#like butter in your mitts?

[akairokara]

normal about frank hours

[stars4chratt]

Confections

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: pure smut / established relationship / softdom!matt / breeding kink / nipple play / mutual orgasms / cunnilingus / p in v / unprotected sex (do NOT) / creampie / FILTHY kitchen sex / LOTS of praise / pet names (baby, my love, sweetheart, good girl) / aftercare

Summary: The reader walks into her home after a prolonged and stressful day to Matt - her boyfriend - making baked goods in her kitchen. He welcomes her and gives her a taste of the delicious desserts. However, in return for the favour, Matt gets to taste her.

Author’s note: hiii guysss, i love you all for liking and enjoying Pins n’ Needles (there is a part 2 btw) After seeing the most recent Wednesday video, this made my fantasy grow even worse LMAOO. Also, leave a comment if you want to be added onto my taglist! Anyways, i hope you enjoy this one! From Maxine, with love ♡.

“Cause I’m all that you want, boy. All that you can have, boy. Got me spread like a buffet. Bon a– Bon appetit, baby.” - BON APPETIT, KATY PERRY

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Your shoulders ache and the migraine you have encapsulated in the back of your head feels like it’s going to split your skull in half.

People gave you a lot of shit at work today. Both coworkers and customers. Nagging and berating you and reiterating the same jaw clenching phrase that ‘the customer is always right.’

You close your eyes and let your chest fall as you sigh longly with relief after you arrive home.

The strong and pleasant scent of stiff caster sugar alongside a tangible hint of lemon citrus whiffs through your sinuses.

Ah, Matt’s baking again. You comprehend yourself.

You plop your keys on the marble countertop and set your bag down. The feeling of a thousand weights being lifted off of you as you remove accessory after accessory attached to you.

Peeking around the corner, you see Matt whisking dairy products mashed with madagascan vanilla extract whisked into butter cream. You peer down and see something resting in the oven at exactly 195 degrees celsius.

The peacefulness Matt baking brings you is heavenly. Just him concocting a sugary delight for the simple enjoyment of doing so can’t help but make your cheeks flush bright red and your core ache desperately.

The paternity your boyfriend holds within him orchestrating treats of chocolate frosting and yeasty dough makes you fall for him even more. Not only do his sweet delicacies taste amazing, but he also does it for pure comfort and vindication for you both.

Sometimes you wonder if he would enjoy baking for a family of three, maybe even four.

You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He looks over his shoulder, he has a large piping bag in his grasp. A large grin appears on his face as he sneers. “Hi my love, how was work?”

You let out a fatigued sigh and your clasp around him tightens. “Not great, it was super stressful.”

He turns around to face you and pulls you in by your hips in an act of reassurance.

“Aww, my poor baby. What can I do to make you feel better? Hm?”

Matt’s words make the caterpillars in your stomach hatch into butterflies. You two have been dating for quite a while now and yet you still giggle and squeal like a small child whenever he asserts words of refreshment.

“There may be one thing I have in mind…” You whisper softly into his ear. After the distress of work and the mind blowingly stupid and egotistical customers you dealt with all day, you only wanted one thing that could ease your displeasure. For Matt to fuck your brains out.

As you were about to inform him about your dilemma, a soul-jumping alarm sitting on the table top starts dinging. Blaring across the entire kitchen. 

The migraine you’re suffering from induces even more, spreading through every crevice of your skull.

Matt notices the discomfort of the ear-splitting noise written all over your face and quickly shuts the alarm off.

“One second, sweetheart.” Abruptly, Matt grabs his teal blue oven mitts and crouches down to the oven to release the now strong scent of citric lemon flow through the room.

He takes out the tray and reveals to you that he had baked lemon drizzle cupcakes. Very tasty looking lemon drizzle cupcakes at that.

The glint in Matt’s eye along with his pearly whites framed with his smile presents his joy to you.

“Oh my god… They look delicious”

“Exactly, I’m a fantastic chef.”

“Damn right.” You both giggle together whilst Matt sets down the tray on a heatproof mat.

“What were you saying again, baby?” He twists back around to face you, letting you continue where you left off.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll leave it for after you finish off your cupcakes.” Matt’s eyes now glow with anticipation and curiosity.

“What you want won’t be an inconvenience for me at all, I can finish the cupcakes afterwards baby. I don’t wanna make you wait.” Matt crosses his arms patiently waiting for you to respond.

You gently stride over to him and lift your arms up to tug behind his neck over his shoulders.

“Matt..” You whisper softly into his ear. Trying to contain the burning sensation in between your legs. You really wanted to fuck. The intensity of today made you grow greedy with lust, and your boyfriend was the only person who could assist with that.

“Yes, baby?” He returns, completely oblivious to the pent-up arousal you’re experiencing.

You move one of your hands up the back of his head whilst the other tangles in the silver chain of his jewellery. 

You don’t say anything before you rapidly intertwine your lips with Matt’s. Your cravings of thirst for Matt’s touch starts to fester passionately.

He almost immediately reciprocates and swings his arms around your figure, your whole upper body in his grasp. You whine loudly at the sudden action as it makes your entrance leak and his touch makes you tingle like electricity shooting up your spine.

You advance your hands onto his chest and push him up against the wall beside the table top island stranded in the middle of the room.

The bulge throbbing slightly in his grey sweatpants presses against your core. Which makes you both gasp and sob into eachothers mouths.

“I’m so impatient, Matt. I need your dick now. Today has been so shitty and I really want it. Please, baby.” You choke up the words through the desperate whines thickening the air around you.

“Get on the counter then, sweetheart. Let me relieve all that stress for you.” Matt states delicately as he peppers kisses all over you up until he stops at your collarbone. He grips onto your shoulders as he forces you down on the counter until you're fully laying down with your legs spread wide.

“I don’t think we have any more condoms left.” Matt speaks softly whilst he towers over you. There’s a small worry in his pupils before you reassure him.

“Fuck it, we can go without. I need you so badly right now Matt, you don’t understand. Condom or not, I don’t care anymore. Just please fuck me.”

Your constant begging in impatience makes Matt’s prick pulse harshly. He rushes over on top of you to connect his lips with yours again.

The sloppy wetness of the kiss alongside his rock hard cock restricted in his sweats rubbed against your clothed heat has him writhing in a needy haze. His eyes go cloudy and his skin is painted ruby.

Matt viscously tugs at the hem of your work shirt pulling it upwards to reveal your laced bra. Your chest rising and falling heavily underneath Matt’s aggression.

He pulls down your underclothes instantaneously. Your tits spilling out and your nipples are swollen red.

“Oh, fuck yeah… Wait just one second sweetheart.” Matt leaves the enclosure of the space in between your legs but you can still see him in your peripheral. 

You look over to see him grab the piping bag. He races back over to the original position he was just in. His horse pendant jangling about and grazing over his defined collarbones.

“What’re you gonna do with the piping bag..?” You question him hesitantly, feeding your bottom lip into your mouth.

“You taste so good on my tongue baby. I bet you’d taste even better with cream on top of your tits. Hm?”

Matt’s filthy idea makes you tremble and your folds become velvety slick. Who would’ve thought that Matt, your boyfriend, a professional baker would want to fuck you as messily as this.

Matt leans over you and squeezes the piping bag slowly. The cream grazes your skin and the coldness of the substance makes you squirm and your back arches.

He moves the piping bag down and leaves a trail of sugary white down to just above your belly button.

His bottom lip fully concealed under his teeth in concentration before he sets the bag down and reels your hips in so the lower half of your body is hanging off the edge of the counter.

Matt then drops down to your height and starts to suck on your rock hard bud. Fully licking the cream off and nibbling at the centre, his mouth on your fully perched out nipples makes your entrance twitch and soak in your juices.

“You taste so fucking good, I’ve been wanting to do this to you for so long. You don’t understand.” Matt gasps between licks on your tit.

He moves his head up slightly to suckle and nibble on the flesh of your neck. Leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your skin. Making you whimper into the air of the kitchen.

He advances down the thick, sugary trail that stops at your belly button. Licking and consuming the cream off of your now hot and plush flesh.

After all of the cream is gone, Matt brushes against his lip with his tongue and grabs the bag again. 

He hastily undoes the button on your work jeans and rips them off your legs in keenness. He uses his thumb and index finger to push your matching lace panties to the side. Now fully unveiling your bare, bright pink pussy.

Matt repositions his hands and puts the nub of the piping bag on the very peak of your clit.

“Matt, what are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your breath is still heavy and uneven.

“I’m eating you my love, wasn’t it obvious?” Suddenly, you feel a thick and freezing cold liquid resting on your swollen heat. This kind of filth during intimate times like this really makes you think about what other kind of things Matt is into, and you fucking love it

He throws the bag back onto the counter and crouches down until his face is barely touching your pussy. He blows on your clit gently, making your entire body shiver.

His lips are just slightly touching your soaking wet entrance. Just as you thought he was going to eat you out right then and there, he turns his head to pay his full attention to your thighs. Kissing and sucking on them gently. Whilst his hands have their full grip on them, squeezing them in temptation at relishing at your throbbing core.

“Matt..” You whine in impatience. You were so desperate for him to just consume all of you. His tongue felt amazing on your skin. He knew all of your weak spots and he knew exactly how to take advantage of that.

“Shhh, I’m here. I promise.” He drawls out faintly, his breath brushing over you again.

Matt focuses on your dripping centre again, and gradually sticks his tongue inside your entrance.

His saliva mixing with your silky juices and the cream still laying on your clit makes your head tilt back and your eyes roll back into your skull.

Matt pulls out his tongue straight away after he notices you broke eye contact.

“No, sweetheart. Look at me. Look at me whilst I eat you out like a good girl.”

You whimper at Matt’s mixture of a command and a praise. You turn your head back down to see him staring up at you through his eyelashes with his tongue deep inside you.

He licks a stripe up your folds and fully swallows up the sugary goodness of both the cream and your juices. 

You could not stop trembling under his tongue circling around your throbbing clit. His nose resting slightly above with his irises still dilated onto yours. 

You can feel your body tensing as Matt’s mouth is latched onto your slippery heat.

“Matt.. I-I’m gonna…” You mumble faintly.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my mouth. Let me taste more of you.”

An overwhelming flush or euphoria strikes all through your body in waves. Your breath hitches and you grab onto Matt’s hair, making him hum into your heat.

Your chest rises and falls smoothly whilst coming down from your high and Matt slows the rhythm of his tongue down on your clit.

Suddenly he detaches his mouth from your skin and pulls his sweatpants down.

Matt’s dick comes sprawling out of his garments. The vein that runs down the middle of his length spikes outwards. The very sight of his cock is an aphrodisiac to your senses within itself.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. I’ve never asked you because I didn’t think you’d like it.” His necklace glints under the artificial light beaming down on the both of you that hangs just above the counter.

“Matt, you really should’ve asked. Fuck a baby into me, fill me up with your cum. Forget about the fucking cream. I want yours.” You sigh out. Your core twitching at the sight of his taffy pink prick fully exposed practically grazing against you.

The gaze in Matt’s eyes is full to the brim with hot pink lust. He’s practically drooling in admiration at how fuckable you look right now.

He grips onto your thighs again and presses his tip against your slippery entrance. He hisses at the overwhelming thrill of the feeling of your drenched folds.

Matt pushes his length inside of you at a sluggish pace, almost like he’s teasing you by going slow in the beginning.

Your spongy, slick walls squeeze down on his cock and it makes it pulse inside you. He whimpers on top of you while he sits inside of you in and out stagantly.

“Fuck…you’re so tight sweetheart.” Matt stutters, the utmost feeling of your pussy clenched around his dick is like heaven to him. Your breathless whines and moans are like harmonic symphonies ringing and humming in his ears. His visual stimuli are more than satisfactory from your tender and curvaceous figure that he has held in his hands at this very moment.

Matt’s pace starts to quicken and becomes more rapid inside you. Every single time he rams into you, he slightly grazes that sweet spot that drives you absolutely fucking insane. It’s like his cock was made for you. “I want to fuck you so good your pussy turns into the shape of my dick baby. It’s so perfect. I can’t wait to fuck my cum into you.”

“Please do it Matt… cum inside me.” His dick is slightly bulging out of your stomach. He sees this as an opportunity to use his two fingers and press on your abdomen slightly. “This is where my babies are gonna be, sweetheart. All for you. Taking it all like such a good girl.” He huffs out smugly.

The sound of your skin clapping and beating against each other every single time he pounds his dick into you and his waist clashes into your thighs and ass cheeks almost hypnotises you. “M-Matt… I’m gonna cum again…”

“Fuck… me too baby. I’m s-so close..” The rhythm of Matt fucking his cock into you starts to slow down and you can feel his lower body start to stutter and his member pulses thickly inside of you.

“Oh f-fuck… take all of my cum sweetheart…I’m gonna cum…c-cumming…” His arms give in and he loses all balance as he feeds his cum into your hole. His and your juices swirl and mix together inside you.

Suddenly, your stomach starts to feel warm. The feeling of Matt’s hot and thick load spilling inside all the way through your cervix pulls and twists at your neurons, especially alongside your soul-shattering orgasm Matt just gave you.

He drops his whole weight on you completely and hides his head in the crook of your neck. His heavy breath brushes on your skin while his prick still rests inside you, you can’t tell if he’s too tired to take it out or he wants all of his cum to stay inside.

Either way you both savour the moment while you lay still on top of each other. Catching your breath and coming down from your second high.

Matt raises his head up and reaches out for the cloth laying next to the piping bag. He balls it up and wipes at the skin with small spots of butter cream from earlier.

“I wasn’t too rough on you this time, was I?” He enquires. He looks down on you, still swiping away the white mess all over you.

“No, of course not baby. I loved it.” You respond, giggling exhaustedly. “We should do this again, sometime.”

“I’d love to, sweetheart.” Matt smiles before pecking your cheek and rests his head on your collarbone once more.

“A-are you still inside me?” 

“Pfft, yeah.” 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Author’s Note No.2: MY GOD THIS WAS ANNOYING TO WRITE. Sorry for the slight delay, I was incredibly tired and fell asleep and I got preoccupied with school. Anyways. Again, thank you so much for enjoying Pins n’ Needles. I WILL be making a part 2 very soon! :)

༝༚༝༚, Maxine.

Taglist: @gamermattsgf @luverboychris @worldlxvlys @chrissystur @chaosisalwayscrying @bellasfavbisexual

[totheblood]

even more modern!ellie headcanons

a/n: just a little something... again AI AUDIOS AT THE END... replies and reblogs are appreciated

masterlist

ellie is a homebody, and usually will have to be dragged out by you or dina

honestly she’s never ‘dragged’ out by you, she usually likes to tag along if she knows you’re going somewhere where there will be a lot of people

it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, it’s that she doesn’t trust the people around you

you don’t really mind anyway, you like how she loops her finger in the belt of your jeans and pulls you closer to her when she notices someone staring at you

if the person doesn’t stop she’s not above pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear while making direct eye contact with the person

you giggle, throwing your head back slightly and turning to look at her in the dim light, “what’s gotten into you, ellie?”

“that dick keeps looking at you,” another kiss pressed to your jaw, “don’t like it.”

but she’d much rather stay at home with you, both of you tucked under her comforter with the air conditioner turned down to 64° and whatever show you’re watching at the time on the tv

she hates to admit it, but she loves grey’s anatomy (she swore to you she’d never like it with a scoff and “that show is shit, babe. it’s for like, middle-aged moms with no life.”)

but now as you both have your eyes glued to the screen, she can’t help but scoff every time george is on the screen

“what?”

“he’s just such a fucking loser, this guy.”

“he’s not the worst.”

“he’s pretty fucking bad… why would he sleep with meredith and then make it about him when she starts crying! it’s obvious she’s vulnerable… i just don’t like him.”

ellie gets pretty passionate when watching tv. she’s always sharing her opinions with you, looking at you for validation or arguing when you disagree with her

she’ll always add something like: “you’re lucky you’re cute” or “if you weren’t my girlfriend i’d tear your argument apart” and then kiss you on your nose and go back to watching tv

ellie is an awful cook… like so bad

one time she tried to make a recipe for your anniversary, thinking it would be easy but ended up failing miserably

she’s the type to write out the grocery list and cross shit off as she picks things up… even when she doesn’t know what it means

she didn’t know what trader joe’s was, so when she got there she’d be picking shit up and looking at it with a weird look on her face, “mango… joe joe’s? what the fuck is that?” she’d mutter before putting the box back on the shelf

but eventually she’s getting sucked in, picking up a box of mini ice cream cones, cookie butter, and the rest of the groceries needed for the meal she planned on making for you

you come over and the place is a mess, there is flour all over the counter and floors, pots and pans piled up in the stove, and ellie is stood over a bowl, mixing with a giant wooden spoon

“ellie?”

“shit.. fuck,” she curses, jumping a little bit before turning and smiling at you, her eyes looking you up and down, “you fucking scared me. you’re early.”

“no, i’m not.”

ellie’s eyes glance down at her watch, cursing as she bolts towards the stove a “no, no, no,” falling from her lips as she opens and sees the chicken inside burnt to a crisp. she’s throwing on her mitt and pulling the pan out, sighing as she watches all her hard work go to waste.

