#wine serving area

[fishmaelly]

Home Bar in San Francisco Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary open concept dark wood floor and brown floor family room remodel with gray walls, a stone fireplace, a wall-mounted tv, a standard fireplace and a bar

[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[woso-story]

Yacht Adventure

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The season had ended in triumph. A quadruple win for Barca Femeni—and for the first time in your career, you'd been at the center of it all. Not just as a player, but as part of a team that felt more like family. And more importantly, with Alexia by your side, both on and off the pitch.

You and Alexia had decided early that the off-season would be sacred. No interviews, no training schedules, no public appearances. Just a week away from it all. A few texts later and you had a plan: a private villa in Ibiza with a handful of close teammates, sunshine, and freedom.

The villa was perched on a hillside, surrounded by olive trees and wildflowers, with an infinity pool that overlooked the bluest stretch of sea you’d ever seen. The air was thick with the scent of citrus and sea salt. Mornings started with lazy breakfasts on the terrace, and nights ended in laughter and wine under fairy lights strung through the garden.

But today—today was different.

Alexia had booked a private yacht for the all of you. A full day on the water, nothing but sun and waves and time.

You both stood at the marina that morning, hand in hand, wearing matching sunglasses and already buzzing with anticipation. Alexia, in a black bikini and an open white linen shirt, looked like something out of a summer magazine. You, in your favorite red suit and denim shorts, couldn’t stop smiling.

"Ready to sail away, princesa?" she teased, nudging your shoulder.

"Only if you're the captain," you shot back.

The yacht was pure elegance—clean, modern, with cushioned lounging areas and a deck made for sun worship. As it pulled away from the shore, the mainland shrinking behind you, the rest of the world melted away.

You spent the first hour sprawled on the deck with Alexia, your legs tangled together as the sun kissed your skin. Mapi and Patri were already halfway through a bottle of cava, dancing at the bow to a reggaeton playlist blasting from the yacht’s speakers. Ingrid was lying in the shade, half-asleep behind a pair of oversized sunglasses.

Eventually, the anchor dropped near a hidden cove, and the real fun began.

You dove in first, the water impossibly clear and cool against your sun-warmed skin. Alexia followed, her splash catching you off guard, making you laugh as you wiped your face. You swam out together, floating on your backs in the open sea, eyes closed against the light.

“This feels like a dream,” she murmured.

“It is,” you replied, turning toward her. “But it’s real. We’re here. We made it.”

After a while, you climbed back aboard and collapsed onto a sunbed, dripping and breathless. Alexia joined you, curling beside you like she belonged there—because she did. She pressed a slow kiss to your temple, then your shoulder, her fingers tracing idle shapes on your stomach.

“Do you ever think about what’s next?” she asked, voice soft, nearly lost in the wind.

You looked over at her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Sometimes. But right now, I just want to be here. With you.”

That answer must’ve satisfied her, because she kissed you then—salt-slicked lips against yours, the kind of kiss that was soft and slow, full of sunshine and meaning.

Later, after a long nap and a second swim, the yacht crew served fresh fruit and tapas. You all sat in a circle, sun-kissed and tired and happy, passing plates and stories back and forth. Someone put on music again, and Alexia pulled you to your feet.

You danced barefoot on the deck, hips swaying together, arms wrapped lazily around each other. The sea sparkled under the golden light of late afternoon, and the sky stretched wide and endless.

By the time you returned to the villa, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars were beginning to show. Alexia held your hand as you walked up the stone path, and when you reached your shared room, she stopped you just before the door.

“I don’t want this week to end,” she whispered.

You leaned into her, pressing your forehead to hers. “Then let’s make every second count.”

That night, the two of you curled together in bed, the sound of the sea still in your ears and the scent of sun and salt clinging to your skin. You fell asleep with your arm wrapped around her waist, heart full, body warm, soul at peace.

And in the quiet of that Ibiza night, with Alexia breathing soft beside you, you knew this was more than just a summer escape.

This was love.

[welcomingdisaster]

Coronations of the High Kings of the Noldor, ranked from best to worst

Finwë: The perfectly jovial ceremony was held on the hill of Túna, and consisted of eight uninterrupted hours of dancing, artistic performances from each of the three peoples of the Eldar. Dinner included salmon served with rice, spiced crab, baked leek-pie, herb and garlic bread, green tea mousse, candied flower preserves, and, most memorably of all, a scale-model recreation of the blessed isles made out of strawberry cake with sweet cream and real gold dust.

Gil-galad: the last king of the Noldor had no official coronation ceremony until after the War of Wrath, though he held political power in the area long before. This, perhaps, contributes to some confusion about his origins. Regardless I am pleased to report the ceremony was gorgeous. Most notable were the flower-arches, made in the Sindar style. Strong Falathrim brandy was served, and the party continued for nearly three days. Dinner included stuffed mussels, Nargothrond-style garlic mushroom bake, rice-stuffed squash, sugar-bread, apple and pear pie. One wedding spontaneously occurred during the after-party reception.

Fingolfin: this coronation symbolized the reunion of a broken people and the successful journey of the Noldor, and so the rather lackluster decor was saved, in part, by good mood. However, Feanorian heckling was somewhat disruptive during the main ceremony. Dinner: herb-roasted venison, root-stew, a dish made of wild spring plants that would later become known as 'crown salad;' raspberry and rhubarb pie. Maglor the bard performed Rumil's "Ode to the Stars of the Sea" and "Sparrow Waltz," which was his own composition.

Turgon: Those in attendance report that the ceremony was lovely and somber; your humble writer, however, was not at the time a resident of Gondolin, and must thus rely on second-hand accounts. Dinner, from those reports, included pearled barley with mushrooms; the last bottles of wine grown in Vinyamar were served. No one could remember the music.

Fingon: though the ceremony was otherwise beautiful, the king's speech set an unhappy mood. After the flautists and harpers quieted, he rose to give a toast in the name of Aegnor and Angrod, his cousins. After uttering their names the king began to weep, and could not master himself in time to finish his words, sitting for some time with his head buried in his hands. Dinner: wine-roasted lamb, herb-bread, potato-flour patties, fish-soup with rice, honey-cake and strawberry preserves. Much wine was served, but for the most part brought little merriment, and I admit I cannot recall its quality.

Maedhros: the coronation of Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, was a quick affair. In attendance were his brothers, and their followers, and though Maglor the bard sang it was a song of sorrow, the words of which have never been put to the page. Dinner: salt-meat, waybread, local herbs, and the last of the spirits.

Fëanor: rather eclipsed by the oath sworn later the same afternoon. No dinner nor reception was held, which I fear was in very poor taste.

[muzansfangs]

A witch, a werewolf and a vampire

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader x Urahara Kisuke; mention to Jugram Haschwalth, Gin Ichimaru, Rangiku Matsumoto, Isane Kotetsu, Unohana Retsu, Yamamoto Genryūsai, Kenpachi Zaraki, Muguruma Kensei, Yoruichi Shihoin, Sui-Feng, Momo Hinamori, Tier Harribel, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ryuken Ishida, Mayuri Kurotsuchi;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fantasy au, misogyny, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, use of potions as birth control method, threesome (m x f x m), oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Urahara!receiving), blood drinking, vampire!Aizen, werewolf!Urahara, witch!reader, hair pulling, murder, gore, horror, burial, death, language, dirty talk, competition in bed, criminals, morally grey reader, double penetration, anal sex, alcohol consumption;

Plot: It’s a rainy night and blood runs down the muddy streets of the town. Three supernatural beings, a witch, a werewolf and a vampire, find shelter in a disreputable Inn that attracts the wrong sort of people. All of them are on a run, secrets and horrific murders staining their reputations and making them quite notorious downtown. When the three of them end up forming an alliance, they realize something links them together. The thirst for blood, the gloomy atmosphere and the inhebriation leads them to give in to lust in a room upstairs.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The croaky laughter of a drunk man slamming his fist onto the ebony table of the bar made you flinch. You were soaked, a puddle of water expanding from underneath your boots as you scrutinized the crowd of people dining all around you. Most of them were humans, without the shadow of a doubt. Men, to be specific. Predatory eyes sizing you up, offensive words piercing your ears, you knew exactly what they were thinking. A young, beautiful woman shaking like a leaf and looking for shelter was probably an easy prey for them. Unfortunately for them, you were not a hapless girl. Clamping your mouth shut not to draw attention, you resorted to lowering the tattered hood of your cape down on your face and you walked up to the innkeeper to ask for a table and a room for the night.

“That’s the last one. You’re lucky” the lanky man on the other side of the counter told you, handing you a rusty key and motioning with his chin at the last empty table somewhere behind your back.

You followed his gaze, eyes landing on a dimly illuminated area of the dining space. In a corner, a chair and a dusty table, waiting for you to sit at. You scrunched up your nose in disgust, already figuring the bedroom would have most likely been even worse than the chilling refreshment stand you were going to drink at. However, it was not time for you to be fussy and picky about where you had to spend the night. The guards outside were tracking you down and leaving this place would have only granted you the chance to experiment the same fate of your late mentor, the great witch Unohana Retsu. You had really screwed up this time, but the heavy money satchel hanging on the leather belt secured around your waist was definitely worthy the murder of Lord Jugram Haschwalth.

Your head turned back towards the grey-haired man, bony fingers tapping onto the wooden desk impatiently “It’s perfect. — you faked a smile — A bottle of wine too, please” you told him, before grasping your satchel and drawing out some money to cover up the price of the rent and your order.

Paying you little to no attention, he whistled loud enough for some tipsy men to complain about being brutally awakened from their slumber, but also to draw the attention of a beautiful waitress serving soups and beers at the tables. You wondered how such a pretty girl had ended up in a squalid barrelhouse like that. The gold band on her ring finger answered your question, as she cleaned her hands quickly in her lilac apron and jogged back to the counter with a kind smile adorning her plumped lips.

“Gin, honey, what’s the matter?” she inquired, sparing you a brief glance before refocusing on her husband.

Now that she was closer to you, the waves of magic radiating from her made you feel less in danger. Witches were not welcomed in the small town you lived in. Knowing the innkeeper’s wife was a supernatural being too made you feel more at ease, as if you were at home, safe from stakes and fire. Nevertheless, you never let your guard down, not after you had witnessed to Unohana’s ashes blowing in the wind, dissolved in the village square, a couple of years ago. Isane, your friend and the other apprentice your mentor had taken in, had fled right away in search for protection in one of the towns in the North of the Country. You had no idea if she was still alive, or if she had shared your teacher’s destiny. Hopefully, she had joined a powerful coven and she did not have to fight for her life anymore like you did.

Sometimes, you asked yourself why you did not follow her in her incredible adventure. The answer, sadly, was that you loved that place too much to move away and forget about your past. Also, you were seeking revenge. The Mayor, that old bastard, Lord Yamamoto Genryūsai, was still alive. You were working day and night to create a deadly potion to kill him once and for all. In order to get close to him, though, you needed connections and, regrettably, you were a lone wolf.

Gin grinned “Sorry, darlin’, but this girl here needs a bottle of wine. Be a dear and accompany her to her table with this” he explained, ducking underneath the counter to grasp a cheap bottle of red wine and a globlet. Drowning your demons sounded good enough, given your foul mood.

The curvaceous woman sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately “I got it from here. Take care of the rest while I’m busy, will you?” she cooed, winking at her husband before gesturing for you to follow her to your destination without further ado. You caught a glimpse of the man smirking, as you moved away from the counter, noting how pleased he seemed to be for the attention his companion had reserved to him.

The dirty comments the waitress and you received on the short walk to the table made your stomach churn and you had to suppress the homicidal impulse to set those swines on fire right on the spot. You really did not need cops to break in and arrest you. Not when your face was already printed onto numerous newspapers and you had an impressive bunty on your head. People chased you down the streets to turn you in and alert the authorities.

Tiredly, you slumped down onto the chair, chin propped onto the upturned palm of your hand, whilst you absent-mindedly observed the girl uncorking the bottle with expertise. For a few moments, she stayed silent, limiting herself to pour some wine into the goblet and sliding it towards you once it was filled to the brim “Here you go” she stated then, eyeing you from behind her long and dark eyelashes. She was most likely a charmer, the dangerous kind of witch that could bring a man to madness.

“Thanks” you shortly replied, only for her to glance behind her shoulder briefly, checking the area, and lean closer to you afterwards, her tone of voice low enough not to be heard from anyone else besides you.

Her light blue eyes locked with yours “No one is going to harm you, but two of our guests are affiliated to the Government. — she informed you, shooting a subtle look at a purple-haired woman, sitting by the window, clinking glasses with her colleague — You may think she is our ally, considering her condition. It turns out she has a secret agreement with the Mayor to grant her immunity from prosecution”.

You took a sip of your wine, narrowing your eyes in disgust at the unexpected news about the famous Yoruichi Shihoin switching sides to save her own neck. Becoming one of the Hunters was not a career you had ever considered in whole life. The last person you could imagine to betray the Supernatural Community for a personal advantage was Yoruichi. She was a wild spirit, a force of the nature. Clearly, something had changed in her life and, judging by the way the petite girl next to her was now running her fingers through her luscious hair, it was probably the unforgiving feeling of love.

“Who would have ever thought a shapeshifter worked for that shitface. Thanks for the information…” you trailed off then, not knowing how to address the witch saving your life for free.

She smiled softly at you and snapped her fingers to light up a candle she had pulled out from the front pocket of her apron “Rangiku Matsumoto, the one and only. — she introduced herself, positioning the candle into an old candlestick — I would like to chit-chat with a fellow witch a little more, but I really have to go lend my hand to my husband. Enjoy your wine” she excused herself then, waving her hand at you and venturing back into the intricate lines of the tables.

You watched her leave, bringing the goblet to your mouth again, but turning your attention back to the two women looking for the next head to bring to the Mayor on a silver plate. You did not fail to notice the amount of daggers strapped to their belts. At their feet there were bags full of newspapers and you could swear there was even an axe in one of them, but it was too dark for your eyes to make out the real shape of the weapon. It was decidedly better not to go anywhere near that table. You could defend yourself, you were powerful enough to force them to transform, or even cast a curse on them to perpetually turn them into animals. However, you could not assault them out of the blue and this was not a place to fight.

You were genuinely surprised a shady man with unkempt sandy hair and a smug smile on his lips approached them. Yoruichi seemed to know him, her yellowish eyes darting on the stranger immediately, upon sensing his presence at her back. While she began conversing with him, you switched your attention on the raven-haired Huntress at her right, her scowl quite evident as she stared daggers at the newcomer. Well, jealousy could do numbers on people, to the point of even attempting to kill the person who piqued the interest of your loved one.

It did not startle you the way she suddenly leapt forward and knocked him down onto the floor, pressing the sharp edge of her dagger on his carotid. Silence swallowed the room, the moment she straddled him and grasped his jaw roughly in her small hand.

“What part of ‘stay away from her’ you did not comprehend? Do you want me to etch it on your face?” the girl snapped, while Yoruichi disinterestedly finished her drink and slammed the empty glass back onto the table. She did not bother to step in to prevent her colleague to make a scene, or possibly slaughter a man in front of all those witnesses. All she cared about was being the center of the attention, as per usual.

The man sighed, hands raising apologetically to quell his aggressor’s rage “Woah, I got it, Sui-Feng! — he defended himself, his tone playful and strangely calm despite the compromising position he was in — I was just telling her my goodbyes! You know, I’ll leave this town in the morning” he explained, earning a scoff from the woman above him who begrudgingly sheathed the dagger back into its scabbard before jumping back on her feet.

“That’s the fourth time you use this pathetic excuse to approach her. It’s only natural for a merchant to travel. — she retorted, hopping back onto her stool and glancing at the dark sky outside — Too bad it’s not a full Moon night. I’d have loved to skin you alive” she added, a mischivious grin curling her pinkish lips as the man leisurely stood back on his feet and dusted some dirt off of his baggy clothes.

A werewolf? You had not met one in years. After Unohana’s death, Kenpachi Zaraki and his pack had left the town and the only werewolf still around was Muguruma Kensei, the smith who lived in the mountains. Who was this man, then? Why had you not met him before? Did he belong to a pack from another town, or did he get exiled? Whatever was his origin, all you knew was that he had caught you staring and he winked at you with a teasing smirk promising a conversation.

Straightening your back, you whipped your head to the other side of the room and found yourself wishing you could chant your beloved invisibility spell. You really did not wish to catch the attention of anyone in particular. Making bonds could be dangerous and that man radiated troubles.

“Let him go, Sui-Feng. — Yoruichi chimed in, silky voice resonating through the room — Kisuke was about to leave anyway, right?”.

“Of course, I was! You are probably in the middle of the hunt anyway and I should make my getaway before a silver blade takes me to the grave prematurely” you heard him jest, but you were not too happy to hear them share their goodbyes. You had a feeling deep in your guts he was about to head over to your table and you had no intention to die at his place.

Therefore, you stood up and sauntered towards the wooden staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. It was time to go to sleep and lock yourself up, maybe even protecting your door with some defensive spells to keep anyone trying to break him outside. With each step you climbed, you felt safer and, if it was not for a whimper echoing in the corridor at the end of stairs, you would have dared to say nothing threatened your life anymore. That moan, however, was pained one. Someone was hurt and you felt your heart thrumming against your ribcage violently as you wandered down the deserted area, expecting someone to jumpscare you at any moment.

There was an ominous atmosphere around you and it had become notably coldler with every passing second. You reminisced some of your mentor’s teachings about the temperature and atmosphere’s changings. Sudden cold usually was connected to the presence of ghosts, or beings capable of sucking the life out of their victims. In other words: vampires.

You truly wished the monster at the end of the road was not a bloodsucker, but you soon found yourself face to face with one as he dropped the lifeless body of a young woman down onto the floor with a dull thud. Glossy brown eyes staring at you, pale complexion, the corpse belonged, much to your dismay, to the kind nun Momo Hinamori. Too young to die and too devoted to think monsters existed, she had always refused to believe you were a witch. You wondered what she was doing in that Inn and how the dapper man in front of you had lured her into his trap.

He was handsome, this much was undeniable. Then again, she was not the type to melt for small attentions. You wondered what he had done to her, if he had used mind control, or some other devious technique to compel her to follow him so effortlessly.

He stood there, lean frame enveloped by a luxurious black cape as he wiped his mouth clean with a silky white handkerchief. Your presence had not bothered him in the slightest.

“Good evening” he greeted you, velvet voice caressing your skin warmly, a fatherly tone you despised with every molecule of your body. You felt your mouth going dry, your eyes averting from him to spare another glance at the victim at his feet.

You took a sharp intake of breath, your eyes hardening as you reached for the phial of holy water you always kept hanging on your neck and tossed it at him. The man disappeared from your sight, dodging your attempt to make his skin sizzle, and the glass collided onto the wall, exploding into a million splinters before your frightened eyes. Your head frantically whipped around, trying to detect his presence before he could get his hands on you, but the moment you realized he was at your back it was too late for you. Your cheek was pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pin you on the spot.

“How much do you know about vampires, sweetheart?” he asked you, cold breath wafting over your jaw, when he dipped his head down to talk directly next to your ear.

“Enough to desire their extinction” you sassed, furrowing your brows in discomfort as he tightened his grip on your nape. You definitely needed to train in hand-to-hand fights. Against some monsters spells and curses did not suffice. The scar in the middle of your mentor’s chest was your daily reminder of how dangerous it could be losing focus in a duel.

The vampire hummed and magnanimously loosened his grip on you, but he cautiously took a couple of steps back to put a relatively safe distance from his opponent “You must be the witch everyone is talking about. — he noted, chestnut hues scrutinizing your face — The sketch on the leaflets doesn’t do you justice” he smoothly complimented you, causing your cheeks to heat up, but your brain to inform you he was probably trying to get in your mind.

You snorted, arms folding against your chest “Don’t tell me you won her heart with such ridiculous pick-up lines. — you taunted him, eyes darting on the late nun behind you — Now, unless you want us to respectively end up with a stake through the heart and flesh consumed on a burning pyre, what do you say about parting ways and leaving this small altercation behind?” you flatly suggested, eyes flitting back on your interlocutor who impassibly listened to you. He was unnerving. Too stolid and tranquil, he got on your nerves without even talking much.

Before dignifying you with an answer, he slicked back the single cowlick tickling his pointy nose, a placid smile adorning his lips “Is that what you wish for? — he queried softly, before ambling over the cold body of his victim and inspecting it with a cold indifference that made you question how many people he had killed throughout the years — Mala tempora currunt. Forming alliances is fundamental to survive”.

You blinked, swallowing forcefully to withstand the impact his words had on you. If the world once belonged to supernatural beings it was merely because humans feared those who possessed such abilities. Knowledge is power and, forging new weapons to eradicate the so-called monsters from the society, from hunters you had all become the hunted. No matter how powerful you were, you were constantly on the run and with no one to seek protection from. It was probably a matter of time before someone killed you. Vampires were surely powerful, albeit the sunlight was their greatest weakness. Their strength dopended on their biological age. The man in front of you looked like he was in his early thirties, but the confidence and charisma he possessed indicated he had most likely been around for a long time. Centuries. There was no doubt he was a skilled fighter, if he had lived that long unscathed.

“I don’t trust vampires” you countered back, watching him pick up the lifeless body of the young nun as if it weighted nothing.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone besides yourself. — he replied, glancing at you briefly before staring back at the girl in his arms — However, this is what happens to people who don’t make connections. I can offer you protection, a safe place to live, and only ask for a few favors in return. We don’t have to be friends to make an alliance” he reasoned, once again reminding you of how much you were risking by isolating yourself and working as a killer for a living.

You took a few seconds to ponder your next words. The temptation to accept the deal was alluring and, all in all, you knew there was a catch in this.

“If I refuse your offer, you are going to denounce me, am I correct?” you inquired, his smile confirming your inklings and earning a scoff from you.

Holy crap, you were screwed.

“How perceptive of you. — he said, his baritone voice caressing your skin like a silky blanket leaving goosebumps on its wake — My name’s Sosuke Aizen” he introduced himself, bowing his head cordially to make up for his temporary impossibility to shake your hand.

You did the same “I’m Y/N L/N” you curtly said, before letting your eyes flick to Hinamori once again. It was disturbing continuing your conversation in her presence. Your expression probably spoke volumes, for the vampire to sigh and indicating a window at the end of the corridor.

When be began to walk in its direction, you hesitantly followed him “Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to throw her out of the window…” you voiced your doubts, but the ugly look from him made you desist from pressing him with more questions.

You stood next to him as he hurled the corpse out of the window, the sound of it colliding with the muddy ground down below made you flinch, but you did not expect for a familiar voice to pierce your ears. You had had no guts of looking outside the window, you had limited yourself to check the stairs to assure the both of you no one had seen the sacrilegious action. Still, curiousity killed the cat; when you heard Kisuke’s voice coming straight from the yard, you peered down to check on him and there he was. Smug grin, disheveled sandy hair sticking to his forehead, he was mostly covered in dirt. At his feet there was a freshly dug pit in which he was tossing Sosuke’s victim.

Your mind went blank. That werewolf was in cahoots with the vampire! Probably, he had caused that commotion at the restaurant to allow his friend to feed without anyone bothering him.

“It took you so long, Lord Aizen! It’s freaking cold outside!” the werewolf complied, grey eyes gleaming in the darkness as he picked up the shovel at his feet to fill up the pit once again. It was definitely not the first time they did something like that.

“Actually, I got held up by this lady. — Sosuke retorted, making space for you to lean out of the window and granting his friend a look at your shocked face — From this day and for years to come, she is in partnership with us” he informed Kisuke, only for you to regret all of your life’s choices in a instant.

The perspective of being burned alive did not sound that unappealing anymore.

Kisuke stopped in his tracks, a smirk on his lips as he winked up at you “Welcome to our society, milady. I truly hope you will survive” he chimed, causing you to halt and look back at Sosuke dead in the eye.

“What does he mean by that?” you asked him, ready to hit him with a migraine spell right on the spot. Something about these two was off and you were pretty sure they were responsible for a long line of unsolved murders.

He sighed “The last woman who joined us tragically died in a fight against another supernatural brigade. You are clearly stronger than her, fear not” he tried to soothe your nerves, but you simply grimaced and took a couple of steps back to put some distance between you two. You hoped he was telling the truth. In times like this, fights were frequents to establish domain over villages and you knew about some beings who had succumbed recently.

Maybe, if you knew the name of that woman, you could surely tell if she had been involved into a battle.

“Who was she?”.

“You ask too many questions, sweetheart”.

“Don’t call me that. — you punctuated, folding your arms against your chest as you gazed out of the window, eyes lingering on the starless night sky — It’s only fair you share some informations with me”.

Sosuke took a sharp intake of air, chestnut eyes closing as he leaned his back against the wall in resignation “She was a mermaid I had encountered in the South during a trip. — he began, eyelids lifting leisurely to refocus on you — Her name was Tier Harribel. I thought she could keep up with our rhythms. My mistake” he stated, leaving a weird sense on bitterness on your tongue, after his words sunk in. A mermaid. You had never met one in person, but you had heard stories about them. While they were pretty powerful in their natural habitat, they could solely rely in their hypnotizing singing and peculiar beauty on the land.

