact that the judges liked it and certainly not thinking about how Sirius Black had liked it too.

Nope, definitely not.

“The whole thing has made me a bit calmer about the next challenge, how about you?”

Remus nodded along in agreement as he stabbed another bunch of lettuce with his fork. “Yeah, I mean I’m still a bit nervous, but less so having actually done one.”

“And let’s not forget the fact that you had a bit of face time with Mr Black himself.”

Remus refused to let himself blush. “Oh shove off, I never should have told you that.” He said laughing a little defeatedly, wiping at his flushed face with his hand.

“No, you were definitely right to have told me. Now I can say that he looks at you way more than the others.” She teased, drawing out the ‘way’.

Remus rolled his eyes. “He’s Sirius Black. I’m just a book-loving, cardigan wearing, baking nerd from Wales. Until today, he never even knew I existed and whenever this show is over, he’ll soon forget about me.”

“Okay.” Lily said, her tone indicating she in no way believed him but she would let it slide for now. Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He could totally do this.

Remus Lupin could not do this.

His cakes weren’t rising, his cream was melting in the heat and those fucking instructions were useless.

“Ah I recognise the face of someone dealing with their first technical challenge.” Sirius said, appearing at his side.

Remus scrubbed his face tiredly. “Make a Victoria sponge.” He said lifelessly. “Those were their instructions. Nothing more. Like, what?”

Sirius bit his lip. Remus had to avert his eyes, he already had one crisis to deal with right now. “Yeah those two apparently aren’t very big on words.”

Remus just groaned at the attempt at humour. “This isn’t going to work.”

“And you called me dramatic?” Remus peeked out between his fingers to see Sirius leaning on his worktop grinning up at him. “You’ve got this Lupin.”

Remus began to nod slowly. “You think so?”

Sirius scoffed. “Of course!” He stood up straight and began to walk away. “Besides, if everything goes to shit, the worst thing that could happen is you embarrass yourself on national television and get sent home.”

At that, Remus burst out laughing. “That’s certainly an… interesting pep talk.”

Sirius grinned. “That’s me.”

Remus was still smiling a little while later as he assembled his cakes. Yes, the sponges didn’t rise as much as he would have like, but otherwise they were fine. He had managed to salvage the cream by putting it in the fridge for a while and the jam that he made had turned out really nicely. If nothing else, he had that going for him. The two presenters called time and the contestants all placed their cakes on the table at the front of the tent, behind the pictures of their faces. This challenge was a blind judge - McGonagall and Dumbledore didn’t know who had made what until after they released the results.

Remus sat down on a stool, with Lily on one side of him and a bloke named Peter on the other.

“Good luck.” Peter whispered to him and with that, the judges re-entered the tent.

“Good afternoon bakers!”

“Afternoon!” Everyone chorused back and Remus had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at the sudden sensation that he was back in school and the teacher had just come into class.

“Okay, let’s just dive right in shall we?”

They all waited with baited breath as the judges tried each and every one of their cakes.

“Now this one is excellent.” Dumbledore said, taking a bite of the cake behind the picture of the pretty girl with bubble-gum pink hair. Remus glanced down the line and saw she was trying to hide a relieved grin. Lily was bouncing her leg incessantly and Remus had to cover her knee with his hand to get her to stop. He knew the cameras had caught the movement and to top it all off, Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. Remus bit his lip but didn’t move his hand - Lily had smiled at him gratefully and they both needed a little human contact right now.

“Now this one is a bit flat - the sponges didn’t rise enough in the oven it would seem.”

Remus flinched and looked up. Yep, they had reached his. The seconds seemed to crawl by as they cut themselves a slice and finally they tried it.

“However it tastes very good, I particularly like the jam - blueberry, that's quite unusual.”

Remus finally let out the breath he was holding. He was going to be just fine.

“Okay Mr Lupin, stand right there, if you would.”

Remus adjusted himself to stand where the camera woman had pointed to and looked at her. “This okay?”

“That’s perfect Mr Lupin-”

“Just Remus, please.”

“Alright then Remus, I’m Marlene.” She reached over and shook his hand, her green eyes kind and an array of wild blonde curls piled on top of her head.

“So Remus, how are you feeling after today?”

“Um, I feel pretty good?” Remus said, laughing a little at himself when he phrased it like a question. “It’s really hard to tell - especially since this was the first time I’ve done this. It was good though, no matter what it was a great experience and meeting so many like minded people is pretty cool.”

“And what about your placement in the technical challenge? Third place? Not too shabby.”

Remus laughed properly at that. “Yeah, that was really great.”

“And how are you feeling overall?”

Remus tilted his head side to side in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Alright. I’m excited but also nervous. I think today was the most exhilarating yet stress inducing day of my life.”

Marlene giggled. “Yeah I’m getting that impression. That was great Remus, you’re free to go.”

Remus’ shoulders slumped and he was surprised at himself, he hadn’t realised he had been that tense.

“Please tell me that I didn’t look like a deer in headlights.” He groaned, making Marlene laugh. “Nah, you’re good I promise, no deer here,” She paused, leaning in conspiratorially, “Except the deer that’s James’ screensaver, but shh, you didn’t hear that from me.”

Remus chuckled to himself all the way back to the hotel.

“Round two, here we go.” Lily said, rubbing her hands together eagerly as she and Remus walked into the tent together.

“Okay but, how weird is it that we have to wear the exact same outfit again today?” Remus asked.

“So weird.” Tonks replied, magically appearing at their side. “Usually at home I take off my clothes and fling them somewhere in my room but last night I had to consciously put them away together so I wouldn’t lose anything.”

Lily giggled and Tonks grinned at her. Remus was settling nicely into the sense of camaraderie that was forming in the tent. Being in a ‘Bake Off Bubble’ changed the dynamic to other years (not that Remus really knew what other years were like) but essentially living with the others was allowing for a nice bond to form between them all.

They chatted a little as everyone filed in and James and Sirius wandered over to them.

“Hey guys!” Tonks chirped and the two lads grinned.

“Ready for another day?” James asked, the question posed to the group, but his eyes were on Lily. Her cheeks flushed a little and Remus made a mental note to tease her about that later.

“As ready as we can be I suppose.” She said, fiddling with equipment that did not need organising. Remus met Sirius’ eyes and they both grinned and for a moment, just for a split second it felt like they knew each other, like they were friends and had jokes and shared secret knowing looks.

“Okay guys, let’s get going.” A producer called and it snapped Remus out of his thoughts. He and Tonks went to their own benches and Sirius and James walked to the front of the tent to stand next to the judges.

“Today, my lovely little bakers,” Sirius began dramatically, “We want you to bake a cake.”

“I think that’s a given, considering it’s cake week.” James chimed in and Sirius shushed him.

“Hush, let me finish. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” He said, glancing pointedly at James to the amusement of the rest of the tent, “Today we want you to bake a cake. But not just any cake,” He said grandly. “We want a cake with several tiers and three different flavours. Your cake can be decorated any way you like, however it has to represent something important to you.”

Remus wasn’t surprised. None of the bakers were - they were told about this challenge in advance so that they had time to prepare and practise. The challenge was being announced simply for the benefit of the audience.

“Ready?”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus cracked his knuckles and set to work.

“Does three different types of chocolate count as three separate flavours?” Sirius asked him, standing on his tip-toes to peer over Remus’ shoulders.

“I sure as fucking well hope so, cause it’s too bloody late for me otherwise.” Remus mumbled, concentrating too hard to even register what Sirius was saying properly.

“Language Re, now we can’t use this footage.” He laughed, scuffing Remus’ shoe with his foot.

“Oh no, the nation won’t get to see a few more seconds of me stressed off my head, what a fucking pity.”

Remus didn't look up but he could practically hear Sirius’ eyebrows raising.