“you were trying to cook for me?”

ellie forgot you were there for a moment, her jumping a little at the sound of your voice and wiping the sweat from her forehead as she gives you her best smile, even though it’s strained.

“babe, i’m sorry, i- i don’t know where i went wrong,” she sighs, watching as you walk closer to her and put your hands on the counter behind her trapping her in.

“don’t be sorry” you kiss the side of her lips and smile against her skin, tasting her sweat, “it’s sweet… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”

she’s blushing and leaning into you, your warmth providing her some comfort from her previous stress 

“you look nice,” she whispers below her breath, but you can still feel the puffs of air coming out of her mouth, “you deserve a good meal.”

“i’m not picky,” you whisper back, giggling as ellie’s heart leaps in her chest. she loves you so much it hurts

her hands rest at your hips when she kisses you gently, saying something about missing you that you miss because of how her lips feel against yours

you order takeout that night and eat it as you help her clean up the mess she made

“have you ever been to trader joe’s? that shit was crazy”

ellie is the type of girlfriend to send you two people from a tv show or an edit and be like “babe, this is so us”

or to think it’s so cute when you have matching icons on instagram, tiktok, or twitter

she just wants to show you off all the time

she draws the line at a joint couple account though

she’s always writing things about you, whether it be in her journal, little poems, or songs about you

she’d post a song she wrote you on tiktok with the caption “wrote this song about my lover” and not expect it to blow up

but then she’s receiving a million comments about how sweet it is and how people wish someone would do something like that for them

she doesn’t like the comment “can your gf fight” so she’s responding to all of them like “no, she can’t, but i can and i will! LEAVE MY GF ALONE!!”

but she’d brag about it to you, shoving her phone in your face and saying “look, your girlfriend is fucking famous.”

when you gasp and grab her face congratulating her in between kisses her face grows red and she’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt

“don’t forget me when you become famous.”

“how could i forget my muse?”

ellie loves listening to music with you and will make you a playlist that she updates with every song she listens to that reminds her of you

she’s incredibly corny in that way

she always wants to listen to the music you suggest to her, wanting to be closer to you in any way she can

even if she doesn’t like it she’s pretending she loves it and playing it constantly, even when you aren’t around

ai audios:

[seenoversundown]

Golden Wings

I saw this tweet about hozier leaving love notes around the house for his partner to find and I could not stop thinking about it. Good luck!

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

I wake as I always do, surrounded by his scent. Woodsy, dark, and a tad floral. I do a big stretch followed by a small whine. I go to reach over to Andrew’s side trying to feel any trace of him.

“Andrew?” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep. I continue to paw at his side of the bed until I feel his abandoned pillow. I force my eyes to open and glance around the room, and realize I am most definitely alone. I prop myself up, a little sad I missed him this morning. But then out of the corner of my eye I notice a soft pale blue square against our dark emerald sheets. I lean over and grab it, becoming a little giddy when I realize it’s a note. 

The goddess of the day has risen, how I am unworthy to love such an ethereal being. 

When you are ready, there is breakfast downstairs. 

All my love, ~A.

I read and reread the small note probably a dozen times. His words always have a way of piercing into my heart directly and making a home inside. I hold the soft blue square to my chest and wonder how lucky I had to have been to have found Andrew. 

I slip on a matching cream colored silk set, Andrew’s favorite, and slowly make my way down to the kitchen. I glance around our small home as I walk through the hallways and wonder how we were able to move into here only four months ago but it’s felt like forever. It feels right. As I round the corner, the aroma of breakfast hits me. 

“Love, it smells divine,” I say. I’m greeted with silence in return, just another small pale blue square. 

Light of the day, your breakfast awaits you warming in the oven. I didn’t want to wake you- you looked so peaceful, but I had to run to the studio this morning just for some final touches.

I will be home in a few hours to you, my love, I promise. 

For now, eat your breakfast. Get your strength for the day. Look for more notes. I have plans for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

Again, I can’t help but reread his words, hearing his voice as if he’s reading them directly to me. Once I tuck the note in a safe place I open the oven to look at what awaits me. Andrew wasn’t lying. A fully prepared breakfast sits on a plate in the warm oven. He’s left oven mitts for me on top of the stove, which I grab eagerly. Breakfast smells even better when it’s sitting right in front of me. Veggie bacon, eggs sprinkled with cheese and spinach, toast with butter and maple sugar. 

As I sit down at my plate ready to devour the spread in front of me I spot Andrew’s discarded robe on the seat next to me. I don’t even hesitate as I reach out for it, wrapping myself in his scent and warmth. I feel even more relaxed now, if that was even possible, as I eat my meal.

I finish up my toast basking in the silence of our home. I can’t help but wonder when Andrew will be home, so I go find my phone to send him a text. 

Y/N: Thank you for breakfast, my love. I miss you.

A: You are so welcome, my dove. Look for the notes. I’ll be home before you know it. I miss you more. 

My heart flutters at his words like always as I go to put my cell phone in his robe pocket. Sliding it into the soft pocket, I swear I hear a paper-like crunch. I’m quick to take my phone right back out and stick my hand in to feel for the noise. It doesn’t take long before I pull out a small pale blue square identical to the ones before it. 

I knew you would put this on, my sweet. I have never known such a love as the love you give to me, I am forever in awe of you. 

Till we are bones, my love.

All my love, 

~A.

My heart thumps in my chest. I take the little note and add it to my ever-growing pile. Snagging a cup of tea, I walk around our sunlit living room and tend to our ‘plant children’. The monstera has always been my favorite, even though I tell Andrew they’re all my favorites. They do say you’re not supposed to have a favorite child. I don’t hesitate as I walk up to her, murmuring my good mornings and inspecting her as I grasp my mug of tea, bringing it to my lips. As soon as Andrew called me his, he kept my favorite kind of tea in superfluous supply wherever he lived- just for me. It doesn’t take me long to notice a little blue square nestled in her leaves. Of course he knew. 

Seeing you wearing my ring drives me mad. Watching you in the mornings, with it shining off the light as you talk to our plants is one of my favorite rituals. The way you speak to them with such kindness, such empathy- I cannot wait to raise our children together. A goddess such as yourself will be perfect with them. 

To the blues.

All my love,

~A.

I quickly glance down at my ring once I finish reading his words, immediate feelings of giddiness fill my chest. The perfect moss agate ring sits in a golden crown on my finger. I touch it, remembering the moment Andrew got down on his knee. He is always nervous when it comes to us- but not that day. That day, he was so confident. Bringing me to his hometown, showing me all of the places he used to go as a ‘young lad’ as he’d say. That trip I knew I needed him forever, and I guess he needed me just as much. I watched as he spoke Gaelic with the townsfolk in passing, his voice hitting my ears in such a dreamy way. 

It was when he brought me up to his favorite hill, the one he watched the sunset every day when he lived here, that he asked me to be his. Looking at the setting sun, wrapped in each other's arms, he feigned that he had forgotten something, and got up and started to look around. 

‘Andrew, what’s going on?’ I had said to him. When he turned to me his green eyes were the brightest I’ve ever seen them, I swear. 

‘Love, can you stand for me?,’ he said.

I think subconsciously I knew what was happening, even if I didn’t want to believe it. Tears freely fell from my eyes as he poured his heart and soul out to me, reaching out every so often to wipe a tear or give me a lingering kiss on my forehead. When he finally got down on his knee, I was a sobbing wreck. I can’t remember what he said, just me nodding and practically screaming ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’. 

Now his ring, his beautiful, intricate golden ring just for me sits on my finger. I sit in his chair, even though it’s usually both of us squished into it every night, and play with my ring. I watch as it hits the sunshine and sends dancing light around the room. It’s then, as I’m looking at the light, I notice another small pale blue note. I practically run to it, ready to read more of Andrew’s words. I take a moment once I have it to enjoy the anticipation before I read it.

Once the Gods realize you have escaped with their golden wings I’ll be in so much trouble. 

But, for now, you are mine. Do they know you’re here, love? Did I have it wrong and you were sent just for me? 

I’ll never be sure, but I’ll be eternally grateful for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

He’s trying to kill me I swear to anyone who is listening. It’s never been an act with Andrew, this has always been him. The love and adoration he gives me is unmatched. I can’t help but feel like I’m the luckiest person with him. I finish the rest of my tea, adding my two new notes to my pile that won’t seem to stop growing. 

I make my way to our shared bathroom and am a little surprised when I see another note. He truly thought of everything. I do my morning routine to try and prolong reading his letter, the anticipation is delicious. Once I do finish taking care of myself I carefully peel his note off of the mirror and finally allow myself to read it.

I cannot wait to see those eyes shine just for me. Thinking about it now I swear my heart skips an entire beat. That can’t be healthy, but you- you are my own personal drug. Stronger than all the others there is you. I need you. 

All my love,

~A. 

My eyes scan his letter too many times, taking in the way he writes his t’s and dots his i’s. I take out my phone and pull up my texts to Andrew.

Y/N: I need you as bad as you need me, love. I hope studio time is going well. Come home to me soon. 

A: You are the very air I breathe, my dove. See you soon. 

My heart flutters knowing he’ll be home soon. I decide I’ll stay in his robe and his favorite silk set and surprise him. Confident in that decision, I grab the book I’m currently reading and snuggle back up on our chair while I wait for him. I scroll on my phone for a bit, getting lost in social media for a little too long. Once I finally resign and open my book, a final little blue note falls out onto my lap. I can’t help but laugh, and wonder a little when he even did all of this. I waste no time reading the note. 

In every lifetime, I hope to find you. Our souls are destined to be intertwined throughout the centuries. You are the only one for me. 

I can’t wait to kiss you soon.

All my love,

~A. 

My heart is fully melted. All of his words from this morning play on repeat as I stare at this one note. How can one man be so fucking eloquent? I’m so lost in thought, I don’t hear the front door open or close.

“Dove?” Andrew shouts from the doorway. I’m on my feet in seconds, after all of these notes I missed my man something fierce this morning. He laughs when he sees me, arms outstretched ready for me. “There’s my dove. I hope you liked my notes this morning.” He says to me inbetween interrupting kisses. 

“Loved them? Oh Andrew, you have no idea. You know, I missed waking up to you this morning.” 

“I’m sorry dove, let me make it up to you.” He hoists me up in his arms and quickly kicks off his shoes before walking down the hallway to our bedroom. My laughter echoes in the hall, I’ve never been so in love. 

Masterlist | Taglist

[inkbybambi]

simon "ghost" riley/john "soap" mactavish/f!reader words: 4.2k warnings: mmf, threesome, fingering, anal fingering, finger sucking, riding, creampie, doggy style, pet names (kitten, bonnie, angel, etc), dirty talk, breeding kink notes: this was written as part of the valentine's exchange from @bunnyreaper ♡ this is a gift for @auspicioustidings ♡ this is my first time writing a threesome, but i loved every moment of it ♡ header image is coral charm peony ii by mia tarney

The light of the dying sun slowly drains from the horizon, hues of blues, pinks, and purples following in its wake. There’s a gentle breeze coming through the open windows of the cottage; a little haven tucked away for you and yours. A smile plays at your lips as a small cow-shaped timer trills from its perch on the kitchen counter. You slip on a pair of oven mitts decorated with highland cattle, taking out your shortbread from the oven lest it bake for even a moment too long. 

Your boys were due to be home soon and this sweet treat was the last on your to-do list. 

They had left you earlier that week with a messy amount of kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead and lips and anywhere they could reach, really. You had similarly returned the favor, finding your favorite lipstick to press marks onto Simon’s mask and Johnny’s glove before pressing other faded marks elsewhere. 

Before letting them cross the threshold back into the world — one that had tried to take them from you more times than you could count — you spritzed your favorite perfume on their wrists, sealing it with a kiss. The scent may fade with the mark, but they’ll know. 

Your heart ached the moment they left and its felt more numb in the days since, waiting dormant for them to return, to let you breathe fully knowing they’re there, that they hadn’t been taken from you. 

You inhale sharply to disperse your lingering worries. They’ve always, always come home to you. Today will be no different.

You leave the shortbread to cool on a rack as you gather your sugar and butter for the caramel next. 

The one perk of solitude means the abundance of time you had to practice. Johnny isn’t necessarily known for his patience — not when it comes to you or Simon — and he would’ve been quite the distraction. You burnt enough caramel without him, thank you very much. 

The soft, warm lights of the kitchen accompany you humming Simon’s favorite song, staring patiently at your pan as your sugar melts slowly, pulling you into a sugary-sweet trance. 

You lose yourself to your very serious task of making sure your caramel doesn’t burn, the melody of the song lost in your throat as your humming softens, concentration on anything outside your little kitchen waning. 

The click of the front door doesn’t phase you, and neither does the muffled thump of boots and bags. The sugar has started to dissolve and you can’t bear to lose your concentration now. 

“Bonnie!” 

You barely have time to register Johnny’s excited shout, head snapping up only moments before strong arms wrap around your waist, hauling you up to spin you in a hug. 

“Johnny!” you laugh through your startled yelp, squirming in equal parts because you want to hug him properly and to get back to your caramel. 

“Johnny, the caramel!” you exclaim when his grip on you only tightens, his face pressed between your shoulder blades. 

“Ach, we dinnae caramel,” he says almost petulantly, voice lost against the fabric of your shirt. He does put you down — albeit reluctantly — but all you do is turn in his hold to lace your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer than before. 

“Missed ye,” he says as a soft kiss is pressed to your temple and you bury further into the crook of his neck. You’ve missed his warmth, and his scent, and the comfort of him and being his. 

You feel like you miss him all the time, but it’s the moments when they’re first back when you realize just how much, and the knot of worry slowly unfurls the longer you spend in his arms. 

He cradles the nape of your neck gently and you can hear the angry bubbling of your sugar — too far gone now to save — but you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself away from him for even a moment. 

“Where’s Si?” you ask against his skin when there’s a very distinct lack of your other half from the kitchen, craving his touch just as badly. 

It’s not real until you’ve seen them both, until you’ve touched them both, to know that they aren’t the phantoms that will sometimes accompany your dreams, your memories. 

“Think he went to the shower, hen,” comes Johnny’s soothing reply, pulling you back from your hiding spot to cradle your face in his hands. 

You used to hate how small you felt with them; how it felt like you were an accessory to them rather than part of them. 

Now you feel nothing but protected, cradled carefully in their hold, their own way of keeping you safe. 

You pout, glancing over his shoulder, down the hall to where the bedroom lay, seeing the faint hint of light from the bathroom spilling out. Johnny’s calloused thumb rubs over your bottom lip, before he crowds in close enough to give you  a soft kiss. 

“Without us?” you ask, and he snorts in reply. 

“Go on, then,” he says as he herds you towards the bedroom, a gentle pat to your ass to urge you along. “Go join ‘im.” 

Your pout deepens, holding out your hand for him. 

“Come with me,” you don’t whine, but you wiggle your fingers enticingly. You’ve been without them for so long, you don’t want to go another second without either of them. 

You’re selfish in very few ways, but are unapologetically so when it comes to your boys. 

Johnny steps into your space, a soft kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, before nudging your cheek with his nose. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promises with another lingering kiss, and you nuzzle into him momentarily before nodding and releasing his hold. Like a moth to a flame, you follow the path to the bedroom, seeing Simon’s clothes already tucked into the basket that’s specifically meant for their work clothes. Anything to separate who they are out there to who they are with you. 

You shed your own clothes, placing them in the empty hamper before stepping into the bathroom, the tile cold on your feet. 

He stands just beyond the glass, new scratches and bruises littering his skin. You’re going to kiss each and every one before you fall asleep tonight. You take a few moments to appreciate him; the broad expanse of his back, the slight layer of fat that surrounds his tummy, thick thighs that you love to bury yourself between, muscles moving like water. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” comes his teasing lilt as he turns to face you, a smirk plastered on his lips as he tilts his head in invitation. You bite your lip to hide your excitement, hurrying over to join him in the shower, taking his hand as he reaches for you, drawing you under the spray of the water.

“I have plenty of photos, actually,” you tease back. He tilts your chin up with a tattooed finger, leaning down to kiss you, before he moves to hold your throat delicately, keeping you in place. You inch up on your toes to press even closer, nipples pressed against his broad chest. 

“Not nearly enough, love,” he replies, not giving you a moment to answer before he draws you back into his mouth, licking into you and swallowing your gasps. You hum and lean into him, lacing your arms around his shoulders. One of his large hands splays against the middle of your back, the other trailing down your spine to the curve of your ass, pulling you in close. 

“Missed you,” you breathe out between kisses, as you cup his face to kiss him deeper, desperation thickening in your veins the longer you’re in his hold. “Missed you so much,” and your nails dig into his skin, adding a collection of your own marks to the others on his body. 

A warm body at your back makes you shiver, pulling away from your kiss to lean your head back on his shoulder. Simon cradles the back of Johnny’s head, kissing him softly. 

“You two need to clean up,” you murmur into Johnny’s jaw, lips grazing the stubble that’s been growing for a few days. It burns your lips, but you’re thankful for any reminder of them. 

