#like good for you baby i will support you but an entire expensive party like that is a miss

[dongiovannitriumphant]

operation unfuck my life is ongoing and while not positive it is Going and i am not in a pit of despair

one would think seeing all venice content on my ig would make me extra sad but honestly aside from missing my friends who are there what ive seen so far looks for lack of better word,,, kind of lame,,,,,

[justagalwhowrites]

HI BESTIE !!! 🫂

i was wondering how Joel would react to Doc spoiling him ROTTEN after she got that big girl money 🫦 (in the lavender au)

(because i know she will spoil him so much as a thank you for his unwavering support throughout her career 🥹)

OMG Hi Bestie!

I love this ask so so SO much. Joel is so soft with his girls and he deserves all the good things, including his wife treating him to all the best things once she's a big time surgeon.

This is just the perfect prompt for our favorite man's birthday, too! I hope this is just what you were hoping for. Love you!

Spoiled

After years of Joel taking care of you, you take care of Joel. A one shot set in the Lavender AU timeline.

Yes I know it's not a Joel gif but it fits the fic so well I had to.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (Joel and Doc from the Lavender AU)

Warnings: Fluff and smut, smut and fluff. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.4K

It started with a shopping trip in Houston for Sarah’s wedding. 

She needed a dress for the rehearsal and her bachelorette party and the malls in Austin just weren’t cutting it. 

“I’m telling you,” she said after coming up empty handed on another Saturday spent shopping as the two of you ate salads and drank sweet tea at a patio cafe. “We need to go to Houston. We haven’t found anything for you, either.”

“I can just…” you began, but Sarah cut you off. 

“Mom,” she raised her brows. “You do not get to say ‘just’ anything about my wedding, come on.” 

You rolled your eyes a little but smiled. 

“Alright,” you put your hands up in surrender. “I’ve got the weekend off again in two weeks, I’ll get us a hotel room in Houston and we can shop til we drop.” 

“I’m going to get you comfortable with spending some of those big surgeon bucks one of these days,” she said. “You need to treat yourself! Live a little!” 

“I live plenty, thank you,” you replied. “And I do it just fine in my Goodwill jeans.” 

“Whatever you say,” she smirked a little, flagging down the server and grabbing the bill before you had a chance to fight her on it. 

Sarah might have had a point. You’d been an attending for the better part of a year now and the jump in pay had been staggering. You were making more now in a year than you had your entire life - or it felt that way, anyway. You’d already made good progress paying off your student loans but you made quick work of the rest. Joel had asked if you wanted to move - something bigger or better somehow - now that you could easily afford it but you’d just frowned at him, almost hurt. 

“This is our home,” you said. “I fell in love with you here, Sarah grew up here, we made Evie here. This is the first place I ever really felt like I belonged, I don’t want to leave.” 

Joel just smiled and kissed your forehead. 

“Then we’ll stay,” he said. “Moving’s a fuckin’ hassle anyway.” 

You’d just been saving money, not really sure what to do with it. You donated some of it, stopped spending time clipping coupons, finally bought a car that was from this decade (but still used). But actually spending it made you anxious. You’d never had money before. You weren’t poor, exactly. You’d always had enough to eat and a roof over your head but you almost never bought new clothes, had never really traveled outside of places that you could easily get to by car. You were pretty sure you’d never even been in a car that wasn’t at least 10 years old before you came to college and your friend Cassie gave you a ride to the store in her new BMW. It was hard to get used to the idea that money could be spent at all, that it wasn’t already earmarked for some bill or, if there was any left, that it had to be saved for a rainy day. 

“You gotta actually spend some of that hard earned money on yourself, Baby,” Joel said as you headed outside to meet Sarah for your weekend in Houston. “Buy some ridiculously expensive dress that I’m gonna want to rip off you in seconds or some purse that’s $1,000 for reasons I don’t understand.” 

“That’s two mortgage payments,” you said, eyes wide. 

“Baby.” 

“Right, right,” you nodded. “On a mission, spend money. Got it.” 

“On yourself,” he added. “Not Sarah. Or not just Sarah, anyway. You two have fun.” 

“You too,” you said, stretching up to kiss him goodbye. “Don’t let Evie con you into giving her candy when she gets home from school.” 

“What wild thing and I get up to when you’re not around is none of your business,” he gave you one last peck on the lips. “Now go, stop worryin’, live a little.” 

The mall in Houston was almost overwhelming. Not in the crowds way malls sometimes were for you, thank goodness, but with the kinds of stores. There were names you recognized from Cassie’s closet and from some of the trust fund girls in your med school program but you realized quickly you had no concept of what things like this actually cost. 

Sarah picked a dress for the rehearsal that was nearly $600 and you choked on the champagne the sales person had given you to sip while Sarah tried on options. 

“You really buy $600 dresses?” You gaped at her as you wandered back into the store from the dressing rooms. 

“Not all the time,” she shrugged. “But we make good money and sometimes it’s fun to buy something nice.” 

She held up a floor length gown to you, the bottom pooling on the ground. 

“That’s too long,” you said. 

“Well we’d get it tailored,” she laughed a little. “Come on, try it on.” 

Another sales person wandered over and offered to set up a fitting room and you snuck a peek at the price tag. Your eyes went wide. 

“That dress is $1200!” You whispered at Sarah as you trailed after the attendant. 

“And it’s for my wedding,” she replied. “And don’t you have that gala thing every spring for work? You can wear it for that, you need a new dress for that anyway. Plus I’m the bride and I say you have to try it on. You can’t disappoint the bride.” 

You sighed and went into the fitting room, feeling utterly out of place in your second hand Levis and vintage top you’d picked up on a shopping trip a few weeks back that felt much more your speed. 

But the dress - outside of the length - looked like it had been made for you. The silk hugged your every curve, the neckline dipping just low enough to display just enough cleavage to be sexy but not so much that it would be scandalous. It was simple, no embellishments beyond the structure of the dress and the deep emerald green of the fabric. Normally you’d have scoffed at something so basic fetching such a high price but, now that it was on your body, you understood it. It was like you’d put on a work of art and, in doing so, become art yourself. 

“OK you can’t laugh,” you said. “But I’m coming out.” 

Sarah was waiting patiently in the little show room attached to your fitting room and you had to hold up the hem of the dress to not trip but she gasped all the same. 

“Oh Mom,” her hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide. “You look incredible.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, turning in the mirrors to look at yourself from every angle. “I don’t look like I’m playing dress up?” 

“Not at all,” she spoke with almost a sense of reverence, looking you up and down. “You’re getting that dress. I’ll buy it for you if you won’t…” 

“No, Sarah,” you protested but she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before you had a chance to really realize what she was doing. “What was that for?” 

“I’m sending this to Dad…” her voice trailed off and she took a sip of champagne just as her phone rang. She smirked and answered, putting it on speaker phone. “Speak of the devil. Hey old man, your wife is trying to tell me this dress costs too much.” 

“I don’t care if that dress costs $200,000 she’s bringing it home,” Joel said. “She hear me?” 

“Yes,” Sarah smiled, a shit eating grin if there ever was one. 

“Good,” he said. “Baby, you look so damn amazing I’m about to jump in the truck and drive over there just to see you in that thing in person sooner. Save me a trip, bring it home, alright?” 

“Alright,” you sighed. 

“Didn’t quite hear that,” Joel said. 

“I said alright you dork,” you said a little, grinning in spite of yourself. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You bought the dress. And a bag that Sarah insisted you needed for work because she was tired of seeing you haul around a canvas tote. And shoes for the dress. 

When you passed the jeweler window, you were on the way to the car after spending so much money you were surprised you hadn’t fainted. You stopped, the hanger with the garment bag for the dress hooked in your fingers over your shoulder, and looked at the watch sitting in the window. 

It was large and silver but not too ornate, no diamonds or anything like that. The face of the watch was black with elegant white roman numerals on the face. 

“What?” Sarah asked, stopping next to you. 

“Do you think your dad would like that?” You asked, head cocked a little, still looking at the timepiece through the glass. 

“Yeah,” Sarah said after a moment. “Seems like a him watch, if he were going to wear a nice watch, anyway.” 

Joel did already have a watch. A simple one with a green strap and silver colored case and a black face. You and Sarah had picked it out together for his birthday one year. She’d been giddy about it, you had to all but beg her to keep it a secret for a few days until it came time to give it to him. He loved the thing, wore it every day, even more than a decade later. 

But your career wasn’t the only one that had advanced. Joel was no longer doing the manual labor of a contractor every day. More often than not, he was going to meet with clients and arrange contracts and make plans. For a lot of those meetings, he wore a suit and, for a lot of those meetings, you saw him stick his watch in his pocket before leaving the house instead of putting it on. 

“Hard sometimes,” he said when you’d asked him about it. “Fittin’ in with these clients.” 

“Let me just…” you doubled back to the entrance to the store and went inside. 

The watch was more than you thought it would be. A lot more. So, so much more. You watched as the sale’s person’s eyes went from encouraging and hopeful to let down when you reacted to the price. 

“One second,” you smiled sheepishly and pulled out your phone, going into your banking app. Even after spending an arm and a leg on yourself that day, the number in your personal checking account seemed obscenely high. More money than you’d ever had at once until very, very recently. You could afford the watch. You looked at the sales person and smiled. 

“I’ll take it.” 

You had several very strong cocktails when out to dinner with Sarah that night to make yourself feel a little better about spending thousands of dollars on things like clothes and a watch and she just smiled. 

“See, Mom? You spent some money on yourself and the apocalypse did not happen, I think you can actually buy yourself things from time to time.” 

“And things for your dad,” you said. “Because he needs nice things, too.” 

When you got home, Joel insisted that you model the dress for him. 

“It needs to be tailored,” you tried to protest. 

“Not for me to take it off you it doesn’t,” he smiled from his spot on the couch, beer in hand. 

“Fine,” you said. “But only if you let me model everything I bought and you can’t return any of it.” 

“Deal.” 

You went to your bedroom and put on the dress and the shoes and took the watch out of the bag, the face almost comically large on your wrist, before going back to the living room, hem of the dress in hand. 

“Jesus Christ Baby,” he looked at you, his eyes wide. “You look… fuck me.” 

“That is the idea,” you winked. “You like it?” 

“Like is a fuckin’ understatement,” he said, getting up and walking around you slowly, his eyes going up and down your body. “You know, Evie’s at a friend’s for two more hours…” 

“So you’re not going to make me return anything I have on?” You asked. 

“Fuck no.” 

“Not this dress?” You started unzipping the side before sliding the straps down your arms. 

“Dress stays,” he said, gently tugging it down and exposing your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts. 

“What about the shoes?” You asked, putting a sandaled foot out from below the hem. He glanced down, eyes ranging over the straps. 

“Those stay, too,” he said, going back to kissing your chest. “Everything you’ve got on stays, already agreed to that.” 

“Good,” you said as he made it to your neck. “Even this?” 

You held up your wrist, the watch sliding down your arm. 

He frowned, looking at it. 

“Don’t look like you’re style,” he said. “But if it makes you happy, Baby, keep it.” 

“Never said it was for me, Joel,” you smiled a little. You watched him piece it together, taking a moment for him to dawn on him. 

“No,” he shook his head, looking from your arm to your face. “No, you were supposed to get stuff for yourself for a change not…” 

“I did get stuff for me,” you said. “And I got this for you. Because you’re wearing suits more now and I wanted you to have the watch for that. So really, it is for me.” 

He took your wrist gently in one hand, elbow in the other, tilting your arm this way and that to look at the watch in different lights. 

“Baby, this…” he shook his head again. “This is too much, this is…” 

“Not for you,” you cut him off. “Not after everything you’ve given me. This is not enough. But it’s a start. Besides, you said I got to keep everything I was wearing. You already agreed to it, Miller.” 

“Baby,” he sighed. 

“Joel,” you smiled a little. “You’re my husband. Let me give you something nice. Please.” 

He brought the inside of your wrist to his lips and kissed you there, making your pulse flutter against his mouth. 

“Already gave me the best thing there is,” he said. “Anything more feels like I’m stealin’ it.” 

“Steal whatever you want, Miller,” you teased. “But you’re keeping the watch.” 

Joel ended up wearing the watch often. Not as much as the Sarah watch - and he stuck with the Sarah watch for her wedding - but at least once a week for meetings where he needed to dress up for. Every time you gave him a little knowing smile and every time he rolled his eyes a little before kissing you goodbye. But you had yet to get him to accept anything like it in the years since, Joel trying to dodge everything every time you spent money on him. 

So when his birthday was around the corner, you were bound and determined to get him something good. 

“Anything you want for your birthday?” You asked as you, Joel and Ellie wandered around a street fair, meandering towards the car show. “Anything you want to do?” 

“S’not like it’s a big one,” he shrugged. “Just 56. Would love to see all my girls, of course. Could use some new tongs for the grill.” 

“Tongs?” Ellie said, brows raised. “Seriously? Old people are so WEIRD.” 

“You know what kiddo?” Joel smiled a little, faking exasperation. “We’ll see how you’re doin’ when you’re pushin’ 60.” 

“Ew,” she crinkled her nose and wandered to the first car in the row of vehicles on display. You laughed, strolling along with Joel until he stopped at a beautiful old convertible, giving a low whistle. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Just a pretty fuckin’ car,” he said, his hands in his pockets as he walked slowly around it. “Always wanted one of these when I was a kid.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, getting an idea. 

“Neighbor had one,” he nodded. “Let me ride in the back once. Coolest fuckin’ car.” 

He looked over every inch of the thing and Ellie caught up with you while he did, pouting a little as she leaned on the door of the car, her chin propped on her folded arms. 

“I’m starving,” she groaned. “Can I go get some fries at least?” 

“Sure,” you laughed a little, pulling some cash out of your pocket. “Grab me a lemonade, too?” 

You watched as she went to the food stands and you and Joel moved on, walking slowly down the row of cars when Ellie caught up with you again, passing you the lemonade. Joel stole a fry from her cup. 

“Hey!” She protested. “Go get your own!” 

“Might have to,” he said, giving her a wink. “Back in a sec.” 

You waited until he was out of earshot before you grabbed Ellie. 

“Do me a favor,” you said. “That car we were looking at? The blue one? Can you go talk to the owner and find out what make, model and year it is?” 

“I guess,” she frowned. “Why?” 

“Because,” you said. “I found something your dad wants besides tongs.” 

You went and stood in line with Joel, keeping him distracted while Ellie did recon. She took some pictures of the car and texted you all the information which you texted to Andrew as Joel drove home from the fair. 

“Can you help me find this car?” You asked him. “One that’s for sale?”

“Becoming a collector?” He texted back. 

“Joel’s birthday,” you added a smilie face emoji. 

“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ll find you something, don’t worry.” 

It took a few weeks but Andrew found the car. A blue 1967 Mustang Convertible that was being sold down in San Antonio. He went down with you to help you test drive it - you didn’t know a damn thing about cars - and you bought it on the spot. 

“He’s going to freak the fuck out,” Andrew said, driving it home since you couldn’t drive stick. “Seriously, you might give the man a heart attack…” 

You rolled your eyes but laughed all the same. 

“I really hope he loves it,” you said, running your fingers over the dash. 

“I’ll take it off your hands if he doesn’t,” Andrew smiled. “Just don’t tell Jess.” 

Tommy agreed to store the car in his garage until Joel’s party at his house in two weeks and you were giddy as you drove home, feeling like a kid at Christmas as you tried to keep the car a secret. 

By the time the party rolled around, even Ellie was excited and having a hard time holding it together. 

“It’s really just a cookout at Tommy’s,” Joel said as the three of you piled in the car to head over. “Not sure why you two are actin’ like we’re going to fuckin’ Six Flags…” 

“Tommy’s cooler than you,” Ellie said. “Nice to spend time with someone who isn’t a total dinosaur…” 

“Alright, in the car kiddo,” Joel smiled and shook his head a little. “Can’t take you anywhere ’til seatbelts are on, let’s go!” 

You texted Tommy that you were on the way and he responded with a picture of the car, shiny in his driveway with a big, red bow on the hood. 

“He’s going to lose his mind, Kid,” he texted back. “Please tell Maria I want this same treatment when I’m old.” 

“Better put in some work to deserve it, Miller,” you replied, smiling a little. 

Joel parked on the street, frowning at the car in Tommy’s driveway. 

“When the hell’d Tommy get a Mustang?” He got out, his frown deepening. You almost laughed. 

“He didn’t,” you smiled, so big it was like your face was going to crack. 

Joel looked confused for half a moment before his mouth dropped open in shock. 

“No,” he shook his head. Ellie leaned between the front seats, grinning hugely, “No, no that’s… Baby. No.” 

“Suck it up, old man,” Ellie smirked as Sarah and Brandon came out of the house, little Carson making a beeline for the car. Sarah and Brandon waved as Tommy and Maria joined them in the yard. Ellie pulled the keys out of her pocket and dangled them between you and Joel. He took them, staring at them in his hand for a second.

“Should take it before I do,” Tommy hollered and you laughed as you got out of the car and followed an almost dazed Joel toward the Mustang. 

He walked, in awe, around the car twice. 

“I…” he said but stopped, staring at the convertible for a moment. “I don’t….” 

“Do you like it?” You asked, coming up beside him and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Fuckin’ love it,” he said, immediately looking at you. “But Baby, this is too much, way too much, I can’t…” 

“Yes you can,” you smiled up at him. He looked down at you, the awed expression still on his face. “After everything you’ve done for me? For us? Everything you’ve sacrificed, all the ways you take care of me and our girls? The life you gave me? Still not enough, Joel. Not for you.” 

He pulled you tight to him and kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you,” he said, his voice wet. “So goddamn much, Baby.” 

Tommy set up chairs and a table in the front yard so everyone could sit near the car while celebrating Joel. He kept looking over at it in disbelief before looking at you with eyes filled with gratitude and wonder. You couldn’t remember the last time your heart felt quite so full. 

You drove Ellie home, following slowly behind Joel in the new convertible. 

“OK I know what this shit means,” Ellie said, gesturing between you and Joel after you got home, your husband clutching you to his side. “Try to keep it down and not be gross about it because ugh.” 

“Was actually going to see if you wanted to take the car for a spin,” you smiled up at Joel. “Just you and me. Assuming Ellie will behave herself and actually go to bed at a reasonable time.” 

“Anything to get away from whatever that is,” Ellie said, smiling a little as she went to her room. You laughed. 

“So,” you said, once she closed the door to her room. You looked up at Joel, smiling. “Care to take me for a ride, Mr. Miller?” 

He grinned.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Miller.” 

He took you through town slowly, down quiet side streets filled with sleeping people and past businesses that had closed for the night, until the two of you ended up at a large park on the edge of town where things were a little darker and you could see some of the stars. 

“I can’t believe you got me a car, Baby,” he said, his hands running over the steering wheel. His smile was so big you could see it even in the dim light of the moon. “It’s really…” 

“If you say it’s too much again, Joel, I will go and buy you a second one on principle.” 

He laughed at that. 

“I was gonna say it was the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he said, turning to look at you. “Besides you and the girls of course.” 

“Oh, of course,” you smiled. 

He leaned in and kissed you gently. 

“Not sure what I did to deserve you,” he said. “But I sure am grateful for it.” 

Your kiss shifted and you started climbing over the center console, Joel taking a second to move his seat all the way back. You bunched your skirt around your hips and settled over him, kissing him harder, more eager. 

“I’m pretty damn grateful for you,” you whispered against his mouth, his hands going to your hips. You ground down on him and he moaned, pressing his hard length up against you through his jeans. “And I think the birthday boy should get laid in his dream car.” 

“Dream car,” he said, kissing you. “Dream woman.” He kissed you again. “Perfect fuckin’ birthday.” 

You unzipped his fly as you kissed him and tucked your panties to the side, notching his cock against your entrance. He moaned as you sank slowly down onto him, taking all of him inside of you, savoring how he filled you. 

You started slowly, just grinding him deeper into you as you kissed him, his tongue licking into your mouth. 

“You feel fuckin’ amazing Baby,” he moaned, kissing down your throat until he reached your breasts, cleavage bared in your v-neck top. “Always feel so damn good…” 

He was thrusting up into you, trying to set his own pace, and you decided to allow that, matching him stroke for stroke as he groaned below you. His hands ranged up your back, pawing at your shirt until be was able to raise it enough to slide below it and get at your skin with a satisfied moan. He clutched you close, so close that you could hardly move over him anymore. Instead, he fucked up into you, making you whimper and your channel tighten around him. 

“C’mon Baby,” he grunted, voice strained. “Want you to come for me. All I want now is you to come for me, come all over me, fuck Baby…” 

You bit down on his shoulder to keep quiet, the sounds of crickets and cicadas on the air as you came, your sex throbbed around him. You whimpered against him as you came down from your high and he kept working you, his grip on you tightening. 

“Fuck Baby,” he gasped. “Feel too good, I’m gonna… fuck… I’m…” 

He cut himself off with a groan, thrusting deep and filling you, his grip on you relaxing enough that you could sit up a little. You looked at him in the moonlight his eyes closed, a blissed out look on his face. You smiled a little, brushing his more unruly curls back from his forehead. 

“I love you so much, Baby,” he smiled a little, eyes still closed. 

“So I did alright for your birthday?” You teased lightly, his softening cock still buried inside you. 

He laughed. 

“Did perfect,” he tugged you close enough that he could kiss you again, careful to not push you back against the horn. “Perfect fuckin’ birthday, perfect fuckin’ woman, perfect fuckin’ wife.” 

“Good,” you smiled, kissing him. “You deserve it, Joel. You deserve the world.” 

[authurials]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐄.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . aemond had never considered how much it meant to you to spend the holidays together

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual implications, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day twelve of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! only one day left to go with the finale of my five part aemond miniseries, the language of flowers; as well as a bonus gift i’m excited to share with you all. also, it was brought to my attention that i should possibly considering turning my targayen steel company idea into a series for the entire targaryen family since i also mentioned it in my daemon one shot, tinsel. would anyone be interested in seeing more surrounding the family business i created? let me know your thoughts on that and on this one shot--as always, your support and feedback means so much to me! also, aemond is canonically a cat guy and vhagar would be the chonkiest of chonks--that is all

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 the weight of the bags on your arms as you attempted to unlock the door of your apartment, key stabbing everywhere around the knob but not into the lock; finally, however, you gave a sigh of relief when it finally slid home, turning it just as your phone began to vibrate in your pocket. Cursing, you pushed open the door and stumbled across the marbled flooring in the entrance as you looked for a place to set your items down. Phone still going off, you plopped your purchases unceremoniously down a few feet from the door with a sigh before shoving your hand in your pocket, the newest challenge finding it in the deep fur-lined chasm. Groaning, you finally arrest it from its prison and press accept just before it's surely being forwarded to your voicemail.

“Hello?” You greeted breathlessly, not having had time to really look at the caller ID.

“Took you an awfully long time to answer,” your boyfriend opened with teasingly. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were up to no good….”

“Aemond!” You exclaimed excitedly, face flushed from all the exertion as you stepped over the bags and walked further into the apartment; it was a sleek and expensive modern penthouse with ceiling high wall to wall windows and black accented furniture. “Sorry, I just got back from shopping.”

“How much did you spend this time?” He chuckled.

“Oh hush,” you rolled your eyes. “You know I always help with my part of the credit card bill–not like Mr. Steel Company couldn’t afford it on his own anyways.”

“Fair enough,” he snorted. “I thought you finished your Christmas shopping already, though?”

“I did,” you confirmed, walking into the living room and kneeling in front of the pet crate, “but I still needed to get some stuff for my mom and….you.”

“....you know I don’t like gift giving,” Aemond finally sighed on the other end.

You respond with a sigh of your own, opening the latch of the crate and letting out your boyfriend’s ancient cat, Vhagar, who slipped out with surprise litheness despite her substantial circumference. Smiling, you gave her ashy black fur a stroke before she was toddling off to no doubt find somewhere comfortable to lay for the rest of the day.

“This is gift receiving not giving,” you correct, standing up to your full height.

“Yes, but now that you’ve gotten me something I’m obligated to–” he began.

“You’re not obligated to do anything,” you interject sourly. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do–I know thinking of something to get is just more you have to put on your plate. I got you a gift because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return; you give me everything I could need or want throughout the year after all, the least I can do is pick up the slack on Christmas.”

