#hoping this ages like wine instead of milk

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Pearls

pairing: sugar mommy rhaenyra x reader x alicent age warning: 18+ only! interactions alternate universe: modern au, sugar mommy au summary: Three women, two purses and one whirlwind affair behind your best friend's back. It was never supposed to go past your uni accommodation but suddenly a set of pearls look very appealing...will you bite the bait? warnings & kinks: edging, mommy kink, cunnilingus, light bondage, strap-on pronouns: she/her anatomy: afab parts: 1, 2, 3 /? dividers by: cafekitsune wordcount: 3,354

A/N: okay i know this is probably a lot later than you expected but it's here! i feel kinda nervous about posting again since it's been quite a long while since i posted a finished one-shot so interaction is very welcome and i hope you enjoy 😭 ♡ okay also the feather won't entirely make sense unless you have seen what it is based on which is this

do not interact if you are under 18

It’s not anxiety that twists in her gut as Rhaenyra Targaryen sits in the parlour. She sighs and swishes the deep red wine in her mouth. It runs over her tongue like the embodiment of wet desire. She relishes the slight bitterness but anticipation is stirring in her gut. She pouts childishly at the crystal glass cup while she listens (barely) to Alicent rearranging her cupboards in the kitchen. “–it blatantly does not make sense for your mugs to be in the same place as Joffrey’s cereal. We do not want to give him another excuse to try his coffee versus milk experiment. I don’t even want to comprehend where Daemon has put hi–” “She’s not here yet.” Rhaenyra interrupts with a whine and tosses her head back. Alicent rolls her eyes and checks her watch. 18:45 pm. She scoffs at her jittery lover. “It isn’t even seven yet. What university students do you know that are on-time? Certainly not Jacaerys and definitely not Aegon! I’m lucky that Daeron is taking an apprenticeship.” “But she is always early, it’s one of the things I like about her.” Alicent raises her brows. “That she is early?” “Yes!” Alicent’s hands rest on her hips and she sighs. “Because she is early, you want to drag those little screams out of her?” Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, which is the moment her girlfriend begins to pounce. Alicent leans closer to the aristocrat, the run of her cleavage following her. “Because she is early, your fingers slither up her thighs?” “Yes!” Rhaenyra’s eyes make contact with Alicent’s bosom as she exclaims her answer. Silence pitters before a snort escapes the woman with chestnut hair and Rhaenyra begins to smirk in amusement. Alicent slowly cups her lover’s face, tilting it upward. A teasing grin tilts Rhaenyra’s lips. “I love you.” She says slowly. “I love you too.” The Targaryen returns the sentiment with a lilt before Alicent dips down to kiss her pink lips. Alicent’s long nails glide up Rhaenyra’s jaw. “Good.” She breathes into her mouth, tongue preparing to slip past the seam of her lips but then just as she is teetering the edge, a familiar bell sounds. Instead of lessening the tension, it encourages it. The grin transfers. “I believe we have a guest.” She then sighs, rubbing a slow circle on Rhaenyra’s jaw as her silver haired companion slides a palm up her waist. “I believe we do.” She agrees. 

You stand outside the large building, eyes scanning up, scaling the walls and anticipating the tension. You were reluctant to wear the clothes delivered to your apartment just four days prior; the pink dress pressing against your body like a second skin, a white fur jacket and kitten heels because in truth you hadn’t expected your relationship with the CEO of Iron Throne Industries, your best friend’s mother, to progress so far. For her to begin utterly spoiling you. This made the ‘your mama’ jokes from first year so much worse. You shake your head at the thought and swallow, digging your opal teeth into your lower lip. Then the door swings open and your head snaps to it. Your eyes are wide as you take in the sight. Rhaenyra is smiling that sly grin, her palm perched on the long doorway, the other cupping a wine glass while her body is wrapped in scarlet and coal. The dark and rouge velvet of her blazer washes over her shoulders like gushing water and you bite down harder. Sharp pain shoots through the flesh beneath your teeth but you don’t care because your stomach is twisting in ribbons of lust. The outline of her crimson lipstick sticks to her glass. “Good evening.” She greets, eyes carnivorous and tempting through thin slits. Your sights track along her ruby nails then blink the distraction away to stutter back. “Good evening, mommy.” You near-gulp as tingles shoot across your flesh. She tilts her head, all too aware of the effect she wields over you as skilled as a swordsman. “Why don’t you come inside?” She suggests, letting her tongue run over her lips as she tempts you with glistening eyes. Hesitation grapples your weak ankles for a moment but you both know you are far too deep to stop now and why would you want to? The fun is only beginning… 

Alicent is slung across a plush black armchair, her legs winding at the arm of it. Your eyes instantly widen and you step back in surprise, your back hitting your girlfriend’s chest. She slowly creeps her hands onto your hips. “Miss Hightower!” You exclaim but she only chuckles at you while Rhaenyra hangs your coat. She has a long, shining pearl necklace that dips between her breasts. “Hello, dear.” Alicent’s sultry voice slithers off her tongue. “I was hoping you would be joining us tonight, one of us was starting to get a little impatient.” Her eyes cut to Rhaenyra as her lips twitch up into a winding smirk. Your face washes in rouge. “Well who could blame me?” She retorts, gravel in her throat as the intensity grows. The chestnut vixen raises her brows, amusement smooth across her expression. A pink hue washes over your face, it feels as though you are a sliver of fabric between them. Alicent stands, gracefully as ever, and approaches with a long smirk. Her cinnamon eyes flicker over your face, her hand also rising to cup your cheek. She turns it in her grasp. “My love was right, you are definitely the prettiest of Jacaerys’ friends.” You swallow at the mention of him, tensing. “Don’t worry.” She coos, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You would much rather one of us take care of you, wouldn’t you?” Her sweet, lilting voice almost distracts you from Rhaenyra’s hand which is sliding up your thigh. Her nails catch on the soft pink fabric of your short dress. “Is this the one that I bought for you?” She asks, grinning as her breath teases deliciously at your ear. Her words are mere whispers but they send a tremble over your flesh. “I told you that she was a good girl, didn’t I?” Alicent hums in agreement, on her palms laying to rest atop your hip. She squeezes it gently. “You like that do you?” Alicent tests with a purr, her wicked grin extending across her face. “Being our good girl? Our sweet, gorgeous girl? Gonna be so good for us?” You can’t speak, the breath catching in your throat so you just nod, eyes falling shut as easily as an autumn leaf. “Oh you like that do you?” Rhaenyra chuckles, stopping her hand cruelly just short of your core. 

A gentle whine passes your lips petulantly as Rhaenyra’s fingers rub slow teasing circles and Alicent begins playing with the skin-tight fabric at your side. “Do you like Paris?” ALicent asks, delighting in the mewl you emit. “Be a good girl for us and we’ll take you there. We have a work trip coming up, don’t we, dearest?” Rhaenyra nods, nibbling at your neck and finally driving her fingers up to swirl over the thin pad of underwear beneath your cunt. A mewl of approval drips from your tongue. “You can be a good girl, can’t you?” Another nod tips your head but this time, Alicent’ hand reaches up into your hair and tugs it back. A gasp hitches from you and a pleasant tingle runs up your neck as Rhaenyra presses wet lips to the soft flesh. She sucks a deep maroon mark while your hands fumble at thin air for support. Alicent moves her hand away from your side to grasp one of yours, she squeezes it with a chuckle rumbling through her throat. “We could visit the Louvre,” Alicent coos, brushing back your hair and playing with the strands. “Have breakfast outside the Eiffel Tower, perhaps attend our events in the evening–” “Though you might struggle to escape me.” Rhaenyra purrs. “There is nothing I’d like better than to bend you over some pretty little railing looking out at the stars.” Alicent chuckles at the shiver that runs down your spine. “I knew you would like that idea.” Alicent pulls away only briefly but it flutters your eyes open all the same. 

When you see her approach again, a familiar glass stamped with crimson lipstick is greeting you with the temptation of a sly snake. “Drink.” She demands, Rhaenyra taking it between her fingers to dip it between your plush lips. Alicent slowly slithers her hand up your thigh. “And to think this almost went to waste.” Rhaenyra tuts, watching as your throat bobs. There is something else that she would much rather you drink. She strokes your cheek and it isn’t long until your back is being pressed into the winding sofa, The soft velvet runs goosebumps along your warm skin, Rhaenyra’s hands squeeze your thighs, parting them with ease while Alicent kisses up your neck, your jaw, your cheek–anything she can reach. Her hot breath flows over you, tingles shoot up your spine. Lips kiss up your thigh and suddenly a chuckle bursts from your lover’s lips. “I knew you would be wet for me.” She purrs, tongue dipping out to glide over the slick greeting her. When she sees it invading your thin black thong, her index flicks under the fabric. She pulls it down, licking her lips at the sight of your mound. Alicent moves down to straddle your stomach, hands framing your face as Rhaenyra plays with you. A gasp parts your lips, her fingers are slightly cold from the glass and it tickles up your skin. Alicent chuckles and leans down to press your lips together. Just as your fingers are itching to line up her waits, a mewl slips from you. Rhaenyra tongue treads up your core. 

Alicent tuts slowly. “I thought you were our good girl but you’re being so loud.” A smirk creeps over her face. “Here, sweet girl, we wouldn’t want to get you in trouble…” She removes her hand to unwind the pearl necklace from her neck, dipping her finger between her breasts to fish it out. It swings in the air with the gentleness of a breeze but she doesn't give it much time before letting it fall in a line into your mouth. Your breath hitches as your teeth latch onto them. “We simply must get you more of these.” Alicent chuckles before diving back to lay her lips against your neck, the pink marks blossoming. Rhaenyra’s patience wears thin and so her hands are quick to snatch either side of your dress and roll it up–just past your hips. Her fingers snap the opposing fabric of your thong and discard it with the ease of tossing old garbage. She supposes you will not be needing such things anymore anyway. Her lips lock around your clit, suck at the pearl but her tongue manages to slip inside your throbbing cunt. It teases with gentle ease, much like testing the limits of a new toy. 

Your fists clench at the fabric of Alicent’s silk dress, your brows furrow as your lover plays with you and you feel. Your back arches, A needy whine rips through your lips, Alicent chuckling at your neediness. The pearls jangle as your teeth bite down harder on the connecting chain. Slowly Alicent begins to rock her hips back and forth, a pearl of her own rubbing against your stomach with unkempt eagerness. “Keep making those sounds and a punishment will be in order.” She warns, smirking, but the words barely shoot through your ears. Your nipples pebble in sensitivity, almost resembling the sharp jewels that your girlfriend adorns so commonly along her fingers. Rhaenyra’s tongue and Alicent’s hips move in tandem. Pink lips continue to kiss up your neck, a trail of wetness in the marks she leaves behind. Her palms glide up your middle until they can trace up your arms. Tingles shoot along your skin as her nails trip on your goosebumps. Eventually her hands come up to clasp your hands above your head, she locks them and kisses along your jaw. Rhaenyra’s tongue tickles up your slit slowly, becoming gentle when she hears Alicent’s mewls begin to stutter. A whine threads through your mouth. “Don’t be greedy, pet.” She chastises with a chuckle. Alicent’s lips stop on your jaw to let out a high preening moan against your lips. Her intense russet eyes meet your own half-lidded sights which only pulls her higher up to her peak. Her teeth clamp down on her lower lip but she releases a yelp as a short resounding smack echoes around you. Rhaenyra tuts as she moves away from your heat and soothes Alicent’s backside with slow strokes of her palm. “That’s better.” She sings and kisses up the length of your new lover’s back until finally turning her neck in her hand to kiss against her lips with rough care. Slowly Alicent peels off your body and is followed by Rhaenya, their lips beginning to clash for dominance. 

Rhaenyra’s palms lock hard on Alicent’s hips and Alicent’s tangle like beasts into the river of Rhaenyra’s silver streaming hair. Your dazed gaze lands on them as their tongues dance in eagerness to argue despite no words. Instead, their lips smack and their teeth clash like swords…but when a soft whine leaves your lips, their shields come down. Their battle ceases long enough for their eyes to turn on you. Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes snap to you with an uncontrolled grace while Alicent’s glance over your face like a kitten exploring the jungle of her ancestors. “Don’t worry, pet.” She utters, a deep rumbling of gravel in her throat. “We haven’t forgotten about you just yet.” Rhaenyra’s body twists, her shoulders dropping and head tilting down so that her sights are almost predatory as they flit over your rumpled form. Your dress is hitched up and exposing the sensitivity between your legs, your lipstick is smeared and what once was matte is now wet and waiting. “And I hope you haven’t forgotten about this either.” You gasp as a long feather teases at your opening. Alicent chuckles and retorts. “How much was this again, sweetheart?” You tuck the lower of your lip between your teeth, the pearls begin to dribble down your form. She licks a stripe along her own as they do. “£110.” Rhaenyra answers smoothly, running the tickle up and down your tender flesh. A laugh escapes. “For that?” Alicent asks, almost aghast. “She claimed it ‘brightens the room’, almost refused to leave without it, my bratty girl.” Rhaenyra tuts and runs it down your body. “It might as well do something.” 

Like a tiger she creeps forward, Alicent wandering to the side, her hands plant on either side of the sofa and peel your legs back apart. A whimper leaves you but she doesn’t react, instead she slowly pries the pearls from your plump lips and skips them down from your cleavage to your core until they hit at your clit. A gasp hitches your breath and your thighs flinch. She leans forward to look at the dripping mess you have become and runs the necklace along it. “Do you know how long I was waiting for you and this pretty pussy?” She purrs as she toys with you, teasing up your slick slit. She lifts her other hand to slap it. You yelp with a start but she is quick to soothe the hit with her tongue. Her eye contact never strays–she knows your body better than you do. Then out of the corner of your eye you can see a familiar Rhaenyra turns her head with a devilish smirk and when your eyes follow her direction you almost gasp. In her hands is a long and thick crimson strap-on within her hands. She grins with temptation. Rhaenyra’s hand glides to take it from her and lower to strap it around herself. Alicent’s movements are slow and smooth as she wraps around you from behind. Her hands dip to reclaim the pearls but this time instead of pushing them into your mouth, she takes your wrists and latches them together. You swallow. “You gonna be good for mommy?” Rhaenyra asks with high brows but you can see the tinge of apprehension. You had done everything with her but not this and it was safe to say that rarely does Rhaenyra start small. And yet, much like how this affair started, you surprise yourself. It isn’t hesitation that tenses your body, it’s excitement. You nod, you nod with eager eyes and even more eager lust. Her eyes darken again and a smirk lifts her lips. “I knew you were my good girl.” She praises while Alicent’s lips descend onto your neck. 

Slowly, she plunges inside, the head of her cock running through your folds and tickling at your insides. Overwhelming fullness clenches your cunt and drinks the plastic in. A high moan is quickly swallowed as Alicent cranes your neck to slam her warm lips on yours. Her kiss is the opposite of delicate as her tongue pokes your mouth but there is a gentleness in her hand as it cups your face. Your legs ache as Rhaenyra pushes them further apart to give her access. She thrusts with animalistic fervour, as if in heat and desperate to probe even deeper. Alicent’s thumb lowers to rub at your pleading bud and delights in the breath that drives your lips into that beautiful shape. “Good girl,” Alicent coos as Rhaenyra pushes you closer and closer…Your head tosses behind you as intensity begs at you. Your bound hands lead your squirming to increase but when Alicent releases your face, she clutches at the side of your dress. It curls in her grasp as she squeezes the fabric. Rhaenyra’s hips rock back and forth, letting euphoria churn desperately. It is as though she is tying a knot in your lower stomach, tugging at every thrust but willing it to snap. To splinter, to break, to release. She wants to be the one who pushes you into your peak. The wet slapping of your cunt swallowing her in, doesn’t cease even as your slick splatters across your thighs. You can feel your binds even tighter on your skin. You can feel your resolve to keep quiet beginning to fracture. 

Finally the hold is too tight to deny and Rhaenyra grins down at you, her fingers hiking your knee up to fall over her shoulder. She presses forward to kiss along your collarbone. It is an understatement to say that you are stained in their lipstick kisses and claimant marks. “Release for me.” She breathes into your ear and finally it snaps. The tie breaks in time with the pearls which scatter across the floor with the sounds of loose change. Your arms fly apart as a tornado of euphoria sweeps you inside. “That’s it.” Alicent purrs as you tremble against her body. “That’s it.” Pleasure wraps around you as tight as a vine but it isn’t constricting; instead it carries the same comfort of her arms which sweep around you as Rhaenyra gently glides out of your glistening core. Your head turns as pleasurable shivers overwhelm your body. Your sights travel over the scattered pearls while Rhaenyra winds you between herself and Alicent, sandwiching you. Alicent squirms so that she can wrap her arms around your waist as if you are a teddy bear. “Oh sweet one, I hope you don’t think this was only a one time thing...” She coos. Her breath flutters over your collarbone which only reminds you of your endeavours. Her fingers carefully slink into yours and she squeezes your hand lightly. She finds a pearl strewn in the space between your fingers. She tuts. “We’ll have to get you some of your own, pet.” Your eyes don’t have the willpower to stay open as you nestle back into Alicent’s warm arms. With the scent of Chanel and Byredo thick in your nose, you finally rest. 

any and all interaction such as reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡♡♡

[seventeenpins]

a little domesticity

pairing: Tess x F!Reader word count: 2.3k summary: You discover it's Tess's birthday. You decide you want to make it special. Tess fingers you while you cook her dinner. Same universe as Drive Me Home if you like?? content/warnings: basically just porn, no implied age gap, this is so domestic!!!!, established but new-ish relationship, lil bit of daddy Tess, fingering, very mild degradation, no outbreak or pre-outbreak AU, pet names (baby, honey), Tess works at a high-powered but undefined job a/n: For @ozarkthedog 🩷 Congrats on your 11k, and happy birthday Ozzie!! You've given us so much with your celebration, but you should be the one getting gifts! I know this is pretty extraordinarily late (sorry, love) but I hope you like it 😚

You are determined not to have to make two trips. Tess's apartment is up five flights, the elevator is on the fritz, and your legs already ache from the gym yesterday. You want to do anything you can to not have to go back and forth.

Three grocery bags hang off your left hand and two on your right, slowly cutting off any remaining circulation. A bottle of wine and a gallon of milk are tucked into your elbows as you heave yourself up the steps. Grocery shopping is a truly Sisyphean task, and the slog up to the apartment only confirms this.

By the time you turn the corner past the fourth landing, you're cursing yourself. It's so much. You know your arms will be aching, but of course you're stubborn enough to overdo it.

Finally, you make it to the fifth floor landing, and Tess's door is the third on the right. It's inelegant, trying to keep the bags steady while shoving your hand into your pocket to dig around for your keys. Your fingers are verging on numbness, and right as you move the key to the lock, you fumble and drop it.

That's the moment you hear the phone ring inside.

It sends you into a rush, and in your haste, you drop half the bags and still don't manage to open the door before the ringing stops.

Instead, you swing the door open right as the beep of the answering machine sounds, a bunch of bananas and a bag of English muffins fallen at your feet.

A man's voice chimes out, tinny and a little distorted.

"Tess! It's Joel. Happy birthday! We're gettin' old, huh? Let's get dinner soon, on me. Tommy's wishing you well, and Sarah, too. I'll catch you later."

Then you hear the click of a receiver, and the machine stops.

You frown. Leave the groceries where they're sat and rewind the tape a few seconds. Hit play.

"'S Joel. Happy birthday! We're gettin' old, huh? Let's get dinner soon, on me. Tommy's wishing you--"

You click it off.

He definitely said Tess. And 'happy birthday'.

So why the fuck didn't Tess tell you it was her birthday?

You know it's not really a big deal. Maybe she's just not a birthday person. It wouldn't really surprise you; there's a nonchalance that she exudes that sometimes throws you off .

If you're honest, though, you love birthdays. The gift-giving. Getting to make a fuss over your loved ones. And, you reason, if the Millers can wish her well, then it's probably not a sore spot for her.

More than anything, you've been wanting an excuse to celebrate her. Maybe this can be it?

As you prop the door open and begin to drag the grocery bags in, as you scrubbing the produce and putting everything away, you allow a plan to form.

It's been a long day but a good day. Work was a series of tasks that required some creative problem solving, and Tess felt like a fucking magician the way she'd been kicking ass and putting out fires.

Trekking up the innumerable steps, she felt suddenly lighter when she remembered that you had offered to make dinner.

From the moment she turns the key in the lock, she immediately starts salivating.

"Babe?" she calls, shucking off her shoes and shrugging off her jacket.

"In here-" you call back.

A moment later, soft footfalls are padding into the kitchen, and she's slipping her arms around you. She rests her chin on your shoulder and surveys the scene in front of you both.

"Shit, hon, this smells amazing."