“But you’re so comfortable,” Johnny practically whines as he leans further into you, arms tight around your waist, thankful Simon was there to provide stability or else you absolutely would’ve lost balance. 

“Johnny,” Simon admonishes gently, a bite to his ear in reprimand. Johnny squeezes your tummy tighter in reply, but turns to brush his nose gently over Simon’s. 

You wriggle from his grip, a hand on each of their forearms for balance, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s mouth before pressing one to Simon’s. 

“The quicker you get clean, the quicker you can join me on the bed,” is your parting words as you grab a fluffy towel from the rack, drying yourself before sauntering to the bedroom, diving into fresh sheets. 

You hear the soft murmurs of their conversation curtained by the fall of the water, rolling onto your back and arching up as you stretch, feeling as the tension seeps from your body, relaxing further into the mattress. 

“MacTavish!” comes Simon’s warning bark before a very excited, very wet Johnny launches himself into the bed at you, burrowing his face into your neck as you giggle, feeling the bubbles of body wash that he hadn’t bothered to rinse all the way off. 

He peppers your throat and jaw with kisses, teeth scraping every now and then before he reaches your mouth for a breathless kiss, and you cradle his head gently, nails grazing along the nape of his neck, feeling how his shaved sides have grown just a little since they went away. You’re sure he’ll let you clean him up proper tomorrow, but you don’t want you or either of your boys to leave the bed for the foreseeable future. 

“Simon’s grumpy,” he says against your cheek, and you can’t help but snort. 

“Can’t possibly imagine why,” you tease in return, gripping a longer part of his mohawk and giving a harsh tug, hoping Simon brings an extra towel or two with him because the bed is damn near drenched — and not in the fun way. 

“Absolute menace, that one,” Simon says as he comes from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips showing the tantalizing line of his tummy that you love so much. 

“Aye,” Johnny agrees with a cheeky smile, removing himself from you and sitting on his heels, settling himself over you to turn back and look at Simon. “But ye love me.” 

Simon comes forward with a fresh towel in hand, motioning for Johnny so he can dry him off. 

Simon doesn’t say anything in reply — he doesn’t have to, and both you and Johnny know that your declarations of love will never go unrequited — instead stopping at the edge of the bed and reaching for him. 

“Be a good pup,” you say as  you push him back with your foot, pressing him back into Simon’s hold so he can dry him off, ruffling his mohawk and wiping away the lingering drops that cling to his tanned skin, Johnny’s own marks and scars adorning his body. The intensity of the blue of his eyes feels like a shock of electricity, his gaze unwavering from yours as Simon tilts his head to the side to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, a soft I love you pressed to his skin. Simon’s lips graze over to his ear, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

Johnny turns enough to catch Simon’s mouth in a rough, dirty kiss, teeth nipping his bottom lip before a tap to his ass pushes him into motion, crawling his way over the bed back to you. 

You arch up into his body as he slinks closer, a hand on your jaw pulling you into for a filthy kiss of your own. You whine against his mouth as Johnny pulls you up from where you lay on the bed, moving to take your place. 

Johnny settles you over his hips, blue eyes sparkling in the lingering light of the bathroom, a fond smile painting his lips. As cute as he looks — and he looks adorable — the thick heat of his cock resting between your legs makes you ache, makes you want him to take what he wants. His nails dig into your calves as he anchors you against him, rocking his hips against yours, cock moving through your slick and catching on your clit. 

“God, we missed ye,” Johnny sighs out as he digs his nails into your skin, and you bite your lip against the sting of his possession. 

“Never heard the end of it,” Simon says as he comes around the side of the bed, one leg braced on the mattress, the towel parting enough to show his aching cock. 

“Did you take good care of our pup?” you ask through a gasp as you turn to the blonde, eyes fluttering as Johnny’s cock catches at your entrance. 

“Always, love,” he promises, Simon crowding in close as you pull his towel loose, blindly tossing it from the bed as he kneels on the bed at your side, swallowing your next gasp as he presses his lips to yours. 

“Don’t like it when you leave,” you pout against his lips as he moves to kiss down your jaw and throat, trailing his lips over your shoulder. Your head tilts to the side, wanting his teeth in your skin. 

“We’re here, darlin’,” Johnny soothes as a hand grazes up your side to grip your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple until it hardens under his touch. You lay above him, arms braced by his head as you catch him in a kiss, happily letting him take control as his tongue licks deep into your mouth. “We’re not going anywhere,” is his whispered promise and you just nod in agreement as you press your mouth back against his, unable to get enough of his touch, of his taste. 

“Missed your cock,” you whimper with a sharp roll of your hips, Simon settling behind you, hands on your waist as his chin tucks over your shoulder, watching your slick soak Johnny’s cock. 

“Gorgeous thing,” is Simon’s soft purr of praise, one of his hands slipping down the line of your tummy until he can press two fingers against your clit, his other hand grazing up to hold your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. 

“Dreamed of your cunt, bonnie,” Johnny pants from beneath you, feeling his cock pulse with each of your thrusts. His fingers grip your hips tight, and Simon tuts at him from his perch over your shoulder. 

“Don’t cum, pup,” and Johnny only whines in reply, nails biting into your skin. “Wanna see your cum spill from her pretty pussy.” 

You’re breathless, need and want coursing through your blood, desperate for something more. 

“Please,” you mewl as you try to paw for Johnny’s chest, but Simon’s hold on your throat keeps you in place. 

One of Johnny’s hands grip you hard enough to lift you from his lap, his other fisting the root of his cock so he can guide you down onto him slowly, your pussy fluttering as you sink deeper in his lap until he’s completely sheathed. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, and you feel the way his legs shake as he holds off his release. He looks gorgeous beneath you, head thrown back against the pillows, the line of his throat exposed and mournfully free of marks from either you or Simon. 

“How’s she feel?” Simon asks, dipping his fingers lower to feel for himself  where you and Johnny are connected. 

“L-like a fuckin’ dream,” comes his panted reply. 

“You wanna fuck ‘er?” he asks, like you aren’t even here. 

You feel like you aren’t, lost in the pleasure of Johnny’s cock nestled deep inside you, stuffing you full. You don’t think Johnny is capable of words after a week without you and your touch, but soon he starts a slow grind of his hips up into you, the crown of his cock pressing against your cervix. 

You cry out in pleasure as he continues the slow roll of his hips, fighting the urge to beg him to fuck you rough. This is for him just as much as it is for you. 

Simon’s grip on your throat remains, thick fingers collaring you, keeping you safe. The two fingers he used to rub your clit, to feel where Johnny was plugged into you, grazes your lips. You willingly open your mouth, swallowing down his fingers as best you can with him behind you. 

“Did you miss me too, darling?” he asks, though you can feel his smirk pressed against your skin, knowing you can only gurgle your answer around his fingers, spit spilling out from the corner of your mouth. 

“I know, kitten,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder, pressing his fingers even deeper, causing you to choke, your throat working around his digits. “I missed you too.” 

He withdraws his fingers as you gasp for breath, losing it the next second when Johnny snaps his hips up hard against you. His soaked fingers trail down your spine to your other hole, the tight ring of muscle fluttering as he circles it, just pressing the tips of his fingers against it. 

“Johnny couldn’t stop talking about your ass,” Simon says against your skin. Your eyes flash to Johnny’s, glazed and dark, but his eyes are locked to Simon’s. “Told me how warm it is,” he continues, very carefully pressing one of his thick fingers against your rim as you beg yourself to relax. “How every single inch of you,” he says as he slowly begins to pump his finger deeper and deeper with each word, “is meant for us.” 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, Simon,” comes Johnny’s choked moan, “she’s squeezin’ me so tight.” 

Simon hums in reply as he continues his leisurely pace of fucking his finger into you. “Wonder what my cock would feel like in here,” he muses, continuing a line of kisses across your shoulders. He digs his teeth in deep into your shoulder, a shaky moan rising in your throat as he wiggles a second finger into the tight ring of muscle. 

“T-too much,” you whine out, asshole fluttering desperately around his fingers. Johnny’s cock was bigger than Simon’s two fingers — but it had been well over a week since either of them had touched you there. 

He stills as Johnny leans up to kiss along your collar and chest, tongue licking across your nipples. 

“Give me a color, love,” he asks gently, the fingers around your throat loosening so it’s easier for you to breathe. Johnny’s soft pants ghost against your skin as he holds your waist gently, ever so patient with you. 

“Bonnie?” comes Johnny’s soft prompting, laced with concern when you didn’t answer. 

“Green,” you whisper out after another moment of pause, and Simon’s answering good girl makes you melt further into their touch. 

Sweet, precious girl Johnny whispers against your collar, one arm laced around your waist as his other hand reaches for Simon’s hip. 

You bite your lip as tears thicken your throat. Your head is muddy with pleasure and love for your two boys, not realizing how much you’ve missed them until now, their soft praise spoken against your skin, kisses and devotion pressed to each exposed inch that they can reach. 

Simon carefully begins to thrust his fingers into you, sinking deeper each time until he’s able to curl and thrust without any resistance. Heat licks deep in your belly, broken moans catching in your throat with each expert thrust of his fingers. 

You vaguely hear him ask Johnny for the lube, hearing the pop of the cap as he squirts a generous amount into his hand, coating his length before smearing whatever is left over your hole, empty now without his fingers. 

He drags the tip of his cock over your hole, teasing the relaxed ring of muscle, watching as it looks like your hole is trying to draw him in, desperate. 

“Think you can take me, love?” comes his question pressed against your cheek, and you lace one arm back around to hold the nape of his neck, a soft yes falling from your lips. 

One thing you’ve learned from your boys is they always want to hear you. They love how vocal you are — Johnny especially — but hearing how badly you crave them, need them makes something primal in them snap, wanting to give you everything you beg for and more. 

“Slowly now,” he says as he pushes the crown past your ring of muscle, and you swallow thickly, nails digging into any part of Johnny you can reach. Johnny does his best to distract you with soft praises as Simon slowly sinks into you, pausing halfway when he feels you trembling under his touch. 

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’,” he groans out, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“Feels good, don’t she, Si?” 

Simon inhales sharply, raising his head enough to pull Johnny in for a kiss as your nails scratch at the base of Simon’s neck, leaning back against him as you watch your boys indulge in each other. 

“Incredible, just like you said,” he agrees with one more kiss, teeth nipping sharply at Johnny’s bottom lip. 

Johnny leans back down against the sheets, pulling you forward. Simon follows carefully, allowing Johnny to adjust your hips so it’s easier for him to sink the rest of the way into your hole. 

“Angel of our lives, ah swear,” Johnny says as he begins to carefully thrust up into you, knocking the wind from your lungs when his sharp thrust catches that squishy spot deep inside you that makes you keen and clench around them, Simon’s moan reverberating against your back. 

Simon carefully ruts into you, timing himself with Johnny’s thrusts, until you can’t think of anything more than the heat coursing through you, sparking and igniting like a wildfire. 

You can’t think of anything other than their names, but after a few minutes, Simon braces one of his feet on the bed so he can thrust in harder, rougher, and your voice cracks with how hard you cry out, lost to the pleasure. 

“Wanna stuff you full,” Johnny babbles beneath you, his thick thumb moving down to rub your clit, touch electric and causing you to moan and shudder in his hold. “Watch our cum drip from you until you’re full of our babe.” 

Simon’s free hand settles over your tummy, thumb stroking in surprising gentleness compared to the absolute filthy mess they’re making of you. 

“You want that, lovie?” Simon asks from behind you, his question punctuated with a sharp thrust, the obscene sound of his balls slapping against your ass accompanying the sounds of Johnny’s cock drenched in your slick. 

You’re helpless and reduced to nodding and whimpering, clenching hard around them as you whine out about giving them a baby. 

“Christ, love,” Johnny grits out before he’s spilling deep inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. He grips the nape of your neck to bring you in for a kiss, a mixture of panting his moans against your mouth and swallowing your own. 

Simon’s fingers are back on your clit, your nub hard and sensitive, sensitive to his touch. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant out as you reach your peak, Simon buried deep inside you as his grinds, cock pressed deep inside you. 

Johnny’s cock pulses with your orgasm, walls fluttering and spilling your release over him, the force of it causing his cum to spill out from where Johnny’s still plugged deep. 

“Atta girl,” Simon snarls as he buries his teeth in your shoulder with his own release, your eyes rolling back as you feel each thick pulse of his cum. He growls as he minutely thrusts into you, his own cum spilling from where his cock is nestled in your ass, making a mess of Johnny beneath you two. 

Simon draws his teeth from your shoulder, soothing  over the wound with his tongue as it pulses with your heartbeat. Soft kisses are placed along the line of your shoulders and close to your throat as you settle into their touch. 

He gently draws you to him, pressing a significantly softer kiss to your lips as your breathing evens out. You press your forehead to his to bask in his warmth, his nose pressed to your cheek as his nuzzles into your skin before carefully pulling out, his cum slipping from your hole. He helps keep you in place for Johnny to pull out as well, before Johnny is gathering you into his arms, cradling you against his chest and running his fingers delicately along the line of your back. 

You hate how empty you feel without them, but they’re right there, close enough for you to touch, for you to know they’re here with you, home, finally. 

You nuzzle into Johnny’s hold, already the edges of sleep drawing you deep. Simon settles behind you, a thick arm around your waist, anchoring you to him, to them. You murmur something about ruined caramel, but the press of their lips across your cheeks and forehead are all you need, finally allowing you to rest in the comfort of their arms. 

[daisies-daydreams]

Hey, how are you doing?! btw I like your work and If you don't mind can you please write were 141 + könig is defending they're kids while ur scolding at them 👉👈 🥺💞 can you write plz

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: Hello! I'm doing fine and dandy today, thank you! And thank you for your request! Honestly, I can see all of the 141 and König being such good papa's. 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

D/N = Daughter's Name, S/N = Son's Name

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“What were you thinking?” you scowled. Simon stood next to you as he shifted his attention back and forth between you and your daughter. (D/N) pouted as she stared at her feet. The walls of your hallway were covered in crayon markings, from unicorns to dinosaurs. You had just put a fresh coat of paint on them a few days ago, too.

“I-I’m sorry,” she sniffled. Your brows furrowed as your face turned beet red.

“Still, you shouldn’t have drawn all over the walls. Mommy worked hard to make it look better and you just messed it up,” you spat. Your daughter suddenly burst into tears. You blinked, regretting instantly flooding your chest. Simon knelt down on one knee just as you opened your mouth.

“(D/N), why did you color on the walls, baby?” he asked while staying at eye level with your little one. She rubbed her eyes and sniffed.

“I-I wanted to make it look pretty l-like Mommy was doing,” she hiccupped as she pointed at the messy mural on the wall. Simon turned to you, raising a brow. You sighed as you dropped to your knees as well. Your husband patted your back, then squeezed your shoulder with one of his rough hands.

“See? She didn’t mean any harm, love,” he said. (D/N) nodded, tears and snot streaking down her face as she gasped in between her sobs.

“I’m sorry I got mad, (D/N). Will you please forgive Mommy?” you asked. She nodded before she came up to hug both of you.

The three of you spent the evening cleaning up the drawings, though you made sure to spend some time coloring with her on actual paper afterwards.

König

Your son’s shoulders were slumped as he held his hands behind his back. You thrummed your fingers against your forearms and you crossed your arms. Shattered glass lay on the hardwood floor, a gaping hole in your living room window. A baseball rested near the opposite wall.

“I-It was an accident,” he stammered. Your nostrils flared as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You need to be more careful, (S/N). What if that ball hit someone?!” you scoffed. The boy’s eyes were misty as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Your husband suddenly stepped through the back door, a baseball mitt in his hand. He clapped a hand over your son’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t be upset with him, Maus. I was the one who missed catching the ball,” he claimed. Your eyes shifted back and forth between your two boys. You sighed and shook your head, your facial features relaxing.

“Alright-but you’re going to have to clean up your mess while I call about replacing the window,” you said. König nodded. Your son looked up at his father before running to grab the broom and dustpan from the linen closet. You tilted your head as (S/N) gazed up at you.

“It was our game-so we should both clean it up,” your boy said with a firm nod. You and König exchanged small smiles as he grabbed your husband’s free hand and bounded off to clean up.

John Price

Your jaw felt sore from how long you had it dropped. Your son giggled as he did a little dance in place, his entire body covered head to toe in peanut butter.

The same peanut butter you just bought from the store.

Your jaw clicked as you looked at the empty tub at his feet. You took a deep breath.

“(S/N)…What. Did. You. Do?” you asked through gritted teeth. His smile faltered at your sour tone.

“I gave myself a peanut butter bath!” he beamed. “Now you don’t have to clean me up later, Momma!” he giggled as he raised his arms. Your entire body radiated with frustration.

“No, now I have to give you a longer bath because you got yourself all dirty!” your voice suddenly raised several decibels. (S/N) winced.

“What’s all this, then?” your husband, John, asked from behind you. You whipped your head around, tongue twisted too much to even explain what happened. Your son bounced up and down when he saw his father.