“Mr Lupin, what would the queen think of such appalling language?” He asked, pressing a hand over his heart. Remus did glance up this time, to shoot the presenter a dry smile.

“I’ll be sure to ask her, if I ever meet her.”

Sirius’s eyes lit up at the banter, and one part of Remus wanted to say ‘fuck this competition, just spend all your time here chatting to Sirius bloody Black’, but that part of him was very small and the urge to win was very very large, so instead, he let Sirius wander along to the other contestants and he set back to work.

His white chocolate and milk chocolate sponges were still in the oven, but Remus had taken out his dark chocolate layer. He set to work, cooling it and carefully cutting it in half, repeating the process with his other two cakes. Next, he carefully stacked all of the pieces on top of one another, spreading a thin layer of salted caramel icing in between each layer, leaving him with six tiers total. He took a moment to step back and roll out his shoulders quickly before continuing to give his muscles a quick break.

“All good Remus?” James asked and Remus smiled weakly. “Yeah, all good.”

He had his cakes stacked on the stand he would be presenting them on, and set to work carefully cutting off sections of the cake until he was left with a lovely sphere shape. Satisfied, he grabbed the bowl of icing he hand made, the salted caramel a pale yellow and Remus added just the tiniest hint of food dye so it had the faintest grey tint before spreading it liberally all over the cake.

“So Remus, might I ask what you’re making today?” Marlene asked, appearing by his side, camera braced on his shoulder.

“Um it’s supposed to be the moon actually.”

“Oh hey, I can kind of see that.”

“What? Only kind of? I’ve completely finished!”

A panicked look overtook Marlene’s features and Remus burst out laughing. “I’m only messing with you. I’m not done yet. I’m going to get to work doing all the craters and stuff now.”

Marlene looked at him, her face completely blank. “I feel like I should inform you that if it wouldn’t get me fired I’d totally kill you for giving me that heart attack.”

Remus stuck out his tongue playfully. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now leave me alone, I need to get back to work.”

“Yeah, you tell her Re!” Sirius enthused as he walked past, not even pausing in his path over to James and only having heard the tail end of the conversation. Marlene just rolled her eyes and followed him.

For the first challenge, the judges had come around to their benches. All of the cakes had been presented at once during the second. The third, Remus decided, was most certainly the worst, because you had to carry your cake all the way up to the judges and present it to them.

Remus really fucking hoped he didn’t trip.

“I must say, the detailing on this is quite nice.” McGonagall said, picking up a rather large knife and Remus smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

She cut right down the centre and Remus almost winced because he had worked so hard on that but these are the troubles when your artwork is edible.

Dumbledore looked at him curiously. “Are these just different flavours of chocolate.”

Remus pursed his lips. He had no idea if they hated it or not. “Yeah it is… I really like chocolate.” He added lamely and flushed a little at the chuckles that elicited from around the tent.

“Well Mr Lupin, I must say I’m rather impressed.” McGonagall said after trying it and Remus honestly thought he was going to cry with relief. One thing was for sure - the endorphin levels that being on this show elicited were on a whole other level.

He walked back to his bench, half in a daze, smiling at Lily who passed him on his way, her arms full with a cake decorated with the most realistic iced lilies he had ever seen.

“Remus? Are you ready for your interview?”

Remus looked up from the cup of tea he was nursing. “Yeah. Outside again?”

Marlene nodded and he followed her out, taking a deep breath of the clean country air.

Marlene signalled to indicate the camera was rolling. “So, you survived?” She said, her tone teasing.

Remus smiled. “I survived.” He confirmed. “I’m so, so delighted for Lily, she really deserved to get star baker.”

“So you weren’t disappointed?”

Remus laughed at the almost ludicrous question. “I’m still surprised that I made it here in the first place! I wasn't expecting star baker, I wasn't even aiming for it today, I just wanted to make it through the week.”

“And you did.”

“That I did.” Remus repeated, smiling warmly. Some guy, Caradoc, was going home. Remus had only spoken to him once so he couldn’t say he was all that torn up about it.

“This question is for a bit of voice over for the episode, alright?”

Remus nodded.

“Your cake was a moon, can you explain the significance of that?”

Remus sheepishly rubbed his hand over his face. “It seems kind of dumb now that I say it but, I used to be obsessed with the moon. Still am really, if I’m being perfectly honest. It got to the point where I now have the nickname of ‘Moony’.” He paused smiling as Marlene laughed. “But it just always made me calm. My mom and I used to drive to the beach in the evening just to watch the sun go down and the moon come up. It was great.”

Marlene smiled. “Perfect, that’s enough, thanks Remus.” She hit a button to stop the recording and Remus began to move away.

“So you’ve reason to stay another week anyways?” Marlene asked.

“Yeah.” Remus said, surprised to find his voice soft. He turned slightly and his eyes landed on Sirius walking out of the tent, pulling his hair out of the top-knot it had been styled in for the last two days. “Yeah, I think I do.”

[cadence-talle]

Sugar Snow and Peppermint Pathways

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker

Wordcount: 9,587

Summary: Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever.

Dex rolls out the cookie dough again. "I hate them so much."

(Or: nearly everyone is a famous baker, Biana and Fitz are both a little bit in love, and Dex Dizznee does not, under any circumstances, want to interact with the Vackers.) 

Other notes: my Winter Exchange gift for @yeetersofthelostcities! I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you as much about this fic as I did, but it’s also 9k, so I think you can forgive me.

Read it on AO3 (much recommended since this is long and some of the fonts didn’t quite translate to Tumblr) or under the cut!

World-Famous Vacker Siblings Rumored To Be On 2020’s Annual Holiday Bake-Off 

Fitzroy and Biana Vacker have been making a lot of headlines this year, from the opening of their new bakery in Chicago to the millions of dollars they’ve donated to various charities around the globe. The sibling duo seems to have been born with baking skills- and it’s no surprise, since their mother is Della Vacker, author of five bestselling cookbooks. (See our biography of Della Vacker if you’d like to learn more!) 

But this December may mark their greatest trial yet. Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off garnered more than three million views last year, and it’s set to get even more attention this year now that four-star restaurant owner Edaline Ruewen is hosting. 

For those of you new to the bake-off, the rules are simple: it’s comprised of five different baking challenges, spread out over the week leading up to Christmas Day. Each of the eight competitors will have five different chances to wow the judges- and on the final day, whoever’s made the most impact will win thousands of dollars. Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever. 

--read more--

OTHER NEWS

13 Christmas Cookie recipes to brighten up your winter! 

“It’s All In The Butter”: Edaline Ruewen shares the secret of her famous butterblasts! 

Fintan Pyren opens a new barbeque joint in Upper Manhattan. Its name? Flambé. 

Subscribe to BAKER’S WEEKLY ONLINE today and get a free tote bag! 

-/-

December 12, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“No.”

“Yes,” Biana says cheerfully, leaning over the dining room table to ruffle her brother’s hair. Fitz glares at her. “I’ve already signed the papers.” 

“But-” Fitz sighs, apparently already giving up. “Ugh. I’m busy.” 

“Fun fact: spending thirty hours trying to refine the perfect croissant recipe does not qualify as being ‘busy’. Our croissants are delicious. They don’t need any more work. You, however, need a vacation.” 

“Funner fact: competing against my own sister on a reality show broadcast to the country is less of a vacation than working out apricot croissants would be.” 

“Even more fun fact: ‘funner’ is not a word.” 

“Even funner fact: I literally do not give a single fuck.” 

Della’s laugh crackles over the phone, warm and bright. “Language, Fitzroy,” she says. Livvy snorts. 

“He’s twenty-two years old, Dell. I don’t think you get to say that.” 

Biana giggles. She can almost picture the scene at the other end of the call- her moms curled up on the couch, Della nursing a cup of mulled cider as Livvy talks intently about her patients at the hospital. Their menorah will have four candles lit by tonight, mirroring the one that sits on Biana’s own side table. The whole house will be filled with warmth and laughter. 

