#Wall Wrap Insulation

[constructramsay]

How to Use Wall Wraps to Promote Your Business

Wall Wraps are a Subtle and Non-Intrusive Way to Advertise

Instead of interrupting your customers’ day to day activities with intrusive marketing, wall wraps provide a subtle yet effective way to promote your brand and products. The best part about them is that they can be designed to include any type of message or image you would like, giving your business a unique look and feel that sets it apart from its competitors.

Versatile and Easy to Use

Adhesive vinyl wall wraps are a simple yet versatile marketing tool that can be used in almost any environment. They’re great for bringing visual interest to a room without the hassle and mess of paint, plus they can be applied to hard-to-stick surfaces such as brick or concrete block. With a wide variety of applications, textures, and colors available, they’re an excellent choice for businesses in a range of industries and can help them create a distinctive look and feel that sets them apart from their competition.

Highlighting Your Company History

A creative and quick way to transform a boring hallway is by designing a timeline graphic that displays the history of your organization. This works especially well in conference rooms and can help you impress your customers with how far you have come. You can also utilize wall wraps in your reception area to showcase how your products are made or display any other educational data that will make a positive impact on your visitors’ perception of your business.

[pidgefudge]

im going to crash out this house is so filthy and old and miserable

[homeinsulationvictoria]

Expert House Insulation Contractors and Sisalation Wall Wrap Insulation in Melbourne by Home Insulation

Ensuring your home is properly insulated is one of the most effective ways to maintain comfort and energy efficiency throughout the year. Whether it's keeping your home warm in winter or cool in summer, proper insulation can make all the difference. For residents in Melbourne, Home Insulation offers professional services as house insulation contractors and specialists in sisalation wall wrap insulation. Here’s why you should consider investing in these solutions for your home.

The Importance of House Insulation in Melbourne

Melbourne's weather can be unpredictable, ranging from hot summers to cold winters. To maintain a comfortable temperature indoors while reducing energy costs, insulation is key. As house insulation contractors, we specialize in helping homeowners achieve optimal thermal performance in their homes.

The benefits of home insulation include:

Temperature Regulation: Insulation helps keep your home warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer, reducing the reliance on heating and cooling systems.

Energy Savings: With proper insulation, your home uses less energy, which leads to lower energy bills.

Noise Reduction: Insulation also helps reduce external noise, creating a quieter, more peaceful living environment.

Environmental Impact: A well-insulated home requires less energy, making it an eco-friendly choice that reduces your carbon footprint.

At Home Insulation, we understand the unique needs of Melbourne homes, which is why we offer customized insulation solutions tailored to your property.

Sisalation Wall Wrap Insulation: A Smart Solution for Your Walls

One of the most advanced insulation options available today is sisalation wall wrap insulation. This reflective foil insulation is designed to be installed on the exterior or interior of your walls to provide an additional layer of thermal protection. It's particularly effective in keeping heat inside during the winter and outside during the summer.

Here are some key advantages of sisalation wall wrap insulation:

Enhanced Energy Efficiency: Sisalation insulation reflects heat away in summer and traps it in during winter, keeping your home comfortable year-round.

Moisture Control: This type of insulation also helps prevent moisture from entering your walls, which can lead to mold growth and structural damage.

Easy Installation: The installation of sisalation wall wrap insulation is relatively straightforward, which can save time and money on installation costs.

Durability: Sisalation is built to last, offering long-term performance with minimal maintenance.

As experts in sisalation wall wrap insulation in Melbourne, Home Insulation ensures that your property is fitted with top-quality materials that deliver excellent results.

Why Choose Home Insulation?

At Home Insulation, we take pride in providing high-quality insulation services tailored to your home's specific needs. As experienced house insulation contractors, we have the expertise to handle any insulation project, no matter how big or small. Our team is dedicated to providing top-notch solutions that enhance your home’s comfort, energy efficiency, and overall value.

Our Insulation Services Include:

Roof Insulation: A critical area to insulate to prevent heat loss and improve energy efficiency.

Wall Insulation: Using sisalation wall wrap insulation or other effective materials, we ensure your walls are properly insulated.

Floor Insulation: To prevent drafts and improve the overall thermal performance of your home.

Custom Solutions: We offer tailored insulation solutions based on your home’s structure, size, and unique needs.

Get in Touch with Home Insulation Today!

If you're looking for reliable house insulation contractors or need sisalation wall wrap insulation in Melbourne, Home Insulation is here to help. Our team will guide you through every step of the process, from initial consultation to final installation, ensuring you get the best insulation solution for your home.

Don’t let extreme temperatures or high energy bills affect your comfort. Contact Home Insulation today for a consultation and take the first step toward a more energy-efficient and comfortable home. Let us show you the difference professional insulation can make!

[good1insulation]

Wall Wraps Sound Insulation: Good1 Insulation Lets Your Home Feel Warm with Quality1 Insulation

Insulation constitutes a subset of the comfortable living space elements. It can regulate the temperature and reduce costs associated with energy consumption simultaneously, enhancing acoustics. The best means of improving the soundproofing in your home is by using wall wraps sound insulation. Good1 Insulation provides high-quality solutions aimed at noise reduction, thus enhancing the energy efficiency of your home. In this blog, we shall look at the importance of wall wraps, underfloor insulation, and wall insulation services so you will know why they are important for your home.

Importance of Wall Wraps Sound Insulation

Wall wraps sound insulation is the type of application that helps lessen the transmission of sounds through the walls. For this reason, it is also perfect for households located in highly busy or noisy areas. Whether you’re living near a busy street, in an apartment, or simply want to enjoy peace at home, installing wall wraps sound insulation can drastically improve your comfort. This type of insulation works by absorbing sound waves, preventing them from traveling between rooms or from the outside world into your home.

Besides soundproofing, wall wraps give thermal insulation to your house; hence, your house remains cool throughout summer and warm during winter. When it comes to noise reduction and energy efficiency, the option that is best for installing wall wraps sound insulation in a house is the one. The wall wraps create a quieter and serene atmosphere, which enhances your well-being as the value of the property is enhanced.

Underfloor Insulation Near Me: The Most Important Feature of Comfort

Though the sound insulation due to wall wraps is the most important aspect for getting rid of the noise, another area in your home, which would require the fitting of insulation too, is your floors. It is underfloor insulation near me that is mainly searched by many homeowners because reasons for increasing energy efficiency with the help of a comfort level increase in your houses. Much heat is lost through the floor if your house does not have suitable underfloor insulation. It will stop cold air penetration through joints in the floor and not enter the room, thus cutting off one from heating and cooling systems.

For those people staying in cold countries or concrete floors, one must definitely get underfloor insulation near me so that it makes the house habitable. Good1 Insulation specifically offers underfloor insulation that blocks heat loss but at the same time, prevents outside noises. This is exactly what a homeowner would want in his wall wraps sound insulation. Underfloor insulation and improved home insulation from the bottom up will maintain proper temperature control and noise dampening in the whole house.

Wall Insulation can Improve Home Energy Efficiency

Among the major services of wall insulation near me are wall wraps, sound insulation, and underfloor insulation. These make a huge difference in your home's energy efficiency and noise control. Poorly insulated walls are among the major causes of heat loss, which makes your home feel uncomfortable and increases energy bills. You can have quality wall insulation in your house, cutting down on the constant heating and cooling that comes with such action.

When remodeling or putting up a new house, perhaps the best investment in ensuring that your house is comfortable throughout the year is wall insulation near me. This is especially true when houses are located in extreme climates where a house can regulate the temperature inside the house so it does not get too hot or too cold. Wall insulation benefits by soundproofing when combined with the wall wraps' benefit of sound insulation, which will make a living space peaceful and quiet.

How Good1 Insulation Helps

Good1 Insulation offers you top-notch quality solutions in insulation in homes for your area. Wall wraps sound insulation, underfloor insulation near me, or even wall insulation near me, and we are always there to serve you. Years in the field lead us to know that the correct type of insulation is a whole lot when considering your home, and we offer custom-made solutions designed for your satisfaction.

We specialize in using the best materials available as well as the best techniques to make sure that your house is thoroughly insulated. Our expert installers work efficiently so that the process of installing insulation does not affect your daily routine in any manner to give you a more comfortable as well as energy-efficient home. Whether it is for better soundproofing when dealing with a noisy neighborhood or actual temperature regulation, both these come together at Good1 Insulation.

Why Choose Good1 Insulation?

Expertise: Our company has the most experienced staff that has been installing for years many kinds of insulation, such as wall wraps, sound insulation, near me underfloor insulation, and wall insulation near me. We are up to date on all aspects of the business and will give expert advice so that you won't make a mistake with your house.

Quality Materials: We only use good quality materials for your insulation to make it last, effective, and durable. Our underfloor and wall wraps are built with products that offer excellent thermal performance for maximum soundproofing.

Energy Efficiency: The installation of insulation stands as the best measurement for reducing the energy that is drawn into the house. A house will maintain a better thermal as well as an excellent soundproofing performance coupled with reduced costs for heating as well as cooling. It becomes more environmentally friendly and efficient as well in the long run of its usage.

Customized Solutions: Every house is different, and so are its insulation needs. Good1 Insulation offers customized solutions so that your house gets the best possible insulation according to its layout, location, and specific requirements. Wall wraps sound insulation for noise reduction, or underfloor insulation near me for even better temperature regulation, we have the right solution for you.

Competitive Pricing: Do not feel the need to drain your wallet and break your bank to keep your house warmer. Good1 Insulation provides quality services at pocket-friendly prices and strives to ensure you get value for money with what you are paying for. We fight for quality solutions in insulation, but not at big prices.

Benefits of installing insulation

Comfort Enhancement: Whatever it is it is wall wraps sound insulation or underfloor insulation near—to wall insulation near me, a house feels relatively comfortable. One can have fewer drafts and also cold spots and maintain the heat inside in the summer and outside in the winter. Their utility bills reduce significantly.

Noise Reduction: Much noise that comes from the outside or the other house noises will be reduced once the sound insulation of the wall wrap has been installed. Actually, this is the most efficient way to have a quiet place, especially in bedrooms and home offices.

Increased Property Value: Such insulations will attract more potential buyers who require energy-efficient, quiet living spaces. There will also be an increase in the overall value of your property due to installation.

Eco-Friendly: With decreased energy consumption, insulation helps reduce your carbon footprint, contributing to a greener, more sustainable environment.

Conclusion

Whether it is wall wraps sound insulation to lower noise, underfloor insulation near me for the better regulation of temperature, or wall insulation near me to make your house even more energy efficient, Good1 Insulation will be your one-stop partner. Our team provides professional installation, quality materials, and customized solutions to make your home more comfortable, energy-efficient, and quiet. Contact Good1 Insulation today to get started on improving your home's insulation and enjoy the benefits of a more comfortable living space!

[cameronsbabydoll]

can we get ex husband!rafe and the one time he isn’t being arrogant and it’s because he is comforting reader (she has big fear of storms) and their son during a really severe storm

ex!husband!rafe comforting you and your son during a loud storm

wc: 428 — a/n: this gif sorta matched the vibe of the fic but the coloring doesn’t match my blog aesthetic so that’s really annoying

the power went out five minutes ago.

the storm was loud enough to rattle the cheap little windows of your rental house — a far cry from the estate you used to live in with rafe, where storms sounded distant, muted by money and insulation and walls thick enough to keep the world out.

here…it was right there.

rain lashed against glass. Thunder cracked sharp enough to shake picture frames. and you — curled on the living room floor with your son tucked tight against you — couldn’t hide how badly you were shaking.

and then — a pounding knock at the door.

followed by his voice.

"open up, baby. it’s me."

rafe.

of course it was him.

you didn’t even remember texting him, but your call log showed a missed message.

storm’s bad. stay put. i’m comin’ to you.

you opened the door and nearly collapsed into him. he was soaked through — shirt clinging to his chest, hair dripping into his eyes — but his hands cupped your face like none of that mattered.

"jesus," he muttered, like he hated how small and scared you looked. "you should’ve called me sooner."

your son’s little voice piped up from behind you — nervous, scared in that way kids get when their mom is scared too.

"daddy…"

rafe was inside in two steps, scooping him up like nothing else in the world mattered.

"i got you, buddy. ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you, yeah?"

and for once — for once — there was no arrogance. no teasing. no possessive bite in his words.

just rafe. just home. just safe.

he set your son down on the couch, tugged blankets around him, then turned to you — peeling off his soaked jacket and tugging you gently by the wrist.

"c’mere, sweetheart," he said quietly, voice so soft it barely sounded like him.

you resisted for half a second — pride, distance, divorce papers still fresh in your mind — but the next crash of thunder had you practically in his chest.

and rafe just held you.

not like he owned you.

not like you owed him.

just like he was scared too — but would never, ever let you or his son feel it.

his hand rubbed slow over your back. his chin rested on your head.

"storm’s gonna pass," he promised, voice rumbling against your cheek. "always does."

and maybe later, when the lights flickered back on and the world felt normal again, you'd remember why you left him.

but right now — wrapped up with him, your son snoring softly between you — it was heartbreakingly easy to remember why you ever stayed.

[jjjjisun]

Hi, can you write smut about virgin Dahyun get breed by her own single-father on the stormy rainy night with neighbourhood blackout?

The Storm

Dahyun X Male Reader | 3219 words

TW: Incest

—

Buy me a Ko-Fi.

—

In the sullen glow of the late afternoon, the storm clouds gathered, casting ominous shadows that danced macabrely across the living room walls. The first rumble of thunder echoed through the house, a harbinger of the tempest about to be unleashed. Dahyun, with her delicate features and broad, doe-like eyes, huddled closer to her Daddy, her fingers clutching at his shirt as if it were a lifeline.