“Look, Papa! I gave myself a bath!” the boy giggled. John blinked before bursting into laughter, tears of amusement pricking at the corners of his eyes as he grabbed his stomach. Your anger quickly dissipated as you reflected your husband’s expression, letting out a small chuckle of your own. John wiped at his eye as he stepped forward, scanning your son up and down.

“Your a cheeky lad, you know that?” he mused. Your son laughed as John picked him up and spun him around, not minding the substance that clung to his clean clothes. His sea-green eyes lingered over to you.

“He didn’t mean anything wrong by it, hun,” he shrugged. Your son nodded before licking at the corners of his peanut-butter covered mouth. You laughed.

“You’re right-I’m sorry, (S/N),” you apologized as you came up and kissed his temple. He giggled and swatted at you playfully.

“Momma! That tickles!” he squealed. John chuckled as your son hid his face in his father's shoulder. “C’mon, (S/N)-let’s give you a proper bath,” John said.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

“FUCK!” your daughter’s small voice screamed. Your eyes widened as you snapped your head up. She still wore a cheeky grin as she spilled a few more grapes on the floor before repeatedly shouting the explicative at the top of her lungs. Your brows furrowed.

“(D/N)! No ma’am!” you frowned as you shook a finger at her. The young girl’s smile fell as you proceeded to chew her out. “We don’t use those bad words!” you barked. Her bottom lip trembled as she hid herself under the table.

“It’s not her fault,” your husband said from the adjacent hallway. You turned to him as he walked towards the table. He knocked on the surface a few times. Your daughter replied after a few seconds of silence with her own rhythmic knocks. Johnny smiled as he crouched down and guided her back to her seat. He kissed the top of her head before looking at you. You raised a brow, expecting an explanation.

“(D/N) may or may not’ve heard a certain word from a certain someone…that someone being her daddy,” his cheeks turned slightly red as he rubbed the back of his neck. You frowned.

“You son of a-”

“Careful. Don’t want her learnin’ any more words,” Johnny said with a raised brow and a smirk. You instantly closed your mouth. Your daughter stared at you sweetly, her head slightly tilted.

“Right,” you muttered. You turned back to your daughter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, (D/N). You’re not a bad girl-we just can’t say bad words like that because it can hurt other people’s feelings. Okay?” you said. She nodded, her face lighting up slightly.

“Okay, Mommy,” (D/N) smiled. She paused for a moment as she hummed to herself, deep in thought. “Can I say ‘ass’?” she asked innocently. Johnny hid a smirk behind his hand as he stifled a laugh.

You're going to kill him.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

(S/N) swung his feet as you strapped him into the booster seat. Your husband cocked his head as you slammed your door shut, your nostrils flaring.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked. You raked your hands over your face as you glared back at your son. He bobbed his head along to the sound of the song playing on the car radio.

All of you were on a family day out when you remembered you had to grab a few things from the store. Your son wanted to come into the store while Kyle had to take a sudden phone call from Price. Your son pointed at the cashier and asked “Momma-why is that lady so fat?”. You couldn’t erase the shocked look on the woman’s face even if you could try.

You apologized profusely as you took your receipt and quickly hurried out of the store, your son complaining that you were holding his hand too tightly. You frowned as you stared at the young boy.

“Nothing. Let’s just go,” you waved as you rubbed your temples. You didn’t have the capacity to have a talk with your son at the moment. You’ll wait until you get home. Kyle shrugged as he put the car in reverse. The ride back home was rather quiet, minus the songs playing and your son singing along. Your husband pulled up to a stoplight, slipping his hand into yours.

“Why was that lady so fat?” your son asked. You slapped your other hand on your leg as you spun your head around.

“(S/N), we don’t say things like that, ever!” you shouted. Your son shrunk in his booster seat, his lips curving into a frown. “That is very, very rude! How would you feel if someone said something like that to you?” you demanded. Your son sniffed as he wrung his hands together.

“Love, please,” Kyle said. Your face was completely red as you looked back at him. “He’s only four-he doesn’t know any better,” he said calmly.

“I-I was just trying to be honest like you told me, Mommy,” (S/N) pouted. You unclench your jaw as you look into your son’s misty, chocolate-brown eyes. You exhaled through your nose as your shoulders lowered.

“It’s good to be honest, son. But we can’t say certain things because it might upset people. We need to be careful with our words,” you explained. Your son tilted his head as he resonated with your words.

“Okay, Mommy!” he said before going back to dancing to the music on the car radio. Your husband smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently as he moved the car forward.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

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Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[your-local-simp-writers]

Autumn Baking

Word Count: 730

Warnings: None

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The kitchen was aglow with the warm hues of autumn. Malleus Draconia, the towering figure of strength and magic, stood beside you, his hands dusted with flour, a soft smile playing on his lips. The scent of pumpkin spice filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of apple pastries baking in the oven.

“I must say, this is quite the experience,” Malleus remarked, his eyes reflecting the orange and red leaves visible through the window. “The human world’s celebration of fall is truly captivating.”

You grinned, passing him a bowl filled with a mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. “It’s all about embracing the change of seasons,” you explained. “And what better way to do that than with some seasonal baking?”

Together, you worked on crafting the perfect fall pastry—a delicate, flaky crust enveloping a rich filling of spiced apples and pumpkin, topped with a sprinkle of brown sugar and a dash of magic, courtesy of Malleus’s touch.

“Each ingredient tells a story,” you explained, measuring out the flour with practiced ease. “The flour is like the foundation of a home, stable and strong. The sugar, a sprinkle of sweetness from cherished moments. And the butter, it’s the comfort, the warmth that binds everything together.”

Malleus listened, his eyes intent on your movements. “I understand the components,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “but the sentiment… it eludes me.”

You smiled, patient and kind. “It’s alright. Not all lessons are learned at once. Here, try kneading the dough—feel the texture, let it connect you to the moment.”

His first attempt was clumsy, the dough sticking to his fingers, a stark contrast to the graceful power he wielded in every other aspect of his life. But you were there, guiding him, showing him the gentle pressure needed, the fold and turn that transformed the dough.

“It’s not about perfection,” you reassured him as he frowned at a misshapen pastry. “It’s about the effort, the care. That’s what infuses the food with love—that’s what my mother taught me.”

As the afternoon waned, Malleus’s efforts slowly improved. With each failed pastry, each uneven crust, he learned. And you were there, a constant presence, encouraging, teaching with a soft word or a shared laugh.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the kitchen windows, Malleus crafted a pastry that was, if not perfect, then full of the love and care he had put into it.

“I think I understand,” he said, a smile of triumph and understanding lighting up his face. “The connection, the memories—they are baked into these treats, just as your mother intended.”

You nodded, pride swelling in your chest as you watched him take a bite of the pastry, his eyes closing in appreciation. “Yes, Malleus, you’ve got it. And now, you’ve made a memory of your own.”

As the pastries cooled on the rack, you prepared a pot of hot cider, its steam carrying the essence of autumn. Malleus watched in fascination as you added a cinnamon stick and an orange slice to each mug.

“The warmth of these flavors,” he mused, taking a careful sip, “it’s like capturing the essence of fall in a single draught.”

You laughed, your heart light with the joy of the season and the company. “That’s the idea. And wait until you try the pastries.”

When the moment came to taste your joint creation, Malleus’s expression was one of pure delight. The blend of spices, fruit, and pumpkin was a revelation to him, a perfect representation of the season’s bounty.

As you both enjoyed the fruits of your labor, the setting sun cast a golden glow over the kitchen, and the world outside seemed to settle into a peaceful lull. In that moment, with Malleus by your side, you felt a deep connection not just to him, but to the very spirit of fall itself.

You listened, enraptured by the imagery his words conjured.  When the timer dinged, you both donned oven mitts and retrieved the golden-brown treats. Malleus’s eyes widened in delight at the sight. 

“They’re perfect,” he said, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the pastries. As you both enjoyed the fruits of your labor, the warmth of the kitchen was nothing compared to the warmth in your chest. Baking with Malleus had been an adventure, one that you hoped to repeat.

[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces As Ranked By Gilbert

**Best enjoyed after reading Gil’s route. There are also spoilers of varying degrees from some sequel routes (Chev, Licht).

1. LUKE

Luke: I’m surprised I got the top spot. Don’t you and Chevvie go way back? Gilbert: That’s true, but you’re my adorable little kid brother. I’ve carried you on my back. You’ve carried me on your back. Good times. Luke: Aw, Dad… (bear-hugs Gil) Gilbert: (pouts as he struggles to breathe) Did you even… hear a word of what I said… Luke: I heard ‘kid’. That makes ya my dad, right?

2. CHEVALIER

Gilbert: So? What do you think? Chevalier: (ignores him and continues doing paperwork) Gilbert: (high-pitched voice) “Please, oh please, Gil! Please trample my country to the ground, rebuild it in your image and then run it for me!” Something like that, right? Gilbert: (dodges pebble) Ahh, sorry, sorry. It would probably be more like “Please, oh please, Eyepatch!" Gilbert: (dodges another pebble) What is going on here? Do you roll around in the garden before coming to work every day?

3. CLAVIS

Clavis: (stiff smile) I baked you one of my most sought-after creations as thanks. I’d be honored if you’d try it, Lord Gilbert. Gilbert: Hmm, it looks as unappetizing as I expected but smells delicious. Oh, and... (sniffs) ...you even infused it with my favorite poison! Clavis: Hahaha! Well, I didn’t want you to get the idea that I’d learned nothing about you during all our years working together. Gilbert: Of course, of course. Would you like to share this with me Clavis: (stiff smile) No, no, no. It’s best enjoyed alone. Please, I insist.

4. RIO

Rio: If you’re trying to use me to get to my mistress, then I’ll— Gilbert: You misunderstand me. (Sets down two plates of pain perdu and places his hand on Rio’s) I really do commiserate with you, you know. It’s not easy seeing the one you love go off to be with another man. And yet you gladly sacrifice your own happiness. As though it were someone else's joy to give away. Rio: It is. My joy belongs to my mistress. Gilbert: Hmph? Let's see. Pain perdu means ‘lost bread’, right? Poor, poor abandoned little toast, molding under the table. Gilbert: Oh, by the way. I asked the little rabbit if I could bring these to you on her behalf. (Proceeds to eat all the pain perdu himself) Rio: (smiles brightly) So I’ve heard you love exercising!

5. SILVIO

Silvio: (kicks down the door) Where's the list? Gilbert: (innocently sips tea) So you can tear it up? Did you think I didn't make copies to send to every one of your little merchant friends? Silvio: My real friends know what's up. Gilbert: What a hurtful thing to say. I’m just honoring our friendship. And buttering you up for future manipulation. Silvio: Tch. I don’t know what game you’re playing— Gilbert: Human chess. Silvio: —but I’ll buy up every damn piece before you can get your filthy little mitts on 'em. Gilbert: Hehe, splendid. (Sits back with a smile) What’s more fun than controlling someone who controls everything else?

6. KEITH

Keith: Picked me over the other guy, did ya? Gilbert: Oh, he’s on the list too, of course. But I can’t stand how much of a do-gooder he is. And besides, you’re much more fun to play with. Keith: That right? I’m usually the one doing the teasing around here, though. Gilbert: (looks around dramatically) Around here? Where only a handful of people even know you exist? Tell me, if a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? Keith: >:0

7. KEITH

Keith: (hangs head) So you know… about him… Gilbert: Ahaha, there's no need to look so down! You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? It’s all him, right? If only he’d just disappear and stop taunting you from Spot #6. Keith: N-No! I don’t want that! I don’t… think I want that… Keith: Yes, I’m sure of it. He and I can share our friends. Gilbert: (stops smiling) Sharing only works if you can fully trust the other person to not take advantage of your kindness. You may think you can do that now, but people change. Circumstances change. The galette must one day burn. Keith: :’(

8. JIN

Jin: (thoroughly unamused) How kind of you. Gilbert: Isn’t it? But you should know that I’ve got nothing against you personally. Whatever enmity there is between us stems primarily from you. If you weren’t royalty, we might have even co-brothered Luke together. Jin: (throws up in his mouth) I don’t see how that has anything to do with this. And you’re the most detested royal figurehead on the continent. Gilbert: (shrugs) I’d say I’m sorry you can’t see past that, but I’d be lying if I claimed there was anything there to be seen in the first place. Thanks for the lollypop. Jin: What? HEY—

9. SARIEL

Sariel: (stops as soon as he enters his office) What are these vermin doing here? Gilbert: (sitting in Sariel’s chair) Just a little gift I brought so I could congratulate you for making it onto my list. Would you like to do the honors? Sariel: (plucks him up by the fur) Am I to understand you’re giving me a chance to correct my oversight before you take things into your own hands? Gilbert: (brushes himself off) I expect you to do most if not all of the work since my hands are tied while I’m a visiting guest here. But I’m happy to take them under my wing if you can’t even do that much. Sariel: “Kill them, or be forced to kill them,’ is it? (glances at the tied-up assassins) I wonder which one of us they would consider a fate worse than death.

10. LEON

Leon: (glares) I take it you only stuck me on here out of diplomatic courtesy. Gilbert: Haha, maybe. But there’s something about you that’s always reminded me of someone I know. Leon: Whoever it is, I feel bad for the guy. Gilbert: (bittersweet smile) You might be right. Maybe I need to do better by him…

11. LICHT

Licht: Do I know you? Gilbert: I was wondering the same thing, to be honest. But I’ve seen you around the palace enough times that I figured I might as well throw you on here. Gilbert: Nice eyes by the way, hehe. Licht: Oh no you don’t. My only family is Nokto.

12. NOKTO

Gilbert: Oh. There are two of you. Must be nice having an identical twin. (Resting his chin in his hand) Do you two switch places a lot? Nokto: You never noticed before today? Never received a report from one of your spies about it? Gilbert: Oh no, what sort of boring activities do you think I have my spies do all day? Nokto: Well, for starters, you sure seem to have paranormal insight into the contents of our kitchen at any given moment. Gilbert: So you'd rather I left all the carrots where they are? Nokto: ...

...

.......

................

Yves: Prince Gilbert!

Gilbert: (stops but doesn’t turn around)

Yves: I saw your list, and I couldn’t help but notice—

Gilbert: No, I believe you noticed everything you were meant to.

Gilbert: (leaves to go find the little rabbit to fix his bad mood)

[anxiousfanchild]

The Sharing Series: Paul/Marko

Word Count: 274

Warnings: 18+, NSFW mentions, Dirty talk, no actual sex scenes. I block on sight. Teasing. Wholesome at the end. Headcanons.

A/N: I may make this a new series >:))

════ ⋆★⋆ ════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════ ⋆★⋆ ════

♡ these two boys are almost TOO comfortable with sharing you.

♡ The moment the topic is even breathed, these two are on your like butter on toast.

♡ They don't even have to talk, they were just so in time with each other, it was making you dizzy.

♡ hands, fingers, tongues, fangs. It was almost too much for little ol you

♡ “Marko, look how sweet our pup is for us.” “I see Paul. They already look fucked out and we've barely even touched them.”

♡ public sex? Yes please. The boardwalk, the Farris Wheel, under the boardwalk, the beach. Anywhere they can get their horny little mitts on you, they're doing it.

♡ They also have absolutely no shame when it comes to sex around the other boys. Let them look, only Paul and Marko can touch their prize.

♡ I hope you like being dependent, because these two wont let you lift a finger.

♡ anything from dressing, to baths, even eating on a rare occasion, they handle it. You are their pretty little doll, and dolls don't do anything.

♡ Aftercare is PHENOMENAL with them. Baths, food, candy, back rubs. They pull every single stop, though its sadly not enough to rid yourself of the limp you'll be sporting in the evening.

♡ if they are dating you, they dont hang from the rafters. Instead they sleep in your next during the day, legs tangled around each other, blankets a mess.

♡ Paul sleep with curlers in his hair and Marko hogs the blanket.

♡ 9/10 for a poly relationship! Super dorky surfer boyfriends!

[senditcolton]

maybe this Christmastime, you'll realize

song inspo: santa doesn't know you like i do word count: 3k warnings: none, just pure holiday fluff (christmas centric)

a/n: i'm back!! and what better way to celebrate the conclusion of my graduate degree by giving you all a barely edited, written last night, self-indulgent fic to feed my delusion of Tyson Jost being madly in love with me. glad to be back and can't wait to write for you all again!!

The heat that blasts from the oven is a welcome sensation, considering that your old apartment often struggled to keep in the warmth from your central heating. You lean in, your oven mitt clad hand reaching and grasping the cookie sheet.

You’d be the first to admit that you weren’t much of a baker. That was never your ‘job’ during holidays with your family. But you figured you would try this year since you wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy the homemade goodies your family crafted.

That was the reason you chose to bake cookies. The reason you chose to bake almond butter cookies was because of someone else. Someone who also wasn’t able to enjoy the comforts of home this year.

As if he could hear your thoughts, a knock echoes through your apartment. You quickly finish transferring the cookies from the still hot baking sheet onto the cooling rack before wiping off your hands and running towards the front door. You swing open the worn wood and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you see Tyson standing there.

“Hey. Happy Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Is that the official name?” he laughs, walking into your apartment like it was his own. Which considering how often he was over at your place, it might as well be.