Aemond and you had begun seeing each other two years ago when you connected on a sugar baby website; it was one of those high end ones with background checks and lots of red tape to get through before either party could start seeking out their preferred company. You had applied to make a little extra cash during graduate school, the class load not really allowing you the possibility of work hours enough to pay for your shoebox apartment and other necessities; you had gone in initially with the promise that it would only be until you graduated and found steady work. However, it had been nearly six months since your graduation and you had quickly found good money in your dream field; still you found yourself walking through the place you now shared with Aemond to make sure Vhagar had food in her bowl lest she go on the hunt and find it empty. He had officially asked you to move in right after you finished your master’s, no longer having the excuse that you liked the privacy of your own space to study. Every boundary you had ever placed between you and the silver-haired Icarus who’d weaseled his way into your heart was slowly but surely surpassed by his determination to have you completely to himself.

No longer managed by the website you’d first met on, Aemond still served as a sugar daddy of sorts to you, ensuring all your needs were met so that you could pursue your passions. It wasn’t much of a feat for him really considering he had come into his fortune at birth, born into the Targaryen steel dynasty with a silver spoon in his mouth; and he continued to make more and more money as a director on his half-sister’s board–a position he had to fight tooth and nail for against popular belief. From what little you understood about his family–who he tried his hardest to keep you away from as much as possibly–there had been a lot of conflict in the years before you had met him; all you knew was it had been somewhat resolved and now Aemond only talked to his family once in awhile over facetime between infrequent visits. Usually one of those special occasions would be Christmas, but Aemond and you had agreed upon staying home this year for the holidays for a nice and intimate night together.

“While we’re on the subject,” you hummed, grabbing a can of Vhagar’s premium wet food from the designated cabinet full of the stuff, “when are you getting home? It’s almost six and I thought we were going to cook dinner together….”

It left a bad enough taste in your mouth that he had gone into the office at all on Christmas Eve, but you weren’t going to lecture him on having a strong work ethic; it was one of the things you found most attractive about him, but it also came with its downfall as he often picked his work over you.

“That’s why I’m calling,” if you had believed him capable you would have thought your boyfriend sounded nervous. “The reason I had to come into today was that there was an issue with one of our deals in Essos; it fell through after an altercation between Aegon and the negotiator, now Rhaenyra wants me to go and see if I can’t salvage it.”

“Aemond,” you groaned like a petulant child, setting the can of cat food harshly down on the counter, “you promised–”

“I know what I promised,” he cut you off, sounding irritated, “but I also have other responsibilities and can’t always anticipate when something is going to come up at work, you know that.”

“I know that better than anyone,” you assured with a mutter, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck when my boyfriend chooses to go off on some impromptu business trip when he promised he’d be home for Christmas.”

“Don’t try and guilt me,” he scolded. “You’re better than that.”

“You know, Aemond,” you laughed with humor, grabbing the can opener, “I don’t think I am. I don’t even think I’m above begging at this point if it means you’ll pick me for once over that fucking job.”

Angrily cutting open the wet food, you walked over to Vhagar’s bowl and grabbed it, taking it over to the sink to be washed as you tucked your phone between your ear and shoulder.

“That’s not far,” Aemond sighed tiredly, as if he was exhausted with your conversation–with your emotions. “I need to work–”

“Not all the damn time,” you snorted, scrubbing the dried pate off the sides of the bejeweled food bowl. “You have plenty of money, Aemond, so it’s obviously not about making more; you just love to get out of shit by using work as an excuse.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” he insisted, “but Rhaenyra is counting on me to fix this mess.”

“It’s Aegon’s mess,” you argued, “so why isn’t he fixing it? Or perhaps your sister could take some initiative since she’s the one who stupidly put him in the liaison position in the first place.”

Drying out the bowl, you set it down and carefully placed the perfect puck of gourmet chicken pate into it before walking it back over to Vhagar’s automatic water dispenser; the old she-cat was waddling in just as you finished placing it down, although deaf for the most part it appeared her nose still worked perfectly.

“You know what, Aemond,” you shake your head as you give the cat some loving strokes, “it’s whatever, do what you gotta do.”

“You’re being childish,” he snapped.

“And you’re being an asshole,” you shot back. “I get it–the holidays don’t mean shit to you but they do to me; it was important that we got to spend them together but apparently what I want isn’t good enough for you so I’m washing my hands of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said–you could practically hear him grinding his teeth in frustration.

“It means I’m done giving this situation my energy,” you reply, rubbing a hand over your face as you stand back up. “It’s just a waste of my time and I’d rather not be upset about something I can’t change, especially on Christmas Eve.”

“....so you’re not going to be mad at me if I go to Essos?” He followed up with after a few moments, his voice softening in the face of his unsureness. You knew for all of his confidence, Aemond was still that young boy who so desperately wanted the approval of an emotionally absent father and a mother who coped with her loveless marriage by turning to the Faith; he hated it when you were mad at him, but you couldn’t help but feel frustrated with the situation he had put you in. You had banked all your holiday plans on him being there, turning down your own friends who had invited you to go skiing with them and had already left earlier that week to do so. Your own family was spread out all over and not particularly close, at most usually just opening gifts together over facetime with the customary bottle of wine.

“It wouldn’t do me any good to be mad,” you shake your head with a sigh. “I need to go, Aemond–I got cold stuff that needs to be put away; have a safe trip.”

“I love–” You cut him off by hanging up, knowing it was wrong even as you did it; you did not want his proclamations of love right now, not when you wanted to stew in your anger just a bit longer. Soon enough you’d get over it and probably call him to apologize for being such a bitch, but for now you let it fester as you got to work putting your groceries away.

You had gotten these small whole chickens to roast for dinner, alongside some potatoes, carrots, and asparagus that you planned to simmer alongside them; for dessert you had ordered a chocolate lava cake from Aemond’s favorite restaurant because you were doubtful of your ability to mirror the recipe perfectly. You would at least save the cake for when he returned, but you had no intention of delaying your holiday dinner just because he wasn’t going to be there; making plans inside your head to face time with your mom while you cooked, you finished putting all the food away before beginning to tackle the presents.

For your mom you’d gotten her some of the expensive perfume she liked from the Highgarden collection, as well as a couple of nice sweaters and some of her favorite candies; it would be late getting delivered but she’d already received the painting you’d commissioned from Aemond’s sister Helaena. Much the talented artist, the pale-haired girl had perfectly rendered the likeness of your family onto the canvas using one of the reference pictures you’d given her; knowing your mom loved renaissance style art you’d asked Helaena to pant you as such, thinking it would be a nice centerpiece over your childhood home’s fireplace. Thinking of her reaction when she opened it had your moon lightening as you carried the gifts into the living room to wrap later.

Done eating, Vhagar trailed behind you in curiosity as you returned for the last of the items–Aemonds present; another commission, it was wrapped in a velvety black material as you hoisted it up, not surprised for the first time at its weight. Instead of placing that in the living room, you took it to your shared room and laid it on the bed, deciding to deal with it later before leaving and closing the door behind you.

The rest of the night went without incident, with you ignoring your phone in case Aemond decided to call back as you focused in on cooking dinner and a nice glass of blackberry wine. Your mother having not answered, you settled for putting on a Christmas movie in the living room and setting up your wrapping station as the chicken cooked. Once that was ready, you returned to the kitchen to start on your buttery garlic reduction, and needing your phone for the recipe you took note of the notification as you turned on the screen:

3 missed calls from Aemond.

Hesitating, you decided after a moment to let him sweat it out a little bit longer as you continued on making dinner; you didn’t want to further upset either of you by continuing a conversation where neither was willing to give. You both wanted different outcomes and one of you would be eventually forced to concede for the other, and most likely as always that would end up being you. You knew Aemond’s work was important and it was something he was passionate about, you just wished he was as passionate about spending time with you as he was about putting out the fires his family created for the business. Still, you’d never ask him to dull that passion to satisfy your own wants and needs as that wouldn’t be right, so instead you decided it was best not to revisit the argument and to instead spend this year doing separate things for Christmas. You wanted to cook dinner and wrap your presents and drink copious amounts of wine while watching A Christmas Story; and when all of that was done, you wanted to soak in a warm bath full of an absurd amount of bubbles and then curl up with Vhagar for a good  night’s sleep. The cat in question had been of a particular comfort as she laid constantly near your feet in hopes of catching any scraps you might drop; occasionally you did so on purpose, with a smile on your face as you finished your reduction and moved on to the salad.

It was as you were losing yourself in the chopping of the lettuce that you heard the front door open and slam close, Aemond’s voice following as he called out to you. Stilling, knife still in hand, you turned around to see him striding through the doorway, stopping when he saw you standing there. For a moment, neither of you said anything, you were too stunned and he flushed from what you assumed was the cold winds outside.

“What are you doing here?” You finally find the right thing to ask.

“You weren’t answering my calls,” he frowned, brow furrowed and the hint of a pout on his beautiful lips.

“I didn’t want to,” you answered honestly, turning around to set your knife back on the counter, grabbing clumps of the chopped lettuce and putting them in a glass bowl. “Wouldn’t do me any good.”

“You know I hate it when you do that silent treatment bullshit,” he gritted out; you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back as you occupied yourself with finishing your salad.

“It’s not the silent treatment, Aemond,” you defended. “I’m just not going to waste my time listening to you rationalize why it’s more important to go halfway across the world instead of staying here with me like you promised. All it does is force me to acquiesce to the point and you know I hate when you do that to me; makes me feel like I have no reason to be upset anymore because I ended up ‘agreeing’ with you in the end.”

“Could you at least look at me while we talk?” He bitterly requests.

“You’re the one that interrupted me while I’m in the middle of doing something,” you point out. “I seem to remember you doing about the same thing all those times I came into your study and tried to get you to talk to me about this….and about that.”

“And again, I need to work.” “--work.” You finished together.

“Both of us know we’re far from starving, Aemond,” you roll your eyes, sweeping your arm around the kitchen that had all the latest high tech appliances. “You could’ve afforded not to play the savior one time. It’s not like I ask you to shirk your responsibility for me all the time, but you did promise there would be no work getting in the way of us celebrating this year. And you know, maybe it’s my fault for getting my hopes up this time around, I should’ve known it would get screwed up somehow.”

Silence spread out between as you tossed your salad ingredients in the vinaigrette dressing you’d picked out; Vhagar had long since gotten up from her spot to greet her owner, purring heavily as she rubbed her head on his ankles until he picked her up.

“It’s fine really,” you finally admit truthfully, “or at least it will be. I’ll get over it and we can always celebrate when you get back, it’s not really as big of a deal as either of us are making it out to be.”

“If it matters to you then it’s a big deal,” Aemond insisted quietly–you could hear him moving further into the room until he was standing by your side.

“Your work matters to you too,” you glance over at his face, biting your lip at the contrite look on his face. “I don’t want to make you feel as if you have to choose between it and me, but this one time I really wish you had chosen me.”

Setting your wooden spoons down, you wipe your hands on your apron and step closer to Aemond, his free coming to wrap itself around your waist and pull you against his body. Vhagar lets out a small meow of protest, shifting to be let down to which her owner obliges before lifting that arm to join the other one. You feel the warm press of his lips against your forehead, eyes trained on the tie of his suit as you suck a deep breath in before letting it shudder out of you. Gods, the love you felt for this man was at times overwhelming; he was sexy and aggravating and the most complex person you’d ever dated, and you loved him more than you could ever put into words.

“Aren’t you going to miss your flight?” You hum as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. “Not that I’m not happy you came here first, I just–”

“I told Rhae she’d have to find someone else to fix Aegon’s fuck up this time,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing forward for more kisses. “Told her I already had plans with someone more important….”

His hands lowered down your back and to the swell of your ass, cupping each cheek in his hand as he moved your hips together. Flushing, you stared at him in disbelief, cheeks flush and warm as your hands came up to frame his face silently asking for more kisses.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned into your mouth as he pressed you against the counter. “I wasn’t even thinking about how–fuck–how it was the holidays, I just….I just agreed without a second thought like I always do.”

“I know, I know,” you assured him breathlessly, pressing kisses down the length of his jaw and nuzzling at his neck; you rested your head against his shoulder as you both just held each other for a moment.

“Do you want help finishing dinner?” He rubs your cheeks together, hands moving from your bum to your hips and giving them a squeeze.

Smiling, you nod and press one last kiss to his shoulder before pulling away. Together you are able to finish dinner within the hour–Aemond tending to the garlic butter reduction and the chickens as you finish the salad and other sides. As you work you can’t help but look over at your boyfriend every now and then, appreciating his form as he takes off his dress jacket and rolls up his sleeves. You could see the shifting of veins and muscles as he moved about, causing your mouth to salivate in desire as you licked your suddenly dry lips; pushing the initial desire away, you turn your attention back to plating the lava cake carefully. Getting some chocolate on your thumb, you lifted it to your mouth to lick it off but Aemond’s hand on your wrist stopped you; eyes flicking to his, you watched as he pulled it to his lips and sucked it into his mouth, moaning around the digit as he tasted his favorite flavor of chocolate.

“Aemond,” you said, lips parting on a gasp as you felt his touch all the way between your legs.

“Dessert first?” He smirked, popping your thumb out of his mouth as he traced it along the bottom of his lip. “It is a holiday after all….”

“Dinner will get cold,” you replied stupidly as you let him guide you from the kitchen and down the hall to your room; Vhagar followed after, assuming she was about to get some cuddle time with her parents and she made no secret of her displeasure as Aemond kept her from entering upon the door opening.

“You’ll pay for that later,” you joke, walking into the room ahead of him as he closes the door.

“Good thing I got her her favorite treats for Christmas,” he chuckles.

Before anything can go further, you glance at his present on the bed and still, wondering if you should just give it to him now or wait until tomorrow. Deciding on the former, you pick it up and turn to Aemond who stands there expectantly, already working on the buttons of his shirt until he sees what you’re holding.

“Merry Christmas….Eve,” you say bashfully, smile on your face as you hold out the gift.

“Can’t we–” he begins, wanting to wait until after but he stills when he sees the expectant look on his face before he gives you a crooked smile, taking it from your hands. You both sit on the edge of the bed as he undoes the ties of the velvet bag, embroidered beautifully in gold letters with the name of the man who’d made it for you. Once the bag was pulled away the hand-crafted leather scabbard was revealed as was the hilt, a perfect replica of the sword Aemond always showed you in the picture of his ancestors throughout the years. “You didn’t….gods, you did–”

“Since I couldn’t give you the real thing I had it made,” you smiled. “It’s only decorative of course but–”

“It’s perfect,” he spoke softly, still too stunned as he refused to look away from the sword in his laps; his hands wrapped around the hilt as he pulled Blackfyre from the sheath, the metal sleek and polished to perfection. For it to arrive in time for Christmas you had had to order nearly a year in advance, in constant contact with the practicing blacksmith you’d commission just to ensure all the details came out right. “Gods, I have no words….

You smile, knowing you had made the right choice in giving the man who had everything he could possibly need the one thing he really wanted.

“Aegon’s going to be so jealous,” he surprises you by following up with, causing you both to laugh.

“Merry Christmas, Aemond,” you hum, bumping your shoulders together before resting your head upon his.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword as his other rested against your hip with a gentle squeeze.

[journeythroughbible]

Measure 17-116 (Part 2)

(Read Part 1 FIRST)

Let me take some time today to address the pamphlet that Citizens For Responsible Government distributed at the 4/28 meeting FOR this measure in Sunny Valley. I believe you see how this has some problems and why I am emphatically voting NO on this measure.

First, their questions:

Are you tired of not being represented in County Government with just three Commissioners who, for the last 20 years, have come from Grants Pass and the immediate area? Yes, I am, although it's only been 10 years for me:-) The reason I signed this was because the idea of rural representation appealed. I am now seeing the MAP that was gerrymandered to have each district touching the city of Grants Pass (GP) with ½ the population of EACH district coming from GP. No, this is just going to be the same, only more. Sure, there is potential for better representation, but it's not likely.

Are you tired of the county controlled by only two commissioners? We would replace this with three in control, and if they did the district right, we would still most likely limit those three to GP issues.

If you are not a Republican or Democrat, do you want to keep your equal say in who is elected commissioner, Sheriff, clerk, and all other county officers? The county is small enough; party affiliation should not affect votes if you learn how each candidate stands. Also, in the current Voters' Pamphlet, no parties are mentioned. Would this not allow any support from, for example, the Josephine County Democrat party? I do like the parties mentioned, as they can be the "gatekeepers" of the wolves dressed in sheep's clothing.

Would you like a professional county manager who understands the county government's functions and responsibilities rather than have small business operators learn on the job at the taxpayers' expense? This statement implies that running a county is overly complex. Sure, there are usually more balls in the air over a small business, but it's not rocket science or (something I am intimate with) Object Oriented Design (Software Programming). Is it worth paying someone up to 10x the "per capita" income vs a few weeks of learning on the job?

Are you tired of paying the county commissioner more than three times the average per capita income in Josephine County? While this sounds good and is "almost" accurate since the figure is close to 3x under/over, depending on the commissioner. The problem is that "per capita" income takes up the entire population, including retired folks, youths, and babies, and divides the total income from the county by the total population. A more accurate figure would be the "Household" income at ~$56k, making their salaries less than half. Based on the potential salary of the "City Manager," that position would command from 3 to 6x the household figure and 5 to 10x the "per capita" income. (CLICK HERE)

Now let's look inside and see the Current, Purposed and Expected Results graphic. Let me address the three Current/Proposed and then the Expected Results as a group.

The "Outdated Charter" is a fallacy. I have heard this about the US Constitution and even the Bible, both of which have outstood the test of time (as long as we adhere to BOTH). 43 years is nothing; the main thing that has changed is the internet, which went from 1200 baud and text only to what we have today. You cannot change the problems there with new laws. The county has grown, but not much compared to Gwinnett County, Georgia, where I moved from. As for "conflicting" or "unenforceable," this may or may not be true. As with the previous post, based on a 1973 law allowing counties to have "Home Rule," Josephine adopted that in 1981. We have more say in our county than this implies.

The increase in commissioners sounds logical, but it will not really change anything unless the districts are redrawn and the City Manager is removed. The budget may be the same or, most likely, greater. We increase quorum by 1, and the "partisan" argument is not an issue since the current Voters' Pamphlet does not list a party affiliation. We need actually to research this. Ultimately, this open run-off gives us a choice of two in November without any party designation. IF we did primaries like the national parties, where each party would select a candidate, then yes, this would be a valid argument.

Cronyism in politics is common and often not easy to clean out. If we had term limits to 2 terms (not 3, and then reset after a term off per the proposed NEW charter), we might have a chance to clean that up. The City Manager with a salary up to 10x the "per capita" income is not the solution. Based on what I have seen in communities where I have lived, that does not solve cronyism but compounds it with even more problems. Labor laws make it difficult to remove the City Manager, so "effective management" is also a fallacy.

The" Expected Results" are as follows:

Effective Administration – not really, since the new City Manager needs to learn Josephine County, and the part-time council is not fully engaged with the position (not necessarily bad). If they made the At-Large full-time and the districts part-time, this would fill the void of the full-time representation and save up to $250k. Also, how long will it take to find and keep a City Manager? What if we make a misteak and hire someone wrong? The position may go unfilled for months or even years.

Greater Transparency – I believe there would be less since the City Manager, who is unelected, could forget to report to the part-time council, and it would be easier to hide "inside" cronyism.

Common Sense Prioritizing of Issues – REALLY?? People dealing with the public, who will most likely be upset (we don't usually interface with our county officials without problems), quickly become reactionary, and priorities go out the window. It becomes crisis management no matter who is involved unless they are amazing at forecasting and addressing issues before they become problems. If that happens, be prepared for more expenses since you will be fixing things before they break.

Effective Deliberation – You deal with more people and issues outside a diverse population. Nothing is "effective" in that case.

Fact-Based Decisions—As an engineer, I live with TRUE or FALSE as the only options (outside my analog systems, which get digitized into TRUE/FALSE, but I digress). You cannot have true fact-based decisions unless bias is removed, which is nearly impossible, even in engineering.

Consideration of Multiple Viewpoints—We already have that; just ask how many calls the current council receives. If we separated Grants Pass from two districts, that may be true.

Representation for all areas – In theory, this is true, but as with most theories, when applied, it falls apart. (Honestly, in this instance, I should have used hypothesis since the scientific theory is closer to "fact," but outside science, the common definition of theory is implied to be not yet fact). Again, divide the 44k rural residents into two districts and the 44k Grants Pass residents into another, and you honor this concept.

As you can see, these "glittering generalities" fall apart when you look at them and really think about how things practically work in Government. As I said, I have been under the jurisdiction of many different styles of Government, and honestly, they are all flawed in one way or another.

The biggest problem is that this was put on the ballot during an off-election cycle, during which most people were not paying attention or voting. It's too major of a shift not to have the consideration of more of the voters.

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3

CLICK FOR PART 4 (SUMMARY)

[bunnypopgal]

What does the future hold for me? Goals & Ambitions

Hello! Another day has started and I'm doing pretty alright today so far. I think I would like to discuss a bit about my future goals and dreams as well as what I want to come from this blog in more hopefully clear detail.

Let's start with the blog part! I originally made this blog a few years ago when I was still being hurt by many people around me. I would often write a whole bunch in diaries growing up as a way to help me find the joy in the small things. I'm aware I'm a very odd case of both CPTSD and just in personality. I have been told I am a very resilient and strong person not only for still standing here afterwards but for still being myself after it all. I am a very bubbly, sunshiney person generally. I do believe myself to be a very self aware person with a high emotional intelligence. Don't worry I didn't reach this conclusion on my own as some weird reflection of narcissism from what I've been through. Honestly it's only been a few months that I've been able to say that about myself and truly believe it. I’ve had therapists, LD professionals, teachers, random adults tell me that my whole life and it still took my partner the entire time up till now he has known me (almost 2 years) of hours long conversations to convince me. Building such confidence is a tad scary for me since I’m terrified of acting like my narcissistic biological mother (whom I call my egg donor normally). Also I hope this came out correctly as me just being proud of myself and not anything malicious! So all that to say I hope I can do some good to share about my healing journey! I also would love to share my thoughts here as well and share the joys of everyday normal life even after years of trauma.

Personal life goals! As mentioned before in this post and my last few I do indeed have a wonderful, most lovely partner! We are currently in a long distance relationship. We’re both from neighbouring countries to one another and we have plans to get engaged so I can move in with him. We don’t want to actually get married until we’re a bit older than we are now so we feel no true rush on the marriage part. Currently we’re just enjoying life and saving money as much as we can. We hope to one day have kids as well even though that’s super far from now we still have a list of baby names. 

On a sad note though is I don’t actually have any other people I’m close with other than him. I don’t go out much (mainly due to being broke) and I don’t really put myself out there even if I knew where to put myself in the first place. I would love to meet some gal pals who would not only want to sing barbie movie songs with me as lifelong best friends but also be my bridesmaids. Of course while I do have lots of time I do feel likely that I’ll get married without having a bachelorette party or any bridesmaids. For now I try not to think about it much since I am still so young and would only really plan to come back to my country to visit my Father’s, my grandparents’ and my great grandparents’ graves. I’m pretty disillusioned with the state of my country currently so I am very excited to leave.

Career future! Since my partner and I currently have to save a lot of money and just life in general being that much more expensive I’ve been trying to get a part time job. I’m pretty scared since advocating for support needs around where I live just gets you fired and I don’t have time, money nor the heart for lawyer stuff. I’m becoming more confident and honestly just more prepared to act as normal as humanly possible while having hallucinations. Sadly I still have no idea what triggers my hallucinations so it’s still very much a guessing game for me. I applied to a bunch of openings at a fast food place all around my town so hopefully they’ll reach out to me soon. 

What was I doing before, you say? Well I was working on my craft which is a bit embarrassing for me to admit honestly. I’ve been trying to improve my art so I can do a whole bunch of things. My biggest dream goal is publishing my magical girl comic book series! Which I’ve also been writing for as well during this time. I also plan to start streaming as a PNGtuber, making youtube, tiktok videos and doing art commissions which I’ve also been working on during that time as well. Drawing is hard but at least nowadays I feel my work looks nice to general audiences I think, I hope. I’m not sure if I will link any of my future work or social media here on this blog but just know if you see a magical girl comic making it big with it’s amazing art and storytelling made for an early 20’s adulthood audience from a singular female author and artist- yeah, that’s my work. If anything I know my magical girl series is gonna be adored in the girl centric media. Think Buffy the Vampire Slayer(the spinoff Angel too) meets 2000’s Barbie movies aesthetics, with Winx Club, Supernatural AND Charmed influences too! I’m so excited! This will be a very long running series so I am currently writing LOTS of lore to work with for a LONG time. Oh and yes there’s gonna be LOTS of amazing fashion that I hope will be timeless!