You do a happy wiggle against her and start pointing out everything in turn. "So, we've got garlic tossed broccolini. Parsnip ravioli in that one, only has a minute or so left. I'm just starting the sauce now, so it'll be a few minutes before everything's ready, but you've made it in perfect time."

"Ugh," Tess groans, appreciative, "You spoil me. What's the occasion?"

"OH, don't let me drain the pasta water without saving some."

"I got you," she promises, sliding past you to grab two beers from the fridge. She notices when your eyes linger on her hands as she pops the bottle caps. "Careful, don't burn-- whatever you've got on the flame there."

With a shake of your head, you roll your eyes. "But seriously, is that a real question, or are you testing me?"

She frowns. Hands you a bottle and takes a swig of her own, sliding back behind you. She presses against you and wraps her arms around your waist.

"What are you talking about?"

You grind your ass back a little more and she puts one hand on your hip, but now she's smiling at you, mildly puzzled.

"Do you know what the date is today?"

"Oh shit, did I forget something important?" she detaches. "Did I forget our anniversary?"

"You tell me." You nod your head towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. "I'll help you out, it's a Tuesday today. And we've only been together six months. And you brought me flowers for that, like, a week ago."

She stares at the calendar for a moment and then looks at you. Looks back and forth.

"I--"

She's frozen in an incredulous frown.

"Happy birthday, honey," you tell her.

"I can't believe I fucking forgot. And how did you know?" she laughs.

"Hah," you laugh, "Answering machine went off when I got in. Your friend, Joel, he was calling to wish you well."

She snorts. "Fuckin' Miller saves the day?" Then she looks you up and down. "And you, baby, you've definitely saved the day." She looks over the spread again and notices the counter covered in flour, the kitchenaid with a roller attachment, a piping bag nearly fully emptied, and various pastry cutters. "Shit, did you make all this yourself?"

"The ravioli? Sure did. Just wanted an excuse to spoil you."

Tess plants a kiss on your lips and you moan into her mouth. When you pull apart, you're panting.

"Now," you tell her, suddenly serious, "I prioritized dinner and didn't have a chance to get you a present."

"Oh, hon, you don't have to-"

You cut her off, waggling your eyebrows. "But you do still have someone to unwrap."

"Don't have to tempt me, honey," she grins.

"Just let me finish up with dinner-"

She has a different idea. "I bet you can finish up while I open my present."

You snort. "Be patient."

"I don't have to be patient--it's my birthday."

"Tess, I-"

She ignores you, pressing gentle kisses down the side of your throat.

She know's it's a guaranteed horny button for you, and she exploits that weakness mercilessly. You have to fight not to melt. Even so, you let your eyes flutter closed, bathing in the sensation and not wanting anything to stop or change. She lets you relax into it for a moment, before bumping her hip against you, nudging you forward.

"Go on, baby. Better keep cooking. I'm hungry."

You let out a deep breath and snap yourself back. You spark the cooktop and place down the sauté pan. (You prefer cooking at Tess's apartment. Hers has a gas range. Yours has electric.)

After checking the temperature, you place a stick of butter in the pan. Tess runs her hands up and down your sides at a leisurely pace. Just her touch is enough to make you weak kneed again.

She passes you a slotted wooden spatula and you start to push the stick of butter around, watching it sizzle and melt as Tess makes you melt. You hear the clink of her own belt before you feel her undoing the button of your jeans.

Your pasta timer dings and the moment is broken. You grab the pan and are about to drain it in the colander you have set up in the sink, but before you can tip it out, Tess stops you.

"Hold up, hon, save that pasta water."

"Shit! Yep, nearly forgot it."

You set a liquid measuring jug beneath the colander and let the pasta drain, before taking the pasta water and turning back to the melting butter.

Tess's hands are back on you, pulling down your zipper now. She shimmies your jeans past your hips, kneading your ass with one hand as she trails the other from your belly button lower and lower and lower-

You start to lose focus on dinner and can only pay attention to her.

Tess slips her hand down your front and gasps when she gets to your bare cunt, hot and wanting. You're wearing no underwear, clothed only in the curls between your thighs.

"Naughty girl," she praises, and you swoon as she starts stroking her fingertips along your cunt, collecting your wetness and smearing it on your clit before pressing harsh circles into you that make you shudder and squirm deliciously.

"Don't let the butter burn," Tess chides, and you blink your eyes open, reaching for the utensil and moving the last of the unmelted butter around the pan, watching it start to foam at the edges.

"What else do you need, hon?" she asks, "Got all your ingredients?

You glance around. The sage is there. The pasta water. Garlic. Pepper.

"Uh-huh."

"Good," Tess says, "'Cause I'm gonna need you to stay put and focus."

A surge of heat pulses through you and you feel Tess's breath on your neck, a delicious sigh.

You add sage leaves to the browning butter, savouring the sudden aroma as the sage begins to heat, releasing its fragrance.

Tess resumes her work, slipping your jeans down to your ankles and guiding you to step out, all the while you stir the pan.

As the sage sizzles in the butter, she presses a finger against your folds, finding your opening, and eliciting a gasp from you as she enters you with two long fingers.

Finding a rhythm, she starts pumping the digits, pulling whines and moans from you, pausing only to let you smash the peeled garlic with the palm of your hand against the flat of a chef's knife and mince it a little more. You toss it into the pan and, once the knife is out of your hand, she resumes.

Two fingers become three, and as you splash the pasta water in with the butter and sage and yelp as she picks up the pace.

"Love those lovely little whines you make for me. All those sweet noises, that's all for me, huh?"

"For you," you agree, another whine escaping.

"Messy fuckin' hole, taking my fingers so good. Such a good girl, baby," she praises, and you don't realise she's not referring to you until she says, "Look at her, gettin' all puffy and wrecked."

You let out another sound, this one closer to a growl. You can feel yourself beginning to drip down her hand as she fucks her digits into you, pressing into you so nicely, working you open, making your knees quake.

"Sweet little pussy opening right up for me. Think she can take another?

"Fuck, daddy, please-"

Trying to keep stirring while she works on you is a near impossibility. With a focus that can't be anything less than witchcraft, she smacks your cheek while you're moaning, eyes closed and keening.

"Don't let it burn," she scolds, and your eyes snap back open.

The sauce has started to thicken, and you turn down the flame so you can take a moment to grind yourself deeper onto Tess's hand.

"Wanna put on the strap?" you ask. "Want me to put on the strap?"

"I'd take either," she admits with a laugh, "But the dishwasher's running."

"Fuck."

"Did you just put the cycle on?"

"Yep. Are our dicks in the dishwasher?"

"Our dicks are in the dishwasher."

You let out a whine. She just maintains her pace and rubbing a fingertip in blinding, tight circles around your clit.

"Poor baby," she teases, "I barely have to play with you and your cute lil hole soaks me like a fuckin' whore. You're so fucking easy."

"Hnnnggg-"

"My pretty little slut. Just gotta give me one, baby, just one and I'll let you finish dinner."

Another whine.

"C'mon, honey, I feel you gettin' close. Clenchin' on daddy's fingers. Fuck, cum for me baby, let me feel you-"

She reaches around you and turns off the flame, the fingers of her other hand pumping faster and rougher. You're bent forward, gripping the counter for support, as you feel yourself start to tip over.

"Fuuuuckkk-" you cum with a cry, Tess's fingers working you through it as her other hand wraps around your waist, steadying you. You hear the splash of your release against the laminate floor as she keeps going, pumping her fingers fast and deep, hitting just the right spot, dragging your orgasm out longer than you knew yourself capable of.

It takes a couple of minutes, coming back down. You feel your slick cooling on your thighs and turn around to see Tess leaning against the hallway behind you, grinning wickedly as she licks her fingers one by one.

"You're gonna be the death of me," you tell her, and she slides back behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Not allowed to die. It's my birthday."

"Hmmph," you roll your eyes and begin to plate up.

The groan Tess lets out as she takes her first bite is more than worth it.

"Fucking fuck, honey, I mean- holy shit this is so good."

You grin. "Glad you like it."

"I know what I'm having for dessert," Tess smirks, waggling her eyebrows.

"Yeah," you agree, "I made you a tart."

"You're my tart."

You roll your eyes again. "I am, but I made one special for you. Dessert first, then you can eat me as much as you like."

Tess nods solemnly before breaking into another grin. "Thank you honey."

"Happy birthday, baby."

[direwombat]

@harmonyowl and @schoute, (and everyone else!) please meet my new seed sibling oc, jonah

→ the babiest seed (but he and john are very close in age, only a year or two apart).

→ has little-to-no memory of his brothers/life pre-foster care, save for the memory of how he got a scar across his eyebrow when he was but a wee bab

→ the memory is vague and blurry, but he remembers an angry man (daddy seed), being in pain and crying, and an older boy (either joseph or jacob) ferrying him away to the bathroom to take care of the injury. 

→ was ultimately adopted into a loving family in the small town of kingston, ga.

→ the church his parents attended was a serpent handling church that drank (mildly) poison laced wine for communion

→ his parents were delighted when he took an interest in snake handling and encouraged him to study under the pastor, where he learns he has a particular talent for handling the creatures.

→ at age sixteen the pastor he studied under was found dead surrounded by his snakes. It was ruled an accident, but in actuality, jonah, who was being abused by the pastor, used the snakes to kill the man.

→ he didn’t go to college (though he did think about seminary school), and instead became a traveling preacher, conman, and thief, using milked snakes

→ joe finds him preaching out of a tent in rural georgia. he approaches jonah after a sermon and the two have a lengthy discussion about god and religion, but jonah kind of brushes joe off when he claims to be his brother.  “we’re all brothers in christ,” jonah says, and he certainly doesn’t believe joe about the voice.

→ anyway, cut to a few weeks later and jonah is giving a sermon only the snake he usually uses escaped its basket and he has to use one of the unmilked ones. he’s bitten. he feels the venom pump into his veins and it fucking hurts and he falls to the ground in front of his congregation, but in true snake-handler fashion, he refuses any kind of medical attention. he writhes on the ground, frothing at the mouth, speaking in tongues before he seizes one last time and the light seems to leave his eyes.

→ and then a few moments later he bolts back up, coughing up up foamy blood and joseph is right there, propping him up and claiming that what just happened was a miracle, the will of god! but in the quiet after the congregation leaves, joseph tells jonah that he’s been reborn. the conman, liar, and thief he used to be is dead. he was a false prophet before, but now the signs following him and his snake handling are true. and jonah, without any better explanation for what happened, buys into it. 

→ after this incident, jonah gives joseph’s words a bit more consideration, and after doing some digging through government records, it’s confirmed they are family, and jonah joins up with joseph and john as they search for jacob.

→ he gives off a lot of cool youth pastor energy that helped eden’s gate fly under the radar for a while, making it seem more family friendly and he ran a lot of sunday school/bible study aimed towards kids for the cult. he generally helped joe appeal to a younger demographic. the pied piper of the cult in a way

→ arguably the most well adjusted of his brothers.

→ only he’s super not, he’s just as unhinged and prone to violence as the rest of them. he just hides it better. a snake in the grass if you will…

→ more like faith in that he doesn’t really use firearms (although jacob definitely taught him how to use one), but he does like to use various poisons and venoms

→ he’s closest with joseph and faith. He’s a little intimidated by jacob but he knows that he’d do anything for him. he and john butt heads a lot but they also have that “only i can insult my brother” kind of dynamic.

→ his main sin is pride, more specifically vainglory/vanity, but he’s also guilty of greed. both these sins are tattooed onto his torso by john

→ i’m inventing a region [name tbd] in hope county that he’s the herald of, either to the east or south of the canon map where there’s a lot of flat land, is kind of scrubby, and filled with horses and snakes.

→ his herald title is “the messenger” but a lot of the resistance refer to him as a snake charmer and snake-oil salesman. 

→ his bunker is called “the burrow” and it’s filled with so many snakes.

→ he was heavily inspired by/based off billy st. cyr, a minor character from season 4 of justified, played by joe mazzello (who is also jonah’s face claim)

[seniorandlivingtoday]

New Years Resolution ideas for Seniors

The American Geriatrics Society’s Health in Aging Foundation recommends these top 10 healthy New Year’s resolutions for older adults to help achieve your goal of becoming and staying healthy.

Eat fruits, vegetables, whole grains, fish, low-fat dairy and healthy fats

In later life, you still need healthy foods, but fewer calories. The USDA’s Choose My Plate program, and your healthcare provider, can help you make good choices. Eat at least five servings of fruits and vegetables daily. Choose a variety with deep colors: dark green, bright yellow, and orange choices like spinach, collard greens, carrots, oranges, and cantaloupe are especially nutritious. Include nuts, beans, and/or legumes in your daily menu. Choose fiber-rich whole grain bread, brown rice, and whole grain pasta.

Pick less fatty meats like chicken or turkey. Have heart-healthy fish, like tuna, salmon, or shrimp, twice a week. Include sources of calcium and Vitamin D to help keep your bones strong, Two daily servings of low-fat milk, yogurt, or cheese are a good way to get these nutrients. Use healthier fats, such as olive and canola oils, instead of butter or lard. Use herbs and spices to add flavor when cooking, which reduces the need to add salt or fat.

Be active

Physical activity can be safe and healthy for older adults — even if you have heart disease, diabetes, or arthritis! In fact, many of these conditions get better with mild to moderate physical activity. Exercises such as tai chi, water aerobics, walking, and stretching can also help you control your weight, build your muscles and bones, and improve your balance, posture, and mood. Check with your insurance plan to see if you are eligible for the SilverSneakers program, which can provide access to local fitness centers.

See your provider regularly

You should schedule an annual Medicare wellness visit with your healthcare provider around your birthday month to discuss health screenings and any changes in your advance directives. At each visit, talk to your provider about all the medications you’re taking, and whether or not you still need them. Find out if you should be getting any new or booster immunizations/shots.

Quit smoking

Did you know that cigarette smokers are twice as likely to develop heart disease as non-smokers? It is never too late to quit. You can still reduce your risk of many health problems, breathe easier, have more energy, and sleep better if you quit smoking. You can access the National Cancer Institute’s website SmokeFree60+ for resources. Additionally, ask your healthcare provider for help. Don’t lose hope if you failed to quit in the past. On average, smokers try about four times before they quit for good.

Toast with a smaller glass

Excessive drinking can make you feel depressed, increase your chances of falling, cause trouble sleeping, interact with your medications, and can contribute to other health problems.  One drink = 12 ounces of beer, 5 ounces of wine, or 1.5 ounces of hard liquor. The recommended limit for older men is no more than 14 drinks per week and for older women, no more than 7 per week.

Guard against falls

One in every three older adults falls each year — and falls are a leading cause of injuries and death among older adults. Exercises such as walking or working out with an elastic band can increase your strength, balance, and flexibility and help you avoid falls. Also ask your healthcare provider to check that you’re not taking any pills that can make you more likely to fall. Eliminate items in your home that are easy to trip over, like throw rugs. Insert grab bars in your bathtub or shower, and install night lights so it’s easier to see at night.

Give your brain a workout

The more you use your mind, the better it will work. Reading is a good choice. Socializing also gives your brain a boost, so join a bridge club or a discussion group at your local library or senior center. Or take a course at your local community college — some offer free classes for adults 65 and older.

Speak up when you feel down or anxious

About 1 in 5 older adults suffers from depression or anxiety. Some possible signs of depression can be lingering sadness, tiredness, loss of appetite or pleasure in doing things you once enjoyed. You may also have difficulty sleeping, worry, irritability, and wanting to be alone. If you have any of these signs for more than two weeks, talk to your healthcare provider and reach out to friends and family. 

Get enough sleep

Older adults need less sleep than younger people, right? Wrong! Older people need just as much — at least 7 to 8 hours of sleep a night. Avoid daytime naps, which can keep you up in the evening. Visit the National Sleep Foundation’s website for more tips on how to sleep better.

Reconsider multivitamins

Reconsider using vitamins or nutrition supplements. as many older adults do not need them. Consult your healthcare provider if you have any issues or concerns about your nutrition.

Get More Detail - https://www.seniorandlivingtoday.com/

[creeperapologist]

I cannot WAIT to see ranboo and techno interaction (bonus for philza) because ranboo so far is the comple OPPOSITE of tommy in the ways that

1. he won't consider himself living with them until techno tells him himself even though Phil said he could

2. got nervous over taking a stack of dirt and promised to replace it

3. is activly planning doing stuff to help techno (?) (in a non-political/ business way)

like with tommy, he just kinda showed up and refused to leave, and the reason they were so funny together way the way the clashed which is ALSO the reason they couldn't really ever talk anything out and ended up screaming over each other during doomsday. RANBOO however has treated techno as an actual PERSON (albeit a scary one) and is joining techno out of a genuine respect and his friendship with phil

I think that techno and ranboos relationship will be a lot more long lasting and a lot more healthy than tommy and technos ever was purely because of the way it originated

[thatredheadwriter]

Wine Drunk

steven grant x reader

I know I said I wasn’t going to post any fics this weekend, but this one was almost finished and I couldn’t help it. I don’t believe that it’s my best work, but it’s a cute little thing so I hope somebody enjoys it.

This is a SFW oneshot for (implied) female reader with Steven Grant of the show Moon Knight. This work does not contain smut, however it may contain mature language or themes, and as a rule my blog is only for those over the age of 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Mentions of pet illness

Mentions of vomit

Alcohol/drinking

Drunkenness

General Steven and reader awkwardness

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You slammed the door to your flat, wincing as the sound made your eyes rattle in your head. After locking it tight and putting the security chain in place, you all but threw your bags across the room and onto your counter.

Your hair was wet, your socks were wet, your favourite boots had a hole in the toe, and you were just nearly run over by a cab. Overall, you’d had a crummy day and coming home to an empty flat was just the cherry on top. Your cat was at the vet, somehow he’d managed to swallow a paperclip meaning you had to rush him to the emergency centre on Wednesday evening.

The spring rain had you craving homemade chicken and rice soup, but the grocery store didn’t have any carrots, any long grain rice, or bay leaves. So instead you bought a bottle of rosé and a handful of Dairy Milk bars.

When your phone rang, you nearly threw it instead of answering, not in the mood to be bothered, but when you saw the name, you couldn’t help the small smile that came to your lips. Sliding the green emblem along its track, you answered the call and flopped down onto your couch with a light bounce.

“I have had the worst day,” you groaned, rolling over onto your side to face the door you’d just come in. Your hand reached down to remove your trashed boots and icky socks.

“So-so I guess that means you don’t want to go see a movie…” he chuckled as he said it, but there was a clear note of disappointment in his voice. You cursed mentally, just now remembering your commitment to go with Steven to see the old film that was playing at the local theatre this weekend.

“Oh, god, Steven. I completely forgot! I’m so, sorry, but I’m absolutely drenched. I got splashed with puddle water from a bus,” you felt like a child, whining the way you were, “And I’ve got to take a shower before I’m even halfway presentable-”

“I’s alright, (y/n),” he cut you off, “I completely understand. We’ll do a raincheck, eh?”

You chewed your bottom lip. You weren’t exaggerating, and the last thing you wanted to do was go out. But the thought of seeing Steven made you feel warm deep within despite the cold, wet clothes still clinging to you.

“I’ll let you go, yeah? Call me tomorrow if you’re feeling up to-”

“Steven, do you want to come over?”

The words flew out of your mouth, and you almost didn’t believe you’d said them.

He cleared his throat on the other end of the line, “What?”

“Would you want to come over? I know it’s no movie, but I was thinking-”

“I’d love to.”

There was silence for a minute, and then you remembered it was your turn to speak.

“Oh, uh, I’ll text you my address. Wanna be here in, say an hour and a half? That gives me some time so I won’t smell like street water when you get here.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he hastily agreed, and you heard rustling in the background.

“Ok, well I’ll see you soon, then.”

“See you.”

“Bye, Steven,” you couldn’t help but grin to yourself when you said his name.

“Laters gators,” he signed off before a click let you know the line had been disconnected.

An hour and twenty-eight minutes later you were pacing your kitchen in your best loungewear, waiting to see if Steven or the delivery man would arrive first.

After your much needed shower, you scrambled around the flat to straighten up and feel like the place was at least half-presentable. You made your bed, picked up all the dirty clothes and clutter, and finally did the few dishes that were stacked up in the sink. In the last five minutes you’d set out bowls and chopsticks and wine glasses, all in nervous anticipation of Steven’s first ever visit.

You’d sent him your address before you got in the shower, and when you got out, he’d asked about dinner. Of course he’d offered to pick something up, but you told him you had an excellent working relationship with the delivery guy from the Vietnamese place three streets over, and that they had an excellent vegan pho according to reviews.

When you heard a knock at the door, you nearly jumped out of your skin, your fuzzy socks sliding on the hardwood floors as you rushed to see who it was. Through the spyhole, you saw a nervous looking Steven, who was holding the bag from the Vietnamese place by his side, some other grocery bag in another one, and a bouquet of multi colored gerbera daisies in the other hand.