If your companions were so invested into fights for power, you had to watch your back. What if they suddenly saw you as a menace and killed you off? Strategies were not your forte, but you knew your way around men. Maybe, you could keep them on check, while honing your abilities. You were a witch, you had learned to use not only your magical abilities to bend knees. The art of seduction was something every woman knew, but witches were trained to make a good use of it at very young ages. There were stages to go through and now that you were a full grown woman in her early twenties, there was no limit to what you could do. The carousel stopped when you decided to get off of the ride.

Realizing you had zoned out for a while now, you were pulled back to reality by the sudden appearence of the goofy werewolf next to you. The man had sneaked back into the Inn by climbing the giant oak by the window. Humans would have not made it that far, but his supernatural strength showed in his agile movements and the minum effort he had endured in jumping from a brench to the other.

“Geez, I definitely need a bath, but the room I’ve booked doesn’t have a tub” he stated, your eyes travelling up and down his body in sheer disgust. Yeah, he really stank of wet dog and dirt. His clothes were a mess and he would have drawn way too many curious glances, if he were to go downstairs like that.

Maybe, this could be your chance to prove yourself to them and, at the same time, to catch their full attention. It was better to have them on your side, than after you. It was clear they were not going to let you go. The vampire had made himself abundantly clear a gew moments ago. You were stuck with them, the new addition to that deadly duo, the wanted girl they would have not hesitated to sell out to Yoruichi and Sui-Feng, if she attempted to run away. You had to learn more about them and feigned kindness, wine and blood were exactly what you needed to make them talk.

“I have rented a room too. — you started, hand reaching for the key the innkeeper had given to you earlier — Let’s go check if there’s a tub you can use”.

Your words made the werewolf pause, grey eyes scrutinizing your face suspiciously, evidently still wary around you. Pretty faces frequently deceived people and witches were well-known for taking advantage of their looks to achieve their goals. He was right not to trust you, but you could not confirm his doubts. Also, it was not like you keened to really murder them. You merely wanted hold some kind of control of the situation and, naturally, finding out more about them.

“What’s with that face? Can’t a girl take pity on a man?” you queried sarcastically, sauntering towards the room with the number three etched onto the top section of the door without waiting for him to reply. Unlocking it, you pushed the door open and made sure they entered the room before you did. The show was about to begin. The moment you joined them, you locked the door behind you again and cleared your throat to catch their attention, temporary focused on the modest forniture decorating the space.

Once their eyes were both transfixed back on you, it was time to feign a polite smile and raise your hands, fingers flicking in the air to emphasize your next words “Considering the Huntresses downstairs and the horde of guards hunting me out there in the streets, I will put a protection spell on the door. No one will be able to enter this room, or detect our presence in here anyway, alright?” you informed your new comrades, who barely shared a knowing glance before allowing you to proceed without further ado.

Turning around victoriously, you kept in mind this was, without the shadow of a doubt, a bold move. Your intention was mainly to protect yourself and show them you were going to put your abilities on the table to defend them as well. Still, who would have protected you from them, if they simply decided to betray you, to kill you?

You were doomed.

Too distracted by perfecting the incantation to pay attention to them, you had not heard the sound of clothes rustling, landing in a pile on the floorboard. What you saw, however, made your eyes widen and you swallowed forcefully upon the indecent vision welcoming you back on Earth. Kisuke Urahara, fully naked, had entered what looked like a wine cask, but was actually the tub, without even bothering to let you know he was stripping himself. You stepped back from the door and made a relative distance between you two, careful not to lock your eyes on his sculpted body, littered with scars from the battles he had fought to survive. He was smugly smiling at you, splashing the water into the tub to rub off of his muscles the dirt and sweat sticking on his flesh.

“A brute, I know. No wonder all women decline our invitations to join our army” Sosuke finally spoke out from behind you.

The hair on your nape stood on the end, his cool breath tickling your earlobe as you gulped down nervously and turned your head to the side enough to meet his gaze. You had not realized he had gotten that close to you until he had talked. Vampires, the worst specimen ever created.

Kisuke scoffed, splashing some water onto his face, slicking his damp sandy hair back “Chastising me, when you are the one who sucks them dry after they refuse your offer is a bit ironic, don’t you think?”.

You grimaced and walked off to the nearby desk, hand reaching for a glass and a pottery jug you found over there. This place truly made your skin crawl, yet you had to give it credits for the services it offered. Pouring some water into the glass, you knew you had to do something to bring balance to the conversation again.

“There is no need to bicker. We are comrades now, things like this happen on a regular basis. Also, it is not like I have never seen a naked man before” you chimed in, mellow voice cautiously aiming to extinguish the fire ready to start between them.

You brought the glass to your lips, a single sip washing away the dryness your anxiety had left behind. You could perfectly deal with them, you could handle this situation like you had handled your mentor’s loss, your friend’s decision to leave and all the terrible crimes you had committed to gain money and earn some favors from some inhabitants of the hills around the village.

Biting on the rim, you observed the vampire ubuttoning the silver buttons keeping his black cloak draped neatly over his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing an expensive brand of clothes he had probably purchased in the North of the Country. The white shirt and the black waistcoat were immaculate, his crimson cravat a striking contrast reminding you of the nun’s blood dried around the bitemark on her tender neck. Handsome like the devil and probably worse than Satan himself.

He caught you staring, impassible face lighting up in a knowing smirk “Do you wish to see me naked as well?” he inquired, your cheeks flushing up as you barely got to shrug his provocation off with a bemused laughter fueling his curiosity.

“You are all the same underneath your clothes. What would make a difference?”.

“The way we use our bodies to pleasure our partners” Kisuke interjected, still sitting comfortably in the tub, muscular arms resting on the borders of the bathtub as he eyed you in genuine shrewdness. He did not make a move to get out of it yet and, frankly, you did not know if it was better this way, or not. Things, however, seeemed to have been escalating quicker than you had anticipated.

You settled your glass down, your own cloak dropping from your shoulders as you tossed it over a nearby chair probably to gain some time to fire a smart answer back “I see. Men and their toxic tendency of being convinced they can pleasure a woman more than she can do it herself, even going as far as competing over who does it better than the other. — you rambled, rolling your eyes and allowing a soft chuckle to escape your lips while you flicked your gaze up to meet the hungry eyes soaking in your form, now visible for the lack of the cloak hiding your curves — Can’t any of you understand women know how to reach their ecstasy themselves? They are the only ones who know how to reach blissful climaxes, without a man attempting to find that spot, or… Well, find the clitoris”.

You were well aware you were walking on thin ice and feeding their imagination. Then again, you were kind of getting some thoughts that had been pestering your mind for years out of your head and, additionally, you could not stop running your mouth because the wine you had consumed earlier was really getting to you. Wonderful, considering you were in the company of two supernatural beasts that could easily snap your neck like a twig, thanks to your lack of concentration.

Sosuke hummed, arms folded over his chest, back leaning against the wall behind him “I don’t doubt your words. Nobody can say to know a body more than the owner themselves. — he gave you credit for your remark, pausing only to watch you kick your boots off of your feet and run your fingers through your hair to fix them, a vision making his pants uncomfortably tight — The exception to this rule, however, is clearly in practice and acute observation. Someone who has spent centuries walking this Earth, having countless people warming up his bed, telling him where they longed to be touched, my dear, knows how to break your mind” he replied confidently, stunning you in silence as you slumped onto a chair and propped your chin over the upturned palm of your hand.

He had a point. How were you supposed to reply to this? This smile on his lips told you just enough to let you know he had no problem in showing you the empiric evidence of his theory. And, damn him, you were pressing your thighs together to subtly relieve the throbbing need irrevocably growing in your heat.

The sound of water gushing out and splattering onto the wood made your head snap back towards Kisuke, who had raised tall on his feet and climbed out of the tub with an impressive bulge worsening your state. The room felt way too hot right now and you wanted nothing more than your clothes to evaporate at the moment. You straightned your back, eyes straying away from him to preservate your mind from what you were seeing. You were definitely not a prude. Not after Grimmjow, long ago, had showed you the pleasures a cock well stuffed into your core could bring to you. Too bad he had then enrolled in the so-called Hollow Army to bring war to a Country you did not even remember the name of.

“You may know the female anatomy better than me, alright, but can you smell her arousal? Because, to be precise, she is clearly dripping underneath her gown and it all started the moment she saw me naked” the werewolf earnestly stated and, bloody Hell, how you wished you could simply summon a fireball to throw at him to shut his mouth. He was telling the truth and your upper lip twitched in irritation for having been caught red-handed so easily.

You could not blame him for having supernatural senses, though.

Your palms were sweaty, eyes darkening in anticipation as you cleared your throat before Sosuke could blast his alley’s ego effortlessly with his silver tongue. Why restraining yourself now? You had started this, they had to finish it. What was better than sex to fortificate relationships? Everything was going according to your plan, fortunately.

You spread your legs tentatively, hand reaching for the hem of your plum gown to hike it up and expose your legs up to your thighs “Still, I don’t see any of you doing something to fix the problem…” you hazardously whispered, sly smile creeping on your lips.

Sosuke arched a dark eyebrow up, cocking his head to the side “Aren’t you going to pick your knight for the ride, dear? You just expect us to jump on you like two dogs contending a piece of meat, don’t you?”.

“You know, it doesn’t really matter to me who is going to fuck me. — you started, pursing your lips thoughtfully — What I need right now is for one of you two to help me out. I offered you a bath and a room and I have blindly accepted to partake to this association, whatever it is. Consider this a payback” you stated, watching Kisuke loop his arm around Sosuke’s shoulders and whispering something you failed to catch in his ear.

With the masterly art of masking his emotions, Sosuke did not let his facial muscles stretch to display his reaction to Kisuke’s words. You guessed this was a skill he had acquired after centuries of living in a reality in which the less you showcased the longer you lived. Therefore, when the other man took a step away from him, Sosuke gazed into your eyes, looking for sincerity in your offer. When you did not falter, he motioned for Urahara to proceed. You locked eyes with the werewolf instantly, hand reaching up to scratch the stubble over his chin, when he bent down towards you.

“Did you ask your buddy if you could do the honors?” you asked him, fluttering your lashes as he bit the tip of your nose playfully, before dropping onto his knees in front of you. Calloused hands slithering up your stockings, he seeked the garters to unlatch them and free your panties from the leather restrictions.

He chuckled, shooting a knowing look at you “Let’s just say we started a contest. Who makes you come faster wins” he cooed casually, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your thighs deftly, before clutching them in his hand and taking a long whiff of them. You squirmed on your seat, jaw dropping but closing soon, prompted by the cold hand of Sosuke now standing at your side with an obscure gleam in his caramel brown eyes.

“Relax. You are in good hands” he hushed you, thumb playing with your bottom lip, as you watched Kisuke’s head disappear underneath the layers of your gown, lips quickly finding your folds and tongue lapping at your arousal like a starving animal.

Right, this is what he was after all.

With the first licks he gave you, attention solely trained on your clitoris, you jerked over the chair you were sitting on. Your head lolled back, neck strained and chest threatening to spill out of the tight corset you were wearing. Your breasts, squeezed and pushed up by the fine item gifted to you by Lord Ishida Ryuken in exchange of Lord Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s head, were a sight the vampire could not ignore. He was a man too, at the end of day. No matter how composed and sophisticated he was: right now Sosuke Aizen only wanted to bury his face between those plush mounds and trace with his tongue a path leading to your jugular. A bite, some blood to taste you.

Fingers running through your hair, he brought his lips close to your ear, pointy nose nuzzling your cheekbone “Do you mind if I have a taste, sweetheart?”.

A taste. He wanted to feed from you. Mind fuzzy for the intense waves of pleasure provided by the werewolf’s tongue now swirling around your entrance, you moaned loudly and peered up at Sosuke in sheer desire “Are you going to suck me dry too?”.

“Don’t be foolish. I merely want to rinse my mouth from the nun’s blood. — he whispered, mouth already searching for the vein of your neck, eyes closed as he smelt the fragrance of your blood — I would rather have you screaming my name in pleasure every night than making you my meal”.

You shuddered, the tongue between your thighs was now accompanied by a finger stretching your pussy for what was yet to come. Your hand reached up to grab a fistful of Sosuke’s silky hair and tug at them, when his fangs pierced your neck. You whined, a pained one, the overflow of your blood invading his mouth depriving you gradually of some energy. The two mouths over your body were definitely robbing you of the last shreds of sanity left in you.

“Oh my Lord— Gosh, I’m close” you breathed out, a groan of approval rambling from somewhere deep in Sosuke’s chest as he pulled his mouth away from you. You felt some trickles of blood dribbling down your neck, escaping the wound he had left onto your neck, leaving goosebumps on their wake.

Legs spasming, you bucked your hips against Kisuke’s face, seeking more friction, riding your orgasm out with untainted hunger. It all felt like a lucid dream and, to be honest, you had no idea how you ended up naked over the bed after your orgasm. You remembered Sosuke pulling you into his arms, kissing you violently and spinning you around, whilst his fingers hastily undid the strings of your corset. Falling face first onto the bed, you were soon sandwiched between them.

None of you was covered, skin to skin, panting, you realized what was going on only when Kisuke’s length probbbed at your lips “Spit on it, babygirl. Suck on it, come on, make it nice and wet. You know, it’s only for the best. I don’t want to hurt that cute little hole of yours later, hm? Lubricate it”.

And you did. Tongue sweeping out of your mouth to twirl around the mushroom head of the hard cock in front of your face, you kept an intense eye-contact with the werewolf before taking as much as you could into your warm cavern. He grunted, hand resting behind your nape to push your head even more down onto him. But even though you had tried so hard not to show a gag reflex, you ended up choking on Kisuke’s cock, when you felt Sosuke’s ministrations on your puckered hole.

Tears prickled at your eyes, falling from your lashes as you took a sharp intake of air, and Kisuke sighed, hand ruffling your hair to comfort you “Sosuke, don’t be so rough with her. She’s… Ah, shit! She’s in the middle of a very delicate— Oh! Fuck, like that, shit! If you keep going like that, I’m gonna cum!” Kisuke’s protests towards the other man turned into a series of moans elicited by your mouth.

You had gained back some control, head bobbing up and down in a fluid motion, once you had adjusted to Sosuke’s intrusion in your most private parts. Before you could even properly realize it, in fact, he was already pressing his tip onto your entrance and the stretch left you breathless. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to Kisuke’s cock, choked out whines escaping your lips.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, a whimper leaving your wobbly lips, nails clawing at Kisuke’s thighs as a reflex while he held your face in his hands.

Your spine arched, eyes squeezed shut as the vampire groaned lowly, rotating his hips against yours to bottom out. Tight, warm, your hole was literally sucking him in. The spit he had used and the fingering had done nothing to make it less hard to breach in. Still, there you were, taking him like a champion. Your legs trembled, but gosh how beautiful you looked like that. Your ass, pressed up against his navel, was making it hard for him not to burst into you right on the spot.

Kisuke took notice of his colleague’s status and clicked his tongue “Oh, are you alright, man? Having a hard time holding on?”.

“Shut up, Kisuke” Sosuke admonished him sternly, fingertips digging onto your waist as you were now helped by the two men to raise better onto your knees and straddle Kisuke’s lap. You were out of breath, thin sheen of sweat beading your forehead whilst Kisuke gently slipped himself into your pussy. The feeling made your eyes roll in the back of your skull.

You heard them cussing, throwing insults at each others face, pointing out how loud you were because of their ministrations. Honestly, you had no idea of which one of them was blowing your mind more than the other. All you knew, when you forced them to kiss you contemporary in a messy dance of tongues and labored breaths, was that you were not going to betray them. Not that night, not in a lifetime.

When the three of you were done, bodies sweaty and numb, you were laying between them, spent, drained. Their seeds leaked out of your body, staining the sheets underneath you, while you absent-mindedly drew patterns on Sosuke’s pectoral and let Kisuke play with your hair.

“May my mentor be blessed, for she taught me how to make birth control potions” you muttered tiredly, huffing as Sosuke grasped your wrist and nipped at the veins to play with your emotions.

“Indeed. — Sosuke commented, glaring at Kisuke at your back — I would have hated to deal with pups around my castle”.

“What a jerk”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! It’s finally here. I will be frank with you. I have enjoyed writing this fic more than I had anticipated. There is a lot going on up there, but I hope I have been able to depict the mediveal world I had in mind. I tried to vary in the choice of the specimens mentioned and it sounded so good in my head. Hopefully, this is spooky and kinky enough to celebrate this fabulous month!

Let me know what you liked about this story in the comments! Likes and re-posts are greatly appreciated. Until next,

x o x o

Tags: @j-u-u-z-o @brittscafe @jesurum-says-hi @sashi-ya @naru-mi-gen @persuasivus @noirfan12 @my-my-my @bankaizen @enchaotic @villainsrtasty @velaenaa

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (14)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this took aaaaaaages. I won't keep you. Go right ahead. Check back at the end with moi 💋

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Mallorca holiday is not the only thing that ends in this chapter. Ewan and his Darling reckon with the truth, and they have to decide whether it's all worth it. Especially with what's coming...

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. It’s as if the stars have aligned and the universe has conspired to give two lovers the perfect date they so deserve after months and months of rolling in the muck.

It could be plain luck, but really, the credit goes to Ewan’s meticulous planning. Before leaving for Spain, he already knew he would have to pull out all the stops to get some proper time alone with you. Away from the rest of the group. And especially away from the guy you’re dating. 

The dedicated artiste in him can find some twisted pleasure in how this area of his life imitates his art. Wouldn’t it be easier to tap into Aemond if some part of him—of Ewan—carries some resentment for Matt?

Ewan had it in him to envision how this series of events would serve as his fuel for the Battle Above the Gods’ Eye. 

So long as he gets you back. As you sit across the candlelit table, he can’t stop staring. His dimples carve themselves deeper with every laugh or glance you throw his way. It’s the kind of brazen adoration that could make a person feel exposed, vulnerable even—but not with you. He could let you dig as deep as you’d like and he will still feel safe. Intoxicating, but in a good way. 

In turn, your eyes become drawn to those crescents on his cheeks, and you display a loving expression of your own. He blossoms under your scrutiny.

You’re in the middle of shoving a forkful of entrée into your mouth, not very demure-like, when he dreamily says, as if in a trance, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

The fork freezes mid-air, and your resulting snort further proves the absurdity of his sentiment. You sure have an almost unguarded way of presenting yourself for a Hollywood actress. Not that it matters with Ewan. You could be clad in nothing but a potato sack and the lad would think the sun shines out of your arse. That being said, the potato sack would allow him easy access to the main source of his bliss—nevertheless—the look he continues to give you proves nothing short of devotion.

“So smooth, Ewan,” you respond, feeling warm all over. “Do you have any other lines, or can I eat my food in peace now?”

“Hey, I’m not stopping you,” he smirks.

“No, you’re just staring.”

“Guess I’m just… making up for lost time,” he expresses, more sincere this time, unable to mask the longing in his tone.

You hold back your snarky retort. The logical side of you wants to believe that the period you spent apart had been necessary, and that both of you grew as people in the interim. He landed the role, you were able to focus on filming, and it was well and good—until it all came crashing down when he broke first that December night. 

If you hadn’t broken things off and the production for Ewan’s film bypassed him, it would have been on your conscience. But maybe your continued romance would have provided some balm for the both of you. 

It’s no use looking back on that now. You both made your choices. And now you stand on the precipice of what could be the end, or the beginning of everything anew. 

He is indulging in his wine when you finally find your words. “I’m sorry, Ewan. For everything.”

He catches on the crack in your voice and the quiver of your lip. His hand shoots across the table to encase yours. “Hey, darling, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah. Look, you know how I feel about you. I love you, and that’s all that matters. Everything else is just noise.”

“But—”

“I’ll always love you,” he pauses, before dropping the words that make your heart clench uncontrollably, “even if you choose him.”

“Oh, Ewan—”

“Don’t get me wrong. It would hurt like a bitch. It would kill me… but I’ll survive, you know what I mean?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “You’re too good to me.”

“No,” he sighs, smiling ruefully. “Thing is, I haven’t been. Not always, and I’ll have to live with that. But whatever makes you happy now… is what I want. It’s all I want.”

“Okay,” you reply, and you mean it. You believe him. 

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “darling, should I be offended that you still haven’t given me my birthday gift?”

Your brows shoot straight up. “Oh? I guess I should have… Well, what would you like?”

Ewan holds your gaze unwaveringly for a moment, waiting for you to catch on to the significance of his impish smirk. You roll your eyes fondly. “Not here, babe. There are other people in this restaurant. It wouldn’t be ideal. Besides, we really shouldn’t give Deuxmoi more fodder for their messed-up blind items.”

A beat of silence, broken by your shared laughter. And the night unfolds perfectly.

You’re halfway to the restaurant’s exit when the inevitable happens—a hesitant voice calls out behind you, stopping you both in your tracks.

“Excuse me?”

You turn to find a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, standing a few steps away. Her phone is clutched tightly in her hands, and her eyes are wide with recognition. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt… but are you… from the show House of the Dragon?”

Ewan freezes for half a second, his brows lifting in surprise, before his easy charm kicks in. “That would be us.”

“Busted,” you add with a grin.

“Oh my God,” the girl whispers, visibly overwhelmed. “Would it… would it be okay if I got a picture? I’m such a huge fan of both of you.”

Ewan glances at you for approval, before he smiles and nods at the girl. “Sure, let’s do it.”

The girl practically vibrates with excitement as she hands her phone to a passing waiter. She giggles nervously, moving in close for the photo, and then you notice her glancing at you in a state of awe. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. 

“Damn right, she is,” Ewan says sincerely.

“Thank you so much,” the girl gushes, taking her phone back from the waiter. “You’re both amazing. Really.”

As she walks away, Ewan leans in and mumbles in your ear, “I guess we’re not as inconspicuous as we thought.”

You laugh under your breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

The cool night air greets you two, sporting your superhero masks, the fabric blocking the faint metallic scent of oncoming rain. You make it halfway down the long main street before the sky opens up, the first fat raindrops splashing against the cobblestones. Within seconds, it’s pouring, the rain drenching you both as you scramble for cover.

Ewan pulls you toward a narrow alley, where an aging awning juts out above a shuttered shopfront. The shelter is flimsy at best, but it’s enough to keep the worst of the downpour at bay. You’re both breathless and laughing, your clothes sticking to your skin.

He lifts his mask just enough to show his mouth, a grin tugging at the corners. “Rain’s not so bad, is it?”

You pull your own mask off entirely, shaking out your damp hair as you glance up at him. “Speak for yourself, Spidey. I’m soaked.”

He takes a step closer, his hands sliding gently around your waist. “And yet you look incredible.”

You snort, though your cheeks flush at the usual intensity of his words. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. His fingers tighten on your waist, and you can feel the warmth of him even through the cold rain. “C’mere.”

You don’t hesitate. Reaching up, you tug his mask higher, just past his nose, exposing his lips. Then you rise onto your toes, closing the space between you. The kiss is deep, unhurried, and utterly consuming. Rain slides down your face and his, cool droplets mingling with the warmth of your skin. One of his hands moves up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you impossibly closer to deepen the kiss.

You moan against his mouth, and his heart soars. 

When you finally pull back, you’re both panting, your lips wet and foreheads pressed together.

“You’re unreal, darling,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “How did I get so fucking lucky?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you kiss him again, softer this time, as if sealing a promise only the two of you could ever understand.

Matt stands on the villa’s enclosed balcony, nursing a half-empty glass of Rioja and gazing out into the moonlit courtyard. The rain has softened to a mere drizzle, but everyone remains scattered inside the large holiday house. A knot of frustration is growing in his chest. He hadn’t been looking for anything serious when the two of you started seeing each other—at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. But watching you walk hand in hand with Ewan as you enter the gates feels like a punch to the gut.

You pause near the courtyard’s edge, leaning into Ewan’s shoulder as you exchange a few quiet words. Even from this distance, Matt can see the easy intimacy between you—the kind of connection he hasn’t quite managed to reach with you. He drains the rest of his wine in one gulp, the bitterness lingering on his tongue as he sets the glass down on the railing with more force than necessary.

“You know, glaring at them isn’t going to change anything,” comes a familiar, teasing voice.

He turns to find Liv leaning against the doorframe, one brow arched and a knowing smirk on her lips. Unlike him, she seems utterly at ease, as if she’s been waiting for this moment.

“Wasn’t glaring,” he mutters, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“Right,” she drawls, stepping onto the balcony. “Just brooding in the dark getting sloshed. Very subtle.”

Matt lets out a low chuckle despite himself, running a hand through his hair. “Subtlety’s overrated, love.”

Liv moves to stand beside him, following his gaze toward the courtyard. You and Ewan are heading inside now, your laughter grating at Matt’s ears as he watches your soaked figures, not that either of you seems to care. 

“You’re not going to make a scene, are you?” Liv asks, her tone light but edged with genuine concern.

He shakes his head. “Course not. We’re professionals.”

“But?” she prompts, tilting her head to study him.

“But it doesn’t mean I’m giving up.” His voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability beneath it that catches her off guard. “Not yet, anyway.”

“You know I support you,” she says finally, “but there’s a fine line between persistence and masochism.”

He glances at her, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m serious, Matt,” she insists, though her tone softens. “If you’re going to fight for her, do it because you love her, not because you’re afraid of losing.”

Matt looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time, he notices the faint freckles dusting her nose, the flecks of gold in her deep brown eyes. There’s something unspoken in her gaze—an understanding, perhaps even admiration—and it nearly throws him off balance.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter. “For the advice.”