I am very hopeful and very sure of myself and that things will work out because I will make sure of it! I hold my power and my dreams WILL come true! That’s all from me for today! Don’t forget to brush your teeth and drink water today! Laters!

[midday0nightmares]

27 - pry on the weak (m).

Previous chapter in your arms (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The door was shut, it won’t open, it was cemented on every side expat for the small slit under it, you try knocking, shout for someone, anyone, but to no avail.

you try the window, it opens, but the sight is even scarier. The city is quiet, too quiet. No traffic in its usually busy streets, every window in the near buildings were closed, no birds in the sky, not a single sign of life, even the sun seems stuck in its place, time isn’t moving.

Outside the closed door, you can hear muffled sounds, you peak under the door and see the familiar white socks on a pair of feet moving around the room, it’s jaemin. you shout and scream for him, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps going through his day. 

You were forgotten, lost forever in his room.

You jolt out of the claustrophobic nightmare, everything around you looks sound and in its right place, including jaemin, who’s sleeping next you, it was a nightmare.. you didn’t think that a nightmare would have the audacity to visit you while you were sleeping in his arms.

You snuggle closer to him, too close, not minding if he wakes up right now, it would be ideal if he can listen to you telling him about the rude nightmare and sho It away..  

.

.

.

He buckles under your pleads, 

“fine.. you can come too”  

The high pitched squeal you let out almost made him change his mind.

You wore a simple, body fitting black dress, a safe choice, you walked to the living room where jaemin was waiting for you, he was wearing a black suit, the black trousers making his long legs look extra inviting.

Jeno whistle from behind you when you spun to show jaemin your outfit, you roll your eyes at his ungentlemanly behavior, 

But the way jaemin’s eyes were shinning, and the compliment “you look beautiful” made your heart flutter, but the butterflies were shot dead when jeno’s hand landed on your ass in a sharp slap.

You link arms with jaemin and make the short trip to the door across the hallway to chenle apartment, the door was open, you were welcomed by upbeat classical music, not what you’ve expected.

Inside, the apartment looked like an entire house by itself, it was three times bigger than your apartment, the atmosphere was intimidating, everyone looked expensive and beautiful, there was three type of guests, men, gorgeous women, and you. 

Bite sized appetizers and trays of champion were being served along side an open bar at the corner, chandeliers were hanging off the ceiling and the big glass door opens to the terrace.

Your heart sunk and your stomach turned over inside of you. You cling to jaemin’s arm when you spot that face, haechan’s face.he approaches you and they all greeted each other, you keep looking else where, doing your best to ignore him. 

“Hey man! Long time no see.. what are you doing here? You know chenle?” Yes good question jaemin, what is he doing here?

“Yeah yeah..” He leans closer and lowers his voice “he’s one of my top clients” he gestures to the tens of girls around.. and it clicks in your head that they were all escorts, brought by haechan, they were his girls. you didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust that was showing on your face.

“Hey handsome” a tall, brunette, doll like girl throws her arms around jeno, “haven’t seen you in a while” she seamlessly pout. He giggles and turns into a harmless puppy in her hands, she must be one of haechan girls too, of course he will pay for company, who would want to spend time with him.

Your attention turns back to the hushed conversation between haechan and jaemin,

 “… no, his father is the of a one the leaders of the Chinese communist party, powerful man. and he’s the sole hire of multiple companies” haechan says.

“What is he doing here?” Jaemin asks. 

 “don’t know.. but based on what I have heard, he’s not staying for long..” haechan cuts himself as soon as he notice your interest in their conversation, “And how have you been doing sweet thing?”

oh the rage that went through you, you wished you could claw his eyes out, your distain is loud on your features. jaemin’s hand reach and hold yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, silently apologizing for breaking his promise of not having to see haechan again. 

And of course Hacehan is anything but dumb, he reads your mood and turns back to jaemin “come, I want you to meet someone” .. “haa you never stop working, don’t you?” Jaemin let go of your hand and slips deeper into the crowd, leaving you standing awkwardly next to jeno and his baby.

You stomp with no destination in mind. you look around, amazed by everything, but you feel misplaced, the looks that were thrown your way, you didn’t belong here and everyone knew it, there was an underlining screech the luxuries mood.

You catch the back of jaemin’s head through the crowd, an unsuspected punch of something was delivered to your heart, throwing your mood completely off. he’s with a group of giggly girls, practically drooling over them.  

you regret insisting on coming with him.. you should have known, but it’s too late now, you look else where and meet the sister eyes of haechan staring at you. he winks at you, you throw him the dirtiest look you have and move out of his sight line.

You pick a glass of champagne and lean against the wall, tipping the tall glass and drinking it in one go, and another.. starting to feel better. Chenle’s bright hair stands between the crowds, he gracefully moves around greeting everyone, you didn’t notice before but he’s quit charming.. he catches you staring at him and smile at you, rising his glass towards you, you fumble almost dropping your half empty glass.. when you mange to get a grip on yourself and rise your glass he had already return to his conversation. 

“Hello, mind if I join you?” The stranger man stands next to you even before you could’ve answered him, “what’s your name?” He looks like he was operating on twice the normal human energy, fidgeting and unable to stay still for more than three seconds, his smile twitches, the look in his eyes is frantic.. his pupils are blown, he’s on something. 

He speaks again before you can answer “hi Im yangyang, what’s your name?” why does his friends have wired names? 

You watch him like he was a train wreck happing in slow motion, “here try this” he hands you one of the two glass he was holding in his hands, a pink cocktail with raspberry, you smile politely and take the drink, he stares at you with his frozen smile.. but something behind you catches his attention, he kinda looks like a cat, just like that he leaves as fast as he came, he’s kinds cute.

You move to the open terrace for some fresh air, the breeze flowing through your hair, you zone out as you watch the city lights.. a hand graze the small of your back brings you back, you jump in surprise. “sorry didn’t mean to scare you” chenle apologize, placing a tall glass of champion in front of you, his round cheeks flushed, he looks breathtaking in this proximity, or maybe it’s just the alcohol in your system.. 

“To be honest sera, Im a little offended” he confess, your eyes grow double the size “offended.. why?”, 

he gives you sad puppy eyes and looks around “you don’t seems to enjoy my party”.. 

“oh no, I do. Your house is very beautiful and everything looks amazing” you try to convince him but he’s not buying it, you just give up and sigh, “im just tired” looking down to the busy streets..

He hums “tired or jealous?” Pointing at jeno who was too busy sucking that girl’s face, you roll your eyes and chenle laughs.

 “im not” you bring the glass to your lips, drinking more, a pathetic attempt to suppress whatever have been twisting your insides. 

Someone calls for him cutting your interaction short, “Alright.. well if you need anything come find me” he says before leaving you. You stay at your spot, distracting yourself with silly thoughts while the party behind you was growing wilder.

Your stomach growls, you feel sick and about to throw up.. heat rising through you, you sweat and feel lightheaded, you must have had too much to drink you are not used to it.

You stumble inside and through the crowded room, looking for the closest bathroom before it’s too late, haechan grabs your arm “sera.. are you ok?” His voice is far away although he’s standing next to you, you yanking your arm out of his hold “don’t touch me..”,

The room starts spinning, you hold the wall for support, after that it all went dark.

.

.

.

When you came back and opened your eyes, you were laid in a bed, the strong cologne filling your noise, upsetting your empty stomach. For a minute you don’t remember where you are or what had happened, the unfamiliar bedroom doesn’t ring any bills, your head is pounding, threatening to explode you move too much, you try to get up but a sharp pain shots through you, your hips feels like they were dislocated, your thighs bruised and had blood on them, your pulled up dress and torn underwear, it all indicates to one thing. 

You mange to hold yourself through the initial shock, not breaking down. With a plan to find jaemin you fix your dress to cover your exposed breast, you force yourself up, picking up your discarded heal off of the floor. You limb your way out of the room, the party has quite down, it has turned to something else.. 

everyone looked like a living zombie, you look for jaemin, you open every door on your way, you open a door to a bedroom, and you see group of men gathered over a passed out girl, watching them felt like an outside body experience, like you were rewatching yourself. They were unfazed by your presences as they continue their assult.. 

you close the door to the hellish scene, you keep looking for him but he’s nowhere to be found.

You reach the main area, being met by jeno and haechan snorting whit powder of the coffee table, surrounded by loopy girls.. jeno tries to grab you, to pull you down with them but you escape his claw like hand.

You can’t take this anymore, you were starting to crumble. you did’t feel safe anymore. you head to the door and walk out, you seek the comfort of a familiar surroundings, their apartment, a hot shower, clean clothes, your bed.. but you don’t have a key and you don’t know the passcode, you try random combinations but nothing works, the door stays closed, duff to your cries.

You break down, tears streaming your face, you give up on the door and slid to the ground, leaning against the wall you sit alone in the hallway waiting for jaemin’s return.

[nationalharryleague]

One Day

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Drunk!Harry Fluff!

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi all! This is some drunk boyfriend harry fluff that I just love sm. It’s based off of “One Day” by Catie Turner (I highly recommend listening to it!!) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think in my ask! Thank you so much for reading! 

***

Harry was the life of the party when he wanted to be. He knew how to let loose, with a tequila on the rocks in one hand and a beer in the other, ready to party until he (literally) dropped. He always ended up on some sort of elevated surface like a teenage girl, usually a kitchen island or an absurdly expensive coffee table, singing along to whatever music was playing, magically knowing every word to whatever came over the speakers. Sometimes he would get lost in the winding corridors of the massive mansions his friends lived in, taking a wrong turn in his enhibrated state and ending up somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. There was also one time he jumped off a (thankfully low) roof into the swimming pool below.

But usually, he was calm, cool, and collected; gently sipping on a single drink he would nurse for most of the night. The two of you liked to sit and watch during these parties, his hand settling securely on your waist, keeping you close to him and away from the chaos that unfolded before you. You would curl up on a couch somewhere and just watch it all play out like it was an observational study, often giving commentary and ranking people and their drunk dancing out of 10.

“I feel like we're the mean girls in the corner of the cafeteria who just sit and silently judge everyone around them,” you would giggle, nuzzling yourself further into his side.

“That’s because we are the mean girls in the corner judging everyone around them, sweetheart” he would reply, in a slightly buzzed drawl.

But tonight was not one of those nights. And Harry had ended up standing on top of the dining room table scream-singing ABBA at the top of his lungs.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic and messy performance. His limbs flailed freely as he wiggled his hips along to the beat of Dancing Queen, singing into a small statue of a naked woman he had picked up off an end table that you assumed to be very, very expensive, like it was a microphone. He wore a pair of high rise denim flares that swayed along with his movements to the music and his white “Women are Smarter'' shirt was now stuck to his body with sweat, just see through enough for his butterfly to make an appearance.

He only came down after a green malaise began to settle over his features, skin slightly clammy and a bit pale. You extended a hand, helping his loopy body down off the table and letting him settle into your side for support once he was on solid ground again. “Let’s head to the bathroom, H,” you said gently, trying to settle the panic that was beginning to crawl into his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Once he got to the beautifully large and extravagant bathroom, he crawled into a small, or as small as the large man could make himself, ball and rested his hot clammy cheeks against the cool marble of the floor. “May have overdone it,” he grumbled from his spot on the floor, holding on for dear life as you were sure the room was spinning for him.

“Ya think?” you teased, immediately feeling a pang of guilt when you were met with a pathetically needy face from him in return. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” You carefully dug through the cabinets, knowing there had to be washcloths somewhere in the lavish room, and once you found one you dampened it with cold water. Settling down on the tile next to him, you pulled him and his sweaty curls on to your lap, wiping the layer of sweat delicately from his skin and then resting the cold cloth on his forehead.

You two stayed in this position for a while, carefully rubbing his back in an effort to sooth the large man and trying to ignore the loud music that was still shaking the house around you. He looked small like this, no longer your giant protector, but like a younger version of himself who just needed someone to take care of him. You were happy to be that person, as he always was for you.

This was the first time you had ever seen him like this. He always managed to know his limits, but tonight he just went off the deep end. He had been working like a dog, constantly in and out of the studio, frustrated that none of the songs he was writing were up to his astronomically high standards for himself. It wasn’t too shocking that he was trying to escape that stress.

Gradually, as he laid on the floor and you held him close, the color came back into his cheeks and he stopped holding onto your legs like the room was about to take flight. When you sat him up against the wall, he was still a bit wobbly, but no longer looked like he was about to unload his stomach contents all over the room.

“How are you feeling now, H?” you asked softly, scanning his face for discomfort or distress as you dabbed the washcloth over his skin.

“’m okay,” he hiccuped back, “jus’ needed a cuddle.” He got exceptionally British when he got this drunk, his accent coming out in a barely distinguishable garble of tall vowels and dropped consonants, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

His eyes fluttered open and closed without rhythm as he looked at you, his light green eyes glazed over with a glassy shine, and his mouth hung open slightly, like he didn’t have the coordination to close it. His pink cheeks were flushed and his skin had a sweaty sheen. His head had rolled off too one side and rested on his shoulder, like his neck had given up on holding his head up, and his arms fell heavy at his sides.

You should have been at least slightly annoyed with him for acting like a college kid, drinking until he made himself sick. His behavior and subsequent need for you to take care of him should have gotten under your skin and caused a bit of anger to bubble up into your chest. But it didn’t. You were just taking care of your man.

“Do you still feel nauseous?”

“‘m a-ok, babay” he said, making himself giggle with his rhyme. His lips lazily curled up into a smile and he dragged a lazy arm up to give the “OK” symbol with his uncoordinated fingers, before the heavy limb dropped back down to the tile beneath him.

“Okay, funny man,” you began sarcastically, planning on instructing to drink the glass of water you had retrieved on your way up to the bathroom, when he cut you off.

“I am pretty funny, aren’t I?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the loud belly laugh that fell past your lips. He took the glass from you and began to sip, a proud smirk never leaving his lips as he looked at you.

“You were a comedian in a past life.”

“I agree.”

You two were quiet for a bit, Harry drinking something other than tequila for the first time the entire night, and you just admiring him in silence. You let your hand crawl into his, interlocking your fingers together before bringing it up to your lips and pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles. It wasn’t long before his glass of water was finished and he crawled back into your arms, his back pressing to your chest with your arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. Your fingers ran through his still damp curls, initially just to push them up and away from his forehead and eyes, but continued when you heard the little happy mewls coming from him.

“Ya take such good care of me,” he said sloppily with a gentle tone, breaking through the bubble of silence you two had created together.

“I always will.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his salty forehead and settled back onto the hard wall behind you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hadn’t been together for long, with saying the “L” word still being pretty new, and still slightly foreign, to both of you. But you meant it when you said it, you loved him, and your body always filled with a blushing warmth when he said he loved you too.

You had met through work when you interviewed him for the magazine you worked at. From the moment you saw those dimples in real life, you were weak in the knees and enamored with him. You hadn’t been trying to flirt, it just happened. And before he left the office, you had a date planned for that Friday. That was 6 months ago now and they had been some of the happiest of your life.

“Will you marry me?”

The question left his lips in his absurdly difficult to understand drawl and it took you a moment to process what he said, but when you did your heart stopped.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him, because you did, but not now.

It was too soon. There was still too much for you to do together, too much still to learn about him, and too much for him to learn about you. You hadn’t even had a serious fight yet; you didn’t know how he dealt with conflict or how you would react to it. You didn’t live together; you didn’t know how your living habits would match up or if they would drive each other insane. You didn’t know how you would deal with him touring being away for so long.

There was just too much you didn't know.

“I will someday.” You spoke gently, trying hard not to hurt his currently fragile feelings. You were now holding his face tenderly, like if you held him steady and close, you could lessen the blow.

“So, no?” he looked up at you with his big puppy dog eyes, feeling guilt punch you in the gut.

“For now. Everything is just going so well right now, we don’t have to mess with it.”

“Jus’ wanna be with you forever,” he said softly and your heart began to melt. He was such a soft person, who felt everything so deeply and with so much emotion. He was a sap, and you loved him for it. You pulled him closer to your chest, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

“And you will be,” you breathed. “Forever will still be there down the line.”

“Why not now?” His lips held an adorable pout and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing a kiss to them. He tasted awful, like tequila and sweat, but the kiss was loving and sweet as you tried to pour all your love for him into it.

“Because we still have to grow,” you watched the end of his mouth tick up, sure to make some sort of smartass comment about you both being grown already. “We have to grow together,” you finished.

“I guess so,” he mused softly.

“I promise that I will say ‘yes’ when we are ready someday.”

“Someday,” he repeated softly, feeling the words on his own lips. “I’m going to keep asking, ya know?” he smirked up at you, his smile and joking tone signalling that you hadn’t broken his heart, just bruised his ego a bit.

“That’s perfectly okay,” you sighed, a contagious smile finding its way to your own lips. “I’m going to keep saying ‘no’ until we’re ready, ya know?” you teased, using his own words against him.

“One day, I’ll make an honest woman outta ya when you let me.”

“One day.”

Thank you reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!! 

[atlafan]

Je T’aime - One Shot

a/n: Bonsoir! I’m back on my French bullshit! Harry is the head chef at a five start restaurant, and he unfortunately has a new manager coming in: Ariel Bardin. They don’t start off on the right foot, and it just gets worse from there. How will they learn to work together? Read to find out! (not proofread) Support me here if you’re able! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY PLEASE REBLOG, DON’T JUST LIKE, REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG! LEAVE ME LITTLE NOTES IN THE TAGS, GIVE ME FEEDBACK! I’M BEGGING YALL PLEASE THROW A BITCH A BONE I DO THIS ALL FOR YOU!

Warnings: light soft dom/sub themes within the smut, hate fucking (light degradation, but not really???) lots of swearing, plenty of angst, and a tiny bit of fluff, mild choking

Words: 12.9K

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC (Ariel Bardin)

Managing a five-star restaurant was no easy task. Ariel had to make sure all of the schedules for the waitstaff were up to date, double check that the cleaning crew left everything spotless, and make sure those that came in early had set up the tables as beautiful as can be. There were many headaches that came with all of it: drama with the waitstaff, customers trying to get in without reservations, large parties that couldn’t be turned away because it was for someone famous – it’s what made the previous lead manager of Je T’aime quit. The owner, who lived far away, was not happy about this news since the previous lead manager had been there for years. So, he sent in the only person he trusted to get the job done – his daughter, Ariel Bardin.

Ariel was only twenty-seven, but she was honored when her father asked her to take over. She had plenty of experience in the food service industry, and she watched her father run the place for years. It was always her dream to manage Je T’aime, and now she finally had the chance. Being a lead manager meant giving up a lot of personal time, having to step in when the kitchen got busy, running food, and a lot more. Ariel was more than up to the task.

The head chef of the restaurant wasn’t so thrilled with the change in personnel, though. He had a good relationship with the previous manager in that the manager let him run the kitchen how he liked. Chef Harry had never met Ariel, but he had a feeling things would be a lot different. He was very particular, and ran a tight ship. He didn’t want someone else coming in and thinking they could take command. He knew he needed to get ahead of things. He had emailed her to see if she wanted to meet for dinner to discuss things before her first day, but she declined. Ariel appreciated the initiative, but she explained that she wanted to meet the entire kitchen crew at the same time. Harry was already annoyed that his efforts were thwarted.

Ariel was excited for her first day. She made sure to get a new pair of no slip grip shoes that weren’t totally ugly. She put on a pair of black slacks and paired it with a baby blue blouse. Lastly, she put her hair up in a cute ponytail, and put on a little eye makeup before heading out. She had requested a tasting at the restaurant before it opened for dinner, and she wanted to leave the cooks plenty of time to get their prepping done. She also wanted to get their early enough to set up her new office.

Before entering the restaurant, she takes a deep breath. She smiles and waves to the people setting up the dining tables as she makes her way towards the kitchen. She remembers being a little girl and going to work with her father. She loved it when he’d sit her up on one of the counters because the cooks would always let her taste test their latest creations. They figured if a child liked the cuisine, then adults would too. Ariel goes right to her new office, and smiles. Arthur had kept up the family photo of Ariel’s parents. Her mother was pregnant with her when they opened Je T’aime. In fact, her father named it that because Ariel’s mother was French, and her father learned the language just for her. Ariel’s mother passed a few years back, and it was pretty devastating. She was a wonderful woman, and Ariel always hoped to have a romance like theirs.

She snaps herself out of her thoughts, and starts taking out the things she brought with her from the box she was carrying. This was going to be a great day, she could feel it. She takes out a notepad and pen, and heads back out to the kitchen towards the chef’s office. She taps on the door frame when she sees two men sitting inside chatting.

“Hello?” She says to them, and they both turn in their chairs to look at her. “I’m Ariel, the new lead manager. Which one of you is Chef Harry?”

“That would be me.” Harry stands up to shake her hand.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. So, that makes you Chef Garrett, right?” She says to the other man.

“Correct, I’m the sous chef, it’s nice to meet you, Ariel.” He shakes her hand as well.

“Wonderful, is everything ready for the tasting? The menu’s changed a lot over the years, and I want to see if it needs anymore.”

“With all due respect,” Harry starts, “the menu’s more than perfect. It changes seasonally as is.” He crosses his arms.

“With all due respect, Chef, I don’t particularly care.” She smirks and crosses her own arms. “I’ve worked hard to get here, and my father finally trusts me to take care of this place. I’m not going to make him regret it. Now, if I like everything, then nothing will need to change. But I’ve got a couple of ideas I may like to try out, and you’ll have to deal with it when the time comes.” She smiles and leaves the office.

Harry and Garrett share a look, and follow her out. A few of the other cooks had already set up the plates for the tasting. Ariel greeted all of them warmly, and started tasting the food. She was impressed, for the most part, but she definitely had notes.

“These mashed potatoes could be whipped a bit more…possibly with more sour cream?” She says. “And this chicken…more seasoning could do it some good. The salmon is excellent, though, just delicious.”

“Chef Harry prepared that.” One of the cooks says, and Ariel looks back at Harry who had a smirk on his face.

Ariel narrows her eyes at him, and then turns her attention back to the food. She enjoyed the pasta dishes, but she makes a face when she gets to the steak frites.

“What…what are these?” Ariel asks as she points at the fries.

“French fries.” Garrett says.

“Mhm, yeah, they should be steak fries, freshly made. These look like they were frozen before.”

“Because they are.” Harry says. “They’re more cost effective. We season them after they’re fried, and they’re great for when kids come in.”

“Kids like steak fries just the same. I want fresh cut potatoes used. They’re more authentic. This isn’t a fast food restaurant. You already have to order potatoes for the mashed potatoes, right? I bet we’d get a discount if we order a larger quantity. We can talk it about it later.”

After tasting a few more things, and thanking the cooks, Ariel heads into the dining room to start greeting the waitstaff. Things felt a lot less hostile with them. Harry was fuming in his office with Garrett.

“It’s her first day and she already wants to change things! And the worst part is, she’s completely right about the bloody fries.” Harry huffs. “Steak fries would be ten times better!”

“Chill, Harry. She just needs to see how well you run things while it’s busy, and she’ll understand her place here. This is your kitchen.”  

“Right, good idea. Her real job is to manage the waitstaff.”

Ariel was on fire. It was a busy night because blackened salmon was the special. She was helping run food, and the waitstaff was extremely impressed. The previous manager rarely helped liked that. She was even running bread and water to tables, starting off orders, and helping seat. She even went behind the bar to help get drinks to tables, and help the bartenders catch up. It was a great first impression. She was exhausted by the time she got to sit in her office at the end of the night. She sat with the head hostess to go over the receipts before cutting her for the night. Her last task was to make sure the kitchen was closed down properly after locking up the safe.

“Ariel?” One of the cooks asks her as she steps out. “Would like anything for dinner before start to throw things away?”

“Throw things away?” She furrows her brows. “I have food at home, thank you, but don’t throw anything out. Surely we can start up a makeshift compost before getting a real one.”