Biana misses that sometimes, looking around her empty apartment. Wishes she was still a little girl and could snuggle up next to her mom and watch The Nutcracker because Della knew, without asking, that Biana was sad. Before all this… responsibility.

That’s not really fair, though, because when she was a little girl Livvy wasn’t there, and Della was sad, and Fitz was angry. So maybe she doesn’t miss the old days- maybe she just misses having someone there to understand her. 

Fitz is here, she reminds herself. He’s not leaving. He’s good, and he’s not leaving. 

“... chocolate chips on the ceiling,” her brother is saying when Biana snaps back to the conversation. Over the phone, Della groans. 

“Don’t even mention that. Goodness, I’m glad you’ve left the ‘crazy parties’ stage of your life behind, Fitz. Those were hell to clean up after.” 

“I don’t know, it was pretty funny to watch him try to repair a chair while hungover the next morning,” Biana teases. Fitz rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“I didn’t-” 

There’s a loud beeping noise Biana registers as an oven timer, and she spins around towards her kitchen before realizing it’s coming from her moms’ end. Della makes an apologetic noise. 

“Sorry, darlings, we should go. I love you!”

“Love you too,” Biana and Fitz echo. There’s a rustling sound, like Della is moving to hang up, and then she pauses. 

“Oh, and Fitz, I think the Holiday Bake-Off is a wonderful idea. Good luck!” 

And then Biana’s phone is flashing the Time Elapsed: 22 minutes screen, and her brother is back to glaring at her. 

“No.”

“I’m not arguing this anymore,” Biana says, moving towards the kitchen and filling up a pot of water. “Do we want spaghetti for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fitz retrieves several cans of tomato sauce and dumps them in a pot. “I just- sorry. What if we lose?”

“Well, at least one of us is going to lose,” Biana points out. “And even if we both get the lowest ratings in the entire show, so what? We don’t need the money.”

“But-” Fitz waves his hands in the air. “We’re going to be- people are going to be watching us. What happens if we fuck up?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what he’s worried about. Fitz has always, always been worried about public appearances. Biana sets the water on the stove and moves over to him, leaning against the opposite counter. 

“Bro. Man. My dude.” She says seriously. Fitz purses his lips in a way that makes it clear he’s hiding a smile. “Fitz, we’re going to be fine. No one’s going to be judging how we do in this competition.”

“Sorry, do you hear yourself?”

“Okay, fair, but you know what I mean. Losing this contest isn’t going to wreck our business. If we can strike up enough of a friendship with whoever does win, we could even stand to grow.”

Fitz stares at her. Biana stares back. The tomato sauce starts to bubble. 

“Fine,” Fitz finally says. “Do we have any veggie meatballs?” 

-/-

December 13, 2020.

The Good Place Bakery

Middlebury, Vermont. 

Dex drops the cookie dough onto the flour-covered counter, smacking it with what’s probably more force than necessary. It holds up, though, and he cuts out two entire trays of tiny snowmen and stars before his co-owner arrives in a blaze of glory. 

“Guess who’s got a date this weekend!” Keefe sings, dumping his coat on a hook and pushing himself up on the counter. He gets a good look at Dex’s face and frowns. “Whoa, who bruleed your creme?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Dex rolls his eyes, “and everything’s fine. What poor guy did you pick up now?”

“His name’s Nathan and he’s beautiful,” Keefe sighs. “But don’t try to change the subject. Why do you have your grumpy face on?”

Dex grabs the letter from where he threw it across the room half an hour ago and hands it to the other man. Keefe skims it. 

“You have been invited onto Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off,” he reads. He glances up at Dex. “Okay… didn’t we already know that? Soph’s been talking about the contest for weeks.”

“Yes, but I got more information this time around,” Dex says tightly. “And it turns out the Vacker siblings are also competing.”

“Oh.” Keefe sets the letter down and picks up one of the cookie sheets, sliding it into the oven. “Well, I think you can beat them.”

“Of course I can beat them,” Dex snaps. “That’s not the problem. The problem is-” he sweeps up the dough scraps and prepares to roll them out again. “The problem is they’re fake and I don’t like them.”

He’s aware he sounds like a child. It’s hard to describe, though, what makes him so frustrated about the Vacker siblings. The two of them just make it look so… easy, though. Born into fame and given a head start in front of everyone else. Dex had to take out three different loans to start this bakery, and even that was with Keefe’s huge trust fund. 

“They’re just… fake,” he says lamely. “No one’s that perfect.” 

“Mmm.” Keefe hums, then murmurs, “okay, but you know who is that perfect?”

Dex sighs. “Okay, tell me about Nathan.”

Keefe is halfway through the story of how they met- at the library, apparently, because that’s widely known to be the most romantic spot in town- when Amy shoves through the doors and steals an unbaked cookie. 

“Morning,” she grins around a mouthful of crumbs. Dex raises an eyebrow and slides the cookie sheet towards Keefe before she can eat more. 

“Morning,” he says. “How’s Marty?”

“Still hates everyone but Sophie,” Amy shrugs. “Who isn’t here, obviously, because she and Mom are in Chicago setting up the Bake-Off.” She squints at Dex. “I can’t believe you got onto the show. There have to be rules against that.”

“Technically, that only applies if it’s direct relation. So, like, kids and parents.” Keefe grabs a piece of cookie dough. “Plus, even if Edaline did give Dex super high ratings on everything, he can’t win unless the other judges agree.”

“You’re going to get salmonella,” Dex tells the two of them. “But yeah, Keefe’s right. I’ll have to actually try if I want to win.”

“Do you?” Amy asks. Dex bites his lip, dusting some flour off his shirt.

“The money would be nice, I guess. But- I don’t know. We’ll get publicity either way, and that’s what’s important.”

“Attaboy,” Keefe gives him a thumbs-up. “You’re gonna win all the brownie points. Well, assuming they have you make brownies.”

“I-” Dex stares at him, shaking his head. “Why don’t you tell Amy about Nathan.” 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois. 

Biana glances around the room, light reflecting off the chandelier above and casting glittering patterns on the carpet and various couches scattered around the hall-like space. Four days have passed she broke the news to Fitz, and she’s wondering if this was a bad idea after all.

She’s not the first one here, thank goodness; there’s a tiny blond woman seated on a chair further down chatting to a man with silver-dyed bangs and a frizzy-haired woman tapping impatiently on her phone a few feet away. A door at the other end of the hall presumably leads further into the hotel. 

A buzz in her pocket prompts her to retrieve her phone, and Biana opens it to find three texts from her brother.

ritzroy

Ok I made it to our room

[image.jpg]

There’s a paper crane on the kitchen counter is this some sort of message

me

yes.

they're trying to tell u that u r a paper crane

ritzroy

*you *are 

I know you only do that to annoy me.

me

<3

now get down here i feel awkward standing all by myself

ritzroy 

Have you tried talking to people?

me

fuck you

Sighing a bit, she plops down on a couch half-obscured by a large plant. Someone coughs from where they’re sitting next to her and Biana turns around to apologize. 

“Hi,” says Sophie Foster. 

Biana stares. The woman is about half an inch shorter than her, blond hair tucked back into a ponytail and white blouse slightly wrinkled. Biana’s seen this face on television upwards of a hundred times- the award-winning chef daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen attracts attention, after all- but never quite like this, with eyebrows furrowed and mouth tilted a little to the side. 

“Hey,” Biana says about a minute too late. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know there was someone sitting here.” 

“No problem,” Sophie assures her. “You’re Biana Vacker, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Biana nods, slightly stunned that Sophie Elizabeth Foster knows her name. “You’re- Sophie Foster.”  

“That’s me,” Sophie says, smiling a little. “You ready for the competition?”