“Don’t mention it.” She offers him a small, lopsided smile. “Just don’t make an arse of yourself, yeah? Remember, you are Daemon fucking Targaryen, after all.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “That I am.”

As she turns to leave, Matt finds himself watching her for a beat longer than necessary, a thought flickering at the edge of his mind. But he pushes it aside, refocusing on the task ahead. You’re still inside, still within reach…

But no. 

He’s not ready to let you go—not yet. But the truth is, you were never his to hold onto. Maybe you never had been.

The vacation winds down far too quickly, as such things always do. Bags are packed and lined against walls, the last remnants of a shared holiday ready to disperse back to their separate lives.

Louise moves through the villa with her phone in hand, snapping selfies with everyone in sight. Her laughter is infectious as she cajoles even the most camera-shy among the cast to join. Namely, Ewan Mitchell. She’s especially persistent with him, sneaking in shots when he isn’t looking or pulling others into the frame to get him to relax.

Freddie and Tom take one last dip in the pool, their shouts and splashes echoing through the courtyard. They’re trying to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest, both acting like overgrown kids unwilling to admit the holiday is ending. Bethany and Phia, meanwhile, are busy tidying up the kitchen. Somehow, they manage to rope in a few of the guys to help, using mock threats of withholding night-out invitations to get the job done.

You sit in the quiet of the villa’s courtyard, the sunrise emerging low on the horizon, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. You find yourself enjoying the stillness, savouring this pocket of calm before reality rushes back in.

But the peace is short-lived. A familiar voice calls your name, and you glance up to see Matt approaching with his deliberate gait, his eyes shaded with an emotion you’re almost afraid to name. 

You know he knows. You know it’s time.

“Hey,” he says, stopping a few feet away. The air between you is charged, heavy with things unsaid, but perhaps these very same things have lingered since the beginning of your little romance.

“Hey,” you mirror softly, already knowing where this conversation is heading.

He gestures toward the empty chair beside you. “Mind if I join?”

You shake your head, and he takes the seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the villa fill the silence—distant chatter, everyone fussing and unaware of what’s unraveling between yourself and Matt. 

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “I’ve been thinking about us. About… what comes next.”

You’re not surprised. You had seen the tension in his jaw last night, the flicker of frustration in his eyes as you returned to the villa hand in hand with Ewan. You’d known this conversation was inevitable.

“Matt…” you start, but he holds up a hand, stopping you.

“Just… let me say this first,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I know things between us weren’t supposed to get complicated. And I know I wasn’t looking for something serious when we started this. But somewhere along the way, that changed for me.”

He shifts, his fingers threading together as he searches for the right words. “I don’t regret any of it. Not a single moment. But I also know I can’t hold onto something that was never really mine to begin with.”

Your chest tightens at his words, taking in the raw honesty in his tone. You reach out, placing a hand over his. “You mean a lot to me, Matt. You really do. But…”

“But it’s him, isn’t it?” he finishes for you, his smile stiff and not reaching his eyes. “It’s always been him.”

You want to nod, but it doesn’t feel right. You worry that any sort of affirmation from you at this moment would be too cruel. Salt in his wound. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know,” he says simply. He leans back, exhaling deeply as he tilts his head as he gazes at you. “While I still have you, my love… while you’re still here with me… mind if I steal one last kiss?”

His words take you by surprise, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you nod. He leans in, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips meet yours. The kiss is gentle, filled with bittersweet yearning, and when he pulls away, there’s a sense of finality in his gaze.

“I would have been the happiest man if you let me fall in love with you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek, “my Alyna.”

Then he rises, giving you one last lingering look before turning and walking away.

The memory of that night plays in your mind as you sit on the plane, your hand intertwined with Ewan’s. He’s staring out the window, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the light streaming from the window. You’re both quiet, but his thumb strokes idly against the back of your hand, a silent reassurance of his presence.

The flashback is vivid—Matt’s earnestness, the way he had let you go with grace. But even in that moment, there had been no doubt in your mind. It had always been Ewan. From the moment you met him, from the way he looks at you now as if you are the only thing in the world that matters, you knew. Every detour, every mistake, every painful scenario had only ever led you back to him.

Ewan turns to you then, his eyes soft and searching. “You okay, darling?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You hesitate for a moment before answering. “About how lucky I am.”

Those damn dimples appear as he smiles. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. The steady rhythm of his breathing soothes you as your eyes flutter shut, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly at peace. The past is behind you, and the future—whatever it may hold—is something you’re ready to face together.

As the plane cuts through the clouds, carrying you both to LA, you let the weight of the last few months fall away. Your boyfriend’s arm wraps around you, anchoring you with him in the present. And everything feels exactly as it should.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and the two of you barely make it into the hallway before your lips clash again. The mimosas from the bar downstairs left a faint tang in your mouth, but Ewan’s familiar taste is just as sharp as he slides his tongue past your lips. His hands grip your face with sheer desire as he kisses you, his body pressing you against the wall outside your suite.

You fumble with the room key, laughing breathlessly against his lips when the thin piece of plastic slips from your fingers. “Ewan,” you groan, “if you don’t let me get the door open, we’re going to scandalise the hotel staff.”

His teeth grazes the curve of your jaw as he growls softly, “Don’t care. Let them watch, darling.”

The lock finally clicks, and the two of you tumble inside, the door swinging shut with a muted thud behind you. He kicks off his shoes without a thought, already reaching for the zipper at the back of your dress. His fingers are skilled, traversing the familiar territory of your curves, impatiently hitching the fabric down to your hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his accent curling deliciously around the words as his gaze devours every inch of you. 

Your hands aren’t idle either, tugging his shirt over his head and raking your nails lightly down his chest. He hisses at the sensation, his muscles tensing under your touch. “God, I missed this,” you purr, your lips following the path of your hands.

“Missed you,” he counters, pulling you closer until there isn’t a breath of space left between you. The queen-sized bed is only a few steps away, but neither of you seem to care, too lost in the frenzy of lips, teeth, tongue, and hands.

When he finally lifts you into his arms and carries you to the mattress, he lays you down with a gentleness that belies the hunger in his eyes and the world stands still as he hovers over you.

“I need you, my darling,” he confesses lowly.

“You have me,” you whisper back, pulling him down to meet your lips once more.

What follows is a collision of need and intimacy, a desperate reclamation of what had always been yours. 

The next morning, sunlight pours through the sheer curtain of your hotel room. The soft sounds of downtown LA waking up filter through the window. You snuggle against him, his arm lazily draped around your waist, your bare skin pressed together under the tangled sheets. It had been a long, passionate night of lovemaking. Leave it to Ewan to make up for months of lost time in a matter of hours. 

He presses a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, his voice still groggy with sleep. “Good morning, love.”

You smile, closing your eyes again as his lips brush your temple. This is peace—a fleeting, beautiful pocket of bliss. But peace isn’t destined to last, especially not for those in your profession.

Something will get brought up, unearthed, stirred. 

Meanwhile, across the internet, chaos has erupted. 

A Daily Mail article runs alongside blurry paparazzi photos of you and Matt in Spain and an older photo of you sharing a laugh on a date with Ewan in LA. The headline screams betrayal: “Caught Between Two Dragons: Actress Allegedly Juggled Co-Stars Matt Smith and Ewan Mitchell During Spain Getaway!” The story spins a salacious tale, claiming you had been seen cozying up to Matt before jetting off with Ewan.

Of course, TMZ can be relied on to publish the most unreliable piece, alleging that Ewan became involved with you while still publicly linked to Jenna. Photos of Ewan and you with fans in Spain were put side by side with those of him and Jenna smiling at each other in interviews. “Sources claim Mitchell has been sneaking around, one girlfriend from his TV show set and one from his upcoming film set…”

A Deuxmoi post soon follows, fueling the fire with even more speculation. “Spotted: rising actress allegedly two-timing her co-stars,” it reads, accompanied by grainy photos that should be anything but believable. There’s a shot of you and Ewan at the cozy, private dinner in Mallorca, looking every bit like a couple, followed by a picture—clearly taken from a distance—of you and Matt sharing that bittersweet goodbye kiss on the villa terrace. Louise’s sneaky photo has gone viral, misinterpreted and plastered across social media.

The story is twisted, of course—context lost in the frenzy of assumptions and rumours. But the truth rarely matters to the public. The narrative has already taken on a life of its own, the whispers and pointed fingers spreading,  along with the swelling tide of judgment from people who don’t know you, or the situation, at all.

The internet is divided.

Fans on Twitter rally in support.

“I don’t care what the tabloids say! She and Ewan belong together. The chemistry doesn’t lie.”

“They’re all adults!!! let them figure it out. The press needs to stop pitting people against each other.”

But the criticism was harsh, too.

“If she’s been playing both sides, that’s low. Poor Matt.”

“They're both cheaters. They deserve each other.”

“This is such a PR mess. Just admit it if you’re together!”

Back in the hotel room, the chaos of the outside world is a distant hum, until your phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand. You groan, reaching for it, but Ewan pulls you back to his chest.

“Don’t,” he murmurs against your neck. “I don’t wanna share you with the world just yet, darling. You’re all mine.”

Everyone can speculate, criticise, gossip, and whatnot, but none of that noise matters when you’re in the arms of the one you love. 

The world can fuckin’ wait.

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

If this reads like I'm trying to rediscover my footing in this story, that's cause I am. Trust me, I am not satisfied with this chapter. But I am also my own biggest critic...

Can you guess which scene(s) I slacked on?

Plus, the way I talked big game about the supposedly legendary smut scene. I just... could not. For now. I reckon it'll be a bonus chapter soon.

More drama! More drama! At least it's just them two now 😉

[letsgetrowdy43]

All in (Rowan’s Version)—

Quinn Hughes x Daphne Channing

Warnings: Really nothing bad, a little suggestive writing, but no explicit scenes!! Some mentions of drinking/being drunk, and a bit of swearing!

Notes: loosely based on the song “All in” by The Army The Navy!! Quinn is not the stepdad, he’s the dad that stepped up (jk… but he is serving father in this). The fic is abt 13k words and is poorly edited, so do not judge!!

Quinn shifted nervously in his chair, glancing around the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant Brock and Bella had chosen for his blind date.

The place had a warm hum to it — soft music, candles flickering, quiet conversations, and the occasional loud pop of champagne bottles as couples around him celebrated their love.

He checked his phone for the third time; whoever his date was was five minutes late, and now he wondered if Brock had set him up for disaster or a pleasant surprise.

"Quinn?" a soft voice asked as he felt a hand tap his shoulder.

He looked up to see her standing there.

Daphne.

She had tight dark curls framing her face and a warm, slightly hesitant smile. Quinn stood immediately, smoothing his dress shirt, and extended his hand.

"That’s me. You must be Daphne." "I am," she said with a little nervous laugh, shaking his hand as she squeezed it very gently. "Sorry, I’m late. My cab was late, and traffic was brutal." "No worries," he said, pulling her chair out for her. "We're in no rush"

They settled in as quickly as they were introduced, the conversation flowing easily as she sipped on a glass of wine to cut the anxiety bubbling in her throat.

A blind date was honestly so out of her comfort zone.

When Bella, her close family friend, approached her and said her boyfriend had a guy he wanted to set her up with, she was very apprehensive.

Relationships had been a gray area for a little over three years, and there was very little that could change that guardness she had built around her life.

Daphne toyed with the stem of her glass, watching the candlelight flicker across the table before she looked up and admired Quinn's awkward gaze. He looked equally as nervous as her but in a composed way, not to mention he was very handsome in an unexplainable way.

"So… Brock tells me you’re the captain of the Canucks?" she asked, her voice light but curious. Quinn chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am! But it's pretty easy stuff when I have great guys in the locker room like Brock." "Still, that's some heavy stuff, and it's probably been your dream since you were a child. I've always admired people who make a living doing what they love."

Quinn looked up from his glass of water to see her shy smile, blush rising up her cheeks as he smiled warm-heartedly

"Appreciate that," Quinn said, smiling. "What about you?" "I’m a teacher. Fourth grade."

"Brave soul,” she noted his nervous tick of speaking in few words as she smiled at the comment. She laughed softly. "Some days more than others."

The conversation unfolded naturally, with stories about odd road trips and classroom shenanigans keeping the mood light.

Quinn found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't in a while, drawn in by the way Daphne’s nose scrunched up when she laughed and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her students.

She was funny, with a dry wit that kept him on his toes, and she had this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she got excited about a topic.

Quinn found himself leaning in as if he was on the edge of his seat, genuinely loving each sentence that rolled off of her tongue.

Then, somewhere between their shared distaste for psych professors from their university days and her story about accidentally adopting a cat in her senior year, Daphne hesitated.

The way a uncomfortable look spread across her face made Quinns heart nearly leap out of his chest to try and fix it for her.

"Okay, so..." She took a deep breath, fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "There’s something I should probably tell you before I allow this to go to far and get either of our hopes up."

Quinn raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" He took a sip of his water, half expecting her to crack a joke.

"I have a son," she said softly, eyes flickering up to meet his as she watched the way his face remained freakishly stoic.

"His name's Logan. He’s almost four. I know that might be... a lot. And I get it if that's a dealbreaker or whatever."

Quinn blinked. "Oh."

Daphne bit her lip as she deflated a little in her seat. "Yeah. Sorry. I should’ve mentioned it earlier, or gotten Bella to tell Brock to give you a heads up, but I just... didn’t know how to bring it up."

He set his cup down and shrugged. "It's honestly really cool, admirable even."

She frowned. "Cool?"

"Yeah. I mean, kids are awesome. Plus, anyone who can juggle parenting and still show up looking this put-together and beautiful as you do right now deserves some serious respect."

Her eyes widened, a laugh escaping her. "You’re either very smooth or very weird." "Why not both?" he teased, grinning.

"What I mean to say is that I’m not… scared off or anything," Quinn continued, his tone softening. "I get that having a kid is a big part of your life, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m really enjoying getting to know you."

Daphne studied him, her brows furrowing as she gave Quinn an analytical eye. "You say that now, but most guys don’t stick around once they realize it’s not just dinner dates and weekend getaways. There’s responsibility. Priorities."

Quinn shrugged. "I get it. Life's messy — everyone’s juggling something. Yours just happens to involve a tiny human who probably thinks you’re a superhero."

That caught her off guard.

She blinked, a soft laugh slipping past her lips. "Superhero might be a stretch. Logan thinks I’m a pretty decent storyteller and a pretty great pancake chef. That’s about as high as I rank."

"Hey, storytelling and pancakes? That’s elite-tier parenting, if you ask me." He grinned, leaning on the table. "Besides, I’m not here expecting anything. I’m just… here. With you. And so far, I’d say that’s a pretty great place to be."

Daphne stared at him for a long moment, her guard softening as her lips twitched into a smile. "You’re really not what I expected." "Good surprise or bad surprise?" Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow. She smiled genuinely as her hand moved to hold his over the table. "Definitely the good kind."

-

The little slapping of feet across the floor caused Daph to stir in her sleep. Her nose scrunched up and her hands ran over her face as she felt the tug of her duvet by little hands. Her son, Logan, pulled gently at the softness of her blanket trying to crawl into his mother's bed.

She rolled over, a tired smile on her face as she saw the mess of curls atop his head. "Good morning baby," she yawned as she leaned down to pick him up and snuggle him to her chest.

her lips pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of his oatmeal-scented shampoo. He giggled softly, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of her sleep shirt as he nuzzled into her warmth.

"Morning mama," he said tiredly as he leaned into her frame.

Daph ran her fingers through his wild curls, smoothing them down absentmindedly. “Did you have sweet dreams?” she asked, her voice hushed in the early morning stillness as she swayed gently and held him to her chest. Logan nodded against her skin. “Dreamed about pancakes.” He grinned against her skin before pulling back slightly, his big, sleepy eyes blinking up at her, "with extra syrup.”

Daph chuckled, shifting to sit up against the headboard, still cradling him close. “Oh yeah? Think we should make some?” Logan gasped, his morning drowsiness disappearing in an instant. “Yes! With strawberries?” “And whipped cream,” Daph added with a raised brow, booping his nose as giggles erupted.

His face lit up in excitement, and he clapped his tiny hands. “Best day ever!” Daph laughed, stretching her arms before scooping him up and swinging her legs over the bed. “Alright, chef. Let’s go make some magic in the kitchen.”

Logan wiggled in her arms, full of energy now, and she carried him down the hall, the promise of a cozy morning wrapped in warmth, laughter, and pancakes filling the air.

-

The staffroom buzzed with its usual early morning chaos — coffee machines sputtering, teachers chatting over half-eaten bagels, and the distant sound of kids shrieking on the playground. Daphne sat at the corner table, cradling her mug of tea like a lifeline, when Marissa slid into the seat across from her, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Okay," Marissa said, leaning in dramatically. "Spill. How was the blind date?"

Daphne huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You’re worse than my mother." "Don’t dodge! Brock's been hyping this guy up for weeks, and I need details. Was he a weirdo? Did he try to mansplain wine pairings?"

"Actually…"

Daphne bit her lip, her face softening into a small smile as she remembered the end of their night. Quinn driving her home. Giving her his number and saying that he would love to see her again if she wanted to. The look in his eyes that screamed he wanted to kiss her, but was respecting her boundaries. He was just so dreamy and so respectful.

"It was really nice."

Marissa gasped. "Wait, really?" "Yeah." Daphne stirred her tea, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. "His name’s Quinn. He’s also on the team. Super laid-back. Funny, too."

Marissa raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay. Promising. And? Did he freak out when you dropped the Logan bomb?" "That’s the thing." Daphne set her spoon down, her expression turning almost bewildered. "He didn’t freak out. He was just… cool about it. Said kids are awesome and that juggling parenting and showing up to a date looking 'put-together and beautiful' deserved respect."

Marissa clutched her chest dramatically. "Stop. He did not."

"He did." Daphne laughed, shaking her head. "I thought he was joking at first. But he meant it. He just rolled with it like it wasn’t a big deal."

Marissa stared at her for a moment, then slowly broke into a grin. "Okay, I’m officially intrigued. Did you kiss him?" "Marissa!" Daphne nearly choked on her tea. "It was a first date!" "So? First dates can have kisses. Was there a vibe?"

Daphne hesitated, biting back a smile. "Maybe."

Marissa squealed, practically vibrating in her chair. "You have to see him again."

Daphne laughed, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. "Yeah… we already have plans for next time he's in town."

-

As Daphne finished washing Logan's lunch Tupperware, her phone buzzed on the counter. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she picked it up, smiling when she saw Quinn’s name on the screen.

“Hey, you,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she poured Logan some juice to go with his afternoon snack. “Hey,” Quinn’s voice was warm, smooth. “I was wondering if you’d want to go out again soon. Maybe dinner this weekend?”

Daphne bit her lip, glancing at Logan, who was happily munching on his crackers and cheese, blissfully unaware of the way his mother's face was broken out in a blushing mess. “I’d love to,” she said, “but my babysitter is out of town for a while. Timing’s just tricky right now.”

“Oh.” Quinn hesitated for a second. “What if we did lunch instead? More casual, and you wouldn’t need a sitter.”

Daphne’s stomach twisted slightly.

She liked Quinn—a lot—but she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to meet Logan. That was a big step, and they were still feeling things out, not to mention she'd like to talk to Logan's father about how he felt about it.

“I don’t think I’m there yet,” she admitted, keeping her voice gentle. “I hope that doesn’t sound bad.” “No, not at all,” Quinn assured her quickly. “I get it.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Mind if I do something?” She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”

“You’ll see.”

With that cryptic answer, he hung up, leaving Daphne staring at her phone, both amused and curious.

A few moments later, Quinn called Brock.

“Dude, what’s up?” Brock answered, the sound of some hockey video playing in the background. “I need a favour,” Quinn said. “A big one.” Brock snorted. “That’s what friends are for. What do you need?”

“I want to take Daphne out again, but her babysitter’s on vacation. She’s not ready for me to meet Logan, which I totally respect. So… think you and Bella could watch him for a couple of hours?”

Brock let out a low laugh, “Man, you’re really into her, huh?” Quinn laughed, a little embarrassed to be admitting it so early. “I really am.”

“Well, lucky for you, Bella’s been saying how much she wants to see Logs. So, yeah, we got you.” “You’re the best,” Quinn said, relieved. Brock chuckled. “I know. I’ll text Daph and set it up.”

Daphne was in the middle of prepping for dinner and then some marking when she got Brock’s message:

Brock: Hey, Bella and I will watch Logan if you wanna go on that date. No excuses now.

She blinked at the screen, then shook her head with a soft laugh. Quinn.

-

Daphne stood in front of the mirror, dabbing a bit of blush onto her cheeks as Bella lounged on her bed, scrolling through her phone. The loud laughter of both Brock and Logan echoed from the living room as they played mini sticks.

“I gotta say, Daph,” Bella mused, a teasing lilt in her voice, “this thing with Quinn? He’s smitten. Like, full-on heart-eyes, willing-to-grovel smitten.”

Daphne shot her a look in the reflection. “Oh, come on. He didn’t grovel.”

Bella snorted. “Oh, but he did. Brock told me everything. Apparently, Quinn called him all serious like, ‘Bro, I need a favor. A big one.’” She dramatically deepened her voice, making Daphne roll her eyes. “Then he launched into this whole thing about how he totally respects that you’re not ready to introduce Logan yet, which—respect, for real—but he really, really wanted to see you again. So Brock, being the hero he is, came straight to me, and we both agreed there was no way we weren’t helping out.”

Daphne set her brush down, turning to face Bella with an amused shake of her head. “You make it sound like he was begging.”

“Oh, he absolutely was.” Bella sat up, crossing her legs. “Brock said he sounded like a lovesick puppy. ‘Come on, man. You have to help me out. I’ll owe you forever. Please, dude.’” She clasped her hands together dramatically. “I mean, it was adorable.”

Daphne groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That man has no shame,” she said sarcastically, which was not picked up by Bella. Bella grinned. “Nope. And honestly? I love that for you.”

Daphne sighed, turning back to the mirror, but there was a tiny smile on her lips.

Bella eyed her knowingly. “You like him.” “I like him,” Daphne admitted, smoothing out her top. “It’s just—Logan comes first. Always.”

Bella’s expression softened. “And that’s exactly why Quinn is a good one. He gets that.” She stood, moving beside Daphne and nudging her playfully. “Now, quit stalling and go enjoy your damn date. You’ve got a man willing to beg just to spend time with you. At least let him buy you dinner.”

Daphne laughed, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her purse. “Fine, fine. But if this goes terribly, I’m blaming you.”

Bella smirked. “Deal. But it won’t.

-

Quinn pulled up in front of Daphne’s apartment complex, shifting the car into park as the quiet hum of the engine filled the space between them.

Their second date had been good—better than good, actually.

Conversation had flowed effortlessly, laughter had come easy, and for the first time in a while, Daphne let herself enjoy someone’s company without overthinking it.

Now, as they sat in the dim glow of the streetlight, Quinn turned to her, his gaze warm and unwavering. “I had a great time tonight,” he said, voice low and sincere. Daphne smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

For a second, there was only silence, charged and expectant. Then, Quinn leaned in, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was soft at first, hesitant, but quickly deepened as he tilted his head, pulling her closer. It was messy—not perfect or practiced, just real, filled with the kind of urgency that came from wanting something for a long time.

Daphne let herself melt into it for a breath, her fingers curling slightly against his jacket, before reality nudged at her—Logan was inside, Bella and Brock were waiting, and she wasn’t the kind of girl who made out in cars like a teenager.

With a quiet sigh, she pulled away, her lips tingling. “Quinn…” she started, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

He blinked, like he was still catching up, and then let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Yeah, okay. That was—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

She smiled, biting her lip. “Thank you for tonight.” Quinn’s gaze softened. “Anytime, Daph.”

She hesitated for only a second before leaning in again—not for another deep kiss, but a quick, sweet press of her lips against his bearded cheek. Then, without another word, she slipped out of the car, making her way up to the front door.

Quinn watched her go, shaking his head with a smirk. Yeah, he thought, he was in real deep with this one.

-

It was a few weeks later, and dinner turned into lunches, which later became casual hanging out, which had led to tonight.

Tonight had been so close to something more.

Daphne had felt it—the heat, the way Quinn’s hands skimmed her waist as she pulled him toward her bedroom. His lips were on her neck, her fingers tangled in his post-game dress shirt, a little wrinkled and far too much fabric.

It would have been so easy to let it happen.

Especially as his lips travelled her skin, riding her of her sweater and undershirt as he watched her with the most softest and loving gaze.

But then, somewhere between breaths, she hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to—God, she wanted to—but because for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to rush into sex.

So instead, she pulled back, her forehead resting against his as she whispered, “Stay the night?” Quinn had blinked at her, breath still heavy. “Yeah?” She nodded, a little nervous, giddy even. “I never get nights alone. Like, ever. And I—I just want to enjoy this. You.”

Quinn’s gaze softened instantly, and with a small smile, he kissed her forehead and then dropped down to kiss her lips. “Then I’m all yours, Daph.”

And just like that, they spent the night tangled together—not in the way they almost had, but in a way that felt just as intimate.

The slow kind of closeness.

His arm wrapped around her waist, her head on his chest, their legs tangled beneath the duvet as they drifted into sleep.

The sun wasn’t even fully up when a loud noise pulled Daphne from sleep. She groaned, disoriented, before the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped her awake.