It took far too long to get the door open so when you finally did, your face was a little flustered. But if Steven noticed he didn’t let on. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile when he saw you, and he lifted the hand holding the flowers.

“Thought these’d brighten your day,” he explained shyly as you took the bouquet from him and stepped aside to let him into the flat.

“Steven, you so did not have to do this,” you chided, but your wide gin betrayed how you really felt.

“I know, I know,” his back was turned to you as he unloaded the bags on your dining table, “But I wanted to. Oh, and since you didn’t let me pay for dinner, I picked up a bottle of your favourite red.”

His face fell when he turned, and saw the bottle of rosé sitting out on the counter, the own bottle he’d purchased in hand.

“Really, you’ve gone to far too much trouble, Steven,” you grinned, taking the bottle from him and over to the counter.

“I-I didn’t realise you’d already have-”

“Steven, I did tell you I had a horrible day, didn’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“I have a feeling that between the two of us, we can probably finish two bottles,” you smirked, cutting the foil open on the bottle of red. Steven was still standing awkwardly between the doorway and your dining table. “I see you met the delivery man.”

“Oh, um, yeah I did,” he nodded along to your words.

“Well, if you want to bring the food over here, I’ve got bowls and utensils out,” you nodded your head to the clean dishes. He brought over the large brown paper sack and was starting to unpack it when he noticed you struggling with the cork.

His hands hovered near his sternum, like he wanted to say something. Finally after your third curse word, he let it out. “Sorry, (y/n), but could I maybe help you with that? Not that you need it, but-”

“Please,” you smiled, handing the bottle to him and gliding around him to finish unpacking the food.

“Um, should I pour,” he turned to ask you, hip brushing your ass a bit due to the tight quarters.

“Sure, there’s an aerator in the top drawer there to your right. Supposed to make it taste better, I guess,” you chuckled. Steven found it without incident and in just another minute, the two of you had a rather full dinner in front of yourselves.

He started to sit at the dining table, but you made a face.

“Do you mind if we eat in the living room? Those chairs hurt my ass, and I promise I don’t care if you spill.”

Steven just shrugged agreeably and followed you to the cosy living area, the only seating being your beloved couch and a single thrifted armchair. You took your usual spot on the couch, and Steven was headed for the armchair.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“That’s my cat’s chair, he’s got it covered in his fur and if you sit there, you will be too.”

“Oh, well I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of your cat,” he grinned, plopping down on the end of the couch opposite you.

“You won’t, he’s still at the vets’.”

Steven’s chopsticks clattered into his bowl, “Really? What happened?”

You rolled your eyes, “Bloody bastard swallowed a paperclip on Wednesday, had to go have emergency surgery. They’re just keeping him for a while.”

“Oh, well, I’m still sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks. I’ve been kinda lonely around here without him,” you admitted to him before slurping at some of the broth in your bowl. 

“I know I’d be lonely without Gus.”

“Who’s Gus?”

“Well, Gus’s my goldfish, see. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but…” Steven went on to tell you all about his one-finned goldfish and how much he liked sprinkles and looking at postcards.

By the time you finished dinner, and the bottle of red, you were giggling along to all of Steven’s stories, a heady buzz settling into your veins. He was still finishing his first glass, while you were swallowing your fourth.

“I’m going to grab the rose,” you grinned wildly, standing off the couch and making your way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you opened the bottle before starting to tote it back to the living room, which is when you noticed the chocolate on the table.

“Hey, you want a chocolate bar?” you asked, holding one up so he could see. He nodded, so you tossed the candy at him, and unsuccessfully tried to stifle your giggle when he fumbled with it for a moment before it finally landed in his lap.

“So, what about your day was so bad?” he asked as he held his glass out for you to refill it.

Now it was your turn to ramble. First you told him all about your ruined shoes, and how your feet got drenched almost first thing once you stepped outside. Then at work, the stomach bug was going around, so half your kids were out and the other half had just been out. Two boys got in a fight at recess, and then you had pickup duty after classes. Then there was your bi-weekly faculty meeting. They announced new budget cuts of course, and then some dumbass had nominated you to take over the after school arts program. You didn’t have anything against the program, but you didn’t have the time or energy to run it. And finally, at the beginning of your journey home, a bus splashed you with street puddle water.

“At least-at least I wasn’t Mrs. Harvelle,” you said through gasping laughs, Steven’s expressions and your high blood alcohol level making you laugh so hard you were crying, “Little miss head of the department, had not one, but two of her kids vomit in class. One of them was all over her shoes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you rocked back and forth, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh, god. I  could never, ever be a teacher. One time a toddler threw up on the counter at work and I had to go hide in the back until maintenance cleaned it up. Donna was so pissed.”

By the time you’d both stopped laughing, the clock on your wall read 12:04, and your head was starting to ache a bit. The soft hum of rain on the roof and against the windows was beginning to pull you towards the land of dreams and you thought fondly of your bed just in the other room.

Steven seemed to notice the shift in your affect, glancing at the clock himself.

“I, uh, I should go,” he set his empty glass down on the table next to the pile of chocolate wrappers you two had made.

“You don’t have to.”

Steven’s mouth opened and closed a couple times, like he wasn’t sure what words he should use. But his answer was obviously not a positive one.

“God, I’m sorry,” you tucked your face in your hands.

“Wha-what are you sorry for, love?”

“I’ve just gone and made this awkward and now you’re not going to want to come over again and I just feel like an idiot for ruining everything.” Your drunken state had you crying again, although these were not happy tears.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright, yeah? You’ve not ruined anything,” Steven moved quickly, closing the distance between you. One of his large hands came to rub reassuringly on your arm, but when you leaned into him, he wrapped his arms around you, allowing you to fall into his chest and sob.

“But I forgot our date, and then I spent the whole time bitching, and now I’m drunk crying,” you hiccuped, looking up at him through teary lashes.

“No, no, love. You’ve been wonderful. ‘Sides, how many times have you seen me when I’m all a mess, hmm?”

“A lot,” you sniffled, earning a chuckle from Steven above you.

“Look, you just need your rest, darling. Tha’s alright.”

You nodded into his chest, breaths coming more and more regularly now, the tears falling slower now.

“Ok? Let’s get you into bed,” he released you, and you nearly whined at the loss of contact. He was so warm, so familiar and comfortable, so Steven.

He helped you stand up and kept a steadying hand on your midback as you made your way to the bedroom. It was lit with dim lamplight and the sight of your bed nearly brought a new run of tears. You watched as Steven turned down your duvet and sheet, moving out of your way as you sat down and got comfy.

Steven smiled down at you as you fell back on the pillow. You couldn’t help but grab one of his hands that dangled by his side.

“I know-I know you don’t want to…but I need you to know that you can stay, if you want.”

His jaw clenched and his grip on your hand tightened.

“I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Steven stood in front of your vanity, leaning heavily against your porcelain sink. He’d never liked another person’s bathroom so much, but this one smelled like you.

“Marc, get out here. I need to talk to you,” he stared at himself in the mirror, speaking as sternly as he could while keeping his voice low. “Marc! Bloody hell, I need…”

“What?” his reflection twisted into a bored frown, and Steven resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m at (y/n)’s flat. She wants me to stay over and-”

“Ooh, good on you Stevie. Finally going for it?” Marc interrupted his other, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“No, no. That’s not what-I’m not…Look, I want to stay over, but I need to know that you’re not going to take over and leave in the middle of the night or scare her or-”

“You’re just staying over?”

“She’s drunk and upset, so yes.”

Marc rolled his eyes, “Fine. Unless we are in mortal danger, I won’t take over.”

Steven breathed a sigh, releasing the coil that had built in his chest. He knew that was the best guarantee he would get from the alter, so he ran a hand through his hair, splashed some water on his face, and went back to your room.

You had turned over in bed so you were facing away from the door, but as he came around the end of it, he could see your eyes had shut and your lips had parted slightly.

He made quick work of shedding his sweater before crawling into the empty space next to you, careful with his movements so he wouldn’t disturb you, and gently lowered himself onto the mattress.

Reaching over, he pulled the chain to turn off the lamp. He laid in silence listening to your breathing.

You woke up in the morning with a killer headache and a dry feeling in your mouth, but all of that was momentarily forgotten when you tried to roll over, only to be met with something solid at your back. Scrambling to sit up, you were met with the sight of a fully dressed Steven, snoozing softly beside you.

His face was pressed into the pillow and his plump lips were parted slightly. As sunlight filtered in through the window, it highlighted his messy curls, and you found your hand hovering, wanting to reach out and run your fingers through them. You knew Steven didn’t sleep much, so you elected to leave him to rest as you found your way to your feet and fumbled for the water bottle you kept on your nightstand.

There was a slight chill in the air, and you rubbed at your exposed arms. But on your way to the closet to retrieve a sweatshirt, you noticed Steven’s discarded jumper on the back of your chair.

With your hands tucked into the sleeves of the oversized sweater, you made your way out into the kitchen and filled the kettle so you could start so tea or coffee, you hadn’t decided which yet.

It was almost noon when Steven emerged from your bedroom, creases from your pillow pressed into his face. He scrubbed at his cheek lightly, and you could swear you could feel your heart flutter.

“Oh, there’s my jumper,” he said sleepily, making you giggle.

(A/N: If it’s not super clear, Steven is wearing a t-shirt underneath his sweater.)

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

[mhysa-leesi]

му вℓσσ∂у ναℓєηтιηє

{Gif Source} {Gif Source 2}

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader 🩸.

Summary: "Steve Rogers is madly in love with you and he'll do anything for you to see that--no matter who gets in his way."

Word Count: 4,765 (Sorry, this is a long one!)

TW‼: Non-Con, Smut, Stalking, Yandere Themes, Murder (Description of Side-Character Death), Blood, Description of Gore, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. Also, I used one of the prompts from (@the-modern-typewriter) to describe a character's death, ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

The first love letter was delivered on a gloomy Friday afternoon. The clouds above the city were dark and full of frigid torrents of rainfall. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves whispered against the chilly winds as acorns scattered about; rolling and cracking underfoot as you made your everyday walk to work. You had chosen to stray from your usual route that day, deciding on a new corner coffee shop instead of your normal stop.

You remembered that day clearly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The new coffee shop was a small, hole in the wall with plastic vines of ivy and fairylights rimming the framework of the inside. You ordered rich and dark coffees, with creamy oat milk for you and your coworkers, and an apple pecan oatmeal cookie for yourself.

Your workday was seemingly the same as any other. Pam was gossiping with Susan, and Scott was hiding from Mark, your manager, in the breakroom. You remember you were seated at your cubicle when things turned, staring at the rain against the window, and tapping your pen against your notepad, when you were startled by the mail carrier. He handed you a single, pink envelope with a heart stamp on its flap and left with a mumbled “you’re welcome”. You frowned as there was no return address or other name besides yours. You had opened it anyway.

You remembered how your frown had deepened as your stomach dropped. The paper trembled in your hands as you stared at the small heart sketched at the bottom. You frantically looked around the office for any sign of a joke, hoping to see one of your coworkers giggling at your shocked reaction. But everyone had their noses deep into their screens, typing away at their work. You turned the letter over, looking for a name or a clue as to who had sent it. But it was blank.

And you remembered how you had crumpled up the letter and tossed it as you refocused and finished the rest of that workday.

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

Weeks passed before you got another mysterious love letter delivered to your desk, a small bouquet of roses and baby’s-breath with it. And again, you crumpled it up and threw it away; leaving the flowers in the breakroom. You had made a mental note that day to talk to the mailman about the delivery of these letters.

For a time they stopped and you thought you were out of the woods or thought your secret admirer had lost interest at the very least. But you were wrong. Your third envelope had been waiting for you in your mailbox when you had gotten home from work one Monday evening. You didn’t bother opening it as you sent it straight to the garbage.

You were growing paranoid and antsy as you constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d freeze every time you came across an envelope, even if it was just your monthly rent notice or bank statement. You had refused to live like this, in a constant state of anxiety and fear, so, that’s how you found yourself moving into a new apartment across town.

You were met with months of peace, you were finally readjusting to life before the letters. You had even moved in with someone you had been seeing from your new job, Chris. He was perfect, someone straight from a romance novel; tall, dark, and handsome, with a taste for adventure and romance. You were happy with him--you were in love and had long since decided that if Chris were to ask you to marry him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

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Today was your anniversary with Chris, and the two of you had an entire evening planned. Dinner at your favorite restaurant, a surprise showing of your favorite movie at the corner cinema, and then home, where you’d give him his gift. A red lacy lingerie set with fuzzy handcuffs, and a silk blindfold to match.

Your heart skipped and your stomach alighted with butterflies as you touched up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. The evening had been absolutely perfect and it was about to get even better. You stepped out into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but red lace and a bathrobe. A spritz of perfume here and a mint there, and you were ready to go surprise your man.

You walked out into the living room and seductively leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of red wine. He turned and froze, swallowing hard as he abandoned the drinks on the kitchen counter. You smirked as he pulled you to him by your hips, instantly locking his lips to yours. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his deep brown eyes darkened with lust, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips once more.

Your eyes closed and moaned as he peppered kisses along the curve of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His hands roamed your body hotly, squeezing and caressing your dips and curves. Chris entangled his hands in your hair as he moved you to the counter, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He pushed your robe down your shoulders to reveal the red lace hidden underneath, and with a groan, he bent to trace the rosette lacework that covered your breasts with his tongue. You hummed and wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands running down his back to toy with the bottom hem.

Chris gently pushed you down to an angle as he kissed down your body, stopping just below your navel to wink up at you. You bit back a laugh as you wiggled your hips impatiently as you leaned back on your hands. With your fingers splayed against the wooden countertop, your touch met something smooth and waxy--like the waxy seal of an envelope. You reached behind you and grabbed a pink envelope, with a wax stamp of a heart on its flap. Your heart seemed to stop as you stared at the envelope in your hands.

You vaguely felt Chris’s lips on your inner thighs, kissing and nipping at your skin. When he heard no reaction from you, he looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes full of questions.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You wrote me a love letter, too?” he winked as he reached for it.

You jerked it away from his grasp, your heart hammering in your chest as you ripped open the flap; ripping the waxy heart in half.

P.S. You should really lock your windows, doll. You jumped off the counter and ran to the windows, each one was locked--except for one. You locked it and double-checked its strength, fighting against the lock as you tried to open it.

“Babe? (Y/N),” Chris said sternly, snapping you out of your trance.

You looked at him now. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t think of how to form the words. You wanted to say everything was fine and okay, but it wasn’t--it was far from it. Whoever had been writing and sending you these knew where you lived now, and that scared you. After months of trying so hard to move on from this, you felt as if you were right back at square one again.

The rest of the night was unclear to you. You moved like a zombie, your brain on autopilot as you crawled into bed to hide under the covers until the morning sun rose. Chris asked questions, of course. But you had no answers for him. You had no idea who had been writing them and had absolutely no clue how they had found you again.

Chris had suggested going to the police, but what could they do? No one had physically harassed you, and although creepy, the letters weren’t threatening. And not to mention, you had thrown away most of your evidence. You were at a loss. Chris was supportive, always there to comfort you during the night when you were restless, but that never kept you from feeling alone.

Your paranoia increased tenfold by the end of that week. You changed your daily routine every few days, hoping that’d throw your stalker off your trail, but it never did. They always seemed ten steps ahead of you, whereas you struggled to even think to keep up with them. Your breaking point was reached on Sunday evening as you met with one of your old friends from high school for breakfast-dinner--an old tradition you two had decided to revive for the night.

Things were going good, and you even dared to forget about your own issues as you cut into your syrup-soaked pancakes. Madison was telling you about her newest fling and how good he was in the sack, and you genuinely found yourself happy to listen to the vulgar details. After painting you a vivid picture of her sex life, Madison excused herself to the restroom; leaving you alone with your pancakes and empty cup of iced coffee.

You saw a head of electric blue hair and you perked up. Your waitress came with a smile and handed you a paper cup of steaming coffee and a single napkin.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said with a polite smile.

“A gentleman ordered this for you,” she winked before walking away.

You frowned as you looked at the writing on the napkin. Refusing to even acknowledge the cup of coffee in front of you.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at the familiar handwriting. Brown dress, he knew what you were wearing--he was here. You shot to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, as you looked around frantically, ignoring all of the judgemental looks and hushed whispers you were getting.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” asked Madison, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I just… I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you later, Mads.”

You dug through your wallet and gave a twenty to your waitress on your way out, only stopping to yell over your shoulder for her to keep the change. You practically ran home from the restaurant as your anxiety started to settle in your bones, making you heavy with unease. You called Chris, but were only met with his voicemail. The elevator ride up to your floor was tortuous as you watched the floor numbers slowly light up one by one until finally, they stopped at your floor. You panted as you slammed the door shut behind you, sliding the lock and chain in place as you dropped your head to rest against the wooden frame.

You sniffled as the words from his letter were seared into your eyelids. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t know what you did to catch his eye, and worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop. You choked on your hiccupped breaths as tears streaked down your cheeks. When you finally calmed down you switched on the lights and finally turned around…

You stared at Chris in horror. Blood drenched the entire living room, his corpse sat limp in a chair like a broken, bloody doll. His throat and wrists had been slashed. You tried to hold your hand over the open wounds as you screamed for help, but no matter the pressure you applied, the blood still gushed and seeped through your fingers, oozing down your arm, and dripping from your elbow. The gore of it all brought waves of nausea that went beyond physical retching, the sickness you felt was indescribable. But the smell, the smell was something much worse. Metallic, iron, copper… Your ears started to ring. You couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. You could only stare at the bloodstain on your hands and scream.

You left that following weekend, abandoning the big city to move back in with your parents and younger sister. You spent most of your days locked in your room, hiding from the world under the comfort of your blanket and drawn curtains. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and cry as you no longer recognized yourself as the woman you once were. You knew it was time to move on, but you couldn’t, not when you’d see Chris’s bloodied body every time you’d close your eyes.

You started small by taking baby steps toward your recovery. It started with family meals, then a cashier job at your local supermarket, shopping trips with your mother and sister. Then you eventually graduated to therapy, where you’d stare at a forest green ceiling as you reclined on the chaise longue. Therapy helped and it was admittedly one of the better moments of your monotonous days, you felt heard, seen, as you walked through your own thoughts and nightmares. Your appointments even inspired you to reach out to Chris’s parents for closure, to go with them to visit their son’s grave. It was bittersweet, leaving behind a bouquet of roses for the man you had loved so deeply instead of a kiss goodbye; but it was something you knew you’d have to come to terms with. It wasn’t your fault, that was the mantra you’d tell yourself when you’d catch glimpses of his blood on your hands.

Before you knew it a year had passed since the incident, and in that year, you had not received one letter. You had made a resolution for the first time that New Year’s Eve as you waited for the midnight ball to drop. You told yourself you’d forget, to start fresh, and become an even better version of yourself. You were a flower that was fighting against all odds to blossom.

You cut your hair, got bangs and highlights. Saved up for a brand new, off-the-lot car. And moved into a cozy apartment with your sister. Things were looking up for you and you truly believed that you had finally found your way out of the woods. But life had a habit of playing cruel tricks on those who were naive enough to believe such a thing.

It was mid-February, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, when things started to go to shit. You had just come back from the gym with your sister when you saw it. A pink envelope with no return address or any other name besides yours, with a wax seal in the shape of a heart on the back flap, sat on your pillow. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you held it in your hands. You debated on throwing it away, on pretending you never received it. But you wanted to know what more this twisted bastard could have to say. You ripped it open and read.

You didn’t hesitate as you ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces into the garbage with an angry grunt. Delusional piece of deranged shit, you thought. You raked through your brain for the millionth time since your first letter, trying to figure out who the fuck could possibly be the sender, but you came to the same conclusion you had been coming to for years--nothing. It was agonizing, not knowing who your torturer was. It was your shadow, how could you not know who was living in it? But, no matter how hard you thought, you kept drawing blank after blank.

Your sister comforted you with a glass of wine and dumplings from the takeout place up the street. She was going out tonight, but offered to stay home with you instead.

“No,” you shooed, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?” she frowned, “It’s no big deal, Girls Night is every Friday night, I can always go next week.”

“I’m fine. Go and have fun for the both of us,” you said as you waved her away.

She left a few minutes later, dressed in heels and a short skirt. You ate the rest of the dumplings and finished the bottle of wine before calling it a night. You undressed down to your underwear and threw on an oversized t-shirt and plopped down onto the bed with an unceremonious bounce. The wine coursing through your system made it easier than usual to fall asleep, and the next thing you knew, you were in a deep sleep, dreaming of a life with Chris--of a life without the letters. It was one of those good dreams you wished you’d never wake from.