“Definitely,” Biana responds. “I mean, I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I watched the Holiday Bake-Off last year, and it seems like it’s super fun? And it’ll be cool to see what other people make too.” 

“Yeah.” Silence falls over the two of them, and Biana cringes inwardly. This is the worst possible thing. Where on earth is her brother? 

Searching for something to say, Biana opens her mouth. “Um-”

“Huh?” Sophie turns a little more towards her, eyes fixed on Biana’s face. Biana swallows a little.

“Uh, I was actually really nervous when I noticed I was sitting next to you. I’m kind of a huge fan.” 

Sophie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“No?”

“When I found out you were going to be competing, I literally asked my mom if she could get me on the show because I wanted to meet you so bad.”

Biana’s staring again. “Oh.” 

Sophie’s phone buzzes and she pulls it out, tapping the screen. Biana tilts her head a little in confusion.

“Gotta go,” Sophie says with an apologetic smile. She stands up and starts towards the door, turning back to say one last thing before she leaves. 

“You’re even prettier in person.” 

When Fitz shows up two minutes later, Biana’s still staring wide-eyed at the place where Sophie was just standing. Her brother flops down onto the couch next to her and raises an eyebrow. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, I dropped the bags off. The room’s nice,” Fitz offers. “Oh, and Mom says we should video chat tonight. She wants the tea.”

Biana blinks. “The… tea.”

“Her words, not mine.”

“Yeah, I think I could tell. What-”

“Hello, everyone!” The door at the end of the hall swings open and a smiling red-haired woman steps out, followed by two others. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Edaline Ruewen, from Vermont. I’ll be one of the judges next week. We’re all gonna go around and introduce ourselves, I’ll outline a schedule, and then y’all will be free to go. Cadence?”

“Good afternoon,” a tall dark-skinned woman greets. “I’m Cadence Talle, food journalist for the LA Times. I’ll be another one of your judges, along with-”

“Bronte.” The third man interrupts. He raises an eyebrow at the faces waiting for him to go on. “Well?”

“Looks like someone’s judging us already,” Fitz whispers. Biana muffles a laugh in her coat sleeve as the blond woman from before speaks up. 

“Hi, I’m Marella Redek. I’m a pastry chef over in Portland.” 

“Tam Song. I do the baking for a restaurant here in the city.”

People introduce themselves quickly, names flashing by in quick succession- Maruca Chebota, Jensi Babblos, Stina Heks. 

“I’m Biana Vacker,” Biana says when it’s her turn. “My brother and I co-manage a couple bakeries across the country.” 

Fitz raises his hand. “I’m her brother.” 

“Dex Dizznee,” says the last competitor, a strawberry-blond man seated on the arm of a couch. “I have a bakery up in Middlebury.” 

“Wait, The Good Place?” Fitz leans forward. “I made your chocolate cream pie recipe once. It’s fantastic.”

Dex blinks, face finally settling in an expression that reminds Biana of some of the people at the huge dinner parties her dad used to throw- carefully, delicately concealed disdain. She wonders what Fitz has done to warrant that look. 

“Oh, that’s cool,” Dex says calmly. “Chocolate cream is one of my co-owner’s favorites, actually.” 

Fitz nods. “Neat.” 

Edaline smiles at them, clapping her hands for attention. “All right! Let’s go over the schedule, then. The first round is on Saturday, and the last one is next Wednesday. You’ll be expected to arrive at the kitchens by eleven am…”

“What’s up with him?” Biana whispers. Fitz raises one shoulder in a tiny shrug. 

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

There’s no way Dex can hear them- he’s nearly fifteen feet away and Edaline’s voice carries throughout the entire hall. Still, he’s staring at Fitz when Biana glances at him, and there’s molten caramel in his gaze. 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Room In Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

“And then he just went, ‘Neat.’ Neat? Like, what the fuck?”

“Dude, you know I love you, but don’t you think you’re making a bit of a big deal out of this? He just complimented the bakery.”

Dex heaves a sigh, flopping onto his hotel bed and staring up at the light fixture. It’s probably trendy, with all those boxes or whatever, but Dex can’t really tell. This is why he’s a baker. 

“I know, I know. He just- gets under my skin. I’ve been pissed all day.”

“Funny,” Keefe says, and Dex can just hear him smiling. “I thought you had more of a problem with the Vackers as a whole than you did with Fitz. Or is he just too attractive to be anything but your singular arch-nemesis?” 

“Enemies to lovers speedrun,” Amy calls in the background and Keefe laughs. He’s probably having dinner with Grady and Amy tonight like they typically do once a month. Normally, Dex, Sophie and Edaline are there too. 

Dex’s family is weirdly spread across the country- Grady and Edaline live an hour away, Rex and Bex are somehow both coexisting at Seattle University while Lex stays closer to home back in Michigan, and Sophie and Amy split their time between Middlebury and their apartment in San Francisco. They do their best to stay in touch, though, even with the bakery’s odd hours and the Ruewen’s constant media appearances. 

“So how’s the hotel?” Keefe asks. Dex shrugs. 

“It’s a hotel. My room has a little kitchen, which is nice, and there’s, like, a bigger community pantry-slash-kitchen down the hall. It feels like college.” 

“College is worse, actually,” Amy says. Dex snorts.

“You say that like I haven’t been to college.” 

“Dude, we met in college,” Keefe points out, “and you did not get the full college experience. You just, like, baked 23/7 and then miraculously passed all your classes with the last hour.”

“Yes,” Dex says over the sound of Amy’s cackling. “Yes, that is exactly what I did. You’re completely right.” 

“I know,” Keefe says. “I’m always right. I have, never, ever done anything wrong.”

“You called me this morning to freak out over your date outfit for a date that’s three days away, but go off I guess.” Amy deadpans. 

“Fuck you-” The sounds of a small scuffle come through the speakers and Dex rolls his eyes. 

“I’m going to sleep,” he calls. “See you guys in a week.”

“Good luck!” Amy calls, and Dex hangs up. 

-/-

December 19, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Biana tucks one last strand of hair back into her braid and glances over at the imposing black camera standing next to her station. There are ones just like it scattered around the entire room, fluorescent overhead lights reflected off their shiny exteriors. It’ll be weird trying to bake with someone recording her the whole time, but she can take it.

“Good morning, everyone!” Edaline calls, sweeping out to the judges bench with Cadence and Bronte close on her heels. There’s some sort of sheet-covered circle on the wall behind them. “I hope y’all are ready to bake!”

Everyone cheers and Edaline throws her head back, laughing a laugh with just enough snort in it to sound real. Biana’s reminded suddenly of her own mother; Edaline has the same sort of tough core and caring nature covered by a thin layer of plastic for the cameras. She wonders if Sophie is the same.

“And without further ado,” Edaline says. Biana snaps her attention back, hoping she hasn’t missed anything important. “Today’s challenge is…”

Bronte tugs on the fabric and it falls away to reveal a casino-style roulette wheel. If Biana squints, she can see words written on each colored section; CHOCOLATE and RASPBERRY and ALMOND. 

“Cookies,” he announces. 

Cadence sweeps her gaze over all of them. “Spin the wheel twice to find out what ingredients you need to include, and then you’ll have forty-five minutes to bake. Understood?”

Biana nods, glancing at the camera out of the corner of her eye and rearranging her face into something a bit more excited. She should probably start thinking about what to say in the post-baking interview.

Fitz is the first to spin the wheel, and he gets COCONUT and STRAWBERRY. He looks a little confused but smiles, media persona still firmly in place. 

Biana gets GINGER and CHOCOLATE, returning to her station with a wide smile. This recipe is one she created with Livvy- they were home alone while Della and Fitz went out to a show and decided to try the most difficult food combinations they could think of.

Honey-covered crickets were surprisingly delicious. Hot sauce mixed with Gatorade was not.