"It's just a storm, little one," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated within his chest, soothing her. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his body. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that grounded her amidst the chaotic symphony of the storm outside.

The power flickered as the wind howled and the rain lashed against the windows, then died, casting them into a dim, shadowy world. Dahyun whimpered, her grip on his shirt tightening. He gently kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering in her soft, ebony hair. "I've got you, Dahyun. I won't let anything hurt you."

Under the blanket, their bodies pressed closer, her curves molding against his hard planes. He could feel her warm and moist breath against his neck, her body trembling slightly with each thunderclap. His protective instincts surged, a primal urge to shield her from the storm, to keep her safe. But as her body pressed against his, her soft breasts against his chest, her thighs brushing against his, that instinct morphed, twisted, and warped into something else. Something darker, hungrier. Lust.

He tried to ignore it, push it down, and focus on being her Daddy, her protector. But with each tremble of her body, with each soft whimper that escaped her lips, his lust grew, a storm within him that matched the one raging outside. His body responded, his cock hardening, his breath becoming ragged.

Dahyun, lost in her fear, was initially oblivious to the change in him. But as his body hardened, as his breath hitched, she looked up at him, her wide eyes meeting his. She must have seen the hunger in them, the raw, unadulterated need, because she gasped, her lips parting slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them.

That small, innocent action was his undoing. With a groan, he captured her lips, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue sweeping in. He tasted her, explored her, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her against him. She gasped again, this time into his mouth, her body arching against his.

Once a shelter, the blanket became a cocoon, a world of their own, insulated from the storm outside. Their bodies entwined, their breaths mingled, their hearts pounded in sync. His hands roamed her body, tracing her curves, his fingers brushing against her soft, supple skin. She moaned, her body writhing against his, her need awakening, unfurling, blossoming.

His mouth left hers, trailing kisses down her neck, his tongue licking, his teeth nipping. She arched her back, her breasts thrusting forward, begging for his touch, his kiss. He obliged, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples, teasing them into stiff little peaks. She cried out, her body shivering, her eyes fluttering closed.

As the storm outside intensified, so did the one within the small, dimly lit living room. The thunder, a relentless drummer, pounded against the windows, demanding entry, demanding acknowledgment. Dahyun, a shivering mess of nerves and fear, jumped, her body propelling forward and landing in the safe harbor of her Daddy's lap.

His arms, firm and secure, wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close. She was a trembling bird, her heart fluttering wildly against her ribcage, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her thin sleepwear, a mere whisper of fabric, did little to hide her body's reaction to the cold and the fear. Her nipples were visible, dark shadows beneath the pale silk, her thighs, bare and smooth, brushed against his, sending a jolt of heat through him.

He tried to calm her, to soothe her, his hands rubbing her back, her arms, her thighs. But his touch, meant to be comforting, lingered a little too long, grazed a little too high, brushing against the sides of her breasts, the curve of her hips. His fingers, seemingly of their own volition, traced the line of her thigh, brushing against her inner leg's soft, sensitive skin. She gasped, her body tensing, but she didn't pull away.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated. She must have felt it, the hard length of him pressing against her, his body's reaction to her closeness, her touch. She didn't recoil, didn't scramble off his lap in disgust. Instead, she held his gaze, her body still, her breath hitching.

His heart pounded, a thunderous echo of the storm outside, a mimicry of the rain lashing against the windows. His body ached, his cock throbbed, his blood roared in his ears. He couldn't take his eyes off her parted lips, flushed cheeks, or heaving chest. His head dipped, his mouth inching closer to hers, hesitant, uncertain, giving her ample time to pull away, to say no.

But she didn't. She stayed still, her eyes fluttering closed, her breath a soft sigh against his lips. And then, he kissed her, his mouth pressing against hers, his lips molding against her soft, supple ones. It was a hesitant kiss, a question rather than a demand, a lingering, tasting, exploring kiss. His tongue traced the line of her lips, dipping in, retreating, dipping in again, a dance, a tease, a seduction.

Her initially tense body slowly relaxed, melting against his. Her arms, trapped between their bodies, wriggled free, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. Her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his, her body arching against his. The thunder crashed outside, the wind howled, the rain lashed, but inside, in their cocoon, there was only the sound of their breaths, the beat of their hearts, and the dance of their tongues.

His hands, no longer accidental in their grazing, roamed her body, tracing her curves, exploring her dips, her valleys. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her hard nipples, teasing them, taunting them. She moaned into his mouth, her body shuddering, her thighs clenching.

She felt his hardness, the length of him pressing against her, pulsing, throbbing. She gasped, pulling away from the kiss, her eyes wide, her lips swollen. She looked down, her gaze fixated on the bulge in his pants, her body tense. He waited, his heart pounding, his body aching, waiting for her reaction, waiting for her to decide.

And then, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a new emotion and storm. Desire. She squirmed on his lap, her body rubbing against his, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. And she kissed him, her mouth pressing against his, her tongue sweeping in, her body arching, her need, her desire, her lust matching his. The storm outside raged on, but neither noticed, lost as they were in the storm within, the tempest of their bodies, hearts, and souls.

In the dim, flickering light of the candles Dahyun had insisted on lighting, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, she looked into his eyes, her own filled with fear and determination. Still pressed against his, her body shivered, but not from the cold or the storm outside. This was a different storm, a tempest brewing within her, a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't comprehend or control.

"Daddy," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind and the pounding rain. "I... I need to tell you something."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His strong and steady hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks in a gentle, reassuring caress. "What is it, little one?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a soothing melody in the cacophony of the storm.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding, her body trembling. "I... I've never... I mean, no one has ever... touched me. Like this," she confessed, her eyes fluttering closed, her cheeks flushing a deep, crimson red. She felt his body tense, his breath hitch, his hands still. She waited, her heart in her throat, her body taut as a bowstring.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low growl, a rumble of thunder in the distant sky. "Dahyun... We shouldn't... I shouldn't... You don't know what you're asking..."

Her eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting his. There was a fire in her eyes, a burning determination he hadn't seen before. "I don't want to die a virgin, Daddy," she stated, her voice steady, her resolve unyielding. "I want you to be my first. I want you to be my only."

Before he could protest, before he could utter another word, she moved, her body shifting, her legs straddling him. She felt him, hard and throbbing, pressing against her, against her core, her heat. She gasped, her body shuddering, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt his hands, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, his body tense, his breath ragged.

"Dahyun..." he growled, a warning, a plea. But she was beyond listening, beyond heeding. She was a woman possessed, on a mission, determined to get what she wanted. And she wanted him.

She reached down, her hands fumbling with his belt, her fingers trembling as she unbuckled it, unbuttoned his pants, and unzipped him. He tried to stop her, his hands covering hers, his body tense, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But she was insistent, her determination unwavering. She pushed his hands away, her eyes locked onto his, her breath hitching as she reached into his pants, her small, soft hand wrapping around his length.

He groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closing, his body shuddering. She explored him, her hand moving up and down, her fingers tracing the veins, the ridges, the tip. She marveled at the silkiness of his skin, the hardness beneath, the pulsing, throbbing heat. She felt a surge of power, of control, a heady, intoxicating feeling that made her heart race, her body ache.

She shifted, her body rising, her hand guiding him to her entrance. She felt him, hot and hard, pressing against her, seeking entry, seeking her heat. She looked at him, her eyes filled with fear, excitement, and taboo. She saw her emotions reflected in his eyes, a mirror image of her turbulent storm.

He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, his body tense, his breath ragged. "Dahyun..." he growled, a last warning, a final plea. But she was beyond listening, beyond heeding. She was a woman on the edge, ready to take the plunge, prepared to dive into the storm.

She sank, her body slowly impaling itself on his. She felt him, hot and harrowing, stretching, filling, and completing her. She gasped, her body tensing, her eyes fluttering closed, her breath hitching. There was pain, a sharp, sudden pain that made her cry out, her body stiffening, her nails digging into his shoulders. But there was also pleasure, a deep, throbbing pleasure that started at her core, her heat, and radiated outwards, filling her, consuming her, overwhelming her.

He was still, his body tense, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. He let her set the pace, take the lead, explore, experience, and enjoy. She moved, her body rising, sinking, rising again, a slow, tentative dance, a rhythm as old as time.

She felt him, every ridge, vein, throbbing, pulsing inch of him. She felt her body stretching, accommodating, accepting, embracing. She felt the pain, the pleasure, the fear, the excitement, the taboo, the joy, the wonder. She felt it all, a storm of sensations, a tempest of emotions, a whirlwind of feelings that made her heart race, her body ache, and her soul sing.

She moved faster, her body rising, sinking, rising again, a dance, a rhythm, a symphony of love, of lust, of life. She felt him, meeting her thrusts, his body moving in sync with hers, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. She felt her body, responding, reacting, reciprocating, her breath hitching, her heart pounding, her body trembling.

She felt the storm building, growing, intensifying. She felt it in her body, in her heart, in her soul. She felt it in him, in his body, in his heart, in his soul. She felt it in the air, in the room, in the world—a storm, a tempest, a whirlwind of love, lust, and life.

And then, she was there, at the eye of the storm, the peak of the tempest, and the center of the whirlwind. She cried out, her body convulsing, her eyes fluttering closed, her breath hitching, her heart pounding. She felt him, throbbing, pulsing, releasing, filling her, completing her, claiming her.

She collapsed against him, her body spent, her heart full, her soul content. She felt his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close, holding her tight. She felt his heart beating against her chest in a steady, comforting rhythm. She felt his breath, warm against her neck, a soft, soothing caress.

In the storm's aftermath, in the calm after the tempest, in the stillness after the whirlwind, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one, their souls intertwined. And as the storm outside began to abate, the thunder grew distant, and the rain started to ease, they knew. They knew that they had weathered the storm, that they had survived the tempest, that they had endured the whirlwind. And they knew they would face them together no matter what storms lay ahead.

In the heart of the storm, a new rhythm emerged, a primal dance that transcended the physical, a communion of souls that intertwined, merged, and became one. Dahyun's body moved with a fluid grace, a symphony of innocent and seductive motion, a siren's call that threatened to undo him completely. And he, her Daddy, her protector, her lover, was helpless to resist, a moth drawn to her flame, a sailor lured by her song.

He tried to maintain control, to keep a tight leash on his desires, his needs, his lust. But with each rise and fall of her body, with each soft moan that escaped her lips, with each clutch of her tight, velvety heat around him, his control frayed, a rope worn thin by the relentless tide of his passion. His hands gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her soft, supple flesh, his body moving in sync with hers, meeting her thrusts with his own, a dance, a duel, a declaration of their shared desire.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounded, and his blood roared in his ears. He could feel her, her body, her heat, her tightness, her wetness, her everything. She was his, his completely, his utterly, his irrevocably. The thought sent a surge of possessiveness through him, a primal, savage, feral feeling that made him growl, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the small, dimly lit room.

"Mine," he rasped, his voice harsh, guttural. "You're mine, Dahyun. Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fuck." The words were crass and vulgar, starkly contrasting to the tender, loving man she knew. But they sent a thrill through her, a shiver down her spine, a rush of heat to her core. There was something about them, something taboo, something forbidden, something... hot.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. "Yours, Daddy," she whispered, the word feeling foreign, taboo, wrong, yet incredibly right on her tongue. "I'm yours."

He groaned, a sound torn from the depths of his soul, a sound of surrender, of defeat, of triumph. His control snapped, a taut rope finally severed, a wild beast finally unleashed. His body moved faster, his hips thrusting upwards, his cock driving deeper, harder, faster into her. His hands roamed her body, his fingers tracing her curves, his touch rough, possessive, claiming.

"You feel that, little one?" he growled, his voice a low rumble, a thunder in the distant sky. "You feel me, deep inside you? That's where I belong, Dahyun. That's where I'll always be. Deep inside you, a part of you, a part you can't get rid of, deny, or ignore."

His words were filthy, crude, obscene. But they sent a rush of heat through her, a surge of desire, a wave of lust. She could feel him, his cock, hot and hard, throbbing and pulsing, driving into her, claiming her, owning her. She could feel the storm building, growing, intensifying, a tempest of love, lust, and life.

"Daddy..." she moaned, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise on her lips. "Daddy, I... I want... I want you to... to breed me, Daddy. I want you to make me pregnant." The words were shocking, scandalous, a taboo that sent a thrill through her, a shiver down her spine, a rush of heat to her core. She didn't know where they came from or why she said them, but she knew they were true, a truth she could no longer deny or ignore.

He groaned, a sound of raw, unadulterated need, a sound of pure, primal lust. His body moved faster, his hips thrusting, his cock driving, his hands gripping, his fingers digging, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was so close, teetering on the edge, ready to fall, fly, and soar.

"Dahyun..." he rasped, her name a plea, a prayer, a promise on his lips. "Dahyun, I... I'm going to... I'm going to come, little one. I'm going to come deep inside you. I'm going to fill you, Dahyun. I'm going to breed you, my love. I'm going to make you pregnant."

And then, he was there, at the eye of the storm, the peak of the tempest, and the center of the whirlwind. His body convulsed, his cock throbbed, his seed spilled, hot and thick, deep inside her, filling her, claiming her, breeding her. He whispered her name, a litany, a prayer, a promise, his voice a low rumble, a thunder in the distant sky.

She felt him, his heat, passion, love, everything. She felt the storm, raging, roaring, overwhelming, a tempest of love, lust, and life. And she knew that she was his, his completely, his utterly, his irrevocably. She knew that she was bred, claimed, owned. She knew she was pregnant, a new life growing inside her, a testament to their love, passion, and desire.