Which was why you were so annoyed when a loud noise startled you awake. You looked at your phone and the time read “1:00 AM”, you frowned, it was too early for your sister to be back already. You padded along the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you called out for her, worried she might’ve passed out drunk on the floor or something. You stopped as you reached the front room--the very empty front room. Your heart started to pound as you stood frozen, staring at the empty room before you. A shuffling from behind caught your attention, then. And against your better instincts, you turned around slowly to see a shadowed silhouette of a man standing at the end of the hallway.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring dumbstruck at the man. With every step he took toward you, you took one back. Inching closer and closer to the front door with every backward step.

“Doll, don’t,” he warned, his voice striking you with fear like a bolt of lightning.

Without a second thought, you ran toward the door, fumbling stupidly with the locks in your panicked state of mind. The man was on you in a flash, easily dragging you away from your pathetic attempt at escape. His arms slithered around you like snakes, their hold constricting as he locked an arm firmly around your neck, silencing your screams as you struggled to breathe. You slapped and clawed at his forearm as he pulled you back to your bedroom.

“Please be a good girl for me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he said against your hair.

With his arm still wrapped around your neck, he threw you down onto the bed, quickly straddling you before you could scramble to your feet. He pinned your arms above your head with one hand and forced you to look at him with the other. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. The silver shine highlighting his familiar eyes through the holes of his helmet. You froze as he pulled off his blue cowl.

You were beyond confused, to say the least. You stared up at Captain America, your brain working overtime to try and put the puzzle pieces together. What was Captain America doing in your apartment? And why had he called you “baby”? What the fuck was going on? Were you lucid dreaming? You must’ve looked as confused as you felt because he smiled down at you, gently promising you answers to the questions that you hadn’t yet asked.

“You’re even more beautiful up-close, doll,” he said as he brushed away hairs that fell in your face from your struggle.

Your eyes widened. Doll. The nickname sent chills down your spine as the word flashed against the pink color of the envelopes, against the red of spilled blood.

“You…”

He ran a finger down your cheek and nodded, “Me.”

You paled under him, your bottom lip trembling as you shook your head in disbelief. He frowned and hushed you, caressing your cheek and wiping away the tears that fell.

“Shh… Don’t cry, baby,” he cooed, “I’ll take good care of you, you don’t need to cry.”

“W–Why?” you hiccupped through your sobs, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” your stomach dropped as he answered you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, “No. No! You’re Captain America. You’re supposed to be a hero!”

You fought against his grip, flailing and kicking wildly as you tried in vain to get away from him. You trashed against him, kicking against his thighs with all of your strength, but it was nothing to him--nothing but an annoying inconvenience.

“Stop,” he said, his jaw ticking with simmering anger.

But you refused to stop. You whined and fought against him.

“Stop,” he repeated, his anger coming to a rolling boil.

You shot up and headbutted him. He reeled back and glowered down at you, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

“I said stop,” he shouted as he finally stilled you with a sharp slap.

The sound was as sharp as the feel of it. You sobbed as the pain stung your skin, the right side of your face becoming numb from the harsh impact of it.

“Why are you doing this, Steve?” you asked again.

“Because I love you,” he answered again, “I know you love me, too, (Y/N).”

“No,” you exclaimed, “I don’t love you! I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” you sobbed.

“You will,” Something seemed to change within his eyes. No longer were there hints of green in his blue eyes, but something much darker… Something more sinister. You swallowed as you shrunk under his intense glare.

You exclaimed as he forced his lips against yours. Squeezing your jaw until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You pushed against him, beating on his shoulders as he shoved his tongue further down your throat. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, a ghost of a content smile on his face. You gasped and tried to wiggle away once more, rolling onto your stomach as you did so. A yelp escapes you as you feel him grab your hips, pulling you back under him.

Steve puts his weight on you, trapping you underneath him as he begins to undress you. You try to roll onto your back, but his knee keeps you in place. You fight to keep your shirt on, knowing you wore nothing but your panties underneath it. But you were fighting blind. You kicked up, the heels of your feet hitting the backs of Steve’s strong thighs. He manhandles you easily as he rolls you onto your back, finally ridding you of your cotton shield.

Your hands went to your chest before he could. He pried your arms away, baring your breasts to him with a jerked jiggle. He licked his lips as he cupped and squeezed your breast. You flinched as if his touch had burned you, and in some sense, it had. Your eyes widened in shame as Steve blew on your nipples, the skin hardening into pointed peaks. He brings his lips to them, circling them with his tongue. Sucking, licking, pinching. You press your lips together to keep you from whimpering, and you close your eyes in hopes you can will him away. But your feeble defense attempts don’t last long.

Your eyes snap open as you feel his lips leave your breasts to trail kisses down to your navel, stopping at the band of your underwear.

“Please…” you beg. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as fresh tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes.

Steve smiles against your skin, “I’m going to make you mine, (Y/N). ‘M gonna make you feel so good, doll.”

You stifle a sob as you feel him slide your panties off past your ankles, his fingers scorching your skin as they explore back up between your thighs. Instinctively, you try to close your legs around his hands. But he doesn’t stop. Steve digs his fingers into the soft skin of your inner thighs as he forcefully spreads you wide. Your pussy on full display to him. You stiffen under his gaze, your face burning with shame as he stares in awe at your spread folds. He runs a finger from your clit to your entrance, dipping knuckle-deep into your channel. Your thighs flex as your body tenses at the intrusion. He adds another and languidly pumps them in and out, curling and scissoring them. You fight against the blossoming heat within your belly. Your shame grows as you hear the squelch of your wetness around his pumping fingers.

Steve presses a firm thumb to your clit and you cry out before you can stop yourself. He pumps his fingers into you harder, faster, as he pulls more moans and cries from your lips. You sob as you feel that coil deep within your belly begin to unravel with every stroke and pump. You fight against your own body as you keep yourself from teetering over the edge of pleasure, refusing to let yourself submit to him. But Steve had other plans for you. Suddenly, before you could register his movements, you felt his tongue against your most intimate area. You mewled and curled your toes as he fucked you with his tongue, his thumb never stopping their firm and fast circles against your clit. You sobbed as your body convulsed with white-hot pleasure, and before you could stop yourself, you came on his tongue with a loud, dragged out moan.

You sniffled as you cried, but whether it was from the intensity of your orgasm or your shame and fear, you didn’t know. The lines were starting to blur for you.

Steve gently kissed around your folds before crawling up over you. He held your face and forced your lips to his once more before he began to undress, leaving the taste of yourself on your tongue as he pulled away with a wet smack. He unclothed himself, then. Stripping himself of his spangled-stars and red and white stripes. He looked down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, and a breathless quirk of his lips.

You were limp as he folded you to his needs. Bringing your bent and spread knees to your chest as he took himself in his hands. His length stood tall and proud, the tip swollen and leaking down this thick shaft with anticipation. Your legs flinched as they tried to close on their own. You choked on a sob as he wrenched them apart. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him tap your pussy with his cock, running the tip up and down your folds as he wet himself with your soaking arousal until finally, he pressed himself into your entrance. You let out a strained whine as he slammed into you.

Steve’s eyes were shut and mouth slightly agape as he hisses at your tightness. His hips thrust in excitement as you clench around him. You whimper again as he slides out, just to slam himself back in. Your body jolts with every lust-driven thrust. He slides his hands under you and brings them to hold onto your shoulders, bringing you down to meet his every forceful thrust. The sound of skin slapping and lewd moans fill your bedroom, your sweat sheen bodies glowing under the moonlight. Steve speeds up, mercilessly hammering that hidden sweet spot that makes you scream and clench around his cock. You spasm and shake as Steve forces another orgasm from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders as the realization of your situation comes crashing back into you.

His hand wraps around your throat as he pounds into you harder than before, “Say it, (Y/N).”

You scratch at his hand as your vision begins to dot and blacken, “I–I love you…”

“Louder,” he demands, “‘I love you, Steve’, say it, doll, I wanna hear you say it.” he moans.

“I love you, Steve,” you choke out.

He releases his grip on you then, and you cough and gasp for air. His rhythm becomes erratic as his hips drive into you with renewed vigor, “Again.”

“I love you, Steve,” you moan.

His body jerks as his hips stutter to a stop. Steve comes with your name on his lips, and you whined as you felt his warmth flood inside of you. He panted above you, his hips languidly thrusting as his abdomen clenched with his drawn out release. He pulled out of you and collected the spunk that leaked from your weeping cunt on his fingers. He brought them to your lips and forced you to suck them clean.

“I love you, too, doll. Forever and ever,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi

[watermelonlovershigh]

Single Dad Harry & His Daughter Rose (journey through life)

This was requested by this anon (instead of the daughter being just one of the ages you suggested, i decided to just incorporate all the ages, like a timeline of her life.)

AN: from now on, i think i'm going to use a random name generator for child names in my fics (like i did with this one). that way the name is random and with no thought. unless someone requests a name to be used.

This story contains: completely narration, no dialog, dad goals

{ dad!harry - singledad!harry - became a dad at 17 years old }

word count: 1320

Harry's journey of taking care and raising his daughter Rose as a single father.

Ever since Harry became a single dad, his life had been anything but easy. When his daughter Rose (named after his rose tattoo) was a baby, her mum completely left them, saying she didn't want to be a mother yet and it was a mistake to have not used protection. Especially when it was a one-night stand and that person was a celebrity. She had Rose (not finding it in her to go through with an abortion) and days later gave her baby to Harry, and that was the last time Rose ever saw her mother and Harry ever saw his baby's mama.

When Rose was a baby, Harry was the one that got up at all hours of the night to make her bottles, beings she had no way of breastfeeding. Most of the time on the One Direction tour bus because that's where he and his bandmates stayed while on the road touring. He'd also burp her and change her dirty diapers. Rub her little tummy when it ached. The rest of One Direction didn't always like being woken up to a crying baby, but at the end of the day, knew how special Rose was to Harry and supported him through everything.

His bandmates would often babysit Rose when Harry had to go into the recording booth and record his parts of their songs. Louis was the one who acted as a mother figure in her life (beings he grew up taking care of his younger sisters), like doing nightly feedings when Harry was sleep deprived. Or give Rose a bath in the little baby tub they bought for the bus when Harry was just busy in general. Niall being the silly guy, loved to make Rose laugh when she was being a bit moody. And Zayn and Liam were the protectors and kept Rose out from harms way.

When One Direction went on hiatus, Harry didn't have all the help he once had when living with four other people. At that point, Rose was three so it wasn't as hard to take care of her as it was when she was a baby, but still quite difficult for him being a single dad. She was potty trained and eating all regular foods. Though she'd sometimes still wanted a bottle of warm milk to help her fall asleep at night.

Harry would make Rose breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the two of them each day. He'd give her baths and washed her curly hair, sometimes making a soap Mohawk from the shampoo just to make her laugh. He'd read Rose bedtime stories and sing her lullabies. And though Harry tried to enforce Rose to sleep in her own bed like a big girl, he'd always cave in when she gave her daddy puppy dog eyes and a wobbly lip, as though she was about to cry. So often Rose ended up in her daddy's bed and Harry held her close, loving the feeling of knowing his daughter was safe and sound in his embrace.

Years went by and Harry sent Rose to kindergarten. Much to his disliking because he'd miss being with her through-out the day. He'd get up with her every morning and styled her hair to the best of his abilities. Sometimes not being able to accomplish what Rose requested and feeling terrible. Times like that was when he wished Rose had a mother or mother figure. Harry would pack Rose a lunch to take to school and help her with her homework when she got home at the end of each day.

Harry went to every school play Rose was in (she loved preforming just like her daddy) and every PTA meeting the school held. Though he juggled being a international popstar, Harry always put his daughter first no matter what. He helped her with any school projects she'd have and Harry even went and chatted to the principle when Rose complained that some kids were being mean to her. He was a super dad, doing it all.

When Rose turned ten, Harry decided she was old enough to go on tour with him. He hadn't properly toured since One Directions last tour (just doing local gigs here and there) and that had been years from that point in their lives. Harry wanted to wait a few years and give Rose somewhat of a normal childhood with stability, hence why she attended public school in her adolescents.

Harry hired an on-the-road teacher to have as Roses homeschooling teacher that'd stay on his tour bus as they traveled. His number one priority was making sure she got her education over anything else. Harry paid for extra security guards to protect Rose when she went out, beings some fans went a little crazy. Harry had his assistant watch her when he was busy in the studio or doing interviews. Life was hard at times and yes Harry wished Rose still had a mother, but wouldn't have traded his life experiences of being a single dad for nothing. It truly helped him mature faster and appreciate live to the fullest.

Two years later at age twelve, Rose became a women. Well she started her period and matured like a women. Because all she'd ever known was living with her dad and not really having many women figures in her life, telling Harry she started her period wasn't that bad. Rose was fortunately home when her period had started and walked into the living room where her dad was sipping a glass of wine and informed him she was menstruating.

In the twelve years of Roses life, Harry knew that that day was coming. The day she'd start her period. He was only regretting that day because his little girl wouldn't be so little anymore, but wasn't hoping that day wouldn't ever come because he knew how important it was for a women to have one. Harry grew up with a house full of women so periods were a natural and easy topic to discuss. He hugged Rose, congratulated her, and immediately drove her to the local pharmacy to purchase some pads and tampon (and chocolate + a heating pad).

Between the ages of twelve and Roses current age of sixteen, life went as well as it could have gone for Harry and her. Unlike most teenage girls, Harry raised a good and respectful young lady. Rose doesn't like to go out and party like some of her friends do. She'd much rather stay at home and spend time with her dad. She's a daddies girl after all. Rightfully so because to her, her dad was the only one who truly loved her and cared for her, unlike her dead-beat mother.

As for Harry, he's still single. He's had a few flings through-out the years and a couple one-night stands, but he hasn't meet anyone that felt like a keeper. Or someone who he felt would love his daughter the way she deserved to be loved and treated. Harry doesn't tour as much anymore because of his age (not due to fan loss because he still has millions of fans. fans that love to call Harry a dilf.) and Rose is back attending a public school in London. They often visit her dad's ex bandmates and Rose loves them all dearly. They helped raise her as a baby and feel like secondary father figures to her.

Sometimes Rose wishes she still had a mum. A women in her life that she could have womanly conversations with and chat about her love interest to. Even just to say she had a mum because when her friends chat about their mums, she feels left out and sad. But truth be told, she almost thinks her life was meant to turn out like it did. Her and her dad Harry make a great father/daughter duo and she wouldn't trade the connection they have for anything in this world. Even if it was for a mum that loved her.

Masterlist (regular smut, fluff & sicfics)

My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

Harry Styles Series One Shots Masterlist (for my one shots that go with a series universe)

Harry Styles blurbs, concepts, & short stories Masterlist- (short writing with little to no dialog)

[crazeace]

YJ Straightforward: An Open Letter to the Young Justice Writers

I really do not know if this somehow reaches their attention or if this will get any notes but I felt the need to just write this all down now that YJ Phantoms has ended.

First off, I would like to thank the entire YJ Production team for this wonderful season, you guys did amazing and I'm thankful you were given the chance to tell this story. The finale was crazy good and I was satisfied especially since episode 24 and 25 stressed me out real good.

I am being an optimist regarding you guys getting renewed so we shall see if the post ages like wine or milk. Point is, I wish to give some constructive criticisms for this season. I respect you guys as storytellers and admire your work, but I feel the need to express a few things I've seen from myself and from the fandom regarding Season 4.

One of the things I want to talk about is the expectations of Season 4 vs the actual season.

Season 4 become highly anticipated by fans when you guys revealed your first poster: the original Team (minus Will Harper but that's a whole other topic). And we all collectively thought: oh wow! The Original team are the main focus of this season just like Season One! We were all thrilled. You see the magic of Young Justice Season One was the dynamics of the original Team. We got to see their history, their growth and how they overcome obstacles from villains as well as their personal lives. It was a character-driven story where the Team's actions are what make the story very interesting.

The Season 4's arcs sets us up with the expectation that we are getting to see exactly that. And in fairness you delivered it so well with M'gann, Artemis, and Kaldur's arc.

However in the case of Zatanna, Rocket, Nightwing, and Superboy, we didn't get to see that. Instead we got a view of the magic community, the cosmic community, and the Phantom Zone respectively with plot-driven stories. I understand you had an overall story arc in mind for the season involving the Phantom Zone prisoners and I genuinely enjoyed seeing that. However, fans can't help but feel disappointment that we didn't get a character driven story arc that explores the other four team members' past, growth, and personal battles for the past decade, when we got it with the other three.

I completely respect the choices you've made in the stories you have told in Season 4. I actually loved the reveal of Vandal being connected to both metahumans and Homo Magi. The battle against Child and the Sentinels of Magic. Earth 17 holy multiverse. Exploring New Genesis and the Phantom Zone. They were all great to see.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, perhaps in the next season (yes I'm being an optimist in that regard), we get to see more character-driven stories. At the very least try to give us the proper expectations.

Now I'm not blaming the marketing or the writers with the disconnect between what the posters led us to think and what we actually got in the story, I understand that you guys may not have the final say in how the promotions are run, or thag it was nit your intention to give us the wrong idea on Season 4's plot. But perhaps based on the fans reaction to this season, you could consider trying not to make a repeat of this again.

I hope this doesn't offend you guys in anyway, I meant no disrespect. I just hope when we get a chance to have Season 5, we get to relive the magic of Season One, by seeing Dick, M'gann, Artemis, Conner, Kaldur, Raquel, Zatanna, AND Will (AND Wally too please we are still not convinced he is dead call me a clown I don't care) go on a mission together. I hope we get to see them interact now that they're adults to have a fun contrast to their Season One dynamics. I hope we get an episode exploring Zatanna's state of mind as the new Doctor Fate, more of Raquel learning how to form a healthy relationship with Amistad, Conner's dynamics with the entire Kent family, and that sweet sweet Batfamily story where Dick gets to interact with Jason. The fans really wanted that and I hope that we get to see that in some shape or form in the future.

This is getting long so I'll end it here. Again, thank you for the stories you have told in Young Justice Phantoms. And I hope to see some improvements for Season 5.

You can start by bringing back Wally West.

[engie-ivy]

Remus is quite smitten with the new guy he's been dating, but as he clearly can't have nice things, he completely ruins it and now he can only wait for Sirius Black to break up with him. Sirius Black has a different interpretation.

“I called your father an ignorant idiot who should shove his prejudiced opinions up his arse!”

Sirius frowns, like he doesn’t understand why Remus would consider that an issue. “My father is an ignorant idiot who should shove his prejudiced opinions up his arse.”

Far from the tree

To: Lily Evans

Lily, my time has come. Please remember me fondly.

Dramatic much, Lupin?

No, Lily. My life is genuinely over.

Okay, spill. How so?

Remember that guy I’ve been dating?

Mmm, let me think. The tall, fit one with the long, soft, dark hair, pretty eyes and broad shoulders, whom you’ve told me about approximately ten thousand times a day?

Yeah, I believe that does ring a bell.

Well, you can forget about him again.

He’s on his way over here to dump me as we speak.

What? No! Why?

I met his parents yesterday...

Remmie! That’s a huge step!

I didn’t know things were so serious between you two?

Things were seriously serious with Sirius!

Ah, but I gather from your first message it didn’t go very well?

It didn’t.

Oh, Remmie, you’re probably being too hard on yourself.

It’s always stressful to meet the parents. I’m sure they’ll understand if you were a bit awkward.

I called his father a narrow-minded bonehead whose imbecile opinions belong in the Middle Ages.

...

Yeah. Yeah, okay. That’s... That’s bad.

Remus, why?!

Because apparently I’m an idiot who has a good thing going and just has to find a way to ruin it for himself.

What did he say?

He drove me home and it was so awkward...

I was so embarrassed for causing such a scene at his bloody parents house, I fled inside as fast as I could, without really speaking to him (yes, I admit, I’m a coward).

I texted you right after I got a message from him just now, saying he’s on his way over, because ‘he needs to talk to me’...

Yikes.

Okay. Okay, maybe... If his family really is so narrow-minded, maybe you dogged the bullet?

He seems nothing like them, though. I really can’t believe those people raised him.

Well, you wouldn’t say me and my sister were raised by the same people, so I guess strange things happen.

But Remus,

Know that if he breaks up with you because you don’t get along with his stupid parents, he doesn’t deserve you anyway!

Normally, I’d agree. But I don’t know if that still goes when you call someone’s mother ‘a vicious old hag, whose arrogance is only equal to her stupidity’.

...

Remus!

What the hell happened there?!

Oh my God, he’s here!

These are officially my last moments of dating a way out of my league-guy.

Well, I guess it was nice as long as it lasted. Might as well get it over with.

I’m so sorry, Remus. I know you really liked this one...

Stay strong! I’ll have the chocolate ready!