(I knew what I was going to do immediately, she tells the cameras afterward. It’s a family favorite; chocolate-ginger crinkle cookies.)

She retrieves a packet of candied ginger and grabs two bags of chocolate chips, dumping one bag in a saucepan and starting to melt them. A few feet away, Dex Dizznee stares at his ingredients- ALMOND and ANISE, a fairly simple combination- before turning away towards the ingredients. If Biana had to hazard a guess, she’d say he’s making biscotti. 

(Biscotti’s probably too obvious for almonds, Dex shrugs later, but my friend Keefe and I perfected an almond-anise biscotti a while back and I figured, why waste what little time I had on something new?)

Once she gets started, it’s easy to just focus on the recipe. She’s not like Fitz; baking’s not the be-all end-all stress reliever it is for him, but there’s definitely something comforting about the familiar motions. Before she knows it, she’s pulling the sheets out of the oven and arranging the prettiest ones on a plate for the judges to try.

Marella Redek goes up first, showing off her caramel-pecan shortbread with a polite smile. 

(I’m just glad I didn’t get one of those crazy combinations, she says with a sigh of relief.)

Then Fitz, who’s managed to make tiny sandwich cookies filled with strawberry jam and dusted with coconut in forty-five minutes. He fidgets with his hands as the judges taste them.

(I was really worried when I got my ingredients. I’m so relieved they turned out okay.) 

Biana’s cookies go over well, Cadence nodding and reaching for another one. Finally Dex Dizznee steps up. 

“Almond-anise biscotti,” he says with a small smile. The judges all bite into the cookies at the same time and smile.

“Delicious,” Bronte says. Dex grins and steps back to his station.

Fifteen minutes later, the contestants stand in front of the judges bench in a straight line, worried eyes and tapping feet all the way down.

“All your cookies were exquisite,” Edaline says. “But one of you made a fantastic first impression.” 

Cadence offers the group a tiny, sideways smile. “Dexter Dizznee,” she says. “You are today’s winner.”

There’s a round of applause and Dex’s cheeks go a little bit red. 

“Thank you,” he says.

(I won! It’s only the first round, of course, but I’m still proud to have started off on the right foot.)

“Hey,” Biana nudges her brother’s shoulder as they trail out of the room for individual interviews.“That wasn’t too bad, huh?” 

“No,” Fitz tilts his head and glances back at the still-smiling Dex. “I guess it wasn’t.”

(I don’t think I’m too sad about losing this round. Dex’s cookies looked absolutely delicious, anyway.)

Biana’s phone buzzes on the way back to her room. She pulls it out to see two messages from an unknown number. 

415-623-7868 

hi!! sorry if this is mega creepy but it was super cool to meet you the other day and i’d love to talk more sometime

this is sophie foster btw

“Holy shit,” Biana whispers. Her brother turns around with a questioning glance but she waves him off. “Nothing, I’m fine.” She’s pretty sure she’s grinning at her phone screen with all the force of a thousand suns. “I’m totally fine.”

(Tomorrow, we try again.) 

-/-

December 20, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Buoyed by the previous day’s success and an especially good breakfast buffet (he is not immune to chocolate-chip pancakes, no matter what he might claim), Dex practically floats into the kitchen the next day. His mood isn’t even brought down by Bronte’s lackluster announcement that the second challenge is simply Snowflakes. The bakery’s meringues are a town favorite for a reason, after all, and that reason is that they’re fucking good. 

He does get annoyed, though, by the man leaning against a counter a few feet away as he pipes the meringue. Fitz Vacker is tapping his fingers against the marble, watching the ice cream machine with a calm sort of fixation. Dex huffs and accidentally pipes too much meringue on the baking sheet. 

“Do you mind?” He grumbles under his breath. Fitz’s head snaps up. 

“Sorry,” he says, slight accent curling around his words. It’s not a British accent or really any sort Dex can discern, and that just makes him more frustrated. “Am I in your way?”

“No,” Dex says as politely as he can. He’s well aware of the cameras standing a few feet away. “No, you're fine.”

Fitz nods and tilts his head towards the meringues, apparently taking Dex’s grudging silence as an invitation. “Those look pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Dex says shortly, letting out an annoyed sigh internally when Fitz doesn’t budge. “You’re making ice cream?”

“Heh, yeah. I couldn’t really think of anything else, so.” Fitz shrugs. “Ice cream bars.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “At least it’s cold, right? Like snow.” 

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, like snow.” He leans back a little to give the now-completed snowflakes a once-over. “What do you think?”

“They look great!” Fitz enthuses, jumping a bit when the ice cream machine lets out a long beep. “Oh, looks like that’s me. I should go. Nice to meet you!”

And then he’s off to his own station, bowl of ice cream clutched tightly in one hand. Dex allows himself thirty seconds of staring into the camera like he’s on The Office before he sighs and slides the meringues into the oven. 

What on earth was that. 

He bumps into Sophie on his way out of the room after interviews. Biana Vacker’s chocolate-pecan-bark snowflakes won today; unsurprising, since they looked almost real- and he kind of just wants to go back to his room and sleep for a month. His cousin, however, seems to have other ideas.

“Quick,” she says, grabbing his arm. Her phone is in her other hand, screen lighting up with a message. “How much would my mom kill me if I went on a date with one of the Bake-Off contestants?”

“Um,” Dex blinks. “I’m going to need some more information?” 

“Okay, so I met Biana Vacker the other day, and I might have gotten her number from the contestant files we have? And then texted her? For like five hours last night? And I might have asked her out and she might have said yes?” Sophie tugs at her eyelashes. “Please help me, I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“You’re going on a date with Biana Vacker,” Dex confirms. “Why?” 

“Because she’s smart, and pretty, and incredibly funny, and because I don’t have some weird hate-obsession with her.” 

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. Seriously, how much is Mom going to murder me for this?”

“How much is Mom going to murder you for what?”

Edaline’s standing a few feet away, arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised. Sophie’s eyes go wide, but she sighs as if already giving up.

Dex gets it. Edaline is scary when she wants to be.

“Is it illegal and-slash-or nepotism if I go on a date with Biana Vacker tomorrow night?”

Edaline blinks. “Probably not? As long as you can confirm that she’s not using you to get further in the contest.” She shrugs. “I could talk to Cadence and Bronte about it, but they were all right with Dex being on the show, so.”

“Wait, really?” Sophie grins and throws her arms around her mother. “This is the best. Thanks, Mom! I’m gonna go text her.” 

She takes off down the hall, typing frantically. Edaline watches her go with a fond smile. 

“It’s incredibly weird to see her this old,” She says to Dex. “I still think of her as twelve, honestly.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah.”

“So,” Edaline cocks her head, looking at him with the same I’m going to ask you a question and we both know what the right answer is look that Dex’s own mother has. “I saw you talking to Fitz Vacker earlier. Making friends?”

“No.” Dex says immediately. Then he rolls his eyes. “He’s not as bad as I was expecting, though.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, like, posh and rich and British or whatever they are. But he’s actually a decent person or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Edaline laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun either way. I’ve got to get to a meeting, but I’ll see you later, all right? Say hi to Keefe for me.”

Dex nods and heads back to his room.

He really needs to sleep. 

-/-

December 21, 2020.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Chicago, Illinois.

“Here we are,” Sophie says as they push through museum security and enter the clearly-marked Thorne Rooms. Biana glances at the art curiously; the exhibit is made up of tiny glass windows set into low walls all around. She peers into one and lets out a tiny gasp. 

“Oh.”

It’s a tiny room in there; chairs and sofas all with perfectly embroidered cushions as small as Biana’s thumb. Through minuscule doors in the back, Biana glimpses a painted background and a balcony. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

Sophie snorts behind her, and Biana realizes she said that last bit out loud. “Right? It’s all real, too. Took Narcissa Thorne and her craftsmen eight years.”