“Oh, well, we don’t throw everything away, just-“

“Can you let me see all of the leftovers that usually get put in the trash?”

The cook nods, and she follows him. Harry was in his office checking over what the most popular orders of the night was, and getting some paperwork done. He notices Ariel speaking with Eddy, and he sighs. He gets up, and makes his way to where they are.

“Is there any particular reason your keeping Eddy from his sidework?” Harry asks her.

“I asked him to show me what usually gets thrown out. This could easily be donated or used for compost. I’ll be coming in early tomorrow to set up a new compost area, and I’ll be talking with the local food kitchens to see what they need. This is good food, and it shouldn’t be wasted.” She crosses her arms. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Why,” he sucks his teeth, “Come to my office when you’re done telling my staff what to do, we need to talk.” Harry turns on his heel and goes into his office, nearly slamming the door.

Ariel helps the kitchen and dish crew clean a few things up, earning herself even more brownie points, before going into Harry’s office. He doesn’t look up at her until she clears her throat.

“You wanted to talk?” She says.

“Yeah, have a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand, thanks.”

Harry turns in his seat, and looks up at her.

“Are you and I going to have a problem?” He asks, standing up, towering over her, but she stands her ground.

“I don’t know, are we? Are you seriously going to tell me that you never thought of composting?”

“It’s expensive. We find other ways to stay green, though. You would have known that if you had gone to dinner with me. I could have told you everything you needed to know. But no, you blew me off, and decided to find every possible way to embarrass me and undermine me in front of my staff.”

“Look, Chef, I’m sorry if you feel disrespected, that wasn’t my intention. I just think a lot of changes need to be made. I spoke with the dining staff just the same, it wasn’t just your staff. This place means a lot to me, and I just want to make sure it’s being run well. I…I didn’t think a dinner would be appropriate for us.”

“Why? It’s not like I was asking you out on a date.” He scoffs.

“No, but I just assumed you were going to try to schmooze me or something, and I didn’t want to deal with it. Am I wrong in thinking you were going to try to work me over?”

“It wasn’t to work you over, but the last manager and I sort of had an understanding.”

“Which was what?”

“I do my thing, he does his, and we don’t get into each other’s hair.”

“Well, that’s not how this is going to work.” She gestures between the two of them. “I don’t want things getting hostile between us, for the sake of the staff. I didn’t think we’d be best friends or anything…but I was hoping we’d at least get along.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Not a great first impression.” He crosses his arms.

“Same could be said to you.” She scoffs. “If you start doing things better, then I won’t have a reason to talk to you. So, do better, Chef.” She looks him up and down, and then leaves his office.

Harry wanted to pull his hair out. This woman was going to make his life a living hell, he could feel it.

//

“What kind of a name is Ariel, anyways?” Garrett scoffs a week or so later. He was in charge of the new composter, and he wasn’t thrilled about it.

“I know! We her parents big fans of The Little Mermaid?” Harry chuckles.

“It’s French.” Ariel says, entering Harry’s office. “And it’s a family name. My grandmother’s name was Ariel, and my mother named me after her.” She looks at both of them and smirks. “And, Ariel just so happens to be my favorite Disney princess, so it’s an honor on many accounts.”

“Did you need something?” Garrett asks her.

“Yes, actually. I wanted to talk about Passover, it’s coming up and we need to talk about a kosher menu.”

“Seems like something for just the two of you to discuss.” Garrett says, and leaves quickly. Ariel takes his seat.

“A kosher menu, huh? Don’t you need a separate kitchen for that?”

“Not necessarily. I was just sort of thinking we could offer some different specials throughout the week.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve got a killer brisket recipe, we could offer a matzah ball soup too. There’s lots of stuff we could whip up. Oh! Macaroons would be good, and maybe some matzah bark as well. I’ve got recipes for all of it if you’re game.”

“When’s Passover?” He sighs and looks at the calendar on the wall.

“At the end of March, plenty of time to order what we need.”

“You know we do a brunch on Easter, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She nods. “If we do for one, we should do for others.”

“If you email me the recipes, I can work on them.”

“Alright, I can do that. I ask that you don’t tweak them. They’re family recipes and I promise they’re golden.”

“One of our cooks is Jewish, he can work on them. I’ll be focused on the brunch food.”

“Oh…well, great, okay.” She stands up. “Thanks for hearing me out. I think a lot of our customers will be excited, and it’ll being good attention.”

“Listen, uh…I’m sorry about Garrett and I before. We were just-“

“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “I know you both don’t like me. I’m a bossy bitch that’s come in and made things difficult, I get it. This isn’t my first male-led restaurant that I’ve managed.”

“Hey, I’ve got no problem with women in charge.” Harry stands up. “You just came in like a bull.”

“Aw, would you have preferred if I pouted my lips and batted my eyes at you, and asked pretty please?” She pouts her lips and bats her eyes at him, making his mouth fall open. She smirks at him and shakes her head. “It’s too easy.” She laughs and leaves his office.

If he couldn’t stand her before, he definitely couldn’t stand her now.

//

It really pissed Harry off at how much the Passover food was liked. The restaurant had never been busier, getting completely booked with reservations from patrons that had never been before, but heard about the diverse specials. Then there was the Easter brunch. Ariel walked in with her hair half pulled up, and the rest of it flowing. She was wearing this gorgeous pastel pink blouse along with some navy slacks. She was dolled up for the holiday. She pumped up the staff during the pre-meal chat, and then she started running around with coffee carafes to help out the busy staff.

It was an elegant brunch, and Harry was also dressed up because the head chef usually went around the dining room checking in with the patrons. He wore his nicest chef’s jacket, and made sure his hair wasn’t too out of sorts before he went into the dining room. Ariel had never seen him be so personable. He was genuinely laughing with people at their tables, she couldn’t believe it.

Ariel was tired, but her customers were happy, and she got to go home around four, which was a blessing in disguise. She couldn’t wait to get home and flop herself onto her bed. She just needed to put the cash in the safe, and check the receipts.

“Is there any lobster mac ‘n cheese left?” She asks as she walks over to the line.

“Got a pan of it right here.” Eddy smiles at her.

“Amazing, I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” She scoops some into a to-go container, and adds a couple of other things she wanted.

“Why is that you always like the food I make the best?” Harry smirks as he also fills up a container for himself.  

“I’m not too big to admit you’re a very talented chef, Harry.” She says and looks at him. “It’s your personality that could use some work, Happy Easter.” She smiles at him. “Great job today, everyone!” She exclaims before making her way back to her office.

“Man, did you see Ari’s tits in that shirt today?” One cook says to another.

“Her tits? I was too busy sneaking a peek at that ass of hers. Wouldn’t mind tapping it.”

“Oi.” Harry says to them. “None of that, alright? It’s rude.”

“C’mon, Chef.” One of the cooks says. “I know you don’t like her, but even you can admit she’s hot.”

“Do you all want to get out of here on time to see your families?!” Harry shouts. “Finish cleaning up.” He huffs, and goes back to his own office.

“He’s not wrong.” Garrett says to the cooks. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Yeah.” Eddy chimes in. “Don’t think your girlfriends would appreciate it very much if they knew you were talking about another woman like that.”

Harry was about to head out for the day. He was going to go home and cuddle up with cat, Luna, and veg out. He walks by Ariel’s office, and he stops short. He sees her sitting with her face in her hands. He looks around behind him, they were the last two people there.

“Hey, are you alright?” He says as he opens the door, and she jumps in her chair a bit, obviously startled.

“Yeah.” She wipes under eyes. “I’m fine, why?”

“You just…were you crying?”

“No, don’t be silly.” She wipes under eyes again. “I’m just a little sweaty, I ran around a ton today.”

“How was the mac ‘n cheese?”

“I haven’t eaten it yet, I’m bringing it home…”

“When are you headed out?”

“Soon.”

“I can wait for you, if you want…”

“I’m all set.”

“Ariel, if something’s wrong-“

“Nothing’s wrong! Go home, Harry! I’m just finishing some things up.”

“You know something, you are a bitch.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I was just trying to be nice, and you have to be so nasty about it!”

“Right, because I need a fuckwad like you checking on me.” She rolls her eyes. She takes her leftovers and puts them in the trash.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’ve lost my appetite.” She says, standing up, grabbing her purse, and brushing by him on her way out.

Harry was shocked Ariel hadn’t turned his hair white with how much she stressed him out. The interaction they had pissed him off to no end. He had defended her, told his staff not to talk about her a certain way. Then, when he sees her in distress, she’s as ungrateful as ever. He tried calming down in the shower, but that didn’t work. He tried watching TV with Luna, but he just wanted to know what she had been so upset about in the first place.

He takes out his phone, and searches her on Facebook. He figured she must have one, if not he would search Instagram. He rolls his eyes when he sees how gorgeous she looks in her profile picture. She had most of her privacy settings on, but his eyes widen when he sees her tagged in a post. It was written in French.

Il y a quinze ans aujourd'hui, nous avons perdu notre Nana Ariel. Comme elle nous manque tellement, et nos étés avec elle sur les plages françaises.

Harry only understood a few words, so he taps the translate button: Fifteen years ago today, we lost our Nana Ariel. How we miss her so, and our summers with her on the French beaches. He furrows his eyebrows at the photos. It must have been a cousin that tagged Ariel. Her nana looked like a lovely woman.

“Shit.” Harry sighs. Ariel was probably putting on a brave face all day. He knew her mother had passed, but he wasn’t sure about her grandmother. Her female figures were gone, and he called her a bitch to her face. He felt terrible. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Harry gets off his couch and goes into his kitchen. An hour or so later, he’s driving to Ariel’s house to deliver a fresh lobster mac n’ cheese. He was lucky he knew her address. She lived in a quaint neighborhood. He pulls up out front, and goes up to her door, ringing the bell. After a few moments she opens the door. She was in a long robe, and slippers. Her hair was up in a bun on the top of her head.

“Harry?”

“Here, feel better.” He practically shoves the casserole dish into her arms. “And…I’m sorry I said that to you, okay?”

“What is this?”

“Lobster mac n’ cheese. You threw yours out because I was being an ass…but to be fair you snapped at me first.”

“What made you do this?”

“The Easter bunny came to me in a dream, alright? It doesn’t matter, just take it and eat it. M’sure you don’t feel like cooking after such a long day.”

“Well, you’re right.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take it, thank you. I shouldn’t have been so short with you.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to pry. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Yeah….” She almost invited him to have some with her, but as nice as the gesture was, she didn’t really feel like spending anymore time with him today. So she lets him leave.

Harry was back on his couch in no time with Luna, feeling much better than he did before. He feels his phone buzz, and he looks down to check his notifications.

Ariel Bardin: I don’t know what makes me more furious, the fact that you’re an incredible cook, or the fact that such a simple dish could make me feel ten times better

Harry smirks down at the message. This didn’t change anything between the two of them, but Harry felt a little better knowing there was a bit of a common ground between them now. They didn’t have to like one another, but maybe there would be a bit more respect.

//

There was a respect between them, but the two still bickered and argued and made things difficult for one another. He’d call her a spoiled brat, and she’d call him a fat headed fuck, it was just their thing. No one in the kitchen seemed to mind, especially because if Harry was yelling at her, then he wasn’t yelling at them. Garrett had warmed up to Ariel considerably over the last few months. He was starting to see that she really did mean well, and over time the changes she made were for the better.

A lot of people understood why Ariel and Harry butted heads so much. They both had dominant personalities, and kitchens were hot. Usually one of them would go into the walk-in fridge, and come out much more cooled down. As the summer months started, it just got worse.

“I’m not sending out wilted lettuce!” Harry screamed at her.

“It’s not wilted!” Ariel screamed back.

“Did you go to culinary school?! You’re not the fucking expert, I am!”

“So, you’re just going to chuck perfectly good lettuce because you think it’s wilted! Put your fucking glasses on!”

“Enough!” Garrett yells. “We’ll double check the lettuce and make sure none of the dingier looking pieces get sent out. Take a break, the kids are getting scared.” He was referring to the kitchen staff, and to the few waitstaff that were in the kitchen.

They both growl and walk away from one another. They stayed away from each other for the rest of the night. Ariel was there late catching up on some paperwork. She jumped when she heard something fall on the ground. She thought everyone had gone home for the night. When she goes out to the kitchen to see Harry, she sighs with relief.

“Scared the shit out of me, what are you still doing here?” She storms over to him.

“Prepping the dinner roll dough so it’s ready to go for tomorrow. It’s been too hot to make it in the morning. The prep cooks can just come in and use the ovens while it’s still cool if the dough’s already set and proofed.” He says as he continues to knead the dough on the counter.

“Why not have someone else do it?”

“Why should I make someone else stay late?” He scoffs.

“Well…here, I’ll get an apron so I can help.”

“I’m all set.”

“Don’t be silly, it’ll help you get out of here faster.”

“What do you care about that?”

“God, you’re so stubborn.” She goes to wash her hands, and steps over to the dough, but he swats her hand away when she goes to reach for it.

“Go home, Ariel.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“You! You’re my fucking problem! Cooking is supposed to be relaxing, this is my me time, and you’re ruining it!”

“Well, excuse me for offering to help!”

“I don’t need your help!” He slams a fist down on the counter, causing flour to splatter onto her chest and face. “Oops.” He smirks.

Ariel wipes her face off, gathers a bit of flour, and flicks it into Harry’s face. He takes a deep breath and looks at her.

“Oops.” She says in the same mocking tone he had.

“You know, for someone who hates wasting food, I’d think you’d be more careful.” He says, wiping his face off. “It was an accident when I did it.”

“Oh well.” She shrugs.

“You,” he starts walking towards her, backing her up to the opposite counter, “are one of the most infuriating people I have ever met.” They were practically chest to chest. She could feel his breath fanning over her face. “I wish you never started working here.”

“You know what they say, can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” She says, looking up at him with a searing gaze.

“It’s my kitchen, you get out.”

“Make me.”

Harry’s eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. He was about ready to boil over. He’s not sure what comes over him, but his flour covered hands reach up to cup her cheeks, and he leans down to kiss her roughly, pressing her further against the counter. She gasps as he does it, but she doesn’t fight him. She doesn’t push him away, she doesn’t do a thing to get him to stop. In fact, she reaches to tug at his shirt so he could be even closer to her. She could taste the mint from his gum, and his lips were insanely soft. He breaks the kiss first, but doesn’t move her hands from her face.

She opens her mouth to speak, possibly to question him on why he kissed her, but she doesn’t get the chance because he’s kissing her again, this time licking into her mouth. She pushes against him, backing him up to the opposite counter, and he grunts against her. Her arms move to wrap around his neck, and her fingers tug at his hair. Just as she was sucking on his tongue, he shoves her up against a nearby wall, and lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, and he carries her over to a counter to sit her on.

Their lips hadn’t parted, and they both needed air, but neither could stop. Harry kisses sloppily towards her neck, and she bites on her bottom lip to suppress a whimper. She reaches down to untie the apron he had on, and she tugs it off. His hands work to undo her pants just as he bites down on the crook of her neck, making her gasp.

“Lift your hips ups.” He says into her ear before nibbling onto her lobe. She does as he says so he can tug her pants down. He places his hands on her thighs, and scratches his nails down them before looking at her. “You want this?” She nods yes at him. “Need you to actually say it. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.”

“I want it.” Her cheeks flush. “Happy now?”

“Very.” He growls, and bites down on her bottom lip before letting it snap back. He reaches between her legs, and he groans. “You’re soaked, did yelling at me rile you up?”

“No.” She blushes, and then tugs at his hair. “Stop talking before I change my mind.”

He tugs her panties to the side so he can get a real feel for how wet she is. He plunges two fingers inside of her, and her mouth falls open. Her head rolls back as he pumps them in and out of her.

“Christ, when was the last time someone fucked you?” He grunts. “You’re so tight.”

“Harry, please, shut the fuck up.” She grits her teeth and reaches for the button on his pants.

“Only cause you said please.” He smirks, and she flicks his forehead.

He sucks his teeth and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out a condom. She rolls her eyes at the fact that he’s one of those guys that kept a condom in his wallet, but she wasn’t going to complain too much. She was glad he had one. He takes himself out of his pants, getting them down just enough, and rolls the condom on. He looks at her, just to make sure one more time that it was alright and she nods. He splays his hands on her back, pulling her closer as he pushes inside.

“Fucking, shit.” He grunts.

“Try to last longer than a minute there, sport.” She says, trying desperately not to wince at the stretch he was giving her.

“God, I fucking hate you so much.” He says as he starts to thrust in and out of her. She grips his shoulders to hold onto him.

“The feeling’s, ngh, mutual.” She bites down into his shoulder to suppress her moans, but he yanks her head back by her ponytail.

“If I’m gonna fuck you, you’re gonna let out every single little sound, do you understand?”

“You really like telling me what to do.” She grunts.

“And you’re shit at listening.”

“So are you!”

“Weren’t you just telling me to shut up?! Take your own fucking advice!”

She lets out an exasperated noise, and crashes her mouth back to his. He grips her hips as he pounds into her. Her legs wrap tighter around him to get him even closer. They’re both moaning into the other’s mouths. One of his hands leaves her hip, and he brings it over to rub at her clit. She whimpers, and starts panting. He nips at her lips, and works his way back to her neck.

“Fuck, ugh, that’s it.” She mewls. “I’m close, don’t stop.”

“Can feel you squeezing me, like the way I feel?” He licks up her neck back to her ear, and then slots his mouth over hers, not even giving her a chance to answer him before she’s crying out.

She lets her body rest against his as he picks up the pace. He was close himself, but he was trying to savor how good she felt. She was soaked between her legs because of him. He’d never let her live this down. A few more thrusts, and he’s spilling into the condom.

He rests his forehead against hers for a few moments as he catches his breath. He pulls out of her, and tugs her panties back into place before helping her off the counter. They both wordlessly work to get their clothes back on properly.

“So, uh, do you really not want help with the dough?” She asks, smoothing some hair away from her face.

“No, it shouldn’t take me too much longer…thank you.” He chews on his bottom lip. “Why don’t you wait, though, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Sure…I was in the middle of some paperwork anyways. Just come get me when you’re done.”

Harry nods and goes to wash his hands before getting back to what he was doing. Ariel makes her way to the bathroom to properly clean herself up. They walk to the parking lot together later in silence. He makes sure her car starts before driving off and heading home to Luna.

//

Work was…awkward after that. Everyone was confused because the kitchen had never been more quiet. Ariel had mostly kept to herself and if she had something to say, she was less brash. Harry was the same towards her.

“Do you think we could add pudding pie to the summer dessert menu?” She asks him. “Like an Oreo thing?”

“Um, sure, yeah…should be easy enough to work into the rotation.” He says. “Good, uh, good suggestion.” He swallows.

“Thanks, Chef.” She nods and walks away from him.

“Dude, not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with you two?” Garrett whispers to him as they both work to chop vegetables.

“Nothing.” Harry shrugs a shoulder. “We’ve just…reached an understanding, is all. We, uh, hashed things out a week or so ago.” He clears his throat. “Just focus on the your beets for the borsht. I need to get started on that chilled melon soup.”

Harry heads into the walk-in fridge to grab the cantaloupe he had already cut up to make the soup with. He was essentially making a creamy smoothie, but this was one of their summer best sellers. He stops short when he sees Ariel trying to reach for something on the top shelf.

“Need a hand?” He asks, and it startles her.

“Y-yeah, could you get the, uh, shredded Brussels down for me?”

Harry nods and reaches above her to grab the pan. He hands it to her, and she thanks him before making her way towards the door.

“Ariel?”

“Yes?”

“How…how have you been since-“

“We can’t talk about it now.” She shakes her head. “Find me later if you want.”

And that’s what he does. At the end of the night, Harry goes into Ariel’s office and sits down at the spare chair she had.

“So…what’s up?” She asks him.

“I just wanted to see how you were since we, you know…” He looks away from her for a moment. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to.” She shrugs. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it was a heat of the moment thing.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Nothing more to it than that. I can’t help but notice that things have been a tad more civil between us over the last week.”

“I just haven’t wanted to make waves, I guess. Sort of hard to yell at the guy that made me come as hard as I did.” She says shyly, and he smiles.

“Glad I could finally be of some use to you.” He smirks.

“Don’t get too cocky. I have things at home that make me feel even better.” She smirks and his face falls.

“It was good, though, right?”

“Yeah…nice way to get some frustration out.”

“I think…I think that’s how we make things work here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, think of how peaceful everything’s been this week with us being nicer to each other. I think when we’re starting to get on each other’s nerves we should just fuck because clearly talking shit out doesn’t work too well.”

“Are you asking me to be your fuck buddy?”

“The word buddy implies that we’re friends, and we’re not. I still can’t stand you, Ariel.”

“Likewise.”

“But you’ve got a tight cunt that I wouldn’t mind fucking into again, so what do you say?”

“Harry, this is a five star restaurant. We can’t just fuck in the kitchen every time we get on each other’s nerves. That’s a major health code violation.”

“So we wait.” He shrugs. “We both have cars and houses. Lots of places to let out our frustrations.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” He says, and stands up to leave.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Might have mentioned to my cat, but only because she was mad at me for getting home so late. I’m not one for bragging about intimate details.”

“Good.” She nods. “Thank you.”

Harry leaves her office and she sighs heavily. She wasn’t expecting the conversation to go that way at all. Ariel thought for sure Harry was going to say that it was a mistake and it never should have happened, but he didn’t. He wanted to fuck her s again, he said it himself. And he wasn’t wrong, the kitchen had been a much happier place to be over the last week. The only thing was, she didn’t know if she wanted to give into his request so easily. He was the one who admitted to wanting to do it again, not her. The ball was totally in her court! She also wasn’t too sure how smart it would be to start fucking her chef on the regular. It could do more harm than good.

//

“What do you mean you let a party of fifteen come in?!” Harry shouts at Ariel, who was now putting on an apron and gloves to help the cooks out.

“You heard me! We can either waste time arguing about it, or we can get to preparing their meals! It’s not you who’s gonna have to stay late, it’s me and my dining staff.”

“Why would you let a group of fifteen come in right before closing?!”

“Because they paid up front with cash for four bottles of $500 wine!”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit. They already gave us their order, so we just need to get everything out to them, and then everyone can clean up. Let’s move!”

Harry sighs heavily, but does as she says. He and Garrett get to work on the entrees while the cooks work with Ariel on the appetizers. She runs the food out so she can help out her dining staff that were trying to wrap up their sidework. Two hours after closing, the large party left, and luckily they left a huge tip. They apologized over and over again about coming in so late. Apparently they were in a production for something, and it closed so they wanted to celebrate. Ariel assured them it was fine. She sighs when she’s finally able to go back into her office. She still needed to go over all the receipts for the night.

“Need any help with that? I know your hostess usually gets this done with you…” Harry says as he walks into her office.

“No, thank you.” She says without looking at him. “You can go, I don’t need you to wait for me.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” He shakes his head and sits down. “You tried to force yourself two weeks ago into helping me make some bread dough, and now here I am offering up some help and you won’t take it.”

“Guess the shoe’s on the other foot.” She still wouldn’t look at him, so he reaches forward to grab her chin, and turns her head in his direction.

“You’re, quite literally, the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah? Then why are you trying to fuck me right now?”

“Who said I was trying to do that?” He says, letting go of her and sitting back in the chair.

“Please, it’s so obvious.” She scoffs. “We’re the last two people here, you’re coming in here offering help. What’s wrong, hm? None of my waitresses wanted to suck you off?” She pouts at him, and his face hardens.

“I have never done anything like that with a member of the dining staff.”  

“No? They sure talk about you like you have.”

“You sound a little jealous.” He smirks.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She deadpans.

“You know, when my cooks make crude remarks about you, I tell them it’s wrong and to stop. Do you even try to defend me when you hear them talking out there?”

“Sure I do, I tell them that this neither the time nor the place for any of that, and that they should have more respect for you. One of the bartenders, Jess, she seems to have a thing for you. Her eyes are glued to you every time you come out into the dining room. Why not go be her fuck buddy?”

“Because I don’t want to fuck her.”

“And you want to fuck me?” He nods yes at her. “Why?”

“Because despite how much I can’t stand you, it was a good fuck and I’d like to do it again. This isn’t news, we’ve talked about this already.”

“I smell like food.” She mutters as she gets back to checking the receipts.

“So do I.”