With a sigh, Remus tosses his phone to the side and stands to get the door. Might as well get it over with, right?

When he opens the door to reveal Sirius, the positive thing is that Sirius doesn’t immediately begin yelling at him. He doesn’t even look all that angry, really. He just gives Remus a small, uncertain smile.

The negative thing is that Sirius looks bloody gorgeous. He’s wearing an elegant coat, with a scarf loosely draped around his long neck and his hair is hanging loose. Before today, this would definitely be considered a positive thing, but not when Remus is just minutes away from getting dumped by this ridiculously handsome man. There should really be a rule against looking this good when you’re breaking up with someone, Remus thinks bitterly as he steps aside to let Sirius in his apartment.

As Sirius unbuttons his coat to reveal a fitted shirt showing off his lean, muscular form, Remus can only conclude that he has really been fooling himself by thinking this could ever last.

He shakes his head to stop himself from ogling his soon to be-ex-boyfriend. “Would you like something to drink?” He asks, trying to sound composed.

“No thank you,” Sirius replies. “I’d rather get this off my chest immediately.”

Remus doesn’t reply and stares at his feet to brace himself for the inevitable blow.

“I suppose you know why I’m here?” Sirius asks, sounding a bit nervous.

Remus wonders vaguely if Sirius is concerned about hurting his feelings, even after his horrible behaviour of yesterday. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I do.”

Sirius takes a deep breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I just had to at least tell you how sorry I am, even if you want nothing to do with me anymore.”

Remus just stares at him, trying to puzzle together what Sirius just said. He’s sorry... about having to break up with Remus? But shouldn’t he lead with the break up? And why would it be up to Remus to want nothing to do with him? Remus is not in a state of mind to deal with this. Can’t Sirius just dump him already?

Sirius is getting more nervous as Remus continues to just stare at him. “So I guess I just... offer you my apologies, and it’s up to you whether you want to accept them.”

“You’re apologizing?” Remus asks.

Sirius nods.

“You are apologizing to me?”

Another nod.

“You to me?”

“Yes, Remus,” Sirius says, sounding distraught. “But don’t worry, I don’t expect anything from you. I know I don’t have the right, after the situation I put you in.”

“I called your father an ignorant idiot who should shove his prejudiced opinions up his arse!”

Sirius frowns, like he doesn’t understand why Remus would consider that an issue. “My father is an ignorant idiot who should shove his prejudiced opinions up his arse.”

“No! I mean, well... yes, but I’m not supposed to say so, right?”

Sirius shrugs. “They had it coming, didn’t they? I’m not gonna make excuses for them. I was just hoping you might still want to give us a chance?”

“Your parents hate me!” Remus splutters.

Sirius lets out a laugh. “Thank God. If they’d liked you, I seriously had to reconsider our relationship.”

Remus blinks at him.

Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “Let me explain. My parents,” he speaks slowly now. “Are awful people. Like, really awful people. I shouldn’t have given in when they demanded to meet you, or I should have at least told you what they’re like. I’m so sorry I put you in that situation and exposed you to them without so much as a warning. I can understand if you hate me right now.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Remus asks, as he would’ve much rather been spared the anxiety he has been feeling all day.

Sirius shrugs again. “I suppose I wanted you to form you own opinion? As their son, I’m of course biased to hate them.”

Remus opens his mouth to say that is not how a parent-child relationship is supposed to work, but Sirius keeps talking.

“Look, Remus. You didn’t sign up for dealing with my horrible parents, and I’m sorry I dragged you into it. My family is... messed up, and I can understand if you want nothing to do with that whole mess. I won’t blame you if you just want to stay away from me and my family issues.”

“I...”

I’ll do a whole lot more than deal with crappy parents if it means I get to be with you, Remus wants to say. I won’t judge you based on who your parents are, Remus wants to say. I won’t just abandon you, Remus wants to say.

What he says instead is “I purposely spilled a glass of red wine over your mother’s new couch!”

Sirius looks at him with a fond smile. “Yeah, just when I thought I couldn’t love you more.”

Sirius doesn’t seem to realise what he just said, but Remus’ eyes widen. “You... love me?”

Sirius flushes and starts stammering. “Oh God, I’m sorry! Not that I love you. I mean, look at you. How could I not? But that’s way too soon, isn’t it? And this is the worst timing! I mean, you’re probably super angry with me, and I don’t even know if you still want to see me...”

“I don’t mind!” Remus quickly says. “I mean, I think I rather like that you love me? I think I’m very much starting to feel the same way?”

Sirius looks at him with a hopeful expression. “You do?”

Remus chuckles. “Come here,” he says as he pulls Sirius towards him. “For you, I’d throw my wine over any piece of furniture your mother might own any day.”

Sirius smiles as he leans in to kiss Remus. “In that case, can’t wait till Christmas.”

Remus? How bad is it?

Will regular milk do, or is this a triple chocolate with chocolate chips-type of situation?

Hates his parents, loves me, all good!

[alphagirl404]

(Rewrite) Snapped. A LEGO City Undercover Oneshot

Hey ya’ll...this here is a rewrite of a LEGO City Undercover oneshot I wrote years ago. Since today is the 9th anniversary of the game I decided to rewrite this because the original version needed some improvement, especially since I’ve been working in 3 major fanfics these past several years.

I hope you enjoy this fic about everyone’s favorite LEGO unhinge multi-billionaire Forrest Blackwell. And Happy 9th Anniversary to LEGO City Undercover.

****

Snapped

The door gradually opened, letting out an unsettling creaking noise. Entering inside was Forrest Blackwell, who had an unreadable expression plastered on his face. Slowly, he strolled through his mansion, letting his suit jacket fall on the floor. Forrest had given his staff the week off earlier today, leaving him and his white cat, Pearl, the only occupants in the mansion. 

Today...Today was supposed to mark a grand accomplishment. A chance to move forward. Not only for the city but for himself. Instead, it turned into something dreadful. Events kept on replaying throughout his head repeatedly like a broken record. Today was perhaps the second-worst day of his life. 

He entered his dark kitchen and turned on the light. Pearl followed, emitting a quiet meow, indicating that she was hungry. Forrest grabbed the milk carton from the fridge. The older man grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. He poured the remnants of the milk carton into Pearl's food bowl, not even caring that he spilled some of it onto the floor. Tossing the now empty carton on the counter, he removed the cap of his wine bottle and drank from the bottle itself as he treks down the hall to the next room.

This chamber was the biggest in his entire mansion, next to his safe room. It contained a widescreen tv, many books, awards, and a model of the city Forrest reside in, the place he gave so much, LEGO City.

Forrest turned on his tv. On came the LEGO City news. Forrest paid no attention. Events from just hours earlier replayed in his head.

****

“You can’t do this!” The billionaire shouted.

At the site of his latest project stood newly elected Mayor Gleeson, members of the city council, wildlife officials, recently appointed Cheif of Police Marion Dunby and a portion of the LEGO City Police Department. All of which were at the receiving end of the man's glare.

“Mr. Blackwell.” Mayor Gleeson spoke to the billionaire firmly. “This is a site of an endangered species. This project cannot allow to go on.” 

“They’re just squirrels! We have plenty of those running amuck. How are these any special? You dare deny my chance to build this in her name to protect some insignificant rodents?”

“I understand that you're upset about this, Forrest, but harming endangered animals of any type is against the law. Should you break said law, I’ll have no choice but to have you arrested. Is that clear?”

Forrest gave nothing but a cold stare at the mayor. Gleeson, however, remained unfazed.

“I hereby declare this construction project shut down!”

****

Just like that, his plans were ruined. Plans that he had spent several years pondering. Plans to honor the one he loved.

Julie…

Oh, his precious Julie. She was the first & only person who truly understood him, to know the real him. An early portion of his life Forrest...stood out among his peers. Even at a young age, he knew he was different from everyone else. That did not settle well with some people. At best, people just avoided him. At worst, they would call him cruel things. That often resulted in him lashing out, which often got Forrest into trouble in his youth. 

Things with his parents were not any better. Forrest's mother did try to understand him better, but it was never enough. His father, on the other hand...acted like nothing was wrong.

"You'll get over it." Forrest's father often said to him with condescension. 

That was the most and only heartfelt thing his father had ever done for him. Other than that, his father did not attempt to mend their relationship. Even after Forrest's mother died, his father did not take any action. It was right then that Forrest realized that everyone he grew up around will forever reject him. So when he was able to care for himself, Forrest stole a fragment of his father's money and moved to LEGO City to start over. Severing the ties of his old life, forever. 

In a short amount of years, he made a name for himself and acquired more wealth. The city admired the gifts he brought to them. Not once did Forrest ever sense any rejection. The city made him feel more accepted than anyone in his previous life ever done. No longer the outcast that everyone avoided like the plague. He was now the one everyone wanted to be around, and it felt so damn good. 

Despite the adoration from the city, the fear of rejection lingers within due to his experiences in his childhood. So Forrest vowed not to build any close relationships. After all, one cannot experience rejection if they do not form bonds with anyone.

That all changed when he met Julie many years ago. With her around, life now felt more joyous. She was aware of his flaws, but that never drove her away from him. Despite the many hardships they endured, their love for each other was strong. Forrest honestly had no clue what he did to deserve her. Every bad day he had, Julie was always there for comfort. The years that followed into his marriage with Julie, and the admiration the city gave him, Forrest felt truly...happy. At long last, life finally decided to give happiness to him. Forrest believed that this feeling would last forever. 

Then the day came when life would again take a jab at him when Julie died in a tragic accident in Bluebell Forest a few years back.

Forrest was distraught when her death occurred. Julie's death was conceivably the single worst day of his life. In the months afterward, he became severely depressed. Eventually, it turned into anger. Forrest needed an outlet to direct that anger. That outlet: Bluebell Forest.

Forrest had never been a nature person, that was more Julie's thing, but he never had any negative opinions of Bluebell. That all changed when Julie died. Just the mere mention of the word Bluebell filled him with fury. That was when he finally decided to build his newest creation at Bluebell in Julie's name. 

Despite many protests from environmental activists and scientists, no one had taken action against him. After all, why should they? Forrest had provided the city with many great things for so many years. Never once did they ever oppose him. Not to mention he was building this project in memory of Julie. The city adored Julie for her undeniable amount of kindness when she was still alive. How could anyone deny him of that? 

But thanks to that dammed squirrel, everything he thought he knew changed. Despite everything he has done for them, the city did not allow him to go forward with his plans. They denied him his chance to honor Julie's name. The city rejected him. 

It had made Blackwell feel many emotions. Denied, betrayed, and scandalized…

“Our top story tonight: The shut down of Forrest Blackwell's project.” Forrest heard from the tv, to whom he brought his attention back. There he sees a male news anchor speak.

“A discovery of an endangered squirrel by Bluebell officials led to the end of Blackwell's latest project. After a sweep on the site, City Hall shut down the project. Unfortunately, we could not get a comment from Mr. Blackwell. He did have this to say.”

The screen showed footage of Forrest himself storming off to his limo. “You're all ungrateful swines! I gave you all I have, and this is how you repay me?! Let’s see how you all like it if I never built anything for you ever again!” He watched the footage of himself shouting before getting into his limo.

"I have to say Mr. Blackwell didn’t seem to be very happy,” A female news anchor commented. 

“With someone as loaded as him, I don't think its that big of a deal to him.” The male anchor expressed nonchalantly.

Forrest felt a tremendous amount of rage building up, as he heard those words from the television. Not a big deal?! It was a huge deal to him!

“If you ask me, a person like him would surely get over it.” 

Hearing the way the news anchor spoke as if they were mocking him. It was like hearing his father, and the others in his childhood years rejecting him all over again. This time it was coming from a member of the LEGO City. The very same city that he gave everything for and gave him nothing in return when he needed it.

It was enough to make something within him snap.

Forrest let a scream of pure anger as he threw the remote at the tv with the full intention to break it, giving it large cracks. Much to his displeasure, it was still functioning. Forrest repeatedly hit the tv with his whisky bottle in his rage fit until he decided to knock it over. Still unsatisfied with his attempts, he started to stomp on the tv until it finally stopped working. 

Forrest felt some sense of satisfaction. But he brought his gaze to the pictures on the walls. Pictures that reminded him of the very city that betrayed him.

Taking the remnants of the whisky bottle, Forrest smashed each picture one by one until the bottle shattered. But Forrest was still not satisfied. He threw the bottle into the wall and went into his kitchen. The millionaire went to a drawer where he pulled out a huge knife. Forrest exited the kitchen and dragged the knife's blade along the wall, slicing the frames from their support string. 

It was then that Forrest had entered a different room. He saw the picture of a photo of Mayor Gleeson and members of City Hall. Forrest stabbed the knife through the picture. Forrest moves to a nearby closet, leaving the knife stuck in the wall. He removed a box of materials, along with a drawing pad.

Gathering his newfound supplies, Forrest returned to the room where his carnage had started. He had even smashed more picture frames with his bare hand, not caring the newfound bleeding cuts. Forrest entered back and proceeded to the center. In that center lies a model of LEGO City itself. Just looking at it only increased his rage even further.

Forrest gave hard hits on the model city several times until he just knocked over it entirely. Afterwhich, he set down his drawing pad and proceeded to start sketching. For the next hour or so, Forrest made several sketches only for them to be crumpled up as tossed aside. That went on until he made the perfect design. 

The older man gazed upon the sketch. It was a sketch of his next building project. But then a new problem arose: Where to place it? Forrest slowly paces around the torn-up room, trying to think, until his eyes move to the window. The full moon shined brightly in the night sky. It was then he got an evil idea. Forrest then went back to the very same table where the model of LEGO City once stood. 

Hours later, Forrest gazed upon his creation. A model of his next big idea. The room was quiet. The only thing heard was the curious meows of Pearl as she was rubbing around her owner’s legs, trying to get his attention, but he did not flinch.

“They think they can steal away my gift? After all these years of giving them so many things?” Forrest muttered darkly. “Let's see how they like it when I start taking from them. And it will be more than objects...”

[glassbxttless]

Ronnie Peterson x f!Reader

Fluffmas Day 3: Baking Cookies

Word Count: 1,045

Warnings: mentions of wine

Ronnie pushes his glasses up, smiling in his Buffalo plaid pajama bottoms and worn in Greta Van Fleet t-shirt as he pulls out the milk and eggs from the refrigerator. He watches you climb on a step stool to pull out mixing bowls from the cabinet. He’s been excited all week for your baking night, a date you two had been planning together for what seems like a month.

Ronnie finds a whisk and helps you down off the stool, “what kind of cookies are we making?” He asks softly.

“I thought we’d make some sugar cookies and some gingerbread? Maybe some snickerdoodles.” You mumble and shrug as you both set everything that you’ll need out for the evening. He finds the timer and starts to preheat the oven for you as you begin to measure out ingredients. He may press his body up behind yours, press a kiss behind your ear, and wrap his arms around your body to help mix the dough up. You lean against his chest, strong and warm and everything you’ve ever imagined wanting for the rest of your life. Ronnie’s always so busy with work, you hardly ever have time to just relax together like this. You can feel the beating of his heart in his chest— beating just for you.

You throw some flour down on the counter, kneading the dough down happily. You’re guiding his hands this time, helping him knead it and roll it down flat. You’ve spent the last three days picking out cookie cutters and making icing. You’ve been wanting to spend this time with Ronnie for ages. And he’s smiling as you help him roll the dough down with the rolling pin. Your heart is bursting at the seams, especially when you watch Ronnie sneak a bit of the scraps into his mouth. He tries to cover his giggles so he doesn’t get caught, but you toss a few cookie batter scraps of your own into your mouth. “This is really good.” He smiles over at you, flour settling at the corner of his lips. You smile to yourself and nod.

“It is pretty good. We’re doing such a good job.” You tease as you place each of your cutout cookies onto a baking sheet, sliding it into the oven. Ronnie catches sight of the flour as you start the snickerdoodle batter. He may or may not have flicked a handful right down the front of the Star Wars t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet. You gasp, turning to a giggling mess as you flick your own bit of flour onto his own body. Your kitchen is a mess, Ronnie is tossing flour and you’ve crushed an egg into his hair. He laughs, taking you in his arms as the timer goes off for the first batch of cutouts. You press a kiss against his lips, turning away from him to pull the baking sheet out of the oven. You place the cookies on a cooling rack, letting them cook off before you begin the extravaganza of decorating.

And you both spend the evening taking each of your cookies and decorating them as prettily as you can. You’ve made it a contest, you’ll call your parents in a few hours and ask them to pick their favorites. If it’s Ronnie’s, he picks the movie for the evening— if it’s yours, you pick the snacks. And then the gingerbread cookies are sitting in front of you ready to be decorated. You start building the house with all of the pieces you’ve baked together. Ronnie smiles, eggshells still in his hair as he delicately draws on what he hopes is the prettiest portions of icing details.

And when Ronnie wins your cookie decorating contest, he puts on the Grinch and helps you with your drinks. You both sit on the couch, curled up together under his favorite crocheted blanket. You snack on your freshly baked cookies and drink your hot cocoa. You think about substituting it for red wine instead, but Ronnie was just too excited to make it for you, special and perfect like he says. It’s a special and perfect night just right for baking cookies and drinking hot chocolate together. He lays back against the couch arm, pulling you against his chest. He adjusts his glasses and he drapes the blanket over your bodies again. “This has been such a perfect afternoon, pumpkin.” He mumbles against the top of your head, pressing gentle kiss after gentle kiss there. You nod. It has been the perfect afternoon. It’s been full of making memories with your favorite man and maybe the baked goods we’re definitely worth it too. You take a sip of the hot chocolate, Ronnie always tells you it’s better made with milk. And he’s put exactly seven mini marshmallows in the cup, a tradition he always does— adding one more for each holiday season you get to spend together. You watch his body shift, leaning up to grab one of your snickerdoodles from the platter on the coffee table. “You are really such a good baker.” He teases.

You laugh, leaning in to bite off a chunk of the cookie he had offered up to you. He owns your heart and after so many years, you still get to see him smile so wide at the thought of Christmas cookies and his special Christmas drinks. You get to watch him get so giddy during flour fights in the kitchen and you get to help him wash the eggs out of his hair after each laughing spat that you have. He smiles as he rubs your hip, humming along to The Who’s of Whoville and eating another cookie. He’s your whole world and he always will be. Nothing can ever change that, but something that makes you fall in love more every single season is the way he gets so happy to spend time with you. He feels so very lucky to be able to bake these stupidly delicious cookies and call you his partner. His heart bursts at the seams every time he remembers. The holiday season is for baking cookies with his love, and he’ll continue doing so for the next thirty years, if he’s lucky enough.

*

*

@sacklerscumrag @mrs-zimmerman @fizzywoohoo @candycanes19 @thepriceofstars @2000andwhat @mariesackler @loganluckylover @themuseic @clydesfavoritegirl @caillea @maybe-your-left @driversmutbucket @daughterofaries @cornmousequeen @mrs-kylo-ren @peachyproserpina @mrs-gucci @millenialcatlady @leatherboundbirate @jynzandtonic @paterson-blue @awkward-katiesaur @hedgy-hog @simpin_mama @thepalaceofmelanie

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

You're right about everything you've said however none of it is Zak's fault as he only came along in 2018. It's Ron Dennis.

You're absolutely right anon, this is the McLaren Zak inherited. In his time with the team, Lando is so far the only young driver McLaren have moved through their ranks and only time will tell if it works out well for them or not (I hope it does because I like Lando but I genuinely don't know what on earth McLaren is doing at the moment). Ron Dennis is without question the main perpetrator regarding McLaren consistently failing their post Lewis young drivers and heaven knows he has a long list of sins to boot (spy gate is still the first thing that comes to mind every time I hear his name).

Unfortunately until McLaren prove they can support their drivers, that's the McLaren Zak is dealing with, the legacy of Ron's McLaren. Until he can prove that he does practice what he preaches (the alleged situation regarding Oscar and Daniel will not be helping his case), he doesn't have a leg to stand on to make statements like the one he did x. You are absolutely right though anon, he's not at fault for any of it as he did inherit this McLaren from Ron Dennis. We don't know what Checo, K-mag or Vandoorne's careers would be like had they been under Zak instead of Ron, but we saw what became of them under Ron. Only time will tell if Zak comments age like wine or milk.

[jamlavender]

Unholy Ghosts deleted scene: Chaos Family Christmas

I was reminded of this fic the other day, and after giving it a scan I remembered that the first version of the Christmas scene was very different to the one I ended up including in the posted story. This first draft was longer and more comedic, and I decided to write another because the fic was already so long and the tone had already become more contemplative. Upon giving that first draft a reread, though, I thought it was funny, and have decided to share it here! 