She grabbed it, squinting at the screen. James.

Shit.

Sliding out of bed as carefully as she could so she wouldn’t wake Quinn, she answered, voice still groggy. “Hello?”

“Hey, sorry for the early call,” James said, sounding rushed. “I just got called in for a shift and need to drop Logan off early.”

Daphne’s heart stopped.

Logan. James. Here.

Quinn was still in her bed.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him stretch lazily under the covers. He blinked at her, sleepily murmuring, “Everything okay?”

No. Absolutely not.

“Uh—yeah,” she whispered. “I just—James is bringing Logan over. Now.”

Quinn’s brows lifted slightly, but to his credit, he didn’t panic. Instead, he nodded, pushing himself up. “Alright. Want me to, like… hide in the closet?” Daphne snorted, smacking a hand to her forehead. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

“You got a better idea?”

She did not, and she wasn't about to kick him out.

Ten minutes later, she was at the front door, dressed in a hoodie and pyjama bottoms, trying to act totally normal as James carried a half-asleep Logan inside.

“Sorry for the short notice,” James said, adjusting Logan on his hip. The little boy’s curls were a wild mess, his tiny fists rubbing at his tired eyes. “They’re short-staffed again, and the hospital is having a hard time finding nurses.” “It’s fine,” Daphne assured him, brushing some hair from Logan’s forehead. “I got him.”

James gave her a grateful smile before glancing around at the suit jacket and tie that were draped across her kitchen chair, something shifting in his expression. His brows furrowed slightly. “You alone?”

Before she could even answer, movement behind her made them both turn.

Quinn.

Standing in her hallway. In a pair of loose sweats and a baggy shirt.

Daphne wanted to die.

James’s face was unreadable. Logan, however, perked up instantly. “Mama?” He blinked at Quinn, then turned back to his mom. “Who’s that?”

Quinn, to his credit, gave a small, sheepish smile and lifted a hand. “Uh… hey, buddy.”

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh my God.”

James exhaled, then turned to Logan. “That’s Mommy’s friend, bud.”

Logan blinked up at him, then at Quinn. “Oh.” Then, after a moment, he pointed. “You have a beard.” Quinn huffed a small laugh, scratching his jaw. “I, uh… I do.”

Silence.

James looked at Daphne. Daphne looked at James. Quinn stood there, looking very out of place.

And then Logan, completely unfazed, yawned, rested his head against James’s shoulder, and mumbled, “Can I have pancakes?” Daphne let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, shaking her head as she reached for her son. “Yeah, baby. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

James lingered for a second, looking at Quinn once more like he was trying to place exactly where he knew him from, before exhaling and heading for the door. “See you later, Daphne.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, still a little stunned. “See you.”

The second the door shut behind him, she turned to Quinn, who just gave her a lopsided grin.

“So,” he said. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”

Daphne groaned, covering her face. “I hate my life.”

Quinn chuckled, stepping closer and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Could’ve been worse.” She peeked up at him. “How?” “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Your dad could’ve walked in instead.”

She stared at him.

Then, against all odds, they started laughing.

-

Quinn sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee as he watched Daphne move around the kitchen with ease. Logan, now fully awake and much more energetic, sat on the counter, swinging his little legs as his mom flipped a few slices of bacon and pancakes on the stove.

Daphne didn’t even hesitate when Logan asked for more syrup. She poured a tiny bit onto his plate, ruffled his curls, and smiled as he let out a happy little “Thanks, Mama!” before diving face first into his pancakes and strawberries.

Quinn couldn't help but stare.

It wasn’t just that she was just good at being a mom—it was the way she made it look so natural.

The way she somehow balanced making breakfast, answering Logan’s nonstop questions, and keeping the little boy entertained, all while looking effortlessly beautiful in her messy bun and his oversized Canuck’s t-shirt she must have stolen from the floor of her room.

She was so different like this. Not just the woman he flirted with over dinner, or the one who had pulled him into bed last night—this was a different side of her. A version he had never met before.

And he liked it.

A lot.

Later, after breakfast was finished and Logan had played himself into exhaustion, Daphne tucked him into bed for his nap. She came back out into the living room, stretching with a small yawn before flopping onto the couch beside Quinn.

He glanced at her, amused as his hand moved up to run over the skin of her brow bone before pulling her closer. “Tired?”

She shot him a look. “You try keeping up with a four-year-old all day and then talk to me about tired.”

Quinn smirked, wrapping an arm fully around her shoulder and pulling her close. She let out a soft sigh, resting her head against him. They sat there for a moment, comfortable, before he finally broke the silence.

“So…” he started carefully. “You never really told me about you and James.” Daphne stiffened slightly. “What about me and James?” He ran his fingers up and down her arm absentmindedly. “I don’t know. Just… what happened?”

She was quiet for a moment, staring ahead at the window. “We were young,” she said finally. “I got pregnant when I was twenty-one. We tried to make it work, but…” She sighed, shaking her head as she looked up at the man she was lying with.

“James is a good guy. A great dad. But we weren’t in love anymore. And we both knew it.”

Quinn nodded, letting that settle. “Was it messy?”

Daphne gave a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “Not as bad as it could’ve been. I mean, yeah, there were hard moments. Arguments. A lot of frustration. But at the end of the day, we both just wanted to do what was best for Logs.”

Quinn watched her carefully. “And you? Are you happy?”

She turned to look at him then, and for a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, softly, she said, “I think I’m getting there.”

Quinn’s chest ached at that. He lifted a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I think you’re doing a hell of a job.” Her breath hitched just slightly, and for the first time all morning, she looked a little unsteady. Like maybe she wasn’t used to hearing that.

Then, without a word, she leaned in and kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

Like she was finally letting herself believe it.

-

Weeks later, Quinn found him self tucked away in her apartment as she fussed over his injuries, which led to now.

The man woke up to the sound of tiny footsteps scurrying across the floor, followed by a quiet thump as something, rather a someone, climbed onto the bed.

Blinking himself awake, he turned his head and was immediately met with a pair of big, curious eyes staring back at him.

Logan.

The kid was right there, barely inches from his face, perched on the edge of the mattress like a little gremlin.

“You snore,” Logan announced matter-of-factly. Quinn chuckled, running a hand over his face. “Do I?” Logan nodded, curls bouncing. “Like a bear.” “Wow.” Quinn sat up, stretching. “That’s some tough criticism, man.”

Logan shrugged, as if to say I’m just telling the truth. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Are you making me breakfast?”

Quinn blinked slowly. “Wait—am I making you breakfast?”

“Uh-huh.” Logan nodded again, very sure of himself. “Mama always makes me breakfast, but she’s really tired. So you gotta do it.”

Quinn glanced over at Daphne, still asleep, her face buried in the pillow. She hadn’t moved an inch, and honestly, she deserved to sleep in.

He turned back to Logan. “Alright, kid. I guess I’m on duty.” Logan grinned and hopped off the bed. “Come on!”

Quinn quickly realized that cooking for a four-year-old was no joke.

He had attempted pancakes—because how hard could pancakes really be? But somehow, they were coming out as arguably inedible.

The first one had burned, the second was way too runny, and the third looked more like a sad, deflated cake than a pancake.

“Hmm.” Logan frowned, poking at the latest attempt with a very serious expression as they stood there in matching aprons. “That doesn’t look like Mama’s pancakes.” Quinn groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Logan tilted his head, thinking. “Maybe you need more love in it.” Quinn huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah? That's the secret ingredient?” Logan nodded, very sure of himself. “Mama always says love makes everything better.”

Quinn glanced toward the bedroom, his heart tugging a little.

He really liked this kid’s mom.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to get this right for Daph, but also selfishly to win over Logan.

“Alright, Chef Logan,” Quinn said, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s try this again.”

When Daphne finally emerged from her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she was immediately hit with the smell of maple syrup and burnt pancake.

She followed the scent into the kitchen, stopping short when she saw the scene before her. Logan sat proudly at the table, munching on a very interesting-looking pancake, while Quinn stood at the stove, flipping another one with a look of deep concentration.

The counter was covered in flour, batter dripped from the bowls, and there were at least three failed pancakes stacked to the side on a paper towel.

She raised an eyebrow at the mess, “What… is happening?”

Quinn turned, spatula in hand. “Morning, sunshine. We made pancakes.”

Logan beamed. “Quinn burned the first ones, but then I told him to use love, and now they’re kinda good.” Daphne stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she looked at the man who awkwardly stood by the stove. “Oh, did you?”

Quinn exhaled, flipping another pancake onto the plate. “Your kid is a tough critic.” “He’s a pancake connoisseur,” she corrected with a laugh.

Daphne stepped closer, stealing a bite from Logan’s plate. The pancake was oddly shaped, but it tasted… surprisingly decent. She glanced at Quinn. “Not bad.”

Quinn smirked. “See? Love works.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, but there was something warm in her chest as she watched Logan giggle, clearly enjoying the morning. And as Quinn sat down beside them, stealing a piece of Logan’s pancake, she realized she felt oddly at ease.

-

Later that evening, after Quinn had left and the house had settled into a quiet hum, Daphne found herself curled up on the couch with Logan. He was freshly bathed, wrapped up in his dinosaur blanket, and tucked against her side as he lazily played with the hem of her sweater.

For a while, he didn’t say much—just rested against her, sleepy from the long day. But then, in that thoughtful voice of his, he asked,

“Mama?” She hummed, running her fingers gently through his damp curls. “Yeah, baby?”

Logan hesitated for a second, like he was trying to piece the words together in his little mind. Then, carefully, he asked,

“Is Quinn your boyfriend?”

Daphne froze for half a second, her heart stumbling over itself.

Of all the things he could’ve asked.

She swallowed, treading carefully. “Why do you ask, bud?” Logan shifted, still playing with her sweater. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “He was here when I woke up. And he made me pancakes. And you kissed him.”

Daphne felt her face heat up. Great.  Apparently, her four-year-old was more observant than she gave him credit for.

She exhaled softly, choosing her words. “Quinn is… someone I really like,” she admitted. “And he really likes me too.” Logan blinked up at her. “Like love?” Daphne bit her lip, caught off guard. “It’s… a little early for that, babe.”

Logan considered this, nodding sagely like he was thinking very hard about it. Then, after a moment, he asked,

“Do you think he likes me?”

And just like that, Daphne’s heart melted into a puddle.

She brushed a curl from his forehead, kissing it gently. “Oh, baby. Of course he does.” Logan was quiet for a beat, then let out a small hmm, like he was still processing.

Finally, he mumbled, “I think I like him too.”

Daphne smiled, pulling him closer. “Yeah?” Logan yawned, nestling into her side. “Yeah. But his pancakes need work.” Daphne laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his curls. “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

-

Daphne stood near the playground fence, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The crisp air nipped at her cheeks as she watched Logan race across the play structure, his laughter carrying over the distant hum of other kids playing around him.

Beside her, James sighed, shifting his weight. “So… Quinn.”

Daphne tensed but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Quinn.”

James nodded slowly, watching Logan for a moment before speaking again. “So is he just some guy in your bed, or is he actually something serious?” Daphne turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

James met her gaze evenly. “Look, I don’t care who you date, Daphne. But when I walked into your apartment and saw some random dude in sweats standing in your hallway? That was a hell of a way to find out you had someone new in your life.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not like I planned for that to happen, James. I just—I wasn’t ready to bring it up yet until I knew that he was willing to stick around.”

James scoffed. “You weren’t ready? Daph, Logan woke up to a stranger in the house. That’s not something you ease into.” She crossed her arms even tighter. “It’s not like I introduce him to every guy I date.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Every guy? How many have there been?”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point James!”

James let out a short, dry laugh. “You’re right, it’s not. The point is, if someone’s going to be around our kid, I need to know about it. Not find out by accident.”

Daphne exhaled sharply, staring at the ground. “You do know him, James.” He frowned. “What?”

She finally looked at him again, something challenging in her expression. “Quinn. He’s Quinn Hughes, Brock's friend.”

James froze. Blinked. And then— “You’re kidding.”

Daphne shook her head.

James let out a long breath, running a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. You’re dating a hockey player?” Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Why do you say it like that?” James threw his hands up. “Because, Daph! Do you know how those guys live? Always travelling, always in the spotlight. Hell, does he even have time for you?”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know him.”

“I know his type.”

She took a step closer, her voice sharp. “Oh, do you? You, the guy who barely has a personal life because the hospital owns you? You think you have the right to judge someone else’s schedule?” James exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s not the same.” “It is the same.” Daphne’s voice was low, heated. “You work insane hours, James. But Logan still loves you. He doesn’t care that you’re on call half the time. So why is it different for Quinn?”

James opened his mouth and then closed it.

Daphne pressed on. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me, James. And I would never bring someone around Logan if I wasn’t sure about them.”

James was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Is it serious?” Daphne hesitated. “I don’t know.” James turned to look at her. “Do you want it to be?” She swallowed, her arms loosening from their defensive stance. “...Yeah, I do.”

Something in James’s expression shifted, the fight leaving his shoulders. He sighed again, then rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Okay.” Daphne blinked. “Okay?”

James nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not thrilled about how I found out, but… if you’re serious about this, I’ll back off.” Daphne studied him for a second, surprised that she didn't have to argue more on her behalf. “Really?”

James smirked slightly. “Daph. You’re the mother of my kid. I trust you.”

Her chest tightened, something soft threading through the remaining frustration.

Then, James exhaled and shot her a pointed look. “But if he messes this up, I will kick his ass.” Daphne snorted. “Noted.”

James glanced at Logan, who was now attempting to climb a structure far too big for him. “I gotta head to work. You’re still good to take him over for family dinner on Sunday at Mum’s?” Daphne nodded. “Yeah, we'll be there.”

James hesitated.

Then, a little quieter, he added, “For what it’s worth… I hope it works out.” Daphne blinked at him, caught off guard. James shrugged. “Logan likes him. And you…” He tilted his head. “You look happy.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I really am.”

James nodded. “Then that’s what matters.” And with that, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and walked off, leaving her standing there, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

-

Daphne had thought she was prepared for anything.

She was a mom, after all—she’d handled sleepless nights, tantrums, potty-training, and even a brief phase where Logan insisted on only eating food that was in liquid form.

She had survived it all.

But this?

This was a whole new level of chaos.

Because somehow, both her four-year-old and her grown boyfriend were down for the count with the flu.

And it was brutal.

It had started with Logan the day before—suddenly burning up, cheeks flushed, his tiny body curled up in her arms as he whined softly, “Mama, I don’t feel good.”

Daphne had immediately gone into full mom mode, taking his temperature, setting up a cozy sick spot on the couch, and making sure he had his favourite stuffed orca, Hank, that Quinn had bought him, which was tucked against his chest.

For the most part, Logan was a pitiful little patient—lots of sniffling, lots of dramatic groans, and the occasional half-asleep mumble of “Mama, am I dying?”

By morning, she was exhausted, running purely on coffee and adrenaline. But Logan was finally resting, tucked into a pile of blankets, cartoons playing softly in the background.

That was when her phone rang.

“Daph…” Quinn’s voice was rough. Scratchy. Miserable. And honestly, a little sexy. She frowned. “Quinn? You okay?” A pause. Then a weak, pitiful, “I think I’m dying.”

Daphne sighed, already rubbing her temple. “Let me guess—fever? Body aches? Can’t get off the couch?” “… Yes.”

“And you’re being dramatic about it?” Another pause. “… Maybe.” Daphne sighed again but with a little laugh, glancing over at Logan, who had managed to fall into a sniffly sleep. “Stay put,” she muttered. “I’m coming over to get you.”

An hour later, Quinn was bundled up on her couch, tucked under the softest blanket she owned, looking pathetic.

“You’re enjoying this,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse as he sipped at the tea she had forced into his hands. Daphne smirked, perching on the arm of the couch. “A little bit.” Quinn pouted, his head lolling back dramatically. “I’m dying, Daph.”

She rolled her eyes, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. “You have a fever. You’re not dying.” “Feels like I am.”

“Tell that to Logan. He’s handling this way better than you are.” Quinn groaned, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Unfair. He’s, like, a superhero in tiny form.”

Daphne huffed a laugh, then sighed, laying a damp cloth against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at the cool relief, and for a moment, he just looked so tired.

“You’re really taking care of me,” he murmured, voice softer now. She shrugged. “You’re one of my boys now.” Quinn’s lips curled into a tiny, sleepy smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

-

Ellen Hughes prided herself on knowing everything there was to know about her sons.

She knew when Quinn was stressed (he rubbed his jaw), when Jack was excited about something (his ears went red), and even when Luke was nervous (he had uncontrollable word vomit). And she definitely knew when they were up to something.

So when she heard whispers—more like gossip from one of the Canuck's trainers she had befriended—about Quinn possibly having a girlfriend… and not just any girlfriend, but one with a child… she was floored.

How in the world had the Hughes #1 Mama's boy kept this from her?

It took exactly ten minutes from the moment she found out to the moment she called him.

Quinn answered on the third ring, his voice groggy. “Mom?” Ellen narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound half-dead?” “… Because I am half-dead?” Quinn groaned. “I had the flu all week, remember?”

“And who took care of you?”

A long silence. Too long.

“… Mom.”

“Quinn.”

He sighed. “Daphne.”

There it is.

Ellen perked up. “So it’s true?” Quinn groaned again, but this time, it wasn’t sick-related. “Who told you?” “Doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand he couldn’t see. “What matters is that I had to hear about my son’s serious relationship from someone else!” “It’s not—it’s still new,” Quinn said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Ellen narrowed her eyes again. “New enough that she nursed you back to health?” Another pause. Then, grudgingly, “… Maybe not that new.”

She hummed in satisfaction. “And what’s this I hear about a little boy?”

Quinn exhaled. “Her son. Logan. He’s four.”

Ellen’s heart gave a strange little tug. “Oh.”

“I like them, Mom,” Quinn admitted, his voice softer now. “A lot.”

And just like that, her frustration melted into something warmer.

Because that voice? That wasn’t her son being defensive. That was her son caring.

Maybe even falling.

Ellen smiled, settling back into her chair. “Well, Quinn,” she said lightly, “when do I get to meet them?”

-

James was already suspicious when he saw Quinn’s name pop up on his phone.

They weren’t exactly buddies.

Did they share a couple of friends? Sure. Were they slowly approaching co-parent territory? To some extent. Tolerant of each other? Mostly.

But casual phone calls? Yeah, that was new.

Still, curiosity won out, and he answered.

“Hughes.”

“Hey, man.” Quinn sounded… nervous? Which immediately made James even more suspicious. “What’s up?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Quinn cleared his throat. “So, uh… I was wondering if you’d be cool with coming to a game this weekend with Daphne and Logan, of course.”

James blinked. “Like… one of your games?”

“Yeah. I kinda—” Quinn paused. “Look, I really want Daphne and Logan to come. And my family’s gonna be there—my parents, my brothers—” “The ones playing against you?” James interjected, smirking slightly.

Quinn let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Those guys.”

James could already picture the sibling chirping that was bound to happen.

“So,” Quinn continued. “I just figured it might be less… weird? If you came too, not only for Logan and Daphne to have a familiar face, but because I'd like to show Logan that we get along.”

James frowned slightly. “You want me there?”

“I mean, I’m not saying we gotta sit around and share our deepest secrets or anything, but—” Quinn hesitated. “Look, man. I know I kind of bulldozed into your kid’s life. And I get that it’s gotta be weird for you. But I really care about Daph. And Logan.”

James let out a slow breath, his grip on the phone tightening slightly.

Quinn kept going. “I don’t want to step on your toes, James. I just… I want to be there for them. And I figured maybe this was a good way to, I don’t know, try to be cool with each other.”

James was quiet for a second. He didn’t hate Quinn. And honestly? The guy was making an effort. A real one.

And wasn’t that what mattered?

He sighed. “Fine. But if your brothers absolutely destroy you on the ice, I’m not stopping Logan from cheering for them.”

Quinn groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.”

James smirked. “See you at the game, Hughes.” he paused for a second before a awkward, "and thanks," left his mouth.

-

Daphne had met parents before.

She’d met a lot of parents, actually—on field trip days, at parent-teacher conferences, during kindergarten drop-offs when frazzled moms and dads rushed in.

She was good with parents.

Not to mention, she was a great parent,

But this? This was different.

These weren’t just any parents. These were Quinn’s parents. The people who had raised him, who knew every version of him that had existed before the one she knew now.

And no matter how much she liked Quinn—and God, she liked him an unbelievable amount—there was still that tiny voice in the back of her mind whispering, "What if they think I’m too much? What if they don’t get why he’d want this?"

She exhaled sharply, tugging at the sleeves of her blouse as she sat on the couch, waiting for Quinn to finish getting ready.

Across the room, Logan sat on the floor, completely unbothered, piecing Lego blocks together with all the concentration of a four-year-old who had no idea his mother was spiralling.

Quinn emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, tucking his shirt into his pants as he walked over. “Alright, you two ready to—” He paused mid-sentence, eyes flickering over her face. “What’s wrong?”

Daphne hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just…” She let out a breath, shaking her head. “This is big, Quinn. I know you say they’re great and that they’ll love me and Logan, but I just—” She swallowed. “I don’t want them to look at me and think I’m a mess.”

Quinn’s face softened instantly.

“Daph,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands settling gently on her arms. “They’re not gonna think that.” “You don’t know that,” she countered, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I mean, I’m young, I have a kid, and you’re—you. I just don’t want them to have the impression that we are some complication.”

Quinn frowned, shaking his head. “Okay, first of all, don’t say that. You and Logan aren’t complications, you’re—” He let out a short breath, squeezing her arms gently. “You’re you, Daph. And that’s what I want. And I promise, my parents? They just wanna meet the girl who’s making me ridiculously happy.”

She exhaled, searching his face. “You sure?” His lips twitched. “Pretty sure.”

Daphne didn’t totally believe him, not yet, but when Logan looked up from his block tower and asked, “Mama, can we go now?” she figured she didn’t have much of a choice. She nodded. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but it was nice. The kind of place that felt warm as soon as you stepped in, full of laughter and smelled strongly of Italian food.

Quinn spotted his family first. They were already seated at a round table near the back, and as they approached, Daphne immediately recognized Ellen Hughes not only from the way that she looked exactly like Quinn but the way she lit up as soon as she saw them.

“Oh my God,” Ellen gasped, standing instantly as she beamed at Quinn before turning to Daphne and Logan. “You must be Daphne!” Daphne barely had a second to brace herself before Ellen reached out, pulling her into a warm, motherly hug, smelling faintly of vanilla and fresh linen. And just like that, some of the tension in her chest started to melt. Ellen pulled back with a wide smile. “It is so nice to finally meet you.”

Jim, Quinn’s dad, was more reserved but just as kind, offering a firm handshake and a “He’s talked about you a lot, you know.” Daphne felt herself blush as she glanced at Quinn, who simply shrugged with a grin.

And then there were his brothers.

Jack and Luke, both grinning like they already had jokes lined up, stood next.

“So this is the girl,” Jack teased, shaking her hand. “Gotta say, he’s been suspiciously happy lately, so you must be special.” Daphne let out a small laugh. “I try.”

Then Luke, slightly more subtle but still smirking, nodded toward Logan, who had been quietly taking everything in. “And this little guy must be Logan.” Logan blinked up at him, eyes wide, before nodding. “Uh-huh.” Luke grinned. “Nice to meet you, dude. You like hockey?” Logan perked up slightly. “Yeah.” “Nice. Who’s your favorite player?”

The four-year-old thought very hard about it before shrugging. “Mama likes Quinn.”

Jack let out a loud bark of laughter as Quinn grinned widely at the praise. “Oh, he is my favourite,” Daphne teased as she squeezed Quinn’s cheeks before looking back at Logan. “But you can like whoever you want, Babe.”

Logan took that in, then nodded again, turning back to Luke. “I like Quinn, too.” Quinn, who had been pretending to suffer through Jack’s laughter, immediately softened. “Yeah?”

Logan hummed. “Yeah. And pancakes.”

Ellen, clearly already adoring him, gasped. “You like pancakes? Me too!” Logan perked up. “Really?” “Oh yeah,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “And I bet I make better ones than Quinn.” Logan’s eyes widened. “Probably.”

Quinn groaned. “Oh my God.”

Daphne, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, felt a warmth settle deep in her chest.

This wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward like she had feared.

Quinn’s family wasn’t just being nice to her and Logan.

They were welcoming them.

Ellen leaned in slightly as they all settled into their seats. “You doing okay, sweetie?” she asked softly. Daphne blinked at her, slightly caught off guard by the gentle, knowing tone.

And maybe it was just because she was still a little nervous, or maybe because it had been so long since she’d had this—a mother figure just checking in on her, just making sure she was okay—but something inside her cracked, just a little.

She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I am.”

And as she glanced at Quinn, who was currently watching Logan babble excitedly to Luke and Jack, looking more content than she had ever seen him, she realized something else.

She was in love with Quinn Hughes

-

Daphne’s phone buzzed in her pocket just as she was pulling the blanket over Logan’s tiny, sleepy frame.

She glanced at the screen. Quinn.

“Hey,” she murmured into the phone as she stepped quietly into the hallway. “Hey.” His voice was warm, familiar. “Did I wake you?” “No, just got Logan down.” She leaned against the doorframe, absently rubbing her arm.

“How’s the rest of your night?” Quinn sighed. “Good. Parents are settling in, we caught up, just hanging out.”