“You haven’t seen that episode of Friends?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, taking off his coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“Thanks. I tried my hand at baking.”

“And you didn’t burn the apartment down?” he smiles and you wish you could stop the way your knees weaken at the sight.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You better be nice to me or else you won’t get any almond butter cookies.” This time, you didn’t want to stop the trill of your heart at the way his eyes brightened at your words.

“Almond butter?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards the kitchen, a silent invitation for him. He took your encouragement in stride, breezing into the other room and you were thankful that he was out of earshot when you said your next words.

“I made them just for you.”

You did. You also opened your home to him, welcoming him any day during this, the week of Christmas. But that was just because you didn’t want him to be lonely. That was all. That was the only reason.

It definitely wasn’t because of the crush you had been harboring for him since the first day you met.

No, absolutely not.

You take a deep breath before following Tyson into the kitchen, turning the corner only to find him already munching on a cookie, a grin on his face and some crumbs stuck on his facial hair.

“I know they’re probably not as good as Grandma Jost’s but –” Tyson cuts you off with a gentle call of your name.

“Stop. These are delicious. You did a really good job.”

“Thanks,” you say. It’s only then that you spy the backpack that he carried in with him, one that was now placed on your kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, as if he just remembered it himself. You are even more curious when you see the blush spread on his cheeks, the rosy color having nothing to do with the lingering cold from outside. “I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“You mentioned that you were in charge of wrapping presents at your house for the holidays. And I’m really bad at it. I mean, usually I struggle through it or just put everyone’s gifts in bags…”

You gently interrupt his explanation with a laugh of your own, your brain goes over all the gifts Tyson has given you; mostly presented to you in gift bags.

“But since I can’t go home this year, I kind of want to – I don’t know – make more of an effort. Make it more exciting for whenever my family does get their presents. If that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense, Tyson,” you reply. “Sit. Eat your cookies. I’ll get the wrapping paper.”

Only a few short moments pass before you find yourself sitting next to Tyson, wrapping the stockpile of presents he brought over and listening to him talk about anything and everything: details about the gift you were currently wrapping, his shopping adventures, the hockey season so far, friend and family updates, anything. You occasionally interrupt with questions about how he wants the presents decorated but he gives you a lot of creative freedom which you slightly admonish him for.

“Tyson, they should feel like they’re from you.”

“I’ll pick out the bows.”

That was how you continued, your focus on the folds and creases of the paper in front of you while Tyson talked.

You had gone through most of the gift he presented to you, your concentration entirely on the folding and taping that you perfected long ago. Tyson had gone quiet for a moment but you weren’t that concerned as you were still able to hear him rustling around in the bag that held all your bows, finding whatever color he chose for the current gift. You are just about to put the last piece of tape on when you feel Tyson’s fingers gently press against your head.

Your eyes snap back to him, only to see that adorable crooked grin on his face. You are pretty sure you knew what happened and your thoughts are only confirmed as you reach up and feel the paper of the bow pressed onto your hair.

“Is this the one you want for this gift?”

“It looks pretty cute on you,” he says and you once again have to force yourself to take a deep breath before your body acts of its own volition, revealing your feelings in probably the worst way.

“I’m sure it’ll look much better on the present,” you quip, taking it off your hair and replacing the tape before sticking it onto the silver paper. “Ta-da!” You push the present off to the side, adding to the slowly growing pile. “What’s next?”

You turn your attention to Tyson, but this time, he’s the one distracted. His fingers tap against his phone,  typing out few quick messages, a small grin appearing on his face occasionally. You wait for a few minutes, just watching him until he feels your gaze and looks up towards you.

“Huh?”

“Which present is next?”

“Oh, last one,” he says, pulling the final gift out of his backpack and handing it to you. “This one is for Kacey.”

“Was that who you were texting?”

“No um, that was Mikayla. She’s this girl I matched with on a dating app a little while ago. We’re just getting last minute details ready before our date tonight.”

His words give you literal pause as your scissors stall on the wrapping paper, your smooth precise cut turning into a jagged edge.  

“Tonight?” you ask, your question answered with an affirmative hum from him. You try to act nonchalant, a shrug lifting your shoulders as you attempt to focus back on the task at hand. “Seems a little odd – so close to Christmas.”

“Yeah, but it was the best day for her and I don’t have anywhere else to be, y’know?”

You try not to let his words sting, knowing he doesn’t mean them maliciously. He wasn’t with his family and you were just a friend. He didn’t have any commitments because he wasn’t committed to you. That was the simple truth.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, forcing your attention onto the cherry red wrapping paper in your hands; the one thing you could control. “I think a gold bow would look good on this one.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tyson replies, typing out one last quick message before diving back into the bag to find the color you requested.

A few short minutes later, the presents are wrapped and placed back into Tyson’s pack, safe and ready for their return to his apartment. You watched from your couch as his throws his coat over his broad frame before swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

“If you want, you can always come over tomorrow. I need some help finishing off those cookies,” you playfully tease, trying not to let your heart get too attached to the idea of spending Christmas Eve with him next to you.

“I might take you up on that,” Tyson says, shooting you a gentle smile before opening your door and leaving, the chill sneaking in from the outside and finding a way to wrap around your heart.

You know you had no right to be upset. Tyson wasn’t yours. He didn’t know the way you felt about him and there was no certainty that he would even share your feelings. He might only ever see you as a friend and if that was the case… he should be free to find someone who does love him.

But there was this stubborn part of you that couldn’t imagine anyone else loving Tyson as much as you loved him. You’ve been there through the good and bad. You knew his favorite songs. You knew how to make him laugh. And you would always pick up when he called.

Who else could say that?

You sigh, gently telling yourself that there was nothing you could do about it tonight.

Perhaps Christmas Eve might bring forth some holiday magic. Or maybe you should just throw in the towel, pray for New Year’s to come quickly so you could leave this heartache behind along with the holiday season.

You weren’t sure which to wish for so you just crawled into bed, feeling bluer that ever before as you fell asleep, trying not to think of someone else’s lips pressed against Tyson’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lights in the tree blurred as you try to hold back you tears. You always seemed to cry during the holidays; you never really knew why. It just always came about this time of year. ‘Tis the season, right?

But this year, you could pinpoint the exact person that caused your tears to fall. Tyson Jost. The worst part about it was that it wasn’t even his fault that you were crying. It was all yours.

You woke up after a listless night of sleeping. When you went to check your phone, you hoped to see a message from Tyson but to your disappointment but not surprise, there was no notification on your screen. You managed to roll yourself out from underneath your covers and go about your morning routine before sending a text to him, saying that you hoped his date went well and that the offer to come over tonight was still on the table.

That was over twelve hours ago and all you received was radio silence from him.

Perhaps that is why you found yourself curled up underneath your tree, staring up at the lights in the boughs, trying to push back tears. It was a stupid reason to cry just like it was stupid to fall for your best friend. Stupid to think that he could ever see you as anything more. Stupid to think that maybe this Christmas would be the one where it all changed.

Stupid to spend your money on a new watch, wrap it up for him with a note documenting your feelings in the hope that he would open it tonight, here, underneath your tree while you both ate the cookies you made specifically for him.

Your fingers trace over the silk ribbon, fidgeting with the bow as the minutes tick by, your hope dwindling with them.

The receipt for it was still in your closet in one of your purses. You could return it on Tuesday, pretend like you never had this grand scheme and go back to being friends with Tyson. Give yourself another year to get over him. Maybe next year you finally would.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you spare one last glance down at the parcel in your hands before placing it back underneath the tree with all the other presents that your friends and family had sent to you.

It was a silly idea, an almost childish Christmas dream and now, you had to wake up. Tyson was dating other people and sooner or later, he would find someone who could give him everything you could and possibly more. Perhaps he found her last night and woke up this morning to her curled up in his arms and that feeling of love just struck him and if so, there was nothing you could do and –

The knock on your door startles you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hand hitting a few ornaments hanging down from the branches. You quickly grab them, stabilizing the fragile decor before you lift yourself off the floor, your blanket pooling beneath you before you wander to the front door.

You had no idea who was knocking at this time of night but you must have been too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to care because you opened the door without a second thought. It took you a minute to fully register the person standing on your doorstep but when you saw those chocolate curls and those big brown eyes, you feel a sense of calm sweep over you.

Tyson always pulled that feeling from you. Even when he showed up unannounced on Christmas Eve.

Although you were happy to see him, the expression on your face was one of confusion. Why was he here, now, without a word of warning, after ignoring you for almost a full 24 hours? You are about to ask those questions but before you could get a word out, Tyson speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

His words catch you off-guard, the meaning behind them not yet clear to you.

“For what?” you ask him. Your breath shallows as he turns his gaze to you and you are struck by the earnestness reflecting in his eyes.

“For not seeing you,” he replies, stepping over the threshold of your apartment and closer to you. “For not seeing how wonderful and amazing and beautiful you are.”

“Wha – what’s happening?” you question, his words sending shockwaves through your body.

“I think a part of me always knew; that you were the one. But I ignored it for whatever reason. Fear, indifference, whatever. But last night, when I was on a date with another girl, all I could think about was you. How you make me laugh, make me smile. Pick me up and encourage me when I’m down. Do silly inconsequential things for me without expecting anything in return.”

Tyson continues to speak, becoming more assured and confident with every word, punctuating each sentence with a step closer to you.

“How you went out of your way to make cookies that remind me of home so I would feel less alone this holiday season. No one else has done anything like that for me.”

You had to be hallucinating or dreaming or something. This felt straight out of goddamn Hallmark movie – it couldn’t be real life. It was a fantasy brought on by sugar and heartache. But when Tyson reaches out to you, gently grasping your hands in his, you can feel the warmth of his touch run through you, warm and as real as it ever was.

“And I realized last night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t need the cookies, the presents, the bows and ribbons to feel like I was home,” Tyson confesses, his voice becoming softer as he pulls you closer. “Whenever I’m with you… that’s when I’m home. You are home to me. And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this long for me to realize it.”

Tyson silences, looking into your eyes and you know he’s waiting for your answer but you were still trying to fully understand this whole situation. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man in front of you, the man that you had a crush for almost an entire year, just came to your house in the middle of the night and confessed his feelings to you.

Your body slightly jumps at the sound of your front door closing, the breeze pulling it shut but Tyson gently rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, soothing you. A small jingle of a bell sounds from above you, brought on by the gust of air from the door. The noise pulls both you and Tyson’s attention away from each other towards the ceiling and you feel your cheeks warm at the sight of the green leaves with white berries, tied together with ribbon, hanging above you. The warmth intensifies as Tyson turns his gaze on you once again, that mischievous look in his eyes.

“Mistletoe? Really?”

“It’s tradition,” you mutter, your tongue finally being able to twist itself into words.

“Well, it is Christmas after all. I guess we shouldn’t break tradition,” he grins.

You force yourself to breathe as Tyson leans closer to you, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel his forehead press against yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your cheeks but his movements stall and when you don’t feel the gentle press of his lips against yours, you slowly reopen your eyes.

Tyson is still standing there, his lips only mere centimeters away from yours. It’s only then that you realize you’ve never given him a response to his confession. Haven’t yet told him that it was everything that you had been hoping to hear from him. But how could you possibly respond when it didn’t feel like there were words in the English language to describe the depth of your feelings?

The answer was simple.

You respond by lifting yourself up those final inches and pressing your lips against his. You pour every emotion you felt into that kiss and you could feel a piece of you settle when Tyson kissed you back with as much passion.

And you knew that this – wrapped up in Tyson’s arms underneath the mistletoe, his lips against yours – was the best present you could have ever received this year.

[bwabys-scenarios]

Reunited

Part 19

Illumi x Reader x ??????

part 18

part 20

taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @merinfawleygoestohogwarts

warning: illumi is kinda toxic,,, he genuinely thinks he’s doing what he’s doing in (Name)’s best interest but he’s being a lil hypocritical 🤞

Canary walked through the doorway into the kitchen, (Name) looking up from her place at the oven to wave.

“Oh, you’re Canary right? You’re just in time, this test batch should be finished!”

Canary watched as (Name) pulled on a pair of oven mitts, then opened the oven.

She placed a batch of cookies on the counter to cook, smiling at Canary sweetly. “Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”

The young girl nodded slowly, standing at a three foot distance awkwardly. “Yes, they’re my favorite actually.”

(Name) gasped, happily lifting a cookie off the sheet with a spatula and placing it on a plate. “It’s still hot, but I like to eat them when they’re fresh out of the oven!”

Canary nodded, inspecting the baked good. It seemed like a normal cookie, having pink and brown chocolate chips dotting the surface. “It has white chocolate in it too!”

The butler took a bite, her eyes widening. “It’s good. Miss (Name), this is the best cookie I’ve ever eaten!”

She wasn’t lying, the cookie was soft and melted in your mouth, being sweet but not too sweet. (Name) giggled and took a bite of her own, nodding at the flavor.

“Mmm, it could use a tiny bit more butter, but this batch turned out alright! These can be eaten by whoever would like them. It’s just a test batch, but I hope the butlers enjoy them.” (Name) gave her a knowing look, placing the tray of cookies to the side to begin mixing another batch.

Canary paused. Had she used them being a test batch as an excuse to gift the butlers a Valentine’s Day treat? She’d seen her doing various kind acts during her stay, but she’d underestimated the girls kindness.

“That’s nice of you, Miss (Name). I will inform Gotoh of your gift.”

—————

Several butlers flooded the kitchen, all wanting a taste of (Name)’s cookies. She’d made a large batch of over 100 cookies, feeding a majority of the butlers.

Gotoh politely took a cookie, complimenting (Name) on the taste. “You are an exemplary cook.”

The butlers slowly drifted away until it was only (Name) and Canary again. The tray of cookies was empty, which made (Name) sigh in contentment. “Im glad you all enjoyed them. I know being a butler here is rough, so I thought sharing some treats might make your days a little sweeter.”

(Name) wiped her hands on her apron, Canary washing the tray off so she could make the next batch.

“You’re making so many cookies, and on your list there’s a cake and chocolates planned too. Who all are you baking for?”

“Oh, only seven people, but the cake is for the Zoldyck family. I really appreciate the thoughtfulness they’ve had for me!”

‘More like the thoughtfulness Illumi and Kalluto have had for you. The other Zoldycks only care about your usefulness to them.’ Canary thought. She almost pitied the unaware girl, knowing that she could be tossed away at any moment.

Illumi certainly cared for her in some way, but Canary doubted he would go against his parents wishes if they no longer wanted (Name) around.

“Oh, I need to start on the chocolates!”

Three hours had passed, (Name) leaning over the kitchen table in exhaustion. She’d been baking her heart out, the counters full of sweets. Canary patted her back, smiling patiently.

“You should probably take a break, Miss (Name). You’ve finished most of your list, why don’t you go eat lunch?”

(Name) complied, but before she left she turned to speak with Canary. “Please make sure no one tampers with the sweets. They’re gifts for my friends.”

Canary nodded, reassuring her that nothing would happen to the treats.

(Name) made her way to the dining room, opening the door to see Kalluto and Milluki sitting at the table. She didn’t see Milluki often, so she smiled and waved.

“Hello, how are you doing today?”

He huffed in response, crossing his arms. Milluki didn’t talk with her often, seemingly disliking her. (Name) sighed and took her seat next to Kalluto.

“Is he always like that?” (Name) asked in a whisper. Kalluto shrugged.

“Mostly, but you’re a girl so he might just have trouble speaking with you.”

“Oh!”

The three ate in mostly silence, (Name) breaking it to invite Kalluto to come bake with her.

“I can after lunch. My schedule is free until 3 pm, when we have our first sparring match.”

(Name) groaned. “Ugh, I forgot that was today. You’ll go easy on me, won’t you?”

“Don’t bet on it.”

The two laughed together, Milluki watching as he finished his lunch.

Usually, Milluki would have already poisoned or insulted (Name) as a joke/prank, but Illumi had approached him the night of her arrival.

flashback

“Milluki.”

The older teen jumped at the sound of his older brothers voice behind him. He hadn’t heard him come through the door, having been typing away loudly at his computer.

“What is it, Illumi? I’m busy.”

Illumi leaned against the wall, watching his brother with a glint of malice in his eye. “You know the girl I just introduced you all to at dinner?”

The younger brother scoffed. “Yeah, your little girlfriend. What has that stupid girl got to do with me?”

Illumi pushed himself on the wall, approaching his brother. “She isn’t my girlfriend, and I suggest you watch your mouth.”

He placed a hand on Milluki’s shoulder, leaning down to meet his eyes.

“If you so much as think of poisoning her food or hurting her…”

Illumi sharpened a single nail, holding it to Milluki’s neck.

“You’ll answer to me.”

He stared at his brother for a moment, watching him break out in a sweat. When he was satisfied, Illumi left the room, turning back to smile.

“Be good, Milluki.”

flashback end

Milluki shivered at the memory, glancing at (Name)’s smiling face for a moment. Why was his brother so hellbent on protecting that useless girl? She wasn’t that strong, and no one knew for sure if her nen ability would be useful to their family. What else could he possibly want from her?