The necessary backstory for this is: Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter avoided falling into the abyss (though still killed Metatron) and tricked Lyra into coming North five years later. After a rocky start, she spends her winter break with them. This is towards the end of the fic, and if you want to read about how they got to this point (or why she’s calling them Asriel and Marisa) you can read the full story here. Also, for some of the jokes to work, the version of Boreal mentioned in this is the older version from the books. I hope you enjoy! 

One day, Lyra was wandering around the Saariselkä market with her mother, a migraine having confined a foul-tempered Asriel to the bedroom for the afternoon, when she spotted the date on a newspaper stacked outside the post office. Tucked away in the cabin, she’d largely lost track of time. “Look!” she said to Pan, who was rolling around in the snow. “It’s December twenty-third. It’s almost Christmas!”

They arrived home that afternoon with the usual spoils, along with a freshly plucked snow goose and a stack of root vegetables, ideal for roasting. They’d also found some sweet pears and fresh cream, which they could poach in red wine for dessert. Her mother had even let Lyra drive the motorsledge home, the wind whipping through their hair and flushing their cheeks the same bright pink as they charged over the white hills back to the cabin, both of them beaming, unbeknownst to the other.

Her father went off on a tirade when they explained what the purchases were for, of course, ranting and raving, saying that he hadn’t thrown God into an endless abyss to then celebrate his son’s birth like a sycophant. Marisa simply nodded along while she melted chocolatl into milk on the stove and spiked it with brandy, then guided Lyra to the sofa, mugs in hand, and whispered, “Let’s just wait for him to tire himself out, hmm?” which made Lyra laugh, and then she felt guilty for laughing, as she still did whenever they shared a shred of affection.

Lyra assumed that she’d prepare the meal alone on the day itself, but confronted with a sack of dirt-encrusted potatoes and a whole goose carcass, to say nothing of the chard or the gravy or the dessert, she realised that she might benefit from some assistance. She peered across the room to the lounge; her father was stretched on the sofa with a notebook on one leg and a newspaper on the other. She marched over with her hands on her hips. “There are too many potatoes for me to peel on my own, not if I’m going to stuff and season the goose too. I can’t do it all myself. You have to help me.”

He frowned. “I’m working.”

Lyra peered at his sparse scrawls. “You haven’t written a sentence in an hour.”

“I’m mulling,” he said petulantly, though Stelmaria had lifted her head, her ears twitching.  

Lyra folded her arms, spurred on by his dæmon’s mild enthusiasm. “It’s Christmas.”

“You know that means nothing to me.”

“I don’t care.” They stared at each other, an imperious mirror image. She raised an eyebrow. “Marisa’s excited about it, about us celebrating together. I can tell her that you’re refusing to participate, if you’d prefer that.”

The corner of his lip twitched, the hint of a smirk. “Are you trying to play us off each other?”

“Is it working?”

He sighed. “Can’t your mother do it?”

“She’s even more useless than you are. And she’s in the bath.”

Stelmaria got to her feet with a yawn and padded into the kitchen, giving Asriel no choice but to follow, a scowl etched across his face and a triumphant grin sprawled across Lyra’s.

She put him to work preparing the snow goose for the oven while she mixed fennel and star anise and salt together for the seasoning, grinding the spices in an old granite mortar with a chipped pestle and adding a squirt of lemon juice at the end. She’d assumed that he could handle basic meat preparation – her parents’ brutal reindeer butchery had made it clear that he knew his way around a cleaver – but when she checked on his progress, her eyes widened. She’d tasked him with lightly scouring the goose’s legs and breast with a knife to help the fat render, and he’d interpreted that as gouging deep trenches into the bird, burying the knife into the carcass.

“Asriel!” she said, grabbing the knife from him. “God, no, not like that. Like this.”

He rolled his eyes as she instructed him, dragging the fine point of the knife over the goose’s other leg. He tried again and immediately created a deep channel in the bird’s flesh. Lyra glared at him.

“Have you ever been gentle in your life?”

He let his head roll towards her. “What do you think?”

She shook her head and took over, passing him the peeler instead and shoving him towards the pile of potatoes she’d already scrubbed clean. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me,” she muttered, tracing delicate scratches into the bird’s skin and then rubbing the seasoning into the fresh grooves. “Threatening to break my arm was your first instinct when I was a child – don’t think I don’t remember you putting me in an armlock in the retiring room, or all those times you dragged me to Mrs Lonsdale by the wrists – and then you tore the bloody sky in half! When it wasn’t even necessary. But that’s just what you’re like, isn’t it – ”

“What?” Asriel had paused, peeler in one hand, semi-shorn potato in the other. Lyra blinked; she’d assumed that he’d just tuned her out.

“Nothing. I was just commenting on your inability to do anything with restraint.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t necessary?”

She stared at him. “Well, there were lots of windows already, weren’t there? Even in Oxford. But no, you had to go all the way to the North – ”

He dropped the peeler onto the countertop with a clatter. “There were other windows? In our world?”

“Yeah,” she said, sharing a nervous glance with Pan. “You – you didn’t know about them?”

“How could I?” he said. “Within days of leaving Svalbard this world was several windows away. I didn’t spare a thought for home until your mother and I returned. How many? Where are they? Did you say Oxford?”

“They’re closed now,” Lyra said, an unwelcome memory of Will’s face disappearing behind a cruel, luminous seam in the air coming to her mind. “And I only knew about a few, the Oxford ones, mostly, though Will’s dad must’ve come through one too. But they’d been around for ages, they must have. I mean, Latrom had been crossing for years.” She tilted her head. “You really didn’t know that there were other windows? Even now?”

“No,” he snapped, Stelmaria grizzling beside him. “No one deigned to tell me. And who’s this Latrom?”

“That creepy collector guy, with the snake-dæmon. Oh, he had a different name in our world…”

“Boreal,” Pantalaimon piped up from beside her. “Lord Boreal.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “Boreal was travelling between worlds?”

Lyra nodded. “He’d been at it for ages. Decades, I suppose. He ran a big company in Will’s world and had travelled all over, collecting things for his weird basement. I think he was trying to impress Marisa. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.”

That made Stelmaria growl, and Lyra’s heart began to beat a little faster.

“Your mother went with him? To another world?”

“She was looking for me, I think,” Lyra admitted. “Latrom – Boreal – whatever, he’d stolen my alethiometer to force us bring him the knife, and she came to intercept us. That didn’t work either.”

At that moment, her mother swanned into the kitchen, wearing a red cashmere dress and a coal-black shawl, a fragrant bloom of perfume following her, the intertwining notes of rose and myrrh a smell Lyra had come to recognise as soon as it appeared in the air. She smiled at the sight of them, Asriel and Lyra side by side in the kitchen, though the joy was wiped from her face as soon as Asriel exploded, “You went to another world with Boreal?”

Marisa glared at Lyra, and she took Pan in her arms at once and clutched him to her chest. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t realise it was a secret!” Lyra said. “It was years ago!”

“When I asked you to go to another world with me, you refused. But when he asked – ”

The golden monkey was pulling gently on Stelmaria’s ears, trying to placate her, but Marisa herself seemed unperturbed. She poured herself a glass of wine, the same deep red as her dress, and leaned against the dining table. “He had something to offer me that served my own interests. You wanted me to simply abandon my life’s work in favour of yours, without a moment’s hesitation or complaint.”

“Semantics,” Asriel growled.

Marisa sipped her wine, pursing her lips, unbearably smug. “Are you jealous, darling? I thought you didn’t care about my lovers.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You and he… ugh! That’s disgusting!”

“Thank you, Lyra,” her father said, smirking.

“He was so… so smarmy, and so old, even then!” Lyra said.

“He was not that old,” her mother snapped, shooting daggers at Asriel when he laughed.

“Trust me,” Asriel said, leaning towards Lyra but not lowering his voice, “she went older.”

“I don’t want to know!” Lyra said, at the same time Marisa growled, “Asriel.” The golden monkey’s soothing caresses became a vicious wrench, and then both Asriel and Stelmaria were grimacing.

Lyra shook her head, reaching for the warped tin tray holding the goose and carrying it over to the oven. “Ugh,” she said again, shivering slightly, thinking of Lord Boreal’s oily voice and vault of trinkets. “You did that to find me and I still got away. No wonder you were furious.” She closed the cast-iron door with a smack. “What happened to him, anyhow?”

“An altercation with a spectre,” her mother said smoothly. “If he’d been paying more attention, perhaps he’d have seen it coming. Alas.”  

“You quite certain that the old snake’s heart didn’t just give out?” Asriel said, irritation transformed neatly into amusement. “As your daughter has emphasised so thoroughly, he was getting on.”

“Seems rather hypocritical to be goading me about the age of one’s lovers, hmm?” her mother said, with a sneer. “How old was that Latvian witch? Five hundred? Six?”

“Hard to say, given that she looked younger even than you,” Asriel said, leaning back against the counter with a smug smile. The monkey bit Stelmaria, and Asriel grunted.

“Stop it,” Lyra said, pressing her hands to her ears. “Ugh, just – just stop it! Both of you!”

Her parents glanced at Lyra, and then looked back to each other. Silence fell across the trio, and just as Lyra thought that the ghastly conversation was over, her father said, “She was four hundred, I’ll have you know. The witch you’re thinking of was Siberian, and she was – ”

“You’re both so infuriating!” Lyra said, storming out of the kitchen into her bedroom, closing the door with a slam.  

She sat on her bed and folded her arms, expecting one of them to come and find her, but it soon became clear that her flouncing off had done little to end the argument. She could hear them bickering, two familiar tones resonating through the cabin’s wooden walls, with the occasional sharper snap or outraged shout. Then she heard the sound of glass smashing and a chair scraping across the ground. Lyra lay back on her bed with a groan, slotting her head beneath her pillow and pressing the soft cotton to her ears.

She waited a few minutes before resurfacing, pleased that the brawl had quietened, and then spent several more minutes flicking through her book, hoping that their tempers would have burned themselves out by the time she returned to the kitchen. But when she made her grand reappearance, expecting to see some contrition on their faces, even just a grain of sand’s worth, she found the kitchen empty, the only sound the faint hiss of the kettle on the stove. She looked around the empty room, noting the glass shards on the floor by the sink. “Do you think one of them ran off, and the other followed?” Pan said, peering out of the window.

“Their coats are still here…” Lyra said, frowning.

At that moment, the workshop door swung open and her father appeared in the doorway. His cheeks were flushed, and he was tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “Oh. You’re back.”

Lyra stared at him. He glanced at the oven, chest heaving. “Is that goose ready yet? I’m starving.”

Her mouth fell open. “You – you – ” She shook her head. “Oh my god!”

“Lyra, darling,” her mother said breathlessly, appearing beside Asriel, her face the same deep crimson as the dress she was still straightening.

“You two are a disgrace,” Lyra said, with all the admonition she could muster, but her father only snorted. She turned and stalked back to her bedroom. “Disgusting. Disgusting!”

This time her mother did appear after a few minutes, her wild hair neatened and her face dusted with powder, Lyra scowling beneath the covers and pretending to read when the knock came at the door. Marisa opened it and skulked inside, looking – perhaps for the first time in Lyra’s memory – truly embarrassed, her cheeks still aflame, now for different reasons.

“I’m sorry about that, darling,” she said, running a hand through her curls. “I don’t know what came over me. Now, won’t you join us in the kitchen again, hmm? I’ve mixed you a drink, with the cloudberry jenniver. I know that it’s your favourite.”

Lyra gave her an unimpressed glare. Her mother smiled sweetly, one hand stroking her dæmon’s golden back. “And you know your father doesn’t know what to do with a paring knife, nor a roast potato or a pear. It would be such a shame to see your lovely meal ruined, wouldn’t it? I certainly don’t know when to take the bird out of the oven.”

That got her out of bed, her mother’s hand rubbing gently between her shoulder blades as they returned to the kitchen. Her father was hacking at the pile of potatoes again, a half-finished cocktail by his side.

“There you are,” he said, holding out her drink. Lyra took a sip and suppressed a hum as the sweet spirit hit her throat. He gestured to the countertop. “Now, what do you want me to do with these?” he said. Before long, their workflow had resumed, Asriel scoffing at Lyra’s comments on his knife skills but following her instructions nonetheless, while her mother sat at the table and offered unhelpful suggestions, a glass of wine in her hand and her feet propped up on a chair.

“Merry Christmas to us,” Pan said after Marisa had made a particularly useless remark. Despite herself, Lyra smirked.

This is a deleted scene from my story Unholy Ghosts, in which Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter survive the abyss and reunite with their daughter. You can read the full story on AO3. 

[tessiete]

16 (“If you want, we could go together?”) or 46 (“Shut up, I am a delight!”) for Obi-Wan & Padme, but no pressure whatsoever <3 <3 <3

Pressure! Pressure! Pressure! Lots of pressure. You know how my vanity requires that everything I write be capital P Profound.

This was a lot of fun to write - I forgot how much I love Padme. Now I’m contriving how to have her and Satine in the same fic and see how different they are.

In the meantime, here’s 2k of Padme just staring at Obi-Wan. Hope you’re at work @tree-scapes 

AND NEVER DO HARM TO THE WORLD

She asks him before she’s certain of the wisdom in it, herself, and he looks at her as if he’s only certain of its absence.

“If you want,” she says, “We could go together?”

The hitch in his step makes her wince as they reach the top of the Temple steps. She’s trapped him now, she knows, and feels guilty, but there’s no way for her to withdraw without causing further injury to both their dignities.

“I only suggest it since I know it’s a burden to - to me,” she explains. “And my usual escort is indisposed.”

He smiles. It’s a stiff and awkward line, as though drawn across his face by the unpracticed hand of a child, but he bows, and acquiesces with grace.

“Of course, Senator,” he says. She’s senator again, though moments before with Masters Windu and Koon she’d been Padme, so she knows it’s not the company.

“If it’s no inconvenience. I wouldn’t want to impose on your schedule, if you’d only meant to go for a short -”

“It’s no inconvenience at all,” he insists. His smile is kinder now, his awkwardness eased by the desire to alleviate her own obvious discomfort. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Good. Then I will know to expect you,” she says. With one more shallow bow, and the press of his fingers to hers, she hurries away, anxious to escape the louring gaze of the Temple guardians, and Obi-Wan’s curious stare.

She expects that he will show up, as promised.

She expects he will be, in all ways, gracious and prepared.

She expects stilted conversation, and wonders how often her tongue will stray to speak of Anakin, hoping the wine and frizz won’t alleviate one problem only to create another.

She expects she will spend the evening regretting her impulsive invitation, and making him regret it, if he doesn’t already.

What she does not expect is to be met at her door by a man she hardly recognises.

She has known Obi-Wan Kenobi since she was a girl, and he, hardly more than a boy, though in her eyes even then he’d been a man well beyond the reach of her childish ambition. Met again, he’d seemed...not ancient - one could hardly call him that - but aged, perhaps. Somber. Solemn to the point of serenity. He had an authority of a kind she’d only seen in grandmothers and wild prey, a sort of amused resignation to the motions of life, and an understanding gained through loss and sorrow. Whatever it was, it was something very distant from her, as if he’d grown out while she’d been busy growing up.

But the man that stands before her now is young, and sparkling. And nervous. It is a side of him she’s not seen before, and it has her counting the distance of years in her head. Is it ten? Less than? Surely not more. Are they truly peers?

He wears a skirt of muted blue, with three deep pleats pressed the full length on his right side. The creams of his traditional tabards are replaced with a stiff white tunic, and a thigh-length jacket with wide sleeves that drapes soft as the sky over his shoulders and down his back. It is a curious mix of imposed structure and natural elegance.

“Jedi formalwear,” he explains beneath her curious inspection. His fingers twist at the inside of a sleeve where the fabric hangs just long enough to hide his hand. He extends his opposite arm to offer her proper support. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she agrees, and instead of the more sophisticated and out-dated practice of simply laying her hand atop his, she tucks her arm beneath, and steps close until their arms are pressed between them, more like comrades than indifferent chaperones.

They stay that way until they reach the Feano Lyceum, Obi-Wan’s arm against hers. She is presented first, and his name follows. She thinks he may pull away here, in public, but his hold remains neither loose enough to encourage release, nor tight enough to prove her suspicions about his disquiet correct.

A few ambassadors and fellow diplomats nod in greeting at their arrival, but they are not questioned about their connection. This, Padme realises with some relief, and then worries that the Jedi may sense some of that and go looking for its source. She isn’t certain, yet, what lies within the power of the Force to provide. Anakin seems as attuned to her moods as she is at times, and then so oblivious at others that she thinks they must be total strangers. It would be unfortunate if Obi-Wan were to tend towards the former. If he knew about whom she thought of so often and so well...

It’s been six months since she’d wed her knight, and she’d heard lots about Obi-Wan second-hand, but only as a father, or an overly strict mentor. He is neither of these things tonight. And he is neither of these things to her. So what is Obi-Wan Kenobi?

A Jedi, certainly. Wise. Accomplished. Just. Driven. Demanding. These were all revealed to her by Anakin, and proved to her by history. But he’d said more she was less convinced of.

Stern? Perhaps, though she might instead say serious.

Aloof? Not that. Not judging by the way he leans into her at the approach of the senator from Alk’Lellish III who courts him with a lascivious flick of her tongue, and lingering prehensile limbs.

Cold? Not by the way he nudges her to draw her attention to the buffet table where two politicians abandon a vehement argument to fall into an enthusiastic embrace, stifling a smirk.

Pretentious? Not in how he coaxes her to try some sort of elegantly twisted hors d’oeuvres only to break out into genuine laughter as he watches the spice hit her tongue.

“You knew,” she accuses, trying in vain to wipe at her mouth with a synthcloth napkin in an elegant fashion.

“I might have,” he acknowledges, before mercifully passing over a cocktail from the bar. “It’s a White Knight. Made with nerf-milk. It’ll soothe the sting.”

She throws the drink back with the steel of a seasoned professional, and Obi-Wan’s brow rises in surprise.

“I’ve been in politics a long time,” she says, a warning in her tone.

“Ah,” he says, signalling for two more. “So have I.”

His own drink disappears as quickly as her first, and he calls for a flute of frizz while she sips at the Knight.

“I was under the impression you’d be above all this,” she says. “You know - as a Master of the Order.”

“I had similar delusions,” he agrees, taking a long draught of his drink. “However, it turns out there’s rather more politicking in times of war than of peace.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems that now we are required to be paraded about as the face of the Republic at these things as often as possible. To show we are here. To demonstrate our investment. To prove that the Chancellor is doing something about the Separatist threat.”

He finishes that drink, and reaches for another passing by on a tray. Padme’s smile turns to a frown as she watches that one disappear nearly as rapidly.

“You sound as though you don’t approve,” she says.

Obi-Wan tenses beside her, and turns away to set his empty glass aside. She cannot see his face, so must read what she can in the rigid line of his back as he says, “I lost many friends on Geonosis.”

“I’m sorry.”

When he turns back he is smiling softly once more, and she can’t tell if it is the Knight or some otherworldly radiance of his own that makes him blur at the edges, disguising his hurt, and transforming his disgust into dust, swept away by the fine skirts, and elevated company.

“Don’t be,” he says, deliberately applying her apology to a far less serious wound. “That’s why I came tonight with you. I had hoped you might ease my way, and perform all necessary flattery for me.”

“Oh, I hardly think you need my help in that,” she says, rolling her eyes, content to follow him to safer ground. “Maybe only to keep your admirers at bay.”

A short, sharp exhalation of air, and he falls silent, looking away.

“Why, Master Kenobi,” she cries, entranced and in utter delight, “Are you blushing?”

“That would be rather undignified for someone of my rank,” he denies. “It’s only a flush from the heat of the room.”

“You are blushing!”

“I am not,” he says. “It’s the ventilation that’s lacking.”

She waits. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, until she catches his gaze and holds it. His lips twitch. She can see his facade begin to splinter. It only pushes her to a higher mirth, and she laughs outright as it gives way entirely, leaving them both breathless and gasping.

Their joy catches the interest of several nearby dignitaries, one of whom is the Lellish ambassador with the wandering appendages, and before Obi-Wan can revert back to the blandly pleasant stoic he plays at, she takes him by the hand and leads him to the floor.

“Dance with me,” she says.

His smile remains, though his head tilts in confusion.

“This doesn’t seem a particularly effective way to solicit political support,” he suggests.

“No,” she says. “Not at all. But then I don’t find myself particularly interested in politics tonight, do you, Master Kenobi?”

“Obi-Wan,” he corrects, eyes shining.

“I thought not,” she says, and a smirk winds its way across her lips like the arched spine of a smug felinx.

They dance one set, and then the next, twirling away in a flourish of colour and light the moment anyone steps too near, or looks too close, and for a time they cannot be touched, and when they are spent, they fall laughing, out of line, upon each other.

“Anakin won’t believe this!” she says, her voice still rising with the excitement of the music. She doesn’t realise what she’s said until Obi-Wan’s eyes turn cloudy, and a wedge forms between his brows as he looks on her with a strange regard. “Next time I see him,” she amends. “I’ll tell him your secret.”