There was a pause, then, a little softer, “But I kinda wanna see you.” Daphne bit her lip. “Quinn—”

“I know, I know. You think I should stay. But I don’t have to, Daph. They get it, and honestly, they probably wouldn't mind being alone after the long travel day yesterday.”

She hesitated. “You don’t feel bad leaving them?” “Not even a little.” His voice dropped slightly. “I want to be with you.”

Her stomach flipped. There was never a time when he wasn't making her flustered.

She sighed, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see. “Door’s unlocked.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

He quickly snuck into her apartment, careful not to wake Logan, as he found her in the kitchen tidying up. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before she turned around to get a good look at him.

The air between them shifted the moment she maneuvered herself and leaned against the counter.

He looked… so good. A hoodie and sweats, casual, but his eyes were sharp and focused. On her.

“Hey,” she murmured.

Quinn didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her—barefoot, in an old T-shirt and soft pyjama shorts—and his jaw ticked.

Then he closed the distance, slow, but purposeful, fingers brushing over her hip as he leaned in.

“Missed you,” he murmured against her skin, lips grazing the spot just below her ear. Daphne exhaled sharply.

“You saw me like three hours ago.” Quinn huffed a quiet laugh, pressing another kiss, lower this time. “Not the same.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Not when he was touching her like this, kissing her like this—like he had all the time in the world to explore her, to memorize the way she softened under his hands.

Her fingers found the hem of his hoodie, tugging just slightly. Quinn got the message. He pulled back just enough to peel it off, tossing it onto a kitchen chair before his hands were back on her, this time sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips teasing against warm skin.

Daphne sucked in a breath, arching into him before he lifted her up and onto the countertope.

“Quinn.”

He hummed in response, dipping his head to kiss along her collarbone.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at her. His pupils were blown, lips slightly parted, breath uneven.

“What?” he asked, voice thick. She just shook her head. “Bedroom.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

And when he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her down the hall, her laughter melted into something much softer, much sweeter, as he whispered against her lips.

“I’ve got you.”

-

Roger's Arena was buzzing.

Kids ran down the aisles with foam fingers and cotton candy, adults sipped beer in branded plastic cups, and the steady rumble of the crowd filled the arena like background music to something much bigger.

Daphne sat with Logan on her lap, his eyes wide as he clutched a homemade sign that said Go Quinn Go! in big, uneven glitter letters covered in stickers. She’d helped him with it that morning. Which was really her watching as he insisted on using every dinosaur sticker they owned.

James was seated beside them, a giant tub of popcorn balanced between his knees, trying to look casual and not out of place at all as a few of the Hughes' family members wagered from the row behind them over which brother was going to score first tonight.

Ellen and Jim Hughes sat two seats over, already completely smitten with Logan, who had announced earlier that Quinn’s mom smelled like cookies and Quinn’s dad had cool sunglasses.

“Is it starting yet?” Logan asked for the third time, bouncing slightly. “Soon, baby,” Daphne murmured, adjusting his beanie. “They’re just warming up.”

“Is Quinn warming up?” “Yep. See the guy skating backwards over there?” She pointed toward the ice. “That’s him.”

Logan squinted. “He’s so fast.” “Yep. That’s his job bud,” James chimed in, his tone teasing just enough to make Daphne roll her eyes—and Logan looks very serious.

“He looks good at this,” Logan announced to everyone, "definitely not a chef.” Beside them, Jim burst out laughing. “I love this kid.”

By the time puck drop came Logan was leaning forward in his seat like it was the most important event of his life. Every time Quinn touched the puck, he gasped like someone had just revealed a magic trick.

When Quinn made an assist in the second period, Logan screamed.

“That was him! That was Quinn! Did you see that?! He passed it, and then—bam!” His little arms waved in all directions.

Ellen clapped gently as she watched the boy with heart eyes, and Jim chuckled. “I think we’ve got ourselves a fan.” “Just wait until he learns about the fights,” James muttered. “It’s over.” Daphne gave him a look. “I think he'll be a bigger fan of the goalie hugs.”

After the game, they made their way through the press of people toward the private family area near the locker room. Logan was practically vibrating.

“Do you think Quinn saw my sign?” he asked, clutching it again. “I bet it was the first thing he saw,” Daphne assured him, her heart full as he grinned.

When Quinn finally came out, still sweaty and slightly flushed, he lit up the second he spotted them. Logan threw his sign to the floor as he sprinted straight for the man. “QUINN!” Quinn crouched just in time to catch him mid-jump. “Hey, buddy! Did you see that—” “I SAW EVERYTHING. I SAW THE ZOOMING AND THE HITTING, AND YOU DID A SLIDE THING, AND A GUY FELL DOWN!”

Everyone laughed. Quinn included.

“Well, glad I impressed my toughest critic,” he said, standing with Logan still clinging to him like a koala.

Then he looked up and met Daphne’s eyes. The chaos of the kid in his arms and his loud teammates greeting their families seemed to blur.

She stepped toward him, arms looping loosely around his waist. “You did so good.” “You made signs.”

“I helped Logan make signs.”

“Still counts,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “You being here means everything.” “We wouldn’t miss it.”

Behind them, James was talking with Quinn’s dad about getting Logan involved in a peewee league, while Ellen sneakily offered Daphne a Tupperware container “for the ride home,” because apparently Quinn forgets to eat if someone doesn't intervene. Jack and Luke had already started plotting revenge for the next Devils vs Canucks game.

The entire thing was chaotic. But oddly warm.

And as Daphne looked around—at her son, grinning with a chubby cheek pressed to Quinn’s shoulder, as the family that had welcomed the two so easily fussed over how tired Logan looked—she felt something settle in her chest.

Acceptance.

-

The wine was good— a little cheap, but chilled just right—and the patio lights strung from Bella’s apartment balcony gave the evening that kind of cozy feeling, the one that helped Daphne feel a little looser, a little more willing to let secrets slip.

They’d been picking at a charcuterie board that Bella definitely overthought, and Daphne was already half a bottle in, legs tucked beneath her as she sank deeper into the cushioned patio chair.

“Soooooo,” Bella said, swirling her glass dramatically. “How’s Quinn?”

Daphne smiled despite herself, cheeks already pink. “I just know you love knowing that the blind date you set me up with accidentally charmed the hell out of me and my kid?”

“Exactly.”

Daphne sighed, leaning back. “He’s… good though. Great, actually. It’s kind of insane.” Bella raised a brow, tilting her head. “Like, scary great?” “Yeah,” Daphne said after a pause. “Like... I keep waiting for the catch. But he’s just there. So sure of himself. So sweet. Like, he actually wants all of it. Me. Logan. The chaos.”

Bella grinned, sipping her wine. “I told you. Hockey boys are either absolute trash or weirdly obsessed knights in shining armour.” “Pretty sure Quinn is a real-life angel.” They both laughed, and then Bella leaned forward, setting her glass down.

“So how’s James doing with all of this?” Daphne hesitated. “It’s been... a little weird. But not in a bad way. We’ve had some moments—some tough conversations—but he’s been decent. Protective, yeah. But he’s trying.”

Bella made a face of annoyance at James’ ways, always a little too willing to get upset before actually thinking about what’s best for Daphne. He's so good to Logan, and seemingly the perfect co-parent, but sometimes, when it comes to life outside of Logan, James had always hated the thought of Daph having a separate life from James and Logan.

“Brock said the boys have a pool going,” she changed the subject with a smile. Daphne blinked. “What kind of pool?” “A betting pool. About you two. Mostly harmless. Like, who meets the kid first, who spends the night, who says the L-word?”

Daphne nearly choked on her sip of wine. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Bella said, snorting. “Apparently, Brock won the ‘she keeps a toothbrush for him’ bet. Said it was obvious after that one practice where Quinn had toothpaste on his collar.” “Oh my God,” Daphne groaned, covering her face. “Since when do men notice shit like that?”

“They’re idiots with too much time and way too much locker room banter.” Bella raised a brow. “But...?” Daphne peeked over her fingers. “But what?” “Have you?” “Have I what?”

Bella gave her a look.

Daphne rolled her eyes, face burning. “I haven’t said it.”

“But?” Daphne chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. Then, quietly, “I think I’m in love with him.”

Bella didn’t speak right away. Just watched her, soft-eyed, letting the silence stretch in that comforting way only a best friend could.

Then finally, “Yeah. I figured.”

Daphne huffed out a laugh. “You did?”

“You look at him like he’s some kind of miracle.” Bella smiled, a little crooked. “And I’ve known you since you were six. You don’t do that lightly.” Daphne sighed as she sank deeper into the cushion of her seat, letting the words settle between them, warm and terrifying. “It’s just… I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. Like real, true, fall-on-your-face kind of love.”

Bella refilled both their glasses and held hers out for a toast, “to falling on your face.” Daphne clinked her glass against it. “And to hoping he’s there to catch me.” Bella smirked. “Oh, he will be. You’ve got half the locker room watching.”

They both cracked up, wine spilling slightly over the rim as they both cringed at the cliche-ness of the moment.

-

It was cold—but the good kind of cold. The kind that bit at your cheeks but made your lungs feel fresh and alive.

The sky was overcast, and the outdoor rink was dusted with new snow.

Which was perfect.

Quinn laced up his skates slowly, sitting on the bench just outside the rink. Beside him, Logan was practically vibrating with excitement, swinging his little legs as he tried (and failed) to sit still while Quinn helped him with his tiny skates.

“You sure you’ve done this before?” Quinn asked, tying the laces tight. Logan nodded so hard his toque nearly slipped off. “With Mama! But I didn’t go fast. I wanna go fast.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a speed demon, huh?” “I’m like… like the Flash. But on ice.” Quinn laughed. “Alright, Flash. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He stood up first, then reached down and helped Logan to his feet. The kid wobbled immediately, his arms flailing a bit, but Quinn caught him easily, steadying him.

“Whoa,” Logan said, eyes wide. “Okay. Okay, I got this.” “You’re doing great, bud,” Quinn said, guiding him carefully onto the ice.

They took it slow at first. Logan held onto both of Quinn’s hands, feet slipping every couple of steps. But he was determined—his little face scrunched in concentration, brows furrowed like he was on a mission as he watched the way Quinn's skates glided across the ice.

“Look at you,” Quinn grinned. “You’re already better than some of my teammates.”

Logan giggled, clearly proud. “Can I try by myself?” Quinn hesitated. “You sure?” “I got this.”

Quinn let go slowly, keeping close just in case. Logan immediately started to tilt sideways, arms windmilling—but then he caught himself.

Quinn raised his hands in celebration. “Dude! You didn’t fall!”

Logan beamed, triumphant as he reached out for a fist bump from Quinn, “I’m so fast.” “You’re so something,” Quinn chuckled, skating alongside him as the kid did a very cautious shuffle forward.

They made a few slow laps around the rink, with Quinn giving tips, cheering him on, and sometimes just holding his hand when Logan needed a break. At one point, Logan tripped and fell forward—knees hitting the ice—but he sat up laughing.

“I’m okay!” he shouted. “Hockey guys fall all the time, right?” “All the time,” Quinn said, helping him up. “But you bounced back better than most of us do.”

Eventually, they sat on the edge of the rink, Logan leaning against Quinn’s side with flushed cheeks and a red nose, looking very proud of himself.

“Are you having fun?” Quinn asked, brushing a bit of snow off Logan’s toque. Logan nodded. “Best day ever.” Quinn smiled down at him, pride washing over him. “Yeah?” “Yeah. ‘Cause you’re fun. And you’re Mama’s favourite.”

That stopped him.

Quinn’s chest tightened. “She told you that?” “No,” Logan said, very seriously. “But I can tell.”

Quinn couldn’t help it—he laughed, pulled the kid close in a little hug and awkwardly patted him on the head. “Well,” he said softly, “you’re my favourite, too.”

Logan looked up, grinning. “Wanna race again?” “Bring it on, Flash.” They got Logan's helmet back on and headed back for the ice. The sound of Logan’s giggles echoed through the cold air, loud and clear, a sound that stuck with Quinn long after they were done.

-

It started with Quinn’s hand in hers and the soft buzz of country music echoing through the bar, low lighting, pitchers of beer, and a corner booth packed with his teammates and their significant others.

Daphne hadn’t been sure about going out with the entire team and their partners. It wasn’t that they weren’t nice—everyone had been nothing but warm—but it still felt like stepping into his world. One, she hadn’t quite figured out where she fit in yet.

But Quinn had leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and murmured, “Just be you. They’re gonna love you.”

And she believed him because the look of sincerity on his expression showed that he would never lie.

It helped that Brock and Bella were already there, making her feel less like the new girl. Bella handed her a margarita the second she sat down and whispered, “For courage. Don't overthink it, just vibe.”

The drinks flowed. The stories got louder. And somewhere between her second and third rounds, Daphne realized she was actually having fun.

Quinn never left her side, his hand either on her thigh or looped around her waist, his voice dipping into her ear when the music got too loud. At some point, someone challenged him to pool, and he looked at her like Can I? before she nudged him toward the table, laughing.

She was tipsy by then, head feeling spacey, limbs warm, and when he came back, flushed from winning and smug about it, she curled into his side without even thinking. “You’re obnoxiously good at everything,” she muttered against his shoulder.

He grinned, kissing her hair. “You’re drunk.” “I’m barely drunk,” she said, blinking up at him with all the confidence of someone absolutely drunk.

“Daph,” he said, gently, eyes knowing. She blinked. “Oh. Yeah, okay. Maybe a little drunk.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Wanna get out of here?”|She nodded instantly. “Yes. Yes, please. Take me to your chariot, good sir.”

The cab ride back to his place was quiet, her fingers laced with his as she leaned against him. She kept looking at him with this dumb little smile like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

By the time they were inside, her heels were off and she was giggling at her own text message to Bella (“I’m alive. Quinn is still hot. The bar nachos slapped.”) as he poured her a glass of water.

“Hydrate,” he said, setting it in her hands. “Yes, Dad,” she teased, sitting cross-legged on his couch.

Quinn just shook his head and sat beside her, letting her stretch out her legs and drape them across his lap.

They were quiet for a second. The kind of comfortable quiet that felt like a blanket. She played with the edge of his hoodie, her expression soft.

Then, out of nowhere—totally unprompted and very, very drunk—Daphne looked up at him and said, “I think I love you.” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet, honest truth that tumbled out of her lips like it had been waiting all night.

Quinn froze.

She didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said, just kept tracing the logo on the shoulder of his hoodie like it wasn’t a big deal. But when she looked up at him again and saw the stunned expression on his face, her eyes widened.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud?”

He blinked once. Twice. Then the softest smile spread across his face.

“You did,” he murmured.

Daphne buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did, but not like that, not right now, oh my God, I’m so—”

“Hey.” Quinn’s hand gently pulled hers away from her face. “It’s okay.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and smiling now. “Is it?”

He nodded, his gaze so full of something that looked a lot like love. “Yeah. Because I love you too.”

She smiled—this big, wobbly, tequila-soaked grin—and launched herself into his arms.

“Good,” she mumbled into his neck. “Because I was really hoping you did.” He held her tight, kissed her temple, and whispered, “I love you like so much.”

The next morning, she’d remember the nachos, the way Quinn looked sexy playing pool, and her very dramatic declaration.

But mostly, she’d remember the beautiful relief of being loved right back.

-

The daycare was tucked into the corner of a quiet street, with all bright murals and tiny toys lined up next to the door. Daphne parked just off the curb, glancing at the clock on the dash before smoothing her hands over her thighs.

She’d done this pick-up a hundred times—but today, with Quinn in the passenger seat, her nerves hummed a little louder.

He was leaning back, calm as ever, scrolling through his phone. But the second the engine turned off, he looked over at her.

“You okay?” She nodded. “Yeah. Just… you know. New territory for you, and that has me freaked out for some reason.” He smiled, that gentle one she loved. “We've got this, it's just pick up. Let’s go get Flash.”

Inside, the daycare buzzed with the usual afternoon energy—tired toddlers, chatting parents, and the scent of crayons and disinfectant lingering in the air. Quinn followed Daphne through the front doors, towering over the sea of small chairs and artwork-covered walls.

They made it to the front desk just as a teacher—Ms. Albright—stepped out with Logan’s coat in hand.

“Oh,” she said, giving a clipped smile. “Daphne. You’re a bit early.” “Just a few minutes,” Daphne replied. “We were nearby.”

“We?”

That’s when Ms. Albright noticed Quinn behind her. Her eyes flicked to him, curious yet slightly guarded, as she expected the "We" to refer to her and James.

Quinn just gave a polite smile. “Hi. I’m Quinn.” Ms. Albright blinked. “And you are…?” “He’s with me,” Daphne said quickly.

“Well.” The teacher’s smile returned, a little tighter this time. “We’ve been meaning to talk. Logan had a little incident earlier—he was playing a bit too roughly with the blocks again. We've spoken before about this.”

Daphne frowned. “You’ve mentioned it once, and it wasn’t really—”

Ms. Albright cut her off, voice growing firmer. “It’s important that we stay proactive, Daphne. Logan’s behaviour has been more... high-energy lately. Some children require a bit more structure, and sometimes that reflects things at home.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Daphne’s cheeks flushed. Her hands clenched at her sides. She opened her mouth—ready to push back—but Quinn stepped forward, his voice steady and calm, but firm.

“With all due respect,” he said, “Logan is four. He’s supposed to have energy. He’s a smart, curious kid who’s adjusting to a lot. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong at home.”

Ms. Albright’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You did,” Quinn said, still calm. “And while I understand wanting to address behavior early, we’re here to support him. Not shame him for being a kid.”

Daphne blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected that—how easily he stepped in, how quickly he backed her without hesitation like he’d done it a thousand times already.

Ms. Albright gave a thin nod. “I see. Well, I’ll get Logan.”

When she disappeared into the playroom, Daphne turned to Quinn. “You really didn’t have to do that.” “Of course I did,” he said softly. “You’ve been handling everything on your own for so long. Doesn’t mean you have to anymore.”

Her throat tightened. But before she could say anything, Logan came barreling out of the room with his backpack half open and a paper crown sliding off his curls.

“Mama!” he shouted, then noticed Quinn. “Quinn!”

Quinn knelt just in time for Logan to run into his arms. “Hey, dude,” Quinn said, scooping him up with ease. “We missed you.” Logan beamed. “I drew a dinosaur today. It has three heads!” Daphne laughed despite herself. “Sounds about right.”

As they walked out together—Logan on Quinn’s hip, talking about snack time and outside recess—Daphne glanced over at him. His hand rested on her back gently, like he didn’t even think about it.

And she realized, in that moment, that he wasn’t just stepping up. He was showing up. Every single time.

-

It was three summers later, and Quinn had pitched the idea of spending the summer in Michigan. The cottage they were staying at wasn’t anything fancy—just an old place Quinn’s parents had rented for years by the lake when they were kids, and now he happened to own and was gonna turn into a fixer-upper. The paint was peeling, the screen door squeaked, and the dock tilted slightly to one side. But it was perfect.

Daphne sat cross-legged on a blanket in the grass, watching Logan build an elaborate fort out of sticks and pinecones a few feet away by the tree line. Quinn was next to her, shoulders touching, arms bare in the warm sun, both of them lazily sipping from their drinks.

It had been a long day—swimming, barbecue, a scraped knee, a meltdown over sunscreen, and then a marshmallow-fueled second wind that somehow kept Logan going until almost nine.

Now the kid was quiet, fully locked into whatever his pinecone kingdom required, and the whole world felt soft and slow.

Quinn bumped her knee gently. “He’s gonna crash so hard tonight.” Daphne smiled, resting her chin on her shoulder to look at him. “You sound very smug about that.” “I earned it. I played five straight rounds of Lake Monster. That deserves a medal.”

She laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You’ve gotten good at this.” “At what?” “All of it,” she said. “Being here. With him. With me.”

He looked at her for a long second. Not teasing. Not trying to be charming. Just… there.

“You make it easy,” he said, voice quiet. She huffed, rolling her eyes affectionately. “That’s a lie.” Quinn smiled. “Okay, yeah. Sometimes it’s chaos. But I mean it.”

They sat in silence for a bit after that, the buzz of insects and the occasional plop of fish breaking the lake’s surface filling the space between them. Logan mumbled quiet songs to himself nearby, completely in his own little world.

And then, Quinn shifted, like he was nervous—barely noticeable, except she knew him now. The way his fingers twitched against his knee. The way he exhaled was a little too carefully.

“What?” she asked.

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out. No box. No big setup. Just his hand, opening slowly to reveal a simple gold ring resting in his palm.

Daphne blinked. “Quinn…”

“I’ve had it for a while,” he said, his voice suddenly a little shaky. “I didn’t want to make a thing out of it, not really. I just—I want to keep doing this. With you. With Logan. Forever.”

She stared at him, completely still.

“I don’t need some huge moment,” he continued. “I just… I want to marry you. If you want that too.”

Her breath caught, her heart thudding somewhere deep in her ribs. Not because she was surprised. But because it felt so them. No grand gestures. Just love, quiet and true.

She leaned in, kissed him once, softly.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I really do.”

Quinn let out a breath that sounded like relief, joy, and everything in between. He slipped the ring onto her finger, slightly crooked, his hands shaking a little, and they both looked down at it like it was the most ordinary, extraordinary thing in the world.

“Hey!” Logan called, looking up from his fort. “What are you guys doing?” Daphne smiled at Quinn, then turned toward her son. “Just talking, baby.” Logan trotted over, brushing grass from his shorts. “You look like you were kissing.” “We were,” Quinn said, unfazed.

Logan made a face. “Ew. Are you getting married?” Daphne blinked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re wearing a ring,” he pointed out. “And you’re always kissing.” She and Quinn exchanged a look, and she could already feel herself laughing, even as she teared up. “Well,” she said, “yeah. We are.” Logan considered this, then nodded solemnly. “Can I wear a suit?” Quinn ruffled his curls. “You can wear whatever you want, buddy.”

And just like that, Logan was back to building his fort, as if nothing had changed.

But for the two of them—Daphne, with her heart in her throat, and Quinn, with his hand in hers—it had.

Just enough.

And it was perfect.

-

-

-

I literally never know how to end fics... So do not judge the time just and proposal :))

[theseh00perscanh00p]

10 Moments That Led Me Back to You : Part 3

paige x azzi

a/n: This one really plays to the song well and has been one of my favs to write tbh. Hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.3k

The Wedding Plus One’s

“The Dress” – Dijon

Two Years Post Break-Up

The trouble with weddings is they turn everyone into liars.

With smiles that spread a bit too far. Dresses that are zipping a tad too snugly. People who have not seen or spoken to each other in years are hugging as if they are long-lost soul mates. It’s all champagne and filtered lighting — a curated illusion of love and forever.

Paige did not rise above playing the role.

And she’d stepped out of the car in a tailored navy suit and dramatic for dusk sunglasses, her arm looped through that of a woman named Kelsey — charming, lighthearted, perfectly forgettable Kelsey — who had learned Paige’s favorite wine two nights ago and her last name just the night before that.

They met on Hinge. The first date was fine. The second was rushed. The third… was this.

Ice, a former teammate at UCONN, had brought them both along. The invitation, technically speaking, was for Paige and a plus one. Paige had clicked and RSVP’d to the wedding with a knot in her stomach.

Because it just wouldn’t have been bareable to roll up solo.

Not if there was a possibility that Azzi would be there.

Not when there was a possibility Azzi wouldn’t be by herself.

“I still can’t believe you play in the W,” Kelsey said, heels clicking on the gravel, as she hooked her arm through Paige’s. “Like, actual WNBA. That’s insane.”

Paige gave a tight smile. “It’s a job.”

Kelsey laughed as if it were a piece of charming modesty. “A hot one.”

Paige didn’t reply. Not that she didn’t appreciate the compliment. — but her brain was already ten steps ahead, registering the layout, the exits, the faces. She hadn’t even cleared the welcome sign and was already scouting for the navy dress and the curls that still haunted her sleep.

The reception area was beautifully arranged there were string lights overhead, gold accents on the tables, and linen napkins folded into sharp triangles. Love songs from a curated playlist hummed, mellow and too on the nose.

Kelsey pushed Paige toward the seating chart. “By the way, you think we’re at the fun table or the filler table?

But Paige wasn’t listening.

She was scanning. In search of a face she had not been supposed to care about anymore.

And then… she saw her.

Azzi.

In a navy satin dress, standing next to the bar, curled hair, glass in her hand.

Glowing like a goddamn memory.

And alone.

Everything tilted.

Paige paused mid-step.

Because there she was.

Not just beautiful. Unreal. Her heart did something stupid felt like it came to a stop and ached of something slow and tight and painful.

Kelsey nudged her gently. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said too eagerly. “It’s just uhh I thought I saw the bartender drop something.”

She forced her legs to move. Her body to keep walking. Her mouth to smile.

But the moment their eyes locked across the room — a flash of recognition, a small nod from Azzi before she turned back to the bar.

Paige knew in that exact moment.

This night would take her back to all the feelings she refused to admit.

Kelsey was kind of interesting initially — as one-week-old Hinge dates tend to be. She cracked some jokes about Paige’s “mysterious athlete energy,” gave an appreciative laugh at the best man’s toast and got two people at their table to follow her on Instagram before the salads were even served.

Quickly one glass of wine turned into three.

And four.

By the time dessert came out, Kelsey had moved three seats down, involved in a loud, confusing conversation with someone’s cousin about the accuracy of astrology compatibility and homemade kombucha.