In the storm's aftermath, in the calm after the tempest, in the stillness after the whirlwind, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one, their souls intertwined. And as the storm outside began to abate, the thunder grew distant, and the rain started to ease, they knew. They knew that they had weathered the storm, that they had survived the tempest, that they had endured the whirlwind. And they knew that no matter what storms lay ahead, they would face them together as a family.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ bsf!rafe coming to your rescue when you need him

warnings — mature contents; physical violence (fighting).

cherie's note —oh noooo save me bsf!rafe, oh noooo. decided to post this draft c: ! will definitely make a part two if anybody wants to read it. i love bsf!rafe being secretly whipped for reader trope ugh.

his knuckles threatened white with the way he aggressively gripped onto the steering wheel of his notorious black truck. it was half-past midnight, the tall man settling down for the night when his phone vibrated against his lacquered nightstand, revealing a phone call from you. this was not unusual — you and rafe cameron had been best friends for years, conjoined at the hip up until a few weeks ago when you had met your boyfriend. rafe hadn't liked him from the start — he was just another preppy kid from this side of the island, who never put in the work and complained when shit didn't go his way. since then, he had hardly spoken to you, tension spreading like a sickness between both of you — you hardly even greeted him when you saw him in public, and rafe knew he was the reason. the wall wedged between you both only further grew everyday.

the weeping in your broken voice shatters his fucking heart to pieces, strangled communication over your throat-swelling hyperventilation. you knew he would do anything for you, whether he was holding a grudge or not — the only person you could truly depend on, was rafe cameron. he was so helplessly whipped for you — he would go as far as killing for you, if it ever came down to it. his cold demeanor shattered immediately — he knew what he needed to do.

the anger boiling under the surface of his flesh hadn't subsided during the short ride, slamming the heavy metallic door of his huge truck shut with so much force it shook the vehicle. his steps up the driveway of this house were filled with fury, ready to start a fight with the first person he noticed even looking at you the wrong way. the music of the party hummed loudly outside of the residence, fading as the salty ocean breeze flowed through the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

and there you sat, perched lowly on the front steps of the porch — salty tears stained onto your flustered cheeks, eyes puffy from how hard you had been sobbing into your phone. you stood at his arrival, arms wrapping around yourself to insulate the warmth of your own body under your pitiful little dress. his arms wrapped around your shoulders, nose nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt. the cologne that clung to the material of his clothing sent a chill of comfort over your exhausted body, a wave of safety easing your nerves.

"you okay, sweet girl?" he asks softly, dark-blue eyes searching over your face for any sort of discomfort. his gaze flickered with something other than just concern — outrage and frenzy. a knot of rage tightened within his chest at the sight of your implausible little nod of reassurance. he kisses the top of your hairline softly, pulling away swiftly to step foot onto the wooden porch.

the house was packed — sweaty, drunken teens swaying to the beat of this pathetic playlist beaming through every room. he moved effortlessly through the crowd of people, heading towards the kitchen with one thing in mind — revenge. despite your whiny protests following him along, he was blinded by rage, bright red flooding his vision. your boyfriend wasn't going to get away with this. not again.

across the lavish kitchen, your boyfriend held a bottle of beer within his grasp — a smug look pressed across his face at the attention from his friends. had he not been drinking tonight, things could have been different — but he was a mean drunk, ego fueled by the torment he placed on those around him. this time, it had been you who had inevitably fallen within his crosshairs. rafe had figured it was only a matter of time before you fell victim, too.

rafe's steps towards him are strong and calculated. your boyfriend’s inebriated state of mind slows his reflexes, unable to recognize rafe approaching until he towered over him. the eldest cameron sibling's closed fist shot out like a bullet. the punch connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. pain bursted through his skull, sharp and disorientating, hardly enough time before rafe would throw another his way.

"piece of shit," rafe growls, his voice rough. his hands curled into fists, knuckles white with rage, "look at you — always so weak. just like i said you'd be."

your hand flies over your mouth, pure shock coursing through your veins at the sight. you felt bad — truly, you did. but it wasn't like he didn't deserve it — he did. your heart thunders against your chest, the rhythmic pounding almost in sync with the blows delivered to his face.

your boyfriend gasps, his chest tightening with the effort of breathing, but he didn't try to rise. his body felt like it belonged to someone else — someone weak, broken. he had no fight left in him, body hunched and bruised, face pale from the beating.

"you're pathetic," rafe sneered, wiping the blood from off of his own lip, as he took a step back. "look at you. poor excuse of a fucking boyfriend."

adrenaline surged through rafe's bloodstream, delivering one final kick to his ribcage before walking away. your boyfriend’s eyes, bloodshot and swollen, slowly lifted to meet yours, but there was no fire behind them. only exhaustion. only defeat.

you followed rafe out of the party silently, tears streaming down your cheeks. despite the chilly air across the ocean, rafe's body was warm with epinephrine, the rush only subsiding the closer he got to his parked vehicle. his jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking under his skin, but he held himself together, his voice low and steady as he helped you into the large truck. every movement was deliberate, careful, as though he was fighting the urge to snap, and yet, he didn’t let his frustration show beyond his tense posture. once you were settled, he stepped around the front, the weight of his anger still radiating off him, before sliding into the driver’s seat with a slow exhale.

the ride back to his house was silent — tension cutting the air like a razor blade. everything had happened so fast, the night becoming a blur the more you thought about it. still, sitting inside of rafe's truck once more, you felt at home. it hadn't become a realization until you sat perched in that stupid short dress, looking so damn pretty despite your running makeup, that you realized how much you missed this.

"thank you, rafe." you speak, breaking the silence. your voice is soft in comparison, offering genuine gratitude to your guardian angel. his free hand laid against his lap, bruised knuckles throbbing under his tanned skin — yet, he was more than happy he had come to your rescue.

"'course, pretty girl. told you i'd be there if you needed me."

[lindsaynathi0n]

Rafe hates your apartment. He really hates it. The insulation is poorly done, the walls have ears, and it's falling apart.

Tonight, you and Rafe were supposed to have a normal evening. Rafe had returned from one of his top-secret missions that he never talks about. 

You have no idea what he does, but he disappears for months at a time but you're happy when he can call you.

Your father invited you both over for dinner. Rafe wasn't happy about it, but you knew it was important to make your parents happy.

During dinner, Rafe was quiet, not as if it wasn't normal on the contrary Rafe was very quiet. He kept glancing at his watch, clearly impatient. 

Your mother notice and tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest trip. "Nothing much to tell," he replied gruffly, cutting off any further questions.

He really didn't want to be here.

Then your father asked the question that made everyone slightly uncomfortable, "And the baby? When are you having one?" 

You looked at Rafe, the situation was quite awkward. "Rafe and I aren't ready yet..." you said, trying to deflect the question.

Rafe wanted a family with you, but being in the military wasn't easy. He was constantly deployed, and the thought of starting a family while he was always away weighed heavily on him.

Your parents exchanged knowing looks, clearly not convinced by your answer. Your mother smiled politely, "Of course, dear. You two are still young." She paused, then added with a wink, "But don't wait too long, okay?"

"Don't wait too long" Those words were the breaking point for Rafe. He had been struggling with the idea of having a family, always pushing it to the back of his mind due to his demanding career. But hearing those words, seeing the expectation in your parents' eyes... something snapped inside him.

As soon as you got back to your cramped apartment, it didn't take much for Rafe to lose control. He grabbed you roughly, tearing off your little white dress with a feral growl. His hands were suddenly everywhere, his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate, almost violent kiss.

Rafe towered over you, his military training evident in every perfectly toned muscle. He was literally a beast— powerful, intense, and completely focused on you. The contrast of his rough hands against your delicate skin sent shivers down your spine.

You struggled to pull down his pants, your trembling hands betraying your desperate need. "Fuck." he growled, helping you by kicking off his boots and ripping down his pants. "Lift your legs." he ordered gruffly, lifting you up against the wall.

You wrap your legs around his waist. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your soldiers." you snap. He chuckles, grinding his hard length against your wet panties. His big hands squeeze your ass cheeks, pulling you closer. "Sorry, ma'am." he teases, voice dripping with sarcasm, rubbing harder.

Rafe hooks your panties to the side. "Your parents basically told you to go get knocked up." Rafe jokes, his thick length rubbing against your wet opening. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as he spreads your thighs wider apart. “Maybe we should give them what they want.” he says with a smirk, and without warning, he thrusts into you.

It takes Rafe a few seconds to adjust, his cock throbbing intensely within your tight heat. He hasn't been with a woman in months, his body overwhelmed by the sudden intimate contact. “Shiiiiiiiit.” He groans, brows furrowed as he grits his teeth, trying to regain control.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely. He's so large, stretching you in ways that can make you come right out. "Rafe!" you cry out, your voice trembling with pleasure and slight discomfort. He's unmoving for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Rafe groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "I forgot how good it feels." He pulls out slowly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, and then thrusts back in, harder this time.

You look up at him with a vulnerable expression, the pity he loves so much evident in your eyes. He starts his thrusts, fast and a bit too rough, his body taking over as he chases his release. He's not making love to you —he's fucking you like an animal.

He's not being gentle, his fingers digging into your thighs to spread you wider. He knows he's being rough, his body slapping against yours loudly. He sees your small body absorb each thrust without complaint, making him even rougher.

You moan loudly, your neighbors likely hearing everything but you don't care, and neither does Rafe. Some couples are literally trying to get pregnant here!

Rafe's breathing is ragged, his face contorted with primal need. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, hitting impossibly deeper spots within you.

Rafe's thrusts become more erratic, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he leans down, his mouth near your ear. "Imagine if I got you pregnant right now…" he growls, his pace faltering for a moment. "One of these rough fucks knocking you up..."

"Please..." your voice is soft and pleading, your high-pitched moans driving him wild. Before he even realizes it, he bursts inside you, pouring his seed deep. Your small body trembles with pleasure, convulsing around his cock as the orgasm hits you both hard. 

"Look what you do to me," he pants, still pumping slowly as he finishes inside you. "One of these days, your belly's really going to show." His hands move down to your hips possessively, imagining you pregnant with his child. "Such a good girl, taking it all..."

He gently sets you down on your feet, but you're still shaky so you cling to him for support. You look up at him with those big doe eyes and pout. "I want a kiss..." It's so innocent and cute after the rough sex he just had with you.

Rafe chuckles softly at your adorable request, his stern features softening. He cups your face gently, He leans down to press a gorgeous kiss on your lips.

From that moment forward, Rafe's new life goal was to get you pregnant as quickly as possible.

[pathologicalreid]

the space between us | S.R.

previously

The adjustment between never being home and always being home seems to take a toll on you.

who? spencer reid x fem!retired!reader category: flangst content warnings: the events of stuck between a rock and a hard place apply, briefly mentions a baby, reader trying to cope with a 180-turn in life, anxiety word count: 2.16k a/n: i meant for this to be fluff and it's definitely a tad angsty. good thing i'm obsessed with spencer and retired!reader. they'll be back.

Slowly but surely, you convinced yourself that the dark green walls of the apartment were closing in on you. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your phone before quickly scrolling through the notifications, half expecting a text from Andi Swann asking you to come in.

She wouldn’t do that though, because she’s not your Unit Chief anymore, and you no longer work for the FBI.

The only text message you saw that piqued your interest was from your husband, letting you know that he was flying home.

Tossing your blanket off of your legs, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Hissing at the feeling of the cold hardwood floors beneath your bare feet, you wrapped your arms around yourself and made way for the kitchen. Creeping slowly on your way, you made sure to keep your footsteps light.

Gingerly, you flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescence flooded your vision. As your eyes adjusted, you reached up to the cabinet, grabbed a cup, and set it on the counter.

“You’re sneaking around again,” a voice said from behind you.

Jumping, you put a hand over your chest and spun around, “You scared the shit out of me.” You frowned at Spencer, “I thought you were flying home. I just got your text.”

He nodded, walking into the warm light of the kitchen, “I texted you four hours ago that I was flying home from Connecticut.” His hair was messy, and he had already taken his contacts out, telling you that he had been in the bathroom – he had passed by you while you were sleeping.

Your lips tightened to form a small “o”. Leaning back against the counter, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “How was Hartford?”

Intently, you watched Spencer as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “It was fine, the UnSub’s in custody, we’ll build the rest of the case from Quantico.” His tone was strictly no-nonsense when he repeated himself, “You’re sneaking around again.”

Letting your arms fall to your sides, you shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do it consciously, you know?” You told him, reaching behind your back to hoist yourself up so you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling in the air.

“I know,” he said gently, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You parted your knees so that he could stand flush with the counter, allowing for minimal space between the two of you. “The fact that you’re doing it subconsciously makes me wonder if there’s a part of you that feels like you need to be quiet in the apartment,” he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about an answer before you responded, “It’s late, I don’t want to bother anyone by walking too loudly.”

Based on the look in his eyes, you can tell that he doesn’t believe you, “It’s an old building, the floors are thick and well insulated. Also, the apartment below us is vacant, and you know that.” His words are borderline accusatory, and rightfully so. “Do you feel safe here?”

Surprised, your eyes flittered up to meet his, “Yes,” you answered almost instantaneously.

“Do you not feel at home here?” He asked, further pressing his agenda.

When you and Spencer decided to move in together, you were living in a studio apartment, so his place just felt like the obvious choice. At the time, you weren’t home long enough to make it home, and now it seemed like you were past the point of no return. “Can we go to bed?” You asked softly.

Spencer tenderly placed his hands on either side of your waist, “You’re deflecting. What’s so wrong that you don’t feel like you can talk to me, baby?” You should’ve known better than to answer a question with a question.

Averting your eyes, you looked up at the ceiling in hopes that the action would quell the tears that were filling your waterline. “I just feel so out of place,” you answered, emotion closing your throat.