The Jedi coughs to clear some stray thought from his throat before it can be said aloud, and looks out over the room.

“Yes, I - I’m sure he’ll be amused,” he agrees. “Though we have attended many functions such as this before. Growing up. On a variety of worlds. It can be of little surprise to him - it seems that such civilized negotiations are common everywhere.”

Padme settles her skirts, and treads cautiously. “I suppose that’s true,” she allows.

“Though I imagine he little suspects that I am capable of such delight.”

“He has never said that,” she says, unwilling to slander Anakin even in her denial of him.

“But evidently, he thinks it,” Obi-Wan says, then sighs, gathering himself again. “Forgive me,” he says. “I find myself more and more uncertain what Anakin thinks, and feels. He doesn’t come to me as - Forgive me. You’re much too young, but I suppose one day, when you have your own younglings eaten up by adulthood you’ll feel it, too.”

“You’re not so old as all that, Obi-Wan,” she chides. “Hardly older than me, and not much older than Anakin. Certainly not old enough to be his father.”

“I was his master,” he corrects. “And now that he is knighted, I’m not certain what I am, anymore. He is changing faster than I am.”

She watches him as he watches the room spin, whirling by him in a wild array of colour and form that he cannot possibly follow - or if he can, then he is even more distant, even more removed from her ability to reckon. He is different. He is set apart, even from Anakin, and she suddenly wonders if that is because of the Force, or because of himself. Is it he who feels removed? He who feels shut out? He who feels divested of his place in the world, defined only by the title others call him and lacking the distinction of earnest comprehension? It isn’t enough, she thinks, to see in him what Anakin sees, or what she might expect. She needs to see him for himself, and appreciate him for that.

“His brother then,” she concludes, and she takes his hand. “And my friend, whatever else besides, no matter what he thinks.”

“If you say so,” he says, and she can feel him yield beneath the pressure of her hand, and the firmness of her conviction.

“I absolutely do. Let’s not think of him. Let’s be whatever we are right now. Let’s be delighted and delightful together, and have just one more dance.”

[btsmakesmehappy]

Palate Cleanser | 3

Genre: Agent au, friends with benefit (sort of), Stranger to lover, Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Pairing: Agent!Taehyung x Baker!reader

Word Count: 8,5k

Rating: 18+ (M)

Warning: Short makeout, Jealous-possessive Taehyung. Reader being called a slut.

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 completed

Summary: Taehyung needs something to take his mind off his broken heart. His best friend, Jimin, suggests that he should meet another woman and the first woman he met was you. Would you help him even though you have your own problem, that you hate men?

Series Masterlist: The Company

a/n: firstly, I apologize for my late update. As I explained before, I had some writter block plus I moved to a new workplace which require me to adjust more. I usually write around midnight (GMT+7) but I can’t anymore because I have my night shifts in the ER. which is kinda tiring. I don’t want to bring my laptop to ER because, ew, germs. so anyway, enjoy and please please reblog and give me a feedback!

thank you so much to @dreamystuffers for beta-reading editing my lack of grammar-fic. I will be forever thankful <3

You were only ten at the time. It was your mother’s birthday, and your father decided to bring the entire family to eat at a fancy restaurant with a multi-course meal. You were happy at first, having to eat delicious food in a beautiful dress. But when you sat at the table, you were shocked to find that the food was so little in quantity and the way they served the food one by one it was just frustrating for a girl like you. You had starved yourself for this particular dinner, and you were not enjoying it at all.

You were mad because you were hungry and the next course they served you after the appetizer was a cup of lime sorbet instead of some juicy steak. You were on the verge of crying. You thought that the sorbet, which was like ice cream to you, was a dessert. Therefore you thought that dinner had ended, and you were still hungry.

At the age of ten, you thought of yourself as a little bit more mature. You didn’t want to complain to your parents about how hungry you were, you didn’t want to destroy the happy moment. So you decided to just push your emotions and your hunger aside, as you ate the small cup of the lime sorbet in silence, hoping that it would fill your growling stomach.

You would be lying to yourself if you said that after another cup of sorbet you weren’t still hungry. You then snuck some pieces of bread from your mother’s plate while she was busy drinking her wine. The bread itself was delicious, to the point that you devoured almost 10 pieces of bread at once. You were happy, knowing that you were full. And when the waiter then served the next course, you were no longer hungry.

Your mother was obviously mad at you because you didn’t even touch your expensive steak. After all, you were already full of food that was only supposed to be a palate cleanser, but instead, you ate it like it was the main course. But still, you had no regrets.

Maybe you were bound to love that sorbet more than the steak. Maybe you were bound to love the bread more than the wine.

You are awakened by the sound of your phone just like every other morning. As your hands wander on the bed, looking for your damn phone, you feel something warm moving beside you. You open your eyes slowly, only to find Taehyung’s bare chest in front of your face.

You sit up right away, looking at your own body and then at his. Your eyes widen at your naked body. You then swiftly drag your blanket and wrap yourself with it, making Taehyung stir in his sleep at the sudden coldness.

You rise and walk to the couch, rummaging through your purse to turn off the alarm on your phone. You look at the room around you, clothes scattered on the floor. You feel a heat rushing to your face, as memories of last night filling your head.

What should I do the morning after a one-night-stand?

You can’t run away, it is your apartment after all.

You sigh and walk to your bathroom. You let a cold shower run over your body. You hope that Taehyung will leave while you are in the shower, but at the same time, you hope that he won’t.

Why did you do it in the first place? You barely know him, but you wanted him. You wanted to help him. Was it a good idea?

You wash your body quickly and turn your shower off. You then dry yourself off and cover your body with a towel. As you step out of the bathroom, Taehyung is still sleeping soundly, he somehow pulled your bedsheet off to cover his body.

You change into a shirt and new jeans, throwing your jeans from last night into the washer. You look at the mirror and grab your concealer to cover the hickeys on your neck, thanking God, that it hasn’t gone empty.

You look at the clock on the wall. You must go to the bakery in less than an hour. You then walk to the bed and nudge Taehyung softly. “Taehyung, wake up.”

He groans, feeling uncomfortable to be woken up. He stretches his body and sits up. His eyes are still shut as he tries to stay awake. You hide your smile. He looks different from yesterday. He looks intimidating in suits, and now? He just looks adorable with messy hair and a pout on his face.

You run your fingers through his hair. “Take a shower, I will make you some breakfast.” He doesn’t answer you but he stands up and walks to the bathroom with his hand rubbing his eyes lazily. “The towel is in the cabinet over the sink.” You pick his shirt and pants from the floor, smoothing them out, and lay them on your bed.

You open your fridge. You only have a bunch of eggs inside. Well, you never have breakfast. You pick two eggs and a milk carton. You crack open the eggs and put it in the bowl. You whisk it quickly until it becomes a light yellowish color. You pour some milk and put some salt and pepper inside, and whisk it again. You prepare your frying pan on the stove with some butter. As the pan gets hotter, you pour the egg and then scramble it carefully. You cook it only for a minute and then put it on the plate. You use the already buttered pan to toast a slice of bread from the loaf that you always have in your apartment.

You hear the bathroom door open and there is Taehyung with a towel wrapped on his waist, looking unnecessarily attractive. You gulp and divert your attention to your bread. Taehyung walks over to the bed and then wears his clothes.

“What are you making?” He asks while walking to the kitchen. He dries his hair with the towel lazily.

You gesture for him to sit at the table. “Just toast and scrambled eggs. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything else.” You then put the plate on the table and sit in front of him.

“I don’t mind. Thank you.” He then grabs the fork and starts eating the eggs. “It’s good.”

You chuckle sheepishly. “It’s just an egg.”

He nods. His eyes then wander to your kitchen and stop at the coffee machine in the corner. “Is that the coffee machine?” He smiles mischievously.

You pout. “Yeah.” You answer weakly. “Do you want some?”

“Nah. I’m not drinking coffee, It’s bitter.” He says as he rips the bread and puts it in his mouth.

You prop your hand under your chin, watching him eat. “I don’t drink it either.” His head tilts in confusion. “I don’t drink it anymore. I have severe gastritis. Coffee is forbidden for me.” You explain.

“It is a pity. You spent so much money on it.” He is trying hard to hold his laughter as he nods his head. The irony is funny for him. “Are you not eating?” He asks you softly. He has been watching you watch him eat, but you haven’t even eaten anything.

You shake your head. “I never have breakfast. It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

Taehyung’s jaw drops. “Nope. You eat this.” He then rips the bread and puts some of the egg on it and reaches out his hand to feed you. Just as you are trying to refuse, he glares at you, forcing you to accept the food. “That’s why you have gastritis. You should eat more regularly.”

You can feel your heart leap. This is too domestic for you. It is strange, but at the same time, you yearn for it. Taehyung rises from his seat with his plates and walks to the sink. You try to stop him, but he insists on washing the dishes. “You cook, I wash.”

Too domestic.

You decide to distract yourself by making your bed, but when you find some wet spot on it, you feel your face is getting hotter. You then remove the sheets completely and throw it into the laundry bag.

Taehyung then sneaks into your back and makes you jolt in surprise. “Let me walk you to the bakery.”

You can feel your nervousness as your hands become clammy. When he walks behind you while you pick up your jacket and your purse, when his hot breath touches your skin while you lock the door, or when his hands touch yours slightly while you walk beside him. It drives you crazy. You have never felt this way.

You both walk in silence. Neither of you want and try to talk about last night. You are grateful for it though. It’s not even that you don’t want to talk about last night, you just can’t think about it without feeling embarrassed.

Your feet stop in front of the bakery. Just as you’re about to thank him and walk inside, he calls you. “Y/N.” You turn your head towards him. Taehyung then leans into you and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips. “Thank you.” He smiles and walks away.

And there you are. Standing speechless in front of your own bakery. In the morning. With a pounding heart inside your chest. You put your hand over your mouth. You still can feel his soft lips on yours and you feel your face heating up.

Maybe it was a bad idea.

“Hey, Taehyung-ah! Finally, you’ve arrived. I almost fell asleep.” Hoseok says as Taehyung gets into the SUV. It’s Taehyung’s turn today to keep an eye on Chanyeol. Hoseok squints his eyes and looks at Taehyung from head to toe. “You had sex, didn’t you?”

“ehm. No.” Taehyung leers to the sidewalk, not meeting his gaze.

“You wore the same clothes as yesterday.” Hoseok points it out. He then leans in and takes a sniff. “And you smell different.”

“What are you? A dog?” Taehyung is flabbergasted. He then sniffs himself. He can’t smell anything weird. He does smell different though, like lavender, just like your soap. He sighs, admitting defeat. “For the record, I did all of my tasks before I got, ehm, some.”

Hoseok’s eyes lit up. “I don’t care about your tasks, dumbass. So who is she?” It’s not that the job wasn’t his priority. Taehyung is like a little brother to Hoseok. And for several weeks, hell, for several years, he has seen him hurt and sad. So if he can do anything to make him happy, Hoseok will do it in a heartbeat.

Taehyung still looks away towards the window. “I’d rather not say.”

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it?” Hoseok points his finger towards Taehyung. Seeing Taehyung move uncomfortably, Hoseok knows he hits the jackpot. “I knew it! I felt something between you two. So you’re dating now?” He chuckles.

Taehyung frowns his brows. “I am not dating her. It was just a palate cleanser, you know? Just a one-night-stand to get it out of all my system. Jimin recommended it.”

Hoseok snorts. “That’s not a palate cleanser.” Hoseok just feels it. It’s different from any other one-night-stand Taehyung’s had. And if Hoseok thinks about it that way, it must be right. If Taehyung excels in firearms, Yoongi excels in hacking, and Jungkook excels in fighting, Hoseok is good at analyzing people. He majors in psychology after all. His works usually involve people like Namjoon. If the company needs someone to assist with an interrogation, they call Hoseok. Honestly, he could stop doing what he is doing any minute now, and open a consulting therapy. But he won’t, he loves this job. And besides, the pay and the benefits are good.

“What do you mean, Hyung? Of course, it is.” He turns to see his face. “It’s just for sex.”

“Alright, fine! It is a palate cleanser by that definition.” Hoseok shrugs. “So, did you stay the night?” He asks casually.

“Uh-uh.”

“Shower? Breakfast?”

“Yep.”

Hoseok hides his smile. “Did you or did you not kiss her again before you left her?”

Taehyung’s face shows a hint of a blush on his cheeks, remembering how your lips tremble against his. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a plan to meet her again after you’ve done your shift?”

“Maybe?” Taehyung raises one of his eyebrows. Hoseok then laughs. “What is your point, exactly?” He asks impatiently.

“I don’t know, man.” Hoseok opens his door and gets out of the car. “Seems to me like you picked a whole main course instead of just a palate cleanser.” He smiles in a fatherly fashion and closes the door, leaving Taehyung in a state of confusion.

It’s been a few days since you saw Taehyung. Since your last stolen kiss in front of your bakery. Luckily for you, Hani didn’t see it, so at least, you could have a mental breakdown in the locker room without being questioned by her.

And you have been thinking about Taehyung ever since.

And the more you think about him, the more confused you are.

Hence, you finally seek help. Hani to the rescue.

“So, you just kissed him in the middle of the street and slept with him?” She yells and you hush her almost immediately. Sure, it’s one of the calmer times in your bakery, so there are no customers right now. But still, why did she talk that loud in the first place? Hani then leans in to hug you tightly. “I am so glad, Y/N! I taught you well.”

You release yourself from the hug and give her a light hit on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re supposed to scold me like my mother would.”

“For the millionth times, I am not your mother.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I am just happy that you got some, you know, furthermore, with that handsome man. So spill it! Was he good? How many did you come?”

“Hani!” You feel the heat rushing to your face, remembering the night you slept together with Taehyung.

Hani whines. “Stop being such a prude! Just tell me!”

“It- it was good.” You put your hand awkwardly on your neck. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about!”

She tilts her head to the side and then drags you to the seating area. “Fine, let me hear it.”

You clear your throat, “So, I was just thinking.” You rub your hands together. “It just feels weird, you know.”

“What is weird?”

“I am supposed to think about it as sex, a one-night-stand, and nothing more. But when we, ehm, did it, I got so comfortable and I have been thinking about him ever since.” You sigh. “Am I normal?”

Hani blinks her eyes a few times. She knows that you are a smart person and a hard worker with a passionate soul. But she didn’t think that you were this dense. Maybe your ex ruined you more than you think. “You want more, don’t you?” She asks and you nod repeatedly. “Of course you are normal.”

“Right?” You smile. “It’s totally normal to want more after you had sex once. That’s why people think that sex is addicting.” You nod proudly.

“That’s not what I mean-“

The doorbell rings, and you jerk your head to the door. “Welcome to palate cleanser!” You yell to the customer. You then turn your head to Hani. “Thanks, girl, it was messing my head for some time. I am glad I talked to you.”

You walk to the cashier as Hani eyes you. She shakes her head in disbelief, unable to believe how obnoxious you are. But she can’t do anything if you won’t realize it yourself. You need to be the one who realizes your own feelings.

The tall man walks straight towards the cash register. He has a large bag with him, maybe for a laptop or camera. His eyes are big like a deer’s, and you can see his big ears poking out from beneath his beanie. “Hello.”

You beam him a smile. “Hi! Do you need assistance? We have varieties of bread and cakes here. One of our bakery’s best-sellers this month are these cookies. Would you like to try some?”

He looks perplexed. “Ah, sure.” You open the cookie jar and with your tongs, you pick out a piece and give it to him. He then tries it. ”It is good.”

“Thank you! It is sweet and salty at the same time! So you won’t get tired of eating it. How many do you want?” You ask.

“Eh.. I am not really here to buy anything. I am here for this.” He then opens his bag and pulls out a magazine.

You receive and read it. Hani runs her way to your side, curious about the magazine. “What’s this?”

“This is a food magazine I wrote, well we wrote. We usually make a poll for some topics, and this month is for a bakery. And guess what who is in the first place?” He asks as he opens the page.

Hani’s eyes widen, she almost shrieks. “Oh my god! We are in the first place!”

You hug her. “I can’t believe it!” You then look at the man. “Wait, is this even a trusted source?”

He laughs awkwardly. “You can say so.”

“Who cares if it is a fake one! Don’t be so negative, y/n!” She hits your back playfully and walks away with the magazine. You are positive that she will post it on her Instastory.

“Y/N?”

You turn your head to him. “Yes?”

He scratches his head. “Did you go to Big Hit Culinary school?”

You raise one of your eyebrows. “Yes, I did. Do I know you?”

“I am Park Chanyeol. You may not know me, but I was in the same class as you. Do you remember? You were the one who helped me with my butter incident.” He smiles widely.

You try to remember him. “Ah! You were the one who always laughed loudly during class!”

He pouts slightly. “I was hoping you would remember me for better things. Anyway, it was nice to see you again.” He reaches his hand out to you and you shake his hand.

You chuckle. “Bad luck, man. So how are you? I didn’t think you would become a journalist.”

He laughs. “I am good. I didn’t think so either, but eating nice things was my childhood dream. If you can’t cook it, just eat it.” He then looks at Hani from the window. “So, I assume she is Hani then?”

You then knock on the window and gesture for Hani to come outside. “Yep, the one and only. I am just speechless, you remember us!”

“Why wouldn’t I remember the prettiest girl in the class?” He winks at you.

“What? Are you flirting with me?” You ask coyly.

He leans to the counter suggestively. “Why? Am I not allowed to?”

“What?” Hani interrupts. “I am just calling my mother.”

You point at Chanyeol. “He was my classmate in culinary school. Do you remember him?”

Hani puts her hand under her chin. “Aren’t you the one who followed the Lee kid around? I think I saw you sometimes in the cafeteria.”

Chanyeol lips tighten. “Yes, that’s me. Damn, I left no good impression on either of you girls.” He laughs awkwardly. “So what do you say we have dinner tonight for old time sakes?”

Hani clasps her hands together in excitement. “I think it is a good idea!”

“Sure! Barbeque sounds good!” You yell happily. It has been a long time since you have eaten with friends. Maybe you need this to take your mind off Taehyung.

Suddenly, Hani slaps her forehead. “Ah, but I can’t tonight. It is my anniversary. Jackson will cry if I miss this.”

You then remember how Jackson told you that he is going to propose to her tonight. You can’t believe you almost forget about it. “Oh, maybe another time then?”

“No! You should go without me! I am not that close to you anyway!” She says easily. “Who are you? Park Changmin?”

He laughs. “Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol.”

“Right! And for that matter, why don’t you go now? It’s almost dinner too.” Hani offers. “I will close the store.”

You then drag her to the side. “Yah, why are you letting me go alone with this man. I must say that I am not comfortable with this.” You whisper.

“Geez, relax, Y/n!” She waves you off. “And it is good for you too, you know? You can also check if you get the same feeling like you got when you were with the handsome man before.”

Your eyes widen. “What’s the matter with you? You want me to sleep with this random man? I just met him.”

Hani shrugs, “Well, you did it with that handsome man anyway.”

You pout and sigh in defeat. “Fine, I will have dinner with him.”

“Great!” She then looks to Chanyeol. “Alright, Chanyeol-ssi. Please wait there as Y/N will go change.”

You walk slowly towards the locker room. You have never won an argument with her.

The conversation itself is not that bad. You both talk about your school in the past. Chanyeol passionately explains to you how he got into the butter incident. It was summertime and he worked in the station near the window. He had just prepared his ingredients for his introduction to cookies class, and he forgot that he put the bowl of butter near the window because he was busy measuring the other ingredients. The butter melted, like all of it, and what he did next was amusing. He waited for it to become solid again. As a result, he lost some of his time.

You laugh loudly as you flip the meat on the grill. You remember it. How he waited patiently in the counter with his chin propped on it, staring at a bowl. You then gave him your leftover butter because he almost ran out of time. “The funny thing is, you should’ve just put it in the freezer to save time!”

“I know right! I was so panicked at the time!” He picks up a slice of meat from the grill and eats it.

“And sometimes, melted butter works well in some cookies. So if you’d used it at that time, maybe you could’ve gotten an A.”

“See? I didn’t know any of that! That’s why I stuck to journalism.”

You giggle. “Yeah, maybe it’s for the best.” You eat the cooked meat. It’s been a while since you have had this kind of meeting, and now with a man. And surprisingly for you, you don’t feel weird or uncomfortable. Huh. Maybe the palate cleanser thing works.

“You know...” He swallows his food. “I always thought that you were gay.”

You choke in your own saliva. “Why did you think so?”

He shrugs. “Well, you just awfully close with Hani. And I heard that you never wanted to get close with a man.”

You laugh dryly. “Well, I am not gay.”

“Then, is it okay to flirt with you then?” He says as he leans torwards your face. A mischievous smile plastered on his face.