Paige looked on in terror and forced interest. She shoulda reeled her back in, probably. Stepped in somewhere, did something. But Kelsey was making new friends and Paige…

Paige was busy watching her.

And not her. But her.

Azzi stood at the far end of the bar. Her dress scooped nice and low at the back, showing a touch of her shoulder blade. Her hair was curled, in that loosely waved texture that didn’t look like she even tried and was somehow still perfect.

She wasn’t even looking at Paige. She didn’t need to. Paige felt it anyway. That tug in her chest. Familiar and cruel.

She tried to shake it. Really, she did.

But her feet had other plans.

The music had transitioned into something jazzy and slow, and Paige made her away across the grass, squeezing by a drunk groomsmen and a mix of overly eager bridesmaids awaiting the bouquet toss.

Azzi didn’t turn at first.

Paige cleared her throat. Quiet. Awkward.

“Hey.”

Azzi looked over, painfully slow. Her mouth curled into the smallest, sharpest smile.

“Hi.”

For a second, that was it. Except the sound of Paige’s heart beating out her chest.

And Paige nodded at the dress. “You look…uhh the dress looks amazing.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow, raising her glass. “Is that all? That looks amazing.”

The smile twisted in the corner of her mouth like a secret.

Paige huffed out a laugh. Ran a hand down her neck. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“But?”

“But yeah. You look good. You always do.”

Azzi stirred her drink, her gaze resting on Paige’s lips for a second too lingering. “So do you.”

The words fell somewhere between a compliment and a question.

And Paige sensed herself remembering again… The same memories she convinced herself she’d buried.

Flashback: Five Years Prior to The Wedding

Their first Gala event together.

The dorm floor was covered in a pile of clothes that Azzi said all gave herself the ick and a single pair of heels abandoned in a corner. Paige was sat on the edge of Azzi’s bed with her tie off and hanging loose, scrolling on her phone with the impatient enthusiasm of someone failing at playing it cool.

“How is it humanly possible for someone to take this long to get into a dress?” she shouted through the shut bathroom door.

Azzi’s voice landed lower, the steam of hair spray and general bathroom chaos muffling it. “You want me to look good or not?”

“I want you to look like yourself,” Paige muttered, loud enough to be heard but just soft enough to pretend she didn’t mean it that way.

She threw herself onto the bed and threw her phone away. There was the pre-event nervous energy in the room, the nerves Paige never felt before games. Basketball was easy. This. This was something totally different. An odd pain in her ribs that flared when Azzi tied her hair up, or accidentally brushed their hands together in a hallway.

She was going to call again — some sort of lazy chirp about everyone already waiting — when the door creaked open.

And all those comments she wanted to make suddenly were no longer existent.

Azzi emerged in a dark green silk slip dress the color of evergreen trees, a garment that, three days before, Paige had only seen crumpled at the bottom of a shopping bag. But on her it shone like it had been made for the way she moved. Her hair was out in soft curls, her lips were glossed but not too much, and she wasn’t in heels yet, but it didn’t matter.

Paige sat up slowly. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Azzi stopped at the side of the bed and began to adjust the straps, with that subconscious grace that was so innately her. “Too much?”

Paige blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You’re… trying…to kill…me?” she finally croaked.

Azzi rolled her eyes but grinned — slow, sly, as if she knew perfectly well what she was doing. “So that’s a yes?”

Paige got to her feet, sliding her hands into her pockets to try to resist making contact. “You look umm” She stopped. Started again. “That’s not what I expected.”

“No?”

“I mean, I knew you were hot. But this is, like… illegal.”

Azzi laughed. Really laughed. That full-belly, throw-her-head-back kind of laugh that Paige would spend years running after, chasing the sound of it.

“Help me zip it up?” Azzi asked, turning around and raising her hair.

With only a slight pause Paige stepped through. The zipper only snagged once, in the base of her spine, and Paige could have sworn that her fingers tingled just a little.

“Thanks,” Azzi murmured.

And Paige, not wanting to trust her voice, just nodded lingering half a beat too long before taking a step back.

A few moments later, as they walked across campus to the gala, Paige wouldn’t be able to recall what she had said. What food they served. Who else was there.

She would remember only that moment.

The dress.

The breath she forgot to take.

And the sensation — sharp, sudden — that she was no longer just her best friend.

This was something else.

Something real.

The gala took place in the campus’s ballroom. Long tables were spread out along the walls of the room, dotted with name cards and nearly untouched charcuterie boards. There was a DJ cranking what had a passing resemblance to jazz through a comically undersized speaker system and everyone pretending not to notice that half the room would sooner be running drills than making small talk in high heels.

But Azzi didn’t appear as if she didn’t want to be there.

She owned it, it appeared.

They had scarcely entered when a familiar voice hailed them.

“Okay, but damnnnnnn.”

Halfway across the room already, heels clicking, eyebrows wiggling, and a set of eyes giving Azzi a dramatic once-over.

“That’s the dress?” KK added, turning to Paige with feigned accusation. “You didn’t say she was gonna be like that.. with it.”

Paige lifted both of her arms over her head, as if in surrender. “I didn’t realize that she would be either...”

Nika followed, all but draining a glass of something sparkling in her hand. “Jesus Christ, Az. You’re gonna make the freshmen cry.”

Azzi laughed and shook her head. “It’s just a dress.”

“Oh no, girl…” Jana said, appearing out of nowhere with a knowing gaze she always had, “That’s the dress.”

Paige should’ve been possessive. If only she’d had the energy to care that her friends were fawning over Azzi like some kind of campus celebrity.

But instead, she felt… proud.

As if she knew something they don’t. As though everybody else were just now reading news she’d already received: Azzi wasn’t just pretty. She was magnetic. She was kind. She had composure that made you feel steadier just standing next to her.

And tonight?

Tonight, she was hers.

Well not officially. Not yet. Not in a way that (they both would later admit) had labels or included whispered “girlfriend” declarations.

But Azzi had reached for her hand as they entered the ballroom. She hadn’t let go. And Paige did not intend to let her, either.

“Besides,” KK said, fanning her face with an appetizer plate. “You’d better dance with her, P… or I will.”

Azzi gave her a mock-warning glance. “You try to lead and I’ll put up a fight.”

They all laughed, and Paige squeezed Azzi’s hand a little more firmly. It was all laughter among too many flashes from near by cameras, and ambient music, but none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because when Paige glanced over, Azzi was already looking back at her — as if nothing about this was unexpected. As if she’d known already how Paige felt and had just been waiting for her to see.

“You hungry?” Paige leaned forward so that the smell of Azzi’s perfume overtook her.

“Not really,” Azzi whispered. “But I could eat.”

Paige smiled. “Come on. Let’s have something to eat and then you can show me some of those dance moves you’ve been hiding.”

Azzi bumped her shoulder. “Promise to stay off my toes and I’ll go.”

“No promises,” Paige said. “But I’ll try.”

And just like that they danced into the night in a way that made Paige never forget the way they swayed.

Flash Forward: The Wedding

The music had changed to something gentler — old-school R&B with a little bit of sway wired into the rhythm. Paige remained by the bar, still reeling from the fact she’d been able to construct something even a semblance of a conversation with Azzi.

She had been about to say something else — something half-charming, half-dumb, as usual — when a voice from behind them cut in

“Well if this isn’t deja vu.”

Paige didn’t have to look back.

It was KK’s grin that she saw first, followed by Jana’s knowing eyes and Nika’s out of control energy which was already flowing out of her as she grabbed for the leftover olives on the bar.

“What are the odds,” Nika said, popping an olive as if she lay claim to the place.

“Wild,” KK added. “Two exes. One bar. One navy satin dress. What will happen next?”

Azzi sighed and smiled, despite herself. “You guys practiced that, didn’t you?”

“Just every group chat since 2024,” Jana sipped from her wine glass.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Oh my god … This is an ambush.”

“We like to call it gentle parenting,” KK responded. “Plussss, the wedding playlist’s just starting to get good.”

Before either could object, Jana elbowed Azzi in the ribs. “Dance floor. Now. That’s an actual Miguel song that’s playing and you don’t walk away from that.”

Azzi’s brow lifted. “I didn’t know you were a dance floor person.”

“I’m not,” Jana said. “But this is history. And history deserves rhythm.”

They were already walking away, and Nika vanished into the crowd after them, leaving Paige and Azzi behind, like they hadn’t just set off a bomb and walked away, leaving Paige and Azzi to clean up the aftermath.

Paige looked at the floor and then at Azzi. Her voice became low & soft & confident. “One song?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t danced in years.”

“Yeah, but …” Paige took a step closer. “Do you think we can dance like we used to dance?”

Azzi hesitated, her grin giving her away. “Won’t your date mind?”

Paige tried to describe it as a rogue wave. Right. Kelsey.

She looked across the room — Kelsey was already deep in a crowd of groomsmen and what appeared to be the bride’s cousin, twirling a champagne flute that was only half full, which that didn’t stop her from laughing too loud at something there was no way she heard all the way.

“I can’t even tell you her birthday,” Paige confessed, scratching at the back of her neck. “And by the number of drinks shes’s had, I don’t think she’s gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

Azzi chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable with rhythm,” Paige added, extending her hand. “One dance.”

Azzi looked at her hand. Then at Paige.

Then, slowly, she took it.

“One dance,” she agreed. “But if you step on my foot, I’m walking off like I don’t know you.”

“No promises,” Paige said. “But I’ll try.”

And then they slipped into the music with the past creeping into memory reminding them of the exact feelings they both had felt that one day.

And once again loosing themselves to the night in a gentle sway.

The floor wasn’t packed but it wasn’t empty, either.

Paige led Azzi by the fingers, softly, as if it was like recalling muscle memory she hadn’t employed in years. Her hand discovered the small of Azzi’s back the way it always had. Natural. Unthinking.

The song was slow — the kind of slow that made you hear every breath between words, every step closer or farther.

Azzi was silent for a moment. She simply gazed at Paige, with that face — the one she had always tried to avoid. Not soft. Not intense. Just… knowing. The look that meant, I see you. Even when you’re trying to be not seen.

And that’s when it struck Paige… this would destroy her.

Because Azzi looked at her that way… and smiled, slow and slight as though she hadn’t just tipped Paige’s whole world off its axis again.

“You’re quiet,” Azzi finally slurred, raising her voice above the music.

Paige shrugged, looking past Azzi’s shoulder, “Trying not to mess it up.”

Azzi made a sound that could have been a laugh and also a quiet breath. “It’s just one dance.”

“Yeah…” Paige said. “That’s the problem.”

For a moment, Azzi felt her hand tremble lightly on Paige’s shoulder, but they both held their ground.

The moment bloomed, intimate and honest and painful. Paige felt the pressure buildup in her chest — to speak, to say anything. What she truly felt. That she even thought of her every day. That there had never been anyone else who ever come close. That it was as if seeing her tonight in that dress had unzipped something that she’d spent two years making sure remained stitched shut.

But Paige didn’t say it.

Because then it wouldn’t be just a dance.

And if it wasn’t only a dance, she didn’t know how to walk away again.

So she swallowed it — the truth, the ache, the instinct to lean in, pull her close and ask if perhaps they could try one more time.

Instead, she gently squeezed Azzi’s hand and left the silence to bear everything she couldn’t say.

The song ended, dissolved into applause and laughter from the tables around. Azzi stepped back first. Paige was hit with the cold right away.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, pushing a curl behind her ear, her tone unreadable. “For the dance.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Azzi smiled once more — not mocking, not flirtatious. Just… bittersweet.

And then she turned and walked back toward the bar, like it was nothing more than just a moment.

Paige was left standing on the dance floor, fists laid at her side.

One song.

That’s all it was.

That’s all she let it be.

Now — Seven Years After the Break-Up

As I drink my morning coffee, I shout to my Alexa to play old-school r&b and of course by some sign of fate the song we danced to at the wedding begins to play. So without even a second thought I open my notes app already open to the note and I begin typing everything I should of said when I was still too scared to admit it…

2. The Wedding Plus One’s

I reminded myself I was only in it for the free cake.

That it was socially acceptable to invite a stranger, because it’s a wedding, a gathering of people to celebrate some one else’s happiest day.

But the second I saw you…

That lie didn’t hold.

You were standing by the bar, navy dress, a head full of curls shining in the light.

For a second there I forgot how to walk.

And it was stupid. I mean, we hadn’t spoken in months. I had someone with me. We were two people who had moved on.

Except… we hadn’t. At least, I hadn’t.

You said hi. I said you looked good. You made a joke. I choked.

I asked you to dance.

You then asked if my date would object.

And I blanked on her name for .5 seconds.

And then you said yes to one dance.

One.

And I let it be just that. Because I didn’t yet know how to say the things I want to without messing it up entirely. I still don’t.

It was like we were in college all over again, so I danced with you. As if you hadn’t taken part of me with you every time we parted.

You gave me that look. You know the one. The are-you-finally-going-to-say-it look.

And I didn’t.

All I did was smile, grip your hand for just that second too long and whisper “any time” when what I really meant was “every time.”

I doubt I’ll forget that dance for as long as I live.

Not because it was romantic.

Because it wasn’t enough.

But it could’ve been.

And that makes it worse, somehow.

[bunny-jpeg]

hihii can i pls request churros w a martini & glass of water + lewis !! thank uu💗💗

bakery menu

want to suggest your own story? then drop an order in the inbox! thank you for this one! i find myself on a lewis kick lately (i mean c'mon, he's just so charming)!

churros ("if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?") + martini (mafia au) + glass of water (aftercare) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, aftercare, roleplay, sane and consensual, power play, mafia boss!lewis, missionary sex, unprotected sex, "virgin"!reader, reference to au-typical violence

moanco was beautiful. it was the kind of place that felt picturesque. there was beauty to the area that left you stunned, even after all this time in it. it seemed like every day the sun shined.

but there was a small issue, you were.. wrapped up in a situation. you never expected yourself to ever find yourself involved with the mafia but here you were. in front of one the head boss of a division of a family that hailed from the united kingdom.

the man seated across from you was handsome. his dark eyes loomed over you like an impending force, the rings on his fingers looked expensive but could also deal damage if he were to throw a punch. surprisingly there were no guards around.

you were in his dining room, he smiled at you and then took a sip of his wine. you shifted in your seat unable to take a sip of yours, the nerves ate at your stomach.

"you look scared." he noticed, "there's no reason to be scared."

you swallowed, "i think i have good reason to be scared. you're a scary man, lewis hamilton." you tried to reach for your glass but found yourself too shy.

he chuckled, "i guess you should've thought of that before you took out that loan from the family. it wasn't a small amount either." he rapped his fingers against the expensive table, "actions have consequences, miss."

you replied, "i'll do anything to make up the cost, i've already told you my reasons for why i had to take the money." you swallowed, "it was greatly needed and i'll do what i can to make it all back to you, sir."

he rested his cheek against his hand and smiled at you, "sir, huh? i like the way you say it. comes off your tongue so easily. but, i can think of a few ways that you could make it up to me. i'm not an easy man to buy, dear."

you swallowed, "i don't know if i have much to give in all honesty." you ducked your head. you heard the chair lewis was sitting in be pushed back and him walk towards you. you caught sight of his perfectly shined shoes.

he took you by the chin and made you looked up at him. he smiled at you, most likely a lot softer than he would towards most people. he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. his rings felt nice against your hot skin. he said, "i could get a pretty price for you."

you leaned back, "no, no. please, anything but that. i..i don't want to be sold."

he crowded your space more, both hands now on your face. he raised his eyebrows at you, "well, you'll need to pay back somehow, right? you're running out of options, dear."

"please sir." you swallowed, "please, please, please. i.. i can't!" you felt the anxiety buzz in your mind

"if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?" he said, almost like a promise. he didn't want to hear your grovelling. he hated when people grovelled.

you leaned a little further into his touch, not knowing what else to do. you were running out of options, "i..i wouldn't mind being yours... personally. if i can pay it back through sex." you looked up at him, a glimmer in your eye as you hoped he'd accept your offer. it was all you had to give, to give him your body.

he chuckled, "you want to pay me with sex? i guess you must have a whole bunch of fun tricks then?"

your gaze adverted his, "um.. sir... i'm actually a virgin.. only i've ever touched myself." you felt pin pricks of anxiety along your neck.

lewis laughed, it was the kind of laugh that came from deep in the gut. he pulled you up to him from your chair, he looked down at you with a smiled, "you're willing to give em your virginity. well, aren't i special then."

slowly you were brought to lewis' large bedroom. this room alone was worth more than the rent of your tiny studio apartment in a bed part of town. you swallowed when his hands were on your back.

he already taken the necklace off of you and now he was slowly pulling down the zipper of your dress. exposing the skin of your back to him. he placed a hand in the center of your back and rubbed it, "mmm, so soft. so delicate. i could break you in two."

you swallowed, "you wouldn't, right?" you wanted to reassurance.

he chuckled as he got the dress down off your body. then wrapped his tattooed arms around you. he kissed at your jaw and you shuddered. he said, "of course not, it's going to take a long time to make it all back for me. i can't break you on my first ride, that's just a bad investment." his hands then lingered to the waistband of your cute red panties.

everything about you was painfully cute. you were dedicated to making it all back to him. to not be under the thumb of the mafia, but lewis had a hunch that it would take a long time before that happened.

and by the curves of your body and the softness of your lips. how pretty your breasts felt in his large hands. oh, he had every intention of keeping you around for a while.

he kneaded your breasts through your thin bra, he whispered in your ear, "someone was anticipating tonight. were you hoping to get lucky, miss?" he pinched your nipples through the thin fabric.

"i wanted to dress to impress, sir." you said meekly, "in case anything happened." you could feel his erection in his slacks as he rubbed himself up against you.

he kissed the base of your neck and said, "so sweet. maybe if you're a good girl, next time we meet, i'll get you something a little more expensive." it was clearly obvious that everything came from a value pack at a department store. not that he minded obviously, means he could rip them in the future and have them replaced with ease.

however the idea of ripping something off you that cost more than a semesters tuition also made something stir in lewis' gut. so many things to do with this little treat in his home.

he got you fully undressed then told you to get on the bed. he undressed as well and you got a good look at his toned body. you swallowed and tried to advert your gaze to show some kind of respect to the boss. he chuckled and said, "don't hide yourself, beautiful. you can look."

you made eye contact with him and he smiled at you. the most dangerous man in this part of the continent. he was smiling at you, and it made heat pool in your gut.

he didn't kill you on the spot, but rather he was about to fuck you as he got those calvin klein briefs off. when he exposed his hard cock to you, you wanted to look away again. but catching onto your tricks, he said, "eyes on me, beautiful. i like to see the woman i'm fucking's face." then got onto the bed with you.

you were soon under him. he had you by the hips as you rested on your tailbone. the perfect angle to slot his cock into you. you said, "i don't know if it'll fit."

he chuckled, a bit of danger in his tone, "oh. it better fit. or else i'm going to throw you to my boys and when they're done with you, anything will fit that pussy of yours." he could practically feel the skip in your heartbeat. he grabbed at your hips as he rubbed his cock across your slick pussy. he didn't quite sink in yet, wanting to tease the both of you first.

"please, sir. don't hurt me."

"oh, no, no. when you came into my house. i was wondering how to clean up your blood all over the wall. they don't make that paint colour anymore. but watching you over the course of our meal made me hungry for something else." he took his cock in one hand and guided his cock into you, "in this world, my dear. when you are given a gift, you hold onto it. and you, are quite the gift." he pressed a soft kiss against your cheek.

you winced at the feeling of his cock inside of you, the heft of it in your sweet pussy made your insides feel warm. you shivered a little and his lips were on you.

"where have they been keeping you all this time." he kissed at your jaw, "mmm, you feel perfect." he rocked against you. he could feel the pleasure go to his brain, "such a pretty thing. yeah? you like this?"

you nodded and reached out for him. you were getting into the groove of it all. you could feel the heat across your body, it almost felt like burning. your core throbbed for him. this dangerous man fucking you.

he chuckled, "perfect fit for me, and on your first time too. sometimes it takes a while for little things like you to fit around me. but you're just a nice fit. should i be worried that you were lying to me about being a virgin."

you batted your eyelashes at him, "no, sir. i wouldn't lie to you." and he pressed his chest up against yours. you held onto him tighter as the two of you moved together. your movements were soft and unsure. a sign that you hadn't done this before.

he captured your lips once more and moved faster. he found his pace as he thrusted. he could feel the sweat on his back and your nails digging into his skin. he swallowed back the pleasure as he continued to move. you were just so fucking cute.

who let you even take that loan out? they should've just given you the money based on how precious you looked. there should've been no questions. he heart hammered deep in his chest. for such a cold man, when he was with you it all melted.

he could feel the pleasure hit him in the chest as he thrusted up against you. god, you were perfect. the kisses were sloppy and soon his pace had gained enough speed that it was a tad erratic. he yearned for the rush of pleasure that was hitting all the right parts of his brain.

you really were something.

"sir." you said.

"shh. shh, be a good girl. just let me fuck you." his voice was a tad tight.

you dug your nails into his strong shoulders, right up against his tattoos. his lips were on you as you moaned against him. you tightened your legs around him as he bumped his cock into you. when you pulled away. you gasped, "i love you."

he chuckled, his smile big at the sight of your blissed out state, "oh don't worry, honey. i love you too." a slip in the little play you two were having. but he couldn't help it, not when it came to his wife. (oops).

you tensed up and held onto him tightly you. you came around his cock, a wet ring formed around the base of his heavy cock as he continued to bury it inside of you. you let out a small noise and it drove him wild.

he continued his pace, it was a little erratic. this was less the sexy roleplay you two were doing and more two lovers tumbling in the sheets together. oh well, lewis didn't care. he just loved the feeling of you.

close after your orgasm, he had his own. he held onto you by the sides then kissed you on the lips. he groaned into the kiss and tensed up as he finished inside of you. when he went over the peak, he relaxed against you. his face ended up in your chest as he relaxed against you.

"mmm, honey." you said softly.

"you are crazy." he said as he looped an arm around you. he kissed the side of your face, "when i said we could try anything, i wasn't expecting mean mafia boss takes advantage of a poor girl."

lewis hamilton was your husband, had been for two years now. while the fact he was a head boss was true, you were far from an innocent young lady who fell into his trap. you were his wife, the most precious thing to grace this planet. lewis worshiped you like a divine being, so it was hard for him to be so rough with you.

he kissed at your face and said quiet 'i love you's as he made sure that every inch of you was okay. that he didn't take your little roleplay too far tonight.

he got you in one of his old t-shirts, then he got you under him. not to fuck you again. but to just hold. his grip on you was firm, but not painful. he was one of the scariest men in europe. but in the warm intimacy of your shared bedroom, he adored you.

eventually he looked at you, those dark eyes gleaming in the yellowing light of the lamp. he traced patterns across your arm as he said, "next time, how about you be the mean mafia boss. and i'll be the poor in debt fool. maybe you can put those rope skills to use.' his bare thigh rubbed against your soaked cunt.

you held his face then kissed him, "sounds like a plan to me, mister hamilton." then smiled at him. <3

[bweeeb]

"GIRLFRIEND"

Carmen Berzatto x Reader (you)

( @softmullet : i want me some tender love from carmy 😩 ) Notes: I believe that if things had gone well in the last episode of the second season, it could easily have gone something like this, I hope this story is enough for you, and i hope u like it. Thank's for the request

Summary: When Carmen's "girlfriend" comes up at the opening of The Bear, at the end of the night they both realize something

It was family and friends night at the restaurant, the first service at The Bear, and Carmen couldn't be more anxious about it. He wanted everything to go well, to serve good service, good food, a good place, he wanted it to be perfect. You went with your friends, Melissa and Isis, to the opening of The Bear. Although Carmen was aware that you might be there, since he was the one who invited you, he hadn't thought you would actually go.

— Cousin, your girlfriend is at table 29.

Richie, who was in charge of the dining area, approached Carmen working in his station. — She's your girlfriend already, right cousin?

— She's here? Carmen asked, not stopping his food preparation.

— Damn, man, figure it out and make her your girlfriend quick. That's what Richie said before leaving the kitchen, leaving Carmen thoughtful

You and Carmen started going out frequently four months ago. Your confidence in what you did, your smile, and the unusual comfort you transmitted to Carmen made anxiety spread through his body. But for the first time, it wasn't the bad kind of anxiety—it felt good to be near you.

Sitting at table twenty-one, you smiled towards Richie, who approached the table with a bottle of wine and a smile on his lips.

— Y/n. Richie said your name as he stopped beside you before continuing; — Excuse me, girls, would you like some wine? I know it's what you like.

— Hi, Richie. You greeted him and your friends smiled.

— Yeah, I’d love that. Isis smiled at Richie following Melissa’s confirmation beside her.

— How sweet, thank you.

— Thanks. — you thanked politely as you saw him filling your glass. — Things are really good around here, dude. Carm didn't tell me it was all so fancy.

— What do you mean, cousin didn't show off with those fancy cutlery?

Richie teased Carmen, causing laughter from your lips and two mischievous smiles directed at you by your friends.

— Yeah, I don't know, I guess he didn't want to involve me in this. You said shrugging your shoulders as you took a sip of your wine.

— I think he wants to involve you in everything, Y/n Bear. He’s just not good at it... — the older man nodded and started stepping back — Now I’ll let you enjoy the night, if you need anything, I’ll be at your disposal. He said before disappearing into the dining area.