“In the apartment?” He whispered softly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you shook your head. Giving up on your dreams of stopping your tears, you bowed your head and let them fall. “In my life,” you clarified. “I thought it would be easy to just go from being an undercover agent to being at home. Maybe that was a lost cause, but I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

Never wavering, Spencer stayed resilient with you as the dam broke, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried. “You’re going through one hell of an adjustment period right now.”

Nodding tearfully, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, “I feel like I haven’t been a real person in almost ten years. I don’t know who I am without that fucking job and it’s mauling me.” Briefly, Spencer stepped away from you, filling the cup that you had gotten out with water and handing it to you. “God, I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the glass of water you’d clasped in both hands.

“You are not a disaster,” he insisted. “You’re going through an unfathomable experience and you’re not giving yourself enough leeway,” he stressed, hooking a finger beneath your chin, and lifting your head.

Everything about him seemed soft, and you felt like pieces of broken glass – flying around and damaging everything in sight. You lifted the glass in your shaky hands, bringing the lip of the cup to your own and downing half of its contents.

Spencer studied your facial expression before he spoke again, “I know exactly who you are. You are the single most selfless person I have ever met,” he told you earnestly. “You spent nine years of your life rescuing tens of thousands of people, giving up holidays and birthdays and time with loved ones for the benefit of total strangers.”

Sniffling, you shook your head, “Spence,”

“No, this is true, and I need you to listen to me,” he urged. “One time, you had gotten back from five weeks undercover and, before catching up on sleep, you went to Henry’s birthday party. Solely because you had missed it the year before.” Hesitating for a moment, he resumed singing your praises, “You’re brilliant and funny and beautiful, but I need you to stop being so magnanimous.”

You pulled back, furrowing your brows in innate confusion, “What?”

He nodded, affirming his point. “I need you to be selfish. Operate with your self-interest in mind. Use that to discover yourself. If you keep throwing pieces of yourself away in order to make the people around you happy, then you’ll never really identify your adult self.”

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. You were always working; the FBI was your life. “Everyone is telling me to do different things,” you murmured. Spencer wanted you to be selfish, your mother wanted you to have a baby, and every single one of your friends had offered their stress relief methods – most of them unsolicited.

The understanding in his expression made your chest ache, “I think you should talk to someone. Not me, not Garcia, definitely not your mom, but a professional. You should talk your experiences out with someone who can help you work through it, not just like you do with me. I know you hold back details when it’s with me.”

Uncertain, you tried to wrap your arms around yourself again, but Spencer didn’t let you close yourself off. “Okay,” you ventured, “I’ll look into it.”

Putting his hands up, he smiled softly at you, “That’s all I ask.” He stepped back, allowing you to get off of the counter and stand. Spencer gently ushered you into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

Instinctively, you leaned into his warmth as he draped an arm over your shoulders. “I need a hobby. Something to do other than sit at home all day,” you thought aloud.

“We can look for ideas in the morning,” Spencer offered. “Maybe we can go to the store this weekend for supplies.”

Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “Hey, Spence?”

He hummed, “Yes, love?”

“We could get a house,” you proposed. “It could be a good new start for the both of us, and we have the money,” the more you spoke about it, the more you liked the idea. A new start for the new you. Technically, the two of you were still newlyweds, it felt like something you were supposed to do. “We wouldn’t have to keep your books on the floor anymore,” you murmured, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his t-shirt with your index finger.

Your eyes flickered up to see him smiling. “We absolutely can get a house, and you won’t have to tip-toe,” he said pointedly, “it’ll be our space.”

Mirroring his smile, you adjusted slightly on the couch, “Our house.”

As you tucked your feet underneath yourself, you felt his eyes on you, “Are you sleeping alright?”

Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face, “You worry too much. We were doing so well.”

“Did you know that your coping mechanism is avoidance?” He remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, “I sleep fine,” you answered simply. It was true, once you were asleep, you slept perfectly fine until the morning. It was falling asleep that you had a hard time with, lying awake and wondering if when you finally fell asleep you would be greeted by nightmares. Nightmares that you had been waiting weeks for but had yet to come. “Let’s uh… let’s call it a problem for the professional,” you faltered.

He nodded understandingly, “You just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything at all.”

Allowing your body to meld into his, you hummed, “How are you doing with all of this?”

“I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still breathing,” he confessed. Adjusting his glasses, he pulled you a little closer to him. “I’ve seen you more in the past six weeks than I had the previous year, and, selfishly, I’m glad that we get more time together.”

With one hand, you reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, “I am too, love. It’s new, even though we’ve been together for years, I think we’re lucky to have something that feels new.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm before taking your hand in his, “I think I’m lucky to have you.”

“Sweet talker,” you teased lightly.

You nudged him gently when he went quiet. “I love having you be at home when I get home,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “I suppose I never really thought much of it because it always seemed like an unattainable fantasy.”

But now you were home when he came home. He took time off to spend with you right after you had gotten out of the hospital, but for the past six weeks, every time he walked in the door, you were around. It was almost like the two of you had entered your honeymoon phase. Although, you supposed you had, “Did anyone ask you about the party?”

Spencer chuckled, “Of course they did.”

Part of you supposed it was your penance for getting married in secret – mostly secret, everyone always seemed to forget that Rossi was there – that the BAU was insistent on giving the two of you a wedding. “I never knew profilers had such great memories,” you pondered. “No one else asks me about it.”

“They just want to make sure you’re alright before turning it into a celebration,” he explained. “For the BAU, taking a step back is a big deal,” he leaned his head to the side so that his chin was resting on the top of your head, “you know that, though.”

Nodding softly, you shut your eyes, “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to do a combo housewarming and wedding celebration.”

“Not a chance,” Spencer answered almost a bit too quickly.

You sighed in mock defeat, “We’ll just have to have a party a weekend until Garcia runs out of ideas.”

Slowly, you felt yourself falling asleep again, “Do you want to go to bed?” Spencer murmured.

There was just a moment before you hummed, “In a minute.” You pulled on the sleeves of your sweatshirt so they would cover your hands, “Hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” He said, drowsiness growing in his voice.

You tipped your head back and looked up at him, “I love being home when you get home, too.”

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[wayward-dreamer]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 3,730

Summary: Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, lots of fluff towards the end, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), v fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), breeding kink if you squint, Dean being a domestic dream boyfriend.

A/N: Requested by @xlynnbbyx. I hope you like it! Happy reading everyone! Unbeta'd.

There’s nothing quite like coming home to a warm house, especially just as the chill of winter starts to set in. As Dean stepped into his home, scarf bundled around his neck and tucked into his long, black coat he was thankful that his home was well insulated, even when the heating wasn’t on. Snow was just beginning to fall, causing him to dust it off his shoulders and hair before he removed his coat, hanging it by the door on the rack along with his scarf. He slipped off his black loafers, turning the thermostat on as he walked into the kitchen. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the bar stool, making his way over to the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and took a long swig, sitting in the bar stool with a heavy exhale.

He looked around the darkened house, the only light on in the kitchen, his eyes scanning over the photos on the wall. The only thing better than escaping the cold for warmth, was having the warmth of someone next to him. He smiled softly as he looked at his favorite photos of him and his girlfriend, wishing she had been there to greet him when he got back from work. It had been several months that hadn’t occurred, and he was starting to get sick of coming back to an empty nest. He took out his phone, checking the time and shaking his head when he realized it was too late to call her. He might just have to try for your lunch break the next day.

Y/N had been offered a new position at her company, which came in the form of a relocation for 10 months. It had been hard in the first few weeks to be apart, but they had made it work with her coming home every other weekend, or him flying in to see her on the alternate ones. As things got busier for both of them that meant they had less freedom to do that. He had spent many sleepless nights in their bed, wishing she could be back in Kansas with him and not miles away in another state.

Now with just a week until Christmas, he had to live with the fact that she couldn’t come home for the holidays. She had broken the news to him a week prior, apologizing profusely as they had to work through the Christmas period to meet a deadline. As usual, he understood it was her job and she had responsibilities, but it just plain sucked that he wasn’t going to have her home to celebrate.

He just hoped that they had a better shot at New Years Eve.

“So we’re doing 24th dinner here, and presents in the morning and then 25th dinner at mom and dad’s,” Sam explained, passing the box of orange chicken to Dean across the table.

“Sounds good,” Dean muttered, taking some of the chicken out onto his plate. “I gotta go to Benny’s after I’m done with work, but I’ll be here after that.”

Sam nodded, as he took the noodles from Eileen. “What time is Y/N flying in?”

Dean pursed his lips as he looked between both of them, totally forgetting the fact that he hadn’t told them yet. “Uh, she’s actually not gonna be here for Christmas. Her team’s working through to meet a deadline and she can’t make it.”

“Seriously? She’s not going to be here?” Eileen signed, frowning as she watched Dean sit back in his chair.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, yeah it sucks that this’ll be our first time away from each other during Christmas, but she’s gotta work.”

“You’re shockingly cool about this,” Sam stated.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say, Sammy? You want me to say I want her here for Christmas, because it’s already been 5 months without her being home? Yeah, that’s what I want, okay? I really want that, but it’s her job, man. I can’t argue with that.”

Shoving a huge forkful of food meant the conversation was over, but as they continued with dinner and moved onto talking about other things, Sam couldn’t get the thought of Y/N not coming home for Christmas out of his mind.

Maybe he had to use his persuasive skills thanks to his job for this situation too.

If there was one place Y/N didn’t want to be so close to Christmas, it was work.

Relocating to Philadelphia had been exciting at first, even if she was sad about leaving her friends and family behind in Lawrence. She knew 10 months was going to be a lot, but she hoped with all the work that needed to be done, that time would fly by. However, it had 5 months of ridiculous hours, and only getting to see her boyfriend once every few weeks, if they could manage it. The work was fine, she was good at her job, but she never loved it. It was only meant to be temporary when she was back at the Kansas City branch, but when her boss asked her to relocate she hoped that it was just a way to prove herself and get back home sooner. Maybe even get a promotion because of it. Then hearing that she couldn’t travel back for the holidays was the tasteless icing on a shitty cake.

She just prayed they could meet the deadline by the weekend and she could still try and make it before it was too late.

Y/N finished typing up the latest report that needed to be collated with the others, emailing it to the administrative assistant of her department. Checking the time, she sighed in relief that it was just after 1pm and she could finally eat. Picking up her purse, she walked out of her office, her heels clacking against the wooden floors as she passed the assistant’s desk.

“Hey, Riley. I just emailed you the latest report, can you make 10 copies of those and have them on my desk by the end of lunch?” she asked, slinging her tote over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Riley replied, blandly as she ignored her.

Y/N closed her eyes, breathed in deep before she exhaled, trying to let go of her frustration. She looked at the younger blonde woman, plastering on a polite smile. “Please. In half an hour.”

She walked away before she caught Riley no doubt rolling her eyes, making her way to the elevators. She went down a few floors to the cafeteria, opting for lunch inside rather than enduring the cold and finding a cafe to go to. She didn’t have the energy or willpower for that today. As she sat down with her salad and water, she checked her texts and other emails she hadn’t gotten to yet. She scrolled mindlessly on Instagram, liking a post every now and then as she shoved food into her mouth. Her thumb lingered on one post, a sad smile pulling at her lips when she saw her boyfriend and his brother and sister-in-law just taking a casual selfie at family dinner, something she also would’ve been a part of had she been there. Double tapping and moving on after the heart appeared, she flinched as her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. She recovered quickly, seeing Sam’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hey, Sam,” she answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey! How’s Philly treating you?” he asked, no doubt smiling.

“Just making me wish I was somewhere tropical right now,” she replied, glancing out the huge glass windows at the bleak sky.

She heard his boisterous laugh through the speaker, making her smile softly. “Well, it’s not much better here in Kansas, but we’re getting through it. Missing those gingerbread cookies of yours, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m missing the fact that I haven’t made them this year,” she admitted. “And I miss y’all enjoying them, too.”

“So… maybe we can expect a small batch at least if you swing by for just Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?” he asked, suggestively.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Sam. I mean, I really want to and I’m working overtime just trying to get stuff done so that I can hopefully make it in time, but I don’t even know if we’ll be done by Tuesday at this point.”

Sam was quiet for a moment before she heard his soft timbre.

“Look, Y/N, I know that it’s your job and if you really can’t make it work then I completely understand… but if there’s a way you can, then just know that at least my brother’s not going to be brooding at the dinner table.”

She huffed a small laugh at that. She knew Dean was just being supportive of her and she loved him for it, but she wouldn’t have blamed him for being upset about this unfortunate circumstance. She was upset about it, knowing she’d much rather be with all of them.

“Okay, Sam. I’m gonna try like hell to be there,” she stated, firmly.

“Good. See you soon,” Sam ended the call with what she hoped was his words to God’s ears.

Y/N sat back in chair, fingers tapping against the screen of his phone, causing it to light up and show her she still had fifteen minutes before she had to head up to her desk. While she had hoped this relocation would be a way to come home to promotion, it was that she wished she could find her way home before kicking this job to the curb. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle being away from everyone, or how much longer she could endure the work that gave her absolutely no joy. Her phone buzzed again, this a text from her boss in all caps, reading: BE UP IN 5!!!

She glared down at the message, shaking her head as she considered the fact that she just felt like a pack mule carrying the entire load of the work and getting nothing in return. She had been there 6 years and barely had anything to show for it. She breathed in deep, closed her eyes and when she eventually opened them again, she knew what she needed to do. Something she should’ve done a long time ago.

When she got to her boss’s office, she walked in and was greeted by his scowling face barking orders at her. They went in one ear and out the other as she sat down calmly in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish before she spoke.