“Wow.” 

“I used to come here all the time,” Sophie says, stepping forward and tracing one finger over the glass. “Whenever we were in town. I wished I could live in some of these rooms.” She glances back at Biana and gives a little self-deprecating smile. “Pretty stupid, probably.”

“No, it’s not,” Biana shakes her head. “I get it. It would be nice to escape for a little bit, especially to a place that looks like that.” She tilts her head at the room. Sophie laughs. 

“I’ll bet it gets really dusty, though. And that chair seems highly uncomfortable.”

They move throughout the whole exhibit, making low comments to each other every time they see a particularly amazing piece of furniture or a fancy candlestick. Biana finds herself relaxing more and more- Sophie is smart, and funny, and keeps shooting her little smiles that make Biana’s knees weak. 

That day’s competition had been the hardest yet. Each contestant had had to make a dessert based around a Christmas carol; a specific, judge-assigned Christmas carol. It was, for lack of a better term, absolute shit.

Biana had gotten Santa Claus Is Coming To Town- not the worst, considering the circumstances, and at least she knew it- and had had to figure out how to map the route of an overweight stalker on baked goods. 

She hadn’t won; that honor had gone to Maruca Chebota’s fondant replica of a sleigh for Over The River And Through The Woods. (Biana is pretty sure that song is actually a Thanksgiving song, but she wasn’t going to contradict.) Still, Biana’s happy, content as they leave the museum and move down to an Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Smiling as Sophie’s hand brushes against hers. 

They get settled in a little corner near a window, knees bumping under the table. The room is dim, lit by one chandelier in the middle and candles on every table. It’s warm, something delicious wafting through the air. 

Sophie leans forward to grab a menu, hair lit golden in the candlelight, and Biana revises her earlier statement. The Thorne Rooms aren’t the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. This woman is. 

“Everything okay?” Sophie asks. Biana realizes she’s been staring and gives her a quick nod. 

“Yeah, no. Everything’s perfect.” She glances down at the tablecloth, sees Sophie fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. “Are you all right?”

“I, uh,” Sophie tugs at one of her eyelashes. “I just wanted to say that I don’t really tend to talk to my mom about the competition? So, like, if you’re just trying to get an edge or something-”

“No!” Biana shakes her head, reaching forward to grab the other woman’s hand. “No, no no. Absolutely not. This is like, the opposite of that.” 

“Pretty sure the opposite of that would be divorcing me to lose the Bake-Off,” Sophie says, but she’s smiling. Biana smiles back. 

“Well, I don’t want to do that either.”

“What do you want to do?”

Biana shrugs. “I don’t know. This is pretty nice. I like spending time with you.”

Sophie blushes and tightens her grip on Biana’s hand. “I-”

“Pardon me.” There’s a waiter standing next to their table, notepad in hand. He offers them an awkward smile. “Are you ready to order?”

“Right!” Biana says at the same time as Sophie’s “Yes! For sure! Just give me a second!”. They grin at each other and look back down at the menus. 

“Thank you,” Sophie murmurs after they’ve ordered. Biana doesn’t have to ask what for. 

“Of course.”

(Biana leans down to kiss her barely an hour later. Sophie smiles against her lips and tugs her in closer.)

(Biana doesn’t get back to her hotel that night.)

-/-

December 22, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel 

Chicago, Illinois. 

Dex can’t sleep. 

There’s no particular reason why, no loud party down the street or flashing lights outside his window. He just can’t sleep, which is especially frustrating when he glances at the clock and finds it’s one AM. Tomorrow- or, today, really- is event four, and if he wants to make a good impression, he’d better do it on more than three hours of sleep.

Heaving a sigh, he flops himself out of bed and flips on the light switch. As long as he’s awake, he might as well read or something. 

A loud crash sounds from down the hall. Dex blinks and grabs his sneakers, opening his door and peeking out. No one’s in sight, but rustling noises are coming from the communal kitchen a few doors away. Dex decides that sleep is for the weak and pads down to investigate.

Fitz Vacker is standing in the middle of the kitchen, aggressively stirring a bowl of what looks like cookie dough and frowning. There’s a flour-dusted cookbook on the counter.

“Um.” Dex coughs a little. Fitz looks up from the cookie dough and turns toward him. He's wearing a sweatshirt thrown over a pair of what looks like Walgreens-brand pajamas. Dex is a little surprised that a Vacker would wear something that shitty. 

“Sorry,” he says in his annoyingly perfect accent. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Why are you still awake?”

Fitz shrugs. “Couldn’t fall asleep. You?”

“Same.” Dex moves over and peers into the bowl. “Sugar cookies?”

“They’re a classic Christmas cookie, right?” Fitz looks at him. Dex blinks. “No, really, I’m asking. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, they’re a classic. My aunt used to make them all the time in December. I’d come home from school and she’d be, like, chilling on our couch with three different kinds of cookies.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even realize she was famous until I was eight. She was just Aunt Eda.”

“My mom used to have to do all these photo shoots? With baked goods and shit? And she’d bring me and Bi along because our daycare didn’t go that late so we’d just be hanging out around this camera equipment and doing our best not to break anything.” Fitz looks down and stirs the cookie dough a bit more. “Bi always says we grew up with a camera in our faces, so much that we never learned to be normal. She’s more right than I’d like to think.”

Dex doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have anything to say; he’s always assumed, like so many other people, that the spotlight on the Vackers was effortless and encouraged. Life seemed so easy for them. 

Of course it does, Dex reminds himself. Life always looks easy when you’re the one looking at it. 

“Sorry,” Fitz grabs the bowl and turns away, reaching up into a cabinet for some powdered sugar. “I get… honest when I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, well, I get grumpy, so you’re still better off.” Dex grabs a baking sheet out of where they’re being stored in the oven, since the cookies look about ready to be rolled out. “You’re fine, though. No cameras here.” 

You’re not being judged here, he means. I’d like to get to know you. 

This must translate at least a little, because Fitz gives him a small smile and dumps the dough out onto the counter. 

“Help me? I think the cookie cutters are in the bottom left drawer.”

“Got it.” Dex grabs a tiny metal snowman and cuts out a piece of dough, laying it flat on the metal sheet. He’s reminded suddenly of going through the same motions back home, with Keefe and Amy arguing good-naturedly over his head. 

There’s a different air in the kitchen right now. It’s quieter, slower, dark-dark-chocolatey; something bitter and sweet and smooth all at the same time. 

“Are you worried about the competition?” He asks. Fitz blinks, lifting another three cookies onto the sheet before answering. 

“I don’t think so. I was, before, but once I got here…” he gives an expansive shrug. “It’s just baking. Baking calms me down.” 

“Hence the cookies at one AM,” Dex notes. Fitz laughs. 

“Hence the stress-baking cookies at one AM,” he agrees. “I don’t even think I was stressed about the contest, just-” he waves a hand in the air. “Just stressed in general.” 

“I get that.” Dex presses a few buttons on the oven and tilts his head toward the table a few feet away. They’ll need to wait for the oven to heat up before they put the cookies in. “I was pretty scared of fucking up at first, but, I mean, it’s a baking competition. Everyone’s gonna forget the butter at some point.” 

Fitz squints at him. “I can’t tell if ‘forget the butter’ is an expression I’m unaware of, or if you actually did that and I just didn’t hear about it.” 

“Maruca from Cali did that, actually. I have more style, at least- I forgot the eggs.”

“My friend’s cat got into my kitchen once,” Fitz says seriously. “Not during this contest, but when I was making her daughter’s birthday cake. There was hair everywhere. It was… a cat-astrophe.”

Both of them are silent for almost a full minute, just staring at each other, before Dex breaks down.

“That was terrible,” he wheezes, trying to stop laughing. Fitz grins. 