It couldn’t possibly be her appearance. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t what Milluki pictured Illumi preferring. His older brother was incredibly handsome, and although she did look pretty when dressed up, most of the time she looked painfully average to Milluki.

He sighed, standing up and walking out. Milluki’s curiosity was starting to get the better of him. Would he give in to his whims and bully her just a little to see his brother’s reaction? Maybe, if he was feeling brave.

For now, Milluki was content watching her over the surveillance system.

——————

Kalluto joined (Name) in the kitchen, Canary shocked to see him.

“M-Master Kalluto! I thought you were busy today.”

The boy shot her a look, the girl quieting instantly.

It was true, Kalluto had lied about having a free schedule. He was supposed to be training until the spar match with (Name), but for once he blew it off.

He couldn’t understand why, but he preferred being punished later if it meant spending more time with (Name). Every new experience with her was fun, and he wanted to watch her bake more than he cared to admit.

“Kalluto, roll up your sleeves. I’ll grab you an apron.”

The boy complied, watching (Name) disappear behind a corner and return with a plain white apron. She helped Kalluto put it on, tying the string around his waist.

“Is it too tight?”

“No, it’s fine.”

He couldn’t help but sigh contentedly at the scent of her creations. He’d never been in the kitchen when food was cooking, marveling at the smell.

“Kalluto, have you ever cracked an egg before?”

(Name) held two eggs. Her question didn’t sound infantilizing or rude at all, only asked with him in mind. He shook his head, a little embarrassed.

“Here, watch me.”

She cracked the egg, letting it’s contents drop into the mixing bowl. He nodded, holding out one of his hands. (Name) placed the second egg in his hands, watching as he cracked it more elegantly than (Name) thought possible.

“Wow, you’re a quick learner! Okay, you’re on cracking eggs and mixing duty! It’s an important job, so take it seriously.”

She squeezed his cheek affectionately, moving on to pour flour into the bowl.

This continued for a while, the two baking up a storm. 45 minutes until 3 pm, the pair stopped.

“It’s time to get ready for our match, (Name). Go get a quick shower and change.”

———————

(Name) walked into the training center, holding herself nervously. She had been training for this day, but nothing could prepare her for the anxiety of it all.

The three elder Zoldycks, Kikyo, Zeno, and Silva all stood around the sparring ring, waiting for her. She jogged over, greeting each of them.

“(Name), you’re just on time. We arrived a moment ago.” Kikyo informed her, taking a seat. The two followed suit.

“Kalluto has high hopes for you. It’s a shame Illumi couldn’t make it.” Silva remarked, watching as (Name) stretched.

Little did (Name) know, they hadn’t informed illumi of this little sparring match. He had forbid anyone from sparring with her until she was at full health, but the elder Zoldycks were itching for a sneak peek at her potential.

Kikyo was the most excited. She didn’t quite like (Name)’s appearance, but Illumi was obviously smitten with her. At the end of the day she would be happy with any woman, if it meant Illumi choosing a wife to have children with.

Kalluto appeared, stepping into the ring. He was wearing a different Kimono than usual, this one being white with a spider lily pattern.

“Once you step into the ring, our match will begin. Take your time preparing yourself.”

(Name) nodded, continuing her stretches.

“There are only two rules for this match. No nen, and keep injuries to a minimum. The second rule applies mostly to Kalluto, however.” Zeno said.

(Name) laughed. “Yeah, I figured.”

“The first to be knocked out of the ring loses.”

“I’m fine with that.” (Name) replied, standing. She had stretched as much as she could, stepping into the ring with a sigh.

The two shook hands, then jumped back.

Kalluto was the first to make a move, rushing forward and placing a hand on her shoulder. He used his strength to push her, (name) skidding across the floor.

Before she could slide out of the ring, (name) used her weight to swing herself further into the ring, quickly getting onto her feet.

She blocked a kick from Kalluto, pushing him back. This earned her an “oh!” from Kikyo.

The two sparred for a bit, (Name) covered in sweat. She was holding her own ok, but it was clear that she was outmatched by the younger boy.

“You’ve done well, (Name), but I think it’s time you gave up.”

The girl only stuck her tongue out at the boy, who gasped.

“No way, I still got some fight left in me!”

She rushed him, grabbing him by the waist. Kalluto was quick to grab her waist as well, stopping her in her tracks.

“If you want to be stubborn, I’ll end it for you.”

He pulled, but to his shock her couldn’t move her. Her grasp had gotten stronger, and she was slowly pushing him out of the ring.

Panicking, he grabbed her arm and wrenched it from his side with her full strength, causing her to yelp out in pain. “Sorry, (Name) put you leave me no choice.”

He lifted her by the arm and tossed her out of the ring. (Name) groaned as she slowly lifted herself onto her feet, rubbing her arm.

“My, (Name), you lasted much longer than I thought, and Kalluto had to use his full strength to win there!” Kikyo called, cooing at the girl.

“He wasn’t using his full strength the whole time??”

“Heavens no, if he did he would have broken the second rule. No offense, but our family is blessed with extraordinary strength. If he fought you at full force, you would have died.”

“He shouldn’t have fought her at all.”

The group froze, turning to see Illumi standing by the work out equipment, his usually calm face enraged.

“I thought I said to wait for her to fully heal before attempting anything serious.” He growled, approaching his family with a menacing aura. Kikyo stepped in front of him, holding out her hands in surrender.

“Oh, Illumi darling, she’s completely fine! Kalluto made sure not to injure her!”

“Oh really? Why is her arm nearly fractured then?”

Illumi beelined towards (Name), taking her arm tenderly in his hand. It was already turning into an ugly red, causing the assassin to squeeze it in anger.

“I-Illumi you’re hurting me!”

Illumi paused, looking down to see his fingers causing indents in her flesh. He pulled his hand away quickly, sighing. “I apologize. It’s hard to control my strength when I’m angry.”

He cut his eyes to his family, picking up (Name) bridal style.

“Any future sparring matches have to be approved by me. Please do not anger me any further.”

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Kalluto silently played with the sleeve of his kimono, not able to meet his family’s eyes.

“Oh my, he is so protective of her! How cute!” Kikyo cooed, placing a hand on her cheek. “Kalluto, you will not be punished for this, but keep in mind that (Name) is to not be harmed unless you want to face Illumi himself.”

Kalluto felt awful for hurting (Name), guilt bubbling in his stomach. “Yes, mother.”

———————

Illumi sat (Name) down on her bed, opening up his cellphone to call a doctor. (Name) watched him with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Be here within the next 10 minutes. Goodbye.”

Illumi sighed, sitting down next to her. She glanced at him, obviously upset.

“You didn’t have to do all that, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Fine? (Name), your arm was neatly fractured. If Kalluto had put any more pressure, it could have been broken completely.”

“But he didn’t, and I’m okay! I don’t see what the problem is!”

Illumi let out a frustrated groan, causing (Name) to look at him. “You can’t keep doing this. I have to learn how to fight if I’m going to be a good hunter. Without training, I’ll die.”

“… you don’t have to do jobs, you know.”

(Name) stared at the man, her anger ebbing away into confusion. “What?”

“You could…” he stopped. He wanted to say she could just let him take care of her, be his wife. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger, only needing to bear him a child.

“I could what, Illumi?”

He stood, walking over to open the door. “Nothing.”

In walked a doctor, who evaluated (Name). Her arm was fine, but there would be another nasty bruise to add to her collection. She winced at the thought of her friends seeing her in such a state, knowing that two of them were capable of murder.

“She’ll need to take some pain medicine and an anti-inflammatory, besides that she will be okay.” The doctor informed Illumi, who nodded along at the explanation. He left soon after (Name) took her medication.

“I didn’t know you’d be back so soon, Illumi.” (Name) said, pushing herself off of the bed. She padded over towards the door, Illumi walking with her.

“I finished the job quickly.”

He followed her down the stairs, watching her every move to see if she was in pain. As a person educated in torture, he could pick up on the little signs of agony a person showed when they were in pain, but she was showing none of them.

“Where are you going?”

“To Kalluto’s room. He’s probably feeling awful right now.”

“He should, he knows to use restraint against you.”

(Name) turned on his heels, poking a finger into Illumi’s chest. “Illumi, stop it. You can’t say anything about Kalluto causing me pain when you nearly killed me during the last phase of the exam. And before you say it was because you wanted our match to end, Kalluto only hurt me because he was trying to end the sparring session. I was being stubborn!!”

She let out a huff and turned back around, marching to Kalluto’s room. Illumi watched her go, in a stunned silence.

He still felt tremendous guilt over the harm he caused her during the exam, and to be confronted about it by the woman herself was honestly dazing.

Illumi looked down at his hands, gripping them into fists.

He’d also hurt her in anger earlier, he could see the shape of his hand on her skin. Was he using Kalluto as a scapegoat for his own actions? Did he just want to be angry at him because he was angry at himself for being the one to hurt her so badly in the first place?

He didn’t want to deal with these feelings right now after a job. It was too much to take in, too much to process all at once.

Illumi shook his head and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

——————

“Kalluto? It’s (Name).”

She’d knocked on the door to his bedroom a few times, calling out to him softly. The boy had yet to answer.

“I can sense you’re in there. I won’t leave until you answer me, I can wait all night.”

The sound of shuffling feet could be heard from behind the door, the door slowly creaking open to reveal Kalluto.

He looked a bit upset, his brow furrowed and eyes the lightest tint of red. Had he been crying?

“What?” He asked, his voice breaking ever so slightly. (Name) reached out and patted his head, sighing softly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Kalluto. I’m alright. Illumi is just-“

“No, he’s not wrong.”

Kalluto cut her off, his eyes serious.

“(Name), we Zoldycks outclass you in several ways, the biggest being in strength. I know that, big brother knows that. I should’ve known better than to use my full strength against you, and I’m sorry.”

(Name) bit her lip. “I… I accept your apology, but I don’t think you did anything wrong. My arm isn’t that hurt-“

“But it could have been! If I had squeezed any tighter it would have broken! (Name), I don’t think you understand how badly I could have hurt you.”

He walked off, coming back carrying a metal bar. It was thick, and (Name) wondered how he was even holding it.

“Step back.”

She stepped back several feet, and with one hand he crushed the bar. (Name) gasped, watching as he dropped it, shattering the wood floor.

“If I can crush this with one hand, shattering your bones or even ripping off your arm is child’s play. You can’t just be okay that you weren’t that hurt this time. We are dangerous. I’m… dangerous.”

Kalluto’s eyes began to fill with tears, (Name) instantly pulling him into a hug.

“I’m sorry, Kalluto. I’ll take it all more seriously. Promise.”

They stayed like that for a moment, her running her fingers through his hair to soothe him. “Big brother just wants you to be safe. I know it can be smothering, but I… think he really cares about you. He’s never been this worried for another person before, and I think it’s affecting him.”

(Name) stopped, pulling away. “… I see. It’s just strange he cares that much, considering I’ve only known the real him for a week. I can’t… understand.”

She had a lot to think about. (Name) didn’t know why he felt so strongly for her. She definitely cared for him, a lot even, but it was the same amount of care she gave to all of her friends. From what she heard, Illumi only acted this way with her…

“Does he have any friends?”

“Besides you… I don’t think so. Illumi has always been solitary. He’s only ever cared about getting jobs done and satisfying our parents.” Kalluto replied, also looking confused and a bit concerned.

She nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna go talk with him. I want to understand his way of thinking better.”

—————

(Name) approached Illumi’s room quietly, knocking and receiving no answer. This time, she could sense he wasn’t there, unlike with Kalluto.

She pulled out her phone, clicking on his name and hitting call.

It rang for 30 seconds before she hung up and called again. Same thing, no answer.

(Name) was beginning to get worried, he was usually decent with answering her. The girl ran back downstairs, looking around the manor for him.

It was sunny outside, birds singing and butlers strolling around tending to the garden, but there was no sign of Illumi.

“Illumi? Hello?” She called, her anxiety rising by the minute. Before she could call again, Canary approached her from the shadows.

“Miss (Name), Illumi just left for another job. He’ll be back within a few days.”

(Name) stopped, biting her lip. “But he just got back…”

‘And he usually tells me when he’s leaving…’ she thought to herself, sitting down on nearby bench. Canary could sense her unease, standing beside her.

“It was on short notice, he had to leave immediately. He said to inform you he’ll call you when he’s almost home.”

This calmed (Name) just a bit, but something still didn’t feel right. Canary wasn’t looking her in the eye.

She decided to leave it be for now, letting out a sigh before standing up. “Alright. I guess I’ll just continue working on the gifts, should take my mind off of everything.”

——————

Illumi looked down at his ringing phone, guilt and anger eating away at him. He wanted to answer her, more than anything, but he just couldn’t. If he did, he’d hurt her feelings.

“My, meeting with me like this on such short notice is unheard of from you.”

Illumi looked up at Hisoka, who sat relaxed in his seat in the limousine. The dark haired assassin sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “Is it about that girl again?”

Illumi nodded, ignoring his phone ringing for the second time. “She doesn’t seem to understand how fragile her body is, especially compared to us trained assassins. At first her attitude was cute, maybe even endearing, but now that she’s gone and gotten herself hurt…”

He gripped his arm so tightly the flesh started to turn red. It would be bruised later, but he didn’t care. His mind was racing with the possibilities of her getting hurt, it was driving him mad.

“And what are you going to do about it, Lulu?”

The assassin ignored that comment, clearing his throat.

“I’m going to need your help to… show her exactly how weak she really is.”

“Oh? How exactly will we go about doing that?”

The man folded his arms across his chest, his eyes staring out the window in thought.

“I have a plan.”

———————

(Name) and Canary sat on the floor of her room, sorting through various different colored fabrics. “What are you planning to make with this, Miss (Name)?”

She began slowly cutting out the fabric into a few shapes.

“I’m making teddy bears and hearts! Each teddy bear will be holding a heart with a different scent in it, like lavender or lemon for example!”

Canary nodded, watching as (Name) began sewing together two pieces of fabric, filling it with stuffing. “See?”

In a matter of ten minutes, she had finished a black bear and heart. She joined the two together, stuffing a strawberry scented piece of cloth into the heart.

“There we go, this one is for an old friend of mine! I can’t wait for him to see it!”

She set the bear aside, starting on the next one. Canary watched her with increasing interest, her eyes following every movement. “You’re very skilled, how many of these have you made?”

(Name)’s fingers stopped, her face falling. Canary noticed immediately, trying her best to change the subject. “Oh, um… you don’t have to talk about it if you d-“

“No, it’s fine.”

(Name) set her needle down, brushing some stray stuffing off of her lap. “When I was a young girl, I had a lot of trouble making friends.”

Canary watched as she stood, carrying the black strawberry scented bear to her bed. “My teachers kept telling me to try bringing something to class, like cupcakes or some other treat. My parents said I shouldn’t, since friendships shouldn’t be built off of material goods.”

She caressed the bears head, her eyes staring at something far away. “I decided to make a teddy bear for each person in my class, a total of 15 people. I learned some of the things they liked, including their favorite colors and scents through social media. I tried asking them, but they weren’t very…” she paused, as if holding back some information. “…nice.”

Canary frowned. (Name) was incredibly kind, always looking out for other people. She’d been working an entire day just for some Valentine’s Day gifts she could have bought premade. Who would be mean to such a sweet girl?

“When I brought the teddy bears to class, I thought everyone would be happy. I had spent weeks preparing them, making sure each one was unique. But…”

She set the bear on her pillow, sighing. “They called me creepy, and instead of ignoring me, they started bullying me. It continued into high school, and got so bad I ended up dropping out. It wasn’t always about the teddy bears, of course, I wasn’t skinny enough or pretty enough to them. Children are cruel, when they see someone different from them their first reaction is to break them until they conform.”

She pushed some hair out of her face, standing from her seat and walking towards one of the windows.

“High school was so long ago, but if I’m being honest the memories still affect me. I’m a bit afraid that my friends won’t like their gifts and think I’m creepy too.”

She sat next to Canary, picking up some fabric again. Canary grabbed her hand, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes.

“Miss (Name), your friends are incredibly lucky to have you. The people you knew couldn’t comprehend your heart, and they didn’t deserve you. Don’t ever let their hatred consume you.”

(Name) blinked, her face softening. She sighed, giving Canary’s hand a lift squeeze. “Thank you Canary. I will try my best to keep that in mind.”

She let go of her hand, continuing her work in silence. Canary noticed that there was an extra bundle of fabric, remembering that (Name) had said she only planned on making gifts for seven people.

“Miss (Name), why is there an extra bundle of fabric?”

(Name) turned, seeing the bundle of green fabric and giggling. “Oh, I had a friend when I was 13 that I was separated from. Every year, I make him a bear. I don’t remember much about him, but I know he liked the color green. I make a bear with a darker shade of green and store it. Since I’m not home, I’ll have to mail it when I finish up. One day, I want to give him all the bears to show him I’ve never forgotten him.”

The way (Name) looked as she spoke told Canary everything she needed to know. (Name) obviously had an intense love for the boy, and part of her feared for his safety if Illumi found out about him.

A few hours pass by, and (Name) had finished the bears. Her fingers had a few pricks on them from the needle, Canary scolding her for not wearing thimbles.