Your eyes widen. You have never been with such an aggressive man before, and you feel your face getting hotter. “ehm... Sure. I guess?”

Chanyeol then smiles widely. “It’s good then.”

The conversation flows smoothly, you can’t even feel the vibration on your phone. By the time dinner ends, Chanyeol insists on walking you home. Still, you don’t feel the same feeling you felt with Taehyung. So you just thank him and wave him goodbye.

Just as you close the door and throw your shoes. You suddenly realize a shadow shifting on your couch. Sure the apartment has a good price, but it somehow lacks security. Like last week, there was even a break-in on the upper floor. That made your parents worried. They even offered to give you some money, just so you could move to a more secure building, which you rejected politely.

Moving swiftly, you take your umbrella from the front door and walk towards the couch trying to be as subtle as you can. You put your purse on the floor quietly and reach for the lamp switch. Quickly after you turn it on, you hit the source of the shadow with the umbrella as hard as you can.

“Ouch!” You jerk your eyes open, only to find a familiar man in front of you, rubbing his head in pain.

“What the fuck, Taehyung? Did you want to scare me or something?” You yell. Your knees go weak and you flop to the floor, your heart still racing. “How in the hell did you get in?”

He smiles sheepishly as he helps you to stand. “You keep a key under your doormat. You need to be careful, you know. You are a single woman living alone in this low-security-apartment.”

You are speechless as you sit on the couch, cursing yourself for forgetting that you kept your spare key there. Taehyung then walks to the kitchen casually. He opens your kitchen cabinet to get two mugs and fills them with water. He walks back to you and forces you to drink.

“I am sorry for sneaking into your apartment.” He says softly. He sits beside you on the couch, looking forward.

You drink it slowly, and begin to calm down. “What do you want? Do I need to call the police or something?”

“You didn’t answer your phone, so I was worried.” He puts the mugs on the table and turns to you. You look into his brown eyes, which draw you in. His eyes are unreadable.

You feel your hands getting clammy. Your heart beats faster. You can smell his cologne mixed with his sweat, and it is intoxicating. He makes it hard for you to breathe. “I am sorry, I must’ve put it in my purse.”

“Who did you go out with?” He snapped. The tone is not sweet at all, it is full of dominance. It is like you’ve been caught red-handed stealing something at a store. And when you don’t answer him, he leans into you, and corners you on the couch. His hands caging you in to stop you from running from him.

With this proximity, you can feel the turmoil inside your stomach. You feel afraid but at the same time, you are excited. You gulp. “Why?”

He hisses. “Just answer me, muffin.” At the sound of the pet name coming from his mouth in his deep voice, you close your thighs, rubbing them together. Taehyung realizes it too. He inches his lips to your ear, so close, you can feel his hot breath. “Who is he?”

“Why should I tell you?” Your breaths shorten. You can feel your underwear getting damp.

Taehyung nibbles your earlobe, making you shiver. “Because maybe he is a dangerous man.”

You gulp, trying to gain the focus. “You are the one who broke into my apartment. Aren’t you more dangerous?”

He hums, “Smart. Then you should know who is in charge now?” he licks your ear and goes down to your neck. “Hmm, do you think you can go out with another man just because my marks have gone?” He then sucks and bites your jaw, which makes you moan.

“Tae-“

Your words are cut off by his lips on yours. His soft lips dance and open yours to sneak his tongue in. As he explores your mouth skillfully, he removes your mug and puts it aside on your table. Just as you begin to melt in his kisses, he pulls away, which makes you moan in protest. “So who is he?” He looks into your eyes, piercingly.

You sigh, gaining your composure, and push him away. “My friend from school. We just ate dinner.” Why do you need to tell him that? You try to control your breath and your raging heart.

He hums. “What did you talk about?” He then pats your head softly and pushes your fallen hair behind your ear.

You shiver but lean in his touch. You begin to wonder, who he really is to make you so weak only by his hand. Who is he to make you so addicted to him? “Just nostalgic events.”

He nods in understanding. He then rises in his seat and walks to your bed. He unbuttons his shirt and let it fall on the ground.

“What are you doing?”

He turns his head to you as he plops on your bed. “I want to sleep.”

You frown as you walk to him. “And why are you doing this here? Don’t you have a place you call home?”

Taehyung pouts and whines. “Come on, Y/N! My apartment is so far away and I am deadly tired.” He casually pulls the blanket over his body and makes himself comfortable on your bed.

“Well, there is a perfect couch for you tonight.” You bend down and pick up his thrown shirt. You smooth it out and put it on a hanger subconsciously. You then go back to the bed, forcefully trying to pull the blanket off his body.

“This bed is perfect, thank you.”  He says as he tugs the blanket back.

Your jaw drops at his antics. “You seriously just kicked me out of my own bed, in my own apartment?”

He raises his head for a second and pats an empty space on the bed beside him. “I didn’t. You are welcome to join me in this perfect bed.” He smirks. “It’s not like this is our first time sleeping together.”

You feel heat rushing to your face. “I am not going to sleep with you!” You yell. This man.

He looks at you mischievously, “Are you sure? We can continue whatever we were doing on that couch before.”

You gulp. Sure, you can still feel how wet your underwear is as it sticks on your skin. And with Taehyung inviting you to the bed, it is tempting.

Seeing you waver, Taehyung then sets the blanket aside and pulls you into his hug. He then turns his body so now your body is pinned underneath him. “You know, for a woman who hates men that much, you sure love how men touch you.” He leans in and kisses your neck. “Or was it because of my touch?”

You snort but never push him away. Deep inside, you know that you want this as much as him. Taehyung then rolls his hips into you, and you can feel his hardness poking from his pants. “You said that you’re deadly tired!”

He chuckles. “I will never get tired of you, muffin.” He then leans in and takes your lips in his.

“Hello?”

“Taehyung? It’s me Hoseok.” The man on the other line answered.

Taehyung stretched his body and walked to his kitchen. “I know, man. What’s up?” He then opened his fridge and took anything inside to fill his empty stomach. He slept without having breakfast and lunch and now his stomach was growling. This job was really messing with his eating schedule.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Hoseok asked cautiously.

Taehyung hummed. “I do. What’s the point man? You really woke me up from my nap just to tease me about her? Are you that bored already?”

“No. That’s not what I wanted to do, at least right now.” He sighed. “I just saw her.”

Taehyung raised one of his eyebrows in confusion. He leaned his back on his fridge as he gulped a carton of milk. “And?”

“I just saw her with Chanyeol.”

Taehyung choked on his milk, not only because it tasted funny but also with a bomb Hoseok just dropped. He then threw the bad milk into the trash and walked back to his bedroom. “Alright, I am coming. I am hanging up!” He then put on the nearest shirt he could get and dialed your number on his phone.

He put his phone on his ear while he’s struggling to put on his pants. And after several times trying to reach you, he hissed and ran from his apartment.

You open your eyes in annoyance. You remember how Taehyung raided your bed last night, and this peaceful morning destroyed by Taehyung making a ruckus in your kitchen. You rise from the bed. Luckily, you slept well last night, but there is soreness between your legs which makes it a little hard for you to walk around.

“What the hell are you doing?” You snap.

Taehyung turns his head to you and smiles sheepishly. “I wanted to make you some breakfast. Sorry to wake you.”

You sigh, “I told you. I don’t need any breakfast.”

“No. You must eat something.” He looks at you from the corner of his eyes as he whisks the egg. “Just take a shower.”

Just when you step into the shower, Taehyung plops himself on the couch and looks for your phone. You seem like the type who showers quickly so he doesn’t have much time to look into your phone. He hisses at the lack of security on your phone, and with just a normal swipe he can access your phone. He scrolls quickly to your text messages, email, and contacts, but there is no suspicious activity regarding Chanyeol.

The water from the shower turned off and he puts your phone in the same place as before. He then walks back to the kitchen to continue his cooking. Taehyung is not good at cooking, but there’s no way he can ruin a scrambled egg right?

But unlucky to him, somehow the egg decides to make him an enemy and refuses to cook nicely. The eggs turn brownish-black instead of light yellowish color.

You sit in front of the table with a questioning look on your face. “What’s this?” You ask as you’re faced with an unknown thing on a plate.

“Scrambled eggs?” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

You giggle. “It’s okay. I am sure it is edible.” You then grab your fork and start eating it. You almost choke at the bitterness of the egg. Never have you ever tasted an egg like this.

“How is it?” He asks carefully.

You nod your head, trying your best to chew it quickly and shallow it. “It is kinda edible.”

“Really?” He asks as he grabs some from your plate and puts it in his mouth. “Yikes. It is not edible at all. I can’t believe I made you eat it.” He then tries to grab your plate but you slap his hand.

“It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with eating burnt food.” You quickly eat all of it and take a big gulp of water to water it down. “I am sure I will be okay.”

His jaw drops at your actions. He worries about your stomach but somehow feels happy that you ate his food so willingly. He then looks at your body, the blueish color on your neck, and the way you’re sitting uncomfortably. “Sorry, was I too rough last night?”

You choke on your own saliva. You cough hard and drink from the glass of water that Taehyung brought you. After a moment, you begin to calm down and stab the food with your fork. “I am fine.”

“I can see that you’re struggling to walk. Are you sure you can go to work? I can call Hani to tell her that you’re not feeling well.”

You jerk your head up towards him, with redness on your cheeks. “I will be fine! Geez.”

He hides his smile after seeing your red face. So cute. “Oh, right. Thank you for letting me crash here.”

“Just no more sneaking in, okay?” You watch him eating his own burnt food in disgust. “So what is your job?” You ask abruptly, remembering that you know nothing about his job whatsoever.

“I am an agent.” He answers mid-chew. He is the type who chews slowly even when it tastes horrible and you can see him struggling to eat his own dish.

You blink your eyes a couple of times as you push a glass of water towards him. “Like an FBI?”

“Yep.” He nods and drinks the water quickly, to wash down the bitterness of his eggs.

You look at him in amusement. “Sure.” You say sarcastically.

He looks at your eyes softly with a mischievous smile in his face. “You don’t believe me?” His plate is somehow cleared up. He puts his hand under his chin, studying your reaction.

“Nope.” You answer dryly. You rise from your seat and walk to the sink with the plate.

He chuckles. “Good then.” He follows you and then puts his plate on the sink. His body towering you from behind. His breath touches your skin and you jolt in surprise. You push him away suddenly, afraid that he will listen to your beating heart. He just laughs knowingly, completely aware of what he did to you. Maybe it is gonna be his new hobby, to tease you. “Let me walk you to work, muffin.”

It’s been a few weeks since the night Taehyung crashed at your apartment. He has been sleeping at your place almost every night since then. He spent the night so many times, to the point that he has spare clothes in your closet and there is his favorite cereal in your kitchen. Your key under the doormat has been long gone, and it can now be found inside Taehyung’s pocket. When you asked him to give your key back, he refused. He told you that it is safer that way. Not to mention that he told you that it is safer for you when you find him inside your apartment when you come back home.

Sure, he is great company, the sex is great, and the way he forcefully feeds you in the morning has made your gastritis better, but how he somehow just sneaks himself in as part of your nightly routine just makes your feelings for him grow exponentially.

And not just every night. He also calls you during the day too. Asking if you have eaten yet, if you have arrived home safely when he can’t go to your apartment, the recipe for the infamous cookies in your bakery (nice try!), and you can say that your days have been really cheerful lately. You don’t dislike this new addition to your routine.

You also sometimes send a bag full of bread to Taehyung and Hoseok when they work overtime, and somehow his friend named Jungkook also requests for your bread. You are getting busy. After the great review from the food magazine before, the bakery has been buzzing lately. You’ve never been this busy before.

You are in the kitchen baking continuously trying to meet the demand. You and Hani also hired a part-timer to help you with the bakery, a girl named Wendy. She has experience working in a bakery, therefore you and Hani chose her. But still, you assign her to work as a cashier and serve the customers, while you and Hani work in the kitchen.

Just after you put a batch in the oven, a knock on the glass startles you. From there, you can see a tall man waving to you. You wave him back and after washing your hands, you walk outside to greet him.

“What do I owe a pleasure to my bakery’s savior?” You shake Chanyeol’s hand. “Really! It has been a very busy day in our bakery since the magazine.”

He smiles back. “No need to thank me. It was a poll after all. If it were up to me, I would put that bakery across yours in first.” He chuckles.

You hit his shoulder playfully. “Rude!” You gesture him to sit. “So, do you need anything?”

“Ah, right.” He then pulls a big envelope from his bag. “This is for you.”

You raise your eyebrow. “You really need to stop doing that, you know.” You open the envelope and pull out some of the paper. “What’s this?”

“So, there will be a party next week. It is like a buffet, actually.”

You scan the paper. “Wow, the guests look fancy and important. There are also politicians.” You look at Chanyeol questioningly. “So do you want to invite me?”

He chuckles. “No. We want you to be one of the caterer there.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you serious? Oh my god! That will be great!” You rise from your seat and go to Chanyeol to hug him. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He pats your back and laughs. “So, do you agree?”

“Of course, we do!!” You pull away from him. “Oh my, I need to tell Hani.”

“Alright. You do that, and I have to go, unfortunately. Everything you need is written in those papers, but if you need something just call me, okay?” He rises from your seat and kisses your cheek lightly. “Talk to you soon, Y/N.” Chanyeol then waves to Hani who is inside the kitchen and walks away from the bakery.

You should be embarrassed with the sudden action, but you didn’t even care. The only thing on your mind is that you’ll have the chance to serve some important people at an important event. This is such a good opportunity for this small bakery. You run to the kitchen to tell Hani. This is like a dream!

Unbeknownst to you, Taehyung was standing in front of your bakery the whole time. He saw how friendly you were with Chanyeol, how you hugged him, and how he kissed your cheek. And Taehyung felt a weird pang inside his chest. He bites his lip and clenches his hands into fists.

Chanyeol is dangerous. He hates how you dropped your defense to that dangerous man. He hates how you smiled at Chanyeol. He hates it.

You should be hating men. Why don’t you hate Chanyeol as well?

He hates it.

He hates seeing you with another man.

After you discuss it with Hani, you both agree to close the bakery on the day of the event. It is the biggest event for both of you, and you wouldn’t let something wrong happen. You needed to prepare for it carefully.

You are busy designing the sweet corner for the party. This party is huge, so you need to make your corner more eye-catching. It is the point of doing this. You want people to know more about your little bakery.

This bakery is your precious baby.

This bakery is your dream.

You stretch your body. You have been working in the bakery for several hours now. It has closed already, Hani has left early and so did Wendy. You feel more worked up and productive if you work in the workplace, and besides, all of the designs and preparation will be done in the bakery, so there is no use to take it back and forth.

Taehyung hasn’t returned all of your calls after you accepted this event. You called him several times to give him the news but he didn’t answer it. You figured that he was busy with his job, so you don’t want to disturb him. Still, you felt a little disappointed not hearing his voice. After several days of talking to him, he became one of your friends. And you kind of miss him.

Suddenly your doorbell rings, and you turn your head to the door. There you find Taehyung walks casually to your bakery. The one you miss the most. “Hey, Tae! I’ve been wanting to call you.” Your eyes dart back to the scattered paper in front of you and Taehyung then sits across you.

“What are you doing?” He smiles as he takes and looks at one of your papers.

You snatch the paper from his hand. You smile proudly. “It is for our big event this Saturday! Can you believe it? This bakery finally gets recognized by some important people.” He hums as he sees you tidying up. You then rise from your seat with your papers to the locker room. “Have you eaten yet? I will treat you this time.”

“Sure.” He answers shortly.

You tilt your head at his antics. He isn’t usually like this. You get used to him being talkative and kinda bratty. “Okay, wait a minute. I will go to change first.”

When you arrive at the diner, you can count on your fingers at how many times Taehyung opened his mouth. He has never been this quiet before. You look at the menu and take a glance at him. He seems bothered by something.

“I will order carbonara and ice tea.” You say to the waiter. “You?”

“I- I will have the same.”

The waiter then takes the menu from you and walks away. You raise your eyebrow at him. “What happened? You look troubled.”

His face jerks to you and shakes his head. “I am fine. Just a little tired.”

“You don’t plan to crash at my place again, do you?” You squint your eyes suspiciously. “The last time you spent the night in my place, you almost set my kitchen on fire. You really should learn to cook, Tae. Wait, maybe I can teach you something. It would be fun! You won’t believe how many-“

“You should drop the event.” Taehyung interrupts.

Your eyes widen. “I am sorry, what?”

“That event that Park Chanyeol asked you to do. You shouldn’t do it.” He said. His eyes staring at yours. You look into them, finding any mischievousness in them, but there are none.

You are flabbergasted. “You do know that bakery is my dream, right? Why are you like this?” You couldn’t believe your ears. You thought of all of the people, Taehyung would be supportive, or at least, he would be happy for you. But this? “And besides, how do you know about him? Are you stalking me?”

“No, Y/N. I just-“

“Wait, are you from the bakery across mine? Do you want to sabotage my bakery?” You yell. “That’s why you asked for my recipe the other day!” You rise from your seat in fury.

“Calm down, muffin. I am not trying to sabotage your job.” He whispers as he pats your shoulder to calm you down. He forces you to sit again. He smiles awkwardly to the nearby patrons who listen at your squabble. “And we are in a public place.”

“Then explain yourself.” You cross your arms over your chest impatiently.

Your food arrives as he opens his mouth. The waiter puts your food happily, but senses the tension between you two, leaving hurriedly after Taehyung thanks her.

Taehyung sighs, “I can’t explain everything to you. I just want to tell you that Park Chanyeol is dangerous.”

“Why?”

He gulps. He really shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t tell you. He is risking his job, he knows it. But he can’t let you be in danger. Somehow, after many nights shared with you, you became one of the most important people to him. Only God knows why. “I can’t tell you. But you should trust me.”

You snort. “Right, just tell me that. I trust you completely!” You say sarcastically. You look at him carefully, you can see that he still doesn’t want to tell you anything. “You know what, this dinner is a bad idea. I wanted to talk with Taehyung, not this Taehyung.”

You grab your purse and rise from your seat and he grabs your wrist tightly before you walk away. “Wait! I am serious, Y/N.”

“I don’t see why I should trust you. I only knew you for several weeks.”

He hisses. “Okay, that’s so unfair. You can’t just throw me away like I don’t mean anything to you.”

“Then explain to me!” you yell.

Taehyung diverts his eyes from you. “I can’t, muffin. You must trust me.”

You gulp, trying to hold yourself from breaking apart. This is frustrating for you. How come he told you to trust him but didn’t give you any explanations? You trusted him, you trusted him to give you support. But now, the trust is gone. “I don’t trust you anymore.”

Taehyung feels a stab in his chest. Suddenly the memory of your shared hug with Chanyeol clouds Taehyung’s mind. It is nauseating. It is maddening. He grits his teeth and looks at your eyes. “Oh, and you trust him? Is that why you were so friendly to him?”

You furrow your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You try to jerk his hand off you but his grip tightens.

He glares at you. His eyes are full of rage and you can see the pain in his eyes. “You barely know this guy, and suddenly you trust him more than me?”

Your jaw drops. “This isn’t about you. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

He gives a half-smile and tightens his grip, so painful it makes you wince. “You know what Y/N? I really think that your ‘I hate men’ it’s not real at all. You just made it up.”

Your hands tighten into a fist. “You know nothing about me.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I know a few things, muffin.” He waits for your reply, but as he sees you bite your lips tightly, he continues. “It’s just your defense mechanism. You knew that when your ex cheated on you, you were at fault. And yet you want to blame him.”

“Stop.”

“Then you told people that so you can have better self-esteem, trying to save your own ego.”

You fight back your tears as your breath races in this humiliation. “Stop it.”

Taehyung smirks. “Oh, my bad. It’s not because of that. You are just a slut, right? You make this excuse to get men into bed. I agree that sometimes having baggage or complex is sexy bu-“

You grab your glass of ice tea and throw it to him. You are unaware of how all of the patrons gawk at your action. Your tears have fallen down to your cheeks. Your face turns red in shame and rage. You feel a sting in your heart when he looks at you back. You need to get out of there quickly. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” You release yourself from him forcefully and wipe your tears with the back of your hand. You then pull some bills from your purse and slam it on the table. “As I promise, my treat.”

You walk away in silence, leaving him wet and mad.

Taehyung tightens his hand. What the fuck did I say to her? He then slams his fist on the table, making all of the patrons who watch him look away. He sighs and runs his hand into his hair in exasperation. He didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want to make you cry. He just wants you to stop going to the event. Sure, the vision of you hugged Chanyeol may be affecting his decision for a bit. He is doomed.

He hates how you’re affecting his actions.

He hates how you can make him lose his mind.

He hates that Hoseok is right.

He hates how you are not just a palate cleanser for him.

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