“There’s actually something we need to talk about first.”

Snowfall had begun and was sticking to the ground by the time Dean got home from his last day of work until after the new year began.

After leaving and making a quick stop at Benny’s to catch up before he left for Louisiana, he was intending to go straight to Sam’s, but he decided to go home first and change. Truly he didn’t care anymore if he was a dishevelled mess after work, but his mom would’ve had a few things to say and he didn’t want to deal with that today. It was Christmas Eve, and all he wanted to do was eat, drink and not think about the fact that Y/N was all the way in Philadelphia. He kept his mind occupied with the thought of food and alcohol, and not his beautiful girlfriend that he hadn’t seen in months. He missed her too much and he supposed for the sake of everyone in his family he should at least try not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t there with them, to be more tolerable for the next few days.

He walked into the house, closing the door behind him and blocking out the cold. He frowned as he felt the house was warmer than usual, which meant he probably didn’t turn the heat off before leaving in the morning. Shaking his head at his own forgetfulness, he took off his coat and scarf, hung it up and was about to slip his loafers off when he heard a clattering sound from the kitchen. His jaw clenched as he stilled himself, wondering if he was just hearing things but then he heard the oven open and close, making him realize that the house was wafting with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. He took slow, tentative steps towards the arch to the living room and kitchen area, his heart beating rapidly in his chest until he saw the intruder he thought had broken very easily into his home wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Hey, baby,” Y/N greeted him with her signature beaming smile, placing a tray of her famous gingerbread cookies on the kitchen counter.

His eyes widened as he looked around the room before he focused on her. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be insulted,” she teased, leaning her hands on the edge of the bench.

A smirk crept up on his face as he stared at her, taking in her beautiful face. “Fuck.”

He rushed over just as she skipped out of the kitchen and met him halfway, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. She squealed as his arms wrapped tight around her waist, spinning her around as she buried her face into his neck. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw before looking deep into her eyes, confirming that this wasn’t a dream and pressing a searing kiss to her lips.

“Okay, okay, wait,” he muttered, pulling away but his face was still close to hers. “How the fuck are you here? I thought you had to work all-”

“Well, it turns out that I couldn’t take one more day in that place and being away from you,” she said, her hand combing through his short hair. “So, after a very brief but convincing phone call from your brother I went to my boss and asked if I could come home.”

“Damn, that was generous of him,” he stated, holding her tight. “I thought he was a hardass.”

“Oh, he is and he made a big noise about me leaving before the deadline, so I quit.”

“What?” he asked, frowning. “Babe, wait. Why would you do that?”

“Because I already had one foot out the door these last few months and I couldn’t spend another day doing something I didn’t love,” she explained, pecking his lips. “Plus, I missed you too much.”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, comprehending everything she just told him. “You gotta be totally sure about this, ‘cause-”

She cut him off with a soft kiss to his lips, looking deep into his eyes. “I am.”

“Fuck, I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I guess I owe Sam, huh?”

“Yes, and I owe him a whole batch of cookies just for him,” she chuckled, pointing her thumb behind her to the kitchen.

He hummed as he kissed her once, twice as he walked back towards the staircase near the front of the house. “That’s gonna have to wait until I’m done with you, though.”

“Dean, I have to put another batch in!” she exclaimed as he carried her upstairs.

“Later,” he breathed, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. “Right now we got a lot of time to make up for.”

“We’ll be late,” she mumbled between kisses as he moved towards their bed.

“They’ll live.”

She giggled as they quickly stripped themselves of their clothes before he helped her onto the bed. She laid down and pulled him with her, wrapping herself around him as he kissed her, roughly. Taking her hands in his, he moved them above her head, drifting down and leaving a trail of kisses along her body. Time apart hadn’t hindered the effect that he had on her, her legs immediately falling open as he nipped and licked along her soft skin. She sighed as his tongue found the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs, her fingers combing into his locks and keeping him in place. Soft moans gained volume as he continued to pleasure her with his talented mouth.

“Dean, oh god,” she moaned, loudly, throwing her head back. “Fuck, I missed this.”

He chuckled as he pulled away slightly, looking up at her. “Gotta make sure you didn’t forget it.”

“As if I ever could,” she sighed, meeting his gaze.

He continued his ministrations, groaning at the feel and taste of her against his tongue as he circled the bundle of nerves. He slipped two fingers into her, a sharp cry escaping her as he wasted no time and set a quick pace, finding that sweet spot inside with each thrust. Her arousal grew as he kept going, the familiar heat pooling deep in her core and she knew she was close. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t felt him in such a long time and she found herself growing impatient.

“Dean, please,” she pleaded, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I’m so close, baby, please.”

She gripped his hair roughly between her fingers as he sped up, his tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the burning knot in her stomach wind tighter, his name falling from her lips in a loud whimper once she reached the blissful peak. Her wetness coated his tongue and fingers as he slowly withdrew from her, shifting up and pressing his lips to hers. She moaned at the taste of herself against him, clinging to him as he gathered her in his embrace.

“Fuck me,” she ordered, her lustful gaze meeting his. “Now, right now, please…”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, babe,” he grinned.

He took hold of his hard shaft, notching himself to her entrance and in one quick motion, buried himself inside her soft walls. Her mouth fell open as a long moan escaped her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulled out slightly, sliding into her wet heat again and setting a languid rhythm to his thrusts.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned, nipping at her jaw. “Missed feeling this sweet little pussy around my cock.”

Their faces were close as they gazed into each other’s eyes, neither wanting to look away considering how long it had been without this type of connection. She shifted her hips to meet his, the pace not being enough to satisfy her in that moment. She wanted more, needed more.

“Harder, Dean,” she gasped, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel it for days…”

“Yeah? You wanna feel my dick deep inside you, huh?” he husked, low and rough.

She whined with desperation, the rumble of his voice making her clench around him. One hand slid down his muscular back, squeezing the curve of his pert ass. “Yeah, fuck me like you missed me, baby. Come on.”

She got exactly what she wanted as he slammed into her, a shrieking moan falling from her lips, feet locked as she wrapped herself around him to keep him right where he was. He pounded into her, the head of his cock pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, that caused her moans to grow louder with each stroke.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her eyes half closed in bliss. “Right there, Dean, feel so fucking good inside me.”

“So perfect, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “So fucking perfect.”

She grabbed his face in both of her hands and pulled him into a passionate kiss, their lips fused together as he continued to move within her. He felt her slick walls clench around him, her impending release as close as his.

She hummed as she looked up at him, her thumb stroking his jaw. “So close, Dean…”

He smirked as his hand drifted down between their bodies, his fingers circling her clit and making her eyes widen as she clung to him. Her breath stuttered as he moved them faster, in time with the hard drive of his hips against her, the heat deep in her core growing. With another thrust, her walls contracted around him as she came undone, a sharp cry of his name from between her lips as her arousal covered his shaft. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer as his hips faltered, his cock throbbing inside her as he felt a heat curling in his belly.

“Cum inside me, baby,” her soft voice encouraged, her eyes sparkling with love for him. “Fill me up, I wanna feel it.”

A guttural moan rumbled in his chest as he slammed harder into her, his rhythm sloppier as he felt himself about to reach that perfect release. A shaky grunt escaped him as he finally shattered, pushing into her as far as possible. She moaned softly in his ear as she felt spurts of his seed flood her, content with being filled by him. He rolled his hips into her, the need to get his come as deep as he could inside her overwhelming in that moment.

He slowly dropped down on top of her, his head falling on her chest as her fingers combed his hair. They breathed heavily, coming down from the high they hadn’t experienced in a long time. She bit her lip as she stared up at the ceiling, a small giggle bubbling up through her lips. He lifted his head, resting his chin on her as he looked into her eyes.

“What?” His voice was low but rough from their activity.

She shook her head, smiling down at him. “Just… I’m so happy to be home. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he husked, kissing her chest. “Best Christmas ever.”

She beamed, her lips resting against his forehead as she sighed. She had never been happier about a decision in her life, and she was glad she came home before it was too late to celebrate the holidays.

“Best Christmas ever.”

[tigwalen]

Cherokee Rivercane Mat - Artist unknown - Date Unknown

Mats such as these were traditionally used for covering walls and floors, providing decoration or insulation. During outdoor ceremonies, mats were used to cover the ground or benches to serve as rugs or seating. In some native communities, mats were used to wrap the dead.

While this woven mat is traditional, its design is an adaptation. What remains from tradition is the form, material, the single weave technique, and the mat's coloration. The Serpent design is a 20th century adaptation, but is a popular motif among Eastern Band Cherokee today.

Walnut hulls were used to dye the rivercane and to achieve the dark brown color. In this particular Serpent (or Snake) design, the "serpents" run diagonally cross the mat. This design is traditional among the Chitamacha of Louisiana and may be an adaptation.

[uhbambii]

The Lazy Morning

The chill of a late Winter morning seeped through the cracks of the grand Dellamorte villa, despite the thick stone walls and heavy drapes. Frost painted the windows, the delicate patterns a testament to the icy fingers of the season outside. But within Lucanis Dellamorte’s bedroom, warmth reigned.

Rook, wrapped in an absurd number of blankets was cocooned in the middle of the oversized bed. She had commandeered every available layer of warmth, from the soft linens to the embroidered quilts. Only her head poked out from the fortress of fabric, her hair a stark contrast against the dark, richly woven coverlets. Her sharp crow-like wit was nowhere to be found this morning; instead, her sleepy expression resembled a satisfied feline, reluctant to face the day.

Lucanis stood by the window, silhouetted against the weak light of the rising sun. His dark hair was tousled, as though he hadn’t bothered running a comb through it yet, and his sharp features were softened by an air of amused indulgence. His dark eyes flicked toward the bundle of blankets on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice, low and smooth, carried the hint of laughter beneath its polished veneer. “I’m fairly certain this villa has never housed anyone as absurd as you.”

Rook’s only response was a faint grunt of protest. She burrowed deeper into the blankets, curling tighter like a contented bird in its nest. “Cold,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “This house is a mausoleum. I swear the Dellamorte ancestors haunt it just to drop the temperature.”

Lucanis huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll have you know this mausoleum is the pinnacle of crow architecture. Generations of the Dellamorte family would take offense at your critique, cara mia.”

Rook peeked one pale eye out from the blankets. “The Crows didn’t invent insulation, apparently,” she quipped. “Or comfort.”

Shaking his head, Lucanis turned from the window and approached the bed. The morning light caught on the intricate embroidery of his house robe—a deep crimson velvet with black and gold trim, so perfectly tailored it was almost offensive. Even lounging in his own home, he carried himself with an effortless, lethal grace that marked him as both First Talon and assassin.

When he reached the bed, he gave a mock bow, leaning forward to press his forearms against the edge of the mattress. “If you find my family’s ancestral home so inhospitable, why don’t you simply get up?”

Rook glared at him, though her expression lacked its usual edge. “No.”

Lucanis’s smile widened. “No?”

“No,” she said again, her voice firmer this time. “This is my home now, too, and I’m declaring this bed the warmest spot in the villa. You can pry me out of here if you dare.”

He sighed, long-suffering, but there was no hiding the warmth in his expression. Lucanis leaned closer, his face hovering just above hers. “You’re lucky you’re adorable, uccellina,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Rook tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “So lucky,” she replied, voice heavy with feigned exhaustion.

Without warning, Lucanis slipped a hand beneath the mound of blankets, his fingers cold as they brushed against her side. Rook let out a sharp yelp, her eyes snapping open fully. “Lucanis!” she squawked, swatting at his arm as she squirmed beneath her fortress.

His laughter was soft but unrestrained, a sound that carried rare warmth. “It’s good to know you’re not entirely immobilized, Uccellina,” he teased, using the nickname he’d given her early in their partnership.

“You’re awful,” she muttered, but there was no venom in her words, just a grudging affection.

Lucanis settled on the edge of the bed, his smirk softening into something gentler. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. Despite her protests, she leaned into his touch, relaxing.

“You know,” he said, his tone quieter now, “if you’re so determined to stay in bed, I suppose I could join you. For the sake of preserving your fragile constitution, of course.”

Rook’s gaze flicked up to meet his, her eyes glinting with amusement. “For my sake, huh?”

“Entirely selfless on my part,” Lucanis replied smoothly, though the tilt of his lips suggested otherwise.

She sighed theatrically but shifted to make space for him, her blankets rustling as she lifted a corner in invitation. “Fine. But you’d better not steal the covers.”

With an elegance that bordered on infuriating, Lucanis slipped beneath the layers, his warmth immediately seeping into the cocoon of fabric. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him as they settled together.

For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Rook nestled closer, her breath warm against his chest.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “I could get used to mornings like this.”

Lucanis pressed a kiss to her temple, his dark eyes closing as he held her close. “So could I, cara mia. So could I.”

———————————————————————————

Uccellina: Little bird/crow

Cara Mia: My beloved

_________________________________________________

[good1insulation]

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[cup1drul3z]

★ — Keep Me Close

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 : ᴏɴʟʏ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ɪᴛ

ᴘᴏᴘꜱᴛᴀʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 7.0ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Age gap, Angst, Masturbation, Car crash mentioned, Drinking, drugs, mental health problems, depression, suicide mentioned

A/N : i actually forgot to post this chapter im gonna kms

SUMMARY : You and Sevika arrive at the hotel after a long travel day, but privacy is hard to come by. Between surprise selfies, overheard questions, and accidental tension, the line between fake and real starts to blur. A day of chaotic rehearsals, heat, and unexpected confessions at the festival grounds leaves both of you unraveling—slowly, privately, and in ways you’re not ready to admit.