“Sorry, they should be fine. It’s dinner time, so I think I’m done for today. All the bears are ready, so when I’m finished eating I’ll prepare the ones that need to be shipped.”

Canary walked her to the dining hall, (Name) chatting with her on the way. Once they reached the dining room, Canary took her leave.

“Kalluto!” (Name) called, walking over with a wave. Kalluto waved back, the smallest of smiles on his face.

“After dinner I need to give you something, ‘Kay?” She said, taking her seat next to him. Kalluto tilted his head, but nodded nonetheless.

“… alright.”

Kalluto followed (Name) to the kitchen after dinner, watching her hide something in her arms.

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He complied, although closing his eyes in front of another person caused him a bit of anxiety.

“Open!”

When he did, he saw a small pink bear with a heart in her hands and two bags. They were transparent, one filled with chocolates and the other with the cookies they made together.

“These are for you! I know Valentine’s Day is in two days, but I know you leave for a job tomorrow so I wanted to give you these now! Thanks for being my friend.”

Kalluto stared at the objects, in disbelief. We’re these really for him? What had he done to deserve such sweet gifts?

“(Name)…”

He took them tenderly, holding the bear to his chest. “Oh, it smells like flowers!” He excitedly sniffed the bear, a smile on his face.

(Name) smiled, laughing. “I’m glad you like it! I’m headed to bed, see you later!”

Kalluto stopped her, holding onto her sleeve with his small hand. “Isn’t there anything you want? Can’t I return the favor in some way?”

(Name) shook her head, gently brushing his hand away. “No, I don’t want anything in return. Enjoy your treats!”

With that, she left. Something about the way she looked when he offered to return the favor caused him to pause. Did she not like receiving gifts or something?

“Strange…”

(Name) collapsed onto her bed after packing all the bears and baked goods. Some were in boxes to be shipped and had been taken by the butlers to be sent out, and others were wrapped in cloth.

She was exhausted, her eyes drifting closed before she could even change into her pajamas.

‘I hope… they’ll like them…’

—————

“So when are we going to enact this little plan of yours, Illumi?”

Hisoka seemed unusually excited for this, a cruel smirk on his face. Illumi looked down at his phone, seeing Canary had informed him of (Name)’s activities for the day.

When he heard that she made both the current and past him a teddy bear, he almost canceled his plan. Even Illumi knew that it was cruel and would hurt her, but a part of him wanted it to. If she couldn’t listen to his words, he’d have to convince her using force.

“We’ll wait until the 15th, at night. I’ve already told all of the butlers to make sure they leave (Name) to her own devices after dinner.”

He folded his hands in his lap, frowning. This was his last resort, and he truly hadn’t wanted it to come to this.

“Mmm. Do I have permission to hurt her?”

Illumi’s eyes cut to Hisoka, the pink haired man enjoying every second of this.

“… no permanent injuries. Just rough her up enough to scare her.”

He grabbed the magicians arm, bloodlust enveloping the two.

“I am allowing you to do this because she needs to learn a lesson, but if you do anything worse than break an arm…”

He squeezed, causing Hisoka to smirk darkly.

“I’ll kill you.”

The magician rolled his eyes. Hisoka retreated to his thoughts, smiling sinisterly.

‘Silly Illumi. He underestimates that girl and her intelligence. She may fall for his little trick for now, but she’ll find out eventually. And when she does…’

He licked his lips.

‘He’ll learn how much a broken heart can hurt.’

[radiant-reid]

Christmas (Baby, please come home)

a/n: i did say i still have Christmas fics to write, so judge me if you want

Summary: Spencer's gone for Christmas, and you and the twins wish he wasn't.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (minor angst, major fluff)

Word Count: 3.2k

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Christmas Eve was a hot chocolate night. That was the tradition every year. Hot chocolate out of the house, a walk back home, bedtime, then Christmas morning.

This year, there's an extra step that they all wish wasn't there: Facetiming Spencer. And that's not a guarantee. It's scheduled, but there's no assurance about how long he can be on the phone.

It kills all of them, and the sacrifice sucks, but there aren't a lot of choices when the State Department calls. The deeply buried positive is that there's a year limit on how long he will be away, and only four months in, it seems impossible to do that two more times.

"Momma, look at the snow." Theo cheers, holding one hand up in the air while his other's wrapped around his hot chocolate.

The three of you are walking through the city on your way home, looking at all the fancy lights strung up around people's houses. It's gorgeous, but it can't be perfect without Spencer.

You nestle his hair. "Sorry, baby, it's a snow machine." You nod to the machine spurting out look-alike snow. "We're not going to get snow this year."

"Or daddy," Evie adds, pouting.

You wrap your arms around them, pulling their little bodies in for side hugs. "He'll be back soon." You promise, desperately hoping they believe it.

"Do you think he'll bring us a present?" Theo asks, grinning up at you.

Spencer will. If not for his guilt, then because he likes to spoil them. "Yup, what do you want?"

"Maybe..." He pauses to think about it. "Peanut butter."

"Peanut butter?" You repeat with a giggle, Evie joining in. "You'll have to ask him about that."

"I want food from wherever he is." She decides.

You frown at your picky eater who really doesn't like trying new foods and will order chicken nuggets from any menu anywhere. It's been a struggle to get her to try more than three of Rossi's pasta dishes. "I'm not sure you'd like it, E." You tell her. "And I'm not sure daddy's allowed to bring food back. We're going to have ham and turkey tomorrow, though."

It's going to be a lot of food, accompanied by stuffing, roasted potato and sweet potato, vegetables- that you'll have to bribe them to eat- and cranberry sauce. And that's not including dessert. There's brunch and dinner at Rossi's on boxing day as well, and he's never been on everyone bringing a plate.

"Remember when daddy set the oven mitt on fire last year?" Theo recalls, bursting into giggles with his sister. It was hilarious, Spencer's high pitch squeals as he threw the mitt in the sink and set off the smoke alarm.

"Remember that next time he asks who's the better cook." You remind them, anticipating Spencer would ask after Christmas to tease her.

Evie turns to look at you. "What's daddy going to have for Christmas dinner?"

You don't have an answer, but she's mostly asking for reassurance that he's okay. "Something really yum." You assure her. "You can ask when we call him."

That answer satisfies her enough for no more questions and saves you from having to explain anything more on his behalf. You can't resist taking a few photos of them on the way home, standing in the streets surrounded by Christmas lights, looking adorable in their coats.

"Okay, go put your pajamas on then we can call." You instruct them once you're back at home, taking their coats to hang up.

They scramble to get ready, excited to talk to Spencer. Everything about being home makes you miss him, like the display of framed pictures in the hallway, his shoes in the doorway, and his coat in the closet.

You clean up the living room a little, putting away all the toys that accumulate over the day. It's what you do when Spencer's working with the BAU since he's clumsy and likely to trip over blocks in the middle of the night.

The Christmas tree in the living room has lots of gifts under it, and their little Theodore and Evelyn stockings hang under the mantel, waiting for presents.

Then you make your way upstairs to their bedrooms just before 9:30, where they're waiting on Theo's bed. You sit next to them, holding out the phone so they'll be able to see him before you call him.

Cell reception in the desert, you anticipated and have discovered, is terrible, but for once, Spencer's face is clear on the screen. His background is blurred, as usual, safety concerns would mean you can't see what's behind him, but the timezone difference means it's dark.

"Hey, there are my favorite people in the world." He says, waving. His voice sounds different on the phone. You can't feel it either, like you're laying on his chest, and you miss that like you miss the rest of him.

"Daddy!" They cheer, pleased to see him.

"How are my sweet babies?" He asks with a wide smile.

They mirror it, and you don't think you'll ever get over the similarities between them. "Good," Theo answers.

"We had hot chocolate," Evie reports.

"With lots of marshmallows?" He checks. "And sprinkles."

Another similarity: sweet tooths. "And whipped cream," Evie tells him. "Did you have hot chocolate?"

"Not yet." He says.

"Can we have some when you're home?" Theo asks, looking between you and his dad.

You and Spencer nod in unison, and you avoid mentioning it could be 90 degrees and summer by the time he comes back. "Of course, bud." He answers. "All the hot chocolate you can drink."

He grins, pumping his fist in the air. "Yes!" He cheers. "I could drink a gallon."

"That might not be the best idea." You remind him, although the smile on his face is worth him thinking he can drink a sick-inducing amount of hot chocolate.

"Especially because we'll have marshmallows," Spencer adds. "We can have another Christmas dinner then, too."

"But mommy has to cook," Evie says.

Spencer chuckles, looking at you and shaking his head. "You wouldn't be poisoning young minds while I'm away, would you, Mrs. Reid?"

You shake your head. "Wouldn't dream of it, Doctor."

They talk for a little while longer before the twins can barely keep their eyes open, beyond tired from the late hour, their excitement reduced enough for them to be able to sleep.

As the new routine goes, Spencer wishes them goodnight while you tuck them in, giving them two kisses each, one from each of you. Then it's your turn to talk to him, and you're grateful you drank more coffee than you probably should have.

You sit on the couch instead of upstairs in bed since there's still some stocking stuffing to do. "What's the time where you are?" You ask.

You don't know exactly where he is or what he's doing it. It's the way you both prefer it because he's not in the middle of the desert half a world away to monitor the ecosystem.

"10pm in DC, so 5 am." He says.

You know he can't be getting a lot of sleep over there, and as much as you want to talk to him, you want him to rest when he has the rare opportunity. Getting up early does not help that.

"Don't worry, it's fine." He assures you, seeing your face change. "I can function on a few hours of sleep."

"How are you?" You ask. "Tell me about normal stuff, like the weather."

He laughs his adorable laugh. "Better than it was when I came." He tells you. "And it never rains. It's just hot and dry or less hot and dry."

"Thought you'd be used to that, desert boy." You tease his aversion to the warm weather.

"This might be a surprise, but I spend most of my summers inside where the aircon is." He corrects you.

"Here I was thinking you were outside playing basketball." You joke back. You can hear his laugh and see his smile, and things feel okay, but it'll end too soon like it always does. "I miss you." You tell him, and you feel bad about it.

At least you have two kids with you that are constant reminders of him. He's all alone, somewhere you don't even know, and he gets to talk to his family only a few times a week.

"I miss you, too, sweetheart." He says. "Can you switch this to a voice call?"

You pout, waving goodbye to him, but agree, placing the phone on your ear. "Now I don't get to see you." You complain about another situation that's worse for him.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes before adding an afterthought question. "Oh, did you get the package at the door?"

"No." You answer. "I would have seen it when we came in."

"I told them to drop it at the backdoor." He tells you. "Safety precautions and all that."

You get up off the couch, walking towards the location of your mystery package. "Please tell me you didn't add to the crazy Christmas delivery overload by buying me more gifts."

"Sort of." He says. "It's for all of you, though."

That gets the gears in your head turning about what it could be. "I hope it's a trampoline. They'd love it, but then you'd get on, and hurt your knee again."

"I got shot in the knee." He corrects you. "I could backflip."

You scoff, laughing. "That I would love to see. Or go-carts." You guess again, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder while you unlock the door and turn the door hand. "Oh, maybe tickets to an all-inclusive resort in the Bahamas."

What you're greeted with isn't plane tickets: it's the best gift you could imagine. "We can go to the Bahamas if you want." He says, out loud and through the phone.

Your first reaction is to drop your phone on the ground, not caring whether it shatters, and jump into your husband's arms which you haven't felt around you in a very hard, long one hundred and thirty-nine days.

Spencer still smells the same. His perfect cologne makes your house feel completely like home once again. Applying it to his pillow and hoodies for you to wear has not been enough.

He feels slightly more muscular than he used to in his arms and shoulders, and it's a welcomed change. He holds you there, tighter than he ever has before for so long that you stop counting. It satisfies what you've been craving.

He pulls his head back from your shoulder so he can kiss you while he hugs you. "I've missed you so much." You confess.

"We can say that in the past tense now." He says, kissing you once again. "We should go inside. You've got to be freezing."

You didn't realize until then that you went outside in jeans and a shirt, but you can't be cold when he's so warm. Spencer only keeps one arm around your shoulder when you step inside, carrying his bag in the other.

"I've missed this house." He says. "Everything about it."

"The unvacuumed floor?" You joke. "Or the toothpaste the twins spit on the mirror?"

"It's you and them and everything else in between." He assures you, putting his bag by the laundry as you move to the living room. "And I'm in time to be Santa." He cheers excitedly, noticing the stockings.

You nod, pulling him to the entryway. "They're in here." You say as you open the closet and take a trash bag full of gifts from the top shelf while Spencer takes off his shoes.

"Wow." He says when you hand him the heavy sack.

"I know." You nod. "I went a little crazy, but you weren't going to be here and I didn't even buy everything you suggested so..." When you turn back to look at him after closing the closet, he's just staring at you. "What?"

"I love you." He says like it's the most important thing ever.

You beam, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again. "I love you."

"Let's stop being sappy in the hallway, we've got Christmases to make." He declares with a smirk.

"You're going to be making everyone's Christmas just by being here, Spence." You assure him, walking back into the lounge. "Oh, and the team! They'll be so excited to see you."

Spencer puts the bag down on the couch, pulling out gifts to put in the right stocking. It's always like no time has passed when he comes home, no awkward moments or getting back into routine.

"Are you hungry?" You question. "Thirsty? Are you too tired to be doing this?"

He shakes his head, smiling at you. "I'm good, sweetheart. I told you I can function on a few hours of sleep." He assures you. "Honestly, I've never been better."

"How'd you get back so early?" You wonder, sitting on the couch to watch him.

"I just heard I was leaving, so I got on the plane." He explains. "Oddly, they're not the most forthcoming government department."

You chuckle before answering the hard question. "Do you have to go back?"

And you get the answer you were hoping for as he shakes his head before adding more good news. "I don't have to go back to the BAU for a few months either."

That's more than enough of a Christmas gift for you. "They're going to be so happy when they wake up and you're here," You tell him.

"I'm so happy to be here." He says, finishing putting the last gift in Theo's stocking. "In time for Christmas, too."

"We're so lucky." You repeat, holding out your hands.

Spencer grabs your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning in circles in the living room. "Bed?" He offers.

"Please." You beg. "I have been sleeping in the middle of the bed, though, so I might kick you."

Spencer laughs as he follows you upstairs, holding your hand. "Well, I'm looking forward to sleeping on a mattress without lumps in it."

Once you reach the top of the stairs, Spencer wraps his arm around your shoulder, and it's like you're taken right back to when you first started living together, and you wouldn't let go of each other for hours after he got home from a case.

"I have to kiss them goodnight." Spencer stills when you pass Theo's room.

You go back to holding his hand as he pushes the door open slowly to avoid waking him. He's tightly tucked up in bed still, sleeping peacefully, and Spencer brushes some curls off his forehead before kissing him softly.

"I love you, little man." He says before you tiptoe out, careful of the creaks in the floorboards. "Did he get bigger?" He asks once you're safe in the hallway.

"They both did. I think at least an inch." You report.

You go to Evie's room next, repeating the same routine of Spencer admiring her before kissing her forehead and sneaking out of the room again.

"I never want to lose that much time with them again." He confesses as you walk towards your bedroom.

You know it must have killed him to be away for so long, but he's here now and that's really what matters. "But you're our hero." You remind him.

He smiles at that. "How many of the clothes I left here have been worn?" He asks, suspiciously looking around the closet you ended up in to get pajamas.

"Oh, all your hoodies and t-shirts." You assure him. "The good news is that they all smell like me now."

He nods in agreement. "That is good news." He grabs a hoodie and some pajama bottoms, but before he changes, he notices you just watching him. "Did you... want a show?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I think we might need to save that for tomorrow night. What I'm doing is admiring you and making sure you're not injured."

"Promise." He says, and maybe you're misleading him by making it sound like it's a 50/50 split because there's a lot more admiring going on than checking injuries. "Satisfied?" He asks, smirking at your wandering eyes.

"So satisfied." You assure him, blushing a little. "Thanks for that."

"You're very welcome." He says. "Wanna go to bed now?"

"Yes." You agree, both of you finishing your bedtime routines before getting under the covers.

Spencer pulls you close immediately, cuddling you into his side. "Merry Christmas." He whispers, kissing you softly.

"Merry Christmas." You reply, wiggling even closer to him. It doesn't take you too long to fall asleep with the warm feeling that your family is all under one roof finally.

And it's not a dream.

In the morning he's there, kissing your forehead as he gets out of bed. You turn to look at the clock. "Spence, it's 6:30."

"Lucky it's not earlier." He jokes. "My internal close is messed up." "You better be getting me coffee." You tell him, holding out your finger as you rest your face against the pillow in an attempt to get another few seconds of sleep.

He brushes the hair off your shoulder, exposing it so he can kiss your skin. "Promise." He says.

You don't fall back asleep. You just grin at the ceiling until Spencer comes back in a few minutes later with coffee. You moan at the taste since he always makes it better than you do. "This is so good."

He gets back under the covers next to you and sips his own mug. "I've had nothing but instant coffee, not even drip coffee."

"So how long do you think we have until two little people bust open the door?" You wonder.