“So, go home and shower and meet me at my place in a little while. I’ll text you when I’m ready.” She looks at him. “Go feed your cat or whatever, I’m sure she’s missing you.”

Harry tries his best to bite back the smug look that was growing on his face. Wordlessly, he stands up and leaves her office. Ariel shakes her head and continues with their work.

“Far too easy.” She says to herself with a smirk.

//

Harry didn’t end up at Ariel’s place until nearly midnight. It took her a while to finish things up at work, and then she wanted to shower so she didn’t smell like food anymore. Her rings her doorbell, and she opens it wearing the same robe she had been wearing the first time he showed up at her place, only this time she wasn’t wearing her cute little slippers, and her eyes weren’t puffy from crying. She doesn’t say anything to him, she just steps aside to let him in.

He doesn’t look around, he doesn’t compliment her place, all he does is kick his sneakers off, cup her jaw, and shove her up against the wall. His mouth crashes to hers, and she sinks into it. She almost wanted to sigh with relief. It was amazing how simply kissing someone could make you forget all your troubles. She tugs him closer to her, and his hands brush down her body to lift her up.

“Where do you want it?” He breathes as she wraps her limbs around him.

“Bedroom, upstairs.” She says before kissing on his neck.

He grunts as he finds his way to the staircase, and carries her up. Of course, he makes a few pit stops to kiss her, smoosh her up against the wall and lick into her mouth. When he finally does make it to her room, he practically tosses her on the bed. He starts to rid himself of his clothes while she sits and watches.

“Aren’t you going to take yours off?” He asks after getting his shirt off.

“M’only wearing this.” She shrugs. “Thought you might like to take it off yourself.”

“Stand up.” He tells her and she does so, walking over to him.

His hands reach for the tie on her robe, and he undoes it. He pushes it off her shoulders, and licks his lips when he sees her naked body, the robe pooling at her feet. He wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her close so he can kiss on her chest. He licks between the valley of her breasts before pulling one of her nipples into his mouth with his teeth. He sucks on it harshly, eliciting a soft moan from her. He walks them back towards the bed, and he pushes her onto it. He climbs on top of her, and goes back to kissing on her chest. He works his way down her stomach, nipping where he pleases, before he’s able to lay comfortably between her legs.

“You…you don’t have to.” She says to him, and he looks up at with a confused look.

“I know I don’t, I want to. Didn’t get to do it last time.” He rubs circles into her thighs with his thumbs. “Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…I don’t know, it’s sort of intimate for what this is.” She chews on her already swollen bottom lip. “You really want to?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t wanna suck your dick.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and opens her legs for him.

He uses his thumbs to open her folds up a little more so he could better see what he was working with. Ariel always hated this part when a guy would go down on her. She always felt like she was at the doctor’s office getting a checkup. She stopped feeling like that the second his tongue licked around her clit. She sits up on her elbows to watch him. He continues to lick around her clit, watching it get a little more swollen each time and then he sucks on it.

“Ah!” She gasps, reaching for his hair to tug on.

His fingers soon replace his tongue on her clit so he lick around where she’s wet for him. He moans into her after he finally gets a real taste. She smelled sort of like cocoa butter, he assumed she moisturized after her shower. For a woman that couldn’t stand him, she sure was considerate. He licks into her, and she squeaks out a noise that she had never heard come out of her own mouth. Ariel tries to wrack her brain, but she can’t seem to recall a time where a guy had ever actually licked into her before, teasing her in such a way with their tongue. Harry was licking and sucking on her while his fingers were working magic on her clit. She had tears in her eyes from how good it felt. Her thighs were squeezing against his head, and her heels were digging into his back, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up with fucking her with his tongue.

“Shit, I…fuck, Harry, I’m gonna come!” She warns him, and all he does his moan into her, encouraging her to do so.

She tugs on his hair a little harder as she cries out, back arching and head rolling back. He sits up and licks his lips. She was speechless, she had no words. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out a condom before standing up to get his pants off. His cock slaps back against his stomach once it’s free, and her eyes widen. His tip was already leaking.

“You got that turned on just from eating me out?” She wasn’t being condescending, in fact, her tone was full of shock.

“Yeah.” He says as he rolls the condom on. He knees back onto the bed, and shuffles to sit up against the headboard. “Since you’re not gonna suck me off, the least you could do is ride me for a bit.”

Her mouth falls open at that. She wasn’t quite sure how he expected her to have the energy to ride his dick after what he just did to her. She furrows her brows, and moves herself onto his lap. When they make eye contact, she realizes that she doesn’t want to look at him, so she turns herself around to ride him reverse. She guides him in, and sighs into her ear once he hits bottom. She takes a moment just to get reacquainted with him before she starts to swivel her hips in little circles. He gets an arm around her, securing it between her breasts, and gripping her shoulder to help keep her close and steady. He nibbles on her earlobe, and she whimpers. He carefully thrusts up into her as she grinds on him. She couldn’t believe the restraint he had. Most guys would thrust up too far when she was on top and it would hurt. But this…this felt heavenly. She almost hated him more because he was so good.

His mouth moves to the crook of her neck, sucking a bruise into her skin. Her head rolls back, and his other hand snakes around to rub at her clit. She picks up the pace, bouncing a little more on him. The way he was grunting and moaning was giving her goosebumps, which was an odd sensation to feel while her skin also felt extremely hot. His tip starts to hit her g-spot in just the right away, and she loses all control of the noises she’s letting out.

“That’s it.” He groans. “Come all over my cock.”

“Oh my god.” She mewls.

Her fingernails sink into the meat of his thighs as she cries out. She arches into him, and looks up at him, almost distressed, so he licks into her mouth. One of her arms hooks around his head to tug at his hair as she rides out her orgasm. She squeezes around him so tightly that after one more thrust he’s spilling into the condom. She lets her body go slack against him as they both catch their breaths. He sponges open mouth kisses to her neck and jaw before lifting her off of him. She whimpers from the abrupt change.

“Sorry.” He says. “Know that stings a little.”

“Yeah, just a little.” She swallows.

She watches him get off the bed and throw the condom away. He walks right into her bathroom, he didn’t even ask first, and she wasn’t sure why that annoyed her so much, but it did. When he comes out, he grabs his clothes to put back on. She goes to the bathroom next and puts her robe back on when she comes out. She walks him down the stairs and to the door.

“Well, uh, have a good night.” He says, running his hand through his hair.

“You too.” She opens the door for him, and he quickly steps out. She closes it and sighs, resting her forehead against it. She hated him, she really did.

//

A pattern had started between them. After hooking up, things were usually cool for about a week, until they’d eventually fight over something. The cooks almost wanted to set up a bingo card of things they fought over.

“Why can’t we offer lentil pasta instead of just gluten free?!” She yells one day.

“Because lentil pasta is more expensive than standard gluten free pasta!”

“You’re such a cheap prick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to save this restaurant some money!”

“We can splurge on some different options! It’s what the people want!”

“Oh, did your bloody survey results tell you that!”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” His eyes were full of rage. They were both in his office going over the order sheet.  “Why can’t we just order it, try it out, and see how many people order it? If it’s a flop then we don’t have to order it again!”

“Fine!” He throws the clipboard with the order sheet onto his desk. “You’re coming to my place tonight.” He says lowly.

“M’allergic to cats.”

“Take a decongestant then.” He brushes by her to open his door, and he slams it behind him, leaving her standing in there.

Despite her gut telling her not to go, she follows him to his house after work. They say nothing to each other as they walk in. Luna comes over to greet Harry, and he picks her up. Ariel grimaces at the cat.

“You seriously don’t think she’s cute?” Harry asks.

“I’m not a cat person, they’re no fun.”

“You just haven’t met the right cat, then.” He snuggles Luna to his cheek for a moment before setting her down. “My room’s this way.” He nods towards the hall on the right, and she follows him. He walks straight into his bathroom and turns the shower on.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re doing this in the shower, I smell like steak.” He says, already taking his clothes off. She crosses her arms and huffs. “What?”

“I don’t want to shower right now. Just rinse off quick.”

“Ariel, I wasn’t asking. Get your ass in the bathroom, now.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? What do you think this is? You can’t just – mmph!”

He had yanked her into him, kissing her to shut her up. She doesn’t fight him on it at all, and he walks them both into the now steamy bathroom, kicking the door closed. They both work quickly to get the other naked before stepping into the warm water.

“You better have a fucking spare towel.” She mumbles against his lips.

“Obviously.” He bites her bottom lip and then steps back from her. He reaches to grab his body wash.

“You’re seriously taking a shower?”

“Yeah.” He says as he lathers his body up. “I was balls deep in au jus today.” He steps in the water to rinse himself off. “Much rather be balls deep in something else, though.” He tugs her to him, licking into her mouth, and reaching between her legs to rub at her folds. His middle finger slips inside her, and she gasps. “Always so ready for me.” He grunts, and backs her up against one of the tile walls. “Can I hit it raw?”

“Are you, um, are you clean?” She asks.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah.”

He grins, and hooks one of his arms under one of her legs to lift it up enough for him to have the room to thrust up into her. She grips his shoulders as he rocks in and out of her. He slots his mouth over hers and they both moan. Her nails rake down his torso and she grabs onto his love handles for dear life as he pounds in and out of her.

“You really fucking pissed me off today.” She says to him. “It’s just pasta.”

“You like spending money left and right.” He grunts.

“If people like it, then it’ll bring in more business. It could pay for itself.”

“The more people that want it, the more we’ll have to, shit, buy.”

“I’m aware of how supply and demand works, you asshole.”

Harry growls at her and presses his other hand to her throat.

“Do us both a favor, and just shut the fuck up, yeah?”

She nods at him and he lets go of her throat, but she pulls his hand back to keep it there. He groans because, quite frankly, it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen someone do. He wasn’t going to last very long, and he had no way of rubbing her clit.

“Touch yourself, rub your clit.” He says into her ear, his breath hot on her.

She snakes a hand between the two of them, and she whimpers when she touches her throbbing clit. She presses on it and rubs circles into the little bud.

“Ah, oh fuck.” She starts panting. “Just like that, Harry, shit.” She wanted to cry she was so close. She bites down on his shoulder as she comes to her release. She didn’t want her noises to scare his cat.

He pulls out of her quickly and comes on her stomach. He steps away from her and grabs his shampoo. She stands there awkwardly while he scrubs his head.

“You can use my body wash if you want.” He says, nodding to it. Ariel doesn’t say anything. She starts to tear up. “Hey, whoa, are you alright?”

“I…um…” She blinks a few times, but can’t really form a sentence.

He’s not sure what’s going on, but it he takes it upon himself to guide her back into the water to rinse her off. He gets his body wash on a spare cloth to wash her with, and then he turns the water off. He grabs a towel to wrap around her, and then gets one around himself. He picks her up and sits her on the sink counter to get a better looks at her.

“Talk to me, what happened?”

“I’ve never, um, let someone, uh…choke me before.” She looks up at him, and he sighs.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks softly.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just felt a little…floaty for a second, like, lightheaded.” She swallows. “M’fine, I think it was just the steam. I have asthma and it can act up after a particularly hot shower.”

“If I had known I wouldn’t have-“

“I put your hand back on me, it’s okay.” She takes a deep breath and hops off your counter.

“Do you…wanna just crash here?”

“No.” She laughs. “Not at all.”

“You can’t drive if you’re all lightheaded.”

“I’m fine now.” She says as she puts her clothes back on. “I need to get going, I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s your day off.”

“Yeah, and I have things to do.” She leaves his bathroom, and he follows her out to his front door.

“Just…could you at least text me when you get home?”

“Sure.” She nods. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She’s out the door in a flash. Harry didn’t quite understand why things were always so awkward with them afterwards. It was like neither of them ever knew what to say because they just didn’t really know how to be soft with one another. Harry scoops up Luna and brings her to bed with him. About twenty minutes later his phone buzzes.

Ariel Bardin: I’m home

Harry Styles: thanks for letting me know, you made me nervous for a second there

Ariel Bardin: I’m fine, you can go back to not giving a fuck now

Harry Styles: will do, goodnight!

Every time he was nice to her, she had to reject it. He hated her, he really did.

//

“You’re really liking it, you’re not just saying that?” Ariel’s father, Frank, says to her.

“Yes, Papa, I swear.” She smiles. “It’s better than I thought.”

“Good.” He sips on some lemonade. “You look awfully tired.”

“It was a long night.” She shrugs.

“How are things going with the head chef, Harry is it?”

“Yeah, um, I mean, we butt heads from time to time, but it’s fine.”

“It wouldn’t be a normal kitchen if the manager and chef didn’t butt heads.” He chuckles. “I used to fight with the chef all the time.”

“Papa…Uncle Matthew was the head chef when you were there.”

“Don’t I know it. We fought constantly, stubborn old bastard.” He shakes his head. “We still argue about recipes to this day.” He laughs. “Tell me, are you still planning to do the staff appreciation shindig at the end of the summer?”

“Course I am. Hotel’s booked and everything. It’s going to be a fabulous evening.” Ariel smiles. “The dining staff are really excited.”

“Good, good.” He nods. “Do you think you’ll bring a date?”

“Papa.” She groans. “I’d have to be seeing someone in order to bring a date.”

“You work too much, you don’t make time for yourself. Your mother and I were married with a kid by the time we were your age, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m the kid.” Ariel laughs. “I just have other priorities right now.”

“There’s really no one you’re talking to? No one that you like?”

“No.” She takes a sip of her own lemonade. “Don’t worry about me so much, I’m perfectly content, alright?”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defense. “I won’t ever stop worrying about you, though, that’s the curse of being a parent. At least let me pay for a new dress for the party, hm?”

“You know your money’s no good. I’ll send you pictures, though.”

“Please do, you always look so pretty when you get all dressed up. Spitting image of Mama.” He smiles.

“Thanks, Papa.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe, um, when I feel like I can take a vacation we can go to France? We haven’t been in so long, and I think it would be good to see our cousins.”

“If you plan the whole thing, sure.” He shrugs. “I think it would be a blast.”

//

Ariel was feeling a little nervous for the staff party. Not only was the restaurant closed for the weekend, but her staff had never seen her in a dress before. She was second guessing everything. Her hair was down and wavy, and she had on this gorgeous navy blue, lace mini dress paired with white heels. When she walked down the hall to the elevators she heard someone suck their teeth. She turns to see it’s Harry.

“Oh, hi.” She blushes.

“Hi.” He looks her up and down. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, so do you.” She swallows and steps inside the elevator once the doors open. Harry steps inside as well, and presses the button for the floor they need to get to with the small ballroom. “Should be a fun night, huh?”

“I’m hoping so.”

“It’s usually a good time.”

“I remember coming with my parents when I was little, it was great. They let me drink all the Shirley Temples I could stomach.”

Harry chuckles slightly at that. In that moment she wasn’t sure if she had ever genuinely made him laugh before. They had hooked up a few more times since the night in his shower. It was always the same, hot and heavy, and then awkward when they were done.

“Wait until you see Garrett on the dancefloor after a few drinks, he can breakdance.”

“No shit, really? I’ll have to keep an eye out.” The elevator dings and they both get off and head towards the ballroom. They both could hear the music the DJ was playing. “Well, have a good time tonight.” Ariel makes her way over to some of the dining staff members that were closer to her age. She had become friendly with a few of them.

Harry migrates over to where his staff was, and buys them all a round of drinks. Ariel stayed nursing on the same vodka-tonic for a bit. She didn’t want to get trashed. She was talking with a couple of the hostesses, having a good time.

“Alright, ladies, I’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m gonna go talk to Harry.” Erica says to them. “My mistake last year was waiting until the end of the night to talk to him. I’m starting earlier this year.”

“And what’s the end goal here, exactly?” Ariel smirks.

“To see what his hotel room looks like, of course.” Erica winks and walks over to where Harry was. “Evening, Chef.” She smiles.

“Hi, uh…”

“Erica.”

“Erica! Right, I knew that. You still working behind the bar?”

“I hostess too.” She smiles.

“Good for you.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“I am.” He nods, and sips from his drink. His eyes flash to Ariel and then back to Erica. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Must be nice that you have the whole weekend off for a change.”

“It’s definitely a nice break.” He smiles, and looks at Ariel again. “Could you excuse me for a moment? I just remembered something I needed to tell Ariel, and I don’t wanna forget again.”

“Oh, um, sure.”

Harry walks away from Erica, and she pouts.

“Don’t take it personally.” Garrett says to her. “Personally, I think he has a thing for Ari, but I have very little proof.”

“Are you kidding? They can’t stand each other.”

“Maybe so.” Garrett shrugs.

Harry makes his way over to Ariel, and clears his throat to get her attention.

“Yes?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Come dance with me.”

“Very funny.” She scoffs.

“M’serious. I think it would be good if everyone saw us palling around. Show them the squabbles we have are purely work related.”

“Harry, I have a feeling I’d hate your guts no matter the setting.”

“Just humor me, will you?” He says, visibly annoyed.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, and finishes her drinks before following him to the dance floor. A slower song was playing, so she figured it wouldn’t kill her to dance with him.

Once they’re on the dancefloor, his hands go on her waist, and she puts her hands on his shoulders. They sway back and forth for a bit, and it just feels awkward…

“This is weird.” She giggles, and he can’t help but laugh too.

“Why is that the only things we’re good at doing with each other is fighting and fucking?” He smirks.

“Been wondering the same thing myself.” She smirks back at him. “Things would be so much easier if you didn’t question every little thing I wanted to do.”

“Someone’s gotta play Devil’s advocate.”

“You’re not the advocate, you’re the Devil himself.” She rolls her eyes, and it makes him laugh.

“I happen to be a very nice person, you just tend to bring out the worst in me.”

“I suppose a guy who named his cat Luna has to have a soft side.”

“Oi, leave her out of this.” He pouts at her. “You’ve warmed up to her.”

“She’s alright.” Ariel shrugs.

“Those are, uh, really beautiful earrings you’re wearing.” He blushes slightly.

“Oh! Thanks, they were my mother’s. She left me all her good stuff.”

“You must miss her a lot.”

“Yeah.” Ariel sighs. “But it’s nice having these little pieces of her.”

“You know, I’ve never asked, can you speak French fluently, like, are you bilingual?”

“Je ne sais pas, dites-moi.” I don't know, you tell me. She grins at him.

“Okay, I know you said I don’t know…something…me…” He narrows his eyes in thought.

“Dites is tell, it’s the past tense of ditre, which is say.”

“Ah, right, it’s been a while since I conjugated a French verb.” He chuckles. “Remind me, how do you say fuck in French?”

“Merde.”

“I thought that was shit.”

“It works for both.” Ariel shrugs. “There are a lot of variations and translations, like, if I wanted to say I want to fuck you, I’d say Je veux te baiser, but baiser translates to kiss.”

“French is so confusing.” Harry shakes his head. “But it sounds nice while you’re speaking it.” The song ends and she tries to step back from him, but he keeps his grip on her waist. He leans in to whisper in her ear, “Tu veux coucher avec moi ce soir?” Do you want to sleep with me tonight?

“You could have at least used the formal voulez-vous.” She sighs.

“Just answer the question.” He rolls his eyes.

“Oui.” She nods. “But I wanna do it in my room so I can hang my dress up. I don’t want it getting wrinkled.”

“Do you wanna head up now? Think I’m done hanging out with everyone else.”

“Yeah, let’s go. Uh…go ahead of me, I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

Harry nods and makes his way off the dancefloor. Ariel counts to ten Mississippi before making her way out. Harry was leaning up against the wall waiting for her. The elevator dings and they both head inside. Before she knows it, she’s being shoved against the wall, and Harry’s tongue is down her throat. She wraps her arms around his neck, and she groans when he presses himself against her hip. When the elevator dings on their floor, he steps back from her, and they both quickly walk to her room. The second she’s inside, she kicks her heels off, and jumps up for Harry. He carries her over to the bed, and they both fall onto it. They’re both being sloppy with their kisses, but neither cares. The need to be close is overpowering. She starts unbuttoning his shirt while his lips stay on hers. She imagines they’ll still be red and puffy by morning.

He flips them both over so he’s on his back, and she grinds herself against his growing erection. He grips her hips and helps her rock back and forth. She kisses on his neck, and sucks on the area just below his ear. His hands squeeze and knead her ass as a bruise starts to form where her lips are.

“Fuck, need you naked.” He grunts, sitting up to tug on the hem of her dress.

“Hold on, you’re gonna rip it! There’s a fucking zipper on the back.” She huffs.

In the next second, he’s shoving her down onto her stomach so he can undo the zipper of her dress. He pulls her up by the hips so she can free her arms, and then she’s being moved into her back so he can get it the rest of the way off.

“Take your underwear off.” He says as he undoes his pants.

“No.” She smirks at him.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You do it.”

“Ariel.” He says firmly. “Have you not learned how this works by now?” He moves to hover over her, kissing her slowly. “I talk, and you listen.” She shakes her head no, and his eyebrows raise.

“What makes you think you’re always in charge, hm? I let you do all of these things, you know?” Her smiles grows wider. She pecks his lips before speaking again. “Now, tell me you hate me and take my bra off.”

He sits back, and yanks her into his lap. He works to undo her bra, and tosses it across the room. He kisses on her chest, and sucks on the plushier areas before taking a nipple into his mouth. He pops off with a smirk.

“I don’t just hate you, Ariel, I absolutely loathe you.” He pushes her down onto her back and yanks her underwear off. He finishes taking his own clothes off, and he reaches for a condom, but she grabs his wrist. She shakes her head no. “You sure?” She nods her head yes, and he moves back over her.

He kisses on her neck while one of his hands roams down her body and between her legs. He slides two fingers inside her, and she moans softly. He pumps them in and out slowly before curling them up inside her, and rubbing his thumb on her clit. She grips at the comforter on the bed.

“Like that?” He says into her ear.

“Yes, fuck.” She bucks her hips up to grind against his fingers easier. He pulls them out and she whines.

“Would you relax, I was just gonna flip you over.”

“Oh.” She blushes and rolls onto her stomach. Harry yanks to her to her knees, and slides his fingers back in. Ariel sighs with relief.

“There we go.” He rubs his other hand up her back, and scratches back down before giving her ass a smack. He squeezes the supple flesh and leaves his hand there as he continues to work his fingers in and out of her.

“Oh, oh! Right there!” She gasps and starts rubbing her clit.

“M’I hitting it?” He grunts.

“Y-yeah, you’re right on it, don’t stop, please!”

She can hear him grunting and groaning behind her. He got so much pleasure making sure she got off, it astounded her. She cries out as she comes around his fingers, and he pulls them out slowly. He rubs her back as she catches her breath, and he sucks her slick off his fingers.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, thanks.” She turns onto her side. “Wanna hit it from the side?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and he chuckles.

“Sure, if that’s how you want it.”

“It is…for now.”

He gets into position, and gets one of her legs over his shoulder. He pushes inside and watch as her mouth falls open. That was always his favorite part. She’d had him so many times at this point, and she still seemed so shocked at how he stretched her out. He rocks in and out of her slowly before really getting a groove going.

“H-Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you like, go behind me, like, we’re both on our sides? Do you know what I mean?”

He nods and pulls out of her so he can lay down behind her on his side. He lifts one of her legs a little so he can slide back inside of her. She hooks one of her arms around his head so she can get her fingers in his hair, and he kisses on her shoulder while his hand presses on her lower tummy. They were grinding against each other in the most perfect way. His fingers start to work her clit and she whines.

“Sensitive?” He asks her.

“Mhm.”

“Fight through it, know you can come again.”

“Need something to bite on.” She pants.

He gets his other arm around her neck so he can get his fingers in his mouth. She moans around them, and her eyes roll back.

“M’not gonna last, Ariel.” He rubs her clit harder, and she just moans louder around his fingers. “I’m gonna have to pull out soon.”

“No! Come inside me!” She shouts around his fingers.

“Fuck!” He cries out as he comes inside her. It pushes her over the edge, and she comes with him, milking him for everything he’s got. She kisses the palm of his hand before he pulls out of her.

“Could you, uh, bring me to the bathroom?” She asks, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t wanna sleep on sticky sheets.”

“Yeah.” He breathes, and scoops her up, bringing her into the bathroom. He sits her down on the toilet, and leaves to give her some privacy. When she comes out, he’s laying in his boxers on the bed.

“What are you doing?” She asks, going to her suitcase to look for her nightshirt.