Thursday Afternoon

The room was what you expected—quiet, sleek, and tastefully expensive. Warm wood floors, a king-sized bed layered in crisp white linens, blackout curtains, and soft, overhead lighting that made the whole space feel calm and insulated from the noise of the lobby.

A desk with an ergonomic chair sat against the wall, plugs in all the right places. There was a full-length mirror near the closet, a marble-lined bathroom with neatly folded towels and little glass bottles of eucalyptus soap, and best of all: a tray of snacks on the credenza.

Not the kind you had to fight with the minibar over. These were complimentary. High-end, wrapped in matte packaging, the kind of snacks you usually had to sneak onto your tour rider.

You let out a small, satisfied sound and flopped face-down onto the bed, arms spread like a starfish. The mattress was perfect—firm, with just enough give—and you bounced once, kicking off your shoes as you sank into the pillows.

“Finally,” you mumbled into the duvet. “Something soft that doesn’t talk.”

Sevika lingered near the door, scanning the space like she was checking for threats instead of closet space. Her eyes flicked to the walls, the ceiling, the quiet hum of the thermostat. She moved slowly, taking everything in with that same sharp tension in her shoulders like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to relax yet.

You peeked up at her from where you were sprawled, then pulled your phone out and unlocked it with a lazy flick.

Already, your feed was blowing up—photos, fan edits, slowed-down videos of Sevika shielding you in the airport. Some zoomed so close, it looked like a movie still. People were freaking out over her. Over you.

Over the two of you.

You smiled faintly, brushed your curls back into place, and angled your phone for a selfie. Your lips curled into your signature smile, half-sweet, half-smug, and you made sure Sevika was in the frame just behind you—brows furrowed, looking mildly confused by the espresso machine on the counter.

Click.

Perfect.

Sevika let out a long, quiet sigh and finally lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She sat stiff, back straight, hands braced on her knees like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to relax yet, even in a five-star hotel room with free snacks and no immediate threats.

Behind her, you were half-curled into the plush bedding, still scrolling on your phone, about to post the selfie you’d taken—your smile perfect, Sevika caught in the background looking way too serious for someone standing next to a cart of complimentary kombucha.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of air conditioning and the faint tap of your thumb on the screen.

Then you broke the silence.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice softer than before. No teasing. No smirk. Just a question lingering in the still air.

Sevika glanced over her shoulder, one brow raised. “Mean what?”

You sighed and set your phone down, turning onto your side. The movement drew her eyes before she could stop herself—how your hoodie hitched up slightly, the way the curve of your hip pressed into the mattress.

“The soft spot thing,” you said, watching her. “That we talked about on the plane.”

Sevika turned away instantly.

Too fast.

You didn’t miss it.

Her palm slid up her forehead and down her face in one slow, embarrassed drag as a quiet, sheepish chuckle escaped her lips. “I didn’t think you’d remember that…”

She looked like she was mentally kicking herself for letting that moment slip—like the admission had been accidental, like you’d imagined it.

You smirked and pushed yourself up, slow and quiet, the bedsheets rustling beneath your hands as you crawled across the mattress toward her.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t stop you.

You sat on your knees just behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her back. You leaned in, your breath soft against her skin.

Then your lips brushed the crook of her neck—barely there, feather-light.

“Do you have a soft spot for me, Sevika?” you murmured, her name spilling off your tongue like warm honey. Smooth. Intentional.

Her breath caught. Shoulders stiffened.

But she didn’t move away.

BANG!

The door flew open so hard it bounced against the stopper.

“Y/N, we gotta go to the festival grounds—totally forgot—they need you there right now!” Dean yelled, halfway in the room, already flustered and breathless.

And then he stopped.

His eyes landed on you—on your knees behind Sevika, still leaning close, lips barely an inch from her skin. Sevika was frozen, back straight as a board, eyes darting toward the door like she’d just been caught in a heist, not a moment of tension.

You pulled back immediately, your brows scrunching in disbelief as you turned to Dean. “Ever heard of knocking, pendejo?!”

Dean’s mouth opened. Closed. “I—uh—I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “But you seriously need to get ready, like, now. They’re doing light and sound tests. PR wants behind-the-scenes footage. Dress cool because it’s already, like, a hundred degrees out.”

You stood up, brushing your hoodie down and glaring at him, hands on your hips.

“I always dress cool,” you attempt to make a joke

Dean blinked. “What?”

“Nothing, It was a joke, a bad one clearly” you snapped, already stomping toward the door. “Just—get out!”

You shoved him backward with one palm to his chest and slammed the door shut with a loud thunk, the echo rattling through the hallway.

Silence settled again in the room.

You turned slowly, cheeks flushed, breathing hard—not just from the yelling.

Sevika was still on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor like she was trying to pretend she hadn’t been two seconds away from losing control.

And you?

You kind of wanted to slam the door on Dean’s face again.

Your palms pressed against the door, head bowed for a moment as you tried to collect yourself after nearly committing second-degree manslaughter via hotel hallway.

Behind you, Sevika finally spoke.

“Maybe you should stick to singing,” she said dryly. “Not comedy.”

You turned slowly, the tension in your shoulders still tight—but your face unreadable, quiet. The silence stretched between you like a rubber band.

Then, without a word, you reached for the hem of your hoodie and peeled it off in one smooth motion, followed by your tank top, tossing both onto the chair like they were nothing.

Sevika blinked once.

You were standing there in a white lace underwear set—delicate and pretty but unflinchingly bold. Your scar was fully exposed, a pale streak of memory across your hip, stubborn and unhidden.

Sevika’s mouth dropped open. “What are you doing?!”

You arched a brow and moved toward your suitcase, deadpan. “Giving you a show, obviously.”

She stood quickly, caught between panic and protest. “Y/N—”

“Where else am I supposed to change?!” you asked, yanking your suitcase onto the bed with a little thud. “The hallway? Want me to ask Dean for privacy?!”

“I dont know: the bathroom?!” Sevika yelled back

You furrow your brows and turned your back to her as you rifled through your outfit options, walking to the full-length mirror with nothing on but confidence and lace. Sevika’s eyes followed you—unintentionally at first.

The lily tattoo on your shoulder blade caught her eye, soft lines and shaded petals, a clear memorial inked with meaning. But as her gaze dropped, it caught something else entirely.

A tramp stamp.

Hearts—sharp-edged and spiked, bold and unapologetic ink etched low on your back, right above the curve of your hips.

Sevika swallowed, suddenly very warm.

You grabbed a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans and shimmied into them slowly, the fabric hugging your hips as you adjusted the waistband just right. Then came the top—a dark brown, low-cut, halter tank that sat soft and light against your chest, leaving your collarbones exposed and glowing under the room’s soft light.

You ran your fingers through your hair, tousling it lazily as you turned around.

And paused.

Sevika was still staring.

Caught.

“You good?” you asked, teasing—though there was a flicker of something else behind your voice now.

Sevika blinked, jaw tightening. “I—yeah. Fine.”

But she hadn’t looked away yet.

The festival grounds were a swarm of motion—early chaos before the glamour. Vendors were unpacking crates of merch and overpriced sunglasses, food trucks were heating up fryers, and tech crews shouted instructions across the open air as they set up towering speakers and lighting rigs.

Carnival rides creaked in the distance, half-assembled but already glowing faintly with bright pastel bulbs. You could hear the clatter of metal being locked into place, the distant hum of generators kicking on.

It was hot. Ridiculously hot.

The kind of heat that made your makeup melt before you even had time to sweat it off. You were already hungover from your in-flight drink binge, sunglasses perched on your nose, sipping a smoothie like it was medicine while mentally planning how many drinks it would take to get you on that ferris wheel by sundown.

Sevika trailed just a few steps behind you, sunglasses on, jaw clenched slightly like she was doing her best not to groan out loud.

She'd ditched the leather jacket hours ago—too hot, even for her—and now wore the too-tight black tank top the event staff had handed out to all security members. “SECURITY” was printed bold across her chest, right over her abs, which the top did absolutely nothing to hide. Her baggy cargo pants and combat boots grounded her, but the shirt made her stick out more than blend in.

You were vaguely aware of how many heads were turning to stare at her—not you—and you weren’t even mad about it. Just amused.

“God,” Sevika muttered, half to herself, glancing around at the dust, the makeshift booths, the speakers being hoisted on cranes. “This reminds me of Warped Tour.”

You turned to look at her, one brow raised behind your shades. “What’s that?”

Sevika froze.

Her head turned slowly. “…You’re a singer,” she said flatly. “And you don’t know Warped Tour?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Umm… oh! That was popular in the 2000s, right? For, like, emos? Fall Out Boy?” You flashed her a sugary smile.

Sevika stared at you in betrayal, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah. Emos.”

You gave her a wink and turned back around, walking ahead with an extra bounce in your step, smug as hell.

Behind you, Sevika muttered something under her breath.

It was probably a slur in the sacred language of ex-scene kids.

The rehearsal area was alive with movement—singers pacing in circles doing vocal warmups, dancers stretching and marking through routines, a few idols adjusting their in-ear monitors while staff carried water bottles and clipboards like Olympic batons. The sun beat down without mercy, sweat already glistening on everyone’s skin, and the buzz of music equipment being tested echoed in the background.

You were barely paying attention, casually scrolling through your phone as Dean talked to a festival coordinator about your set schedule and accommodations, hands flailing like usual. Sevika stood a few feet behind you, arms crossed and sunglasses low on her nose, eyes constantly scanning the crowd.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Y/N!!!”

A voice rang out like a firecracker.

You barely had time to register it before a blur of bright blue came charging toward you—shoulder-length braids bouncing, arms flung open, paint-stained ripped jeans flapping like flags in the wind. The girl wore a cropped high-neck tank and a moon tattoo inked sharp across her right bicep.

Before you could react, Sevika stepped in front of you like a wall, and the girl slammed into her with a solid oof, stumbling back and landing right on her ass in the dirt.

“The hell’s your deal, man?” the girl snapped, looking up with a scowl.

You peeked over Sevika’s shoulder—barely managing to see anything at all from behind her massive frame, standing on your toes, eyes just clearing her arm.

Then your face lit up.

“Jinx?!” you gasped, squeezing past Sevika and practically tackling her in a hug.

“Y/N!!!” Jinx squealed, springing up to her feet. The two of you spun each other in a circle like it had been years—and honestly, it felt like it had. Sevika winced and muttered something as she covered her ears with both hands like the screeching physically hurt her.

“What are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look Jinx up and down. “Wait—don’t tell me. Is Ekko headlining?”

“Yep,” she grinned, popping the p as she adjusted one of her braids. “And I got hired to paint one of the main murals too. Look!” She pointed toward a roped-off area across the grounds, buckets of paint and scattered tarps surrounding a massive blank concrete wall.

You turned just in time to see Dean spinning around looking for you, clearly realizing he’d lost track of you. His eyes landed on Jinx and lit up.

“Ohhh my God,” he said, suddenly appearing beside you both, teeth bared in a marketing-smile. “Jinx! It’s been forever, you look amazing!”

Jinx’s face twisted immediately into visible discomfort as he pulled her into a hug she did not reciprocate. Her arms stayed at her sides, awkward and stiff, and she lifted her hand like a warning sign.

“Haha… yeah… still married to Ekko,” she said with a forced smile, pointing to her silver wedding band and pressing a hand to Dean’s chest to physically push him off.

You furrowed your brows slightly but didn’t say anything—just looped your arm through hers like a reflex and started walking toward the mural wall.

Sevika followed wordlessly behind, eyes flicking between Dean and Jinx like she was mentally evaluating what level of crime it would be to trip your manager in broad daylight.

“When are you gonna get a new manager?” Jinx asked under her breath, leaning close to your ear.

“I’m working on it,” you whispered back.

And honestly?

You meant it.

The food truck stood out like a candy-coated beacon at the edge of the festival grounds—bubblegum pink with swirls of frosting-like paint curling across the metal sides. A striped awning shaded the serving window, and the smell of sugar and fried dough hit your nose like a warm hug.

Made sense. Dessert truck.

A girl with bright blue and pink curls stood behind the counter, grinning from ear to ear like she’d waited her whole life for someone to ask for a funnel cake.

“What can I get you ladies?” she asked, voice bubbly and sweet as the powdered sugar floating through the air.

“Funnel cake, please,” Jinx said, already pressing her face slightly too close to the menu board as she looked at you expectantly.

You froze.

Your mouth opened.

Then closed.

A quiet thrum started in the back of your head—too familiar. Too sharp.

Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe people were already whispering. Maybe someone would take a photo, post it, zoom in on your arms or your stomach or the way you chewed and laugh about it on Instagram. Maybe all those people who said they loved you would decide you were just some cow in a crop top pretending to be sexy.

“Y/N?” Jinx asked, her head tilting. “You okay?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the spiral, heart thumping.

“Uh—” you started, voice catching. You looked back up at the menu, reading each item like it was written in another language.

Then—

Smack.

A twenty-dollar bill hit the high counter with a sharp slap. Sevika, standing at your side, didn’t even flinch.

“She’ll take a candy apple,” she said, her voice deep and final, like a verdict.

The worker blinked, nodded quickly, and disappeared into the truck with a rustle of paper and the sizzle of caramel.

You turned to Sevika, stunned. “Why did you do that?”

You dug into your pocket, pulling out your wallet. “Here—let me pay you back.”

Sevika shook her head. “It’s fine.”

You didn’t listen. “That was really nice, Sevika, but you didn’t have to. I know times are kind of tight for you right now and—”

You pulled out a few crumpled bills, trying to push them into her hand. She didn’t take them.

Instead, she pressed her palm lightly against your chest, the money crumpling between you, her eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Sweetheart,” she said, voice low, “I said it’s fine.”

The word sweetheart hung in the air like smoke.

Both of you froze.

Your eyes widened. Hers did too.