"Two minutes." He estimates, and you raise your eyebrows, knowing the one way he could know that. "Okay, fine. I did go into their rooms to shake them." He confesses.

You laugh, shaking your head. It's an old trick of his to get them up. "You're terrible."

"I want to see my little babies." He sulks, pouting playfully. "Plus, they've had nearly nine hours of sleep."

The pitter-patter of tiny feet starts in the hallway when Spencer suggested it would, and you both put your coffees down in anticipation.

"Mommy, it's Christmas," Theo reports, tapping on your door.

"Come in." You instruct. "I've got an amazing surprise."

Spencer scoffs next to you. "Only amazing?"

There's no chance for you to provide another adjective before 2 five-year-olds race in, jumping onto the bed without looking at who's next to you. The realization sets in on their faces after a millisecond, and their eyes grow wide before the high-pitch squeals start as they launch at him.

He grabs both of them, one in each arm as he holds them tight to his chest. "Hi, sweet angels." He says, kissing their foreheads.

"I missed you." They both tell him.

"I missed you both more." He assures them.

Evie pulls back to eye him suspiciously. "How did you get here?" She asks.

Spencer smoothes a hand through her hair. "On a plane." He tells her. "I couldn't miss Christmas."

"Now this is the best Christmas ever," Theo says, assuming up how you're all feeling.

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[therealmsdelulu]

Batter and Banter.

Summary: You and Jonah have a super domestic moment baking and light playful bantering.

Warnings: None, pure fluff.

A/N: I’ve never made cake from scratch so i just used the first recipe i saw online lol and i didn’t feel like reading all that so all the measurements are made up so if the math isnt mathing thats why.

“Babe where’s the cake mix?” You asked looking through the target bags.

“I thought we were making it from scratch,” he said looking at you nervously.

“I guess we have to now,” you chuckled pulling out your phone looking for a recipe. “Okay listen closely,” you told him and he listened attentively, “grab the flour, baking soda, eggs, buttermilk, vanilla extract, butter, vegetable oil, sugar, and salt,"

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted you playfully before scavenging for the ingredients.

“Okay, first it says to mix a whole stick of butter, a half cup of oil, and two tablespoons of sugar in a bowl,” you read from your phone before grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and placed it on the counter.

Jonah put the ingredients in the bowl and you handed him the electric mixer and he got to work on that while you started on mixing the dry ingredients.

“Okay now it says to add in two eggs, one at a time, and stir thoroughly after each one,” you recited the recipe and watched as Jonah did just that.

“Alright now we combine the wet and dry ingredients,” you told him while he slowly poured the mixture into your bowl and you mixed it as he went and you poured in a little buttermilk to make the batter less chunky. You added in the vanilla extract for the flavor.

“You’re not going to measure it?” Jonah asked as he watched you pour the extract straight from the bottle.

“I just pour until my senses tell me to stop,” you claimed as you continued to pour the vanilla extract and stopped after a few seconds.

“That’s a lot of vanilla extract,” Jonah said looking in the bowl but you put your finger over his mouth shutting him up.

“Trust me,” you told him, “I’m true to this not new to this,”

“Yes ma’am,” he said playfully putting his hands up in surrender as you mixed the vanilla extract into the cake batter. You dipped your finger into the bowl and just as you were about to try the batter Jonah took your hand and licked the batter off your finger.

“Seriously,” you asked and rolled your eyes at him.

“That’s really good,” he said attempting to dip his finger back in put you smacked his hand away and began to pour the the batter into the pan. “Can i at least lick the spoon,” he asked hopefully as you placed the pan into the oven and set a timer.

“Knock yourself out,” you deadpanned and he tilted his head at you.

“Why’d you say it like that,” he asked taking note of your overly serious tone.

“Say it like what?” you asked in the same tone trying to hold back your laughter.

“Like that,” he exclaimed. “Knock yourself out,” he said mocking your tone of voice.

“I do not sound like that,” you claimed and rolled your eyes at his attempt at your voice,

“I do not sound like that,” he repeated you but was quickly shut up when you threw flour at him. “Oh thats what we’re doing?” he asked before picking up a handful of flour.

“No,” you shouted before slowly backing away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you apoligized multiple times.

“I forgive you,” he said before throwing the flour at you making sure to avoid your hair. Before you knew it your kitchen was covered in flour and so were you and Jonah.

“I hate you so much,” you told him looking down at your flour covered apron.

“I love you too, darling,” he said helping you wipe the flour off of your apron. You heard the timer go off and grabbed your oven mitts grabbing the cake out of the oven.

You stuck a toothpick inside of it to make sure it was ready and it was so you stuck the cake in the fridge for a little bit so it could cool off and you could put the icing on it.

Mini time skip

You and Jonah were sitting on the couch eating the cake and watching your favorite show.

“You have a little something right there,” Jonah told you falsely.

“Where?” you asked him and you began to feel around on your face searching for whatever was on there.

“Right there,” he said before wiping icing on your cheek.

“You make me sick,” you said rolling you eyes as he wiped the icing off with his thumb.

“I love you too Y/N,” he told you before kissing you and laying his head on your lap and you began playing with his hair before kissing his forehead.

PART TWO

[1800classiccherries]

Cake! ♡‧₊˚

⚘ Earth42!Miles Morales x black!fem!reader

⚘ Fluff! use of knives for baking, kissing

⚘ summary: Miles and reader bake a cake together.

⚘ wc: 763

⚘ this is my first time writing 42!miles so bare with me 😁☝🏾 (also sorry for the lack of picture, I'm on the fence about changing the way I format these.)

"How hard can it be?" you shrug feeling confident, as Miles reads the strawberry shortcake recipe you handed him.

“mm.. Ion know, this looks kinda difficult, ma…” he flips the paper and reads the rest of the instructions with a squint, “But, hey, if you got experience in this sorta thing…”

“I’m basically a pro, I’ve baked plenty of cakes.” As in plenty, you’ve bakes two and they both turned out less than great, but you chose to leave that part out.

“If you say so…”, he squints at you, “Are these all the ingredients we need?” he asks referring all the stuff on the counter you had set before he arrived.

“Mhm! That should be all of it…” you open a drawer that has a few aprons inside, “Want an apron?”

“you got one of them kiss the chef aprons?” you nod, “then I’ll take that one."

You hand him the apron and then grab one for yourself, yours just being a simple green with faint floral patterns. Once the two of you have tied them on Miles looks at you with an expecting look ok his face.

“What?” you ask already knowing what he wanted.

“Read the apron. I think the chef needs a kiss, don’t you?”

You tilt your head at him with an eyebrow raised, “I think the chef needs to focus on this cake we’re boutta attempt.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, y/n” He pleads, taking a hold of your waist.

With the way he was looking at you, you gave in giving him a short kiss knowing that if you kept going the cake would be forgotten. 

Turning your attention back to the cake it was time to begin, you pick up the paper with the instructions on it and begin reading aloud the first few steps. Whipping the eggs, sifting the flower then combining the two. Miles took care of the eggs and you happily sifted the flour having found it very satisfying.

“Y/n, could you pre-heat the oven? I’m almost done with this part,” Miles requests as he adds the milk and butter into the mixture. 

Once the oven was heated to the right temperature, you place the cake pan inside and set a timer for 30 minutes.

“What should we do for the next 30 minutes?” you ask staring the the cake in the oven.

~

Pulling away from Miles as you sit straddled on his lap, breathing slightly heavy, “Do you hear that?”

“Ion hear anything,” he brushes off pulling you back in by your hips.

You give up on trying to make out the sound and go to back making out with Miles, but you hear the sound again.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that?” the sound was driving you crazy and you had a nagging feeling that it was important but you  couldn’t place it.

“Y/n-“ he starts before you cut him off putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh, it sounds like it’s in the kitchen… Did we- Oh! The cake!” you promptly climb off of him and dash to the kitchen.

You grab the oven mitts on the counter and carefully take the cake out dumping it onto the drying rack.

“This actually looks good!” you cheer hopping a bit.

Miles finally makes it into the kitchen, “Of course it does, we made it.”

“I’ll cut this into three, and while it cools we can make the icing. Get the cream and sugar out.” Miles follows your instructions grabbing the necessary ingredients.

You pull a knife out of the drawer and cut the cake horizontally into three shorter cakes. Miles whips together the cream and sugar being sure to not make a mess. 

After the icing is made and the cake is cooled, it’s now time to assemble. You got the strawberries out of the fridge, washing and cutting them in half. Miles spreads and even layer of icing between each layer, pausing each time so you can add the strawberries.

Coating the cake with a layer of icing along the outside and adorning the cake with the last finishing touches, the two of you take a step back to admire your work.

“I won’t lie, it looks great.” Miles admits surprised at how well it turned out.

You grin hearing the compliment “See? And to think that you doubted us.”

“Not too much, for all we know it could be nasty.”

It was very much the opposite and y’all couldn’t help but eat most of it. Being sure to save a piece for your families to try.

Thanks for reading!

I didnt edit much and wrote pretty quick this so if sumn doesnt makes sense, oopsie 😋

[yoongis-black-grilfriend]

Elvis! Austin coming back home from the Army.

Summary: Elvis! Austin coming back from war (military) and making sweet (not) love to you. 

Warning: Blow job, face fucking, cum eating, dry humping, cussing, pentrative sex, size kink (kind of?). Minors DNI 

It was a lovely Monday afternoon. You were preparing lunch for yourself as you were missing your husband dearly. He had to enlist in the army due to the country's requirements (yall bear with me I do not know what I’m talking about). You were expecting to see him in 2 more weeks which you couldn't wait until you see him again. 

You were nearly done making chicken alfredo with little bacon bits when you heard the doorbell sighing putting the finished product on the stove. You angrily took off your oven mitts. These telemarketers kept coming to your house and everyday you told them that you were not interested in whatever pyramid scheme they were trying to sell. You told them to take your address off their list and for some reason they still end up at your door. 

Stomping to your door you swing it open letting a spew of curse words. “I thought I told you losey people to stop coming to my door!” you look up at the culprit  that keeps disturbing your peace. Instead you let out a gasp seeing your boyfriend Elvis Presley in all of his glory.

“Has someone been messing with my women while I was gone?” your heart was beating so fast you haven't you seen him in a little over a year and he looked so much more mature.

“Oh my lord Elvis! I missed you so much.” He closed the distance between you and pulled you into a bone crushing hugs picking you off ground and moved one of his hands to help you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Grabbing his duffel bag he brought it in with one arm holding you up. Entering your shared living room he put his bag on the floor and sat down on your grey sectional couch with you still on top of him. You took this time to look at him. He had a light beard and his hair had grown back but it was kinda messy probably due to the fact he probably didn't have time to get up and do his hair while he was in the army. 

“You didn’t answer my question baby, has someone been messing with you while I've been gone mama?” Shaking your head you answer him “No not really just the telemarketers coming to the house everyday” he leaned his head against the couch looking up at you rubbing your lower back he nodded.

“I’ll call them tomorrow and tell them to stop coming round here” you shook your head getting irritated “I already did baby they didn’t listen to me” he nodded he made a note to call and threaten them later. 

Lightly slapping his chest you tell him “Enough about me how was being in the army and all that you didn’t say much about your time in your letters” he face feel slightly “It was kind of gruesome mama I didn’t want to put no thoughts in your head just know I fought hard to make sure I came back home to you” 

Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill over. You knew it was hard for him, hell they talked about it on the news everyday. You knew it had to have taken a toll on him to see all the terrible things that happen out on duty. 

He grabs your face pulling it close to his wiping the tears in your eyes away with his thumbs. “Let’s not worry about all that though I’m back home in our beautiful house with you and that's all that matters pretty” sniffing you agreed with him and let him pull you closer. Looking at your lips he meets your eye “Now give me some sugar” he whispered closing the small distance between you two you let out a small snicker before putting your lips on his soft, smooth lips. 

Moaning you open your mouth wider and let him deeper into your mouth his lips felt like butter and his tongue and softley wrestling with yours. Elvis moves his hands on your hips and guides them to grind on his growing bulge. The sensation felt good. You were wearing a skirt with no panties. It was a hot day and you were home alone.

Elvis groaned into your mouth when he felt some of your wetness seeping into the lose material pants that he was wearing. Detaching his lips from your he move into your neck “I missed doing this with while I was away pretty” he whimpered softly grabbing the hem of your shirt your raise your arms as your breast sit bareless on your chest with your nipples getting hard from the sudden exposure making your core wetter.  

Leaning down he takes one nipple into his mouth while he rolls the other one in between his fingers. You ground yourself harder on his cloth groin as you feel heat bubbly at the pit of your stomach with a few more thrusts of your hips. You were coming all over Elvis pants with your head feeling dizzy.

You let out a soft sigh the after effects of your orgasm slowly wearing off. “You alright baby” you heard elvis ask with concern in his voice you nodded your head. “I haven't done that in a while” you smile big, happy that he was finally home but you were one showing him how grateful you were that he was here. 

Standing up you reach for this shirt and unbuttoned all of the buttons slowly once his chest was on display you kiss his chest while hearing his breathing getting heavier the lower you got. You get to his happy trail and stick your tongue out to lick the rest of your way down until you get to his pants. Elvis lifts his hips up hoping to get some type of friction but you don't give it to him yet. You go to the spot on his pants where your arousal is still glistening and lick the remaining cum from his pants when you taste your . 

Knocking his head back Elvis starts to beg. “Come one mama you really gon do this to me after I been away for so long? Please give your beautiful mouth pretty, please I'm begging you” he pleaded with tears slipping out of his eyes. Deciding to put him out of his misery until you buckle his pants pulling them down along with his boxer allowing his cock to release from its hold with pre cum the the viens looking red and hard.

 Opening your mouth you push his cock through your lips and circle his tongue around his length. Elvis let out a string of curse words before he grabbed your head moving it around his length faster. You breathe through your nose looking up at him through your eyelashes, tears already streaming down your face. “Fuck baby you don’t how much I missed you and this fucking mouth of yours, Was all I could think about while I was away” moving his hips he buckles his hips into your mouth now fully fucking your face.

Digging your nails into the skin of his thighs you hollow your cheeks feeling the burning sensation of Elvis’s hand wrapped around your hair. “Oh fuck your msking me feel so good pretty fuck your going to make me cum all over your pretty fucking face” Moaning around him you move your head faster driving him closer to his climax. With a couple more thrust he shoves his whole shaft down your throat coating the walls of your throat with his cum. 

You choke slightly with the amount of cum that was flooding your mouth but you swallow half of it before Elvis pulls you off of his cock bringing  his mouth to yours you open your mouth sharing his cum and transferring it into his mouth sitting on top of him you feel his dick harden with the touch of your bare pussy meeting with his cock. 

Moving his tongue with yours you still feel and taste his release on both of your tongue sharing it between each letting your saliva and cum caot your lips and your chin. You pull away needing a breather and yelp you are flung over Elvis shoulder as he carries you up stairs to your shared room. Entering the room you look over your shoulder seeing your lover looking over the room which looks the same as it was when he left. 

Walking over to your bed he gently lays your naked body down and climbs on top of you with a soft smile on his face. “You don’t know how grateful I am for you. I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you and I'm never leaving you again. I couldn't live with myself if I did.” You love this man so much he did everything in his power to bend over backwards for you and showed you how much he loved you everyday even when he was away fighting for the country.

This is the last and first man you were ever going to be with you and him both knew that much. You gasp as you feel the tip of his cocking stretching your pussy out. “I’ll go slow mama don’t wanna hurt you too much”  looking into your eyes you nod feeling all his love pouring into you with every thrust that he made. “You hell like heaven pretty, fuck I’m going to cum if you keep squzzing me like this.” “Keep going Elvis”  you let out a whine as he picked up his pace. 

Reaching down you spread your lips apart with your finger feeling your sopping cunt. Using your fingers you circle them around your clit as you start to tremble using your other hand you cover your mouth not wanting anyone to hear how loud you get. You scream when your hand is ripped away from your mouth. “Let me hear those pretty sounds mama I don’t give a damn if this whole neighborhood hears you let them know how much we love each other.”

“Okay baby!” you sob as you feel yourself get closer and closer to your climax. Elvis' hips were moving at a brutal pace. The air around you guys is so hot that both of you were sweating but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to you two was each other right now. “Oh my god i’m about to cum your so fucking big” you desperately let out as you felt the pit of your stomach get tighter. Elvis groaned when he felt your walls clench around him with one last trust you cry out as Elvis kisses you chasing both your climaxes. You're` shaking when Elvis stills inside of you and hiss when you feel him pull out of you.

He lays next to and pulls you into his chest with huge smiles on both of your faces. Giving him a quick kiss. Your happiness quickly turns to anger when you hear your doorbell ring. “These freaking telemarketers are about to hear a piece of my mind”. Getting up you start looking for your rope until you feel strong arms around your waist. “Don’t worry about them baby I got this.” He gives you a kiss on your forehead before he makes his way down the stairs with a pair of boxers and a red velvet robe. 

I have an Urban and Jack request that I'm doing but until then. My requests are still open. You guys can request Austin Butler if you want! 

Let me know if you guys like it!