“I know, I’m embarrassed of myself.”

“You should be.”

The oven beeps and they both startle, turning toward it. Fitz retrieves an oven mitt and slides the cookies into the oven. Dex closes the door and stands back up, suddenly realizing how close they’re standing. 

“You should try to sleep,” Fitz says quietly. “It’s late.”

Dex nods slightly but doesn’t move. There’s a tiny bit of flour on Fitz’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know why he notices it. 

They seem to stand there forever, just looking at each other. Then, suddenly, Fitz turns away and looks over the cookbook again. 

“I should sleep,” Dex says. Fitz nods, face shadowed in the dim lights. Dex turns away and heads back to his room. 

What the fuck was that. 

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

“Dex Dizznee. Biana Vacker. Maruca Chebota. And Tam Song.” Bronte reads out the names, then looks down at the contestants. “The four of you have won the past events, so you’ll get an extra prize today.”

“As you all know, today is the last event!” Edaline says cheerfully. “All eight of you have made some truly fantastic desserts in the past week, but only one person can win and today’s your final chance to really wow the judges. So, Event Five is…”

Cadence gestures toward the table up front, which holds two candy-covered houses. “Gingerbread houses,” she says. “You have four hours to bake, assemble, and decorate a gingerbread house with your partner.”

“Yep, you’ll be working in pairs for this one,” Edaline says when the murmurs start up. “And our four previous winners get to choose who they’re working with.” She smiles at Biana. “Although, Miss Vacker, I’m afraid you can’t work with your brother.” 

Biana laughs, turning and holding out a hand to Marella Redek instead. “All right. How about it, partner?”

Marella shrugs and takes her hand. Edaline gestures to Dex. 

He glances over the seven remaining contestants. Jensi Babblos seems nice- he probably wouldn’t be too bad to work with. Or maybe he can pair up with another winner and ask Maruca?

Then Fitz catches his eye and Dex remembers the previous day, cutting out cookies in the early-early morning light. It’s not really a choice after that. 

“Fitz,” he decides, and the man strides over to stand next to him. 

The other two pairs find each other, Edaline lays out the final rules, and then she shouts go! and they’re off. 

“Hand me the cinnamon?” Dex asks. Fitz drops it into his hand and Dex dumps a tablespoon in the bowl, starting up the mixer. “Okay, and we should get the icing started so it has time to cool-”

“Already done,” Fitz says. He points to a bowl of fluffy white icing on the counter a foot away. “We should probably-”

“Figure out the decorations, yeah. You wanna-”

“Sketch something?”

They grin at each other and Dex pours the gingerbread batter into a pan. “Perfect,” he says. The oven lets out a tiny beep when he closes it. 

The hours pass quickly, in a blur of candy and icing. They cover the sides of the house in dark red modeling chocolate and drag a toothpick through them for the individual bricks, carefully shape a vanilla wafer chimney, build a candy-cane fence. The actual construction of the house is tricky- Dex has to hold the walls up while Fitz pipes the icing and then keeps holding them until it sets. They get through it with only one roof collapse, though, and the final house looks pretty good. Fitz glues down three peppermints to make a path in front of the door, Dex attaches tiny sugar cookie trees to the ground, and they’re done with two minutes to spare.

“Wait, no. Hang on.” Fitz rummages through the mess they’ve made at their station, skirting a camera and grabbing the half-empty container of powdered sugar. He dumps it into a sieve. 

“Snow,” he and Dex say in unison. Fitz laughs and shakes the sieve over their presentation board, covering the whole thing in a fine layer of powder. 

“Perfect,” Dex says just as the timer goes off. “Let’s win this thing.”

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Cameras flash as they zero in on Dex and Fitz’s gingerbread house, presumably taking the shots that will go along with Edaline’s and the winner of Event Five is Fitz Vacker and Dex Dizznee! announcement in the actual show. Biana’s staring at the opposite wall, though; if she looks towards the recording equipment, she doubts she’ll be able to hide how nervous she is. 

The competition doesn’t matter in the long run, but it would be really, really cool to win. 

“Now,” Edaline says after the cameras have returned to their original places. “You’ve all shown amazing talent in the past few days. Frankly, all three of us were just blown away at some of the things you created. But one of you managed to wow us at every turn, showcasing your art as well as your baking skills. And that person is…”

Next to Biana, her brother stares at the ground. A few feet away, Dex is twisting his hands together, expression schooled into something just left of panic. Biana takes a deep breath.

“Maruca Chebota!”

The room is silent, and then everyone breaks into applause. Maruca is smiling wide, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” she manages before getting crushed into a giant group hug. 

Later, Biana stands in the front hall of the hotel with her suitcase by her side. She and Fitz are flying home tonight, and she can’t wait to get back to her own apartment. 

“It’ll be nice,” Sophie agrees. “I’m heading straight out to Michigan to see my aunt and uncle for Christmas.” 

Fitz appears in the doorway, talking animatedly with someone out of sight. Biana takes the opportunity to give Sophie one last kiss. 

“I’ll text you?” She asks. Sophie nods. 

Fitz strolls up, Dex by his side. They’ve finished their conversation, apparently, and are now just looking at each other. Biana coughs.

“We should get to the airport.” She reminds him. Fitz jumps.

“Right! Yes, of course. Um-” he glances back at Dex and then sweeps the shorter man into a hug. Dex’s eyes widen but he hugs back. 

“It was so nice to meet you,” Biana tells Dex when the two break apart. “Have a nice Christmas.” 

“You too,” Dex says, and then he and Sophie are gone. Biana elbows her brother. 

“Dexter Dizznee, huh?” She asks. Fitz glares at her. 

“Shut up.”

-/-

December 28, 2020.

Dizznee Family Household 

Detroit, Michigan.

Christmas is low-key. Or, it’s as low-key as Christmas with the Dizznees can be, anyway. Bex manages to get lights on the roof, Rex brings his partners to dinner and the three of them break into an impromptu performance of Deck The Halls, and Lex sets up an elaborate present-wrapping station in the living room that seems to involve heinous amounts of tape. 

Edaline disappears upstairs a few times to work out all the details of the show, but she has enough time to help Kesler baste a turkey and kick all of their collective asses at foosball alongside Juline. Grady makes chocolate-covered cherries and Amy eats too many of them and Sophie laughs herself to tears when her sister trips over an armchair in her post-chocolate haze. They smile and exchange terrible presents and sing carols and it’s all normal, as normal as anything gets these days.

So maybe they’re not low-key. Maybe it’s just Dex who’s low, Dex who still feels like something’s missing. 

He lost the competition. He’s not mad about it; losing by a few stray points isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. And the publicity he’ll gain from just being on television is definitely worth it. 

None of that explains his mood, though, and Dex is starting to wonder what on earth he isn’t seeing. 

“Hey,” Sophie says, wandering into the den and flopping down on the couch alongside him. Dex has been absentmindedly fiddling with a Rubik's cube for the past ten minutes, and he only now realizes it’s solved. “What’s up?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been mopey all day,” she says. “All week, actually. Which is weird, because you’re not normally mopey.” 

“You- noticed?”

Sophie gives him an affronted look. “I do pay attention.” 

“I’m not mopey,” Dex protests. 

“So staring into the distance and frowning is just a hobby?” Sophie sighs, plucking the Rubik’s cube out of his hands and scooting closer. “Look, I’m not trying to shame you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Dex stares at her, then glances down at his hands. “I… who do you keep texting?”

The question catches Sophie off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been glancing down at your phone and smiling all through vacation,” he says. “Who are you texting?”

Sophie’s cheeks flush pink. “Um. Biana?”

“Oh.” Right. Biana Vacker. Dex had almost forgotten about her, in all the chaos of the last day of competition and then heading back home. Sophie didn’t, apparently. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“You sound like a greeting card.”