“Figured we could fuck again in a bit, it’s not like we have to worry about getting up early, right?” He says, not looking up from his phone. “Or did I tucker you out.”

“No, um, we could…we could do it again in a little while.” She knees onto the bed and lays down. “I just need some time to cool down.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

“Harry?” She asks, turning on her side to face him.

“Hm?”

“Do you really loathe me?”

He looks up from his phone at that and turns on his side to face her.

“No…just sort of said it to keep us in the mood.”

“Do you think, like, we keep fighting as an excuse to fuck?”

“No, I mean, I genuinely can’t fucking stand you sometimes and doing this helps.”

“But what happens when one of us meets someone and we can’t just fuck it out?”

“Oh, please.” He scoffs. “Do you have time to meet someone else?”

“No, I’m just saying-“

“Besides that, who’s gonna fuck you better than me? Gimme a break, Ariel.” He laughs and rolls onto his back again, going back to his phone.

“Harry…eventually I’m going to want more than just fucking someone on the down low. I want certain things.”

“Yeah? So do I. You act like I’m going somewhere.”

“I’m…very confused right now.”

“Come here.” He pats his thighs and she shifts to straddle him. He tucks her hair behind her ears, and then pulls her down to kiss him. “You really think I’d like you run off to be with someone else? If that’s what you think, then you’re even crazier than I thought.”

“Harry, you don’t want me, stop messing around.”

“I’m being completely serious. I’ll get you the big house, the white picket fence, we’ll fill it with babies, and then they’ll have a romantic story to think about just like you did with your parents.” He kisses her again. “What’s cuter than mum and dad meeting in the kitchen at work, right? We can leave out the rest.”

“What makes you think that I…that I want any of that with you?” She was trembling.

“Because you wouldn’t have fucked me a second time if you didn’t like me, Ariel.”

“Harry, stop it, you’re gonna make me cry.” Her bottom lip quivers. “This isn’t funny.”

“I know it’s not, I’m not joking around.”

“But I don’t want us…I don’t want us to always be at each other’s throats. I don’t want that to be the only reason there’s a passion between us.”

He caresses her cheek and rub away a stray tear.

“It won’t be like that. I mean, I certainly know how to make you shut the fuck up, but I think we really have this weird connection. Things always get so awkward after we hook up because I think we’re both sort of soft people, and we don’t know if it’s okay to be soft with one another, but…I wanna be soft with you, I think. I want to sleep over, and cuddle, and all that other shit.” She blinks at him. “Do you want all of that…with me?” She nods yes at him. “Alright then, quit your blubbering and come here.” He tugs her down to him all the way so he can hold her properly. “Je t’aime.” He says softly as he strokes her hair.

“Je t’aime aussi.” I love you too.

[mayans-sauce]

Golden Girl (1/2)

Found on Google

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: cursing, mention of death(?), mention of smut (barely), alcohol use, angsty, sad and insecure lil boy, kind of cheesy in the end but oh well it’s cute I think.

Request from anon I have a request for Angel! The reader is very successful in her personal life, and could be considered a "golden girl". She and Angel start dating, but when she asks to meet his family and friends, Angel pushes it off because he doesn't want to introduce her to EZ. He's afraid they'll have so much in common that she'll realize she picked the wrong Reyes brother. One day the reader takes matters into her own hands and goes to the scrap yard to meet them, and Angel comes back to find them all talking to her, and EZ is sitting next to her. The reader sees Angel and smiles at him, but he walks back out feeling insecure and over thinking. She goes after him, asks him what's wrong and he confesses his insecurities, she comforts and reassures him, and they live happily ever after! THE END!

A/N: I’m so sorry this request comes so late! I recently got inspired to write this. I was supposed to keep this short but I just kept on writing and adding on and it turned into a longer thing. It’s weird idk but I hope you enjoy<3

Part. 2

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“Angel! Come on, we’ll be late, let's go,” you walked into your shared bedroom to go and get him. You were supposed to be at your father’s party 10 minutes ago. This was the first time you would bring Angel along, and he was nervous as fuck. This wasn’t some regular party like the ones he was used to; it was a business party. A lot of your dad’s investors would be present, discussing business and looking at the new invention his company, Techno Trends, had developed, a green source of energy that was powerful enough to light up a whole city for a year. It was a big deal, and Angel had doubts that he would fit in with all the big shot guys.

He was smoothing over his black suit, his hands trembling as he tried to adjust every piece to look presentable. “Babe,” you wrapped your arms around his torso, giving him some comfort, “please don’t be nervous. It is going to be fine. My dad loves you, and he’s so excited for you to come to one of the parties finally.” He wrapped his hands around yours, his shoulders relaxing at your comforting words and touch, “It’s not your dad I’m worried about.”

He had repeatedly declined your offer to go with you when you asked him. The fear of feeling small and stupid amongst these guys turned him off on the idea of going, but he had agreed in the end. Sooner or later, he would have to go. You turned him around, so he was looking at you.

“I will be with you the entire time. I promise I won’t leave your side. You know I’m not the biggest fan of these parties myself.” Your dad was a very important man, and it was vital for him to have you by his side. You were, in a way, the senior CEO, and your input and decisions were important to him. As much as you were considered the “Golden Girl,” you were still mischievous and full of life, and outside of business, you didn’t bother to mingle with the rich and powerful. You had your own life that you lived, but for business sake, you needed to be presentable and put on your pretty smile.

He let out a deep breath and nodded his head, giving you his smile that made you smile even more prominent. “Let’s go, Reyes.”

You held his hand the entire time as you walked up the steps to the company building. After going through the security check, you searched the crowd for your dad but didn’t find him anywhere. He was the highlight of the party; how could he not be anywhere. That’s when you felt a tap on your shoulder; as you turned around, you were met with him. “Dad,” you hugged him. “Hi, sweetheart.” Angel reached out his hand for him to shake, “Sir.” “Angel, please, I’ve told you before, call me Y/F/N, now bring it in.” Angel smiled, feeling as accepted as the first time he met your father. They hugged each other, and Angel felt more relaxed. Angel felt even more comfortable with your dad around; they did kind of have the same life.

Your dad wasn’t always the CEO of one of the biggest tech companies in the world. He was more like Angel in his younger years, an outlaw, someone who did whatever they wanted and didn’t care about the consequences. He was part of a club, doing the same illegal things Angel and his crew were doing. But after the death of your mother when you were a baby, which was caused by his involvement in the club, he knew he needed to leave. He didn’t want his only daughter to grow up without a father, so he left. Leaving his old life behind and starting a new one. It wasn’t easy, being an ex-outlaw, but your dad was smart, brilliant, and his mind was the one of a genius. So after years of struggle and sacrifice, he had finally found success in the company he founded from the ground up.

Your dad loved Angel, and he never judged him. He knew the life and how much of a struggle it could be. But he thought he was a good man and he was happy you had found him.

The night had gone as expected. You had to have boring conversations with the investors, putting on your enhanced smile and charm to get them to give you their money. Angel tried his best to keep up, smiling and nodding in agreement at all the boring things these rich men said, with their expensive suits and snobby smiles.

He and you were relieved when the food and alcohol came, digging in the small dishes that were served. “This tastes like shit,” he whispered in your ear, carefully chewing the food not to be impolite, but all he wanted was to spit it out. “I know, it always does. Let go grab burgers when the party’s over, deal?” “Deal.”

Toward the end of the night, as people were mingling with everyone, you and Angel found yourself a seat in the corner, away from the big talks, and just relieved in a moment with only the two of you. His arms were around your shoulder as you people watched. “Angel, I’ve wanted to ask you something.” “Hmm?” was all he uttered, not averting his eyes from the crowd. “So now that you’ve seen all of this, more of my personal life, when can I properly meet EZ and the rest of the gang? I feel like you don’t want me to meet them. Is something going on?”

He felt a lump forming in his throat. For a long time, he’s been afraid that you would find out that he didn’t want you to meet EZ. Afraid that EZ fit more for this lifestyle of yours and that you would realize that you picked the wrong brother to be with. This environment was more for EZ. He was smart and could contribute heavily to the company. “I-I,” he cleared his throat, “EZ has just been busy lately, you know, prospecting and shit.”

You just left the topic at that, knowing that he wouldn’t budge. Something was going on. There was a reason that he didn’t want you to meet EZ, and he was insecure to tell you why. So you would take matters into your own hands and go over to the clubhouse to properly introduce yourself tomorrow.

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

Since Angel didn’t want to introduce you to his family, you would do so yourself. When Angel was out and about doing some stuff on his own, you took the liberty to go over to the scrapyard to meet everyone.

Once you arrived, you felt a little nervous. Yes, all the guys knew who you were, but they had never really met you properly; you’ve only just seen them in passing and such, exchanging a few words here and there.

You pulled yourself together and opened the door to the clubhouse. Everyone turned to look who it was. They were expecting Angel to walk in, but instead, they found his girlfriend standing there, not sure what to do. “Y/N!” They all said in unison. That made you let out a deep breath. Good, they were excited that you were here.

They walked over to you, and each of them hugged you, expressing how happy they were that they could finally meet you. They offered you a beer and a seat at one of the tables. The talking didn’t stop from the minute you arrived. They asked you questions about yourself, your job, your family, and some gossip about Angel that they may not know.

As time went on, people started to arrive at the clubhouse for a party they were holding. As most of the guys scattered around the room, some in search of alcohol, girls, or just a game of pool, you found yourself having a conversation with EZ about the upcoming tech from Techno Trends.

The guy was smart and knew what he was talking about. It kind of made you mad at Angel for not introducing you sooner to his brother. EZ had some pretty good ideas that would be of big help to the company.

EZ had just told you a funny joke as Angel entered the room. His eyes locked on you and him having a good time. At first, he was confused; how in the hell did you get here? Was that really you, or did he see things? No, it was you. He couldn’t mistake you for anyone else.

You were laughing hard, placing your hand on EZ’s shoulder for support since the alcohol had made you a little wobbly. Angel could feel himself building up with rage. This was precisely what he didn’t want to happen, and it was now unfolding in front of his eyes. As you had calmed down from the laughing fit, you found his gaze, and you smiled big, waving at him to come over, but your face turned sad when you saw him, anger on his face but still a little trace of wetness in his eyes. He stormed out of the doors, and you were fast on your heels to catch up to him.

“Angel!” He sat down on one of the picnic tables a little further away from the building. “Angel,” you walked over, standing in front of him. He didn’t meet your gaze; his eyes focused on a bottle cap on the ground.

“What is going on, Angel? What was that inside?” You crossed your arms, waiting for an answer. “The shit I didn’t want to happen!” His voice was poisonous as he spoke. “You and EZ. The perfect match, the perfect couple. The golden girl and golden boy together as they were meant to fucking be! King and Queen of the fucking company.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “You will leave me. You will realize that EZ is better for you and your life instead of the fuck up and worthless piece of shit that is me, and… fuck, you will leave because why would you be with someone like me…”

You let him have his little rant; he needed to let it out one way or another, and taking this to the ring wasn’t an option. As much as it hurts you to hear all these things, you let him vent, and after this, you would love, comfort, and cherish him for the rest of your life together, as he deserves.

“... I’m dumb, worthless..” he continued to say untrue things about himself, and you knew you needed to stop him. You felt tears in your eyes the more he went on saying hurtful things about him. “Angel… ANGEL!” You grabbed his face with both of your hands to get him to look at you and shut him up in the process.

“Stop.. just stop... I love you, only you! How can you not see that?” “I-I just..” “No, Angel! Nothing just.” “Please listen to me when I say these things and know they are coming straight from my heart, baby.”

“I love that when I wake up in the morning, and your beautiful and breathtaking face is the first thing I see in the morning. It starts my day with a kick, and I know that the rest of the day will be good.”

“I love when I come home from work, and I walk into the kitchen, and there you are, almost burning the house down trying to be a gentleman and cook me dinner,” that made you both chuckle, and that alone made your heart jump a thousand times, “and we just end up ordering takeout but I still appreciate you for trying.”

“I love when I’m having a bad day, and you are there to cheer me up. Telling me jokes, being your goofy self, or buying me chocolate that we eat way too much of an almost vomit.”

“The sex. God the sex. Best I’ve ever had, I love it. You really know how to work those hips, babe, and make me weak in my core.” He had his grin on his face, and you knew that he would bring this up multiple times and give it to you good and hard just how you liked it.

“I love when we go to sleep, and you keep me safe and warm from the scary outside world, telling me weird and questionable stories about you and Coco. Just you and me in our own little comfort and safety bubble.”

“EZ means nothing to me besides being a friend and a brother I never had. Yes, he’s bright and smart and could elevate the game at the company if he wanted to, but Angel, I love you, just you.”

“If I were to tell you all that I love about you, we would spend a year on this bench. I love you, Angel Ignacio Reyes, only you, until the day I fucking die.”

At this point, you were both crying happy tears. You had told Angel everything, the truth, and nothing but the truth, and you could feel it in his aura that he understood this.

“Querida I,” you spoke before he had the chance to go further, “Angel, we have all the time in the world to express each other’s feelings more, but for now, please just hug me, you big idiot.”

He stood up and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up to wrap your legs around him. You held each other for a good while, unspoken words expressed between you both as you cling to one another. He was grateful, you could feel it, and he loved you more than anything in the universe.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Angel.”

[brlankinney]

✨a long awaited michael hate list✨

last year during the first lockdown i decided to rewatch queer as folk again after a few years break from the show. michael has always been one of my least favourite characters and i just needed to rant about how annoying he is, so i have compiled a list of his worst moments. you’re welcome. i wrote all these in my notes app while watching and you will get them without any editing whatsoever. in chronological order: 

s01e03 when justin turns up at woodys to find brian and michael yells at brian because he doesn’t want to babysit. while justin is talking to debbie!!! justin is just a young gay teen trying to fit in and michael is go angy? fuck off you piece of shit 

s01e04 “this is about brian’s one night stand!” / “not just one” / “don’t bet on it”...... my dude.... my good dude michael..... i am pretty sure justin knows more about his own sex life than you do

s01e04 “unfortunately not this one” referring to justin when they were talking about the high suicide rates with gay teens.... michael was so jealous of a guy who had sex with brian that he was annoyed that he wasn’t feeling suicidal? cant relate 

s01e10 when justin moved in at debbie’s place, getting michael’s old bedroom. why was he so annoyed? you’re a grown man, just turned 30 and that bedroom still has all your childhood things in it? grow the fuck up you childish man baby!!!!! 

s01e17? when david and michael held the fundraiser for that senator and michael purposely didn’t invite any of his friends/family because he found them “embarrassing”, then porceeded to yell at his mum when they showed up anyway. the entire storyline of him feeling like he was sooo much better than all of them because he had been to france and got expensive stuff from david? horrible horrible man 

s02e06 saying the only reason brian spends time with justin is because he feels guilty that justin was attacked. it’s almost like he doesn’t know his best friend? what a surprise!!! 

s02e12? getting angry that brian and ben fucked at the white party long before michael even knew ben? brian had sex with everybody how did michael expect to find someone who hadnt fucked brian already? and why are you angry over your partner’s sexual history from before you even knew them? 

s03e01 getting angry at justin for breaking up with brian (which is what he wanted to happen since fucking day 1) and then telling him that he isn’t part of the friendgroup anymore, as if they only tolerated him as long as he was with brian. fuck youuuuuu!!!!! honestly just the ENTIRE episode? upset that justin came to mel and lindsay’s party and that he brought ethan? it’s not your party! you don’t decide who is invited! SAYING BRIAN SHOULD HAVE LEFT JUSTIN DYING ON THE GROUND? literally just scum of the earth!! even if it was just because he was upset on brian’s behalf that should have never even crossed his mind!!!! 

s03e04, he knew what kind of father brian was to gus so why was he so angry at the way melanie and lindsay wanted him to be a father to their next child? he would be the sperm donor and the child’s dad but he wouldn’t be part of the kid’s life more than brian was in gus’ life? how is that so hard to get? it’s not YOUR child? get your own if you want to be an actual dad???? 

s03e07? getting so pissed that ben didn’t want to include him in his HIV-positive life that he “threatened” to infect himself? show some support for your boyfriend instead maybe? what kind of weird move is it to almost stab yourself with a used needle? i totally get what he was trying to do but it’s a fucked up way of going about it 

s03e08, while i dont completely agree with ben taking in hunter from the start and letting him spend the night (which probably has more to do with me being a woman who would have trouble defending herself in case anything should happen), the way michael acted as if hunter didn’t deserve any compassion was.. really bad? he even rolled his eyes when ben gave hunter money and a contact number for them that he could keep. hunter was a CHILD on the street, selling his body for money!!! how are you not more concerned!!!

bouncing off of that s03e10 why is michael getting angry that ben wants to care for this child!! he was in the fucking hospital and i get that now it’s a money problem but you are not listening to your partner? you are talking over him and not trying to come up with another solution to help care for this child!!!! i am FURIOUS 

s04e08 convincing justin that they shouldnt mention to brian that they were aware that he had cancer and had the sugery, but then breaking down the first chance he gets and crying to brian about it? first of, this is NOT about you michael so sit your ass down!! and second of, i get that he was scared of losing brian but at least give justin a heads up that he told brian?? that’s the absolute least he could have done 

THE ENTIRE FIFTH SEASON!!!! michael needed to SHUT UP about melanie and lindsay’s relationship problems in relation to jr because guess what? you’re not the primary parent, this doesn’t concern you! you were the sperm donor who was lucky enough to still be called the dad and be part of jr’s life!!!! shut up about how the baby lives in a broken home and how you want the baby? she’s not yours!!!!!! what is your PROBLEM!!! i will fist fight you

both him and debbie kept saying “whatever goes on between you [mel and linds] it doesn’t matter, the baby comes first”. don’t you think parents living seperately are better than parents living together but fighing all the time? the entire thing makes me so ANGRY 

i MEAN the way michael thinks he is entitled to all information about lindsay and melanie’s relationship just because he was the sperm donor to their baby? insanity 

“why won’t you let me have her?” GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP MICHAEL 

s05e04 i get that michael might have been embarassed at the “housewarming” gift that brian got them and also at the word choices that brian makes but come on? monty and whoever started out by insulting not only the way brian chooses to live his own life but also his business? it’s a civil conversation and yeah brian could have used less harsh words but brian’s lifestyle isn’t new to other people? not even people outside of his small social group? let him live his own life and also let him defend his choices

e05e07 like i get it okay? brian came in late at night and shouted and blamed michael for his and justin’s breakup so of course michael would be annoyed but the way he said “he [justin] left because of YOU. who wouldn’t?” was completely uncalled for? it just really fucking bugs me? this is your best friend who is CLEARLY going through a bad breakup so maybe choose your words more carefully? MAYBE have some compassion just maybe? 

when hunter left in season 5 and michael said “who else would have taken him in? made him family?” WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT ABOUT YOUR CHILD!!! WHY ARE YOU SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT michael really thinks he is the absolute shit and deserves the world for doing the smallest thing? 

going through the show again really just fleshed out how fucking bad of a person he could be from time to time wow whats YOUR worst michael moment????

[nightshade-minho]

Halloween Costumes (2) 

💀 Han

[ warnings: public, kind of fear kink but also not? fingering, light degradation ]

You barely noticed Jisung’s fingers sliding between your thighs, your heart still pounding in fear as the ride slowed down in the dark tunnel, the atmosphere eerily quiet.

That is, until you felt his fingers rubbing over your clit, clearly using the fact that you were wearing a skirt to his advantage. You looked up at Jisung’s face with a glare, covered in a ghostly sheen thanks to his make-up. Was it weird that you somehow found him hotter like this? 

“Jisung...this is not the t-time nor the place- fuck-”

He shook his head, leaning in to whisper into your ear. “I don’t agree, babe. You look so delectable dressed like that, how do you expect me to resist this?” He gave you a cheeky grin as he pulled away, his fingers deftly sliding your panties to the side. The rush of cold air made you bite your lip, your mind momentarily forgetting your fear.

However a jumpscare took place at the same time he slid his finger in, making you jolt and scream loudly, voice almost giving out.

Jisung grinned widely at your reaction, the ride starting to move at a fast pace once more. He decided to thrust his digits quicker, loving how your moans were mixed with screams, your heart beating fast. Your brain could barely make sense of all of the different sensations you were feeling.

Meanwhile the man sitting next to you laughed maniacally, grabbing your face to look at him as he pressed his lips to yours.

"Damn, you love this don't you, little slut?" He chuckled against your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth just as he inserted another finger.

He was right, you did. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was only serving to heighten the pleasure Jisung was giving you. He bit your bottom lip as he pulled away, crooking his fingers and fucking them into you roughly. His expression was a stark contrast to the sinful actions his fingers were carrying out down there, a wide smile decorating his face. 

Your orgasm was approaching quickly, and you bit your lip as you felt the beginnings of it spread outward over your entire body. 

The ride was coming to a halt, still speedily hurtling through the tunnel as it was about to reach its end. Soon, it began to slow down.

Jisung pulled his fingers out almost immediately, causing you to let out a pitiful whine, legs still quivering.

Your pussy was still throbbing, frustration filling you at the loss of your orgasm. You turned to Jisung with a frown, ready to berate him when he shut you up with a peck.

"Come on, baby." He held his hand out to you, helping you out of the ride as it stopped.

"If you're going to cum tonight, it will be on my cock."

💀 Felix

[ warnings: unprotected sex, fake gun play, marking kink, for some reason you thought it would be a good idea to wear a horse costume lmao ]

You were supposed to have been at a Halloween party by now. But no, here you were, getting absolutely wrecked by your boyfriend as he took you over the dining table. You knew you should have exhibited some self control...but as soon as you laid your eyes on him in his cowboy attire, gun strapped to his holster, his hair beautiful messed and sporting a jaunty hat - you knew the night would end with his cum in you.

"We're- fuck- going to be so late." You groaned, unable to breathe as Felix's solid length filled you up deliciously, your tight heat welcoming him in with every thrust.

"I don’t give a fuck, kitten. After all, this was how our night was going to end any way, right?"

"Our friends will be waiting for us." You managed to speak, your mouth dropping open as the sheer pleasure took over your weak body, your boyfriend’s aura piercing into you firmly.

"Let them fucking wait." He groaned, leaning down and molding his lips with yours. "I don't care if we're going to miss the party, baby. All I care about right now is your beautiful body, worn out and naked for me."

He slammed his hips into yours repeatedly, making sure his grip on your waist was tight enough to leave marks. Felix loved marking you up. The thought of everyone seeing you and immediately knowing you belonged to him turned him on beyond belief.

"You're mine." He hissed, his lips trailing down to nip just above your nipple, the action drawing out a surprised groan from you. "Mine mine mine mine."

He slowly drew out the fake gun from his holster, smirking as he pressed it above your clit. Your eyes widened impossibly large- your pussy tightening around him as a new wave of arousal gushed out of you.

Moving the top of the gun gently enough to stimulate you without having to hurt you, Felix leaned down to kiss your neck once more.

"You think a cowboy is sexy? Well, I guess I can agree. You know what isn't a good costume, though?"

He pointed to the shreds of fabric on the floor, your horse costume having had been ripped off by him. You followed his gaze, cheeks flushing. You honestly don’t know what you were thinking when you bought that.

"You wouldn't have looked good in that. Hell, no one can pull that shit off." He chuckled deeply, pressing his lips to yours again as you felt him brush against your sweet spot.

"I prefer you in your birthday suit, anyways.”

💀 Seungmin

[ warnings: slave kink, fingering ]

“Please.” You begged.

When you’d agreed to Seungmin’s idea, this wasn’t what you had expected. Sure, you’d thought. If he wanted to plan your activities for Halloween, why not?

And here you were now, completely tied up and naked as the day you were born. You rarely relinquished all your power to him in this manner, rarely let him do these things. He’d sat on the ornate armchair in the corner of your room, leg crossed over the other as he tapped his chin.

His attire was regal, too expensive and luxurious to even be considered a costume. The cherry on top was the opulent crown resting on his head. He really did look majestic, like a true king.

What did that make you?

“Please?” Seungmin scoffed, his lips spreading into a smirk as he glanced you up and down. “You could do a lot better than that, my baby. Can’t you?”

“I...I just-” You sobbed, your pussy throbbing with need. You wanted him inside you, now. Unfortunately, you’re in no place to order him around. No, that’s his job.

“Go on.” His eyes shone as he stood up, walking closer to the bed. “Tell me what you want.”