Jinx, already halfway to biting her cuticles from sugar anticipation, blinked and looked between you two like she’d just walked in on something.

Then the worker returned, holding a funnel cake and a candy apple, the awkward tension immediately slapping her in the face.

“Here you ladies g—uh… is everything okay?”

Jinx snatched the funnel cake out of her hands so fast she may as well have teleported. “Yeah, they’re fine. Thanks, toots,” she mumbled, eyes wide, powdered sugar already on her chin.

You cleared your throat, trying to reorient yourself as you reached for the candy apple, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, ma’am,” you said softly, forcing a polite smile.

The worker blinked but smiled back before backing away slowly, clearly not wanting to get involved.

The three of you walked away from the truck, sugar in hand.

Then Jinx, mouth full of fried dough, glanced between you and Sevika again.

“Uhhhh… what the fuck was that?” she asked, powdered sugar puffing from her lips like smoke.

You bit into your candy apple, sweet caramel coating sticking to your lips, but your mind was elsewhere. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” you said, brushing Jinx’s question off with a shrug, pretending the sudden shift in energy between you and Sevika hadn’t just knocked the air out of you.

Jinx eyed you like she didn’t quite buy it but didn’t push.

As the two of you made your way back toward the rehearsal zone, the distant beat of bass and mic checks rumbling through the air, she nudged your shoulder with hers.

“Well,” she grinned, licking powdered sugar from her thumb, “I gotta finish this mural before my boss realizes I wandered off again.”

You laughed and pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight. “It looks great. I’ll see you later, Jinx.”

She gave you a playful salute and sauntered off toward the wall, twirling a paintbrush like a baton. You watched her go, only half-finished with your candy apple before tossing it in a nearby trash bin.

When you turned around, Sevika was already watching you. Neither of you said anything.

You just… looked. And then you moved on.

Back inside the fenced-off area, Dean was deep in conversation with some dancers until he spotted Jinx in the distance—bent over a paint bucket, sleeves rolled, smudges of color on her cheeks.

“Hey,” he said, sidling up next to you, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. “You think Jinx is into me?”

You blinked at him, face blank. Then grimaced.

“Dean,” you said with mock politeness, “please, for the love of all things holy, fuck off.”

He pouted dramatically but wandered off as fashion staff approached, waving you toward the changing trailers. You followed, slipping behind the curtains into your designated space.

The trailer was cozy and familiar, done up in your signature style—baby pink accents, heart decals on the walls, cute throw pillows, soft light strips lining the mirror. It felt like a mobile version of your dressing room back home. There was even a mini cooler stocked with chilled water, juice, and soda.

Sevika stepped inside behind you and immediately crouched in front of it, yanking it open. She grabbed a water bottle and cracked the seal with a satisfying pop, tilting it back and chugging the whole thing in seconds. A few droplets slid down her chin, catching in the hollow of her throat.

One of the fashion assistants—clipboard clutched tight to her chest—was visibly blushing, peeking over the top of her notes like she was watching a forbidden scene in a romance novel.

“Ma’am,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

No answer.

“Ma’am.”

Still nothing.

“MA’AM.”

She jumped and blinked hard, snapping her eyes to you, flustered. “S-sorry! Sorry,” she stammered, lowering the clipboard and flipping it open like that would somehow save her. “So! Um—we have a few outfits for you to try. They all match the dancers.just thought it would be good to give some options”

Another assistant stepped forward, arms full of fabric, and laid a few pieces out on the pink couch.

You didn’t hesitate. You began to strip.

Sevika stood up so fast she knocked the cooler lid closed with her boot, turning to face the wall like she’d just been caught doing something illegal. She kept her eyes forward… except for one small glance. Just one. Down. And then snap—back to the wall.

You slipped into the first outfit—a shiny metallic pink halter top with a rhinestone heart charm dangling at the bust. The front slit dipped low, tied around your neck, and hugged your frame paired with a ruffled jean skirt cinched by a heart chain belt, and finished the look with pink metallic boots.

In the full-length mirror, you looked like a popstar. A real one. Glossy. Unapologetic.

But the top hem of your scar peeked out across your stomach. It curled just slightly below the edge of the halter, visible when you turned even a little. It would show during spins, jumps, anything.

You stared at it.

Even now, after everything, it still made your chest ache.

You clenched your jaw. “Give me another,” you said to the assistant, shaking your head, hands already reaching to untie the top.

But then—

“I think it’s hot,” Sevika said, her voice low.

You stopped.

The room went still.

You looked at her through the mirror—her reflection watching you, eyes no longer trying to hide.

And she didn’t take it back.

You froze, fingers still hooked in the tie of the halter top, the knot half-undone.

The fabric hung slightly loose at your chest, but you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about what Sevika just said.

You turned toward her slowly, the mirror forgotten, the assistants forgotten—just you and her and the words still hanging in the air like smoke.

“You… what?”

Sevika leaned against the wall again, arms crossed, face mostly unreadable—except for the faintest pink at the tips of her ears.

“I said I think it’s hot.” She nodded once toward your scar, then added, “You look hot.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

Behind you, the assistant practically squeaked, backing away with the second outfit like she was trying to disappear into the couch. You heard a frantic whisper and a giggle as she and the other assistant scrambled out, not even bothering to close the door all the way.

The trailer was silent again.

Your voice was quiet when it finally came. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Sevika’s eyes met yours. “Do I look like I say shit I don’t mean?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The tension in your shoulders slipped, replaced with something else—warmth. Embarrassment. Maybe even a flicker of pride.

You looked down at yourself, at the shimmer of the pink halter against your skin, at the scar—raw, real, you.

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like a flaw.

It felt like something someone wanted to touch.

You looked back at Sevika. “Well,” you said softly, smirking as you smoothed the top back into place, “guess I’m keeping the outfit.”

She huffed a breath through her nose, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Good.”

The sun was still high, casting a gold haze over the rehearsal area as you stepped out of the trailer, your boots thudding softly against the packed dirt.

Sevika walked beside you, hands in her pockets, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. You kept glancing down at yourself—at the way the metallic halter hugged your body, at how the chain belt shifted with every step. Even with Sevika’s words still echoing in your head, it was hard not to fall back into that old habit of checking… adjusting… second-guessing.

You looked down one second too long and your toe caught the edge of a cable snaking across the ground.

Your body tipped forward—but you didn’t hit the ground.

Sevika caught your arm with lightning-fast reflexes, steadying you before you could do more than gasp.

She kept her grip light but firm, eyes scanning your face for something unspoken.

Sevika had been hired to protect you from crowds, stalkers, creeps, overzealous fans.

But lately… it felt like she spent most of her time protecting you from yourself.

From the voices in your head. From the weight of expectations. From the times you stared in the mirror like it owed you something.

You muttered a soft “thanks” as you brushed your hair back, trying to play it off.

She just nodded once and let go.

You reached the edge of the stage area where Dean was waiting, practically bouncing in place. He gave you a full once-over, not even bothering to hide it.

“You look sexy!” he grinned, eyes wide with approval.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your gaze flicked sideways to Sevika instinctively, watching her reaction out of the corner of your eye.

She said nothing—but the muscle in her jaw twitched.

Dean clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s run it! I want full energy like it’s the real thing. Cameras are up, and PR wants behind-the-scenes footage later, so if you sweat, sweat cute!”

You rolled your eyes and stepped up onto the stage.

The lights blinked on. The music started.

And the rehearsal began.

You got through the first song with practiced ease, body moving on instinct—your voice hitting the right notes, your feet landing on every beat. The stage was still only half-lit, but the sound was crisp, and the backup dancers moved like extensions of your rhythm.

As you struck the final pose, chest rising and falling, sweat starting to gather at the nape of your neck, you heard it—

Light clapping.

You glanced stage left.

Jinx stood in her little roped-off corner, paintbrush tucked behind her ear, grinning like she was watching her favorite sitcom live. She was surrounded by open cans of paint and a partially-finished mural, but she’d paused mid-stroke just to cheer you on—hands clapping a little too eagerly, like you’d just saved the world.

You gave her a breathless smile and a playful two-finger salute before wiping your forehead.

The rest of rehearsal passed in a blur.

Choreography was tweaked, lights were reset. You changed outfits twice. Your dancers ran formations. There were pauses for water, quick mic checks, and tiny arguments between Dean and the lighting crew.

Sevika remained close through it all. Always nearby. Watching. Quiet. Her eyes followed you each time you crossed the stage, hands tensed whenever you so much as looked unsteady. But she never interrupted. Never hovered.

She just stood there, like a shadow made of steel.

Eventually, Dean clapped his hands and called it.

“That’s a wrap! Let’s reset for show day. Everyone hydrate, rest up. And someone please get this girl a smoothie!”

You exhaled hard, sweat dripping down your spine, heart still thudding.

One rehearsal down.

The real show was coming fast.

The trailer was quiet now, the hum of rehearsal distant, muffled by the walls and heavy heat of the afternoon. You stood in front of the mirror, your metallic top now folded neatly on the counter, the chain belt looped over the back of a chair. You’d changed into something more comfortable—just a cropped band tee and cotton shorts—but your skin was still warm, still buzzing with adrenaline and exhaustion.

You stared at your reflection.

At the sweat still glistening at your collarbones.

At the smear of eyeliner under one eye.

At the scar that curved softly along your stomach.

Your hand hovered over the small bottle sitting on the counter next to your water bottle. The label was peeled at the edge from too many times being opened with shaking fingers.

You popped the cap.

One pill. Then another.

The familiar dull rush started to trickle in, slow and warm.

Then—

Knock knock.

You jumped.

Sevika.

You didn’t even need to hear her voice to know.

In a second, you snapped the cap back on the bottle and shoved it into your bag under the table, zipping it up with a quick flick of your wrist. You took a long sip of water, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and smoothed your hair down like nothing had happened.

“Yeah?” you called, keeping your tone casual.

“I’m coming in,” Sevika said through the door, her voice low.

You glanced toward your bag. You knew she knew. You felt it in your chest.

But you weren’t ready to have that conversation.

Not yet.

The door creaked open, and Sevika stepped in, ducking her head slightly from habit, like she didn’t quite trust the trailer frame not to hit her.

Her eyes swept the room first—always the room, then you. When her gaze finally landed on you, it lingered for just a second longer than it should’ve.

“Didn’t see you after rehearsal,” she said, her voice a little rough around the edges. “You disappeared.”

You offered a tight smile and turned your attention back to the mirror, adjusting a wrinkle in your shirt that wasn’t really there. “Needed a minute. It was hot. Loud.”

Sevika gave a soft grunt of agreement, stepping closer, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler. She unscrewed the cap, then paused—watching your reflection more than your actual face.

You caught her eyes in the mirror. She wasn’t saying anything, but the air between you tensed slightly.

Your stomach twisted.

She knew. Or at least, she suspected. But she wouldn’t call you out. Not yet. Not like that.

“You were good today,” she said finally, taking a sip. “Crowd’s gonna lose their shit tomorrow.”

You laughed, quiet and dry. “Hope so.”

She leaned against the small counter by the door, arms crossed again, but looser this time. “You okay?”

You glanced at your bag—just once, briefly.

Then forced another smile, smaller now. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Sevika didn’t push.

She just nodded slowly, like she was cataloging the answer. Saving it for later.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it wasn’t empty, either.

It was full of all the things you weren’t saying.

The trailer door clicked shut behind you, and you stepped down onto the gravel path just as the last stretch of sun dipped below the horizon.

The festival grounds had quieted. Most of the crew was gone or packing up for the night, the buzz of rehearsals replaced by the low hum of generators and the faint thump of distant bass tests.

You looked up.

The sky was a watercolor spill—purple bleeding into orange, streaks of pink softening into a deep indigo at the edges. It was the kind of sky you could get lost in if you weren’t careful.

Sevika walked beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of her cargo pants, her security badge now slung lazily around her neck. You glanced at her briefly, then tilted your head toward the sky.

“It’s so pretty out here,” you said, quietly. “You can actually see it.”

Sevika followed your gaze.

“In the city, it’s just gray,” you added. “All that light pollution... it’s like the sky’s being erased one billboard at a time.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then: “Never really looked up much before.”

You smiled, soft and faint, as the breeze rustled your shirt.

“Maybe you should start.”

Sevika didn’t reply, but she stayed beside you, her shoulder close enough to brush yours if you leaned just an inch.

Neither of you rushed the walk back. Not tonight.

Thursday Evening 

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The sky faded from rich indigo to a deep navy by the time you reached the building, streetlights casting gold shadows over the sidewalk.

You entered the hotel room without a word, the soft click of the door closing behind Sevika the only sound that followed you in.

Then you walked straight past the bed, your bag still slung over one shoulder, and into the bathroom.

Click.

The lock turned behind you.

You didn’t even meet her eyes.

Sevika stood frozen for a second on the other side of the door, staring at the wood like it had answers.

Inside, you dropped your bag onto the counter, hands moving on autopilot. You pulled out the bottle again. The pills rattled like broken thoughts.

You took one.

Then another.

Then another.

The faucet groaned as you turned on the shower, steam already beginning to fog the mirror. You stripped down slowly, deliberately, the sound of the water pounding against the tile a numbing backdrop.

Your body ached.

Your chest was tight.

And part of you hated that she was out there, probably knowing, probably feeling it—but saying nothing.

You stepped into the shower and let the heat wash over you, eyes shut, water rushing down your back as you pressed your forehead to the cool tile wall.

Trying to breathe. Trying not to drown.

Steam billowed around you, wrapping your body in a cocoon of warmth that did nothing to settle the cold sinking deep in your chest.