“Fuck you, I’m trying.” 

Sophie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, though. I really like her.” She tilts her head. “Now, back to your moping.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Sophie says. She fixes him with a look that says I can see into your soul and there is some weird stuff in there. “Dex. What happened when you teamed up with Fitz Vacker in the last round of the contest?”

“Um.” Dex blinks. “We… made a gingerbread house?”

“And after that?” Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Dex, I know you. You’ve hated the Vackers possibly since you were born. How on Earth did you go from that to hugging Fitz when you said goodbye to him?”

“I-” 

There have been a lot of things recently, Dex reflects, that he’s been unable to explain, even to himself. Why he disliked the Vackers in the first place. Why he’s been empty the past few days. 

Why he and Fitz are sort of on decent terms now.

But things start to dig themselves out of his memory; an out-of-the-blue compliment about his pies, a night spent in a terrible hotel kitchen unable to sleep, a grin and a tiny peppermint swirl and fake sugar snow on a rooftop.

“Oh.” Dex’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.” 

“What?” Sophie asks. As if on cue, three strawberry-blond heads poke into the doorway. Dex groans. 

“Do you hear that?” Rex asks, shit-eating grin on his face. Lex nods seriously. 

“I believe it’s the sound of a local man realizing he’s been in love with Fitzroy Vacker this whole time.” 

Bex gestures towards Dex as if she’s holding a microphone. “Tell me, sir, how does it feel to come to such a conclusion? Do you think your behavior towards Mr. Vacker will change after this?”

“Please leave,” Dex says flatly. Sophie squints at him. 

“Wait, are you really-”

“I don’t know. Please make them leave.” 

Sophie looks from him to the triplets, who give her matching smiles. She shakes her head and stands up. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of doing that, honestly. I’m going to go text Bi.”

“Traitor!” Dex calls after her. The triplets flop down on the couch, garishly patterned Christmas sweaters clashing terribly with the blue cushions. Bex gives him an exaggerated I’m thinking look. 

“Hmm,” she says. “You know, maybe Amy was onto something with all her ‘enemies to lovers speedrun’ stuff.” 

“I’m leaving this family,” Dex mutters, shoving a pillow over his face. “I will go to Canada and buy a large house and never have to see any of you ever again.” 

Rex raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’d leave your boyfriend behind like that?” 

“Nope! No, nope, not doing this.” Dex stands up and moves towards the door. Behind him, he hears at least one of his siblings fall off the couch. 

“Seriously, though. What are you going to do?”

Dex turns back around. Rex and Bex are sprawled on the floor in a tangle of feet, but Lex is looking at Dex with a strangely sympathetic expression. He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a buzz in his pocket and Dex pulls his phone out as his siblings start to untangle themselves.

Fos-Boss

hey. wanna go to nyc?

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“You’re doing it again.”

Fitz leans his head over the back of the couch and frowns at her. “Doing what?”

“Your whole woe is me, time to stare aimlessly at the wall thing.” Biana waves a hand towards her brother. “Stop that and help me cut the baklava.”

“This is… a lot of baklava for just the two of us,” Fitz says. “Are you sure you didn’t decide to throw another giant stupid New Years party again?”

“I promise there will be no giant New Years party,” Biana says. “I’ve invited two people over. That’s it.”

“But you refuse to tell me who those people are, which automatically makes me suspicious.” 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Biana smiles at her brother and takes the knife from him. 

“Why don’t you go find out?”

Fitz sighs and moves out into the hallway. Biana hears him swing the door open, and then- nothing. 

She pushes the now-cut baklava onto a plate and leans her head out the doorway. Her brother is standing there, staring at a man with strawberry-blond hair. Sophie stands behind him, smiling awkwardly.

“Hello!” She says, directing the statement at Biana since her cousin is still locked in a staring contest with Fitz. “Happy New Year!”

“It’s not New Years yet,” Biana laughs, coming out of the doorway to grab Sophie’s coat and drop a quick kiss to her lips. “How was your drive?”

“Long,” Sophie says. “But I’ve had worse. And we had some decent pancakes, right?” 

“Right,” Dex murmurs, still staring at Fitz. He shakes his head. “Yeah, they were pretty good. Happy New Year, by the way.” 

“You too,” Fitz manages. Biana hides a laugh behind her sweater sleeve and grabs Dex’s arm. 

“Hey, you wanna come help me open the champagne?” 

“Sure, but-”

“We’ll be fine,” Fitz manages a bright grin. “I’m gonna show Sophie some of Bi’s elementary school pictures.”

“Fitzroy Avery Vacker, don’t you dare-”

Fitz laughs and Biana and Dex retreat back to the kitchen. Biana reaches for one of the bottles of champagne and turns towards the shorter man. 

“I’m not going to give you a shovel talk,” she shrugs, “mainly because I think you already know I could murder you if you hurt him.”

“Yep,” Dex nods. He looks down. “But you don’t have to worry about giving me a shovel talk. It’s not like we’re dating.” 

“No, you two have just been in love with each other for a ridiculously long amount of time.” The cork pops out of the champagne bottle and Sophie cheers from the other room. Biana grins at the stunned expression Dex is giving her. “Come on. Only an hour till midnight.”

They put the Times Square Ball Drop on at 11:30, watching as some band Biana vaguely recognizes but couldn’t name rocks out in front of the crowd. Sophie says that looks cold, and Biana says it’s always cold. That’s why I stay home, and Sophie snuggles a little closer to her. At the ten-minute mark, Dex and Fitz make some sort of telepathic agreement to go out and stand on the balcony. 

“Hey,” Biana mutters as the lights onscreen get brighter. The countdown should start soon. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Sophie turns her face, so close their noses almost brush. “Me too,” she smiles. “But I’m even happier I get to do this.”

A hurricane could probably pass through the apartment right now without Biana noticing. Sophie's lips are soft, and Biana knows this woman will stick with her no matter what. 

Numbers start to flash on the screen. Biana couldn’t care less about what they say. 

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Fitz Vacker’s Plant-Covered Balcony

New York City, New York.

“The apartment’s Biana’s, technically,” Fitz says as they step out into the cold night air. “But she never uses the balcony and I needed a place to put my plants, so it’s mine now.”

“And you’re certainly using the space,” Dex notes. He can spot at least five different kinds of flowers out here, and that’s just with his non-existent plant knowledge. 

Fitz laughs, loud and bright against the painted backdrop of the sky. There are only a few stars Dex can see, but the whole sky is a shade of midnight blue that makes up for the darkness. 

“I am, yeah.” He leans on the railing for a moment, staring down at the world below, before turning back a bit. “How was your Christmas?”

“Good,” Dex says. “How was your… Hanukkah?”

“It ended before the contest started, but yeah, it was good” Fitz glances down at the street again and Dex goes to stand next to him. Minutes tick by, the two of them just watching cars pass by.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fitz says finally. The words are soft, barely more than whispers, and Dex thinks for a moment that he imagined them. Then Fitz looks up and meets his eyes. 

A cheer goes up from around the city, people everywhere shouting Ten! 

“I’m glad too,” Dex says. Carefully, oh-so-slowly, he reaches up and cups the other man’s cheek. Fitz’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment. 

Seven!

“The ball will drop soon,” he murmurs. “If you want to watch it.”

“I’m fine,” Dex smiles. “Unless- you want to?”

Five!

“Nah,” Fitz says, reaching up to touch Dex’s hand where it’s still on his face. “I think I can do without the spectacle for tonight.”

Three!

Dex nods, rocking forward just a little. 

Two!

Fitz’s eyes are bright, and his breath is warm where it ghosts across Dex’s skin. 

One!

They barely have to move in before their lips meet. 

-/-

January 1, 2021.

Somewhere Over New York City. 

Fireworks bloom into bursts of color against the dark sky.