“I...” You swallowed, unable to hold yourself back. Shedding your dignity, you whimpered, looking up at him helplessly. “I need you so bad, Your Majesty. I want you to ruin me, fuck me until I can’t breathe, treat me like your slave. Cause th-that’s all I am.”

You scrunched your eyes shut, too nervous to see his expression. A few seconds of silence passed, before you felt his long fingers sliding up your folds. The touch you’d long craved made you jolt forward, a long whine leaving your lips. “P-please- more...”

He chuckled, finger poking at your entrance as he pet your head condescendingly. “Don’t worry, my little servant.”

His digits slid in all of a sudden, making you cry out, your eyes opening.

The sight in front of you almost made you wish you’d kept them closed. His lip was held between his teeth, as his eyes took in your entire form, his face closer to yours than you’d expected.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he spoke, in time with a cruel thrust.

“I’ll make sure you serve your lord well.”

💀 I.N

[ warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, degradation ]

You could barely concentrate on mixing the batter, your eyes fluttering as you kept a tight grip on the wooden spoon. How could anyone expect you to think straight when your boyfriend's fingers were running through your swollen folds, collecting your juices and sucking on his digits right after?

You let out an embarrassed moan as Jeongin kissed the back of your neck, his hands spreading your butt cheeks to expose your heat to him clearly.

"God, you're such a dirty girl for me, you know?" He smirked, pressing himself up against you. "I really do love the taste of you right now, princess. Don't even bother dressing up, you look great like this...naked as you bake for me."

You whined and twisted your neck to look at him, pouting. Your boyfriend had gotten dressed way before you, and his costume was impeccably high-end, having borrowed it from an actual film studio. The party wasn't for hours, but you imagined he wanted to live in this fantasy for as long as he could.

You tried your best to focus on the pumpkin cupcakes you were making, your hand shivering. However it was proving to be extremely different, especially when Jeongin slid a finger inside, groaning at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around it.

"Fuck baby, I could take you right here and now.."

You struggled to formulate sentences as he pumped the lone finger in and out of you. "No..." you whimpered. "I have to finish these cupcakes for the party or Felix will kill me-"

"You can continue baking." He mumbled, and you heard a zipper being undone. A second later, his swollen head was pressed against your entrance teasingly, causing you to let out a sound halfway between a groan and whine.

Unable to deny him when he was so tantalizingly close, you nodded, hearing him breathe a sigh of relief as he pushed in all of a sudden, jolting you against the counter.

"Fuck-" You cried out, your hands gripping the edge as you dropped the spoon. There wasn't a point in trying, you'd just mess it up anyway. As if you could focus on something so mundane when your boyfriend was filling you up so deliciously.

He grinned as he saw you give up, pulling you out and lifting you up onto the counter just to slide back in.

You looked down at him and inhaled, panting as he fucked into you. Reaching a hand up, you gripped his horns for support, causing him to raise his eyebrows.

"Cute little girl, getting fucked by a demon. Bet you love this, my little slut.'

"I...do..." You glanced at your abandoned cupcakes momentarily, a tiny flash of guilt in your stomach.

Noticing your gaze, he gripped your chin and made you face him again,

"Oh, fuck the cupcakes. I'm sure you taste better than them anyway..." He kissed you full on the lips, bucking his hips intermittently. "God I fucking love Halloween..."

note: yeah this is kinda late. enjoy, tho <3

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | five

A/N: This is the last part of this mini series!  I know this adventure was short but thank you all for coming along on the ride :)    A quick reminder that I will be announcing my new fic, who it will feature, a small blurb, & a clue as to what to expect from it this Thursday at 7:30pm EST.  Happy reading!

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); parent death; swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                               *     *     *     *     *

“You look beautiful, baby,” Brock cooed as he adjusted his cufflinks – well, not really.  He was looking at Grace, not really caring about his cufflinks.  Seeing her stand there in her beautiful dress, her hair curled and pinned, and her delicate jewelry hanging off her ears, neck, and wrists…she was a vision.  He was so lucky.

They were about to leave to attend the Parkinson’s Foundation of British Columbia Gala.  Grace had planned virtually the whole thing, though she worked with the head of the foundation on most major decisions.  She arranged the venue, catering, got major sponsors (okay…the biggest were her uncles, but there were a lot more), organized the silent auction, and arranged the entertainment for the evening.  Everyone who attended their weekly meetings would be there.  Brock knew the Aquilinis would be there.  It was a party, yes, and a function to raise money, yes – but at the end of the day, it was a culmination of Grace’s strength after Hamish passed away.

“Thanks, babe,” she smiled over at him, taking one last look at herself in the mirror.  “Are Petey and Svea ready to go?”

Brock nodded.  “Petey’s been texting for fifteen minutes asking if we’re on our way yet,” he joked.

“You can blame it on me,” she winked.  “Unless Petey takes a good look at your hair.  Then he’ll know it was you.”

Brock laughed out loud, taking the few steps needed to stand right in front of her and wrap his arms around her.  “Hey…before we go,” his voice was low and he looked down at Grace.  “Your dad would be so proud of you for planning this.”

Grace nodded her head.  She knew.  It was a lot of work, and she completely went in head first with planning all of it and maybe, sort of taking over the entire operation, but it was worth it.  She had planned something that would raise money that, hopefully, would fund research so that nobody would have to go through what she went through.  She didn’t just want to be known as an heiress daughter of a billionaire; she wanted to be known as so much more.  An heiress who used her money to fund research projects and arts centres; an heiress who donated her time and money to worthy causes.  She once told Brock that she knew she wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but that she thought she had a big heart.  She hoped this was the start of others in her community, and in Vancouver, realizing that she had a big heart.

***

“Grace, this is amazing,” Svea couldn’t help but say astonishingly as she took yet another look around the giant room, decorated to the nines with flashing lights and impeccably dressed people chatting and drinking and dancing.  Svea knew Grace would be busy throughout the night, so she wasn’t trying to hog her after their limousine ride together.  But now that Svea got her alone, she had to verbalize it again, just like she did when she walked in.  “Like, I don’t think you understand.  It’s incredible.”

“Want to let me plan your wedding to Elias?” Grace winked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh shut up.”

“There she is!” the women both heart Elias yell.  They turned around and saw him and Brock walking towards them, both with drinks in their hands.  “Grace, this is so cool.”

“Thanks Petey.  And thanks for donating your jersey.”

“Anything for you.”

Grace focused her attention on Brock.  “Esther wants us to take a group photo with everyone before everyone leaves,” she said, and Brock nodded his head in agreement.  She looked at Elias.  “If I get everyone together right now, do you mind taking it?”

“Like I just said Grace, anything for you.”

***

Fatigued, physically and mentally exhausted, but still somehow feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Grace climbed into the limousine with Brock, Elias, and Svea at the end of the gala so they could go home.  They dropped off Elias and Svea first, naturally, and Elias had to wake Svea up as she slept on his shoulder throughout the ride.  It left Brock and Grace alone in the limousine together, hands clasped together as the driver drove through the streets of Vancouver.

“You did amazing tonight,” Brock mumbled, his voice low and full of sleepiness but still so direct and meaningful.  “I love you so much, Grace.”

“I love you too, Brock.”

“When we have kids, I’m gonna let them know this was the night I knew you’d become my wife.”

Grace stiffened at Brock’s words, but he was too tired to notice – the small smirk on his face not disappearing despite anxiety – not adrenaline – now coursing through Grace’s veins.  She thought about the implications of his words, how he just outright admitted that she was the one for him.  She thought about her feelings for him, and if she felt the same.  She did.  But was it possible to still be apprehensive?  She loved Brock with her whole heart.  She’d never met anybody like him, and likely would never meet anyone like him again.  She loved him too, with everything she had.

But then she thought about her parents.

Her parents were young and in love once too.  Her parents were once obsessed with each other and madly in love.  Her parents had decided to get married and have a child.  Her parents had decided what Brock was laying out on the proverbial table – what Brock was so willing to give her – and look what happened.  Things didn’t work out.  Love didn’t work out.  Love was complicated.  They separated.  Grace went to live with Eliza but didn’t like it because she missed dad.  She told Hamish who told his lawyers.  His lawyers brought it to the judge.  Divorce proceedings started.  Grace went to live with Hamish.  Eliza demanded alimony for her lifestyle, to maintain it, if not to exceed it.  Eliza demanded child support.  Eliza demanded nannies, a multi-million dollar house, and expensive cars.  Hamish would tell Grace her mother was selfish.  Eliza would tell Grace how stingy her father was.  Eliza would tell Grace how her father only wanted custody so he didn’t have to pay child support.  Hamish told Grace Eliza only wanted child support and alimony so she could hire babysitters and nannies while she went to spas.  A pawn while she was at her mom’s in Shaughnessy; a pawn while she was at her dad’s in West Point Grey.  A pawn when dropped off at school at Crofton House.  A pawn at the dance studio, her happiest place.

What if she and Brock turned out the same way?

***

“You okay?” Brock asked Grace.

Grace wasn’t there.  She was somewhere else, in her mind, thinking about events long passed.  “Your father’s the cheapest man I’ve ever met,” she could hear her mom say in the kitchen as she waited for her cereal before school at seven years old.  “Cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap!  He’s always been so much work to be with, your father.  He refuses to get you a Range Rover – did you know that?  Your dad wants you driven around in some…in some…I don’t know, some Toyota.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Grace said absent-mindedly, giving her pasta a few more twirls to make it seem like she’d eat it.  “Will I still be able to go to dance?”

“Who knows?!  Your father may even take that away from you too!  It scares me, the things he’s taking away from you.”

“But I love dance.”

“Well then maybe you should stay with me.  Daddy will pay me to take you to dance.”

***

“Your mother is a piece of work, let me tell you,” Hamish mumbled as he slapped his cellphone down on the counter.  “She was always so much work to be with.  Always so much work.  Now she wants $60,000 a month in alimony.  Alimony!”

“What’s alimony?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hamish said.  “Have your teachers taught you yet what it means to be selfish?” he asked.  Grace nodded her head.  “Well your mother is selfish.  One of the most selfish people in the world.”

“Grace?  You coming to bed?” Brock’s voice was groggy as he stood in the doorway of the ensuite, his usually well-kept hair everywhere, his eyes sleepy.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Grace apologized, getting up from her seated position on the toilet lid.  “Sorry baby.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  Yeah I’m fine,” she said, grabbing Brock’s hand and leading him back to bed.

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t right?” he asked softly as she cuddled up against him in bed.

“Of course,” she said, a nervous lump in her throat.  “Of course.”

***

“Gracie…please tell me what’s wrong,” Brock said in a low voice as he tried to wrap his arms around her, only for her to flinch slightly and back away.  That hurt him more than anything.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said unconvincingly.

“Yes it is—”

“Can we just drop it,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

***

“What’s the matter with you?” Elias asked, sick of seeing Brock so gloomy and moody the past several weeks.  He’d noticed a change in him, and though Brock was usually very open about what he was feeling with him, he wasn’t this time, and Elias was…skeptical.  Well, not skeptical – worried.  This time, Brock had a girlfriend and was moody, and Elias didn’t know what to expect.  “What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” Brock revealed to Elias.

“What’s wrong?”

Brock shook his head.  “She won’t tell me.  But she…she zones out a lot, like she’s thinking about something…and it’s so intense that she doesn’t even hear me calling her.”

“What’s she thinking about?”

Brock shrugged.  “She doesn’t tell me.  She’ll never tell me.”

“Well when did it start?”

Brock thought about it.  He really thought about it.  He liked to think he was in tune with changes in Grace.  “The gala.”

“The Parkinson’s Gala?” Elias clarified.  Brock nodded his head.  “Well, could it be about her dad?”

“It’s something more,” Brock was adamant.  He knew she would be sad and would never be the same after her dad died.  That was a given.  No-one was ever the same after the death of a parent, so he didn’t blame her for that.  “It’s…it’s something more.”

***

“Is everything okay with you?” Svea asked delicately as she and Grace were shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Well – Grace was shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Svea was basically just following her around, because it wasn’t like she could afford anything.

“I’m fine,” Grace said unconvincingly.  

“Are you sure?  Because you know you can talk to me if things aren’t okay.”

Grace took a deep breath in, trying to compose herself.  Knowing what she knew about Svea’s parents and their love story, she doubted that Svea would be able to provide any…critical insight, so to speak.  But Grace tried anyway.  “How d’you know a guy is your soulmate, Svea?” she asked.

Svea was taken aback.  It was quite the loaded question to lead with.  “I’d say it’s when you can picture the rest of your life with them.  At least that’s one aspect to it.”

“Can you picture the rest of your life with Elias?”

“Yes,” Svea answered automatically, because she could.  It was as friends, sure, but she still pictured the rest of her life with him.  “Can you picture the rest of your life with Brock?”

Grace paused.  Her response wasn’t as quick or forthcoming.  “Yes.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“There was a pause there,” Svea said.  “But what?”

“But what if, like, things change?” Grace asked.  “What if the love doesn’t last?  What if it breaks down?”

“You mean like your parents?”

Grace didn’t want to glare at Svea – she really didn’t, because Svea was one of the sweetest people alive – but she did.  She glared at her.  “No,” she said forcefully, trying to cover.

“Love always lasts.  True love always lasts.  Look at Elias and I – I mean, we’ve loved each other our whole lives—”

“You and Elias won’t even hold hands or kiss each other,” Grace said angrily, unable to control her emotions at this point.  “You won’t even admit you love him romantically.  How the hell is that love?”

Svea just stared at Grace, unable to formulate words.  Tears welled in her eyes too, and when Grace saw them get red, she hated herself even more.  She hated herself already for making Brock worry, for not telling him the truth, for hiding things from him; now, she hated herself even more for making Svea emotional.  “I’ve gotta go,” she said, leaving quickly, unable to look back at Svea as she left her in the middle of Holt Renfrew alone.

***

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong right now or I’m leaving,” Brock said sternly, his voice raised.  Both of their voices had been for the last while now, since they were fighting.  He looked at Grace as she stared back at him indignantly from across the kitchen.  “We can’t have a relationship if we don’t communicate – if you don’t tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is it something I did?  Did I say something?”

“It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“There’s nothing wr—”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

Grace stayed silent.  She could feel herself going red.  She could feel the emotions in her bubble up.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer.  “Leave.”

Brock furrowed his brows.  “Excuse me?”

“Leave my apartment now.”

Brock stood stoic in spot.  “You don’t mean that—”

“LEAVE!” Grace screamed at the top of her lungs, taking every ounce of strength left in her to not cry.

They were in a standoff.  Brock stood stoic.  Grace stood stoic.  Staring at each other, waiting for the other to move.  Neither did for a while, waiting it out to see who would crack first.  She didn’t mean it, Brock kept thinking.  She doesn’t mean it.  She doesn’t mean it.  But with every second that passed, with every heave of Grace’s chest, with every moment of silence signaling her refusal to budge…

Brock cracked.  

He picked up his keys, gave Grace one last look, and walked out the door.  

***

It was a few agonizing, excruciating, unbearably lonely few weeks later when Brock received a phone call in the middle of the night.  2:38am.  His phone’s ring blaring throughout his empty apartment.

“Hello?” his voice was groggy, tired, exhausted.  

Silence.  

“Hello?” he asked once more, louder this time.  If it was any one of his teammates he’d knock them dead the next time he saw them – Petey especially.

The voice was small and defeated when it finally did speak, asking Brock the question, “What if we end up like my parents?”

Brock was wide awake now.  He got up in bed dramatically, holding his phone against his ear so tightly that he could hear the charger fall out of the electrical socket.  “Gracie,” the shock was evident in his voice.  

“Will you come over?” she asked.

Brock threw the covers off his body dramatically.  “I’m on my way right now,” he said.  He’d drive his car in his slippers if he needed to.  

“Be careful.”

“I’m coming.  I’ll be there soon.”

***

“C’mere,” Brock said the millisecond Grace let him in, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her into a hug as she clung to him like he’d float away and wrapped every limb she had around him.  He’d made it to her apartment in record time, speeding through the streets of Vancouver to get to her.  It was probably dangerous, but it wasn’t like there were other cars on the road at 2:45 in the morning.  “Talk to me Gracie.  Talk to me,” he urged as he felt her tears against his skin.  

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck.  “I’m so—Brock, I was so bad.  So bad.”

“Shhhhh shhhh shhhh, don’t,” Brock cooed.  “Just tell me what’s wrong.  What’s going on in your head, Grace?”

“Brock…” she began, swallowing her tears before continuing.  She pulled away slightly so she could look him in the eye, wiping her own red ones with the palms of her hands.  She knew she looked awful, but she also knew Brock didn’t give a shit.  “I just miss him so much.”

“Your dad.”

Grace nodded quickly.  “Every part of me misses him.  But then I started to think about how awful he and my mom were during the divorce,” she explained.  And to Brock, that said everything.  Grace told him about it ever since they met – the general, the specific, the nitty-gritty details – and it was awful.  To have that whirling around in her mind would have definitely affected her.  It all made sense to him now.  It all made sense, knowing she never wanted to go back to that.  “And I got scared…I got so scared.  I just kept remembering how bad it was.  So on the night of the gala when you said—”

“So it was something that I said—”

“Nonononononono,” she vehemently shook her head, bringing her finger up to his lips to silence him.  “No no no no no.  I—Brock—I love you with every part of me too.  But…but what if we end up like my parents?  What if we fall out of love?  What if it—what if it ends badly?  What if we ended up hating each other?  They’d always say things like it was so hard to be with one another and—”

“Is it hard to be with me?” Brock asked, not wanting her to go any further and knowing that at this point, he needed to intervene.

“NO!  Never!” she exclaimed.  She never wanted Brock to think that ever.  She cradled his face in her hands.  “Being with you feels natural.  It feels like it was always supposed to be this way.  It’s so easy.  It’s so peaceful.”

“Then that’s how it’ll always be, a peaceful easy feeling,” Brock whispered.  “What’s there to be scared about, baby?”

Grace shook her head, tearing up again.  “Nothing when I’m with you.”

“We won’t end up like your parents because we’re not your parents,” he said.  His words were so simple but they hit Grace like a ton of bricks.  “We’re different people.  I love you more than anything, and the thought of hating you—Grace—I—it’s never, never crossed my mind.  I never could.  You give me everything.  Do I give you everything?”

She nodded.  “Everything.”

“Then I’m gonna keep giving you everything.  And I’ll do it till the end of time, Gracie.  Because I love you.  I can’t picture myself with anyone else.  I can’t…I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”

Brock’s words were loaded – she knew that.  “I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”  Grace nodded.  The sentiment was so serious, but so right.  When she really thought about it, would she have wanted to experience this pain with anyone else besides Brock?  No.  He meant the world to her.  And that’s how it was always going to be.  “I’m so dumb,” she shook her head at herself.

“You’re not dumb.  For what you went through, it’s a legitimate worry,” he reassured her.  “But I promise you, I promise you, I’ll love you with everything I have and you’ll love me with everything you have, and we won’t end up like your parents.”

Grace was overcome with emotion.   “I love you so much, Brock.”

“I love you too,” he leaned in to kiss her, once, twice, then again and again.  When they stopped, he wrapped his arms around her body and lay down on her couch, bringing her body down with him.  He wiggled out of his hoodie.  Then he pushed her body down slightly, and that’s when Grace knew exactly what he was doing.  She lay her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.  

“Can you feel it?” he asked softly.

Grace nodded.

[ourladylennon]

list of mclennon fanfics? 👀

Coming right up!

Camera-less by fingersfallingupwards | smut | AU | length: >10,000 | “The words register and Paul barely keeps back an incredulous laugh. Is Lennon… is he really trying it on with Paul? There’s no hiding the implication; it’s the same way Paul’s approached whores on the street, thriving on the ignominy of it all. Lennon must be taking the piss.If he is having Paul on, well, two can play at that game.”

What You’re Doing to Me by smothermeinrelish | smut | length: >10,000 | “John's not sure what is going on. Since arriving in Hamburg, the sex and parties are non-stop, yet he can't shake this growing feeling there is something going on with him and Paul.Is it the sin of the city? Or has John found a void within that is looking for it's missing piece?”

Initiation by unchained_daisychain | smut | length: >10,000 | “Initially, Paul thinks they’re all taking the piss. As the newest member of the band, he has learned to laugh off the jokes made at his expense. But a frown soon misshapes his smile as he dumbly watches the boys disperse themselves throughout the room.“Yer serious?” he asks, confusion cementing his feet on the carpet. “All of you just…sit around an’ wank together?” “If you don’t wanna join, just wait outside till the big boys are finished,” Len says with grating arrogance. It feels like some type of test or initiation. Buy into our daft game and you’ll secure your spot in the band; bow out and consider yourself nothing more than an expendable instrument. Paul’s hand tightens around the neck of his guitar. Soon enough it disappears from his grasp entirely as he deposits it against the wall and seats himself in a vacant armchair.”

Bright Are the Stars, Dark is the Sky by unchained_daisychain | smut | *warning: taboo with consent* | AU | length: >10,000 | “John can never recall precisely when the feelings arose. In the beginning, he had despised another figure of authority in his life, even if by association. Neatly kept and well-spoken, Mr. McCartney had seemed just that, too. From the very start, John had tried to break him down…only to later realize he was the one crumbling to pieces. Because, in an unforeseen twist, Paul proves to be unlike the other oppressive parents of his generation. For a while, he thinks it is a fatherly bond that keeps him a frequent visitor at the McCartney residence. But when respect begins to wane in the presence of something stronger, it frightens him to the core. He can count on one hand the number of times he has been blindsided in his life, and the realization of his attraction to Paul is one of them.”

Tessellate by cloudy_blue | hurt & comfort | length: >10,000 | “No one had prepared her for John. Maybe they could have put aside fifteen minutes in-between teaching her how to make her stitches even and her chicken cooked through – what to do if your man is also sleeping with his bassist.”

Whatever Gets you Through the Night by sleeprettydarling | smut | length: 10,000+ | “When John catches wind of a prostitute in Hamburg who's willing to do two blokes at once, he and Paul agree to pay her a visit. John has an ulterior motive, but he's unaware that Paul has a plan of his own. Misunderstandings, feelings, and an abundance of sex ensue.”

Lifting Latches by thinkpink20 | smut | length: 10,000 + | “Paul is used to talking about everything with John. About girls, sex, fantasies about Bridget Bardot - everything. They even talk about Mary and Julia, when they've had enough to drink. He doesn't talk like that to anyone else, and he senses from the way John speaks in such a rush about all the important things that he doesn't either.So when something happens that they don't speak about, he knows it must be serious.”/ OR: Paul and John swap t-shirts, and also somehow change the nature of their relationship...”

French Connection by smothermeinrelish & unchained_daisychain | smut | *warning: taboo with consent* | length: 10,000+ | “Running low on funds during their holiday in Paris, John and Paul have to find some way to finance the rest of their trip. A wealthy stranger approaches them with an offer impossible to refuse. He shook his head, slowly and confoundedly. “Bleedin’ hell, I can’t believe yer actually considering this.”“We aren’t really in the position to be refusin’ offers.” At the answering silence, he swatted Paul’s shoulder, pressing, “C’mon, a thousand francs, Macca.”

The Ballad of Lennon and McCartney by please_dont_wake_me | angst & smut | length: 30,000+ (wip) | "“I think that to make real art - like, if you want to tap into the current of what’s really going on, you can’t be fully aware of it. You can’t be all in your head about it. You’re not speakin’ the truth, you’re feeling it - lettin’ it speak through you. You’re taking from the realm of truth and transforming it into something a human can perceive, but you don’t always know what it is.” In late 1966, the baby-faced balladeer Paul McCartney meets an unsuccessful artist named John Lennon at an Avant Garde gala. The ensuing relationship causes him to publicly lose his mind.

What is Living is Burning by orphanbeat | fluff & smut | length: 40,000+ | “Looking at John, watching his hands, seeing the slope of his nose, Paul realizes he wants to kiss him, always has. He wants to tell him, but he’s too afraid. He wonders if it was the other way around between them, would John tell him? /OR: In 1968, Paul is publicly outed in a book called The Homosexual's Handbook, written by Angelo D'Arcangelo.” 

Boy You’ve Been a Naughty Girl by merseysidestory | smut | length: 40,000+| “John makes Paul a bet. Paul takes him up on it. Crossdressing shenanigans and angst ensue, and ~feelings come out in the wash. 1961.”