You stood under the stream, head bowed, water cascading over your shoulders and down your back, masking the burn behind your eyes. You pressed your palms flat against the tile, letting the water thunder over you like it might wash the thoughts out too.

It didn’t.

You stayed in there until your fingers wrinkled and the room was thick with fog, your heartbeat heavy behind your ribs. The pills dulled the edge, sure—but not enough. Not in the way you hoped. Just enough to make everything feel far away. Floaty.

You finally stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel as the mirror slowly began to clear, the outline of your face appearing in the fogged glass like a ghost.

You stared at yourself again.

Still you. Still that same scar, peeking just above your hipbone. Still that same ache behind your eyes.

You cracked the door open a few inches, steam rolling out past your bare legs and flushed skin. You didn’t hear anything at first, but as you stepped into the room, you spotted Sevika sitting on the edge of the bed.

She hadn’t changed. Still in her cargo pants, boots unlaced. Her elbows rested on her knees, head bowed slightly, one hand running along the back of her neck like she’d been sitting there thinking too hard for too long.

She looked up when you stepped out, eyes scanning you quickly—not in a lingering way. Not right now.

Just… checking. Making sure you were real. That you were still there.

You said nothing.

Neither did she.

The silence sat between you both—quiet, steady, heavier than before.

You walked past her, towel clutched tighter around yourself than you needed, and reached for your pajamas.

She still didn’t speak.

But she didn’t take her eyes off you either.

And maybe that was the part that scared you most. That she saw everything—and stayed.

The room was dark, lit only by the pale glow of the city bleeding through the window. The curtains fluttered faintly with the hum of the A/C, and the hotel bed—massive, soft, overstuffed—creaked with every restless shift.

You lay on one side, curled beneath the thin sheet in your favorite nightgown—soft, pale, barely clinging to your skin in the heat. Your leg shifted against the cool fabric again, trying to find comfort, distraction, anything.

Sevika lay a few feet away on the other side, in a worn tank top and fuzzy, oversized pajama pants that didn’t match her usual vibe but somehow suited her. She’d been silent since the lights went out, but her breathing was too shallow, her presence too tense.

Neither of you had said it aloud.

But neither of you were sleeping.

You tossed. Then turned. So did she.

Got it—let’s adjust that:

Sevika couldn’t take it anymore.

She threw the sheet off her legs with a frustrated grunt, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the dresser. Wordless, barefoot, still in her loose tank and fuzzy pajama pants, she crossed the room and grabbed her keycard from the nightstand.

You turned your head slightly but didn’t ask where she was going.

She didn’t offer.

The door opened with a low click, a rush of hallway air brushing over your skin. Then it shut behind her, leaving you alone in the thick, heavy silence of the hotel room.

You stayed still for a moment, listening to the soft hum of the fridge, the distant traffic outside.

Then your arm slipped off the side of the bed.

You reached for your little leather backpack, the one tucked underneath the edge where Sevika wouldn’t notice. The silver stars caught a glint of passing headlights as you unzipped it quietly, your fingers wrapping around the familiar shape nestled inside.

Your breath hitched—just slightly—as you pulled the vibrator out and sank back into the pillows, heart racing with something that had nothing to do with nerves.

She was gone. Fully gone. Probably standing outside the building, cooling off or burning through half the pack.

You had a few minutes.

And you were so wound up, you didn’t even try to talk yourself out of it.

Outside, the air was cooler than Sevika expected—almost sharp against her bare arms. The hotel parking lot was mostly empty now, the festival buzz having died down for the night. A flickering streetlight buzzed faintly nearby as she leaned against the stone wall, cigarette perched between her fingers, smoke curling slow and quiet into the night.

She lit her second without thinking, gaze unfocused, fixed somewhere between the concrete and the sky.

It wasn’t just insomnia.

It was you.

The way you looked in that nightgown, slipping under the covers without a word, your back turned but your thoughts loud. The way you tried to hide things you were certain no one could see—especially not her.

She could see all of it. Too clearly, maybe.

Sevika let the smoke sit on her tongue before exhaling slowly, the weight of everything pressing in again. Her hand slid into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Then she scrolled to Vi and hit call.

It rang a few times before a groggy voice answered, rough with sleep.

“...You serious right now?” Vi mumbled, followed by the sound of rustling sheets. “It’s like three in the damn morning.”

“I know,” Sevika muttered, staring at the ground. “Shut up.”

Vi was quiet for a second. Then, more alert: “...Is this about the popstar?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away. She just took another drag, letting the silence speak for her.

“Oh my God, it is,” Vi groaned. “What did she do now? Wear glitter near you again? Breathe too sexy? Say thank you with a smile?”

Sevika sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That makes two of us, babe.”

“She’s... not what I expected.”

Vi let out a sleepy chuckle. “Is that a bad thing or good thing”

“...good” Sevika said quietly.

Vi was silent.

Then, gentler: “Yeah. I figured.”

Sevika stared off into the dark, thumb brushing over the edge of her lighter.

“She’s hiding something. Lot of somethings,” she said finally. “And I don’t think I’m supposed to care. But I do.”

Vi sighed. “You always care, Sev. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Yeah,” Sevika muttered. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Sevika pushed through the hotel lobby, the last drag of her cigarette still lingering on her tongue, her head low, hands stuffed deep in her pockets. The cool night had done nothing to clear her thoughts—it only made them quieter, sharper.

She reached the door to the suite and grabbed the handle, pausing for a moment before sliding the keycard.

Then she heard it.

A sound, faint through the door—soft, breathy.

A moan.

Sevika froze, her fingers still wrapped around the handle, her body locked in place.

Her brows furrowed immediately. Ten minutes. She’d only been gone ten minutes. Was someone in there with you? Had you invited someone over?

A hot twist of jealousy curled low in her stomach, ugly and immediate. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath.

Carefully, she pressed her hand to the door and cracked it open just an inch, the room still dim with only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. And what she saw—

Her breath caught in her throat.

You were alone.

Sprawled on the bed, one knee bent, your nightgown pushed down around your waist. The sheet had been kicked off entirely, your skin glowing under the light, the soft rise and fall of your chest quick and uneven. One hand moved over your stomach, your other cupped around your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

Your lips were parted, glossy and flushed, brows slightly drawn as you shifted against the pillows, lost in the moment—your head tilted just enough for Sevika to see the faintest hint of a smile.

She couldn’t look away.

Her chest rose and fell, slower now, heavier. Her hand slid off the doorknob. She didn't dare open the door further, didn't dare let herself be caught watching—but her feet wouldn’t move either.

Because god help her, she wasn’t angry anymore. She was starving.

A/N : after rewatching lilo and stich (the animation not that god awful live action) ive been thinking about doing a beach special in this fic, thoughts

comment to be added to the taglist!

@salsalsusu @dynamidedina @sweetvalentineheart @magnificentmilkshakearbite @pramspams @sevikas-whore @madzorwhatever

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW STRUGGLES WITH DRUG ADDICTION, HELP IS AVALIBLE! you're not alone!

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Blizzard | Cassian x Reader

Day 2: Wrapped in a soft, fuzzy blanket w/ Cassian

Summary: During one of the worst storms in Illyria, Cassian, of course, decides to visit you and travel through said storm.

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: sort of mentions of misogynists, just a lotta fluff tho<3

A/N: first cozytober!! took me a while to get around to this one, but hope you enjoy some fluff with our boy cass<3

Requests are open!

The hail fell hard against the house, pelting it with all of its strength, as you lay comfortably inside your home.

The weather had been absolute hell lately, storms blowing in from what could only be Winter Court in its worst months, or when its High Lord was moodiest. Illyria often had cold weather, and you were prepared with your thick leathers and blankets to keep you insulated and warm, but even this was a different level.

The fire crackled in the hearth, sparks not flying far before being caught with a hint of magic that your friend’s brother had woven for you after the first time your wood flooring had gotten burnt from the sparks.

Not to mention the fire it had almost started.

The cup of hot chocolate was warm in your hand as you sipped at it, thick book held open with one hand, and fingers that were beginning to grow sore as you shifted under the blanket pile, not even the insulated walls of your home able to keep the cold completely out.

Not even a fire was keeping it out. You wondered what would work, at this point.

No hanging your clothes out to dry either, since they would be frozen solid by the time you got them back. Or washing them, really, considering that was usually an outside activity that the females of the camp would do together while gossiping or chatting. The more popular activities of the day were watching the males spar during chores, giggling amongst each other, and pointing out who was the most attractive.

None of that today, though, you could only hope your friends were bundled up with their families, waiting the disastrous storm out.

With the way the winds howled past the house to almost a shrieking sound, you doubted most of the camp would be undamaged by now. The homes your people had built were meant to last generations and usually did with their thick walls and ingenious structure, but storms like these could cause a few cracks or holes to pop up, maybe even a few roofs to cave in or be blown away to the mountains.

It only meant more work for the men once this whole thing blew over.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized that you hadn’t turned a page in quite a few minutes, and the hot chocolate was beginning to grow colder in your hands. Sighing, you set the bookmark in between the nook of the pages, and closed the book, setting it down on the coffee table in front of the couch you were sitting on.

Right when you went to stand up, a loud knock on your door jolted you, tapping once, twice, thrice impatiently as you walked over, trying to look through the small peephole-like area on the wall, only for the swirling snow to make it impossible to make anything out.

Who would be out in this storm?

Who even could be out in this storm without getting frostbite or worse?

Hesitantly setting your mug down, you laid your palm on the freezing cold doorknob, twisting as it groaned and opening the door.

You were immediately met with wind that seemed to slice into your skin, small drops of ice pelting you, snow blowing into your home and melting into a puddle near the fireplace as the man stepped in, a man you recognized, if not for his stupid grin he wore ear-to-ear.

“Cassian, what are you doing out here in the middle of a-“

You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh as you placed both hands against the door, trying to push it shut, and failing against the wind. He watched, smirk obvious as the cocky bastard proceeded to use one hand to push the door shut and lock it for you.

You shot him a glare, folding your arms, and he chuckled, pulling you into a hug against his snow-covered form, cold gloves holding you.

“Missed you..”

He murmured, nuzzling up against you even as you squealed from the freezing temperature of his skin.

“Get off, you’re getting me wet!”

You scolded, pushing him off as he gave a pouty look like the dog he was, and you stormed over to the bathroom near your bedroom, grabbing a towel and unfolding it before wrapping it around his shoulders, hoping it would help a bit for now.

“I’ll be fine, just want cuddles.”

He said, trying his best to woo you into agreeing as his wings tried to flare in a way that usually made you melt, only for them to twitch from the cold. He grimaced, and you gave him yet another stern look.

“I’ll go find you clean clothes,”

You grumbled, and after a trip to the bedroom where you found one of his oversized shirts you kept and a pair of boxers and shorts he’d left over during his last visit that looked relatively clean, you helped him out of the stiff clothes that had water pooling at his feet, throwing his gloves onto the coffee table, patting his cold limbs with a towel and helping him into the clean clothes.

Then came the most difficult task—getting his boots off.

The laces were frozen solid to the tough material that was molded around his foot, almost.

You tugged at the strings, pulling with all your might, trying to break them free to unlace them, and failing miserably as he raised a brow, seemingly amused. He sat on the couch, legs stretched out til his feet met the floor.

“Need some help, darlin?”

You shook your head, gritting your teeth as you dug your feet into the ground, pulling harder and harder until finally—the laces came unstuck—and your ass hit the floor too.

The fire must’ve helped thaw the ice a bit faster than you anticipated.

He tried to muffle his laugh, but failed miserably, trying to make up for it by picking you up off the floor with big, now-warm, hands and sitting you right next to him as he hoisted his thick shoes up to where he could reach them, and his calloused fingers roughly tugged, until the string was undone and the boot slipped off. It was followed by a nearly frozen solid sock, then the other boot after more tugging, and you taunting him, then the other sock.

Both of you heaved a sigh of relief when he was finally out of all his storm-worn clothing.

You reached over to grab the mug of hot chocolate you’d set down earlier, only to be met by a completely cold drink of milk, all the chocolate had sunk to the bottom over time. You tried shaking it to mix it back up, but you also really didn’t want to walk all the way to the kitchen to heat it back up over the stove.

Cassian let out a low hum as he watched your predicament, slowly managing to get you to inch closer to him till you were practically on his lap.

“You wanna see a cool party trick I learned?”

He asked with that grin, the one that said he was about to do something incredibly stupid but entertaining. With a sigh, you decided to humor him this time.

“I’d love to, Cass.”

The sarcasm must’ve been apparent in your tone, because he snorted, before reaching over to the coffee table and grabbing up his glove he’d taken off from earlier. The red siphon gleamed as he slipped the material on for a moment, taking the mug gently from your hands and setting it on top of the siphon.

You stared for a moment, confused, and he seemed to realize this and spoke up.

“Just…say something that’ll make me mad. Anything.”

After a few seconds of pause, you grinned, eager for an opportunity to tease your favorite Illyrian.

“Rhys said your long hair looks stupid.”

It was believable enough, really, with how much of a fashion diva the lordling was at times.

He scowled, and surely enough, a flicker of light from the siphon, and the liquid inside began fizzling, almost boiling. Your eyes widened as you looked at the mug, letting out a little noise of surprise, and he grinned broadly as he handed you the now-warm hot chocolate and took the glove off, throwing it back onto the coffee table.

“Told you it was cool.”

He said with a smirk, hands enclosing around your waist as he leaned back against the cushions of your couch, pulling the thick blankets over the both of you. You took a sip of the hot chocolate, giving a hum of thought as you settled down into the warm material, and the warm Illyrian enveloping you. It was only when you lifted the mug to his lips, and he took a long swig of the warm, rich drink that reminded him of Rhys’ mother’s cooking, that you finally relented.

“It was a little cool.”