— Oh no, stay. Isis murmured watching Richie leave while biting her thumb distractedly.

— He's too old for you. You said laughing out loud and snapping Isis out of her daydreams.

— Regardless, sister. Your boyfriend’s friend is hot.

— Carmen is not my boyfriend. You huffed looking at the glass in your hand.

— Oh really, you’re still at this? You sleep at each other's houses, fuck like rabbits, and I feel like the loneliest person in the world when I see you two. What are you? Friends? No way. Melissa said rolling her eyes before laughing and drinking her wine.

— We’ve never talked about it. He didn't grow up with a good image of relationships, I don't want to force anything, sometimes he just wants a fling.

— Right, a fling of a hundred and twenty-one days. Wake up, baby, you heard the hottie, he wants to involve you in everything. Isis said sighing.

— But what if he doesn't want to... he probably didn't even want me here. You said laughing nasally, remembering Carmen’s vague mention a week ago, saying you could come if you wanted to.

— Believe me, Y/n, you have enough personality for him to want you! — Melissa smiled leaning back in the chair — I bet twenty bucks he’ll come here just to bring your dish because he’s totally in love with you.

— As if he had time, this is a restaurant and it’s full, Mel...— You said laughing again.

— I think he’ll come, I mean, would he really not? Isis shrugged drinking her wine again.

— Alright, let’s see...

Not long after, the conversation that you three had started was interrupted by the huge smile on Melissa’s face. The dishes were placed in front of you and Carmen's eyes fell on you like a magnet.

— Hi.

— Hi, everything is really good, Carm. Congrats.

— Thanks. Uhm, yeah...— Carmen said and at that moment he was grateful not to have anything special to present on your plate because you were too beautiful for him to focus on anything other than you at that table. — You look beautiful and I hope you all have a good time. Enjoy! He said stepping away from the table with a glance before disappearing back into the kitchen.

— He’s obviously busy and still came to say hi to you. Melissa smiled and groaned while throwing her head back.

— You look beautiful, that’s the compliment I’ve heard the most on all my dates and this was the first truly sincere one I’ve heard, my god. Isis said smiling while looking at you, smiling at your plate.

— hmm, yeah, he’s sweet.

— I want my money. Melissa said before starting to eat like you and Isis.

°°°

The end of the night had come, the place was less noisy, the last customers were leaving, the kitchen was starting to be cleaned and that meant Carmen was less hectic if everything had gone well.

You had left Isis and Melissa behind in the dining area with Niel and Richie while you looked for Carmen.

Passing by Sydney who was leaning on the counter, you stopped to look at her for a while.

— Hey, Syd. Are you alright? You asked and received a nod from the girl who seemed tired.

— Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just...you know...all of this was crazy and it was my first night working like this for real, so... it’s a lot. She vented and you sighed agreeing.

— I could say I understand but in reality, I don’t understand the pressure you guys have in the kitchen, but I can guarantee you did a great job, everything I ate, the service, everything was great. You said and Sydney smiled at you, understanding why Carmen liked you, it was simple.

— Thanks, Y/n. I think you should tell him that, he’s a bit worried.

— Where is he? You asked, twisting your lips.

— Office. Sydney gestured with her hands, showing you the way and with a grateful smile, you went after Carmen who was found by you sitting in the office, now Natalie’s, with his hands on his head.

— Hey, Chef. You said, standing at the office door waiting for him to let you in.

— Hi. Carmen responded, adjusting his posture and freeing his lap for you to sit on his thighs. There was the confirmation you needed.

— What’s wrong? You asked, sitting on him and wrapping your hands around his neck.

— I think I could have done better. He murmured

— You can always do better, Carmy, but what you guys did here today was great. The girls were delighted even with the damn glasses on the table. You murmured and saw Carmen close his eyes, closing his arms around your waist. — You know I wouldn’t lie to you if I had any complaints about this place, and I can assure you that things, at least out there, were great. How were they here?

Your voice was calming for Carmen who forced himself to open his eyes and look at the beautiful thing in his arms. — We should be more organized.

— Hm, things like that always happen, you guys will get the hang of it, this was the first service, my love.

And there was the nickname that made Carmen feel like a prematurely lovestruck teenager.

— I’m really happy you liked it, beautiful. Carmen murmured, bringing a hand to your left cheek.

— You. Should. Relax. — With each pause, you planted a peck on Berzatto’s lips. Once you felt him still tense.

— Why are you so perfect, fuck. Carmen whispered, sucking on your neck and pulling you in for a longer, more heated kiss. — Did you like the wine you drank? He asked, pulling your body closer to his.

— It was you who chose it. Now it makes sense. You laughed softly, playing with the curls of the man below you. — I loved it, thanks.

— I'm happy that you came, I thought you wouldn’t. Carmen admitted, which made you make a confused face.

— I almost thought you didn’t want me to come. You murmured, embarrassed, and Carmen frowned, pulling your face to look at him.

— I love when you’re near me, please, stay close. He asked with conviction in his words.

— Okay, I will.

— Listen, I-I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/n. But I want to do this right...— Carmen started and before he could finish you stopped him, agreeing.

— I love you, Carmy. You asking me to be your girlfriend or not, it’s okay, we don’t need to do this like it’s a race. You agreed softly, looking into his eyes until the mood was broken by Richie shouting from the other side of the kitchen:

— Allright, cousin, enough of the mushiness. We need to close this restaurant. The older man appeared in the doorway and looked at you two with a bored face. — Didn’t know we could have sex at work.

— Shut up. Carmen said while you got up from his lap and Richie disappeared from your sight.

— Hey, want to sleep over? I’ll finish quickly. Carmen offered and you smiled, nodding your head gently.

— Sure. You said watching him leave the office and come back in a second.

— And hey, I love you too.

---

Requests are open ✨

[stuffeddrawer]

cw: alcohol, throwing up bc of alcohol word count: 1068 MDNI

⁽ᵖᵒˢᵗ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ⁻ ᵃˢᵐᵒᵈᵉᵘˢ⁻ᵖˢᵈ⁾

You’re used to being on the outside, looking through glass containing delicate and well curated friendships. You’ve tried, God knows you’ve tried, to get out there, to try and befriend others, have what they have, but you’re always the ‘oh, yeah’ the afterthought, if not outright forgotten.

You live alone, with a dog that seems more interested in the food you eat rather than you yourself.  You don’t have any friends, save for the one that you met online years ago, but they live in another country altogether. You know they have their own group of friends, and you’re okay with that – you’re elated for them. You know it’s hard for them to make friends, but they still seem to have an easier time than you do. It’s almost as though you’ve forgotten how to even talk to people outside of work.

In short, you’re a loner.

A loner who somehow ended up at your boss’ house for a party. You’re still trying to figure that one out. They’ve invited your coworkers, obviously, and friends of their own that they’ve curated throughout the years. You’re all close in age, there’s no awkwardness felt watching one another drink and get drunk. There’s no wincing or judgement when one has a shot, and the other sips on wine.

You’re a loner who’s plastered themself into the corner, slightly overwhelmed by both the music and the people, trying to figure out how to even talk to them. Again, that creeping feeling roars in your chest – You’ve gone and forgotten how to talk to people, haven’t you? Your brain tells you. You wince without making too much of a face, more of a shudder, as if fighting off a sudden chill when the entire house feels like it jumped up by ten degrees.

You’re a loner who’s somehow caught the attention of not one, not two, not even three, but four pairs of eyes, and you haven’t noticed how they’re all looking at you. Albeit in turns, but to them, you’re stunning, like a breath of fresh air even when it feels like you yourself are suffocating under all this noise, stuck between a wall and your coworker’s drunk boyfriend who seems to be flirting with the monstera plant next to you. You try not to laugh. You fail to suppress a giggle, which only seems to make the four pairs of eyes light up at the sight of that smile, even though it’s small, on your lips.

You’ve never been a social person – maybe that’s why you have no friends, save for the one in your pocket, living a thousand miles away. You’ve never been a social person, yet somehow you’ve managed to end up with someone’s arm around your broad shoulders, keeping you close and grounded. He smells like citrus, smells bright – explosive. His cheerful and charming smile distracting you from the insane noise that seems to have only gotten louder the more and more people drank. Your coworker’s boyfriend isn’t slick with how he throws up in the soil. Poor plant.

You’re not a social person, yet somehow you’ve managed to wrangle possibly the most prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on, in a damn ball cap no less, and he’s serving you your next drink – just a simple beer, but it’s enough for you right now. You’re too hot and flushed to be enjoying anything else, really you should be drinking water, but the way this man dotes on you, those big brown eyes of his staring at you as if you’re the only one who’s ever mattered, is making you a little dizzy. Not the alcohol, certainly not that. You’ve not nearly had enough. You’ve never had someone look at you the way he is.

You’re the least social person out there, but there’s something about the way that this man with mutton chops has his hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of a crowded area of the house to someplace more open. There’s something different about that kind, quokka-like smile of his. Where one might see it as condescending, you only see it as a silent question, asking if you’re alright, waiting, patiently, almost. If you weren’t so on guard, if you weren’t so tense and uncomfortable with the amount of people here, with how rowdy these people were, people you work with, you’d be swept off your feet. Which is exactly what this man is, these men are trying to do.

You’re not a social person at all, but somehow, sitting outside with this masked stranger, this burly stoic man, is calming and slowly the conversation begins to flow easily, starting with what you do, what your average day to day is, and somehow you end up giggling at a few of his dry jokes that no one really seems to laugh at. You’re not a social person, no, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a wickedly dry sense of humour – you get his. The air might be chilly but surprisingly, you’re comfortable, warm. Seen.

You’re definitely not the most social person in the universe, yet somehow, you’re walking out of that party with four new numbers, four new names, four new friends. You’re a loner who’s walking out of that work-house-weird stupid coworker’s-boyfriend-flirted-with-and-threw-up-in-the-monstera-plant party with a big fat smile on your face, more energised walking out of it than you went in. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing at Johnny’s dumb jokes. You’re a little tipsy from the drinks Kyle made you, but also ensured you had plenty of water and something in your stomach. You still feel John’s hand on your lower back, and you can still feel Simon’s presence next to you, offering silent comfort.

You’re not the most social person out there. You’re a loner. You stay alone, live alone, cook for one, and have a small amount of dishes to clean, just for yourself. Food goes bad before you get a chance to finish it, always making more for lunches, forgetting you’re pretty much a loner.

You’re not so much that same loner anymore when you’re waking up on a lazy Sunday morning with all four of those men in your new Alaskan king-sized bed, each of them pressing lazy morning kisses to each other's heads, groggy “g’mornings”, gruff huffs at being woken up. You’re happy you’re not so much of a loner anymore.

[spacegyaru]

cw: michael kaiser x afab! reader. all characters are aged 21+! (in this case, they're both 23) + pls don't read this if u haven't seen the first and second part. huge angst and confrontation. make up sex in the end so minors, dni! also, i tried my best to make it in character. i personally believe that kaiser is a cocky asshole except if the person he interacts with is someone who knows him from the past, or someone he's attached to in the past. so yep, i tried making him in character! 

part 1 / part 2 / this is pt. 3!

also here's my masterlist if you wanna see more 😉

word count: 1.7k+ words

three years after separation, you meet again in unexpected circumstances. but is it too late?

it's been three years since that time you forgot about michael kaiser. you were so hurt by what happened. it's as if he just left you in the air.

because of that, you just focused on your career and in working at the bakery. eventually, you've finished the culinary program that you were taking and was able to focus fully on your family business. apparently, you had to take over because both your parents are considering retirement. so you've worked on your way to the top. 

to you, kaiser became nothing but a painful memory. you thought he would protect you, but he was the first one to break your heart that way. anyway, you got over it and eventually accepted what happened. as what people say ‘it is what it is’. 

your bakery got bigger. aside from offering bread and pastries as menu, you also started serving other delicacies like meat, chicken, and etc. you made it really big and out of the slums when you decided to level things up by adding other recipes on the menu. 

you were able to invest a lot on yourself. you brought your family out of the slums and were able to help build a house for your parents in the rural area, as what they wanted for their retirement. you were also able to buy a car, your own house (out of the slums), and the small bakery that you owned no longer sits at the downtown slum area, but it is now located in the bustling streets of berlin.

as business continued to succeed, you decided to explore the world of catering. and boi, everyone loved it! you were striving as a successful person in the business industry. until eventually, a big offer landed on you.

you were asked to cater a huge ball for german celebrities. feeling great about the deal, you immediately accepted it.

tbh, you got a lot going on that you forgot about kaiser. from time to time, you would see him on tv, and you would think of the good old times. it would make you sad how things ended between the both of you, but then again, you’ve moved on. your heart hurts sometimes, but it's okay. things happen. 

so the day came. you were at the big event, in a huge venue. your staff worked in the kitchen while you were fixing everything— from decorations, to the food preparation, and to serving the food. you were kind struck in awe as you saw loads of people around. 

the night was normal. that was until you were serving some red wine to the guests and eventually, you bumped on someone. your eyes widened and apologized immediately.

“...y/n?” when you heard that, you stopped apologizing. your eyes widened as you saw him— michael kaiser.

you did not say anything. you stood up and stared at him for seconds before awkwardly leaving him alone. you formally apologized for the suit and left. you acted like a total stranger to him. and it made him a little bit confused. 

you tried so hard to avoid kaiser the whole night. you thought you already moved on but when you saw him, you felt your world crumbled. you remember the pain of losing someone important to you, and the pain of losing a best friend. the guy who ruined the whole concept of having a first love for you. 

after the event, one of the organizers called you and told you that one of the biggest investors for the event wanted to thank you personally and is waiting in his private suite. you didn't think about it that much so you followed along. 

and that investor is… of course, it's michael kaiser. when you saw him, you sighed and attempted to walk away, but he held your wrist as if he didn't want to let you go. 

when kaiser hugged you, you just stood there, feeling his touch. he back hugged you when you were trying to leave. your hand was still on the door knob, and your urge to leave was still there. but you seem to be so weak when it comes to his touch. 

“y/n, i've missed you…” kaiser said while hugging you. you just clicked your tongue and freed yourself from his hug. you gave him a look filled with irritation.

you reminded kaiser that he was the one who left. your voice was filled with bitterness while you said it. 

his brows furrowed and sighed while he said, “i know i did hurt you but please, just give me a chance? come on, we could make it work this time.”

you wanted to be harsh on him, but you also longed for him to the point that you still stood there and gave him a chance to explain. 

and he did. kaiser said that he would be guilty if you guys actually got together and he didn't give your relationship enough time. “liebling, i was so busy that time and i was so afraid of the fact i'll hurt you if i'll always be away. you have to forgive me. it's been lonely without you…” 

you looked at him for a moment before starting to embrace him. and he did hugged you back as if he will never let go. you didn't know what to expect when he eventually planted a kiss on your lips. 

kaiser’s kiss still felt the same. it gives you butterflies in the stomach. your heart felt warm as he held your hips. you started kissing back, but you pulled away. 

you looked at him with widened eyes as you realized what you did. you gave in to him again. after staring at him for seconds, you ran away out of the room. you swear you're gonna check the guestlist before accepting a big offer like that. 

days later, you were at your own restaurant, managing things on your own. you were about to head inside after throwing the trash, when someone suddenly dragged you. the man seem to wear a suspicious disguise. you were about to scream when he took off his face mask. of course, who? it's kaiser. michael kaiser. why is he so persistent in winning you back?

after few minutes, you found yourself inside his car. at the front seat. his car was parked in an empty alley. both of you didn't talk, until you broke the silence. you sighed before speaking. 

you asked him to explain the reason why he left. and then he did try to explain himself. his football career took a toll on him and he just knew that he would never have the time for you.

“i know i screwed up, but my career really got busy so i already knew that i would never have the time for you. but now, i'd be willing to give you more attention that you deserve.” 

after saying that in a more serious tone, kaiser began kissing your knuckles… then eventually, he ended up kissing you. and you… you ended up kissing back. you can't just resist his touch. 

both of you ended up making out in his car, until he carried you at the backseat. you continued your heated makeout session with your tongues battling with each other. his hands were placed on your hips, caressing your ass, while you focused on pulling him closer to you. 

the foreplay felt really nice. his tongue was on your neck while your knee was rubbing his cock, making sure he felt good. he smirked at your actions.

“since when did my little virgin liebling learned this? were you a bad girl while i was away?” 

you shook your head. you've given your entire focus on improving your career while he was gone. you thought you've moved on but here you are. still craving for the touch you felt years ago. 

“so you were a good girl all this time? i bet you waited for me.” kaiser gave you one kiss before lining the tip of his cock on the slit of your pussy. “you deserve to feel so good tonight, so i just want you to lay there, love. let me do everything.” 

again, you felt the tip of his cock enter your pussy. it's as if you were a virgin again. it's embarrassing to admit, but the last time you had sex was also three years ago. and it's still with michael kaiser.

kaiser stared at you as your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape while he was deep balls inside you. he couldn't believe what he was missing out on all these years. he tried so much to forget you, having hook ups here and there, but you were always in his mind. 

his thrusts were sensual at first, and he as rubbing your clit. it felt like he actually wanted to make you feel good. he tried kissing you as your legs locked around his waist. kaiser tried to put one of them around his arm as he looked into your eyes and french kissed you again.

as time went by, kaiser's thrusts became erratic. you could just imagine how his car looked like while he was making you see stars. you felt his cock twitching as he began to whisper into your ears.

“how is it, my love? are you cumming? i want you to say my name. tell the world who makes you feel good.” 

you moaned kaiser's nickname ‘mihya’ loudly while he rubbed your clit more as he spurted his juices inside you. you ended up squirting on his cock too. after that, both of you looked at each other while panting. a small smirk was placed on his lips. 

when the both of you got dressed, kaiser tossed you something. you caught it with your two hands. it was a set of keys. you asked what's that for, while looking at him in curiosity. 

“in case you still don't think i'm serious, here's the key to my house. and if you're wondering about the address, check your pocket later.” 

oh boy. kaiser might've started off as rocky at first, but upon realizing that you were the only one for him and that there's no one else like you, he knew he'd do everything to win you back. there's nobody else in this world could love you like he does. 

a/n: anddd i'm done with this for now 🤭 my next one will be reo x stripper reader 💗

[portagas-chan]

Katakuri x Maid!reader. (Smut)

Charlotte Katakuri x Maid Female Reader

His eyes. Those alluring sharp crimson eyes. They were so intoxicating. They were so dangerous yet so gentle at the same time. It was confusing. It confused [Y/n].

He always appeared as an intimidating, frightening man who screamed danger, yet [Y/n] didn't entirely believe that. She believed that he was soft and gentle in a way and she wanted to see more of it.

[Y/n] often caught his gaze lingering on her, and she was sure that there was something more than mere curiosity in his eyes. A flicker of lust and desire.

[Y/n] stood there in the corner of the room ready to serve as the older Charlotte siblings gather to talk. The loud sound of spurs clicking against the ground below could be heard as she accidentally made eye contact with Katakuri.

Flustered, she quickly looked away and continued to stare at the black and white tiles below.

Some of them were drunk except Katakuri, who hadn't eaten or drink in the past few hours.

"[Y/n]! Come sit with us," Smoothie invited her.

"Yeah, come drink!" Oven chimed in.

She was surprised to say the least that they invited a mere maid to join them. Maybe it was the alcohol. She politely declined them but they were persistent and she had to give in.

[Y/n] hesitated when she realized that the only seat free was beside Katakuri. She nervously stared at Katakuri before taking a seat next to him.

Smoothie and Oven cheered as they poured her drinks to which she thanked them. [Y/n] took a sip and her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the glass of wine in her hands.

'That is strong,' [Y/n] thought and looked at the drunk Charlottes, 'No wonder they are so drunk.'

[Y/n] tensed up when she felt a hand on her thigh. She looked down to see Katakuri slowly caressing her thigh. She looked up to see Katakuri staring straight ahead not even glancing at her as if it wasn't him who was touching her.

Despite this, [Y/n] stayed silent. She didn’t want to make a scene but she hoped Katakuri would release his grip on her thigh.

But he didn’t.

He took another step further instead.

Katakuri’s hand travelled beneath her skirt as he gave a light squeeze before his hand slowly went dangerously nearly to her private area.

[Y/n] was very flustered. She felt so hot and she was breathing heavily. It was too much for her and no man has ever touched her like this before.

He was the first.

[Y/n] grabbed Katakuri’s hand as she tried to stop him from touching her private area but her efforts were futile as she tensed up when she felt his finger slide against her cunt.

She gasped when she felt Katakuri flicker her clothed clit, her grip on his tightened as she tried to calm herself down.

Unbeknownst to her, Katakuri smirked in satisfaction seeing how she reacts. When she felt Katakuri’s hand retract, she sighed in relief.

Katakuri took off his glove as he leaned down to whisper into her ear, “If you thought that I was done with you, you’re very wrong. This is just the beginning, [Y/n].”

Her eyes widened in surprised and before she even got the time to process what was happening, Katakuri slid a finger inside of her making her accidentally let out a moan to which she quickly covered it with a cough.

Thank god, the Charlottes were too drunk to even notice it. They were long gone.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she turned to look up at Katakuri. Her hands hovered over his large one as she pleaded, “Please, Katakuri-sama. Not here. It’s embarrassing.”

Katakuri’s cheeks dusted red when he saw the look on her face. She looked so cute especially when she’s begging.

“But you look like you’re enjoying yourself. You even let out such a noise earlier,” Katakuri tilted his head, feigning innocence.

[Y/n] pouted, “That’s because you were-” She was cut off when Katakuri slid another finger in as he started moving his fingers inside of her.

“I was what?” Katakuri smirked.

[Y/n] bit her lip as her breathing got heavier. She couldn’t answer Katakuri. He was driving her crazy.

Suddenly, Katakuri removed his fingers from her and retracted his hand as he put on his gloves back. [Y/n] laid her head down on the table as she tried to catch her breath.

“Huh? What’s wrong, [Y/n]? Is the alcohol too much for you to handle?” Smoothie asked when she noticed her form.

“It seems like she’s wasted. I will take her back to her room,” Katakuri said as he effortlessly picked her up and walked away.

Oven snickered, “Oh? I didn’t know Katakuri was such a gentleman.”

“Shut up, Oven,” Katakuri coldly said as he slammed the door shut.

Katakuri walked into his room as he locked the door and placed [Y/n] on the bed. Katakuri sat on the bed with legs crossed as he stared at [Y/n] who stared at him back, her face extremely red.

“C’mom, get up. Don’t tell me you’re than exhausted after something as little as that,” He lazily said.

[Y/n] sat up and glared at him, “It’s not a little thing! No man has ever touched me like that before.” Her eyes averted away from his as her cheeks dusted red, “It was my first time.”

Katakuri raised his eyebrow, “Oh? It’s an honor then.”

“Then let me ask you something, [Y/n],” He continued, “What do you think comes after this? Why don’t you show me? I want to know your thoughts.”

[Y/n] stared at him in surprise before she hesitantly took off her clothes. She slowly took off her undergarments making sure he gets a good look of her wet panties. It was his doing, after all.

Katakuri’s eyes narrowed as his gaze lingered over her body like a beast eyeing his prey. [Y/n] shivered under his intense stare.

[Y/n] crawled towards him on all-fours as she seductively looked at him. She placed her hand on the evident bulge on his pants fondling it with her hand. Katakuri let out a sigh as he closed his eyes.

She unbuckled his pants and and pulled down his boxers revealing his huge cock. [Y/n] nervously gulped making Katakuri chuckled at her reaction.

“What? Scared already?” He cocked his head to the side, a smirk curling up on his lips behind the scarf.

[Y/n] sent him a glare before she wrapped her lips around his cock making him groan as he threw his head back.

Slowly but surely she started to increase her pace as Katakuri placed his hand on the back of her head, bobbing her head down his cock as she gagged and choked when she felt his cock hit the back of her throat.

She grabbed his thighs, digging her nails into his skin as her moans came out muffled. Katakuri couldn’t care less as he bucked his hips even more as he got closer to his edge.

[Y/n] coughed and stuck out her tongue as she panted heavily. His cum dripping from her mouth and down her chin. Katakuri’s cock twitched at the sight.

“Are you not going to take off your scarf?” She asked as she leaned closer to his face.

He wiped the cum dripping from her mouth as he stared into her eyes, “See it for yourself.”

[Y/n] slowly unwrapped his scarf and his fangs were exposed to her. Katakuri let out a bitter chuckle, “Now, are you scared?”

She shook her head, her fingers trailing his mouth, “No, I think your fangs are sexy.”

Katakuri stared at her in silence before pinning her down on the bed below him as his lips trail down her neck. “This is why you drive me crazy,” He muttered.

His lips hovered her own before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer as they kissed. His tongue entered her mouth as she gasped for air.

Katakuri lined his cock near her entrance as he glanced at her for her consent. [Y/n] nodded and he slowly entered before he was fully inside of her.

Tears threatened to come out as Katakuri stretched her open. Katakuri kissed her tears away as he whispered sweet nothings.

“It’s okay, it will go away soon.”

“You can move, Katakuri-sama. I can handle it,” She smiled, reassuring him.

Katakuri wasted no time as he slowly pulled out before pushing back in. He started slow but later increased his pace.

[Y/n] moaned as she left scratches on his back. Katakuri buried his face in her neck as he grunted feeling himself getting closer to the edge once again.