Metered by fingersfallingupwards | smut | length: 40,000+ | "The bloke said something just the same as you did, about floating off unless tied down, or maybe it was the other way around, getting tied down to float off, y'know.”/OR: Canon-era John and Paul haphazardly invent BDSM, and learn a few things about power, surrender, pleasure, and themselves along the way” 

Art & Obligation by imaginebeatles | length: 100,000+ | fluff & smut | AU-1800′s | “John Lennon works as the apprentice of a well-known portraitist and is tasked to do the picture of the young Mr. Paul McCartney. He is the son of Jim McCartney, a wealthy and powerful landowner, and has the reputation of an arrogant, spoilt brat with a pretty face, who has a way of wrapping anyone around his finger. But soon John finds that things are not as straightforward as they may seem.”

On Our Way Back Home by kathleenishereagain | fluff & smut | length: 300,000+ | “Something ticked in Paul’s mind as the familiar words washed through him. When he looked at John, his friend was already looking at him. And suddenly, it all became clear: He remembered having that conversation more than 50 years ago. He remembered it too well.He had been thinking about it for years, wondering what he should have understood, how he should have reacted. /OR: Summer 2019, 77-year-old Paul wakes up feeling surprisingly good. One tiny problem: he is back in December 1965.”

I originally had Red Hall fic on this list, before having actually read it and that was a huge mistake. I do not condone, support or recommend it. It's beyond deplorable and a line was crossed when it was written. I am so sorry I ever carelessly placed it on this list to begin with.

these are just some of my personal faves, so many more to read. You are all. so. AMAZING. 

Bonus: beautiful mclennon artwork by auroralunatica

[oh-boy-me]

Demon Outfits Discussed

The wait is over :) thank you for your patience and all the lovely comments on the casual discussion!!

I feel like it got longer this time, so I hope it’s all an enjoyable read!  Also, I apologize for the ugly pictures--it was the easiest and fastest way to both have all the design in one image and also prevent it from stretching so far.

Like last time, please don’t take this too seriously; we love these boys and Justin doesn’t know them but has no grudges against them.  We’re just harping on their fashion sense.  Absolutely no hate is intended towards the boys or the design team!

Participants in the discussion were

Jo ( @jodaneko ), our art major with storyboarding/character design experience, who finds they have more in common with Satan each passing day.

Justin ( @justinlester0629 ), our fashion expert, who dressed up and filled a wine glass with water for the occasion.

Noodle (Me), our untrained eye who owns the Barbie as the Island Princess video game on three different platforms.  It’s not even that good.

Featuring emergency guest star Megan ( @maggo77​ ), my sister who is physically near me as we look at the backs of their designs for the first time.

Edit: Distracted by the pretty jacket, we made a mistake when putting in Levi’s silhouette rating.  It’s the worst.  2/10, not 6.

Lucifer:

“Boy looks like he’s about to swing open the doors of an expensive mansion during a debutante party and give some SCATHING NEWS.” —Justin

“Short shoulder cape and a long split butt cape lol” —Jo

Jo has realized that based on both outfits, Lucifer doesn’t want people looking at his butt.  Possible reasons are: he doesn’t have one, or Diavolo someone was getting distracted.

His shoes match his outfit.  After last time that’s all I care about.

A triple popped color, and how many layers is the middle one?  Is that a book?  Dude has like 27 collars.

The forehead diamond is very important and it’s great that there are diamond buttons to match it.  But uh.  How about those red diamonds on his sleeves.  They.  They sure are there.  (I actually like the red accents and that they match his gloves; I just can’t take the diamonds seriously.)

  Lucifer 🤝 Some Horses Diamond on the Forehead

The peacock motif is HERE and we’re all living for it.  HOWEVER, the feathers on the cape and coattails should have matched, OR there should have been more lime green because there’s so little of that color.

The pants have a pleat in the front, which Justin says means he responsibly irons his clothes, and Jo says only heightens the fact that under the capes this is a marching uniform.

Can he fly?  Jo says these are baby wings that can’t support his weight, and his cape has a hole for the top pair but blocks the bottom pair?  Can’t believe Lucifer handicapped himself for the sake of fashion.

The red makes it regal and the wide flowy design makes it imposing.  Good job, Lucifer!  I might actually be intimidated if I saw you.

Definitely the classiest outfit.  You can tell they put care into it.

Mammon:

“BITCH MY BODY CANNOT TAKE THIS KIND OF SEXY, I THINK I AM OVERHEATING!  NO MORE FURTHER COMMENTS, YOUR HONOR.  HAUTE AND HOT.” —Justin

The whole thing does amazing with only three colors.  We’ve noticed the trend of black and white + one color, but I mean hey.  It’s working so far.

Damn those pants sit low.  No wonder literally all of you wear belts.

The leather jacket?  The studs and harness?  Bless.  Justin calls it “the perfect blend of stylish and ‘I’ll see you tonight *wink*’”.

Kind of don’t like how the belts connect to the pants, though.  It looks better in the back.

“He found a really cool jacket, but it didn’t pair with anything so he just didn’t wear anything.” —Jo

Honestly though?  We’ve all made fun of Mammon for having big hoe energy in his outfits, but like, he knew he had wings and planned his outfit to accommodate for that.  He’s the only one who didn’t cut holes in his outfit.  Maybe Mammon was the smallest hoe after all.

Also if there’s a motif it repeats elsewhere, like the studs and diamonds on his jacket and pants.  Did he and Lucifer have a “tastefully putting diamonds on my outfit” battle?  Because Mammon definitely won.

One of the charms broke off the belt loop and he never bothered to replace it, and honestly thank god there isn’t two of those anymore.

Torn between wishing the boots were tighter to match the rest of the outfit and saying “yoooo they’re open in the back!!!”

Ok so so far we’ve said generally only good things, but there is one major issue with the design: Its gravity.  Everything points down, his tattoos, the diamonds, even his wings.  The center of gravity in the image is his shoes.  Bitch loved his shoes so much he made his whole outfit point to them.

Either way this was universally considered the best and I mourn Justin who doesn’t know how far Mammon’s standards are gonna fall from here.

Leviathan:

Diagonal zipper

“Levi what the fuck.” —Megan

He looks like an e-boy.

Honestly it looks like he borrowed something from Justin’s wardrobe for Pride but he didn’t know how to put it on.

APPARENTLY the biggest hoe.  Abs that he shouldn’t have coming through a mesh t-shirt.  I thought Mammon’s pants were low, but Levi’s whole-ass ass is out.  Ok Levi, I see you.

The shirt pattern is good but he probably leaves it partially unzipped because it’d look really dumb fully closed.

Justin loves the funky pants pattern and Jo likes the pants but not with the outfit.  It’s because the devs were too coward to give him a thick tail base so his pants had to fill that role by sharing the pattern.

The shoes are good, and not just because they incited Justin’s deep-set hatred for Christian Louboutin and his uncomfortable red-bottom shoes.

Justin is offended that he’s hiding his suspenders; either show them completely or not at all, no in between.  Jo’s not fully convinced it isn’t just one suspender.  What are his suspenders doing?  What are they attached to?  Are they holding anything up?  Apparently not.

Jo pointed out that if you squint the belt on his waist looks like fangs and the orange dots on his sleeves looks like eyes so it’s like theres a snake head on his outfit.  Cute!

The gloves are throwing us off though.  Why is Levi of all other brothers need gloves?  I bet he has sweaty hands.

Ok really, does his sweater unzip all the way into two pieces?  Or does it hang by that tiny thread underneath the tail hole?  There’s even a button, just in case.

Can’t believe this antler-sporting, suspender-wasting nerd went diagonal zipper on us because we beat him at a trivia game.  Should have just zipped his hood.

Satan:

HONEY.

“I hate everything about this.” —Megan

First of all, he’s straight up wearing Lucifer’s casual shirt.  Does it only button down the back?  Can he take it off?

Then he spilled bleach on his pants.  Like I get what they were going for but with the white on black that is literally just bleach stains.

Incredibly differing opinions on the belt.  He got it in the cowboy department.  Justin adores it.  Jo despises it.

And are those… athletic slip ons?

And now the elephant in the room.  The ribcage made of ribbons.  The ribboncage.  The idea is great!  I love that they gave him a skeletal theme without throwing him into a Hot Topic.

But if you take the ribboncage and feather boa off he’s literally just wearing a dress shirt and some nice jeans.  And that’s the problem with Satan’s demon form.  Not that it looks goofy.  It’s that they took risks but then hid all the risks behind business casual.

Also Megan said that the back of the ribbons look like a rock climbing harness.  Someone (probably Justin) said the front reminds them of the underbelly of a green cockroach.  Ew.

The feather boa would look better if it was over something you wouldn’t literally wear at the office.  (And also didn’t look so much like worm on a string.)

“He is going to Dragcon 2020 and is definitely going to take a picture and ask to lip sync, but accidentally start beef with Acid Betty.” —Justin

On a good note, loving how the tail fades to highly radioactive green.  Feels dangerous.  Megan pointed out that it’s a pretty wimpy tail, though.  Jo enjoys the self-conscious posture it expresses.

That’s basically the only good thing we have to say, though.

I just????

Merry Christmas.

Asmodeus:

The kanji on the picture is just saying that the coattail is the same on both sides.

Ok now with that out of the way, HONEY.

I’m sure he says that to others but I hope he says it to himself too when he looks in the mirror.

Starting with the good.  The wings?  Adorable.  The heart-shaped hole to accommodate them?  Adorable.  One of the only good adjustments.

And I love that the tips of his horns look venomous, like a scorpion tail!

We love a good floral design and a good twin tailcoat.

But once again, the shirt just has too much going on.  The flowers.  The buttons.  The brick-pattern stitching.  The brooch.  The long collar.  The fact that if he closed the last button it’d end in a diamond covering his crotch.  Sometimes less is more, Asmo.

That scorpion brooch is the best thing to ever grace my computer screen and it shouldn’t have to share the spotlight with the rest of his shirt.  It should have wrapped around his arm and been paired with some more jewelry.  Then he could have ditched those giant cuffs.

The bleeding heart tattoos are a really good idea!  But they should have been angled better and not like someone else put them on at the roller rink.  And maybe they shouldn’t have been outlined in pink.  Those aren’t tattoos, those are gaping holes in his arm.  Is he ok.

I’ve been avoiding the pants, but.  The pants.

“Oh dear god. Oh no that’s… I thought you were a designer…” —Jo

One side is buckled the ENTIRE way down, and then the other side is COMPLETELY plain.  It’s too extreme on both ends.  It should have been only half a leg of buckles.  Not whatever this is.  I still don’t think he can bend that leg.

The shoes are ok but they COULD have been a stiletto so.

Jo is DONE with these demons’ inability to wear socks.

We expected better from you, Asmo.  I hope you have to fasten all those buckles every morning as retribution.

Beelzebub:

He said “how many belts can I wear on one outfit.”

Justin said it’s like Barry B. Benson and Post Malone had a beautiful baby boy, and Obey Me! is cancelled for creating a sequence of events that could lead to me hearing that with my own two ears.

The jacket?  Stunning.  “It’s steampunk mixed with Jack Sparrow, mixed with Billie Joe Armstrong,” says Justin.  It’s got puffy sleeves!  And there’s objectively too much going on with the jacket, but since it’s a leather jacket I can forgive it.  Justin and Jo can’t.

I’m not sure why they keep giving him weird jacket collars but I prefer belt number 9 to fur.

“Why is it bucked in the back?  Couldn’t it have just been a jacket?” —Megan

Good that the black tank isn’t only black, but he has so little color on his outfit that it would have been nice for it and the matching pattern on his boots to have been a color besides gray.

I don’t mind the belts down the leg because they’re not too in your face.  Jo wants the white belt to be thinner.  Justin wants him to just pick one and go with it.

Poor Beel, he can’t do his lil thigh pat pose without his right hand being assaulted by studs and that bear trap-shaped buckle.

Justin feels like the cowboy boots are too wide up top and it’s probably because they’re FAKE cowboy boots.  I don’t know why he didn’t just get cowboy boots instead of putting fake coverings over his dress shoes.

Can’t fault the twin belt, though.  And the wing hole isn’t terrible.

Idk I guess.  They knew what they wanted to do at least.  

That seems to be the pattern with Beel: they know what they want to do, but something weird happens in the middle of it.

Belphegor:

“I don’t know which Teletubby let their son go through the it’s just a phase mom phase, but they should be ashamed.” —Justin

A toddler who just learned how to cut holes in paper got a hold of his hoodie.

Is it a hoodie?  A jacket?  A poncho?  The cow print actually isn’t terrible.  At least it had the decency to be unique in its spotting.  And the actual presence of blue is very appreciated.

On the topic of colors, Jo is calling the devs out on their apparent fear of color.  “Put the pink elsewhere, cowards,” they say.

We actually don’t hate the horseshoe, and using it for the belt buckles is actually really clever.  Even if 75% of them are doing literally nothing.  Feel like he didn’t need that many.  Could do without the bottom one, maybe even bottom two.

There’s a teeeeny tiny cowbell on the back?  Megan apparently finds that VERY important.  Why do they go to such great lengths to remind us that Belphie’s a cow?  Beel doesn’t rub his hands together 24/7.  Mammon doesn’t even get bird wings.

Just like Satan spilled bleach, Belphie has tar pants.

It’s nice to see a change in pant style, but.  Am I biased because I hate harem pants?  Maybe.  Are these harem pants too short on him?  Yes.  Maybe they were supposed to be parachute capris?  But it just looks he outgrew them too fast and Lucifer won’t buy him new pants yet.  At least they look comfy.

If he puts his keys in those pockets will his pants fall down?  Probably.  That’s a problem considering his are the only pants that look like they could hold any keys.

The shoes are fine.  I can enjoy a high topped sneaker.  …Is that a security tag?  Did he steal his shoes.  Belphie stole his shoes.

On the tiny tail hole, I appreciate that Belphie went for modesty.  But I hope it’s impossible to wear these outfits outside of demon form because I don’t want him walking around with a tiny hole right above his ass.

Honestly he doesn’t even look like a demon?  He just looks like… a cow.

There’s one more aspect of their demon forms that I didn’t feel comfortable forcing into a smaller space than it deserved: Silhouettes.  Jo puts a lot of weight on silhouettes and their role in character design.  Is it dynamic?  Is it recognizable?  Jo ranked them as such:

1. Lucifer: 9/10.  Care and effort were put into this design and it shows. 2. Mammon: 7/10.  Points deducted for most of it being form fitting but otherwise still manages to get a passing grade. 3 (tied). Beelzebub: 5/10.  His wings have actual mass but his horns being mostly hidden by his head reduce his score. 3 (tied). Belphegor: 5/10.  Evens out since his clothes aren’t as form fitting as the others but they also kind of turn him into a blob. 5. Asmodeus: 4/10, and only because he’s got multiple wings and that his tailcoat breaks up the bottom half. 6. Satan: 3/10, for the fact HIS BOA carries most of the work in altering his silhouette. 7. Leviathan: 2/10.  The tail and horns prevent this from being a total flop.

Our (surprisingly unanimous!) ranking of their outfits (not counting Megan her opinions deviated) were:

Mammon

Lucifer

Leviathan

Belphegor

Beelzebub

Asmodeus

Satan

In conclusion, any M-rated fic that doesn’t have it take demon Satan 20 minutes to take off his shirt is too unrealistic.

[honeysidesarchived]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.

special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!

and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3

Roman did not like sharing his things.

It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.

So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.

Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.

More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?

This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.

Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?

Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.

He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.

The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.

So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).

Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”

Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.

“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”

The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.

“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.

Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”

There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?

“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”

His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”

There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.

Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”

“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”

He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.

Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.

“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”

He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.

But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.

He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?

He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.

And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.

“—stairs, my darling?”

Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.

Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.

“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”

Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”

“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”

“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”

What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.

“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.

“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”

“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”

Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.

“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.

And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.

“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”

“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”

“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.

“Roman?”

“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”

“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”

When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.

“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”

“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.

He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”

“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”

Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.

The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.

“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”

Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.

“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”

“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”

Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.

“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”

“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”

A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”

“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”

The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?

Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.

“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”

Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.

“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”

The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”

“Good man.”

It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.

Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.

He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”

“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”

A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”

“Was it chocolate?”

“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”

“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”

He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.

“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”

Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”

“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”

Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.

“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course.”

“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”

Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”

Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.

“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”

“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”

The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.

It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.

Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).

“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”

To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.

“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”

She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.

He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”

There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.

“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”

“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”

“My man, is he?”

“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”

“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”

Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”

“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”

“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”

“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”

“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”

“You see? That is already too much.”

“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”

Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”

“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”

“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”

It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?

Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.

“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.

“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”

The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?

She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.

And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.

“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”

Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”

The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.

“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”

The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”

Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”

Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.

“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.

Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”

Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.

And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.

From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.

“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”

He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”

“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”

Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?

Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.

“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”

Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”

Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.

“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”

His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.

“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.

“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.

“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”

Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”

The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?

These things take patience.

Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.

The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.

He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?

“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”

“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.

And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.

“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”

“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.

“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.

The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”

He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.

Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.

“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”

Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.

“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”

“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”

Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.

“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”

“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?

“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”

“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”

Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?

“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”

“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”

Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—

Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?

“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”

“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”

“Me?” he asked.

“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”

He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?

It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.

“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”

“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?

He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”

Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”

“I do not think so.”

“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”

A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.

“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”

Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”

“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.

“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.

Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”

He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”

“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”

“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”

The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.

“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”

Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.

“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”

He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.

“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”

Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.

“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”

“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”

The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.

“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

[cottoncandyjester]

Yandere boys as dads

I've got a dozen of asks wanting a pregnant y/n or the boys being dads sooo let's do this thing

This story contains: wholesome dad stuff, talk of breeding kink and breastmilk kink *cough* salem *cough*

Theodore

When you told him you were pregnant he actually started crying

"you're..we're..sweetheart that's amazing!"

He's been dreaming of being a husband and father since he was a child

Makes sure to take care of you during your pregnancy he's at your beck and call

He is very nervous about doing anything intimate with you so you are on a strict no sex ban for nine months

Even when he cuddles you he gets super scared

When you finally have the baby he's absolutely freaking out

He prepared for this though so he is not too badly scared

Definitely the type to talk to the child like it's a grown adult

Has huge dreams for his baby like yale or law school

Of course he will be a supportive parent no matter what

Definitely not used to having to be silly so it's a bit of a challenge

"um, theo what are you doing?"

"reading edgar allan poe"

You stared at your husband who was currently reading such a thing to your six month old baby.

"sweetie there are baby books.."

Theo closed the book before locking eyes with you having a serious gaze on his face.

"I refuse to read my child a book that uses the word awesomest its either more awesome or awesome."

"theo that was on-"

Theo simply cracked the thick book back open with a slight pout on his face.

"I refuse [y/n] I absolutely refuse"

You felt the urge to choke your man child of a husband, you were pretty sure your child was more concerned about trying to eat the book.

Hikaru

He definitely will be shocked if you tell him you're pregnant

Will be all tsundere about it but you know he's happy

"w-what?! You idiot! Were you on the pill? Ugh! Fine we can keep it"

The minute he is away from you he's grinning and crying.

He's also super scared though cause he comes from a huge fucked up family

During the pregnancy he is super protective of you and the baby

No leaving the house and no getting up from bed

"sit down damn it! If you break a bone I'm killing you!"

As a father..he's great

Definitely spoils his child in riches

Everything from clothes to toys is expensive

He wants to give them the absolute best

Definitely is a bragger and a PTA dad

"remember sweetie if a commoner walks up to you they are usually dangerous"

"papa what's a commoner"

Hikaru smiled as he painted his three year old's nails deciding to give them a make over while you were out.

"well, a commoner is someone who doesn't have any money like us they are below us on the food chain"

"hikaru..."

The feminine male twitched at the sound of your voice and glanced back only to see you glaring at him. Having a child with you has definitely made him respect you far more to the point where his degrading is usually light and slightly harmless.

"what did I say about calling people that infront of them?!"

"I'm only being honest like you're a filthy commoner yet I still married you, doesn't that say something about how I feel?"

You wondered how much was his life insurance incase you blacked out and one day killed him.

Prince

He nearly catches a heart attack when you told him you were pregnant

He hasn't been hooking up with anyone or drinking too much since he's been with you but he still doesn't expect it

"p-p- pregnant?! You're kidding yeah?!"

The first few days he is flipping out but after it settles he does quite well

He definitely has no idea what to do when you start having mood swings and stuff like that

He tries his best to please you

He still definitely wants to do it at though

He will be pouty the entire nine months if you deny him

As far as being a parent he tries his hardest

He definitely matures a lot more but is still the silly guy like always

You walked into your child's room only to see prince's hair in many ponytails which made you hold back a laugh.

"trying a new style babe?"

"not funny [y/n], but yes I am"

Prince flashed you a grin before he reached to touch his hair only to feel a tiny hand slap it away

"not finished!"

Primce let's out a long sigh before giving you a pleading expression now wanting your help but you simply turned away.

"have fun!"

"[y/n]this isn't how you treat your husband!"

You ignored prince's outburst and figured he can handle his own child giving him a makeover.

Axis

When you told him you were pregnant he was so happy

"we're going to have a baby? I'm so excited!"

But then it hit him

He won't be able to see a child

Won't be able to see their first steps or how beautiful they are and he gets upset at himself

He gets a little depressed but he still helps you out during the pregnancy

He is terrified during the whole pregnancy

He breaks down when the baby is born

Hearing them cry for the first time really snapped him out of his depression

His first worry is if the child is healthy

As a parent he definitely wants to spoil his child but he's also deathly over protective

He always let you know that he loves his family

You let a long sigh as you walked around the hluse looking for both your toddler and husband, you heard hushed whispering in axis' art room so you walked there only to find axis with the three year old in his lap and was teaching them how to paint.

"art is about feeling, though I guess we can talk more about that when you're older!"

Axis let them paint whatever they wanted though randomly he covered their eyes earning a giggle

"daddy! I can't see!"

"yeah, try paint now hmm? Not so easy huh?"

You rolled your eyes at his antics but you noticed his shaking hands before realizing what was going on..he was checking their eyesight.

"it's lunch time guys"

Axis perked up at your voice and turned to you with a smile though it was definitely strained, he was nervous about something but you didn't push it.

Yuki

He definitely wasn't expecting pregnant to come out when your mouth talked to him

His reaction was a shocked expression

"oh. I see"

What you don't know was that kids terrified yuki

He was scared of his child being as fucked up as he is

He is definitely supportive though

He gets his first tattoo of his child's name on his back

Him as a parent is very interesting

He is wrapped around his child's finger

Whatever they want he will absolutely do

The want snacks? He got it. They want to play pretend? He'll play for hours

He Is quite protective or both you and his child so the first year of their birth he didn't want to leave your side or theirs either

He just wants to be a happy family.

"having fun yuki?"

"mhm.."

You held back a snort of laughter at the sight of yuki doing a tea party with your four year old, he had so much glitter in his hair he reminded you of a disco ball.

You were glad he was entertaining them but you simply couldn't help but laugh at his appearance. He had stickers all over his face and was wearing a bright red tutu

"join us."

You gazed at him with a nervous look, he planned this. Before you knew it you were roped in as well now with a long sigh

"the things we do for this little demon"

"mhmm..more tea?"

Salem

Let's be real here salem got you pregnant on purpose cause of his breeding kink

When you told him the news you had to spray him with water to keep him from pouncing you

Your pregnancy is very sexual with him around

He definitely has a breast milk kink so he uses you a lot during your pregnancy for that

To a point where you're worried about being dried up

He likes to talk to the baby while you're asleep or just laying down

When the baby does come you're terrified about him being a parent

He is a good parent actually..he's weird but good

He acts like a child himself so it's quite fun

He is still an insane mess but it's toned down slightly

He is glad his child is normal and nothing like him in terms of personality

"salem!"

You glared at your husband as he and your four year old shoved cookies in their mouths while hiding under the kitchen table. Salem nearly choked and simply flashed a huge grin

"you were taking tooooo long! Couldn't wait!"

"they are going to think it's okay to eat snacks whenever they want"

Salem stuck his tongue out at you before your face flashed red at his next words

"I eat snacks whenever I want [y/n]~"

You yank the two of them from out the table before you simply roll your eyes.

"how about we have another kid?"

You choke at his words and glared at him only for him to wink at you, this clearly wasn't up for discussion in his book you two were having another child