“Katakuri-sama! I’m close!” She moaned loudly as she felt her release coming.

“Me too, [Y/n],” He groaned as his arms around her tightened.

Katakuri fell down on top of her as they both panted trying to calm down from her high.

[Y/n] chuckled, “That felt amazing.”

Katakuri smirked, “Really? That’s good to know because this is just the beginning.” He lightly squeezed her ass making her squeal in surprise as she playfully slapped his arm.

“Katakuri-sama!”

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 20/4/24

prompt: accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

pairing/character(s): steddie

i somehow wrote 1.8k... enjoy

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this distracted by a customer before at work. He’s just so… hot. Like, the usual customers he serves are rich and well-dressed, sure. But they’re businessmen well-dressed, and that can’t even begin to describe this particular customer. He’s been calling him Hot Guy in his head for the past thirty minutes.

Hot Guy is in a suit, yes, but that’s not even the best part of this man’s look. The suit’s all black and hugs his waist deliciously, but it’s everything else that has Steve practically drooling where he stands by the bar, waiting for his next round of drinks to be made. Hot Guy looks a little less pristine and perfect than the usual businessmen; his hairs up in a messy ponytail, strands of a fringe framing his face, and he has beautiful silver earrings on and an expensive looking chain around his neck. And every time he moves just so, Steve gets to see a peek of a tattoo on his chest as his half-unbuttoned black shirt moves. Gorgeous…

“All ready for you, Steve.”

He’s snapped out of it by the bartender on shift, and looks at the bar to see, oh yes, all of his drinks are ready. He offers the bartender a smile and a thank you, and gets to balancing them on his serving tray.

See, he can get a little distracted by hot customers, but he can’t be seen as a slacker. He cannot afford to lose this job.

He and Robin finally were able to move to Chicago four months ago, and it took him three months (and a good chunk of his emergency savings) to find a job as a waiter at some restaurant. It’s not even a particularly nice job. Sure, the restaurant is fancy as hell, and the customers tip really fucking well, but the pay leaves much to be desired. Like, a usual customer (rich) tips him more than he gets paid for a whole shift! And he’s not complaining about the tips, per say, but when the restaurant’s clientele can tip that much… surely the restaurant can afford to pay their workers a decent wage!

Just as he manages to balance the drinks on his tray, he notices his newest co-worker, Danny, fiddling with his own collection of drink glasses. Danny looks awfully shifty as he glances over his shoulder at a table and then takes a small sachet out of his pocket, tears a corner and pours it into one of the wine glasses.

Steve’s eyes narrow at the action. What the fuck?

Over the last week of Danny working at the restaurant, he has thought him to be unpleasant at best and suspicious at worst. The one time Steve tried to make conversation with him, just asking where he worked before there, he got a glare and a clipped comment about not getting personal. Now that he thinks about it, Steve doesn’t even know Danny’s last name.

He watches Danny pick up the tray, do a final glance around the restaurant (either not perceiving Steve as a threat or not seeing him stood five feet away), and walks toward the table area.

And he’s not saying Danny would poison a customer. He’s not saying that, because that is insane. But. What’s the alternative? That Danny got a request to put, like, powdered vitamins in someone’s drink? It’s just shifty that’s all!

And, like he said, he can’t afford to lose this job.

That includes if it gets shut down for becoming a murder scene. Or him accidentally abetting a murder by not doing anything!

What does he even do? He’s going to look genuinely insane, whether he's right or wrong.

Danny reaches a table (it’s the table Hot Guy is seated at) with his tray, and plasters on a customer service smile as he starts dishing out the drinks. Steve keeps an eye on the (possibly) tainted wine glass as Danny puts it down in front of- in front of Hot Guy. Shit.

Steve’s heart starts speeding up as he watches Hot Guy pick up the wine glass, inspecting it and giving it a little swirl before starting to lift it, and- fuck it.

Steve bolts over to the table, definitely knocking over another server’s tray as he goes, and has to shove the wine glass out of Hot Guy’s hand to stop whatever’s about to happen.

The liquid splashes onto Hot Guy’s chest (Steve hopes the poison isn’t, like, corrosive), then the glass shatters to the floor, and Steve’s left heaving as he catches his breath. Not from the exercise, but from the adrenaline rush. Because Steve is- oh god, he’s in Hot Guy’s lap.

He scrambles to stand up, cheeks bright red, and chances a glance at Danny. On the surface, Danny looks shocked and apologetic to the rest of the businessmen at the table, but Steve sees his right eye twitch and his ears start to tint red. Okay. So. Even if he looks crazy, maybe he made a good move.

He looks back toward Hot Guy only to find that he’s already being watched with an inquisitive gaze. The man still has his hand held up like he’s holding the wine glass still, and he has one (perfectly manicured) eyebrow raised at Steve. Steve feels his cheeks heat up even more under his attention.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Steve finds himself blurting out, but Hot Guy just shakes his head at him, oddly calm.

“I’ll get you another drink, Mr Munson.” Danny says, giving Steve a pointed glare before walking away.

Hot Guy- No. Mr Munson looks like he’s about to say something, but Steve needs to get him somewhere he can tell him what happened away from other people and before Danny tries it again, so he boldly puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. The possibility of looking crazy be damned.

“Let me help you get cleaned up, sir.”

Mr Munson considers him for a moment more, and then nods. Maybe he sees the frantic, anxious look in Steve’s expression, or maybe he just wants to yell at Steve outside of the view of his assumed co-workers.

"I'll be right back. Don't talk business without me." Mr Munson addressed his table before following him off.

Steve leads him to the customer toilets, and then takes him to the staff hallway just behind them. Mr Munson’s eyebrows raise at that, and at the serious expression on Steve’s face.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for that, but I… This is going to sound insane, but I think my co-worker poisoned your drink.”

He levels Mr Munson with a serious expression as he speaks, trying to negate the craziness of what he’s saying by showing he’s not joking. Through doing so, of course, Steve also gets the chance to get a better look at Mr Munson’s face, which is just… like he said earlier, gorgeous. And that’s not even talking about the deep brown of his eyes.

Mr Munson doesn’t even flinch at Steve’s words, just looks down at the wine on his shirt with a vague look of disgust.

“I see.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. What the fuck? Who is this man?

“You don’t seem shocked.” Steve finds himself saying, and then his eyes widen and he smacks a hand over his mouth, “Ignore me! I don’t want to get involved in any, um. Not crimes. I’m going to stop talking now.”

As he keeps talking, Mr Munson’s face contorts into an amused smile, and his gaze wanders over Steve’s form, then back up to his eyes. When Steve’s done rambling, the man laughs.

“No. I’m not shocked.” Is all Mr Munson says, “But unfortunately, you are involved now, sweetheart.”

Steve feels the colour drain from his face at the words and the serious tone Mr Munson speaks them in, but before he can even squeak (or scream) in response, the Staff Only door slams open, and Steve is greeted with two pistols pointed at him.

Then he squeaks. And puts his hands up in a surrender position, even though the two men glaring at him don’t look like police officers. They’re wearing suits, like they’re customers of the restaurant. And they completely ignore Steve in favour of scanning over Mr Munson.

Holy shit. What the fuck is his life? Robin will never believe him when he gets home. If he gets home.

“Put the guns down, boys.” Mr Munson says from beside Steve, and then (gently) puts his hands on Steve’s arms to push them back down to his sides, “No need for all that, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Eddie. We thought- you just disappeared, and we heard glass shattering, so-” One of the gunmen says, stumbling through his words slightly.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped. Again.” The other says, looking unimpressed.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve notes how he hasn’t removed his hands from him yet.

“I’ve been told that- sorry, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Eddie starts, maintaining eye contact with Steve only.

Sweetheart. Kill him now. How is his dick still working in these conditions, and why is 'sweetheart' doing it for him? Maybe it's more to do with Eddie himself than the word...

“Steve.” He squeaks out.

“Right. Steve, here, thinks my drink was poisoned by his co-worker. He’s the culprit for the glass, and this,” Eddie gestures to his wet shirt, “and then he took me here to clean me up.”

“What’s the name of this co-worker?” One of the gunmen ask Steve, voice intense, and when Steve just blinks at him he takes a step forward like he’s about to put a hand on him. Steve can’t help his flinch in response.

Which Eddie apparently feels, given the way he tsks at his men and takes a step back, pulling Steve with him.

“No threatening my possible saviour, Jeffy. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“His- His name’s Danny. I don’t know a last name.” Steve says finally, and gulps when Eddie rubs his thumbs back and forth where his hands are still on him.

“Good boy.” Eddie says softly, and Steve can’t help the shudder that runs through him.

Okay. It's confirmed. Apparently being mildly traumatised by guns doesn’t stop him from getting horny. Good to know. Hopefully Eddie doesn't notice how red he's gotten again.

Eddie finally lets go of him to step toward his men.

“You heard the man. Gareth, go get a sample of the wine that spilled on the floor and figure out if Stevie here is right, and Jeff, go tell everyone else who we’re looking for and find Danny.”

The two gunmen leave with their orders, and Eddie turns back to Steve. He’s looking at Steve with that intense gaze once again, eyes dragging down to his beat-up Reeboks and back up to his dishevelled face.

“Now, how can I reward you for probably saving my life, sweetheart?”

[toomanyfandoms04]

To Be Loved (Yoonho Baek x Reader) 5

Under 18 and Ageless blogs will be blocked.

Content warning: Stalking, attempted assault, protective!Yoonho Baek

Chapter 5

Conventions are very loud, very crowded, and very expensive.

The convention center was split into three areas. The smallest area in the center of the mess was the food court. Many American classics were served, along with some exotic tastes.

Breakfast the first day consisted of an oatmeal bowl with fruits for you, and 5 corndogs for Baek. You teased your boss for his unique taste for breakfast food.

The two other sections were about the same size. One side was the weapons and the other side was armor. Scatter through the entire convention were booths with recruiters, technology specialists, and one weird religion booth.

Today, the first official day that the convention was open, you, Baek, Stanley, and Shane, all explored the weapons room.

You were shocked at the variety of weapons offered. There were hundreds of racks full of swords, axes, shield, daggers, bows, arrows, crossbows, and to your surprise, guns.

Apparently, the Government of the United States used a majority of their crystal resources from the mines in manufacturing special bullets that can take down monsters from the portals. After the initial appearance of the portals, the government prioritized the manufacturing of weapons for its military.

In the United States, there are many private hunter’s guilds. The most lucrative and dangerous path to take is to join the United States military. They are involved with all S rank dungeons and often secure the parameter around the portal. The humans in the military are armed with the specialized guns.

If only they got their shit together before my family died.

The weapons all had a varying amount of enchantments on them. Some added to the strength of the user, other took strength from the monsters. Fire, ice, and other enchantments were on the shields, swords, and arrows.

As your boss lead the group from booth to booth, you accepted all of the packets filled with descriptions of weapons and the manufacturers. You mark down which specific weapons or shields Baek showed interest in before storing the heavy amounts of paper in your bag. At booths that peeked your boss’s interest, he would gesture for you to exchange business cards with the booth owners.

During the entire day at the convention, you noticed your boss keeping you at a strict arm’s length away. You know both the conversations and actions from the both of you stepped over the professional to personal line.

You partially scold yourself for feeling hurt by Baek’s actions and behavior today. You had to actual reason to feel sad. Mr. Baek is your boss.

Granted, he was very protective of you and still acts like a total gentleman. You probably feel the way you do because of how long its been since a man had treated you right.

Yeah. That’s it.

Mr. Baek is just being a good boss. You’re just too touch starved and deprived of proper human treatment to the point of professional and personal lines get blurry.

Yoonho Baek is disappointed in his own actions. He knows that you have a boyfriend. Baek should not have touched you last night; he especially should not have touched himself last night.

I am an S-rank Hunter and the chairman of a guild. I should have more discipline!

Through his inner turmoil, Baek couldn’t bring himself to regret any of his actions.

You had consumed an entire bottle of wine last night. Your inebriated state (and possibly naivety) would have left you to be prey to those tow men last night.

Baek was simply performing his duty as a gentleman and protecting you from those creeps. He will admit he got a bit handsy, but in his defense, so did you.

As your group eats lunch (you devour deep fried mozzarella on a stick), Baek takes in your attire for today.

You had on a black pair of slacks, some name brand lace up shoe (he think the brand starts with a C), and a dark orange sweater.

Baek, Stanley, and Shane all opted for tee-shirts.

Maybe you get cold quickly?

As the day goes on, your bag gets heavier and the crowds get thinner. You continue to trail behind your boss.

Stanley and Shane are spread out, establishing a constantly changing parameter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of familiar long brown hair.

You turn to get a better look, and sure enough, Tyler and Alex were moving towards you and Baek.

You elbow your boss to get his attention. You smile and wave at Tyler and Alex, but Baek’s hand grabs yours and drags you away from the approaching people.

Practically sprinting, you both weave through the crowd until you enter a congested area.

Baek drops your hand and you look up to him, puzzled. His red eyes give you a silent warning, to not touch the subject.

You not the pronounced vein in Baek’s neck, throbbing against his tan skin.

Last night must have been worse than what I remember.

Your group gets tinner to take back to the hotel. Baek was unusually quiet.

It was almost like he was brooding.

-

Now, you are sitting in your room with Jean on Facetime. Officially, you are scanning all of the documents and sending them to Jean. Jean is on the phone with you to help you with the documenting process and to tell you when she receives your files.

Unofficially, you and Jean are talking about your boss.

“I’m telling you. A normal boss would never casually massage an employee’s neck. Unless the boss in question is a masseuse or chiropractor. But that’s beside the point.” Jean tosses her straight blonde hair over her should, readjusting in her office chair.

“Still, it was a very nice thing for him to do. Especially with how he stopped those men from staring at me.” You press send as you think back to his warm hands on your back.

“Well, that just proves my point that your bar of expectations is literally in Hell. Any decent man should preserve any woman’s modesty. Document 37 just came through/” You hum in acknowledgement.

“I do need to ask you something.” You look up from your work to see Jean grinning at your through the phone.

“Yes?” By her smirk you know what direction your conversation will be going.

“You have to have seen how big he is! Come on, he was in wet pants for goodness sake!” You shake your head, refusing to give her any more fuel for her inappropriate fire.

“Oh! What about when you were grabbing his leg? You happen to grab on to his third leg?” Your hands are covering your face to hide the deep red blush covering your face.

“I didn’t touch anything, Jean. Can we get back to doing our work? Please?” Jean cackles at your embarrassment, reluctantly agreeing to do her job.

You both stayed on the phone until all of the documents were scanned, sent, and organized in the database.

After showering, you drag your tired body to bed. You got some much-needed sleep that night.

On the other side of the shared wall, Yoonho Baek was doing work of his own. His primary focus was telling the security guards to keep those two men away from you.

Baek had a hard time falling asleep that night. His gut kept telling him that something was wrong. He hasn’t been able to shake that feeling ever since meeting Alex yesterday.

Stanley and Shane took shifts that night, guarding your door.

Neither of them could see the silent figure watching their every move.

Waiting.

Planning.

-

The second day at the convention started the same as the first day. After breakfast, you would follow your boss, accepting papers and handing out business cards.

The armor available came in just as much variety as the weapons. Cloaks, shields, shoulder pads, jewelry, helmets, pants, and even underwear were all made to protect the wearer in come way, shape, or form.

The enchantments all varied as well. Some simply produced a physical shield around the wearer. Others prevent extreme heat or extreme cold from affecting the wearer. Others can induce a wall of flames, make you invisible, or even affect the way you perceive your environment.

While at one of the last booths before dinner, Baek noticed your attention drawn to an amulet.

There was a small purple crystal (resembling an amethyst) surrounded by intricate gold pattern. The amulet was hung on a short gold chain.

The design of the amulet made it look like a normal necklace.

As Baek was searching for an excuse for you to move on from the table without him, you spoke up to save him the trouble.

“If you’ll excuse me; I need to use the lady’s room.” You step away from the booth and move to the restroom.

Baek locks eyes with Shane and signals for the security guard to follow you. His gut feeling from last night never went away.

I need to keep her safe.

“I saw ye’ woman eying up this here pendant. Would ye’ like to take a look at it?” Baek felt no urge to correct the booth owner of his mistake.

“Yes, please.” The amulet is set in Baek’s hand. “What enchantments does it have?” Baek questions, admiring the shine of the stone.

“The stone has a varying protection enchantment with an increased perception addition. If an S-rank hunter such as yourself would wear this, you would get an S-rank amount of protection.” Baek’s eyes grow in shock from being recognized.

“Aye, I do know ye’. I got a list of all the guilds, worldwide! I’d be happy to expand my trade into Korea, Hunter Baek.” The man behind the booth continues his sales pitch.

“If yer’ woman were to wear this, she would only be protected from human threats.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “The perception ability would increase her awareness to threats. That would be the most useful part for ye woman.” Yoonho Baek made the transaction with his personal card, thank the booth owner by exchanging business cards.

As you finish up using the bathroom, you fix your hair in the mirror. Today’s time at the convention took less time than yesterday. Mr. Baek knew what type of protection he was looking for today; yesterday he was looking at every weapon type.

Maybe you’ll have enough time to get ice cream tonight. Dairy Queen’s cupcake counds really good right now.

Your eyes catch movement by the closed door of the restroom. You turn around and look to see who was there, but there is no one.

These movements have been happening all day. It first started when you left your room this morning. The weird movements continued to stay in your peripheral vision while walking around the convention center.

You refrain from telling Mr. Baek, he seemed stressed enough as it is. His attitude hadn’t improved.

I don’t need to make him worry more about me. He has already done enough.

You try and shake the weird feeling as you return to Mr. Baek. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Shane following you.

You assume Mr. Baek told Stanley and Shane to follow you because of what happened with Alex and Tyler last night.

The four of you meet at the food court and get your dinners. Mr. Baek suggests taking the food to go and eat in your rooms.

You agree with your boss’s decision, but you wanted to spend some more time with him. He has been acting cold towards you all day.

Surely it wasn’t from something I did last night?

Regardless, you take your dinner (steak kebab with French fries on the side) and walk back to the room. Mr. Baek says in front of you while Shane and Stanley follow behind you.

As you unlock your room, a hand on your shoulder stops you from stepping inside.

“Wait. I got you the necklace you were looking at earlier.” Mr. Baek holds out a velvet sinched bag for you to take.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You exclaim, as Baek practically shoves the gift into your open hand.

“Please, I insist. Consider it an apology for what happened last night.” He shuffles back to give you space.

“The way you acted last night didn’t bother me at all. It was those men that sent me the creeps. And besides, they were fighting with you for the most part.” You shrug your shoulders, try to not make a big deal over what happened.

“But I shouldn’t have acted like such a dick in front of you. I especially shouldn’t have touched-“ Yoonho Baek was interrupted by his phone ringer.

He sighs and checks the caller id. Chairman Go.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this.” Yoonho’s guilt turns worse when you smile at him and usher him to his room.

“It’s okay, I understand. Enjoy your dinner!” You enter your room.

After you finish eating your dinner, you face time Jean to send her the documents you received today.

Your rhythm is the same. You focus on scanning documents, Jean focuses on setting you up with your boss or asking inappropriate questions about the man.

Eventually, you get done with your job and say good night to Jean.

You had enough time to get some ice cream.

You glance at the bag holding your gifted necklace, debating on putting it on.

Deciding against it, you pull on your coat and text your boss for the business card to get ice cream.

Yoonho replies, saying that Shane already has the card, and to go with him.

So you do. You both venture from the hotel and walk to the Dairy Queen a block away. The brisk air almost deters you from getting your sweet, but you power through for the nostalgia.

Waiting in line for your ice cream was short, but you received many questioning looks.

Probably because of the man who looks like secret service beside you.

You successfully secure your ice cream and make the cold trek back to the hotel. You take note of any interesting stores along the way, just incase you get some time during the day too look around.

Once you arrive back at the hotel, Shane escorts you to your room, leaving you to devour your sweet treat.

You savor the flavor as you watch a random movie on the tv. The nostalgia floods your memories, bringing you back to the days when your family was alive.

You got your sweet tooth from your dad, who would always find an excuse to have something sweet. Your mom was a bit more health conscious, but she couldn’t say no to ice cream.

Dairy Queen knew your order by heart when they would hear your young voice through the drive through speakers.

You tear up at the happy memories.

I miss my family. I wish they were here now, maybe they could visit me if they were alive.

Shaking your head, you clear the negative thoughts.

Once you finish your ice cream, you throw away the container.

You want to get showered, but the necklace bag catches your eyes.

Maybe you’ll put it on, see how it feels.

You pull the delicate chain from the velvet bag and feel its weight on your palm.

This is too much.

You unclasp the chain and place the necklace on yourself.

Turning to the mirror, you look at your appearance.

The purple crystal sits in the middle of your chest, just below the hollow of your neck. You like the way it looks. The gold chain and decorative metal around the crystal complement your skin tone.

Like it or not, the necklace looks good on you.

That still doesn’t justify Mr. Baek spending money on me. Even if it is just an apology gift.

You decide to keep the necklace on until you get undressed for your shower.

As you are sitting your pajamas out on your bed, you suddenly feel a cold chill run down your spine.

There is no AC running or windows open.

Your head whips around as you look around your room.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

You try and shake off the feeling as you move into the bathroom to start your shower.

You trust your gut and check the closet in your room and under the sink in your bathroom.

No one is in my room. I’m just paranoid.

You turn on the water for your shower and leave the bathroom, letting the water heat up.

Moving into the main room, you go to pick up your pjs when you hear it.

The latch on your door just shut.

Your head whips to the door, your heart is racing.

I got back to my room 30 minutes ago. I know I shut my door and it locked because Shane did it for me.

What the fuck is going on?

You walk towards the door slowly.

Step by step the feeling of dread in your stomach increases along with your heart rate.

The voice in your head is screaming for you to get out of your room.

Your hand rests on the handle and you jiggle it.

Yeah, it’s shut. Maybe I’m going insane?

The gut feeling keeps getting worse, but you shake it off.

You turn to go back into the bathroom and that’s when you see it.

The movement that you have been seeing all day.

It’s in your room.

Your hand immediately goes back to the door handle and you wrench it open as you feel something brush against your back.

Slamming your door shut, you sprint to Mr. Baek’s door and start slamming your fist against the wood.

Seconds later Yoonho Baek is standing in front of you, concern written all over his face.

You get flustered by his appearance and forget how to talk for a second.

Mr. Baek has a very short towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair and down his chest.

He says your name, a hand cupping your flushed face.

“Someone is in my room.” As you say those words, you watch as your bosses eyes turn bright yellow and he turns to face your room.

“I’ve been seeing movement out of the corner of my eye all day and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be more of a hassle than I already am and –“ Yoonho stops your rambling by pushing you into his room.

“Stay here. Don’t open the door unless it’s me. Throw the dead bolt.” His left hand grips the towel tighter around his waist as he moves to your room.

Listening to your boss, you quickly move into his room and slam the dead bolt locked.

Seconds later you hear the sound of your door slamming open, the percussion echoing through your room.

You pace the room, your hands running through your hair as you listen to the painful grunts and shouts entering through the walls.

It’s a small chance that Mr. Baek is on the receiving end of those blows, but you still worry since it is a chance.

The grunts turn to whimpers until you can no longer hear the commotion.

A knock sounds at the door and you run over to look through the peep hole.

Mr. Baek is standing there, his chest heaving.

Your hands move the dead bolt and open the door. Baek is quick to move inside. You immediately notice the blood speckled across Yoonho’s face and chest.

Both of his hands cup your face and then quickly move to feel both of your arms and legs.

“He didn’t touch you, did he? Are you hurt?” His yellow eyes scan your body, looking for any injury.

“N-no. I felt something brush m-my back when I ran out of my room.” Your body is shaking from the adrenaline rush, your vocal cords are no exception.

“I dealt with him. Security will handle him where I left off. From now on, you’re staying with me, got it?” Yoonho cups your face, making sure you make eye contact with him.

“Understood.” He nods his head, taking in your shaking body when his eyes land on the pendant.

“Don’t take off this pendent. Ever. It saved your life.” He touches the purple stone, his hand resting on your chest.

“Oh, okay.” Your body continues to shake and your teeth chatter, breaking Yoonho’s train of thought.

“I’ll get your things. Wait here.” Your boss moves out the door again, the towel sagging low on his waist.

If it weren’t for the shock of what just happened, you would be taking in the sight more.

Mr. Baek returns with your bags and all of your clothes in a few minutes. He sets all of your things along side his own on top of the desk.

“Go shower, I need to make sure things are taken care of.” Mr. Baek ushers you into the bathroom with your toiletries and pajamas.

You spend a long time under the hot water. Eventually your body stopped shaking and exhaustion hit you all at once.

Stepping out of the shower, you dress in your pj’s and brush your teeth.

You walk out of the bathroom to see your boss sitting on the bed, typing furiously on his phone.

He looks up as you approach the bed. You notice his eyes finally shift back to their normal red.

Yoonho stands and you noticed that he changed into a pair of shorts.

“I’m sorry, but the hotel staff is dealing with the broken door and can’t get a separate bed in here tonight.”

“I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You hum as you move to the other side of the bed.

“Oh, okay.” You lay down in bed, pulling up the covers.

You’re eyes are heavy as you lull into a deep sleep.

The last thing you remember is a heavy warmth slipping around your waist.

Chapter 6